#how you learned this stuff and then give you a biscuit and some tea or something

[toomuchracket]

thinking about early flatmate domestic stuff… like him knowing exactly how she likes her tea, having movie nights with m&s picky bits (my own personal fantasy hehe), maybe going for a wander around manchester and picking out some new records or him sitting outside the changing room while she tries on 57 different tops (and him not being able to help her choose one cuz he fancies her in all of them), just lovely coexistence <333

he doesn't just know how you like your tea, he can tell from your facial expression or a single sigh that you really want a cuppa, and he'll wordlessly sneak off to the kitchen to make you one and bring it to you (with a handful of biscuits, of course), and even though you're so smart you never realise he's learned the signs of you needing tea and you're always surprised and extremely grateful to get one from him; he loves the way you look at him in those moments, like he's your favourite person in the world (he is. he just doesn't know that), and he'd give you all the cups of tea in the world just to keep you looking at him that way. you get into a little routine on a wednesday night, when he's home, in which he'll have a tea ready for you coming in from your classes, which you'll do armed with a bag chock-full of m&s food to eat while you watch a movie (you take turns choosing which) or a couple of episodes of whatever it is you're watching together - sometimes, if either you or matty are feeling down at all, a blanket fort will magically find its way into the living room, but more often than not it's the two of you side-by-side on the sofa, blanket over your legs and the food on trays beside you. in these moments, when matty's sleepy and happy and peaceful, you'll convince him to come shopping with you at the weekend. well, he doesn't ACTUALLY need convincing; he just pretends to hate it, because sometimes it just hurts too much doing couple-y shit with you while not actually being a couple, but on some occasions the want to spend time with you will win out, and he'll let you tug him round westfield or wherever. like you said, wandering around record shops is a must (he gets quite emo the first time you go after self-titled comes out and you get so excited and huggy when you see it), and he'll be completely useless sitting outside the fitting rooms when you're trying new clothes, because he just thinks you're beautiful in everything - there are some things you try on that he LOVES, though, and he'll be enthusiastic about those in such a way that you go a teeny tiny bit weak in the knees. you love him. he loves you. the two of you are so fucking stupid lol <3

[samynnad102687]

Marauderstober

Oct 14- RavenRock- Fall Baking

1,271 words

“Will you teach me how to bake?” Benjy asked one night when they were sitting on the couch.

“Sure. What do you want to bake?” Peter was curious now. He’s never wanted to bake before.

“I don’t know yet.”

“Okay?” Peter asked slowly. “What brought on this sudden need to learn how to bake?”

“Oh, my mum’s birthday is coming up and I wanted to make her something,” Benjy said after a minute.

That conversation was a week ago so now Peter was in the kitchen and getting everything ready. Benjy was coming over today and he was going to teach him how to bake. Cupcakes are simple enough, right? Peter loved baking. His mother taught him when he was younger and now all of his friends ask him to bake them things. He didn’t mind it that much as long as he had enough time to make it right and not rush through it. He has a process and doesn’t like to deviate from it. When Peter looked at all of the ingredients spread out on the centre island in his kitchen, he decided that he should probably get some stuff out for biscuits too. It’s pretty hard to mess up biscuits.

Peter looked at the time and he still had an hour before Benjy was supposed to show up. He made sure that he had the recipe ready and started portioning out some of the ingredients. He would start with an easy recipe first like a basic vanilla cupcake. Once he thinks Benjy has that down, then they can try some of the fun Halloween designs that Peter found when he was scrolling through Pinterest this morning. He really wanted to try and make some apple pie cupcakes.

There was a knock on the door and it brought Peter out of his thoughts. He wiped his hands on the tea towel that was sitting on the counter and went to answer it. Benjy was beaming on the other side and gave Peter a kiss before coming inside the flat. They walked into the kitchen and Peter nearly ran into Benjy who had stopped short in the entryway.

“Why’d you stop?” Peter asked with a little laugh.

“How much are we baking?” Benjy responded and when Peter followed his eyeline, he could see why it looked like a lot.

“Oh. I wanted to give you some options of what you wanted to learn.” Peter shrugged as he moved past Benjy and grabbed his apron off the hook by the door.

“Oh, okay. You scared me for a second there.” Benjy huffed out a laugh.

“Wash your hands first and then you can grab the extra apron off the hook,” Peter instructed before he pulled out the bowl that they would need regardless of what Benjy wanted to bake.

Benjy did as he was told and after he had on the apron, he sidled up to Peter and gave him a little shove which earned him a glare and Benjy laughed. Peter was trying to take a deep breath as he remembered how he was when his mum started to teach him how to bake. He was a little terror, always making a mess but then again, he was six when they started. Benjy was an adult. He should have more control than six-year-old Peter did, right?

“So, what do you want to bake? I have stuff for cupcakes or biscuits,” Peter said as he gestured towards the variety of ingredients on the counter. 

“Which would be easier?”

“Umm, they are both pretty simple so it’s up to you,” Peter shrugged. He knew which one he preferred but he wasn’t the one making something for Benjy’s mother.

“Cupcakes,” Benjy declared after a minute of contemplation.

Peter moved the ingredients for the biscuits off to the kitchen table so it wasn’t so overwhelming and then he didn’t have to worry about Benjy grabbing the wrong thing. Once he had everything situated again, Peter showed Benjy the recipe and had him preheat the oven to 180℃ and put the cupcake liners in the pan. Peter grabbed the flour, baking powder, and salt as well as the bowl and measuring cups.

“What’s next?” Benjy asked as he bounced up next to Peter.

“We need to whisk these together. Grab that measuring cup and put twelve ounces of flour in that bowl.”

Benjy grabbed the flour, scooped out twelve ounces, and plopped it into the bowl, causing a cloud of flour to form and they both started coughing. Peter was trying to clear the air and his lungs of the white substance when a thought occurred to him. This is going to be exactly like when he was learning how to back as a six-year-old and he had to bite back the groan that wanted to escape.

“Okay, let’s try again. Next time pour it in closer to the bowl so it doesn’t cause another cloud.” Peter laughed a little and Benjy gave him a sheepish look. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Benjy measured out the flour, baking powder, and salt without making another cloud this time and slowly whisked it together as Peter showed him how to do it. Peter pulled over the electric stand mixer and plugged it in before ensuring that Benjy incorporated everything together well enough. 

“Okay, now we are going to beat the sugar and butter together until it is light and fluffy in the mixer.”

Peter gave Benjy the recipe and watched as he measured out the ingredients and started the beater. Once that was done, Peter added the eggs and vanilla before pulling over the flour mixture and showing him how to add it into the mixer and alternating it with the milk. Luckily, there was minimal mess this time and everything was incorporated nicely. They scooped the mixture into the baking pan and put it in the oven for twenty minutes.

“Is that it?” Benjy asked, a little disappointed.

“For the actual cupcake part, yes, but we still need to make the icing unless you want to use the store-bought icing,” Peter said casually. He wasn’t a fan of store-bought icing, so he was hoping that Benjy wanted to make some.

“Let’s make the icing,” Benjy declared.

“Buttercream or whipped cream?”

“What’s the difference?”

“Buttercream is sweeter and whipped cream is lighter.”

“Which is easier?”

“Whipped, in my opinion,” Peter said easily.

“Okay.”

Peter put the ingredients for the buttercream on the table with the rest of the discarded items and pulled the heavy whipping cream, powdered sugar, and vanilla to the centre of the counter. Before they started on the icing, Peter and Benjy cleaned up the mess from the cupcakes. Peter showed him how to whip the cream and add the sugar and vanilla before letting him try it himself. The timer went off for the cupcakes and Peter took them out of the oven to cool.

When he turned back around, he was met with a smear of whipped cream on his nose and a boyfriend with a giant grin on his face. Peter took a deep breath, moved past Benjy to get his own icing, and chased him around the flat after Benjy took off running when he saw what Peter was doing. When they finally made it back to the kitchen, they both had icing all over their faces and in their hair. Needless to say, Peter had to remake the icing. Once they had cleaned themselves off and the cupcakes were cool, they iced them and enjoyed one before cleaning up their mess and sitting down for a movie.

@cazzythefrogking @clementinewoolf @maladaptivewriting @multiimoments @lavenderhaze @literally-the-prettiest-star @thebibutterflyao3 @seiworf @emjayeingray @remusregulusrosekiller @heartsoncover @accuratewhereabouts @belowthestarrs

[adrianasunderworld]

More Isabelle doing Isabelle things

@mangacupcake @marrondrawsalot @writing-heiress @the-weirdos-mind

Isabelle: Are those guys playing poker over there?

Jade: Yes, they like to play every Friday here.

Azul: Excellent customers. Though obviously not a word of their activities to the staff.

Isabelle: They must bring in a ton of cash.

Jade: Oh yes, all of them come from wealthy families.

Isabelle: Hm...Do they ever take new players?

Azul: I never took you for a gambler.

Isabelle: It's not gambling if you know what you're doing.

Isabelle: It's nice having tea with you like this,Trey.

Trey: I'm glad, you know you're always welcome. And I've been looking forward to having someone taste test these biscuits.

Isabelle: I'm happy to help. You know I have a friend,Luke, back home that loves to bake as well. And his mentor was the best baker in all the three realms.

Trey: Really? I would love to learn from someone like that.

Isabelle: I think you'd like them. Barbatos, really loved tea too. I remember he mentioned a tea that he always wanted to try, but it's pretty much impossible to get

Trey: Really? Didn't you say Barbatos was some ancient demon, I can't imagine a tea he'd be unable to get.

Isabelle: Yeah, something about it being brewed from the flowers in fairy rings. Fae don't really exist in my world, at least not anymore.

Trey: I see. Maybe the guys at Diasomnia can make it happen.

Isabelle: Huh. You might be on to something.

Vargas: Come on, Rosa, give it your all!

Isabelle on a broom: I'm *jump* ugh! *Jump* trying! *jump* ARGH!

Classmates: *snickering*

Vargas: Alright, Listen, I know you got it in you. Just focus. Visualize yourself flying.

Isabelle: Okay. *deep breath and focuses*

Classmates: She's doing it...!

Vargas: That's it you're getting it!

Isabelle:

AAHHH!

Vargas: .....Well it's a start. I'll go get her.

Isabelle: So do you guys make fairy rings? Is that a thing here?

Lilia: Oh yes, though I will say, you're more likely to find them after some festival days back home.

Isabelle: Do little flowers ever pop up in them?

Malleus: Occasionally, yes. Why?

Isabelle: I was remembering a rare tea brew someone told me about back home and you used the flowers from fairy rings for it. I kinda want to try it.

Malleus: Well, you're not likely to find them here. So all the more reason for you to come visit Briar Valley soon.

Lilia: (so proud of Malleus) Yes, we insist you come for the next holiday.

Crowley: Let me get this straight. A giant fight broke out in Mostro Lounge because you hustled a group of students at cards?

Isabelle: How was I supposed to know they were going to be sore losers?

Floyd: It was hilarious, you should have seen their faces!

Crowley: Not the point!

Lilia: What do you have there?

Isabelle: A journal of all the magic I know and am figuring out. It helps me to keep a record of what to know.

Lilia flipping through it: Ah, so a homemade Grimoire. You don't see much of those nowadays- *finds a page in the back full of scribbles and doodles. Some of which being stuff like Malleus name surrounded by hearts* -and what's this?

Isabelle: *snatches it back* Nothing! A uh... manifestation...page...? Shut up, I got bored! Do not breath a word of this to anyone!

Lilia: My lips are sealed.

[unknownfacelessfanfictions]

Let's have something about Solitude (Malcolm Reed/OC)!

Yes! Absolutely!! I've been planning this story for like three years and started about four times all over again because I wasn't quite satisfied with how it's going.

In contrast to all the other stuff I wrote or write it's actually a story and not Oneshots/ Multishots.

Since I started several times all over again, I didn't really get far. I've finished the first draft of the prologue and the first 47 chapters are planned in keypoints but definetely not written, so I'm just gonna give some general information:

I think what describes this tsory best is the tagg "strangers-to-friends-to-lovers-to-strangers-to-coworkers". A lot of people are not a fan of second chance stories which I totally understand, I usually don't really like it either, but in this case, I just thought it would be fun to write. And I mean, it's my story so I can do what I want.

The protagonist of this story is Eloise 'Lou' Leroy. She is a french woman in her mid-thirties that spend her entire life studying medicine. At first she managed to learn on Vulcan but after an argument with her "guest family" (it's not the correct word, but I can't think of a better one off the spot) she goes to earth to Starfleet Academy. After graduation she participates in several exchanges to broaden her knowledge on Vulcan and Denobula, where she meets Phlox.

After returning to earth she starts working in a research facility to be near her family, however gets recommended to Archer by Phlox and dragged along to the voyage among the stars which would be a lot easier without having to constantly work with her grumpy ex that is responsible for the security of the ship.

And as if wasn't bad enough already, she got constantly some problems with some petty Vulcans, quite aggressive Andorians that are nicer to her than half of Vulcan ever had despite being their hostage twice and her best friend that is working with the Vulcan ambassador and this close to absolutely quitting everything.

It's quite OC-heavy and quite tied to the series however I might change a few things and smaller details. I try to loosen it up so I don't just repeat the episodes and I think it's working okay, but yeah.

That's the basic idea for it. It's nothing grand or new or exciting but I spend so much time thinking about it, it's basically my baby.

Header: (click for better quality)

I think this got quite good actually.

Also, in case someone is interested, a snippet from the prologue:

"Stupid arsehole." Lou sipped from her teacup before setting it down on the saucer provided. "You should consider yourself lucky Liv. Do you know how many people would fight to be allowed to work as the Vulcan ambassador's right-hand man?" "Right hand up the arse," Liv growled sullenly and reached for one of the biscuits on her plate. " More like arse on duty. I feel more like his secretary or domestic help. The other day I had to fetch him his tea and I dared to make it one degree too cold, for which he spent ten minutes telling me off in the most emotionless manner!" She sighed. "I was just hoping... I don't know. I kind of imagined Vulcans to be cooler, though."

Lou smiled into her tea and put a hand on her friend's shoulder. "Vulcans aren't so bad, they can even be incredibly kind, even if you don't believe me." "You're right, I don‘t." "However," Lou continued, "you have to get to know them first, really well. And that can take a long time and cost you a lot of nerves, but as someone who has spent a lot of time with them, I can tell you 'it's worth it'."

Liv scowled into her teacup, her brows furrowing with uncertainty. "I don't know if I can do this," she confessed, her voice heavy with doubt. " You'll be fine," Lou encouraged her and leaned back. "You've only been working with Soval for a week and before that you were mostly surrounded by humans, denobulans or other species that show emotions. You have to get used to what it's like when your counterparts are brutally honest and operate solely on logic." Liv seemed about to object, but at that moment Lou's console in the next room beeped, causing her to sigh. "Excuse me for a moment, Liv. Duty is calling.“ Liv grimaced in understanding and redirected her attention to the plate of biscuits in front of her. Meanwhile, in the adjacent room, Lou settled into her chair, ensuring she looked presentable before answering the call from San Francisco. A rather handsome man with a light complexion, neatly groomed brown hair, and a warm smile appeared on her screen. "Are you Doctor Eloise Leroy?" Lou smirked at the pronunciation of her name. It was clear that the man was not familiar with the French language. "That's me. With whom do I have the honour?" He smiled sheepishly and Lou felt the need to smile back. "My name is Captain Jonathan Archer and I'd like to make you an offer."

Hope you're satisfied with this answer, at least a little bit :)

[obaewankenope]

I had a conversation today while waiting to sort out some stuff. It was very... Meaningful. This lady had tried to help me find a particular person to talk to to organise things and, because she couldn't find them, was very apologetic. She offered me coffee while I waited and then a biscuit/cookie when I politely declined because I don't drink caffeine much. I told her over and over that it was fine and she didn't need to apologise because things weren't going as planned, or that I had to wait. And because of that, she said that I was refreshing to talk to because I ended up explaining to her @kedreeva radical kindness concept and the idea of saying three nice things about yourself when you say something negative. We talked about how it is a learned behaviour to be hostile and defensive, that people often have troubles and traumas of their own, have grown up the way they have and act as they do because they oftentimes have never had the time or safe space to think about their behaviour and the why of it. This lady said I was very wise and when I disagreed and argued it was common sense that when someone is hurt they may lash out, that there was a wisdom in recognising that. I don't know if I agree with her but I found it very engaging to talk with her and hear her speak of the story the chaplain told her about the suggestions of some children he visited in school on how to show care and kindness to others, how to respond to people who may be going through rough times. "bake a cake for them," one child suggested. "give them a cup of tea and biscuits," another said. Because offering a cup of tea, giving someone a gift, making them something, performing a gesture of care, can help someone who is struggling. And I said to this lady that things like this, hearing kids suggesting ways to be kind, gives hope for the future to be kinder than the now. When we have extremism and hatred and discrimination and separating people based on their nationality, their sexuality, their gender, race and more. To hear that there are children who want to be kind makes it worthwhile to keep being as kind as possible.

Anyway. In other news, I also saw my old headmaster and high school physics teacher who threw a water bottle at me ex and hit the kid behind him instead and accidentally snitched on him in front of his old boss. Oops.

[gottabegenki]

Happy Wednesday. Wanted to put down some more MalleJo sappy stuff. 😌

But this is before Malleus confesses to Joellen. He has a talk with Lilia 😁

I typed this short on my phone 🥲

Malleus sighed heavily as he stirred his tea while being deep with his own thoughts.

Lilia sat across from him and gave a small smile that also had a worried look. “Is something troubling you? You haven’t drank your tea or took a bite from a biscuit.”

Lilia’s question snapped Malleus out of his thoughts as he looked over to his guardian. “Oh. I am just….unsure of what I should do.”

“In regards to what? You can tell me.” Lilia assured him as he sipped his tea.

“Well….given my title, and what I am, is it….alright for me to have feelings for someone who is different from me?” Malleus asked curiously as he set his tea cup down.

Lilia blinked and couldn’t help but give a light chuckled, “That’s what bothering you? Of course you can. What’s the problem?”

Malleus thought for a moment before turning his head to look to the window next to their table. “For a while now, there’s someone who’s been on my mind. Well…ever since they spoke to me without any fear, and saw me for who I am, I can’t help but think about them in a way I’ve never felt before.”

Lilia nodded as he listened to Malleus’ words. A smile appeared on his lips as he had an idea already on who he was talking about. “I see I see. I take it you haven’t told this specific person how you feel about them?”

Malleus shook his head as he sighed and folded his arms across his chest before leaning back against his chair. “No. We still talk to each other given the chance. And…I lose track of time when I’m with them, and I find it pleasant to the point where I wish it would last longer.”

Lilia giggled as a bat landed on his shoulder. “Aww~ Malleus. You’re experiencing liking someone in school. You should tell them how you feel before you enter your last year here.”

Suddenly, a light flush of pink appeared on Malleus’ face. “Lilia…how do I that?” Briar Valley’s prince is one of the most powerful beings in Twisted Wonderland, but confessing to someone is completely foreign to him.

Lilia smiled again and couldn’t help but laugh lightly when he noticed the blush on Malleus’ face. “If you don’t feel ready to say anything yet, then continue to talk with them. And this time, find the little things that makes them smile, laugh and happy. That way, you will get to learn even more about them that most people don’t.”

Malleus smiled slightly, “You make it sound so easy.” Which makes sense for Lilia, since he’s more of an extrovert and a people-person compared to everyone else in Diasomnia.

“Do you think they would understand fairy jokes? Or tease them? And maybe tell them more information about Gargoyles?” Malleus asked before taking a bite from a biscuit.

Lilia smiled sheepishly, “Well, maybe? But know your limits with teasing, some people may get mad. You can continue to tell them about everything there is to know about this world and everything you have seen and experience.”

“I could…but being in Briar Valley most of my life, I’m not so sure if continuing to talk about it with them would be interesting.” Malleus replied and frowned slightly. “I know they told me they’re not afraid me…and I do not wish to scare them.”

Lilia smiled again as he rested his chin on the palm of his hand. “You really thought hard about this for a while?”

Malleus nodded as he looked to his unfinished tea.

Lilia reached over and patted Malleus’ shoulder. “I’m sure it will be good. I say tell them how you feel. From what you told me, and from what I’ve seen…I’m sure they will see you more than just the Prince of Briar Valley, Malleus Draconia.”

Lilia’s assurance caused Malleus to smile again. “Thank you Lilia. This talk really helped. Is there any other suggestions you can give me? What else can I do for this person I like?”

Lilia rubbed his chin before smiling and responding, “You can always start with flowers. Certain flowers have special meanings to them. Give one to them as a start, and then tell them how you really feel.”

[hansensgirl]

please don’t take him (even though you can).

summary. | She can have anyone she wants, but you can never love again. Not without him.

warnings. | Major angst, cheating, nightmare mentions, anxiety, yearning, nail-biting, insecurities, mental heath issues, mentions of violence, abandonment, implied smut, talk of death, grief, some religion stuff (not major), loneliness, mentions of torture, PTSD, split personality disorder i think, this is really angsty and possibly triggering so please be aware of the warnings! 18+

word count. | 12k.

pairings. | Bucky Barnes x Reader, Winter Soldier x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanoff.

a/n. | THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 6K!!! i love each and everyone so much like serious i will kiss you all!! happy valentine’s day as well!! based off of jolene by dolly parton and love by daughter. thank you to my love @mypoisonedvine for beta-ing and listening to me talk about this fic every now and then! ilysm! this fic is very near and dear to me, so please reblog it 🥺

The Soldat’s sentences are broken, just like he is. The words fall apart as soon as they roll off of his tongue. So much to say, so few words, so little time. His hands are as cold as the bitter Russian winters, as cold as his stare. The Soldat doesn’t know what to feel. He’s as numb as when one’s entire body has been bitten by frostbite.

His voice is deeper than it was for the man he once was. From the screaming, from the crying, from the torture. He has no control, not even over his own voice. He keeps quiet and thinks. He thinks, and he thinks, and he thinks. Something has dawned on the Soldat. He does have control. But for how long? He only has it for a few minutes, maybe even hours. But it’s enough. He only has it until the soul of his mission’s body has left. He only has it until their eyes hold no life in them.

It’s 2014, and the first sentence he has completed is “I love you.”

You can remember it well. November 17th, the snow had fallen early and neither of you were prepared. Milk intended for hot chocolate boils on the stove and the crackle that the fire brings was the only sound in the room. He watches you from afar as you slowly stir the milk with a wooden spoon — the only one that he hadn’t accidentally snapped.

He doesn’t like the cold, he never has. Though he’s always warm, the cold haunts and taunts him. Memories and nightmares come with the snowfall and ice. “Are you okay, Winter?” you ask him, and he snaps out of a blank trance.

Winter. He likes being called Winter, although he loathes the season.

He nods his head after some careful thinking. Through the mess that is his mind, he manages to ask himself if he’s okay. Is he? No, he isn’t. He’s not sure why he nodded, but damn is he grateful for that smile you give in return. One in a million, you’re a burning star. The brightest there is, and the shiniest diamond ever. You’re rare, the person who poets write about and singers cry about. But you’re the only one for him. Only his.

“What flavours, Winter? Would you like to try something new?” you ask him, bringing the heat down and taking the milk off of the stove. Winter gets up from his spot near the fireplace and strides over to you. He likes the way you don’t choke in fear when he walks towards you.

You show him the numerous flavours of cookies you had baked that morning, and allow him to take as long as he’d like to choose. “M…” He struggles to say the word, scared that he’s being too demanding and that it’s a trick. HYDRA often did that. Fooling him just so that they could harm him, even though they never really needed a reason. “You can have anything you want, Winter. Anything.”

You reassure him, hesitatingly putting your warm hands on his warm face. He looks up at you, and you give him a soft smile that makes him want to cry with love. “Macadamia?” he requests politely. You hand him the macadamia cookies and smile, before grabbing one of the chocolate bombs you and he made the other day.

“Would you like to pour the milk, Winter?” you question him, grabbing his favourite mug. It was white and had a cheesy pun that always made him smile. “Yes.” He keeps his answers short, scared that he’ll say the wrong thing, or that he’ll abuse his privileges. The stories… The harsh stories they tell about him contradict him. He looks just like that feared soldier; the one you should run from.

But God, he’s just a broken man. Not too far past repairing, but just enough that it takes certain special tools to fix him. He towers over you like a brute, a powerful stare that would make anyone but you cry. He takes the carton of milk for you, cracking a slight smile when he remembers that you were so weak that your hands would shake when lifting it.

Your heart warms as his lips stretch. Before, you weren’t sure if you even had a favourite sight. But now… now you know. He’s your favourite sight. He pours the milk with shaky yet careful hands, and you envy his strength through your admiration. He stops just at the right time without having you tell him. Independence. He’s learning.

You break pieces of chocolate into the cup and let the hot milk melt the sweet treat, before adding a dash of cocoa powder. You both watch in wonder and awe as the milk turns into hot chocolate. Winter takes his cup from you, and thanks you. “You’re welcome, Winter,” you say, placing your cold hands on the mug.

He watches as you sigh at the warmth, knowing that your body doesn’t radiate as much heat as he does. “S- Share?” he offers you, taking note of how you’re slightly shivering. You nearly choke on your hot chocolate as he proposes the utmost tempting action ever. “My blanket…” He adds on, making you take note of the blanket your father gave you that rests on his shoulders.

It’s not necessary, but it gives him a type of comfort that only you can give as well. “Please?” you ask, shivers crawling up your spine and goosebumps rising on your skin. You walk closer to him, padded feet barely making any noise as they rest on top of creaky wooden floors.

He opens the blanket like wings and takes you under his arm like a bird. Ready to show you the world, even the nastiest bits and pieces of it. He wraps the majority of the blanket around you and he’s infatuated with the relaxation that you radiate. No threats, no impending dooms. You stand side by side, not so silently sipping on your hot chocolate because you love the little smile he gives at the slightly loud slurps.

Winter doesn’t know what comes over him. Courage? Cowardice? A spur of love? His mind is too messed up to think that clearly. He turns you around to face him, the blanket falling to the floor with a slight thud. Who knew wool could be so heavy?

Heavy like your heart. Heavy like the tension that lingers.

Perhaps it’s not courage or cowardice, and in fact, it’s Bucky who used to flirt like a maniac with every girl in the neighbourhood. He bends down and plants a kiss on your lips — at least that’s what he thinks it is. You’re easily goo beneath his coarse hands as they cup your cold face. He doesn’t move his lips and you don’t either. You’re both content with the simple yet unique kiss.

He pulls away and you have to admit — you’re breathless. From both the lack of air and from happiness. It’s rare to have such feelings be reciprocated. “I love you,” he bluntly admits, and never in your life have you been so shocked. “W- What?” you ask incredulously, taken aback yet you can already feel your body, soul and mind taking off to cloud nine.

“I love you.”

He repeats himself and God knows he’s willing to say those three words and eight letters over and over again just for you. “You do?” you ask him, feeling tears well in your eyes. “Yes. I love you. Love has immense, yet measurable effects and changes in the biochemistry of the brain. I mean- my brain? The three basic parts of love are driven by unique blends of brain chemicals…”

He pauses to take a deep breath.

“Every time I look at you, I have the term, ‘butterflies in the stomach.’ It’s caused by a reduction in blood flow to the stomach. I have the strongest urges to protect and love,” he explains with more words than ever.

Never in your life have you ever heard the words that are pouring out of his mouth. “Do you…?” he nervously questions, feeling his heart palpitations speed up at such a rate, it’s like he’s having a heart attack.

“I love you, even more, Winter.”

It’s 2016, and your Winter is almost a different person.

His name is Bucky– James, he tells you. You call him Jamie. Information discovered from trips to the museum and paragraphs of articles and textbooks fill out the blank spaces of his life. Apparently, students learn about him and the rest of the Howling Commandos in school. But you haven’t been, so you wouldn’t know.

The night terrors are tough, but they’ve been slowly improving with you by his side. You’re both broken in your own ways, but you have each other, and that’s enough. He doesn’t mind it when you call him Winter, but you know it makes more sense to call him by his true name. You’re fine with anything, as long as you have him.

“My, my… Did you wake up in a good mood?” you ask him, hugging him carefully from behind because you know that sometimes he doesn’t want to be touched. That’s fine. “Maybe… I was thinking of going out today. Alone. Will you be safe?” he asks you, handing you the best meal he can scrounge up. Biscuits and tea. “Always, because I have you,” you tell him, making him give you a sad smile.

You don’t have a table, so he lifts you up onto the counter that is next to the sink. Inside, there are stacks of dishes. Neither of you have the energy to wash them, but today you will, to keep yourself busy. He’s already dressed; tight red henley on top of two more sweaters that are stretched out over his broad chest.

Jeans that barely fit his thick legs, combat boots that he stole and a cap that conceals his identity from wandering eyes. He watches as you eat, just in case you accidentally bite your tongue, burn yourself or choke. He’ll always be there for you. “Did you eat?” you question him, breaking your last biscuit and handing the bigger piece to him.

At first, he refuses to take it. Doubts from HYDRA still linger, they never can go away even with the most reassurance and love from you. “Please? You can lie and you can choose to not answer, but at least take this,” you beg, placing the half in his gloved hand. He presses a chaste kiss to your lips; the taste of orange pekoe tea making him sigh.

He’s always been partial to green, even though he can’t recall ever drinking it. He reluctantly eats the piece and you stare him dead in the eyes as he does so. “You know I’ll always love you, right?” you speak up once he’s finished. You know all the proper manners like they’re written on the back of your hand. When you were younger, they were.

In loopy cursive. Black Sharpie ink settling into your skin and you can remember the way your father scolded you for doing so. The memory is fresh, fresh like the tears you notice in Bucky’s eyes. He nods, and you down the rest of your tea. You never had a preference between tea and coffee. You were grateful to have either.

They both had their flaws, and they both had their strengths. “And I’ll always love you, лунный свет,” he whispers, closing the space that divides you both. His lips — slightly chapped yet so soft — are pressed against your cold forehead. Your mouth falls open in a gasp, but it’s not one of surprise.

No.

It’s of satisfaction, and you find yourself doing it more often than once. “What does that mean?” you ask him as you trace the teacup with one of your fingers. There’s still a bit of tea inside of it, but it’s barely anything. Not enough to quench a thirst. But since it’s come from him and since his murder-scarred hands made it, it’s enough for you.

Your finger dips, and it’s only then when you notice there’s a small chip. You don’t resent the cup for it, no, not at all. In fact, you find yourself a bit more enamoured with the piece of cheap china in your hands. “Moonlight,” he bluntly tells you, before taking the cup from your hands. You don’t even realize it until he replaces it with his hands.

Oh… He doesn’t like it? Now– now you hold a little bit of resentment towards it because if James doesn’t like it then maybe you shouldn’t. “Why?” you ask as you wrap your hands around his. You lace your fingers together and you can feel the stark contrast. On one hand — your right hand — your skin is comforted by the cotton glove he wears.

On your left hand, your skin is comforted by his bare, rough hand. “Well, лунный свет, what do you think it means?” he asks you in return as you trace the stitches on his glove and the grooves of his hand. “I… I’m not sure. I’m sorry,” you apologize to him. Your head ducks down in disappointment, but not with him. It’s for yourself, as always. “Don’t be, sometimes we don’t know everything,” he tells you softly, “and that’s okay.” His words reassure you as always.

“You’re just like moonlight. You’re wise, the brightest of them all. No matter how small you make yourself, you always manage to make everyone marvel at your beauty. You’re mysterious, always a surprise, but only for some. Your aura– your brightness, it never ceases to amaze people. It helps me through the darkest times. The world needs you, I need you,” he monologues to you, and you find yourself at a loss of words. “James…” You whisper, looking up at him.

His eyes are still a bit bloodshot, but they’re glassy and you can see right into his soul. “I love you, лунный свет, until the end of love,” James whispers to you, and he places a chaste kiss on your lips. “I love you, even more, Jamie, until the end of love. Until the end of time,” you whisper back, shutting your eyes. Bucky squeezes your hands, and you do the same in return. His head slightly knocks yours as he places his forehead against yours.

“Until the end of time, лунный свет.”

It’s still 2016, and you’ve lost your Jamie.

And it’s not like he’s somewhere in a sea of people, or some nook of a large building. No, he’s gone and you don’t know how to get him back. He told you to wait in the park that nobody usually goes to. Well, if you count both yourself and James as nobodies. You watch from afar as destruction and terror rips your home apart, and you pray that James is okay. You need him.

Surprisingly, nobody notices you. You wear most of James’s clothing, as it all couldn’t fit in the two backpacks he packed. You don’t mind, because you’re trying to forget about the small gun that’s in your boot. You don’t even know how to use it, and he knows that. “It doesn’t matter, лунный свет, once they see you with a gun, you’ll automatically be the strongest person there.” His words echo in your mind and so do his actions.

He dressed you in a rushing manner. His eyes kept locking with yours. Through his soft, almost scared complex, you can see the soldier you met two years ago –– only murder in his eyes, ready for a mission.

You bite your nails and try to ignore the screams from passersby “Until the end of time, until the end of time, until the end of time, until the end of time…” You repeat the phrase over and over, hoping the Gods above can hear the plea in your voice. “Please don’t take him, even though you can, please don’t take my Jamie,” you beg out loud, looking up to the sky that greys the same way old memories do.

He’s not okay, he's probably dead… And you left him there to suffer. How selfish could you be?

“Shut up.”

I’m not wrong, I never am. I wasn’t wrong about Father, was I?

“I… That’s different.”

Is it though?

You bite your tongue, whatever snarky remark you just had has now lost itself in the mess that is your mind. You’re conflicted as always. Should you stay, and let Jamie get hurt? Or should you help him? You spend a good few minutes repeating those questions over and over. You feel like you have a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other. You let out a satirical laugh, and you know that you seem insane.

Two days ago, you had brought up a saying to Jamie.

“My father… He had this saying. When someone has lived their full life, but it still seems to go on and on, it means that God and the devil haven’t come to an agreement yet,” you tell him, pulling at a thread that hangs on his jacket. “An agreement about what, лунный свет?” he asks you, looking up from the pamphlet he stole from a museum in a town near Bucharest.

It’s crumpled, but everything is legible still. “Who has to take them,” you smile up at him, and he returns it. “Perhaps, that's what's happening. They’re still arguing, still negotiating. That’s why you’re still here. If one of them were ready to take you, they would’ve done so already. But they haven’t,” you explain to him in your usual soft voice. He once told you that your voice is one of the best things to listen to.

Better than music, better than laughter, better than the admissions of ‘I love you’ you tend to trade.

“Maybe you’re right, лунный свет. You know, you’re different from the rest of us– them,” he whispers to you, taking in the way your face creases in certain spots when curiosity takes over. “How so, Jamie?” you ask him, setting down the needle, roll of thread, and jacket. “You have hope, faith,” he starts, “it’s both dangerous yet helpful. It’s what separates you from the demons of the world.”

“лунный свет!” James calls out. You look up from the ground and the movie of your life with James pauses. “Jamie…” You whimper, taking in his form. He’s bruised and battered, cut up and injured. Just like when you found him on the porch of your home. “Oh, Jamie… What happened?” you ask him, feeling yourself begin to panic. Your heart quickens, and you rush to him like he’s about to die.

“We have to go, лунный свет. It’s a hideout, it’s for your own safety,” he briefly explains to you and he grabs your arm. His grip is perfect. Not too tight, but not too gentle. You can tell he’s scared, but you know he’ll never admit it. “I have to go fight, but I’ll be back for you. Do you know the Avengers? It’s– Argh– We don’t have enough time. But I’ll tell you all about it later, лунный свет.” James is all business and nothing else.

You’re worried, so worried. But you have hope, and you have faith, and you know everything will be okay in the end. “But you’ll stay safe, right, Jamie?” you question him. He doesn’t respond, the only thing coming from him are grunts of pain and puffs of determination. “Answer me, Jamie. Promise me you’ll stay safe,” you demand of him in a strong voice. Never in your life have you ever raised your voice like this, but when it comes to James’s safety, you no longer care.

“I promise, лунный свет, until the end of time.”

It’s still 2016, and your Jamie is going away.

He’s leaving this world, but it’s for himself. You hold back all the pleas, all the begging you have in your body because you know he wants this. He needs this. His train is going to depart soon, off to a faraway land. A cold one, to be exact. You feel tempted to remind him how much he hates the cold, but you choose to keep your mouth shut. You’ve learned a lot in the past few days, more than when you were in high school.

Steve, Jamie’s past, what HYDRA is, the Avengers, the types of evil in this world–– They’re all things you’ve learnt. Your Jamie isn’t a different person, he isn’t. He just has more to him now. You replay the horrific memories of the past days in your mind over and over, even though you hated them. You look through the glass doors, and ahead of you is James in all his beatific glory.

In front of him, though, is the Black Widow. You don’t know if she’s from Jamie’s past, but you know they have a connection. The way they speak to each other; low and soft, just like summer rain. It’s almost the same way you speak to Jamie, but it’s not quite like it. He smiles up at her, and you remember how much you love his side-profile. It’s envious, really. But then again, Jamie is perfect in your eyes, despite his horrors and his scars of his past.

Of Winter’s past.

Your Jamie and Winter have their similarities. You’d make a list, but it would go on forever. You keep your eyes trained on his face, one of your favourite things to look at. Dare you say, he looks at her like no other. You’ve never seen this look on his face. But then again, your Jamie is going away and maybe it’s that impending nervousness. She looks at you. Her green eyes –– ones that just encapture you in the best way possible –– lock with yours. You feel insecure, almost as though she’s judging you.

But one of Earth’s mightiest heroes would never do such a thing.

She’s judging you, you know. Probably thinks you’re some nobody, some pathetic little girl who can’t even defend herself.

“No, she isn’t,”

And how can you be so sure?

Right. How can you be so sure? You watch as she gives James –– your Jamie –– a pat on the shoulder. She walks out, through another door and you feel as though she did that just to avoid you. And honestly, you don’t blame her. You walk in, hesitatingly of course. Each step of yours is wary. Your old, beaten-up sneakers barely make a sound against the floor. Your Father always said you walked like a ballerina and spoke like a princess.

“H– Hi, Jamie,” you quietly greet him. He looks up, his eyebrows drawn together and his lips are puckered in thought. He gives you a small ‘hi,’ and you smile at him. “Are you hurt anywhere?” you ask him, taking his form in again. His cuts and wounds are all bandaged and healed up. You recall the marvel that is the explanation of how he heals so quickly. The super-soldier serum, curated by HYDRA just for Jamie.

“No, Shuri and Helen fixed me up. And now, they’re gonna fix my mind,” he tells you, all while letting out a light-hearted chuckle. You smile again, just to ease the tense a bit. But even you can’t fix it. “I may be back to my old self, but I’m a walking time bomb. I’m dangerous, and I need to heal. For the sake of myself, and others,” he tells you sadly. He looks up at you and he gives you a grin that isn’t his usual happy one.

Yours falls, and his follows. “It’ll only be a year, maybe even a few months. Everyone here is smarter than Tony Stark, they’ll probably figure it out,” he reassures you just like how he used to whenever you got worried. You nod, and it’s just a farce. You’re not sure if you hope he can see through your façade or not. He sighs and looks at the door. The same door that Natasha walked out of just a few mere moments ago.

You don’t look back. You don’t follow his gaze. Why waste your time on something that will hold no meaning in the future, when you have the love of your life in front of you? You tilt your beard and swallow, just the way your mother used to. At least that’s what your father told you. “I love you, Jamie. I’ll always love you, until the end of time,” you whisper to him.

��And— And I love you too, лунный свет.”

It’s 2017, and along with your Winter, they’ve taken James’s love for you.

You don’t blame them. You don’t hate them. They’ve helped James heal, help him be better (even though God has already curated such perfection). The past seven hundred and thirty and then some days have been painful. The past seventeen thousand, five hundred-twenty hours have been slower than ever. It’s not like you’ve been keeping count. No, but Friday has.

The team — the Avengers — don’t allow you to come with them on their trip to Wakanda. You expected it. Ever since Steve and Tony put their differences aside for the sake of the world, you knew you’d be shunned from the team. Wanda, Sam, and Rhodey have tried to be friends with you, but after a debriefing with Tony, they couldn’t even lock eyes with you.

Once again, you don’t blame them.

You stay locked in your room, and you don’t mind it. It’s nice. It is true that people really do look like ants from such a height. You know the glass is bulletproof, but it feels like it’s seconds away from breaking. You love seeing the rain patter against the glass, just like how you love to see the snow melt as soon as it touches the clear surface.

You wonder if they’ve cut his long hair. You love his locks. Strands of brown mixing, the occasional lighter brown strands standing out. You love the length of his hair, too. Reaching just at his shoulders, and even past them. You love the way it tickles your face, especially when he bends down to kiss you.

You love everything about him. You always have, and you always will.

Your room is small. You can’t handle big spaces — Friday tells Tony, and he scoffs. Truthfully, you’re content with anything. He could’ve given you a broom closet to live in, and you wouldn’t complain. But you like small spaces. Big spaces make you feel a bit overwhelmed. Stark Tower has many wonderments to it.

For example — the technology. If you don’t like the scenery of the concrete jungle, you can change it to the view from Tony’s vacation home in the Hamptons. You always did have the wish to travel the world. From the streets of France to the lovely waterfalls in the Philippines. But the thought of being high up in the sky, with the small chance of crashing. It may be one in five million, but you won’t take the risk.

Even air crafts have their faults and flaws. Like having only two or three backup plans, the bathrooms, the limited space, the fact that if you pay extra you get better treatment, and the food options. But everyone looks past these things and they’ve been reduced to small issues that just don’t really matter. As long as the big picture looks perfect, the small details don’t matter.

You wish you could see yourself that way. A beautiful person at first glance. Where your details –– your flaws –– don’t mean anything. Because as long as the big picture is perfect, the details don’t matter. But you’re a detail-oriented person and every single thing matters. Even the little things that nobody will see. If only you could see yourself the way both Jamie and Winter see you. They know you have flaws, like the way you don’t like listening to helpful advice sometimes.

“Ms… Mrs. Barnes?” Friday calls out. You look up to where the voice comes from. Up above you, and a little to the side is a speaker. It’s small, barely noticeable. “Y- Yes, Friday?” you ask her, setting down the old mirror that was once your grandmother’s. It has a few cracks, but they aren’t serious enough to mess with anyone’s reflection.

“The Quinjet with Ms. Maximoff, Mr. Stark, Mr. Wilson, Mr. Rogers, Ms. Romanoff, Mr. Vision, Mr. Rhodes and Mr. Barnes is arriving,” Friday tells you. You swallow thickly — nervously. You may have been preparing all week, but all that effort goes down the drain. Will he act differently? Will he be ecstatic to see you? You ask yourself all these questions, and the answers to them just seem to taunt you.

“Will you be waiting at the entrance for them?” She speaks up after a few beats of silence. You nod before you remember Friday doesn’t have eyes. She can see, but she can’t see. “I will, Friday. Thank you,” you tell her. You set down the mirror with its face on the top of your dresser. You look around and you can just feel as though there is something missing.

Truthfully, you aren’t used to your room. You miss the wooden walls that held scratches from the furniture. You miss the coziness the fireplace emanated. You miss the view of the hills covered in snow. You miss it all. This concrete jungle isn’t made for you — you aren’t made for it. You stand up and with short steps (intentionally short), and the feeling of marble underneath your feet instead of wood works up your nerves even more.

You can hear commotion –– more so people whisper shouting at each other. “God, Rogers, get a grip! You look and sound like an old lady worrying about her grandchildren,” Tony snaps at Steve, before calling out for Friday. “Friday?” he yells, shoving one of his hands into the pocket of his pants. “Yes, Mr. Stark?” she answers back.

“Is the room ready?” he asks her, and the rest of the Avengers take a seat in the living room. “Yes, Mr. Stark. Welcome to the Avengers Compound, Mr. Barnes. If you need any assistance, just call for me.” Friday’s voice is always lovely. She reminds you of an aunt who is always ready to take care of her relatives.

You don’t hear Jamie’s lovely voice and you’re worried. You can see some parts of the living room from your spot in the hallway. “Just try not to kill any innocent people, okay?” Tony sneers, earning a smack on the shoulder from Pepper. Pepper always seemed nice to you, but your encounters with her were usually a bit awkward and short-lived. Steve is ready to throw his shield at Tony and so do the rest of the Avengers who were on the Captain’s side.

“’S fine, Steve. I deserve it anyway,” Bucky whispers loud enough for you to hear. Your heart jumps for joy — your Jamie really is back. You take another step, carefully, of course. “You don’t deserve that… Are you okay, Buck? Do you need to lie down? Drink water? Fresh air?” Steve attacks your Jamie like a mother and you can see why they got along so well in the past.

“I’m fine, Steve. Really. I just want to take a tour of this… this place,” Bucky admits to Steve, and Tony just can’t pass up the chance to roll his eyes. Bucky turns his head around as he takes in the large room. The television was so huge, he feels as though he is at the cinema. He doesn’t turn all the way around, so you must deal with the sight of his back. His clothes are nothing like the clothes he used to wear back in Romania.

He looks like he just attended his own funeral.

“You sure, Buck?” Steve asks him for reassurance. Bucky nods and he thinks about how much he misses his goats. “Alright, but remember to call for Friday if you get lost.” Steve pats Bucky on the shoulder and Tony is the first to walk out of the room, as usual. Pepper follows him, knowing how Tony gets whenever he sees Bucky. “Can I see my room first?” Bucky quietly asks Steve, making sure nobody else hears.

“Of course, Buck. It’s upstairs, is that fine?” Somehow, Steve believes that Bucky has a fear of heights. Though Bucky fell from a great height back in 1940-something, he’s not scared of heights. He’s more terrified of the cold and of trains, especially ones that run between mountains.

“Everything is fine, Steve,” Bucky snaps, growing tired of his best friend’s constant worrying. Steve raises his hands in surrender and you can tell Bucky doesn’t like that. “Hi, Jamie,” you greet quietly. You immediately regret ever leaving your room as everyone whips their heads around to face you. Bucky’s lips fall open in a gasp.

“Doll,” Bucky whispers beneath his breath. You take in his face and he’s just as beautiful as ever, if not more. Wisps of his hair fall and frame his face. He has a slight five-day-old scruff, one that is clean but also slightly messy. You remember the way you would sit in his lap, razor in hand, as you clean up the edges of Bucky’s beard.

He pushes past Sam, past Wanda, past everyone — hell, even past Steve who doesn't take the shove lightly. He nearly trips over the white couch that stands in the way. He comes up close to you, and you look up at him. You watch his eyes — but you don’t look into them. For some reason, you can’t seem to lock eyes with him. “Oh, my doll… I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers softly as he cups your face with his murder-scarred hands.

“Jamie…” You easily mimic his look of shock with a mix of adoration. You’re not sure how you ever said goodbye to the man in front of you — no, the man he used to be.

Now, he’s different. He’s not your Winter, your Winter is gone. They’ve taken him from you, and if it weren’t for the circumstances, then you would’ve fought them until the last tooth and nail. “I’m back, Doll, and ‘m all yours,” he whispers, bringing your face forward to his. You close your eyes and you think he’s going in for a kiss, but he stops when his lips are inches from yours.

“But I need to get better first, Doll. I need to get used to everything, is that all right?” He asks even though he should already know the answer. Right? You don’t know what they did to your Jamie. The rushed explanation filled with words you don’t understand only left you a confused mess. “Of course, Jamie. ‘Until the end of time,’ remember?” You whisper back.

He keeps quiet.

It’s still 2018, and you’re at an impasse.

You loathe impasses. You may persevere every now and then, but impasses just seem to love you. The saying, “you attract what you fear,” is terrifyingly true. You’re scared of impasses. You know they love to knock you down and kick you until you’re sputtering with blood leaking from the corners of your mouth that rarely ever turn up anymore. But they still occur.

It’s been a year and five months since Bucky came home, and each passing day has its difficulties. Whether it be nightmares, panic attacks or intrusive thoughts. But you’ve been there with him for every step. When he didn’t want to go to therapy alone, you went with him. When he couldn’t sleep after a rather gruesome nightmare, you told him some childhood stories. It feels like nothing has changed, truly.

But Jamie isn’t Jamie — and you don’t know what to do. “Jamie, do you want anything to eat?” You ask him, holding a plate of pancakes you whipped up once you knew nobody would be in the kitchen area. “Is– are those pancakes?” He asks you, turning around from his desk. You nod and look down at the impressive stack. Dr. Cho told you to make sure Bucky continues to eat. Sitting on the small table next to you – the ottoman – is a cup of steaming hot tea.

It’s not orange pekoe, it’s earl grey, Your father loathed it, saying that it’s meant for the elderly even though he had a head full of greys and aching joints. You’d laugh him off, but then pour him a cup of green tea. “Yes, some of them have blueberries,” you tell him, stretching your full arms out at him. You see that look of contemplation in his eyes again. “Would you like to eat with me?” You ask, knowing how he can get when those thoughts pester him.

“Of course, I’m all but a gentleman,” he jokes, and you give him a smile. “That you are, especially when it comes to the ladies,” you add, and he blushes. Bucky looks down and tries to hide the shy smile from you, and you allow him to do so. It’s not like you haven’t memorized every bit of Jamie, even down to the small things. “Is there any syrup? I’ve been craving sweets all morning.” Bucky grabs the second plate and he almost hesitates in grabbing a few pancakes.

You turn back around to get the tea, knowing that Bucky wouldn’t feel as embarrassed with taking food. “Here’s some tea, you don’t have to drink it, though.” You set the filled China cup on the glass table and the clink it gives lasts for a split second. “Remember when we would buy about three boxes of orange pekoe tea? Even though it wasn’t the best — especially since it was for so cheap — we’d still drink it like it was water,” you reminisce to him out loud as you take a pancake off of the stack.

There’s silence, and you swallow thickly. “It’s okay if you don’t remember, Jamie, I myself forget a lot of memories too,” you quickly reassure him, fanning the flames before they could even start to burn. “No, it’s not okay… I’m sorry,” he apologizes, gripping the specially made fork tightly. He hates it. It makes him feel like some sort of danger. Someone that breaks people and things so easily.

“Don’t be sorry, Jamie, or else I’m going to have to start apologizing for things that aren’t my fault,” you threaten him, and he cracks a smile. “Alright, only because I know you’re going to become annoying.” He grabs the syrup and drowns his pancakes with sticky delightfulness. “Yeah…” Your voice is all but monotonous with a hint of sadness.

He probably thinks you’re already annoying, you follow him around all the time… Do you ever let him do other things? Without you? Like hanging out with friends, healing on his own, cooking his own food… You’re so clingy.

“Shut up.”

You only want me to shut up because you know I’m right.

“What are you doing today?” you suddenly ask him. You haven’t dug into your pancakes yet, so you stare at the food in front of you with a strong glare. “Uh, well I’m not sure,” Bucky admits, and you only then realize how much you’ve held him back. “You should hang out with Sam, or Steve, or maybe even accompany Banner in the lab,” you suggest to him, looking at his plate. It’s nearly clean, with some streaks of syrups and a few occasional crumbs.

“Sam’s busy training with Steve, and I know Banner works best without someone hovering over him like a hawk — well, more so a raven. I’ll probably just hang out with ‘Talia, she’s been of great help with my healing.” Bucky takes the tea from your side and slowly sips it. “‘Talia?” you ask him. The name doesn’t ring a bell, but you’re sure that it’s a nickname. “Natasha, she went through something similar as me, so I’m hoping she can give me some advice,” he clarifies quickly.

“Oh, that’ll be great for you,” you exclaim to him. “I know… You don’t mind, do you?” he asks with one of his eyebrows raised. He’s never done that before. “Never. Go enjoy yourself, Jamie,” you urge in a soft voice, looking at him from the brim of his teacup. The sight reminds you of when you first moved away from the city.

The sun was rising in the distance. A few clouds shrewd over the lovely sight, but the yellows and oranges were stronger than the greys. From over the horizon, the sun made its way up to the sky. You watched from the porch with a blanket wrapped around your body. You miss those simpler days.

The ones where the only problems you had were the cold weather and the homework your father had given you. Sheets of paper sat on the table in the living room, with your multiplication tables written on them. Your sevens and eights always messed you up, but your father knew you could do it.

“Do you have any plans for today?” He questions, staring into the half-full cup. “I might go to that huge library Tony has, one of the agents was saying they have these seats called ‘bean bags,’ isn’t that funny?” You let out a harmless giggle, one of those small ones a protagonist would have that would make their love interest swoon. “I’ve sat on one. Not very nice. Natasha and I are the only ones on the team who hates them,” Bucky says as his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek.

The other day, you caught him with a mouthful of blood. It wasn’t from a punch in the face or a knife in the guts.

“Oh, maybe I’ll join you two,” you playfully tell him, wiggling your eyebrows to the best of your abilities. Bucky just stares at you, a small glint of humour in his eyes but it slowly disappears and your smile goes away along with it. “Hm.” He downs the rest of his tea and you wonder how he isn’t wincing with pain from the heat. Oh, right, he’s a super-soldier.

Bucky begins to stand up and moves to take the dishes to the kitchen but you quickly stop him. “It’s alright, I can take it,” you reassure him. Without realizing it, your hand strokes the wrist of his bionic arm. You look up at him and smile, instinctively giving him that look you used to give Winter. Bucky hesitatingly shrinks away from you, and your smile drops. Nononono– Too much…

He smiles and walks out the door, not even sparing you one of those lovely second glances. Sighing, you settle the plates upon each other and the tension leaves the room behind him. You’re careful to avoid the syrup on one of the plates. The feeling of stickiness against your dry, cold hands will be unpleasant.

The thought of it has you shivering. A small electric shock climbs up your spine and you’re glad that nobody is there to watch you shake it off. You carefully pluck the fork from Bucky’s plate and place it next to yours. “Hey, Friday?” you call out into the empty room. “Yes, Mrs. Barnes?” she answers, ready to be at your service.

“What books are there in the library?”

It’s been around 92 days since Jamie told you about him and Natasha, and you can feel reality slip through your fingers.

Bubbles of giggle erupt from the common room. Never in your life would you ever have called a living room the common room, but words always seem to stick. Just like the syrup on these plates that just don’t seem to go away. You don’t mind cleaning up after the heroes. You’re glad.

You have something to occupy yourself with, or else there’d be holes in the floor for your incessant pacing. You run semi-lukewarm water over the plates, hoping the dried syrup would melt. You recall the way your father would terrify you into loathing sweets. He’d show you the way syrup would ‘harden underwater’, and he’d tell you that’s what occurs in your blood.

It’s too bad that a few days later, you learned that blood is thicker than water and the world is filled with nothing but lies. It’s scary, really; trusting someone with your whole life while they toy you around like seeing you be oblivious is a pass time.

Your hands warm up under the water and suddenly you wish you hadn’t left your bed this morning. “Bucky, stop, my face is all red,” Natasha demands through her laughs, and James snorts. “So? I like seeing you red, it’s my favourite colour,” he retorts and Natasha rolls her eyes.

You can’t see the playful, friendly banter, but you can hear it. It makes you smile. You love knowing Jamie is having fun, he deserves it. “Hey, you,” Sam greets, walking into the kitchen. “H- hi, do you need anything?” you ask him, halting your movements.

“No, just got done training those new recruits and I’m already fed up,” he complains and you giggle. You know Sam is being light-hearted, so you don’t take his words too heavily. “Well, a busy man like you needs a big breakfast. There are some pancakes over there, help yourself.”

You wait until he busies himself so that you can continue to wash this plate. You look at it — it’s covered in a mix of suds, syrup and water. You notice there’s a small chip on the edge of the plate and you can’t help but wonder where the piece went. If it were a piece of clothing, you would accuse the washing machine. But it isn’t, so you suppose it just went missing.

You place the plate back in the sink and sigh, before grabbing a sponge. The colours always confuse you. How can two contrasting colours go so well together? It’s beyond you, truly. Maybe your grandmother would’ve known, she always did know a little bit about everything.

Maybe she’d know what’s wrong with you.

You don’t say anything, knowing that you might weird Sam out. You roughly scrub the syrup off and it’s a bit too joyful to see it all gone. “Hey, Sammie,” Natasha chirps, patting her fellow teammate on the shoulder. You halt your movements. “Hey, Nat. Are you doing anything today?” Sam asks her, his eyes following her.

“Other than hanging out with Bucky, no, not really.” She tells him. She stands right next to you, a little too close for your personal liking. She opens up the cupboard and you continue to wash the dishes. You ask yourself if she’s watching you, or if she’s judging you.

Looking up, you accidentally make eye contact with her. You quickly look away and you’re not sure if she does the same. “‘Scuse me,” she whispers, stretching over to the cupboard on the other side. You stare straight at the sink, but your eyes fail to miss the locket that hangs from her neck. It’s slightly opened, and it’s absolutely gorgeous. The gold is slightly aged, perhaps a gift from when she was younger. Or maybe she got it recently, and a battle in the fields damaged it slightly.

On the outside of the locket is an engraving. You squint your eyes to read it, as the shaking from her movements messes up the text. “Until the end of time…” You read in your mind, and you drop the plate in the sink. Everyone in the room flinches and Natasha steps away. Sam stops eating and you’re utterly embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you quickly apologize, picking up the plate. It’s not broken at all, but you still feel so guilty.

Natasha looks at you for a brief moment and you look back at her. She darts her eyes to your still hands. If she focuses just a bit more, she could see the way they shake. You look at the locket one more time, trying to see the inside of it. You need to know who’s a photograph she cherishes. You need to know who she cherishes in her heart, until the end of time.

The black and white photo of Jamie moments before he was shipped out reveals itself, and your heart drops.

“Friday?” you call out, setting your book down onto the bed. You place your makeshift bookmark –– a polaroid of Bucky — into the page. “Yes, Mrs. Barnes?” she answers. “Isn’t it a good thing that Jamie is socializing with his teammates?” you ask her, sounding like a worried mother. “It is. It’s just what the doctor prescribed,” she jokes, adding a mechanical laugh to her words. “Well, more so his psychiatrist. Dr. Cho is the doctor he gets his medication from. And his psychiatrist suggested socializing,” she clarifies.

You wonder if she’s against the joke mechanism Tony added to her system.

You laugh, just to ease the tension but it doesn’t do anything since she’s an A.I and you’re the only person in the room. “Thank you for laughing, Mrs. Barnes,” she graciously says as much as she can. “If it’s a good thing, then why do I feel so…?” You trail off because you don’t know any words to describe the emotion you’re feeling. “Anxious?” she completes, and you sigh. “Yes, anxious,” you admit.

“The other day, I was washing the dishes. I could hear James and Natasha laughing. Jamie’s laugh was music to my ears. It was like that song you hear on the radio occasionally, you know? But he doesn’t laugh like that with me, he doesn’t laugh like that with anyone else,” you solemnly tell her. “He spends so much time with Natasha — and usually I wouldn’t mind, I wouldn’t even bat an eye — but it just makes me anxious, Friday.”

Your voice is filled with concern, and Friday herself has never heard you so worried. “She… She had a locket. It was gold and heart-shaped. It had a very special phrase engraved on it, and the picture inside is Jamie.” You swallow thickly as even you can’t fathom the words that are falling past your lips. “I held back from telling you this, but Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Barnes had a past together,” Friday admits.

“Pardon?” you ask incredulously. “Back in Hydra, Mr. Barnes trained Ms. Romanoff. They had secret romantic rendezvous and were in love. Then, when the Red Room and Hydra found out, they were separated,” Friday tells you. “It’s probably why they’re so close, Mrs. Barnes. She’s his most recent relationship before you,” Friday reasons to you. It makes sense, it makes so much sense. “Should I be worried, Friday?” you ask her, smoothing your hands over the sheets that you lay atop of.

“No, Mrs. Barnes. Would you like to know why?” she asks you. “Yes, please,” you whisper, looking down at your hands. They’re sweaty, yet so cold. “Because that was in the past, Mrs. Barnes. Mr. Barnes is in love with you, he’ll love you until the end of time,” Friday sweetly tells you. You smile and then dip your head. Bucky loves you just as much as you love him.

It’s been a month since the talk you and Friday had, and you’re starting to doubt her words.

You lie awake in your bed. Caffeine-provided adrenaline pumps through your veins. This isn’t the first time you’ve stared up at the ceilings since you’ve arrived. Ever since Sam made you a cup of coffee from the new machine Stark bought, the bags under your eyes have gotten worse. You warned Bucky about it and he laughed. Just not as hard as you wanted him to. At least he heeded your advice.

Bucky lays asleep next to you. He lays on his right side, even though laying on his left side would make more sense. Bucky always gets better sleep when he lays on his left. You crack your knuckles quietly, even though you can’t wake him up. He used to be such a light sleeper, only because of the vivid nightmares he would get. You hate when he would get his nightmares. The terrifying images that taunt him would always cause him to have a panic attack.

It’s been over a few months since his last nightmare.

You want to turn on your side so badly–– and you can. But your mind can’t help but make you wonder if he’ll wake up. You look to your side when you hear a snore escaping Bucky’s mouth. You let out a coo, even though you used to think snoring was annoying. Your father’s snores would always bother you. You used to joke and say that one night, he’ll wake the sun up.

You gently turn on your left side and a small part of you hopes he’ll do the same. Maybe then you’ll get some warm cuddles to make your sleep. You shut your eyes because the city lights are far too bright at night. The sheer curtains obviously can’t hide New York’s bustling and liveliness. You slow your breathing down and relax your body. Hopefully, sleep can come to you soon.

Next to you lies Bucky. He’s quite literally in dreamland and he doesn’t want to ever wake up. Everything is so realistic, almost as though he’s living another life when his eyes are closed. He has a smile on his face, one that can charm almost anyone. The last time he had a dream like this wasn’t back in the forties — no. It was last night, and now sleeping is a lot better for Bucky.

Natasha giggles, loudly. It’s a cacophony of different sounds. It’s not fake, like the ones you hear on television. It’s real. It’s so vividly real that it makes his heart swell loudly. He looks to her first, making sure she’s enjoying herself before facing the judging stares from Tony and Rhodey.

His hand is intertwined with hers. He rubs his thumb on her skin and he knows what’s running through her mind. She shoots him a look, one that he chooses to ignore. He gives her a smirk and then brings her hand up to his face. He closes his eyes and presses a kiss on the diamond ring she wears.

The scenery changes.

It’s some time in 1992, and he’s holding onto her tightly. She’s asleep, with her locks of auburn hair spread out against the floor. She lays on his chest, and he makes sure she’s comfortable enough with him. Sure, his spine may ache and his under-eye bags may have deepened but he doesn't care.

“Natalia?” he whispers, checking to see if she’s asleep.

She’s knocked out cold and he’s glad. After what he just put her through, he doesn’t blame her. Hours upon hours of what they both like to call ‘training’ has her sleeping like a baby. He chuckles, and he hopes the rumbles in his chest don’t wake her up.

“Hi, Winter,” she hums, rousing from her sleep.

He curses and she giggles. Natalia rubs the tiredness from her eyes and she stretches as much as her body allows her to. “How long until they come?” she asks him. He looks to the make-shift alarm he stole from a mission and sees an hour marked on it. “One hour, Natalia,” he says.

She hums in delight. “Do you think this one hour will take a while? Or will it go by as fast as light?” she questions. Her accent is heavy, but it’s so beautiful. “Fast. Time well-spent goes by fast,” he tells her. “And how do you know this will be time well-spent?” she looks up at him.

“Time spent with you, is always time well-spent, Natalia.”

You hold your breath. Bucky mumbles sweet nothings to Natalia — Natasha. You want to cry so badly but then again, you don’t want to wake Jamie up from his dark paradise. You try to tell yourself it’s just a dream, that everything will be okay and that there’s nothing to be worried about. But even your thoughts fail to reassure you about the man lying next to you. You don’t know whether you should wake him up, so you bite down on your bottom lip and hope that this whole thing is just a dream.

“Did you sleep well, Jamie?” you ask him, folding his laundry for him. He looks up from the book he’s buried in and nods. “Amazingly, I’m so glad I can finally get some shut-eye now,” he tells you. You hum and Bucky looks at you. “Is everything alright?” he asks. “Yeah. Just peachy,” you say. He mumbles a quick okay and goes back to reading his book.

Jamie has a wonderful attention span, so there’s no reason for him to be stuck on the same page for around ten minutes. You have an idea as to what’s on his mind. Well, more so who. Natasha. “Any weird dreams?” you ask him after a few seconds. This time, you’re pairing up Bucky’s socks. “N– No, I don’t think I dreamt of anything.” He lies through his teeth and you know this because he has a tell.

Whenever he lies, he stares out into the distance. It’s usually to your right, but that doesn’t matter.

“But that’s good, right? No more nightmares.” You hold a pendant in your hand and it’s not yours because you broke your necklace a few days ago.

“That’s true,” he dryly agrees. It has the letter ‘N’ written on it. It seems like it’s new, unlike Natasha’s locket. You place it on the dresser softly. “You know, everything has a meaning. Nightmares, dreams, even dreamless nights,” you start. “I know, some are worse than others, though,” he follows. “Sometimes, nightmares mean change,” you continue.

He nods, but you don’t see it. “When you dream, it might be that you have some wishes or conflicts that have been suppressed,” you sweetly tell him. Bucky looks at you, but your back faces him. “And even not dreaming means something. When you don’t dream, it might mean that your mind is free of all the bad things,” you roughly shut the filled up drawer and Bucky squeezes his eyes shut at the loud sound.

“Sorry…” you sheepishly apologize. “S’ alright,” he smiles. “Well, my burning question relates to that, I guess,” you admit. He raises an eyebrow and you turn around. Your fingers tap against the oak wood of the dresser. Sweat that has built up for the past morning or so leaving an imprint of your fingers on the wood. “Do… Do you remember when you used to call me ‘moonlight’?” you ask nervously.

Bucky pauses whenever small movements he was making and you make direct eye contact with him. You look away immediately, though. “A– As a nickname?” he asks. “Yeah… You’d say it in Russian. There was beautiful reasoning and meaning behind it…” you explain to him. Your voice carries more hope than anything. He stays silent and you shakily exhale.

You know exactly how to pronounce it. “лунный свет.” You look up at him. “I… What was the meaning?” he asks. “I– I have it written down. Just wait, don’t go.” You move towards the bed and reach underneath your mattress. Your father would always hide things like that. Sometimes, you’d catch him placing your works of finger-painting underneath the bed.

You lift it and retrieve your little notebooks. It’s not much, but it’s something. You flip to the page that you wrote on two years ago. You smile once you reach it and turn back around. Jamie hasn’t left. “This page. I wrote it down when you left to go to the market. I remembered each word and I still do,” you cheerfully tell him. He smiles up at you and you hand him the book.

You’re just like moonlight. You’re wise, the brightest of them all. No matter how small you make yourself, you always manage to make everyone marvel at your beauty. You’re mysterious, always a surprise, but only for some. Your aura– your brightness, it never ceases to amaze people. It helps me through the darkest times. The world needs you, I need you.

The words are beautifully written. They’re traced over in black pen and even have little stars scribbled around them. “I said this?” he asks, in an almost incredulous tone. “Yeah, word for word,” you assure him. “This is really sweet, and I probably said this, but I don’t remember calling you moonlight, Doll. I’m sorry…” He sadly admits to you. Your heart drops, but it’s alright. He may not remember it, but you do. Maybe one day he will.

“It’s okay, don’t apologize,” you tell him in a sad tone. You take the notebook back from him and place it underneath the mattress. Jamie watches you as you do so. “Are you sure?” he asks on more time, just to be sure. “I’m sure. Dr. Cho and the others said this is normal, Jamie,” you assure him. “Alright.”

Everything is alright. Everything was alright. Everything will be alright.

You carry the laundry basket against your waist and you can’t lie and say you didn’t just bury your hands between the clothes as soon as they came out of the dryer. The common room is mostly empty. Wanda and Clint are out on a mission. Tony, Rhodey and Pepper are on a trip. Steve and Sam are training recruits. Vision and Bruce are in Dr. Cho’s lab. You assume Natasha is in her room and James is in yours.

But even assumptions can be wrong.

You hear that laugh that’s as soft as summer’s rain — Natasha’s laugh. It’s beautiful, just like her. But you can’t compare her beauty to anything, it’s beyond that. You walk up to the room where you can hear her, and pear through the small crevice the door has. She looks at Bucky with those emerald green eyes of hers. In them is absolute love and adoration.

“лунный свет, you look so pretty when you laugh,” Bucky tells her. She smiles and blushes, before giggling again. “You’re too sweet, Buck,” she whispers. Bucky grabs a hold of her hand, and his thumb rubs against her ivory skin. “Can never be too sweet when it comes to you, лунный свет,” he counters.

Your heart cracks, especially at the seams.

It’s been a week since Jamie called Natasha “лунный свет,” and you’re determined to get him back.

She must know she can have anyone she wants, but you can never love again. Not without him. That’s why you’re wearing a dress you borrowed from Wanda. You bite your red-stained nails nervously. It’s an improvement since your last date night with Jamie. Last time, you both shared a box of macarons that he stole from the grocery store. Underneath the moonlight, he once again professed his love for you. But this time, he gave you his dog tags to wear.

You have them on. They clink with your each and every movement but you don’t mind the sound at all. You spread a blanket onto the wooden floor. It has some similarities to the two sleeping bags you used back then. They were similar colours and took up the same amount of space. You throw some pillows on top, arranging them in a circle. The record player in the corner plays “‘Till the End of Time” by Perry Como.

You hum along to the melody of the song. You remember when Jamie said it was one of his favourites. You jumped in joy because it’s also one of your favourites. You carefully light the candles that are scattered around the room. Friday is already on alert in case one of the flames gets a little too big. You open the box of macarons and place them inside the little circle you have going on.

You set down other food items — such as croissants and a charcuterie board. It was all for cheap, mostly due to the bargaining you did with the old lady at the store. As soon as you dropped the words “date night’, she immediately went with whatever you had to offer. You turn back around and try to search for the scrapbook you have been making for the past two years. You always saved it for something, but that something doesn’t seem to be in your future.

“Where are you, little book?” you ask out loud. Your voice is in a sing-song melody, just like how your father would have his. You search around the dresser. You check in the drawers and the jewelry box but you can’t seem to find it. You decide to check the desk, because if it’s not here then it has to be there. You scan the top of the desk but don't find anything.

Carefully, you grasp the golden handle of one of the drawers and pull it open. The drawer glides easily, and if your father were here, he would’ve marvelled. You don’t find it, so you lift some stray sheets of paper. “Please be here…” You beg out loud. But it doesn’t turn up, and you pout like a little child. You drop the sheets of paper, but something grazes against your finger.

If you weren’t so out of it, you’d probably squeal in fear. Twine that’s pulled at the ends tickles you and you giggle. Your eyes follow to where it comes from, and you find a sealed envelope. You frown out of pure, ingenue curiosity. You pick it up and spin it around in your hands. It’s a beige envelope, one of the many you gifted Bucky on Valentine’s Day.

The twine wraps around it with no useful purpose. Only for the aesthetics. On the back has your name, written in cursive scrawl that belongs to one James Buchanan Barnes. You turn it back around, and carefully open it. Your father taught you that there’s a specific trick for opening envelopes. It was one of the many secrets your family had. And by family, you mean Jamie, your father and your grandmother.

It may not be much, but it’s more than enough.

Inside is a letter. More of Jamie’s handwriting fills your view and you don’t mind it at all. You pull the letter out and unfold it. You start to read it, only taking in the way his handwriting looks. You sit down on his chair and your eyes take in each word.

Dear лунный свет,

I’m sorry. From the bottom of my heart, I’m sorry. You can hate me, you can be disgusted with me. You can do whatever you want. But promise me, you won’t let what I’m about to say hurt you. I’m in love with Natasha. I’ve fallen out of love with you and listen, it’s not your fault. How can it be your fault? You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect.

But I’m in love with Natasha. I have been for the past year or so. When I saw her again two years ago, something inside me happened. I got butterflies, as stupid as it sounds. She’s everything I want, everything I need. We go way back, and she knows me like the back of her hand. I’m sorry, лунный свет. I am so fucking sorry. I know writing this letter isn’t the best way to do this, but I feel the need to do so.

Love,

James Buchanan Barnes.

You can die right here, right now. You wonder if this is some kind of sick joke Bucky is playing on you, but after sitting there for a few more minutes, you realize it isn’t. Suddenly, the candles burning around you are pointless and so is your entire being of existence. You sit there, stupefied and filled with hurt. You let the letter fall into your lap and slip down to the floor, where it meets the wood with no sound.

The record scratches but you don’t even wince. Now, the voice of Perry Como is all warped and haunted. You hate it. You hate everything. You shut your eyes and sigh quite loudly. She took Jamie from you — your Jamie. Your throat tightens up and you feel like time slows down. You break down, the dam crashing down as the water flows at high pressure. It’s all so much at once. Tears leak from your eyes and drip down to the desk.

You hang your head, almost in shame.

Why are you crying? This was bound to happen.

“Can you just shut up for once?” you cry out.

“Mrs. Barnes, is everything alright?” Friday asks. “Yes, Friday. Do you mind leaving me alone, please?” you politely request. Your voice nearly cracks from the tears. “Of course, Mrs. Barnes,” she says, before dinging away. Mrs. Barnes… You’re not Mrs. Barnes, were you ever? She was always Mrs. Barnes, and she always will be. You let out a choked cough, one that uses all the strength in your body that isn’t destined for your crying.

You look down to the opened drawer and then to the letter on the floor. A groan escapes past your lips. It’s one of pure hurt and pain. You can feel your heart shattering into pieces. Each shard cuts your insides and you struggle to calmly breathe. You grab a sheet of paper from the drawer and pluck the pen that lies on the desk. You take a deep breath and begin to write your heart out.

Natasha,

Please, please don’t do this. I know you may be in love with him (which is the best feeling ever, I know), but please don’t take him just because you can. I also know that nobody can control their feelings. But even love disappears one day, right?

You could have your choice of man, Natasha. But I don’t think I can ever love again. Not without him. If only you could see the way Steve, Sam and Bruce look at you. You can have any of them, so why did you choose Bucky? Why are you taking my Jamie from me?

He dreams about you. He calls your name in his sleep. He calls you moonlight and I’m sure you don’t know the true meaning of it. But if you ask, he’ll probably tell you. This is coming off as rude — I know. It’s not what I want but I want you to ask you one thing only.

Please don’t take him, even though you can.

You scribble your name at the bottom of the page. A tear drops from your eyes and soaks into the paper. You re-read each sentence, and with every word, you hate yourself even more. You throw the pen at the wall, not caring that it breaks at the impact.

You want to send it to her so badly, but your father always told you to never fight fire with fire. Would she even listen to you? Probably not, so why try? Jamie isn’t coming back because Jamie doesn’t love you, he hasn’t for a while. You look away from the letter and to the candles that decorate the room.

You’re so foolish, thinking Jamie could ever love you. He did once, but this isn’t your Jamie. Your Jamie is gone and so is his love for you.

You fold the letter up until you’re satisfied. One end slightly overlaps the other but even the smallest things that would usually bother you doesn’t matter now. Nothing does. You bring the letter to the burning candle and let it light on fire. Along with the paper goes your instinct to fight for the love of your life.

You can never love again. Not without him.

[slimestudy]

Study techniques that I use

So this one's a wee bit different from the other stuff I've posted thus far (well, it's bound to be, this is a third attempt at having a study blog for my madness that hopefully won't get overtaken by people who mistake aesthetic for a theme and start asking me specific fandom related questions).

Last evening, my friend asked me how I do studying (he has an exam coming up and isn't very studious person) since he knows that I am very serious about learning. Keyword learning, not studying.

So I ended up making the following list.

I. Optimise

Make sure that your study environment is comfortable and that you're wearing clothes that you feel comfortable in.

The more comfortable you feel, the less stressing the study situation will become to you. Wear soft clothes, sit in a weird position, lay on the floor, have snacks with you. Keep the room clean and ventilated for fresh air. Put on music.

Learning and magic have a lot of things in common, like the repetition making the master, but the thing that most matters in them are the circumstances. No trick will work and no lessons are learned unless certain criteria are met. And if you cannot find the right setting for it, you create it.

II. Breaks

Every 45 minutes, take a 5-10 minute pause, get up and walk around, every 2 hours take a longer break to get more snacks, food and something to drink.

The important thing is to move your body and stretch, get your blood to circulate and to get away from the studies for a moment to rest your mind.

While it is good to study, too much studying can slow you down as after a certain time limit, our brains stop taking in new information for the sake of processing the previous knowledge. As powerful as a human brain is, it isn't limitless and just like your computer and phone, it can very easily be overwhelmed by too many tasks and often there isn't enough memory left for processing.

III. Snacking

Light snacks, biscuits, cookies (preferably with chocolate), tea, coffee, juice, energy bars, berries, fruits, vegetable sticks, crisps. Your mind cannot concentrate on the important things when your stomach is fully empty and you can't stay sharp if it's too full.

You've seen the anime girls/boys/beings snack while they study at home and there's often something with chocolate, salt, and tea (mostly green tea) along with some fruits. And they're not there just to fuel your brain either, some of these foods actually help you to concentrate better like dark chocolate, coffee/tea, while the rest are there to give you vitamins (fruits, juice) or help bind water into your system and to cleanse your palate (crisps/chips) while also providing you with some energy (crisps/chips, salted roasted peanuts).

Snacks like these also help you to keep your blood sugar and pressure at a good level, which also optimises your chance to learn and memorise things.

If you're about to take an exam and have a low blood pressure, taking a chocolate bar and an energy drink might help you. It's basically using the wrong method to somehow come to the right solution.

IV. Air

Taking a longer break every once in a while to get some fresh air is always good. If you just stay indoors, you'll eventually start feeling sleepy, dizzy and tired. Fresh air and going outside for a bit can help you fix that. It's also good to detox for a bit and just chill in the park, relax and listen to birds and other nature sounds.

Don't forget your mask during the times when you're feeling sick or if there's an outbreak for a sickness. I'd recommend one that's made out of fabric, it's easier on your skin and there's a lot of cool patterns for them. They're also a lot easier to match to your outfit, either making you look cooler or cuter, giving you some space for yourself (because people won't recognise you that easily) and helping with potential dysphoria.

V. Notes

So notes right? You have to take them in the class, they're ugly, they make no sense, they're annoying. Let's change that shall we? Get your cutest notebooks, stickers, pens and just... Redo your notes with thought? When you're at home, you will have no pressure to write it down fast, you already have the things the teacher said, you can now take your time with them.

There's a word that you can't understand? Look up the dictionary for what it means and make a note of it write it next to the word (like this). Spend time with these notes and make them for yourself, you don't need to return that to the teacher and the teacher sure as hell doesn't deserve to see the masterful penmanship and the little doodles and illustrations for just talking at the front and making you take notes at the speed of light without really explaining anything.

You can also expand on what the teacher has already told you by going through that 50USD book that you were told to buy only for the bastard of a teacher to not even use it, you bought that thing, you might as well use it to the fullest before you sell it forward to the next student.

Here's the kicker.

You can redo your notes as many times as you want. And at the end of it you'll have that cool and beautiful looking handwriting you always envied that one studyblr for. You can make it even better?

And once you're done with the studies, don't throw the notebook away, the final version, you might want to go through it later. And seeing how well you made it, will fill you with pride and joy.

With each version of the notes, you will end up remembering more of the topic, that's why teachers at first tell you that your notes are important. But it's not the first draft of the notes that's important, no that's just there to showcase that you were there to listen to the teacher ramble, it's the final notebook that matters. Your notebook.

VI. Learning methods

So what type of learner are you, really? Visual? Audio? Kinetic? Which way are you more likely to remember what happened? Use this to your advantage. Record yourself reading the textbook, add music to the back ground and listen to it. Draw examples to help you visualise what it means. Do something with your hands while you read or listen. There is no right way to learn. Try things out, it will help. And if the method you tried wasn't for you, at least you can say that you learned about yourself.

VII. Profit

Your notes are finished and can be read through over and over again. You remember things and while the exam may not have gone like you anticipated, please don't be discouraged or disappointed with yourself.

After all, school doesn't really test about your actual knowledge but rather how much you can memorise within a certain time limit along with your ability to self study and independent work skills. And sometimes teachers are just assholes.

After you finish school, you'll end up noticing that there are no tests and that everything comes down to your ability to be independent and search for things and knowledge on your own. And learning how to study and search for information to obtain new skills is what school is really supposed to be teaching you.

Good luck!

-Slime

[cognitosclowns]

hello!!! In the reddit AMA, Shion mentioned that Robotus can only taste in 2 dimensions. Do you have any headcanons about maybe Robotus maybe getting an upgrade to taste? Maybe some NSFW thoughts? Thank you!

GKRKRKGRKGK ANON THIS IS GONNA BE AN ESSAY I HAVE TOO MANY THOUGHTS

NSFT BELOW

tw : nausea and vomiting, alcohol. Also Horrific Combinations of Food.

EHEHEHEHEHE THIS IS GONNA BE A LONG ONE, GENERAL STUFF FIRST

ALRIGHT so <3333,, it really is a He Didn't Know What He Was Missing situation?

CAUSE,,, AB has literally zero frame of reference for taste?? The most he can make out is Corrosive and Non Corrosive... which is basically There Is Now A Hole In His Tongue Ouch VS A Slight Temperature Change, Maybe A Textural Difference.

SO HE DOESN'T REALLY GET WHY YOU MAKE SUCH A SAD FACE WHEN HE TELLS YOU HE CAN'T TASTE ANYTHING????

The only reason he decides to give himself taste buds is bc you Insist smdnsmd he probably wouldn't bother otherwise.

he DOES have a stomach... kinda - its a tank he can remove and plug into an incinerator!!

AWE BUT <333

OKAY BUT <333 he doesn't have the human flaw of what I like to call Stomach Hurty (tm). He can eat nearly anything so long as it isn't,,, corrosive. this means that this man will create the most batshit combinations of food

Every single time you've asked the question 'hey what would an orbeez taste like - oh wait no that'd kill me' WELL GUESS WHAT IT WON'T KILL HIM.

HIS BODY DOESN'T GIVE HIM THE SIGNALS OF 'oh god spit that out its gonna kill you' NOPE HES GONNA FUCKIN GO FOR IT AND LOVE EVERY SECOND.

Just,, taking a bite out of a whole lemon like it's an apple bc He Likes The Tingle. You come into the kitchen to make yourself breakfast and he's sat at the kitchen table with a Bowl Of Dried Herbs eatin it like cereal while he reads. You'll catch him spreading toothpaste on a tea biscuit like nothing is wrong. You can visibly see him debating taking a bite out of the pencil you left on the table because.

I MEAN IT'S USUALLY ALL VERY NICELY PRESENTED BUT IT'S ALSO REPULSIVE. YOU LEARN NOT TO ASK WHAT HE'S EATIN BC,, IT NEVER LOOKS AS WEIRD AS IT ACTUALLY IS????

'oh, what's that?'

'whipping cream, raw eggs and sprinkle of pinesol <3 it creates this fantastic curdling effect :)'

'that's nice dear </3'

YOU LEARN VERY QUICKLY TO NEVER STEAL ANY OF AB'S FOOD BC ITS ONLY RARE OCCASIONS THAT HE EATS FOOD THAT WOULDN'T CAUSE YOUR INSIDES TO BECOME YOUR OUTSIDES.

his first time experiencing spice sure is something <3

'oh that- ow, ow - ah!'

'y- oh it's chili <3 it's spicy! It's supposed to hurt.'

'how have humans survived this long when you actively eat things that hurt you-'

after he gets through his Usual Dramatics he,,, does end up really enjoying spice!!!

Andre and Myc give him Poprocks and he GRABS HIS CHEST IN PANIC BECAUSE OH GOD ITS MOVING. Very cute overall, even if they got Promptly Yelled At directly after.

Mint is a very interesting sensation for him? It's like,, The Flavor Of Cold, Without Being Cold??? When he drinks mint tea you can see his brain buffer bc,, its Hot And Cold What Is This??

same thing with Savory?? It's like,, Three Dimensional Taste - the depth of the meal rather than a Specific Flavor?? But like he'd notice it if it was gone???? the first time he eats a steak he spends a solid 10 minutes just,, trying to Explain Himself. Very cute <3

'No - it tastes like a different taste.'

' 'it tastes like a different taste' BOY HOWDY doesn't that just narrow it down.'

'>:('

'You should have started with that - '(y/n), this tastes different from other tastes i've tasted', I would've got it from the beginning.'

'>:(((((('

LOTSA MOMENT LIKE THAT, ACTUALLY. Esp for describing things that,, Humans Can't Eat?? <333

HIS FAVORITES???

Icecream, Gelato, Sherbet, Sorbet - any variation of Cold and Sugary and Soft. TBH,, overall he really likes sweets? He'll purposefully eat a bunch of your favorite candy so that when you kiss, he tastes like your favorite candy <3

I ALREADY MENTIONED SPICE BUT <333 YEA, he really likes vvv spicy foods. Or just straight spoonfuls of chili powder. It takes him a while to build a tolerance but He Isn't A Quitter >:( he isn't gonna be beaten by some herb who do you think he is smnsmd.

OVERALL?? Super Intense Flavors. Very Sour, Very Sweet, etc. 100% Dark Chocolate, White Vinegar,

'Darling I don't have a liver, please stop looking at me like that >:(' yea he really likes Alcohol!! It's still jarring to see him finish an entire bottle of Vodka within an hour smndsmd - he can't get drunk, it just has a very Sharp Taste that he enjoys!!

<3 Toast, burnt to ratshit. Practically cinders. you're convinced that if he held it too hard it'd turn to ash. the correct way to eat toast 1v1 me

OH HE ALSO LIKES TEA <3 he mostly drinks it bc it smells like a garden!! How delightful <3 yea he uses like 7 teabags what about it?

NO BUT THERE'S DEFINITELY A HORNY ANGLE HERE <333

You REFUSE to let him eat anything at first because!!! You want the first thing he tastes to be special!!! It can't just be a cheese toastie or smth, it should be something memora- wait when did he get on his knees-?

OH YEAH <33333

<3 you wanted it to be special, right? <3 there is literally nothing in the world that's more special to him than you. please he is not above begging right now

<3 the sound he makes when his tongue makes contact is akin to a man finding an oasis? <3

you're at least 99% sure he came instantly,,,, but you don't bring it up bc <333 you know he's gonna get flustered, and you wanna make sure he gets to enjoy himself!!!!!

Just this,, fantastically throaty groan as he yanks you closer <333 probably a muffled 'oh fuck - oh fuck' while his tongue explores!!

he <333 needs a minute to process all the feelings n new sensory input - lots of stop-starting?? Like he'll slow down and get this Massive Shiver before continuing??? <3333

OKAY HE MIGHT GET A BIT DISTRACTED FROM,,, y'know your genitals bc he'll get caught up kissing and licking your skin?? The salty-sweet taste is,, Completely New and he's enraptured <3

He doesn't even notice his moaning OR shaking?? Like his hands on your thighs are practically vibrating?? You can feel the vibrations from his mouth all the way down his tongue??? <333 yea he's kinda lost in his own world

<3 all remaining composure is gone when you cum. He's sucking n licking and positively gulping like it's the last meal he'll ever get <333 he looks positively disheveled when he pulls back to look at you.

ORAL BECOMES HIS NEW FAVORITE THING <333 listen you aren't going to work for a solid few days, maybe a week. He needs to figure out how Every Inch of you Tastes <3

EEEEEE FUCK THIS WAS SUCH AN ABSOLUTE BLAST, THANK YOU FOR THIS ASK!!!

[mindofharry]

In which you and harry go on a talk show and talk about your kids, marriage and the industry.

fluff and talk of hollywood - bad and good. i hope you love this as much as i do!!! feedback is welcome as always <3

James Corden was more than another talk show host to you and harry. He was a friend, a really close friend at that. Harry had known him a long time, since he was a teenager, in the early days of one direction. And he’s always been so good to harry and how you. You met James and his wife, Julia, a couple years back - 5 to be exact. You and harry had been dating only a couple months, and you were very new to the industry. You had your own fan base, and had gotten recognised before - but nothing like harry. Harry and you met at an event, and then went to an after party together and the rest was history. So with you and harry being together, you met with his friends. James and Julia were honestly the nicest and funniest people ever - you were fangirling a bit (a lot) because you remember watching Gavin and Stacey on repeat for years, James was surprised when you mentioned it.

So with you and harry being close friends with james and know you can trust him with just about anything, you knew the best person for this interview would be him. People - reporters, are begging to just have a little insight to what you and harry go through, how you met, your babies and marriage. Anything they can get their hands on. And you both, especially harry, feel ready to talk about that. So why not make this causal? Have a friend over, ask some questions and then that’s it. You’ve got the interview done and you both don’t feel any pressure.

James’ assistant asked you guys to come up with a list of things you feel completely comfortable with talking about and a list that you absolutely will not talk about at all. So for example, harry would talk about his experience in the band, but he will not talk for his other bandmates - he doesn’t want to be asked unnecessary questions that the media would just feed in to. The same with you, you want to talk about your journey, but you want to keep somethings about your journey private, and you both know james will understand that.

“You nervous?” You asked your husband, harry. He was sitting down on the sofa in your shared room - you were both waiting to be called out, you were better under pressure harry not so much.

He shook his head and you sighed, sitting down beside him placing your hand in his hair. It always calms him down. You immediately knew he was nervous, he couldn’t hide it from you. You’ve been married three years and together five, neither of you could lie to each other even if you tried. Usually harrys buzzing to go on talk shows, loving talking to people and just having fun conversations. But he’s such a private person, and so many secrets will be shared. It’s normal to be nervous about it.

“Do you want to cancel?”

Harry immediately smiled at the question. You cared so much. You were too good for him, always caring for him even if you’re not in the best place. He remembers you both caught a bad cold, but instead of resting, you made sure harry was healthy and comfortable. Or when paps were around - you made sure you were the only one on those cameras. Harry was so grateful for you. You’re the best wife, the best friend and the most amazing mother. Harry got very lucky.

“No” harry paused pecking your lips. “i’m okay, baby. just nervous y’know?” he said and you nodded placing your hand on his cheek, caressing it softly.

“Whenever you want to cut it short, we will. James knows that” you say and harry nodded before pecking your lips again. Your phone pinged, you placed your hand in your pocket pulling it to see two text messages from your mom - she’s looking after the kids tonight. You have two boys, Mika and Aiden. When you found out you were having twins all you felt was excitement. Harry was even more protective over you seen as there was two babies inside of you. The pregnancy wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good either. The first trimester you were in bed for most of it, second trimester wasn’t too bad, you were just tired and moody. The third trimester was an emotional one, and it was super busy. But once the twins came - everything fell into place and you both just fell in love. Now they’re both two, Mika is the oldest, but Aidan is the biggest. You could already tell they’d be heartbreakers.

The text was a picture of the two boys in front of the tv watching their favourite show miraculous lady bug - you’re not going to lie, it’s a bit of guilty pleasure for you. Cat noir and miraculous lady bug have more drama than the kardashians.

“Look at our babies” you pout showing harry a picture of your boys. Harry took your phone and zoomed in. “They’re wearing their matching gucci pjs” Harry giggled and you rolled your eyes playfully. “And they look very cute” he added and you nodded taking your phone back. A knock on the made you both stand up, harry walked towards the door of the dressing room and opened it to see one of the show producers.

The producer - Paul - walked you both through what james is doing and if we have any queries or want a break just signal him and he’ll cut it short.

“Anything at all you want, we’ll get it” Paul said as you both walked hand in hand behind him. “We want to make you both as comfortable as possible, ok?” He said stopping outside the studio door. “Yeah, thank you” you say squeezing harrys hand and kissing his shoulder. Paul and other people around the studio were around you, Harrys best friend and Manager Jeff is there and your manager Alice is there too. They both sent a comforting smile your way, you responded with a thumbs up.

Paul turned your way and you grinned.

“5, 4, 3, 2,” paul counted down and then opened the door to the studio at one. You and harry walked out hand in hand, james corden waiting on the main stage.

“Guys! Thanks for coming” James said pulling you into a hug first, kissing your cheek. You smiled as he did the same to harry. You both sat down on the purple sofa, harry placing his hand on your knee. This feels good, you thought. You feel relaxed - there’s tea and biscuits. It just feels like talking to an old friend, which really it essentially is.

“Thanks for having us” harry said rubbing his thumb against your knee, you placed your hand on it.

“Now, we all know how private you both are - especially harry. So how do you feel about coming on and sharing a lot of stuff, that y’know has been private for so long?”

You looked over at harry, it seemed like he was still calculating his answer. You answered for the both of you. “Um - it’s been a weird feeling leading up to it. Y’know i feel excitement and nervousness. But i’m glad we’re doing it together, with you. It makes it a lot easier” you say and james nodded, pointing to harry. “And how do you feel?” he asked and harry sighed placing a hand on his own knee.

“I feel nervous. Yeah. But i know i’ll feel better after i share some stuff” Harry said, giving a brief answer. Harry styles could avoid any question ever - james knew he wouldn’t be getting much out of him.

“Ok, now how are the boys?” James asked grinning, and you almost squealed. Sure, the media have seen the boys and fans know that you guys have kids, but they don’t know names or anything like that - you’re not even sure the media know they’re twins. Your pregnancy was really well hidden too, so it was a shock when people saw you and harry out with two 6 month old babies.

“They’re at home, watching they’re favourite show” you say and harry nodded “in the gucci pjs i got them too!” harry added making you and james both laugh. “They’re really good. Super healthy, Mika knows all sort of words now - we have to be super careful around him. And aiden can escape any cot” you say and james laughs again.

“That’s amazing”

Harry nodded and rubbed your knee. “Mika learned the f word” Harry said gesturing over to you and james eyes widened. “No way!” he gasped and you covered your face.

“I said it infront of him once! once!” you say and harry shook his head.

“And now he says it 4 times a day”

You tutted at him and squeezed his hand before going back to james. He looked between the two of you and just smiled before asking more questions. He just couldn’t believe how much love you two can give. You’re perfect for each other. Both so caring, loving and kind. He knew your boys would grow up to be the best kind of people because you two.

“So how did you two meet?” James asked sitting back in his chair.

“Well first we met at a one direction concert” You say and harry bit his lip to stop him smiling. “i wasn’t into singing or acting yet, and my nephew was obsessed with one direction at the time. My dad knew some people back stage so they got us VIP tickets” you say and james shook his head.

“That’s insane!” he said and you nodded.

“Harry and i actually talked for a bit before the next people came in. I wasn’t the biggest fan of them, so i wasn’t too star struck” you giggled and harry pinched your arm.

“you were totally star struck” he pouted and you laughed again.

“I thought you were liam for a full 5 minutes, harry” you say and harry sighed his hands falling into his lap. “women” he mumbled and you laughed placing a hand on his. “i’m kidding. i did mention that i loved your man bun” you say and harry nodded remembering.

“We met again three years later at an after party, when Y/N was new to the industry. We recognised each other and got talking - the rest was history” harry vaguely, making you smile.

“Now....” james said pausing a bit, making harry tense up. you rubbed his arm comforting him.

“How has being famous changed you both?” james asked looking at you first.

“um, that’s a hard one. I mean i haven’t been in the industry very long, but i can tell you i’m very cautious” you say and james nodded “i have to triple check everything, i get my assistant Alice, who’s amazing to check things for me. I constantly have to watch what i’m doing and saying” you say and pause slightly. “in my first year of being quote on quote famous, i was anxious, rude, exhausted and that whole year really changed who i was and the people i surrounded myself with” you say and james smiled at your honesty looking over at harry.

“Of course, it’s changed me. But i always felt like i was made for this life. And although i have to being really cautious about things i absolutely love this life” harry said.

“it’s definitely had it’s bad and good moments” he added and james nodded in understanding.

“As harry said, it’s had its bad moments and good moments. But we’re both really grateful that we’re here. We’re able to support our children with anything they may want and need. We’re glad that bad happened, because if it didn’t we wouldn’t be in this position”

“I get it” James said “completely. Are you able to talk about some of the bad with us?” He asked with a hopeful voice.

you laughed to yourself and looked over at harry, give him ‘the look’. As in, do you want to talk about this or not. Harry nodded and squeezed your hand.

“I mean, you get your fair share of hate” Harry said leaning foward. “I was in a boyband, people just liked to make fun of us to make them seem different, and it doesn’t bother me anymore - i’m older and learned more. But it killed me when i got the first few hate comments” harry said and you were trying to keep the tears in as you listen to harry reminisce.

“And that was hard?” james asked and harry nodded.

“I remember just sitting there and reading all of the comments. I punished myself for it” he said and you placed both hands on his. “and i know they were just jealous trolls - but it hurt, sometimes still does” harry said and james nodded.

“Every celeb goes through it - it’s sadly part of the job, and it shouldn’t be” you say shrugging.

James looked to you as if to say - i know you didn’t answer the question.

You sighed and harry kissed your temple.

“The first year into our marriage harry and i decided we wanted kids” you say, tears filling up in your eyes. “And we got pregnant pretty quickly” you paused tears falling down.

“And we lost them, pretty quickly too”

James eyes widened and shook his head. “i’m so sorry” he said and you nodded. “We were both dealing with so much from the media that we lost the baby. I was taking on way too much, and harry was going through private stuff of his own. It wasn’t our fault, i know. But i just think about if i had just calmed down and listened - would we have three children instead of two?”

“We were blessed with two little angels, and we never took them for granted, we still don’t and never will” Harry said taking over and giving the signal to paul to cut the interview short.

Paul gave the signal to james so he began wrapping it up.

“Now, before we love you and leave you, is there anything you’d like to say?”

You smiled and leaned into to harry.

“Don’t take anything for granted and choose love” you say and harry looked down at you and nodded.

“That’s all we have time for today! See you tomorrow”

You guys go the signal that the cameras were off and a bunch of people started moving around. You stood up and brought James into a hug and kissed his cheek. He pulled back “I’m sorry if i went too far with my last question” he apologised and you shook your head. “No! No! definitely not. I feel so much lighter and better after sharing it” you say with a smile.

He brought harry into a hug and they said their thanks and whatnot. Paul then guided you and harry back to the dressing room so you guys can wind down a bit before heading home.

“God, i feel so much better at that” You say twirling around. Harry placed his hands on your hips pulling you into him, pecking your lips twice. “i’m proud of us” he said and you nodded putting your arms around his neck.

“We did good. And you feel good, right?” you asked and he nodded quickly.

“Now, let’s get home to our babies”

You both sit down for about 5 minutes, going through your phones just to check up on things. Then you packed up and your managers talked you through some press things - not to listen to any comments etc. Everyone will have their opinions, you learned that very early on in your career.

“I can’t wait get home” you yawned fastening up your seatbelt. Harry nodded placing a hand on your thigh. “Takeout?” he asked and you nodded.

“Definitely”

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning Into Stone

A/N  Another long drive, another Outlander fanfic idea that dropped into my brain out of nowhere, shoving aside the historical AU I have been wrestling with for months.  Here’s the pitch: Claire Beauchamp is a psychiatrist specializing in grief counselling.  Jamie Fraser is referred to her by his sister, who is worried for his well-being after a series of family tragedies.  You can probably guess the rest, but I’m going to write it anyway.   The title is taken from a song by the amazing Phantogram that was playing as the story idea came to me.

After losing my WIP virginity posting Ginger Snap, I’m going out on that limb again and posting this first chapter with only a rough outline mapped out in my head.  You people are a terrible influence!  Also, there will be some trigger warnings on future chapters, so please watch out for those.   And now, on with our show.

Claire Beauchamp glanced down at the leather-bound calendar open on her desk.  The ivory page for Thursday was packed to the margins, each hourly block filled with the name of a patient followed by a series of cuneiform symbols she used to remind herself of the last session, course of treatment, overall progress, all while maintaining strict confidentiality.  Not even Geillis Duncan, her office administrator and very good friend, knew how to decode the script.

Geillis liked to laugh at the old-fashioned day planner, reminding Claire that their practice utilized software that could perform the same function electronically, but she enjoyed the act of physically logging each session.  The solid heft of her Mont Blanc pen in her hand, a medical school graduation gift from her Uncle Lamb.  The scratch and grab of the nub as it bled black ink over virgin paper.  It was a tactile ceremony in a detached world.  Geillis would nod and then tell her she needed to get laid.

Speak of the devil, a sharp rap on her office door was followed by the appearance of her strawberry blonde head. blue eyes alight with mischief.

“Yer two o’clock is here.  Did ye need more time tae finish bolting down tha’ chaff ye call a salad, or can I show him in?”

“It’s kale,” she defended.  “It’s full of anti-oxidants.”

A disdainful scoff was the only response.

“Yes, Geil, please show Mister...” she glanced down at her planner, “...Fraser in, thank you.”

The tiny rectangle contained only a name, which meant this was their first appointment.  Geillis vetted all prospective patients, but Claire preferred to go into the first meeting blind, with no assumptions or pre-conceptions.  

She wondered what misfortune had caused Mr. Fraser to seek out her psychiatric services.  The death of a child, perhaps, or the end of an extra-marital affair.  People grieved for very different reasons and worked through or around that grief with a surprising variety of coping mechanisms.   Most called upon her practice in much the same way they would a breakdown truck when their car’s engine failed.  They simply wanted to get back on the road to happiness.

Despite the degrees and accreditations that decorated her office wall, Claire wasn’t certain such a thing was possible.  In her experience, grief was a phantom limb that never really went away.  The best one could hope for was to learn healthier ways of living with it.  

The sound of Geillis clearing her throat snapped her back to the present.

“Was there something else, Geil?”

“Och, no’ really.  Just, when yer considerin’ how tae thank me later on, remember tha’ my favourite stone is an emerald, that I prefer gold tae silver, but platinum is ne’er amiss.”

“What are you on about, Duncan?”  But her friend had already disappeared back into the reception area, leaving behind only the glow of her Cheshire smile.  Claire was shaking her head, bemused, when another knock rang out, this one considerably heavier than the first.

“Come in,” she called as she looked up.  And up.  And up some more.

The man who now practically filled her office door had to be at least six foot four, with powerful shoulders and a broad torso encased in a blue henley.  His nearly endless legs were likewise muscular, as testified by the stretch of his jeans across each thigh.  As if his physique wasn’t remarkable enough, he had a head of outrageously wavy red hair, worn long enough to graze the tops of his ears and the nape of his neck, but swept back from a high brow by a judicious use of product.  His face was angular in a pleasingly unique way, with a day or two’s growth of beard counter-balancing an almost youthful, earnest appearance.  But his most striking feature by far were his aquamarine eyes that shimmered like a tropical sea.  Eyes that were currently observing her with perplexity.

“Dr. Beauchamp?” a deep Scottish brogue inquired.  He pronounced it as though she were French.

“Yes,” she startled.  “That’s me.  And it’s pronounced Beecham.  Please, come in Mister Fraser.”  She shuffled a few items around her desk needlessly as she tried to compose herself.  Damn Geillis for not giving her a bit more warning that her newest client was some sort of fitness model.

“Thank ye,” he replied.  “An’ it’s pronounced Jamie, if ye please.”   She added wit to the growing list of the man’s attributes.

If anything, he grew even more impressive as he approached.  She could see he was nervous, although hiding it well.  His striking eyes darted about the room, trying to get a sense of his environment.  She indicated the well-upholstered armchair that sat to one side of her desk.

“Have a seat,” she invited.

With a surprising amount of grace for one so tall, he eased into the chair but didn’t lean back.  The fingers of his left hand tapped restlessly against his thigh.  She watched him quietly, waiting for him to speak.  This was a trick she had learned when she first started practicing psychiatry, but in this case it also allowed her to continue her appraisal.  He was, she concluded, the most attractive man she’d ever seen in the flesh.

“No couch,” he finally observed.

“No.  That’s a bit of a Hollywood trope, I’m afraid.  Lying prone in front of a stranger is hardly conducive to feeling at ease.”

He nodded his acceptance of her logic, but was otherwise silent.

“So,” she spoke at last, unable to wait him out, “what caused you to seek out counselling, Jamie?”  His name suited him, she thought as she spoke it for the first time.  Both boyish and imposing at once.

“I didna.  Twas my sister, Jenny, who insisted I see a doctor.”  His mobile mouth twisted into a grimace.  She could imagine the sibling discord that such a demand would have caused.  Whoever this Jenny was, she was made of strong stuff.  Unfortunately for her, a hostile patient would receive no benefit from merely visiting her office.  Counselling was a participatory process, and she could tell from the stubborn set of Jamie’s shoulders that he had no intention of participating.

“I see,” she said carefully.  “Well, it’s your time and your dime, Mr. Fraser.  This session lasts for forty-five minutes, and you’ve not been here for five.  There’s a carafe of hot water on the table over there, if you care for some tea.  Or you’re welcome to just enjoy that comfortable chair for another forty minutes.  I’ll be working on some administrative necessities.”

She turned her chair away from him, but from the corner of her eye she could see his gobsmacked expression.  He had clearly expected her to cajole and manipulate him into co-operating, but that simply wasn’t her style.

“I meant no offence, doctor.  I’m certain ye’re verra good at what ye do.  Tis only... well, Jenny is my older sister, ye ken.  She practically raised me.  And so ofttimes she treats me like a muckle-sized bairn, and no’ a man who’s capable of lookin’ after himself.”

As he spoke, Jamie leaned forward until his elbows rested on his knees, expressive hands gesturing in front of his face.  Hostile to the notion of counselling he might be, but he clearly wanted her to understand it wasn’t a slight.  As a physician, she had been trained to never take a patient’s reactions personally, but it didn’t mean she didn’t appreciate the effort.

“No offence taken, Jamie.  If you don’t need my assistance, I’m happy for you.  That’s one less person hurting in the world.”

“I didna say I wasna hurting.  But I can handle it my own way.  I am handling it, that is,” he hurried to add.

Unable to sit still any longer, he rose and walked over to the small table where she kept an assortment of herbal teas and a tray of Geillis’ homemade biscuits.  Bending over, Jamie set about making himself some; chamomile by the smell of it.  The sound of spoon ringing off porcelain as he stirred in some honey made her smile, reminding her of Lamb and his obsession with the lost art of afternoon tea.

“Can I make ye a cup?”

The question was so unexpected, it took her a moment to process it.  The tea was there as a distraction for her patients, to give them something to do with their bodies as they worked through difficult emotions.  None of them had ever thought to offer her a reprieve as well.

“No, thank you.  I just finished lunch.”

He dipped a shortbread into the steaming tea, then ate it in a single bite.  Instead of sitting back down, he began to browse the framed certificates and photographs along the far wall as he sipped his tea.  With his back turned, her eyes dipped to admire his ass, which filled out his jeans perfectly.  When she caught herself, she gave her head a shake, appalled at her lack of professional detachment.  Maybe Geillis was right.  Maybe she really did need to get laid.

“How long have ye been a doctor?” Jamie asked without turning around.

“Ten years,” she replied.  “But I’ve only been a psychiatrist for the last two.”

It was a dangerous topic, and she blamed his ass for letting the words slip out.  Fortunately, his inquisitiveness took him in an entirely different direction.

“Were ye some kind of prodigy, then? Ye hardly seem old enough tae have yer own practice, let alone fer a decade.  If ye dinna mind me sayin’ so,” he added quickly, as though realizing what he’d just said.

“Not at all.  And you hardly seem young enough to be a, what was it? A muckle-sized bairn?”

As he turned to look her way, she understood the expression ‘shot-gun smile’ for the first time.  It spread across his face like a sunbeam, transforming what was already remarkable into a work of art.  If she hadn’t been sitting, she likely would have stumbled backward from the force of the blow.  Scrambling for something familiar to keep her from making a very grave fool of herself in front of this man, she clasped her clinical training with both hands.

“Are you and your sister close?” 

“Aye, when we’re no’ tryin’ not tae kill the other.  Our Mam died when I was only four, and with Da workin’ dawn til dark on the farm, Jenny was parent, teacher an’ playmate all rolled inta one.”

“You’re not from Edinburgh, then?”  Although what that had to do with his counselling, she hadn’t a clue. 

“Nah, I hail from a wee village in the Highlands ye’ve likely ne’er heard of called Broch Mordha.”  She shook her head to indicate she was indeed unfamiliar with it.  Jamie launched into a detailed description of the place, his hands sculpting the landscape out of thin air.  He obviously cared very deeply for his home, and she felt a twinge of jealousy, having never known that feeling of deep belonging  herself.

“And what brought you to Old Smoky?” she asked as he wound down, her interest piqued.  It was like slamming a lead door on his previously sunny disposition.

“Family obligations.” Said in such a way as to make it clear that no further words would be forthcoming on the topic.  She regretted her nosiness immediately, despite what it revealed about his emotional state.  Jamie was most certainly grieving something, but handling it he was not.

Before she could find a way back to the easy flow of conversation, a chime from her laptop indicated that the session was up.  She couldn’t bear to dismiss him without trying to set things right.

“Listen, Jamie, I understand that you only came here today to humour your sister, but I want you to consider something.  Whether we’re grieving or angry or jealous, or any destabilizing feeling, we’re often the worst surveyors of our own landscape.  Just like you can’t know your place on the sea without referencing the stars, it takes something external to ourselves to measure how far adrift we have become.  Your sister obviously loves you.  Ask yourself, what has she seen in you that prompted her to force you to seek help?”

They parted with cordial but muted goodbyes.  The door closed behind him, leaving Claire to stare at the blank rectangle in her planner that bore his name.  No coded symbols flowed from her pen.  When the door re-opened, it was Geillis, closing it firmly behind her.

“Weel, did I no’ tell ye?  Wee fox, tha’ one.  And he told me he liked my shortbread!”   Geillis said this as though it was some kind of sexual euphemism, which for all Claire knew, it was.

“Yes,” she replied distractedly.  “He’s very nice.”

“Nice!  Nice?  Tha’ man is tae nice what Wagyu is tae beef jerky.  Have ye completely lost yer senses, woman?”  

“Yes, well, he’s a patient, Geillis, as you well know.  And not one I’m likely to see again,” she added, acknowledging out loud what she already knew.

“Oh, no?” Geillis sing-songed.  “Thas’ strange, as he just made an appointment fer the same time next week.”

Claire’s eyes flew to where her friend looked on, smug as could be.

“Yer three o’clock called tae say she was runnin’ five minutes late.  I’ll leave ye tae think about yer... patient.”

Claire picked up her pen, trying to pull together something resembling a professional summary of her first appointment with Jamie.  Her mind replayed their interaction, but all she could remember was the way his eyes crinkled when he was listening attentively, the tidy half-moons of his fingernails, the seam of his jeans as it contoured his thigh, and the cymbal-crash in her chest that accompanied his smile.

Patient, she reminded herself.  Jamie Fraser is your patient. 

[hb-writes]

Thank you. I can take it from here.

Inspired by my 100+ lovely followers, @love-me-a-good-prompt’s “THANK YOU IDEAS” prompt list, and a suggestion from the lovely @cas-kingdom​

Summary: From the Little Lady Blinder Universe. Clara Shelby wants to bake her brother a special treat for his birthday but needs a bit of assistance in gathering ingredients. 

Featuring: Tommy Shelby, John Shelby, Clara Shelby, and Nipper (Shelby cousin)

-----

Clara stared at the space between the topmost cupboard and the ceiling, to the spot where Polly set the sugar, far out of her and Finn’s reach, rationing it now that she saw how much the pair were shoveling into their afternoon tea. 

Clara had already collected the other ingredients, mixed the dry things together, waiting on the sugar in the hopes that someone taller would pass through, but she could wait no longer. 

She didn’t need much, knew that her brother wasn’t particularly fond of sweet things anyway, but the biscuit she chose still called for a small measure of the stuff, so Clara pulled over a chair and climbed onto the counter with a clean wooden spoon, intending to push the small container close enough to the edge for her outstretched fingers to reach. 

Clara yelped and the spoon clattered to the floor as a pair of hands on her waist tugged her from the countertop.

Tommy settled her on his hip, an act he nearly regretted when she latched her flour-covered hands around him. 

“You’re not meant to be home yet,” Clara said. 

“And you’re not meant to be up on the counters.” Tommy shifted her to glance at the mess on the table but Clara quickly pushed his face back to her’s with a flour-covered hand. 

“Arthur said you had a meeting.” 

“I did,” he answered, the two words coming out slow, with a hint of suspicion. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing.” 

Clara tried to pull out of his arms but Tommy held her there, turning them both towards the mess again.

“It doesn’t look like nothing.” 

“Nothing that concerns you, then,” Clara corrected. “Let me down, Tommy.” 

“Let you down so you can climb back up on the counters?” 

“Wouldn’t need to if Aunt Polly stopped putting the sugar all the way up there,” Clara answered, pointing towards the canister and reaching towards it from Tommy’s arms.  

Tommy chuckled. The sugar had spent a portion of his childhood on that shelf as well thanks to John. 

“What do you need the sugar for?”

“Because I need it,” Clara answered, all pouting lips and big shining eyes. “Please, Tommy?”

“Tell me what you need it for,” Tommy said again.

Clara groaned, going a bit limp in his arms. “But it’s none of your business,” she answered.

“None of my business? Not much under this roof that falls under that category.” 

Clara knew all about the different types of business to be found in the Shelby household. There was the betting business and family business and women’s business and funny business. In the months since the boys returned home, Clara had learned that her brother seemed to think he was entitled to have a hand in all of it, though he often declined participating in the funny business, more often just accusing her and Finn of it.  

“Well, this does,” she answered. “It’s Clara business.” 

“Clara business, eh?” he said. “That sounds like something that’ll only end in trouble.”

“No, it won’t. I promise, Tommy.” 

“You promise?” 

Clara nodded and Tommy let her down, reaching up to grab the sugar from the top shelf and placing it in her hands. “I’m going to hold you to that.” 

Clara smiled before skipping away from him to plop the container down on the table. She began scanning through the recipe to find her spot and Tommy lingered, flicking open his cigarette case as he watched her.

“You know you’ve got to clean all this up before Aunt Polly comes back or she’ll be after us both,” he said, waving the cigarette around at the mess.

“I will,” she answered. 

Tommy stepped over to her, glancing into the mixing bowl. “An—”

Clara pushed her brother towards the shop doors. “Thank you. I can take it from here.”

Tommy opened his mouth once she had him over the threshold, about to step back into the room, but Clara tugged on the string holding the curtain back and the red velvet fell between them.

“I said I can take it from here, Thomas!” 

Tommy didn’t really like biscuits but Clara noticed that he always lifted a savory biscuit from her Hinkley’s bag whenever he found one. It was a special thing Mr. Hinkley made from time to time, the rosemary biscuits, and the baker had given Clara a basic recipe after she promised not to open a competing bake shop down on Watery Lane. 

Clara knew her brother didn’t really like birthdays either, not his at least, and there had been a consensus among the family, decided over a month prior, that they’d not be doing anything special for him. There would be no cake, no presents, no acknowledgment whatsoever, but Clara had kept quiet on the subject, not agreeing to a thing the others said but not voicing her own opinion either. The way she saw it, it was none of their business if she chose to make biscuits on a random Tuesday afternoon, even if that Tuesday was the same day Tommy happened to have been born.

While the biscuits were cooling, the smell of fresh rosemary spreading throughout the first floor of the house, Clara stuck her head through the curtains to the shop to see they were full up with business for the afternoon. 

She whispered to her cousin Nipper who was sat at the table closest to the door. It was a loose description, calling Nipper and Henry cousins, but they were something close to that, some sort of relation on the Shelby side made closer to her and Finn because they were the only other set of twins in the family.

“That smells good,” he said as he came to stand beside her, his hand moving to push the curtain aside. “What’s Aunt Pol—“

Clara pulled the curtains tight around her head. “Can you send Tommy back?”

“Why don’t you get him yourself?”

“Because I promised I won’t cause any trouble.”

Nipper laughed at that. “Guess you’re out—”

Clara disappeared behind the curtain before he could finish, coming back with a warm biscuit. “I’ll give you one if you send him back. And if you don’t tell John.” 

Nipper was just teasing his little cousin, would’ve given in to her without the biscuit offering but he’d not say no to the bribe either. He took it from her outstretched hand before popping it in his mouth and heading across the room to where Tommy and John were talking.

“Clara’s asking for you,” Nipper said, still chewing the bit of biscuit in his mouth.

“Me?” John said.

Nipper shook his head. “No, she wants Tommy.” 

Tommy pushed the ledger back into John’s hands. “Keep on the books, John. I’ll be right back.”

John hummed. “What are you chewing on, Nip?” 

“Nothing,” Nipper answered, clearing his mouth with a final swallow and a swipe of his sleeve across his lips, both pointless maneuvers as John’s nose had already picked up on the rosemary wafting into the shop. 

“Doesn’t smell like nothing,” John said. “It smells like...”

“Clara business, eh?” Tommy said as he came through from the shop, the doors cutting off John’s words as Tommy closed them and turned to his sister, specks of flour across every bit of her. 

“It can be Clara and Tommy business now, but we have to keep it a secret.” 

“Why’s that?” Tommy asked.

“I don’t know,” she answered. “It’s you that doesn’t like celebrating birthdays.” 

Birthdays. Tommy released a light scoff, almost a laugh. He’d forgotten, hadn’t thought about his own birthday since before France, not since he’d spent the miserable day sat at Greta’s bedside. Tommy shook his head as Clara pulled the plate of biscuits out from behind her back. 

“They’re not sweet ones,” she said, setting the plate on the table. “I know you don’t like them sweet and I know everyone said we aren’t supposed to talk about your birthday but I just thought if I didn’t make a very big deal and didn’t tell anyone else then maybe you wouldn’t be mad and...”

“I’m not mad,” Tommy said as he took a cookie from the tray, taking a small bite. He was surprised, and a bit touched, but certainly not mad. 

Clara smiled, relieved her brother wasn’t upset. 

“But we do have a problem, you and me,” Tommy said, swallowing and wiping his hands off as he came down to her height, poking his sister in the shoulder. “You promised me there’d be no trouble at the end of this bit of Clara business but now I’ve got a brother out there in the shop sniffing out these biscuits like a rabid dog,” Tommy said, his eyes going wide. “You know how John is about sweets...almost as bad as you.” 

Clara giggled. “I told Nipper not to tell him.” 

“Yeah, well, you’ve started quite the commotion out there in the shop, nearly a riot. I think we may have to share these secret biscuits, eh? Just tell the boys they’re a special Clara treat and we’ll keep the birthday bit between you and me?” 

Clara nodded and Tommy made to stand up. Clara wrapped her arms around his neck before he could make any progress, her whisper so quiet that Tommy could barely hear it, his understanding of the words more from context than the hushed murmur as Clara wished her brother a happy birthday and placed a kiss on his cheek. 

-----

🏷:

@beautycinders

@buckybluebarnes

@cecii22me

@lovemissyhoneybee

@midnight-dreams-23

@mo-onstarrs

@pollyrepents

@unicorndetective22

[ungrateful-cyborg-moved]

Which archetype on a pirate ship are you? || Hanae & Skaar

The stowaway

You are guarded and sharp; you’ve stolen onto the ship, giving up your doomed life on land. Society has hurt you too much, you do not want to return to its hypocrisies and expectations when the sea offers freedom. You keep many secrets, almost too many, and you do not immediately trust the crew of the ship, preferring to keep your head down and to observe quietly from the crow’s nest as the rest of the crew share dinner. Sooner or later, though, when an enemy holds a pistol to your head or a storm nearly throws you overboard, a crewmate will fight tooth and nail to save you, and you will realise that you would unquestioningly do the same for them.

Ironically she’s actually the captain of her ship but she does keep a good lot of secrets from her crew. Even though she’s the one who chose them, the circumstances surrounding the formation of her crew and their career as sky pirates mean that they had to learn the ropes while learning to trust each other. She still hasn’t realized how much she cares about them and how much they care about her.

The cabin boy

You are the kindness and earnestness that the crew has a tender spot for, and all of them will take up arms against a sea of trouble if said trouble would do so much as look at you. You might have been an orphan, and so you long for the found family that is the crew on the ship. All of this is new to you--the tireless sun, the seasickness, the towering waves, but you are made of tougher stuff than you look. Even if you’re afraid, you draw up your courage and face the fears, and you do not give up after you’ve made mistakes. The harsh sea life will not harden you, and you will remind the crew that even pirates could use some hope every now and then.

I did that quiz with him when he was on his parents’ ship in mind, meaning at age 15 to 18. As the baby of the crew, he was pretty much the mascot on board. And I think it might be a bit surprising for those of you who remember what I’ve said so far about him but for his teenage self, that description is pretty spot on XD

> Quiz here

Tagged by @tavard-ffxiv (ty! fun quiz)

Tagging @miqojak @inah-ffxiv @adrayellinaeth @flood-of-shadow @fleetingfigures @thegildedgun @under-the-blood-moonlight @dawning-star @roguestly @earthlystar @avettabendrot @bek-sc @natashas @starforger @scholarlostintime @dardillien-ward @fortempsward @isseyas @theimperialnuisance @eynarwolfshowl @ffxivtribehydrae @hollowedscythedancer @warsaints @twin-moons-ffxiv @elusive-heretic @cigarettes-n-daisies @brambles-n-biscuits @eligos-venator @meepsthemiqo @trishelle @twofaced-xiv @biff-adventurer @tea-and-conspiracy @ashenbun @thevoilinauttheory @kich-rp @placesyoucallhome @charm-in-spades  @zhauric @vagabond-sol @kerensa-lacroix @skylar-sage​ and anyone else interested. I think some of you have done it already so feel free to ignore my tag (or do it with another muse, either way).

[copperbadge]

Replies About Food

drgaellon

if you think onion dip comes from a packet of onion soup, my friend, you are missing out. I know you know how to make caramelized onions, so I refer you to the superior California Dip: https://altonbrown.com/recipes/onion-dip-from-scratch/

Oh yes! That’s actually why I learned to caramelize onions, to make that dip, although the technique is not the one he mentions there (I think that recipe has had some refinement). I’ll be interested to try that version of caramelized onions, which I do cook regularly because they freeze so well. 

The problem for me was that a) I don’t like mayo or big chunks of onion in my dip and b) it’s so much work for something I felt wasn’t enough of a marked improvement over the original powder-and-sour-cream version. Like it’s good, but not THAT much better, at least to me.  

I was more talking about -- yes there are from-scratch onion dips, but the vast majority of Americans just dump and stir, you know? It’s sort of the traditional method, as silly as that seems to say.  

labelleizzy

There's a thing called creme fraiche that I find in with the sour cream and other dairy at the poncy grocery I love for its deli. Seems like it's exactly what you're looking for, for this dip.

I’ve always thought it was just a substitute for sour cream, but admittedly I don’t think I’ve ever had it, I’ll have to check it out. 

@rubynye

Now that you've had reduced cream, try canned Latin American "Crema", another condensed dairy product, available in the US in Latin markets and online. The way you described reduced cream made me think of Crema. I can't guarantee they'll taste sufficiently similar, but now you have the baseline to find out, and if they do you have an American source!

It’s true, part of why I really wanted to try the authentic stuff was so that I could flavor-match it to various dairy products in the US and see how they compared. I also think proooobably I could make my own by just...heating cream and continually remixing it rather than skimming the top off the way you would for clotted cream.

 UNRELATEDLY, as regards the “buttermilk” discussion on the tea towel post -- I know in theory you can go with some milk swished up with a bit of vinegar, but I’ve always found that clots the milk and/or doesn’t give the wanted effect. Really the only thing I regularly use buttermilk for is buttermilk biscuits and you do need the real thing, there, to get the proper flavor. On the other hand buttermilk biscuits are such a pain in the ass that I don’t even make those anymore, so. :D Might give powdered buttermilk a try tho....

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-valves]

H-hello so uhh, top 10 boyos who are great cooks, like uhh they'll make you dinner from scratch and its good, really good food. If that's oke, thank you ❤❤❤

*SMACKS PALMS AGAINST THE TABLE* NOW THIS IS A FUCKING ASK. LET’S GO BITCH.

tfp Breakdown. The best fucking cook you will ever goddamn see. Breakdown knew nothing about cooking, until he realized that food brings people together. Then he picked some stuff online, and now, dudes fucking Gordon Ramsey in this bitch. He loves making BIG portions of stuff, and loves working with meat. You get him a nice roast, a few potatoes and onions? He can feed the entire ship easily. Not to mention he’s quite the baker boy, so he indulges his husband when his 2am chocolate cake cravings hit.

rid2015 Wildbreak. Not AS good as his dad, but he’s a competent boy. He loves making mushroom risotto, and hand pies. Breakdown is so proud of his ass, and they have little cook offs on a daily basis.

Rid2015 Thunderhoof. Not only does he look good while doing it, but boy makes some FINE Italian food. Pizzas, raviolis, eggplant parms, lasagna, and his peak masterpiece; spaghetti and meatballs. Dude makes the best meatballs, makes the sweetest tomato sauce, all with a giant ass thing of garlic bread. Seriously, you will never run out of bread, or wine. For dessert, his go to is affogato, but if he gives a shit about you, he’ll go the extra mile and make the best goddamn tiramisu you've ever fucking had. Dude and coffee and go hand and hand tbh.

Rescue bots Hightide. He’s no five star chef, but he knows how to make simple fish dishes (his favorite being clam chowder), and how to make a good, hearty bread. Its a bit salty, but you can’t help but ask for seconds. His food is meant to warm those he rescues, and it does a fair job.

tfa Blitzwing. No master, but he knows his way around the kitchen. Icy, at least. Random keeps eating the counter top, Hothead is pissed that he can’t fucking find the salt- it’s a mess. When Icy is around long enough though, he makes a damn good meat stuffed pumpkin, and can even make a nice egg pudding (he makes a decent german chocolate cake, but that’s way more Breakdown’s speed).

MTMTE Impactor. Odd choice, I know. But dude knows how to make shit ingredients taste good. You got some kinda old noodles? Congrats, you got yourself a fat plate of carbonara, greasy and delicious. He ain’t fancy, but he’s the best for you broke bitches with a low stock.

G1 Ironhide. Big portions, big calories with this cowboy. You can’t leave his place without a full belly. Biscuits and gravy, eggs, hashbrowns, porkchops, fried chicken- and that’s just breakfast. It’s nice, hearty, and you can ask for as many helpings as you’d like. He will not stop. His food is endless. You will go home with leftovers for like a week. Even a pudding pie for dessert.

tfa Prowl. He’s actually a vegetarian! He likes making clean, easy to eat food, like veggie rice balls (or doughnuts), carrot stew, honey garlic tofu on a bed of steamed veggies, and for dessert? A honey baked apple, topped with mix nuts and whipped cream. His food is very good, and clean. He even makes his own trail mix for when he goes on nature walks (its full of roasted nuts, dried fruits, and dark chocolate bits), and will happily share if you ask him for some.

Tfp Dreadwing. He was the main cook in the household, and as such, he can feed others, should it be needed of him. He likes making Salmon Meuniere, chicken curry, and honey glazed beef strips. All of his food comes with a bed of white rice. His favorite thing to make though? Those cute little wagashi treats. They’re often made of bean paste, and they go lovely with his daily cups of tea. He also makes them very pretty and ornate. 

Cyberverse Soundwave. He mainly learned now to cook because Hot Rod absolutely fucking can’t. He’s the more casual cook on this list, preferring stuff you can set and forget. Stuff like Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes, roasted chickens, mac and cheese, pot roast- pretty much anything you can stick in a crock pot, and have dinner ready for when he comes back from work. When he makes desserts, he loves making either cookies, or swiss rolls, depending how much time he has. He loves ube and pumpkin flavors.

[coffeestainsandcashmere]

Let No Man Steal Your Thyme - Chapter Eight (sfw)

I hope those few of you who follow this blog even remember this story!! It's being posted on here as a WIP, so technically you're all my beta readers :). Sorry it's taking so long to work through, but I'm really busy with other writing work, plus actual work, and some life stuff, but it's not abandoned!

In this chapter, which is a bit of a filler chapter, Hermione gets a pleasant surprise visit at the Kneazel and Quill, and she learns what Draco is doing with himself all day at the Manor, and why he has the hands of a potion master. Meanwhile Draco is quietly freaking out about what Scorpius will think of his kindling relationship with one third of the legendary Golden Trio...

As always, looking forward to hearing your reactions and thoughts!

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six (nsfw), Part Seven (nsfw)

___

The bell above the door of the Kneazel and Quill jangled, and Hermione looked up to see a very familiar figure wearing practical, Muggle clothes, and a tired but genuine smile.

“Harry!” she shrieked in delight, rising and scuttling around the desk. “When did you get back? I thought you were on assignment in Sweden til —”

He raised his eyebrows. “Wednesday? It’s Wednesday today, Hermione.”

“So it is,” she laughed, and pulled him into a hug. “Cup of tea? You look wiped out.”

“I’m only staying if you’ve got custard creams…”

She snorted. “I must have known I’d need them — I stopped at the Tesco Express on my way in this morning.”

“Maybe Professor Trelawney was wrong about you and ‘the sight’ after all?” Harry grinned and she shook her head, curls bouncing everywhere for want of a hair-tie.

Seated in the cramped back room of her second hand bookshop, Harry looked at her and cocked his head slightly to the side.

“What?” she asked, dunking a biscuit into her tea.

Quietly, Harry said, “There’s something different about you.”

“No there isn’t,” she retorted, scoffing her custard cream down and reaching for another. “I’m the same washed up old hag I’ve always been. Now, tell me about Gothenburg! I’ve wanted to go back ever since we went there for that conference — must be, ooh, what, twelve years ago now? Gods, how time flies.”

“Ok, first of all, you’re nothing like a ‘washed up old hag’, so don’t you dare talk about yourself like that, and secondly, Gothenburg was amazing.”

She smiled, and let him tell her what he could about his assignment.

“Bet Ginny’s glad to have you back,” she said.

Harry’s face shifted into what Hermione called her favourite ‘Harry being soppy for his wife’ expression, and he flushed. “Yeah, probably. Apparently Lily’s been flying around the garden at Grimmauld and it’s giving Ginny kneazles. Lily’s been pretending to be the next seeker for the Harpies or something…” Raking his hand through his messy hair, he sighed. “Who’d have ever thought I’d be sitting in your bookshop, talking about my daughter learning to fly, eh?”

She smiled, but Harry’s expression cracked a little.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Hermione scowled fondly and reached across to take his hand in hers. “Harry… we’ve been over this a thousand times.”

“I know. I just…” he drew in a long inhale and then said, “So are you going to tell me what’s changed in your life since I’ve been away? You’re practically glowing. Did you meet someone?”

Hermione bit her lip and drew back, cheeks heating damnably.

“You did? Who is it? Do I know them?”

“Yes,” she said carefully. “You do. But if I tell you who it is, I need you to…” she puffed out her cheeks and finished off in a rush, “I need you to promise not to freak out first of all, and then promise you won’t tell a soul. Not even Ginny just yet, ok? It’s really important.”

Harry looked wary and worried at that.

Taking one more breath for courage, she said quietly, “It’s Draco Malfoy.”

For a moment, Harry fell utterly still, his green eyes wide and disbelieving. He looked like he was expecting Fred and George to pop out of the bookshelves with party streamers and tell him he’d been pranked, but when he saw her anxious expression, his shoulders dropped a fraction and he whispered, “You’re bloody serious.”

“Yes.”

“How?” he blurted. “I mean… the man’s a hermit by all accounts. How did you even meet him, let alone… you know…” he grimaced and she bit back a snicker. It looked like he’d swallowed a toad whole.

A tiny smile crept onto her lips and she relaxed just a little. “It was back on the first of September,” she said. “I went with Ginny to wave James and Albus off, and —”

“— of course, Scorpius started this year too.”

“Exactly. Draco was there to see him off. Ginny was amazed that he’d left the Manor, but he’s… Gods, Harry, he loves that boy so much.” She paused, recalling Draco's stricken expression as the train had pulled away from the platform, and of his fears about losing Scorpius because of their relationship.

Harry watched her with a quiet intensity for a moment and then asked, “So… Uh… how’d it happen?”

She laughed. “I invited him for a drink at the Leaky, fully expecting him to refuse. I think he surprised himself when he accepted. We had lunch together and honestly…? It was really nice. He’s changed, Harry.”

“I know.”

That surprised her, and she sat up a bit and frowned.

Chuckling softly, Harry ran a hand around the two-day stubble on his jaw. “You remember the attack on the Manor?”

“Little Scorpius yowled in my arms for hours while you questioned his father, Harry. I couldn’t forget that.”

Harry acquiesced with a sideways nod of his head. “Well, he wasn’t the same Malfoy from school in that interview room, Hermione. I don’t know what I was expecting, but when I could get him to focus on something that wasn’t the whereabouts of his son, he was articulate and helpful… Still arrogant and snappy, but…” Harry shook his head. “He’s definitely different.”

Hermione bit her lip to try and stop herself from crying, which failed, and when Harry looked up, his face fell.

“Hermione? What’s wrong?” He set his mug down and rose from his battered old armchair, crossing in two strides to kneel beside hers.

“I was so afraid you wouldn’t understand,” she whispered, shaking and overwhelmed.

All the tension left Harry and he hugged her.

It was awkward because of the furniture, but Harry had always given the best hugs no matter the situation. “You deserve to be happy, Hermione. And you’ve always known your mind. If Malfoy can keep up with you, and keep you happy, then…” he shrugged without letting go, “I’ll support you. If he hurts you though, I will use every curse I’ve ever learned as an Auror on him.”

“Thanks, Harry. You promise you won’t tell anyone yet?”

He nodded.

And then someone cleared their throat from the doorway into the main shop, and Hermione jumped. Harry sprang back, hand going instinctively for his wand, but he stopped when he saw who was standing there.

“Theo!” Hermione exclaimed, smearing the last of her tears off her cheeks. “What are you doing here? I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Too busy sobbing onto dear Potter’s shoulder,” he said without barb. “Everything alright?”

She nodded. “Just getting emotional about something as usual. What’s up?”

“Just came to see if you wanted to grab lunch, but I can see that England’s favourite Auror has returned. How was your trip, Potter?”

“Good,” he said, suddenly every bit the awkward boy he’d been at Hogwarts. “I just finished debriefing and thought I’d stop by for a custard cream and a chat with Hermione before I head home. I’m on leave for a week now.”

“Nice,” Theo smiled. “Any plans?”

Harry shrugged. “A few casual rounds of quidditch with Ron and the others,” he said. “Time with Ginny and Lily. Might pop up to Hogsmeade and see if I can visit James and Albus at the weekend.”

Conversation stalled, and Harry rocked back on his heels before putting his mug down and turning to Hermione.

“Look, I’d better get going,” he said. “But… Come over for dinner this week, alright?”

She nodded. “I’d love that. Tomorrow any good?”

“I’ll check with Ginny, but I can’t see why not. I’ll owl you.” He paused and then grinned. “C’mere,” he said, and pulled her into another enormous hug. With a hand briefly on the back of her head, he murmured, “I won’t tell a soul.”

“Thank you,” she said, squeezing him so hard he wheezed.

“See you, Nott,” Harry said with a polite nod as he left.

Once the bell had fallen silent again, Theo turned to her and crossed his arms loosely over his chest. “Everything alright?” he asked again now that they were alone.

“Yeah,” she said and rolled her eyes. “I told him about Draco and bound him to secrecy. I was so relieved when he took it so well that I just burst into tears.”

Theo laughed at that and finally seemed to relax. “I’m honoured to have known before Potter, then,” he said. “And what, pray, are those?” he added when his eyes landed on the custard creams.

“Muggle biscuits,” she said, picking up the plate and holding it out to him. “They’re delicious.”

Theo looked as if she’d offered him a plate of slugs and held up his hand. “Thanks… I’ll, uh, pass.”

“You’re such a snob, Theodore Nott,” she laughed, bustling off to tidy the mugs and plate away. “What did you want, anyway?”

“Lunch,” he said.

“It’s three in the afternoon,” she countered.

“Mmm. I had a deposition that went on forever. I’m starving.”

“Theo, I do actually have a business to run,” she said. “Isn’t today Dan’s day off? Can’t he go instead?”

“He’s already reserved us a table and is probably halfway through his steak and rioja by now,” Theo groused. “I’ll bring you a doggy bag if we have any leftovers,” he added affectionately.

“Thanks?”

Pausing on the threshold to the back room, Theo fixed her with one of his rare, intense and sincere looks. “I’m glad things worked out with you and Draco. Potter was right; you both deserve to be happy.”

She swallowed thickly, feeling tears prickle at her eyes again. “You won’t tell anyone? He wants to tell Scorpius himself. He doesn’t want it coming from someone else first.”

Theo dragged his thumb across his heart in a cross and nodded. “Drinks on Friday? Draco said he might come.”

“I’ll be there anyway,” she promised, and Theo left with a friendly wink that only he could get away with.

She and Draco continued to see each other, mostly using the seclusion of his London apartment, though they did sometimes go back to hers. There they watched the 1946 Great Expectations. To Hermione’s surprise, however, Draco informed her that it wasn’t his first time seeing a muggle film. That, naturally, led down a whole rabbit hole of questions, ending with the discovery that Draco had built Scorpius a warded playroom inside Malfoy Manor that was shielded from the effects of magic and thus allowed Muggle technology to function perfectly.

“But… you need electricity!” she’d blurted.

Laughing and looking far too smug with himself, Draco said, “Indeed.”

“But… wizarding households don’t have electricity!”

“Granger, you’re glorious when you’re baffled. I must make more efforts to confound that brilliant mind of yours more often.”

“Tell me!” she’d shrilled, pinching him in the ribs as they sat on the sofa together with the end credits rolling away in the background. When he’d just sat back with his mouth quirked into an infuriating smirk, she had straddled him and raked her fingers through the slightly shorter hair just above his hears on either side of his head, scrunching the silver-white waves until he’d groaned and bucked upwards slightly into her. “Tell me, Draco Malfoy, or no more kisses.”

“You drive a hard bargain, my beautiful, brilliant witch,” he purred, slightly breathless as she continued to hold him in her grasp, head tilted back a little, throat exposed. His hands landed reverently on her hips and he closed his eyes, clearly enjoying the contact.

Naturally, Hermione kissed him on the lips and he smiled. “Perpetual shock charm,” he said when she drew back. “I made a generator.”

“That’s… That’s so simple it’s genius. But surely you had to look up —?”

“I’m fairly certain I could get a job as a muggle ‘electrician’ now,” he snickered, chasing after more kisses. “But I choose not to.”

“What do you do with yourself all day?” she asked. “Running Malfoy Manor and the estate can’t take up all your time, surely?”

He went a little tense beneath her at that and then chuckled, embarrassed. “I… I’m on the board of a number of charities,” he said, “And I’m currently conducting research into a number areas in the field of Potions. I did a postal course to get my NEWTs in Potions, and shortly after that, attained my masters.”

“Huh,” she said, sitting back a bit. She reached down and brought his hands up in front of her. Pressing a kiss to each of his scar-flecked knuckles, she murmured, “That explains a lot. You’ve got the hands of a potion-master, Draco.”

“Too many spills and accidents,” he snorted. “And not enough dragon hide gloves.”

“What are you researching?”

“A number of projects,” he said evasively.

“Come on,” she laughed, dropping his hands again and beginning to nuzzle at his jawline and neck. He was utterly weak to that, she’d discovered to her absolute delight, and she was not above using it to her advantage. Beneath her, he shivered and went limp, turning his head with a sigh of pleasure as she raked her teeth over his pulse and then kissed him.

“I’m working on… ah… on a recipe that… oh gods, Granger…”

“Go on,” she crooned.

“A recipe to make the wolfsbane potion commercially viable,” he panted.

At that, she did pause, but only for a moment. Next thing Draco knew, Hermione had flung her arms around his neck and was squeezing the life out of him like a boa constrictor.

“Granger?”

She just shook her head, thinking of what Remus Lupin would say if he knew what Draco was working on now on behalf of his kind. “Why?” she eventually croaked without removing her face from the crook of Draco’s neck.

His hands skated gently up and down her back, the heat simmering back down to something calmer; something fond and affectionate. “Because,” he fairly growled, “Fenrir Greyback tormented my mother when he lived with us at the Manor, and I had no idea that werewolves could be functioning members of society with the right help until I met Remus Lupin. It was just another area where if I’d only known more at the time, it would have made so much difference to my perception of things.”

He sighed and kissed the side of her head.

“I can make a difference now. I’ve got a state of the art potions lab in one of the dungeons at the Manor, and Severus left his entire collection of books and notes to me in his will. He must have known I always wanted to be a potions master, even when I didn’t think I’d live beyond the end of that awful year…”

That was probably the longest continuous speech from Draco she’d heard since they’d started seeing each other, and the emotion in his voice, lingering beneath the surface like a hidden current, moved her deeply.

“You’re a wonderful man, Draco,” she whispered as she kissed his temple. “I wish the world could see you for who you are now…”

“You see me,” he said very quietly. “That’s enough.”

___

To be continued! Don’t forget to let me know what you think, and help a relative newbie (at least to contributing anyway) to the fandom out by reblogging!

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