#Electric Glass coffee kettle

[toytulini]

i may not be able to open posts from my notes or messages or get more context on posts via looking at the notes, but at least i can make fucked up coffee properly now

[yanderenightmare]

stalker bakugou🥺 him being sad and lonely

Bakugou Katsuki

TW: yandere, stalking

gn reader

He’d tried ripping it out. He’d tried fighting it off and spitting it out along with a bloody tooth on the ground, leaving it there in the rubble. Forget about it. Sweat it out. Smoke it out. Forget about it.

But his feelings for you weren’t that easy to shake.

He doesn’t understand what the fuck he’s doing anymore – something in the forefront of his mind acts on impulses before that voice pushed way down into the very back of his mind is able to catch up and stop him.

But there he is – too late yet again – watching you in all your oblivious glory where you step about your kitchen, dressed only in underwear and a pair of slippers, dancing to the tunes of an old record player he can’t hear in the condo he’s bought across the street.

Completely baren aside from a kettle and a jar of instant coffee on the kitchen counter – plus the coffee cup held in his hand. He pays the electric bill but still stands in the dark, a hair’s length away from the glass while gazing at you.

He ought to just move in there, despite it being but a fraction of the size of his actual house. He spends more time there anyway, ten or so meters away from you.

It was a shitty place anyway – similar to yours, though you managed to make it look cozy – putting pictures over water stains and flakey paint, laying out carpets over the cold faux wood paneling.

He sits down and crosses his legs, continuing to watch you while wondering if you’d do him the same justice. He’s quite shitty himself… He wonders if you’d decorate his stains and flakes with pictures and wrap him in carpets to keep him from being cold. If you’d take time to make him cozy – if you could rest easy in his arms the way you do that old beaten couch you sprawl out on with dinner in hand.

You’re both alone, but somehow you don’t look lonely. Not like him. You don’t seem tortured by it – bitten and eaten and beaten by it.

You don’t seem to mind it at all... You seem happy – comfortable in your own company.

His coffee goes cold, and his eyelids begin to droop, and soon you turn off your TV and then the lights and head to bed.

He sighs, looking into your pitch-black apartment, knowing he won't be able to see you until morning. And with the distraction gone, he puts both hands in his hair and begins to ball them up, rip at the strands – bowing until his forehead thunks against the window.

What the fuck is he doing? The two of you barely even know each other. You’re just a silly intern who brings him and a dozen other people coffee. Is he really that pathetic and lonely to fall for the first cute face he comes across? And so awkward that he becomes a creepy stalker who watches them in secret while they're at home? And so desperate that he buys the condo across from them to continue indulging his insane antics?

He has no answers anymore… he thinks, lying down on the shoddy cold paneling, eyes staring up at the water stain on the ceiling, trying to find ways to make it look like you...

He closes his eyes.

You’re driving him mad.

[wonnieaura]

₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. College essentials

Are you moving to a college dorm for the first time and don’t know what to bring? Don’t worry I got you. Here are a few things you can get yourself ready for a new chapter 🫶���💗🎀🌱

COLLEGE ESSENTIALS

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Bedding and Comfort

• Twin XL sheets (common dorm bed size)

• Comforter or duvet

• Pillows and pillowcases

• Mattress topper (memory foam for extra comfort)

• Throw blankets

• Decorative pillows

Storage and Organization

• Under-bed storage bins

• Closet organizers

• Hangers

• Desk organizers (for pens, notebooks, etc.)

• Drawer dividers

• Shoe rack

• Storage ottoman (can double as seating)

Kitchen and Dining

• Mini fridge

• Microwave

• Electric kettle

• Coffee maker

• Reusable water bottle

• Plates, bowls, and utensils

• Mugs and glasses

• Tupperware (for leftovers and snacks)

• Snack stash

Bathroom Essentials

• Shower caddy (for transporting toiletries)

• Shower shoes/flip-flops

• Bath towels and washcloths

• Toiletries (shampoo, conditioner, soap, toothpaste, etc.)

• Robe

• Toilet paper

• Laundry basket and detergent

• Bath mat

• Mirror

Study and Technology

• Desk lamp with adjustable brightness

• Laptop and charger

• Power strip with surge protection

• Extension cords

• USB flash drive or external hard drive

• Noise-canceling headphones

• Desk chair cushion (for added comfort)

• Notebooks, pens, and planners

Décor and Personal Touches

• Wall art or posters

• String lights or LED lights

• Rug (to make the room cozier)

• Plants (real or fake)

• Photo frames or a corkboard (to display memories)

• Command hooks (for hanging items without damaging walls)

• Curtains (if the dorm allows)

Health and Wellness

• First-aid kit

• Reusable face masks

• Hand sanitizer

• Disinfecting wipes

• Vitamin supplements

• Water filter pitcher

Miscellaneous

• Fan or space heater (depending on climate)

• Tool kit (for small repairs)

• Umbrella

• Bicycle lock (if biking to campus)

• Reusable shopping bags

• Sewing kit

[themalhambird]

Aaaaaand now, for a little post-bar-late-night-chit-chat between the boys....

It should be bliss. The bed is soft, the flat is warm, and for the first time in what feels like a decade or three Charles Whiteman can go to sleep with the absolute certainty that he’s not going to wake up bombed to pieces. But he can’t sleep, because he keeps straining for the tell-tale hum of the sodding luftwaffe. He’s still bracing for the sirens to start blaring, and the streetlights fading softly through the curtains are making his chest tighten, convincing him that right now, this street is thrusting its arm up in the air yelling pick me- actively volunteering to be Hitler’s prime target. He stares up at the ceiling for another ten minutes then gives up, rolling out of bed and making for the sitting room. This television thing is smashing- stuffed to the brim with rubbish that has no right to be so mindlessly entertaining and of course, a whole lot of good looking women in short skirts. Some really short skirts. Whiteman wonders-

The thought drops dead when he takes one step through the sitting room door, going for the lightswitch before he clocks Hillinghead. The man’s sitting in the armchair nearest the window, curtains open (that damned street light) but otherwise  in complete darkness. Reading. “No wonder you need glasses,” Whiteman says. 

“Whiteman. Can you not sleep either?” 

Whiteman drops his hand from the lightswitch without flicking it on. “Too quiet,” he says. Hillinghead does that hum-snort-scoff thing of his that Whiteman figures is amusement. 

“Too loud,” he counters, turning the page. 

“Mind if I get the lamp?” It’s not escaped Whiteman’s notice that the other man finds electric lights uncomfortable, even more than they make him feel. It makes sense, Whiteman guesses. They’re bright by his standards- he doesn’t know if Hillinghead even has electric lights in his home. 

“By all means.”  

Whiteman crosses to the right hand corner of the room and grabs the metal stem of the standing lamp. It comes on with touch. Fascinating. He throws himself on to the sofa and stretches out, angling himself so that he’s looking at Hillinghead. “Do you sleep in your suits?” he says. The man is, no kidding, wearing a tie at four o’clock in the morning. 

“No, I just- get dressed if I’m leaving the bedroom.” Hilinghead closes his book and stands. For a second Whiteman thinks he’s chased the guy off, but he just says

“Tea? Coffee?”

Whiteman hides a smirk. Electric lights might get on his nerves, but electric kettles, Hillinghead really seems to like. And the abundance of tea and coffee is something that they both appreciate: for Whiteman, a combination of rationing and supply problems can make tea in particular tricky to get hold of; for Hillinghead, coffee in particular was a rarely-consumed  luxury. And, Whiteman was convinced, the man just really likes using the kettle. A bit of a weird quirk, but everything about this situation is weird. “Sure,” he says, “Whatever you’re having.” 

Hillinghead nods and leaves the room. Whiteman gets up to pilfer his book and throws himself back down, studying the cover. Lady Audley’s Secret, the front cover declares- flipping to the title page, Whiteman sees that it was first published in 1862. When Hillinghead comes back five minutes later with two mugs of steaming black tea, Whiteman waves it at him “Reminds you of home?” he asked. 

“My wife- before we were married, we were…fifteen , I believe. Her mother said she wasn’t old enough to read it so she asked me to buy her a copy and to read it to her while she sat with my mother on a Tuesday afternoon.”

“Your mum didn’t mind?”

“My mother was ill, by that time, she would be asleep on the sofa twenty minutes after Charlotte arrived, more often than not,” he pauses. “She died before we could finish the book. We both did finish it, but separately - I read it myself and then I took off the cover and rebound it with-” he breaks off abruptly, and takes a long sip of his tea, avoiding Whiteman’s eye.

“What,” Whiteman prods. “What did you do? Cut a novel sized hole in the Bible and shove it in?”

“No.”  Hillinghead takes another long sip of tea and then confesses, sounding a little embarrassed: “...it was a collection of Hymns, Psalms, and other Spiritual Poetry.” Whiteman starts to laugh. “When my father found out he whipped me so hard I still had the bruises a month later,” Hillinghead adds. “It was his book, I shouldn’t have taken it.”

“Still,” Whiteman says. “Neat trick.” There’s genuine fondness in Hillinghead’s voice when he speaks about Mrs Hillinghead. Whiteman wants to ask more about this “Arthur” Hillinghead mentioned in the pub that afternoon, but without that 21st century daylight, and without Hasan’s and Maplewood’ casual acceptance, it feels like a topic too dangerous to be broached. Whiteman doesn’t care, per say- he’s always been one to turn a blind eye, or even shoot off a quiet  warning to the odd blokes not quite being discreet enough with the eyes they’re  making at each other. But it’s not something you openly talk about, not for him and certainly not for Hillinghead. So instead he sips his own tea and says,

“When I was a nipper, my dad caught me eating the biscuits my mum had made to take to this meeting, her and her friends got together once a week and they took turns bringing the cake or whatnot.”

“Oh? What happened?”

“He helped me finish them off, then we figured out how to make more.” Whiteman grins. Hillinghead actually laughs. “We got away with it, too,” Whiteman says. “Mum said she couldn’t figure out what she’d done differently that time to make them taste so good,” Hillinghead’s laughter grows. “If I can get the stuff together, I should make them for Esther when I get back.” His good mood dims a little. “If I get back. If she’s alright when I get back. I gave her a couple of people to go to, if - if I went out one night and didn’t come back. The bombings…y’know. Rabbi Goldstein. Inspector Calloway. Either of them would look out for her- but only if she goes. It’s been hard enough convincing her to do what I say when I am around.”

“I am sorry,” Hillinghead says quietly. “If nothing else, from what you’ve said the child sounds like she has a knack for survival.”

Whiteman snorts. “She does that.” 

They both turn their attention to their tea, each  sinking into their own thoughts. But it’s a companionable kind of silence, the knowledge that the other man knows at least a little something of how he’s feeling is a comfort to each. Whiteman hasn’t told Inspector Hillinghead that his daughter’s name’s a household one in his time, that Vera Lynn, Charlie Chaplin, and Polly Hillinghead keep Britain marching on, and he wonders if he should. He wants so badly to know about Esther. But Maplewood has said they need to limit their knowledge of the future as much as possible, or their knowledge of the immediate future of their own times, at any rate, and Hasan had agreed - citing the authority of “science fiction” in general and “Doctor Who” in particular. So mum’s the word- he hasn’t even told Maplewood or Hasan. And much as he wants to, he isn’t going to attempt to try and  trace Esther. Right now, he can just about convince himself that she’s out there somewhere, an absolute rogue of an old lady with an army of  grandchildren, like his mum had always wanted to have. He’ll take Esther to meet his mum, when this is over. If he presents a sort-of grandkid, she might stop nagging him about a daughter in law. Well, a man can dream, can’t he?

…but he doesn’t, not for the rest of that night: the first he knows about falling asleep is Maplewood yanking the blanket off him. “Oi!” he complains, and then: “...where did that even come from?”

“Budge up, I want to eat my cereal and you’re hogging all the sofa space. You didn’t grab the blanket?”

“Nope.” They both look over to the armchair. Hillinghead has nodded off, a blanket of his own and his still open book held limply on his lap. “Soft touch.” Whitehead mutters affectionately. 

“Don’t wake him up!” Maplewood whisper-hisses. 

“Hey- you woke me up, yelling about your bleeding cereal,” Whiteman counters, but he makes room for her on the sofa as he says it. “So,” he says. “What’s the plan, for today?”

[betweenujb]

peppermint tea

sana x jihyo

warnings: fluff, jealous sana, slight angst?

It didn't take a genius to see that Sana was upset about something. That something though... Jihyo had no clue. They were out having a fun time at a Christmas party with some of the other JYP artists when Sana suddenly started answering Jihyo's questions with one-word responses and side-eyeing the hell out of her.

Jihyo thought refilling Sana's drink and grabbing her food would have made things better because Sana loved it when Jihyo did little things like that. Instead, Sana went from one-word answers and side-eying her to ignoring her and not even looking at her.

By the time the party ended, Sana barely agreed to go home with Jihyo even though they lived together. Jihyo tried to say something to Sana once they got in the car, but the second Sana buckled her seatbelt, she turned her knees towards the door and rested her head against the window.

Jihyo just gave a small nod, started the car, and stayed silent the entire ride. She usually plugged her phone in to play music, but she was afraid that Sana would either turn the radio off or chastise her for the song she picked.

Fifteen incredibly quiet and very uncomfortable minutes later and Sana practically tumbled out of Jihyo's car once she parked it in their building's lot. Jihyo followed a few steps behind her girlfriend, glad that Sana was at least willing to take the same elevator with her up to their unit. Even if Sana was standing so close to the elevator doors that her breath was fogging up the metal.

The second the elevator dinged signaling they had made it to their floor and the doors opened, Sana bolted out of the elevator and briskly walked down the hall. She punched the numbers into the keypad so hard that Jihyo was afraid they were going to break.

Even after they were both in the apartment and had taken their shoes off, Sana still wouldn't look at Jihyo. She turned the electric kettle on and went to their bedroom to change into her pajamas without a single word.

Jihyo let out a long sigh and set her car keys down in the bowl by the front door. She shuffled over to the sink and pulled two mugs out. She grabbed ginger tea for herself and peppermint for Sana, placing the tea bags in their respective mugs before sitting on the couch in the living room. She really wanted to change into her pajamas as well, but she didn't really want to anger Sana even more.

Once Sana emerged from the bedroom and the kettle started to whistle, Jihyo got up and swapped places with her. While Jihyo changed into her pajamas, Sana poured water into the two mugs. She brought both mugs over and set Jihyo's down on the glass coffee table in front of the TV.

Jihyo was pleasantly surprised to see that Sana didn't just pick up her own mug of tea and leave hers on the kitchen counter, but the pleasantness wore off as soon as she took a seat on the opposite side of the couch.

Blowing into her tea in a poor attempt to cool it down, Jihyo tried to focus on how hot the mug was rather than how cold Sana was making her feel. She hated not knowing what her girlfriend was mad about, but she genuinely had no clue.

The entire day was perfectly fine that Jihyo could recall. They woke up on time and had breakfast together. They took a shower and went to the grocery store. Jihyo snuck one of Sana's favorite snacks into the cart as they were checking out. They even had time to relax and take a nap before the party, and Sana wasn't pissed off until the middle of the party.

Jihyo knew Sana better than the back of her hand. It wasn't like Sana to be this upset and not say something about it. It also wasn't like Sana to give Jihyo the cold shoulder in front of a huge group of people. Sure, she'd give her a stern look to let Jihyo know they would be talking once they got home, but she had never blatantly ignored her at an event.

Halfway through her tea and the millionth time replaying the day's events over in her head, Jihyo sat her mug down on the coffee table. She couldn't stand the tension anymore and she really wanted to at least hug Sana. Turning to her girlfriend, Jihyo crossed her legs and tucked them in, resting her chin in her hand.

"Did I do something wrong?" Jihyo asked a little more sheepishly than she wanted, but when Sana was mad, she could be scary. The last time Jihyo had been on the other end of Sana's anger was when she finished a show without her that they'd been watching together for months.

For the first time in at least two hours, Sana turned to Jihyo and looked at her. It was a glare, and it sent a chill down Jihyo's spine, but it was better than Sana staring straight ahead and angrily sipping her peppermint tea.

"I'm sorry if I did something wrong, but I don't-" Jihyo tried to explain what she thought could possibly be going through Sana's head, but she was coldly interrupted by a scoff.

Sana sat her mug down beside Jihyo's and crossed her arms over her chest, sinking back into the couch. "You really don't know what you did to make me this upset?"

Jihyo opened her mouth, thought for a few seconds, and closed it again. She shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. "If I knew I would have apologized a hundred times by now."

If an eye roll could be heard, Jihyo's sure that the one Sana gave her would have been heard in California. Jihyo grimaced and leaned back into the arm of the couch, placing her hands in her lap to fidget with the hem of one of her pajama pant legs.

Sana huffed and pulled her phone out, scrolling through the tabs she had open on her phone. When she found the one she needed, she turned her phone towards Jihyo, handing it to her.

Jihyo raised an eyebrow in confusion as she hesitantly picked her girlfriend's phone up. From the title, it looked like any shitty article a netizen would write. Jihyo scrolled through, not bothering to read any of the text until her eyes landed on the pictures included.

All the girls were in at least one tabloid article every few months or so. Most of them were stupid and had little to no proof to back up the bullshit claims they were making, but occasionally, there were those few that slipped through the cracks. They were still a load of crap, but they were harder to get rid of.

The one that Jihyo looked at was one with little to no proof to back up bullshit claims, but the series of four pictures would look damning in any context to Sana.

Jihyo was walking side-by-side with Itzy's Yeji. Judging from the outfits they were wearing and the date the article was published, Jihyo guessed that they were coming out of one of the music show studios. They weren't doing anything weird like holding hands, but their hands were pretty damn close.

Zooming in until the quality of the pictures were no better than an '80s video game, Jihyo determined — even if she knew she wasn't in the first place — that she was indeed not holding hands with Yeji.

"I don't see what I did wrong. I was walking out of a music show with Yeji, but we weren't holding hands or anything like that." Jihyo's eyebrows were knitted together as she still tried to figure out why Sana would be so upset over something like this.

"I can see that, Jihyo. That's not why I'm pissed off at you right now." Sana rolled her eyes again and picked her phone back up, laying it in her lap. "I'm pissed off because halfway through the party you were standing pretty fucking close to Yeji. You put your hand on her hip, and you refilled her drink."

"Sana, there were so many people in that space that I barely had room to breathe. My hand was on Yeji's hip for a millisecond because someone was trying to squeeze by her. She didn't hear that someone was trying to get by, so I tapped her hip to get her attention. And I offered to refill her drink since I was making the trip to refill yours."

Although Jihyo did make a fair point that the room they were in was packed, it didn't make Sana any less upset. "You could have just told her that someone wanted to get by. You didn't have to touch her like that."

Jihyo let out a small sigh and uncrossed her legs. She got up and sat beside Sana, taking her girlfriend's hand into her own. Sana half-heartedly tried to tug her hand out of Jihyo’s, but she was kind of glad to be touching her again.

"Baby look at me please." Jihyo's voice was soft. She knew that Sana was still pissed off and she knew that it wasn't for the most awful reason it could possibly be, but she knew how jealous Sana could get.

Sana waited a few seconds before she barely turned her head to look at Jihyo. She knew that Jihyo was just going to try and be sweet like she always was, but it wasn't going to work this time.

"I'm sorry that I put my hand on Yeji's hip, but I promise it wasn't because I was trying to come onto her or something." Jihyo held Sana's hand up to her lips, gently kissing the back of it. "I realize now that I could have just told her, but I was afraid that she wouldn't hear me because she didn't hear the person who was trying to get by."

Sana stayed silent, unwilling to budge on the matter. If Jihyo was so sorry, then she shouldn't have done it in the first place.

"I love you, and I don't want anyone but you. I try to make that clear in everything I do."

"But what about all those girls at the awards shows that we talk to, and you flirt with?" Sana frowned and squeezed Jihyo's hand.

Jihyo just chuckled and shook her head, kissing the back of Sana's hand again. "Baby, I promise you I'm not flirting with them. I'm just trying to make them comfortable because most of them are rookies and it can be scary to go to those award shows and events. Remember how nervous we were until some of the older idols decided to talk to us?"

It had been ages since they debuted, but Sana still remembered her first year as a member of Twice like it was yesterday. Everything was so new and exciting, but it was also terrifying. They knew people in the industry at all the shows and events they went to, but it was scary trying to talk to people you had seen and idolized in your childhood.

Sana sighed, her anger and jealousy slowly melting away. It was almost impossible for her to ever be mad at Jihyo. Especially when Jihyo was peppering light kisses to the back of her hand like she was the most special person in the world.

"I just don't want you to get bored of me or think that I'm not good enough for you anymore." Sana mumbled, her true feelings starting to show through her usually bright and confident exterior.

Since that first day she met Sana, Jihyo knew that her girlfriend struggled with self-confidence. It took a while for Sana to start liking the face she saw staring back at her in the mirror every day. Twice got popular quickly but it took Sana years to grow into the bubbly and confident girl she was now.

"I would never get bored of you, Sana. I've thought that you were too good for me since the first day we started dating." Jihyo let out a small laugh, a soft smile on her face as she pulled Sana into her side. "You know how you've been drinking the same peppermint tea every night for the past three years?"

Sana let Jihyo pull her close and wrap an arm around her shoulder. Out of instinct, she easily melted into her, wrapping her arm around Jihyo's waist. "Yeah."

"You're still not tired of it, are you? You still get excited when you get home from a long schedule and take that first sip." Jihyo rubbed a soothing hand up and down Sana's arm, the other still holding hers.

Sana shook her head again. Other than seeing Jihyo after a long schedule, that peppermint tea was the thing she was most excited to see and taste. It had a soothing minty but mild flavor, and it managed to calm her down.

"Even though I've been with you since we debuted and I see you almost every day now that we're living together, I'm not tired of you. You're my peppermint tea." Jihyo kissed the crown of Sana's head, continuing the soothing motion on her arm. "Even if I've had the shittiest day in the world, I get so excited that I get to come home and eventually see you."

It was things like this that made it impossible for Sana to not love Jihyo. She knew exactly what to say to let Sana know that she was, in fact, not going anywhere.

"It doesn't matter if you're wearing an expensive dress with the most beautiful makeup or cheap pajamas and no makeup at all. I still get those butterflies that are about to burst out of my stomach each time I see you."

It was quiet for a moment as Sana took Jihyo's words in. Eventually, she pushed away from Jihyo's side a little and looked up at her, searching for any insincerity in her girlfriend's eyes. When she saw nothing but pure love and adoration, Sana leaned in and placed a gentle kiss to Jihyo's cheek.

"I'm sorry I got jealous. I just... I love you."

Despite hearing them at least four times a day from Sana, those three words still made Jihyo's heart melt. "You don't have to apologize, baby. It's okay to be jealous sometimes, but just remember that it's always going to be you and me."

Sana nodded and flashed Jihyo that perfect smile she fell head over heels for every day. Jihyo leaned forward a bit and gently placed her lips against Sana's.

She tasted just like peppermint tea, and she was so in love.

[neonponders]

Part 3 for the wonderful @wrecked-fuse ‘s pocketverse!

~ Part 2 here ~

on ao3 here ~

🚬 🚬 🚬

Little Steve smoothed his blue shirt over himself as he stood on Mrs. Harrington’s compact mirror, tiny foot prints on the glass below him and one hand print on the glass in front of him.

“You okay, lil man?” big Steve asked as he set down a teacup saucer of meticulously chopped fruit on the coffee table. Then he furrowed a brow at Billy following the aerobics exercises on the television...in his full aviator outfit. “Is he okay?”

Billy answered himself, amongst enthusiastic grunts and howls, “Gotta stay fit t’stay sharp, Stevwie!”

“Can you take the jacket off, at least? I don’t want to have to figure out how to clean that.”

“No way! HEY.”

Steve pinched the back of his coat, but only enough to make him stop jazzercising. “Heat stroke is serious, B. Don’t cook the one marble you’ve got.”

Billy slid right out of his jacket, exposing a sweat line down the back of his new, red shirt. “Did you cook too much and get soft?”

“I don’t want to hear it from the guy living in my pocket. Be grateful for the extra cushion.”

Billy cackled and went back to exercising. Steve began to stand up to get him some water, but frowned at little Steve munching forlornly on a piece of pear. “Steve? What’s up?”

For such a little guy, those big brown eyes blinked up at him like a javelin to his heart. Steve wondered if this was what he was like when he got his way all too often in years past.

“I...I think I stink.”

His concerned face lifted up to meet Steve’s matching one, small hands twisting the fabric of his blue button-up.

How is he insecure? He’s been alive for like a minute - 

“You smell good to me!” Billy called.

Oh, Steve corrected and knelt down to set his head on the table. “Come here. Let me get a whiff of you.”

Little Steve stepped off the compact mirror to press his tummy against Steve’s lips, arms outstretched so his hands waited on Steve’s cheek. Giggles bubbled out of him as the larger Steve inhaled short bursts of air. “You know...you might be right. We can fix that - and speaking of funk.”

The squawk that came out of Billy was one for the books as Steve took the dishtowel off his shoulder and caught Billy on it by sweeping it behind his knees. “Foul pway!”

“It’s bath time,” Steve clipped, pausing long enough for little Steve to climb onto the towel as well. On his way to the kitchen, Steve opened the glass display case of his mother’s fine china, and took out the largest teacup. At the sink, he filled it up two-thirds of the way, and dripping in hot water from the electric kettle. “Reach in there, tell me if it’s too hot or too cold.”

“Why do we need baths?” Billy cried indignantly.

“Because it gives you something to do while I wash and blow-dry your clothes.”

“You’re makin’ us into swoup!”

“How about some bubbles?” Steve segued, swiping the tiniest smear of dish soap onto his finger and mixing it into the cup. He didn’t trust them on their own while he got proper soap from upstairs, so it would have to do. Either way, little Steve brightened at the rainbow suds and Billy gave one a derisive poke. “Come on, you two. You’ll feel better after your first bath.”

“Come on, Biwwy!” Steve heralded, accepting the hand to propel him up and over the edge. For a micro second, big Steve felt terrified that they couldn’t swim, but the cup was shallow enough for the little one to sit with his head above water. He kind of rolled like a floatation device as well.

Not to be outdone, Billy gripped the rim of the cup. When Steve offered to help him, he groaned, “I got this, pwetty boy.”

Steve pressed his lips into an annoyed line, but the little bastard managed it with a splash. One by one, sopping wet garments got flung out of the cup. Steve said dryly, “Thanks, guys. I’m carrying you upstairs, okay?”

Billy seemed to be gauging the correct level of enjoyment from little Steve, who sat blissfully against the curved wall of the cup, soaking.

Big Steve had his sights set on the special detergent he kept upstairs. Just because he could replace certain things didn’t mean they didn’t mean a lot to him. So he filled his bathroom sink with suds from the delicates detergent and agitated the water with the clothes for a few minutes until he rinsed them off.

By then, Billy and Steve needed to be moved to a towel, so he blowdried a washcloth to get it toasty, and helped them out to it. Steve kept the blast of air away from them while he dried the clothes, watching mutely as little Steve patted Billy down with a corner of the washcloth.

It was Billy who noticed and pointed, “What’s that!”

Steve turned off the hair dryer and answered, “Lotion. It makes your skin soft.”

Billy audibly scoffed, but then his brows furrowed contemplatively. “Do you use it?”

“Yep. Do you want some?”

“If Stevwie wants some,” he countered.

“Does it smwell nice?” said Steve asked.

Big Steve dodged, “It’ll make you smell like me,” because it was fragrance-free. His hair products and detergents had enough fragrance for his taste.

He already had a cotton swab ready, and pumped out a small drop on both ends. Setting it down, he advised, “Just get some on your hands and rub it into your skin. Don’t put it in your hair.”

Little Steve piped, “What about my haiwr?”

“I can take care of your hair,” Steve soothed. “One thing at a time.”

Billy was grimacing over his lotioned legs stretched out over the washcloth. “This is grwoss! Why do you do this?”

“Just give it a second. You’ll be fine. Do you want to work on your hair or me?”

“Me! You can’t be twusted with these perfwect waves.”

Steve exhaled a measured sigh and held an eyedropper of hair oil. Billy reached his hands up for the drop, and climbed onto the detergent cap to see himself in the mirror. Steve, meanwhile, used a fresh swab to dab water from little Steve’s hair.

“Steve?”

He paused. “Yeah?”

The little one hesitated, but it was a marvel how much expression he had for someone so small. He seemed afraid, but hopeful. “Is...is there a big Biwwy?”

“Big Billy?” Steve repeated dumbly. “Uh. Yeah, actually. There is.”

Brown eyes widened as small Billy rotated to ask, “Is he cool like me?”

Steve sassed, “Is he an adorable little punk? No. He’s usually a big pain in my ass.”

He felt small hands on his forefinger as little Steve held onto him. “Is big Biwwy like you?”

His voice softened as he petted a swab with hair oil over his head. “What do you mean?”

“You have a Biwwy. And Biwwy has a Steve. Does Biwwy have a Steve and Biwwy?”

“I...don’t think so,” he said warily, thinking of Max. “We would’ve gotten word by now if he knew about you.”

Those little features opened. “He doesn’t know!”

Steve’s own cramped a little. “You want him to know?”

That slightly disproportionate head went rosy with a blush. “My Biwwy needs a Steve. I can be Steve for big Biwwy too!”

However, small Billy piped in, “I’ll be the judge o’him! This big one just barwely made the cut!”

Steve’s eyes rolled. “Thanks, B. You’re a peach. I guess...I have a phone call to make.”

[bihansthot]

I write late at night when I can’t sleep so have a fluffy little drabble. It’s a tiny bit self indulgent as the reader does have anemia like myself but it’s only briefly mentioned and easily overlooked, I made this one gender neutral as it’s fluff. Hopefully you lovelies enjoy it. As always if you do please like, comment and reblog, engagement keeps me motivated.

Author Note: qīn is slang in Mandarin for bae or babe

“Are you warm enough qīn?” Bi-Han’s low voice rumbles against your ear as he drapes a fleecy blanket around your shoulders.

You settling down by the fire after a playful afternoon of making snow angels and having snowball fights with your lover. You try and hold back your shiver at the cryomancer’s close proximity, the steady cold rolling off his body. The crackling fire roaring in the fireplace doing little to mitigate the personal blizzard that was Sub-Zero. “Honestly Polar Bear I’m still pretty cold. You know I love playing out in the snow with you but I’m,” you trail off not wanting to make the conversation awkward.

“Anemic,” Bi-Han answers, “I know, you’re delicate when it comes to the cold. Even though you like it so much.” He laughs softly as he throws another log on the fire giving it a good poke or two before making his way to the wet bar in his large stone walled bedroom. “Coffee or hot chocolate,” he calls to you already knowing your answer as he fills the electric kettle and rummages around the overhead cupboards looking for the hot chocolate mix.

“Hot chocolate please,” you respond rubbing your hands together and scooting every so slightly towards the fire. Your illness made you more susceptible to the cold but that wouldn’t keep you away from the cryomancer, he was worth wearing extra layers for. You sigh contently and pull the blanket tighter around your shoulders as you sink into the comfortable pile of pillows of your little fireside nest. A smile graces your lips as you hear Bi-Han humming to himself in the kitchenette waiting for the kettle to whistle.

Bi-Han gets a mug from the cupboard and fills it with the instant hot chocolate mix and a splash of milk. He grabs another glass and ices it over before filling it with a deep, rich imported whiskey, a rare departure from his go-to baijiu. The hiss of the kettle ceases his humming as he makes a slightly annoyed ‘tch’ at the noisy appliance before yanking it off the trivet to pour the boiling water into your mug. Bi-Han watches the powder dissolve as he stirs the water into the mix before his deep chocolate eyes steal a glance at you. His life has always been one of difficulty and hardship but all of that seemed worth it whenever you were with him to soothe his worries and anger. With you he didn’t have to be Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei, he didn’t have to be Sub-Zero, he could just be Bi-Han.

His heavy footfalls echo in the vast chamber of the Grandmaster’s quarters as he makes his way back to you with both drinks in hand. “Here ya go qīn,” he mumbles as he hands you your hot chocolate, the drink slightly cooled from the cryomancer’s icy hands.

“Mmm thank you Polar Bear,” you smile and take a small sip as Bi-Han settles in next to you. “You don’t have to sit next to the fire, I know it makes you feel uncomfortable.”

“I want to be close to you, I won’t melt. You can’t fight a blizzard,” he rumbles and drops a kiss on top of your head before taking a drink of his icy whisky.

You make a face of doubt at his comment before rolling your eyes at his charming arrogance. “Spring can,” you quip at him before taking another sip of the warming, sweet beverage.

“Fuck Spring,” he huffs indignantly before draining his drink in one go.

You can’t help but burst into laughter at Bi-Han’s petulant response. You snuggle against his cold, well muscled chest feeling the slow, steady thump of the cryomancer’s heart as his strong arm wraps around your shoulders.

Bi-Han pulls you in for a chaste kiss, “sweet,” he mutters and licks his lips. His eyes flutter closed for a moment before lightening to an ethereal, icy blue. The cryomancer grasps your chin, tilting your head before pressing his cold lips to your warm ones.

It’s not long before you feel his icy tongue prying your mouth open as the slick organ wriggles into your hot cavern. A pleasured shiver runs through your body as you slowly untangle yourself from the blanket to free your hands. You make quick work of the elastic holding the cryomancer’s hair back as your fingers glide through his silken locks. You moan as your tongue tangles with Bi-Han’s, tasting the rich warm notes of vanilla and smoke still lingering on the cryomancer’s tongue.

He strokes your rosy cheek lovingly before slowly disengaging, “warm yourself first qīn, I don’t need you getting hypothermia.”

“Maybe I want hypothermia,” you sulk as you nurse your rapidly cooling not so hot chocolate.

Bi-Han barks out a laugh before he gets up to fix himself another drink, “patience qīn, patience.”

You sigh and pull the blanket back up, a mixture of frustration and adoration bubbling up inside you as you wait by the fire for Winter to join Spring.

[clarepreed]

Fade Part Two: Small Beginnings

Story Content and Summary - 6,006 words. Deirdre and Archer, aware of an electric connection between them, begin to get to know each other as they make a new friend. No resus (yet). Symptoms.

Part One

--

Archer tamped down his nervous energy as he crossed the street, headed for the downtown breakfast place where he had agreed to meet Deirdre. Three days had passed since she’d saved him from a likely stabbing, just before fainting dead away in his arms. Three days of texting back and forth and one phone call. Three days of not being able to stop thinking about her, about her bravery and her voice and her eyes and her scent. 

The chime jingled as he opened the door, briefly dissipating his thoughts. He nodded to the host, murmuring that his date was already here, seated on the back patio. The young woman directed him to cut through the dining room and out the open garage-style door near the rear corner. He spotted Deirdre as soon as he was outside, at home in the restaurant’s garden, her hair down and her petite hands wrapped around a white mug. When she saw him, she sat the mug down and stood, pretty in a denim jacket and a dark blue dress that flared out from a fitted bodice down to her knees.

“You found it,” she murmured, gazing up at him with a broad smile.

Archer opened his arms instinctively before his thinking brain caught up with the rest of him. He offered her an apologetic grin, but didn’t lower his arms. “I’d like to hug you, if that’s okay.”

“Please.” Deirdre stepped closer to him, her arms sliding around his waist as he bent to embrace her. Her hair smelled like lavender and something sweet, and he had to force himself not to inhale deeply. He hugged her, aware he was holding her tight and too long, only to be surprised when he released her and she clung to him a few seconds longer. When she let go, she offered another smile and murmured in her careful way. “It’s good to see you.”

As they were seating themselves a server approached, setting a glass of water at Archer’s place and handing him a menu. “What can I get you to drink, sir?”

“Coffee, please.” He smiled up at the server. “With cream.”

The server nodded and reached for a small kettle near Deirdre. “I’ll get you some fresh hot water, ma’am.”

“Thank you.”

He watched her drain the mug. “You got here early?”

“I did. I wanted to sit outside for a bit. Cheryl, the owner, told me she didn’t mind.” Deirdre leaned forward, her brow furrowing as she leafed through a small basket of sachets. “She just opened this place. I think I could like her. I met her at last months Downtown Business Association meeting.”

“It’s warmer out here than I expected.” Archer shrugged out of his brown leather jacket and draped it over the back of his chair.

“Autumn is a fickle season,” Deirdre replied, though her eyes were still on the tea. He watched her squint at one of the sachet tags before glancing up at him. “This is supposed to be a selection of herbal tisanes, but I like to make certain before I drink it.”

“You’re avoiding caffeine,” Archer guessed. He’d grilled Asa for any information about Deirdre’s condition that his brother could offer without examining her, from causes to antagonists to treatments. Asa had not held back, either from a professional desire to educate or from a sibling’s need to protect. Archer appreciated the information either way.

Deirdre arched an eyebrow at him, then nodded, her slim fingers plucking a tea bag from the basket. She unwrapped the sachet and dropped it into her empty mug. Her cheeks flushed pink. “It wouldn’t do to faint on you again.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t feel embarrassed, I mean. I’m glad you check these things.”

She smiled at him, then gestured at the menu. “My favorite thing here is the farmer’s breakfast, with fruit. I’ve been here multiple times a week since it opened.”

Archer grinned and dropped his eyes to the menu, skimming down the page until he found the dish in question. “Bacon or sausage, eggs to order, roasted tomato… I’ve never had grits.”

“Get them with jalapeño cheddar,” Deirdre said. He glanced up in time to catch her wink. 

“Alright, I’m entrusting my breakfast to your judgement,” he said. He couldn’t seem to stop smiling, especially when Deirdre kept smiling back at him. The server arrived then, dropping off a fresh pot of hot water for Deirdre, as well as a mug of coffee and a tiny pitcher of cream for Archer. He grinned ruefully at the server. “I’m having what she’s having.”

Deirdre laughed and explained: “Farmer’s breakfast. Bacon, eggs over easy, jalapeño cheddar grits, and fruit.”

“Perfect,” the server intoned. “Will this be one check, or—”

“One, please,” Deirdre replied, before Archer could open his mouth. “I’ve got it.”

“Deirdre—”

“Please, let me. As a thank you.” She smiled at the server as they left their table, then turned that smile on Archer. “I usually like to split, but I would very much like to treat you today.”

Archer poured a splash of cream into his coffee and stirred it with his spoon. He resisted the urge to dry the spoon with his mouth as he would have done at home, letting it drip for a moment into the mug before placing it on the saucer beneath. “The gesture is appreciated, and I won’t push it, but I’m pretty sure the entire reason you were unwell and needed help is because you saved my life. I should probably be buying you breakfast for the rest of my life, considering.”

He watched her fill her mug with hot water and then wrap her hands around the steaming mug.

“I’ve been wanting to ask you about your job,” Deirdre prompted, leaning forward in her chair. “But I wanted to ask you when I could watch you talk. You move your hands around a lot. And smile. I like watching you.”

“I don’t even notice what my hands are doing half the time,” Archer muttered, turning his hands palm-side up on the table. He felt warmth burn across his cheeks and in his chest as he thought about Deirdre enjoying the view. “Until I knock something over, that is.”

Then he took a sip of his coffee, wincing when it was still too hot. “As for my job, I write novels. I have two published books and I’m working on a third right now.”

“I have a confession,” Deirdre said, her grin canting sideways. “I Googled you.”

“I would be surprised if you hadn’t, honestly. I searched for you, too. Found lots of local news articles and your Instagram account. Thanks for accepting my follow, by the way. Oh, I found your business accounts, too. Your shop has a great online presence!”

“I bought your books. They should be here by the end of the day. I’d like you to tell me about them, though.” Deirdre wore a beaded necklace, several strands of seedlike beads in various shades of blue that wove together and nestled against her collarbones. Archer found his eyes tracing the line where the necklace met her skin. “You titled your debut Woe?”

Archer smiled, laughed, and shook his head. “My publisher named it that, and I was too anxious about getting published to argue. I originally called it Ides. I don’t want to give too much away, but that title will make sense once you read it. Also, thank you for buying my books. That’s…. It’s awesome, Deirdre. I still get just as excited each time someone I know wants to read my writing. Don’t, ah, let it stress you out, though. Woe, I mean.” He gave her what he hoped was only a half-serious look. 

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” she replied, laughing softly. “But I’ll keep your warning in mind.”

“It’s about grief,” he explained. “I was getting some things out. The next book was much more lighthearted. Almost didn’t get that one published.”

“Why not?”

“It’s very different from Woe. It’s about a cardiologist who befriends a funeral home director. Asa helped me with the research. I employed a fair amount of magical realism.” He shook his head. “If you read it, you’ll see how different Bloodlines is from Woe, and I think you’ll understand why they were hesitant to publish a novel so different from my first.”

“I will be sure to let you know what I think.” She sipped her tea, her attention briefly caught by a squirrel hovering at the edge of the patio. Then she blinked and looked back at him. “What about your current work?”

“My agent and publisher hate me,” he laughed. “This one’s about fairies!”

***

Deirdre felt a wave of pleasant surprise roll through her and forced herself to take a deep breath before she smiled at Archer. “Fairies?”

She’d obviously thrilled him by asking, a boyish grin dominating his features and his big, long-fingered hands floating up to gesture as he spoke. “So, there are fae in every culture on Earth, at least as far as I’ve been able to determine. People think fairies are simply European mythology, but there are stories from Africa, Asia and the Middle East, Central and Latin America… Anyway…” He trailed off, his eyes shifting from her face to the server, who was approaching their table with two plates.

The server placed their food in front of them. “Is there anything else I can get you? Refresh your coffee?”

“Ah,” he glanced down at his mug and then met the server’s eyes. “Please.”

Deirdre reached for a piece of bacon, watching as he collected his thoughts and picked up his fork. She allowed herself a moment to enjoy the explosion of fat and salt when she bit into the thick-cut bacon they served here. Her eyes briefly closed, and when she opened them, Archer’s eyes were on her mouth.

“Must be good,” he said, and she watched him try not to laugh. “It looked like you went to heaven for a second there.”

“I like bacon.” She blotted her lips with her napkin, her cheeks flushing hot. “Tell me more about your book!”

“Oh, it’s… I just wanted to enjoy writing something. It turned out my favorite parts of Bloodlines were the parts where I indulged in magical realism. So I’m writing a fantasy novel, but it’s going to be published alongside Woe as literary fiction, or at least general fiction. I’m being sneaky.” He broke his yolks with the tines of his fork. “So my work-in-progress assumes that the stories about the fae are based in reality.”

Dierdre made herself spear a cube of cantaloupe with her fork, but she kept her attention focused on Archer. “I think I would very much like to read it when it’s finished. Is there anything else you can tell me, or is it off-limits while you write?”

Archer took a moment to eat his eggs, nodding at the server as they refilled his coffee. He splashed a bit of cream into his mug. “I could talk all day about my novel. But Asa tells me that’s rude, though he frequently indulges me.”

Before she could respond, he shrugged and continued speaking. “There’s also the danger I tell you all about it and then end up taking it in a different direction.”

“But what made you choose fairies?” She forced herself to dig into her meal once the question was out, though it was hard to eat, both because of her interest in the subject and the way his warm brown eyes continually drifted to her mouth. 

“I’ve thought about this a lot,” Archer replied, wiping his mouth with his napkin before he continued. “I was obsessed with magic as a child. You couldn’t have convinced me of anything except that it was real. I loved all of it. Dungeons and Dragons, Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, Wheel of Time, Mists of Avalon… I could keep going. Asa used to tease me, saying I was just waiting for my magic to come in.”

He fell abruptly silent, his eyes unfocused with memory. Deirdre gave him a few long seconds before she spoke. “Were you?”

Archer blinked and his eyes refocused, a grin edged with sadness pulling on his handsome face. “Yeah. I was, truthfully.” His face flushed red.

“I think that’s wonderful,” she murmured, her voice soft. “But you stopped?”

He hesitated, then made an apologetic face. “‘I grew up’ sounds like an asshole thing to say right now. Because you seem genuinely interested, and I’m over here…” He lifted his hands and shrugged.

“You aren’t embarrassed, are you?” Deirdre took a sip of tea. “I hope you know you’ve said nothing you should feel embarrassed about.”

He flashed her a rueful smile that took up a surprising portion of his face. Even embarrassed, or however he was feeling, his smiles seemed to come often and easily. “It’s just that I was about to sound bitter. And I don’t want to do that this morning. I like you, Deirdre.”

“I like you, too.” Deirdre reached across the table and one of his hands met hers halfway. Their fingers intertwined, and she let out a soft gasp at the energetic frisson that traveled through her skin at his touch. The sensation was akin to magic, and she pressed her other hand to her chest, afraid she would cast a telltale blue glow.

His fingers gripped hers. “Deidre? Are you okay?” His eyes dropped to her hand pressed to her chest.

“I’m fine, don’t worry.” After a second’s hesitation, she dropped her hand. His eyes lifted to her face; evidently she wasn’t doing anything else unusual as far as he was concerned. “It wasn’t my heart.”

***

Archer ran his thumb across Deirdre’s knuckles. She’d lowered her hand from her chest and he heard her reassure him that nothing was wrong. He gave her an evaluating look, noting her relaxed posture and pink petal coloring. Then he grinned. “You needed to burp, and I called you out.”

Deirdre’s light eyes went wide, and then she yelped with laughter. “Excuse me!”

“You’re excused.” Archer smiled and squeezed her hand. “Do you have time for a walk after this? We’ve finished our food, but I’m not ready for this… date to be over.”

“I have time.” Deirdre seemed to feel much the way he did, her face caught in an endless smile as she notably did not disagree with his classification of breakfast as a date. “This is a ‘by appointment only’ day. And I don’t have an appointment until late afternoon.”

“How was everything?” the server asked, appearing at their table.

“Great,” Archer said, looking up at them. “Thank you.”

Deirdre released his hand, reaching for the small padded folder as the server extended it. She tucked a card into the pocket at the top and handed it back.

“Thank you,” Archer said again. Deirdre winked at him. Sunlight trickled through the tree branches overhead, dappling Deirdre’s hair and making her eyes look especially blue. She drained the last of her tea as the server returned with her card and a receipt to sign.

They made their way out of the restaurant and turned right onto the tree-lined sidewalk. Archer extended his arm and found she was already reaching for him, their palms matching and fingers lacing together. He slowed his stride to account for her petite frame.

“This is okay, right?” He peered down at her. “Going for a walk? Is it safe for you, I mean?”

“This is great. Being sedentary is no better for me than anyone else.” She sighed. “I wouldn’t try to play a game of soccer or run a race, I don’t think. But walking is fine.”

Archer wished he could see her face. He let them walk in silence for the rest of the block, appreciating the fresh air and the feel of her hand in his. Finally, he asked: “Is it okay that I asked my brother about your condition?”

He felt rather than saw her startlement. “Is it okay? Yes, of course. Most people just look things up online, but you’ve got your brother for that. Do you have questions for me?” Deirdre, still gripping his hand, reached across her body with the other and took hold of his arm. The gesture pulled them closer together.

“I do, actually,” he chuckled ruefully. “I wanted very much to text you my questions, but I told myself to be patient.”

“What do you want to know?” She was still speaking in her careful and delicate way, evidently unperturbed by the conversation. He could feel her warmth beside him, and her hand, though small, felt solid in his. 

“Asa wondered if you had an implanted device. I keep trying to call it an IED. Or an IUD. But it’s—”

“An ICD,” she interrupted, laughing. “But no, I don’t have one.”

Archer frowned. Asa made it sound like it was important that she have one, that a patient actually experiencing symptoms from their LQTS was in quite a bit of danger. His brother also mentioned medications she might take, so Archer asked about them, trying to keep his worry from his voice. “Do you take medicine for it? Asa said you might.”

“A beta blocker.” She squeezed his hand, then asked carefully, “Are you worried?”

Archer didn’t know her well enough yet to read her tone. He slowed down and looked around them before spotting an empty bench. “Not worried, so much as… Ah. It’s probably not what you think. Could we sit for a minute?” He let all of his air out in an anxious rush. 

Deirdre consented, though her brows dipped slightly. She kept hold of his hand as they sat together, turned slightly toward each other. Cars drove past, and people walked behind them. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You were saying?”

“I’m making you nervous,” Archer said, feeling slightly horrified. “Deirdre—”

“I was just thinking that we were having a nice time and how much I wanted to see you again.” Her eyes looked almost purple in the shadow of a sapling.

“I want the same thing,” Archer said. He wanted to reassure her, his eyes roving over her face, trying to read the minutiae of her expressions. A little tension around her eyes, easing as she breathed, watching him in return. “And I thought if we were going to be spending time together, I ought to know about your heart condition. Just in case.”

“Oh,” she said, her voice quiet and her lips curling up into a smile. “Very pragmatic.”

“I know you live by yourself and run your own business. I wouldn’t want you to feel controlled or underestimated.” Archer looked down at their clasped hands, then up at Deirdre’s face. The tension he’d spotted around her eyes was gone. “We have a connection, I think. I just want to make sure I do everything I can if you ever need my help.”

“Do you have any life-threatening allergies?” Deirdre asked, surprising him.

“Allergies? Oh… ah, no, not that I’m aware of. Asa is allergic to bees. I know how to use his Epi-pen.”

“What about asthma? Seizures?”

“No. I’m very lucky,” he told her. He ran his thumb over her knuckles again. “I get an annual physical to satisfy Asa. My cholesterol is excellent.”

Deirdre smiled. The expression reached her eyes and made her face glow. “I’m good, aside from the arrhythmia.”

“Just that one little thing,” he said, raising his eyebrows and chuckling. His eyes dropped to her mouth. Her bottom lip was fuller than the top, and both lips looked like they would be soft and warm if he kissed her. When he kissed her. Perhaps not out here, however. The bench was uncomfortable, though the row of saplings was nice. There were too many people out and about, and a number of vehicles trundling up the one-way street. Perhaps when they got to her store, he could ask her—

Mew! A small, sweet sound from somewhere by Archer’s feet.

***

He was looking at her mouth again. Archer’s eyes were warm and dark, his own mouth pulled into a dreamy sort of smile. His hair slipped forward, curling against his temple and cheek.

Deirdre considered whether or not she should ask if she could kiss him now, or if she should wait until they got to her store. They could slip into the back for a few moments. She could make him tea, sit with him in the pleasant space she’d set up for her office. They could talk. Then she would come close to him and push his hair back and ask him—

Mew! A tiny voice, like a bell.

Deirdre looked for the source of the sound and spotted a little gray body threading itself between Archer’s feet. She released his hand and quickly bent over, nearly clocking her head against Archer’s as he did the same. He caught the kitten with one of his big hands, then gingerly handed it to her, leaning close.

“Hello, sweetling,” Deirdre crooned, cuddling the kitten against her abdomen and curling a finger underneath its chin. The kitten struggled briefly, then relaxed, and she felt a subtle vibration in its throat.

“It’s so small,” Archer murmured. He reached out and gently lifted the kitten’s back leg. “She’s so small.”

“Do you see any others? Sometimes when the little ones are loose like this, it means someone dumped a litter. I hope not.” Deidre kept the kitten cuddled close, watching as Archer stood and walked over to the entrance to a nearby alley. She glanced down at the kitten. “Or perhaps you were just smaller than your brothers and sisters and got separated. I know what that’s like.”

“I don’t know where she came from,” Archer said. He sat back down beside her and reached out carefully, scratching the kitten between her eyes with the tip of one of his long fingers. “She has your eyes. Blue. Almost purple.”

Deirdre laughed. “Does she?”

“Yes. Another similarity.” Archer looked up at her. “Your siblings are tall? I heard what you said.”

“Everyone in my family is tall but me,” she said, sighing. “I’m the runt.”

“That’s not the most flattering way to refer to someone who is petite,” Archer chastised gently.

“I know. Self-deprecation is a bad habit.”

His leg nudged hers. “In Regency era England, you’d have been called a ‘pocket Venus.’”

“A what?” Deirdre cocked an eyebrow at him. “Should I feel insulted?”

“Not at all. Possibly offended that I’m calling attention to your body.” He offered her a sideways grin that did something to her, low in her belly. “A ‘pocket Venus’ is a beautiful, petite woman with an hourglass figure.”

“That’s much nicer than ‘runt.’” Deirdre looked down at the kitten. “She’s falling asleep.”

“She seems very young. I’m sure she’s exhausted.”

“Do you think it would be wrong of me to keep her?” Deirdre felt a sharp pang in her chest. Not her syndrome, she didn’t think. Emotion. The idea of giving up this sweet creature in her lap pained her.

“Why would it be wrong?”

“She might already have a home…” Deirdre trailed off as Archer shook his head.

“I don’t think so. She’s tiny and needs a bath. I think that if you want her, you should take her with you. In fact…” Archer leaned back, looking further down the sidewalk. “Isn’t there some kind of pet boutique between here and your shop?”

“Yes. They should be open.” She looked up at Archer and nodded. “I’m keeping her. This is my cat. I’ll get her supplies for home and work. Hopefully she doesn’t mind the car…”

“What will you name her?”

“Fae.”

***

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take some of that off your hands?” Deirdre asked. She had the kitten cradled against her chest while she dug her keys out of the small bag she wore across her body.

“I’m fine. You’ve got your hands full of precious cargo.” Archer had a soft-sided cat carrier slung over his shoulder and carried bags with food, toys, bed, litter box, and small dishes inside. They’d already dropped another set of similar items off at Deirdre’s car. While they were there, she’d taken the crying kitten out of the carrier, whispering something in the kitten’s ear and holding her close.

Deirdre let them into her store and flipped on the lights before leading him toward the back. Archer registered a riot of plants and islands of color; the store appeared to be set up like a series of open-plan rooms. He followed Deirdre across the hardwood floor and past an attractive high top table and chairs. A few steps down to another locked door, and then she led him into a sunny office space with tall windows and another abundance of plants. A sofa lined the wall across from the windows. There was a small desk in the space, as well as a kitchenette and doors leading to a bathroom and the exterior.

“That’s why that interior door is so hefty. Makes it harder to smash the windows in the front or back and get to both the stock and my office. Just put everything on the sofa for now,” Deirdre directed, setting her purse on her desk. “Thank you so much for going shopping with me. I rarely make such impulsive decisions…”

“Your impulses have been saving lives,” Archer said, depositing the bags on the sofa as requested. “Mine, Fae’s… Maybe being impulsive isn’t so bad?”

Before she could answer, a chime pealed overhead. Deirdre sighed, then smiled. “A customer. Do you mind watching Fae?” She carefully detached one of the kitten’s claws from the front of her dress and held her out to Archer. He took the tiny, soft pouf into his hands, smiling involuntarily.

Archer watched Deirdre hurry through the office door, then looked down at the kitten in his hands. She was blinking sleepily and peering over his fingers, her diminutive tail lifting over her back. He cupped the kitten in his palm and scratched her between the ears. “Alright, little one. Let’s get you set up while Deirdre makes a sale.”

He attended to the task one-handed, finding a spot in the bathroom for the litter box and filling it with litter. He tucked the litter jug underneath the sink. Then he sat the shallow food and water bowls by the sofa after filling the water bowl at the sink. He sat the food and toys on Deirdre’s desk; the toys would need to have the tags cut off. The cat bed he tucked into a corner of the sofa. The bed was small and round, with a section of soft fabric curving over half of the bed to form a cave.

Archer leaned over the sofa, wondering if the kitten would tolerate the bed, or if she would hate the new scent and miss the warmth of her human companions. Experimentally, he gently deposited Fae into the bed, the corner of his mouth crooking as she stretched and yawned. Her little mouth opened, and she mewled at him. Then her attention caught on a fuzzy ball hanging from the mouth of the cave by a length of sisal. The kitten huddled, her little tail swishing back and forth. Then a paw reached up for the ball, tiny claws extending.

“…leave me be! GO!”

Deirdre’s voice, raised and carrying from the front of the store. Archer straightened, his eyes darting briefly to assure himself that the kitten remained occupied before he strode to the door.

“Deirdre, you need to come home.” Another woman’s voice, another woman who enunciated carefully like Deirdre. “This game you’re playing will kill you. Receive treatment and let us care for—”

“NO! I will never—” Deirdre’s voice dropped, and an unintelligible series of syllables escaped her. 

Archer stopped at the bottom of the steps, his eyes scanning the interior of the store. He spotted the customer first from behind, a tall woman with her hair swept up into a chignon and a plaid poncho around her shoulders. Deirdre faced her, standing slightly to the side. She looked distressed, her color high, and her hands curled into fists. “Deirdre? Is everything okay?”

The tall woman turned gracefully to face him, and Archer blinked in momentary confusion. The woman was very slim, her long-fingered hands slightly raised as she turned to face him. Her brows were thick like Deirdre’s, and her face closely resembled the smaller woman’s, though the features appeared thinner and more drawn out. The woman lowered her hands, gazing at Archer with open interest.

“This is my aunt, Foraoise.” Archer would have to ask Deirdre how to spell that name, which sounded like FOR-eesh. “She was just leaving.”

The woman nodded. “Deirdre, who is—”

“This is my friend Archer. And Archer and I have things to do, if you aren’t going to buy anything.” Deidre sounded fierce, but to Archer’s dismay, her eyes glistened.

Foraoise turned back to Deirdre. “Alright, child. I shouldn’t have come here and upset you. Please, lock the door behind me and take a moment to relax. Does he know about your condition?”

“Yes,” Deirdre replied, her voice low and flat. Then her tone softened. “He’s very good about it.”

“Then you’ve had more spells.”

“Foraoise—”

“I love you,” Foraoise said, though she followed that with a word Archer didn’t make out. “Please, take care of yourself.”

A few seconds passed, and Deirdre spoke softly. “I love you, too.”

The tall woman glanced over her shoulder at Archer, flashing him a quick smile even as he took in the worried lines between her brows. Then she was gone, striding with rapid grace from the store.

“I’ll be right there,” Deirdre murmured. He watched her lock the front door, then make her way to the back steps. She looked pale now, aside from a spot of color on each cheek.

Archer reached for her, his hands hovering a mere inch from her arms. “Are you okay?” he asked, as Deirdre descended to the step just above him. Her position put her closer to his face. He could kiss her simply by lowering his head, without having to bend so far over.

“Archer,” she said, her breath hitching.

“Deirdre?”

“May I kiss you?”

He answered her by dipping his head and covering her mouth with his own. The kiss began with softness, but then she inhaled audibly and her lips parted. Archer deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing just inside her bottom lip. She tasted vaguely sweet, like melon or honeyed tisane. His scalp and hands tingled, and he moved his body closer to hers, one hand sliding beneath her jacket to rest on her lower back, the other coming up to sink into the silk of her hair. Her delicate hands were on him; one pressed to his chest, the other curling around his nape.

Archer moved to rub her back in a big, slow circle, but when his fingers shifted upward, he encountered bare skin. The back of her dress was cut low, hidden by her jean jacket. He stroked her smooth skin, and Deirdre’s hand on his chest slid around to his back. Their bodies arched, pressing hard against each other, her breasts soft between them. The tingling sensation swept through his body before gathering in his groin, and he broke their kiss with a gasp, trailing a series of kisses up her jaw and then down her neck to soften the transition.

Deirdre breathed in short pants, her hands sliding up and down his back, over his shoulders, along his hips. “Archer…” Her voice came out a whisper.

Archer nuzzled beneath her ear. She smelled so nice, floral and herbal and sweet at the same time. He wanted to lick her skin there, nibble her earlobe. But he also knew they were moving fast. And she was technically at work. “Deirdre?”

“I’m sorry,” she gasped. She leaned forward, pressing her face into his shirt. “I got so upset earlier, and I’m so sorry, but I think I should sit down.”

Archer shifted her in his arms, trying not to let worry drive him as she swayed on her feet. “Hey, don’t apologize. I’ll carry you to the sofa.” Before she could respond, he scooped her up, one arm behind her back and the other behind her knees. Deirdre let out a surprised huff of air, grabbing first at his shirt and then his shoulder, and Archer reflected that this sudden action was possibly the opposite of what he should have done. Glancing down at his feet to make certain he wasn’t about to step on Fae, Archer carried Dierdre into the office and deposited her carefully on the end of the sofa opposite the cat bed. 

“Where is she?” Dierdre asked, her voice thick.

Archer leaned over, squinting into the little cave. The kitten’s wee form was barely visible in the back. He reached in and gently plucked her up, then deposited the sleepily struggling ball of fur into Deirdre’s lap. “Here she is. She’s been very sleepy.”

“I’ll take her to a vet tomorrow.” Deirdre stroked the kitten and took a deep breath.

“How are you feeling?” Archer crouched in front of her, his hands on her knees. “Do I need to call 9-1-1, or Asa?”

“Neither.” Deirdre patted the sofa cushion next to her. She looked pale, but nothing like she had the night of the attempted mugging. “I had palpitations and felt lightheaded when Foraoise left. I should have sat then. But I wanted to kiss you.”

Archer rose and sat beside her, careful not to sit on the cat bed or jar Deirdre and the kitten. “So it wasn’t the kiss that caused you to feel unwell?”

“No.” She smiled up at him, her color already better and her hand moving slowly over the kitten’s soft fur. “I enjoyed our kiss.”

“Seeing your aunt stressed you out.”

“I love her, and she’s not a bad person at all. But yes, seeing her gave me quite the shock. We’re… estranged.” She sounded sad, and Archer found himself reaching out and running his knuckles down her cheek.

“I’m sorry.”

She sighed, her hand lifting from Fae to reach up and rub the muscles in her neck. “My family worries about me. But they think that entitles them to make decisions about my life.”

“Here, let me do that.” Archer waited for her to lower her hand, then he slipped his own beneath her hair. He worked his fingers down the back of her neck, rubbing firmly as he sought out the knots and trigger points in the muscles. Deirdre closed her eyes. He saw her shoulders relax. 

He wanted to ask her more about her condition and why she was estranged from her family. Asa had made it clear to him that many people live symptom free with Long QT Syndrome. The patients his brother worried about were the ones reporting heart palpitations and fainting spells. This was, however, not the moment to bring it up. Archer cupped the back of her neck where he’d been rubbing, then leaned in to kiss her temple.

Deirdre tipped her head up toward him. “Kiss me again, Archer.”

Her eyes were pools, drawing him in. He could feel the energy flowing between them, an attraction like nothing he’d experienced before. A gnawing pain started in his stomach, a couple of inches below his sternum and just to the left. It was the spot that always hurt when he was anxious. Otherwise, his body was already responding to her, his limbs tingling and his muscles tightening. He felt alight with the painful knowledge of what he was getting into and the realization that he was going to get into it regardless.

Archer bent his head and kissed her.

--

Part Three

[1989nihil]

science side of tumblr, I have a question regarding a sound:

So, even before I have my morning coffee, I have a glass of luke warm, or warm water that I make by adding a bit of the the water I boiled for my coffee to a quarter or half-full glass of cold water.

Whenever I slowly pour the hot water into the cold water in a steady stream, instead of rushing it like I usually do, there's this sound whichs sounds like something is rubbing against something and... I mean, I know that 100ml cold water is denser than 100ml boiling/hot water, and there's also surface tension to consider and all... my question is, what exactly is happening to cause that - for lack of better discriptor - rubbing sound whenever I slowly pour hot water in a steady stream into cold water. It's a quite distinctive sound, though, you could miss it if you don't pay attention.

And by hot I mean any tempt north of 80° (you can pre-set the temperature on our electric kettle from 60°C to 100°C, in increments of 10°)

[skyland2703]

OLD!! BillySkull headcanons because I’m obsessed and the brainrot has set in

Skull has taken to wearing HATS. This is not because he’s balding— Billy is the one who’s balding (but he likes flaunting it)— BUT he feels like it fits his vibes. He also doesn’t dye his hair/beard so he’s got pepper and salty hair. Billy ADORES it.

Billy got a buzzcut somewhere in his thirties, when he got lice from someone at work— and never quite grew his hair longer again. He likes keeping them short, it’s lesser work.

Skull likes keeping a beard, Billy likes to stay clean shaven. Skull’s beard gets a little annoying when it pricks and itches when they’re making out— but he deals with it, because it makes him happy AND Skull keeps trying some or the other kinda design— He had a goatee once????? And Billy literally went 👀

Billy had lasik done, when he was in his early thirties. After he was back from aquifer— got rid of the ol’ windshields for good. Skull tells him how he looks older without glasses, and in reply, Billy tells him, Skull looks older WITH glasses.

Yes. Skull gets reading glasses really early on. In the forties itself. Something to do with malnutrition at a younger age— he also has some bone problems and issues— doctors at Promethea telling him he needs to work on his vitamin D and calcium intake, if he wants to beat arthritis before it catches up to him. And that just spirals Billy into making Skull take at LEAST three glasses of milk every day. And makes him go on walks. Among other things.

Overall, Skull takes good care of his health— he’s barely on the edge, because of childhood things, but as long as he pays attention— and he did start paying attention the day he hit forty—

Billy on the other hand, not so much. What with monster attacks and drama and things, he keeps injuring himself, and he’s not exactly too flexible anymore. Sigh.

Like that one time he threw his back out while they were trying to do smexy things at night. Skull panicked so hard, so so so hard. He called up Zack, he called up Bulk, he called up Kim, he called up Trini AND he called up Tommy. Sure, Zack showed up with some chiropractor within five minutes, but their friends NEVER let Billy live it down.

Old men yaoi.

Skull does the cooking. Billy can’t make coffee to save his life.

He tried making coffee ONCE. In that electric kettle. He did a few things wrong: 1) he plugged it into the plug point next to the nightstand, HE WAS MAKING COFFEE IN THE BEDROOM— 2) he did it when Skull was sleeping. He wanted to surprise his husband with coffee in the morning. 3) The coffee was made without much trauma, BUT he let it sit in the kettle. He thought that was a good idea. 4) it got cold. Apparently. Or so he thought, so just as he thought Skull was about to wake up, he decided to REHEAT it.

It boiled. And he couldn’t stop it. And it overflowed. All over the tiled floor. All over the rug. All over the nightstand.

Skull made him clean up the mess. Tony Stark of the PR world or not, if you’ve made a mess, you’re GONNA clean it. He’s banned from the kitchen after the coffee incident.

They got married at thirty eight, if that’s an important detail~

Skull and Bulk still run a sandwich chain— but Skull uses his excess income to delve into his more preferred hobbies: he likes music. He plays music, he writes jingles and advertisements, and does little concerts at theatres, playing the piano.

Billy is always on the front row, cheering. Skull doesn’t like him being in the wings, he feels like LOOKING at Billy cheering him on gets him going better than wings support~

They still have all their childhood things in the attic. And every once in a while, they bring everything down for a dust— coughing from it while they clean everything, going through memories together— and there’s a whole bunch of crap in there that’s too precious to both old men to ever throw away.

Billy is slowly working on a memoir. Well, two separate memoirs. One is on his life as the successful businessman and owner of Cranston Tech, like most “influential” personalities usually do. The other is on his life as a “Power Ranger”. This one’s anonymously written, of course. Billy has a little study room, right next to Skull’s piano room, and when Billy writes, Skull plays.

Skull feels like if you read both memoirs together you’re sure to realise they have the same author. Billy doesn’t want to admit that. (He’s probably going to give it to Zack for a reread and for some editing. He trusts his friends for editing more than any professional editor.)

All of Billy’s clothes are a liiittle bigger than Skull, and he loves snuggling into his hoodies for the nights. It’s the best feeling.

Last, but not the least: they’re THAT couple who go to parties and just sit in the corner, judging everyone and just giggling amongst themselves. They’re just having the best old age ever~

Oh and this was the pic that made me go brrrr

[soulfulmuse]

Hey everyone, just giving you all some recommendations on how to liven up your game pertaining to food and drink overrides/mods. This also includes appliances - Seasonings you may want as well!

Annaisiims

Basting brush and seasoning bottle overrides

Erosetta

Functional desktop water dispenser

S & S

Cookbook

Functional Drink Tray

Drink Platter for tea & Coffee

Eggnog Bowl

Flaming shots with shot glass holder

Functional Electric Kettle with 24 drinks

Functional Blender and protein shakes

Functional Fondue

Functional stands for food and Bottles

Cocktails in bottles "Shake"

Cocktails in glasses

Order at bar

Functional Beer

Functional Beer in bottles

Functional Champagne

Functional Wine

Functional Cocktails

Functional Cognac, Whiskey, Vodka

Functional Martini

Functional Sake

Functional Rum & Amaretto

Bento Cakes

(optional)

Drink effects

Realistic cooking

LBB

Grannies old recipe book

QMBIBI

Stirring the pot

Thee struggle pot

Thee salad Bowl

Thee sandwich maker

Thee instant pot

Thee Kitchen Tablet

STP Grochery list

RVSN

Cake a break

[rayrayor]

So Lily is ready to move in to her dorm and just to get to know her roommate. But Milkovich and Gallagher family members have Gracie and her moms learn more than they bargained for about her family. Papa is in full Mickey form .

Notes:

So AO3 was down today and I could not get into a draft ( lesson back up drafts)

I recently began reading the series by SPNDreamer228 , Lina Milkovich Gallagher and loving it .

I just love the Galladads universe and finding new authors to enjoy.

So while waiting for the AO3 superstars to work their magic , I decided to visit my Galladads and Lily Gazer as I could not get in and read the last work I had left of Lina .

MOVE IN DAY

Gracie and her moms just moved in her bags and she sat in her dorm bed nervous, her roommate and her chatted a few times when rooms were assigned . The bit she had, her roommate was nice. They had not said anything to Gracie but her roommate also seemed very strait laced , had gone to a private girls school started college at 17. Their fear was like always, Gracie would be judged by having two moms.

There were boxes on the other bed but no roommate. Suddenly a petite red head burst through the door with a coffee . She was striking , long red hair with curl, pale skin dotted with freckles and piercing blue eyes Her smile was a big sunbeam .

” omg hi Gracie , I’m Lily . Those are cool glasses, I love vintage things. “

She pulled Gracie into a hug then turned and introduced herself to them.

” Lily did your parents leave?”

” No ma’am I think they are around here..”

” Lily baby your RA said you could have your electric kettle, I think it will be good to have, you drink way too much caffeine, Uncle Carl sent you all that weird tea you both drink.”

Gracie and her moms stared a very tall muscled ginger who matched Lily’s coloring . He was an incredibly handsome man.

After gently dropping a kiss on his daughters head he turned .

” You must be Gracie , I love that lip gloss it’s gorgeous. Oh shit hi sorry . I am Ian, Lily’s dad. “

” I am Angie and this is my wife Sue. First time drop off?”

” No Lily’s older brother Liam went here , by the way Lily he is driving in for dinner . “

“ Cool , Gracie you will like Liam , he was an economics major like you. He is in law school now .. umm do I want to know.. where is papa?”

The redhead broke into a fond but amused look .

” When I left him he was grumbling about the safety logs on the fire extinguishers “

He turned to the ladies “ My husband is a bit overprotective, he can be um …let’s say …passionate when it comes to the kids .”

At husband Gracie and her moms grinned at each other .

” Fuck you, fuck you and especially fuck you “ They heard bellowing down the hall. Lily dropped her head into her hands .

Angie grinned “ Sounds like a party all ready”

Lily looked resigned “ Yeah not really . 5. 4. 3. 2. 1”

” Aye punk waaay too many boys sniffing around here , studies first.“

She teased “ Again what if I am a lesbian like Aunt Debbie and Sandy , lots of girls papa”

” No dyke bars with them until 18 don’t need some drag king making moves”

Ian’s voice showed that these seemed to be regular conversations in the family.

” Mick for the hundredth time , 21. Legal drinking age is 21. “

After being introduced to the tough looking man named Mickey of all things they watched him check out the windows then the lock on the girls door, frowning .

Lily’s papa as she called him was smaller than his husband , stocky but not in a way that was heavy but compact and powerful . His husband was carved and shredded muscle but the brunette a powerhouse. He had electric blue eyes that matched his daughters perfectly . Lily side by side with them looked almost like a 50/50 mix of them both.He turned and addressed both girls now sitting on the bed passing Lily’s coffee back and forth.

” Listen up cupcakes, that lock ain’t for shit , next week I will come back , drill that one out put in ones like at the grow houses. Hmm maybe when I come back , get a steel enforced door…”

” Papa you can’t just yank out a door at university “

” For what we are paying if I want remodel this whole room for you both I will .And by the way can that skirt get any shorter punk ? It looks like one Aunt Mandy would have wore to try and flirt with daddy back in the day.”

Gracie laughed and her moms checked out Lily’s knee length wrap dress with tights, confused.

“ Says the man always trying to low key flirt with sleeveless shirts… oh Ian look at my pale biceps, got ‘em in juvie working out .”

” Douche bag, I married him”

” Ass wipe he was my boyfriend first “

” ohhh a gay boy with his girl beard , whatever Mands”

Ian had stopped making Lily’s bed and was watching , arms folded .

” Daddy are you gonna stop this?”

” Sorry baby it’s been like a long time since they fought over me like this . Last time I think she was pregnant with you ( Gracie’s moms exchanged knowing looks ) and they were fighting over clouds or stars on your nursery ceiling. This is kind of puffing up my ego. Your old man does not pull the same looks like when I was younger.”

” Pulease every time you drag me to boystown it’s like he ain’t Macy’s and you ain’t window shopping “ Mickey snorted.

Gracie was fascinated. She loved her moms but they were both stoic and very PC. Lily’s dads were rough and loud but you could hear not insults . but love.

” Daddy?”

Ian took action , he loped over to Mickey and pulled him in as he sputtered and gave Mandy the finger. Both Gracie and her moms realized then he had knuckle tats which spelled fuck u- up .

” Baby , look Lily and now Lily and Gracie will be fine with the door they have. You spent her teen years threatening to take doors off and now you wanna put one on? “

He pulled up brows furrowed at his husband , bottom lip being chewed on while now that Ian was taming his thug shrew, Lily calmly opened boxes and split a snickers with Gracie.

” Firecrotch ( Sue almost choked on her gum) what if there is a fire?”

” It’s already a fire door Mick”

” tsunami.”

” We are in Illinois. They are on the third floor and if the room is flooding, I prefer they get out easier .”

A deep discontented huff

“ Use your words Mick “

” ok what if a bunch of good time Charlies come rolling down the halls at 3 am?”

” Well it’s not 1943 so those good time Charlie’s would be dead so not a lot of trouble and Lily knows those moves from you when you worked for the cart..in Mexico when you worked in Mexico.”

” Fine fucking ok no new door. Can I put a chain inside like a motel “

” yeah”

He turned to the girls “ oh and getting you both bear spray in case you are going through campus late or early.”

” Mick they can’t carry bear spray “

” You got a better idea Aunt know it all not like she can take a 38 into class.”

” Well Uncle Officer Carl could get them pepper spray “

“ Terrifies me that Carl Gallagher has access to a badge, guns and

chemical warfare”

” UNCLE IGGY “ Lily ran and was scooped up by a blonde man also with knuckle tats . She was put down and slugged him hard.

” Ow Lily “

“ That’s for after all these years getting conned to join uncle Joey in that hair brain scheme and going back!”

” Could have brought her when you guys came out, fuck Mandy why did you hit me”

” also pissed “

Mickey hugged Iggy. “ love you man but told you she was not growing up in prison visiting room like us , you all know you go in she doesn’t come out to Statesville. “

Gracie and her moms both noticed Ian and Lily rubbing the bridge of their noses.

” Well now that you have met the Milkovich’s , any Gallagher’s besides Liam showing up ?”

” You mean us?”

Uncle Lip swung her around then hugged her dads and patted Iggy on the shoulder.Tami gave hugs then settled a death glare on Mandy.

”Mandy so surprised your clients allowed you away .”

” Really you do hair Tami , hey Iggy let’s go check in at the hotel . Lily bean I love you see you at dinner “

Uncle Lip chatted about the new men’s group he started for AA and Tami slid behind Lily to French braid her hair. Lily’s gaze intensified and both her and Mickey were watching Ian fold and refold her clothes mumbling softly about keeping it organized.

Soothing and quiet “ Daddy did you take your pills , you ok , kind of a stressful day?”

” Fourth person who asked and yes I did baby girl , guessing papa even counted them this time “

Mickey pulled Ian into his arms and traced his face with his thumb, the lines in the scowl now gone. His voice was warm but with a hint of almost stern .

“ c’mon tough guy, let’s get these two to the hotel , take a nap before the whole hoard terrorizes the waitstaff for Gallagher Family dinner .”

“ But … Mick I haven’t finished sorting Lily’s stuff “

” Daddy I will finish it , you can check it in the morning.Go nap with papa he looks tired and he is insufferable when cranky.“ She winked at her papa who mouthed “ thank you “

She was pulled in tight and heard a sniffle. Uncle Lip put his hand on his shoulder.

” Ian point out the RA Mickey almost decked “ He walked them out .

” He is gonna crash isn’t he papa, I fucking hate bipolar disease so much “

Two pairs of blue stared at each other . Mickey knelt down and cupped his daughter’s face . It was the tenderness and sadness in both their eyes that made both women choke up.

” I know. Lily I hate it too but Daddy has been living with this since you age. I have been keeping an eye on his sappy ass since I was 19. He hardly gets big episodes because we know what is a support med and what is a med change. The older we get the more this lessens. We know what this is , we know what to do. He is gonna bitch and fuss and I am gonna make him take his pill. We are gonna nap. Then everyone is gonna be loud and crazy and wear him out. He has an appointment Monday . Also punk we talked about this . He goes gown , you do not come home. That will stress him more, got it?”

” But papa..I “

” Nope , no . Lily Gazer we stick to the plans ok .”

He turned to Gracie and family a look of sadness and pride on his face. “ My husband has some mental health challenges with his illness but it’s managed well, big emotions good or bad can set him off level. “

” Pops , hey dad is with Lip looking for you.” In the door was a tall young black man who had very similar features as Ian. Mickey reached out for a hug as the man whispered.

”Hi Pops , hey you get dad, I got Lily “

Mickey patted the young man’s cheek then hugged his daughter , wiping a tear.

As he walked out he looked at Gracie’s moms.

“ Aye we live in Chicago , I know you all from Maine. Lily comes home on long weekends, Gracie comes with. Family watches family .”

Liam smiled at Lily.

” Hey baby sis, dads gonna be ok , pops got him . Hey I am Liam by the way.” He shook hands all around.

” Lily there is the ice cream social on the quad. Gracie wanna join , will spill the tea on the first year Econ professors.”

Sue looked at their daughter

” Take off we have to go pay for meal plan , text us when you are done we can then get our reservations for dinner .”

As they headed out Lily hugged them both “ Thanks for not freaking out, my family can be a lot.”

The women watched as the young adults headed off laughing and pushing each other with ease.

Angie smiled “ Babe is it me or do you feel better the Gallagher’s have Gracie in their sights?”

Her wife grinned “ Yeah 1000% better. They are gonna keep her safe and loved while she is away from us.”

[ryugure]

lately been enjoying a large mug of earl grey or english breakfast tea with unsweetened soymilk every morning :) also will re-steep a rooibos teabag or hojicha repeatedly throughout the late afternoon or evening. when i have time, i make mugi-cha (roasted barley), hatomugi-cha (pearl barley) or dokudami-cha (japanese heartleaf) through the deep-brew senjiru method and take them in glass bottles to work. i'm a fan of kopiko instant coffee, too, particularly the low acidity variety, but it's a rare treat.

wow this is my first time hearing about the deep-brew senjiru method! i usually use an electric kettle but maybe i'll try that sometime

[oatflatwhite]

a few things (maybe several things)

post-s6 thiam, getting together | 2k, rated T | read on ao3

Theo’s nursing a split in his lip that stubbornly refuses to heal when the front door bangs open on its hinges and admits Liam, furiously scenting the air and zeroing in on Theo where he’s leaned up against the kitchen island. “Is that—that’s blood. Why are you bleeding?”

“Sure, Liam, come on in.” Theo doesn’t move as Liam crowds up into his space, and lets his head move willingly as Liam grabs his chin and tilts it first one way, then the other. “It’s nothing. The cold—it splits my skin sometimes.”

Liam prods at his lip so sharply it’s almost painful but Theo doesn’t let himself flinch. He drops his hand away and props it on his hip. “Why is it still bleeding?” he clarifies. Theo shrugs and turns away towards the coffee press. He can hear Liam gnashing his teeth behind him, and tucks a smile into the collar of his shirt when the grinding gives way to an exasperated sigh and the scrape of a stool out from underneath the counter. Only then does he turn back around and wave the glass jug at Liam, who’s still scowling, but nods and pushes his hair back in the one movement. It immediately falls back down into his forehead again. Theo hides another smile.

“You hear from Scott?” he asks, scooping the coffee into the jug and clicking on the electric kettle that was just about the first thing he bought for this apartment that weren’t sheets, towels, and a thin grey pillow.

“Yeah. They’re down near San Diego. There was a werecoyote, Monroe, she—” Something in Liam’s throat clicks.

“I get the picture,” Theo interrupts. Liam’s scent shifts slightly, letting in a hint of gratefulness that wraps around Theo like a blanket. “They’re headed back?”

“Yeah.” Liam worries at the edge of the counter with his fingernail. “Gonna tag team out with Stiles and Lydia, I think—Mrs McCall threatened some serious bodily harm if Scott wasn’t home for Thanksgiving, so.”

“I wouldn’t put it past her.”

“No,” Liam says. “I guess you wouldn’t.”

keep reading on ao3

[roboticchibitan]

A collection of teapots, from a Gelfling friend, rate if you like, but enjoy !

Oh these are so cute! I'm gonna take this one a time and describe them all. [Image ID: First image: A bright silver kettle meant for boiling water on the stove Second Image: A clear glass teapot with a plastic handle and a tea strainer inside of it Image 3: A white teapot viewed from the side with a blue rim around the lid and a tiny ceramic teacup on the lid. There are berries and a bee painted on it and the words "A moment of quiet, a cup of tea, and friends... to keep me" the next word isn't in in legible the picture but it is probably "company." Image 4: The white bug teapot viewed from the top. The teacup on the lid is very small and there is something painted on it below the tiny teacup that I can't identify but might be napkins or maybe envelopes (sorry) Image 5: A plain navy blue teapot that is very shiny Image 6: A matte black teapot with a flat base All images have a backdrop of white towels and all the teapots are resting on a white ceramic tray End ID]

So my rating for the kettle is that I like it because it is very shiny and the handle is on the top of the kettle instead of the side, but I wouldn't use it because it's easier to brew tea that actually tastes good with an electric kettle that you can select the temperature on. With a stovetop kettle you either have to guesstimate what temp your water is at or use a thermometer and who wants to whip out the thermometer just to make a good green tea?

The glass teapot is very generic and average. Which is not a bad thing! It has a better infuser than the glass teapot I have, but I still wouldn't buy it because my glass teapot is made of borosilicate glass and can be put directly on the stovetop. Which is terrifying but I have done it when our last electric kettle kicked the bucket because I was desperate and all our pots made the tea taste like metal.

The white teapot is so whimsical and cute! I love it! I wouldn't buy it because it's not my style, but it's very domestic and I like that.

The blue teapot is a pleasing navy color and it's nice and round and the glaze is nice and shiny. Not really much more to say about it. It's kinda boring. But would make an excellent teapot and it looks like one of those teapots that would be really well insulated. A very utliitarian teapot.

The black teapot is nice. It looks like something you could buy in a coffee shop here. Very modern. I would worry about the large flat bottom burning the finish off my table, though. So I would probably put it on a hot pad if I was using it. Just out of caution. I do this with my favorite teapot, too, because it's a large flat base and the base entire base sits directly on the surface you set it down on. That teapot HAS ruined the finish on a table before, much to my annoyance and distress. But at least it was my little table and not the big table that doesn't belong to me and cost a lot of money.

Send me weird teapots!

[space-blue]

No we got electric kettles we are just stupid n silly and think the microwave does best

In France I miscrowaved glasses of water to make instant coffee in high school because of course they didn't provide coffee to us otherwise.

Anyone catches you doing that as an adult, you'll get judged pretty hard lol

But it's a thing. I get it. Putting a mug on a stove top though seems like begging for disfiguration!!