#hints of all spice cinnamon and nutmeg

[dark-n-twisty-xoxo]

p.s i made the most delectable banana pancakes this morning

[nightingale-prompts]

Just your average coffee shop AU-DCxDP prompt

What do you do when you've been blacklisted from every coffee chain in Gotham?

You have to find other sources.

That is Tim's current predicament but he put out a few messages out and an informant got back to him about a new café that opened on the outskirts of the city.

There wasn't much else on it other than the fact that it was located in an old cemetery. No details or anything.

Desperate for the black icker that made up his blood by this point Tim went.

Walking down the cobblestone path Tim began to doubt if the shop was real. The decrepit tombstones seemed to be the only people here but as he passed the mausoleums he saw a single stone crypt that had a sign.

Hours:

Tues-Saturday 12pm-3:00 am

Sunday: All day

Mon: Closed

(Vlad Masters is banned)

Tim opened the stone door and heard the faint sound of violins and saxophones. A staircase led deeper to an aged wooden door.

The rusty door henge screeched as he opened the door like a doorbell. The room was a lounge with plush seats and smooth wood tables. A dance floor was in the center currently occupied by well dressed patrons. The scent of fresh dark roast coffee filled the air. A band played live music, it was a blend of gothic folk and Jazz. The booths were filled with a few patrons cheering for the performers as they drank coffee and played cards.

The counter where he could order his drink was a bar. Despite what you'd assume they weren't selling alcohol at least not yet. The man behind the counter beckoned him over.

The barista dressed in a white dress shirt and a black buttoned vest embroidered with a ribcage design. He had fingerless gloves with matching skeletal hand design. The man's face was a pale bit warm tone with a blueish green hue on his cheekbones. His lips were a dark ashen black with a subtle shine. It was probably just the aesthetic.

"Evening, traveler." His voice practically purred as he greeted the weary young man"The rhythm's alive, and the spirits are waiting—how can I make your afterlife?"

"Coffee. Black." Tim said gruffly despite to get it in his system.

"Oh, you got it bad, don't you? Let me get you something that will actually help." The bartender said turning to brew a cup.

Tim's eyes scanned the chalkboard menu that hung above the bar.

Hot Coffee Drinks:

Graveyard Brew – A rich dark roast with a hint of smoked caramel. (Tucker's pick)

Phantom Flat White – A smooth flat white with ghostly foam art. (Danny's pick)

Latté of the Damned– A spiced pumpkin latte with black cinnamon dust. (Jazz's pick)

Eternal Espresso– A bold, double-shot espresso.

The Velvet Casket – Mocha with dark chocolate and a touch of vanilla.

Sepulcher Spice – Chai-spiced coffee with a hint of nutmeg. (Val's pick)

Necromancer’s Nitro – Nitro cold brew with a dash of maple syrup. (Dan's pick)

Iced Coffee Drinks:

Cold-Brew Crypt– Smooth cold brew with a splash of sweet cream.

Chilled Cadaver– Iced coffee with coconut milk and a shot of hazelnut. (Dani's pick)

The Frosted Requiem – Blended mocha with chocolate drizzle.

Soulful Swirl– Iced latte with caramel and a swirl of blackcurrant syrup.

Moonlit Macchiato– Vanilla macchiato with activated charcoal. (Sam's pick)

Tim definitely sensed a theme here.

"I added a few shots of expresso and some dark chocolate liquor. It should get you right and some minor heart palpitations. I think I'll call it 'The Black Veil'." The barista smiled very cat-like.

"Am I getting my name on the board?" Tim quipped without thinking as he sipped the hot coffee. Actually, it was cooler than he thought it would be. It was the perfect temperature. And the taste was amazing.

"Only if you're a regular and I think your drink might be too much for anyone else." The barista laughed softly.

"So...this place is pretty um...gothic?"

"This place used to be just for the dead but we've recently over up to the living."

"Heh, I get it."

"Get what?"

Tim coughed awkwardly. He didn't want to stop talking to the goth barista yet and the quality coffee was convincing. Maybe it was the environment. It was like walking into a different world.

"So what's this place called? So I know what Im coming back to." Tim tried to sound cool but let's face it, he's been beat.

"This is the Catacomb Club. Where the spirits swing and the night never sleeps. You should come again soon, cutie. I think I got a good surge of inspiration just looking at you." He purred in delight as he leaned over the bar tapped Tim's cheek.

Tim felt his face burn, the touch felt like electricity tickling his skin. A string of babbling seemed to come out of this mouth as he tried to respond.

"Heh heh, don't keep me waiting dear," he laughed "Oh, and by the way. My name is Danny. Catch me in the early shift. My brother works the late shift mixing the alcohol. But if you want you can catch me on the stage or on the dance floor. I might even make you an extra cup or two." Danny said.

Tim found his footsteps on the way up lighter and only when he made it back the cematary gate did he notice.

He never paid.

[pedroscowgirl]

Hi sweetheart🫶🏻🤍

I was wondering if you could do a Hugh Jackman x kind! fem reader, where he's having a tiring day and comes back home. You've cooked him a nice dinner and made pumpkin spiced cinnamon rolls for desert🫶🏻He appreciates the settlement and wants to give something back, but it was his night.

I love your fics bbg <3

A warm fall night

Hugh jackman x fem!reader

Warnings: smut/fluff, minors dni!

P in v (wrap it up guys), creampie, oral m!receiving, couch sex , slight mention of alcohol (not too much), reader has hair lmk if I forgot something🙏🏼

masterlist

A/n: hi bb! Thank you sm for always supporting me! 🫶🏻 sorry it took so long, but I hope u like this💋

The door to your home creaked open softly, and you heard the familiar shuffle of shoes against the doormat as Hugh stepped inside. The late evening sun cast an orange glow through the windows, but the air carried the first crisp hints of autumn. You glanced up from the kitchen counter, already knowing by the way he moved that it had been a long day. His shoulders were hunched with exhaustion, and the usual spark in his eyes had dimmed.

“Hey,” you greeted warmly, putting down the dish towel and walking over to him. “You’re home.”

Hugh turned toward you, his smile small but genuine. “Yeah. Finally,” he said, his deep voice gravelly with fatigue. He placed his bag by the door and kicked off his shoes, letting out a heavy breath. He looked so worn down, and all you wanted was to make sure he left his troubles at the door tonight.

“You look tired honey” you observed softly, reaching up to smooth your hand across his arm in a comforting gesture.

“Long day. I feel like I’ve been running on fumes,” he admitted, leaning into your touch. “But it’s better now.” His eyes found yours, full of gratitude already.

“Well, I thought you might need something nice to come home to,” you said, guiding him toward the kitchen table. “Sit down and relax. I made your favourite." He sat down and looked up at you,"you are my favourite"

Hugh looked at the food and raised a brow, and a slight smile tugged at the corner of his lips despite his tiredness. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

“Of course I did,” you replied with a soft laugh. “You’ve been working so hard lately, I wanted to make sure you could unwind tonight.”

The table was set simply but beautifully, with candles flickering in the center and a hearty meal waiting for him. Grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, and buttery mashed potatoes, comfort food at its finest. You placed a glass of red wine in front of him, watching as he took it all in. He looked touched, almost overwhelmed for a moment.

“This looks incredible,” he murmured, eyes flicking back to you. “I can’t tell you how much I needed this.”

“You don’t have to,” you said, smiling as you sat down across from him. “Just enjoy it.”

As Hugh dug into the meal, you could see the tension start to leave his body. Each bite seemed to relax him a little more, and you felt a sense of satisfaction just watching him unwind. It was rare for him to take a moment for himself; he was always giving so much to everyone else, always on the go. Tonight, though, you were determined to make sure he felt appreciated.

After a while, you cleared the plates and returned to the kitchen, a playful grin on your face. “I hope you saved some room,” you called over your shoulder.

“For what?” Hugh asked, leaning back in his chair, his interest piqued.

You turned around, holding a tray of pumpkin spiced cinnamon rolls, the golden-brown swirls drizzled with a light glaze, still warm from the oven. The sweet scent of cinnamon and nutmeg filled the air, instantly making the room feel cozier.

His eyes widened as you set the tray down on the table. “You made these? You’ve been busy.”

“Just wanted to make sure dessert was special too,” you said, sliding one of the rolls onto a plate and handing it to him. “Pumpkin spice is perfect this time of year, don’t you think?”

Hugh chuckled, taking a bite and closing his eyes in pure enjoyment. “You’re spoiling me tonight,” he said, his voice filled with warmth. “These are amazing.”

You sat down next to him, watching him enjoy the dessert, your heart swelling with affection. There was something so satisfying about knowing you’d given him a bit of comfort after such a hard day.

Hugh took your hand across the table, his fingers gently tracing patterns on the back of your palm. “I don’t know how you do it,” he said softly. “You always seem to know exactly what I need.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” you replied, smiling as you squeezed his hand. “Tonight’s all about you. You give so much of yourself to everyone, I just wanted to make sure you get a little something back.”

He was quiet for a moment, his thumb brushing gently against your skin as he looked at you with a deep sense of appreciation. “You don’t know how much that means to me. I’m so lucky to have you.”

You could see it in his eyes, the weariness fading, replaced by something softer, more relaxed. He had needed this—a night to feel cared for, a night where he didn’t have to be “on” or worry about anyone else.

After dessert, you led him over to the couch, the soft glow of the candles still flickering in the background as you settled down beside him. He stretched out, pulling you into his arms, and you both melted into the cushions, the warmth of the evening wrapping around you.

“This,” Hugh said quietly, his arm draped over your shoulders as you leaned into him, “is perfect. I feel like I haven’t had a chance to just... be in a while.”

You nestled closer, your head resting on his chest as you listened to the steady beat of his heart. “You deserve it. No need to do anything tonight. Just relax.”

Hugh chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I know it’s supposed to be my night, but I can’t help it. I want to give something back.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, smiling. “You being here is more than enough.”

But he wasn’t having it. Gently, he shifted, pulling you on his lap and his lips found yours in a soft, lingering kiss. When he pulled back, his voice was low and sincere. “You make everything better, you know that?”

You shifted slightly in his lap, feeling the warmth of his body beneath yours. As you moved, you could feel him growing beneath you, the subtle shift in his breath giving him away. His hands instinctively tightened around your waist, pulling you closer as you began to gently grind against him, your movements slow and deliberate.

A soft groan escaped his lips, his head falling back as he gave in to the sensation, eyes fluttering closed. The way he responded to you, completely immersed, sent a thrill through your body. You reveled in the control you held, the connection building between you.

But just as the heat began to build, you slowly pulled away, rising from his lap with a teasing smile playing at the corners of your lips. His eyes opened, clouded with desire as he watched your every move. Without breaking the gaze, you reached down, undoing the button of his pants, your fingers deft and patient.

You freed him gently, your touch light and careful, feeling the weight of the moment between you. You knelt before him, your lips finding his dick.

Each sound he made, each quiet groan or sharp intake of breath—spurred you on, filling the room with a charged energy. His hand flew to your hair, his fingers tangled in the strands as he guided you with barely perceptible movements, letting you set the pace. Every motion was filled with deliberate care, a mixture of affection and desire growing stronger between you.

You could feel the tension in his body mounting, the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch. His breathing became heavier, ragged with anticipation, and you knew he was close. His hips bucked slightly, and the warmth of his body against you sent a wave of satisfaction coursing through you. You could sense him nearing the edge, so you quickened your pace, eager to give him everything he wanted.

But then, just as his breathing hitched and his grip in your hair tightened, he suddenly stopped you. His hand slid from your hair to your chin, gently lifting your face to meet his gaze. The intensity in his eyes made your heart race, your breath catching as you realized how close he was. A soft whine escaped your lips, the loss of contact leaving you yearning for more, but his gaze, dark and full of desire, held you in place.

“Not yet,” he murmured, his voice low and husky, thick with need. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, making you shiver in anticipation. “I want you to ride me, babygirl.”

The way he said it, so calm yet commanding, sent a thrill through you. You bit your lip, a flush of heat rising in your chest as your mind raced. Without a word, you nodded and took your pants off, a smile playing on your lips as you shifted your weight and moved to straddle him. His hands immediately found your waist, guiding you into position, his fingers digging into your skin in a way that made your pulse quicken.

Slowly, you lowered yourself onto him, the feeling of him beneath you igniting every nerve in your body. His low groan vibrated through the air, and you felt his grip tighten as you sank down fully, taking him in. For a moment, you stayed still, letting the intensity of the connection settle between you both. The room was filled with quiet breaths and the electric hum of anticipation, each of you lost in the feeling of the other.

His hands slid from your waist up your sides, fingers grazing your skin as he urged you to move. You began to roll your hips, slowly at first, finding a rhythm that matched the deep, unspoken connection between you. His head fell back against the couch, his eyes closing as he let out a soft, guttural moan. The way he reacted to your every movement, the way his body responded so naturally to yours, only encouraged you to go further.

As you moved, your hands found his chest, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles beneath his shirt. The friction, the closeness—it all felt so perfect, like the two of you were made for this moment. His hands never left your body, guiding you, lifting you, as you moved together in sync. His breath was ragged now, his voice low and strained as he whispered your name, filling the space between groans of pleasure.

The pace quickened, and the tension between you built with every movement, each of you caught in a loop of need and desire. His hands gripped your waist tighter, pulling you closer, urging you on. Your bodies moved in perfect unison, your breath mingling with his, the closeness of it all making your heart race.

Your pace quickened even more as you felt him tense beneath you, his grip on you becoming almost desperate. His groans grew louder, and you knew he was close again—this time, you weren’t going to stop. You leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his, your lips barely brushing his as you whispered, “I’ love you.”

With that, everything between you seemed to reach its peak. His body responded to yours in perfect rhythm, and together you chased your realease, both completely enveloped in the heat of each other. "I love you to sweetheart. So much.."he moaned as he came into you.

The rest of the night was spent in quiet bliss, the two of you wrapped in each other’s presence. Hugh’s exhaustion slowly faded as the night wore on, replaced by a calm contentment. For once, he wasn’t thinking about work or responsibilities, just you, and the warmth of the home you had created together.

As you both drifted off into sleep, tangled in each other’s arms, you couldn’t help but feel that tonight had been exactly what he needed. A reminder that no matter how hard the world was on him, there was always a place for him to rest, always a place where he was cherished. And that place was with you.

taglist (dm if u wanna be added): @ermlady @elloredef @haytchee @melaninjoys @megangovier @blue2jay @hearts4suri @narniabusinessbitch @jadenlyday25 @getmeoutofhell @rockytheluver @stark-ironman @shellbilee @kurcoswife @ru-kru @corvusmorte

[aventurineswife]

Heyyy! I would like to request something for Christmas!

baking christmas cookies together and then eating them all at once (this happened to me😔 I couldn't even give a few of them to my dad) you can choose whoever you want for this rq but pls include my glorious king Dr ratio 😋

I hope this rq is good enough for you 🥲 I feel like it's kinda blant

english is not my first language sry if I used the wrong grammar

stay safe and I hope aventurine shows up on your doorstep 🤭

Sugar, Spice, and Everything Nice

Summary: When the holidays roll around, you and Ratio find yourselves in the kitchen, baking Christmas cookies together. What starts as a simple festive activity quickly turns into a blend of precision, intellect, and unexpected warmth. Amid the laughter, perfect frosting designs, and plenty of taste-testing, the two of you share a cozy winter evening, discovering that even the greatest minds can appreciate life’s sweetest moments.

Tags: Ratio x Reader, Fluff, Winter Special, Baking Together, Established Relationship, Cozy Winter Vibes, Intellectual Banter, Christmas Cookies.

A/N: nooo ☹️, maybe this year you could give your dad some cookies! Don't worry, you wrote it perfectly and thank you 🤭🫂🫶💖 i hope he does too🙈(love your Simeon pfp🤭)

The scent of cinnamon, nutmeg, and vanilla filled the air as snowflakes gently drifted down from the sky, coating the ground in a soft, silvery layer. The world outside the windows was quiet, a peaceful hush broken only by the occasional soft thud of a snowflake landing. Inside, the warmth of a cozy kitchen surrounded you and Ratio.

You looked over at him, standing at the kitchen counter with his usual assured expression, his wavy hair falling messily around his face as he concentrated on the task at hand. The kitchen was bustling with ingredients—flour, butter, sugar, and a few mismatched cookie cutters scattered across the counter. The smell of Christmas had already begun to permeate the space, though it wasn’t quite the holiday yet. Still, there was something about Ratio’s presence, even in a moment like this, that made everything feel just a bit more special.

“You know,” you said as you carefully sifted the flour into the mixing bowl, “I wasn’t sure how you would feel about baking cookies. I thought you’d be more inclined to read or teach me a new theory on knowledge.”

Ratio’s eyes, glowing with a tinge of yellow in the low light of the kitchen, shifted to you, and the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “A fair assumption. However, knowledge comes in many forms. Understanding the delicate balance of flour, sugar, and butter—there’s something to be said for that too.” He paused, glancing at the rolling pin in your hands. “Besides, you’ve proven yourself to be quite the worthy student when it comes to recipes. I shall not let you dominate this culinary field without my… intellectual guidance.”

His tone was as confident as ever, but there was a slight playful edge to it, something you didn’t see often in the rigid, self-assured intellect he normally wore like armor. You chuckled, nodding as you grabbed the eggs.

“Alright, Dr. Ratio. What’s the next step, then?”

He examined the mixture carefully, and with a swipe of his hand, reached for the butter. "The butter must be at the perfect temperature," he began, his voice rich with the authority of someone who knew every microscopic detail. "If it’s too cold, the dough will be too stiff. Too warm, and the cookies won’t rise properly. I’ll handle the butter, as my delicate touch will ensure the right consistency."

You couldn’t help but grin, knowing that his precision was about to take over. But that was part of his charm—his pursuit of perfection, even in something as seemingly simple as baking cookies. As you worked together, the two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm, the warmth of the oven mingling with the warmth between you, a quiet moment of happiness amid the hustle of your usual lives.

An hour later, the cookies were ready to be decorated. You’d created a wide assortment—stars, bells, snowflakes—and now the most difficult part was upon you: the frosting. You’d hoped for a simple, orderly approach, but Ratio’s enthusiasm for intricate details soon led to a cascade of brilliantly intricate designs. Swirling, layered, and meticulously placed, every cookie was an academic masterpiece. They were works of art, the frosting patterns forming symbols and equations that only Ratio could translate.

“Well, this is certainly… thorough.” you said, admiring the beautiful cookies before glancing at him.

He met your gaze, eyes alight with pride. “Only the best for this holiday season.” His voice was smug, but there was a soft warmth in his expression that betrayed his usual aloofness. “Shall we taste our creations now?”

Before you could answer, he took one of the cookies and, with a flourish, handed it to you. “After all, one must taste what they create. It’s a vital part of the learning process.”

You took the cookie, biting into it. The frosting was rich, the cookie perfectly baked—soft with just the right amount of crispness. Your eyes widened in surprise.

“This is incredible. I might’ve underestimated you, Dr. Ratio.”

His grin widened, the usual intensity in his eyes flickering with something more genuine—a flicker of amusement.

“You underestimate me far too often,” he said, before he too grabbed a cookie and took a bite. “I must say, my intellect, as always, has produced a perfect result.”

You both laughed, and then, without warning, you found yourselves nibbling on one cookie after another, laughing and sharing the warm, comforting moment together. The kitchen, now filled with an assortment of delightful cookie designs, began to empty as the two of you devoured them all, not a single one left behind.

After a while, the once neatly arranged cookies were gone, and the two of you sat contentedly on the couch, a blanket over your legs, sipping hot cocoa.

“Next year,” you said, resting your head on his shoulder, “maybe we should try making gingerbread houses.”

Ratio looked at you, his thoughtful expression returning. “We could. But only if we can ensure that the structural integrity of the gingerbread walls is upheld by an intellectual design that matches my standards.”

You smiled, already knowing what you were in for next Christmas.

“Well, we’ve got a year to figure it out.” you said, taking another sip of your cocoa.

And as the snow continued to fall outside, you couldn’t help but feel that, in this quiet, simple moment, you’d found something far more valuable than the cookies themselves.

[rebelliousstories]

That’s My Sister

Relationship: Sean Renard x Reader, Monroe x Monroe!Reader

Fandom: Grimm

Request: No

Warnings: Brief Strong Language, Fluff, Light Angst

Word Count: 3,540

Main Masterlist: Here

Grimm Masterlist: Here

Summary: Bringing home your significant other for the holidays is always stressful. Even more so when you are a wesen, with another wesen coming, and a Grimm to top it all off!

Love is like death, it must come to us all, but to each his own unique way and time, sometimes it will be avoided, but never can it be cheated, and never will it be forgotten.

The spice shop was gorgeous this time of year. Smells of nutmeg, cinnamon, and juniper with just a hint of pine filled the room. Lights strung up along the banners and shelves. There were not enough to distract or take away from the business, but it added just enough of Yuletide cheer to the area.

“Rosalee? Are you in?” Someone called out into the shop. She looked around in wonder as she waited for the person to appear.

“Hey, it’s my favorite Monroe. What can I do for you?” Said Fuchsbau emerged from the back, dressed in a cozy cardigan.

“Don’t let my brother hear you say that,” the Blutbad teased, “but seriously. I’m looking for a gift for my boyfriend and was wondering if maybe I could poke around and see what I could find?” Her timid tone, and now shy demeanor intrigued Rosalee as she watched the woman.

“Oh. Your mysterious boyfriend that we have yet to meet. I’m sure we could find something. Tell me a little bit about him.” Breathing a sigh of relief, the Blutbad relaxed and went back to her usual self.

“Well, he’s super sweet and oddly loaded. Which makes it difficult to buy him a gift because if he wants something, he already has it. I just- I want this to be good because it’s our first Christmas. But he does like tea when he’s not working to wind down. So maybe something to do with that?” Her rambling encouraged the other woman to begin scouring the shelves for something that might peek her interest.

“Is he wesen? Just incase I give him something poisonous.” Rosalee stopped to look at the sister in her shop.

“He’s half zauberbiest, if that helps.” She offered, to which Rosalee confirmed that it did, in fact, help in her search. But all the while the Fuchsbau’s thoughts were racing as she tried to think of anyone who was half zauberbiest. It was not a very common type of wesen, especially if he’s half.

“Aha! This might do the trick,” she pulled something from a shelf in a glass container, “it’s a calming blend. Rose, chamomile, lavender, mint, and green tea. It’s delicious and should help calm him down from stressful days.” The other woman’s face perked up, and she excitedly followed Rosalee to the counter, where she began to dispense an amount to take with her.

“So this boyfriend of yours, are you bringing him to dinner tomorrow night?” Rosalee tried to sound nonchalant, but her curiosity was eating away at her.

“Maybe. We’ve only been dating a few months. I’m just worried about my brother going off on him.” She pulled out her wallet as she continued to speak.

“I mean, the last time I was dating someone, Roe went full Blutbad on the guy and I could never get a date after that. This is the first guy I’ve dated in years, and I really like him. I don’t want to mess that up.” Taking to leaning against the counter and watching the Fuchsbau measure out the tea and square it away, she continued her lament. Rosalee looked up at her future sister-in-law.

“Look, I get it with your brother. He can be a bit intense. But I will keep him on his best behavior. Is that why you don’t want to introduce them?” She asked, ringing up her family discount for the tea.

“Yeah. That last guy, he looked at me like I was a freak after my brother woged at him. Haven’t been able to get over that stare since. And then he told every other wesen at our school to stay away from me and my ‘psycho’ brother. Never wanted to hurt a Hundjäger so badly in my life.” Placing some bills on the counter, she grabbed the package of tea from the woman, who held her hand gently.

“Bring him to dinner tomorrow. Juliette and I will make sure everyone is on their best behavior. There won’t be a repeat of that.” Rosalee reassured the Blutbad in her care. The other wesen nodded, and placed a hand on top of the other.

“I will, Rosalee.” They both smiled, and let each other go. As the female Blutbad left her shop, the Fuchsbau could not help but let her mind wander as she began to clean up a little bit. Did she even have zauberbiest come into the shop? It’s so hard to tell sometimes, let alone if they are half. All at once, Rosalee had a revelation. She knew who it was.

“Oh no.”

Meanwhile, in the precinct Nick watched from his desk as his captain seemed preoccupied with his phone. It was an unusual behavior which is why it drew the young man’s attention.

“What are you staring at so intensely, Nick?” Hank asked from his desk right next to him.

“It’s the captain. He’s been on his phone more and more today.” The detective pointed out.

“Maybe he’s making plans for Christmas dinner tomorrow night. It’s not a crime for him to be on his phone to make plans Nick.” He tried to explain the behavior away, but Burkhardt shook his head.

“See that?” He called attention to a certain quirk of the face. “He’s smiling. There’s no one in his life that he smiles genuinely for anymore. I think he’s got a girlfriend.” Nick said finally in disbelief.

“If anyone needs a good woman to keep him grounded, it’s definitely the captain. Just be happy for once and don’t profile the man.” Griffin shook his head and turned back to his files, prompting his partner to follow suit. But their attention was called away again as the captain’s office door was flung open.

“Where are you going?” Hank asked, watching the man move fast; it was as fast as he would move if they were on a case.

“Oh, I need to go pick up something for someone. You two should go home, and enjoy Christmas Eve with your families. I’ll see you later.” And with that, he was gone. The two detectives sat there, dumbfounded.

“I’ll be damned; the captain has a lady.” Hank muttered to himself, stopping his work for a moment. Checking the time, Nick stretched his back while standing from the chair.

“Alright, you heard the man. Let’s get out of here. Hey, see you at dinner tomorrow night?” Burkhardt asked of his partner. Griffin nodded and followed suit; both men grabbing their jackets from the back of their chairs in order to leave.

“You know it. I’m not one to turn down a free meal.” Hank joked, stepping out into the parking lot of the precinct. The men said their goodbyes and made their ways home.

In the Calvert-Monroe household though, a full blown argument was about to boil over. They had been going at it since the subject was brought up at dinner. It had lasted from the appetizer, all the way to clean up before dessert.

“All I’m saying is that I would like to meet her boyfriend before he comes over. What if he’s a lowen?” Monroe complained, handing washed dishes to his girlfriend.

“Do you honestly think your sister would date a lowen?” Rosalee countered, drying off the plate to stack.

“You’re right. Still,” he continued, “I just don’t want her to date someone that’s just going to break her heart. I mean, all the guys in high school she liked were totally not for her.” The Blutbad paused for a moment, and rested his soapy wet hands against the sink. Setting down the towel, Rosalee wrapped her arms around her boyfriend and cradled his face.

“She really likes this guy, Monroe. Don’t go over board. Besides, he’s not the worst choice for her.” Turning back to the task at hand, it took the man a second too long to process what the Fuchsbau had said.

“Wait, do you know who she’s dating?” Monroe questioned, watching Rosalee’s face take on an air of faux innocence.

“Maybe. Maybe not. She didn’t explicitly tell me who it was. I just worked it out from what little she did tell me.” She began to place her dishes away, but it seemed that Monroe was not yet done.

“Come on, who is it? Who is she dating?” But the woman said nothing.

“Rosalee.” He growled out in a warning tone, to which she finally faced her boyfriend and rested her hands on her hips.

“The only thing I will say, is that you have met him before. That is it. Now, cake?” Rosalee went to retrieve the chocolate cake from the fridge, leaving Monroe there in the kitchen.

“I’m gonna be kept up all night now.” He complained, but followed his girlfriend into the dining room to have dessert.

The next morning, was a morning of rest. Christmas had come, and everyone was preparing for the festivities that would soon come. Sneaking out of her shared bedroom, a Blutbad began to make breakfast for her lover that was still asleep in their bed. It still astounded her that she could even call this place, this bed, this man, her’s.

Vegan sausages were being fried, toast, pancakes, and several smaller side dishes covered the counter in the kitchen. It continued to shock her at how far vegan alternatives had come as she put the fake eggs in the pan to scramble. As she cooked, two strong bare arms wrapped around her waist. A kiss was placed to her head from behind as the mystery arms relaxed.

“Good morning. It’s not often that I get breakfast made for me.” The voice grumbled out, still thick with sleep.

“Who says this is for you?” She teased. Making sure that nothing would burn, she turned briefly in the man’s arms to come face to face with him. Sage green eyes gazed lovingly into her own, but shut momentarily as they met for a kiss. Her lips molded to her own, and reluctantly she pulled away from the beautiful shirtless man before her, in favor of ensuring their breakfast would not be wasted.

“It’s almost done. Want to go ahead and start putting food on the table?” One last kiss was pressed to her head, along with a squeeze at her waist, and he was off. Soon, the whole table was littered with food.

“Thank you for making this.” He commented genuinely, holding her hand over the steaming food. Suddenly, she hoped up as if a light bulb went off in her head, and she made her way to the kitchen. When she came out yet again, a mug was in her hands this time around.

“What is that?” Came his question, taking the mug and maneuvering it next to his other cup of coffee.

“It’s one of your Christmas presents. Try it.” Sitting down, she watched with bated breath as he brought the mug to his lips, and took a tentative sip. His face lit up and he eagerly took another sip.

“This is delicious. What is it?” Another question, and he was reaching for her hand once more.

“It’s a tea blend from a friend’s shop. I thought it’d be nice to help you wind down after work.” She explained, happy that she was able to get one of two correct.

“This is wonderful. I genuinely appreciate this. Let’s eat though. You went through all this work.” And with that, they dug into the food that littered the table before them. It was not too much longer before they sat themselves on the couch, and enjoyed each others company with presents to either side.

“Here you go.” The man placed a rather heavy wrapped present in her lap, and watched her with eager eyes. She tore into the paper, and leveled her boyfriend with a look as she saw what she had.

“Really, Sean?” Her tone was dry, and she tried to fight the smile coming onto her face. However, with her boyfriend sporting one himself, it was rather hard.

“What? You could always use another book, and I thought you might enjoy the stories.” Said man tried to explain away.

“You gave me a collection of brothers Grimm fairytales!” She exclaimed.

“And you’re not wanting to read them?” He leveled her with another look, which made her shrink down into herself.

“Yes. I’m going to read them.” Muttering under her breath, she placed the book to her side and grasped the other box that was next to her. She placed it in her lover’s lap, and awaited his reaction. Sean gently unwrapped the present, and opened the box that was in his hands. His face dropped in surprise, and his eyes danced over the present he had.

“Do you like it?” Timidly, she inquired. There was no telling what his reaction was going to be. Sean’s hand reached in and pulled out the small object that was awaiting him. It was a ring. Tiny and unassuming, which described his lover but that was not what caught his attention. It was what was on the inside of the ring. An inscription dated September 23rd of that year; their anniversary.

“You don’t like it? It’s fine if you don’t. I just thought maybe you would. I can take it back though if you don’t want it. I’m sure I could at least get store-” she never finished her rambling, because her boyfriend had surged forward and captured her lips in his. They remained locked in their embrace for who knows how long, but she was pushed against the couch in the midst of it. Alas, they pulled away for some much needed oxygen.

“Do you like it?” She repeated her inquiry.

“I love it.” He replied, breathlessly. Helping her back up, Sean allowed her to slip the ring on to his left pinky finger. On the outside, it just looked like a simple silver band, but the fact that he knew that there was that inscription inside made it feel like a known secret. And it was all his.

“This is funny actually.” Sean reached behind him and found the box next to him once more. She was confused as to what he was talking about, and took the box gingerly from his hands. Opening, she let out a small chuckle as to what was inside.

“Now, now, you still have to get my brother on your side.” Once again, she was teasing him. He chuckled as well, but pulled the ring from the box.

“It’s a promise ring.” Sean slipped the ring on to her right ring finger. The emerald in the center, with the silver surrounding it instantly drew her eyes to the sparkling stone.

“This is going to turn some heads at dinner tonight.” Her mind could not help but think about what was going to happen.

“I’ll be right by your side.” Drawing her into his arms, Sean pressed a kiss to her head, and cradled her close.

A few hours later, the couple was dressed up and ready to leave. One last spray of perfume and the jewelry was placed on her body before they left for the evening. Her leg could not stop bouncing as they neared their destination. Sean reached over and held her thigh in hi grasp, which allowed her to calm down just enough. He parked on the side of the road and helped his girlfriend safely exit the car onto the icy sidewalks. They walked up to the door with stained glass, and she took a deep breath.

“You can still back out, you know?” She tried to tell her boyfriend, but he just held her by the shoulders and looking into her eyes.

“I’m not scared by meeting your family. It’s going to be fine.” Sean tried to reassure her.

“Alright. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” And with that, she knocked. Just a moment later, the door opened and revealed a festive looking Fuchsbau.

“You made it!” Rosalee cheered, hugging her boyfriend’s sister close. Letting go, she turned to face the man standing next to her.

“Captain.” She greeted politely, and held out her hand for him to shake.

“Rosalee. It’s good to see you again.” This confused the Blutbad standing between them.

“You know each other?” She wondered aloud. Renard and Rosalee looked at each other.

“I think you’ll find a lot of the people here have met each other at least once.” Rosalee responded cryptically. She pulled them in and out of the cold, before taking their coats to their spare room. The couple wandered through the house and found where the rest of the group was hanging around. She got to watch Sean’s eyes take in her brother’s Christmas decorations that littered the room. The sheer amount of tinsel, lights, and fake snow that was around the house was enough to make even the most Christmasy person take a step back. There was a pause as everyone stopped to stare at the couple.

“You’ve got to be joking.” Monroe stated, setting down his beer. Nick, Juliette, and Hank all turned to face where the Blutbad was staring.

“Captain? Nice to see you?” Nick drawled out confused, and followed his friend’s motion.

“Roe, everyone, this is Sean. But I’m guessing that you all know each other.” She was looking around at the rest of the guests.

“Oh, you’re dying now.” Rounding the corner at an incredible speed, there were shouts as Monroe grabbed the collar of Sean’s more casual sweater she had convinced him to wear instead of his suit. He shoved the zauberbiest against a wall, narrowly missing some decorations as he woged. By this point, Nick and Hank were trying desperately to pull him off of the man, while Juliette and Rosalee were holding and shielding the other Blutbad.

“What are you playing at? What do you want that you feel the need to date my sister?” Monroe growled out, eyes no longer human but red and black and unearthly.

“I am not dating her for a plan. I love her for her.” Sean held up his hands in surrender.

“Roe, let him go.” His sister growled, stepping out from behind the women. The man in question turned his head and let the woge fade back into his skin

“This man is not who he says he is. He’s a royal, little sis. He only told you he loves you to find a way to fit into his plans. Whatever they are.” The longer he spoke, the angrier his sister became.

“I know he’s half-royal, Roe. But that doesn’t mean that Sean doesn’t love me. Now get off of him.” Fully woge out, she grabbed her brother’s arm and threw him back enough to create some distance. The three men that were currently in front of Sean were replaced by one angry Blutbad woman. Her woge disappeared as soon as it came, and she checked in on her boyfriend.

“It’s been lovely seeing everyone, but if this is how it’s going to be, we’ll be leaving.” She said after whispering to Sean for a few moments. It shocked everyone in the room. Rosalee went to reluctantly grab their coats, while everyone else stared at Monroe with pointed glares.

“Wait!” The Blutbad called just before the couple left the party. Sean was helping her into her coat when they paused. He was entirely following her lead on this, not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable or unwanted.

“I’m- I’m sorry, okay? You’re my sister and I’m always going to be protective of you. But you are an adult so I need to accept your choice. I’ll tone it down just, please, stay for dinner?” He was keeping his eyes on his sister, who returned with a less believable stare.

“You’re allowed to ask him three questions about our relationship, and three about himself. That’s it.” She replied, allowing Sean to once again, help her out of her coat. Rosalee took it back and happily went to set them on the bed once more. Monroe pulled his sister into a bear hug in the foyer of his home. When they pulled away, Sean stepped up to properly greet the Blutbad.

“You hurt my sister, I’ll break my pledge.” Monroe stared the half zauberbiest dead in the eye as he shook his hand. Renard brought out a smirk, and shook the man’s hand firmly.

“I’m slowly starting to realize the amount of people who will hurt me if I hurt her, including her.” He replied smoothly. The couple were pulled back into the fray easily. Everyone was laughing and eating, and in general, just having a great time. Looking at each other over their glasses of wine, and plates of food, Sean gave her a small wink, and held her hand. With the other, he thumbed a small velvet box the was in the pocket of his slacks. Perhaps next Christmas she would be more than a girlfriend. He needs to get through to her brother first.

[rottenpumpkin13]

What would happen if certain phrases and sayings were to really come true for one day? Example, if Reeves were to say, "Cat's out of the bag..." (secret is out) and then Cait Sith comes out of an actual bag.

Or if Rufus were to say, "Let sleeping dogs lie." (Don't start unnecessary drama or trouble during peaceful moments) and then there's Darkstar sleeping peacefully.

*Sephiroth and Genesis are moving equipment around the 49th floor*

Sephiroth: This isn't as hard as Lazard said it would be.

Genesis: Yeah, it's a piece of cake.

*The equipment turns to cake*

Genesis: THIS IS—THIS IS—!?

Sephiroth, already eating it: —a carrot cake with a spiced flavor profile that includes hints of cinnamon, nutmeg, and brown sugar, sweetened by the natural flavor of the carrots and a rich frosting. But it lacks texture such as nuts or perhaps a denser crumb to enrich the quality of each bite.

Genesis: THAT'S SO NOT THE ISSUE HERE.

-

*Tseng and Rufus are together, Dark Star is sleeping in the corner*

Tseng: Sir, are we going to address why you barely looked at me all night?

Rufus: I have no idea what you're talking about. We'll discuss it tomorrow. For now let's let sleeping dogs lie.

Dark Star, in its sleep: Rufus was imagining Tseng in black silk on his bed all night and didn't want to look at him in fear of becoming aroused in public.

Rufus:

Tseng:

Rufus: In my defense that's not really a lie—

Tseng: Oh my god.

-

*Angeal and Zack are in the break room*

Zack: Okay, can I tell you the secret now??

Angeal: Sure. Spill the beans.

*Zack grabs a can of beans from the cupboard*

Angeal:

*Zack opens the can of beans*

Angeal:

*Zack pours the beans all over the floor*

Angeal: What's wrong with you?

Zack: Several things, Angeal.

-

*Everyone shows up for an interdepartmental meeting*

Reno: What's this about?

Lazard: Be patient, Reno. Curiosity killed the cat.

*Reeve and Sephiroth drop dead*

Lazard: And the cat men.

[najia-cooks]

[ID: An extreme close-up of ground spices in various shades of brown and orange laid out in lines on a plate. End ID]

سبع بهارات فلسطينية / Seb'a baharat falastinia (Palestinian seven-spice)

Seb'a baharat is one of a few spice blends often referred to in English simply as “baharat” (the plural of Arabic بهار / bahar, “spice”). A warm, earthy blend, it is commonly used to season meat, fish, and poultry in the Levant, Eastern Arabia, and Egypt, where recipes differ from region to region and from person to person. Common ingredients include cumin, cardamom, black pepper, nutmeg, and cinnamon.

Palestinian versions of seb'a baharat are usually dominated by allspice, black pepper, and cinnamon, giving them a pungent and sweet head; nutmeg, cloves, and cardamom provide additional warmth, while cumin and coriander often round out the blend with earthiness and a hint of florality. Ginger is also an occasional inclusion.

By the early 2010s, decades of Israeli taxation on exports and imports of non-Israeli goods had eroded Palestinian economic and culinary self-determination; Israel had instituted further blockades of the Gaza border in 2007, leading to a sharp decline in exports. Several farmers in Gaza turned to growing spices and herbs, including cumin and ginger, on their farms with the intention of finding a profitable market for them in Europe. However, frequent border closings, punitive export taxes, and Israeli shooting at Palestinian farmers who were attempting to work their land, made the plan unviable.

More recently, Palestinians have continued to work to find new ways to produce food despite shrinking access to arable land and fresh water. Resisting Israeli targeting of Palestinian food self-sufficiency is a matter, not just of subsistence and economic power, but of identity and dignity.

Today, Israel's total siege of Gaza continues as civilians run out of food, water, power, and medical supplies. Medical Aid for Palestinians (MAP) has put out an urgent call for donations to provide medical supplies to hospitals when supply lines reopen. Also contact your representatives in the USA, UK, and Canada.

Ingredients:

1 Tbsp ground allspice (6.6g; 1 Tbsp + 1 tsp allspice berries)

1/2 Tbsp ground black pepper (6.2g; 1/2 Tbsp black peppercorns)

1/2 Tbsp ground cinnamon (5.3g; 1 large stick Chinese cassia)

1 1/4 tsp ground coriander (2g; 1 1/2 tsp coriander seeds)

1 tsp ground nutmeg (1.4g; 1/2 nutmeg)

1 tsp ground cloves (2g; 1 1/4 tsp whole cloves)

1 tsp ground cardamom (scant 1/2 Tbsp pods; 2.6g just seeds)

3/4 tsp ground cumin (2.1g; scant tsp cumin seeds)

Instructions:

1. In a mortar and pestle or using the flat of a knife, roughly crush nutmeg and cinnamon.

2. In a dry skillet over medium heat, toast whole spices one at a time until each is strongly fragrant. Remove from heat and allow to cool in a single layer on a large plate.

3. Grind all spices together in a mortar and pestle or a spice mill. Pass through a sieve to remove large pieces. Store in an airtight jar in a cool, dark place.

[tj-dragonblade]

[Fluffbruary Fic] Tradition

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: G Word Count: 2404 Tags: Fluffbruary, Fluffbruary 2025, pre-relationship, fluff, holidays, baking cookies

Notes: Originally, this was for Week 2 of @mr-sadman's SeasonalSadman2024 event, using the prompt Traditions. But it didn't want to flow for seasonal timeliness so I put it aside and slated it for the end of Fluffbruary instead. And it turns out, all it needed was a rest and some breathing room. Inspiration came from both @chaosheadspace and @carnelianmeluha 's creator threads on the server, so I will dedicate this to both of you ❤️ Even if it's February now.

Fluffbruary 2025 prompts: Day 22: bullet | loyalty | unique Day 27: kitchen | bell | sun Day 28: clean | galaxy | keep

Summary: Dream shares his time and Hob shares his stories, and together they are maybe sharing something else.

On AO3

"Dream! You're just in time!"

Dream hesitates, abruptly concerned that he had forgotten an appointment and somehow managed to keep it serendipitously—but no. He is very certain that he was not expected here today.

'Here', as it turns out, is Hob's kitchen, where the watery winter daylight streams through the window over the sink and Hob is wrestling a large mound of dough into an enormous mixing bowl. There is another mound set by on the worktop; Hob's sleeves are rolled up in a very fetching manner, his hair is mostly contained in a small knot on the back of his head, and he's wearing an apron that proclaims him World's Okayest Baker in garish pink letters. There are smears of the rich brownish dough all over it, matching smears on Hob's arms and hands, and the room is fragrant with spices—cardamom, cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger.

Dream cocks his head the slightest bit. "In time for what?" It is easy enough to intuit; the kitchen is replete with wisps of daydreams that whisper the answer, but 'making biscuits' is merely the title of the story, not the full depth of it which Dream would hear in Hob's own words.

"Making biscuits!" Hob smiles broadly at him, warm and full of life. "School has a tradition, faculty bakes treats for the students before term lets out for Christmas. Some folks buy in from the fancy bakeries 'cause they don't know their way around the kitchen, but me I like to do it from scratch." He sets aside the bowl. "And I like to make extra. Student body's small enough, we're not some big university, but I like doing my part to make sure there's enough to go round."

"Indeed." Dream's coat and boots disappear to their places by Hob's front door as he adjusts his manifestation to better suit the shape of the afternoon before him.

"Sooo, I was doing my baking today—and I'd love to have your help, if you're here for a visit and don't mind something so menial."

"It is no such thing, Hob Gadling." Dream offers a tiny smile. "I would be honored to assist the 'world's okayest baker' with a task so important."

Hob glances down at his well-used apron and laughs. "Ah, yes. The apron lies, I'll have you know—I am nothing short of a fantastic baker after all these years. It was a gift from Jaime, a joke." He shakes his head fondly, the barest hint of melancholy crinkling the corners of his eyes.

Dream is certain he could follow the thread of the name and its connection to Hob to the Dreaming, bring full awareness of this dreamer to the fore, but again—there is comfort and camaraderie in hearing the stories of Hob's life as Hob would tell them, directly. So he chooses instead to offer question.

"A former lover?" He is reasonably certain he would know if Hob were currently involved with anyone.

"Yeah." Hob's expression has gone nostalgic. "Dated a couple years, lived together awhile; ended it about five months before you came back. Jaime had a once-in-a-lifetime job opportunity, moved to Toronto. And, well, I wasn't leaving London, was I? Not when I was still waiting for you." He smiles, and it is tinged with…not sadness, precisely, but something that is soft and wistful and commiserative.

The heart that Dream has approximated thumps heavily in his breast. "My absence cost you this relationship—"

"No, no no, now, none of that," Hob interrupts, speaking over his shoulder as he turns to wash his hands. "It was lovely while it lasted but we both knew how it would end, sooner or later. Jaime was meant for grander things than me, and, well. All my relationships have to end one way or another, don't they." He turns off the tap and dries his hands, flashes Dream a brilliant grin and a quick wink. "'Cept ours, of course. Can always count on seeing you again, my friend."

"Of course," Dream echoes, inordinately warmed by how easily Hob centers Dream in his life, welcomes him. Broadly, as he has just spoken, yes; Dream is assured that Hob's delight in his company is genuine. But also, specifically, how easily he makes room for Dream in whatever he is doing when Dream visits without notice. He has demonstrated time and again that Dream's presence is appreciated, and no burden; that Dream is important enough that Hob will shape his plans around Dream as needed, will include him at a moment's notice.

It is. Gratifying, to receive such regard, from one who is neither his subject nor seeking to curry favor.

Dream is never quite certain what to do with it.

"But anyway!" Hob opens a drawer and rifles through it briefly, withdrawing a rolling pin and setting it aside. "These Christmas biscuits have been a tradition of mine even before Jaime, and I'm glad the school gives me an excuse to keep it going. I'm making the lemon rosemary lavender ones that you like next—they're very popular every year—and chocolate candy cane if I have the time after that. But first! Gingerbread." He turns to the fragrant mahogany dough on his worktop and begins pushing and kneading at it, working it into a somewhat flatter shape.

"I always make two batches," he says, as he moves to apply the rolling pin to the reworked dough. "One for stars and rounds, one for proper gingerbread men. Once I get this rolled out, d'you want to start with the cutters?" He nods toward a small assembly of metal and plastic shapes at the other end of the bench.

"Of course." Dream is pleased to take part in this creative process, in whatever way Hob can find use for him.

"Great, then I can start working the other batch on the table while you do." He's rolling vigorously, a steady rhythm molding the dough to his wishes, bared forearms flexing in a way that Dream finds somehow difficult to look away from.

"Is this a recipe of your own devising?" Dream is eager, he finds, to hear more of this story of Hob's traditions.

"Oh no, no, this is Oma Franziska's gingerbread recipe." Hob has that fondly-nostalgic look again. "She insisted we call her that, me and Jim. She'd lost contact with her own grandkids when she left Germany, you see, and she sort of adopted us when we moved in next to her. She knew Jim's truth, too, and it was nice to have a neighbor who he could be himself with."

Hob has told Dream of Jim previously. Jim, who had been Hob's wife Peg to the rest of the world but Hob's husband in safe company; Jim, who had loved the sea, who sang bawdy pub songs with the loveliest voice, who left Hob with many fond memories and stories to carry with him as he continued living.

"She looked after us both, in a fashion. Knew her way around the kitchen blindfolded and backwards—I'm very sure food was her love language. Always made sure the neighbors were fed if they needed and was just—she was really something, y'know? I'm glad I got to know her." Hob gives the dough a final roll with a flourish. "Stayed put until she passed, even though I was kind of pushing it for that lifetime. I didn't want to leave her behind when she had so little time left, especially when she'd been there for me after losing Jim and all of that."

"Your kindness does you credit." Dream is warmed by the tale, by yet another glimpse of the man Hob had worked to become in the past century.

"Heh." Hob beams at him, and something low in Dream's stomach tightens marginally. "Anyway, Oma Franziska loved sharing recipes with us—sending her traditions forward, she called it—and I've kept 'em alive for her. This gingerbread is based on an older recipe, but she tinkered with it quite a lot and clearly she knew what she was about; these biscuits always get rave reviews." He turns, plucks two of the biscuit cutters from the jumble on the counter and presents them to Dream. "Here you go."

Dutifully, Dream accepts the cutters and moves to the rolled-out dough, the collective unconscious granting easy familiarity with a task he has never performed.

"Perfect," Hob declares, as Dream begins pressing the simple shapes neatly into the dough. "Let me get your tray prepped so you've got somewhere to set these little beauties as you go."

Something deep in Dream warms at the easy praise, pleased and content; he lets the feeling wash over him as he works, as Hob sets a lined baking tray in easy reach and begins rolling out the second batch over on the table, as Hob continues talking.

"I love this recipe," Hob says, and Dream can hear how he's smiling even though his back is turned. "They turn out just the right amount of soft with a lovely balance of flavors, and they're exactly sweet enough. Gotta start it early to give it plenty of time to 'ripen', for the lactic acid to do its thing, but it's very much worth it. This batch I started about a month ago so they'd be ready now. And the biscuits themselves will keep at least 'til February, assuming they last that long."

"You deem them worth the effort," Dream surmises, arranging the biscuits he has cut on the baking sheet.

"Mmyep, definitely. Especially when I'm making them to share with others."

Dream can still hear the way Hob is smiling, and it warms him. Hob has such care for the people in his life, for those he sheperds and those he works beside; Dream is grateful to witness it, to be included in that care, for the ready welcome he continues to find in Hob's company.

"The time taken is to their benefit," he offers, transferring more cut biscuits to their tray. "The dreams sown into the dough are rich, and deeply rooted. They have grown robust, being let to steep so long; your biscuits will be a masterpiece of comfort and flavor."

"There's. Dreams. My dreams? In the dough?" Hob sounds particulary flummoxed; Dream looks up to find him turned about, blinking dumbfounded at him, rolling pin held idle in one hand.

"Yes." Dream lays another gingerbread star on his tray. "Your intent, your joy in sharing, your delight in doing for others. Your wish to carry the memories of the recipe forward. They all shape your baking, enhance your end result."

"Heh. I had no idea." The tips of Hob's ears have reddened considerably and there is a trace of pink visible across his cheeks.

It becomes him.

Hob blinks, shakes his head, recovering his composure. "Bet all the dreams in the dough won't save them from burning, though." He grins.

"Most certainly not," Dream allows, smiling in turn. "We shall need to time them appropriately. I can assist, if you like."

Hob has turned back to finish his rolling, speaks over his shoulder. "How's that work, then? You'll listen to the dreams as they bake, and know when they're perfectly done based on vibes?"

"Perhaps, if you think it best." Dream can feel his smile growing. "I had thought I might simply watch the timer."

Hob has stopped and turned to stare at him again; Dream reaches to take the rolling pin and use it himself. He lets the smile on his face remain, lets it be known to Hob.

"You're making jokes now?" Hob grins widely, eyes crinkling with mirth, his tone one of wonder. "Red letter date! Best mark my calendar."

Dream, flush with pleasant warmth at the easy teasing, turns back to roll his scrap dough into a flat sheet, delighting in the little chuckle Hob gives as he begins stamping the simple stylized human shapes into his own sheet of dough.

The day passes pleasantly, gingerbread baking fragrantly while they move on to the next biscuit on Hob's planned list; Hob prepares the shortbread dough while Dream monitors time on the oven. It is very much a matter of 'vibes' that lets him pull each tray at exactly the right moment, transferring them to cooling racks, setting the pans aside to be prepared for their next batch. They roll out and cut the lavender lemon rosemary biscuits next, and since Dream is sharing the labor there is plenty of time to make the chocolate candy cane ones as well.

They clean up behind the baking and Hob prepares lunch while the biscuits are all cooling; once they have eaten, they move on to decorating. Dream is given the gingerbread and loses himself in the flow of creativity, piping swirls of colorful icing onto the stars and rounds, applying edible glitter and sugar pearls with a discerning eye while Hob smears chocolate icing and sprinkles crushed candy cane bits on the chocolate biscuits. Together they finish up with the gingerbread men, adding eyes and mouths and clothes in wide variety, each distinctly unique. Dream can feel as they work how Hob's daydreams float and shift around them, how intent has settled into the biscuits at every stage of the process, even here at the end.

He can taste it, as well, when he and Hob sample their work after finishing.

It is little wonder Hob's biscuits are popular at the school's annual function. They are, quite literally, made with love.

~

When he visits Hob again in February, he is presented with one of the gingerbread men they had made in December, carefully kept in an airtight container.

"Saved the last one for you." Hob winks, and Dream's stomach dips pleasantly.

The biscuit is indeed as good as it had been two months prior, ripe with the care baked into it, sweet and fragrant and satisfying on a level far beyond the physical. Dream nibbles, listens while Hob regales him with the story of the student love letter he'd accidentally intercepted on Valentine's day, basks in the comfortable warmth of Hob's voice and Hob's presence and Hob's home.

And somewhere, deep within the core of himself, he acknowledges the truth that he can taste in the biscuit, even now: that some of the care and the love that have gone into their creation, is very much specifically for him.

= Started: 12/12/24 Drafted: 2/23/25 Posted: 2/28/25

[ms-demeanor]

Hey do you hate pumpkin? I hate pumpkin. It's okay in soup with garlic and chili but I can't stand it sweet in pie or bread or muffins. Gross.

But I like pumpkin pie spice, which is just a combination of ginger, nutmeg, cloves, and cinnamon. (Hate sweet coffee so pumpkin spice lattes are off the table for me too, but I'll add actual pumpkin pie spice to coffee sometimes).

Anyway if you hate pumpkin but want to get in on pumpkin spice I've got two recommendations:

Add pumpkin pie spice to chocolate chip cookies

Add pumpkin pie spice to a Mother's Day Pie and dye it orange for a mock-pumpkin pie.

So pumpkin pie spice is one part of each cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, and cloves. If you've got those spices on your spice rack you can mix them together and add a teaspoon of the resulting powder to either cookies or pie for a nice hint of spice. Add two teaspoons if you like a lot of spice.

You do you for your chocolate chip recipe (I use the Tollhouse recipe but I double the recipe and cut the chocolate chips in half and I use all butter/no shortening) and here's a Mother's Day Pie recipe:

(This is supposed to be a pie so easy that a dad and kids can make it for mom without her help, hence the name. It's an egg custard pie with a self-forming coconut crust and without spices is just a bit bland)

1 cup sugar

2 tbsp all purpose flour

.25 tsp salt

1 tsp pumpkin pie spice

6tbsp melted butter (cooled)

1 tsp vanilla OR .5 tsp almond extract

3 eggs

1 can of evaporated (NOT sweetened condensed) milk (12 oz can)

1 cup shredded coconut

Preheat your oven to 350

Mix dry ingredients (except coconut), add in the butter and flavor extract, then beat in the eggs one at a time. Stir in your can of evaporated milk and mix thoroughly, then fold in the shredded coconut. (optional: add a few drops of food coloring to turn it orange in a mock pumpkin pie or whatever color you want; i love teal food and no one can stop me) Pour into a pie plate and bake for 50-55 minutes; put in the refrigerator for at least 2 hours to allow the custard to set.

I find that if you're using the spices almond extract tastes better and if you're omitting the spices vanilla extract tastes better (and in that case the pie is nice when served with fresh berries)

[deathnguts]

What I think marauders era peeps smell like:

Regulus: green apple, mint, black tea, ink, rain but specifically that which falls during a thunderstorm

Barty: axe cologne (loser) and cigarettes drowning out all else, but patchouli and lime if you catch him at the right time and you’re close enough

Evan: sandalwood, vetiver, iron, some stupid expensive cologne that smells distinctly clean overall like latex almost

Pandora: burnt sage, jasmine tea, moss, ginger, dandelions, boiled lemongrass

Dorcas: bluebells scented perfume, vanilla, blackberry, castor oil

Lily: strawberry shortcake perfume, daffodils, cardamom, white sand

James: cinnamon, leather, cedarwood

Sirius: bergamot, pine, amaretto, small hints of coffee

Remus: bitter dark chocolate, firewood, old paper, but a rusty twinge overall

Peter: eucalyptus oil, oat milk, lychee

Marlene: old spice deodorant, orange, sea salt

Mary: Apple blossom perfume, coconut, nutmeg, amber

Alice: rosemary, lily of the valley flowers, cloves, wind through the forest

Frank: mechanic oil, sesame, freshly cut wood, sheep wool

Sybill: lavender, morning dew, pollen, dust, labdanum

Narcissa: green tea, yellow roses, lemon zest

Lucius: narcissus flowers, cucumber, agarwood cologne that masks it all

[autumn-realm]

Autumn is Near

Companies are hinting at the spookiest time of year. Jack-o-Lanterns, Witches, shades of Autumn are emerging. The smell of nutmeg, cinnamon, all spice, ginger and cloves are filling the air. Summer may have just begun, but Autumn is coming so fast.

Autumn blogs are re-emerging. I'm ready for the season.

Follow those who followed/loved this post to get ready for the best season of all! I follow anyone and everyone who is autumn related.

[guardian-of-fun-times]

Nicholas St. North would likely enjoy a bold, spiced hot cocoa that reflects his larger-than-life personality and adventurous spirit. Here's what it might look like:

Base: Rich, dark chocolate melted into creamy whole milk for a luxurious and robust flavor.

Spices: A blend of cinnamon, nutmeg, and a hint of chili powder for warmth and a kick, reflecting his fiery yet jolly nature.

Sweetener: A touch of honey or brown sugar for a natural sweetness that complements the spices.

Topping: A swirl of whipped cream dusted with crushed peppermint candy or gold sprinkles for a festive and magical touch.

Optional Add-In: A splash of coffee or espresso to add depth, perfect for a man who likely stays up all night crafting toys.

This cocoa would embody North's energy, warmth, and love for all things festive and magical.

2 cups whole milk (or your preferred milk alternative)

1/2 cup heavy cream (optional, for extra richness)

4 oz dark chocolate (70% cocoa or higher), finely chopped

2 tbsp unsweetened cocoa powder

2-3 tbsp brown sugar or honey (adjust to taste)

1/2 tsp cinnamon

1/4 tsp nutmeg

1/8 tsp chili powder (optional, for a subtle kick)

1/4 tsp vanilla extract

1 shot of espresso (optional, for staying up late hours)

1-2 tbsp peppermint schnapps (optional, for a festive twist)

Whipped cream

Crushed peppermint candy or chocolate shavings

Gold sprinkles (optional, for a magical touch)

Heat the Milk: In a medium saucepan, combine the milk and heavy cream (if using). Heat over medium-low heat until warm but not boiling.

Add the Cocoa Base: Whisk in the cocoa powder, cinnamon, nutmeg, and chili powder (if using) until smooth.

Melt the Chocolate: Add the chopped dark chocolate and stir continuously until fully melted and the mixture is smooth and creamy.

Sweeten: Stir in the brown sugar or honey, adjusting to taste.

Enhance the Flavor: Add the vanilla extract and peppermint schnapps (if using) and mix well.

Serve: Pour the hot cocoa into your favorite mug, preferably a sturdy, festive one like North’s blue mug.

Top It Off: Add a generous swirl of whipped cream, sprinkle with crushed peppermint candy or chocolate shavings, and, for extra flair, gold sprinkles.

Enjoy: Sit by a frosty window or a roaring fire and sip your cocoa while feeling the warmth of the holidays!

[mariacallous]

Imagine for a second, a group of Jews cooking a slightly different version of challah for Shabbat, matzah for Passover, and donuts for Hanukkah. A group of people whose ancestors were forced to convert to Catholicism against their will, yet continued to practice Jewish customs underground, even at the risk of being ostracized and tortured for doing so. Meet The Silent Jews.

Sometimes referred to as Crypto-Jews, anusim (Hebrew for coerced ones), or conversos, Silent Jews are descendants of Spanish Jews expelled from Spain and Portugal in 1492. Most left medieval Iberian territories for the Ottoman Empire or North Africa; others fled persecution and settled in new frontiers in the New World, where many found refuge. 

I come from one of those persecuted families who came to South America around 1532 and discreetly practiced Jewish rituals, living in fear of being hunted down by the Inquisition. I only found out that my family was actually Jewish as a teenager, that all our colorful, fragrant, crunchy dishes were deeply rooted in Judaic culinary traditions from 16th-century Spain. That the ingredients and aromas of my mom’s kitchen resembled dishes from the Sephardic gastronomy repertoire. 

When the pandemic struck, the combination of lockdown, curiosity, and melancholy led me to knead, mix, and eat plates from my mom’s Jewish inheritance passed on through several generations of women in our family. The kitchen was the right place to honor their sacrifices, bravery, and perseverance to maintain tradition, despite centuries of fear and persecution.

My locked-down days soon began to be filled with ingredients such as eggplants, spinach, leeks, and turnips, which mingled with the scents of cinnamon, anise, cardamom, and nutmeg, coming together with dried fruits and legumes.

Arroz con garbanzos (chickpea rice) was one of those dishes. With its characteristic aroma of bay leaf, caramelized onions, and raisins, it’s cooked with turmeric to give it its signature yellow color. As a kid, it was often mixed with a fried egg, with parsley sprinkled on top. In my search for Sephardic recipes, I became aware that this dish is very similar to pilaf with saffron, a Mediterranean spice my ancestors did not have access to since it didn’t grow in their new home.

Another delicious dish that also appears in the kitchens of Sephardic Jews from Turkey, Greece, and Morocco is estofado de berenjenas (eggplant stew). Made by sautéing eggplants in olive oil with garlic, onion, and cumin, this quick stew is served with smoked cheese or feta and an abundance of cilantro. My family pair it with homemade bread or corn arepas, an example of incorporating local ingredients.

On the most stressful days of the past year, comfort food became a necessity. A hearty dish of huevos con tomate (eggs with tomato) afforded me a sense of tranquility and a break from the chaos and uncertainty that surrounded me. This dish, which closely resembles shakshuka, was cooked at my house with ají dulce —the Caribbean’s colorful semi-spicy pepper— chili flakes, and smoked paprika. It’s so piquant and fragrant, I usually pair it with plain white rice or bread. However, my mother served it as a second course to complement her traditional pescado mermao, a hake fish stew cooked over a slow fire in an iron skillet with a mixture of garlic, peas, and eggplant, smothered in a sauce of chilies and tomatoes. The last touch included a bunch of fresh cilantro leaves and a hint of sour lime juice. It filled our entire house with a thick, citrusy aroma.

And the desserts! Buñuelos, small balls of fried dough with a sweet or salty filling; mine are usually made with raw cane sugar syrup, cloves, and nutmeg. There was always cake — plantain cake with cinnamon and smoked cheese, or traditional bizcochuelo, a sponge cake that was ever-present in my school lunchbox. Similar to pan d’Espana, which Sephardim took with them to the Diaspora, my mother put her own spin on this soft, light cake, using cornmeal instead of ground almonds, substituting orange blossom water with a few drops of rum, and swapping grated orange peel for the peel of a lemon, instead. 

Reconnecting with my roots through food during these difficult times has helped me to cope with stress, anxiety, and loneliness. There’s still so much to cook, eat, and share; I’ll continue paying homage to each and every one of the dishes that my family preserved with such dedication and courage. This is the only way I can celebrate — and always carry with me — their everlasting legacy.

[diavolo-is-babygirl]

Autumn Fic Between Diavolo & Levi: Pumpkin Spice Lattes

The coffee shop was warm and inviting, smelling faintly of cinnamon, nutmeg, and something crisp and earthy that reminded Diavolo of fallen leaves crunching underfoot. Outside, the trees blazed in autumn colors, a vibrant celebration of red and gold that contrasted sharply with the chill in the air. Diavolo pulled his scarf closer around his neck as he pushed open the door, the little bell overhead chiming softly.

At a small table by the window, hunched over a laptop and looking utterly absorbed, was Leviathan. He wore a chunky sweater in muted purple, its sleeves slightly too long, and he seemed completely lost in whatever game he was playing. But something about the warm glow of the shop, or perhaps just the friendly atmosphere, seemed to soften the usual tension in his shoulders.

Diavolo approached with a small smile, setting his drink down and taking the chair across from Levi. It took a second for Levi to look up, his gaze widening with surprise, but a faint smile bloomed on his face. “Lord Diavolo,” he greeted, cheeks turning a little pink. “You’re here too?”

Diavolo chuckled, waving a hand. “Just Diavolo today, Levi. And yes—I needed a bit of warmth after a long week.” He held up his cup, an inviting glimmer in his eyes. “I thought I’d try something seasonal—pumpkin spice, I think?”

“Oh, um, yeah,” Levi mumbled, looking at his own drink with newfound interest. “It’s… kind of all the rage this time of year. Asmo made me try one last fall, and I wasn’t sure at first, but it’s pretty nice once you get used to it. MC was super stoked about it being PSL season too, so I thought to myself: why not try one?”

Diavolo took a tentative sip, the creamy, spiced flavor warming him from the inside out. It was sweet and unexpectedly comforting, like a hug in a cup. “You’re right, it’s surprisingly nice,” he murmured, savoring the taste. “It’s strange, though, don’t you think? That something so simple can make everything feel a little brighter.”

Levi nodded, his gaze growing soft as he watched Diavolo sip his latte. “I guess it’s because it’s familiar,” he said, fiddling with his sleeve. “Like… even if everything else is hard, things like this stay the same. They’re comforting.”

Diavolo looked down at his cup, a faint shadow crossing his face. “Comforting,” he echoed quietly. “I think I’ve forgotten what that feels like.”

Levi’s eyes widened a bit, his usual shyness replaced by something braver. “You’ve been through a lot this year, haven’t you?” he said gently, his voice barely above a whisper. “I mean, everyone can tell you’ve been carrying so much on your shoulders.”

The words tugged at something deep within Diavolo, and for a moment, he couldn’t bring himself to speak. “It’s… it’s just the price of what I do, of who I am,” he managed, though his voice sounded hollow, even to his own ears. “But lately, it feels like I’m losing sight of why I do it. Like I’m losing sight of myself.”

Levi’s brow furrowed, and he reached out hesitantly, his hand hovering over Diavolo’s for a moment before he gently placed it down. “You know,” he said softly, “you don’t always have to be strong. Or perfect. You’re allowed to feel tired, or to take a break and just… be.”

Diavolo looked down at Levi’s hand, the warmth grounding him in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. “It’s hard to remember that sometimes,” he admitted. “But… sitting here, drinking coffee with you… it makes it easier.”

Levi blushed, but he didn’t pull his hand away. “I’m glad,” he murmured. “I know I’m not good at saying stuff like this, but… I think you’re already an amazing leader. And not just because you’re strong, but because you care so much about everyone. Even someone like me.”

“Someone like you?” Diavolo echoed, a hint of wonder in his voice. “Levi, you’re one of the most dedicated, compassionate souls I know. Just sitting here with you makes me feel lighter. You’ve done more for me than you realize.”

Levi’s blush deepened, but he smiled, looking down at his latte. “I just… I want you to know you’re not alone, okay? You can always come to me if you need someone to talk to. Or if you just want to drink pumpkin spice lattes and sit quietly.”

Diavolo’s heart swelled with a warmth that went beyond the taste of his drink. He squeezed Levi’s hand gently, a smile that was both grateful and filled with something softer lighting his face. “Thank you, Levi. Truly. I don’t know what I’d do without friends like you.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, sipping their drinks and watching the autumn leaves drift past the window. For a brief moment, the weight of Diavolo’s responsibilities faded, and all that remained was the quiet companionship between them—the promise of warmth, even on the coldest days.

[southeastasianists]

The divine blend of spices needed to make curry first reached Southeast Asia about 2,000 years ago, when the region began trading with the Indian subcontinent, according to an analysis of ancient spice residue.

The new project analyzed 12 different spice grinding tools unearthed at the ancient trading port of Oc Eo, in modern-day Vietnam, by washing them with water and chemicals. This produced hundreds of tiny fragments that the researchers painstakingly identified (to a reasonable degree of certitude) under a microscope. The results sounded like a shopping list for making curry: turmeric, ginger, fingerroot, sand ginger, galangal, clove, nutmeg and cinnamon.

“These spices are indispensable ingredients used in the making of curry in South Asia today,” the paper says.

Ancient Trading Spices

Where did all these spices comes from?

They could have come from the surrounding countryside. Farmers in Southeast Asia made many of these crops themselves, and if not, they could have imported the seeds and gotten started.

On the other hand, the turmeric could have easily come from India, where use of the spice dates back thousands of years. And the ginger and cloves may have come from India as well, or maybe China.

Cinnamon was widely traded at the time and may have come all the way from Israel.

The galangal, fingerroot and sand ginger are native to Southeast Asia and could easily have come from nearby soils. These more specialized spices are still used in the region’s curry paste.

Footed Grinding Slabs

As a testament to the spice trade’s popularity, the spice grinders made up the majority of the stone tools recovered from Oc Eo and another, nearby city called Angkor Borei. The original archaeological dig at Oc Eo found numerous footed grinding slabs, which look like little stone workbenches for grinding spices – which is what they likely were. Versions of these slabs are still sometimes used in the traditional preparation of curry.

The largest slab recovered measured 2.5 feet by 1 foot. Researchers found it buried not far from a piece of charcoal that dated to about A.D. 250, which hinted at when curry first made its way to the area.

Oc Eo

At that time, the city would have been not just importing and exporting goods but making them as well, according to the paper. Residents raised religious monuments and shaped metal tools, glass jewelry and pottery.

All the while, they would have worked to trade and process many different spices. Archaeologists working there even found an intact nut that dated to about A.D. 200, and it still “yielded a nutmeg aroma,” the paper says.

Now part of Vietnam, Oc Eo once belonged to the ancient kingdom of Funan, which maintained a base of power further up the Mekong River.

In Oc Eo, culture prospered between the first and eighth centuries, during the latter years of the Iron Age. As the site’s ancient canals filled with ships, Buddhism and Hinduism left their own marks on the sprawling complex, including a possible contribution to curry cooking. The need to dye the Buddhist monks’ robes yellow may have first prompted Oc Eo to import turmeric, the paper says.

[bropunzeling]

Perspective Flip of any scene from linger, please!

a flip of the start of the 2021 - February sequence for you!

It isn’t until near the end of the first period that Leon smells it.

At first, he thinks he’s imagining it, it’s so faint. Barely a hint of something other than the ice and sweat, just enough to make his nose itch. But as the clock ticks down and as their lead grows from a couple goals to six, that faint something grows stronger, more present, sticking in his nose, the back of his throat. Almost inescapable.

By the time they’ve won and the Flames have headed down the tunnel, Leon’s certain. He knows what that scent of cinnamon and nutmeg means. He remembers how it filled up his chest, warmed him up from the inside out. Even though he’s only ever smelled it once, that once was enough.

He doesn’t know if Matthew’s realized that he’s going into heat. On the one hand, Leon doesn’t know the guy’s heat schedule. It’s entirely possible this is supposed to be happening now, and kicked in a little earlier than it should’ve.

On the other hand, he remembers how vehemently Matthew had refused to believe him last time, even though the evidence had been as plain as the nose on his face. Tonight could be the same way. After all, the guy played the whole game, never went down the tunnel, even as his scent deepened into the same spicy, sticky thing that had filled Leon’s head and his hotel room a year ago. It’s entirely possible he has no idea what’s happening now.

As he quickly goes through his cool down and hits the showers, Leon tries to decide what to do. Matthew’s not—Leon knows he doesn’t have a claim on him, or anything. They’ve fucked once, and Matthew had been so insistent about what it was and wasn’t the entire time. When he’d walked out of the hotel room at six in the morning, smelling like hotel soap and wearing Leon’s joggers, it had felt—final. An ending before Leon had known anything could begin.

That didn’t stop Leon from thinking about it, though. Didn’t stop him from replaying the memories over and over: the warmth of Matthew’s skin; the small, desperate noises he made when Leon fucked him. How every part of Leon’s body had burned, like he’d always been on fire and only just realized it. How badly he had wanted to pull Matthew closer, not let him move away even for a moment. How whenever Matthew demanded something, Leon wanted to give it to him.

It’s not like Leon didn’t think about Matthew before. He knows how the guy is on the ice, after all. The way he gets under Leon’s skin, always finds the exact way to make Leon lose his temper. The way he pushes and pushes, refusing to give an inch. Funny and infuriating in equal measure. Ticking Leon off, sure, but—in a fun way, almost.

It’s just that now Leon knows how Matthew is in bed, too. Hard not to think about it. To wonder what would happen if they did it again.

By the time he’s dressed, Leon’s made his decision. He’ll just—give Matthew a heads up. Just in case. It’s the polite thing to do. He can ask Alison for the heat room code, so the guy has a place to be. He’s pretty sure Calgary is flying out tonight. And then after he does that, he’ll—

He’ll go home. Matthew had been pretty clear, after all. Last time was it. It was only ever going to be once.

It takes a while to spot Matthew coming out of the visitor’s room. Leon has to call his name a couple times before Matthew even notices, head jerking in his direction. Spice curls in the back of Leon’s throat.

“Why does Draisaitl want to talk to you?” Bennett asks. He’s less than a meter away from Matthew. When he speaks, his scent spikes, basil clashing with Matthew’s cinnamon. Leon has to work not to grimace.

“It’s fine,” Matthew says. He stares at Leon evenly before facing Bennett. “I’ll go see what he wants. You don’t have to wait. I don’t think he’ll do anything.”

The two of them nod at each other. Leon shoves his hands into his pockets so he doesn’t do anything stupid like try and touch Matthew, pull him away.

As Matthew follows him down the corridor, away from his team, his scent grows stronger and stronger. It puts Leon in mind of mulled wine in the winter, heady enough to get drunk on. But nothing in Matthew’s expression shows that he’s noticed. If anything, he just looks annoyed.

Leon leans against a wall, careful to give Matthew space. “I think you’re…”

Matthew scowls at him. “What?”

So he doesn’t know. Leon glances at Matthew’s face, at the curve of his neck. Matthew’s sweatshirt bags enough that Leon can see his collarbones, the spot at the base of his neck. Leon’s tried not to think about what it would’ve been like if he’d put his mouth there last time, if he’d breathed in. But that doesn’t mean the temptation is any easier to ignore when it’s right in front of him. “You smell like last time,” he says, working hard to keep his tone even. Helpful. “Like you did at the All-Star Game.”

Matthew reels at that, rocking back, eyes widening. They’re so blue. Leon had noticed that even before they fucked, couldn’t not. How bright they would get when Matthew would chirp him; how focused they’d be before the puck dropped. How they fluttered shut when Leon first pushed his fingers inside him, mouth opening as he came.

“I smell like last time?” Matthew asks, his scent blooming in the space between them.

Leon nods, clenching his fists in his pockets to keep from doing anything he shouldn’t. “Yeah. Like…” How is he supposed to describe it? He’s never known anything like this. Not the way Matthew’s scent seems to stick in his nose, until it’s the only thing Leon’s aware of. Not the way it makes his whole body flushed and warm, like the heat in Matthew is trying to burn him up, too.

Matthew steps forward. Leon wants to move closer, but holds himself back. He can’t help opening his mouth, though, breathing Matthew in. The scent goes straight to his head as he watches Matthew take a breath of his own.

The effect is immediate. His pupils dilate; his exhale is harsh. When Matthew curses and sways, Leon moves to catch him on instinct. When his fingers brush the back of Matthew’s hand, the skin is fever-hot under his fingertips.

“Hey, hey,” Leon says, even as his own head spins. Now he can feel desire, too, sparkling up and down his spine. But that’s not—Matthew might not want that. Fuck, if he did, though—

Matthew exhales hard, shivering in Leon’s grip. He already looks like he’s coming undone, like he could fall apart right here and now. Leon grabs his shoulders to keep him from falling over. “Hey,” he repeats. “Matthew. Look at me.”

Matthew opens his eyes, stares unseeingly at Leon’s face. They’re so, so dark. His mouth is so, so red.

“I can get you the code to the heat room here,” Leon says, trying to remember what he meant to do here. Be polite. Helpful. He can help by getting Matthew into the heat room, giving him a place to ride this out. He can help by stripping Matthew down, by pressing his fingers in where Matthew must be wet already, by giving Matthew what Leon knows he needs—fuck. He’s not doing that. He’s not. Not if Matthew doesn’t want him to. “I—if you tell me who,” he says, even though it goes against every instinct he has to say it, even though he knows he could take care of Matthew better than any of those fucks on the Flames. “I can go find someone from your side—”

Matthew jerks in his grip, recoiling. His scent turns, becomes harsher, scorching Leon’s throat.

“Okay,” Leon says quickly, until Matthew relaxes again, until that heady spiciness is back. “Okay, so, not that.” A tiny spark of triumph burns in his stomach—he knew Matthew wouldn’t want any of them, he knew it—but he tramples it down. “I’m sure they have supplies.”

“You could. Like last time.”

At first, Leon thinks he’s imagined it. That he wanted it so badly that he made himself hear it. But slowly, he realizes he hasn’t. Not when Matthew’s looking at him, eyes dark with desire. Not when Matthew’s still so close to him, hasn’t yet pulled away.

“Is that what you want?” Leon asks. He has to know. He has to be sure.

For a long moment, Matthew doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Then, he nods.

Leon stares back at him. He can’t keep track of what he’s feeling. For a year now, he’s tried not to think about this exact moment. About what he would do if he had the chance to take Matthew through heat again. He’d figured it wouldn’t happen. That St. Louis was a one-time opportunity. That he’d have to be content with memory alone.

But Matthew doesn’t want one of his teammates, and he doesn’t want to do it alone. He wants Leon. 

Maybe Leon won’t have to be satisfied with just once.

“If that’s what you want, then I—” Leon’s voice catches in his throat. He rubs his thumb along Matthew’s upper arm. “I can help.”

Matthew’s scent curls between them. It coats Leon’s tongue, fills up his lungs, until every inch of him burns.