#we still do 4-6 times the recipes

[kikiknits]

WIP Progress! Had a pretty productive weekend this weekend.

Added the third band of color on this shawl; should be progressing to the colorful border soon

Also baked some of our traditional Christmas cookies!

Pictured: chocolate chip, Swedish Spritz, thumbprints (in apricot, lemon curd, blackberry, and strawberry)

[blackcoldcrackedheart]

For @v88sy

"Nothing beats a real 3 alarm fire, right Bobby?" Chimney joked as he and crew started to make their way out of the trucks.

They were covered in grime and soot after dealing with said 3 alarm fire at a shipping distributor. The fire took nearly 4 hours to put out, fortunately for the 118 they didn't lose anyone but a lot of workers were critically injured.

Despite the rough call, Bobby felt invigorated. It was only his fourth shift back as Captain but he felt like it was his first day ever as Captain. The same energy he felt decades before buzzed through his veins as he watched his team tiredly make their way to the showers.

"You guys did great." Bobby noted to his team, "Hit the showers and I'll whip something for us for a late lunch. We're off the roster for an hour."

Bobby was ready to hit the showers himself when he noticed a few folks were sniffing the air.

Bobby inhaled as well, face scrunching in confusion as he smelled something spicy but sweet.

"Unless we're all having a collective stroke, I smell barbecue." Eddie said excitedly, already running up the stairs to the loft, followed up by the others and Bobby.

Bobby half expected Athena to be up in the kitchen, but instead he saw a familiar 6' 2 frame standing over the oven.

"Tommy?" Buck was all smiles as he rushed over to his boyfriend, pulling in the man for a kiss and causing both men to laugh as the soot from Buck's face transfered over onto Tommy's face.

"What are you doing here, man?" Chimney asked, patting the other man on the back. Eddie pulled Tommy in for his own hug along with Hen.

Tommy shrugged, nudging his chin towards the multiple items on the stove top. "I heard about the massive fire you guys had to deal with. Figured I could come by and give Cap and Evan a break in cooking for you guys."

"Tommy, you didn't have to do all this." Bobby looked at the multiple dishes, "i know how busy the harbor team gets, you should be enjoying your time off."

Eddie had already opened the over and took a dramatic deep inhale. "And if in his time off he enjoys making us delicious barbecue, who's to say we shouldn't accept?" Eddie clapped his hands and rubbed them excitedly, "All this gonna be ready after we shower?"

Tommy laughed, catching how annoyed Buck was looking at Eddie. "Yeah, you guys go shower." He turned to Buck, "I got it from here."

Buck stepped closer, a playful smirk was all Chimney and Hen needed to see before declaring "No! No hooking up in the showers!' Chimney reminded the younger firefighter who only looked sheepishly over at fed up Bobby.

"We know that look Buck." Hen reminded him teasingly.

Buck let out a frustrated loud sigh as he pouted at Tommy. Tommy was all smiles though, he pulled Buck by his turnout coat and kissed him quickly.

"I'll be back." Buck promised as he followed the others down the stairs to the showers.

That only left Bobby.

"I didn't know you knew how to cook." Bobby mused as he watched Tommy start to pull out the larger serving dishes from the cabinets. Bobby was even more surprised that Tommy remembered where everything was still.

"Yeah," Tommy rummaged around the drawers for serving utensils, "Learned off and on over the years, picked up on cooking mostly during quarantine. I figured might be fun to learn new recipes during the lockdown so I got really into smokers and barbecue so..." he waved serving tongs over the trays of chicken and ribs. "Voilà, I guess." He laughed.

Bobby raised a brow, not at the food but at Tommy.

This definitely wasn't the same man who worked under Bobby years ago.

This Tommy was definitely more confident and self-actualized. There was an easiness to Tommy that wasn't there before.

Tommy caught him staring, "Foods gonna be ready in a minute Cap, go ahead and shower."

Before Bobby could respond Buck came running up the steps, freshly showered and in clean clothes.

It occurred to Bobby at that moment he had never seen either men smile that brightly before. Buck was looking damn near giggly as Tommy's eyes gave away on how gone Tommy was for Buck.

"Ready to help." Buck smiled bashfully as Tommy pulled on a still wet curl hanging over Buck's forehead.

"God, you're cute."

That was Bobby's cue to leave.

By the time Bobby came back the loft, the food was already dished out and the crew was already seated. Bobby figured the cheers was more so about the team being finally able to eat rather then Bobby finally sitting with them

Eddie was the first to go at the food. "Buck," Eddie's eyes were all stars as he grabbed at everything, already drooling. "You should know, if you and Tommy were to break up, he gets me in the divorce. Ankles be damned."

"Me too." Hen moaned as she started to eat. "Tommy, where the hell did you learn how to make this?"

As Tommy and the others started to talk about cooking, Bobby caught Chimney’s sad smile.

"You good Chim?"

Chimney nodded, looking wistful as he told Bpbby in a low voice. "I guess I just realized how stuck Tommy was back in the day." Chimney took a moment to stare at Tommy who was whispering something to Buck that had the other man turn bright red and laugh, the reaction had Tommy looking all too pleased.

"Gerrard used to bug him about bringing over his girlfriend over so she could cook for us. Tommy would make a bunch of excuses about why his girlfriend never showed to the station or to the bar after work."

Bobby nodded, understanding where Chimney was going with this.

After dinner Bobby insisted that Tommy let the others clean up, with Buck pushing his boyfriend to sit and relax with Bobby.

"You're good for him." Bobby told Tommy in a matter of fact voice.

Tommy looked taken back, Bobby caught the flicker of worry and something else that was too familiar for Bobby. That certain fear of not being enough.

"You honestly think so?" Tommy asked softly, his eyes following Buck around the kitchen.

Bobby didn't want to jump to conclusions or anything, but he knew love when he sees it.

"I know so." He patted the younger man on the back. "It's nice having you back here, Tommy."

Tommy's smiled bashfully towards the ground before looking up. "It's nice being back, honestly." He promised.

Bobby clapped him on his back, "Good."

[sugar-grigri]

Recipe for creating God! In just 9 steps by Barem Bridge

Let's turn things upside down this time. I'll start directly with the conclusion and we'll work our way back.

My conclusion: Barem wants to create a god.

Step 1: create commitment, it's important to go about it the opposite way round, get followers (focus on the young if you want to make a mark on a generation), set up a real infrastructure with even prophets who look like followers but are superior, the great chosen ones!

Step 2: Sow chaos. This is important to make people understand the need for a great savior. Make the icon a sin, and pretending to be a savior a sin too. Don't hesitate to contact the fire demon for help.

Step 3: make sure that whoever is to be your deity is alone, has no one close to him and is very lonely. Worse, becoming himself is his only answer. Don't hesitate to do it in front of a big sacrificial fire. For best results, break what little sane spirit remains in your deity. What god can be sane? That's not what we ask of them!

Step 4: You can take inspiration from other bases you know, take inspiration from the Christian area. Not all men believed in Jesus, and Jesus was tortured. That's a good thing, because it has a double benefit. Firstly, if your deity doesn't close himself off to humans, it'll show his great wisdom, but above all, if he can be resurrected, it makes it easier to create his myth.

Step 5: Next, trust the elements that are simmering in your heart: a little loneliness, betrayal, grief, physical pain. Trust the torment of the story so that your hero's only hope is dashed. Did he believe in sex? Let him be further tormented so he understands that it won't make him happy, but also unhappy. And then you get something interesting, a martyr.

Step 6: You have your martyr, and your preparation allows his suffering to be properly directed. His sexual assault? His grief? It's important that it doesn't make him want to live. A god doesn't live, humans do. But God is simply there. He exists in himself. Never dies, but never lives either. Above all, make sure that the gap between him and mankind widens a little. Let the misunderstanding between him and mortals deepen.

Step 6: You need an antagonist, an opposing force. Focus on one of his loved ones, like Lucifer, the angel who once carried the light, who also symbolizes hope. But make him a traitor, a source of violence, a monster who doesn't feel sadness. Careful, we're talking about a pebble here, a betrayal, but it takes much more to create Le Diable.

Step 7: Keep your god under control, as his torments could destabilize him. You're the one in charge, so you've got the situation under control. Be confident in your abilities. Trust your ingredients.

As fish and sushi symbolize hope, your divinity no longer looks at them. The hand is an enigma for your divinity, a symbol of prayer, of the link with others, of its humanity, but a hand that is also cruel, violent, devastating yet gentle, yet playing on buried desires. Human complexity lies in this hand. It is the barrier that separates your divinity from the rest of the world. This symbol of rapprochement. And distance. Let him still believe in this hand. This possibility of being normal. Still keep your divinity under wraps.

Step 8: But don't forget to feed it. Put the fish aside and take back what the bird brings you. You know, that light bird that's also a weight, symbolizing your relationship with others, especially what they think. Worrying too much about this enchanting bird can lead to tragedy, just as hoping to hear all the songs will make you look like a heretic - you can't be a god. There is only one. Chainsaw Man.

No… All you can do is beg. Pray. Like a mere mortal.

It's vital that your divinity feeds on these unborn thoughts, they're not even birds. They're just eggs. Only God can eat them, as an omniscient being.

And there you have your divinity, a beautiful dish, but what exactly is it for? Several things.

Tasting: You created light, so you created shadow. Or rather, the absence of light. To create this being of darkness, this being must be completely hermetic to this being of light, opposed, closed, above all: it must feel betrayed and abandoned by it. The absence of light is none other than Lucifer, the former bearer of light and God's right-hand man.

And there you have it: for your divinity to have access to Lucifer and oppose him, it has to accept its role as a divinity. Adapt to it. And so, finally, accept your role as savior.

Savior from what? From the apocalypse!

By doing so, you protect humanity and contribute to your ideal.

ET VOILÀÀÀ you have your champion!!!!! God? Chainsaw Man? Noooo, God himself is an ingredient.

Step 10: Wish the God Devil bon appétit

[queuestarter]

imbrued

(finnick odair x reader)

cw: stab wound, vomit, mentions of prostitution, murder, blood, death

link to the request → reader and finnick are in the quell together and reader gets injured. finnick does everything he can to protect her

open to submissions/asks !!

You never expected to be back.

Why would you? After winning the 68th Hunger Games, you thought you were free from the torment, but that was never the case. After winning and gaining the favor of the capitol, you were immediately thrust into the spotlight, being sold off to those who could afford you. You were given a slot each week on television, showing off baking recipes that you had no interest in making. 

And now, your name was called once more from the pool of victors, placing you back to where you started when you were just sixteen years old, only this time with your boyfriend Finnick by your side.

The events of the weeks leading up to the start of the Quarter Quell passed in a blur. Things only start registering with you when you’re finally in the arena, eyes searching frantically around your surroundings to try and figure out what’s going on.

You can see water immediately in front of you with trees just beyond it, which is more than ideal since you’re from District 4. In your first games, you had to trek through fields of tall grass for miles before there was a place to take shelter.

After you find your bearings on the platform, you immediately begin to search for Finnick. You spot him across the water, the distance upsetting you, but Johanna is on your other side which is slightly comforting. 

When the gong sounds, you immediately head for the Cornucopia. You thrived in the bloodbath in your last games and you plan to do so again. Finnick didn’t want you to put yourself at risk, but you have a reputation to uphold. You know the only way that you’re going to get any sponsors is if you put on a show.

Due to your strong swimming skills, you and Finnick get to the golden Cornucopia first. You barely have time to send a smile his way before you’re grabbing weapons- small knives to strap onto your body and a metal spear to hold. You feel a sick sense of satisfaction when you’re forced to use your newly acquired spear on another tribute, proud that you protected Finnick from a man that was going to kill him.

It’s only when you are finally forced away from the Cornucopia by Finnick’s strong hold on your upper arm that you have the time to talk to him. You can tell by the slight frown on his face that he’s not very happy with you.

“What were you thinking? I told you not to go to the Cornucopia.” He’s still holding onto your arm as you make your way through the jungle, Katniss and Peeta in front of you.

You roll your eyes and smile at him. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Finnick only frowns at you more. “I’m trying to protect you, here. Something bad could have happened.”

You actually laugh at that. “I know you remember my games, Finn. The Cornucopia was mine in the last games. Don’t worry so much about me.”

He sighs, but drops the subject. The two of you fall silent.

The next few hours are terrible. Peeta’s near death, the acid fog, the monkey mutts that killed the poor morphling from District 6 and claimed your spear. The Quell is moving at a much quicker pace than any of the games have in the past and it’s worrying you. 

Things only start to look up after Katniss uses Wiress’ cryptic words to discover that the arena is set up like a clock.

Finnick, ever inquisitive, says, “I’d like to go to the Cornucopia and watch. Just to make sure we’re right about the clock.” You all decide that it’s a pretty good idea and walk the short stretch over to the golden horn.

The others begin to talk mindlessly as you and Finnick branch off into your own conversation while you patrol the border of the Cornucopia. “It’s interesting that there’s nothing but weapons here this year. They’re really trying to get this over with,” you comment.

Finnick nods. “They want us dead. Good thing we know how to fish,” he smirks.

You shake your head in slight amusement, carefully toeing closer to everyone else. As you get closer to the group, you look up from your feet to see Gloss creeping up on the rock wedges, getting closer to an unsuspecting Wiress.

“No!” You scream, pulling a small dagger from your belt. “Wiress, move!” You try to close the gap between you and her.

But it’s too late. You watch in horror as Wiress’ throat gets easily cut by Gloss. Without much thought, you finish the sprint to Gloss, your blade swiftly leaving your hand and ending up in his neck. His eyes widen as he grabs at the handle but before doesn’t pull it out, instead he jumps towards you.

You almost don’t realize what happens. As Gloss lands on top of your body, the same knife he used to kill Wiress ends up in your lower abdomen. You scream, but in the chaos of trying to kill the rest of the careers along with the rapid shifting of the Cornucopia and surrounding waters, the sound gets lost.

It’s only after Finnick grabs your hand and begins to drag you off the island that the reality settles in. You were stabbed in the abdomen and you are losing blood. You put your hand over the wound and keep walking.

“Are you okay?” Finnick asks you once you are back on the beach. “Are you hurt?”

You debate lying for a second. The last thing anyone needs right now is another injured tribute. Beetee is barely hanging on as it is and Peeta is constantly slowing down the group, there doesn’t need to be another liability. But Finnick knows you and he would know if you lied to him.

“I think Gloss stabbed me,” is what ends up coming out of your mouth. You almost wish you lied when you see Finnick’s reaction.

His face twists up in a look of sheer panic, pupils blowing. His hands run across your body until they meet your own hand, holding firmly onto the meaty flesh of your lower torso. “Here?” He asks, gripping your red fingers. “This is where he got you?”

Tears welling up in your eyes, you nod. You can’t help but feel like a disappointment. You thought you would be able to absolutely dominate in these games based on your last ones, but you completely overlooked the fact that everyone else here is a victor, too.

“Okay, baby, let me look,” he gently commands. His eyes turn even wilder when you shake your head. “I need to look. I can’t help you if I can’t see it.”

Your hand drops from your side. Finnick wastes no time in unzipping your jumpsuit, pulling it below your sports bra and to your hips. He bites his lip as he assesses the damage. With a gentle hand, he prods at the tender flesh. A second later, you push him away and throw up.

You can hear him cursing behind you as you continue to retch. You don’t know why you’re sick, but you know that it cannot be good. 

When your sudden sickness is over and you turn back to Finnick to assure him that you don’t know what that was, that you’re fine, you see the rest of the group staring at you, Katniss hands Finnick a mound of what looks like moss in one hand and a small tube.

“I know this isn’t the best option, but it’ll help. I’m sure someone will send us something better soon,” he sends you a small, still panicked smile.

You just nod your head. You’re embarrassed and tired and you want everyone to stop staring at you. You allow Finnick to lead you to where the spile has been hammered into a tree, rinse your wound, apply the medicine, and pack it with the moss. After a few minutes, you feel as good as new.

“Thank you, Finn,” you smile at him. He wraps his arms around you tightly.

“Of course,” he breathes into your hair. “Anything for you. I can’t believe I almost lost you.”

You press a kiss on his collarbone. “That was nothing. I’m not going anywhere.”

“We need to get out of here. You need a real doctor.”

You nod into his shoulder, not too worried anymore. “Soon.”

“Soon,” he repeats back.

And he keeps his promise. The rest of the plan plays out, although not perfectly. You and Finnick are both evacuated and he makes sure you see a doctor, for both the stab in your stomach and the gash in your arm where you cut the tracker out.

You know there’s still more to do, but you feel safe knowing Finnick will be there to protect you.

-

[another-chaotic-bisexual-vampire]

In Leonard Wolf's Essential Dracula, there's a footnote with a recipe for Paprika Hendl as it would've been served to Jonathan Harker:

I wholeheartedly recommend modifying this recipe as it's very "grandma cooking" in the sense that it automatically assumes you know how to do certain Common Kitchen Techniques For Victorian Cooks (like, you know, just make flour dumplings with zero instructions) - so here's my best take on the recipe, below the cut:

PAPRIKA HENDL À LA ESSENTIAL DRACULA (makes 6 servings)

4 lbs young chicken

2 tablespoons fat (substitute: oil)

2 large onions, chopped

2 tablespoons Hungarian Paprika (I went with Sweet)

1/2 cup tomato juice

2 tablespoons flour

1/2 cup sour cream

Cut chicken into serving sized portions

In a skillet, lightly brown onions in fat/oil

Blend in HALF the Hungarian Paprika into the skillet of sizzling oil & onions

To the skillet of spiced & browned onions, add the tomato juice and chicken, cover the skillet, and let simmer for ONE (1) WHOLE HOUR

Meanwhile, in a large bowl, beat flour into sour cream

After that 1 hour, remove chicken from skillet and set it aside on a plate, wrap in tin foil, and contain in oven/microwave to keep warm

In the still simmering sauce in the skillet, add the flour & sour cream mixture and add to the sauce with the remaining Paprika. Let simmer, stirring occasionally, for 5 minutes or until well-blended

Pour half the skillet's sauce through a sieve or colander into a sauce boat - set aside sauce boat for serving later

Return chicken to skillet with still simmering sauce until fully warmed back up

Serve chicken on a warm platter, pouring the skillet's sauce over it and with the sauce boat on the side

Serve with flour dumplings

NOTES

1) Simmering 4 lbs of store-bought chicken breast in only 1/2 a cup of tomato juice for 1 WHOLE HOUR had me panicking and adding water and whatever canned tomatoes I could find just so I didn't burn the chicken (and the kitchen) as that was not nearly enough tomato juice to keep 4 lbs of chicken simmering for 60 solid minutes - so please modify at will, comparing with other recipes, etc.

2) The recipe calls for taking out the finished sauce and putting it through a "food mill" so I tried putting the sauce in a blender to try and turn the onions into sauce as well. DO NOT DO THAT. LEARN FROM MY MISTAKES. It was a disastrous mess. That's why I modified the recipe above to just pour half the sauce through a colander into a sauce boat.

3) Oh, I'm just supposed to make flour dumplings from scratch?? I cobbled together a recipe off the internet in that long hour of simmering, the source of which has since strayed from thought and time (apologies) - so I would heartily recommend either buying store-bought flour dumplings or looking up a flour dumpling recipe ahead of time, as making them from scratch for the first time with a simmering skillet beside you is Quite Tricky

4) I added more Paprika than the recipe called for (gasp!) and honestly... I would recommend DOUBLING the Paprika in this recipe. My partner and I wanted more Paprika!! But we are fans of spiced meat actually tasting like spices and not a subtle "oh yeah I guess there's Paprika in there"

Even with all that improvising on an 125+ year old recipe with missing steps, it made for the most delicious comfort food. 14/10, would eat again with queer dreams

[fruitgummies01]

Vibes for Episode 5 - JUST FOOD!!

Lets Get Into It… Episode 5 of Are You Sure

Gonna try and write down my thoughts as I watch the episode this time and things that stick out to me, since I have time haha.

The episode is only 56 minutes, boooooo!!!

2. Tae saying "It's not just the meat, but the chef that's amazing" and JK giving a sorta half way thumbs up and going back to what he was doing lowkey took me out.

3. Jimin always looks great, but he looks particularly great in these Jeju episodes. His hair is really hair-ing lol.

4. I like that Jimin and Jungkook take care of their staff and make sure that they are also eating. No matter where they are, that always stays the same.

5. Jimin and Jungkook talking about enlisting together. Soooo happy to see their joy in that moment and what it must've meant for both of them, and how they were already imagining what it would be like waking up together and sleeping arrangements and all. Didn't realize it at the moment, but waiting for that finally decision must've weighed heavily on them, which kind of recontextualizes the first two episodes in the US/NY/Connecticut. Also the amount of empty bottles on the table, they both must've been feeling pretty loose at this point lmaoooo. [ Sidenote -- I was slightly annoyed that we finally got to see them having this conversation, and Tae was nose deep in his phone during most of it at the table. Appreciated the editors trying to frame him out of the scene, but still. ]

6. Speaking of, Tae coming in and out of scenes was soooo noticeable, especially in this episode for some reason. Sometimes felt like he was either not there, or when he was, he was on his phone off to the side.

7. Interesting that both Jimin and Tae thought the dish was ham, instead of pink sausage (even though Jimin knew it wasn't he was just supporting Tae), but even though Tae was way more insistent on it being ham, Jungkook only pretended like he was going to "punch" Jimin lol. Kinda felt like he took it personally that Jimin didn't side with him.😂

8. So they took footage from while Jungkook was in New York on a separate schedule, thinking about what to make in Jeju. Cute that he was thinking about what Jimin would love. Head full of Jimin, SAME!

9. I know that Jungkook gets a lot of pushback about how he sometimes treats Jimin (I personally don't get that), but he seemed really focused on him this episode. Like it's super obvious to me that he cares A LOT about him, and not just on a surface level because cameras are there. It's really in the little things that leave an impact on me.

10. Jungkook really loves to cook and watching him figure out recipes is so endearing, and Jimin sitting near him/falling asleep while he works to make the stew he thought Jimin would love days earlier was actually really wholesome and touching.

11. Jimin taking off his shirt mid way through eating the stew JK prepared, while everyone else standing around the table is fully clothed made me laugh so much. And not one explanation in sight. Ok cool Jimin is just here nips out and everything, love that for him lol.😅

12. The wrap up at the end was cute. It was nice that they made Tae feel welcomed, and told him how grateful they were that he was there. It really was such a positive note to end on.

All in all it was an enjoyable episode, that focused mainly on food and driving from spot to spot. Very happy for a change in scenery though.

BRING ON SAPPORO!!!!

My personal rank of episodes so far… 2 -> 1 -> 4 -> 5 -> 3

[elodieunderglass]

I’m going to have to write a post called “Ok, Let’s Do This, Let’s Eat A Dandelion.”

Unfortunately it already has chapters.

Chapter 1. First, Find Your Dandelion; Notes On What A Good One Looks Like.

chapter 2. False Friends and Foraging 101: Dandelion Identification In The Wild

3. Latex and Daisy Allergies : When Is It Meant To Be Spicy?

4. Diuretics, Side Effects and Pissing On the pOor

5. Roadside Foraging, Soil Contaminants, Parasites, Heavy Metals, Industrial Verges: how to spot the places we just don’t get our food from

6. History and medicine of the Dandelion, While We’re Here anyway

7. cultivating the Culinary Dandelion : discourse on blanching, stressing, and the Causes of Bitterness

8. recipes: on raw and cooked dandelions: on cordials, wines, jellies, coffee and tea.

9. So You Did All This And Still Discovered You Don’t Like Eating Dandelions: next steps in foraging when your first experience was awful

I was marinating on chapter 10 when I fell into step with my neighbor, collecting our children from school, and posed the question to him. We then mutually thought about the differences when you want to collect leaves (get them before the plant flowers, or they’ll suck!) and roots (ditto!) but that if you get them before they flower, then of course you don’t see the distinctive flower.He gave me his recipe for dandelion cordial. We spoke longingly of making wine together. We are now on chapter 14 of a post neither of us has the time to write.



[giveafike]

Sugar, Spice & Everything Nice! -B.T.S

TLDR: making gingerbread cookies w Ben :p. This is part 4/12 of Azzie's Advent Calendar 2024!

Word count + info: 4.6k. including dialogue.

Warnings + Content Ahead: SFW! No warnings : )

Azzie Notes ✚: this one’s heavily inspired by my own family tradition - we always bake gingerbread cookies since I was a little girl! The first time I did, it was in primary school when I was maybe 6, 7 years old? And after that, my family took it and made it our own little mess :) v v wholesome making little biscuits, shaping them and waiting for them to cool and then decorating them… it’s such a pure act of patience and love, right? Also, changed the middle pic to the MSG pic, his eyes are twinkling, god I love him bad

————————————————————————

The morning was quiet, the kind of stillness that only came when the house was nearly empty. A faint December golden light filtered through the kitchen windows, warming the wooden table where you sat, flipping through the cookbook you had picked up at the Christmas market. The glossy pages felt smooth under your fingers, each recipe accompanied by photos of perfectly baked treats and artful decorations. It was the sort of book that made everything seem achievable, even for a novice. A steaming mug of coffee sat on the table beside you, the rich aroma mingling with the faint hint of pine from the Christmas tree in the other room. Ben had made the coffee, placing it in front of you with a casual kiss on the top of your head and a small rub on your shoulder before taking his place, sitting across you at the table with his own mug. Underneath the table, Halo was sprawled out comfortably, still softly snoring against the floorboards whenever you shifted your feet.

The house was calm, Lisa and Bryan were out doing some last-minute Christmas shopping, and Emma had spent the night at her friend’s house, leaving her still lounging over there for the day. It was just you and Ben.

He seemed at ease, leaning against the counter in his sweats and a faded T-shirt, sipping his coffee and scrolling on his phone. There was something different about him in his childhood home, a quiet confidence, a comfort that came with years of familiarity but you being with him? He liked the way that felt.

Curiosity got the better of him as he set down his phone and stepped closer. “What’s got you so locked in?” he asked, peering over your shoulder.

You smiled, holding the book up slightly so he could see. “Gingerbread cookies,” you said, pointing to a page with intricately decorated cookies that looked almost too good to eat.

Ben squinted at the lengthy recipe and let out a soft laugh. “That’s... ambitious. Is that what you’re thinking of makin'?”

“Maybe,” you said with a shrug. “I mean, when I was a kid, we made gingerbread cookies once or twice, but it was the easy kind. You know, cutting out shapes from pre-made dough and sticking them on parchment paper. Not exactly homemade.”

He chuckled, leaning against the back of your chair. “So, you skipped all the hard stuff and went straight to the fun part, huh?”

“Exactly,” you said with a grin. “But this... this is the real deal. Making the dough, rolling it out, and baking from scratch. It feels like something I should try at least once, one day...”

Ben’s eyes softened as he watched you, the corners of his lips twitching upward. “Well,” he said, straightening up, “why not today? Let’s do it.”

“Really?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “You sure? This recipe is, like, a full-day commitment. I was just looking for inspiration.”

He nodded, setting his empty mug on the table. “Yeah, I’m sure. Mom’s stocked up on all the baking stuff for the holidays, so we should have everything we need. Besides, you’ve been talkin' about a baking day since we got here. Why not now?”

You hesitated for a moment, scanning his face for any hint of second thoughts, but his broad smile was nothing but genuine, his excitement contagious.

“Alright,” you said, closing the cookbook and standing up. “Let’s do it. But you better be ready to work, I’m not doing this all by myself.”

Ben smirked, crossing his arms. “Don’t worry, I’m a great assistant. I’ll handle the hard labour.”

You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your small smile as you began to call out ingredients while Ben gathered. Ben leaned casually against the counter, watching as you carefully measured out the flour, sugar, and spices, the soft clinking of measuring cups the only sound in the room. There was a quiet concentration in the way you moved, a small crease forming between your brows as you checked the recipe and sifted the flour into a large mixing bowl. Every so often, he caught you muttering numbers under your breath, double-checking your measurements, making him smile in pure smitten adoration.

“You’re taking this seriously, huh?” he teased, arms crossed as he leaned a hip against the counter.

“Of course I am,” you replied, not looking up. “You don’t mess around with dough. One wrong move, and it’s game over.”

Ben chuckled, stepping closer to the cabinets. “Alright, Chef. What’s next? Spices?”

You nodded, dragging your finger across the page of the cookbook to check the measurements. “Yep. Cinnamon, ginger, cloves, and nutmeg. You got it?”

Ben nodded before he pushed himself off, stretching up to the top shelf of the cabinet, his fingers easily reaching the small spice jars that were out of your reach. He handed them to you one by one, lingering close as you measured each spice into a small bowl. The kitchen was soon filled with a warm, heady aroma, the kind that instantly made everything feel more festive.

“Smells like Christmas, for sure. You're doing somethin' right” Ben said, leaning down slightly to take a dramatic sniff.

“Smells like a lot of hard work,” you corrected, smiling as you added the spices to the bowl. “Alright, next is the wet ingredients. Butter and molasses, grab the molasses for me?”

Ben grabbed the jar and slid it across the counter toward you, watching you spoon the thick, dark syrup into the bowl. “That stuff’s like tar,” he remarked, raising an eyebrow.

You laughed. “It’s basically liquid gold for gingerbread, though. Trust the process.”

He nodded, though his expression remained sceptical. “Mhm. If you say so.”

As you cracked eggs into the mixture and began to combine everything, Ben wandered over to your side, resting a hand lightly on your back as he peered into the bowl.

“You’ve got this,” he said playfully. “But if you need some real muscle for the next part, I’m available.”

You glanced up at him, smirking. “Oh, don’t worry, you’re about to get your hands dirty.”

His grin widened. “Man, I’ve been waiting for you to say that!”

Once the dough had started to come together, you handed him the wooden spoon, pointing at the thick mixture.

“Alright, muscle-man. It’s your time to shine. But be careful, don’t overwork it. We need the dough to be soft and pliable, not like a brick.”

"Don’t overwork it," he echoed, his voice deliberately mimicking your tone. He tried to press his lips into a straight line, but his smile betrayed him. With a playful glint in his eye, he took the spoon from your hand. "Got it," he said, his grin slipping through despite his efforts.

You stepped back, crossing your arms as you watched him take over. His biceps flexed slightly as he stirred the dense dough, and you couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly he managed it, effortless and, somehow, ridiculously attractive. He was a mix of charm and frustration rolled into one.

“This isn’t so bad,” he said, glancing at you with a smug grin. “I thought you said this would be hard work.”

You rolled your eyes, sighing as you distracted yourself by taking the dirty utensils and bowls into the sink to stop yourself from drooling. “That’s because you haven’t gotten to the part where your arm feels like it’s going to fall off.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Please. I’m a professional athlete. I think I can handle-”

Mid-sentence, the spoon hit a particularly stubborn clump of dry dough, plastered in flour, and Ben’s smug expression faltered as he struggled to keep a massive part of the unmixed batter from spilling over the edge of the bowl.

“Careful!” you exclaimed, eyes widening as you stepped forward to steady the bowl.

“Alright, alright,” he said, his voice tinged with laughter as he adjusted his grip. “Maybe this is a little more work than I thought.”

You grinned, giving his arm a playful nudge. “Told you. Now, keep going. You’re doing great.”

With a determined look, Ben continued to fold the dough, his movements steady and deliberate under you as you glanced every now and then. You found yourself smiling as you guided him, appreciating how he seemed to take it all in stride, even the mess.

Finally, the dough was smooth and well-mixed, and you placed a hand on his arm to stop him. “Okay, that’s perfect. Any more, and you’ll ruin it.”

Ben set the spoon down with a dramatic sigh, shaking his hand as though he’d just finished a workout. “You weren’t kidding about the arm workout.”

You laughed, reaching for the plastic wrap to cover the dough. “See? Baking isn’t just about precision, it’s about endurance. You’d better hydrate if you want to make it to the next round. Maybe take a seat on the bench.”

Ben chuckled, as he watched you wrap the dough in cling film and set it in the fridge to rest. His gaze soft as he admired the way you moved around the kitchen.

“You’re kinda cute when you get all serious about this,” he said, his voice low and warm.

You shot him a playful glare, your cheeks warming. “Focus, Shelton. We’re only halfway there.”

He held up his hands in surrender, a grin tugging at his lips. “Alright, Chef. What’s next?”

With the dough resting in the fridge, you began tidying up, wiping down the counter and setting out the tools you’d need for shaping the cookies. Ben, however, wasn’t nearly as patient. He leaned against the fridge door, staring at it like he could will the dough to finish resting faster.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence, “do we have to wait for an hour? Can’t we just… you know, start shaping them now? It's not like we're in an exam, no one's gonna know.”

You glanced over your shoulder, catching the almost puppy-like look in his eyes. “Yes, we absolutely have to wait,” you said firmly, though you couldn’t help but smile at his impatience.

Ben groaned dramatically, dragging his hand down his face and through his curls, tussling them softly. “But why? It’s just dough. It’s not like it’s a steak that needs to rest or something.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you reached into a drawer to pull out the cookie cutters. “Because,” you explained, setting the cutters on the counter, “resting the dough lets the gluten relax, which keeps the cookies from spreading too much when they bake. It also gives the spices time to blend together and makes the dough easier to roll out. Trust me, it’s worth it.”

Ben sighed, back again with that sceptical look, before mumbling, “Sounds like a lot of fancy science talk just to make some cookies.”

“Maybe,” you admitted, grinning at him. “But it’s the kind of science that keeps your cookies from turning into sad little blobs.”

He broke into a smile, finally conceding. “Fine, fine. You’re the expert.”

“Thank you,” you said with mock seriousness, giving him a teasing salute before focusing on your setup.

While the dough rested, you busied yourself with preparing the island. You got Ben on an exploration to find a large rolling pin and the cookie cutters, while you dusted the surface and neatly lined up the equipment, spreading them out across the counter as excitement spread through you. There were hearts, stars, gingerbread men and women, Christmas trees, and a few other festive shapes.

Ben watched you work, his hands tucked into the pockets of his sweatpants. “You love preppin', huh?”

“Always,” you replied, tossing him a smile as you laid sheets of parchment paper onto baking trays. “Baking is all about being ready before the chaos starts.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Chaos?”

“You’ll see,” you said ominously, grabbing a canister of flour and sprinkling a thin layer across the island. “Just wait until we’re elbow-deep in icing and sprinkles.”

Ben chuckled, stepping closer as you worked. “Oh, that sounds like my kind of chaos.”

Once everything was set up, you took a step back, admiring your handiwork. The counter was clean, floured, and ready to go, with the trays and cutters neatly arranged. Ben, however, was back to pacing near the fridge, occasionally glancing at the clock.

Once the dough had rested, you pulled it from the fridge and placed it on the floured countertop, its chilled surface smooth and pliable under your hands. Ben leaned in eagerly, eyeing the mound of dough like it was a prize.

"Alright," you said, handing him the rolling pin, "your turn. Just don’t go too wild. Nice and even, okay?”

He raised an eyebrow, gripping the rolling pin with an exaggerated flourish. “Nice and even. Got it. I’m basically a pro already.”

“Uh-huh,” you teased, stepping back to preheat the oven.

Ben pressed the rolling pin to the dough and began rolling, his movements a little uneven at first. He squinted down at the dough, muttering, “This is harder than it looks.”

You glanced over, biting back a laugh. “It’s not a race, Ben. Just take your time and keep it even.”

“Don’t worry, I understand it now” he whispered, almost to himself, as he shot you a grin. “I’ve got it handled. Gimme a second and this dough’ll be flatter than a pancake.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you prepared the cookie cutters, dipping them lightly into flour to keep the shapes clean.

Once the dough was rolled out to the perfect thickness, you stepped in, lining up the cutters.

“Okay, now for the fun part,” you said, handing him a gingerbread man cutter. “Start with this one. We’ll work our way through all the shapes.”

Ben pressed the cutter into the dough, lifting it to reveal a cleanly cut gingerbread man. He held it up like a trophy, beaming. “Look at that! First try. Told you I’m a natural.”

“Alright, natural,” you said, handing him a Christmas tree cutter. “Let’s see how you do with the next one.”

The two of you fell into a steady rhythm, cutting out hearts, stars, and more gingerbread men and women. Ben found himself holding up each shape, constantly amazed and proud before gently setting the cookies down onto the parchment paper.

As he cut out another gingerbread man, he paused, holding up one of each. “Now, hold on. We gotta make sure there’s an equal number of these two.” He gestured between the gingerbread man and woman cutters. “Gotta keep things fair. Equality and all.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “How very noble of you.”

“I’m serious!” he insisted, though the twinkle in his eye betrayed him. “We’re not gonna have more dudes than ladies on the tray. That’d be unbalanced.”

“Okay, okay,” you relented, humouring him. “Equality it is.”

As the shapes piled up, flour seemed to cover everything and everyone. Ben had a streak of it across his cheek, and you could feel it dusting your own hands, arms, and even your clothes. At one point, he reached across to grab another cutter and left a powdery handprint on your sleeve.

“Ben!” you exclaimed, pointing to the mark.

He glanced down at his flour-covered hand, then back at you, his grin widening. “Oops. Too focused on the task at hand.”

You shook your head, fighting back a smile. Despite the mess, you were both surprisingly focused, working in sync as you filled tray after tray with perfectly cut cookies. The shapes were neat and even, and the dough scraps were rolled back together with care to minimise waste.

“You know,” Ben said as he carefully placed a gingerbread woman onto a tray, “I’m impressed. I thought for sure I’d mess this up by now.”

“You’re doing great,” you said, genuinely impressed by his effort. “See? Patience pays off.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he teased, brushing a bit of flour off his hands. “I’m still not sold on this whole ‘waiting for the dough’ thing.”

“You’ll thank me when the cookies turn out perfect,” you shot back, sliding the trays into the preheated oven.

Ben stood back, surveying the trays of cookies with a satisfied look. “Alright,” he said, crossing his arms. “What’s next? More science lessons, or are we finally gonna taste-test these bad boys?”

“Not yet,” you said with a laugh. “We still have decorating to do. And no, you’re not eating them straight out of the oven.”

“Why not?” he drawled, feigning a pout.

“Because,” you said, placing a hand around his waist, “burnt tongues aren’t fun.”

“Patience isn’t my strong suit,” he admitted, as he put his head in his hands, groaning.

“Really? I would've never guessed,” you said dryly, earning a playful nudge from him.

“Alright, what can I do while we wait?” he asked, clearly trying to distract himself.

You handed him a dishcloth and pointed to the floor where flour had inevitably dusted its surface. “You can start by cleaning that up.”

Ben groaned but grabbed the cloth anyway, crouching down to wipe the floor. “Slave labour,” he muttered under his breath, though the smirk on his face gave him away.

“You’re the one who asked for something to do,” you pointed out, crossing your arms as you watched him.

He glanced up at you, his grin widening. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t forget this when I’m a pro-level cookie decorator later.”

“Oh, trust me,” you said with a laugh. “I won’t.”

"You’re on decorating prep duty, babe. No rest for two pros like us.”

“Deal,” you said, as you hauled over the bags of powdered sugar, food colouring, and piping bags from the counters. As Ben wiped down the counter, his movements methodical but still sprinkled with his usual flair, you busied yourself mixing the icing. The clinking of bowls and the soft sound of Ben scrubbing created a cozy rhythm. You glanced over occasionally, catching the sight of him brushing stray flour onto the floor with a sheepish grin.

“Hey,” you called out, pointing a spatula at him. “I saw that.”

He froze mid-swipe, his grin widening. “What? The counter’s clean, isn’t it?”

You shook your head, giggling, and returned to your icing. With a careful hand, you divided the thick, glossy mixture into separate bowls, adding drops of food colouring until you had a rainbow of festive hues: deep red, vibrant green, black, soft white, and even a cheerful yellow.

Ben, having finished the counter, moved onto the floor. “How does flour even get under the table?” he muttered, crouching down to clean up.

“Halo probably helped,” you teased, glancing at the dog, who was padding through the house innocently.

“Traitor.”

As the first batch of cookies began to brown in the oven, the warm scent of spices filled the air. You could feel your shoulders relax as you peeked through the oven door. The cookies were holding their shape perfectly, with no spreading, no cracking.

“Success,” you whispered to yourself, relieved.

Ben stood up, dusting his hands on his sweatpants. “Counter’s spotless. Floor’s… basically there too.” He leaned against the island, watching as you filled the piping bags with icing and lined up the bowls of candy, mini M&Ms, jelly tots, and even icing pearls.

“This is starting to look serious,” he commented.

Ben didn’t wait for an invitation. He reached out, snagging a still-steaming gingerbread man from the tray.

“Ben!” you exclaimed. “It’s hot!”

“Yeah, I noticed,” he said through a wince, pulling the cookie back quickly and blowing on it. He took a cautious bite, only to pause, his face twisting.

“Ow!”

You couldn’t help but sigh at the way he pouted, holding the cookie gingerly in one hand.

“I warned you,” you said, stepping closer.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, his pout deepening.

Still laughing, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, lingering just long enough to distract him from his discomfort. When you pulled back, his expression had shifted from a pout to a sheepish smile.

“Guess it was worth it,” he murmured, his voice warm.

You rolled your eyes playfully, taking the cookie from his hand and setting it back on the rack. “You’ll get your turn when they cool down. Patience, remember?”

“Patience is overrated, babe,” he said, but his grin told you he wasn’t serious.

As the cookies cooled, you finished preparing the decorating station, laying everything out neatly. Ben leaned against the counter, watching you with an easy smile. The kitchen felt brighter, and warmer, with the two of you moving around each other in sync. The air smelled of gingerbread, and the promise of creative chaos hung in the air.

Finally, it was time to start decorating. You handed Ben a piping bag filled with red icing and grabbed a green one for yourself. “Okay, let’s see those artistic skills,” you teased.

“Oh, prepare to be amazed,” he said, squeezing the bag experimentally.

The first few cookies were simple, a heart with white trim, and a star with bright yellow accents, but the moment Ben decided to create a gingerbread woman to resemble you, all bets were off.

“Hold still,” he said, squinting at you with a ridiculous level of concentration.

“Ben, it’s a cookie, not a portrait session.”

“Shh. Art takes focus,” he said, holding up a finger up dramatically.

You watched as he gave the gingerbread woman what was supposed to be your hair but looked more like lopsided spaghetti. The face was slightly off-centre, and the dress he attempted was smudged in one corner. When he finally set the piping bag down, he stepped back with a proud grin.

“Ta-da!” he announced, holding it up for you to see.

You stared at the cookie and burst out laughing. “Is that supposed to be me?”

“It’s abstract,” he defended. “You don’t get it ‘cause it’s, like, high-level creativity.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, wiping tears of laughter from your eyes. “I think I’ll stick to realism.”

You got to work on your gingerbread man, deciding to return the favour as you made a gingerbread version of Ben, giving him signature curly hair, his big grin, and, of course, his ON tennis kit, complete in black with a bright pink line in its detailing.

When you showed him the finished cookie, his eyes widened, clearly taking it sorely. “Okay, I see what you’re doin’. Showin’ me up.”

“It’s not a competition,” you teased.

“Everything’s a competition,” he said, but the small smile on his face told you he didn’t mind losing this one.

Next, you both decided to make cookies representing the rest of the family. Bryan’s gingerbread man got a blue sweater, Lisa’s had an apron and a pearl necklace, and Emma’s had her glasses and a small, closed-eye smile.

“Think they’ll recognise themselves?” you asked, tilting your head as you studied the lineup of gingerbread people.

“They’d better,” Ben said, carefully adding a final swirl of icing to Lisa’s apron. “I put effort into this.”

By the time you’d decorated the rest of the cookies, trees, stars, hearts, and more, the sun was setting, casting a warm orange glow through the kitchen windows. The oven was off, the counters were cleared, and the air was filled with the lingering smell of gingerbread and icing sugar. Just as you were cleaning up the last bits of mess, the front door opened, and the sound of laughter and familiar voices filled the house.

“Y’all home?” Lisa called out.

“In the kitchen!” Ben answered, rinsing the last mixing bowl in the sink.

Lisa and Bryan walked in first, carrying shopping and takeout bags, with Emma trailing behind. The three of them paused when they saw the island covered with cookies, their eyes immediately landing on the five gingerbread figures standing together at the front of the spread.

“What …on earth...?” Bryan said, leaning in to examine the cookies more closely. His eyes darted from the gingerbread man with a blue sweater to the one wearing an apron, and his face broke into a grin. “Are these supposed to be us?”

Lisa gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth. “Oh my gosh, look at this!” She reached out delicately, picking up the cookie version of herself. “This is adorable, what a sweet surprise! Is that… an apron? You even added pearls!”

“That one’s me!” Emma crowed, pointing to the gingerbread woman with glasses and a massive smile. “I look so happy. Accurate.”

“Yeah, that was intentional,” you said with a smirk, glancing at Ben, who gave you a sly grin in return.

Bryan carefully picked up his cookie, inspecting the details. “Meanwhile all I got was a bald cookie and a sweater. Real funny.”

“You love sweaters, Dad,” Ben teased, drying his hands with a kitchen towel. “Don’t act like it’s not spot-on.”

Lisa placed her cookie back on the tray and turned to you, beaming. “This is so precious. Did you two make all of these today?”

“All day,” you confirmed, leaning against the counter. “We went all out, cutting, baking, decorating. Ben even rolled out the dough.”

“Don’t let her fool ya,” Ben drawled, nudging your shoulder with his. “She was the boss in this operation. I was just the muscle.”

“And the comic relief,” you added.

Emma leaned over the tray, picking up one of the star-shaped cookies. “These look amazing. Did y’all seriously make all these by hand? No, like, premade stuff?”

“Handmade, start to finish,” Ben said, puffing out his chest. “We’re pros now.”

Lisa laughed, shaking her head. “Well, I’d say it was worth it. They’re beautiful. I almost don’t want to eat them.”

“Almost,” Bryan echoed, already reaching for one of the undecorated trees.

Ben darted forward, intercepting him. “Hold up! Food first. Cookies are dessert.”

“Who made you the dessert police?” Bryan asked, but he let the cookie go, chuckling as he set it back down.

Lisa set the takeout bags on the counter, and the family gathered around, plates and utensils being passed out as everyone helped themselves to the food. The conversation flowed easily, filled with laughter and teasing, and the cookies remained at the centre of attention, a charming reminder of the day you and Ben had spent together.

Later, Ben stood with his arms crossed, watching his family laugh and talk as they picked out cookies to eat. When he noticed you looking, he gave you a soft, warm smile, the kind that made your chest feel full as he opened his arm to invite you in for a hug.

You walked over to him, settling into his side. “This turned out pretty great, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low. He glanced at the tray of cookies again, then back to you. “Today was fun.”

You let your head rest on his shoulder. His arm slipped around your waist, holding you close as the room buzzed with warmth and love.

“Next time,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple, “we’re makin’ gingerbread tennis rackets. I’ve got ideas to workshop.”

You sighed, feigning exasperation before laughing softly, tilting your head up to look at him. “I can’t wait to see how that turns out.”

“Better start stretchin’ my art portfolio now,” he teased, but the look in his eyes was anything but playful, soft, steady, and full of affection.

And just like that, in the middle of his childhood kitchen, surrounded by his family and the lingering scent of gingerbread, you realised this moment was one you’d hold onto for a long, long time.

[plusvanity]

I saw some people talk about how V never really grew up, and how he’s mentally stuck in his late teens/ early twenties. Do you agree with that?

Would love to hear your thoughts/analysis if possible.

Yes, I even talked about this before.

Pathological narcissism, Peter Pan syndrome , you name it, it one and the same thing.

Whenever children get stuck in one point in their mental evolution (due to trauma), they are very likely to develop a personality disorder.

Emotional intelligence is different from cerebral intelligence. This is why although Vikernes presents himself as an intellectual, he fails at the simple task of not taking every negative remark so personally and not getting angry.

Narcissist's mental age is regressed somewhere between 4-12 years (at best, they can be as immature as a 12 years old child). They're unable to control their anger, they rely on others to regulate their own emotional turmoil (in his case, his wife) and they need constant validation (narcissistic supply).

Being in a relationship with a narcissist means enabling him/her to reenact their childhood, this time in the way they always wanted to. The partner is assigned the role of the 'Madonna' (the supreme mother that they never had, the one that loves them back and supports their daily bullshit).

My assumption is that Vikernes grew up in a very emotionally hostile environment in which his boundaries were violated (either by physical violence or emotional neglect, or both, because he has this more than obvious repressed anger element that comes out every time he opens his mouth to speak) and he was also spoiled rotten financially (this created the entitlement). That's the recipe for people like him. This is why he gets so easily frustrated when things don't go his way, this is why he feels entitlement/ ownership on everything around him, this is why he considered that there was no problem in taking one's life to make a childish point.

Thinking about his life in the present, I don't think he argues with Marie on a daily basis simply because Marie doesn't have anything to say/ reproach. He might agree with her sometimes, but he always does things his way. That's what narcissists do.

I don't think he's stuck in his late teens, he was already hopelessly immature as a teen from the things he brags on his blog about. He's stuck at a much earlier age. He's stuck in the 'separation & individual' phase (if you like psychology and want a hint).

He will never grow up, not when he lives his best life anyway.

I remember he said he 'learned to be less angry' in prison, and this sentence might have an ounce of truth in it. But if it's true and we still observe his behavior today, just imagine how little his upgrade must've been. Growing up from a 6 years old to a 10 years old isn't much of an achievement.

He might seem more 'settled down' now but in reality, he's only getting old and losing the energy to argue and bitch all the time. It's not growing up, it's getting old.

[fuckkbrunch]

The final recipe! I saved it for new year's eve dinner. The one that isn't even really a recipe, but if I didn't do it, it would have felt unfinished.

In the very back of the book, there's a 3 page fold out poster on how to make the perfect Bourdain approved burger.

I won't lie, I don't own a meat grinder attachment for my KitchenAid mixer, and wasn't going to buy one just for this. He suggests grinding your own meat, specifically a combo of rib eye, short rib and hanger steak. I settled for a high quality pre ground beef chuck, and a frozen veal cutlet that I chopped up real small by hand.

He claims that the flavour is best if you salt the meat one hour before cooking. There's also no mention of fillers or binders like egg or breadcrumbs, or any seasoning besides salt. So, that's what I did. Just meat and salt.

Other requirements were a store bought bun that wasn't a brioche or ciabatta (too soft and too hard, respectively). Sesame seeds are optional according to taste. A single slice of a large tomato, like a beefsteak. Specifically shredded iceberg lettuce, so that it doesn't yank out when you bite it and slap you in the face.

American cheese. The thin, individually wrapped kind that melts if you so much as look at it. Melt factor is crucial as other (higher quality) cheeses just get soft and greasy on a burger, even if their flavour profile is more desirable.

Since my meat combo was lacking compared to what Tony suggests, I also baked some bacon until just crisp to turn this into a bacon cheeseburger. Which means - in my opinion - that there also needs to be dill pickle slices and onion rounds. The poster does include a burger with pickles on it, so I felt this fit. Unfortunately and hilariously, my last yellow onion had mold hidden under the dry skin layers, so I chucked it.

You can go thin smash burger style, or thick mid-rare patty style, both are acceptable by Tony's standards. I went smash burger style, since I like the browning aspects more than the juicy wet burger style.

He does specify that if you want more than one patty, it must be smash burger style. I went for a single 3oz patty, and my partner requested two 2oz patties with double cheese.

They honestly tasted just like a good, simple, take out style bacon cheeseburger. It didn't have that sub par homemade burger feel to it, I was actually shocked. We had these for dinner two days in a row.

| Bourdain Perfect Burger |

Taste is a 5 out of 5. Even though my meat cuts weren't the same, this was fantastic.

Difficulty is a 1 out of 5. Maybe a 2 if you really grind your own meat.

Time was a little over an hour, only because I waited the hour after salting my meat.

If I ever do invest in a meat grinder, I'm definitely going to try the meat combo he suggests. Considering this comes together so quickly, and tastes so good, it's really a great bang-for-your-buck recipe. Who doesn't love a good burger?

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

And that's that! We're done! I still can't believe I did it. Some weeks I was doing 4-6 recipes at once just to make sure that if I missed some weeks, I would still keep up. 114 recipes in a year is no joke, that's more than 2 per week! Even during a two month 40+ degree heatwave, I kept it up. I'm damn proud of myself.

So as a gift to myself, I'm going to be getting a Bourdain themed tattoo sometime in the new year. Obviously I'll be posting it here once it's done.

I'm also going to do a final rundown of the cookbook and of my notes I've kept during this whole process and select a top 5-10 recipes. Maybe a top 5 and bottom 5, I'm still undecided. So this won't be my final post.

But I will close this with the final page of the cookbook...

[themodethecitythesoul]

Red Beans And Rice

So with all the shit going on, it's time i started sharing my cauldron-o'-food recipes. Because im physically and financially incapable of cooking for all of you, but I CAN do this.

So. My family's red beans and rice recipe.

Equiptment Get:

large pot

stirring implement

cutting board

knife

(optional) instant pot/pressure cooker

(optional) rice cooker

Food Get:

1 bag(1lb) of dry red beans. Or really any beans

2 links of basic-ass-bitch smoked sausage. Can also use other smoked meats but this is cheap and low spoons

1 onion. chopped

3-6 cloves of garlic. Canned+minced or fresh and minced whatever's there

spices. Salt, pepper, smoked paprika, and cayenne pepper are my good tos

rice. however much you and your family are gonna eat

pepper vinegar. while this is a condiment and technically optional, it's a must for me. How to make listed below

0.5: Pepper Vinegar

This needs to be done like 3 months ago. Locate some vinegar(i like white wine). Locate some spicy peppers. Boil the vinegar and sterilize the bottle. Shove the peppers in the bottle. Pour the vinegar back into the bottle and seal. Leave for a few months

1: Prep Beans

There are 3 ways.

Cover beans in water in the large pot and soak overnight

Cover beans in water in the large pot and boil for 2 hours(Grammy's hack)

Cover beans in water in instant pot/pressure cooker and cook on high pressure for 30 minutes. let the pressure naturally release for 15 minutes before releasing pressure(my hack)

Add a little bit of baking soda at this point. It breaks down the stuff in beans that gives you gas and helps the texture

2: Sautee

Heat a couple tablespoons of neutral oil in the large pot(or skillet if using the large pot to soak/boil beans)

Cook chopped onion until fragrant

Add minced garlic and spices and continue to cook until garlic is fragrant

Add chopped sausage pieces and cook until sausage has shrunk down a little

3: Simmer

Combine beans and onion+sausage mixture in the large pot.

Add enough water to cover.

Simmer, stirring occasionally, for 2ish hours, or until beans have softened, liquid is thickened, and flavors are melded

4: Rice

Cook rice according to your preference while the beans cook. I use a $20 rice cooker from target and it's great, but whatever works

5: Eat

Serve beans over rice and add pepper vinegar and/or hot sauce to taste

If you don't like spice just a splash of plain white wine vinegar is still amazing

So yeah. This recipe scales pretty much as far up as your biggest pot. You can feed tons of people with this and it's filling af. Also has a comfort food vibe which we all need right now tbh

See pictures of finished pot and also the dregs of my dinner lol

[ransprang]

thank you anon for your request! we hope you like your match-up headcanons :3

If anyone else would like headcanons this is our kofi

ALEX <3

Sfw

1. How they met (again): A wave of nostalgia washed over you as you approached Evelyn’s door – summers spent helping Evelyn tend her garden, learning to bake perfect pies, and chasing fireflies with a freckled, grinning boy named Alex. When you rang the doorbell, a tall, handsome brunette opened the door. “Hi there, you’re new,” the man said flirtatiously, his gaze appreciative as he leaned against the doorframe, an easy grin on his face. "Actually, just moved back,” you replied. “I brought some stew for Evelyn. I used to spend summers here." A flicker of recognition crossed the stranger's face, then surprise. "Y/n?" He asked. You gaped, then a smile bloomed on your face. "Alex? Is that really you?" Alex grinned a bit sheepishly, "Yeah, yeah. Grew a bit since then, haven't I?" Evelyn bustled in before you could reply, the older woman’s face lighting up upon seeing her. "Y/n! You came back! Come in!" She ushered you to the kitchen and Alex followed. The afternoon flowed quickly, as the group caught each other up about their lives, with you discovering a new side to Alex – one that still held a hint of that mischievous boy you remembered. Evelyn turned to Alex, a playful glint in her eyes. "Remember that time you tried to impress Y/n with your..., artistic skills?" Alex's face turned the shade of a ripe tomato. "Gran!" he groaned, burying his head in his hands. You doubled over with laughter as memories flooded back – a lopsided driftwood mermaid with seaweed hair and a permanent surprised expression. Alex, then a freckled, gap-toothed ten-year-old, presenting his "masterpiece" with all the confidence in the world. As laughter filled the kitchen, you realized how much you missed these summers. You left with a smile on your lips and a promise to return soon. 

2. After you began visiting Alex’s house regularly with the excuse of visiting Dusty, Alex would soon enough start dropping by your house on his morning runs, with the excuse of visiting your cat Henry. Over time you both would realise they didn’t need excuses to see each other ;).

3. Dates would involve a lot of physical activity so if you weren’t physically fit already you would be soon enough. He would ask you to play catch on warm sunny days and the days the you both hang out inside, he would integrate you into his workout routine and make you sit on his back for push ups.

4. Alex would regularly compliment your appearance. He loves telling his girl she looks stunning. “Are those new jeans? They are doing something right ;)”

2. After you started began visiting Alex’s house regularly with the excuse of visiting Dusty, Alex would soon enough start dropping by your house on his morning runs, with the excuse of visiting Henry. Over time you both would realize you didn’t need excuses to see each other <3

5. You hate fishing? This man has never held a fishing rod in his life. All he cares about are sports, his dog, his grandparents and you <3 

6. You and him would go on cute dates and picnics around the Valley with Dusty. You would try out new recipes and bring packed lunches for the dates and Dusty would eat them all.

7.  Alex would ask you to teach him how how to cook, especially when he insisted on surprising Evelyn with a home-baked cake on your birthday. He tries to put his protein mix in the cake batter. You gently steer his hands away and prepares a backup cake. Alex’s cake would turn out surprisingly good, thus discovering his talent for cooking (thanks to Evelyn’s genetics) and the back up cake would go to the rest of the townspeople. 

8. Alex is really glad that you gets along with Evelyn, especially when it comes to them both cooking together. He loves watching you take part in domestic chores. Not in a sexist way, but it warms his heart watching you bond over something with Evelyn and be all feminine.

9. George on the other hand takes a long time to get used to your presence. He’ll often look like he’s scowling at you but he’s actually just judging and observing whether you are someone who will hurt him and his loved ones. When he sees you being bubbly and genuinely having fun with his family, George will wheel up to your conversations to simply listen. Alex notices this change in George over time and that’s how he knows he found the right girl <3

10. Alex is totally cool with you coming over to his room to just chill and listen to music or whatever while he works out. He’ll disturb you every now and then, “Babe, am I looking swole or what?” He gets used to parallel playing with you so often that he goes over to the farm to play with his football in your spacious land while you tend to the crops.

N/sfw

1. Alex at first wouldn’t let you dominate him. He has a silly backwards thinking that the man has to always be dominant and take control in bed. The first time you are able to dominate him is by tricking him. You would have to plead him to let you top for a few minutes just so you can feel his hard muscles and kiss them. With an easy stroke of his ego you are able to be on top. While he is busy playing with your boobs, you grab the handcuffs that you hid nearby and cuff him to the bed. From then on Alex lets you dominate him.

2. It’s very hard to get Alex to admit that he likes being edged. He loves the feeling of you kissing your way down his neck and chest all the way down to his cock. Watching and feeling your naked skin brush against his drives him nuts. And the way you tantalizingly kisse his dick without taking it in your mouth makes him want to thrust himself in there.

3. The height difference always makes Alex feel stronger around you. He enjoys picking your small frame up easily and pushing you back to the wall as you struggle to hold on to him. It doesn’t help that he kisses the most sensitive parts on your neck making your legs shake. Listening to your whimpers and moans from just that simple act makes Alex even harder, but he forces himself to take it slowly and not fuck you right then and then.

4. Alex loves watching the view as you ride him, watching your breasts bounce while his hands are tied to the headboard. He wishes he could fondle them, but he sticks to pumping fast from beneath.

5.While he is tied up you would pleasure him in different ways, starting with a handjob getting him close,  then slowly sucking on his tip with your lips and then riding him. This gets him extremely sensitive, and he cums fast and hard. 

6. Alex would roll his eyes back as he pumps you with your legs over his shoulders, you get a clear view of his eyes rolling back in ecstasy.

7. When Alex fucks you the bed shakes, his humping is fast and speedy as if to a beat. He 

moans and grunts into your ear as well. You both would have to slow down in case George and Evelyn would hear you.

8. Alex would definitely be into fucking you in the kitchen after he innocently asks you to teach him how to cook. He would bend you over the counter and run his fingers through your hair.

9. Alex likes to carry you up bridal style after having sex outside the bedroom and lay you down gently on the bed, watching your form. He would bring you water and kiss your forehead with a smile, telling you how much he loves you.

10. Alex is big on cuddling, he’s always the big spoon and laying in this position with him is dangerous as it almost always gets him hard and turns it into a heated session. 

your jocks,

admins sar, sav, & san

[badkitty3000]

You Can't Go Home Again

Chapter 5

Link to Chapters 3 and 4

Link to Chapters 1 and 2

Link to Chapter 6

All Five wants to do is rest. But when yet another apocalypse threatens to doom them all, he doesn't have that luxury. This time, the only solution for the Hargreeves to try and save the world is to unite Five with another, alternate version of himself.

Five starts to spiral when he is faced with the alternate life that he could have had, if only he hadn't gone and ruined everything. But maybe, just maybe, there's still time for him to obtain the happy ending he deserves.

An alternate season three rewrite for a request I received.

Warnings: None

More chapters will be posted as I continue writing this multi-chapter fic. Enjoy!

Chapter 5: You Can't Go Home Again

“I don’t know, I don’t think he’s doing too well.”

“Yeah, even before we got here, he’s not been looking great. I think he’s drinking way too much.”

“That much booze plus no sleep, topped with his size? It’s a recipe for disaster.”

“Should we help? Or at least say something?”

“Ha! Ok, sure, I volunteer you to go down there and broach this subject with our very temperamental and homicidal brother. I’m sure it will go over really well.”

“Well, we should do something. I feel bad for him. He’s been through so much.”

“It’s Five, he’s fine.”

“We can’t just keep saying that. Yes, it’s Five, but he’s clearly not fine and hasn’t been for a while.”

“What are we supposed to do about it? Send him to Junior AA? Maybe throw in a good six months of psychotherapy while we’re at it? We don’t have time for all of that.”

“Look, this isn’t the right time or place to be discussing this. We need to get home and then we can deal with it.”

“And what if we don’t get home? What if we end up somewhere else again? He’s going to really go off the deep end. I just don’t think he can handle another major mishap.”

“I’m not saying we don’t need to offer some help; I’m just saying that this is not the time to do it. There’s too much on the line right now. And you know he’s going to freak the fuck out if you try and bring it up, or even so much as offer any help. Just let the two of them figure this out first.”

“But we’re all in agreement about getting him some help once we’re back home, right?”

“Yes, definitely.”

“Good. Because I don’t want to see him hurt himself or worse because he can’t handle normal life once all of this is over. We already lost him once before; we don’t need a second time.”

“I think the old man deserves a little happiness in his life. Seeing all of this and what could have been…it must be killing him.”

“You’re the one that called him a dick to his face this morning.”

“Well, he is a dick! But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about him.”

“Me, too.”

“Same.”

“I think we all feel that way. Yes, even you, Lila, stop rolling your eyes.”

“On a different subject, are you guys hungry? Cause I’m starving.”

“What else is new?”

As the conversation swung in a different direction regarding food and how much Luther eats in one day, Five stepped back into the kitchen. He had come upstairs to clear his mind a little, and to also get some more coffee. He had actually wanted something much stronger, so he had been trying very quietly to search around in the cupboards for anything that would fit that bill. His siblings, who he had been trying to avoid, had been in the living room when he overheard them discussing his current state.

Hovering in the doorway, listening to their concerns, he glanced down at the bottle of cooking sherry in his hand. He swallowed hard as the shame began to wash over him. They were right; he was a dick. They didn’t even feel comfortable coming to talk to him about any of this because they were afraid he’d go fucking crazy on them. Which, Five realized, was entirely true.

He knew he had a problem; he wasn’t in denial. He had a lot of problems, actually, that was pretty obvious. But they also had another good point, and that was that they just couldn’t dive into all of that right now. Five was on borrowed time. They all were. And if they were going to make it out of this timeline in one piece, and restore things back to how they should be, then he couldn’t waste time sharing his feelings and getting a group hug.

With another wistful look at the bottle in his hands, he returned it, unopened, to the cupboard where he found it. He and his other version had been making really good progress, and he didn’t need to slow that down by getting wasted; no matter how tempting the thought may be. Filling up his coffee cup, he blinked back to the basement before he could change his mind.

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

“Fuck, I think I have it,” the other Five said quietly while he adjusted some dials on the apparatus he was messing with. “I need a different screw driver. There should be one in that top drawer, can you hand it to me?”

Five opened the top drawer of the desk, moving various papers aside to try and find the screwdriver. When he came across a file folder, he picked it up to look underneath. Seeing the tool he needed, Five picked it up, but also accidentally dropped the folder so that all of the papers inside went fluttering to the ground.

“Damn it,” he muttered as he tossed the screwdriver to his other self and bent down to pick up the papers.

The other Five was not paying attention, since his focus was on his work at the moment, so he didn’t realize what had happened. As Five started collecting the papers and shoving them back in the folder, he noticed that a lot of them were newspaper clippings. As he inspected them more closely, Five saw that each one of the articles had to do with their father.

“Eccentric Billionaire And Former Olympian To Dedicate New Hospital Wing!”

“Reginald Hargreeves Debuts The Sparrow Academy: Meet Our Heroes”

“Hargreeves Institute Of Art Grand Opening Friday”

“Another Crime Ring Thwarted Thanks To Reginald Hargreeves And His Sparrow Academy”

“The Hargreeves Diet! Learn Reginald’s Secrets To A Healthy Lifestyle!”

Intermixed with the articles were hand-drawn schematics of the Academy, as well as a few crudely drawn ones of The Hotel Obsidian. Five recognized the drawing style and handwriting as his own.

Holding the folder up, he asked quietly, “What is all this?”

When his other self finally raised his head to look, his face paled for a moment before his eyebrows furrowed with anger. “It’s nothing that concerns you, so don’t worry about it.”

“Well, I think it does concern me considering you ARE me.”

“It’s irrelevant to what we’re working on now, so just drop it.”

Five looked down at the folder with concern, before setting it back in the drawer where he had found it. After another minute of silence, he spoke again.

“Listen, I’m not sure what you’re planning here, but…”

The other laughed contemptuously. “No, you don’t. You actually don’t know anything about me.”

“I do, though. Because—”

“Yeah, yeah…because you’re me, I get it. But just like I am not sitting around here wallowing in self-pity and drinking myself stupid, you don’t understand what I have going on, either.”

Five hesitated. That was all true, but he still didn’t like the idea of some weird obsession with their father. “Does Marie know you collect all of this stuff?”

The other Five slammed his palm on the table, rattling all of the parts lying on top. “Don’t fucking talk about my wife!” he yelled.

“Jesus…calm the fuck down. I’m not saying anything about your wife. But fine, I’ll drop the subject.”

“Good.”

After a few more seconds of uncomfortable silence between the two men, Five rejoined the other one at the table. “Looks good.”

The other him nodded as he used a small pair of pliers to tighten one more coil. “I think that should do it.”

“What do you think? Should we power it up?”

The two Fives looked down at the prototype for their time-travel device. As they had discussed earlier, it was small and portable with a wrist band so it could be worn as a watch. The current design had multiple dials to configure the exact date and time the traveler wished to go. They had agreed that it should also be stylish, so as to avoid any unwanted attention to it. The end result resembled a kind of large diver’s watch with a sleek design.

“Might as well give it a try. If it doesn’t work, we’re going to have to start at the beginning again. If it does…well, then we can build an exact replica so that we each have one.”

With a nod, Five took a deep breath. “Alright, then. I figure if we both channel our powers at the same time, we have a better shot.”

“Agreed.”

As Five watched his other self start to attach a pair of jumper cables to the device, he ran a nervous hand down the back of his neck. “Just so you know, the last time I tried to hot-wire something, not only did it not work, but I almost fried my nuts off.”

Still not looking up, the other Five shrugged. “Well, I don’t have a better idea, do you?”

Shaking his head, Five sighed. “No, not really.”

Once the jumper cables were hooked up properly, Five was handed his two ends of the cables. He swallowed nervously and exhaled a loud breath of air. “Fuck, I can’t believe I’m doing this again.”

“Ok, on three?”

Five nodded.

“One, two, thr…”

On cue, both Fives’ hands glowed with pulsating blue light as they worked on channeling as much of their power into it as possible. They watched as the light traveled slowly along the cables until it reached the watch-like device. As soon as their power made contact with it, the charge reversed itself, up through the cables again and back into their hands. With a loud, strangled yell from both, the Fives gritted their teeth and held tight. The current that was coursing through their bodies was being fueled and refueled by their continual release of power as it created an endless loop of electricity and pain.

“Hold…on...” Five instructed through a tightly clenched jaw. “Keep…going…”

As the other Five grunted with pain he hissed out, “I know…dipshit…just…shut up…”

“Fuck…you…” Five gasped in between clipped groans.

As they worked through the intense pain, they each kept their eyes focused on the watch between them on the table. The electrical current was passing through it, causing it to pulse with the same blue energy of their power. The longer they held on, though, the longer the pulses lasted. Finally, as they were both contemplating letting go before they really did fry off any crucial body parts, the glow became constant. The watch was now emitting its own bright blue light. With a slight nod to each other, the Fives let go of the cables, letting them drop to the ground as their bodies folded over, leaning heavily on the table with both hands. With harsh, loud breaths, they gradually worked through the pain and exhaustion of what they had just been through. After a minute, they glanced over at one another with a small, knowing smirk. Then Five looked down at the watch.

“I’ll be goddamned…I think it worked.”

The watch continued to glow blue, just as it had been when they were channeling their powers into it. This was a good sign, because it meant it had been fully charged and theoretically would not need any more pain-fueled jumps to get it going. That was all speculation, though. It would require a test drive to see if they had actually calibrated everything correctly.  

With both of them still reeling from the pain and trying to catch their breath, they sat down and stared at the device. They were each thinking the same thing, because it was the only thing to think. Who was going to test it?

Each of them had been through the disastrous results of botched time travel in the past. It was something neither one of them wanted to experience again, but the choice was obvious.

“I’ll do it,” Five said simply.

His other self creased his eyebrows together and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why should you do it?”

“Well, if you can’t figure that out, you’re even dumber than I thought.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Five sighed heavily, running a hand down his face. He was just so damn tired and he needed a drink. But this had to come first. And it had to be him.

“Look, asshat, I’m not exactly thrilled about throwing myself blindly through the vacuum of space and time again. I’ve been doing it way too often lately, and each time I fuck something up. But it has to be me and I think you know that.”

The other Five huffed, pushing his hair off his face and tipping his head back with a sigh. Then he looked at Five and gave a small nod of understanding. He did know. There was no way he could risk the jump with an experimental time travel device. Not if there was even a chance of getting lost and leaving his kids and wife behind.

“Alright then,” Five said with a terse nod before standing up and grabbing the watch. He swallowed nervously, even just holding it in his hand. He knew how potentially sensitive these things could be, and it was possible any type of movement or disturbance to the workings inside could cause it, and him, to blip out of their current existence. “How far back or forward should I set it?”

“Just a few minutes. Start small.”

Five nodded again, hearing Reggie’s voice echoing in his head. “Keep the same timeline?”

“For right now, yes. Let’s not complicate things quite yet.”

Five adjusted a few dials to set the time and place, before removing his usual watch from his left wrist and replacing it with the time travel version. Even as hesitant as he was with it strapped to his wrist, Five still had to admit that they did a pretty damn good job of making it stylish. It would complement his suits nicely.

“Ready?” the other Five asked.

Five rolled his shoulders back and stretched his neck from side to side in preparation. “Ready,” he stated before pressing the small activation button on the side of the watch.

In one small burst of blue, Five disappeared. When he reappeared a millisecond later, he was still in the basement. This time, however, he found himself staring back at two versions of himself that were in the middle of an argument. Everyone stopped talking and stared at one another. “Shit, I think this means it works,” the smaller ‘other’ Five said, right before Five pressed the button again to return to his correct time.

Popping out of thin air, Five landed in the exact same spot he had been in when he left. With a quick check of his surroundings, he looked at his other self. “Did we do it?”

“I think so. You were gone for maybe a second. Did you make it to the right place and time?”

Five nodded. “It was right here just a few minutes ago, before we charged it. So, yeah…I think we did it.”

“Perfect!” the other version said with a smile.

“That was only one test. We should do a couple more to make sure we didn’t just get lucky. Plus we need to see if this thing stays charged.”

Both Fives knew that the worst thing to happen would be to find themselves stranded in the wrong time again, and with the watch having run out of power. It would be the same as when the briefcases went kaput. They’d be relying on their own powers and that was never a good thing.

“Ok, let me try a different setting. I’ll go a little further back and to a different place.”

He took a deep breath after he programmed the watch. “See ya,” he said with a wave before disappearing again.

When Five appeared out of the portal, he took a quick look around to assess the situation. He appeared to be in the right place. He had put in the coordinates for the Hotel Obsidian and he had found himself landing right in the main lobby. Luckily for him, the type of clientele that frequented that hotel didn’t even blink an eye when a teenage kid suddenly appeared in their midst out of nowhere. As Five faced the main doors of the hotel, he saw what he had hoped to see. His entire family, including himself, were trying to shove their way through the revolving door into the lobby, all while loudly arguing.

“Yes!” Five said to himself with a smile as he pressed the button on the watch before anyone could notice him. When he reappeared back in the basement, he let out a relieved sigh. “Ok, so far so good. There doesn’t seem to be any issue with the power strength and the coordinates seem correct.”

The other him nodded. “So, now what?”

Five let out a forceful breath of air through puffed cheeks. “Well, now comes the fun part. A bigger jump and a different timeline.”

“You sure about this?”

Five shook his head while setting the watch to the date and time he had in mind. He wasn’t sure why that particular date popped into his head, but it didn’t matter what it was, just as long as it was part of his original timeline. “Not really, no.”

When he was ready and the watch was programmed, he turned to his other self. “Listen, if this doesn’t work and I disappear, tell our family I’m sorry.”

The other Five nodded, knowing there was no use in giving optimistic words of encouragement. It was very possible this entire thing could fail. If so, Five would be lost and the kugelblitz would eventually wipe out the entire universe, including his wife and kids.

Five was gone in a zap of blue.

Reappearing on the other side of the portal, he felt the same wave of nausea pass over him that he used to have when he would make big jumps like this for the Commission. He closed his eyes for a moment to steady himself. Then he took a look around.

He was home. At least, the only real home he’d ever known, even if it was more like a boarding school than anything else. Standing in the large foyer of the Academy, Five checked the stained glass on the front door. Seeing the umbrella etched into the panes, he let out a quiet sigh. That was a good sign, but he still needed to confirm he was indeed in the right time and place.

Creeping quietly toward the living room, he heard voices coming from behind the sliding doors that separated it from the foyer. There was the sound of muffled laughter and Five could smell something delicious cooking in the kitchen.

“Baked ham,” Five whispered to himself before rolling his eyes at his own stupidity of talking out loud.

Taking a nervous look around, but not seeing anyone or hearing any approaching footsteps, Five pressed his ear to the door. The laughter was louder, and he could hear people talking, but he still couldn’t make out what they were saying. He knew it was a big risk, but his curiosity got the better of him and he cracked the door just a tiny bit to peer inside.

They were all there. His entire family, including Ben and himself, were gathered together, playing some sort of board game. Because Five had programmed the exact date and time, he knew they were all eight years old and it was a Saturday. Reginald had gone out for the evening, and Pogo had decided the kids could stand to use more than one hour of play time that day. So, he had asked Grace to make an extra special dinner of their favorite ham and potatoes, with chocolate cake for dessert. While she was preparing it in the kitchen, the siblings celebrated their precious freedom together.

Five smiled to himself while he watched his family playing and getting along. It was one of his better memories of his childhood. They were still young and hadn’t been competitive with each other yet. Training was still fun and the idea of being debuted as the Umbrella Academy for all the world to see was exciting.

Diego and Luther were arguing, of course, but it was more of the normal sibling arguing you would expect, and not the kind where you try and kill one another. Allison was trying to get everyone’s attention to explain the rules of the board game, but no one was listening to her. Five’s young self and Ben were sitting on one of the couches behind her, throwing little pieces of balled up paper into her hair and laughing hysterically behind their hands.

Klaus and Viktor sat dutifully in front of the table with the game, trying to listen to the rules as obediently as possible. That is, until Klaus took one of the playing pieces and stuck it up his nose, making Viktor laugh and Allison annoyed.

“You guys!” she started to protest, but when she saw Klaus take another piece and try to balance it on his head, she started cracking up. “Oh, forget it,” she said with a giggle, picking a piece of paper out of her long curly hair. She turned to Ben and Five who were doing a very poor job of looking innocent. Allison stuck her tongue out and flicked the paper back at them, hitting Five in the nose.

“Alright, children, time to eat!” their mother cheerfully announced from the dining room.

Five watched his little self spring off the couch, pushing Ben down in the process, and laughing. “Yes! I’m starving! I call the biggest slice of cake!”

“No way, Five! I do!” Luther argued as he trotted after his smaller brother.

“I’ll let you have it if you can catch me,” Five teased, just before flashing his bigger brother a haughty smile and blinking away.

The kids eventually made their way into the dining room where they were out of Five’s sight. He closed the door again and pressed his forehead against it, closing his eyes. The urge to burst in there and warn his innocent, younger self about everything that was going to happen was so strong he could feel his heart pounding wildly in his chest and pulsing in his ears. He wanted to grab him by the shoulders and look him in the eyes. He wanted to tell him not to time travel, even if he thought he was ready. Listen to Reggie. You really will be starving. And you’ll be alone. For so, so long…you’ll be alone.

The internal battle waged on as Five felt the tightening in his chest again and the breaths that wouldn’t come. Black spots began forming behind his eyelids.

He needed a drink. Maybe he could slip inside while they were at the dinner table and steal a bottle of Reginald’s booze. Then maybe he could think straight.  No…no, he just needed to breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Five, are you ok? You need to get out of here. The experiment worked, you just need to get back now.

I know, Dolores, but what if I can save him? Save me?

Five pressed his forehead harder against the door frame. He was panicking and frozen stiff. He needed to get out of there before someone saw him. Or before his little eight-year old self started experiencing psychosis symptoms.

You can do this, Five. Just open your eyes and move.

I can’t…I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I can’t.

Yes, you can Five…you know you can. You just don’t want to.

As usual, the Dolores inside his head was right. He wanted to stay. God, he wanted to stay there so badly. Despite all of its tortures, the Academy was his home. It was warm and filled with delicious smells from his mother’s cooking. His siblings were there; healthy and alive. His warm, cozy bed was waiting for him upstairs.

Five was certain that if he just waltzed into the kitchen right now, Grace would kiss his forehead and smooth his hair before insisting that he sit down at the table while she made him a plate of food. She would smile and ask where he’d been. When was the last time he was comforted like that? When was the last time anyone cared that much about him?

Your siblings care, Five. You heard them talking about you. They love you.

No, they just think I’m an asshole. They need me to get back to their lives, but they don’t really care.

That’s not true, Five. You know it’s not.

“Stop it stop it stop it stop it,” Five whispered to himself. “Move, stupid. You need to move.”

Nothing you can do will change anything, Five. What has happened has happened. You left your home at thirteen. You got lost in an apocalyptic world all by yourself. You became an old man and an assassin. You tried to save the world. All of these things already happened to you. And there’s nothing you can do to change that.

And just like that, Five snapped out of it. He opened his eyes, lifted his head, and took in his surroundings again. He was still alone. He could still hear his younger self and his siblings in the other room. But it didn’t matter. What was done was done. He could travel years into the past or decades into the future. He could jump a million timelines. But nothing would ever change his past.

The best he could do now was to make sure the future was just a little bit better for him and for his family. So, with a heavy heart, and what felt like a ball of lead in his stomach, Five reluctantly pressed the activation button on his watch. The Academy would never be his home again, and he had to accept that.

“You ok?” his doppelganger asked when he appeared back in the basement.

Five was breathing hard and raggedly, still reeling on his feet. He nodded and clutched the side of the table. “Yeah. Just some lasting symptoms of time travel. It will pass shortly.”

“And it all worked correctly?”

Five nodded again. “Yes.”

The other Five clapped his hands together with determination. “Great! We can get to work on building the second watch, then.” He looked at Five with concern. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Can I just…can you get me a drink? I need one before we start again.”

His older-looking self looked dubious for a second, and then he nodded. “Yeah, sure. You want whiskey?”

“I don’t care. Anything.”

“Alright. I’ll get you one drink, but that’s it.”

“Sure, whatever,” Five sighed as he sat heavily down in one of the chairs.

As the other Five left to go get the drink, Five rested his elbows on his knees and put his face in his hands. He needed to pull himself together. He couldn’t crack up now, he needed to concentrate. The tears were starting to form behind his closed lids, but he squeezed his eyes tighter so they would stay there. When he heard the footsteps coming back down the stairs, he wiped his face quickly and straightened up, smoothing down his clothes and combing his hair back into place with his fingers.

“Here,” his other self said as he handed him a tumbler of whiskey.

Five took a small sip and he immediately started to feel better. “Thanks.” He took another, longer drink, and then set the glass on the table before standing up. “Alright, we’re not done. Let’s get to work.”

If you wish to be tagged, let me know!

@kaybreezy3000 @lunalovesangst

[morri-draws]

Gwaine x Reader - 'The Threads That Bind Us' - Chapter 16

FINAL CHAPTER

Story Summary:

You, a humble dressmaker from Camelot’s lower town, are commissioned to make a new gown for Queen Guinevere. Impressed by your skills, she offers you the position of Royal Clothier. During your time in the castle, you catch the eye of one of the knights of King Arthur’s inner circle, Sir Gwaine. What starts as a sweet courtship is turned upside down when misfortune strikes and you must deal with the aftermath, as well as an unwelcome visit from Gwaine’s unpleasant sister.

Rating: Mature

Tags: Female Reader/Gwaine, set between seasons 4 and 5, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

Words: 2,984

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

Read on Ao3

[this chapter is explicit]

Feeling adventurous, you decide to go to the market in the afternoon. Once there, basket in hand, you ask a woman running a poultry stall for a pie recipe. Having brought paper and ink, you write down the ingredients and method as she tells you, before purchasing one of her freshly plucked chickens.

After collecting the required vegetables, flour, butter, eggs and herbs, you return to your chambers and start preparation, forming and rolling out the pastry before chopping the vegetables and chicken. Following the written instructions to the letter, you assemble the pie and place it in your cast iron pot on some coals in the hearth, put the pot’s lid on, and shovel coals over the top to cook it evenly.

You sit down, wiping your brow with the corner of your apron when there’s a knock at the door. You stand, hastily untying the apron and setting it on the kitchen bench, before crossing the room to answer the door. Gwaine greets you with a smile and steps inside.

“I’ve just managed to put dinner on, hopefully it won’t be too long before it’s ready,” You say.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,”

“You say that, but I don’t have much culinary experience besides making stew,” You invite him to sit by the fire next to you. “How was your day?”

“Alright, back at training of course,”

“I still feel like it’s too soon,” You frown.

“Arthur doesn’t have me swinging a sword again just yet. I was mainly holding a shield while getting walloped,”

You grimace. “Sounds like fun,”

Gwaine chuckles. “I will admit, I hope to be fully recovered sooner rather than later. I miss going out on patrol,”

“Sick of the same old castle walls, are you?”

“A little,” He shrugs. “Though not when I’m with you, of course,” He grins.

You roll your eyes playfully. “Oh, I almost forgot; how was your evening with Merlin?”

“Really good. I wish we could spend more time together, but we’re both so busy usually, especially him. Still, I should try to make more of an effort. It doesn’t do to neglect one’s friends,”

“Perhaps if tonight’s dinner turns out, he could come here for dinner some time?” You offer.

“I’m sure he’d like that,” He smiles, before shifting his chair closer to yours, taking one of your hands in his and clearing his throat. “I wasn’t entirely open with you about what I was going to be doing last night,”

“Oh?” You raise your brows, your heartrate increasing with alarm.

“I did see Merlin, but before that, I went to a blacksmith, with whom I’d placed a special order,”

He reaches into his pocket and procures a folded handkerchief, which he places in his palm. Carefully unfolding the fabric, he reveals a ring, which he holds up between his thumb and index finger for you to view.

“This kind of ring originates from Hibernia, where my family is originally from. The heart here,” He points with his other index finger, to the centre of the ring’s motif. “Represents love. The hands on either side of the heart represent friendship, and the crown atop the heart represents loyalty. All these things I offer to you,” He looks into your eyes, his gaze so tender, you feel as if you might melt. “I love you, (Y/N), with all my heart and soul,”

“Oh, Gwaine,” Your voice wavers as you fling yourself into his arms, your tears falling on his shoulder. “I love you,” Is all you manage to mumble into his shoulder, your arms wound tightly around the back of his neck.

He laughs, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Do you want to try it on?”

You pull back, nodding as you wipe your eyes on your sleeve. He takes your right hand, carefully sliding the ring onto your third finger. Reaching into his pocket again, he retrieves another ring, slightly larger than your own.

“One for me too,” He smiles and puts it on, before raising his hand to show you. “When you wear it on this hand, with the point of the heart facing out like this, it signifies that your heart belongs to someone,”

“There’ll be many broken hearts upon seeing that ring on your finger,” You grin.

He chuckles. “I think you overestimate my appeal,”

“Well, whatever you think,” You cup his cheek in one hand and rest your forehead against his. “I know that my love is very handsome,”

“And I know that my love is the most beautiful woman in Albion,”

You scoff. “Hardly,”

“You mock my words, dear lady, but how would you explain why my heart soars whenever I lay my eyes upon you?”

You open your mouth to retort, but before you can say a word, Gwaine’s lips are on yours. Having no objection to this particular interruption, you hook your arms around his neck to pull him close and deepen the kiss. Your chair rocks, the unexpected movement startling you, causing you to break apart.

“Are you alright?” Gwaine asks.

“My chairs aren’t really ideal for this. Would you care to…” You trail off, gaze moving to your bedroom door.

“I would,”

You stand and take Gwaine by the hand, leading him into your private chamber. Once inside, you turn to face him, as he looks about the room.

“I’ve been wondering what it looks like in here,”

“Really? And why, pray tell, would you have been wondering that?”

“Do you really have to ask?”

He smirks, stepping forward and burying his face into your neck, softly nibbling your skin, hands snaking up your torso. Shivers run through your body as he hooks a finger over the top of your bodice lacing.

You take his hand in your own to stop him. “I believe it’s my turn,”

You reach for his belt, sliding the leather through the buckle to remove it and throw it aside. Slipping your hands under his tunic, you run them over his bare skin, getting your first feel of his body, before pulling it up from the hem. He raises his arms to aid you in pulling his tunic over his head, which you also toss aside.

Your eyes glide over his body, his abdomen and arms contoured by lean muscles. Your gaze is drawn to the scar on his side. You gently caress the unmarked skin just beside it.

“Does it pain you still?” You ask.

He shakes his head. “Hardly at all,”

He leans his forehead against yours and begins unlacing your bodice. Once he pulls out the last section of lacing, you tilt your head up, catching his lips with yours while shrugging your shoulders, making it easier for Gwaine to pull the dress off. It falls to the floor in a heap around your legs and you kick off your shoes, leaving you in just your shift and stockings. He cups one of your breasts in his hand, sweeping a thumb over your hardened nipple, evident where it’s pressing against the fabric. You slide your hand down his abdomen and slip under the waistband of his trousers, continuing down until you find his hard length and wrap your fingers around it. His breath hitches at your touch, which thrills you, and you move your hand up and down the length, his skin hot and smooth to the touch.

Gwaine moves a hand under the hem of your shift, the backs of his fingers brushing against the soft skin of your inner thigh, before slipping a gentle finger between your folds, where you are already slick with anticipation, finding the spot where he brought you so much pleasure the previous day.

Hooking your fingers under the hem of your shift, you lift it over your head and throw it to the floor. Gwaine guides you backwards, until your calves hit the edge of your bed and you fall atop it. He stands back for a moment, gaze sweeping over your nude form, eyes dark with desire. He crawls onto the bed, on top of you, until his arms are on either side, enclosing you between them. He leans down, kissing you passionately, his dark hair creating a curtain around your face.

Shifting his weight to one arm, he strokes your skin with his other hand, from the hollow of your neck down, cupping each breast, moving over your waist and hips, feeling your curves, all the while, his hardness pressed against your leg. He returns a finger to between your folds and caresses you there, kissing you between your heavy breaths, before moving his kisses along your jaw, and your neck, and nibbling your ear, his warm breath tickling the sensitive skin.

“I want you,” You say breathily.

You’re throbbing below, aching for him, aching for what you feel pressed against your leg. He pulls away, your body suddenly cold without him against you, and stands beside the bed to pull off his trousers, fully revealing himself as he steps out of them. You prop yourself up on your elbows to admire him properly. The evening light filtering through the window accentuates his features, and in that moment, you wish you were a painter, so you could capture his perfection.

He crawls onto the bed and kisses you, his tongue searching for yours, his hardness against your side, the hot skin against yours, rather than a layer of fabric between. You run your hands down his back, his skin warm and smooth, and reach around his backside, giving it a firm squeeze. His lips break apart from yours as he chuckles at your boldness.

He slips a finger between your folds again, stimulating you there again in small circular motions, before moving lower to slip a finger inside you. feeling how slick and open you are, he adds a second finger, pumping in and out while still massaging your bud with his thumb. It feels amazing, but you want more of him. You reach a hand down and find his cock, wrapping your fingers around it and begin slowly pumping.

“I want you,” You pant, as you feel him becoming even harder in your hand.

He raises his head, gaze meeting yours, pupils so swollen that you can hardly tell the colour of his eyes.

“Please,” You add, voice hardly more than a whisper.

He removes his fingers from within you and repositions. You open your legs for him and he places one hand on your thigh, and uses the other hand to position his cock. The tip slips between your folds, sliding over your bud back and forth. Your core pulses, yearning for him to be inside you, and you shoot him a look which he must understand, that you cannot wait any longer. The tip slips down, hovering at your entrance. He leans down and kisses you, one hand cupping your face while the other supports his weight, and he moves his hips forward and enters you. your lips break away from his as you gasp, and he stops.

“Is that alright?”

You nod, wrapping your legs around him, using them to pull him closer, so his entire length moves inside you, his hips hitting your thighs. He sighs, running his hands along the soft skin of your inner thighs, then grips them as he pulls back and thrusts forward again, repeating this, as you relish finally having him where you want him.

He moves one hand and begins to work you again with his thumb, while continuing to thrust, your breaths becoming short and sharp as your pleasure rises. You reach for his face, pulling him down to kiss him. He moves the hand from working you, wrapping that arm behind your back firmly, and flips you around so that you’re on top of him. He scoots back, slipping out of you with the movement, until his back is against the wall. He beckons you and you edge towards him, rubbing a hand along his thigh, before swinging one leg over him and taking his cock in your hand, guiding it back to your entrance. Once he’s inside you, you both wrap your arms around one another, your bodies pressed against each other as you move together, panting between kisses.

He slips a hand between your legs to work you again, a moan escaping your lips at the added pleasure, which rises with each stroke and with each thought of him – how close you are, how he feels, looks, his own expression of pleasure, his flushed cheeks, messy hair and dilated pupils, and the fact that he loves you, and is yours and only yours.

You reach your crescendo, breathy moans escaping as your body bucks and squirms while Gwaine holds you tight against him, your core pulsing around his cock, still inside you. Once you’ve ridden out your climax, you rest your forehead against his with a sigh. He kisses you softly, wrapping his arms around you and slowly tilting you backwards, until you’re flat on your back. You open your legs, inviting him to continue. He moves closer, grabbing one of your legs and holding it against him as he enters you easily, since you’re slicker than ever from your own climax, thrusting as he grips your thigh against him. His breaths become shorter and faster until he moans and quickly pulls out, spilling his seed onto the sheets beside you. He breathes heavily and meets your gaze, shooting an apologetic smile.

“Sorry about the mess,”

He climbs off the bed, finding his trousers on the floor and removing a handkerchief from one of the pockets. Returning to the bed, he wipes off his mess and puts the handkerchief aside to lie beside you. You snuggle up to him, resting your head against his chest as he rests an arm around your shoulders.

“I love you,” You say, wrapping an arm around his waist.

He tilts your chin up with a finger so he can kiss your forehead. “I love you, (Y/N),”

You sigh contentedly, feeling perfectly comfortable exactly as you are, as if you could close your eyes and drift into sleep, when you feel a pang of hunger from your stomach.

“The pie!” You exclaim, sitting up in alarm.

You scramble out of the bed and pick up your shift, hastily pulling it on, and leave the bedroom for the hearth, using a long-handled iron hook to lift off the pot lid. You peer into the pot to see a sad and shrivelled pie, the edges burnt black while the rest is an unpleasant shade of brown.

“No,” You groan.

Gwaine rushes from the bedroom in just his trousers and stands beside you, inspecting the damage.

“You were making a pie?” He asks.

You nod sadly. “I was inspired by the pie shop’s pies. I never expected to make anything as good as theirs, but this… this is inedible,”

You return the lid to the pot so you don’t have to look at your failure any further, and drop onto the nearest chair.

“What are we going to eat now?” You droop you head in your hands.

“Hey,” Gwaine steps beside you, resting a hand on your shoulder. “It’s alright; we’re not going to starve,”

“But I haven’t got anything else; not enough to make up two meals, anyhow,”

“Have you forgotten something?” He kneels in front of your chair, resting a hand on your knee.

“What?”

“My knightly privileges,” He grins. “I’ll head down to the kitchens and see what I can get for us,”

You sigh. “Alright. Thank you,”

He smiles as he stands, then heads for the bedroom, returning a few moments later, fully dressed.

“I’ll be back soon,” He pecks you on the cheek and heads out.

Gwaine returns about twenty minutes later with two plates of food balanced precariously in one hand, and a pitcher of wine in the other. You help him lay them out on the table and retrieve cutlery and tankards from the cupboard. He pours the drinks and you both sit down for the meal.

“Thank you, Gwaine. You’ve saved the night,” You take your first mouthful from your plate.

“I do hope that even if we ended up having only bread and butter for dinner, that the night wouldn’t have been all bad?” He gives you a sly look.

You chuckle. “Quite right, it would still have been a wonderful night,”

He grins, and you both continue the meal in companionable silence, having worked up quite the appetite.

“Do you ever wonder how things might have been different if you hadn’t seen me looking lost in the courtyard that day?” You ask once you’ve cleared your plate.

“Well, I’m sure someone else would have helped you, and I still would have been sent to you for a new cloak,”

“Well, what if I didn’t get the position here then? Would we ever have crossed paths?”

Gwaine is thoughtful for a moment. “I like to think so. I believe some things are fated. We probably would have run into each other while buying fruit buns,”

You smile. “Perhaps we would have,”

“Anyway, I don’t think it’s healthy to spend too much time thinking on what could have been, or in this case, what could not have been, especially when things have turned out so happily,” He reaches across the table and takes your hand in his. “You are happy, aren’t you?”

You give his hand a firm squeeze. “So, so happy, Gwaine,”

He looks at you tenderly. “Then everything has turned out as it should, for I am the happiest man in Albion,” He raises your hand to his lips and kisses it. “Now finish your drink. I would like to get back to other activities before the night is through,”

“Would you, indeed?” You raise your brows.

He nods casually. “If my love has no objection?”

“None whatsoever,”

[elvenwhovian]

Story time:

It was early December, 2014. I had taken the day off and was eagerly trying to kill time until the midnight premiere of the final Hobbit movie.

The previous Saturday I had received a jar of ingredients for making brownies (a party favor from my roommate's brother's Christmas party). My roommate was out of town and I had the whole house to myself. I could do whatever I wanted.

Thus I proceeded to make the brownies, foolishly following a recommendation on the recipe to add coffee grounds to them to make “coffee” brownies. All I had was a large muffin tin. The recipe probably assumed you would make them in a pan and cut them into 10-15 pieces. But my muffin tin produced 6 large muffins and I proceeded to eat 4 of them.

“I need to stay up past midnight,” I thought to myself. “Too much caffeine won't hurt anything.”

Practically shaking from the caffeine and sugar, I sat down and played through Portal and Portal 2 in a single sitting. It took less than 6 hours, a new personal record. 

Now shaking with excitement, I donned my costume (a female Fourth Doctor cosplay because I was out of costume ideas and I had the scarf, hat, and sonic screwdriver … I also loved confusing my fellow nerds). The Battle of the Five Armies was not as good as I had hoped, but it was a worthwhile experience. 

I returned home around 4 am, sat down on my couch (still dressed as the 4th Doctor), and realized the horrible truth: I was not sleepy and those brownies had done their job too well. My mind was still reliving the past 24 hours, practically buzzing with ideas, concepts, and genres that didn't go together. 

Elves and robots. 

Fantasy and sci-fi. 

Swords and portal guns. 

Dark lords and evil AI. 

Magic and science.

And it was on that night, fueled by caffeine, sugar, Portal speed runs, and middling Peter Jackson fantasy film making, that the idea for The Trial of the Bow was conceived. 

Happy upcoming 10th fanfiction-iversary to @starry-nightengale (yes, we are old) and thank you to everyone who has read The Trial of the Bow Trilogy and subsequent fics. That time in my life was so fun and I'll cherish it forever.

Also, never mix coffee grounds in your brownies, unless you want to see sounds and never sleep again :)

[gotham-ruaidh]

Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Chapter 3 (Dancing On Glass)|| Chapter 4 (Merry-Go-Round)|| Backstage (1) || Backstage (2) || Chapter 5 (Danger)|| Backstage (3) || Chapter 6A (Love Walked In) || Chapter 6B (Without You) || Backstage (4) || Chapter 7 (Stick To Your Guns) || Chapter 8 (Time For Change) || Backstage (5) || Chapter 9 (Take Me To The Top) || Backstage (6) || Chapter 10 (Home Sweet Home) || Backstage (7) || Chapter 11a (Nightrain) || Chapter 11b (Nothing Else Matters) || Chapter 12a (Handle With Care) || Chapter 12b (I’m So Tired of Being Lonely) || Chapter 13a (Angel) || Chapter 13b (She’s My Addiction) || Chapter 13c (Patience) Chapter 14a (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14b (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14c (Where Do We Go Now?) ||| Also posted at AO3

Chapter 15A: Dreams

Wilmington, North Carolina

Labor Day Weekend, 1988

I'm hung up on dreams I'll never see Help me baby, or this will surely be the end of me…

 - Dreams, The Allman Brothers Band (1969) [click here to listen]

“I’ll be upstairs in just a few minutes. Did you finish your reading?”

Ten-year-old William MacKenzie shook his head. “I was going to, but that’s when Daddy arrived with Jamie and Claire – I mean, Mr. and Mrs. Fraser. And then it was time for dinner, and then - ”

Gillian Duncan MacKenzie bent to kiss her son’s forehead. “All right then. Why don’t you get yourself all caught up?”

William’s eyes darted over to Claire, seated across from his mother at the kitchen table, sipping sweet tea.

“Jamie and I will be here all weekend,” she smiled. “You’ll have plenty of time to talk with him about music tomorrow.”

His face brightened. “OK! See you in the morning!”

Claire couldn’t help but smile as William darted out of the room, footsteps quickly thudding on the stairs.

Gillian turned to face her guest. “He’s so excited. It’s not every day that a bona fide rock star is here in sleepy Wilmington.”

“Thank you for asking him to not tell his friends at school. I’m used to the attention now – ”

Gillian raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Are you?”

Claire shrugged. “Well – no. I don’t know if I ever will be. But one thing that won’t change is how much we value our privacy. So – thank you.”

“Of course, Claire. Privacy and discretion are what I do professionally – how could I not extend the same courtesy to you, when you’re a guest in my home?”

“Still. Thank you.”

A beat. Claire sipped the sweet tea Gillian had made – the same recipe she’d grown to love, those months at The Ridge. Gillian gently pulled Claire’s left hand across the table, studying her rings.

“You said this was his grandmother’s engagement ring?”

Claire nodded. “He inherited it when she died. His sister Jenny kept it for him, until he asked her for it. Called her the day he got home from The Ridge, and went to see her the next day. He gave it to me a few weeks later.”

“A man who knows what he wants.”

Claire smiled. “And I’m a woman who knows what she wants.”

Gillian returned the smile, then focused on the wide band next to the engagement ring.

“I love how solid and simple your ring is. Silver?”

“Platinum. His is the same. Wide enough for an inscription on the inside.”

“I do,” she had whispered. Smiling through the tears. Thinking he looked just a bit ridiculous in his suit. Sliding the band inscribed “Forever My Love” across his knuckle.

“I do,” he had whispered. Eyes burning, full of awe. Agape at the simple gray dress she had chosen, his mother’s pearls around her throat. Sliding the band inscribed “Forever My Heart” onto her finger.

“I am so pleased to…” Professor Quentin Lambert Beauchamp loudly blew his nose into a polka-dotted handkerchief. “Excuse me. I am so pleased to pronounce you husband and wife. Jamie, you may kiss your bride.”

He did. To the applause of the ten dear friends gathered in Joe and Gail Abernathy’s Boston backyard.

“That’s beautiful.” Gillian lay her own left hand on the table, adorned only by a thin gold ring. “Dougal never gave me an engagement ring, and he insisted I have the gold band for our marriage. His is silver. He had just sunk all of his money into building The Ridge, and we couldn’t even afford flowers at the reception.”

“That’s beautiful, too, Gillian. And I understand why you wouldn’t want to upgrade. Because what you have now, is that much more meaningful.”

“I was sitting here, when Joe and Gail staged the intervention.” Jamie looked over at his wife – his wife!! – gazing up into the arbor behind the house. “The vines were heavy with grapes. I remember thinking, how appropriate that I’m looking at what could be wine.”

He pulled her closer against his side, and kissed the top of her head. Careful of the tortoiseshell combs that Jenny had so lovingly placed in Claire’s hair as she got ready this afternoon.

“Ian confronted me in a hotel room in…Sacramento, I think. I had been so wasted on stage the night before, slurring through half the songs. Jenny had come to see Ian, and she was so scared for me. She had already done the research, made a few phone calls. I puked the whole flight across country to North Carolina.”

“It’s always the ones we love who we hurt the most,” she murmured.

“I’m never going to hurt you, Claire. You know that, right?”

She turned to face her husband – her husband!! – and smiled. Reassuring.

“I do. And you know I’m never going to hurt you, Jamie. Right?”

He nodded. Couldn’t help but kiss her.

“Ah!”

Dougal MacKenzie and Alec MacMahon turned the corner, and cheered. “Here you are! Come on – don’t let us have all the fun without you. Can’t miss your own wedding reception!”

Gillian nodded. “I don’t need it. I have the life we’ve built together, and our son, and a man who somehow thinks the sun rises and sets with me. I’ll never understand it.”

Claire swallowed.

Of course Gillian noticed.

“Don’t ever doubt how much he loves you, Claire. I’ve seen you two together – you’re so natural with each other. That’s never going to change.”

She clenched her hand into a fist. Centering herself.

“It’s…it’s just so…intense, with him,” she whispered.

“We don’t have to tonight, Jamie. We have forever, now.”

His hands shook as his thumb softly, softly traced down her neck, across the pearls, and settled into the cleft between her breasts.

“I want to, Claire. I want you so much I can scarcely breathe. I just…”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Gillian asked gently. “I can be your therapist, or I can be your friend. But I will listen.”

Claire took a deep, calming breath. “Being on tour – I see now how he developed the addictions. Every aspect of it is so stressful. He feels so much pressure to lead his band, to write music, to live up to the fans’ expectations. And he has to deal with the label and the tour manager and the production guys, and do media, and somehow find time to eat and shower and sleep on top of all of that.” Her thumb twisted her wedding ring. “He’d use the drugs to come up, and the alcohol to come down. And the women to just forget about everything for a while.”

“Are those groupies?”

Colum had organized a small gathering for the band and crew to celebrate the first show of the acoustic tour. No alcohol or drugs in the room – though Claire quickly learned that the rules by no means extended to hallways and bathrooms and storage rooms at the venue.

Jamie squeezed her hand, standing side by side in the corner, both of them holding a can of Tab.

“Yeah. I can ask them to leave, if you’re feeling uncomfortable.”

“No need.” She dropped his hand and quietly approached the four women giggling on the other side of the room.

“Ladies. I’m Claire Beauchamp. I’m with him.”

She turned slightly, looked at Jamie over her shoulder, and then turned back to her audience.

“So?” A girl wearing a strategically ripped Def Leppard t-shirt popped her gum. “That’s not what I heard about the last time he was here.”

Claire’s eyes narrowed. “That was then. This is now. I will say this only one time. If you even think about flashing a boob, or smiling at him, or trying to get him alone? I will end you.”

The girls gaped.

“Tell all your friends here in Albuquerque, please. Are we clear?”

“And now, that you’re there with him?”

Claire smiled. “He’s eating and sleeping a lot better. Has a lot more energy. He so desperately wants to do everything right. And I’m not going to lie, Gillian – seeing him perform the songs he wrote for me at The Ridge, and then being there when he comes off stage, all keyed up from singing and playing the guitar…”

“It sounds like in many respects he’s replaced his additions with you.”

Claire looked up, meeting Gillian’ gaze. “Of course he has. The album and lead single will be called She’s My Addiction. Doesn’t get any more obvious than that.”

“And how do you feel about that, Claire?”

She lay her hands flat on the table. “I’ve never felt more…loved, and cherished, than when I’m with Jamie.”

She frowned and opened her eyes when he stopped brushing her hair, one morning in Minneapolis.

“What – ”

The pads of his fingers swept the left side of her neck, still a bit tender from his kisses after last night’s show. “I bruised you. I’m sorry.”

“Hmm. I’m not.”

She swallowed. “But it’s so, so hard sometimes. He loves me for who I am, but I don’t want to do anything to fuck it up. And he stresses over so much that he doesn’t have to. Gillian, he’s been having panic attacks all tour.”

“My God. Is he seeing anyone to help with that?”

Claire sighed. “You’re looking at her. Thank God I did that psych rotation when I was in med school. I’ve helped him recognize the signs, and he knows enough to tell me when it’s happening so that we can get away and I can help him through it. But I’m not a psychiatrist. I can’t be everything he needs. He has to do a lot of work to explore what’s triggering him, so that he can manage that. Because after we take the break at the end of the year, we’ll be on the road for most of ’89. The label has booked more than a hundred shows.”

“And you’ll be with him?”

“Of course. He’s the air I breathe. I know this sounds insane, but we want to try for a baby next year. That way he can be off the road, off touring, to be with me if the timing lines up.” She sighed. “So I’ve talked to him about bringing a therapist with us on tour. He needs to have that kind of support from someone other than me. Especially when we’re in Europe and he’s playing soccer stadiums and dealing with a next level of bullshit.”

“Do you want some recommendations? Between Dougal and I, we can definitely help you find someone.”

Claire smiled thinly. “That would be wonderful. It has to be someone we both trust. Who can deal with all the craziness.”

Gillian nodded. “Consider it our wedding gift to you. I – we – really want to help you. You know this, Claire – getting sober is hard, but staying sober is so, so much harder. It does and doesn’t get easier with time. Dougal would say the same thing.”

“Do you ever miss it?”

She settled her chin into his shoulder, nestled securely in his lap. Together they watched the cornfields of Iowa glide by, thousands of feet below.

“No. Not really. The pills helped me deaden the pain. And my life doesn’t have that kind of pain at all, now.”

The private plane had four clusters of four seats, two seats on each side facing each other with a table in between. Jamie and Claire always had a cluster to themselves. Ian, his bass tech, Jamie’s guitar tech Arch, and Angus’ drum tech always sat together. Colum kept to himself. Leaving Angus in the final cluster – which he shared with the two groupies he’d been surprisingly faithful to since Albuquerque. He hated flying, but the girls certainly made it easier for him – plying him with snacks, rubbing his back, squeezing him between them in the big seat.

Claire turned slightly, and inhaled at his temple. Kissed his earlobe as he shivered. “I know you miss it, Jamie. And it’s OK.”

His grip tightened on her hip. “You taste so much better,” he whispered. Eyes far away.

Claire wiped the corners of her eyes. “I just love him, Gillian. So fucking much.” She took a deep breath. “I’m so proud of him, for everything he’s done, and for the man he’s worked so hard to become. I’m not going to lie – sometimes it’s so damn hard to deal with everything. With all of his past shit, and how he still lets it mess with his head. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve told him that none of it bothers me. Not the drugs, or the alcohol, or the destroyed hotel rooms, or what is probably hundreds of women. I can’t let any of that bother me, because that’s not the Jamie I know. But Gillian…”

Gillian reached across the table and took Claire’s hand.

“He makes everything so fucking hard sometimes. He starts to spiral, and he worries that I’ll have had enough and walk away. But then we just take a deep breath, and we look at each other, and all the bullshit is gone, and it’s just so easy again.”

“You need a day off!”

Jamie rubbed his hands over his face, exasperated. “I do have a day off tomorrow, Claire. You know as well as I do that there isn’t a show.”

She huffed, hands on her hips. “Not the point, Jamie. I saw the call sheet for tomorrow. You’re meeting with the label, and then with Colum to talk to the merch guy, and then the lighting team, and then you’re doing some local radio spots. That’s NOT a day off!”

He shrugged. “At least we can get dinner together and it won’t be shitty venue food.”

She pursed her lips, trying so hard not to scream. “Do you not remember the panic attack last night? You were sobbing in my arms, Jamie. It was really, really bad. And then you were so exhausted, but you wanted to be a hero and do the show anyway, and then you tripped over your fucking amp when you went on stage and could have broken your arm. Where would that leave us, hmm?”

He reached out to her – and she stepped back.

Not done with him yet. 

“You need rest, Jamie. Your body is going to shut down. And that won’t be good for anybody.”

“Is that your medical opinion, Dr. Beauchamp?”

A hint of a smile. Good.

“Yes. I’m your personal physician. I’m prescribing a day in bed, sleeping.”

He smirked. “OK. But only if you’re in it, too.”

She shrugged. “I’m not making any sense.”

“Yes you are,” Gillian smiled. “You said it’s intense between you – there’s no way it couldn’t be. Set aside his being a musician, and being in just about the biggest band in the world right now. Think about how and when you met. What had happened to both of you beforehand. All the changes you’ve made in both of your lives, in a relatively short timeframe. It’s overwhelming. And being on the road with him this summer had to have just upped that intensity.”

“We’re together non-stop. Which has been great, because we have so much time. We have what nobody else has, and I treasure that, I really do. But it’s also exhausting sometimes.” Claire paused, considering. “Nobody else knows what I’m about to tell you, but it’s another factor. We…we didn’t…” She closed her eyes. “We waited until our wedding night.”

Gillian’s silence was a gift.

“We were both so scared. I know that sounds ridiculous, but I think we were worried that…that it wouldn’t be good, for some reason. And it was good, Gillian. So fucking good. We both cried.”

“You’re everything.” He kissed her nose and cheeks and forehead and mouth over and over and over again, his tears mixing with hers. “My heart is going to burst.”

She hugged him tighter, nails digging into the flames tattooed on his shoulders. “Love you,” she whispered, breathless. “Love you love you love you love you…”

“I don’t need to tell you this, Claire, but I will anyway. It’s been a really good decision to spend so much time together, to really get to know each other, before you were married. Both of you deliberately wanted your relationship to be different from anything you’d known or done before. And now that last barrier is gone between you. So everything has changed, am I right?”

Indianapolis. Married one week. He couldn’t stop smiling at her, standing side stage during the show. She couldn’t stop giggling when he found her after the encore, threw her over his shoulder, and ran to his dressing room. His breath hot against her lips, breathlessly pleading for her to stay quiet, as they loved each other on the sofa and the techs and roadies and catering people and production staff bustled by the locked door.

“It has, Gillian. But in many ways it hasn’t. It feels like yesterday, and it feels like forever.”

New Haven. Married two weeks. The morning after a powerhouse show at the Coliseum. A penthouse suite overlooking the water. She had slipped out of bed in the dark, opened the curtains wide. Watched him watch her as she returned to bed. Held his gaze as they loved each other, dawn breaking over their faces.

“I get that. You’ve introduced another layer to your relationship. Probably the most complex layer that there is.”

Providence. Married two weeks and two days. Holding each other in a bath, Jamie’s hand splayed across her belly, Claire’s nose buried in the curtain of his hair.

“So, be patient with yourself, Claire. Cut yourself a break.” Gillian reached across the table to squeeze her hand. “And just enjoy yourself! My God – what an incredible life you have.”

Claire’s smile was the widest Gillian had ever seen.

“Holy shit. I married a rock star.”

“I heard that!”

And then Jamie was there, smiling, and kissing Claire’s smile.

Dougal hung back in the doorway. Exchanging smiles with his own wife.

“Come on, rock star. You said you’d help me hook up the new CD player.”

Jamie pulled back. Rubbed his nose against Claire’s.

“Hey, Dougal?”

Dougal crossed his arms. “What?”

Jamie stood. Squeezed Claire’s hands. Kissed her wedding ring.

“Love is a much better high than any drug.”

Dougal rolled his eyes. “I’ll put that on the new pamphlets we’re printing up for The Ridge. But the stereo won’t install itself. Help out, and I’ll even let you play that new stuff you brought.”