#you can kind of see the wood fire oven in the picture

[coyoteuugly]

pictures from one of my favorite places in the whole world

[95jezzica]

Easy Cooking, Egg n Pasta

Full title: Easy Cooking in detailed steps, boiled Egg & Pasta. (For one person).

Note: This recipe might look long and complicated, but I promise it’s an easy recipe. I just broke down the steps into many smaller ones, in order to make them as easy to understand as possible for people - even if they should be complete beginners at cooking.

For this recipe you will need: A smaller saucepan, 2-3 Eggs, a pinch of salt, a spoon, random smaller bowl, water, and half (0,5) of a cup of pasta. Also, an alarm. (Most people can set alarms on their phone, but alternative alarms work as well).

Total cooking time: 10-20 minutes, depending on how quick your stove is.

[Picture ID: Example of a cup to use for the pasta. If you can’t see the cup in the picture, use a cup roughly the same size as your fist. Picture ID Ended.]

Tip: The spoon you will need in this recipe is for some slow mixing and in order to take out the eggs from the boiling water. I recommend a wooden spoon for this, because wood doesn’t lead heat. However, if you don’t have a wooden spoon you can still use a normal one. Just be careful not to burn yourself on the water.

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Recipe Steps:

. Read through the entire recipe before starting for real.

. Use the toilet before you start to cook, and then wash your hands thoroughly. [ That way you don’t need to run in the middle of cooking. ]

. Take out everything you need (see the list above), and place where you cook. (NOT on the stove though. It could cause scratches to the stove and/or start a fire if you’re unlucky.)

. Lightly rinse 2-3 eggs below running water.

. Place the 2-3 eggs into a fairly small saucepan.

. Fill the small saucepan with just enough water to cover the eggs.

. Add a pinch of salt in the saucepan with water.

. Place the saucepan with water on the stove. The saucepan should just barely cover the stove hob, or as close as possible. (The “circles” on top of your stove.) 

. Turn on the heat for your chosen stove hob. Use the heat-stage before the hottest on your stove. (Usually 8 of 9, or similar.)

. Prepare half (0,5) of a small cup of pasta. If you’re hungry you can fill it almost all the way up.

. Prepare a timer for 6 minutes. (Do NOT turn it on yet). This alarm is to give you medium to hard-boiled eggs. If you prefer looser eggs, set the alarm a bit earlier, but I’m going to use 6 minutes for this recipe.

. Once the water start to bubble, to boil, turn on the alarm. - - - - If the water hasn’t started to boil after 10 minutes, check/make sure you didn’t accidentally turn on the oven or the wrong stove “circle”.

. Pour the Pasta into the boiling water and eggs.

. Slowly blend/mix the pasta and eggs once in a while.

. Lower the heat on the stove one (1) step. [ Example, now 7/9 instead of 8/9. ]

. Read the pasta package or have someone tell you how long the pasta needs to boil. This will usually be around 6-12 minutes, but it depends on the kind of pasta you’re using. If you don’t know how long the pasta needs to boil, assume it needs 8 minutes. 

. When the alarm sounds, turn it off and immediately set a new alarm for the remaining time of the pasta. Assuming you set the alarm to 6 minutes for the eggs, the pasta should now have roughly 1-4 minutes left depending on what kind of pasta you used.

. Immediately after you set the new alarm, use the spoon to CAREFULLY! take out the eggs from the boiling water, and place the eggs in a small bowl with cold water.

. When the pasta alarm sounds, turn off the alarm. . Turn off the stove.

. Peel off the egg shell(s). - They should have cooled down enough to do so now, but if not, change their water to give them cold water again for a few seconds.

. Once the eggs are peeled, carefully drain/pour out the water from the pasta into the sink.

. Pour the pasta onto your dinner plate/into your dinner bowl. . Place the peeled eggs on top of the pasta. Time to eat, you’re done.

. Optional: If you want to eat this as a simple soup instead, pour a cup of milk into your bowl and add some spices of your own choice.

And/or you can add a vegetable/fruit to eat alongside if you want to, but this is a basic recipe you can cook to at least get both needed calories and protein into your body.

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Possible Questions you might Have:

. “I need to use the toilet (again), but the water is boiling! What do I do?” - Answer: If you just need to take a quick pee, lower the heat two (2) steps and Run to make sure you get back before the alarms goes off. Rise the heat two (2) steps when you get back again and maybe add a count to 20 to the time after the alarm goes off. Alternatively, if you live with someone else you can ask them to guard the food while you’re in the toilet.

. “The boiling water is overflowing! What do I do!?” - Answer: Carefully lift the saucepan off the “circle”, so the saucepan now only stands half-way on it. Lower the heat one (1) step, count to 20, and then blend/mix the water at a slow pace as you place the saucepan back fully onto the stove “circle”.

. “Why should we add salt to the egg water?” - Answer: Without going into the detailed science behind it, the salt makes the water start to boil quicker. It also acts as a light “spice” for the pasta. If you choose to add more spices later, the salt also acts as an enhancer to the the spices.

. “Why did you make this?” - Answer: I keep seeing people on Tumblr who don’t have any idea on how to cook and/or are too worried to try. This is a basic recipe, sure, but I broke it down to smaller steps to make sure even complete beginners have a chance to follow along. We all start somewhere.

Cooking is a life-skill, and we all need to know some basics.

“Why pasta and eggs of all things?” - Answer: Because they’re cheap food who cover a lot of nutrients your body needs. Boiled food in general also has a lesser risk of becoming BAD and/or dangerous to eat even if you screw up a little bit. If you’re a beginner, this takes off a lot of pressure, because the vast majority of times you can still eat the boiled food you screwed up a little.

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If you have any questions, feel free to ask. I’ll be happy to help if I can. 👍🏽 //Jezzica.

[writingsbychlo]

smoke and fire (epilogue II)

word count; 3193

summary; deep into your relationship, and still happy, there’s a bigger step on the horizon.

notes; please note that this is based two years after the events of the main series!

warnings; reference to arson, reference to injury.

“Tommy, where the hell are we? Why does it smell like burned wood?” You grinned, your vision blocked by the tie Thomas had used to cover your eyes, holding onto one of his hands tightly as he guided you up the pathway beneath your feet. “Seriously, I thought we were having a date night. You said we were going out!”

“We are out, technically.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, your skin tingling a little where his lips had pressed, before he was slowing you down, bringing you to a stop, and his hand left yours. The sunlight that had been pocking through the tie was blocked, shadowed as Thomas came to stand in front of you. “It’s just not what you think. But we are on a date, and we can order some food out here later.”

“Where exactly is ‘out here’? Because we were driving for, like, an hour.”

“Okay, well, it wouldn't normally be that long. I got a little lost because I couldn’t use the SatNav.” He huffed, fingers smoothing over the knot on the back of your head and trying not to pull on your hair as he undid it carefully. You were buzzing with excitement, wondering where exactly it was that he’d brought you, and you blinked a little at the light burned ta your eyes, finally able to see again. Thomas had blindfolded you upon leaving the station after your shift, not wanting you to have any idea about where you were going, and it took you a moment to readjust. “You ready?”

“Totally ready.” You beamed, and Thomas nodded, dipping down to press a quick peck to your lips, before he was stepping out of your way. Staring up at the building for a second, your blinked once, and then twice, before your lips were pursing, head tipping to the side. You stared for another moment, before turning to look at Thomas. “We’re at a burned-up house from a call last month?”

“Yeah!”

“Yeah! Cool!” You faked his enthusiasm for a second, trying to understand where it was coming from. “Huh. Why?”

He rolled his eyes fondly, tucking the tie into his back pocket before taking your hand and tugging you up the steps. The doorframe was burned, the door pulled closed but unable to lock as it hung unevenly on its hinges, and Thomas pushed it open again carefully. “I thought you might want to look around? Can I show you around?”

You didn’t understand much, but you smiled, sensing his excitement in it, and nodding your head. “Yeah, Tommy, of course.”

You stepped in a little more, eyes flicking over it all. There was peeling wallpaper that was scarred with ash and black stains, burned away right down to the foundations in some places, and the ceilings were covered in soot. The floors creaked under your feet as you stepped in glass smashed and the shards stained, and it was unusual to see the remnants of a building like this without all the smoke and fire that usually came with it when you were on the job.

The first room looked like it was supposed to have wide doors, an entrance that would take double doors but they’d fallen down, ripped laces along the frame where they’d torn of, but the debris had been moved from inside of the house. The living room was beautiful, you couldn't deny it. There was a large fireplace against one wall, real log-burning with a chimney up to the roof and if you hadn't actually worked on the case, you’d have immediately put the large accessory down to the cause of the fire.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t. The reason this beautiful large house had burned down was stupid kids messing around with fireworks in the back garden of a house for sale, which was now completely destroyed. What would once have sold for over a million was barely worth a couple hundred thousand anymore, despite the beautiful neighbourhood it was in.

“This room is huge.” You mumbled, stepping a little further inside, and Thomas nodded. There was a file on one side, a place that was covered in old and destroyed bookshelves, a large windowsill beside it, and you could already picture it extended to make a little reading nook.

“Do you wanna’ see how it looked before? There were pictures on the real estate website, it was beautiful.”

You nodded, tuning to your boyfriend as he pulled out his phone, pulling up the pictures and swiping through them, Standing by his side, you looped an arm around his waist, leaning in slightly, and his arm went over your shoulders. Finally finding the right one, he positioned you both to be facing in the right direction, a set of large bay windows on one side that went out towards a decking that had been burned away.

In the photograph, the window had curtain rails and soft white curtains made of a thin kind of mesh, letting in the natural light as they hung over large glass doors. The walls were done up with a pale grey and white wallpaper, leaving it simply for the furnishings, but everything seemed to be in pale shades that made it all feel modern and elegant. Turning you both, he showed off the fireplace, decorated with old cobblestones and shale around the base that decorated it beautifully, before fading away into what had once been smooth oak wood flooring.

There were pictures on the wall at one end, and it reminded you of the wall Thomas had in his apartment, the one you had moved into almost a year ago, but his one was bigger, and looked like it could hold at least three times the quantity. There were couches laid out, surrounding a large television, and it was a huge area, a coffee table that looked like it was almost the size of a dining table.

Moving through to the kitchen together, you were even more taken aback by it. To one side was what was once a dining room, connected fully and open space, enough to seat a whole extended family, and you could only imagine the thanksgivings or the Christmas’, and you would be able to fit the whole squad into that room without trouble, without sitting in different rooms or connecting tables, all squeezing around the kitchen counters at Newt’s place or sitting in the tables, couches and floor like at Minho’s last Christmas.

There was space in the kitchen for an island in the centre, stools in front of it, and built-in ovens and fridges like at the station. There was also a set of large doors here, the glass broken, and you assumed this was where the fireworks had burst right though because there was a hole in the centre of the ceiling up into one of the rooms above.

“I saw this kitchen and I was immediately thinking about the size of it. Y’know, like, imagine the parties or the holidays, with a dining room like that and a kitchen like this I remember thinking it when we were putting out the flames, too.” He scratched at the back of his neck, looking around for a second, and you guided his face back to your own, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. “Weird thing to think about when putting out a fire, I know.”

“I was thinking the same thing. Big kitchen and dining room, you’d actually be able to fit a family our size into it without trouble. It’s kinda’ wild to think about.”

He chuckled, nodding his head, and his hands lifted to cup your cheeks pulling you back in closer to him. His nose bumped against your own, dragging together for a second in sweet Eskimo kisses, before his lips were meeting your own. Pressing in softly, he was still smiling into the connection for the first few seconds, before his head was twisting to the side, one hand dropping from your face to your waist, smoothing around your lower back and pulling you in even closer.

Pressing up into him, your arms circled his neck, pulling him down to your level as his tongue soothed over your lower lip, and you parted them for him. He sighed, a breathy and delicate sound, before his fingertips were digging into your flesh, holding you tightly as he pulled you impossibly closer. Scratching lightly at the hairs along the base of his neck, he rumbled happily, chest vibrating under your own with the noise and your fingers tangled a little more, and you pulled back. He whined, chasing after you for a few seconds, before letting you go, his forehead resting against yours instead.

“Your hairs getting kinda’ long.”

“You don’t like it?” He teased, and you shook your head, slightly kiss-swollen lips puckering for a second to press to his own again, a series of short pecks, before you pulled back.

“I like it, but you always complain about how sweaty your head gets in your helmets when your hair is too long.” He sighed, knowing you were right, and shrugging it off with a ‘hmph’.

“You know, talking of parties, there’s this amazing outdoor area. It's huge, there’s the decking from the living room and a patio outside here, there’s a big tree at the end of the garden and this amazing barbecuing area.” You nodded along, eyes narrowing on him again as he got excited over it, walking you a little closer to the broken doors so that you could see out.

He was right, there was a tall oak tree at the end of a huge garden, a fire pit made in the middle surrounded by beer cans and wrapped from where you assumed the teens who’d started the fire had been messing around, but with a little love and care, it would be all fixed up. The patio would seat big outdoor furniture, and you could picture a smaller firepit in the centre for later summer nights, as well as the proud barbecuing area Thomas had mentioned, built into the stonework with different levels and multiple grills.

“What do you think?”

“What do I think of this house?” You echoed, and he nodded slowly, almost hesitantly, before you took a deep breath, staring back out to the garden.

“I think it’s beautiful. Or, it was. Has a lot of potential to be incredible again.” You didn’t know much, you’d barely seen half of the lower floor and none of the upper ones. “I haven’t seen much of it, but what I have seen is nice.”

“Well, y’know, there’s big bedrooms. The master bedroom is amazing, it has an en-suite with a shower and a bathtub, a big closet and huge windows for natural light with a little miniature balcony outside of it. There’s a study down here which would make a really nice snug or cosy room, it didn’t get touched as much by the fire so you can get a better image of it when I show you. There are so many bedrooms, seriously, like, six bedrooms. There’s an attic, and a basement, and-

“Tommy, why are we here?” There was something hidden under his voice, his words trailing off after you’d interrupted him and his hand sank back to his sides from where he’d been making gestures with them, his shoulders slumping a little.

“It’s a cool house, I thought you might want to see inside of it! Especially since you and Newt didn’t get to do much when we were here, there wasn’t anybody injured, so you were just left waiting around, and I wanted to share it with you.”

“There’s more to it than that, I know I’m not great at picking up on signals, Tommy, but I’d like to think I got pretty good at reading you over this last year or so.” You studied him for a second, and he shrunk a little more under your gaze, before huffing out a laugh.

“Almost two years, now.” You placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing to reassure him, before sliding up to sit on his neck, letting your thumb brush over his pulse point and calm him. His hand landed on your wrist, following as he trailed it up your arm to find your hand, pulling it away from his body and linking your fingers together instead. He kissed along your knuckles, remaining in silence, but you felt like you were drowning in the nervous tension he was letting off.

“Talk to me, Tommy.”

“Okay.” He let out a shaky breath, nodding his head before looking back up to you. “Well, you and Newt were talking after the case, right? He said Derek lived in a neighbourhood like this when he was younger, and that you had always wanted to live in an area like this. Well, when I was in here, I kept thinking about how beautiful this place was, and how big it was. The whole squad could fit in, and it would be so comfortable. This is the sort of place you spend the rest of your life in, right? I was looking through it all and doing a sweep and because I knew it was empty my mind was wandering. I just thought about how I would never normally be able to afford a place like this, and how the value would go down so much because of the fire, and..”

“Oh, wow, are you thinking of buying this house?” You couldn't hide the shock in your voice no matter how much you tried, and Thomas chuckled as he watched you look around, with a little more interest now as you took it all in with more attention to detail.

“Well, yeah. Kind of. It’s only a thirty-minute drive from the house so it’s pretty much the same commute as right now, and-” He huffed, nostrils flaring a little as he thought, and you raised your brows at the way he suddenly went quiet, the gears in his head visibly turning as his brows furrowed a little. “Look, I’m struggling here, I’m nervous, okay?”

“Thomas, you’re getting all panicky.” You whispered, pulling him in a little, and leaning up. He was eagerly awaiting the kiss you gave him, body relaxing a little as you balanced yourself with one hand, thumb playing with his own where the other was still held by one of his, and he didn’t let you go when he pulled back. Instead, his head dipped lower, pulling you in and wrapping an arm around your waist, needy kisses that left you breathless as he held onto you, tension melting away and becoming a little hazy instead as he clung to you.

“I’m just,” His teeth nibbled a little on your lower lip, panting slightly as he pulled back for breath, and you were stealing more kisses through gasping laughs as you tried to get enough air, smiling and teasing as you did. “I’m just trying to ask you,” He was cut off again, your mouth meeting his and he laughed against your lips, his hand leaving your own to hold onto you more, fingers tickling over your sides lightly as you laughed into the kiss. “Cut it out, I’m calm now, but I have to say this while I have the courage.”

His cheeks were flushed when you pulled back, hair a little messy and lips a darker shade than usual, and he licked over them as he stared down at you, undoubtedly staring at an equal messy composure. “You have my undivided attention. Go right ahead.”

“I remember that a while ago, we were lying in bed and talking about things we wanted that we never thought would happen, and you said you’d always wanted to rebuild a house. Renovate it, was the word you used. You wanted to make it your own, but you never thought you’d afford it. And, on a paramedic and a firefighters wage, we’d never be able to afford a place like this, normally.”

“We?” You echoed, a soft smile on his lips as your heart thudded in his chest. You knew what it meant, it was a heavy commitment to buy a house with someone, living together was one thing but buying a house was basically a step away from a proposal, it was an investment in a long term future together, and you felt like you could barely breathe. Your chest felt tight, shock and adrenaline racing through you and you stiffened slightly, fear lacing itself into Thomas’ features once again. “You, uh, you want us to buy a house together?”

“Maybe..” He sighed, a little timid again now. “It was just a thought, because it’s such a beautiful house, and as soon as I saw it I was thinking about things you’d said, and it just seemed perfect for us, but if you don’t like it then that’s fine, just don’t shut down on me, okay?” He rested a hand over your cheek, thumb brushing softly, and his lips pressed a soft kiss toy our forehead. “Just tell me you hate the idea, but don’t go silent, alright?”

You nodded, letting him kiss your temple too, before pulling back to look at you. “I, um..”

“Hate it?”

“Love it, actually.” You choked on the words slightly, feeling a little breathless as they were wheezed out, and Thomas paused. He looked sceptical, shaking his head slightly, and you tried your best to smile. “No, I do. I really do. I’m just terrified, okay? I’m not good at long-term commitment, I’m scared, but I want it. With you.”

“Really? Because I know it’s a big step, and I know what it means, I’m not blind. It’s buying a house together, so if you wanna’ freak out or you don’t want it, that's okay, just tell me, alright? Because I’m in this with you for the long haul and you’ve got to know that by now, it’s not a secret, so I can wait until you’re ready.” The words sped from him, a little too fast, and you shook your head, leaning up to press your forehead to his.

“I’m really, totally sure. I just hadn't thought about it, okay? I was caught off guard, I’m not much one to think about the future, it doesn’t come naturally to me. But when I do think about my future, you’re always there.”

“Always?” He teased, twisting his head to brush his lips with your own.

“Every single time.” You gave him a quick kiss, a happy hum to accompany it and he relaxed once he let you sink back. “So, why don’t we order some pizza to be delivered here, and you can show me around some more. You said there were lots of bedrooms, which is good, because you know Newt will want his own.”

“So, we’re buying a house?” He looked a little unsteady, eyes glossing over, and he sniffed lightly. You matched him, nodding your head and beaming as the emotions overwhelmed you.

“Yeah, baby, we are.”

[bookstantrash]

A/N: Hey folks, are we all alive after ACOSF? Because I sure am not.

Sorry for delaying this chapter, my head was just so full of ACOSF that writing had been pushed back a little. But worry not, last chapter’s cliff hanger finally is over!! I think this is one of the biggest chapters I have written (it is 3K), so I hope you enjoy it!!

In which she makes a Friend, Part Ten

Nesta had fallen asleep on the chair near her bed, where Kaelin was currently sleeping soundly. The same scene from a couple of months back, when she had just discovered that Kaelin was actually a girl, made chills run down her spine.

She didn’t like this situation. Didn’t like it at all.

Cassian had barged into the cabin with a bleeding and passed out Kaelin on his arms, making Nesta jump from her position on the couch, where she had been nervously waiting for them. She had ushered Cassian to place Kaelin in her room, trying to keep her voice low and calm as she asked what the hell had happened.

The menacing aura emanating from Cassian took her back to the memory of when she was human. Of when she had allowed him to get way too close to her. Had allowed him to scent and see the fear in her eyes at the reminder of tearing skirts and cries of help.

Had reminded her of how he had gone utterly still, the need to kill and inflict unbearable pain on the one who had hurt her.

She was not seeing Cassian, the laidback male who cooked for her, and hummed in the kitchen, or who gifted her and Kaelin thoughtful things.

No, she was seeing Cassian, General Commander of the Illyrian armies.

The Lord of Bloodshed.

But that did not frighten her. No, as it had been when she was human, she was not frightened of Cassian.

Nesta was frightened for those who would suffer the wrath of the 500 year old Illyrian, who had been compared with the great warrior god Enalius.

Cassian had left Kaelin in Nesta’s care, giving her a tight smile before leaving again.

Nesta had tended to Kaelin’s wound the best that she could, cleaning the dried blood on her face, but not daring to undress the young Illyrian of her bloodied leathers in fear that Cassian came back suddenly.

However, when Nesta was boiling some tea in hopes of easing her nerves and heard someone knocking on the door, she opened it not to find Cassian but Esmée, the healer matron with a basket full of vials and linens, a serious look on her face.

“That headstrong kurumin all but barged into my barrack, demanding that I rush here and see to that bubbly pitanga” Esmée had pursed her lips as she took in Kaelin’s appearance “Although he did not say how bad the poor thing looked”

Nesta had watched Esmée like a hawk as the healer applied some ointment to Kaelin’s cuts and bruises. Her Illyrian blood would heal her faster, but even the warrior race could be exposed to infections. That was a risk they were not going to take, especially after Cassian had told Nesta where he had found Kaelin.

She had tried not to think of the young girl being beaten in a remote area in the woods. Tried not to think of what would have happened had Cassian not arrived.

Had Kaelin’s killing power not been activated.

Too many thoughts run around Nesta’s mind. Too many variables having been added to the already messy situation.

And Nesta had also tried not to think of how Cassian had eyed her before he left. How while he had told her of Kaelin’s breakdown his hazel eyes had been searching her face for a spark of recognition.

Searching her face for a shadow of a secret shared between her and Kaelin, hidden deeply into her mind, behind the fortress of iron that surrounded it.

Cassian suspected something.

And it was only a matter of time before others started to suspect too.

Nesta was sure of it, especially when she had tensed while Esmée opened Kaelin’s leathers to examine her other bruises.

She had only eased when she noticed that Kaelin wore a thin tunic underneath it, also remembering the band she used to bind her chest.

As long as Esmée did not remove Kaelin’s tunic there was no danger of her secret being exposed.

“He broke one rib and another is seriously bruised” Esmée had informed, running her hands over Kaelin’s torso “And he will have some nasty marks on his stomach, probably due to the punches that broke them. He’s to rest for at least a week. If that good for nothing camp Lord says anything about it just tell the General to pay him a visit and politely convince him of sticking his opinions where the sun does not shine.” 

Nesta had fought back a smile at the healer’s words, walking her to the door and letting out a sigh of relief when she was gone.

Nesta rose from the chair with a loan groan, her whole body aching from sleeping in an awkward position. She turned her neck from side to side, hoping to ease the tension accumulated as she quietly closed her bedroom door and went to the kitchen. She had not eaten a single thing since Cassian had left to go search for Kaelin, the only thing in her stomach being the tea she had brewed before Esmée had arrived.

Looking at the clock on the wall, she furrowed her brows in confusion. Cassian should already have been up and about, being the early riser that he was. But now that she stopped to think about it, she had not heard him coming back yesterday night.

A cold dread settled in her stomach, and she fought the urge to tug at the thin thread hidden deep within herself, if only to be certain of his whereabouts.

“He’s fine Nesta'' she murmured to herself as she set the kettle on the stove “He can take care of himself. He’s not called the Lord of Bloodshed for nothing”

But that feeling of dread stayed with her, from the time it took for the water to boil to how long it took for Nesta to realize that she had been so far away in her thoughts that her eggs were burning.

“Oh fuck” she cursed out loud quickly turning the oven off and opening the kitchen’s window to disperse the smoke.

She was still cursing when a deep male voice came from behind her.

“Since when did Nesta Archeron know how to swear? Those are not appropriate words for a lady”

Nesta turned around to see Cassian leaning against the doorframe, an amused grin on his face.

“Should not a lady always aim to expand her vocabulary?” she inquired, arching an eyebrow.

That made Cassian laugh, a mischievous glint on his eyes that eased that feeling of dread in Nesta’ stomach.

“I didn’t see you arriving back yesterday” she nonchalantly said, placing the tea on the table and saving the less burnt pieces of eggs for her to eat.

The lack of an answer from Cassian told Nesta enough. He had not returned.

“Am I going to have to tie you to your damn bed?” she threatened “Esmée said you needed to rest”

“I would gladly let you tie me up sweetheart, although I would rather be the one tying you” Cassian’s voice dropped an octave, and Nesta had to fight back a blush.

“I am not joking you pervert” but her voice lacked the amount of spite she wanted it to have.

Cauldron, to picture Cassian touching her while she lay helpless, giving him full control over her…. Nesta was not one to let others take rein in any kind of situation, especially sex. But to have Cassian being the one in control…. making her go mad with his big and calloused hands, that deep voice saying sweet temptations and dirty promises in her ear… it was enough to make her toes curl.

His answering grin was enough to say he had noticed the change in her scent.

“Wound a bit tight these days Nessie?” he walked in her direction, and the need to taste him, to feel him against her skin….

How long had it been since she had last pleasured herself? She had not bedded a male since she had come to Windhaven, and even touching herself was a no go once Kaelin started living with them.

Cauldron, she had to stop thinking about that.

But the closer Cassian got, the stronger his scent was, that mix of eucalyptus and musk almost making Nesta groan in frustration.

“Get your head out of the gutter Cassian” she managed to say, not giving him the satisfaction of moving away from him, little to no distance between their bodies.

That infuriating smirk appeared again, as always making her blood boil, from either desire or anger at him she did not know.

However, upon close inspection, Nesta could notice how dark the shadows beneath his eyes were. How his hair was more messed up then usual and the lack of shaving more noticeable.

“As if I was going to take such an awful looking male to my bed” Nesta snorted.

“You need to rest Cassian, you cannot keep going like this” she added softly, and maybe the use of his name — something she rarely did — made him see that she was not joking. That she truly was worried about him.

“I am a warrior Ness, we are trained to go days into battle with barely enough sleep” he said, daring to grip her fingers tenderly.

“It does not mean you can punish yourself by not arriving to help Kaelin sooner” she pleaded with her eyes “ It was not your fault. And if you keep thinking like that you will have to blame me too.”

Cassian only squeezed her fingers once before letting go of her hand, a sad smile on his face.

“Eat something more than those burnt eggs or else you will faint. And remember that you have the week off to rest”

Nesta opened her mouth to retort that he should stop being such a headstrong brute and just fucking sleep but Cassian was gone before she could unleash her temper on him.

~•~

Kaelin was awake by the time Nesta had come back to her room.

And the young illyrian was smart enough to keep silent at Nesta’s murder glare.

“You, young lady, are grounded” Nesta declared as she sat on the chair, the picture of grace and calmness despite the blazing fire echoing in her veins.

She directed her powers towards the dying fireplace, silencing the flames with ease now. Nesta felt smug satisfaction at the fact that she was controlling her powers with more facility, although she still had troubles maintaining its constant flow during her training with Cassian.

“I am what” Kaelin croaked out, her throat probably sore after all she had cried and having not spoken for almost a day.

“Grounded. As in you messed up and so I am punishing you in an educational way” Nesta’s voice softened and she clasped Kaelin’s hand “It was very brave of you to shoulder everything alone in fear of putting me, Emerie and even Cassian in danger.”

Kaelin sat a little taller, no wonder feeling pride at Nesta’s words.

“However, it was also very stupid of you, even more given that your killing powers manifested and you thought it better to not tell a single soul about it” Nesta added seriously “And that’s why I think you are going to be one of the most fierce warriors in our history. The best of them tend to be the most reckless and self sacrificing.”

Cassian’s face came to her mind, remembering how he had lay his life for her more than once. How as much as he was intelligent he was also selfless. How he did not hesitate to put his family’s life first and before even his own.

And even though Nesta felt pride and awe at his attitude, she also felt fear for his life.

He walked too close to Death for her liking.

“Next time, do not feel afraid and trust me. Trust Cassian. I am sure he would have helped you, no questions asked” she gave Kaelin’s hand a reassuring squeeze “Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am” Kaelin answered, an embarrassing blush blooming on her cheeks.

When Nesta had made sure Kaelin had eaten all of the food piled on her plate — Nesta had only heated some pre-made food Cassian had already cooked, not wanting to repeat the burnt food event – she announced what the young illyrian grounding would be.

“No flying?!” Kaelin shouted.

“No flying”

“You can’t do that!” she argued, completely exasperated.

“Not only I can but I did exactly that. Esmée said you need one week of rest and that is what you are going to do” Kaelin opened her mouth to protest but Nesta beat her to it “You almost broke two ribs, no way you are going to either be flying or training so soon. If that stupid Devlon says something he will have to deal with me and Cassian about it.”

“But…”

“No buts. After your one week of rest is up and you can go back to training you will walk there. No flying.”

“You want me to walk back and forth?!” Kaelin looked as if Nesta had just told her that goats could fly.

“No flying. For a month”

“A month?!”

“Want me to make it two?” Nesta inquired, fighting back a grin at Kaelin’s hopeless face.

“No” she grumbled back, and Nesta had never seen Kaelin look so much as a thirteen year old as now. 

Despite the fact that she was quite cheerful, the young girl usually portrayed a serious expression on training and their conversations, having matured earlier than most because of her need for survival. Nesta wanted Kaelin to be able to enjoy life to its fullest, without the constant fear of having her secret exposed.

She found herself wishing Kaelin could live normally as a girl and still be able to keep on training. But change took time, especially for a kind as old and traditional as the Illyrians and Fae.

“How about you show me your penmanship? You will have plenty of time to practice now” Nesta said, trying to distract her thoughts of the ‘what ifs’ of the future.

~•~

“What in the Cauldron are you doing?” Cassian asked, coming out of the kitchen.

“Preparing to sleep, as normal people usually do” Nesta answered, arranging the blankets on the couch. She could not possibly let Kaelin sleep anywhere but her bed given the kid’ state, although she had in vain tried to argue against Nesta’s decision.

“You are not sleeping on the damn couch” he argued, picking her pillow.

“Well, Kaelin is already passed out on the bed after I gave him the painkillers Esmée left, and no way I’m making him sleep here” she snapped, snatching back her pillow.

“My bed is perfectly available” he retorted “You sleep there and I will sleep here”

He tried to take the pillow from her but Nesta took a step back, snarling in his direction.

“Look at yourself Cassian! You haven’t had a proper night of sleep in weeks!! You sleep on your bed and I will sleep here!”

“Gods, you’re such a stubborn woman!! I may be just a lowly bastard but even I have some decency to not let a female sleep on the couch while I sleep on the bed!!”

“You are not sleeping on the couch” she repeated.

“Well, you are also not sleeping there so I guess the only option is for us to share a bed!” Cassian practically shouted back.

“Then I guess we will be sharing your bed then!” Nesta found herself agreeing, both to hers and Cassian’ surprise.

However, now there was no coming back. Nesta would not give Cassian the satisfaction of seeing her flustered over him.

So she grabbed her pillow and left the living room, walking towards his room and not looking back, hesitating only once she stopped in front of his bedroom’s door.

“You may open it” Cassian quietly said behind her, and Nesta tentatively turned the doorknob.

She had never entered Cassian’s room before. Not that it was that different in size from hers, but she supposed the decoration made all the difference.

Apart from a bed big enough to accomodate wings, what most surprised Nesta was Cassian’s shelf, which not only held weapons such as daggers and knives — she guessed there were even more weapons stashed somewhere in his drawer, armoire or under the bed —  but a small private collection of books.

She had seen some books in the living room, and felt a tinge of shame to think those were the only ones Cassian had. Running her hand over the books’ spine, she could see they had been well read, and that Cassian took great care with them.

“Those are military books” he informed softly, his hazel eyes following her every move “You could say I am quite attached to them, that’s why they are here instead of on top of the living room’s fireplace.”

“This is not a military book” Nesta said in the same voice tone, taking one from its place and reading the title.

‘King Arthur and His Knights of the Round Table’

“I would not have pegged you for a romance reader” she teased, recalling his own words from when she had first arrived at the House of Wind.

“It is not a romance” he argued “It is a story full of blood and fights and dangerous quests for glory and—”

“And Guinevere is just a fish then?” Nesta inquired, returning the book to its rightful place.

Cassian’s only answer was a low grumble and Nesta could swear he was sulking because she was right.

“Just go to sleep and forget about this” Cassian said, awkwardly gesturing towards his bed.

Spine straight as a sword, Nesta pushed the covers back and fluffled her pillow before trying to get comfortable.

It was too much. Too much Cassian. Too much of that intoxicating scent that made her caged heart threaten to explode and pour out all that she felt for him into the open. She had no idea how she was going to be able to sleep, even more when she heard a rustling sound and saw Cassian drop his clothes in a chair, staying only in his undershorts.

“What do you think you are doing?” she exclaimed, a bit breathless as she eyed his tan and muscled torso, failing to hide how seeing him like that affected her.

“Would you rather have me sleeping naked sweetheart? Because that is my type of sleeping garments” he winked at her, and Nesta wondered if she could suffocate him with her pillow.

“But for the sake of your poor nerves I will put on proper clothes xe r-atá” he added, slipping on some cotton pants that hang so low on his hips that Nesta had to bite her tongue to not comment on the fact that it did nothing to calm her poor nerves.

Cassian turned off the light settling beside her on the bed and keeping a respectful distance from her side.

Nesta tightly closed her eyes and prayed to sleep come soon. Yet she kept tossing and turning around, not finding a comfortable position.

“I thought you wanted me to rest Ness” Cassian’s amused voice interrupted the silence.

“Well, it’s not my fault I cannot find a comfortable position and am feeling cold despite the lit fireplace” she turned in his direction, trying to find his face in the dark “Don’t you ever feel cold?”

“I am quite used to Illyria’s weather, and maybe living for so long in a piss poor tent outside made me immune to it” he said with a hint of sadness “You should have told me sooner that you were cold. Wait a minute.”

Nesta’s eyes slowly got used to the dark and she could faintly see Cassian moving towards his wardrobe and returning with a huge fur blanket.

“Warmer?” he asked, tucking it so tenderly around her that her heart skipped a beat.

“Yes, but….”

“Still not comfortable?”

She felt her cheeks getting hot in embarrassment and thanked the gods Cassian could not see it because of the dark.

“Can I—” Cassian cleared his throat and Nesta felt him move a little in her direction.

“Yes'' she laid utterly still, not daring even to breath as Cassian moved and embraced her, his arm acting as a pillow for her head.

“It’s just body heat” he murmured, his breath hitting her forehead.

“Just body heat” she agreed, eyelids suddenly heavy with sleep.

“Aundê aicô, xe nhia” Cassian whispered, Nesta’s soft breathing letting him know she was fast asleep.

•

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[bluejayblueskies]

flour, sugar, salt

Words: 3.6k

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Relationship: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan Sims

Additional Tags: Domestic Fluff, Baking, Gentle Kissing, Light Angst, Safehouse Period, No Apocalypse, cooking and baking as love languages

Summary:

It had gone like this:

They’d been sitting on the couch, the flames of the fire licking at the brick edges of the fireplace as it eagerly consumed the new wood Martin had topped it off with just minutes earlier. The moment Martin had settled back onto the couch, Jon had resumed his position curled into his side, breathing a small sigh of satisfaction as warmth began to radiate throughout his body once again.

“Tell me something,” Jon said, leaning his head against the curve of Martin’s shoulder.

 After a moment, Martin laced their fingers together and gave a gentle squeeze. “I’ve never had a birthday cake.”

----

Jon’s never baked before, but how much harder than cooking can it possibly be?

Things do not go well.

Read on Ao3

Or read below:

The cake is awful. There’s no getting around that, Jon thinks as he scowls at the misshapen lump of frosting in front of him, adorned with little yellow and blue candles that he’d found tucked in the meagre baking section of the village’s shop, right next to the boxed cake mix that Jon had hesitated in front of, his hand stalled halfway to the candles. Just add water! it had proclaimed cheerily, which in no way assured Jon that the resulting product would be anything close to edible. So, he’d retrieved the candles and moved on, collecting flour, sugar, baking powder, and the rest of the ingredients for the recipe. For beginners, it had said, and Jon had felt like a child, but he’d followed the steps anyway, doing everything exactly right.

 Perhaps he should have just gone with the boxed mix. At least then the final product would have at least looked edible and not like something one would immediately toss into the bin, like Jon has half a mind to do. But the idea of not having a cake makes Jon’s stomach twist into knots, because he needs the cake. This whole thing is- is pointless without the cake, but the cake looks horrible, and—

 And he’s completely forgotten to put the gołąbki in the oven. He does so now, trying to calm the shaking of his hands that is born more of frustration than anything. It really wouldn’t do to drop the main dish all over the lino, after all. Best not to ruin it more than he already has.

 It had gone like this:

 They’d been sitting on the couch, the flames of the fire licking at the brick edges of the fireplace as it eagerly consumed the new wood Martin had topped it off with just minutes earlier. The moment Martin had settled back onto the couch, Jon had resumed his position curled into his side, breathing a small sigh of satisfaction as warmth began to radiate throughout his body once again. Martin ran hot—hotter than Jon, anyway, whose fingers had a tendency to get so cold they burned when warmed between Martin’s hands—and the slight guilt at using Martin as his personal space heater had dissipated entirely at the small, contented noise Martin had made as he’d wrapped his arm around Jon’s shoulders and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of his head.

 It had been months since the Lonely, since those first few awkward weeks in the safehouse tucked away in the Scottish highlands where Jon hadn’t been sure if loved was to be taken at face value and Martin wasn’t sure if the little touches Jon gave him were just to stave off that creeping fog that still lingered in the blue-grey of his eyes and the white-streaked curls that mirrored Jon’s own. It had been even less time since Martin had opened the front door, an excuse about needing ‘a much thicker coat, it’s bloody freezing out there’ on his tongue, to find Jon gripping a sheet of official Institute paper in a white-knuckled grip. The words calmly spilling free from his lips were silenced only once he’d slumped bonelessly in Martin’s arms, Martin’s hand still clamped firmly over his mouth and twin tear tracks streaking down both of their faces.

 The statement had gone up in flames easily and without fanfare, the small strands of smoke tickling the still-blue sky that, to Jon, seemed like the second most beautiful thing in the world.

 Now, there’s just this: sitting curled next to the fire, and taking long walks even as the cold of February nips at the tips of their ears, and getting to know each other through fragments of stories and brushes of pinkies and whispered confessions.

 “Tell me something,” Jon said, leaning his head against the curve of Martin’s shoulder and letting his eyes fall on Martin’s hands where they gripped the edges of a notebook, curling script decorating the pages in starts and stops and marred in places with crossed-out lines. They’d established a routine after Jon had admitted one night as they lay in bed, knees curled into his chest protectively, that sometimes what Peter Lukas had said in the Lonely still played on his mind. That they barely knew each other, and that the love Jon felt so potently in his chest and his lungs and his bones was based on nothing more than a construct, something he’d tricked himself into believing was real. It had been hard to think, even harder to say; Jon had squeezed his eyes tightly shut and had held his breath.

 Martin’s hand had found his and squeezed it tight. “Tell me something, then,” Martin had said, a tentative smile on his lips. And so, Jon had.

 Now, Jon’s hands were relaxed as he played absently with the cuff of Martin’s jumper sleeve. It was one of his favourites, a mustard-yellow one that was slightly oversized on Martin and consumed Jon entirely every time he managed to steal it from Martin’s side of the closet. Martin hummed and closed the notebook, turning his hand over and letting Jon’s hand rest against his palm; after a moment, he laced their fingers together and gave a gentle squeeze.

 “I’ve never had a birthday cake,” Martin said, sounding a bit wistful as he said it, and Jon leaned back slightly so he could see his face. Martin’s eyes were trained on the fire, and though his lips were still curled into a hint of a smile, his eyebrows folded inward in that way they did when an old wound itched just below the surface, stitched messily shut and stubbornly ignored even as it healed crooked and wrong. “At- at least not one of my own, that is, or- or that I can remember. I don’t know why I didn’t when I was younger, not really, but after Mum got sick, and my dad… well, birthdays just never really seemed all that important anymore, I guess? At least, Mum never seemed to want to celebrate.”

 Martin let out a small laugh, the kind born from reflecting on a memory that was quite the opposite of humorous. “And by the time I was old enough to make one for myself, it all just seemed so… pointless, I suppose. You know, that time we went out for ice cream was the first time I’d even celebrated my birthday since I turned 21?” Under his breath, Martin said, “Though I’m not sure you could call buying myself a bottle of Moscato and drinking alone in my flat celebrating.” He drew in a shaky breath before giving Jon a small, embarrassed smile. Not too long ago, he probably would have stuttered out some sort of apology, like it was shameful for him to show the vulnerable parts of himself. Now, he simply said, “It was nice, I suppose. To have people who cared, even if it didn’t seem like it meant all that much at the time.”

 Martin had that quietly sad look on his face, the one they both shared when thinking of the easy comfort of those first months in the archives, with Tim bright-eyed and smiling and telling jokes that Jon only understood half of the time and Sasha looking the way she had in the Polaroid Jon had found tucked away in the box of statements and cassette tapes Basira had delivered, clearly meant to be more salt in a wound that had been stitched closed before it had the chance to bleed. Jon squeezed Martin’s hand tighter, and when that didn’t seem enough, brought it to his lips and laid a soft kiss across the knuckles. “Yes,” Jon said softly, feeling that same sadness curling within his stomach and mingling with the beginnings of determination, a plan half-forming in his mind. “It suppose it was.”

 It was going to be perfect. Martin had left some time ago to make the longer trip into Inverness to pick up the supplies they couldn’t get in the village, forehead creasing slightly at Jon’s fabricated excuse of ‘not feeling well’ and Jon’s subsequent refusal of Martin’s offer to stay behind and reschedule their trip to a time when Jon was feeling more up to it. Jon had practically pushed Martin out the front door, letting out a small breath of relief when he saw Daisy’s car—now ostensibly their car—trundle down the cratered dirt road and out of sight. He’d had all of the ingredients; he’d followed all of the instructions. It was supposed to be perfect.

 At least the gołąbki turned out well, he thinks with a resigned sigh as he extracts the glass dish from the oven, setting it atop one of the electric hobs to cool. The cake sits in his periphery, almost mockingly; some of the frosting has sloughed off the top, leaving the chocolate pastry underneath starkly exposed.

 It… it wouldn’t hurt to try to fix it, right? Just a little more frosting to patch up the hole.

 Somehow, the middle of the cake ends up collapsing inward, taking a good portion of the candles with it. Christ, Jon can just picture his grandmother’s expression, the stern tilt of her eyebrows and the press of her mouth into a thin line that, thinking back on it, was really more amused than anything as she told him that no, five minutes was not long enough to properly cook chicken breasts in the oven, and no, he could not set the temperature to 260 degrees just to speed things along. She’d taught him how to mince garlic and to make Desi Ghee and to spice dishes without the need for measuring spoons, saying that he may as well put some of his anxious, restless energy to use and that the kitchen was as good a place as any.

 The first time he’d cooked in the safehouse, a few days after they’d arrived, when Martin had sat shivering on the couch with his eyes iced over with fog, his stomach had knotted in worry that he wouldn’t remember how—that he’d neglected it for so long, subsisting off of ready meals and tea in the beginning and then mostly statements after a while, and that this knowledge was the kind of nice, wonderful thing he wouldn’t be allowed to keep. But the knife strokes had come easily, almost mindlessly, and he’d filled the kitchen with mindless chatter as he’d worked in the hopes that it would give Martin something to cling to until he could press a bowl of chicken dumpling soup into his hands and gently coax him to eat.

 After that, Jon had taken to cooking most of their meals while Martin sat at the table and wrote with his tongue stuck out between his lips in concentration, or stood behind Jon and wrapped his arms around his waist and rested his chin against Jon’s shoulder as he watched him work, or formed a pile of flour and sugar and spices into a bread or a pastry or some other lovely, doughy concoction that Jon just couldn’t understand. Because Martin could cook, yes, but he’d never really liked it, he’d mumbled into his pillow one night after Jon had whispered, “Tell me something.”

 “It just reminds me of my Mum,” he’d said, voice small and quiet, and Jon had understood.

 But baking seemed to come so easily to Martin, lighting up his face with a radiant joy that captivated Jon to the point where he’d burned several meals just staring at Martin while he worked, transforming the same ingredients into a myriad of different desserts that all tasted light and lovely on Jon’s tongue, even though he’d never been a fan of sweets. At least, not until Martin had pressed a raspberry-filled Paczki into his hand with a tentative smile. He’d made it seem so easy, and Jon had been sure that, at the very least, he could manage a birthday cake.

 Clearly, he’d been wrong.

 He’s halfway to the bin, having decided that having no cake at all is distinctly better than having the monstrosity of a cake that’s currently balanced precariously in his hands, when the front door swings open, bringing with it a rush of winter air that prickles goosebumps onto Jon’s skin and sends a flush to his cheeks. Though that may be only partly due to the chill.

 “Hey,” Martin says, kicking the door closed behind him. His arms are laden with canvas bags of various patterns and designs, collected from a myriad of different shops over the past months, and he’s looking at the floor as he kicks off his boots so he doesn’t see the way Jon freezes halfway to the bin, the offending cake still suspended in front of him in the way one might hold a particularly offensive-smelling bag of rubbish. His muscles lock in indecision, and his mind is a mess of do I throw it away do I hide it oh Christ what do I do he’s going to hate it I have to get rid of it, and then Martin’s looking up from the floor and saying, “Are you feeling any—?”

 His eyes alight on the cake, on the stricken expression on Jon’s face, and his sentence trails off into a small, “Oh.” He takes in the kitchen, which is still in a state of disarray because Jon thought he had more time, surely Martin said he’d be out until six. He says as much, because he’s really not sure what else to do.

 “It’s quarter past,” Martin says, still staring at Jon with an unreadable expression that’s sending Jon’s stomach into a chaotic mess of nervous butterflies, and Jon’s eyes flick over to the clock above the oven. It does, in fact, read 18:14, and Jon feels his cheeks heat further.

 “Ah.” He’s still holding the cake awkwardly in front of him, he realizes, so he pulls it closer to his chest, almost protectively. Martin’s eyes track its movement, and on reflex, Jon says, “I- ah, I made dinner? And, er. A cake as well.”

 “Oh,” Martin says again, and Jon still can’t tell what he’s feeling. Not that he’s ever been good at that, but Martin has a tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve, which usually makes it easier.

 Nerves loosen his tongue, and he begins to ramble. “I- I know we hadn’t really discussed it, and I- I didn’t want you to think that I forgot about your birthday—which is, ah, tomorrow, I know, but I- I suppose I thought it would be more of a surprise today, and we did make plans for tomorrow already, and you- you said you’d never had a birthday cake of your own, and you’re always baking for me, so I- I thought it might be nice to make something for you, and you always make it seem so easy, but it, ah, it didn’t quite—”

 He shrugs helplessly and nods down at the cake, which is looking significantly more pathetic now that it’s under Martin’s scrutiny. “It’s a bit ruined,” he says, trying to convey within his words the entirety of the apologetic mess that’s been tying his stomach into knots. He stares at the floor, eyes fixating on Martin’s boots and the small puddle of water accumulating beneath them as the snow caked on the sides of them melts. The hot embarrassment that’s rapidly consuming him keeps his eyes cast firmly downward.

 “Oh,” Martin says once more, and it’s a soft, tender noise that makes Jon’s gaze twitch upward. His breath catches in his throat when he sees the wet shine to Martin’s eyes, the open, vulnerable look on his face where the stunned mask has finally cracked. “Oh, Jon.”

 Martin sets the bags on the floor and quickly crosses the room to where Jon’s stood. He takes the cake carefully out of Jon’s hands, despite Jon’s protests, and sets it on the counter like it’s something precious instead of the worst baking monstrosity Jon’s ever laid eyes on.

 “Martin, what—?”

 One of Martin’s hands is on Jon’s shoulder, the other carefully cupping his face. He pauses there for a moment, like he always does, giving Jon a chance to pull back. When Jon doesn’t, Martin leans in and kisses him.

 It’s more insistent than usual, both of Martin’s hands coming up to rest on Jon’s face and thumbs running soft circles over the tops of his cheeks as he presses into him, swallowing Jon’s soft gasp as he pushes him back against the kitchen counter, narrowly avoiding the cake as he kisses him soundly. Jon’s arms come up to loop around Martin’s neck loosely, his fingers brushing against the curls at the nape of Martin’s neck, and the tension he’s been holding in his body for the last hour melts away under the gentle, rhythmic motion of Martin’s thumbs against his face and the little noises Martin’s making against his mouth.

 When Martin pulls back some time later, his face is flushed a lovely shade of pink, and Jon realizes with a start that there are tear tracks running down his cheeks. He brings a hand to Martin’s face and rubs gently at the tears, his stomach twisting again ever so slightly in concern. “What’s wrong?” he says quietly, still breathless from the kissing.

 Martin hiccups a laugh, small and disbelieving. “Nothing’s wrong, Jon. I- Christ, I’m just so- so happy.” He brings a hand up to grasp at the one Jon has on his face, squeezing it tightly before bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss to the inside of Jon’s palm. “You made this for me?”

 Jon blinks, once, before remembering the cake. His forehead creases in disappointment, directed entirely at himself. “Ah. Yes, that.” He glances at the cake, which looks just as appalling as it did before—possibly more so due to the fact that Jon’s elbow seems to have, at some point, jostled the cake after all, dislodging another section of frosting and quite a few candles along with it. “It was meant to look significantly more… edible.”

 Martin lets out another laugh, this one with a bit more substance. “Jon, did you try it?”

 Jon’s frown deepens. “I don’t follow.”

 Martin disentangles himself from Jon, despite Jon’s small noise of protest, opens the cutlery drawer, and retrieves a fork. “How will we know if it’s edible or not until we try it?” he says with a smile that’s entirely too wide and excited at the prospect of eating a cake that looks like it was run over by a car.

 “I really don’t think that’s—Martin!”

 Martin carves off a section of cake, ignoring Jon’s protests to, “At least wait until after we eat.” He puts it in his mouth, and Jon braces himself for the inevitable disgust.

 Martin hums, his eyes still crinkled with a hint of a smile even as he swallows and says, “It’s really not that bad, Jon.”

 “Not that bad,” Jon echoes, glaring at the offending pastry and pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Christ, this- this was supposed to be romantic.”

 Martin’s hand finds Jon’s face again, turning his head gently until Jon meets his eyes. “It is,” Martin says softly, eyes full of something so tender it makes Jon melt. “It’s- Christ, I’m going to start crying again. In a good way,” he adds quickly, at Jon’s stricken expression. “You- you just—”

 Martin pinches his bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes shining again with unshed tears, and he says in a small voice, “I love you so much, Jon. And I love that you did this for me. I know you hate it when people say that it’s the thought that counts, but—no, don’t give me that look, it really is. I’m not using it as an excuse to- to soften a criticism or anything, or to subtly say that I hate it. I love the cake, Jon, because I love you, and so it really doesn’t matter that it kind of looks like somebody stepped on it.”

 That pulls a small giggle from Jon, entirely against his will and born mostly from the release of the knot of nerves that had reformed in the pit of his stomach. “God, it really does, doesn’t it?” He laughs again, more intentionally this time, and takes Martin’s hand in his, squeezing it tightly. “Well, I promise that the main course is significantly more palatable. It’s from that little recipe book you gave me—the one you picked up at the bookstore?”

 “Oh!” Martin’s eyes brighten as they alight upon the glass dish still sitting on the hob. “You made gołąbki! Christ, I haven’t had that since I was a kid. My grandmother used to make it for holidays before she passed.” When Martin’s eyes meet Jon’s again, they’re full of such fondness that the Jon of a few months ago would have squirmed under the weight of it. Instead, he lets himself lean into it, feeling the flutter of his heart against his ribcage as Martin places another warm, achingly soft kiss against his lips. “Thank you, Jon,” he says, pulling back just enough that the words tickle against Jon’s skin. “I… just, thank you.”

 Jon’s I love you is interrupted by the rumbling of Martin’s stomach, loud and insistent. Laughter splits Martin’s face into a wide smile, and he says, “I suppose we should eat, then.”

 “I suppose so,” Jon says, feeling his own smile grow softer as Martin turns to the glass dish and begins to portion out the gołąbki.

 Maybe they could bake together, he thinks as he sits across from Martin at the table, Martin’s foot reaching underneath and hooking around Jon’s ankle. Yes, that… that might be nice.

 The cake ends up going into the bin after all. Though neither of them really seem to mind.

[thesschesthair]

Time and space: Actor Colin O’Donoghue

The star of hit television show Once Upon a Time on living between Ireland and Canada, his pizza oven and the importance of having a sharp knife

Home will always be Ireland. When I was filming on Once Upon a Time, the television series in which I played the character of Hook, for six years, I spent about nine months of each year in Vancouver. My house in Ireland [where he lives with his wife, Helen, and two children] is in the countryside, not far from the Irish Sea. It used to be the postmaster’s house and is like two houses connected by a glass box. So, there’s the older side of the house and the newer one.

How did you find the house? My dad used to be an estate agent and, when we were trying to find a place, he advised us to take a look at a lot of properties. He said: “The house will let you know if it’s the right one for you.” As soon as we came in here we pictured ourselves having coffee and breakfast and all that kind of stuff. We loved everything about it.

Sometimes an older house needs a lot of work, but we bought it as-is from the previous owner, who worked in interior design or architecture and had renovated and extended. I like to do DIY but, because I was filming in Canada at the time, we just didn’t have the time to think about renovating a place or even building our own. We are lucky that we came across this, and absolutely adore it.

How would you describe your decorative style? It’s sort of mismatch. I like antiques, so we have a lot of older things. I’m a sucker for limited-edition things and I’m crazy about guitars — I used to play in a band and love the look and shape of them — so there are guitars around the house.

I really love art, too — I was going to go to art college at one stage. I buy pieces that speak to me. I don’t like one specific style, it depends on what I’m getting from the piece when I see it. I appreciate that somebody has taken time and effort, really thought about and put their emotions into a work. If I see something I like, I’ll pick it up from wherever we are filming. I just had an original piece of native art I bought in Vancouver framed.

Where do you spend most of your time? In the kitchen to be honest, pretty much the same as every Irish family. We have a back room that’s slightly bigger, so we spend a lot of time in there, too, and light the fire on cold days. It can be very cosy.

What was your worst house experience? I never had one. I moved in with my brother, when I moved from Drogheda to Dublin to go to college in the 1990s. He is older than me, was working and was sharing a house with a couple of his friends. They were between four and eight years older than me, they all had jobs and it was a nice house. I was lucky in that respect. I’m quite clean, not obsessively so, but I don’t think that I’d be able to stand being an absolute squatter. I’d have to tidy up.

Do you garden? We’ve been growing some vegetables with the kids in the garden since the start of lockdown which has been great. They get to see it grow and water them each day. It is a really nice thing to do.

What kind of gadgets do you have? My favourite gadget at the minute is an outdoor pizza oven. I don’t know if technically it’s a gadget, but I pretty much use it every week. I’ll make my own pizza dough and pizza sauce. It is wood-fired, so you have to do the whole ritual of lighting the fire and waiting for the pizza stone to heat up. I just got a wood smoker, as well, for smoking large chunks of meat.

What items would you take with you if you had to move overnight? It probably would be the pizza oven because I absolutely love making pizzas. There’s one painting that I would definitely take. Anthony Hopkins painted it and gave it to me when we filmed The Rite, my first film, in 2010.

Is there anything you travel with that makes you feel centred? I always take a photograph of my family. If they’re not travelling with me, I put it beside the bed, just to feel like they’re there. The last couple of places I’ve rented while on location — we filmed my latest television series The Right Stuff, in which I play American test pilot Gordon Cooper, over five months in Florida — have had terrible knives. It’s important to have a really sharp knife in the kitchen. How do you cook with blunt knives? If I’m going to be there for a long time, I’ll probably buy a sharp knife.

O’Donoghue stars in The Right Stuff, a television series based on the Tom Wolfe book of the same name which charts the early days of the American space race, available on Disney Plus

Link: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/time-and-space-actor-colin-odonoghue-5nnd3m2zm

[yanderes-stuff]

pspsps....firebrand yandera

Mmmm yes lonely fire God goes mental just 

to have you in his arms again I love it

Words:1,841

TW: Cussing, murder, kidnapping and also yandere stuff and LOTS of grammar errors

P.S this is probably the last fanfic I'll do that includes Noah Maxwell

Also, I got a head cannon that Firebrand can have inky tentacles out his back at will 

"Hey, hothead wanna hear something fucking infuriating," HABIT questioned the man towering in front of him which already seemed infuriated from the man's presence.

"Piss off and go bother someone else for the love of God." the shadow-man spat back glaring daggers at the shorter man, which just made HABIT cackle in amusement to him

"It's about your weird-ass obsession with your long-lost best friend," HABIT informed him in a ridiculing tone to capture his attention which was a success by the way Firebrand perked up at this.

A long time ago before Noah became a God he recalled kidnapping you in a snowy winter from your house before that Noah was planning to ask you to come over for dinner Which you gladly accepted following that he came over and you made pleasant conversation with him

discussing childhood memories on the sofa about how you, him, and Milo being the best of buddies but when you brought up how you were sad for drifting away from Milo he seemed miserable when you asked him what's wrong he admitted that Milo overdosed

To say you were horrified was an understatement you apologized for bringing up such a traumatic event to Noah which he excused and changed the subject

But your conversation was interrupted by the beeping of the oven signaling the dinner was ready and so you got up and started preparing the dinner which gave Noah the perfect time slot to slip a drug into the beverage you set on the table 

You clutched your glass and told him dinner was ready so you both seated yourselves and continued your conversation whilst eating some steak, and potatoes but suddenly you were more and more drowsy as the conversation progressed

 With your head hanging low in exhaustion until finally with a small thud your upper body hit the dining surface giving a sign to Noah that it's time to flee the area and go home

He cheerfully settled you in his bed in the house surrounded by the snowy woods he selected winter to abduct you since you wouldn't bother escaping the logic being

 You would surely freeze to death if you even attempted, giving you enough time to start your Stockholm syndrome for him, and also a chance to enjoy the winter holiday with each other.

But alas 3 weeks into late January long since the snow settled you managed to find a paperclip that was disguised burrowed in the carpet floor and successfully utilized it to pick the lock Noah put on your window and my God once you were running you never stopped out of fear until you knew your safe

Much to Noah's dismay, but despite that he swore to one day find you, and this time he'll be sure you won't have a chance to leave but once he hunted out for you, the collective found him once again making him their victim to torment...which leads him to now 

"This better be good." Firebrand was trying to hide his interest in what HABIT was about to say hoping you weren't dead by his hands but the shorter man just gave him a sly smirk and composed himself 

"Wellllllll...I remember how you said you knew where she used to live." HABIT said with great confidence

"I threatened the landlord to kill him and his entire family if he didn't give me her moving notice and if he told [Name.] So he gave me the new address."  He sounded so pleased with himself the fucker might've just proven to be useful 

"But that's not all, once I found her neighborhood I googled it and found the neighborhood's social media, in which pictures of her were posted…but not just her." He emphasized the word not. while explaining his efforts to him still with that sick smile

"She had a wedding ring in her posts and mentions some guy's name...what was it again." He was teasing him at this point stroking his chin while doing it

"Spit his name the fuck out." Firebrand demanded already weaving a plan in his mind on what he was going to do when he kidnapped you.

"It's Connor I'll cut you a deal, you let me kill him with free creative means while you kidnap [Name.] Deal?" Not even taking a moment to consider the man already made up his mind

"It's a deal." Firebrand approved now his objective has been set and he was trying to hold back his excitement to see you again.

The day following after that 

"Hey, Connor I'm out to do errands sweetheart I'll be back later tonight." You proclaimed to Connor who was relaxing on the couch watching T.V 

"Okay got it," Connor replied to focused on the T.V to pay attention to your words little did he know of the two men that broke in and are lurking in the living room closet 

As soon as they were sure you drove off they both stepped out of the space and HABIT set foot in Connors direction with purple duct tape in hand while Firebrand waited patiently for him  

As soon as HABIT was behind him he snaked his hand over Connors's hands pinning him while grabbed his tape with the other hand as Connor wiggled to get free HABIT was wrapping both his arms in tape

Firebrand finally stepped out while walking towards the scene in front of him flashing a malicious grin on his face he needed to know why his life would be coming to a bitter painful end 

"Look asshole this is for the best, I'm only doing this because she's mine and mine alone." Completely ignoring Connors's fearful look "All I want is her. All I ever wanted was her and I can't lose her to your dumbass. So here we are." Firebrand continues a cold look plastered on his face 

"I told him he could kill you any way he wants while I take [Name.] Back home where she belongs." Firebrand was visibly eager despite his cold look he just couldn't wait to see you

HABIT smirked at Firebrands words and carried the screaming restrained man to the basement to proceed with his work while Firebrand watched him descend the basement stairs 

When he was out of his sight he started to prepare his confrontation with you, readying a tea kettle on the stove and heating it till it made that easily recognized whistle

 While the echo of Connors screams was slowly drowned out by both the kettle and his painfully slow demise coming to an end as HABIT was most likely cleaning up the body now as Firebrand waited in the corner of the kitchen next to the door frame

As you finally walked in carrying the days work on your shoulders the house was oddly silent besides the whistle of a kettle Connor must've made tea for you and him while you were gone 

You shouted his name in hopes of some kind of response back only to be met with the same hissing...maybe he didn't hear you but when you got closer to the kitchen the sizzle came to a sudden halt

You waltzed into the kitchen only to be tackled by a bizarre-looking individual who had pinned your arms down on the floor and was straddled on top of your body you immediately started struggling to break free but upon your closer inspection of the man

He seemed to be completely jet black with inky tendrils coming out of his back to add to that his expression with pinpoint eyes and a demented smirk that seems to be getting wider by the second and a gold chain adorning his neck, he seemed oddly familiar 

"Who are you? What are you? stay away from me!" You shouted squirming in his grip you were trying to kick him off but he was easily overpowering you without breaking a sweat despite your best efforts 

"You really don't fucking remember me?" He seemed pained by your words his smile now turning into a light frown while his eyes bore into yours 

Regardless of your trembling, you examined his figure, and then you instantly recognized him "N-Noah?"

His face lit up at the sound of his name being said. so you do remember him! "Of course you remember! how could I have ever doubted you." He muttered enthusiastically "But the name's Firebrand now." He added

"Please...I don't want anything to do with you, not after the things you did to me." You told him trying not to waver your voice 

His face immediately transformed from enthusiasm to an upset expression as the words processed in his mind as the room became dreadful and uneasy. It was already getting hard for you to breathe especially when you were trying not to have a mental breakdown in front of him then he begins to chuckle which grabs your attention 

"Your pleads are so cute like anything could get you out of this." He confesses casually as he continued "I didn't think you would say that so quickly." The brunet was starting to laugh maniacally now which disturbed you further 

"You're probably still shocked and scared but luckily for you, I have just the thing for that." He whispered the last part to himself while smiling whilst you on the other hand had your heart was beating faster than ever before 

He arranged both your arms together over your head and wrapped his humid sticky tendril around your wrist while he pulled a syringe with a unique liquid from his pocket and put a hand over your mouth to smother your commotions

He searched for the best place to insert it feeling around your neck with his warm rough fingers and in a matter of seconds you felt the prick of your skin and your world succumbed to darkness 

You woke up in an unfamiliar room tied up with duct tape your mind was foggy and you couldn't think straight you tried to move but to no avail just then you saw a figure move in the corner of your eye which only made your movements more frantic 

The figure shifted to be closer to the bed you were in until he was at the foot of the bed you felt a smooth tentacle wrap around your neck 

"Hey, sweetheart did you miss me cause I really missed you." He couldn't believe you were all his again but my God was glad about it but one thing is for certain

This time he was going to be sure you would accept his demented affection

[thiswasinevitableid]

5, sternclay, nsfw? 👀

Here you go

5: Incubus

“Buddy, I promise, you can come in and cuddle in like, ten minutes.” 

The whining at the bedroom door stops, replaced by a big, wet nose, just visible through the crack at the bottom of the door as it snuffles back and forth. It’s very cute, but Barclay is not about to let his dog deprive him of a much needed jerk-off session.

He’s ready for bed, so it’s just a matter of pulling down his pajama pants and getting to it. Closing his eyes, he pictures that cute customer who gets black coffee and a croissant every morning at the Lodge. It takes a few tries to find a fantasy he likes, the one about the back counter and the new uses for a spatula.

Outside the door, Sass starts whining again, scratching frantically at the wood. There goes his deposit. 

God, he can practically feel the guy up against him.

The bed dips on the outside of each thigh. Opening his eyes reveals a man wearing nothing but deep blue boxer briefs and a smile. 

“Holyshitwhatthefuck?” He clambers back, banging his head on the wall in his hurry to sit up, “what the fuck man, how’d you get in here?”

“A portal between dimensions.  That’s the, um, simplified version. But don’t worry, I’m not here to hurt you. The opposite really. I’m an incubus.”

“Why the fuck is a fucking sex demon in my bedroom?” Barclay yanks his pants up. The incubus looks sad at this development. 

“I feed on sexual energy, and to do that I follow trails of that same energy to their source. You have a lot of it.”

“Yeah, year-long dry spell’ll do that.”

“Consider it broken.” The demon leans forward only for Barclay to hold up a hand.

“Nope. This is not how I want to break it. Sorry.”

“Is it my appearance? I can look like anyone--or anything--you want.” His features morph, eyes going from brown to blue to green, hair from honey-blond to fire red, “if you’re shy, my powers let me see into your deepest fantasies and make them come true.”

“No that’s not the problem, I wanna fuck someone I have some kinda connection to, not some guy who dropped into my bedroom. And would you please knock it off with that face-changing? I’m not gonna fuck you, so you can just look like yourself.”

The incubus starts, surprised by his sharp refusal, features landing on short, black hair, blue eyes, and a face that’d make a movie-star insecure. 

“I said you don’t have to try and be hot.”

“...This is how I look.” 

“Oh. Uh. Cool.” 

The demon smiles, “Having second thoughts?”

He takes a deep breath and lies through his teeth, “Nope.”

With that, he stands, grabbing the nearest shirt and pulling it on. Sass wiggles when he opens the door, takes one look behind him, and runs the other way.

“I wish I knew why earth canines react that way to me. I have a hellhound named Mother Leeds who adores me.”

“Jersey Devil reference?” He pads into the kitchen, starts the kettle and rummages in the cabinet for the most soothing tea blend he owns. 

“Yes!” The demon grins from his new position by the fridge, “when I found her she was pregnant with a litter. Most people don’t get it. Demons don’t either.”

“Friend of mine likes Mothman and all that kinda stuff. Uh” He takes a cup down, reaches for a second one automatically and then stops, “are you gonna hang around? Because my answer isn’t changing and if you keep pestering me I’ll just leave the apartment.”

“No, I’ll drop it. You’re not interested and sexual energy only works if it’s from something consensual. But, um” he toys with a magnet, “could I ask a few questions before I go?”

“About?”

“Humans. How things work up here, what your daily lives are like, that sort of thing.”

“Uh, sure.” He gets down the second mug, “is this so you can better seduce them or something?” Turning, he finds the incubus sitting at the table, producing a small notebook and pen from the air.

“No, this is my own research. I’m, um, more curious about humans than the average demon. I basically ended up an incubus because at my last job I kept trying to talk with humans or spend more time around them than was wise and, well, my supervisor got sick of it. So they offered me a reassignment to a role where the whole point was to be around people.”

“You fuck people just so you can, like, interview them afterwards?” He sets the two mugs on the table, notices that the notebook is crammed with questions in neat, elegant handwriting. 

“Technically, I also need the energy from it. But, um, yes” he blushes, “I know it’s a sort of silly hobby.”

“I don’t think it’s silly to wanna know about other worlds and people. But this doesn’t seem like the most, uh, effective way to do it.”

A sigh as the demon picks up his mug, “You’ve got that right. Sometimes I can get a few questions in during ‘pillow talk’ but mostly it’s in and out. Literally.” He snickers at his own bad joke, which further kindles the inexplicable, protective impulse Barclay feels towards him, “Don’t get me wrong, I like my work, and being a good incubus takes skill and dedication. It just...isn’t quite what I thought it’d be.” He sips the tea, brings the mug away from his mouth to study the liquid, “what kind is this?”

“Mostly chamomile.” 

“Chamomile…” he flips through the book, which contains more pages than should be physically and spatially possible, “that’s a plant, one that humans thing is calming, right?”

Barclay can’t help but smile, “Right. You want me to sit here and quiz you?”

“No, there’s too much to discover. What would you say is your area of expertise?” 

“I’m a cook, so food.”

“Food, food, ah here it is. Let’s see, why do humans persist in eating things that could kill them?”

“You mean things like rhubarb or are we in, like, Fugu territory here?”

The demon smiles, “I have no idea, please say more.”

They sit at the table until two in the morning, at which point Joseph ,the incubus, excuses himself to go collect energy from a willing participant. Before he disappears, he takes a chance and tells Joseph that he can come back if he has more questions. The demon thanks him and, out of what Barclay suspects is a habit more than anything else, blows him a kiss goodbye. 

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

“Y’know, I kinda figured you’d look more demonic. Do incubi just get human forms?” Barclay shakes red pepper flakes onto his pizza while Joseph finishes a filled breadstick. 

“This isn’t my ‘true’ form. When you asked me just to look like myself when we met, I figured you meant the least alarming version.”

“As long as it’s not, like, a beast with a thousand eyes, we’re good.”

Joseph wipes his mouth and by the time the napkin reaches the other corner of his lips, Barclay is gasping.

His nails turn sharp and silver, his eyes pure black, but it’s his skin that’s most noticeable; it’s swirls and swoops of blue and silver, dancing down his arms and blooming out from the neck of his  “Museum of Anthropology” souvenir shirt. He stands, giving Barclay a fuller view. Short horns sprout from his head, doubtless the perfect size and texture to hold him in place with your dick down his throat. His tail is that same mix of royal blue and silver, the right length to wrap around your hand and tug while you fuck him. Every inch of him is made to be pinched and pulled, groped and fondled, and Barclay will not be standing up from the table any time soon.

“It’s the color that gets people.” Joseph smiles with pointed teeth as he sits back down.

“It’s incredible, Joseph.”

The demon smiles, mischievous, “I’m glad you like it. Now, where were we?” He uncovers his notebook from a stack of parmesan packets and clicks his pen, appearance fading back to the human one Barclay is used to. He mourns his loss for a moment, before Joseph draws him into an animated conversation about movie theaters. 

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

“Come on Sass, it’s okay. Look, I even have your favorite.” Joseph holds out the treat, still fresh from the oven, while Barclay puts the rest of the batch out of range. The dog no longer runs from the demon, but will not come within arms reach of him. 

Sass whines, looking from Joseph to Barclay and back. 

“Here” Barclay settles on the couch next to him, resting his arm along the back of it, “see, buddy, he’s our friend.”

Sass creeps forward, still on his belly, plucks the treat from Joseph’s palm, and retreats to his bed. 

“Progress.” Joseph leans back, pleased. Their positions mean he comes to rest with Barclays arm around him. Barclay doesn’t move it, and the demon stays put until the end of the episode of Hells’ Kitchen

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

The newest Agent X is so engrossing that Barclay doesn’t register Joseph until his friend slumps onto the bed. 

“Hey, you’re early.” He sets the book down on the nightstand, scooching to where the demon sits rubbing his forehead.

“I’m, um, I’m having a bit of a problem.” When he looks up, silver and blue peeks through the skin on his face, “I misjudged how much energy I was going to get from my last two visits. I’m so weak I don’t think I can make it back home. I, um, I came here because if I’m going to be stuck and without powers I” his horns appear and he scratches them awkwardly, “I want it to be around someone I trust.”

“What’ll happen if you can’t get more energy?”

“I’ll get sick, and if the worst happens I’ll have to signal for someone to come get me. Which’ll get me demoted for sure.” He tucks his legs up onto the bed. He’s wearing the UFO socks Barclay gave him as a surprise last week, and the cook sets a hand on a flying-saucer covered ankle. 

“You can stay as long as you need, okay? And if there’s anything else I can do to help, let me know.”

“Unless you feel like taking me door to door to ask your neighbors if they want to fuck, a safe place to rest is what I need most.”

“What if, uh, you recharged here?” He draws a finger up and down the side of Josephs’ calf.

The incubus raises his eyebrows, “Barclay, are you forgetting how we met?”

“I didn’t want to fuck you then, but now...now you’re you, this handsome, clever, dorky guy who also happens to be a sex demon who hangs around my house most nights. I, I didn’t ask about sooner because I was afraid you’d think it was fuck me or lose our friendship, but if I can help you in a kinda self-serving way, I’m down.”

Joseph shakes his head, “That’s sweet, but you’re not the only one with concerns. How can I be sure you actually want me, and you’re not just offering because you want to help?”

Barclay snaps his fingers, “You can read my deepest desires, right? How about you take a peek and tell me what you see?”

Joseph closes his eyes, tail twitching as he concentrates, and Barclay gets the distinct pleasure of watching his face as he learns the truth. 

“Oh. OH. Um, you’re not kidding about how badly you want me. And some of this makes the reaction you had the one time I showed up in a suit make way more sense. But we can explore that later.” His eyes, now-pitch black, snap open, “right now, big guy, I’ll do whatever you want, however you want it.” 

“In that case” Barclay catches Joseph just as he tries for a kiss, “how about you tell me what you want?”

“Barclay, I’m an incubus, I want whatever the person I’m feeding on wants.”

“Nuhuh, I don’t buy that, babe. You’re telling me there’s nothing that’s your favorite, or that you’re curious about?” He teases their lips together.

“N-no?”

“You’re not getting any kisses until you tell me the truth.”

Joseph narrows his eyes with a “hmmph.” Then, as if it’s his greatest secret, he whispers, “I want to know what it’s like to get a massage as foreplay. No one’s ever wanted it or offered, and it sounds so nice.”

Barclay rewards him with a kiss. The demon melts against him, slides a forked tongue into his mouth to tease it. Clawed fingers tug at his shirt until Joseph remembers he can do magic and renders them both naked with a wave of the hand.

When they part, Joseph licks his lips, “Holy hell, Barclay, that kiss was enough to make me feel better than I did this morning. Tastes nice too, like coffee with lots of cream.”

“So, coffee the way you like it.” Barclay nudges him backwards, rolls him over as the incubus keeps talking. 

“Usually it’s a neutral sweetness. I wonder, hmm, maybe it has something to do with the fact you’re attracted to me, as in the actual meOHohhhhhhh” he flattens into the bed like a cat on a sunny floor as Barclay digs his thumbs under his shoulder blades. 

“You can theorize later babe, I promise. Right now, all you gotta do is let me rub you down. Uh, can you magic up some oil or something? It’ll feel better if--great, thanks.” Barclay sets the lit massage candle safely on the nightstand, waiting for it to melt. 

“Should I put my human form back on now that I can hold it?”

“Nope” he traces his hands up parallel patches of silver, pinches one horn playfully, “I love that version of you, but this one is so, so, fucking hot. Now” be kisses the base of his neck, “relax.”

Drizzling liquid wax down his spine makes the incubus moan, but the sound is nothing compared to what happens when he starts kneading him like dough. It’s a yowl, rough and inelegant in a way Joseph never is, and Barclay dedicates the next fifteen minutes to finding new ways to trigger it. He’s so beautiful, it’s like touching a painting, a galaxy, a miracle.

By the time he reaches his lower back the incubus is grinding on the bed and Barclay is half-hard from touching him. He grips Joseph’s ass, parting it enough to grind between the cheeks. 

“Don’t tease” his tail delivers a scolding thwack to Barclays cheek. The cook growls, turning his head to capture the offending appendage between his teeth.

“OHholyffffffuckinghell.” Joseph rips the blanket as he flails, “no one’s ever thought to do that before and now I really wish they had.”

That’s all the encouragement he needs. He ignores his growing hard-on in favor of nipping and kissing his way down Joseph’s tail. It’s velvety, feels like nothing he’s ever experienced as it twitches and trembles under his tongue. The base gets an extra-hard lovebite and Joseph moans, rolling over so fast he nearly catches Barclay in the face with his cock. And what a cock, on the narrow side but covered in swirling ridges.

“Holy shit, you just get hotter and hotter.”

“Th-thank you, big guy, now for gods sake pleeEEEase fuck me.” He whimpers adorably when Barclay licks up his shaft. 

“Okay babe, we can fuck. But I think…” he grabs the incubus, flipping them so Joseph straddles him, “I want you to fuck me.”

Joseph registers his words and his eyes glow deep blue. 

“Uh, is that a good thing?”

“Yes, big guy, it’s the closest I get to having my pupils dilate when aroused. And since you look so good underneath me, I’ll expedite things” he snaps his fingers and Barclay inhales in surprise; his ass is dripping lube and stretched like someone just pulled three fingers away from it.

“Fuck yeah” he spreads his legs, “c’mon blue eyes, don’t make me wait anymoreOHFUCK, fuck, yeah, like that.” He hooks his legs around Joseph as the incubus thrusts all the way in. Joseph kisses in precise shapes up and down his face, even as his hips keep a rapid, erratic rhythm. 

“Shit, shit, Barclay you taste so good, feel so good, please, please don’t stop touching me.”

“Not sure I could ever keep my hands to myself again, babe, god you’re so fucking handsomeAH, hah, someone got a praise kink?” He gasps out laughter as Joseph fucks him harder with each kind word. The ridges on his cock are solid enough that Barclay feels them with each drag, and it sets his toes curling.

“Maybe a little one” the incubus smiles against his neck, “though kink is a distinctly human concept and a complex one-SHITfuck, fuck please do that again.” He kisses Barclay hard as the human obligingly pulls his tail with one hand and smacks his ass with the other. Teeth catch Barclay’s lower lip on the next tug, a moan spilling from Josephs’ mouth down his chin. 

“That’s it baby, fuck me while I rough you up, fuck, Joseph, your dick is fucking perfect, never gonna want another one, c’mon please, I’m close.”

Joseph sits up, grinning joyfully, and grips Barclays cock. It’s a masterful handjob, because how could a sex demon give anything else, but what strikes Barclay most is how happy and relaxed Joseph is. The incubus admitted once that even when he was having sex, he constantly worried about fulfilling the fantasy to earn enough energy to feed. Yet here he’s laughing and smiling, eyes aglow as he works Barclay up to the best orgasm of his life. 

It means something; Barclay only hopes Joseph will stay in his life long enough for him to figure out what. 

He’s too busy with the sparks behind his eyelids and the pleasure coursing down from his head to his toes to note that Joseph managed to make them cum at the same time. The incubus pushes a hand through his fair, swooping it back and off his face, as he notes this accomplishment. 

“I want to run a marathon. Or maybe go hiking, or swim the lake. I have so much energy. Barclay, it’s amazing. You, it’s never been like that before. It’s felt good, but that was fucking transcendent. 

“No fucking kidding.” Barclay shifts onto his side, nestling up against him so his head is under Joseph’s chin. He yawns, kisses a blue shoulder, “but you might have to burn off some energy without me. You wore me out, blue eyes.”

Joseph adjusts his arms so he’s holding him, “If I stay the night, can I walk Sass with you in the morning?”

Barclay nods, already falling asleep, safe in the knowledge that Joseph is okay and, better yet, so fond of him that his eyes are still glowing, “You got a deal, babe.”

[echoes-of-the-clockwork]

Book Two: Sapphire (Ignis x Reader) Chapter VI

After speaking to Monica and learning of Cor's plan to dismantle the Norduscaean Blockade, the sun had set. Deciding to head to the rendezvous point the next morning, the royal retinue departed from Prairie Outpost. They were stripped of funds and couldn't even afford the caravan. Instead, they opted to camp out at Lepellieth Haven nearby.

Once the campsite was established, Ignis went to work on dinner. While he was deciding what to cook, (Y/n) grabbed a wood-knitted basket lined with a pale blue fabric. She examined the basket before nodding in approval.

Prompto, who's been scrolling through the pictures on his camera, lifted his head when he heard her hum faintly. "What's with the basket?"

"I'm going to take a short stroll around the area and search for ingredients. The basket makes it easier to carry whatever I find," (Y/n) explained.

The photographer hopped to his feet. "Lemme go with you!" He put his camera down in his chair. "I-I know you're badass and all in a fight, but you really shouldn't be walking around at night. Y'know, with all the daemons..."

She smiled reassuringly at him. "I'll be fine, Prompto. If I'm not back in an hour, that's when you should start worrying. I'll be back soon, okay?"

"Do tread lightly, (Y/n)," Ignis spoke up as she left the safety of the haven.

Gladio watched the guardian leave before glancing back at the advisor. "You're not worried?"

"Unlike you all, (Y/n) knows her limits. I have confidence she needs not a hand to hold whenever she pleases to explore," he replied as he began chopping vegetables.

"Damn, Speccy," Noctis spoke up. "Sounds like you trust her more than us."

"To be fair, they've been together pretty much their entire lives," the shield remarked. He leaned back in his seat. "So tell us about (Y/n), Iggy. The rest of us have no clue what it's like growing up with a guardian."

"What could I possibly convey that she could not?" The tactician retorted.

"And why're you so curious?" Noctis mumbled. "Pretty sure they taught you the basics in school."

"I think spiritual beings was the only class I passed," Prompto chimed in.

"Some of us didn't go to a school where they could learn about guardians," the shield stated.

"Now that I think about it, the books mentioned each guardian is unique and their timings vary. When did (Y/n) come into the picture?"

Ignis kept his attention focused on cooking while answering the question. "(Y/n) manifested when I was merely three months old, but our unification didn't come until my fifth birthday. As you may know, spirits are born unto this world via a soul which they are sworn to protect. Just as we, they are brought in with an innocence and pure form. Guardians, unlike us, are stunned at growth and only develop their human form after their masters have reached certain ages. Their spiritual form can also change once development has begun."

Noctis blinked in realization. "Now that you mention it, (Y/n)'s tail was really short when we first met."

"Our first meeting was a time when (Y/n) had yet to develop her human form."

The prince smiled at the memory. "She was really small, too. All I remember was seeing a white fluff ball curled up on your shoulder. She was fast asleep and didn't even budge when I poked her."

"When did she develop her human form?" Gladio asked.

"The day I turned eight," Ignis answered.

Prompto gasped, eyes wide as saucers. "Now I remember!"

"Why're you shouting?" Noctis groaned.

"The reason why guardians take so long to develop is because their human forms are determined by their masters deepest desire!"

Gladio smirked when understanding what Prompto was getting at. "So (Y/n) looks the way she does because Iggy's deepest desire was a beautiful woman. Nicely done. Better make sure no one else tries to take her from you."

"Isn't that a little extreme? Y'know, for an eight-year-old?" Prompto muttered. "I thought maybe it was because Iggy may have been lonely..."

Prompto was indeed correct. Ignis' deepest desire at a young age was someone who would be his friend and someone who would care for him. He had his uncle, but he wanted someone else important in his life to care for him. (Y/n)'s physical appearance was not the result of his desire but simply how well she took care of herself. And now his newest desire was her. He cares deeply for her not because of her beauty, but her heart. What he adored most about her was her kind, caring nature and how selfless she was. She always put everyone else first, just like he did with Noctis. Although he was duty-bound to the throne, he wanted to put her first. However, his job prevented him from doing just that. His duty was to Noctis, not to (Y/n). He couldn't neglect the prince simply for love. He had a job to do and there wasn't any time for any thing or anyone else. Being an advisor was the one thing that was keeping him from professing his true feelings to the one variable that was constant in his life.

Once completing dinner, Ignis handed everyone their dishes. Noctis immediately groaned when he saw the chunks of vegetables floating in the broth, but he ignored the prince and enjoyed what he prepared. As he was about to scold Noctis for not eating, (Y/n) returned with a basket brimming with ingredients. Curious as to what she brought back, Ignis stood up and returned to the cooking station.

With a smile, the guardian showed him what she found. "I found some sweet peppers, sweet potatoes, chocobeans, and tomatoes."

Noctis had overheard and sighed dramatically. "You didn't find any meat?"

The girl placed a hand on her hip while Ignis examined the many items she brought back. "Meat doesn't grow on trees or bushes, Noct."

Suddenly, all eyes were on Ignis as he shouted, "That's it!" with a sweet potato in his grasp.

(Y/n) turned back around and began putting the ingredients back into the basket. "Some new inspiration, Iggy?"

"Indeed. I've come up with a new recipe."

"It better not have vegetables in it," Noctis grumbled.

"I look forward to trying it," (Y/n) smiled at the tactician, ignoring the prince's complaining. "Maybe I could even help prepare it."

"Yeah, right," Gladio scoffed. "Iggy never lets anyone help him cook."

"On the contrary," the advisor spoke up. "(Y/n) is quite the delight to have as an assistant when I am in need of aid in the kitchen."

"Wha-?" Prompto gaped. "You're treating us like curbside garbage compared to (Y/n)! We could totally help you in the kitchen!"

"Your cooperation in the kitchen would be fruitless for you, Noct, and Gladio are ghastly cooks."

The sapphire-eyed girl bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing. She couldn't help but agree after tasting some of the dishes Ignis prepared with help from one of the boys. They always either tasted burnt or half-cooked. Even the cookies Noctis tried to help make weren't cooked all the way through. The center was still doughy because he made them too big and didn't set the oven temperature high enough for the cookies to bake properly. She wondered if the prince had done it improperly only because he wanted to eat the cookie dough raw and not bake it into cookies.

"Oh, c'mon, Iggy! Give us a second chance!" Prompto begged.

(Y/n) placed the basket down beside the grill and listened to Prompto continue to plead with Ignis. She took her portion of dinner and sat down around the fire. She enjoyed the simplistic soup, savoring each and every bite. As she was almost finished with the soup, she looked down at her bowl when she detected movement. Noctis was scooping the vegetables out of his bowl and placing them into hers. "Noct, why...?"

"You know I hate veggies," he said, continuing to remove what he hated from his bowl. "You take 'em."

She inhaled deeply before exhaling. "How old are you again?"

"I don't care if I'm 5 or 50, I'll always hate veggies." When all the vegetables were gone, Noctis ate what remained of the broth.

Deciding not to argue, (Y/n) finished what was left of her serving and Noctis' vegetables. With her bowl clean and her belly full, she offered to do the dishes in Ignis' stead. The advisor tried to protest, but she snatched up all the dishes before he could grab one. "You four should get some rest. I'll deal with the dishes. It won't take long."

Noctis and Prompto crawled into the tent to play a few rounds of King's Knight before going to bed. Gladio followed suit with his book in hand while Ignis lingered in his seat by the fire. He stared into the flames for a few minutes, delving into deep thought. When he looked away from the campfire, his eyes traveled over to (Y/n). She had finished with the dishes and neatly stacked them on the preparation table by the grill. Now she stood at the edge of the haven, eyes casted up to the night sky.

Pushing himself out of the chair, Ignis wandered over to stand beside her. He followed her gaze to see what had her attention. When he couldn't find what captivated her, he wondered if she too was lost in thought like he was a couple minutes ago. "(Y/n)?"

She blinked rapidly a few times before humming in acknowledgement. "Hm?"

"Are you feeling unwell?" He asked.

She smiled sweetly at him. "I'm fine, Iggy. Guess I was lost in thought again."

That's when he remembered what she told him at Galdin Quay. "Has the voice returned?"

She hung her head. "I...was hoping you'd forget about that." Looking back up at the sky, her eyes glistened as she focused on the cluster of stars only spirits could see. "I never told you before, but there's this mass of stars only guardians can see. It's called the Celestial Crescent. I would often gaze at it back in the city, but the lights and barrier prevented me from getting the perfect view. Out here, I can see it perfectly. And now whenever I look up at it, I hear the voice. With each passing day it becomes clearer, but I still can't make out what it wants."

"Is there nothing I can do to ease your concerns?" Ignis offered.

"Just talking to you about it is enough. I am grateful for you listening to me ramble on. It does put me at ease having someone to talk to this far from home."

"It puts my own harrowing thoughts to rest knowing you decided to accompany us. I fear our time together would've been cut short if you had desired to remain in the city."

She clasped her hands together behind her back. "I don't know what I would've done if I stayed behind. You and I are connected no matter how far apart we are. And if I had perished in the city when the empire struck..." She moved one of her hands from behind her back and placed it over the gemstone embedded in her chest. "I'd rather not think of the gruesome outcome that could've happened if I had decided to remain in Insomnia and wait for your return."

"Neither do I," Ignis confessed.

(Y/n) finally looked away from the night sky and focused her eyes on Ignis' tall stature. "It's getting late. We should call it a night. We've quite the day tomorrow and wouldn't want to be sleep-deprived. It'd be awful if one of us were to slip-up in battle and wind up injured." Without skipping a beat, she transformed into her spiritual form and flew into the tent. Ignis followed after her once extinguishing the campfire.

Inside the tent, the three boys were already asleep. Ignis laid down on the opposite side of Prompto. Once lying comfortably on his side and turned away from the others, he felt a familiar furry presence curl up near his stomach. Unconsciously, he reached down and stroked (Y/n)'s back as she slumbered. Even in the darkness of the tent, he could see her snowy fur clearly.

Eventually, Ignis felt sleep tugging at his being and he soon fell into a deep slumber.

<-------------<<<<<

The next morning, the group ate breakfast and packed up the haven. Ready to leave Lepellieth Haven, they set their destination to be the Norduscaean Blockade. They rendezvoused with Monica, who instructed Noctis to join Cor up ahead while she and the others remained behind to be a diversion.

Monica, (Y/n), Gladio, Ignis, and Prompto approach the blockade from the front. The imperial troopers on duty aimed their weapons at the group as more poured out of the blockade with their own guns drawn on the group. The guardian raised her hand and formed an ice wall made from large icicles around her and her companions to protect them from the gunfire. When there was a break in the firing squad, Ignis, Monica, and Gladio emerged from cover and attacked the soldiers. Prompto and (Y/n) remained behind the ice wall and used projectiles to attack any imperial forces that scurried their way.

After some time, soldiers stopped pouring out of the blockade and the grand metal gate slid open to reveal Noctis and Cor on the other side.

Prompto bounded over to his best friend with an excited squeal. "Noct!"

"Marshal. It's good to see you again," Ignis said.

Noctis glanced at his companions. "All right on your end?"

"Right as rain," Gladio replied. "The Niffs couldn't take their eyes off us."

"Thanks to you we were spared their attention," Cor stated.

(Y/n) went to speak up, but held her tongue when she heard the low humming of an engine. Looking around, she spotted an imperial drop ship approaching them. It hovered in the air as the imperial officer aboard addresses Noctis and the others. "Stay right where you are. Well, well, if it isn't Cor the Immortal. So you survived the Citadel. But you won't survive what I have in store for you. It's past time your legend came to an end." The officer, known a Loqi, spotted the guardian among the group and cackled. "And it seems a lowly spirit has ranked itself among this band of misfits. It'll be another one to mark off the list." Loqi enters the cockpit of his MA-X Cuirass magitek armor, then deploys to the ground.

"Say, Marshal, how 'bout you show us how it's done?" Prompto asked nervously.

Cor unsheathes his katana. "No wimping out. Let's move."

Alongside the MA-X Cuirass was a horde of soldiers and magiteks. Noctis focused on the large mech while everyone else dealt with the smaller enemies. After slicing through one of the MTs, the marshal glanced over at the spirit. "I'd like to see your specialty again, (Y/n)."

The girl glanced towards the magitek armor. "Who am I to deny a request from the marshal himself?" She broke away from the soldier she was attacking and ran towards the MA-X Cuirass. Ducking under its arm when it swatted at her, she trailed her fingers across the mech's arm. Ribbons of lightning course across its exterior before entering its metallic body and alter its coding. Loqi noticed his mech's strange behavior and how he was unable to control it any longer. "What is the meaning of this?!"

The MA-X Cuirass fires missile after missile at its own allies. Soldiers and MTs were blown to smithereens, leaving only Loqi and his out-of-control magitek armor. He screamed out when one of the mech's missiles hit the cockpit, causing it to crumble to a single knee. Noctis went to finish it and Loqi, but (Y/n) stopped him by grabbing the hem of his short-sleeved black jacket. She met his gaze just as the MA-X Cuirass self-destructed with Loqi still inside the cockpit.

Noctis looked back to the magitek armor and watched in awe as it exploded. He dispelled his blade at the same time (Y/n) released him. Turning to face her, he complimented her ability. "Nicely done."

"You can thank the empire for installing a self-destruct sequence. My magic only activated it when there wasn't another imperial enemy detected within a certain vicinity," she explained.

"Still, it's pretty damn cool."

She smiled. "Then maybe I should work on more surprises to keep you on your toes in battle."

Noctis blinked in excitement. "Wait, really?"

She nodded. "Yeah. There's been a few more things I've been wanting to try over the years, but never really got the chance. Now that we're all the way out here and we have to fight for our survival, it makes for the perfect opportunity to try the many other tricks I've stored up my sleeves."

Cor sheathed his katana and walked over to Noctis and (Y/n). "Impressive. Seeing you both in action puts my mind at ease. It's clear I don't need to worry any more. I'll return to watching the Niffs. 'Til next time, take care." The marshal leaves with Monica.

A moment later, Noctis and his companions move toward the open gate of the blockade. Ignis, who has retrieved the Regalia, slowly drives alongside the others. Gladio rested his greatsword on his shoulder. "Ain't so bad out here once you get used to it."

"Still a lot we haven't seen, though," Prompto stated matter-of-factly.

"And a lot for us to do," Ignis added.

"Yeah."

"Buck up. We're just getting started," Gladio said.

Noctis smiles, but it fell when he realized (Y/n) wasn't following them. Turning around, he found her staring up at the sky with a stoic expression. "Hey, (Y/n), you coming?"

Ignis stopped the Regalia and glanced at her. Gladio and Prompto turned around to also gaze at the girl. She blinked a couple of times before looking at them. Her heels clacked against the asphalt as she walked towards them. "Yeah. Let's see what other trouble we can get ourselves into."

"Do try to keep the trouble to a minimum," Ignis remarked.

She giggled. "No promises."

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter || Masterlist

[slippinmickeys]

Five Seconds (7/8)

If you’d like to read on AO3, you may do so here. 

October 23, 2018

Scully was in labor. At least, she thought she might be. She hadn’t been sure, but in the last hour she was now more certain, though her contractions were eons apart. The timing was obviously less than ideal. She was two weeks short of her due date, and when they had pulled off the state highway to the road that led to the cabin, she began hoping for a miracle -- what kind of miracle, she wasn't sure -- that the cabin was spacious and clean and up to date with a fully staffed Labor and Delivery wing? That someone would come and whisk them away to safety? She worried about preeclampsia, prolonged labor. She worried she might need a C-section. She worried she wouldn’t be able to do it.

In Virginia, the mid-morning sun would light up their bedroom like a hot set, dust motes floating through the spotlight of the shine and even the greys that now peppered Mulder’s temples would be lost in the chocolate ganache luster of his hair as he laid in their bed. That was where she wanted to be, laboring to bring this new child into the world -- in the bright, soft light of their bedroom, with Mulder kneading the labor pain out of her back as she kneeled on all fours in the rumple of their king-sized bed. Not here. Not amongst the pines and the cawing of crows. Not in a little bed in a musty-smelling shack with the pictures of people on the wall that were unfamiliar and long dead. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen at all.

William was again fiddling with his improvised hockey stick; he always fiddled with something when he was anxious, a nervous tick picked up when he was little. She remembered him crawling into bed with them when he was five, a thunderstorm outside or a bad dream. He would tuck himself into Scully's side, and she'd tilt her head until her cheek rested against the hard round of his skull, breathing in the inky smell of his wiry hair, his compact little body tight against her. He had Mulder's long, elegant feet and piano playing fingers, and he would play with the buttons on her pajamas and suck his thumb and rub his face into Moo, the stuffed cow, the fur of which was worn and well-loved and smelled like his sleepy breath. How she'd longed for those days as the kids had gotten older. How she worried for this new little one coming into this particular world.

Evening was falling outside, the long light through the pines running shadows through the small windows of the cabin.

"Will, can you throw another log in the stove?" she asked. The cabin was cooling quickly and Mulder and Lily would be back at any time and probably chilled right through.

"Sure, Mom," said Will, setting down his stick and moving to the potbellied stove, slipping on the worn and singed oven mitt that one needed to wear to grab the handle to open the small door. He threw in a couple pieces of wood until the flame began to roar, licking up the black sides of the feed chamber. He closed it and gave her a smile, looking at her kindly. "Are you okay, Mom?"

She could feel what she took to be a contraction coming on slowly; they were still pretty far apart and not yet at the stage where she would disappear inside of herself to get through the pain.

"I'm-"

The door to the cabin opened then, and Mulder and Lily stumbled in, rubbing their hands together and griping about the cold.

Mulder came over to her and kissed her forehead gently, his lips cool from being outside. He smelled of fresh air and woodsmoke and rubbed his hands up and down her arms once.

"How'd it go?" she asked, ignoring the growing pressure on her womb.

"Okay," Mulder gave her a clipped smile. "I got in touch with the guys, but the connection was terrible. Looks like Darlene will be okay. Otherwise, not much information was relayed one way or the other. We'll try again tomorrow."

She nodded at him. By tomorrow they would likely need to request some kind of medical help. Not sure who they could contact or who they could trust, she tried her best not to despair. She thought of her first labor, with Lily, how Mulder had stayed up with her all night. The drive to the hospital in the dark hours -- the forgotten sandwich on their dashboard, his face and how it looked each time a streetlight flashed upon it.

William's labor had been long and scary -- full of complications and made worse by the fact that Mulder wasn't with her. But she remembered when they placed the baby on her chest, the warm little bundle of him so much heavier than he looked. She remembered how his skin was still purple and mottled. She remembered his serious little eyes and his sweet grasping hand, the damp curled wisp of his marigold hair.

She had gotten through that. She could get through this. With Mulder beside her, sometimes she felt as if she could do anything.

"I'm going to heat up some water," Mulder said, and she could hear him trying to infuse his voice with optimism, "make some soup."

She smiled at him. Nodded. She knew she should eat something and try to get some rest. There was still time, she told herself, there was still time.

XxX

She had actually fallen asleep. After eating a bit of the soup, she'd lain down and closed her eyes and when she opened them, she was met with nearly absolute darkness. Only the glow from the small window of the feeder door on the stove issued forth any light, but it was paltry and she could still barely see her hand in front of her face.

She was alone in the small bed and could hear the heavy breathing of Mulder and their children from the bunk room. He must have decided to leave her be when she'd fallen asleep, and she was grateful. The tightening pain around her middle had awoken her and it squeezed until she gasped. It took her by such surprise that she almost didn't hear the scraping at the door of the cabin, the thump that followed.

She looked up just as the door to the cabin burst inward and she was blinded by a flash of light. She heard the action of a pistol cocking back.

“Do not move,” said an accented voice laced with venom.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Lily didn’t know what was happening.

She awoke in darkness and chaos -- to the scraping of furniture in the beam of a flashlight, her father's harsh swearing and the smell of apocrine sweat.

"Dad?!" called Will, and Lily heard the harsh sound of a blow to a body followed by a grunt. More scraping, the sound of a struggle and then a gunshot rang out. Lily jumped so high, she found herself standing.

“Mulder!” her mother cried.

“Everyone okay?!” from their father.

"Shut UP," hissed a voice thick with accent, and everything stopped. The beam of light finally stopped swaying and fell on her father, who was wincing and touching a hand to his lip, which he pulled away to look at -- the crimson smear of blood like neon in the light.

The generator hummed on the other side of the wall, the only sound in the silence that followed. And then Lily heard a scrape and the overhead light was switched on, blinding her momentarily. When she pried her eyes open again, she took everything in; a grizzled man with a long nose and close-set eyes stood in the open doorway of the cabin, his cheek red and swollen, pointing a gun at her father, her mother just behind him, sitting on the cot near the stove. Her brother was standing just beside where she stood in the bunk room, his eyes wide in shock.

The gunman turned to look in her direction, then nodded his head at her parents.

"Both of you," he said, "in here, now."

She and Will, both a bit dazed, made their way silently to their parents, where their father reached an arm out and pushed them behind himself.

“You guys okay?” he whispered.

"Weapons," the gunman said. Their parents traded a look, and Mulder moved the few steps to the kitchen, where Scully's Sig was sitting on the kitchen counter. The gunman took a step closer to them all and aimed his gun directly at Will, who inhaled sharply.

"Easy," her father said, and ejected the clip from Scully's gun and handed them both to the man, who examined the pistol closely before shoving the gun and clip into a pocket in the back of his pants.

"Where's the other one?" the man asked.

"Left it downstate," Mulder said, raising both hands. "That's all we have."

“Lift up your shirt,” the man said, and Mulder did as he asked, turning around to show he wasn’t armed.

The man narrowed his eyes and then looked about the room, his gaze coming to rest on the rifle that was perched on the deer rack on the far wall.

"Get that down," the man said, "bring it over here."

Mulder, moving slowly, carefully and purposefully pulled one of the old chairs from the small dining table over to the deer head and attempted to lift the rifle from where it rested. It wouldn't move. He pulled harder.

"It's wired on," he said, "it won't budge."

The gunman took a moment and moved his jaw around, assessing.

"Then leave it," he finally said, "that thing hasn't fired in twenty years."

Mulder stepped down off the chair and moved back, putting himself, once again, between his family and the gunman, who glanced at his watch. Then, keeping his eyes on the Mulder family, reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. He fiddled with it for a moment and then swore.

Her father, in his most soothing voice, said, "There's no signal here."

The man shoved the phone back in his pocket. "Doesn't matter," he said, checking his watch again. Then, he pointed the barrel of the gun briefly at the dining table. "You three, sit there."

Mulder didn't move, and Lily and her brother both looked to him. Lily didn't want to do anything without his okay, and the moment was tense as a piano string.

"Mulder," her mother finally said shakily. Her father looked to his wife and she looked back. Finally, Mulder moved to sit at the dining table, and Will and Lily followed, gingerly sitting down.

The gunman took a step toward Scully and Lily felt her father tense next to her.

"So," the man said, pointing at her pregnant belly, "the miracle child." He pronounced it like meericle . "You have been a hard woman to find."

Scully said nothing.

"What's your name?" Mulder asked from the table, drawing the gunman's attention.

The man stood for a moment, his eyes blank. Finally, he said, "Luis."

“Luis, what are your intentions for my family?”

The man looked at him. “For now, nothing. For now, we wait.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

The wind picked up as the day wore on, rattling the windows and pushing at the outside of the cabin in a dull roar. She had not had a contraction for an hour, and the last few had been dull. Perhaps it was Braxton Hicks after all.

She thought how fitting it was to be at a hunting camp when, for the last nine months, she’d felt like prey. Every day the fear would work at her, wending its way through her veins like ichor.

The man who held them, Luis, didn’t talk much. He sat by the door, silent and grave, with one hand wrapped around the handle of his Glock. He would check his watch occasionally and scowl. Every now and then he would pace. Eventually he let the kids go into the bunk room, obviously not thinking them much of a threat. He was waiting for backup of some sort, and the only thing Scully thought was at least it was buying them time. Time for what, she wasn’t sure.

Scully looked at her children through the room’s doorway, sitting next to each other on a bunk and was reminded of the old adage: “to have a child is to give fate a hostage.”

"Luis, do you have children?" Scully asked the man before her, her voice like a bell peeling through the silence of the cabin. She could tell she had surprised him. He looked at her for a long moment but did not answer. He looked away.

She thought perhaps if she connected with him he might be reasoned with, but he was cold, his mood foul.

Scully reached for Mulder’s hand and held on tight.

XxXxXxXxXxX

The intense heat coming off the wood burning stove in the main area of the cabin did little to heat the bunk room. Lily and William sat together on one of the lower bunks, taking solace in both proximity and shared warmth.

The man, Luis, stood in the center of the room. His nose was bleeding less now, but his face was swollen and red, and he seemed to get angrier with every passing minute.

Their mother was standing, leaning against the back of one of the kitchen chairs. She looked miserable. Their father was sitting in one of the other kitchen chairs, eyes swinging perpetually back and forth between the gunman and his wife. He was as tense as a coiled spring, and Lily worried he would make a move that would get him shot. Luis still had the gun trained on him.

In the tumult of the attack at Darlene's house and their ensuing escape north, Lily had forgotten about the cell phone that Darlene had given her. When she found it later, she left it off and shoved it deep into her go-bag.

“I have a phone in my backpack,” Lily finally said to her brother in a whisper.

He turned his head sharply to look at her.

“What?” he kept his voice low, “I thought Dad left them all out in the car.”

Lily’s eyes remained on the mercenary and her parents, but none of them turned toward where the kids sat in the bunk room. Lily suspected that they couldn’t hear them over the roaring, crackling fire in the stove and the wind pushing at the cabin from outside.

“He did,” she said, “I have another. Darlene gave it to me.”

“You have a burner?” Will said earnestly, his eyes round and his look impressed.

Will’s eyes suddenly took on disappointment.

“There’s no way we’re getting a signal. Dad had to go all the way out to the road and even then he said service was shoddy.”

“So we go to the road,” Lily said, shooting looks into the other room.

“How?” Will hissed, his nerves finally catching up to him. “Just stroll past the pissed off merc with a gun?”

Lily shook her head and pointed toward the far corner of the bunk room, to where a few bits of leaves had blown in from outside.

“We wait until Mom has to pee again and then we go through the wall,” she whispered. The man had been letting their heavily pregnant mother use the outhouse, but he always took their father with them and held the gun on him outside while she used the facilities. He padlocked the kids in the cabin when he did so. Lily could see the fading autumn light coming through a crack in the far corner. The wall was weak with age and weather.

“You have some Hulk powers I don’t know about?” Will said.

“Look Will, the sun is shining through it. I’m betting money the wood is totally rotted out,” she said, “we move two boards and we could both fit through there.”

Will looked skeptical.

“I don’t want to leave Mom,” he said.

Lily reached over and squeezed his hand.

“Listen,” she said, “if we take ourselves out of the equation, Dad has a much better chance of protecting her. If he doesn’t have to worry about us, maybe he can do something.”

Will bit his lip, thinking.

“You think?” he said.

“Yes,” Lily hissed, sensing him coming around to her way of thinking. “Go put on another sweatshirt and whatever else you have in your bag. We can hike out to the road and get a signal. Call for help. But it’s going to be cold.”

The cold was already pushing at them from the outside walls of the bunk room.

She slipped off the bed and over to her bag, quietly pulling out the winter hat that she’d had wrapped around the phone. It was a cheap little Nokia -- old and barely capable of texting -- but Darlene had given it to her for a reason. Hopefully it had held a charge well; she’d kept it switched off. She wouldn’t turn it on until they were out by the road. She hoped like hell the archaic little thing could pick up a signal.

She threw on another sweatshirt and the knit hat and once again glanced at the door to the main room. The man Luis kept glancing at his watch. He didn’t seem the least bit interested or worried about the two teenagers in the bunk room -- Lily hoped he would continue to underestimate them.

She glanced over at her brother who was pulling on a fleece jacket and shoving a pair of wool socks into his pockets, and then moved surreptitiously to the far side of the room, pushing experimentally at the wooden wall of the cabin where the crack of weak sun shone through. It gave, easily.

She nodded at her brother. They could do this. They just needed to wait for the right opportunity, which came about twenty minutes later when Lily heard the low words of her mother asking to once again use the restroom.

Once they heard the click of the padlock on the front door, she dropped to her knees and pushed on the wall in earnest, the old construction tack paper disintegrating in her hands. The outhouse was on the opposite side of the cabin -- they had to be fast. The boards on the outside of the cabin were so rotted and moist that she met little resistance when she pushed again, and a small part of the board popped off with barely a sound and thunked to the leaves outside. If they were careful, they could get out without anyone noticing they were gone until they were well away and into the surrounding woods. Will dropped to his knees next to her, eying the small hole in the wall.

“Whoa,” he said.

“Help me,” Lily whispered, and she began pushing at the boards with more desperation.

Will grabbed the edge of the hole and started pulling it in, and after a moment it snapped off with a crack which sent him sprawling backwards onto his butt, a piece of the board still in his hands. Wind started coming in through the hole, blowing in leaves and other debris.

Lily looked to the doorway of the bunk room, ears tuned to listen for the scrape of the padlock on the cabin’s door. The hole in front of them was probably about two feet by one foot. One more chunk of board coming off and they could probably scramble through. They pried at the next piece in earnest, but it was drier and much stronger than the first piece had been. Her heart was hammering in her chest --  they were running out of time.

“Here,” she said, shoving the cell phone into Will’s hands, “take this. You’re smaller than me. If I can get one more piece off, get through the hole and run like hell.”

“Lil-” he said, leaning back as though he were about to argue with her.

“Do it,” she hissed at him, once again looking to the doorway, “I’ll be right behind you.” She heard a thump from the cabin’s door.

William shoved the phone into his jeans pocket and looked at her, his face pale. Lily reached out and squeezed his shoulder.

“For Mom,” she said, and he nodded.

She assessed the board in front of her and pushed hard with her legs. It cracked under the pressure, the sound of each splintering seeming to ring out like a gunshot. Will glanced nervously at the door, and she reared back and gave the board one more sharp kick, sending it flying outside with a loud clatter.

She heard a sound of alarm from the main room as the cabin door burst in and Will dove easily through the hole, shimmying outside quickly. She heard the clumping of boots coming toward the room, and dove headfirst through the hole, the sharp edges of the remaining boards catching on her sweatshirt and holding her fast. Her hands clawed into the mulchy substrate of the forest floor, giving her nothing to push or pull against.

A shout rang out behind her, followed by two gunshots. She kicked out with her feet, the boards scraping her lower back raw and then she was through and free. She scrambled up from hands and knees and took off in the direction of the county road, running as fast as she could -- the wind whipping fiercely at her face, the skin of her back on fire.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Fuck!” Luis hissed, stumbling back into the room, smoke from the nose of the gun still leaking out of it.

Mulder’s gut was still in his shoes, blood thrumming in his ears, bowel-loosening fear for his kids running roughshod through his heart.

Scully’s eyes were wide with terror as she looked between Luis and Mulder, her mouth open in a round O.

“Your fucking kids are gone,” Luis said, his accent getting thicker with the force of his fury. He was bouncing the Glock angrily against the side of his leg.

Mulder felt a wild rush of relief and had to stop himself from outright grinning.

“Good luck to them,” Luis then said after a moment, his voice returning to the oily slickness of a man used to getting what he wanted. “They’ll probably freeze to death or get mauled by a bear. I still have what I need.”

At that he looked to Scully and smiled smugly, and Mulder’s relief turned back to worry.

The mercenary appeared to be waiting for something or someone, most likely transportation to whisk Scully off to God knows where to do God knows what with her and the baby. Mulder thanked whatever entity was responsible for getting his other kids out of harm’s way. He now only had Scully and the baby to worry about -- he was more than confident that Lily and Will could take care of themselves, so long as they stayed out of the way of whoever was coming to assist Luis.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Lily tore through the forest, expecting at any moment to hear more gunshots or the sound of the mercenary pursuing them, but she heard nothing but the sound of her feet churning through the duff and her own breath and heartbeat, pounding in her ears. She avoided the overgrown path that led to the cabin, instead running through the forest alongside it. When she felt she could run no more, she slowed and stopped, leaning her hands on her knees to catch her breath. She had not run since completing varsity cross country the fall before, and her lungs burned from the effort. Will, who had been consistently playing hockey or some variation thereof pretty much since he turned 10, was hopefully far ahead of her.

Keeping the path to her left, she knew she was headed toward the road, though the daylight was waning. There would be no one on the seasonal road that hit the path from the cabin -- they would have to hike all the way out to the county road -- and even then she worried that there might not be a car for hours -- even days -- it was as remote a place as she had ever been.

The skin of her back had begun to hurt less, though it occasionally stung when brushed with the tee shirt she wore under her baggy sweatshirt. Her mouth was dry and she had a headache from the adrenaline surge -- and, she suspected -- dehydration.

Eventually she passed the CR-V off to her left through the trees, parked where they had left it in the middle of the forest, inert and dark, a membrane of dirt and leaf detritus built up on its wiper blades.

The forest around her seemed a darker shade of brown, as if she were in a horror movie and the director had swapped out a gel to give everything a more sinister feel. Tree branches creaked as wind blew through the upper branches and the only other sound was the hollow rat-a-tat of a woodpecker doing its duty somewhere far away. Lily pulled the loose sweatshirt tighter around herself and trudged on with her head down.

She heard a branch or twig snap from ahead of her and froze, eyes and ears attuned to any sign of movement. Another broken twig and then she heard the whisper-shout "Lily!"

"Will!" she called out, trying not to do it too loudly.

Then it was all crashing twigs and shuffling leaves and her brother broke through a line of bracken to her right and practically tackled her with a hug.

"Oh my God, Lily," he said, breathing hard, "I didn't think we were going to make it."

She pushed him away from her so she could catch his eye and said, "I did. I knew we'd make it. We've got more to do, though, come on."

With that they kept trudging through the woods in silence, until finally they spilled out onto the seasonal road that was really no bigger than a two track.

"Give me the phone," she said, turning to her brother.

He reached down into his pocket and pulled it out.

"I haven't been able to get a signal yet. I've been trying."

Lily looked down at the display. The old Nokia screen read "No Service" and showed barely half a battery's worth of charge.

"Okay," she said, "I'm turning it off. We need to save the battery until we get to the main road." She pushed the phone into the kangaroo pouch on the front of her sweatshirt -- it was a Michigan State hoodie that she'd borrowed from Travis. If she stuck her nose into the collar and huffed, it still smelled like him.

She took a deep breath and tried to center herself. "Come on," she said after a moment, "let's go."

XxX

Darkness had fallen by the time they hit the pavement of the county road. The moon was half full and the little light that it provided turned the shadows menacing, each dark space a void of whispered threat. The temperature had dropped with the sun, and they could see their breath in front of themselves, standing on the side of the road. Will's shoulders were hunched and he had his hands crammed deep into his pockets for warmth. He'd been sweating when she found him, which was now coming back to bite him.

Lily was holding the phone up above her head, walking up and down the pavement, trying to get a signal.

"Anything?" Will said hopefully.

"No," she sighed, dropping her arm. She once again flicked off the power button and pocketed the phone. They were now down to about a quarter's worth of battery power.

She reached back to flip the hood over her head and pulled the strings tight. Will appeared to shiver, once.

"We should probably hunker down. Close to the road, in case a car comes," she said. Her brother nodded his head miserably.

The embankment next to the road wasn't deep, but it was wet, so they had to hop across it. Lily slid down the trunk of the first big tree they came to and Will sat next to her, leaning into her side for warmth. She put her arm around her brother and squeezed his shoulder.

"My sweatshirt is pretty big if you want to try to share it," she said kindly.

"You mean like our Get Along Shirt?" he chuckled.

Their father had once, when they were much smaller and fighting almost constantly, taken one of his old grey tee shirts and put both kids inside of it side-by-side, each with an arm out one hole. They'd had to wear it for twenty minutes, and while they had stopped physically fighting (it had been admittedly difficult to do so with only one free hand), they had instead complained so loudly and vociferously (the teamwork their father had been ironically pulling for) that he whipped it off their heads after ten minutes and never forced them to wear it again. Their mother, bemused and watching from the kitchen, had never said a word.

Lily laughed out loud. "Something like that," she said.

"Nah," he said, "I'm okay." He shivered once in counterpoint and pushed himself a little further into her side.

XxX

When the grey dawn broke, they both stood and stamped feeling into tired, cold feet. They hadn’t slept much and had yet to see a car. They were hungry, thirsty and each a bundled coil of nerves.

"Do you think we should hike out? Down the road? See if we can get a signal?" Will asked. His wiry copper locks were plastered to his head on one side where he'd been laying against her.

It was then that Lily heard a distant hum. She and Will moved to the edge of the trees, and she leaned slightly out to try to get a look at the approaching vehicle. It was a grey van, pulling a trailer that had two ATV four-wheelers strapped to it.

"What do you think?" she asked her brother. The van was coming on fast and if they were to try to flag it down for help, they'd need to do so in the next few seconds.

Will nodded at her, and they both darted out of the tree line simultaneously, waving their arms in the air. The van slowed as it approached and Lily saw the driver's side window come down. It rolled to a stop about ten feet away from them and a man leaned out and gave them both an assessing look.

"You guys okay?" he asked.

"We're-" Lily started and then stopped herself. "We have someone at our camp who requires medical attention. Can you call 911?"

"Sure, I can do that," the man said, and then pulled out a phone. He leaned it away from his ear and waved them closer to his vehicle. When the call appeared to connect, he leaned back into it and said, "Hi yes, I've got a medical emergency here at... Christ, where are we? Uh, M-95 about ten miles north of Felch Mountain... Yeah... I'm not exactly sure, I got some kids on the side of the highway here... Uh-huh... Okay... You bet."

He disconnected the call and lowered the phone. "The dispatcher wants y'all to wait here until they can get the Sheriff and ambulance out here. You guys want to wait in the van? It’s cold and I got some water and snacks..."

Lily was about to refuse when she heard Will's stomach growl loudly.

"Yeah," she said, "okay, thanks."

The man leaned over and unlocked the passenger door as they approached and rolled down that window as well.

"Sorry," he said, "got the back full of hunting crap. Hop on in."

With a hand on the door, she thought about just asking the man to hand them a bit of food and water, but Will looked so cold and miserable that she opened the door and swung herself up and into the seat. Will followed her, and they sat cramped together in the passenger seat, which was at least fairly substantial in size.

The man handed them each a bottle of water and a Slim Jim from a cooler just behind his seat and nodded at the door.

"Can you close that behind you? I want to pull us off the road."

Will did as the man asked, guzzling the water and ripping into the meat stick, chewing loudly. The man nudged the van forward, but instead of immediately pulling off the road, he drove a ways down it, though not fast.

"Hey, mister," Lily started to say, studying him. He was roughly their parents’ age, with dark thick hair and an almost feminine nose. He wore black tactical pants and a black jacket, and emerging from just below it, Lily recognized the bottom of a holster. It was the same model as the one her mother carried. When she looked back up to find the man's eyes, he was holding a gun aimed right at her face. Will had yet to notice, busy as he was stuffing his face, and he only looked up when the driver pulled into the entrance of the two-track that led to Camp Hi-Early. Will's face went ashen.

Lily, her guts gone liquid, cleared her throat. "You didn't call 911, did you?" she asked, and the man's face pulled into a slow menacing smile.

"No," he said, "I didn't."

[labellerose-acheron]

The Acheron Cottage -- aka Swynlake’s Burrow

This is a REBOOT of the first in a series that one day may be complete but also may never be complete. As most of you know I’m like a huge #spatial person in my writing, so all my character’s houses/apartments/living spaces are really well mapped out in my brain? And I thought it’d be fun for people to see. (And a good reference for those who may RP in those spaces at some point.) 

And since we just did a whole plot where Hades and Belle renovated their house, I thought I would update their floorplan! (Also, because I’m super obsessed with this magical house.) 

@trip-downtheriverstyx, @lou-bonfightme

Overview:

The Acheron cottage is now a 3 ½ (from 1 ½) bath, 6 bedroom cottage that was built in the 1700s sometime most likely and finished renovations in late June of 2021. Due to the fact the house is now four floors, taller than most of the trees in the area, and most of the surrounding houses are only 2 floor simple farmhouses and cottages, it sticks out a bit in the landscape, not to mention its haphazard leaning-tower of Piza style architecture. The new floors look like they were just kind of slapped onto the original house. (Think the Burrow.) 

It is on 5 acres of land and backs up against the woods. There is a small stable and pasture on the land, as well as a large garden. It’s located in Southwest Swynlake, a few minutes walk from the local stable. There are neighboring farms, but they’re far enough away to not really count as proper neighbors.

Assume that all walls that are not covered by windows or other things (like closets) are full of books. The walls alternate between painted wood paneling and stone. Floors are wood except for the mud room, which are stone. The garden is shown in every photo, in order to orient yourself with which way the rooms are facing. 

Residents: 

Belle Acheron, Hades Acheron, Toulouse Bonfamille, Opal Acheron, Aidan Acheron, Bellamy Acheron, Arthur the ghost, other ghosts, chickens!, Philippe, Angus, the Black Shuck, Victoire, Vincent, Honoré, and Lord Voltaire Scalington, Destroyer of Universes.

**note: pictures in the aesthetic are to give an overall #feel of the house, but don’t necessarily indicate the exact furniture/decorations/floorplan. the floorplan, on the other hand is not quite to scale but i did the best i could.

1. Entryway

When you first walk into the house on your left is a row of hooks (made out of various odds and ends), on which to hang jackets. To your right is a little table and a mirror, probably plants added (thanks, Toulouse.) The hallway is wide but short and opens up into the living room area. The stairs are directly across from the front door. You can also see all the way through into the kitchen from the entryway.

2. Living Room

The living room is the most spacious room in the house and has remained so, even though other parts of the house were expanded. There is a large window seat beneath the front window. Two chairs and a couch are situated near the fireplace, which is dressed in the original brick, these are new pieces of furniture. It was painted a very pale, fading yellow, but now is painted a pale blue. Furniture is cozy and neutral colors (couch is a coffee colour and leather to prevent staining, chairs are a nice maroon colour, picked out by Lou with Hades’ influence). Lots of blankets (because Belle gets cold easily) and books along all the walls. A carpet is laid down beneath the couch/chairs. 

These days, there are a few family portraits in spaces on bookshelves and above the mantel: one from Belle and Hades’ wedding, of the just the two of them and one of the whole wedding party; pictures of the children and with Toulouse, of course. Also, a picture of Belle’s mother has a place of importance among one of the shelves. There is also a picture of Persephone reading with Vincent in her old room. There is also evidence of children: toys and such littered about. It is rarely ever fully clean, no matter how fuitally Hades tries. The living room–as well as the rest of the house–is home to several clocks–on walls, on shelves, etc. Belle’s father was a clockmaker and Belle and him used to fiddle with the broken ones–made them tell time backwards or too fast or only every other hour. Belle and Hades’ chess table moved from the mudroom into the living room, near the fireplace. There is almost always a game in progress.

If one has a keen eye, they will notice there are no logs by the fire, nor soot in the fireplace. Yet, often, an eerie blue fire will be burning in it during the colder months.

3. Kitchen

The kitchen was the room that increased in size the most. The wall where the stove is was knocked out and pushed backwards to shift everything to the left. It now boasts copious counterspace, as well as a large island that is usually cluttered with mail and children’s things. Refrigerator, stove, oven, no dishwasher (which is probably the bane of Hades’ existence since Belle hates doing dishes and Lou doesn’t know how.) Cabinets are cherry wood; some are refurbished, and the new ones were made to match the originals. 

Window over the sink looks out over the horse pasture in the distance (a few meters from the house.) Big, gorgeous window overlooking the garden in the “breakfast nook” area. Dining table is a cherry wood to match the cabinets and has eight matching chairs. Usually, the chairs are pushed to the walls, except for ones that are needed. This room is home to the only clock that is not digital that works in the entire house. It’s on the window ledge above the sink and was the first clock that Belle ever fixed by herself.

4. Mudroom

Where Belle always comes in from her horse rides, the door of which leads out into the garden and beyond. This is where winter clothes are stored and muddy shoes are piled by the door. It has a stone floor and is generally the coldest room in the house. The laundry machine and dryer are in this room. It used to be where Belle and Hades played chess. Now, their chess table can be found in the living room. 

5. Guest Restroom

There is a new bathroom in the mudroom, for guests and the family to use conveniently. (And for Belle to clean up when coming from outside, Hades loves it.) It is just a sink and toilet but it is much better than making everyone go upstairs when they come over.

6. The Garden

The garden was neglected for a long while, since it was Belle’s mother’s. Originally it was full of just rose bushes, but many of them had died due to neglect (whoops). Persephone managed to save a few but the ones that couldn’t be, she and Belle (with the help of Haku) ripped them out and replaced them with different vegetables and flowers. It has a low brick wall around it. It backs up almost right to the woods. It is now Toulouse’s space and he will make it beautiful, with roses and other flowers and different fruits and vegetables. The opening at the top of it leads down to the pastures and off to the right of the garden is where the woods are.

7. Hallway

There is really nothing special about the hallway. It’s actually quite blank. There are more bookshelves though, which used to make the hallway a bit of a tight squeeze but they had to expand the wall in order to include stairs going up to the third floor, so it is more spacious now (though, not by a lot.) 

8. Toulouse’s Room

This room used to be Persephone’s. It is currently Opal’s. However, it will, one day, be Toulouse’s, so I am going to describe that set up. 

As you can see from the floor plan, there are copious amounts of plants in his room. He probably has very nice silky sheets--a dark green, maybe, with green walls. He has a long bookshelf among the far wall. On top of this is Voltaire’s tank. Probably a few paintings hung up and a dresser. The door that looks like it goes to nowhere? Oh, yeah. That’s his ever-expanding magical closet. It is a walk-in and is spelled to expand the more he needs it to. It exists now, but it has a child-proof magic lock on it so that Opal cannot get into it, lol. There is a cat tower for Honoré, though both of the cats hang out in Lou’s room, because Vincent is used to it too bc it used to be Persephone’s room. 

There is a dog bed in the corner for Victoire, though she usually just sleeps with Lou, if Hades isn’t staying the night with him. 

9. Belle’s Room

This room used to be Belle’s, it’s the room she grew up in. However, right now it is currently the twins’ room. However, one day it will go back to being Belle’s, so I am going to describe that set up.

A bit more spacious than the other room (but not by too much) Belle’s room is equipped with a closet, though it isn’t that big, as well as bookshelves all along the walls. There is also a reading nook in one corner with a window seat in it that Maurice built for her (which is why it’s in such a kooky spot) and it is probably Belle’s favourite spot in the whole house (after her secret office). The walls were repainted in a splendid sky blue. Her bedsheets are blue with little flower designs on them. Belle actually doesn’t spend a whole lot of time in her room, except for when she’s getting ready for bed. And I’d say she sleeps in Hades’ room probably 2 nights a week tops, but usually less than that, tbh. 

10. Bathroom

Just your standard bathroom, nothing fancy about it. I assume Belle’s house runs on well water and it takes forever to get warm, which is the bane of everyone’s existence, especially Toulouse. This will mostly be his bathroom in the future, as Belle will take baths and such in the master bathroom.

11. Master Bedroom (Hades’ Room)

Biggest room in the house. It used to be Belle’s parents, and then Belle’s father’s. It has been Hades’ ever since he moved in. It is the neatest in the house because Hades is a tyrant about that and so even Belle’s things must be cleaned up. There’s a bedside drawer on either side of the bed, each has their own matching lamp. I imagine the bedsheets are like, extremely boring actually, like legitimately just white or a pale gray. There is also a space in this room, probably by the window, with arm chairs and a little table, where there is a chess board set up so Belle and Hades can play here too. 

On the main dresser at the top, there is a jewelry stand for Hades’ various necklaces and bracelets. There is also a watch stand. 

The walk-in closet is also extremely neat; Hades has an entire shelf for shoes which is neat of him. 

The door that looks like it goes to nowhere? Oh, yeah. That’s Belle and Hades’ secret office. More on that in the section below. ~~

12. Master Bathroom

This only gets its own shout out because a) it is where Opal was born, b) I wanted the secret office to be #13, lol, c) I have a few headcanons about it. Mostly that Belle still uses it to do most of her nighttime routine stuff, because I feel like her and Hades probably have a groove going at this point and I think it’s cute. Also, she takes a lot of baths, so she’s in there all the time. She gets ready in the hallway bathroom in the morning though, since she gets up before Hades.

It is ALSO very neat, very clean counters lol and there are lots of skin products neatly arranged in drawers. He probably cleans up every morning after Belle from the night before, lmao. (Though, she DOES respect the bathroom as His Space and cleans up after herself, just...not to his standards.)

13. Belle and Hades’ Secret Office

It has a special rune on it that locks it unless you know the way in and can disappear if you want to hide it. Inside, Belle and Hades have hidden some of their more precious artifacts and books, things that they don’t want to get into the wrong hands. 

The tan couch from the living room has been brought up to it, since it was getting far too small for the space downstairs and Belle didn’t want to get rid of it since it held so much sentimental value to them. The window looks out over the garden below, though it doesn’t actually exist to be looking out into the garden. From the outside, you cannot see it at all. It simply doesn’t exist. 

Most everything in it is new. There is a lovely circular oak table in the middle, with matching chairs, and bookshelves surrounding all available walls. The desk labeled A is Hades and the desk labeled B is Belle’s, and they are both oak to match the table and custom fitted to the room. There is also a cabinet next to the couch that has a vault-like magic’ed drawer where they can hide things.  

14. Bellamy’s Room

Eventually, this room will be Bellamy’s when the twins stop sharing a room by the time they’re about 13/14. Until then, it will be used The smallest of the three upstairs rooms. Some people might assume that Bellamy got it by default because he is technically the youngest, but he’s actually quite fine with it. He is the most like his mother when it comes to his living spaces. AKA -- he is a squirrel and likes his cozy little nest that is much messier than either of his siblings. He’s that person that puts clothes in drawers with one hand while reading with the other. 

15. Opal’s Room

Eventually, this room will be Opal’s. She’ll probably move up there when she’s like five or six, idk whatever the appropriate age would be for a kid to be more or less self-sufficient in the regard of going to sleep/getting up. In the meantime, it will probably be Lou’s because it looks out over the garden. Which means she will probably get a lot of leftover plants from him because he won’t want to disturb them. 

It is probably like a nice soft purple color or something right now. Opal constantly changes it. She repaints the room at least once a year and gets yelled at by her parents for rearranging her furniture at 2am sometimes. Also, the armchair in her room is the rocking chair that was in her nursery. 

16. Aidan’s Room

At first, this room will be both Bellamy and Aidan’s because it is the biggest of the three upstairs rooms. The bed with the book on it is Bellamy’s and the one that is empty is Aidan’s. They don’t mind sharing really and I imagine won’t get in lots of arguments about things. 

Because they are mediums, they both stay up late though they know not to disturb their parents or they’ll earn their wrath so they learn early on how to solve their own problems if they are getting on each other’s nerves. Their room is probably painted a nice pale yellow. Their biggest argument is probably closet space, because I could see Aidan being a fashionista and encroaching on Bellamy’s space and him getting annoyed about it. 

17. Children’s Bathroom

It’s a bathroom? I don’t know. There are probably lots of fights about who gets to use it first in the mornings and people taking too long. Though, there are other bathrooms that people can use. I imagine there are mornings where one of the kids just marches into Hades’ room like ALL THE BATHROOMS ARE TAKEN, I’M USING YOURS! 

What I’m saying is that privacy is an issue in this house, lmao. Yes, they expanded, but everyone is still living on top of each other.

18. Library

What? I thought there were books all over the house? Why do they need a library? 

Because there will always be more books in the house! Also, they needed another room to escape for anyone in the family who might need it. Feel like Bellamy will haunt it most often as he grows older, but Belle will go there too rather frequently. She likes to be surrounded by books. There is another chess table here (yes, that makes three.) Sometimes, Hades and Belle will sneak off to the library just to play a game of chess without being disturbed, because they don’t keep one in the office. (The office is for working, the library is for relaxation.) 

It is probably quite small actually and with a low, gabled ceiling. Floor to ceiling bookshelves all the way around the walls. 

19. Toulouse’s Studio

Unattached to the rest of the house and above Hades’ garage, is Toulouse’s art studio. To get in you have to climb a spiral iron staircase. On the west side of the studio are floor to ceiling windows that look out over the forest. On the south side of the studio is another large window (though, not floor to ceiling), that looks towards the house/the garden/the horse pastures beyond. Beneath this window is his desk. To the left of his desk is a long workbench with several stools where his woodworking and other projects will be. 

His favorite spot to paint is the place with the stool and empty easel, near the large floor-to-ceiling windows. There are also multiple plants in the room, scattered throughout. The couch actually pulls out into a bed, though it is rarely used. Sometimes, if Lou is in one of his moods, or if he just gets stuck on a project, he will stay the night in his studio.

This is Lou’s space and Belle/Hades rarely go in it, except to fetch him for dinner or whatnot. Sometimes, though, Opal will join him in it. She is the only one brave enough to put up with Lou when he’s in a bad mood and doesn’t want to be disturbed. It is also where she goes when she gets in fights with Belle and Hades, lol. Lou is the indulgent parent and everyone would rather she ran away to Lou’s art studio than to like...the wilds. 

[yeet-me-dad-dy]

The Witch in the Woods

Note: Placeholder Title

Summary: You have one last hope for saving your sister, and it lies with the reclusive witch that lives deep in the forest.

Warnings: Mentions of blood

Characters: Marvin, Gender Neutral Reader

Words: 2,788

You trudged through the thick green underbrush of the overgrown forest outside of town, muttering to yourself in frustration as you fought with the branches that snagged your clothes and the pickers that got stuck in the bottoms of your shoes. You had been searching for two weeks now, spending whatever free time you had wandering the woods with your satellite GPS and a crude camping site map, intent on finding help.

Help…

You hoped he would be able to help; the barista who told you about him insisted he would. You weren’t sure what you would do if he couldn’t. You were out of options.

Out of options, out of time, and out of patience.

As the watch on your wrist ticked over to show 3 o’clock in the afternoon, you leaned against a gnarled old tree with a heavy sigh, panting and sweating from the exertion of trying to find your way through a forest with no footpaths. You were starting to think that this miracle worker you had heard rumors of was just that… rumors. Rumors, squashed hopes, and disappointment. You shrugged your backpack off of your shoulders and took a moment to sit against the tree to have a drink. It was as you tipped your head back to take a swig from your water bottle that you saw something you definitely hadn’t expected to see.

There, above the trees in the distance, was smoke. Not the kind of smoke from a forest fire, but the kind of smoke from a chimney. A chimney meant a house, and a house meant people, but… a house? Out here? Who on earth would build a house in the middle of this wild place?

Regardless, you put your water away and pulled your backpack back on, then set off in the direction of the smoke. If nothing else, maybe the residents would have a bathroom you could use.

Roughly half an hour later, you stepped out of the densely packed trees and into a small clearing. Across from you, on the edge of the clearing with its back against the trees, only fifty meters or so from you, was a little square stone cottage. It was the very picture of serenity, there in the sunlight, with a little wind chime hanging from the porch roof above a rickety looking old garden swing, a hammock set up on a wooden frame to the right of the house with a small table beside it, a variety of odd looking decorations hanging from the trees on the edge on the clearing. The cottage itself was small, made mostly of stone, with vines crawling up the sides, wooden shutters, and yellowing old glass in the windows. A chimney stuck up from the right, reaching into the clear blue sky and puffing out gray smoke like an old boat captain with a pipe.

Despite its fairy tale appearance, you approached cautiously. You had come into this forest to find a powerful witch, and this was the home of a witch if ever there was one.

The three wooden steps that lead up to the porch creaked and groaned beneath your weight, and for a moment, you thought you might collapse beneath you and trap your legs, leaving you at the mercy of the witch in the woods, stuck and helpless. The steps didn’t collapse, however, and your heart pounded in your chest as you stopped before the front door. It was painted a very deep shade of royal purple and there was a strange symbol painted roughly head height in black pigment. You swallowed your apprehension and knocked.

You couldn’t stop the flood of images that rushed through your brain as you waited for someone to answer. You were scared of who or what exactly was going to answer the door. You expected some gnarled old man, clad in dirty brown robes, with a twisted jewel-topped staff and one blind eye, with a crow perched on his shoulder. Or perhaps a withered old hag with a wart on her long, crooked nose, and a feathered shawl, with a mean black cat at her feet.

Minutes passed, and you had knocked three times with no answer. You had no intention of leaving, not after you had come this far. You were considering going and relaxing in the hammock while you waited for the cottage’s owner to arrive, but the door swung open before you had a chance to turn around.

The person who answered the door was absolutely not what you were expecting.

He was young and fit, with long brown hair that you were sure would fall well past his shoulders if he didn’t have it up in a very messy bun. He wore a puffy white Shakespearean shirt and high-waisted black trousers, all very vintage, but also very comfortable-looking. His outfit, however, was not what caused you to take a step back in surprise.

No, that would be the skeletal cat mask he wore, with piercing green eyes gazing out at you through the eye sockets.

“What?” he asked sharply, and you jumped.

It was as you struggled to remember who you were and why you were here that you noticed how tired and quickly put together he looked.

“If you woke me just to stare at me, I will absolutely turn you into a toad for it.”

“No!” you answered quickly. You definitely want to be toaded. “No, sorry, I was just…” You cleared your throat. “I came to ask for your help.”

“Yeah, that’s usually why people end up here,” he responded, more softly now.

He pulled the door open and stepped back, gesturing you to come in with a flourish of his hand.

“Come in then.”

You took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold into the cottage.

Before you was a very quaint little home, with one large main room and a much smaller one in the back left corner, the perfect size for a lone witch living in the depths of the forest to exist comfortably in. Directly in front of you was a table and chairs, just big enough for two people, and to the right of that, the fireplace sat smoldering against the wall. It was a comfortable temperature, despite the heat outside and the burning coals. The witch made his way into the kitchen to the left, which was nothing more than a long counter with a sink and oven, and a fridge at the end. It was as you watched him open the fridge and pull out a pitcher of what you assumed was strawberry lemonade that it dawned on you that this place had electricity… somehow.

“Make yourself comfortable,” the stranger said as he made his way back to you with the lemonade in one hand and a tray with cakes and honey in the other. He set both down, and you took a seat. He took the one across from you, poured himself a drink, and stuffed nearly an entire cake in his mouth at once.

You shifted nervously in your chair and eyed the food. Your stomach rumbled, but you would be damned if you were going to eat anything a strange forest witch offered you.

“It’s not gonna poison you,” he said, as if reading your mind.

Your face heated up in embarrassment and you chuckled dryly.

“I didn’t think it would…” you replied, only half lying.

“So have some.” He pushed the tray toward you.

“Thanks. Um, I’m not hungry.”

“Yes you are, I can hear your stomach. Eat.”

You swallowed hard.

“I’m… I’m not really…”

It was rude to refuse food, especially from a witch, right? What would he do if you said no again? What would happen if you ate the food? There didn’t seem to be a good answer to this.

He leaned back in his chair and studied you with those bright green eyes of his. And then his lips twisted into a grin and he began to laugh. You stared at him, utterly confused at this sudden outburst.

“What-?”

“You think it’s like faeries, don’t you? You think if you eat the food you’re never gonna be able to leave, right?”

“I-” You didn’t finish your sentence. You weren’t even sure what that sentence would be. He was right, you couldn’t argue that.

“I’m not fae, I’m a witch. And why would I want to keep you here anyway? I want you to LEAVE so that I can go back to bed. I’m not offering you food to try and steal you away to some fantastical realm, I’m offering you food because it’s here, I’m eating it, and it would be rude not to.”

He grinned as he nudged the tray even closer to you.

You hesitated only a moment before you gave in and enjoyed one of his cakes. You’re glad you did. Not only did it taste wonderful, but you had run out of snacks a few hours ago and you were starving. He poured you some lemonade and you washed the crumbs down before you finally got to the reason you were here.

“My sister is sick,” you started.

He nodded and devoured another cake, seemingly uninterested.

“The doctors can’t seem to tell us what’s wrong with her, but she’s in so much pain she can barely sit up in her bed, let alone do anything else. It’s gotten so much worse lately, and she’s fallen into a deep depression. She won’t eat, she can’t sleep because of the pain, and she’s starting to go septic because she can’t get out of the bed and she’s in too much pain to roll over.

“Mmhmm.” He took a sip of his lemonade.

“I don’t want her to be in pain anymore.”

“So put her out of her misery.”

“What?” You were taken aback that he would even suggest something so barbaric. “I’m not gonna kill her! I want her to be better! I don’t want her to be in pain anymore! I want her to be able to do the things she used to do, like riding horses, and hiking. I want her to be able to go back to school or hang out at the mall with her friends!”

The witch sighed and leaned back in his chair.

“Alright, alright, calm down. I have something.”

“Good,” you snapped angrily.

“I assume you brought some form of payment?”

“Of course I did.”

You reached over and unzipped your backpack, then dipped an arm in to rummage around. Your hand brushed against the soft fabric bag you put the “payment” in, and you pulled it out.

“Here.” You handed it to him.

He took it from you without hesitation, loosened the drawstring to open the bag, and dumped its contents out in the palm of his hand. It was a knife in a well-worn leather sheath.

He tossed the bag aside, nearly into the honey cakes, undid the button to pull back the sheath’s safety strap, and pulled the knife free. He froze when he saw the blade in its entirety.

“It was my great grandfather’s. When he died, my grandmother put it away with some of his other things. It hadn’t been touched until I fished it out of the old trunk. The blade is silver and the handle is made of elk bone. It’s a full tang hunting knife.”

“A silver hunting knife…” the witch mused. “What exactly was your grandfather hunting, I wonder… There didn’t happen to be wooden stakes in that trunk of his, did there?” he joked with a smirk.

You didn’t return the gesture.

“Yes,” you answered plainly. “There were.”

The man’s smile dropped and he looked again at the blade, still as sharp as the day that your grandfather had last sharpened it.

“That knife has killed quite a few monsters, I suspect,” you said.

“Yes, I suppose it has…”

He ran the edge of the blade down his thumb. He didn’t even wince when it cut into the flesh, just sucked his finger into his mouth to lick it clean. He slipped the blade back into its sheath and then tucked it respectfully into the bag.

“This is sufficient payment. Stay here.”

He rose from the table and made his way to the back of the cottage, toward what looked like a little library area. You watched as he stopped in front of a bookshelf, crowded with old, dusty tomes and all manner of oddities, from carved figurines of animals to something that you didn’t want to know the identity of floating in a jar of murky liquid.

As the witch rummaged around in his belongings, your eye was drawn to the rickety little staircase - if it can be even called a staircase - near the kitchen that led up into a loft. You thought you could see the end of his bed, with a handmade quilt bunched up, hastily thrown back by whoever had been lying there. It seemed you had indeed woken him, and you felt a pang of guilt. He looked disheveled and tired when he answered the door.

“Here,” his voice came from the back, drawing your attention back to him.

He was kneeling on the ground on an ornate looking rug, surrounded by pillows, with his hand in a large black wooden box. He clutched something in his right hand, something you couldn’t quite see, and used his left to close and latch the box. He pushed himself to his feet, set the box back on its dusty shelf, and then returned to you.

He didn’t sit back in his spot, just stopped beside you and held out his hand. In his palm was a small glass vial with a liquid inside that looked suspiciously like blood. Hesitantly, you took it from him and turned it over and over, inspecting it uncertainly.

“What is it?” you asked, that same uncertainty evident in your voice.

“It’s your cure,” he stated plainly as he tucked his hands into his pockets.

“Looks like blood.”

“It’s got blood in it, but that’s not all it is.”

“Whose blood?”

He sighed heavily and rolled his eyes behind his cat mask.

“Look, if you don’t want it, then give it back.”

Quickly, you held it close. “No!”

“Then quit asking questions. It’s what you wanted.”

You rose to your feet to stand before him.

“Look, I’m in the middle of the woods in a creepy witch’s cottage. Excuse me for being a little bit uncertain!”

He huffed.

“YOU came to find ME. I’m just giving you what you asked in return for the payment you gave me. Alright?”

You squinted at him, not entirely sure you wanted to argue.

“How do I know it’ll work.”

“Oh my gods,” he mumbled, and wiggled his fingers up under his mask to rub his eyes. He dropped his arms back to his side and took in a deep breath. “You gave me the knife, I give you the potion,” he said more calmly, though there was still an edge of frustration in his voice. “Give it to your sister or don’t. I don’t care. Just get out of here so I can go back to bed.”

You hesitated.

“It’s not gonna kill her?”

“It’s not gonna kill her.”

“How long will it last?”

“Forever.”

You hesitated again, then nodded and reached down for your bag. You set it on the table, pushing the honey cakes aside so that you could unzip it and tuck the vial safely inside.

“Don’t break it,” the witch warned. “Unless you want to pay for another one.”

You didn’t respond. There were other things you could give, sure, but you really didn’t want to make the trek back through the forest again. You weren’t even sure you would be able to find this place a second time.

You shrugged your backpack on and held out your hand.

“Thank you for your help and the food. I hope you get some sort of use out of the knife.”

He looked down at your hand, but didn’t move to shake it.

“Sure, uh… You’re welcome. I hope I never see you again.”

You scoffed, but weren’t able to contain the playful smile that pulled at the corners of your lips.

“Ditto,” you chuckled. “Here’s to never meeting again.”

You returned your hand to your side and then turned to go. He followed you to the door, and you could feel his eyes on the back of your neck as you stepped out of the clearing and back into the shadows of the trees.

It was a few minutes later, as you were struggling once more through the underbrush that you had forgotten to ask the witch if you could use his bathroom.

[fictionadventurer]

Christmastime Again: A Hallmark Sci Fi Presentation

When the room stopped spinning, Lacey found herself on Christmas morning again. The guests had all arrived, the tree was standing and a light snow was just starting to fall out the window. The start of a picture-perfect Christmas.

As long as she kept it that way.

Alright, from the top.

By now, she could navigate the first part of the day by muscle memory. Scoop up the cat and lock her in the carrier in the laundry room. Straighten the rug and move Uncle Wendell’s beer stein away from the edge of the counter. Turn down the Christmas music just in time to hear the timer buzz and bring the turkey out of the oven at the peak of golden-brown perfection. Stash the cookies out of toddler-reach and get every child at the craft table a red crayon before the hair-pulling started.

Since she could navigate these hours without thinking, her brain was alert to the rest of her surroundings, watching for any unexpected ripples that could upset this version of the Christmas timeline. She noticed nothing out of the ordinary, except for the stares of the guy in the sweater. She’d heard his name--Julian, some cousin of her sister-in-law who had nowhere else to go--but it was hard to remember it when her senses were distracted by the ugly sweater.  It wasn’t cute ugly or ironically ugly; it was “I was raised by color-blind trolls” ugly. All beige and orange and yellow, displaying a big fuzzy reindeer with lopsided button eyes and trimmed with bits of bright green tinsel. If she could have made the loop go further back, Lacey might have tried to prevent him from wearing it. But she could only control the things that took place in this house today, so the sweater stayed, assaulting her eyeballs at every turn.

Not that the guy himself was hard on the eyes. With his dark hair, blue eyes, and a square jaw shadowed by neatly-trimmed stubble, he had a boy-next-door appeal--if the boy next door happened to be working as a model for the world’s worst sweater company. In the opinion of Lacey’s sister-in-law, Julian was only single because he was married to his work in some university department, but Lacey doubted that was the reason. If he stared at all women the way he was staring at her, the women had good reason to keep their distance.

Dinner was served and eaten with no mishaps. Cleanup was a breeze. Presents were handed out and unwrapped without disaster. And she still, in quiet moments, caught Julian studying her with unusual intensity. What was up with him? He hadn’t done this on previous loops--or maybe she’d just been too distracted to notice it. If he didn’t stop it soon, she’d miss a cue, tumble into disaster, and have to live this day all over again.

While the rest of the family wandered into the dining room for refreshments, Lacey stayed near the tree, picking up the last bits of wrapping paper and defending the tree from the handful of kids playing with their new toys. She moved on reflex, deflecting a rubber ball, a foam dart, a runaway remote-control car. One, two, three, like a dance, and then on beat four, in perfect time, she pivoted on one foot to catch a ball of crumpled wrapping paper.

And found herself nose-to-nose with Julian, his hand around her outstretched wrist.

Those blue eyes stared into hers. “You’ve lived this day before.”

It wasn’t a question or a joke. It was a statement of fact.

Lacey met that gaze straight-on. “What did you say you teach at the university?”

“Temporal mechanics.”

“Ah.” Lacey dropped the wrapping paper.

He let go of her wrist. “I don’t have much practical experience, but when I see my hostess unexpectedly developing superhuman reflexes and responding to statements before they’re spoken, I start to think that either she’s the world’s most boring psychic, or she’s making use of that pretty little bangle on her arm that looks alarmingly like an antique temporal elastic.”

Lacey tugged her sweater sleeve over the twisted copper casing and red control stones of her overworked time travel device. “It belonged to my grandmother.”

“How many times have you done this loop?”

Lacey pushed up her sleeve and counted the tally marks on her arm. “52.”

His eyebrows rose. “That’s almost two months of Christmas Day.”

Lacey’s shoulders fell. “I am sick to death of turkey.”

A silence fell between them that was louder than the chatter from the dining room. Finally, he straightened the sleeve of the Ugly Sweater and said, “Putting aside your obvious mental instability and the frankly fascinating paradox storm that must be swirling around us at the moment--remind me to bring some instruments here within the next twenty-four hours--I have to ask: Why?”

She looked at a fragment of ribbon on the carpet and rasped, “I have to get it right.”

The crowd started trickling back in, pooling around the couches while holding plates of goodies and glasses of wine.

As the noise rose, Julian gave her a significant glance “I think we should talk about this somewhere quieter.”

She stepped back, brushing the tree. “I don’t need to go anywhere with you.”

“I think you do. You’ve got two months of memories to work through. You can’t keep that to yourself. You’ll go crazy.”

He wasn’t wrong. She had already learned why the Guild recommended against these sorts of changes--holding onto these alternate timelines was exhausting. She could do with a debrief.

But she had no time for a break. “I can’t,” she said. “I’m hostess.”

“They can look after themselves for half an hour.” Julian opened the door to the hall and waved her through. “And if not?” He shrugged. “What’s one more loop?”

#

It was an odd kind of Christmas weather--cold enough to send fluffy flakes scattering, but warm enough that they needed only earmuffs and scarves and didn’t even bother zipping up their light jackets. She lounged with Julian on the wood steps of the back porch, watching the flakes fall while they sipped at mulled wine.

Julian threw back his head and laughed as Lacey finished telling him about one of the earliest of her failed Christmases. “The whole tree?” he gasped. “The cat just--” He held one arm upright and used the other to mime a cat clamping onto the tree and sending it toppling. “Why did you redo that one? No one would have forgotten that Christmas.”

“I know. That’s the problem.”

He sobered. “The cat didn’t get hurt, did it?”

“No, Fluffy was fine.”

“Anyone else injured?”

“No. “

“Property damage? Lost family heirlooms?”

“No. It was a gentle fall, and the only family ornaments on that tree were the pom-pom panda bears. They're resilient.”

“Then I don’t see what the problem is.”

“The problem?” Only a guy who wore reindeer sweaters would need this concept explained. “The problem is that no one wants the Christmas party interrupted by a toppling tree. It’s a nightmare. Chaos.”

“But memorable.”

“No one wants those types of memories.”

“Those are the only ones people actually remember. If Christmas goes smoothly, everyone forgets it in a month or two. But ‘the year Lacey’s cat took down the tree’? They’d go back to that story for years.”

“How does that make it better? I don’t want them constantly rehashing my failures as a hostess.”

“How is that failing? You provided good food, a comfortable home, a lovely tree. That’s not changed by a few mishaps.”

“This was more than a few mishaps.”

“Only because you’ve done it fifty-two times.” He leaned back against the wall of the house and lifted the steaming mug closer to his face. “What gave you this idea that Christmas has to be perfect?”

She twisted the time travel bangle on her wrist. “My mom...she died last year.”

“I’m sorry.”

She swallowed a lump. “She always hosted these perfect Christmas parties. She’d plan them for months and everything just ran like clockwork.”

His eyebrows rose. He pointed toward the bangle. “Did she...?”

Lacey pushed it beneath her sleeve. “No, never. We never knew it existed until we were going through my grandma’s things a few years ago.”

He relaxed. “That’s a relief. I thought I was going to have to get this place declared a temporal wasteland.”

Lacey chuckled. “Even if she’d had it, she wouldn’t have needed it. Her parties were works of art. Beautiful decorations, perfect food, everyone laughing and singing carols by the end of the night. When I asked her why she did it, she told me, ‘Lacey, these people are giving you their Christmas. It’s your job to give them the best Christmas you can.’” She sipped at her mug to swallow back tears. “When she died, that job fell to me. And when everything went wrong, I had to fix it.”

“Fifty-two times.”

She shrugged. “As many times as it took.”

“I doubt she’d have said your duties extended that far.”

“You’re probably right. But once I went in quest of the perfect Christmas, I couldn’t settle for anything less. It would have felt like dishonoring her memory.”

“It wouldn’t have been. I’m sure her Christmases had plenty of flaws.”

“Not as many as mine.”

Julian ran a finger along the edge of his mug. “You have this idea that everyone wants a Christmas of picture-perfect trees and crackling fires and cozy rooms without a speck of dust out of place. But if they wanted that, they could stay at home and look at pictures on the streambox. They come here because they want your Christmas. Burnt turkeys and cat-toppled trees and all. They want you experiencing it with them. Not fifty-two alternate versions of them.”

She fingered the fringe on the edge of her scarf. “I suppose not. But what’s wrong with trying for the perfect Christmas?”  

“Lacey, there’s no such thing as the perfect Christmas. There’s never been one at any time, anywhere in the world.” He bunched up snow in one hand and tossed it into the darkness. “Even the first Christmas wasn’t perfect. Do you think Mary planned to let her child sleep in a feeding trough? Do you think Joseph planned to let strange shepherds gawk at his son? It was one long exercise in embracing the unexpected, and it created one of the most memorable stories in human history. Do you think your mother would call that a failure?”

This had gotten more abstract than Lacey had expected. A little dazed, she said, “No. No, of course not.”

“You want to control every little detail, but no one can do that.” He leaned forward and took her hand in his. “You don’t get the perfect Christmas by crafting it. You get it by appreciating the one you’re given.”

She knit her fingers into his. “A gift,” Lacey said.

He smiled. “Now you’re getting it.”

#

They stepped into the laundry room together, brushing the snowflakes out of their hair.

Julian held up his mug, which held one last swallow of wine. “To Christmas,” he said.

Lacey clinked her mug against his. “Whatever we’re given.”

Throwing back their heads, they drained the dregs, then set the empty mugs on the window ledge.

Then hand in hand, they crouched down and let Fluffy out of her cage.

[yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy]

My Knight, My Savior, My Herald

Alright, so @waiting4inspiration​ NEEDED this. Some sweet Herald Finehair to the rescue. Is it incredibly indulgant? Yes. Is it romantic? Yes. I wanted this to be nice and sweet and most of all, COMFORTING but not intrusive. If she wants a part two, I can include sexy times if she wants them. But this first part is just soft and sweet yet casually intimate. I tried to leave this vague as far as the food and presents go (which is incredibly hard for me) and tried to leave things as ‘your favorite’ so you can impose what you like into it. The only thing I specified was a fruit tart and chocolate covered strawberries. Sorry it took so long, I spent an equal amount of time writing it as I did scouring pintrist for THE PERFECT PICTURES. Only the best for you Dearest. 

You walked out, to be met by the sight of Harald waiting by his car with flowers and a smile on his handsome face. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked. 

“Here as your knight in shining armor on my valiant steed here to take you to my tower of solace.” He answered in an over dramatic way that had you snickering a laugh as he handed you the flowers before hugging you tight and his hug felt like coming to a warm and loving home. There was warmth, comfort, love, care and happiness here. Where you felt welcome and at peace and he let you hold him for as long as you needed. 

“Are you going to be alright y/n?” He asked, his words muffled by your clothes and hair since his face was buried into the crux of your shoulder. 

“Now I am.” You answered, confident that now you were together again, you would be. 

“Come on, I got a surprise for you.” He revealed when you pulled apart. 

He opened the passenger door for you as you slid into the leather interiors. The car was clean and fresh but you smelled food, like groceries- kind of food before you turned around to see paper bags full of groceries in the back seat as Harald went around the car and got in himself. 

“So is the surprise dinner?” You asked as you gestured to the back seat as he started the car. 

“Part of it.” He grinned as he looked back over to you. There was a mischievousness to the curve of that smirk. Normally it would give you just a touch of fear. But over time you’ve learned to trust it because there was never any maliciousness or any harm, intended or unintended with that. He was a hopeless romantic and he believed in big romantic gestures and being spontaneous. And now was one of those times. 

He reached down and took your hand before he kissed the back of it sweetly before he focused on driving. 

He drove for what felt like at least an hour, maybe an hour and a half. He let you listen to whatever your heart desired music wise as the city turned into suburbs then to the country side, the roads getting narrower and narrower until it was just a back country road and the houses became fewer and fewer as lush fields turned into heavy forests. 

The scents of late summer and early autumn were rich and heavy into the air as the air got cooler and cooler before he leaned forward, looking for something in particular. 

“10105, 10110, 10115, 10120, ha, here we are- 10125.” He beamed as he pulled into the driveway, it was a long, winding gravel one through the trees where you saw squirrels and a bunny or two go for cover as you drove through and then a clearing….

Low and behold, the proverbial and exemplar cabin in the woods. But with a twist. There were solar panels on the roof, interrupted by skylights for the place, there was a lovely wrap around porch and a little garden on the side. It was so beautiful you wanted to cry. 

“Do you like it?” Harald asked hopefully. 

“I love it.” You professed. 

“Good, I’m happy you love it. New home away from home for a while.” He revealed as he drove all the way up to the house and under the car park where you could see the back of the house where there was a hot tub on the back porch. Oooh, you were going to have fun in that later. 

You got out of the car and tried to help bring in groceries at least. 

“Oh no you don’t, I got this, the code for the door is your birthday, go check it out, I got this.” He urged you. 

Before you turned and went to the code thing for the door and punched in your birthday, thinking it was really cool that he would set it to that before the door opened and revealed an exquisite interior. A gorgeous new kitchen and cozy if not slightly lavish and luxurious interiors but not so much so that you felt uncomfortable or that you couldn’t breathe for fear of messing it up as you simply let your heart lead you. You found the most cozy and inviting reading nook. Oh the stories you could read. Hell, the stories you could write from there. But this was about you filling your own cup before you could pour and give to anyone else. 

Your hand felt along the plush throw blankets over the back of the couch as you walked past, the fireplace was begging for a fire and the large tv was also inviting you to watch it but, not now, maybe later. You followed your eyes up the sturdy stairs to the upstairs, a lavish upper bathroom with a tub of dreams, oh the baths you could enjoy. It was big enough for at least two people. Bathbomb needed. 

And the bed. Oh God. Heaven help you. A king size bed, with a down comforter and super soft sateen sheets with all these pillows and you just rather unceremoniously flopped onto the bed face first. 

It had some memory foam in some of the layers because you bounced a little before you just sunk in as your body laxed before you rolled over to your back. The bed smelled amazing, fresh and clean and looking up, oh, the biggest sky light ever right above the bed. Combined with the giant windows, you didn’t lack any natural light. You felt...at peace, free and comfortable. Like the rest of the world and all your problems were a million miles away and they could stay that way. 

It wasn’t until you heard Harald doing something in the kitchen, a clank of pots and pans which brought your attention away from the bedroom of dreams to get back downstairs to see Harald surrounded by his ingredients and a few already on a cutting board, having already been sliced and chopped to the perfect sizes. 

“Hey, so? How do you like the place?” He asked hopefully as he swirled some oil in the pan around. 

“I love it, how did you find it?” You asked. 

“Airbnb is amazing. It was close yet far enough for you to feel like you’re getting away without actually going too far away. And we still have all the comforts of home plus some. Did you see your present?” He asked. 

“Wha...what present?” You frowned. “I thought this was the present.” You looked around. 

“Well I mean yeah, but hang on, let me get this in the pan.” He urged you as he threw the diced items into the pan to hear them sizzle as the scents became enhanced from the heat before he turned the heat down so it wouldn’t burn and put a lid on it before he brought you back to the livingroom where a giant present was sitting on the couch with your name on it and you were so focused on the soft throw, you totally missed the present as you gasped in surprise and smiled so brightly. 

“Yay! There’s a real smile.” He cheered before he kissed you sweetly. 

“Open it,” he urged you before you sat next to it on the couch. 

You ripped that wrapping paper to shreds trying to get inside and you squealed with joy. It was a pampering gift! Oh you had a couple of face masks, you had a body scrub, you had a trio of bath bombs, you had fancy lotions and little bottles of shampoo and conditioner and body wash and even a little thing of bath oil and a little moisturizer and face cleanser. And if that wasn’t enough, oh no, you had a new pair of super soft pajamas, with a new comfy robe and slippers too! The man knew you and knew exactly how to make you feel like a princess, if not a queen. 

You were beyond happy. 

“Thank you so much!” You thanked him as you threw your arms around him and hugged him tight. 

“You’re welcome, y/n.” He chuckled as he hugged you tight. 

“I gotta go finish cooking.” He said as he let go to return to the kitchen to finish preparing your dinner before he put what he needed to into a deep cooking dish and slipped it into the oven to bake for a while. 

“So, we have a little time before dinner is ready, what did you want to do? You could start enjoying your gifts or there’s a trail in the back, we could walk it and see where it takes us.” He hinted as he nodded over his shoulder were you could see a trail as plain as day.

“I’m feeling a little adventurous.” You admitted before you took his hand and he led you to the back yard as you took the trail together since it was wide enough for that. You were so enchanted by the forest, it was rich and dense yet not so dense you could peer deeply into it. You could hear the birds sing their delightful songs and the breeze rustling the branches before they caressed your skin, keeping you cool and comfortable since the humidity was way down today. You just felt so at peace, just walking side by side with Harald before the trail brought you to another house, this one bigger with a barn with horses in the yard. 

“Ok, time to turn back.” You urged him as you tugged him back towards the cabin. 

“No it’s ok, these are the owners of the cabin, they have horses and the option to ride them was part of the deal. We’ve come this far, want to go a little farther? They have horse trails all over the woods, all you have to do is get on. The horses are very tame and sweet.” He invited. 

“Really?” You asked as you stopped tugging before the horses seemed to notice you and neigh at you. 

“Hey guys!” A woman greeted as she waived at you from her chicken’s yard since she was feeding them her trimmings from dinner before she came out and walked on over. 

“I’m Ashley, the owner and operator of this ranch and the cabins, I take it you’re Harald Finehair, we talked on the phone, and you’re y/n.” She assumed judging by the trail that dumped out as you noticed others lead out from the farm. She must have had other cabins at the ends of those trails. 

“Thinking about going for a ride?” She asked hopefully as Harald looked to you for that answer. 

“Well we don’t want to trouble you.” You tried to dissuade them. 

“Oh no trouble at all, these cheeky beggars need an excuse to get out.” She reassured you as the horses came closer to investigate. They did look really nice. 

“Ok,” you caved before Harald and the owner walked towards the barn. 

“How much experience do you have with riding horses? Harald already told me he has quite a bit of experience.” She inquired. 

“Uh, some.” You answered before you told her of your experience. 

“Well then I’ll put you on Casper, he sounds like he would be a good fit with you. Harald, I’m putting you on Duke.” She said before she walked you into the barn before she grabbed two haltars and two lead ropes and walked out into the main paddock where other horses were there, eating hay and drinking from the trough before she approached two particular horses and put the bridals on them and then the lead ropes before she led them back over to the gate and with Harald manning the gate, she got out and tied them to a post outside of two of the stalls. “Y/n, meet Casper, Harald, meet Duke.” She introduced before she went through the few kinds of saddles she had and what you preferred before Harald took a brush from a bucket and handed you one brush while he took the other as you brushed them down, the horses quite liking this part as Casper rubbed his face into your front. 

“Oof, I like you too.” You chuckled as you brushed him down and just as you got done, Harald took your brush and handed you a hoof pick so you could clean out your horses hooves which you did. Casper was super good and picked up his feet for you as Harald did the same with Duke who was sniffing at Harald’s back pockets to see if he had any carrots or treats or anything in them. 

“Hey, cheeky beggar, they don’t have treats.” Ashley got after Duke when she came back with Harald’s saddle and set it on the bar that rotated out from the wall next to the stall before she left again to get your saddle. 

Harald was a natural around horses as he placed the saddle pad right where it needed to be just as Ashely came back and put your saddle and saddle pad on the rotating arm next to the stall and Harald had saddled his horse in no time before he came over to walk you through it again and no sooner had he cinched it that Taylor came back with the bridals. 

This part you could do yourself so Harald could do his own before you led the horses out of the barn to a small stool to make mounting them easier. 

“So how long do you want to ride for?” She asked. 

“Uh, dinner should be done in about an hour so like half an hour or so?,” Harald answered.  

“Well then you should take the Lake trail, and when you get to the fork, turn left, if you turn right, it’ll take you about two hours to get back and that’s too long.” She urged you. 

“So at the fork turn left.” Harald repeated. 

“Yup, you can’t miss it.” She insisted before she pointed you in the right direction.

Once on the trail, Harald took the lead and just let you walk, following him through the forest as your body adjusted to the rhythm of the horse walking at a comfortable pace. Grateful you weren’t getting chowed by mosquitoes or really any other kind of bug. You were just having a wonderful, romantic, charming ride in the woods. With Harald. The one person who knew you, knew all of you and loved you unconditionally, and not in spite of your flaws, but because of them. Who accepted you wholeheartedly, who would never betray you or your trust or confidence. You didn’t have to be strong or tough unless you wanted to be. You could be vulnerable and when you felt like you were about to collapse, he was there to fall into and carry you when you felt like you couldn’t go on much longer and you didn’t have to turn yourself into something you thought he would love, nope, as long as you were all of yourself, that’s all he wanted. You.  And you had learned that if you just let him and give him the chance to try, he would take care of you in every way. And you needed this now more than ever and you appreciated having him in your life. 

Sure enough you found a fork in the trail and turned left before the forest opened up to reveal a gorgeous private lake where there was already another couple in a row boat having a romantic afternoon themselves while two more horses were tied to the horse equivalent of a runner line for dogs, but for horses as the horses themselves were happily munching on the grass. 

“Tomorrow?” Harald asked as he turned around and looked at you hopefully. 

“Tomorrow.” You mirrored. A day on the lake sounded lovely actually. 

The trail continued to wind and twist through the forest before it came back to an open field. 

“Wanna run?” Herald asked. 

Your answer was to click your teeth and gently tap your heels to Casper’s side and Casper got the hint that you wanted to go faster which he was all too happy to oblige you as you hung on and galaoped through the field with Harald, both of you laughing as Duke was not about to be surpassed and gave Casper a run for his money. 

“And it’s a tie.” Harald laughed once you reached the end of the long field before you found another trail that would lead you back to the farm before you rode the horses back over to the barn and got off and led them back into the barn where they got their tack taken off before you brushed them again and cleaned their hooves before they were let back into the corral with the others before Harald took your hand and led you back to your private cabin. 

The timing had been perfect, dinner was done, cooked perfectly and Harald opened up your drink of choice and poured it into the appropriate glass before serving you dinner. All the flavors were perfect, rich and divine and your portion was generous, filling you comfortably full but not overstuffed. 

“There’s going to be a storm later tonight.” He mentioned as he ate his own dinner and checked the weather on his phone. 

You slept really well through thunderstorms. That would be awesome. 

After dinner and an array of desserts, from a your favorite cake, to a fruit tarte and chocolate covered strawberries, you coaxed him into the bathtub with you as you put in your most promising bath bomb as he settled in behind you in the hot waters and held you as you watched it melt and fizz, the heavenly aroma filling the bathroom as Haralds hands lovingly stroked your body, not in a sexual way perse but definitely in a comfortable intimacy way. LIke you were a priceless pearl or gem he was enjoying running his fingers over every facet and appreciating each one and how it made the jem itself shine and you couldn’t help but smile. So many little things that were his way of saying ‘I love you’ without saying a word. 

You stayed in the tub till the water got luke warm and your fingers were pruney, you heard the first splatter of rain on the roof and by the time you had drained the tub and gotten dressed in your new pajamas, the storm had settled in. A few cracks of thunder and lightning and the down pour was splattering on the roof and relaxing you further as Harald dressed in a matching pajama set and a robe and slippers that were the masculine compliment to yours before you went back downstairs to start that fire in the living room as you sat on the couch and finally got that soft throw blanket to go over you and him as the fire roared to life, the sounds of the rain hitting the roof, the rumble of thunder that you could almost feel in your chest, the occasional flash of lighting, the heavy rains pounding the roof and the soft loving comfort of Harald’s arms as you cuddled together, watching the fire. 

Soon enough you were practically falling asleep. 

“Come on, you’ve had a big day, into bed with you.” He gently urged you as you sluggishly got off the couch and happily took his hand as he led you upstairs, helped you shed off your robe and slip into bed, the cool sheets were welcoming and looking up through the skylight, you could almost see the splattering of rain when the lightning crashed before Harald had you snuggle into his side. 

And in no time, you drifted off the sleep, in your savior’s arms. Warm and perfectly comfortable.

[madasthesea]

A Far Green Country

Suggested listening: (x) (x)

“FRI, how’s the kid doing?” Tony asked when he had a moment to breathe between killing aliens.

“Peter’s heart-rate is high, Boss, and he hasn’t moved in almost a minute,” FRIDAY reported.

“Is he hurt?”

“Karen isn’t reporting any injuries.” Well, that was something, at least.

“Patch me into his baby monitor feed, just the audio,” Tony ordered, eyes still scanning the battlefield in front of him.

“You’re... you’re going to be ok,” Peter was assuring someone, his voice shaking. Tony’s heart plummeted.

“You’re pretty new at this, huh?” said a female voice. Her words were thick with pain. “I’m a nurse, Spidey. I know what a fatal wound looks like.”

“FRI, give me Karen’s analysis of her injuries,” Tony muttered. Instantly, a chart pulled up on Tony’s HUD, flashing red in all the areas she was hurt. There was a lot of red. A broken spine, broken collarbone, one leg pinned with rubble, and the worst part, a long splinter of wood piercing her abdomen, perforating her large intestine.

She was right. She was going to die.

“Hey, don’t say that,” Peter chided gently. He had the same diagnosis Tony did. “What’s your name?”

“Nicole,” she said. Tony dove toward a rogue alien, blasting it with both repulsors. Black Widow sprinted past him, a pack of the creatures chasing her; Tony twisted in midair and followed, picking them off one by one.

“Nice to meet you, Nicole. I’m Spi—I’m Peter.” Tony squeezed his eyes closed for a brief moment. Peter would never compromise his identity, not if he knew there was any chance of her getting out of this alive.

Nicole seemed to realize it, too, because she let out a small sob.  

“You-you have to tell my fiancé, ok? Jonathan. He, uh, he’s got brown hair and-and glasses, and you have to tell him.” Her voice broke.

Tony mechanically dodged an attack, blocked a hit meant for Sam. His mind was with Peter, in whatever devastated apartment he was crouched in with a dying woman.

“I will,” Peter vowed. He sniffled and Tony swallowed hard. He wanted to go and find Peter, pull him away from the scene so he didn’t have to see this. No one should have to watch someone die. But he couldn’t. Peter would never forgive him from depriving Nicole some comfort in her last moments.

“Give him this. He... won’t believe you otherwise.”

“This is the Evenstar. From Lord of the Rings.”

There were only a handful of aliens left. Tony landed by Steve, helped him with a small herd of them.

“Yeah, he got it for me at comic-con. Where we met,” Nicole said, chuckling breathlessly, only to cut off in a small cough. “So, Spider-Man’s a nerd?”

“The biggest,” Peter assured her, and Tony could picture the reassuring smile he would be giving under his mask, the way his eyes would be filled with tears.

“Good. Te-tell him that I’m going to a far, green country.”

Peter sobbed. “Ok. Ok.”

“You crying for me?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, unashamed.

There was a small moment of quiet, where she seemed to comprehend the importance of a superhero, kneeling at her side, crying for her loss. “Thanks, Peter,” Nicole whispered.

Peter hiccuped again.

“Don’t you have some aliens to be fighting?” she asked.

Tony had to stop himself from cutting in, from telling Peter that they were done, that Clint and Sam were taking care of the last couple right now. That Peter shouldn’t leave her.

“I can stay. It’s alright,” Peter assured her. Because he never would have left. Not when someone needed him.

Nicole whimpered, her tears audible through Peter’s comm. “Thanks, Spidey.”

Tony listened as her breathing quickly got worse, as she started gasping in pain. Peter gently shushed her, reminding her that he was there.

“Squeeze my hand as hard as you need, ok? It won’t hurt me.”

There was the sound of wet coughing, interspersed with pain-filled cries.

“Hey, Karen,” Peter said quietly. “Play “A Far, Green Country” from my study playlist.”

“Of course, Peter,” Karen replied sympathetically.

Soft cello music began to filter through Tony’s earpiece. He stood still, watching in a detached sort of way as ambulances and firetrucks started arriving to the scene of the battle, as people began to peek out of their hiding places.

“Hear that, Nicole?” Peter asked. “Just focus on the music, ok? It’ll be ok.”

“I love... this one,” Nicole murmured.

The music crescendoed. Her ragged breaths slowed.

She was dead by the end of the song.

Tony listened, jaw clenched, his own eyes surprisingly damp as Peter started sobbing, the sound muffled like he was covering his mouth.

He went on to the team channel.

“Can you guys handle clean-up? I need to get Spidey out of here,” Tony said, his own voice soft in the aftermath of what he heard.

“Is he hurt?” Steve asked quickly.

“No. No, just... it’s his first big battle. He’s in shock.”

There was a moment of silent understanding. They’d all gone through the same thing the first time they had fought in battles that were more destruction than preservation, more dying than saving.

“Make sure he eats something,” Nat said over the line, and that’s all the confirmation Tony needed. He switched to a two-way comm.

“Hey, Pete,” he said softly. He heard sniffing, the sound of Peter wiping his tears away.

“Mr. Stark. Sorry, where do you need me? I can be-“

“Stand down, kid. Fight’s over.” He couldn’t make himself talk above a murmur, like speaking any louder would be the final straw before Peter lost it completely. “We’re getting out of here. Where are you?”

Peter rattled of a quick address, but then hesitated. “I... I’ll meet you in a few minutes, ok? There’s something I have to do.”

Tony flew over to where he was anyway. He stood in the shadow of fire engine, watching as Spider-Man crawled down the side of a partially destroyed building. There was a crowd of onlookers standing behind a police cordon, their faces pale and scared.

Peter walked over to them. There was a man with brown hair and glasses in the second row of people. Tony almost wanted to look away.

Instead, he watched. He watched as Peter carefully led him a few feet away, as he held out the necklace Nicole gave him and delivered her message. He watched as the man’s face crumpled, as tears spilled over, and finally, as his knees gave out.

Peter caught him. Lowered him to the ground and held on, hugging him on his knees, his own shoulders shaking with sobs.

Watching him, Tony felt his heart clench in nearly physical pain. It hurt to see the man mourning his lost fiancée, but for some reason, Peter’s grief affected him more. He wanted to go over and comfort him, wipe his tears away. The need to make Peter feel better was so strong he almost couldn’t stop himself from flying over that second.

He knew he needed to let Peter have this moment, this first step toward acceptance, this chance to be his own person for a moment, to let the world see the same kindness and compassion and heart that Tony saw in Peter every single day.

He just wished it didn’t come at the cost of Peter’s innocence. He just wanted Peter to be happy. More than anything in the world, he wanted Peter to be happy.

Oh, Tony thought as that realization sunk down into the pit of his stomach and took root.

I love him.

A few other onlookers had come forward and taken Jonathan by the arms, assuring Spider-Man that they would take care of him.

Pressing pause on his epiphany, Tony stepped out of the shadows. Peter turned to him like a child looking for his parent in a crowd.

“Hey, bud,” Tony said. “Ready?”

Peter nodded, his breath still catching. Tony picked him up, making sure Peter was secure, before carefully taking off.

When they got to the tower, Peter waited until Tony set him down gently on his own feet, then walked forward without speaking, his shoulders slumped and head bowed.

Tony stepped out of the suit and followed, watching carefully. Peter sunk down into the nearest chair, a stool at the breakfast bar. His hands scrabbled weakly at his mask, unable to find the seam. Tony came closer and stilled Peter’s hands with his own, then tugged the mask off with one hand. He set it on the counter, then smoothed out Peter’s wild curls.

Peter’s face was pale, the redness around his eyes stark against his dark irises. He trapped his hands between his knees to try to hide the shaking, but Tony had already spotted it.

“Nat made me promise to feed you,” Tony said, his voice loud in the quiet of the penthouse. “What’re thinking, kid? I can do boxed mac and cheese, frozen chicken nuggets, or good old PB&J. Or all three, if you’re a masochist.”

Peter carefully didn’t look at Tony, probably trying to keep him from noticing his red eyes.

“I—” His voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m not really hungry.”  

“Not an option, kiddo. Sorry. How about I get you some juice to get that blood sugar up while I get cooking, alright?”

Tony rounded the island, busying himself with getting Peter some of the cranberry apple juice he liked so much, turning the oven on to start preheating. The kid needed some protein to make up for all the calories he burned fighting.

When he looked over his shoulder again, Peter was sitting with his head on his folded arms, his face hidden. Tony’s heart plummeted. He could still hear the echo of those muffled sobs, the sounds of a kid who thought he was too old, too strong to be crying, but who was too heartbroken not to.

Tony would never judge the kid for crying. He knew Peter was strong, he knew it possibly better than Peter himself. He also knew how overwhelming and horrifying your first battle, your first loss, could be. He hated that Peter felt the need to hide his emotions, his incredibly empathetic and tender nature from Tony.

Standing on the opposite side of the counter, he reached out and ran his fingers through Peter’s hair. Peter’s breath hitched just a little, and he slowly raised his head until he could look at Tony through the fringe of his lashes.

Tony seized the opportunity and slid his hand down to Peter’s chin, raising his head further. There were no fresh tears on Peter’s face, so maybe he hadn’t been crying after all. He still looked devastated and wrung-out.

He didn’t know what to say in the face of such innocent, honest grief that wouldn’t sound cheap and patronizing.

“I... I’m really, really proud of you, Pete,” he finally murmured.

There was a flash in Peter’s eyes, a single heartbeat where he thought Tony was mocking him. Then he slumped, his jaw pressing further into Tony’s hand.

“Mr. Stark, I... there was this woman,” Peter said, his voice gravelly. “I was trying to clear an apartment building and I found her and, and she was hurt really bad. And I didn’t want to leave her but I knew you guys needed me—” Peter’s eyes flit to one side, as if too ashamed to look at Tony, “—and I didn’t know what to do so I... I stayed. And I held her hand. Instead of coming to help you. You could have gotten hurt and it would have been my fault, but I just kept thinking if it had been me I wouldn’t want to be alone and she-she died, Mr. Stark,” Peter hiccupped. His eyes were full of tears again, and suddenly Tony could picture it so clearly, Peter kneeling by a stranger’s side and crying even while he comforted her. While he played music to distract her from the agony and fear.

“Oh, Peter,” Tony sighed. He came around the counter and pulled Peter in by the shoulders. Peter buried his face against Tony’s sternum, sniffling.

“Firstly, it’s not your job to look after all of us, ok? That’s why there’s a team of us, so we all can keep an eye on each and no one has to shoulder all of it. We were all ok, we were looking out for one another. Sometimes you get busy and can’t help for a bit, that’s fine. And you did a great job today, buddy, you really did.”

Peter’s fingers tentatively grasped Tony’s t-shirt and his heart constricted.

“Secondly—” Tony once again raised Peter’s face to meet his eyes. The kid looked desperate, fervently listening to any shred of wisdom Tony might bestow on him. “You never, ever have to apologize for being compassionate. That’s something you can’t learn, kid. You either have it or you don’t, and you have it. I wish I was as empathetic as you.”

Peter looked up at him, half hope and half doubt, and something in Tony’s chest settled.

How had it taken this long for Tony to realize that he loved him?

When Tony reached up and squeezed the back of Peter’s neck, his touch was gentler than it had ever been before.

“Why don’t you go take a shower before the rest of the circus troupe come and screw up the water pressure?” Tony suggested.

Peter nodded, swallowing. Tony kept a hand on his elbow as he hopped off the stool, just to make sure he was steady. Then he watched as Peter slouched off to his room, the Spider-Man mask drooping dejectedly in his hand.

His mind buzzing, Tony carefully spread the chicken out on a pan and put it in the oven, making sure to put on a timer. Then he slumped in the chair Peter had just abandoned and thought.

He had never been great about recognizing his own emotions. It had taken Afghanistan for him to realize that Rhodey and Happy were his family, that Pepper was much, much more than his assistant that he liked to flirt with. He’d kept them at a distance on purpose, too self-absorbed and miserable to let himself have that small piece of happiness.

Maybe for the kid’s own good, Tony should have done the same thing with Peter, but he couldn’t seem to make himself. Because Peter... Tony liked everything about Peter. His optimism, his enthusiasm, his uncompromising morals. He liked the way the kid got lost in his work, the way he fell asleep during movies, the way he talked a mile a minute to his AI when he was nervous. He liked the way Peter made him act—the responsibility and softness and sometimes silliness that the kid brought out in him.

He tried to think back, to a time before he loved Peter and found he just... couldn’t. Obviously there was one, but now every memory was so colored with fondness and bone-deep admiration that he couldn’t find a before and after. Every time Peter was there in his memories, there was love. The two words were almost synonymous. Now that Tony had connected them, they couldn’t be separated.

He felt the same palpable adoration when he thought about Pepper, but where Pepper was a fire, burning constant and steady and familiar in his sternum, Peter was an eternal sunrise. Bringing the promise of light, of warmth, of a new beginning. Infinite possibilities about to unfold and Tony loved every one of them; he loved the Peter that had just been sitting in front of him, sweat curled hair and fidgeting hands, and he loved every version of Peter that would come—the exhausted college student, the nervous new father, the CEO or inventor or doctor.

Now that he recognized the feeling in his chest that he got whenever he so much as thought of the kid, he felt full to bursting with it. It was a surprisingly good feeling.

Peter walked back into the room, his hair curling and damp. He looked a little less worn out, a little more like his usual self. He’d just need time, Tony knew, to recover. He never stayed down for long.

Tony found himself smiling as he watched Peter comb his fingers through his hair. The room seemed brighter with Peter in it.

Gosh, he was a sap.

“Perfect timing, kiddo,” Tony said as the timer started beeping. He got up and pulled the chicken nuggets out of the oven, serving them up onto a plate. “Ketchup, right?”

“And mayo,” Peter reminded.

“Ugh, that’s right.” Tony pulled the condiments out of the fridge, wrinkling his nose.

“It’s the best way to eat them, Mr. Stark,” Peter insisted as he busied himself mixing the two on his plate until there was a puddle of pink sauce next to his mound of chicken nuggets.

“So you say,” Tony said as he sat down next to the kid. He was happy to watch Peter eat, pleased that Peter seemed to perk up as he did.

After a moment, Peter pushed the plate toward Tony, silently offering. Tony stared at the food for a moment. He couldn’t remember the last time he had something as childish as chicken nuggets, especially the cheap frozen brand that Tony had seen in May’s freezer a couple months ago and purchased in an attempt to stock up on “Peter food.”

Peter was watching him, amused. Finally, Tony shrugged and picked one off the plate. Peter’s barely noticeable smile grew a little bit, and he rotated the plate so that his ketchup-mayonnaise monstrosity was closer to Tony.

“Ugh, fine,” Tony groaned. He dipped the chicken into the sauce and popped it into his mouth, just so that Peter would stop saying “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, Mr. Stark,” all the time.

It was, actually, really good. Dang it.

“Well?” Peter asked, feigning innocence.

“Yeah, alright, fine,” Tony conceded, rolling his eyes.

Peter beamed at him.

Tony loved that, too.

[8771eh]

Fermé à Clé

Rating: T (for reference to hazing/bullying behavior, claustrophobic moments-but its happy go lucky in the end I promise)

@sidgenophotochallenge

"Alohamora!" Sid sobbed. His voice was gravely from crying and trying to force wandless magic to work. His accent never helped him even when he had his wand. Without it he could only hope his magic would eventually work out of desperation. "Please." He kicked as much as he could in the cramped bureau. Not much sound could be made from socked feet. "Somebody." His voice caught on a hiccup and he sobbed angrily as he hit his head against the back of the bureau.  [[MORE]]

It smelled of mothballs and frustration and he had no idea how long he had been inside. He had woken up to some of his friends walking stoically around him. He had him unble to move his limbs and was levitating. So he knew the guys in the group were some of the upper years in order to be that proficient without several wands pointing at him. Probably some of his quidditch team. He loathed the extents the team went for hazing. 

How much further they pushed it as Slytherins. 

Because they had something to prove. Always.

Being locked in a bureau was not something they had done before and Sid was determined that they would not go to this extent again. He pictured going straight to headmistress Mcgonagall and demanding she either pull them all into her office or get parents to send howlers. 

The idea of the dining hall being filled with the sound of anger filled howlers at a crowded meal service was a moment of vengeful glee. Pure schadenfreude. 

Sid took a breath and focused on slowing his breathing. Regaining his control. Then he kicked out once more to no avail. Only his wrists were tied. The bureau was so tight that nothing else needed to be tied up because there was no way Sid could be limber enough to contort and reach his toes or scratch his nose. 

He was certain he was never going to enjoy being in a cramped quarter again. 

They were going to come back for him. His teammates wouldn't leave him here indefinitely. Not to be egotistical, but he was invaluable to the team. 

At least he hoped he was. 

There was a shuffling noise outside of the doors- the first noise in a silent eternity. Sid pressed himself forward hoping that made any sound loud enough to catch the shuffler's attention. "Help!" He cried again, wincing at the exhaustion and squeak in his voice. 

The shuffling stopped as did Sid's heart. Had they left or had they figured it was Peeves up to some new tricks. 

There was a low muttering of a voice outside the doors and Sid exhaled in relief. "Please. Let me out!" There was a sound of metal clanging together followed by wood being pulled and then nothing. 

Sid squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't let himself believe they had given up so easily. Then a thought crossed his mind: what if it was Peeves fucking with him. Peeves and Sid had always had a contentious relationship. The only reason Peeves wasn't focusing more jokes on Sid was how close he was to Marc-André. 

Sid was still unsure if Peeves was more disappointed he couldn't really target Sid, or that the mischievous gryffindor had wandered off and befriended a slytherin. 

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a low voice muttering what could have been a spell in a language Sid didn't recognize. It was definitely a spell, but nothing he knew. A slither of purple seeped through the hinge and Sid didn't stop the shocked noise he made as the magic seemed to stop and assess him. Slinking from the middle of the bureau to the floor and back up over Sid's head. The purple hue pulsed softly as it returned to the center of the door, illuminating the worn paint where the bureau doors met and before Sid could blink, it was gone. 

He was back in total darkness and this time he knew he wasn't going to last much longer before he broke. Focusing on his breath, Sid tried to think of what he had read about wandless magic. Desperate times came to desperate measures and this was definitely one of those moments. He tried to think on what he had seem Cookie and Army do after practice ie when the team was out together at hogsmeade. 

The voice sounded from the other side of the door, a bit less mumbled this time and Sid stopped in his thoughts. He knew this voice.

The doors flung open suddenly and Sid winced at the bright purple light that lasted after the spell had been cast. As the air stopped sizzling with magic, Sid opened his eyes. He stared up at dark red Durmstrag robes that hung loosely on a long limbed slightly muscular teenage build of Evgeni Malkin. 

Zhenya-no Malkin. He remined himself.

Malkin who was staring at him with a mixture of rage and shock. His hair bright yellow.

"Sid?" Malkn breathed out and Sid felt his shoulders droop. 

"Hi, Malkin." Malkin jerked back as though Sid had physically struck him. Furrowing his brows, Sid didn't have enough time to say anything else before he's roughly jerked forward and out of the bureau. His nose is pressed against the side of Malkin's neck where his body betrayed him by inhaling deeply. Calming itself in the comforting smell of sun, grass, and salty musk. 

Malkin's arms tightened around him, as he readjusted to counterbalance more of Sid's weight. Sid took a moment to regain his senses. Remind himself why his body was actually betraying him in the moment. Trying to remind himself that Malkin was Malkin now. He could no longer be his Zhenya. He needed to treat him as Malkin- the competition, distant, a stranger.

"Why here, Sid?" Malkin's voice was soft but guarded. Sid figured he was doing that as a kindness to Sid. So as not to send mixed messages after his last one had been so clear. 

"Just a stupid prank." Sid shrugged. His hands were still tied together, but he pressed his fists gently against Malkin's stomach. 

Space. 

He needed space.

He couldn't keep having Malkin's voice so close to his ears, or feel his voice vibrating through his chest. Malkin moved back slightly. Enough to let Sid stand on his own. One hand stayed on Sid's shoulder the other dropped to the rope binding his hands together. 

Malkin grumbled in frustrated Russian. A rush of words too mumbled for Sid to try and have parsed out anything familiar. After a quick, sharp tug, Sid's wrists are freed. He took a moment to roll his wrists and check his fingers before he dropped his hands into the pockets of his sleep pants.

He took a step back, adding space and avoided looking at Malkin. 

"What prank this?" Sid looked up at the burst of anger in Malkin's voice. Its enough to notice that Malkin's hair was a dark blood red. His eyebrows fighting to furrow in anger and sit high in shock. "Lock in box? Send to Durmstrag? Sid," Malkin dragged a hand down his face, his bottom lip popping back as he sighed in frustration. "You in Russia. Not Hogwarts. This not small prank. Is most big! Don't care if box portkey or weird magic. Is-is not good. Too far.  They go too far." 

"Malkin, they're being idiots." Sid darts a look to Malkin's hair that has dimmed to a dark blue the moment Sid started to speak. There's a moment of confusion for Sid. Then he realizes his presence must have invaded every boundary Malkin had laid to emphasize their end. "I'm sorry. This," Sid sighed and kicked at the stone floor with his socked foot. "Its not fair and I'm not- I'm sorry, ok?" Sid glanced around the room. He had never made it Durmstrag and had no idea what the cluttered room was. 

"Do you have a portkey? Floo powder? I can get myself home. You won't have to see me again." Sid turned his back to Malkin, not wanting to see the relief Malkin would feel about regaining his space from Sid. 

"Wait." Sid sucked in a hard breath as Malkin grabbed at Sid's hand before he could wander towards the pile of boxes in front of an old fire wood oven. Malkin tugged at Sid's hand, but Sid refused to turn around. 

"You want leave?" Malkin's question must have been redundant. Sid knew there was no way Malkin could want Sid to stay longer than he already had. There was no reason for Sid to stay longer, no matter how much he wished otherwise.

"Malkin," Sid sighed softly.

The hand holding his tightened and tugged quickly, Sid jerked around and met Malkin's gaze. He could see the deep grey of Malkin's hair from the corner of his eye. The grey blurred with waves of red and Sid glanced at the hair before he returned his gaze to Malkin's steady stare.

"Stop with 'Malkin'. Is not how you call me. Is wrong." Malkin huffed heavily. His bottom lip plumped forward minutely in a small pout. "Why you not calling Zhenya? Why you stop calling? Stop writing?" Sid noted Malkin's hair stopped flickering, settling on a deep grey that seemed to droop heavily across Malkin's forehead.

"I stopped because you told me you needed to focus on your exams because you were being picked up by a professional quidditch team. That you couldn't keep being distracted." Sid settled a blank stare at Malkin. He didn't want to show how badly he had been hurt and continued to hurt. 

"Wait. You think I'm say you distract? Need to break up because of distract3?" Malkin spoke slowly trying to sound confident in the wording of his questions. Sid jerked his head in the affirmative. He lifted an eyebrow as Malkin's lips formed a small smile. His hair shaded a faint green in the grey.

"You know English worst." Malkin sounded exasperated. "I never not want. Miss you most. Sasha and Tosha hear me. Very confused, Sid." Malkin's voice sped up as he grabbed both of Sid's hands and presses them to his chin. Sid was wary as he listened and knew that he was letting himself hope too much.

"What are you saying?" The hope seeped into Sid's voice and he shut his eyes to silently reprimand himself.

"Saying I'm not want break up. I want me and you together." Chapped lips pressed softly against Sid'a forehead and he inhaled sharper than he had meant to. The gesture something he had missed. Sid pulled a hand loose from Malkin's grip and slid it around his wrist letting himself squeeze tenderly before he rested two fingers on Malkin's forearm. He could feel Malkin's shaky exhale across his face as he registered the familiar geture.

"Why didn't you say something?"

"I do! You not respond and Datsyuk come back with every letter I write. Fly so much. Back and forth. He bring back letter from Marc-André say I need stop and weird thing about not eat cake. I'm not understand the cake part, but I think stop is what you want."

"I couldn't." Sid pressed his forehead against Malkin's lips and sighed. "Did they put me in that thing to force us to make up?" Malkin pulled away from Sid to look at the bureau, blue paint flaking off. Sid grumbled and tugged Malkin closer, arms slipped around one another and they both sighed contentedly. 

"Can be mad if I say I am most happy if is true? Is," Malkin groaned and leaned back to assess Sid's face. Then he slipped one arm from around Sid to pull out his wand. He pointed it towards Sid and rumbled a Russian spell. A pressure grew suddenly in Sid's head and he shook to try and rid the sensation, but stopped when the sensation drifted toward the back of his mind. He could feel it settling in for a potentially long stay.

"What did you just cast on me?" Sid demanded and glared at the gift pinkish orange of Malkin's hair and puckish grin. 

"A simple spell. I can show you if you'd like. I've been reading and working with Seryozah to get it perfect. Does it work?" Malkin looked hopeful as he paused in his speech. Sid blinked slowly as he registered how smoothe Malkin had spoken. But before he could say something the room was invaded by Sasha and Tosha.

"Thank fuck!" Sasha sighed exaggeratedly. He stumbled into Sid and Malkin and pressed a sloppy kiss to Sid's cheek. "This dumbass was so depressed and annoying without you. Never do that again. Just propose now and get it over with." Sasha pointed an accusing finger at Malkin. 

"You better translate fast because I refuse to learn any more English than was necessary to plan with Fleury."

"Rads," Malkin chuckled as Sasha looked back at a smiling Sid. "You're an asshole but thank you." Sid leaned back enough to look at Tosha "You too, Dobby. Total fuckers. The both of you. But thank you."

"He speaks Russian?" Tosha demanded as he threw himself into the small hug.

"No, it's that spell Zhenya has been working on with Professor Gonchar. Dumbass actually got it right." Sasha and Tosha laughed as Sid smiled happily at a blushing Malkin. 

Leaning forward on his tip toes, Sid brushed a soft kiss to Malkin's lips while brushing a finger against the soft pink of his hair. "I missed you, my Zhenya."