#toasty lives where -15 just happens

[spiremire]

Can I add more modern details?

1) car winterization

Where I live it gets cold enough that your battery will die and your engine fluids might freeze if you don’t get your car winterized. This is the addition of heating elements that get plugged in when the car isn’t going to be in use for several hours. I plug mine in below -15F if I’m leaving my car overnight or if I’m going to have a long day at work.

2) face coverings and freezing your eyelashes together

Face coverings are a popular way to keep your nose and lips toasty when it’s freezing out, the only problem is the exhale builds up and forms an ice crust, sometimes freezing your eyelashes together. It’s usually fine, just slightly annoying

3) breakup season

When the snow melts, its usually a disaster. Everything is grey and nasty. A lot of people where I live wear special knee height muck boots because everything is a pain in the ass until the snow is completely gone

4) length of cold season increases the closer you get to the poles

It’s may and we’ve still got several feet of snow on the ground, some of which has been there since early October (though it is, finally, melting)

5) dog walking

This is obviously dependent on what your specific dog will tolerate, both in terms of outside temp and winter gear you put on them, but mine will go on long walks with no boots in up to -25F, and short walks (basically just long enough to pee) in -35F. I make him wear the boots in under -15 anyway, mostly because he doesn’t mind them too much and He doesn’t communicate well that he’s cold. That said, I saw this lady walking a pack of dogs down the road at -45F this winter, and only one that I saw had on boots.

6) and now, the weather

Days where it’s sunny and cloudless are absolutely frigid. 0/10 don’t recommend. Feels awful regardless of the actual number. Wind sucks. Wind sucks so much. Wind is why people wear ski goggles when they’re crossing the Costco parking lot. Snow sunburn is totally a thing. Snow sunburn when it’s -17F is a thing that happened to me this winter. When the day is partly cloudy to cloudy: standing in the sun is excellent. Standing in the shade is a punishment. Pray for no wind.

7) movement is the key to warmth

Keeping moving generates heat, but it also sucks away energy. Eat well and drink water

8) the layering system

Keep your thin wicking layers close to the skin and build out. On the coldest days when I expect to be outside for as long as there’s usable daylight, I’m in skin tight, polyester base layer, fleece mid layer, and a goose down insulated and/or waterproof outer layer. I have on merino wool socks and liner gloves, and insulated boots and mittens, both of which are rated to -40F. To protect my ears and nose, I wear a fleece buff and tuck it into a beanie. Most winter-wear designed to be worn outside has some way for the user to vent extra heat, usually in the form of zips in places like the armpits of the upper thighs

Little Winter Details

In the past I did the post “Writing Realistic Winter Scenes,” but it did not quite cover everything, so I thought I would add some more tips! I hope they help for making your stories more realistic.

Stomping Feet.

Only rude people don’t stomp snow off their boots before coming inside. Where I live, you will often also see people giving their boots a good stomp before entering a store.

Once inside a home, take off your boots and (if they have one) put it on a boot tray to stop puddling. If you are entering a store, many locations have rugs by the door. Once inside, wipe your feet a few times.

Holding a drink with both hands and no metal mugs/plates.

Tim Horton drinks are called “Canadian hand warmers” for a reason, so you will often see people waiting for a bus or city train with a drink in both their hands.

As for the metal mugs and plates, I learned my lesson for this one very quickly. When I was an Air Cadet (teens) we would go on weekend survival trips, and most the kids idolized military kits. So, many kids(myself included) would purchase military mess kits. Now, I am not saying they are not handy; plates, bowls, and even a tiny frying pan, all fold up together neatly and flat in your bag, so what is not to love?

Well, when you are camping in places below -25c, and you take off your glove for a moment, you may find your skin sticking to the metal of your plate(thanks to the cold, and steam from your meal). Now, this might seem funny, but if you are not careful, you could actually remove skin.

So, metal is great for cooking and great for the summer, but I suggest being careful if you plan on using them to eat with in the winter.

Bringing Your Animals In

In medieval times, farm animals were often brought into the house. Some houses kept them on the bottom floor while living on the top floor, others not so much. This is to keep the animals from freezing to death, but also to add some extra warmth in the house.

It was not just in the past, either. My past co-worker grew up on a goat farm, and said if it was too cold out, they would bring the baby goats in to run wild in the basement. She remembers it fondly, but it must have been incredibly chaotic for her parents haha.

New Water Source:

Creeks, lakes, and wells will likely freeze over, but luckily you may have another option: snow! Just look for a clean patch, scoop it up, and heat it. It is not a perfect system (during my wilderness survival training days, there were times of picking pine needles out of the water) but it was better than wasting energy to go cut into the ice every several times a day(the holes will re-freeze over).

If it is cold without snow, cutting the ice is exactly what you’ll have to do.

Tree Wells:

Evergreens — like pine trees — are built to shed snow off their triangle-shaped form, so often have little pockets around the trunk with less or no snow. This might not sound like a problem, but occasionally people on skis and other equipment die in them. People are on the move, fall headfirst into them, and their skis are pinned above in the snow out of reach.

Alternatively, these wells can be an emergency shelter from a storm or hunting hiding spot. Do note that you (for the obvious reason of wood everywhere) can not light a fire in these shelters.

Easy Tracking:

It’s not easy to hide prints in the winter, and they are more obvious. This could be good if your character is tracking something, but bad if they are trying to get away.

Some shows have the characters sweeping the ground behind them, but if the snow is over a foot deep, that wont really work.

Realistic Ice:

If you are on a lake, do not expect it to be quiet. It is always flexing and cracking, and sometimes this sounds like a pop, and other times it can sound like the lake is singing.

Ice can also look different. Some (like Abraham Lake in Alberta) is known for it’s frozen bubbles, while others flex so much while freezing that the ice breaches the surface into what look like frozen waves.

While we are on the topic of ice, crampons/ice cleats. Crampons are spikes that attach to your boots, and people here use smaller ones just for walking the dogs. They bite into the ice, making you less likely to slip. They are not a new invention, either. They have found archeological evidence of them that are thousands of years old in different places around the world.

Sounds:

If it is very cold out, sounds are louder. This is one part because there are no leaves on the trees, but also because noise travels through cold air easier. Both these are why any sound (such as the crunching of snow) can seem so loud in the winter.

Alternatively, the snow can muffle sounds (it is an insulator) but only to a certain temperature. This insulation can make the world around you seem almost unnaturally quiet as it muffles any surrounding sounds.

So basically, mildly cold with snow means muffled sounds, while very cold means traveling sounds.

Multiple Socks:

If you are hiking in the winter, it is recommended that you carry at least three pairs of socks to change into at some time. The reason? Your feet will still sweat even if it’s cold, and that sweat can freeze. As a general rule, if your feet start getting cold, consider changing socks.

Boots Near The Fire:

In movies, characters always put their hands near the fire, and that does happen. It is not just the hands, though. People often sit with their boots near the fire and they may start to steam as the ice and snow melt.

This can be so tempting, that there is normally that one person in the group who accidentally melts the rubber of a boot by putting it too close to the fire, or by resting their boot on the metal rings that some campsites have. While we were sleeping in lean-to’s, one kid even scooted too close to his fire in his sleep, and woke to his whole boot melting. It melted so bad, his boot had to be duct-taped together or else they would send him home.

Since people in the past would not have rubber/plastic on their boots, they would react differently to the fires, but you can bet people in the past did the same.

Pack Sled:

If the snow is deep, you may see people (especially skiers and snowshoers) with a sled that has their pack in it. This is to help take some of the weight off you, which stops you from sinking as far in the snow.

Little Modern Details:

Shoveling the Walks

It’s a silly detail, I know, but it is never in books or movies. Here, you have to shovel your walks by law, but there are two other reasons as well. You need to keep the snow from piling up over your boots, and also to keep your vehicle from getting stuck. For this, people either own a shovel or a snow-blower, then put salt or gravel over the icy spots.

Our homes here are built with a roof overhang to keep snow and such from piling at the door, but homes that are not so lucky (such as places that don’t normally get snow) or homes that face towards the wind, might end up being snowed in if they don’t keep up with shoveling.

Prep your vehicle.

In movies and books in cold places with a storm, the hero jumps into the car and rushes away. In real life, they wouldn’t be able to see out the windows. The real process: Start your vehicle about 10min before leaving. While you wait for it to warm, brush off the snow and scrape ice from the windows.

If your character is in that much of a rush, they can put the window down (if it is not frozen) and stick their head out the window while they drive(100% not recommended lol. You can’t even use a seatbelt if you do this).

Fighting for the Register:

If you are a kid and you come in with wet boots, the fight for the spot over the heat register is on! Those with the lucky spot will have far drier and warm boots or mittens for next use.

Dead Batteries:

If it is really cold out and you have something like a phone with you, you had better keep it in your inside pocket(most winter jackets have them) closest to your body. If not, even a full battery can completely die out in record time. Batteries simply are not made to handle extreme cold. They sometimes turn on again if you warm them up, but other times you will have to plug them in and charge them.

[toastytoaster22]

COLD WEATHER TIPS FROM SOMEONE WHO LIVES WHERE IT’S COLD:

I always see posts about layering clothing, but there are so many more creative ways to help keep you warm if you don’t have a lot of warm clothes. But first, a note on layering clothing:

-Your underlayer is your WICKING layer. That means it is a layer specifically to absorb the moisture your body produces. DO NOT USE COTTON AS A BOTTOM LAYER. Use merino wool if possible, but other good substitutions are nylon, polyester and rayon. 

-Your middle layer is for insulation. You want AIR POCKETS in there, NOT tight fitting clothes. This is where you want to put your fluffy sweaters, your fleece, down, fur, flannel, or vests. If you do not have these, you can substitute with multiple layers of long sleeve shirts.

-Your outer layer is for keeping the cold away from your body. If you do not have a jacket, you can put on your thickest piece of clothing and then a raincoat over it. Windbreaker if you have one. 

ALSO

-Jeans are the absolute worst at holding heat. Use only as a last resort. 

-You can’t really ever have too many layers on your feet. Alternate tucking your layers of pants into your layers of socks to keep your ankles warm!

-Wear a hat OVER a hood if it will fit! This will keep your ears warmest.

TAKE OFF/OUT ANY AND ALL JEWELERY/PIERCINGS

-If you have a medical bracelet, DO NOT REMOVE IT. If you can, tuck a layer of clothes between it and your skin.

NON-CLOTHING TIPS:

-Raid your recycling. Gather all cardboard boxes and break them down so that they are flat. Put them on the floor to add more layers between you and the cooling house. Newspaper will also serve the same purpose.

-In an emergency, you can also layer newspaper between clothing layers. Don’t worry about looking stupid if you’re staying warm.

-If you have a tent, set that sucker up in whatever room you have decided to stay in. Stay in it and keep it zipped shut as much as you can, but do NOT cover the vent at the top. You can put the rain fly up, but make sure there is circulating air for you to breathe.

-You are probably not going to feel very hungry at times. DO NOT STOP EATING OR DRINKING. Digestion produces a lot of body heat and the food will give your body energy to keep itself going.

-The best foods are heavy and full of carbs and proteins. Eat nuts, eggs, pasta, meats, and beans. If you are on a diet, now you’re not. If you’re vegetarian... bulk up on those pastas and nuts.

-Try not to sweat. If you are finding yourself getting damp, take off the outer layer just until you start to cool slightly. Then redress! Your bottom layer should dry quickly, and being wet is dangerous.

-On that note, STAY ACTIVE. You are probably going to want to hunker down and snuggle up, but that will make your muscles cramp. Every 15-20 minutes do something that gets you up and about. Walk circles in the room, do a couple jumping jacks, stretch, whatever. Just enough to move some blood around your body. Don’t get sweaty or out of breath, it’s just a little movement.

-CHAPSTICK. ON YOUR LIPS. ON YOUR NOSE. ON YOUR EARS. ON YOUR KNUCKLES. Don’t let your extremities get dry or cracked.

SIGNS OF HYPOTHERMIA:

-Uncontrollable shivering -Slurred speech -Confusion or memory loss -Dizziness or lack of coordination -Inability to be woken from sleep

CHILDREN AND INFANTS!!!! I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH.

-Children WILL get colder before you. Make sure they are properly bundled up.

-If you need to breastfeed, put a blanket over the both of you and wait a few minutes for the air to warm before removing or shifting your clothing.

-DO NOT COVER AN INFANTS FACE. ESPECIALLY WHEN SLEEPING. Keep them tucked inside your own clothes when possible. As close to your heart and stomach as possible. 

-Put chapstick on children’s cheeks and clean their face often if they are crying or wiping at their nose. This will prevent cracked skin and irritation.

-Make sure your children are staying as hydrated as you! They are going to fuss and not want to drink cold things, but they NEED liquids.

SIGNS OF HYPOTHERMIA IN INFANTS AND TODDLERS ARE DIFFERENT:

-Shortness of breath  -Cold, red skin -Lethargy or listlessness

Finally:

CHECK ON YOUR NEIGHBORS. CHECK ON CHILDREN. CHECK ON THE ELDERLY. STAY SNUGGLED. STAY SAFE.

[paintedpeeta]

more toast baby head canons pleaaaaase<3

anon i probably shouldn’t i feel like everyone must be sick of my ramblings by now.... but i’m still gonna 😭

first of all i’m going to start with saying katniss loves her babies, okay? she loved them so much that even before they were born she couldn’t bare to think of them suffering or in pain or being subject to the horrors of the games the way she was (this is why she didn’t want to have children. not because she didn’t like kids not because she didn’t want them not to make a statement. she simply couldn’t stand the idea of not being able to protect her children, she’d rather never have children than let that happen.) and this is why it makes sense that she has children when the world is no longer like that and she feels safe and open to the idea. (to soothe herself to sleep on the quell beach she literally imagines a world where it would be safe to have peeta’s baby like you cannot make this up. it’s right there)

i could go on and on about that because i still see people saying the mockingjay ending didn’t make sense or was out of character or forced and like 🥲 but we move we move. people are allowed to feel however they like of course.

katniss would rely a lot on peeta to help her work through her anxiety during her pregnancy. the past 15 years was them learning how to take care of each other and even though this is a wee bit different he adapts super quickly to what she needs. panic when the baby moves and kicks is quickly calmed with talk of the nursery and name ideas, getting her cosy on the couch and playing with her hair until she’s settled again.

speaking of the nursery, they decorate it together as a project to keep her busy. of course he doesn’t let her near any of the strenuous stuff but she decides where the furniture is placed and he just absolutely dotes while she fusses about minor details to make sure their baby is comfortable. “I don’t want the sun to shine in her eyes first thing in the morning. can you move the crib over here instead?”

she spends most of her pregnancies in his big shirts because they’re comfortable and gentle on her skin and also she’s a stubborn wee shit who will not spend money on clothes that won’t fit in a few months. he finds it kind of funny because she’s so petite and has been all her life and has to adjust to getting round in the middle. she’s always like “you better not be laughing at me, mellark.”

sometimes he catches her singing to the bump or just gently talking to it. “papa isn’t going to let us into the nursery because he’s painting it today. he’s already so protective, i don’t even think i’ll be allowed to get near you.” peeta is of course listening in the hallway like 🥰 because that’s his girl.

this very quickly turned into pregnant!lark rather than toastbaby headcanons im very sorry anon i just think katniss everdeen loves her babies here are more about said babies

i’ve kind of spoken about this before but on their girls first day of school they are an absolute wreck. they walk her there together, holding her little hands and keeping up with her nervous chatter and they just hold it together until they get back home. peeta says something like “what if her shoelace comes undone she doesn’t know how to tie them yet” and then they both just start bawling (she can at least blame the hormones because of toastie 2 but peeta is just an emotional wreck over his baby girl). they’re the first parents at the gate to collect her when school is over, and you’d think they’d been apart for months the way they squeeze and cuddle her. she rides home on papa’s shoulders, pulling his hair something awful but he absolutely doesn’t mind. he changes the bakery schedule so he can be there to collect her every day, and he’s never once late to pick up his little girl.

haymitch stops drinking when their little girl is born. he’s been given the role of honorary grandfather and he wants to be around as long as possible for the sweet girl with dark hair and blue eyes who calls him grampy (it’s unknown if this came from the word grumpy or grandpa or both). peeta teases haymitch rotten everytime he babysits because he’s sitting there with a bow in his hair and his nails terribly painted having a tea party with a goose like 👁👄👁💅 we had fun today.

swimming lessons at the lake with mama and papa. toastie girl is very good but their boy prefers to goof off and splash and dunk his papa’s head under. he is, however, a natural at fishing. he can be quiet when he needs to be and his nets always seem to be full when he goes out with his mama. they noticed this talent when he was just a little toddler and yanked a fish out of the lake with his chunky baby hands (peeta is like “what the fuck. what did i marry into”)

peeta and katniss sometimes quietly observe their children playing together, their girl setting up a little fake bakery and using her baby brother and the cat as her only customers. baby boy is like, propped up on pillows because he can’t sit yet and girl is like “I think i’ve short changed you sir here is the rest of your money.” he has no idea what the hell she is saying but he is living for it. the cat bolts when she tries to get an apron on him. baby boy face plants onto his cushioned pen from laughing too hard and his sister is like “okay let’s not tell mama about that one.” even though her and peeta are watching from the door with teary laughs because that’s their babies!!

the toasties are fiercely protective of each other, even when they’re little kids. their girl holds her brothers hand and walks him to his classroom on his first day of school and she’s the first one to get to him if he falls over in the yard or gets upset. one day an older boy pushes past toast girl in the corridor and her little brother is sent to the principles office for launching a pebble at his head 💀 (katniss is in that office like “i really don’t see a problem here mr principle i really don’t. it hit him right between the eyes? nice shot, kid. i mean... bad.”.)

peeta sometimes takes a toastie with him to the bakery to give katniss a rest or a chance to get out to the woods by herself, and he’s always so proud to show off his kids. they just absolutely charm the customers and also they have a lot of fun when papa lets them messily decorate cookies and cakes.

the toasties are very familiar with everyone in the memory book, even when they don’t know what happened to any of them, they know auntie prim and grandpa everdeen and their uncles.

family cuddle time is no joke. sometimes the toasties just want a night in mama and papas bed, like if there’s a thunderstorm or someone had a nightmare, and their parents of course welcome them right in. peeta always ends up half hanging off of the bed with someone’s foot pressed into his back but he wouldn’t have it any other way, and he tucks them in again when he gets up to leave for work.

also cosy naps on the couch 🥺 peeta coming home to katniss snuggled up with one or both of their babies on her chest, carefully draping a blanket over them as he takes in the scene before quietly going to start dinner.

[melmonquartelz]

all of them go

FUCK

1. What is you middle name?

Carmel

2. How old are you?

15

3. When is your birthday?

30th Aug

4. What is your zodiac sign?

Virgo

5. What is your favorite color?

Pink, Blue and Rose Red

6. What’s your lucky number?

3 and 7?

7. Do you have any pets?

1 dog named Jupiter and he’s a fat demon

8. Where are you from?

I come from a land down under

9. How tall are you?

An amount of meters

10. What shoe size are you?

5-6

11. How many pairs of shoes do you own?

4

12. What was your last dream about?

uHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I THINK

It was the one where @duckstrashcan​ YOU WHERE LIVE STREAMING AND sorry I forgot your tumblr,, JASY WAS WITH U AND U WHERE BOTH IN THE LIVE I forgot wtf you where both singing about but I was in like some sand snow area and there was this random person with me and we where both throwing sand at each other for fun, then apparently I threw sand in their ear on purpose but I didn’t, they got very angry at me Vivi noticed this so she ended the stream and came over with Jasy to see what was happening And that person was about to hit me so then Vivi grabbed their arm and yelled at them to stop. They did and they just left mumbling Then it started hailing lol

13. What talents do you have?

I can commit exorcist

14. Are you psychic in any way?

I guess?? It’s weird tho

15. Favourite song?

Not sure but I’m currently listening to Forget Her

16. Favourite movie?

Coraline for sure from the top of my head

17. Who would be your ideal partner?

If I find you cute then,,,

18. Do you want children?

This is kinda weird I guess? But if I where by myself then no, if I where with someone then sure Of course if they’d like to have kids

19. Do you want a church wedding? 

Nahh, I’d prefer something like the beach on a sunset or somewhere fancy

20. Are you religious?

Yes and no? I mean I just go along with what you go by, if u don’t believe in God cool If you do believe in God? cool

21. Have you ever been to the hospital?

Yes but it wasn’t for my injures

22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law?

Nop

23. Have you ever met any celebrities?

Nop

24. Baths or showers?

Shower, but a bath every once in a while is nice Vibes in hot water

25. What colour socks are you wearing?

Currently not wearing socks but I was wearing black ones

26. Have you ever been famous?

I am

27. Would you like to be a big celebrity?

WORLD WIDE NO. DON’T LOOK AT ME,,,

28. What type of music do you like?

I like a lot of music, a lot of people say I have a good music taste so I guess I do I just listen to what my mood is

29. Have you ever been skinny dipping?

SO NO

30. How many pillows do you sleep with?

Currently 3/4 It used to be 15-20 tho

31. What position do you usually sleep in?

Any that’s not my stomach unless it’s a rare occasion that I am to sleep on my stomach

32. How big is your house?

Big? I got 2 story house

33. What do you typically have for breakfast?

Toastie But recently I haven’t been having breakfast because my stomach wants to commit bru....... I just haven’t been hungry <:( I do wanna eat so don’t scream at me

34. Have you ever fired a gun?

Do nerf guns count

35. Have you ever tried archery?

Yees, I used to have a bow when I was younger That was the inspiration for Awentiana and Archer

36. Favourite clean word?

P

37. Favourite swear word?

FUCK Idk I say fuck the most

38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep?

A day and that was recent...- Call me weak and I’ll end you, I’m not an all nighter

39. Do you have any scars?

Nop

40. Have you ever had a secret admirer?

Mayb

41. Are you a good liar?

NO...

42. Are you a good judge of character?

I think Personally I think yes I think

43. Can you do any other accents other than your own?

uHHHH I GUESS?

44. Do you have a strong accent?

Sadly no :( But I’m getting there

45. What is your favorite accent?

My own AUSSIE AUSSIE AUSSIE

46. What is your personality type?

No idEA but if ur cute and funnie then hello

47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing?

You think I remember the prices?

48. Can you curl your tongue?

Yes

49. Are you an innie or an outie?

Innie

50. Left or right handed?

Right

51. Are you scared of spiders?

No not really, but sometimes they’ll give me a little A

52. Favourite food?

CHICKEN

53. Favourite foreign food?

I don’t like foreign food that much <:(

54. Are you a clean or messy person?

Clean

55. Most used phrased?

*Audible screaming*

56. Most used word?

P

57. How long does it take for you to get ready?

Like 20-30 seconds if I have pants ready

58. Do you have much of an ego?

If I’m being funnie 

59. Do you suck or bite lollipops?

Succ

60. Do you talk to yourself?

All the time :>

61. Do you sing to yourself?

Yees

62. Are you a good singer?

I guess so?

63. Biggest Fear?

Don’t leave me pls,,,

64. Are you a gossip?

Not really? I’ll talk about tea but not really behind anyone’s back unless they’ve been an ass then I’ll mention or tell someone about it

65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen?

Can’t think of any from the top of my head

66. Do you like long or short hair?

Both are sexy

67. Can you name all 50 states of America?

NO...

68. Favourite school subject?

If drama counts

69. Extrovert or Introvert?

Middle?

70. Have you ever been scuba diving?

Yees

71. What makes you nervous?

If I haven’t pleased someone or drama started up around me?

72. Are you scared of the dark?

Yes and no, I still walk because I assert dominance over the demons

73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes?

I would like to yes so yes

74. Are you ticklish?

Yes so do NOT TOUCH

75. Have you ever started a rumour?

Nop

76. Have you ever been in a position of authority?

I do not think so?

77. Have you ever drank underage?

Nop and I do not want to

78. Have you ever done drugs?

Drug spray

79. Who was your first real crush?

Breathes

80. How many piercings do you have?

1 in each ear

81. Can you roll your Rs?“

Yes

82. How fast can you type?

Fast?

83. How fast can you run?

I can run pretty fast but I can’t last for long,,,

84. What colour is your hair?

Dark brown

85. What colour is your eyes?

Black hole jk Dark brown

86. What are you allergic to?

I am not allergic to anything

87. Do you keep a journal?

No

88. What do your parents do?

My dad’s retired and mother I think still works at a coffee shop at woolies

89. Do you like your age?

I just turned 15

90. What makes you angry?

Liars >:|

91. Do you like your own name?

Yes but I die if I say it out loud

92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they?

I dunno

93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child?

Child is child

94. What are you strengths?

I DUNNO...

95. What are your weaknesses?

✨My insecurities✨

96. How did you get your name?

Hey dad how did I ge-

97. Were your ancestors royalty?

I do not think so no

98. Do you have any scars?

Nop

99. Colour of your bedspread?

Blue If it’s what I’m thinking it is then blue

100. Colour of your room?

Beige 

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[mini-moongi]

Mistake || Namjoon

Genre: angst, fluff

Summary: You meet your soulmate in a crowded hallway when you, quite literally, fell for him. After spending years together, what happens when you find that your husband really wasn’t the one? 

A/N: Revisited my cringey old wattpad acc and I think this fic is actually salvageable, so I reworked it for y’all :)

────── ☽. ���₊∘ ──────

Senior year of high school was a pain in the ass. You tried to finesse your way through the crowd during the passing period, and finesse you did not. You bumped into multiple shoulders, but one was harder than the others, so you whipped your head around planning on telling them off. You’re met with a pair brown eyes hidden behind thick rims and left with whiplash. Words left his mouth, but you didn’t hear him as he was swept away with the flow of the crowd.

A pain shoots up from your wrist, and you tear your gaze away. There, printed in bold black numbers, was your soulmate timer. It had ticked to zero, but your soulmate was nowhere to be found. Where were they? This thought struck you with fear and panic, and you ended up tripping over someone’s bag on the ground. Let me tell you, panic combined with the anticipated fear of falling was definitely not a good combination.

That fall never came, and you find yourself held firmly in a strong hold. You opened your eyes, and it was like everything was in slow motion. His handsome face was inches away from yours, and he was smiling from ear to ear. “Are you falling for me right now? Because,” He repositions his arms around you, landing on your hips and pulling you closer to his body. “Something tells me you’re my soulmate.” And you really thought he was the one.

That was how you met your soulmate and husband, Jeon Jungkook.

Lazily waking up, you found yourself being hugged by his comforting arms. The ones he held you in when you first met. The clean white bed sheets rustled under your touch; they were always warm in the mornings when your body heat from the previous night made it feel like a toasty heaven. You snuggled underneath the blankets. 

Just a little longer, was usually the first thought as he kissed the back of your neck and held you closer. Jungkook was always a romantic, and so this morning felt no different than the last few hundred honeymoon-esque mornings spent together. You’d never been good at romance, but you didn’t have to when Jungkook was there. He was your soulmate, after all.

“Good morning, Honey.”

“Good morning, Baby.”

He groans at the thought of leaving your embrace, but nevertheless, he got up and dressed for work. A classic button up and dress pants. You smile softly to yourself when he hands you the tie, already knowing that he’d eventually call for you after fumbling around for a solid 15 minutes. Back in high school, and even now, he didn’t really seem like an office job kind of guy. You always imagined he’d do something more active, like being a trainer or a police officer, but here he was getting ready to sit behind a screen all day.

He fixed his hair in the bathroom while you headed out to make coffee in the kitchen. You handed him a cup when he emerges, glistening like a hot CEO. Kissing you on the cheek, he sighed a small “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you called out after him as he rushes out the door. “Have a good day at work! See you soon!” Tonight was date night, so it was okay when he didn’t spare you another glance. It was okay when he never waved goodbye, and it was okay because he was your soulmate.

He usually came home at five, but five turned into six, and six turned into seven at night. You decided to text him, making sure that everything was okay.

You: hey are u ok or did u forget about date night lol

JK: I’m so sorry baby but my boss called me in

JK: Working late today :((

You: oh ripppp

JK: I’ll eat the left overs of whatever u get for dinner tonight

You: ok I’ll be at the library if u come home early

He was always busy nowadays, but you had to admit that any job was tough if you didn’t love it enough. He tied himself down in order to support the relationship; your freelancing job as a journalist wasn’t enough for rent. You knew Jungkook always dreamed of bigger, more important jobs, and sometimes you wished you could take his place instead. Maybe he’d be happier then?

As soon as you put your phone down, your wrist twitched. The familiar pain lingering from the shock. You looked down with the same panic and fear rising in your chest. There they were. One thing was different, though. The old black numbers were red, actively ticking away. It said that you’d meet your soulmate in 000:00:59:58. In less than an hour? But you’ve already met the love of your life, this wasn’t possible.

Then it dawned on you. You’d read a couple of blogs about it once when you were researching for your job. It’s possible to end up with the wrong soulmate, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Plenty of people who didn’t meet their true soulmate end up in love with someone else and live a full life. The problem happens when one of them meets their true soulmate and falls out of love. When that happens, fate resets your timer in red, like a warning sign. 

These were always rare cases, so you didn’t think it would ever apply to you. Yet here you were, staring at the ticking red numbers. How could you have let this happen?

The constant late hours, the excuses, rashes, the perfume? For heavens sake, he called you by a different name! You quickly pulled yourself together and huffed out of the door. Now that you think about it, did he call you by his soulmate’s name? You growled in frustration just imagining him kissing his soulmate instead of you, instead of telling you the truth. He was a mistake, and to think... you married that son of a bitch.

Without realizing it, you were standing in front of the library. It wasn’t too far, but had you really driven the whole way without noticing? You took a deep breath in and walked through the door. The familiar quiet was calming, unlike the mess you seemed to have hurled yourself into. You settled your things at an open table and walk off to browse the new releases. Your finger grazed loosely over the spines of the books while you skimmed through titles. Suddenly, your shoulders bumped into someone who was reaching for a book. Your wrist buzzed again, the frozen red zero glaring at you.

When you looked back to tell him that you were sorry, your words got caught in your throat. His honey brown eyes were wide in hidden behind thick rims; lips parted in surprise. He seemed to be unaware of his attractive physique. All of his tall, well-built, golden skinned physique. The longer that you two stood gawking at each other, the more his face heated up; poor boy was flustered. His adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed down some of his shock. A smile formed on his lips, revealing dimples that so beautifully framed his face. 

You couldn’t take it any longer. No more lies, no more heartbreak, and no more Jungkook. Before you could register what was happening, your lips were on his. He was still for a moment, but suddenly his hands were finding its way around you and left no room to breathe in between kisses. It was passionate and hungry; you longed for more, but his glasses held you back.

“....hey to you too?” He chuckles softly,” I’m Kim Namjoon, thanks for asking.” The stranger pulled away from you enough to look you in the eyes once more. A sigh of relief left his (now swollen) lips. “I’ve been waiting to meet you again for so long.”

“Oh my god I kissed you.” The whole situation finally clicked in. As sweet as this whole ordeal was, you still had a life outside of this Kim Namjoon guy. What were you thinking? “I... I kissed you? I’m so sorry,” you stammer. “It was a mistake. I’m sorry, I have to go.” You stumble out of his warm embrace as you frantically look for an exit. You saw sadness wash over his face, and it hurt you so much to leave, but you had to. No matter how much your body screamed at you to turn around, to hug him, to love him, you couldn’t. In your hurry to leave, you also left the stack of books you planned to check out.

You made it a couple of steps outside of the library when a hand gently wraps around your wrist that kept you from your grand escape. “Please, at least tell me your name?” Oh god, even his voice had to be attractive, didn’t it? Your vision was blurry from the oncoming tears, but you looked at him one last time. If only to get a glimpse at the man you were supposed to be in love with. 

“I’ve been alone this whole time just waiting for you,” He pleads. Namjoon’s thumb glides over the well-worn ring on your finger. “I can feel it; your wedding ring. I know it’s hard, but please, tell me the name of the one I love.”

When you got home, dinner was the last thing on your mind. You just climbed into bed, hoping to never wake up again. Much to your dismay, the morning rays beamed in your face. Your eyes feel swollen and a massive headache enveloped you. You feel Jungkook’s warm lips press against the back of your neck, and in an instant, you were wide awake. Memories of Namjoon clouded your mind. You felt sick to your stomach, and you couldn’t stand the thought of being in the same bed with Jungkook anymore. You didn’t bother to say a word before you left the bed, hoping to ease your worries over a cup of coffee.

“Y/n honey, are you feeling okay?” Left dazed and confused, Jungkook clambered off of the mattress following after you. “There wasn’t any dinner left when I came home. That is unless... you ate it all?” He says.

His smile wasn’t reciprocated, so he dropped it. He comes up behind you in a groggy embrace with his head resting on top of yours. The empty silence was filled only by the sound of the coffee machine. He sniffs your hair, a once soothing habit turned uncomfortable. Thoughts about Namjoon doing this with you flipped your stomach inside out and upside down. On the other hand, Jungkook doing this with someone else seemed to also leave a volatile reaction in the depths of your heart. 

“Jungkook, do you still love me?” Your voice trembled as the question hung in the air.

Silence was met with more silence, and you felt Jungkook’s body tense under your question. A sigh escapes him,” Y/n I... I’m sorry.” He let go, letting the cold replace his warmth. You missed his touch, but you know that if he held you again, the deep hatred building inside of you would only grow.

 “I didn’t think you would find out this way.” His fingers combed through his dark hair as he slumped onto the barstool next to the counter. In what way were you supposed to find out?

“Just tell me how long.” Your cold response struck fear in him, for he only knew your kind words. The contrast was too jarringly different for his liking; it was like you were a stranger again. The coffee flbflbsksks and started pouring into the pot. 

“A year.”

The rest of the day was spent alone.

Divorce papers were filled out, you gave away the ring, and lastly, you said good by to your high school sweetheart. The place you moved into was closer to the library; walking distance more acceptable to your business and pleasure. You remembered you haven’t gone by the library since you met Namjoon, and decided it was time to pay a visit.

Upon reentering, you realized that there were books you forgot to check out in your rushed escape. The same table you sat at was wiped clean and empty; no books from your list. You walked back to the sections where you first stumbled upon them and time seemed to slip past you. Of course, you’d made the mistake of retracing your steps.

“Y/n?” A voice called out gently, as if any sudden movement would set off a bomb. Panicked and anxious, you whipped your head around to meet the same eyes you missed. The tall figure, dimple smile and all, walked towards you. “Are you okay? The ring...” he sees your bare hand, and takes it in his. “You didn’t... I.. I’m so sorry; it’s all my fault.” 

Before you let dejection sink into the depths of his soul, you interject. “No! No, it’s not your fault I uh,” the nerves in your body were currently going nuts. “Honestly, It was a long time coming.” Your laugh was shaky, but it helped calm Namjoon’s fidgeting. “...Is it weird I want to hug you?”

Namjoon wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer. His cologne wormed its way inside of your mind as you inhale deeply. His warmth was like a sun’s ray, filling you with nothing but peace and happiness. Your head is buried in his chest as you mumbled out,”I’m sorry.”

“What matters is that you’re here now, right?” He smiles at your nod in response. Namjoon held your face in his palms and kissed you softly on the forehead. “Let’s check out some books, and then maybe grab some lunch? It’ll be my treat.”

“I’d like that.”

────── ☽. ✧₊∘ ──────

A/N: ....where can I meet fanfic Namjoon 😳😳

[bush-viper-cutie]

“The Three Broomsticks” || YEAR 3 – Ch.20 (HP au)

                              Chapter List

<-- Last Chapter                          Next Chapter -->

Day posted: 9/15/2020

Word count: 2, 706

Relationship: EVENTUAL severus X oc (slow burn)

Rating: E for everyone

Warnings: none

-----

A/N: This is my first fan fic I’m writing mainly as a way to practice. This is a retelling of the hp books with an inserted character. Although most every character will be written about, this is mostly for the pro snape fandom. Please do not fear, although this is a severus x oc story, it is an incredibly slow burn as I do not intend for them to get together at all until after the final book events. Chapters will be posted twice a week.

This derivative work follows the events of the Harry Potter books by Jk Rowling and is intended as a fun way to practice my writing. Thank you for reading :D

-----

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

Heather stepped out into the road outside of Honeydukes and jumped behind Harry and Hermione, shielding her face from the whipping wind and stinging snowflakes being thrown around them. They quickly ran down the street and entered the tiny inn before they froze in the blizzard.

The bartender woman smiled at them as they entered and went back to serving a loud group of wizards in the back, calming them down with another round of drinks and chips.

“Butterbeer’s two sickles.” Ron opened his hand.

They stuffed their hands in their pockets and pulled out the coins before making their way to a corner table while Ron got the drinks. They slipped in beside a Christmas tree and sat at the table. Heather looked out the window at the blizzard and shivered in her chair.

The inn was nice, far nicer than the Leaky Cauldron, and cozier too. There was a warm fire next to the bar and the heat radiated all the way to their back table in waves that followed the flames.

Ron came back holding two tankards of butterbeer in each hand and sat down next to Heather. “These’ll thaw us down.”

Heather slid her tankard in front of herself and hummed happily, keeping her hands on the warm wood and feeling the blood return to her hands. She tipped it into her mouth and drank the toasty liquid and set the tankard down with a clank.

“That’s amazing!” It was the most delicious drink she’d ever tasted. Better than eggnog even, and she loved sneaking sips from the Dursley’s eggnog cartons.

Now that their lips weren’t so frozen, Hermione reminded them of why they were there.

“Right… So,” Harry started, looking around. He leaned in and waited for them to do the same. “Fred and George gave us a map that shows all the secret passages out of Hogwarts.”

Ron’s jaw dropped. “They what?”

“They said they didn’t need it anymore, having memorized it all and everything,” Heather said quickly, seeing the face of betrayal Ron was making.

“It’s a secret map too, enchanted to look like normal parchment and everything. It’s really amazing.” Harry avoided Hermione’s eyes when speaking, seeing the look of shock wash away and concern replace it.

Hermione turned to Heather. “You’re going to turn that in immediately, aren’t you?”

Heather pressed her lips together, knowing that would be the right thing to do, if only she didn’t find that map incredibly useful, especially since it had come in handy once before and would come in handy way more, now that she was used to the idea of sneaking around the castle. “Well…”

“Well what?” Hermione demanded. “Do you three have any idea how dangerous that map is right now?” She lowered her voice, “With Sirius Black walking around TRYING to get in?”

“Succeeding, remember. He doesn’t need that map,” Ron reminded them.

“Exactly. Besides, if I handed it in, I’d have to tell on Fred and George. I’m sure Filch realized it was gone and would ask me where I got it. They’d get in trouble.”

Heather nodded in agreement, but knowing that was a horrible excuse. “And, Hermione, do you really think Professor Dumbledore doesn’t know about any of these passages? He knows everything about the castle – ”

“Except the Chamber of Secrets,” Hermione crossed her arms.

“R-right… but that’s different…” she bit her lip and looked to Ron for help.

“Uh,” Ron started. “A-and they came in through Honeydukes! We’d’ve heard about a break-in there if he knew about the secret passage they took.”

They all looked at Hermione who did not seem very happy but couldn’t argue against all of them.

Ron finished the discussion by pointing to a notice posted to the window, reminding them all of the dementors roaming around the village after sundown. “He’d have to break into Honeydukes during the day or risk getting caught by those things at night.”

Heather gasped suddenly, as she spotted emerald green robes walk past the window. There was a rush of air that pulled on their hair as the door opened with a ding of the bell and closed behind Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, Hagrid, and Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic.

Ron and Hermione pushed Harry and Heather under the table, hiding them from view. Heather watched their feet walk over to the bar, turn, and walk towards them. She heard Hermione whisper ‘Leviosa’ at the Christmas tree, levitating it several inches off the ground. Heather quickly took out her wand and whispered ‘Mobiliarbus’, helping Hermione move it over to cover their table.

Through the thick lower branches of the decorated tree, she saw four sets of chair legs move back at the table right besides theirs and heard creaks as they all sat down in their seats. A pair of sparkly high heels came clacking down to them.

“Gillywater, Minerva?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Four pints of mulled mead?”

“Ta, Rosemerta,” said Hagrid.

“Dry cherry soda?”

“Thank you, thank you!” Professor Flitwick squeaked.

“Your rum then, Minster.”

“Rosemerta, thank you m’dear. Won’t you take a break and join us? It’s lovely to see you again.”

“I’d love to, Minster.” There was a final thump and another chair got pulled back. The sparkly heels moved in front of the chair legs one at a time and with a creak of the chair, Rosemerta sat down.

It was the last weekend of term for the teachers too, and it looked like they were going to enjoy their time in Hogsmeade with the rest of the students. Heather looked to Harry, both knowing this meant they’d have little to no time to make it back to Honeydukes before it closed at sundown.

“What brings you down here, Minister?” said Rosemerta.

There was a pause and in a hushed tone, Cornelius Fudge responded. “I’m on the business of Sirius Black, m’dear. You heard what happened up at the school on Halloween, did you?”

“There’s been rumors.”

“If by rumor you mean Hagrid…” Professor McGonagall sighed.

“Is Black really still in the area? Is that why you’re down?”

“I’m absolutely certain of it.”

Hermione lightly kicked them after hearing the Minister’s words.

“Which means the dementors will be staying,” Rosemerta sounded annoyed. “They searched my pub twice last week – scared nearly everyone away.”

“I am sorry about that, m’dear. I don’t like them any more than anyone else does – those awful creatures – but they are necessary to keep everyone safe. I’ve just met a few and, well they’re in quite a mood. Dumbledore won’t let them in the castle and – ”

“And why would he?” Professor McGonagall cut in. “How can we teach with those horrifying things floating around above our heads? You know how many wizards experience severe reactions to them. Let alone young students.”

“Oh absolutely could not teach with them in my classroom,” Flitwick agreed.

“Yes. But however true that is, the dementors serve a purpose. They protect from something much, much worse. Remember what Black’s capable of.”

“We remember,” came Hagrid’s somber voice.

“I still can’t believe it. All these years and I just can’t,” Rosemerta sighed. “Sirius Black… of all people? I remember him and his friends back when they went to school… If you’d’ve told me any one of them could turn to the Dark Side I’d’ve said you had too much to drink.”

“You know he’s far worse than people realize.”

“What’s worse than murdering all those people, Minister?”

“You remember his best friend, don’t you, Rosemerta?” Professor McGonagall asked.

Rosemerta laughed. “How could I not? They were joined at the hip! Thick as thieves those, two. There was never one in here without the other. Oh, and they were the funniest pair of kids I’ve ever had in here. Quite the double act, those two… Sirius Black and James Potter… What boys they were.”

Heather choked on her breath. She squeezed her mouth between her elbow and coughed. She couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. She stared at the sparkly heels and shook her head.

“A couple of troublemakers those two, but exceptionally bright – very bright minds. They were the ringleaders of their little gang. Those four…” Professor McGonagall trailed off.

“They were all good as brothers,” Professor Flitwick added.

Professor McGonagall continued. “Inseparable. He was best man at James’ wedding… In fact, James made Sirius godfather to his children.”

Rosemerta’s gasp echoed that of Heather and Harry’s. Why hadn’t they been told any of this? That’s why everyone was so weirdly intense about it all around them. That’s why Mr. Weasley thought they’d go looking… Because Sirius Black was they’re father’s best friend.

“Can’t imagine how that’d torment them to know,” Hagrid murmured.

“Because Black was on the opposite side as James? Black was in league with You-Know-Who?”

“Worse, m’dear. Far worse,” Fudge spoke up. “The Potters knew You-Know-Who was after them. Dumbledore had many useful spies, and one of them tipped him off about it and he immediately alerted the Potters. He told them their best chance at hiding from You-Know-Who was the Fidelius Charm.”

“What’s that?”

“The Fidelius Charm,” Professor Flitwick put on his teaching voice. “Is a complex spell that conceals a secret inside of a single, living soul. The information is hidden inside that person and is impossible to find… unless that secret keeper chooses to divulge it. As long as the secret-keeper never opens their mouth, the information could be right under your nose and you’d never find it in your lifetime or after.”

“The Potters made Black their Secret-keeper then?” Rosemerta whispered.

“Of course,” Professor McGonagall tapped her foot. “Naturally. Dumbledore offered to be the Secret-Keeper for them… but James told him that Black would rather die than reveal their location, that Black said he’d go into hiding for them… Dumbledore was still worried, however.”

“Did he suspect Black?” Rosemerta asked Heather’s question.

“He suspected someone among them – someone close to them – was keeping You-Know-Who informed. Everywhere the Potters hid, Death Eaters were not far behind.”

“And yet he insisted on having Black as his Secret-Keeper?”

“He trusted him,” whispered Harry.

Heather turned to him and stared into his eyes. He was too focused to notice.

“He did,” Fudge said slowly. “That only lasted a week of course… Just a week after the Fidelius Charm was performed… Black turned them into You-Know-Who sometime that week. Of course, little did You-Know-Who know that’d he’d meet his downfall facing little Harry Potter. All weak and powerless, he fled and died who knows where. With no master, Black was put in a very serious position. He was a traitor with nowhere else to go.”

Hagrid growled. “I met him that day. I musta bin the last to see him! I went down to rescue Harry an’ Heather from their house. It was me what took them to safety. I’d gotten there, seen all that ruin an’-an’ their parents lyin’ on the floor in front o’them… Harry with a big gash on his forehead. Then here comes Sirius Black, in that flyin��� muggle motorbike. He was all white an’ shakin’ in his boots, he was. AN’ I COMFORTED THAT MURDERIN’ TRAITOR!” Hagrid roared.

“Shhhhhh.” Professor McGonagall kicked him under the table.

“He wanted them, y’know. He asked me for them. But I said no. I’d had me orders to get them to their aunt and uncle’s house. He gave me his bike ter use. Said he wasn’t needin’ it no more.”

“It would have been too easy for the Ministry to trace,” Fudge said.

“At least the Ministry caught him next day,” Rosemerta said after a long pause.

“If only we had. One of their friends, Peter Pettigrew got to him before we did. Furious at him for betraying them. Fought Black as soon as he found him…”

“He had always been a poor duelist,” said Professor McGonagall heavily.

“Took a team of highly trained Hit Aurors from Magical Law Enforcement to take him down. I was a junior Minister in the Department of Magical Catastrophes… It was a sight to see. The giant crater and Black standing there… right in the center standing over bloody robes and… the remains.”

There was a long pause.

“Well, there it is, m’dear. Took twenty squad members to bring him into Azkaban, where he stayed for twelve years.”

“But he must be mad now, spending all that time in Azkaban.”

“You’d think that. No, I met him my last visit to Azkaban… Everyone else normally sits in their cell, muttering wildly to themselves, rocking back and forth, staring at the walls… Not Black. He spoke to me quite clearly. So normal, it was unnerving. He asked for my newspaper, ha! Must’ve been bored… How he managed to stay sane is beyond me. He was the most heavily guarded… dementors posted outside his door and barred window day and night.”

There was another pause and a clink of glass on wood.

“Minister, if you’re dining with the Headmaster today, we should get going,” said Professor McGonagall.

One by one they all got up and pushed in their chairs. Professor McGonagall’s emerald green robes swung back into place just at her ankles and slowly everyone but Rosemerta left the inn.

There was a flurry of snow that had blown in as the door swung closed, and Harry and Heather stayed sitting there in shocked silence. Heather was shaking her head, unbelieving everything they’d just said. She pushed everything away, hating it all. She hated knowing about her parents and their past, hating thinking they existed without them.

They were names and words, sounds without meaning. And now she knew her father had a best friend, and a group of loyal friends… and he was a troublemaker and a brilliant wizard and… he’d trusted his bestest friend with his life… and the life of his family… ‘Quite the double act, those two’… She shook her head again.

“Heather?”

“Harry?”

Heather and Harry looked up at Hermione and Ron, poking their heads down to check on them. The tree had been moved back and it was clear to come out. They sat back in their seats and sipped the butterbeer in silence. Ron and Hermione never spoke a word the rest of the time.

“We should head back,” Harry pushed his empty tankard away.

Everyone nodded and they slowly got up. They exited the Three Broomsticks and ran back to Honeydukes. They were told they were closing soon and the first chance they could, Heather and Harry snuck back down to the cellar, leaving Ron and Hermione standing worried and awkward alone at the door.

The tunnel walk back to the castle was quiet between them. She knew Harry had a million questions and wanted to talk to her. He kept glancing at her as they walked in the light of their wands, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the rocky ground.

When they were younger, she had always rejected the idea that their parents had died in a car crash. She’d told Harry stories about how they were simply dust clumps come to life for the sole purpose of annoying the Dursleys. And now she couldn’t stop thinking of two young boys running around Hogwarts, throwing dung bombs in the halls and getting yelled at by Filch. About a boy that looked very much like Harry, wearing ruby red robes and flying around in the Quidditch Pitch. About people laughing at his jokes.

She was brought back from her thoughts by Harry asking for the spell to open the witch up again. She mumbled the spell and let him lead her out.

In no time at all she was lying on her bed, face buried in her pillow, trying not to think about what James Potter would have been like as a father. He was a bright wizard… would he have been proud of her? She crawled under the covers and stayed there through dinner.

In the end, she decided it made no difference. She closed her eyes for bed as the other girls blew out their candles. If she didn’t care what her grandparents or great, great, great grandparents were like, why should she care what they were like?

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

                          Chapter List

<-- Last chapter                       Next chapter -->

-----

@lokilover-39

@halcyonrogers

@krazykatkay456

@lady-of-black-roses

@writingmi

-----

[x-bitterly-jittery-x]

@masterconstellation​ I finally wrote it! Sorry it took so long for me to get to, lol. And wow this ended up being a lot longer than I had expected, but I hope you like it!

Warnings: hypothermia, crying, cursing/swearing, Remus being Remus, panic attacks, some slight sexual innuendos, almost character death (he doesn’t die but ya know, gets real close :/) And that’s all I can think of, please tell me if you think I should add more!

Plot: Janus is cold blooded. On one particularly cold winter, everyone insists he come out with them to play in the snow. Janus doesn’t want to admit his weakness, so he goes out with them.. But what happens when hes out there too long?

Ships/pairings: Its kinda DRLAMP, but hardly any (if any) explicit romantic affection is shown. Roman and Remus are the only non-romantic pairing in here

It was around mid to late December. Christmas was on its way, and everything was cold. Patton and Virgil were making cookies, while Roman and Remus sat by the fire, discussing what extravagant statue they wanted to make out of snow this year. Logan sat with a mug of hot coffee in his hands, smiling fondly at the twins. Janus was the only one avoiding the festivities.

Janus hated winter and everything about it. The Christmas songs were annoying, and all the smells were too strong for him. The decorations were obnoxious and the stupid tree dropped its needles everywhere, often leaving just him and Logan to clean it up.

The only good thing was the excuse to wear big sweaters and drink tea. He did this all year round, but it was more accepted in the colder months. 

At the moment, Janus was in his bed and wrapped in all the blankets he could conjure. He was wearing a thick black turtleneck sweater, with his classic hat and gloves. On his bedside table was a large thermos full of hot, minty chamomile tea. The deceitful trait held in his hands a copy of The Neverending Story by Michael Ende. He had already read it many times, but it was one of his favorites. 

It was all quiet, warm, and peaceful, until-

“JANUS! Come outside with us! We’re having a snowball fight and me and Remus want you on our team!”

Janus jumped and hissed at the newcomer, before realizing it was Roman and getting his snake instincts to relax.

“Don’t just burst through my door like that Roman, I could have been naked for all you know.”

“Oh its nothing I haven’t seen before. Come on, there’s tons of snow! And its the kind that’s perfect for snowball fights!” Janus sighed tiredly and rubbed in between his eyes.

“Roman, we live in Florida. It doesn’t snow here.”

“In the mind palace it does! Now hurry up!” The taller man grabbed Janus’s wrist and pulled him out of bed and down the stairs. In the living room, everyone was getting their coats and snow gear on.

“Hey Jan Jan!” said Patton happily upon seeing the deceitful trait. “We’re gonna have a snowball fight and then eat some cookies!” Janus sighed. Patton knew he was here, now there was no way of getting out of it.

Remus caught sight of Janus and screeched enthusiastically. “Janny! Come on, me and Roman are gonna shove snow up someones ass!”

Patton gagged, and both Roman and Logan sighed.

After a few more minutes of playful bickering and Remus throwing shoes at people, they were finally ready to go outside. As they were walking out, Patton looked back at Janus. 

“Jan, that’s a lot of clothes. Don’t you think you’ll be kinda toasty?”

Janus was wearing two coats, two pairs of gloves (winter gloves over his normal ones) and three pairs of pants with thick, woolly socks and winter boots.

“I’m fine.”

“No, that’s too much. At least take off the extra pairs of pants.”

“Or all of them! “ Remus chirped from outside.

Patton sighed. “No, not all of them.”

Janus rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers, and the extra two pairs of pants disappeared. “There, happy now?”

Patton smiled and grabbed Janus’s hand, leading him outside. “Very”

The first 15 or so minutes were pretty uneventful. Janus stood near the door shivering in the cold. He summoned himself a scarf and wrapped it around his neck, the thick black scarf also managing to cover most of the bottom half of his face. Remus and Roman worked on making a small wall of snow to block out snowballs from the other team. Patton struggled to make snowballs while Virgil and Logan worked on their protective wall. When everyone was done, Remus and Roman called Janus over. Janus attempted to protest, but they insisted, so he gave in.

He sat down against the surprisingly sturdy snow wall, and pulled his knees up to his chest, trying desperately to keep warm.

It didn’t last long.

Janus was short enough that most snowballs flew over his head, but snow was still dropped on him, and as time went on the night got increasingly colder.

He was soon shivering badly, more than anyone really should be. His body was shaking an uncomfortable amount, but it went unnoticed by the preoccupied twins. 

They were only about 25 minutes into the fight when it all went wrong.

The fight lasted almost 45 minutes before everyone was tired and went inside. 

Logan followed the others in last in line, when he realized he hadn’t seen Janus go in. He turned back to the yard, and saw a dark shape leaning against Roman and Remus’s now tattered and worn-out wall of snow.

“Janus,” Logan called. He was met with silence. “Janus? The games over.” Not a sound.

Logan grew worried and walked towards the dark shape. “Janus..?”

From inside, the others heard Logan scream.

They ran outside and were met with a panicked Logan, holding an unconscious and very pale Janus.

“I-I found him like this!” Logan stuttered. “H-He wasn't moving, s-so I-”

“L-Logan, Logan, its gonna be okay.. just- just bring him inside, please” Patton said, to witch Logan responded with a nod and quickly brought Janus inside. They wrapped Janus in blankets and lay him by the fire.

After almost 15 minutes of watching Janus lay there unmoving, Remus finally spoke.

“I- I don’t think its working..”

Logan approached slowly and slid the gloves off Janus’s right hand and checked his pulse. After a few seconds his expression turned from serious and worried to more scared and sad.

“He’s cold to the touch, and his heart’s barely breathing..”

Patton gasped and started crying. Virgil was shaking and breathing heavily. Roman looked shocked and scared, but held Virgil and tried to calm him down. Remus stood up.

“I have an idea,” he said. “And I think this is one of the rare times its a good one.”

Five minutes later, a naked Remus was holding an also naked and still unconscious Janus as he stepped into the shower.

Remus had a high heat tolerance. Like, inhumanly. He could sit in boiling water and not get burnt. He had proposed the idea of holding Janus in a shower that would be too hot for any of the other sides to handle to speed up the process of warming him up. Virgil and Logan were hesitant at first, but it was the only plan they had. 

Remus stepped into the hot water, holding the small side close to his chest. Janus’s cold skin made Remus want to pull away, but he held tight anyways.

The others sat outside the bathroom door, waiting anxiously for them to come out. Roman went between pacing and taking turns with Patton to calm down Virgil. Logan muttered under his breath, trying to figure out the likelihood of their plan working.

It was almost an hour until they heard the water shut off.

A few moments later, Remus (still naked) walked out of the bathroom with a relieved smile on his face, holding Janus in his arms. Janus was wrapped in a large fluffy towel that Remus had summoned, he made it so that it would always be warm, as if it had just came out of the dryer. 

Janus was significantly less pale, and his breathing was soft but steady.

Everyone ran over and hugged the two tightly. Never had they been so relieved. 

They were all left with one question though.

“Why did he freeze like that?” Patton asked.

Logan sighed. “It’s so simple, we were all stupid not to realize it sooner. Janus hates the cold, and hes half snake, half reptile. Reptiles are cold blooded.”

It tool the others a second before it sank in.

“But, if he’s really affected by the cold like that,” Virgil asked, “why didn’t he just say so?”

“Well, I expect he didn’t want to disappoint you,” Logan answered. 

They all continued to stand there for a few moments before going to huddle up together on the couch and wait for Janus to wake up.

When he did, all he wanted to know was where his hat and gloves were.

[skywatch3rs]

A Sunday mushing adventure

One of the first questions I got from friends about being at a folkehøgskole was what we do on a day off. Often I'll take the opportunity to sleep in; living with a chronic illness means I need to make the most of the time I can rest. However, sometimes I use a free day to go on an adventure!

*** Sunday 17.1.21 – Sledding with Mailin

Sunday is always a free day, so we get to do whatever we want! Normally I have a long lie in, but one of my friends isn’t feeling well, so I’m taking his feeding shift today, so I’m up at 9 to get dressed and head to the dog yard. It’s a balmy -4ºC today, so I’m just wearing one layer of wool underwear under my thick hiking pants and wool sweater, snow boots, hat and gloves. Now that it’s too cold to leave water in the bowls all day, we feed the dogs a soup in the morning to make sure they stay hydrated enough; equal amounts of meat and kibble, mixed in with lots of warm water and left to soak for about 15 minutes while we scoop poop. Tequila and Tibia both pick the kibble out of their soup and then tip their bowls over, and spend the rest of the morning licking at the snow where the meat water spilled over (weirdos). Ami doesn’t like her soup, but happily chews on a ‘meatsicle’– the disk of now-frozen soup that was accidentally left in her bowl overnight.

After plenty of cuddles, the three of us who fed today head back to our dorms to change out of our “dog clothes” before breakfast. I realise this is possibly only the second time ever that I’ve been to breakfast on a Sunday! It’s 2 hours later than on a weekday, at 10am, and I am normally always either already out doing something or still asleep, depending on the weekend.

Today I’m heading over to my friend Mailin’s to run dogs with her at 11, so I change back into my dog clothes, putting on an extra layer of wool. Between the wind and the fact you’re mostly either sitting as a passenger or standing quite still on the runners, it’s always colder when you’re out mushing. For Christmas I got myself a new pair of felted wool boots and overshoes to wear when I mush, because my old snow boots weren’t warm enough for my feet– I have terrible circulation– so I’m excited to try them out for the first time! Mailin is a friend of a friend, and has become an unofficial mentor to me in the past few months. She’s a seasoned musher who lives directly across the road from the school, and most weekends and some weekday afternoons I go over to train the dogs with her. All of last semester we were using either her car or ATV because there wasn’t enough snow, so today is going to be my first sled trip with her! I’m also taking with me several bottles of coca cola and some chocolate, as a thank you for the four bags of mushing gear that no longer fits her that she gave me last week. There were some real gems in there, and I know she won’t accept any money for them, so payment in sugar it is.

Geizzi in her tshirt being used as a chin-rest by Uvja

This morning Mailin wants to take out the puppies on a run; she has 5 pups who are 10 months old now, so they can run shorter distances than the adult dogs. We harness up pups Rajapää and Sorbme along with adult dogs Geizzi, Uvja, Timo, Hulda and Lelu, and Mailin show’s me how to tie a slipknot– her way of securing the sled to a post before we start. At school we use a different system involving pulling a short, thick stick out of two interconnected loops, and I have to say I prefer the slipknot method. One of the incredibly valuable things about training with Mailin has been seeing alternative ways of doing things with the dogs, as it means I have some familiarity wider variety of techniques. Mailin trains her dogs to stay quiet while we harness them up, which means things take a little longer, as every time one of the puppies starts barking, we stop what we’re doing and wait for them to stop again before we continue. Once all the dogs have their harnesses on, we start bringing them up to the line, and that’s when the full force of excited barking is allowed to start. Even after 5 months of mushing, that sound still fills me with a rush of joy and adrenaline.

I settle myself in the sled– I’ve only driven one three times before, so I assume I’ll be a passenger today, though Mailin has said I might be able to drive in the future, which is an absolute honour, considering the standard she has for her dogs, and the trust involved. She pulls the rope to undo the slipknot, and we’re off! I always love training with her dogs, but it is vastly different being a passenger in the sled than sitting in her car with her as we trained the dogs last year. The trail out of her dog yard is bumpy and windy, including a part where we both have to lean as hard as we can to the left, to try not to tip the sled into a ditch as we go up a slope; she wanted to fill it in earlier in the season, but there hasn’t been enough snow to do so. We make it through the bend, and suddenly we are out on the frozen river which marks the border between Norway and Russia. The sun came back yesterday; it rose above the horizon for the first time since November, putting an end to ‘mørketid’ (dark time), and Mailin tells me it’s traditional to make a wish when you see the sun again for the first time. I wish I’d known that yesterday, I would have wished for more snow!

The stunning view from the sled, out on the Pasvik river

Mushing is always beautiful, but today is particularly gorgeous: the dogs running smoothly out on the frozen river, with the most spectacular sunrise/set happening in front of us. I honestly can’t believe this is my life now. Then, as if I wasn’t already feeling like the luckiest person in the world, Mailin asks me if I want to mush. I’m incredulous– she trusts me with this already?! But the trail is smooth and mostly straight, so it’s great for a relative beginner like me. I jump out of the sled, hop on the runners, and off we go again. Immediately, I’m struck by how much better my new boots are than my old ones: they’re wider, so I have more surface area to grip the runners, and thinner and more flexible in the soles, so I can feel what’s under my feet better. My toes stay toasty warm the whole four hours I’m out with Mailin, which is a record.

We mush down the river, past the house of the friend who introduced us, Anne. If I wasn’t terrified of letting go of the sled, I would have taken a picture to send to her, but I settle for just telling her later. Soon, we get to the point where we need to turn the team, which is where things get difficult. I assume Mailin will want to take over again, but she lets me keep driving. We are trying to get the dogs to turn to the left and loop around so we can go back, but our leaders, Geizzi and Uvja, are not having it. Tiny superstar Geizzi pushes Uvja over to the left when Mailin gives her ‘haw’ command, but Uvja just runs over to the next parallel trail, so I have to break, stop the team, and give the command again. We repeat this several times, until eventually Geizzi drags the team around by turning to the right– not what we wanted them to do, but at least we managed to turn the dogs finally! I then add to the slight chaos by not turning the sled fast enough– Mailin’s sled is longer than the ones we use at school– so I crash us into a tussock, and flip the sled for the first time. I’m mortified, both because I have tipped Mailin onto the ice, and because I instinctively let go of the sled when it tipped, something you should never ever do; if you’re alone and you let go, the team will just run off without you. Luckily everyone is fine, and Mailin doesn’t mind: “every musher tips the sled sometimes!”. I’m glad she is nonchalant about this, because a few kilometres later, as we head back towards her dog yard, I tip the sled again into the ditch she navigated so smoothly on the way out. Nevertheless, we make it back to the dog yard in one piece, and Mailin asks me if I want to go out again. I still have 2 hours until dinner, so obviously the answer is yes!

We unhook the dogs, take the two puppies out of their harnesses, and then harness up Roavvi and Koru. The third pup, Biekhan, and adults Toivo, Vandre and Storm had dog chiropractic sessions yesterday (yes, that is a thing!), so they aren’t going to run today, and neither is Ella, who is in heat. I wolf down a square of peanut butter flapjack and half a bottle of soda, then hop back into the sled to head back out onto the river. We take the same route out of the dog yard, and Mailin shows me up again by navigating the ditch perfectly, but she does have more than a decade of experience on me, so I don’t take it too hard. One we make it out onto the river, we turn left instead of right, taking the trail up towards where the river gets narrower, hugging the Norwegian edge of the ice. Just after the 5km turning point, Mailin lets me switch places and drive again, which results in me accidentally letting the team start before I have given them the command to; not a great habit for them to get into, but it is so beautiful out on the river that neither of us can be too annoyed. Mailin takes some pictures of me grinning like a loon while driving, and then I complete the hat trick of sled tips with a third and final plunge into that damned ditch. I really need to practice not letting go when I fall, which means I have to tip the sled more to practice, so at least today was a useful lesson in that!

For some reason, Mailin insisted on hiding under the sled bag while taking a photo of me driving the team

Back at the dog yard, we unharness the puppies, and move the adults back to their houses for a brief snack break of some tasty frozen horse meat. Mailin is going to take the adults out again for another 30km or so after she has a quick lunch, to try and get them up to about 60km today. If she was racing this year she would be doing 300km over the weekend, but with so many young dogs, and no Finnmarksløpet ambitions until 2022, a short 60km is just fine for today. After giving the dogs one last cuddle, we head into the garage for Mailin to find her old mountain skis, which I’m going to borrow for the next couple of months, since skis are so expensive to buy new, and she doesn’t use hers very often. Norwegians don’t really do politeness in the same way Brits do, so I try to reel in my instinct to offer profuse thanks, and just say one short sincere thank you instead.

Skis in hand, I walk back across the road to school, change back into normal clothes, and head to dinner. We have 4 meals a day at school: breakfast, lunch at 11:30, middag (a hot dinner) at 3pm, and kveldsmat (supper) at 7:30. I got used to it last semester, but now that I’ve been back in the UK for Christmas, it feels weird to be eating the biggest meal of the day in the middle of the afternoon. Food at school can be a bit hit and miss, but today it is finbif, one of my favourites! I have kitchen duty this week, so after dinner I head into the kitchen to help with the dishes, which takes me right back to working as a waitress. Finally I have a couple of hours of down time before I need to feed the dogs in the evening, so I re-shave my undercut, shower, call my grandma, and chill out with a book for a bit. Then it’s back to the dog yard, where we feed with just meat in the evening. It snows a little bit, which is sorely needed, as it’s been a bad winter so far. I go back to my dorm, change, head to dinner, do my kitchen duty, and collapse into bed to watch the US men’s nationals figure skating with a couple of friends before I head to sleep, ready for my first normal school day back after Christmas tomorrow!

[totallyrhettro]

Ravenvale, Chapter 15

Word Count: 2434 Rating: This chapter: PG; overall story: explicit Warnings: None Summary: On their way home from another case, Agent Seaborne and Agent Roach find themselves in the strange, fog-covered town of Ravenvale. Notes: Seaborne and Roach AU where, years after the events seen in the YouTube series, they manage to become FBI agents.

Also available on ao3

First Chapter Previous Chapter

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Roach kicked in another door. Seaborne plugged his ears so he wouldn’t flinch so hard this time, but it still startled him all the same. This was the eighth or ninth door they’d tried since they began a systematic search of the hotel’s second floor. Each room was identical to the last in both floor plan and furnishings. That is, they were all completely empty save for a single overhead light. Seaborne couldn’t believe that all the rooms had been emptied out since he and his partner reached this God-forsaken town; he had to assume they never had any furniture. It didn’t make any sense, but nothing did but, as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle once wrote: Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. The problem was, too much of this place was impossible.

“This place is a bust,” Seaborne told him, looking in on the empty room. “What do you expect to find?” Roach shrugged.

“I dunno,” he admitted. “Something.” He cross the small room to the window across from the door, much as Seaborne did before they started this pointless search. Unless the view from Roach’s room, this window didn’t face any of the houses, only the empty void behind the city’s limits. Beyond the thin, invisible pane of glass there was nothing but fog.

“If there was anything here, it’s long gone by now.” Leaning against the far wall, Seaborne folded his arms across his chest. At this point he didn’t care if they did find anything in his cruddy hotel. He wanted to find their car- any car, really- and they weren’t going to find it doing a room by room search in here. “Maybe there’s a police station in town,” he supposed, not hopeful. “They couldn’t have cleaned that place out.” The increasingly infamous ‘they’: a theoretical group of unknown size that seemed bent on completely messing with two unsuspecting FBI agents for some obscure reason. Seaborne hated that Roach had finally convinced him that there was a ‘they’, after all these years, but a conspiracy seemed to be the only explanation.

“I haven’t seen so much as a road sign,” Roach noted, peering through the mist as if he expected one to suddenly appear in contradiction. “And I doubt we’ll be able to find a map.” Pausing, he turned back to his friend, flicking the hair on the back of his neck. Seaborne wondered how the man hadn’t started going bald back there for all the times he did that. “I feel like we’re so close to something here. I just know it.”

“Well, not here, here,” Seaborne noted, somewhat humorlessly. Roach did not appreciate the joke.

“We can’t go chasing every dark shape we see,” he tossed back, with more anger than he meant to. Seaborne looked away, wishing they didn’t have to argue right now. “We don’t know what’s real and what’s not. We need to keep our heads and stick to what we can prove.”

“We can’t prove anything,” Seaborne muttered before he could stop himself. Roach wanted to snap back, but Seaborne was right. They had nothing right now; no leads, no proof, no car, no guns, no phones. They were completely lost in a fog, literally and figuratively.

“I know,” he sighed, crossing the room to stand next to his partner. He leaned against the same wall and their shoulders were right up against each other. In the chill of the room, Roach’s arm was a wonderful heater. Seaborne wanted to curl up next to the man, toasty and safe, but friends didn’t do that. Reluctantly he pushed away from the wall and stood a few feet away with his hands on his hips.

“I found a photograph in the library,” Seaborne blurted after a minute or so. He wanted to break the silence and for some reason that was the first thing that came to his head. Roach looked at him, curious and surprised.

“Of what?” he asked, wondering why his partner was choosing now to suddenly bring this up. At first he figured that Seaborne had just forgotten, but then he heard the nervousness in the man’s voice as he continued.

“It was a photo of us,” Seaborne explained, unable to make eye contact with his friend. If the photo was just a figment of his own imagination, he was embarrassed to admit what he had imagined. “In the camaro.” At the mere mention of their red coupe, Roach couldn’t help but think about his dream from last night, and the activities that had taken place therein.

“They were probably watching us before we even came to this town,” Roach concluded. He vowed to find out who was doing this when they got back home. He wasn’t going to let this one go. “Do you still have the photo? Can I see it?”

“I- It’s gone,” Seaborne managed, apologetically. “I don’t even know if it had been real in the first place,” he added quickly.

“They wanted you to see it.” his partner shrugged, as if he was stating the obvious. “They wanted us to know they had been watching us.”

“Maybe,” Seaborne faltered. He wasn’t sure if that theory could hold true; it hadn’t been a photograph of the past, it had never happened. Of course, Seaborne couldn’t tell Roach that. He already felt like he’d said too much already.

“Well we’re not going to find anything standing around in here,” he pointed out. This conversation was getting too close to revealing his inner secrets and he needed it to stop right now. “We need to check out the local houses, if only to question the the other residents.” He shrugged as if to ask if he wasn’t right and Roach nodded in agreement.

“Maybe we can at least find a car to take out of this place,” he proposed, standing straight as well. At the mere mention of a car Seaborne was suddenly hit with visions of him and Roach sitting naked in his camaro, and glanced out of the window, expecting to see a small face peering in. There was nothing there. He turned back right away but Roach had already noticed his partner’s movements. “What? What is it?”

“Nothing,” Seaborne replied, his statement half true. He dearly wished he had seen something, then they would have some sort of lead other than his own strange sighting. “Let’s just go.” Without another word he left the room, trying to focus on something other than what the photograph had shown him. Now was not the time to be thinking about Roach naked. After a moment or two Roach followed suit, chalking up his partner’s behavior to stress.

“I was done checking in here anyway,” he murmured to himself. Outside, back on the streets, the fog seemed denser than ever. The humidity was seriously messing with Roach’s hair now, causing the normally perfectly placed hairs to stick up in weird places. Running a few fingers through his dirty-blonde quaff left the hair moist and only slightly more in place, but it was better than nothing. Seaborne’s hair was somehow unphased by the humidity, though it was still quite damp. It was as if they had both stood in a bit of light rain for a few minutes. Their suits were in a similar state, leaving them with a rather damp feeling. What Roach wouldn’t have given to be back home, wrapped up in a blanket in front of his fireplace… maybe a cup of hot cocoa in his hands, Seaborne sitting next to him…

“I think it was this one,” Seaborne pointed out, interrupting Roach’s thoughts. He was pointing to one of the many houses that lined the streets and looked pretty much like any of the others. This one was a pale yellow with white trim. It was fairly nondescript with two floors, a two-car garage and large windows that were blocked by closed curtains.

“You sure?” Roach wondered as they sauntered over to the mailbox. It was black and unmarked.

“Nope,” came Seaborne’s curt reply. He wasn’t sure. All the houses looked so similar and he really didn’t think it mattered that much. They had to start somewhere. Roach shrugged.

“Good enough.” Strutting up to the front door, Roach searched for a doorbell. When he didn’t find one he settled for knocking a few times on the door itself. No answer. He knocked again before giving up and testing the door knob. He wasn’t sure if he should have been surprised or not that the door wasn’t even locked but, taking it as a stroke of luck, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The entryway was empty; a windowless room with a small closet and an overhead lamp that bridged the gap between the front door and short hallway. The walls were the purest white, the wooden floors much the same. Roach walked softly, trying to stay quiet lest whomever lived here would hear him. Seaborne followed close behind, equally cautious. He didn’t want a repeat of the library. Who knew what was living in these homes? He and Roach walked down the hallway before pausing at the end. Roach leaned around the corner, wishing he still had his gun at his side, not that he was certain a bullet would do anything against the illusions he’d already seen.

His eyes scanned the living room beyond, checking for hidden dangers before motioning to his friend that the coast was clear. It was more than clear. Like the rooms in the hotel, the living room was empty of furniture, as was the adjoining nearby kitchen. At least, he assumed it was supposed to be a kitchen. It was hard to tell without counters, cabinets or appliances.

“Just like the hotel,” Seaborne mused, stepping past his partner and into the large room. “Just an empty shell.” He glanced at the ceiling, the walls, the baseboards. “Not even electrical sockets.”

“Not that they would have worked anyway,” Roach pointed out, remembering his uncharged phone. “So much of this town is like a facade: outlets that don’t work, clocks without hands, rooms without furniture.”

“Windows without glass,” Seaborne added. Roach turned to see his friend sticking a hand through the frame of the room’s big bay window. Turning to look back at Roach, Seaborne and he exchanged glances as the taller man approached to test out the glassless window for himself. Like many things, it made no sense. If there was no glass, how was the fog outside kept at bay? Surely the curtains couldn’t be the cause. Roach thought back; had all the windows they’d seen been fake as well?

“Or it could be another illusion,” Roach countered, running the fabric of the curtains between his fingers. “Nothing in this town can be trusted.” He tossed the curtains aside before turning back to his friend. “I want to find the clues that will solve this mystery, more than anyone, but I don’t think I can without a clear head.”

“You think we’re still, what, drugged?” Seaborne felt his lungs fill with air, tasted breath on his tongue, felt it in his throat. It didn’t taste like drugs, had no scent beyond regular air.

“I think as long as we stay in this fog we can’t believe anything we see, hear, or touch.” Absently-mindedly he ran his fingertips along the scratch still on his cheek. “Even if it leaves a mark.”

“An illusion did that?” It was hard to believe, but so was everything else insane that Seaborne had experienced. If true, it would mean that neither of them could be safe from their own minds, their own imaginations.

“An illusion with an illusionary knife,” Roach clarified, remembering distinctly. Seaborne dearly wanted to hear more details about that. “It doesn’t matter,” Roach continued, as if reading his partner’s thoughts. “Look, I don’t know how far it is ‘til the next town, but I say we try to walk for it. At the very least we can maybe get away from this fog. They can’t have covered the entire state with it.” The logic was sound, but the application could be more difficult than just a stroll through the park. Still, they had to try.

After a brief search of the rest of the house, revealing only more empty rooms, Seaborne and Roach returned to the streets. The fog was still ever present, but neither of them could see more than five feet in front of their eyes. It was getting thicker with each passing minute. If they were going to leave, now was the time. Roach took Seaborne’s hand; he didn’t want to lose him in the fog. Together they stood at the side of the street, where the road met the sidewalk, exchanged one last nervous glance, and then… they started to walk.

They walked in silence, in a perfectly straight line, away from Main Street for several minutes. They passed house after house, block after block, with no sign of life anywhere. Not a single person or car passed their sight, only more of the same monotonous town. Seaborne was afraid someone was going to stop them, that some terrifying illusion would attack them, but nothing did. Roach was certain that the edge of the fog couldn’t be far and he was determined to find a way out if he had to walk a hundred miles. There had to be an end to this nightmare somewhere.

After walking for about an hour Seaborne cursed himself for not buying more comfortable shoes for this trip. The cookie-cutter houses had stopped awhile back and there was nothing but wide open spaces on either side of the road. Not that they could see very far; there could have been buildings not thirty feet away and they wouldn't have known. Without much of a view, he was looking down, focusing on putting one foot in front of another when Roach came to a complete halt beside him.

“This isn’t happening,” he whispered, falling to his knees. “This can’t be happening.” Looking up from his kneeling, distraught companion, Seaborne saw immediately what had his friend so distressed. There, not twenty feet away, piercing through the fog to glare at them both, was the insidious red neon sign of the hotel…. ‘Hotel’ it read. ‘Vacancy’. Somehow they had returned to where it all began. Seaborne sat down on the cold, hard asphalt beside his friend, all hope of escaping this ordeal abandoning his heart.

“They won’t let us leave,” he mumbled, shocked and dismayed. “We’re trapped here.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Next Chapter More Fics

[malodorousmalcontent]

Sixteen92 Review

Hi everybody, welcome to my Sixteen92 review, where I feel unnecessarily self-conscious about how many times I describe scents as 'perfumey'.

I've been sitting on these for a good couple... Weeks? Months? I don't know, but a fateful weekend came where I took a look at my exceptionally busy Notes file, and felt very sad, so I figured i'd knock a couple reviews off my list. Work through all this shit I still needed to review. And that brings us here! Hooray.

I'll be reviewing Kuro Lolita, You Who Swallowed a Falling Star, New Radio, Hydromancy, Telepathy, Mellifera, Vlad Dracul, Paper Moon, and An Excellent Day for an Exorcism.

Hold onto yer butts, folks, this one gets pretty long, here we go

KURO LOLITA (PERFUME OIL) || Black sandalwood, burning resins, straw, porcelain, delicate lace, wet stone, fog, wind-blown leaves.

This smells like a cold rainy fall day in a small southern gothic town, encompassed by farmland, with cobblestone streets and dotted with tiny run-down churches. Bales of hay are speckled around the area: leftover decorations from autumn festivities that happened a week or so ago.

...Just had to get that outta my system, onto the stuff that matters!

The first thing I get, punching me in the nose as soon as I put it on, is sandalwood and damp hay. It's a very warm, woody, dusty scent, with just a little bit of sweet acridness that makes me think there's a dry/decaying leaf note in this (I haven't double-checked the notes yet, so I only remember some of them), and enough petrichor to put the 'damp' in there. The burning resin note comes out after about 10 minutes of wear, and, boy, it's unmistakable: Sweet, with a kick, and a good amount of burniness to it. It smells dark. Like you just walked into one'a those imaginary churches and they were performing a sordid ritual in there, the chapel overrun with incense and candles.

Another 15 minutes, and the sandalwood fades, the resins mellow out some, and i'm mostly left with the hay and that gentle sweet smell of decay. The final note I smell on the drydown: leaves and cold, wet atmosphere. Really interesting atmospheric, evokes a lot of mental imagery.

tl;dr: Sandalwood at first, followed by burning, incensey, sweet resin that mellows out to hay and a decaying leaves note that is present throughout the whole wear. Dries down to leaves and cold, wet atmosphere.

RATING: 3.5/5. Nice, a very good atmospheric, but I feel like it's bordering overly complex, with some of the notes getting lost in the mix and my nose feeling a bit confused. I also don't know how much i'll want to really wear it.

--

YOU WHO SWALLOWED A FALLING STAR (PERFUME OIL) || Dark stone fruits, glowing embers, night rose, sweet sandalwood, plum blossom.

Oh, smells like rock candy.

So this is sitting on a weird edge for me. See, "stone fruit" (peach) notes tend to not work on me more often than not: they go acrid in this terrible, burning bodily fluid kinda way, and this... This is sitting juuuust on the edge of that. It's sharp and tart and kinda heady, rounded out by that rock-candy sweetness (which i'm 90% certain is frankincense. Source: I have a bag of pure frankincense), and just like... It's thinking about being a burny bile scent. But not quite. Nooot quite. There's a smooth, perfumey floral undercurrent to this, too. Lots of smells goin' on at once.

The drydown is basically lush, smooth, perfumey, rich-as-hell flowers, with a slight sourness to 'em. It's actually very pretty, that rose is killin' it. I don't get the threat of burning bile anymore, or the rock candy. It's a little humid-smelling, too - a great summer night scent.

tl;dr: Bright stone fruit and powdery, rock-candy-like incense which fades to lush, smooth florals.

RATING: 3/5. Well made, but i'm not big on how the top notes play out at all.

--

NEW RADIO (PERFUME OIL) || Vanilla milkshake accord, maraschino cherry, pink lemonade, grass clippings, waffle cone.

So, full disclosure, I had no interest in this scent. I saw it and went, woof, that sounds way too bright and sweet and youthful for me, and passed it over time and time again. I ended up getting it as a free sample when I ordered some of those Sea Salt Hair Sprays, and... Wow. I like it way, way more than I thought I would.

In the bottle, it's... Perfect. It's everything. Rich, foody, smooth vanilla; SUPER bright, almost candied, nice n' tart maraschino cherry (this is the note I was most worried about, too, as I don't like cherries - but this note is perfect). The gentlest edge of sour pink lemonade. A perfect, toasty waffle cone, which is honestly one of my favorite scents... I don't get much grass, but I don't need it. In the bottle, it's the perfect summer scent.

You'll notice I keep saying 'in the bottle'.

It touches down on my skin, and lives in that perfect blissful state for about two seconds, and then, boom. My skin absolutely gobbles up most of those wonderful notes. That bright maraschino cherry? Gone. Pink lemonade? Barely there, just giving a bit of a sour zing. All i'm really left with is vanilla and the faintest hints of that waffle cone note. It's absolutely heartbreaking. Like, it still smells good... But, god, not as good as it could. I might get a scent locket for this, though.

Virtually no sillage, but I can smell that vague warm sweetness on my wrist for a pretty good handful of hours.

tl;dr: A delicious, foody, bright, sweet and warm and toasty summer scent that's a dead-ringer for its notes... That my skin devours instantly, leaving only vanilla, a touch of lemonade, and faint breadiness.

RATING: 3/5. This would be a 5/5 if my skin didn't DEVOUR half of it. RIP, beautiful scent.

--

HYDROMANCY (PERFUME OIL) || Fog, cold violet, lichen, ambroxan, mineral accord, petrichor, glass.

This was recommended to me when I went out and asked people for a scent that makes me smell like a ghost, and honestly, this fits the bill pretty well. It's a pretty specific type of ghost, though: the ghost of a waifish maiden who went down with a sinking ship, who you find, suspended frozen above the water, in the air pocket of an underwater cave that she managed to swim to but ultimately starved to death within.

...ANYWAYS

This smells empty, silky, ethereal, dark in a spooky way, and most importantly, pretty darn oceanic and green. The first thing I smell upon putting it on is the lichen and ambroxan, the former being green, sort of dry-smelling (like lichen that's growing just a foot or so above the water, hasn't touched it in a while, y'know), with that weird tang that lichen can have, and the latter giving a very oceanic sweet-saltiness. The mineral accord and petrichor blend really well with the ambroxan note and it genuinely just ends up smelling like very realistic dank cave ocean water.

And then there's the fog and the glass. The Weird Notes.

The fog is less a scent and more a feeling - it makes the entire scent sort of... Soft and fuzzy. It's what's giving it that silky quality. The glass, you can actually smell, and it... Smells like glass, y'all. Cold and clear and giving off a faint sterile scent, but, it's there. Notably, I can only really detect it if I huff so hard that I become anosmic to the ambroxan and lichen, and it comes out more on the dry-down, but. ...Yeah, it's there. Combined with the fog, it's like... The scent equivalent of looking through a window that's become clouded with condensation. If that makes sense.

This doesn't have a ton of sillage - I can just barely detect it from 3 inches away - but wears very strongly on my wrist.

tl;dr: A realistic ocean water scent made fuzzy and silky by a fog note, with a fascinating, realistic glass note that peeks out on the dry-down.

RATING: 4/5. Too oceanic for me, but well made, and that glass note is WILD.

--

TELEPATHY (PERFUME OIL) || Winter narcissus, tonka bean, immortelle flower, sleet, ozone, white amber.

When I first got this, it was basically just straight sleet for the entire wear, and I wasn't wild about it. It was a very realistic sleet note, mind you, but that's not necessarily a good thing: the scent basically smelled cold, bitter, and a little dirty, which is not at all what I had been expecting from the notes.

The good news is, after considerable rest, it's verrrry different.

I put it on, and for the first minute, it's still that dirty sleet note, but then it softens up and out comes the florals - Light and lush and just a little stereotypically perfumey-smelling. It's still a little dirty, which gives the scent some complexity, and there's a gentle undercurrent of something sugary-sweet underneath the florals. This is more... Elegant smelling than I think I expected it to be. I expected it to be light and femme and kinda... Younger-smelling, but the actual scent smells like something a very refined woman in her 40's or 50's might wear.

Looking at the notes, yeah, basically what i'm smelling. Florals from the narcissus and immortelle, sweetness from the tonka bean and probably the white amber, and atmospheric, colder, dirtier notes from the sleet and ozone.

It's very, very light on me - if I huff it too much I quickly become anosmic, and while I was getting a little bit of sillage while it was wet, I have to have my nose pressed to my wrist on the dry-down.

tl;dr: A delicate, perfumey floral with undertones of cold, wet, dirty atmosphere and gentle sugary sweetness.

RATING: 4.5/5. I like this quite a bit. Has depth, but isn't overly complex, and the florals and sweeter notes are so pretty. I'd wear this to something very professional. Docked half a point for being so light, though.

--

MELLIFERA (PERFUME OIL) || Wildflower Honey Accord (not vegan), Violet, Jasmine Sambac, Vanilla Infused Sugar, Sandalwood.

So, i'm not big on honey scents. Unless the honey is very subtle, it can quickly go super overwhelming and cloying to me. Hex's Papa Legba was downright unbearable with how strong and sweet it was.

Mellifera, though, is not!

I mean, it's very honey forward, don't get me wrong, the honey's basically the star of the show, but it's a different kind of honey. It smells... Clearer. Rather than being overwhelmingly sugary-sweet, it's far more floral, with little pinpricks of something kinda sharp and tart and tingly. It's bordering on being kinda cleaning-supply-ish, but it's not quite there. There might be a citrus note in this? That's what i'm basically getting: Clear, gentle honey with a floral edge, and maybe citrus.

Let's CHECK! THOSE! NOTES

Not a LICK of citrus! Go me. The wildflower honey accord explains the quality of the honey, though, and I bet that sharpness that's a little cleaning-supply-ish is the jasmine. The violets are in there, but they're so well-blended with the other floral notes that I wouldn't be able to identify their trademark Purple Burp smell on a blind sniff. I can recognize them now that I know, but seriously, the other florals balance them out so well.

The wildflower and jasmine pinpricks eventually mellow out to a smooth, bright sweetness - a combination of the vanilla and honey, I imagine. I... Still don't get any sandalwood, which makes me sad, 'cause I love sandalwood. :( My wood-gobbling skin strikes again, I guess.

Virtually no sillage - it wears kinda light on my wrist, and I can only smell it from about an inch away.

tl;dr: A clear, floral honey with pinpricks of sharp jasmine that loses its floral edge on the drydown and simply becomes bright-yet-smooth honey and vanilla.

RATING: 3.7/5. Not bad, but the jasmine is just too sharp for me, and I can't see myself wearing it much.

--

VLAD DRACUL (PERFUME OIL) || Carpathian fir needle, red cedar, black amber, black patchouli, scorched earth, opium, blood musk.

This smells like a cologne for someone who dresses in refined clothes but also feasts upon the entrails of freshly-killed deer, so, I guess the name is apt. It's dirty as hell, but in a kind of bright way: like walking around on a very dry fall day through a forest that's all reds and yellows and dry cracked earth with sparse yellow grass. I get a cool airiness from it, and piney freshness, and d i r t. That scorched earth note ain't playin' around. I'm pretty sure that man-stank smell is the blood musk, which is this sorta... Feral, almost pheromonally sweet smell? But it's not bad or actually stinky, just kinda hanging out under the atmospherics.

On the drydown I get a resinous, very light sweetness, I assume that's the opium and/or the black amber, and the atmospheric notes are still there, most notably that scorched earth, but way subtler. It's warm and smooth and just... Prettier than I expected it to be, given the way it started.

tl;dr: A fall atmospheric that's distinguished by its scorched earth note and a sort of pheromonal, feral musk. Dries down to light resinous sweetness and that scorched earth note.

RATING: 4/5.

--

PAPER MOON (PERFUME OIL) || Soft vanilla musk, benzoin, oakmoss, trailing ivy, peach blossom, rose.

Mmmm, this is delicious. It's so sweet and mellow with the prettiest, smoothest florals. The vanilla musk is the strongest thing in this, humid and sweet, with a super well-blended floral edge. The florals are kinda perfumey-smelling, but the rose doesn't go overly chemical, is just lush and smooth, and the peach blossom is soft and delicate. I've never encountered benzoin before, so i'm not entirely sure what it smells like, but The Internet says it's a warm and sweet note - I bet it's part of what i'm reading as the vanilla musk. I keep sniffing this looking for the ivy or oakmoss, but honestly, i'm not smelling anything that hits me as particularly green.

The most morphing it does on the dry-down is that the florals mellow out some, but otherwise, it stays largely the same. It wears close to the skin, but is strong on my wrist.

tl;dr: A warm, humid vanillic sweetness with a floral edge that's lush and perfumey from the rose and soft and delicate from the peach blossom.

RATING: 4.7/5. An EENSY bit too perfumey for me, but that's about it.

--

AN EXCELLENT DAY FOR AN EXORCISM (PERFUME OIL) || Cathedral incense, black clove, burned parchment, tarnished silver, sacred woods.

Woods. Strong, evergreen woods, with a surprisingly light airiness to them - a real nice cold air note, i'm assuming. Genuinely makes the scent smell cool. The woods are strong and perfumey, which puts them a hair off realistic, but I also get that fresh, sap-sticky (I love that term pardon me for using it across reviews), slightly bitter mintiness that smells very much like the real thing.

I have, literally, NO idea what the notes in this are at the time that i'm writing this, apart from a tarnished silver note - which I think might be part of the cool airiness of the scent, i'm not sure. If I had to take a wild guess, i'd say that there's... Woods, resins, maybe a floral giving that perfumey nature, and some kinda cold air/ozonic note.

Here we go, let's take a peek at zee notes

...Wow, I was way off. At least I got the woods and the cathedral incense must be what i'm reading as resins, and is probably the source of the perfumey-ness, and, by process of elimination, the silver note must be what's making it so cold. The burnt parchment and black clove come out a couple hours into the drydown, giving this a tingly, burning quality, and a good bit of sharpness. The sweetness of the incense rounds it out nicely.

Doesn't have a lot of sillage, but says strong on my wrist.

tl;dr: Perfumey incense, fresh woods, and a cold and clear silver note that dries down to a burning, sharp smell that's still accompanied by the sweetness of the incense.

RATING: 3.5/5. Not bad, I love that silver note, but gets too sharp on the dry-down.

[secret-captain-swan-blog]

Castle on the Hill

English Literature PhD student Emma Swan just needs money to pay for her last semester of grad school tuition. Killian Jones has always dreamed of opening a bookshop but has never been able to afford it. So when the small principality of Misthaven is looking for their lost princess, the pair decide that this might just be the perfect money making scheme.A Multi-chapter Modern Day + Lost Princess (think Rapunzel/Anastasia-esque) + Book Lovers in a Coffee Shop AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 88956/ ?

Prologue (Part 1 + 2) // Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8 // Ch 9 // Ch 10 // Ch 11 // Ch 12 // Ch 13 // Ch 14 // Ch 15

Read on: Ao3

“She’s not mine,” He says, as he falls into her arms.

Emma wraps her arms around him and holds him tight. He feels the grief of the last few hours pour out of him. New tears threaten his eyes, causing him to bury his face into the crook of her neck.

“Oh Killian,” she hushes.

He feels her hand reach up to stroke his hair and it soothes him. He tries to pull himself together. After all, crying in the middle of Paddington Station is a bit of spectacle. Brits are all about stiff upper lip and the like. Killian’s histrionics are probably something that needs to be curtailed.

He takes a few long breaths and pulls back to wipe his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Emma,” He says. “I should have texted you to tell you what was happening instead of making a display.”

“Hey,” Emma says, taking his hand. “I’m not upset. I mean, I am upset because I don’t want you to be sad and hurting. But it’s fine you didn’t tell me. Sometimes we need more time to process on our own.”

Killian nods, wiping at his nose. God, he can’t believe what a mess he is.

“Let’s start heading towards the bus and you can fill me in,” Emma says.

It’s sunny outside. The weather a weird contrast with his mood. He sees packs of friends strolling down the streets, heading out for brunch or morning coffee. All of them living perfectly normal lives, while Killian feels his is falling apart.

It’s stupid really. There was always a bit of Killian that was hoping the child wouldn’t be his. After all, a child would mean finding a new place to live. It would mean finding furniture, likely getting a second job. It would mean that the idea of opening a bookshop would be an even more distant idea.

It seems silly that Killian was willing to give everything up for his bookshop dream when there are things that seem infinitely more important now. Home. Love. Family. And a little girl named Alice.

They don’t end up talking on the way to the bus station. Killian still can’t find the words and because she is an actual marvel, Emma doesn’t press him for them. But she reaches out and take his hand and it makes it a little bit better.

They reach the bus stop with some time to spare.

“The bus should be here in about ten minutes,” Emma says, looking at the schedule on her phone.

Killian nods. He tries to make small talk. “How was your last day with Belle?”

“It was good,” Emma says. “We went to the V&A and Kensington, but then we ended the day with wine in the Shard. Not cheap, but memorable.”

“That’s good,” Killian says, trying to put some emotion into his voice.

Emma frowns and then squeezes his hand. She can obviously tell how emotionally drained he is and doesn’t press him for more words.

The bus arrives not much later. It’s packed, so they end up sitting separately. He offers Emma a seat near the front, while he tucks himself into the back row. He leans back and closes his eyes. He’s been so distraught, he hardly slept the night before. He doesn’t sleep on the bus ride, but he rests his eyes, which feels good.

They arrive at the airport, which is essentially, a warehouse. He numbly navigates security and they get to what barely constitutes as a concourse. Emma leaves him with their luggage at a table while she heads out to procure lunch. She returns not long later with cappuccinos and sandwiches from Pret.

They are seated together for the short flight, which Killian is infinitely grateful for. He leans his head against Emma’s shoulder, slouching in his seat. Emma in turn presses her lips to his hair.

“We’ll be home soon,” She whispers, as they take off.

Killian is grateful for that.

It’s another bus ride, another tram ride, before they are back in Emma’s apartment. It’s nearly late afternoon by now, the sun already beginning to dip, creating long lines of light across Emma’s living room floor, announcing the shift to late autumn.

They leave their bags by the door and Emma leads him to her sofa, wrapping him in her favorite soft, grey blanket and curling under it with him. This feels good and safe and right. Home.

It’s crazy because before this Killian thought he was settled. He thought he was beyond the silly feelings he’d had as a younger man where he needed a family, he needed a home. But yet now, with another tease, with another opportunity of seeing it before him and then having it ripped away- he feels that same pain, that same longing, all over again.

He knows it’s silly, but he imagined it. He imagined Alice becoming his daughter. He imagined finding a little apartment with two bedrooms, maybe nearby, in Emma’s neighborhood. He imagined house plants and maybe a cat. He imagined setting up a child’s bedroom. He imagined filling her bookshelf with a combination of his and Emma’s favorite books from their childhood. He imagined Sunday afternoons playing in the park, late nights helping her with her homework. And somewhere in there, Emma would move in. Somewhere in there, they’d become a family.

Killian knows it’s silly now. God, if he’s learned anything by now it’s that family isn’t something that magically appears in your life. Maybe it is something you have to earn. And well, maybe that’s a lesson for him too- he hasn’t earned it. He doesn’t deserve it.

Emma puts her hands on his face. Her fingers are cold, so he takes them in his hands and kisses them softly.

“I’m sorry, I’m being like this,” He apologizes.

She shakes her head.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” She asks.

He nods, the lump reforming in his throat.

“She’s not mine,” He says.

“I’ve gathered,” Emma says. She isn’t harsh.

“Like I went there to the paternity test,” He says. “And I thought this was going to be it. I sat there waiting for the news and I had this feeling in my gut that she was mine. She had to be mine.”

Emma rubs her thumb over his hand.

“I didn’t even meet her or see her,” He says. “She was just like a thought. They showed me a picture of her. She’s small, like her mum, with curly blond hair. The workers told me a bit of what she’s like. She likes to read. She’s good at school. She’s curious and kind and fanciful. So, I thought, of course she has to be my daughter.”

“I would think so too,” Emma says.

“But I suppose she belongs to another person,” He says. “She’ll live this whole other life and never know that there was a man who was desperate to be her father.”

Emma snuggles into him, putting a kiss on his shoulder.

“I hope he’s good to her. I hope he loves her,” Killian says. “I don’t want her to grow up like we did. Broken and unloved and trained in how to survive because that’s all we knew. I want her to get to be a kid and to be able to have real dreams and know what it feels like to have a family.”

Emma wraps her arms around him and leans into him. They stay like this for a moment, just breathing and grieving.

“I just really thought,” He begins, “I really thought I was going to have a family.”

Emma looks at him with knowing eyes and swallows.

“I know,” she says, “but you do.”

He looks up at her.

“You have Ruby and her gran. You have all the people whose lives you helped during the revolution, at the cathedral, at the botanical garden. You have your patrons at the pub who know you and laugh with you.”

Killian bows his head. Of course, he’s been so selfish to not think of these people as his family. He mentally scolds himself for it. Ruby is basically his sister. And her gran has taken care of him like his own gran did.

Yet, he thinks back of him and Liam and their little bed in the basement of the castle. That was family. Liam was family.

And while Ruby and Granny and the old priest at the church and lad at the botanical garden are all fine and well- they aren’t the same as Liam. They aren’t really, truly, his family.

He can’t tell Emma that. She’s just trying to help and knows that the idea of family is touchy for her too.

Instead, they stay cuddled on the couch together till the sun disappears under the horizon. Emma eventually stirs, turning on a few lamps, and setting to work in the kitchen.

Killian gets up from the couch and perches himself on one of stools at the counter, looking over her work.

“You’re making cheese toasties again?” He asks.

Emma gives him an incredulous look, “You mean grilled cheese?”

Killian smirks at her American-ism. The tries to focus on her adorableness and not on his grief.

“You do seem to cook this delicacy quite a lot,” He remarks.

She shrugs, “It’s comfort food to me.”

He smiles sadly, thinking of his own comfort foods. A warm croissant from Liam, snatched from the kitchens, eaten under the covers of his bed. A chocolate bon bon from the Princess. His gran’s famous vegetable stew. For the bit of his childhood that wasn’t terrible, he does have his own fond memories of food.

“It’s usually the cheapest thing on the menu in any diner in America,” Emma explains, slathering pain de mie with butter.

Killian cocks his head, listening. He can sense that Emma has a memory on the tip of her tongue.

“When I was kid, I didn’t ever want to be a burden,” She tells him. “So if a family was taking me out dinner, I’d always order grilled cheese, the cheapest thing.”

Killian knows that feeling too. He remembers the warm feeling of finally getting to a good house and wondering, worrying, about what he would do this time to ruin it. He knows how to tread lightly, how to always feel like a burden needing to minimalized.

“The summer before I started at Duke, I finished working at summer camp a week before the fall term began. I had just enough money to afford the Greyhound tickets to campus and a semester’s worth of books. After that I had ten dollars and fourteen cents. I didn’t have anywhere to stay. It was such a mess. Colleges don’t know what to make of homeless freshmen. I ended up sneaking into the library every evening and staying in after hours, till it locked, and I’d sleep on the comfiest couch in one of the study rooms.” She pauses, turning to the fridge to take out a block of cheese.

“Sleeping in the library, love?” He teases. “That sounds like your sort of thing.”

“I’d always thought it’d be the dream, but it was a really hard time. I could afford a grilled cheese from the dinner down the street every other night, so that’s what I fed myself on,” Emma says, with a rueful look.

“That’s hardly enough,” Killian says.

He thinks of a boy on London bench with no money, no more chocolate bars, and no more adventures.

“I know,” Emma says.

She takes out a fry pan and turns on a burner. There is silence for a moment as her hand lingers over the pan, checking to see if it is warm, before putting a sandwich on. It sizzles as it hits the pan.

“I’m sorry I’m just randomly blabbering about this,” She tells him, shrugging uncomfortably. “I feel like today has brought up a lot of memories.”

He nods and swallows. “I know, me too.”

“I didn’t think it would,” She says. “But I can’t stop thinking about how it’s our lives all over again- another little, lost girl in the system.”

“I know. Being around the council workers again these past days,” He murmurs, “It brought a lot of things back.”

“It’s not fair,” Emma says.

“I just keep thinking about her face, her smile,” Killian says. “I keep wondering if she’ll grow up like we did. Never feeling like we belong. Always feeling like a burden. Always feeling unwanted.”

Emma frowns, swallowing. She flips the sandwich, revealing one side golden brown and crispy.

“I don’t want Alice to be full of sad stories,” Killian whispers.

Emma looks up, a smile now gracing her lips

“We aren’t full of sad stories either,” Emma says softly. “We are hopeful ones too.”

He looks up at her and he wants to pour his heart out to her. He wants to say, “You are my hopeful story. You are my family.”

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to scare her off. Especially when she has come so, so far.

So instead, he smiles for the first time that evening and says, “I know.”

--

Emma had planned to tell Killian that night about her feelings, about her ‘yes’ to an unasked question. But as they eat their sandwiches and she sees the first light of happiness and hope return to Killian’s face, she decides that it’s just not quite the right day. She doesn’t want the start of their relationship to coincide with a day of sadness and unhappiness.

She wants to focus on him healing, not on being a Band-Aid or a mere distraction to his pain.

That night they split a bottle of wine and she reads him The Princess Bride, which they are nearly finished with at this point. Eventually they find their way to her bed. They fall asleep with her body flush against his, her arms wrapped around his middle. She knows that she herself likes to be held this way, and when she hears his cathartic exhale, she imagines he does too.

She thinks she’ll tell him in the morning, but when she wakes she sees grief wrinkled in the corners of his eyes, bleary from a sleepless night and she thinks, “not yet.”

So November begins instead. It’s colder than it was before, early colorful autumn turning suddenly grey, the air unwaveringly chilled. The leaves turn brown and wrinkle and lay damp against the cobblestone.

Emma starts to write a final exam for her students. Normally, their exams are held after Christmas, but since Emma’s next semester at Duke begins in January, she’s gotten permission to move up her exam for just before Christmas. She finds that she likes coming up with exam questions, hoping that they’ll challenge her students and allow them to shine. She also likes the change of focus from her thesis. American literature provides an easy distraction.

Killian continues to become a cohabitating fixture in her apartment. Weirdly enough, she likes it. She likes not being alone at night. She likes cooking dinner with him, splitting a bottle of wine as they navigate the small kitchen together. She likes how they curl up and read together each night.

She slowly sees his spirits rise. One afternoon they find themselves laughing over a funny answer that one of her students wrote on a test. Another evening, Granny lets them behind the counter after close and she lets them create their own coffee concoctions. Granny must know about Killian’s loss as well and is trying to do what she can to raise his spirits. It works, a bit. Killian sports a foamy mustache after sipping overly frothed cappuccino and the pair erupt into giggles again.

They take in the melancholy weather with long afternoon wanders around Misthaven. They go back to the North Neighborhood a few more times, stopping at indie art galleries and record shops. They even get coffee at a few of the cafes in the neighborhood. It isn’t Mamies, but it’s fun to see how each café is decorated and serves their drinks.

They spend time walking along the canal in Emma’s neighborhood as well. Leaves collect in the basin, but it doesn’t stop it from being wistful. Emma lets Killian hold her hand as they walk. It’s another sign of the change that’s already happened, the ‘yes’ that Emma has already said in her head and has yet to articulate.

They kiss sometimes, little pecks on the cheek or the forehead or nose, and occasionally the lips. But they haven’t really come close to making out since London.

It’s two weeks after their trip, two weeks of healing and hope, that things begin to change.

They’re sitting in Mamie’s drinking their morning coffee and splitting a pain au chocolat.

“Have you been to the Musée des Beaux Arts?” Killian asks. “The art museum?”

Emma looks up from where she is grading a paper in Mamie’s, taking a sip of cappuccino.

She shakes her head, “No, I haven’t.”

“Would you like to go later?” He asks, offering her a hopeful smile.

Emma feels her insides warm.

“Yeah, that’d be great,” she says.

They spend a few more hours drinking coffee. Emma slowly makes her way through her stack of papers and Killian is reading something new, the volume of Dutch fairytales from the Queen’s library. Emma never got around to reading it, but since apparently Killian easily reads Dutch (she supposes that she should have assumed that given that he is Misthavian), he’s translating it for her. He flags the fairy tales that might seem related to her research.

Around noon, they head out to the museum. They stop for a panini at a cart along the way, splitting it in half and walking together as they nibble.

The Musée des Beaux Arts is located in an old mansion along the river. It has neat gardens tucked to its side, which is where Emma and Killian enter. They spend time taking in the gardens, which despite the frigid weather, features a few flowers still in bloom.

Emma and Killian are good at garden strolls. After wiping the rest of the panini from her hands and throwing away the napkin, Emma takes Killian’s hand. She lets herself lean against his side as they stop to look at their favorite flowers and plants, pointing out the little details of them. There are some sculptures dotting the gardens as well, elegantly crafted nudes and more abstract pieces.

They finally make their way into the museum. After spending so much time in the Queen’s lavish quarters, the museum seems understated, but that doesn’t make it less beautiful or enthralling. There are tapestries lining the hallways, marble detailing on the grand stairway. Classical music plays over speakers, which feels a little contrived, but it sets an elegant tone.

Emma is impressed by the museum. She isn’t an art aficionado by any means, but she appreciates the narrative quality of paintings. The museum does well in terms of breadth and quality of art. Misthaven benefited from the Dutch Golden Age and has plenty of Baroque paintings. Emma finds herself lost in a daze looking at a Vermeer painting and all of sudden wants to go to Amsterdam soon to see more. The museum also has a hardy influence from French impressionist movements, the second floor full of Van Gogh and Cezanne.

Lost in a dreamy stupor from all the paintings, they make their way to the basement. While the rest of the museum was relatively crowded, the basement is empty. Instead of art, it has a few displays of ancient Misthavian pots and sculptures. After all the dazzling artwork, this section seems more subdued. Emma tries to focus on the tiny, faded clay pots, but without the distraction of the paintings, her thoughts drift to Killian.

All of a sudden, she feels his presence next to her in a way she didn’t before, a warmth that quickly turns into the heat. She can hear each breath he takes. The classical music suddenly seems more distant.

She reaches her hand out to reach for his. She feels a rush of warmth at the contact, her heart fluttering as he squeezes back. They’ve held hands before, obviously, but with the added electricity of the moment, this small touch seems galvanizing.

It’s not enough.

And they are alone, right?

Emma turns on the spot to push Killian against the wall, careful not to harm the glass cases of clay pots. Her lips are pulled to his, which quickly respond to hers, kissing back with equal passion and fire. Her hand dives into his hair, the silky feeling between her fingers only turning her on more. Killian’s hands hesitate for a moment, out of surprise, before they reach forward to wrap around her back. They slip under the hem of her shirt to rub along the small of her back, before dipping lower to give her bottom a firm squeeze.

Just like that, it’s changed.

The love that Emma struggled to put to words before now is communicated through this kiss, this moment. She lets that love go into every press of her lips. She lets healing flood through brush of her hand through his hair.

And it’s still not enough.

“Home,” She whispers between kisses.

She wonders if they can get kicked out of the art gallery for making out in the basement. Technically it’s not even PDA if no one can see it, she supposes. But what if someone checks the security camera.

“Home,” He replies.

So they make their way out of the art gallery, up the stairs, through the garden. They make their way to the nearest tram stop. It’s a seven-minute wait for the next tram, so they keep busy by continuing their kisses.

Killian tugs Emma’s coat tighter around her, kissing her nose to keep it warm, running a hand through her hair. She can’t even stop herself from sighing happily at his ministrations.

They board the tram, making for the backseat where they can continue to steal kisses. She slides into the seat first and he follows. His arms wrap around her and he presses her against the glass windows.

She’s seen teenagers, even couples in their twenties and thirties, making out on the tram before. It’s not uncommon here, especially since kids in Europe tend to live with their families into university and beyond. They have to have somewhere to get their urges out away from their parents, so often that ends up being on the metro. Emma isn’t against it and she’s delirious in the moment to stop.

But she also has few lines that she’s not sure she wants to cross in public.

So when Killian nips at her neck, her back arches automatically and she has to suppress a moan. She pulls back from the kiss.

“Sorry,” she admits, “just if this goes any farther I think we might get kicked out of the train.”

Killian blushes sheepishly, before pecking another kiss to her lips.

“I’m not sure I’d mind,” He tells her, sneaking a kiss behind her ear.

“I would,” Emma whispers. “I want this to be perfect.”

She’s not unrealistic about sex. She’s never been one who thinks that it has to be perfect or even romantic.

But then again, this is the first time she’s going to have sex with someone she actually has feelings for, with someone she actually trusts.

With someone she loves.

Wow. The enormity of this moment hits her. She’s going to have sex will Killian.

Make love? Is that the word for it?

The word had always sounded silly and overly cheesy, but now it fit right. Yes, of course, these moment they were sharing were nothing more than a blossoming of love that had been growing for months. They didn’t even have to have sex for this to be making love. There was love furiously flourishing around them. She imagined it as vines tangling around her ankles, curling low around her belly, wrapping around the tips of her fingers. Love.

Killian acknowledges her wishes and pulls back for the rest of the tram ride. He keeps her hand in his, stroking it lightly. The pad of his finger makes circles on the back of her hand.

When they finally reach their stop, he tugs at her hand to lead her off, the heated moment settling into a warm simmer. This somehow only turns her on more. She swallows at the tingling that she feels drop through her spine and settle at her core.

Their walk from the tram station to her apartment is a mess. They try to walk slowly, savoring the moment, drawing the pleasure out. But halfway back, Killian presses Emma against the side of storefront, the stone walls smooth against her back, as he leaves another bite on her neck. This time, just above her collarbone. It’s the incentive she needs to grab his hand and rush him into the apartment building.

“Do we need to stop for condoms?” He asks, as she opens the building door.

She smiles, knowing that they have the same intentions for how this will end.

“No,” she shakes her head, tossing her hair, “IUD.”

It’s another survival technique, but she doesn’t tell him that. They aren’t survival anymore. They’re thriving.

It’s a flight of stairs up and a fumbling with the key and they’re in.

He pushes her against the door when they are inside. Clearly they’re both into this pushing thing and she can’t say she minds.

His hands drop her hips, moving against her, as he pressing his lips to hers in a deep kiss. It’s all she can do to let her own hands find his hair, grazing the prickly feeling of his scalp, before twisting around a few locks to pull him gently closer.

Then he’s back against her collarbone again, etching a love mark with his teeth. God, she’s going to have to wear a scarf or a turtleneck for her next two weeks of teaching, but whatever. This, all of this, is a hundred percent worth it.

He starts to unbutton her shirt, his hands brushing across the tops of her breasts in a movement so gentle and tender, she has to sigh at the pure beauty of thing.

His hands return to her buttons, undoing them one by one, till her blouse slips off her shoulders in a lovely, freeing motion.

“You’re so incredibly beautiful,” He hushes, running his arms up and down her sides, tracing the outside of her curves, toying with her bra.

She wonders if she should tell him that she always has sex with her bra on. She keeps as many secrets as she can for herself, never revealing too much, never giving more than she has to way.

But this is different, today, this, him. She is vulnerable. She is present. They are real in this moment and she can’t bring herself to give anything less than her whole self to him.

So, she unhooks her bra and tosses it aside.

Killian looks at her, unabashed, taking it all in.

“So incredibly beautiful,” he repeats, his voice an adoring whisper.

He wraps his arms around her and pulls her forward. At first, she thinks it’s for a hug, but then she realizes that he’s picking her up. She loops her arms around his neck, letting her legs wrap around his waist.

He walks them to bedroom, where he sits softly on the side her bed. She leans into him, straddling him, reaching to pull off his grey sweater and toss it to the ground. Then she leans back into him, letting her nipples brush across his chest, reveling in the feeling of skin on skin.

He lowers his head to let his mouth take hold of her nipple, his tongue swirling till her toes curl and she wonders if she can come from just this. Then he pulls back to kiss between her breasts, before moving on to lavish her other breast. She writhes under him, before she finally can’t take it anymore and pushes him back against the mattress.

Her hands drop to his pants, smiling into a kiss, as she fumbles with the button.

“I’ve never felt like this before,” she whispers to him, as she pushes his pants down.

He pulls back and smiles up at her, before flipping her gently, his hands on her pants.

“I’m glad I can give you this,” He whispers back. “I want to give you everything. You deserve everything. And I’m sorry for anyone who ever told you don’t deserve the world, Emma. I intend to spend every day that you’ll have me making up for that.”

--

Emma doesn’t realize that she’s fallen asleep till she blinks her eyes open. She can tell a few hours have passed since they made love because the sun is now low in the sky. Orange streaks criss-cross the white duvet they are tucked under. She’s folded in Killian’s arms, her back against his chest.

His hands are stroking her hair lightly, a sign that he’s awake.

“That was so good,” she says softly.

“I’m glad,” he says, kissing the back of her head. “It was pretty incredible for me too.”

She feels more vulnerable than ever. But she’s comfortable in it.

She can’t deny that there is a part of her brain that is focused still on survival. There is a part of her that’s upset with herself for falling asleep after. She’s calculating the chances of getting a UTI and wondering if her international student insurance will cover it and how the Misthaven medical system will work.

But courageously, she silences the survivalist part of her brain.

She turns around so she’s looking at him.  Emma takes in Killian: hair rumpled, eyes sleepy, but adoring. A lazy smile on his face.

She loves him. She loves him.

She has other things to focus on now. And something she has to tell Killian right this minute. Something that she can’t let go unsaid another moment, because she thinks she might burst.

“Killian, I like you a lot,” She declares, her voice racing with nerves, trying to force it out before her courage abates. “I might love you, but that really scares me to voice, so I’m just going to say I really like you.”

His lazy smiles splits wide into a grin, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Her heart feels warm.

“I love you too, Emma,” He says. And she knows he can barely contain himself. The same bursting feeling inside him that is in.

She kisses him, lovely and sincere, on his lips.

“I want this,” She says. “All of this with you. I’ve wanted it for a long time now, but I finally think I have the courage to tell you, so I am. I want to be your girlfriend or human or whatever.”

“Oh Emma, you can certainly be my whatever,” He laughs.

She giggles too, before he catches her lips with his, his thumb gently rubbing across her cheek. The words they can’t say- words about finding a kindred soul, words about curbing a lifelong loneliness, words about feeling like their hearts were finally able to heal with each other- are said in kisses, strokes of hands through hair, and small sighs of adoration.

They are tangled in blankets again when they finally pull apart. The sky is dark now.

“I really should shower,” Emma mumbles, sleepily.

Killian nods.

“Shall I start fixing us some cheese toasties?” He asks.

Emma smiles and rolls her eyes a little.

“Yeah,” She nods. “And tea?”

“Cheese toasties and tea coming right up for my lovely lass,” He says.

--

Life seems light after they are officially a couple. Emma feels lighter, happier.

It’s a stupid cliché, but being loved makes her want to be more loving to others. She calls Belle the next night and tells her the news. She gets re-introduced to Will over Skype and she’s happy for her friend. She makes plans to see them when they are back in America.

Finally working up the courage, Emma calls Professor Shepherd and explains that she’s discovered the identity of Blanche Neige. They decide to keep that information confidential, but that it won’t discredit the research. In the end, a text is a text.

“You’re a postmodernist! Death of the author,” Professor Shepherd says. “I mean, obviously, we don’t want your friend to die. But they don’t have any bearing on your research itself. If you are doing decent critical analysis, it should be fine.”

Emma takes deep breaths, knowing that it’s finally time to return to her thesis. After a month hiatus, she starts becoming productive on it again, spending long nights at Mamie’s working on it. Other times, especially the nights Killian works at the pub, she tucks herself into a back-corner booth with a whisky and cranks out a couple of pages.

One night, in late November, she sees a man at the bar with a large hoodie on, and with a shiver down her spine, she thinks back to how she and Killian met.

She hasn’t given much more thought to the man in the hood and the knife and the scar on her shoulder and the jean jacket she never got back. In fact, she’s tried her best to get them out of her head. Yet now, she feels a weird gratitude for them. Despite this long, bizarre winding path that her journey in Misthaven has taken, she’s happy for it all, because it has all led to Killian.

She looks up and smiles at him, where he fixes drinks at the bar, and he returns hers with a bright grin.

It’s later that night, on the tram home, she brings up an idea that has been weighing on her heart for days.

“I think I need to forgive the queen,” she murmurs.

“What, love?” Killian asks, looking up from the book he was reading to stroke at her hair.

“I think that I need to forgive Mary Margaret for keeping her identity from me. She had good reason to,” She says.

“I think you have good reason for being angry. No one would blame you for staying angry,” he replies.

“I know, but I want to end my time in Misthaven on a positive note. I don’t want to harbor any bitterness to her or to anyone,” She tells him.

He tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I understand that. I think you should do it, if it feels right.”

“It does,” Emma says, snuggling into him, tucking her head under his chin.

He kisses her forehead, a blessing. They ride the rest of the trip in silence.

When they return to Emma’ apartment, she feels like something is off from the moment she turns on the lights. Her spine tingle uncomfortably and she feels inexplicably as if she is watched.

Surveying the apartment, she asks Killian, “Does it seem like something is off?”

He frowns and turns to her, “Didn’t we leave our tea mugs on the coffee table when we left?”

Anxiety swoops over Emma. She rushes to the bedroom to check that her passport is still there. It is. As is all her jewelry, not that it is worth much anyway.

Killian riffles through his own things. “I don’t think anything of mine is missing.”

Emma begins searching her dresser. She frowns as she notices a few vacant items.

“My green cardigan is gone,” she says. “As is my hairbrush.”

Killian chuckles, “Perhaps our thief wanted a cuppa and a cardigan.”

Emma rolls her eyes and sits on the bed.

“I suppose, but do you mind checking the apartment for intruders.”

After peaking into the bathroom and coat closet, Killian deems them safe and very much alone. He fixes them new mugs of tea and snuggles with Emma in bed. She’s unsettled, clearly, as much by the man earlier as she is by the visitor tonight. But she’s safe. She has her wonderful, protective boyfriend. She doesn’t feel alone.

--

Emma makes an appointment for the following Tuesday. It’s early December and snow is falling in fits of flurries. Nothing sticks, but it lines the hills with a glittering dust. Emma thinks this might be a blessing too.

She watches from the window as the car takes the familiar path up to the summer palace. She notices a few workers outside hanging garland around the entrance and trimming the garden with fairy lights.

Right, Christmas. Emma’s been so overwhelmed with her relationship with Killian, with her thesis, with her hurt from the Queen that she’s hardly had time to think about the holiday as something other than a deadline for everything- her time in Misthaven, her time with Killian. Sure, they’ll do long distance once she leaves. But it won’t be the same. And Emma still has a little doubt that they’ll survive it.

“Emma?” The queen asks, taking Emma’s attention, as she appears in the doorway.

“Queen Mary Margaret,” Emma says, curtsying.

The queen frowns and Emma feels awkward. She hasn’t curtsied to her in a long time and it shows that distance that has already formed between them since their falling out.

“Come inside, out of the cold,” The queen says. “I’ve had tea set in the Enchanted Forest room. It’s one of my favorite places to watch the snow fall.”

Emma wants to resist and tell her that she doesn’t need to sit down to a full tea, that she just wants a few words. But that is something Old Emma would do. Emma with walls and hard edges. This New Emma, the one that is the product of Killian and Misthaven and hope, is able to say,

“Okay.”

She awkwardly follows the queen back to the ornately decorated room. She was right. It is beautiful in the winter, the dark green and gold walls looking cheery in contrast to the white dusting of snow outside.

Emma sits in one of the chairs and she thinks back to her first tea time with the queen. She was so nervous and it’s only now that Emma realizes she’s nervous now too. Forgiveness doesn’t come natural to her. She’s never forgiven Ingrid. Or her worst foster families. Or her unknown parents who abandoned her.

But she’s learned that there is a lightness that comes with forgiveness and she craves it.

She pours a cup of tea in silence, before pouring one for the queen as well. She finds a chocolate croissant on the tea tray and adds it to her plate, before finally finding the courage to break the silence.

“I’m not going to be in Misthaven much longer, just a few weeks more. My fellowship just lets me stay for a semester and I think I have all the data I need, more than I need really, to finish my dissertation back at Duke next semester.”

“It’s been such a quick semester,” The queen says, quietly. “It’ll be sad to see you go.”

Emma takes the little pitcher of milk and pours it into her teacup. She enjoys the moment where the milk hits the tea and cup swirls with clouds.

Then she pulls together her courage once more.

“I wanted to meet with you today, before I leave, to finish things on a good note,” Emma says. “Knowing you has meant so much to me. My friendship with you, along with meeting Killian, has defined my time here in Misthaven. It wouldn’t be right to just up and leave without saying goodbye.”

The queen looks up at her, a note of surprise tucked in the pursing of her lips and wideness of her eyes.

“And to say that I forgive you,” Emma says.

“Oh Emma,” the queen murmurs. “Thank you.”

“I don’t want to look back on this time of my life and hold resentment. Misthaven has given me so much and you’ve been a part of that,” Emma tells her.

“You’ve helped me too,” the queen says. “You’ve helped me see that my writing hasn’t just been a misguided coping mechanism. It helped you. It helped Killian. It helped you two find each other. It’s lifted a bit of the guilt I’ve felt from writing those books.”

Emma smiles at her, before taking a delicate sip of tea. The queen is right. Her books have given so much to so many people. If Emma could help her realize that, maybe she’s done something to give back to the woman who gave her so much while she was here.

“And you and Killian?” Mary Margaret asks, nibbling daintily on a tarte de pomme.

“We’re a couple,” Emma says, a grin forming.

“I could tell,” The queen replies. “Something was different about you. And you smiled when I said his name.”

Emma feels herself flush and she dips her head.

“Yeah, I’m happy we finally worked things out,” Emma says. “We definitely had feelings for each other for a while. But it was hard, hard for me, to let go.”

“Being open to love, believing in the possibility of a happy ending, those are all really hard things,” Mary Margaret says. “But powerful things. And things that will lead you to true happiness.”

“Or pain,” Emma mutters, the thoughts and warnings not yet dead, despite how open her heart is.

“Emma, take it from me, someone who has had a lot of loss in their life,” Mary Margaret says softly. “It’s worth it. Pain is worth it for love. I hate that I lost my entire family, but I wouldn’t trade it for a moment. I wouldn’t want to have never experienced that love.”

Emma nods.

“Will you write to me?” The queen asks.

Emma smiles a bit. “Yes, of course.”

“Good,” she says. “I want to hear all about how your PhD finishes up and how things go with you and Killian.”

Emma nods warmly.

“And if you two happen to need some funds to reunite with your love, well, I suppose the Her Majesty Queen of Misthaven could happen to need to summon you here and pay for your expenses,” the queen says with a wink.

Emma feels a tiny worry roll off of her. Yes, she hates to rely on others and their money, but all the same- the queen has tons of it. And if now she can return to America at peace that she’ll see Killian again, then that’s all for the better.

“Thank you,” Emma says. “Honestly, for this, and more.”

The queen puts down her cup of tea.

“No Emma, thank you,” she says softly, “for forgiving me. That takes a maturity beyond your years. It makes me think that the future of our world is safe, knowing that there are people as courageous and loving as you leading the way.”

Emma smiles warmly.

She doesn’t stay to spend time in the library after. She bids Mary Margaret farewell, giving her a kiss on each cheek. She knows that Killian is meeting her the apartment to cook dinner together before he starts his shift at the pub. She wonders if she’ll join him and edit a few dissertation chapters as works. Or maybe she’ll work at Mamie’s instead. Or go to bed early. Whatever it is, she feels at peace. She has Killian. She has Mary Margaret. And for just a few more perfect weeks, she has Misthaven and the here and now and everything, for the first time in her life, feels good.

Tagging some pals: @sambethe @lenfaz @pocket-anon @the-corsair-and-her-quill@kmomof4@kiwistreetswan@princesseslikepirates @timeless-love-story@shady-swan-jones@katie-dub@1handedpiratewithadrinkingprob@midnightswans @hollyethecurious @hookswan25 @princesse-swan @captainpoe@onceuponaprincessworld

[lilyvandersteen]

Puppy Eyes Chapter 18

Nope, no smut yet, sorry, only more schmoop and fluff...

Thank you so much to everyone who sends me feedback - you’re wonderful and you spur me on to keep writing :-)

This story is also on AO3 and on Fanfiction.net.

The other parts can be found here: Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17

Chapter 18: A Lot of Firsts

When Kurt had to leave for a dog walking assignment later that evening, Blaine felt a prickle of dread. Blaine had declared himself now, and handed Kurt his heart for safe-keeping. Did Kurt believe him? Did he want to be with Blaine? Kurt wasn’t going to slip out of his life again, was he?

Blaine didn’t want to seem clingy, but he also didn’t want to let Kurt walk away without any reassurances on this matter, so he offered to come with Kurt and help him walk the dogs.

It wasn’t until Kurt pointed it out that Blaine realised he was still naked from the transformation. It cracked the both of them up, and that bout of merriment instantly made Blaine feel better. He dressed quickly, and held Kurt’s hand all the way to the dogs’ homes and then to the park. It felt amazing. He sneaked a few glances at their joined hands, grinning happily, and that grin only widened when he caught Kurt doing the same.

“I love you,” he said, the words tumbling out of their own accord for the millionth time that day, yet Kurt’s eyes lit up as beautifully as if it were the very first.

When Blaine gave Kurt the unicorn brooch and the accompanying letter, he got the reassurance he’d been craving. The letter made Kurt tear up and reel Blaine in close, murmuring that Blaine was the one for him too.

Blaine didn’t check if anyone was around before taking Kurt’s face in his hands and kissing him like his life depended on it.

Kurt drew away a few times to gulp in fresh air, and each time Blaine chased his lips as if Kurt provided the only oxygen he needed.

Blaine didn’t know how much time had passed when they finally remembered the dogs and took them back home, but he did know it wasn’t long enough by far.

Kurt was dog-sitting, so Blaine knew he couldn’t come back to Blaine’s apartment. But maybe Blaine could come with him? He needed to be close to Kurt. Preferably till death did them part, but he’d settle for right here right now.

Kurt seemed hesitant about letting him stay over, so Blaine gave him his most beseeching look. The one that even Pam had never been able to say no to.

“You don’t play fair,” Kurt grumbled as they walked towards the apartment where Kurt was staying.

Blaine, happy as a lark now, beamed at him. “All’s fair in love and war, beautiful.”

Kurt shot him a quick look, and a corner of his mouth ticked up. “Is that going to be my pet name from now on? What happened to ‘honey’ and ‘sweetie’?”

Blaine shrugged. “Those are generic, and I use them for everyone. You deserve a special name just for you. And ‘beautiful’ suits you.”

That made Kurt blush, and Blaine just had to kiss him again because he was so adorable.

It wasn’t until they were lying in bed that Blaine initiated phase two of his wooing plan, and asked Kurt out on a date. He fist-pumped when Kurt said yes, and nodded off contentedly.

Then Kurt’s voice jolted him awake again. “Just so you know, we have an appointment at The Sweetest Thing Bakery tomorrow at four p.m. Make sure you include that in your date plans.”

“You rescheduled? Mrs Peters wasn’t angry that we missed our appointment?”

Kurt chuckled. “I pretended that you’d written the date down wrong.”

“Clever!” Blaine praised him. “I’m glad. She has the best reviews. And the best designs.”

“And hopefully scrumptious caaaaaake,” Kurt yawned.

“Sleep, beautiful.”

“Sweet dreams,” Kurt slurred, and then laughed, “because of the cake, geddit?”

He turned on his side, his head on Blaine’s chest, and was out like a light.

Blaine kissed the crown of his head. For a few minutes, he basked in the feeling of having Kurt with him again. Then, he started going over his date options. Their first date had to be perfect.

K&B

Of course, mandating that the date had to be perfect jinxed it. From the moment Blaine woke, he knew he’d have to adjust his plans. He’d counted on cold but dry weather, not the rain and cold wind that assaulted him as soon as he opened the window in the kitchen. That meant the walk through Central Park was out. Bummer.

Blaine busied himself making Kurt a delicious breakfast, making sure it would be ready by the time Kurt’s alarm clock went off, but Kurt didn’t even spare the breakfast tray a passing glance when he rushed past Blaine mumbling, “Dogs to walk. Back in half an hour!”

Blaine looked down at the tray he was holding and sighed. By the time Kurt got back, the eggs would be a congealed mess, the toast would be unappetizing, the fruit salad would no longer look fresh but brown at the edges, and the mocha would be ice-cold.

Oh, all right then.

Blaine sat down at the kitchen table and ate the breakfast intended for Kurt, grimacing when he drank the mocha, which was much too sweet for his taste. After that, he showered and dressed, and then made a new breakfast tray, timing it so that it was ready just when Kurt was due back.

Kurt and the poodles returned in the best of spirits, despite the weather, and now Kurt did notice the tray. “You made me breakfast? Oh, you’re the BEST! I’m starving! I forgot to make myself sandwiches yesterday.”

Kurt kissed Blaine square on the mouth before sitting down and wolfing the whole meal down in five minutes flat.

Then, he looked up at Blaine expectantly. “So what are your plans for today?”

“Still raining?” Blaine asked, and Kurt nodded.

“I guess a romantic walk in the park is out, then,” Blaine mused, and Kurt laughed as if Blaine had made an excellent joke.

Blaine praised himself lucky that he’d asked Ashton if there were any good exhibitions in the NYC museums. At least he had that to fall back on.

He looked up, meaning to tell Kurt they were going to the Met, but Kurt had disappeared. His bowl and plate stood in the sink, already rinsed, and his voice floated out of the utility room, singing a French song.

Blaine distractedly petted one of the poodles while letting Kurt’s singing wash over him, and then started on the dishes.

An hour later, Kurt and Blaine were on their way to the museum. Blaine had first stopped by his own apartment for Kurt’s present of the day. He’d had an umbrella made with the same puppy pattern as the book bag, and Kurt could really use that in this weather.

Kurt exclaimed over the umbrella, calling it über-cute. Outside, he opened it and offered Blaine his arm.

Blaine had never shared an umbrella with anyone before, and found it cosy and intimate. The wind still howled, and the rain still beat down on them, but the umbrella was sturdy enough to provide shelter, and the heat from Kurt’s body was a welcome solace against the biting cold.

When they reached the Met, the queue at the entrance made Blaine’s heart sink. He knew that Monet always drew a crowd, but this was simply ridiculous. They’d be queuing for hours, and in this inclement weather, standing still for so long wasn’t an appealing prospect.

He ran through Ashton’s other suggestions, and flagged down a cab to take them to the Museum of Natural History instead. The exhibit there was about newly discovered deep sea creatures, and when a class of third-graders came by with a guide, Kurt’s eyes shone and he followed them, soaking up every bit of information the guide doled out.

Kurt was keen to discover the rest of the museum too, and in the end, he only let himself be led out of the museum when his stomach started growling.

“We can always come back another day,” Blaine promised him.

Blaine looked at the overcast sky and chose a nearby sushi restaurant for lunch. It still wasn’t close enough for them to escape a sudden rain squall that drenched them in seconds, and they ran the last few yards, Kurt squealing and trying to protect his hair when the wind blew his hood off.

They stumbled into Gari of Columbus with dripping coats and squeaking shoes, laughing and shivering a little. In the restaurant, it was toasty warm, though, and Kurt slipped into the restroom to try and fix his hair.

“Ugh,” Kurt said when he came back. “I can’t get it into a decent coif. You’ll have to make do with the hairstyle I had when I was a sophomore in high school. Floppy bangs and all.”

Blaine smiled at him and cupped his cheek to give him a kiss. “You do look younger this way. But just as beautiful.”

After lunch, Kurt had to head back to the place he was staying to pick up the poodles for their midday walk, and then a few other dogs as well. Blaine grinned when Snowball and Summer greeted him enthusiastically. It was still raining, but Blaine hardly felt it as he ran with the dogs. Kurt flashed him a happy grin and upped his pace a notch.

After their run, Kurt was shivering again. Blaine hunted for a blanket in the apartment and wrapped Kurt in it, installing him on the sofa and hurrying to the kitchen to make them both tea. When he came back into the living room, Kurt was watching Casablanca, and stretched his arms out towards Blaine. Blaine offered him a cup of tea, and chuckled when that made Kurt pout. “So impatient, beautiful.”

Blaine kissed Kurt’s pout away and sat down next to him, encircling Kurt’s waist and sipping his own tea.

“So where is The Sweetest Thing bakery?” Kurt asked. “We have to make sure we’re on time today.”

Blaine beamed at him. “It’s not far, beautiful. Four blocks or so. So you can drink your tea and watch Humphrey and cuddle me and get warm again. Plenty of time for that.”

Kurt’s answering smile was wide and toothy, and he wiggled a bit closer still. “That sounds perfect.”

They arrived at The Sweetest Thing bakery twenty minutes early, and Kurt used the extra time to inspect the shop window. “I see what you meant about the best designs. These cakes are gorgeous. If they’re yummy, too, I’m sold.”

A gust of wind made them both head inside the shop, and they told the sales assistant that they had an appointment with Mrs Peters.

“Anderson-Hummel?” she asked.

“That’s us,” Blaine confirmed, and he felt Kurt squeeze his hand.

“What is it, beautiful?” he whispered, and Kurt blushed and whispered back, “I like that there’s an ‘us’ now.”

The girl behind the counter cooed. “Aww, you’re too adorable. Have you been together long?”

“Nearly a year and a half,” Kurt lied glibly.

“And you’re already engaged? Wow, I’ve been seeing my man for five years and not a peep about marriage!”

Blaine gave her his most disarming smile. “When you know, you just know.”

A voice behind him made a retching noise, and then hissed, “You disgusting fags, why don’t you get out of here before I break your neck!”

Blaine whipped his head around and saw a burly middle-aged guy, red-faced and looking furious.

Before he could say or do anything, Kurt retorted, “Why don’t you back to the Middle Ages, where you belong? Last I checked, gay marriage was legal. We have as much right to buy our wedding cake here as you do.”

The guy came closer, his hands reaching for Kurt’s neck. Blaine quickly got in front of Kurt and took on a fighting stance.

“Cut this out RIGHT NOW,” a woman commanded.

Blaine recognised Mrs Peters’ voice, but didn’t take his eyes off the angry guy.

“Mr Miller, if you have a problem with my clientele, I suggest you go elsewhere. I’m not having this kind of scene in my shop.”

Mr Miller looked at Mrs Peters, affronted. He’d clearly expected her to side with him. “Oh, fine. Your cakes suck anyway.”

He strode out of the shop and banged the door with all his might.

“Good riddance,” said Mrs Peters. “Now if you two would follow me, please. Anderson-Hummel, right?”

“That’s us, ma’am,” Blaine said. He grabbed Kurt’s hand, and together, they followed Mrs Peters.

Soon after, Kurt was deep in discussion with Mrs Peters about the design he wanted on the wedding cake. He drew several versions on a napkin, and promised to send the baker a digital version of the design by the next day at the latest.

Then, it was time to taste-test the different cake flavours. Kurt took small nibbles and closed his eyes every time a new taste hit him, his brow furrowed in concentration. It made Blaine smile.

Kurt pronounced the chocolate delicious but too heavy, shook his head after tasting the red velvet and vanilla options, made a so-so gesture about the carrot cake, wrinkled his nose at the pink champagne cake, but lit up when he tasted the coconut and lime combo.

“This is it,” he whispered, “This is the perfect cake.”

Blaine nodded. “Okay.”

Kurt took another small bite and moaned. “No, seriously, it doesn’t get any better than this. So good.”

Mrs Peters laughed. “That’s settled, then. So I’ll write down coconut and lime for the cake, and your own design for the decoration. Do you have my e-mail address to send the file?”

Blaine assured her they had the address.

“And what’s the wedding date?” she wanted to know next.

Kurt and Blaine looked at each other.

“We haven’t decided on the venue yet,” said Blaine. “It depends which one we’ll go with. If we pick the Bowery Ballroom, it will be the 7th of June. If it’s at the NY Public Library, it will be on the 14th of July. And the date for the Loeb boathouse is 9 September.”

Kurt cocked his head to the side. “I thought we’d decided against the Loeb boathouse? It’s going to be either Bowery or the Library, Mrs Peters. We’ll let you know as soon as possible. We’re visiting both places again next week, and then we’ll decide.”

Mrs Peters made Blaine repeat both dates and jotted them down with a question mark behind them.

As they filed out of the back room, Mrs Peters put a hand on Blaine’s arm.

“Hey…” she said. “Don’t mind that guy, please. Don’t you worry your pretty head about him. Your fiancé is right. Love is love, and it doesn’t matter to me that you’re two men. It shouldn’t matter to anyone. It’s nobody’s business but your own.”

Blaine swallowed and tried to smile, but it probably came out more like a grimace. “I’ll go pay the deposit at the counter, then.”

Nothing like striking while the iron was hot, so Blaine called both wedding venues to ask if he could come by again, this time with his fiancé. For the Bowery Ballroom, he made an appointment for Monday evening. There was no appointment needed for the New York Public Library. “We’re open until 5.45 today, sir.”

That gave them a little over an hour to go discover the place, so they took a cab there. As soon as Kurt entered the building, he seemed to be vibrating with excitement, and that enthusiasm increased with every detail he pointed out to Blaine, in reverent whispers. They stayed until the library closed, and as they went down the steps, Kurt told Blaine, “This is the right place for us. I can feel it in my bones. We can go check out the Bowery, too, but I don’t think I’ll change my mind. I see us getting married here.”

They picked up Thai take-away on their way back to the place where Kurt was staying. After eating, they took out the dogs for their evening walk, and then curled up on the sofa again until it was time for bed.

When Kurt laid his head on Blaine’s chest, Blaine blurted out, “I’m sorry our first date was such a mess. I wanted it to be perfect, but it all went wrong.”

Kurt raised his head. “Blaine, what are you talking about? There’s nothing about today that I would have changed. To me, it was perfect. A wonderful first date. I couldn’t dream up a better one if I tried.”

“B-but the weather…”

“I loved that it rained. That meant I got to share an umbrella with you. That was so romantic. I’d never done that before.”

“Me neither,” Blaine confessed.

Kurt beamed. “I like sharing firsts with you. I want us to share a lot of firsts. I couldn’t give you my first kiss ‘cause that one got stolen, but the rest of my firsts are all yours.”

Blaine smiled tremulously and pecked Kurt lightly on the lips, but then went back to his grievances about the day. “And I meant for us to go to the Met, but the queue was too long.”

“Aww, Blaine. The Natural History Museum was a much better choice. I loved it there!”

“And your hair got wet!”

“Yep. Yours too, and you looked so sexy with wet curls. I wanted to grab you right there and then and make out with you.”

“And then at the bakery, that guy nearly throttled you!”

“And you defended me, you brave knight in shining Armani.”

Kurt batted his eyelashes at Blaine and pouted his lips.

Blaine laughed and kissed Kurt.

When Kurt came up for air, he breathed, “Perfect. I’m telling you, perfect.”

[ididntlookback]

Could you maybe write something where lances ends up wearing keiths jacket but not by choice. Like his gets damaged or he forgot it and it’s freezing or something. Thanks sooo much ;)

I am SO awful, I got this ask like a month ago and i’ve had this finished for like a week but i’ve been super busy im so so sorry ahhh i hope you enjoy (wc: 2,800)

Lance was a stubborn guy. He was self aware of that. He liked to be right and he hated to admit it when he was wrong.

In the hellish situation he was currently in, though, Lance had to admit that he’d been very wrong. Very wrong.

Team Voltron had gotten back to Earth a few weeks prior. Things were looking scary. When they arrived at their home planet, instead of getting the calming, heartwarming atmosphere they’d hoped to rebuild their castle in, they were confronted with fighting and- you guessed it- the Galra.

They hadn’t taken over Earth yet, but there were regular attacks and voltron were doing their best to fend them off. The Galaxy Garrison wasn’t much help, as their weapons and ships didn’t even begin to size up to the advanced technology the Galra had.

It also didn’t help that the Galra were an enigma to most earth goers. The existence of aliens hadn’t been common knowledge until voltron came down to Earth. Even then, humans were hesitant to believe it until the first Galra attack arrived

Even with the minimal help the garrison provided, team Voltron wanted to stay close to the base, as that’s where their ship was being rebuilt. For the time being, they were all cramped up in Keith’s cabin.

It was a late afternoon and Lance was laying on Keith’s very uncomfortable couch. He was eating a bag of chips while staring up at the ceiling. Pidge, Hunk, and Coran were outside fixing up Keith’s old cruiser, which had broken on the last trip to the garrison. Everyone else was over at the Garrison working on the ship.

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, the sky tinted shades of orange and violet. Lance loved the sunsets. Ever since he got back from space he held a deep appreciation for them. Today, though, Lance would not be able to sit back and enjoy it.

Shiro entered the cabin with his signature serious face that meant ‘time to get to work.’ Pidge and Hunk trailed after him.

“The Garrison just signaled. There may be another few ships coming down,” He said. “Lance and Keith, take the cruiser and get over to the garrison. We’ll back you up soon.”

“Is the cruiser even ready to drive?” Keith asked. He was across the room from Lance, sitting against the wall.

“It should be good,” Hunk said. “Probably.”

“Probably?” Lance asked with an eyebrow raised.

“Yeah,” Hunk confirmed. “… Probably.”

Lance and Keith met eyes, both uneasy at Hunks unenthusiastic reassurance.

“Oookay,” Lance said. “Our armor’s at the Garrison, so we’ll have to gear up over there.”

Keith got up and pulled his jacket on, heading for the door. Lance followed suit.

“Get your jacket,” Keith said, halting in front of the door and causing Lance to bump into him.

“No thanks, Mom,” Lance said, rolling his eyes. “It’s the desert. How cold could it be?”

“Pretty fucking cold,” Keith scoffed.

“I’ve been at the Garrison for years, i think i know how cold it’ll be.”

“You’ve been in the warm, safe walls of the garrison, not stuck out in the desert at this time of night.”

“Whatever,” Lance said, pushing past Keith. “I’m not gonna bring my jacket just because mr. weather guy over here says I should.”

“Your funeral,” Keith sighed, following Lance.

When Lance got outside, it was slightly chilly but nothing like what Keith said it would be like. He mentally scoffed to himself.

After Keith took the front seat and Lance climbed on behind him, Lance wrapped his arms around Keith’s waist. At the contact Keith winced a bit, as if he’d been washing dishes and his hand touched something gross.

“You don’t have to act so repulsed by me,” Lance scoffed.

Keith shuddered a bit as he turned the engine on. “Do you have to… hold me that tight?”

“Well, excuse me for not wanting to fall off this thing and die.”

Keith didn’t answer. He just started driving.  

It was a 15 minute drive to the Garrison, and Lance, like Keith, was not enthused about the idea of physical contact between the two of them.

As they drove, Lance looked out at all the passing mountains and rock mounds. When he was a kid in the car, he’d imagine a man running with the car and jumping from tree to tree, from building to building. He liked to do that on the rides over to the garrison as well. It made him ache to visit home again, as he’d done when they first arrived on Earth.

“Did you really live out here for a full year?” Lance asked. He had to speak loudly, the wind carrying away his voice.

“Yeah. Why?”

“There’s nothing to do out here,” Lance said. “Besides following weird energy stuff, what did you do for fun?”

“What were you doing while i was out here,” Keith snapped. “Failing flight simulators at the Garrison?”

Lance didn’t reply for a few seconds. “Me-ow,” Lance laughed, “What’s with the aggression, Mullet? It was just a question.”

“… Sorry,” He said a few seconds later. “Sometimes i just forget that we, like… don’t hate each other anymore.”

“Oh, don’t worry. A small part of me will always hate you, no matter what,” Lance said, his words dripping in signature Lance sarcasm.

Keith actually laughed at that. “It does make me feel better, thank you.”

Lance was glad they weren’t facing each other. He didn’t want Keith to see the smile at their banter.

“You feeling the cold yet?” Keith asked.

Lance actually was. It got really cold really fast. Still, it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. They’d be at the garrison in no time.

“Nope,” He said. “I guess you’re just weak.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Keith replied. “It’ll get colder.”

“Great,” Lance said, though his heart sank at Keith’s words, “I say bring it on.”

Lance let his mind wander as the air became increasingly more chilly, becoming like small daggers piercing his skin. He started formulating a plan for when they got to the garrison, but it was hard since they knew pretty much nothing about the attack.

When they were about seven minutes away from the Garrison, the cruiser began to slow down. The drop in speed brough Lance back to reality.

“What are you doing?” Lance asked.

“I’m not doing anything,” Keith said, angrily trying to get the speed up.

The cruiser finally stopped all together and at a strange smell Lance looked behind him. There was smoke coming out of the engine.

“That doesn’t look good,” Lance grumbled.

Now that they were just sitting in the now pitch black desert, Lance was shivering, the cold making his fingers numb. Him being stubborn, he tried not to shiver. He didn’t want to give Keith the satisfaction.

Keith got up to investigate and Lance missed his warmth. Not that Keith had much warmth- his hands were like iceicles- but in the freezing desert he was basically a heat generator.

Opening up the hood of the cruiser, Lance saw Keith poke and prod around, trying to see something wrong.

“I think the oil thing is leaking,” Keith said, frowning.

“T-the ‘oil thing?’” Lance asked.

Hearing the stutter in his voice, Keith’s head snapped over to look at Lance.

“You’re cold,” Keith declared.

“What?” Lance said, taking in a sharp breath that hurt his lungs. “No i’m n-not.”

“I told you to bring a jacket!” Keith scolded. “You just had to try and be right.”

“Okay, let’s back up a b-bit,” Lance said, holding his hands up. “Did you just call it the ‘oil thing?’ Can you fix it or not?”

Keith sighed. He walked over to where Lance was sitting. “I don’t think so.”

Panic was starting to rise up in Lance at their situation. He was trying to subtly hug his own arms for more warmth. “What do you mean ‘I don’t think so?!’ It’s your cruiser!”

“This is the first time it’s broken!” Keith argued back. “I’m not an engineer, i don’t know how the thing works.”

Lance looked at Keith blankley as he tried processing things. The cold air must’ve been slowing down his brain. Keith raised an eyebrow as he watched Lance make blank eye contact with him.

“You… okay?” Keith asked.

“We’re s-stuck… in the desert… the cold desert… alone,” Lance cleared up, talking with his hands for more emphasis.

“Yep,” Keith said.

“Well… shit.”

“Yep.”

“How far aw-away is the garrison?”

“Four miles,” Keith said miserably.

“How f-far away is the cabin?” Lance asked, hoping for a better answer.

“Four miles.”

Lance hung his head down dramatically. “S-s-so all our options s-suck?”

“Yep,” Keith confirmed. “We should walk to the Garrison. The attack is still happening and they’re counting on us.”

“That’ll t-take us an hour,” Lance groaned. He’d done track all through middle school, so he was acutely aware of how long a mile is.

“Better late than never,” Keith said. “Let’s get moving.”

Lance wanted to die. That’s when he knew that for once- well, maybe more than once- in his life he’d been wrong. What he’d do for his jacket. The two were walking against the chilly winds which added insult to injury. Lance’s lips felt numb and his fingers felt practically immobile.

Keith looked cold but not nearly as cold as Lance. How warm could that jacket be? It was so short it could barely be classified as a jacket.

About ten minutes into silently walking, Lance kept feeling Keith’s eyes on him. He didn’t look over, as he wasn’t in the mood for a conversation or awkward eye contact.

“You’re freezing,” Keith declared a few minutes later.

Lance had given up on trying to look warm at that point. He let himself shiver freely, giving in and embracing the consequences of the dumbass decision he’d made.

“No, i’m t-toasty,” Lance grumbled sarcastically.

He looked over at Keith, who did the same and met Lances eyes for a few seconds. Keith sighed and took off his jacket, offering it to Lance.

“W-why?” Lance asked, looking at Keith. “Y-you need it.”

“I’m used to the cold,” Keith said. “I lived out here, remember?”

Lance hesitated for a few second, looking at the jacket as if it was a bomb that could explode at any second.

Keith, his arm still outstretched, pressed it slightly against Lance’s shoulder. “C’mon. Take it before I change my mind.”

Deciding that his pride was less important than getting frostbite, Lance took the jacket and put it on with shaking arms.

Boy was he wrong about the jacket not being that warm. It was already slightly warmed up from being on Keith’s body for so long, and the inside was lined with a delicate fleece, which Lance had not expected.

Even though the jacket was small on Lance and and ended slightly above his waist, it felt like the best and warmest thing ever in the cold desert.

“Thanks, m-mullet,” Lance stuttered out. Keith didn’t say anything in response, he just glanced over at Lance a few times.

“I do have to s-say,” Lance continued, “this jacket is so not practical even though it is kinda warm.”

“W-what do you mean?” Keith asked, starting to shiver.

“Why is it cropped? Like… w-why? Also, look at this.” He connected both sides of the jacket and zipped it all the way up so that the huge collar was hiding half of his face. “Why?”

Keith looked over and honest to god laughed at that. Lance snapped his head over to look at Keith, hearing laughter come from him being such a rarity.

Lance looked forward quickly though, not wanting Keith to catch him looking at him.

“It’s a cool j-jacket,” Keith shrugged.

“On what planet!?” Lance laughed. “You clearly got your fashion sense from your mom because that jacket is definitely not cool on Earth.”

“I like it.”

The two left it at that and continued to walk. They’d bump shoulders every once in a while, the wind and cold making them unsteady.

“How much longer?” Lance asked.

“Probably another t-thirty minutes.” Keith’s lips were turning blue, his arms shaking where he held them up to his chest. “Have I said ‘i told you so,’ about the whole jacket thing yet?”

“I don’t think so.”

Keith looked over at Lance with a small smirk on his face. “I t-told you so.”

“And I now accept that.”

Lance had a selfless thought and he hated himself for it.

He slipped the jacket off and handed it back to Keith. “I was the dumbass who didn’t bring a jacket. You should wear it.”

Keith took it but didn’t put it on. He looked in thought, as if he didn’t know what to do with the jacket. After a few seconds he looked at Lance with a glare and a sigh.

“The second we get to the Garrison, all m-memory of this leaves both of our minds, got it?” Keith borderline growled.

Lance raised an eyebrow. “All memory of w-”

His question was answered when Keith practically rammed his shoulder against Lances and wrapped an arm around his waist. With his other arm he draped the jacket over both of their shoulders like a blanket, pushing the two even closer together.

“Oh,” Lance creaked out, the blood rushing to his face. He looked over to see Keith’s face was red as well.

Their heads were right next to each other, and Lance could feel Keith’s breath. He was hyper aware of the arm around his waist. Copying Keith, he wrapped his own arm around Keith’s. He didn’t know what to focus on more, how warm he was or how muscled he was.

“Why are you so warm?” Keith asked, taking Lance by surprise.

“Huh?”

“Y-you are weirdly warm. W-why?”

If Lance wasn’t blushing before he sure was now. “I c-can’t tell if you’re looking for a logical answer. I’m j-just warm blooded.”

Lance had been wondering why Keith had said that, but when he himself randomly blurted out, “you smell n-nice,” he assumed that the cold was short circuiting both of their brains.

“T-thanks?” Keith said. “What do I-I smell like?”

“Dunno,” Lance answered back. “You s-smell very K-Keith like.”

At his response Keith chuckled a bit, causing blasts of warm breath on Lance’s cheek. Lance looked over at the boy besides him and Keith looked over as well.

They made eye contact and it made Lance’s heart stop. Lance had always seen Keith’s eyes as a strange shade of purple, but up close he found so much more in them.

“Uh, we should k-keep on going,” Keith said, his voice a whisper.

Lance hadn’t realized that they had stopped moving. He had to take a few seconds to reboot his brain before looking away and stuttering out a response. “Y-yeah.”

They shuffled on forward, fighting another gust of cold wind and pretending the earlier moment never happened.

“I can s-see the top of the garrison tower,” Lance exclaimed. “We’re almost there.”

“Good,” Keith breathed out. “And remember, not a w-word of this to anyone.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll just repress the hell out of it like I d-did to the ‘bonding moment.’”

“What?”

“What? Nothing!” Stupid hypothermia, making Lance unintentionally say things.

The two didn’t speak for the rest of the trip. They finally made it to the Garrison and Lance could practically taste the heating they’d find inside the establishment.

They got to the doors and waited for their buzz to be answered.

“Well, it’s been fun sharing awkward contact wi-with you,” Lance said, separating himself from Keith but immediately missing his warmth.

“B-back at you,” Keith said.

The door opened and the two immediately rushed inside. Lance’s skin itched as it warmed up. Both him and Keith rubbed their hands together, trying to bring feeling back to their fingertips.

“Where have you been?” Coran asked, rushing over to the boys. “The Galra ships will be here any second. Suit up!” He rushed off somewhere else, not even waiting for an answer.

Lance and Keith had to go separate ways to get to their lions. Before they split Lance offered Keith his jacket back. “Thanks for helping an idiot out,” Lance told him.

“You can keep it till the mission ends,” Keith told Lance. He started walking away until he stopped and looked back with a small grin. “It looks good on you.”

“Oh,” was all Lance could squeak out as he watched Keith walk away. HIs face was red and his heart was beating fast. He probably would’ve stood there in shock for the rest of the night until he remembered with a start where he was supposed to be.

“Right. Earth is being attacked. I should deal with that.”

[bestoftrust]

Free short coat patterno crochet

#Free short coat patterno crochet skin#

#Free short coat patterno crochet free#

Check out this tutorial from Craft Gossip made this fantastic oversized faux fur coat in just a few surprisingly simple steps.

#Free short coat patterno crochet free#

Have you always loved the aesthetic of white fur coats but you’re far too invested in animal rights and cruelty free fashion to ever wear a real once? Well, thanks to the quality of the faux fur materials you’ll find in the average fabric store lately, that doesn’t actually mean you can’t get that white fur you’ve been lusting after. Just in case you’ve always preferred toasty sweaters over actual fall coats, which you find somewhat cumbersome and unnecessary for the mild weather where you live, here’s a fantastic style we think you’ll really appreciate! McCalls guides you through the process of making a mid-shin length sweater style coat that hangs open like a cardigan. Convertible blazer coatĪre you actually finding yourself a little bit torn over whether you’d prefer to make yourself a long coat on the off chance that the weather gets very cold this year or a short coat because you like the style better and it’s usually quite mild where you live? Well, if a blazer is the style you’re going for, we’d definitely suggest taking a look at this pattern from The Business UK that lets you make both kinds in one piece thanks to a convertible zipper trick at the waist! 5. Long Butterick sweater coat Get more details for how this one was made on Ovoke! 4.

#Free short coat patterno crochet skin#

If you’ve never tried on a camel coat before, then we’d definitely suggest looking more into the comfortable style and considering it heavily for your DIY coat project this year! Besides the usual sandy colour that suits essentially anyone of any skin tone, we love the way most of these coats are drape-y and comfortable, gathering around the neck for warmth. There’s just something about wearing something that’s simultaneously classy and cozy that appeals to us a lot! Take a look at this pattern from McCalls to learn how you can make your own in any colour and various fabrics. This year, wrap style coats are probably one of the most popular statements happening in fall fashion, and we can’t pretend we don’t adore the idea. See how you can actually make your own from smart wool fabric on Sew DIY! 2. DIY blanket wrap coat We’ve always loved funnel neck coats because you can turn the collar up against the wind if you need to on particularly cold days, but otherwise we love the way it sits down and wide, perfect for showing off a classy turtleneck underneath or perhaps your favourite scarf wrapped and tied in that open space. Just in case the idea of making your very own fall coat from scratch appeals just as much to you as it does to us, if not more, here are 15 of the very best and most creative looking sewing patterns and tutorials we’ve come across so far! 1. Funnel neck coat tutorial Each year, however, we actually try to make ourselves at least one coat because we’re avid sewing enthusiasts and coats have always been something we’ve found very satisfying indeed to create! That’s why we always have our eyes peeled for new patterns and designs as styles change through the years. Now that fall weather has settled and it appears the cold is here to stay, we’re ready to start digging out all our coats and putting our shirts and t-shirts away.

[everlarkficexchange]

Prim's Plan - Part 2

Written by: @mega-aulover

Prompt 107: Everlark fic based off of the song “Thinking Out Loud” by Ed Sheeran. [submitted by Anonymous]

Rated: T for everlark Smooching ;)   Part 1

A/N: Thank you for submitting this prompt I hope you enjoy it. Thank you @everlarkficexchange for the opportunity to exchange ideas and grow our fandom. Aslo to @norbertsmom for your extraordinary beta skills I need to get you some flowers.

Katniss plopped on her bed in pure shock.

Three dates.

Her sweet stubborn sister wouldn’t take the application letters Peeta wrote until they agreed to go on three dates.

She stared up at the ceiling willing for an apocalyptic catastrophe to suddenly happen. The odds were not in her favor.

She couldn’t believe she’d agreed to go out with Peeta. Peeta Mellark, who she drunkenly confessed her feelings for to Gale. It was the reason they weren’t speaking.

“Damn you, Ed Sheeran!”

Four years ago, Peeta was waiting for her in his car. It was one of those frigid winter days. He had just bought his used car. He was the first one to get a car at sixteen. They had just gone through the drive-through when the song came on.

Katniss still wasn’t sure how it happened. Maybe it was the food, or the twinkling Christmas lights, or the fact that they got stuck in his clunker overnight and she slept nestled on top of Peeta until the tow truck came.

But that song, Thinking Out Loud, came on and Katniss recalled looking at him and really seeing Peeta for the first time, not the eleven-year-old boy she played tag with as a way to comfort her after her father died, or the 14-year-old boy who had to have his leg amputated, because a drunk driver mowed him down on his bicycle. She saw Peeta and her heart wobbled and danced in her chest as she listened to the song.

It wasn’t the first line about his legs not working that did it for her. It was the line about finding love right where they were. Katniss found her love sitting right next to her. He’d always been there, and she was irrevocably in love with him.

Her only problem, it was one-sided.

Peeta only saw her as a friend.

At the time she’d kept her mouth shut because he’d been dating that witch Clove who dumped him a week before Prom night for Thresh.

She’d tried to tell him, many, many times, but she didn’t have the courage. All of Peeta’s girlfriends were superior to her. Katniss didn’t have the boobs Johanna had. She wasn’t an older woman like Clove, and she didn’t look like Glimmer who was currently in Hollywood making movies.

She wasn’t that pretty or impressive.

Silently, Katniss carried her love for him in secret until last may when she turned 21.

“You’re not getting out of this Katniss,” Prim said from the door.

Katniss raised her head and narrowed her eyes at her baby sister. She’d forgotten to close her door.

“Prim, it’s Peeta? What if this doesn’t work? I don’t want to lose him.”

Primrose smiled sweetly like one of those baby angels with wings. “Don’t worry, sis. You’d never lose Peeta?”

“Glad you have more faith than I do.”

“Stop it, I will not have you back out of going on these dates. You’ve never been a quitter besides, do you really want me to have a bonfire with those letters Peeta wrote?”

Katniss grimaced her eyes, “No.”

“Now that we are clear, get some shuteye you need your beauty rest for tomorrow.”

“Whats tomorrow?” Katniss swallowed.

“Your first date is for tomorrow night,” Prim smirked. “Before you ask, it’s easy, a movie. I called in a favor and got tickets. Peeta will get them tomorrow afternoon. He’s coming tomorrow precisely at 6:45 pm.”

Prim closed her door and Katniss groaned, letting her head drop to the mattress and silently hoped for lightning to strike her.

The lightning never came, and the next night Katniss learned how much of a dictator her sister Primrose was. Prim nixed all of her comfy, cargo pants, pajama looking pants, sweats, and loose jeans she purchased at the thrift store to hunt in. Besides, her hunting pants had stains Prim didn’t want to even try to identify.

Her sister attacked her collection of misshapen sweaters, and shirts as well. She had a few that had special meaning for her. The baseball t-shirt had Peeta’s number on it from when he played. The state fair shirt he purchased for her two years ago. Almost all of her t-shirts had a history. The only ones she could do without were her waitressing shirts.

Primrose forced her to wear a pair of tight, uncomfortable skinny jeans, a form-fitting orange sweater, and uncomfortable flat shoes with floppy bows. Katniss wondered why designers would put such childish decorations on adult shoes. Her sister was so determined, she lent her a coat as well. Katniss doubted the wool coat would be warm enough. Her big puffy coat kept her nice and toasty. Prim was firm, no sneakers, and under no circumstances would she wear her hunting boots.

“Okay,” Prim said, circling her.

“Good, you look decent. Do you have a handbag?”

“A what?”

“A purse, Katniss.”

“Prim, I have dad’s old game bag and my old knapsack from school.”

“Katniss, you need a purse,” Prim said, running out of the room.

Katniss shook her head and turned to finish putting her rejected clothing neatly back in her dresser. When she came home she didn’t want to have to clean up. By the time Prim came back, Katniss had made sure her room was spotless.

“Here.” Prim thrust a soft leather bag toward Katniss.

“Why do I need one again? Aren’t pockets-,” Her argument died on her lips. The darned pants pockets were narrow.

Prim began putting the things she would need to carry inside of the bag. “You need a place to put your phone, your ID, antibacterial gel, debit card, cash, maxi pad, and a condom.”

“Condom,” Katniss said horrified.

“A lady always needs to be prepared,” Prim said holding out the bag.

“Who, what, where, when and how the hell did you get condoms? Are you using condoms?” Katniss stood hands akimbo in total shock to think that her sister was having sex. “Why are you using condoms?”

Prim rolled her eyes. “Katniss, I’m not a virgin and I need to protect myself. I don’t want to have kids.”

“Does mom know?”

“Yeah, she took me to get my birth control pills as well when I was 15, not that I was sexually active at that age.”

“Mom never did any of that with me,” Katniss said, sitting down on her bed.

“That’s because you’re pure, Katniss.”

“I am not pure.” Katniss blushed as she said the word.

“Oh yeah…” Primrose raised an eyebrow, “…then why do you say condoms like we’re talking about a deadly disease.”

Katniss couldn’t disagree. She did sound like she was a character in the 80’s cult classic movie, St. Elmo’s Fire.

“Okay, enough with the mourning of my no longer existing virginity.” As Prim spoke the doorbell rang.

“It’s him,” Katniss whispered. She wanted to run and hide.

Prim pushed her out of her room. Katniss thought of a thousand different things she would rather be doing, but when Prim opened the front door all of them went out of the windows.

She’d never seen Peeta dressed for a date before. He looked handsome in a button-down shirt, jacket, and dark denim jeans. His blond waves were combed back. She thought he looked like one of those male models in those Ralph Lauren advertisements.

“Here, these are for you.” Peeta held out yellow gerbera daisies. Katniss couldn’t help but grin. “You look pretty.”

“Thank you.” Her voice sounded soft and gushy, as she recalled she was wearing his favorite color.

“You ready to go?”

Katniss nodded. Together they walked out into the frigid air and Katniss wanted to kill Prim for making her wear the flimsy excuse for a coat. Thankfully Peeta’s car was warm. When he turned it on, Ed Sheeran’s song, Thinking out Loud, began to play on his radio.

Katniss’s heart thundered in her chest as the notes filled the interior of his car. Katniss glanced at Peeta as he hummed the song. She wished Peeta would take her into his loving arms, and kiss her. She wished she could wake up every morning listening to the beat of his heart.

She wanted to remember his smile. She wanted to touch his hand, have him fall in love with her. She wished so hard for him to fall for her the way she had fallen for him. The sentiments were too much for Katniss. She turned her head away to watch the twinkling lights of the small stores as they drove to the only movie theater in town.

It was ironic. They had come to the movies all of their lives and this was the first time they were going on an official date. Peeta parked the car, and together they walked toward the booth.

“Come on. Primrose got us tickets to see La Boda de Valentina,” Peeta said with his high school Spanish. Peeta was great at languages. He could pick them up easily. Katniss was lucky she knew how to speak English properly.

It’s why she avoided foreign flicks. Primrose knew this, knew how much Katniss loathed subtitles. Prim couldn’t have picked something great like Tomb Raider or Black Panther. Nope, her sister decided to choose the worst kind of torture.

Much to Katniss relief, the movie was half in Spanish, half in English, but she got frustrated with all of the subtitles she had to follow when the movie jumped from New York to Mexico.

It dawned on her as she watched the movie that the main character Valentina had to choose between two guys, and they represented her needs and wants and the expectations of her family. It was reminiscent of her own life.

For a long time people always just assumed she would end up with Gale. They had a lot of things in common, especially their fiery personalities. Gale had a worse temper than she did. Truth be told, she always saw Gale like an older brother. Hell, she and Gale even looked alike. That’s why she could never see herself with him, no matter what their mothers thought. She glanced at Peeta, who was totally engrossed in the film.

By the end of the film, Katniss understood it, but she didn’t like the movie. They were walking out of the theater.

“So, are you hungry?” Katniss glanced at Peeta. He was quiet.

“Yeah, but I have to take you someplace nice. Prim said no Sae’s.”

Katniss chuckled. “The little tyrant is going to pay for this one day.”

Peeta laughed. “I have an idea, if you’re up for an adventure.”

“Sure.” Katniss grinned.

They got in the car and drove to the bakery. He raised an eyebrow at her. “I won’t tell if you won’t?”

Peeta wasn’t a rebel, but when he put his mind to it he could be devious and at this moment she loved him for it. “If there are a pair of your comfy, fluffy socks on the other end, I’m in.”

They snuck into the back of the bakery. Peeta ordered a pizza and snuck upstairs for a pair of his socks. He sat her on the counter and much to her chagrin, he insisted on slipping them on her feet.

Her mouth went dry as he stood up. He braced his hands on the counter on either side of her and looked like he was going to step away. Katniss desperately wanted to keep him close. She said the first thing that popped into her head. “What did you think of the movie?”

He shrugged. “It was good.”

She was very curious as to his take on the movie. “But?”

“The ending was expected. She was going to pick the guy that was most familiar to her, the guy who reminded her of her home. The guy she had most in common with.”

Katniss found his statement interesting. “I didn’t like it.”

“Really, why? He knew her from before she moved to New York. It’s like you and Gale. You guys are meant to be together, because you both have so much in common.”

“Having a lot of stuff in common is not always a good thing.” Katniss couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It was revolting to think she and Gale could be a thing. “It can be disastrous.” Katniss watched him. She was looking to see if he had any feelings for her other than friendship.

“But in order for a relationship to work, you need to have things in common.”

“Shared experiences, are one thing Peeta, but being too alike can almost be like dating a sibling or a first cousin. Both are gross.”

He looked down, took her hand in his, his voice shy. “Is that why you and Gale broke up?”

“Gale and I,” Katniss was disgusted by thinking of Gale and herself in a romantic relationship, “never dated.”

“But you guys were inseparable in high school. Besides, Johanna said she saw you both at the Slag Heap motel one time.” He looked up, searching her eyes. “I mean you guys hunted and used to hang out all of the time?”

Katniss wanted to hurt Johanna and her big mouth. Why Peeta dated her, Katniss never understood. “Ugh no, Peeta. Gale and I were working there, cleaning rooms before I had to go to school. Besides, we are neighbors, Peeta, and yes, when our fathers died in that mining accident, we bonded over it. We did what was necessary to provide for our families.” Katniss twined her fingers with his. “Bottom line, he’s not you, and I think he’s a little jealous of what we have.”

“Really?” Peeta smiled.

Katniss nodded. Her hands moved up his forearms. “You’re why we fought.”

“I was?” Peeta got closer.

Katniss nodded.

“You haven’t spoken to him since Christmas Eve. I noticed he gave me a death glare.”

His face was so close to hers. “Gale and I fought. I told him I…I-” She didn’t get to finish her sentence because Peeta kissed her. She panicked momentarily because this was her first kiss.

Peeta pulled away. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t help myself,” he whispered. His hot breath fanned her lips.

Katniss grabbed his shirt and pulled him into another kiss. This time her body tingled. She wanted more, and pressed herself to him, causing their faces to angle and the kiss to deepen. His hands gripped her knees right before they ghosted up her legs and around to her back, pressing her closer to him. A small groan escaped her lips.

His warm lips were soft, and better than anything she ever imagined. He tasted sweet and minty. She felt cherished in his arms. Katniss was glad she waited to have her first kiss. It was even better than the cheese-buns he made her.

Neither one heard the insistent knocking at the door. They blushed when they realized their food was there. Katniss wanted to melt into him.

“Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back,” Peeta said.

Katniss grinned, and her smile didn’t go away all night. As they ate, Katniss was glad there wasn’t any awkwardness between them. They were themselves. They laughed, joked around, and talked about silly things and serious things.

“You didn’t?” Peeta asked incredulously as he laughed.

Katniss was so relaxed and she couldn’t believe she confessed to stealing Haymitch’s prized knife.“Yeah, well you were away at camp and I was super bored.”

“In my defense, if I would have stayed here, I would have been a felon.”

Katniss swiped at his arm.

It was a perfect evening. As they left the bakery, he took her by the hand and pulled her close. They kissed once more. She felt those butterflies girls talked about in high school. She was still smiling when he took her home. She placed a chaste kiss on his lips, but it caused the butterflies to flutter in her stomach. When Peeta left, she floated to her room.

“So, how did it go?”

Katniss didn’t know how to describe how she felt or the craving she developed for Peeta’s kisses. Her face was her sisters favorite color.

“Good.” Prim nodded. “Then tomorrow night’s date is going to be a breeze. I put the dress in your closet.”

It was only after the door closed did Katniss realized Prim was making her wear her least favorite item of clothing in the middle of winter. As she went to sleep her phone went off and there was a text from Gale:

Gale: We need to talk.

Katniss gasped as below the text there was a grainy picture of her and Peeta kissing outside of the bakery.

[jeremystrele]

This Mid ’60s Sibbel Home In Healesville Is A True Family Legacy

This Mid ’60s Sibbel Home In Healesville Is A True Family Legacy

Stays

by Sally Tabart

The lovingly-restored living room at Fleur Sibbel’s Healesville home. Photo – Mike Baker.

When Fleur removed plaster over the ceiling beams, it revealed a fantastic original cork ceiling! Photo – Mike Baker.

Impeccable detail and craftsmanship is a trademark of Sibbel homes.Photo – Mike Baker.

It was super important to Fleur to maintain the original kitchen. Cabinet makers at Zuster built new internal drawers and cupboards and re-attached the original door and drawer faces. Photo – Mike Baker.

Among the few updates that Fleur made was new wallpaper on every wall. Photo – Mike Baker.

A grand, green bedroom. Photo – Mike Baker.

Impeccable detail in the bedroom and en suite. Photo – Mike Baker.

One of Fleur’s favourite features of the home is the signature Sibbel front door! Photo – Mike Baker.

When Fleur Sibbel, Managing Director of furniture and design business Zuster, first came across this home in Healesville in 2017, a part of her knew it was meant to be. But the connection ran deeper for Fleur than just falling in love with the place: ‘It’s a home built by my father, Meyer Sibbel, and designed by my grandfather Herman Sibbel, in 1968, so it has so much history for our family’ Fleur explains.

Many of the most significant mid-century homes built between the 1960s – 1980s in Melbourne were by Sibbel Builders, a third-generation family business brought to Australia by Fleur’s grandfather Herman and his brother Martin in the 1950s, later taken over by her father Meyer until the mid 1990s. Bringing over modern design sensibilities to Australia from Herman’s training as an architect in Holland, Sibbel Builders were instrumental in creating the vernacular for great home design in Melbourne that is still referenced and celebrated today.

Fleur and her husband Simon were mid-way through the renovation of their family home (also a Sibbel home) in Balwyn North when they first came across the Healesville house, but they weren’t really in the position to buy at the time ‘Two years later we were chatting and I said, “I still think about that Sibbel house in Healesville”. I searched [online] and it was back on the market – it hadn’t sold in 2017 and was back on the market in later 2019, just when we were ready!’ says Fleur.

After finding the home in its near-original condition, Fleur and Simon have made some careful updates with the help of builder Peter Cann, who started as an apprentice with Fleur’s Dad! ‘He did an amazing job on this house under the supervision of my Dad – it was just like the old days!’ She says.

We spoke with Fleur to learn a little more about this significant piece of personal and architectural history!

Hey Fleur! Can you tell us a little about your family history, and how it relates to your Healesville home?

I grew up in a Sibbel house in South Warrandyte on 5 acres, designed by my father- Meyer Sibbel. I’m one of four girls, and we all grew up in the family business, with Dad’s office at home and design all around us. We were constantly reminded that there wasn’t a son to take over Sibbel Buiders – already a four-generation old business, migrating from Holland in 1954. I was always so proud, and still am, of the houses Dad designed and built through the 70’s 80’s and 90’s.

As a family, we grew up discussing good design, quality and craftsmanship. It was just normal to us, but looking back it was probably quite different to other families. We loved visiting the building sites, the cabinet making factory and viewing plans of new house designs and projects of dads.

What condition was the home in when you purchased it?

We were lucky to find the house in its original state. They had painted beams and bathrooms, however there weren’t too many alterations. They had plastered over the beams in the kitchen, which was odd, making the ceilings lower. We removed the plaster and found the original cork ceiling lining, which I love.

It was super important for us to keep the original kitchen. I had our cabinet makers at Zuster build new internal drawers and cupboards and re-attach the original door and drawer faces. We also updated the bench tops to Fashion Granite and added a dishwasher and Miele appliances.

What other bits did you update?

We updated the bathrooms, with the Issy by Zuster bathrooms from Reece. It’s a bathroom collaboration Zuster designs and manufactures for Reece nationally. We also updated the flooring to terrazzo throughout and added wallpaper to every wall. I love the warmth and texture of wallpaper. We also re-instated the underfloor heating, which had broken 15 years earlier. The home is super toasty through the cold Yarra Valley mornings in winter. 

How important was it to you to stay true to the original style/character of the home?

It was incredibly important to maintain the true beauty of this house and design integrity of the era. It’s like being in a time capsule, where life was simpler, houses were smaller and design was paramount.

What ended up happening to Sibbel Builders? Is your business, Zuster, a bit of an homage to the craftsmanship that runs deep in your family history?

My dad wound up Sibbel Builders in about 1995, when there was so much pressure on ‘price per square metre’ and builders changed from doing everything in house, like frames and cabinets, to outsourcing. It was really sad to close up, but really hard at the time to convince people to pay for the long lasting quality of Sibbel. If we only knew then – it would all turn around!

 My sister Wilhelmina studied Furniture Design at RMIT and started designing furniture in 1994 at Dad’s factory. Dad closed Sibbel and helped in the furniture business (which was called Sibbel Furniture), then I joined 1996 to run the business side. We changed our name to Zuster in 2000 – meaning sister in Dutch. Dad retired about ten years ago, but has helped at Zuster so much over the years with construction, quality and manufacturing. 

What are some of your favourite parts of the home?

There’s so much I love about the house, from the signature Sibbel front door to the timber cladding and warm materials and textures throughout the home. I love that the windows face north, looking out onto Mount Riddle and the garden. I love the bedrooms, the rich textures and the feeling of luxury on our weekend stays.

I especially love the link to my family heritage and knowing I will pass the house onto my children and grandchildren to enjoy.

When Fleur and her family aren’t using their Healesville home as a getaway from the city, The Sibbel House is available for short term accommodation! Book it here.