maybe my biggest canon divergence is that izzy IS a good cook

Sabotage

Pairing: Mob!Henry x Reader

Summary: Things will always fall into place with him. 

One shot.

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Chaos.

 Phones ringing, voices yelling, minions running around.

 everything was.. well, EVERYWHERE! You didn’t know what you were doing anymore. Maybe this was it, this was the bloody end.

So this is how you go down. So much for being your own boss. Maybe everyone was right, you cannot do this. You were made to serve your husband.

Cook, clean, dry for him and when he felt like, bent over like a bitch in heat. That was your fucking job, not this high end firm that was burning up in flames.

 Damn it.

 You are going to swear off of interns. They are a bloody liability with no consequences over their heads. How could you not see this coming?

They fucking stole from the accounts! Never in a million years would you have assumed those meek rats would have the audacity to touch a penny. 

But that’s what they are- damn rats.

Now you had a big ass hole in the accounts and before you could do any damage control, word spread in the market like a fucking STD.

What will you tell your clients? Hell, what will you say to the press hounding outside of the office building? You had to come up with something, and something good, SOON.

You looked around your office, as if this was the last time you are going to be in it. 

You felt like a fallen queen on the checkered black and white marble floor, not knowing her next move, scared and parched for mercy.

This was the office of your dreams. Every tiny artifact, every angle of the furniture had a purpose.

The miniature gold bull you gifted yourself for closing your first big account.

The picture of your grandmother in her office, ambition wrinkled all over her face.

The desk, angled so that you had an eye on the entire office.

And the sofa, well placed for comfortable long meetings and late-night camping you often did.

Well, not just for camping. 

The thought made you clear your throat, you cannot think about it right now. But who were you kidding, he was always on your mind. Even when your life was crumbling, all you wanted was to get lost in that blue eyed monster.

As you collected yourself, you heard a commotion above all that yelling and chaos.

Him.

You couldn’t miss it anywhere, it was ingrained deeper than your DNA. But what was he doing here? We never met in public, it was too dangerous, he once said.

You couldn’t deny the pull any longer and your feet did the work for you. As you reached the lobby, there he was.

Chest heaving, eyes glaring at anything that moved. Your deadly husband, Mr. Henry Cavill, dressed to nines in your favourite blue three piece.

“Mr. Cavill-”

“We had a date, Mi amor and YOU didn’t show up. You know I don’t tolerate being ignored, much less by my .. WIFE.”

He called me his wife. We don’t address each other like that.

Panic set in as I could hear gasps and the office suddenly stopped. The time seemed to have fucking stopped, and I did not know why he was doing this.

“I.. I.. Ahem, can we talk in my office, Mr. Cavill?” I glared at him.

The next thing I know, his lips are on me, holding me in a death grip he is so famous for. I couldn’t help but forget where we are, and moaned, heart on fire. He broke the kiss, his forehead on mine, and he whispered, “lead the way, amor.”

I was in a trance wrapped up in his arms, all the panic, fear and sorrow simply washed away. Taking his hand, I walked towards my office when he stopped abruptly.

“ Everyone, get out.”

No movement.

He turned, removing his glock from the waistband, “I don’t like repeating myself.”

The office was empty in less than a second.

 I couldn’t help but giggle at the scene.

I would never get used to his MO, as he liked to call it. Every time I saw him, my heart gushed with so much love, it surprised people when I was untouched by fear they usually felt.

As we entered my office, he took me straight to the desk and sat me on it. A knee between my legs, he placed his palm on my cheek and just kept looking at me.

“I’m sorry I could not join you baby, I know tonight was important for your new deal.”

He just hummed, as his eyes raked over me. His palm moved to slide my dress up my thighs till it bunched over my ass. He moved to remove his jacket and removed his cufflinks, folding up his sleeves.

“Say something Henry. Are you mad at me?”

“Never when I can see your cunt leaking like a faucet for me.”

And with that, he slapped my pussy so hard, I almost yelped.

“I am just disappointed that you hide from me.”

Our eyes locked, mine teary and his, well they held that promise etched at the altar.

 I’ll always protect you.

I will always be there, even if you cannot see me.

Just look to the shadows, and you’ll find me standing.

Silent, but firm. 

Just like you want me.

 I blinked as I came back to the present.

Pulling on his tie, I brought him back to me.

“I could never hide from you. You are a piece of my soul Hen, I..”

Words died on my tongue as he plunged his into my inviting mouth, letting the moment talk for itself. My hand went to his belt, removing the barrier between our union.

Much like his tongue, his thick cock plunged into me at one go. Pain seared through me but he didn’t stop. My Henry was many things, a great chef, master strategist, flawless shot, an enticing mobster, but patience was not on his tiny list of virtues.

He liked giving it hard, and me? Well, obviously I liked taking it harder. So that’s what I did. Spreading my legs wider, hopelessly hoping he might fit better.

Pushing me down on the desk, he went harder. His eyes on mine, face contorted with all sorts of emotions, hands groping my tits over the dress, he looked like Hades all set to conquer Athens.

My eyes rolled to the back of my head when he put his fingers on my clit, rubbing it with abandon, none of us able to form words.

The room was filled with his grunts, roars and fucks, my whimpers giving them company.It soon turned into screams when my beast pinched the clit hard, and choked the life out of me.

“Jaan, please don’t stop!”

“Ah, HARDER baby!”

“Ooomph, keep going Jaan!”

Suddenly I was sputtering a string of words and that only made Henry slap my tits harder than ever before.

Fuck, I loved this beast. He was mine.

Mine.

I didn’t have to tell him I was close, he pulled out and went on his knees, eating my cunt like he’d been starved for decades.

Oh shit it was coming.

“Fuck Jaaan”

It was all over his face. My juices coating this God’s face while he shamelessly lapped it all up.

“Mm, delicious as always, amor. Taste yourself.”

I licked my juices off his face while he was bent over me. Sighing, I was about to move, when he dived in again, “Where do you think you’re going? Not done yet, baby!”

Smirking, I locked him in with my knees, “Bring it on, Hades.”

That name always made his cock twitch, and the dance began again. My cervix was on fire, as he kept hitting it right.

“Give me your seed, Oh Gods, yes just like that Henn!”

I came undone twice more before he even came close to his climax.

“I don’t want you to hide from me anymore amor. You know I’d kill for you!”

My nails raked over his arms as I held on to my dear life, only able to nod.

“I want the good, bad and the ugliest you can throw at me baby. I want all of you. I want your cunt, ass, that pretty little mouth and your soul, you hear me?” he growled.

“Jaan, please.”

“Please what, slut? You want my cum? You think you earned it?”

“I am yours, you get all of me. Fill me up, Jaan.”

Yanking on my hair, he pulled me up to him and bit hard on my lower lip as he came, taking me with him and roaring like the devil he is. “I fucking love you!”

Breathing hard, coming down from the blood rush, our foreheads touched.

“I got them.”

“Did you hear me? I got them amor.”

“Mm? Who?” eyes closed, my brows furrowed.

He left for the washroom, and came back to clean us up. Fixing my dress, he held me against him and said, “Bring them in!”

My cheeks heated, thinking that someone heard us go at it like rabbits and I tried to hide my face in his chest but he won’t have any of it.

Hands on my hips, holding tight, we stood facing the door when Taylor, our bodyguard came in.

I was confused. I was about to look at Henry in question when two men and a woman were thrown at my feet.

Them.

The bloody interns! Covered in literal blood this time.

Hands bound, crying.

 How, what, when..?

 I felt his breath on my neck as he kissed behind my ear, “Merry Christmas, love. The money is back in your accounts. Fucking rats were planted by a rival, the audacity.”

Speechless.

“How did yo-”

“Like I said, shadows. Always there.”

“Oh, Jaan!” I turned to kiss him, his hand squeezing my ass in return.

He broke the kiss, looked at the crying culprits, stepping on one of their hands, “And now that the word will spread you’re my wife, these roaches won’t dare come within a 50 miles radius of you.”

And there it was, that million dollar smile filled with warmth, only for me.

Only me.

Mine.

In that moment, the befallen queen was not alone.

The King had arrived.

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Jaan: commonly used between couples in India, means life.

@madbaddic7ed @henrythickcavill @toomanyfandomsshreya

Summer’s Almost Over (So Come Spend it with Me)

Day Thirty-one, Side A: Ostentatious

A/N: the final chapter :( i wanted to thank everyone who read either one chapter or all of them, it means so much. especially when i didn’t update for days at a time lol. i always knew what i wanted to do for the last chapter. this is a sequel to “for as long as you’re with me (or until my mama picks me up)” which takes place ten years after the original story ends. i’m posting it here and separately as an addition to the series. hope you enjoy :)

read it here on AO3

When Kurt was thirty-two, he pulled into a lake house in North Carolina.

Victoria was asleep in the backseat, her tiny three year old body propped up in her car seat. Blaine was asleep next to him, his head resting between the window and his shoulder. Kurt shook his arm lightly without taking his eyes off the gravel road. “Blaine, we’re here. Wake up.”

Blaine rose out of sleep slowly, stretching as much as he could in the confines of the rental car. He sat up and turned to Kurt. There was a reddened print from the seat belt adorably marking his face. “Where are my glasses?”

“Glove compartment,” Kurt said. He made a sharp turn right, which took them a bit closer to the water, where their rental house was.

Blaine smiled to himself and adjusted his frames. “Thank you. Oh, it’s so gorgeous.”

And it was. As they pulled into the gravel driveway, the house and the lake came into view. The sun shone down on the dark blue water and made it glisten. The brick pathway turned into a wooden one the closer it got to the lake, complete with a covered pier. The cottage itself was enclosed by trees and flowers. It seemed big from the outside, far too big for their family of three. There was a deck that swept over an entire side of the house, complete with two rocking chairs. An American flag lapped against the wind by the front door.

Kurt turned the key and practically ran out of the car, walking a bit to stretch his legs and cringing at the loud pops of his bones. God, he was getting old.

He watched from a distance as his husband pulled Victoria from the car, her sleeping body limp against his chest. Blaine seemed to speak softly to her, pointing at the lake and a small swing set. She gave a small nod, and her head lolled back onto his shoulder.

“Should I grab some bags?” Kurt called from his spot. He took a deep breath, and his nose tingled from the husky scent of the wood and water and smoke. Someone was grilling something.

“Let’s just check the place out first!” Blaine whisper-yelled back. “Then we can put this one down for a nap.”

The cottage was a high open concept, so big it shouldn’t even be considered a cottage. Blaine went to lay their daughter down while Kurt wandered aimlessly throughout the house. It was all wood, the same color top to bottom. It was honestly super ugly, but they were only staying a few days. Victoria’s first vacation that wasn’t in New York or to her grandparent’s house.

He was looking out across the water from the deck when he heard the sliding door creak open. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?” He asked without turning around.

Blaine hummed in agreement from behind him. “Tori’s gonna be out for a while. You wanna go on a walk?” He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around Kurt’s middle. When he spoke again, his chin pressed against his shoulder. “Or we could stay inside and do other stuff.”

Kurt turned around so they would be facing each other,

looking at Blaine with a small smirk. “Other stuff?”

“Like sex stuff.” Blaine fumbled with the buttons of Kurt’s open cardigan, looking up at him through his eyelashes.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Kurt’s laugh turned into a soft sigh when Blaine began sucking on the skin just below his jawline. After nearly a decade of being together, Blaine knew just how much that spot drove him crazy.

“Like what?” Blaine asked innocently, taking small kitten licks at his neck. His hands started moving down to Kurt’s jeans, teasing around his belt.

Kurt pulled him in for a kiss, sweet and slow. Blaine completely curved into him, wrapping his arms around his waist. They pressed into each other, Kurt’s back against the wooden railing.

They pulled away, foreheads resting together. When Blaine smiled, Kurt felt his lips curve up against his.

“You should go on a walk,” Kurt whispered practically into his mouth. “I’ll have dinner ready when you get back.”

His husband looked up at him. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” When Blaine hesitated, Kurt laughed and pushed him gently forward. “Go ahead.”

Kurt watched him leave and walk down the pebble path that trailed around the entire lake. Far off in the water, a group of teens splashed around in the water, a few of them laying on inflatable tubes. The sun was in the midpoint between setting and bright.

While Blaine was gone, Kurt decided to bring all of their bags into the house. He put their clothes away (it was too hot to wear the few sweaters and pairs of cabin socks Blaine had brought) and slid the suitcases into the closet. Victoria woke up from her nap not much later, full of energy. They swung on the swing set for a while and Kurt looked across the lake for any sight of Blaine.

“You wanna help Daddy with dinner?” Kurt asked, stopping the swing. Victoria whipped her head around, curly brown hair swishing behind her and falling over her shoulder.

“Yes!” She squealed, hopping off the screen and racing back towards the house, completely forgetting about the swing. Kurt chased after her, too concerned that she may fall. The girl was a total handful, and he was already dreading how she would be when she grew up.

Victoria did more dancing and singing than cooking. She and Kurt sang along to eighties hits on the TV, turning the volume up so high it could be heard from outside the house. He was wearing a ‘kiss the cook’ apron he had found in one of the drawers. It was absolutely hideous and stained but Kurt couldn’t help but put it on.

He was spooning broccoli onto a plate when the front door opened and shut, Blaine setting his set of keys in the kitchen counter. He said something, but it wasn’t loud enough to cut through the sound of the Thompson Twins harmonizing.

“Tori!” Kurt yelled. “Turn that off please!” He switched off the gas stove and moved to take off the apron, when Blaine swatted his hand away and wrapped his arms around Kurt’s neck.

“Stop that, it’s cute,” he said, swaying them back and forth.

Kurt rolled his eyes yet smiled. “It’s gross.” He spun Blaine around during the instrumental section of “Hold Me Now” like it was their wedding night. They laughed, hearty and loud.

Blaine leaned forward and kissed him, short and sweet. “Well I like the instructions it gives.” He looked up at Kurt, tracing the words with his finger.

“You’re such a dork,” he shook his head and smiled. And Blaine was giving him that look, the one that made arousal unfurl in his stomach and the blood rush to his face.

And Blaine knew it. He gave him that look all throughout dinner, even sucking the sauce off his finger in a way that was dirty and deliberate. They washed dishes as a family like they usually did, even if it dissolved into a soap war when Victoria splashed Kurt with soapy water.

Blaine cleaned the floors and Kurt gave their daughter a bath quickly. When he closed the door to her room for the week behind him, the lights were off in the living room and kitchen, replaced by various candles that mixed scents in the room. His husband sat on the black leather couch and turned to him, his hair washed from his gel and curled.

“What’s this?” Kurt sat on the couch and tucked his feet under him, accepting the glass of wine Blaine had poured. The gas fireplace sat aglow.

Blaine shrugged. “I just love you is all.” And even after all this time, the three words still made Kurt’s heart swell.

“I love you too,” he murmured, setting his and Blaine’s glasses down and crowding his space, kissing him silent.

Blaine threw himself back onto the couch and pulled Kurt on top of him, opening his mouth so he could lick into the heat of it. It was constant, the rocking of Blaine’s hips under him and the helpless whine that made Kurt’s lips buzz.

He slid his hand under Blaine’s shirt to feel the taut skin underneath, flicking his nipples swiftly and reveling in the moan that followed.

“Kurt…” Blaine’s hands roamed to the curve of his ass, pushing him forward so their erections pressed together in a dirty suggestion of what they could be doing. “Fuck me.”

Kurt groaned and pushed him further into the couch cushions, rocking forward and cupping his cheek with his free hand. The softness of the moment cooled them down, and Blaine curled into the touch. It was only when Kurt heard the sound of his belt being undone that he sat up. The look on Blaine’s face was nearly comical, eyes going wide with confusion.

“I’m not having sex on a leather couch, especially one that isn’t ours.” He laughed. When he led Blaine back to the master bedroom, his back peeled off the couch with a sound like velcro. They’d have to pick up their clothes from the hallway later.

They laid in the hammock after peeling themselves out of bed, laying half on top of each other in their briefs and a thin blanket. The moon shone against the water and the stars twinkled in the black sky.

“The people next door have a Lambo,” Blaine hummed into Kurt’s bare chest. “They parked it right in the front yard.”

“How ostentatious,” he said, chuckling softly. They listened to the quiet sounds of the nature around them; the crickets and frogs in the trees and wind rustling the oak leaves above them. It was still hot, not as much as it had been in the afternoon. Kurt swung them back and forth with his foot digging into the dirt below them.

“Do you have any regrets?” Blaine asked suddenly, causing Kurt’s heart to stop. “I mean, if you could, would you go back and do anything differently.”

Kurt could barely form the question. “What’s this about?” His mind was racing to every possible bad situation; Blaine wanted a divorce, he had a secret lover, he had killed someone. A few of them seemed worse than the others.

“My dad called.”

“Oh,” Kurt felt the fear slip out of his body. “What did he want?”

“He wanted to see Victoria, he said he missed me,” Blaine explained in a quiet voice, edged with apprehension.

“He can see her on Instagram.” Kurt couldn’t help the venom that dripped from the sentence. Mr. Anderson had been nothing but rude to not only Kurt for as long as he could remember, but his own son too. He remembered having to console Blaine the day after his wedding when his dad hadn’t shown up. For all he cared,

Mr. Anderson didn’t deserve to see his granddaughter.

Blaine sighed and sat up a bit further on Kurt’s chest. “That’s not really the point, honey.” His voice sounded thick, and Kurt intertwined their fingers and squeezed his hand.

“He missed me. And, I don’t know, shouldn’t I give him a second chance?”

“But the things he’s said to you Blaine. The things he’s said to me.”

There was a pregnant silence after that.

After they went public with their relationship in their early twenties, David Anderson became even more cold and harsh that he was when they were teens. They didn’t talk about it often, but Blaine would mention how hard it was to live with him. The screaming, the fights, the insults dripping with homophobia. It was a unanimous decision between them and the Hummels to not engage with Mr. Anderson unless it was necessary. Blaine had agreed, but Kurt knew it had to hurt.

“Some people don’t deserve a second chance,” Kurt grumbled after a while.

“He’s my father, Kurt!”

Blaine threw his arms out at that, the force of it tipping the hammock and sending the two of them sprawling onto the hard dirt ground.

“Oh my God, Blaine!” Kurt sat up immediately, ignoring the sharp stab of pain in his side. “Honey, are you okay?”

Blaine was laying still on his side, unmoving. Kurt’s blood ran cold. They had fallen pretty hard from a solidly high distance. Kurt crawled over to his husband, tears threatening to spill from his eyes when he still didn’t move.

“Blaine, please get up,” Kurt cried. It was too late to go for help, and holy shit, he had just killed his husband…

And then he heard laughter, and Blaine moved as if he were shivering.

Blaine sat up, tears spilling from his eyes as he laughed. He touched his head gingerly and winced. “Ow,” he groaned. Kurt could’ve passed out. But he started crying instead.

“Oh, Kurt.” Blaine pulled him closer, holding him in his arms.

In hindsight, Kurt felt a bit embarrassed about crying over a three foot fall. But it was the first time in a long time that he thought he had actually lost Blaine. And the emptiness from it terrified it just as much as it did the first time.

“Shh, Kurt. I’m okay,” Blaine said through a chuckle, kissing him on the forehead. Kurt gripped his shirt like it was the only thing holding him to the earth. “We’re okay.”

Blaine and Kurt went inside shortly after that, with the latter demanding Blaine should hold a bag of frozen peaches to his head. They fell asleep at nearly one in the morning after checking on Victoria and dusting dirt off their pajamas.

Kurt awoke with a jolt, sitting up to find the other side of the bed empty. The sun was just beginning to peek out from the horizon, a soft yellow glow in the window.

He slipped on a pair of slides and dragged a blanket with him outside onto the deck, stretching his arms over his head. Most of the lights in the other lake houses were off, and the only other person he saw was a woman walking a small dog. Until he caught his husband’s eye down at the dock.

It sometimes hit Kurt like a wave how handsome Blaine was, even from far away. His hair wasn’t his usual morning bird’s nest, combed down and contained just enough for Kurt to know he had brushed it. His muscles popped out of the thin long sleeve shirt he slept in, and when he smiled, his brown eyes crinkled.

“Awwh, Blaine!” Kurt gasped, looking down at the scene in front of him.

“Okay, okay,” Blaine stepped in front of him and adjusted his glasses. “Remember when we went out on our first date as boyfriends?”

“You mean when we got breakfast after I jumped you in your own apartment? Yes I do,” he grinned, already knowing where this was going.

Blaine nodded. “Right, and we went to that crappy diner and when I got steak and eggs you got—”

“Cheesecake,” Kurt pointed at the New York Style cheesecake sitting on a checkered blanket, raspberries and mint leaf sitting perfectly on top. “You made me cheesecake?”

Blaine’s smile faltered only slightly. “Um. Well about that. I tried to, I had the recipe and everything. And then I forgot the cheesecake dish at home.” Ah, so that was why Blaine seemed so freaked out when he looked through the bag of food after they left. “So I ordered one.”

“It’s perfect,” Kurt whispered and sat down at the edge of the dock, legs swinging over the edge.

“You’re my family, Kurt. You and Tori,” Blaine said as he sat down next to him. “I don’t need anything else. I just need you two.” He pulled a bottle of champagne and two glasses from behind him, pouring way too much.

Kurt opened his arms and wrapped them both in his blanket, cheesecake forgotten. For now. “Here’s to ten years of us.”

“More like twenty-five, if you include those years of pining,” Kurt interjected, much to Blaine’s chagrin.

“Fine, ten years of marriage,” he knocked against Kurt’s shoulder. “And to ten more.”

He looked down, feigning shock. “Only ten?”

Blaine just rocked forward and kissed Kurt’s cheek. “Happy anniversary, Kurt.” he smiled and took a sip of champagne, curling into his side and looking out across the water. There was nothing. more to say, not for now. They had everything they needed.

A Family of Five- Part 4: Games and Surprises

Calum and Harlowe’s marriage hasn’t always been easy, but it has always been filled with love. This is a collaborative experience with In Sorrow and In Joy. Dad!Calum. Black OC.

CW: Over the course of this series, there are mentions of pregnancy, therapy, and postpartum depression. There is also 18+ Content (Smut). 

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No one has my permission to repost my work of fiction. This includes translations as well

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Calum shouldn’t be this mesmerized by the way her skin looks. But he swears she used some kind of sparkly body oil. The glitter sparkles in the sun, her skin looks heavenly. Much more than it normally does. Brown glistening with gold flecks. He wants it coating his tongue. He shifts a little in his seat; he can already feel the strain in his pants. Calum should be concentrating on the menu in front of him. They already spent all morning in bed. She got in late last night from her reading, due to a delay. By the time she home, the last thing she wanted to do was fool around. Calum understood. Harlowe and he snuggled up in bed and she passed out pretty soon after curling into his chest. 

However, the moment she woke up, Calum couldn’t keep his hands off her. She didn’t seem to mind either. It was slow, soft, lazy sex. Calum buried his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling the faint sweet smell of her products, a mixture of something floral and coconut. He loved it. He wants to smell it again. He wants to be gentle in the beginning this time. Her moans are so sweet against his ears, but he also wants more. He wants to hear the pleasure ripping over her throat, he wants to see her eyes roll back into her head. Her wants to see her let go. Calum should’ve offered to cook. But Harlowe wanted to try this little brunch spot that just opened and he couldn’t say no to her pout. 

She’ll only be free for a couple more days. Then it’ll be back to school for her, the end of her spring break. With the release of her new book of poetry, she got invited to a book fest. So they didn’t get to spend nearly as much time together as they both anticipated. The kids are with his parents. Moving back to Australia had its perks for sure. Though, Ashton took them for part of a day. Calum received a video of Esha and Ashton competing in DDR. Ashton’s message attached to the video was I got my ass beat by a nine year old. 

Should the entire two days they have together be spent solely in the bedroom, or whatever part of the house they happen to be in? No, Calum knows that. So he shifts again and pulls his gaze to the orange menu in front of him. It’s enough contrast to the blue shirt of his she’s wearing. She stole the royal blue button up form his side of the closet and he can’t say anything. Especially not with the way she’s left a couple top buttons undone and tied it up at the bottom. Slivers of her chest and stomach poke out. He desperately wants to run his fingers over the stretch marks he knows so well already. She looks like a fucking goddess in front of him. Going on a decade of marriage should make things stale. But things have started to heat up for them. She’s off the meds with a doctor’s approval and Calum’s enjoying the way her new energy. 

Calum glances up at her once again. She’s resting her head on the flat of her knuckles, squishing the fat of her left cheek, gaze zeroed on the menu. “You’re thinking about something,” Harlowe grins before lifting her eyes. 

The moment feels like slow motion for Calum. He can see every lash as her lids lift, her dark brown eyes landing on his. “You,” he says softly, “I’m thinking about you.”

“Well I suggest you start thinking about what you want to order. Because you got three seconds before our server comes up.”

Calum’s fucked. He has no clue what’s on this fucking menu. He doesn’t care. When the server shows up, he lets her order first and then takes the same thing. “If I told them to bring me toast and one lemon, you would be so fucked.”

He exhales a laugh. “No, I wouldn’t be. You would be though.”

“I blame the fact that I had two kids. I can eat a house and home.”

“You talk about Te Koha’s appetite, but you’re the real culprit,” he grins.

She levels a finger at him. “You shush!”

“Make me,” he laughs. Harlowe doesn’t miss the teasing lilt to his voice, the small smirk that lifts half of his lips. She’s noticed him shift in his seat several times while she was debating what to order. She knows what he wants. She will not give in that easy. He’ll have to work for it. 

“What are we? 23 again?”

The smile falls again, he exhales a chuckle. He doesn’t like being reminded of that age, much. It’s nothing against her. It’s everything against him. It was him that tried to end what they had. She had just moved to California for her master’s in poetry. They had been something a step above friends with benefits and a step below a real relationship. It didn’t seem to matter much what the label was, but Calum felt himself, dying to call her about every little thing. She was the first person he wanted to talk to in the morning and the last one he wanted to hear at night. He nearly ruined all that too. Over text message. Stupid fucking text message. 

“Hey,” Harlowe says softly, reaching for his hand. 

Calum shakes his head, sniffling. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t want to mention how stupid he was in that moment, how terrified he was of fucking it up with the best damn person for him that he did nearly fuck it up. “It’s nothing,” he whispers.

“Nothing my black ass,” she counters, tightly holding onto his fingers. “What’s up, baby?”

He’s doing it again. The same behavior that nearly lost her sixteen years ago. “I love you,” he exhales. “A whole fucking lot. Sometimes I guess it scares me what I nearly did; I’m still so sorry about that. I know I was young, and scared, and a whole bunch of other adjectives, but I was so utterly in love with you, I didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t want to fuck it up. I still don’t want to fuck this up. I’m scared I will.”

Harlowe fights to keep the sigh from escaping her. She’s forgiven him. She knows getting Calum to open up requires more patience than she sometimes has. But God, does she wish he’d stop beating himself up over it. What words are left for her to say? “I’ve forgiven you, Calum. It’s time you forgive yourself. You’re human. You’re going to fuck up. I don’t think less of you.”

He nods. She’s right. He really ought to forgive himself. But the words to that message are burned into his retinas some nights and days. We shouldn’t do this; I shouldn’t do this. I can’t do this. You’re too good for me and I’m no good for you. I’ll ruin you. “But how? How do I forgive myself for something like that?”

“You admit it was a mistake. One mistake, amongst a lifetime of them. One you learned from. Clearly. Because we did it. We’re doing it. We’re literally married.”

Her inflection, her laugh, makes him crack a shaky smile. He looks down to the diamond ring. They made it, they are making it each and every day together. “Sorry for bringing it up. I just...sometimes I really get hit with how much of an idiot younger me was.”

“You live; you learn. Younger me was an idiot too. The girl I told off on twitter--yeah, not my most shining moment.”

Calum chuckles, head dropping a little remembering the rant she went on. “You didn’t exactly paint a pretty picture about me either.”

“Look, I was literally months pregnant with Koha and exhausted. The last thing I wanted to do was sit back and have thousands of people judging me-us- for not marrying sooner.”

“Valid. But you didn’t have to mention the one night I partied too hard and got sick, now did you?”

“Okay, but who cleaned up your vomit that night too? Off your own fucking floor? Me. Who took Duke to the vet the next day because you literally were lying under your sheets in the dark? Me.”

Calum groans. It wasn’t a shining moment for anyone. He was only going out for a few hours. He hadn’t had a drink in a while, keeping it out of the house while Harlowe was pregnant. It was a guy’s night tradition and Harlowe told him he should go out for just a little fun. So he did. He promised to have his phone on him, volume at it’s max and on vibrate incase she needed him. She was about six months pregnant, so it she wasn’t terribly far along. Just one night out with one beer, turned in a quick too many shots in succession, a woozy Uber back home and Calum promptly vomiting on the kitchen floor trying to get some water in his system. 

Harlowe heard him from the bedroom, pushed herself out of bed and wordlessly cleaned it up. Calum can’t remember much after that but as Harlowe recounts, he almost cried because she was pregnant and he was the one acting like a child. Every other word out of his mouth was sorry because he hadn’t intended for it to get like this. Harlowe couldn’t carry him like before to the bedroom, so she shushed him and got him on the sofa. He made it only to the bed later, after waking with a killer headache. 

The server returns with their food before he can defend himself. As Calum dunks a piece of french toast into the syrup, he speaks, “Still, it didn’t need to be put on social media.”

“Well, what do you want me to do, go back in time? That science hasn’t exactly been perfected yet,” she huffs. “Besides, we didn’t have to be married at that particular moment either. All the shit we had been through, we were living at our own pace. It still makes me mad to think that some people thought you had even proposed because you felt obligated to.”

 Calum takes a strawberry off his plate and holds it out to her. “Eat this. Clearly I didn’t marry you out of obligation.”

“Strawberries aren’t going to make me calmer,” Harlowe retorts. 

Pulling up from his chair, Calum stretches across the table and drops the berry into her mouth. “Just shut up and eat. Food will make you calmer, second only to my cock,” he adds the second sentence in a whisper. Just loud enough for her to here. 

It doesn’t even shock her. Instead she smiles around her chewing. “So that’s how it is?”

Calum raises an eyebrow. “That’s how it is.”

Harlowe nods. She won’t let this go. She was going to go grocery shopping tomorrow. But now, she’s going to make him suffer a trip. Two can play this game. She plays just a little bit better too. 

Brunch finished, and bill paid, Harlowe taps her fingers on the table. “We should probably get some groceries.”

“You mean tomorrow?” He trails his fingers up the skin of her forearm. He’s waiting to see that shake of her spine, hear the chatter of her teeth. 

“I mean we’re already out now.”

Calum doesn’t let up, dragging his nails over the skin of her elbow joint. He watches her carefully, but he gets nothing. Though he can see a rigid line across her shoulders. She’s tensing, so she won’t give him a reaction. “You’re playing dirty,” he spits. It’s some pretend offense, but some of it is real. How dare she?

“Let’s go while we’re out, yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah, let’s go while we’re out.”

The actual grocery shopping goes by smoothly. Calum stirs the basket while Harlowe takes charge. It’s routine, especially if they bring the kids. Both of them like to bounce around and ask about items not on the grocery list. Sometimes they cave on the small things, but it works much faster when one of the takes lead over the trip. It’s as Harlowe browses through the choices of rice that Calum seizes his opportunity. He slips a hand into the back pocket of her jeans, resting his chin on her shoulder. 

“Can I help you sir?” Harlowe grins. Calum doesn’t miss her sharp inhale before speaking. She keeps a good game face, but he knows her buttons. 

“Just enjoying the view,” he mutters, kissing her cheek. 

A giggle escapes her before she shrugs out of the embrace. She tosses a box into the basket. Calum sighs and starts behind her again. He looks over the produce, onions and bell peppers before finding ones that satisfy him. While he ties off the bag, Harlowe walks up behind him, patting his butt and giving it a squeeze. Calum jolts before looking over his shoulder to the bright grin on her face. “You’re so proud of yourself, huh?” he asks as she scurries away. 

He catches her on the wine aisle. Initially he thought she might be down the candy aisle. But when faced with the severe lack of blue shirts and his beautifully brown wife down the aisle, he knows wine is the second place to check. She’s not drinking right now, but she still likes to keep a bottle in the house for guests. He finds her holding up two different bottles. “I can’t choose. Help, please,” she whines, a pout pulling down her pouty lips. 

“How long have you been holding those bottles?”

“For a while, waiting for you to find me.”

Calum’s laughter hits the empty air of the grocery store loudly. He inhales sharply before his laugh leaves him again. “Are you serious? Put both of them in the cart you fucking goof.”

She sets the bottles down, with a sigh. “Thanks. They were getting heavy.”

Walking around the cart, Calum holds his arms out. Only his wife, only Harlowe. They embrace and Calum still vibrates with his laughter. Before releasing the hug, Calum kisses her forehead, sliding his arms down her waist, resting on the curve to her ass. He lets his hands linger there, kneading softly, fingers playing at the loops of her jeans. 

She shoves his hips. “I’m not going to cave, not here,” Harlowe mutters. She sounds a little breathless and that’s all the reaction Calum needs. 

He grabs her chin gently, silver bracelet sliding down his slender wrist. “Oh yes, you will,” he commands. Harlowe bites down her lip, fighting her throat to keep the moan down. She can swallow it, keep it at bay. The grip tightens. He needs this. He needs her to cave, because God is he seconds from caving himself, seconds from falling to his knees in the middle of this fucking grocery store to beg for her, for her body, for her sighs, for her moans, for her hands on his skin. 

She wrestles her chin away, exhaling hard. Defying him isn’t going to end well for her. Normally defying means punishments. But he hasn’t dished out any of those in a long time. Harlowe’s toying to see if he will. Calum probably won’t. Not after her spiral from Esha, he’s been extremely gentle during sex. She’s been good too with it, except for now. Now she’s tired of it. She wants to let go finally. 

The walk to the check out is silent. As they load up all the bags into the trunk, it’s silent. It’s not until both doors are closed and seat belts are on does anyone speak. Calum starts the car, before turning to Harlowe. “What was that?”

“Disobedience,” she answers, staring straight ahead. “Which means punishment.”

Calum exhales hard. “Baby, are you sure? I don’t-I don’t want you to feel rushed into anything. I’m okay with taking things slow.”

“I’m tired of slow.”

“We can’t do some of the stuff we used to. I-I can’t just yet. I’m worried.”

“I understand. I’m not asking to dive in head first. I just am tired of slow.” Harlowe watches as Calum nods, but runs his hands through his hair. He looks too hesitant for comfort. He won’t do it, she figures. “Never mind, forget I mentioned it.”

“Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa,” Calum lifts her chin. “I didn’t say I didn’t want to touch you or have sex with you. If you’re tired of slow, you’re tired of slow. You have every right to be.”

“But you said you were worried.”

“Worried, yes. Against, no. I’m cautious. It took almost a year to get back to where we are. I don’t want to push you too fast.” Undoing his seatbelt, Calum stretches over the middle console, brushing his nose over hers. “But you’re tired of slow. So we’ll ratched it up a notch.” He seals her mouth with his. She wastes no time, parting her lips for him. Harlowe is eager to gain more than just slow, and gentle. She wants something to set her skin on fire. 

Calum doesn’t slip his tongue into her mouth. Instead he pulls away. She whines, pushing forward even with the seatbelt pulling her back. He chuckles, patting her cheek. “This is what happens when you disobey.”

Even though a whine falls past her throat, Harlowe grins. This is it. This is the feeling she missed as her fingertips start to buzz. The drive home is silent between them, besides the low hum of the radio. Calum tries to keep his hands to himself, tries to punish her like she’s asking. He just can’t help himself anymore. “Unbutton your pants,” he orders at a red light. 

“What?”

“Unbutton your jeans and get them down as far as you can,” he states again before glancing over to her. 

Harlowe lifts her hips, slowly, popping the button her light denim jeans. She wiggles them down, suddenly very aware that a lot of people could be watching her in that moment. Her underwear selection for the day isn’t the most exciting, a simple pair of black cotton underwear with lace trimming. “What if people see?” she asks. 

“Then they shouldn’t be looking. No one is watching, though.” Calum looks over again. The denim is about half way down her thighs, though she’s struggling to get them down more. “That’s good. Now sit on your hands.”

“What are you doing?”

“Just do as I’m saying, baby.”

Harlowe pulls her hips again and settles down on her hands. The moment her hands are covered by her bottom, Calum slips hand over her thighs. There’s still some firmness to them, but two children have made her soft. The cellulite is harder to miss, but the ridges underneath Calum’s fingertips are enticing. He really wants to sink his teeth into her thighs. As the urge strengthens, he squeezes at her flesh. Not enough to cause pain, but hard enough to soothe the lust. She exhales next to him, shaky.

 “Scared?” Calum asks. 

“No, horny, turned on.”

Dragging his knuckles up her thigh, he brushes over her clothed sex. The thin material is soaked already. He hums at the feeling and pushes the cotton to the side. He can feel her dripping onto his hands. Calum presses the pad of his thumb to a clit. She jolts, a hiss falling from her lips. “Did I say you could move?” Calum asks. 

“Sorry,” she sighs. 

Calum removes his thumb, sliding two fingers into her. She clenches around him, but doesn’t move this time. “Good girl,” he praises, curling them up into her. Harlowe releases another shuddery breath. Calum works his fingers inside her slowly. They’re about two minutes form the house. But he’s going to milk this. Harlowe doesn’t move in her seat but her grip on the door is deadly.

All the color is starting to drain from her skin around her knuckles. She moans occasionally, but mostly tries to keep those sounds contained too. Calum turns into the driveway of the house, putting the car in park. He pulls his fingers out of her. Harlowe starts to whine, but before the sound can fully escape her, Calum’s unbuckled himself and leaning across the way. He kisses down her jaw, inserting his fingers again. 

Her breathe is ghosting over his cheek, and his exhales are blowing right over hers. “Cum for me.” Calum’s voice is strained, desperate. Almost pained, like he’s on the edge of breaking down too, watching Harlowe’s heaving increase. 

“Fuck, shit,” she cries. She’s getting there. Her pelvic muscles are tightening around him. Her hips are lifting, her curls are pressed so deep into the headrest, if she doesn’t leave an indent, he’ll be shocked. 

“You’re so close,” he coaxes, gently grazing his teeth over his skin. Right on the cusp of her orgasm, Calum considers pulling away, making her fall apart around nothing. He wants to ruin it. And that’s what he does, right on the edge of her cry, Calum pulls away from her completely. 

Harlowe swears, slamming her palms against the door handle. Her cry is mangled. When she opens her eyes, Calum can see tears on the falling down her cheeks. With his clean hand he wipes them away. “You motherfucker,” she heaves, turning into his touch. “I hate you, a tiny bit.”

“You okay?”

She laughs, “I mean on the one hand, that was on track to be the best orgasm of my life and on the other hand, you ruined it, so...you know I don’t know.”

Calum brings his coated finger to his mouth, sucking them clean. He pulls his digits from his mouth with a pop. “Clean yourself up. There’s still ice cream and sorbet to put up.” 

Due to two kids already, they keep the vehicles well stocked with tissues and wipes. Calum hands her the packet after taking one for himself. They’re baby wipes. Harlowe reaches behind Calum’s seat and unhooks the small plastic bag they leave in for trash. He is mindful to let her get her pants back up before opening his door. 

Calum grabs two bags from the trunk when Harlowe walks around and pushes on his shoulder. The smirk on his face let’s him know everything is good. “You asked for it,” Calum counters with a pause. “Don’t get mad at me, doll.”

Harlowe huffs next to him. Calum giggles, hurrying into the house with his bags. She hates that pet name. The first time he used it, she immediately ceased him from using it ever again. He only pulls it out in instances like this, just to annoy her, to rile her up. Harlowe storms after him, careful of the paper bags in her hands. “Calum Thomas Hood!” she bellows into the house. 

Pepper halts in her run to greet Harlowe. She knows that tone. “Pepper,” Harlowe coos. “I wasn’t talking to you angel. I’m sorry.” 

Harlowe drops her bags and holds out her hands. Pepper continues over, rubbing in close to Harlowe’s embrace. Sissy and Jack come trotting over too. She scratches at their heads too. Calum rounds the corner of the kitchen, prepared for her fierce gaze, but she’s too preoccupied by the dogs. He seizes this moment and brings in the last of the grocery before locking up the car and the house. 

“Don’t think I’m not still pissed about you calling me doll just because I’m playing with the dogs.”

“You know you love it,” he teases, his sing song cadence making Harlowe melt at the sound, but also grow a bit more frustrated. She hates the term, but somehow, it’s much less grating hearing it from his lips. It’s her more Southern upbringing. She is no one’s doll, no one’s play thing. She’s not plastic waiting to be structured. But for Calum she would be. For him, she would be a doll-the most perfect one too. 

“I love you babies. But Papa Bear will eat my sorbet if I don’t hide it,” Harlowe teases.

“I bought a separate pint for me, so you shush,” Calum shouts with a chuckle. 

Harlowe kisses the top of Jack’s head. “He’ll still eat some of mine.” She takes over putting away the last of the items, not even realizing Calum has disappeared until something cold touches her exposed stomach. She jumps into Calum’s chest, he snakes his arm even further around her waist. If he’s wearing rings, Harlowe swears she’s going to lose it. She glances down to see a bracelet. A new one in addition to the silver chain from earlier. Her gaze travels up from his wrist and sure enough his fingers adorn several of his favorite rings. His left hand slides up the back of her, the cold metal biting at her neck. 

“Fuck,” she whispers. The rest of her sentence dies on her lips as he brings his hand around to her throat. There’s no pressure, he’s just cupping the front of her neck, thumb ghosting over her skin. The paper towels fall from Harlowe’s slack grasp. 

“Pick those up, doll. Put them where they belong. I’m not doing anything.”

But he’s doing everything to make Harlowe turn into putty. She bends over, grabbing the  still wrapped paper towel roll from the floor, ass lined up with his crotch. Rolling up to stand, she pops onto her tiptoes to put the roll with the others on the shelf of the pantry. Her butt pops out as she leans forward, sliding it next to other waiting roll. The pantry door closes and before she can blink, Calum grabs her hips and spins her around. As he takes a step forward, she takes one back, pressing into the woodend door. 

His fingers trail across her stomach, pulling at the knot in his shirt. It falls open, her cropped camisole rests high on her waist. Calum presses his palm into her stomach, not too hard, but enough. She holds tightly to his wrist, tugging him even closer to her. “Tell me what you’re waiting on?” She asks, grabbing the back of his neck. Her lips ghost along his jaw, up to his ear. “You’re moving too slow.”

He doesn’t want to hurt her or scare her. Calum knows, however, he has to act fast. He pushes down the shirt from her shoulders, kissing across her shoulders. Once it falls into a heap at their feet, he pulls away, undoing his belt and pulling it from the loops. He pops the button on her jeans, pulling her back into him. “You won’t be saying that again,” he warns before turninf her back around. 

Harlowe braces against the pantry door. Calum unzips her jeans before pushing them down her hips. It’s not until he starts kissing the skin exposed as he undresses her that Harlowe suddenly finds her stomach filled with butterflies. Her body has changed so much since having kids. Nothing feels firm anymore to her. It scares her to think maybe she’s not as attractive as she used to be to him. 

Calum can sense something happening in her. He bites at her right cheek. “Stay with me, doll.”

“I’m jiggly though,” she sighs. Calum pushes up from his knees, standing at the back of her. His erection brushing against her. The sensation shocks her, her core clenches. Maybe she’s wrong. 

“You feel that?” he asks, pressing harder into her. 

“Yes,” she moans. He feels painfully hard against her. 

“Jiggly or not, you are my wife. You’ve blessed me with two children and three dogs. You are stunning and incredible. Besides,” he grins, running his hand over her ass. “I like the jiggle. A lot more for me to play with. But I can show you a lot better than I talk about how attracted I still am to you.”

Harlowe chuckles, turning her head to look at him. His pupils are blown, she can barely see the brown in his eyes. The beam to his grin makes ease some of her worries. “May I?” he questions, fingers trailing over the edges of her underwear. 

“Please,” she breathes. 

Calum sinks back to his knees, kissing over the back of her thighs, before pulling her completely of her jeans. Her panties are next to go before Calum settles between her legs. She pushes off the door some more. “Fuck,” he groans. “You’re so pretty, ya know? It’s a gorgeous sight you this wet for me.”

Harlowe can’t speak before his mouth is on her, sucking hard. “Ah, shit,” she shudders at the first contact, fist slamming into the pantry door. He hums at the curse. He grabs at her thighs to keep her stance wide enough for him. Her body quivers above him. Harlowe can barely get her breath. It’s taking all her core strength to stay upright as Calum laps at her. The sounds are lewd, the slurping, the swears, the moans. 

It’s a bad idea to take a hand off the wall, but Harlowe pushes up and looks down at Calum, his tongue swirling around her clit, flicking it. She grabs a fistful of his curls and tugs on them. He releases a moan, vibrating against her. Her stomach is on fire. “I-” she starts before her orgasm crashes over her. She groans, striking the door again with a closed fist. Finally, after what feels like forever, Harlowe exhales hard before gaining her breath. “Oh, fuck,” she heaves, resting her forehead into the door.

Calum teases her entrance with his fingers. Harlowe hisses above him. His palm is soft and warm against her thighs. “Shh, it’s okay,” one hand soothes her, the other still dancing around her opening. 

“I can’t. Please.”

“Okay,” he agrees pulling away from her. Sliding out from beneath her, Calum stands. Shedding his shirt and pants, he guides her upstairs. Harlowe watches the muscles of his back work beneath his smooth brown skin. Inside the bedroom before Calum and turn around, she drags her nails across his shoulders and down his back. Her lips leaves wet kisses over his skin. Calum shiver at the love bites she leaves. Snaking her arms around, she feels over his chest and stomach, fingers playing at the chains around his neck. 

“You’re moving too slow,” he teases. It’s mostly to prevent him from buckling right here. His knees are weak. With a laugh, she pushes him towards the bed. Calum climbs onto the mattress. As he settles and turns around, Harlowe’s already shed the camisole, arms now behind her back as she works to unhook the bra. “Should’ve let me do it,” he laughs, though it fades away as the cups fall away from her body. 

“Got anything else smart to say?” 

He shakes his head, watching her saunter to the edge of the bed. She crawls up his body, stopping occasionally to leave kisses on his thighs. He closes his has as his stomach tenses. Her lips and kisses are so soft, he swears he’s going to explode. His body feels like it’s buzzing. Her fingers curl into the band of his boxer briefs. He doesn’t refute the action, lifting his hips and letting her take them completely off him. 

She settles high on him, hovering right over her cock. Calum opens his eyes, watching the smirk on her face. The warmth and wetness slide right over him. “Shit,” he huffs, watching her slide up and down his length. “Don’t do this to me, doll. Please don’t.”

Harlowe stretches forward, gently taking the lobe of his ear between her teeth. “Call me doll one more time and see what happens.”

Calum runs his fingers up her back and sides. He’s silent, waiting for her to pull back in satisfaction. He knows she will if he remains quiet and then he can go in for the kill. Sure enough, she does, Harlowe tugs on his ear one last time before pulling away. That’s when he wraps his hand around her throat, squeezing. “What was that, doll?”

The hold isn’t too tight, but it stops Harlowe in her tracks. He was just going soft on her, just to give her some semblance of control to not freak her out. Calum watches her carefully, waiting for the gulp she usually does when she’s uncomfortable. But it never comes. She keeps her eyes trained on Calum. “Sorry,” she whispers. 

“Sorry what?”

“You might have to remind me. I forget.” The statement seems believable until she cracks a smile. That’s when Calum knows she’s acting out. He brings his second hand around her throat, and pulls her face down towards him. 

“I’ll remind you,” he growls. “You’re going to take my cock. Don’t breathe. Don’t think. Just bounce.”

Harlowe lifts up, lining him up to her entrance. For a brief second she considers maybe they should use a condom. Doctors have told her getting pregnant a third time isn’t impossible it’s just improbable. They’ve already agreed to try for a third child, even if the odds seem impossible. They go without condoms sometimes. It’s usually discussed beforehand. “Would you like me to put a condom on?” he asks, grip already loosening around her neck. 

Harlowe, with a rush of boldness, presses his hand back and slides down his length. “No,” she moans. “No, I don’t.”

Calum tightens the grip. “You’re still not addressing properly.”

Harlowe pulls herself up before taking him back in. She gives no verbal response, focused slowly on the bubble of heat starting. Calum watches her bouncing on his cock. It’s a sight to behold, the curls that shake with her moment, the way her breast bounce with her effort too. A moan slips over her lips, it’s tight and quiet from the pressure around her throat. Calum takes one hand away from her throat, wrapping it around her waist. He pulls her up and close to his chest, before driving his hips up into her. Harlowe braces herself above his hand, “Shit. God, don’t stop.”

“You will address me correctly, doll.” He gives a purposefully hard thrust, before slowly sliding out. 

Harlowe whines at the lost of her orgasm. “No, please, I’m sorry.”

“Then address me properly. Sorry, what?”

“I’m sorry sir,” she cries, eyes begging him. “Please don’t stop, Sir.”

“That’s more like it,” he smiles, thrusting back into her. The sound of relief that leaves her makes Calum almost cum. Harlowe sighs above him, the sound a little high in pitch. Calum removes his hand from her throat, slowing. Harlowe takes over, sliding up and down his length. With a nipple in his mouth, Calum moans. He’s missed this. He’s craved seeing her like this. A thin sheet of sweat covers her forehead, her knees pop just a little. But it doesn’t stop her, she chases down her orgasm. 

“Shit,” she groans, clenching around him. 

Calum runs his fingers over the side of her face, moans falling from her lips before he can catch them. “That’s right, just take all of it. Just bounce, baby.”

“I’m close, sir,” she warns. Calum’s own orgasm is still far down the line. He prays she can hold out for one last orgasm. 

“Cum for me, pretty girl. Let go.” 

“I want you to cum though. I need it,” she whines. 

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll get there. Give me this one. Cum around my cock, pretty girl. Please.” Pressing his thumb to her clit, he rubs it in circles. Even though Harlowe has slowed the added sensation is too much. She cries out, spasming around Calum’s cock. 

Calum holds her close, rubbing her back through the haze. “God,” he whispers. “You ought to see how beautiful you are when you cum.”

Harlowe chuckles into his skin, though it’s hot and clammy, it smells like home. “Mirror’s right over there,” she points, still nestled onto his cock. 

“Don’t give me any ideas, pretty girl.” It’s silent for a minute as Calum gently scratches at her scalp beneath the coils wrapping around his fingers. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have one more in you?”

She might, it looks slim. Her legs already feel pretty unstable. “Would I be on my hands and knees?”

“No, we can arrange it so you’re not on your hands and knees.”

“Then, yeah, I got one more in me,” she laughs, sitting up.

“Lay on your back, baby.” Harlowe compiles. Calum hovers a for a second, drinking in the sight of her. “I know what you’re thinking. No, it’s not going to be slow. So strap in.”

His first thrust is easy, an adjustment. But three strokes later, her legs are on his shoulder, the bed rocking into the wall. Harlowe hisses a little, reaching up for him. Calum meets her with a kiss, still holding her thighs spread open. His thrust become so hard that her head falls ips over the edge of the bed. But she’s in direct view of the mirror. As the blood rushes to her head, she can see Calum’s gaze stuck on her, not even the reflection of her, just him gazing down at her. She chuckles until the pleasure catches up with her again. 

“What’s so funny?” he asks breathless as his hips continue to snap into her. 

“Someone’s working hard to put a baby in me.”

Calum grins, bending over again. He kisses her, even when he’s rough she’s still finding something to giggle about. He trails his tongue down her neck, tasting the salt of her sweat and the taste of juices still left from before mixing on his tongue. His stomach clenches. He’s not going to last much longer. But he’d like to give her that third true orgasm that he promised. So he slows a little, thrusting deeper, but slower. He circles her clit, watching as her voice comes out strained with her swear. “You gonna give me another one? You said you had one more in you,” Calum taunts.

“Faster, I need your fingers faster, please.”

He kisses on the underside of her chin. “Hmm, anything for you, baby.” Calum speeds up his fingers, feeling his own orgasm approaching faster. He won’t make it after her, but he can still make sure she sees her end. Harlowe grips tightly at his bicep, holding her head up from the edge. It hurts how close she is at this point. “God, fuck, Oh God,” she pants.

“It’s-fuck- it’s okay, baby.” Calum’s orgasm crashes over him. He knows his moaning pretty loudly in her ear, but the sound leaves him abruptly. He doesn’t still, still thrusting through the high. 

“Calum, fuck,” Harlowe growls, voice thick with something like pain and pleasure. She clenches around him, his name falling from her lips again and again like a prayer. 

Post clean up, Harlowe lays on her back, legs thrown over Calum’s waist. His fingers dance over her skin. He can see a few reddish purple marks blossoming on her skin. “Do they hurt?” he asks. 

“No. They don’t ever really hurt unless I repeatedly hit that area.”

“I know. I’m just making sure.” He takes her spoon and scoops himself some of the peach mango sorbet. 

“Hey!” she reprimands. 

“I’m too lazy to get mine from downstairs. It’s too many steps.”

“It’s a flight and a half.”

“Still too many.” Harlowe finishes the last few spoonfuls, setting the bowl on the nightstand. Calum rolls his eyes. “I only wanted the one spoonful.” As they settle back on the screen, Harlowe wraps one arm around her stomach. Something feels different. A good different. 

__

Harlowe’s hands shake. She ought to take this pregnancy test. That’s the only way to know for sure. But she can’t do it. She reschedules her OBGYN appointment too. Until next week. Next week she’ll have her bearings together. Her head will be on straighter and she won’t be thinking about what the hell she and Calum are going to do with a newborn. They’ve long gotten rid of the diapers, and the cribs. Does she really have it in her to have another baby this late?

Instead of going to her OBGYN, she ends up buying tampons and more sorbet. It’s a light period, but still a period. She should’ve known that she wouldn’t have gotten pregnant again. Part of her feels like an idiot for even thinking it was a possibility. Doctor’s told her chances would be slim. So why think that she would the special case? 

Calum knocks on the bedroom door. After work, Harlowe mentioned being exhausted, so she took a nap. “Babe, dinner’s ready,” he says softly shaking her awake. Harlowe stretches after sitting up. Calum looks at his wife. She’s mentioned being tired most days. Her appetite isn’t much of a strange from normal, though the last few weeks she’s been extra sensitive about the smeell of seafood. The same thing when she was pregnant with Esha. 

“You ought to go to that appointment, babe.”

“For them to tell me I’m broken. I know that already.”

“Maybe you aren’t. But you can’t stand the smell of seafood anymore, you’re craving nuts again. You’re tired. I think you might be pregnant.” He doesn’t want to talk to loudly, doesn’t want to give himself false hope. But the thought keeps nagging him. “You’re spotting as well. I don’t think they’re full on periods.”

Harlowe nods. Her silence speaks volumes. Calum doesn’t pushes it. He takes her hand and they walk downstairs to the dining room. “How was your nap?” Te Koha asks. 

She kisses the top of his head. “Good, very good.” She settles in at the table next to Esha. She presses several kisses to her cheek.

“Mom,” Esha huffs. Calum sits across from her, watching the way she devours her dinner. Something is definitely up. Over the weekend, Calum steals a moment to call his mother. Joy warn him he has to do something even if it means dragging her to the office. On Tuesdays, Harlowe’s classes are finished early. So he knows he has to schedule it then, but he feels horrible forcing her. Joy, on the other hand, does not feel the same way. 

Her office hours through, Harlowe starts packing her backpack when a knocks rings out. The door opens and Joy pokes her head through. “Well, isn’t this a nice surprise,” Harlowe grins, walking over to embrace her mother-in-law.

“I needed some help with something and figured I’d pop by to see if you were free.”

“Yeah classes are done, but Calum was coming to pick me up,” Harlowe states. “Let me call him, he might even be in the parking lot.”

“I didn’t see his car. But I’m not sure where he parked though.”

Harlowe gathers the last of her things and pulls out her phone. Calum answers on the second ring. “Hey, I’m leaving now. I know I’m late. Got hung up in the studio.”

“Hey. Don’t worry. Your mom’s here. She needs help. I’m going to go with her.”

“Okay. Tell her I said hi.”

“Calum says hi,” Harlowe relays moving the phone. Joy grins.

“So sorry again, babe. Lost track of time. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay. The kids catch the bus, so it’s all good.” They hang up shortly after and the two woman start towards the parking lot. Joy watches Harlowe closely as they walk to the car. She can feel it; Harlowe’s pregnant again. She’s not sure if it scares Harlowe to have another child and that’s why she refuses to believe it. But whatever the case it is, clearly the woman knows something is up. She avoids deli meats, she doesn’t drink alcohol, has quit caffeine all together, everything she should be doing in pregnancy. She knows. But why does she not believe?

During the ride, Harlowe notes the strange route. But feels a bit rude questioning Joy. When they pull up in front of the small beige brick building, Harlowe sighs. “I should’ve figured.”

“You need to know. It’s been nearing what ten, eleven weeks at this point? You’re starting to show.”

Harlowe snaps her head over to the older woman. “Show? I’m two ounces short of being a keg. I am not showing; it’s not baby fat.”

A soft grin plays over Joy’s lips, all too similar to Calum’s. She doesn’t mean weight wise. It’s written across the glow in her skin. She is showing without even realizing.  “Then let’s find out, yeah?” The women climb out of the car and Joy takes Harlowe’s hand. “I know. You are pregnant though.”

It’s not nerve wrecking when she signs in her appointment. It’s not nerve wrecking waiting for the nurse to call her back. Harlowe doesn’t have nerve, listing the symptoms. It’s only when they break out the sheet to protect her skirt that the nerves start. Harlowe clutches Joy’s hand when they doctor slips on the gloves. She is pregnant. She knows it. She just didn’t want to be wrong. She couldn’t stand the thought that she the test would come back negative. That all those things were just her brain thinking, wanting a baby so bad, it played this trick on her. Harlowe stares up at the ceiling. She can’t bare to watch a blank screen. 

Thump-thump, thump-thump echoes around the room. Harlowe’s eyes sting with tears. That’s all she needs to hear. “Call Calum, please?” she cries to Joy. “Please. He needs to hear. Can she please call my husband?”

The doctor grins and a nurse exits the room. “Give us one moment, okay?”

Harlowe wipes her tears, staring at the monitor. The door creaks open again. She turns to the sound to see Calum. He walks far enough inside and have the door close, but the heartbeat echoing makes him stop. That’s his baby’s heartbeat. Tears slip down his cheek and Harlowe laughs. “God, we’re both a hot mess of tears.”

“You’re pregnant?” he breathes. 

She nods, the stiff paper of the bed crinkles under her movement. “I am. That’s our baby.”

Calum rushes over, burying his face into her shoulder. His tears are hot even through the cotton off her t-shirt. Inhaling deeply, Calum looks to the screen again. That’s his baby. His miracle, his next little one. The joy coursing through his veins lights his bones on fire. Though the late nights are tortuous, and changing diapers are not ideal again, after nearly seven years of not having to do it, he is fucking ecstatic. 

Harlowe has been dying for a third baby and he wanted nothing more than to give that to her. It was out of his hands, it was up to the numbers, gods, and chances. But he prayed for it, he begged to the high heavens to give this to her. She needed a good thing in her corner after her long battle. He knew she didn’t take him for granted, but there’s nothing quite like knowing something is sort of within reach and never being able to reach it. Until now. 

Calum turns his gaze, though blurry and watery, down to Harlowe. He wraps an arm around her hair and head, kissing her forehead repeatedly. “I love you,” he breathes into her skin. “And this baby.”

Harlowe holds to his bicep, pressing her face into the flesh and dense muscle. “I love you too. I’m so sorry I didn’t go sooner. I am so fucking sorry.”

“It’s okay. You were smart about your diet. You knew. And now you can believe it. It’s okay. I’m here.”

“But what if I wasn’t. What if I fucked up.”

“Then it would be a mistake. One among a lifetime of many. We would’ve handled whatever came our way, together. Right?”

“Always together.”

Back in the car, Harlowe hold the print out of the sonogram, gently rubbing her fingers over it. She was smart and Calum would always be right by her side. “So, are we good on babies?” Calum asks. 

“God, yes. No more, please.”

Calum laughs, grabbing her knee. “I have a consultation next week.”

They’ve weighed their options. Calum’s against her going in major surgery. Though Harlowe’s response is that a vasectomy is still surgery too. “What if I wasn’t pregnant?”

“Then I would’ve cancelled it, unless we were done trying.”

“Well, I’m done trying,” she laughs. 

“Should I schedule before or after the birth?”

“Before,” she whispers. Though worry flashes through her veins, she feels like waiting won’t help her. She prays nothing happens in this pregnancy, but part of her is tired. If she’s not meant to have a third child, then she’s not meant to birth a third child. There are still other options. 

“You’re worrying again. None of that. That’s our little one growing in you. It’s all going to be okay.”

She nods, though he can’t see it. It’ll all be okay.

If You See Him

Day 22/23 Prompts - this is pt 1 of this story - sorry ran out of time yesterday to  edit and post but here it is :D

“Stop it! It tickles!”

“Quit it or I’ll bite.”

…

“You’re going out dressed like that?”

“The skirt is supposed to be this short.”

“Take. It. Off.”

…

Clunk, clunk, clunk. Heavily the axe in Thranduil’s hand fell to the stump he was using to split wood on now turned away from so he could toss the split pieces of wood into the back of the atv he had used to collect wood from the fallen trees taken out by last months storms to stock up for the growing winter season coming his way. Hundreds of acres up in these mountains were his to claim after decades of toiling away in the city on various sky scrapers in his architecture firm in search of a closer view of the stars. Out here was where he found it, a company retreat up in the ski resort a private jet overhead was flying to. The final piece of chopped wood was added and back he turned to chop some more.

Hours he had been at it as again she had flooded into his mind, his childhood pen pal from a class project in Doriath pairing those from Gondolin. In their early teens their parents had arranged a meet and it became an annual tango of arranging breaks to visit one another, winters, springs and summers with various dates together. From the first moment he loved her and those silver flecks in her purple eyes reminding him of the stars, all under her shimmering white gold curls glimmering in the moonlight. His Darling Starlight, a living star in his eyes for how bright she shone when a smile split across her face, images trapped in his mind.

.

Another warm summer day had her strewn across his bed enjoying the sunlight pouring in through the open windows like a giant cat content in the warmth after weeks of rain keeping them both inside. It was the first day of freedom and from his closet and smirking Thranduil strut out saying, “I’m ready.”

In a turn over he caught her wide eyed gaze before she said it, under his black tank top was her favorite yellow skirt with black bird silhouettes across them not buttoned down the side as it should but tucked into his bright green boxer briefs under revealing his long tones legs. “Why are you wearing that?”

Cheekily he replied in a turn to flash a glimpse of him from the back, “The skirt is supposed to be this short.”

“Take. It. Off.”

Onto her stomach she rolled and jumped on his back making him laugh in their scrambling match ending how it usually did, him sitting on top of her after she started to nibble on his ear and the side of his neck. Nowhere near anything amorous but enough to make him cry out, “Stop it! It tickles!”

Atop her he folded his hands around hers fumbling at another try to stroke his ears making him pretend to bite at her hands in return as he managed to grab them, “Quit it or I’ll bite.” Quick apologizing pecks on her palms were given after gentle nibbles on the edges of her hands before he leaned forward in the mess of her giggles to plant their locked hands on either side of her head in his own chuckles. A nip at her lip halted his bubbling laughter in the wonder what her odd curious grin up at him meant, suddenly she lifted up and his eyes shut when their lips met. Tighter his fingers clenched around hers in her pull away and when he would have leaned in to steal another kiss he straightened up retracting his grip to peer at his bedroom door after the signaling creak of the wooden floor alerting for a guest.

A stolen stroke of fingers on his stomach had a burst of laughter leave him in the flex of his abs from the ticklish stroke making him squirm from her touch as the door opened. Her giggles continued in a glance at his father looking over the pair of them and then his son’s outfit. Narrowing his eyes for a moment Oropher inhaled sharply then stated, “You’re going out dressed like that?” hastily he wet his lips, “Little Bud, at least wear some knee high socks or something, that is an absurd amount of leg for the cool breeze today. Tomorrow perhaps, it is supposed to be hotter.”

Thranduil smirked at him, “I’ll wait then. None of my socks are long enough.”

Oropher nodded then said, “Alright then. Don’t forget to be home by four, your Naneth’s work dinner is at five.”

Thranduil, “I won’t forget.”

Oropher nodded then turned around, “As you were then.” Closing the door behind him smirking at another set of giggles in his stroll away.

Down again Thranduil ducked though this time cupping your cheeks to awkwardly mash his lips into yours quickly being corrected while your hands gripped, one at his shirt and the other around his neck.

.

That was the last summer and he could feel himself shaking remembering each night after you creeping from your bed to his for more hushed bouts of tangling up under the covers in heated make out sessions and how it timidly pushed into more amorous explorations.

Each blow of the ax growing harsher in the tears welling up in his eyes remembering the news splashing across the screen as his family sat for a family movie night. ‘Ship overturned’ that was it, along the way to Gondolin a ship had been traveling, it took two days to get from Doriath to Gondolin crossing those waters and in the aftermath of an attack on Gondolin the shockwaves sent monster waves that overturned the ship.

Hours he had spent awake as the images flashed back like his hours switching through channels hoping for answers. War. Ship. Death. Waves. “Nothing, nothing, nothing,” he whimpered to himself through his tears remembering it all, from your first letter, the eagerness, the nerves, all up to that final morning, a hungry kiss and that final release of locked fingers to claim a tight hug at that boat dock.

“I love you, Dew Drop.” The words haunting him like a clap of thunder in a clear night sky hitting him at once making him shiver each time it suddenly echoed in his mind.

Sluggishly in a panting sob the ax tapped the stump and he lowered to crouch clamping his eyes shut in the rubbing the backs of his gloved hands over his face in a pained groan hearing his whispered reply, “I love you more. Just till Spring, then we’ll be married, my Darling Starlight.” Warmly he kissed her cheek and then he let her go. He hated himself for that right then, he should have held on, he should have thrown a tantrum, they should have run away to Helcrax like she had mentioned in their dreaming whispers in their first time tangled up in his bed.

A wedding in the snow, a cabin wrapped in a glistening blanket with peaceful herds of Elk dwelling within, and that was just what he had done and collected as if somehow it could have brought her back to him for those long overdue vows.

Inhaling sharply his head raised as he heard a static click and his son’s voice call out into the silence, “Ada?”

Standing up he huffed and wiped his cheek on his shoulder and mumbled, “Fuck,” Blinking down at his shoulder seeing a spray of dirt on his shoulder, a speck of which got in his eyes, “Least it’s not a splinter.” Crossing to the atv he leaned into the cart grabbing the walkie talkie saying, “Ya, Leg?”

“Everything alright up there?”

“Ya, just got some dirt in my eye. Storm rolling in?”

“Ya, how’d you get dirt in your eye?”

“It was on my shoulder, just give me a few minutes, I’ll drive back.”

“Don’t forget the ax this time, you know how Gimli gets about axes.”

“Oh yes, how could I forget the three days of shouting last year as he dug up a twelve by twenty patch of snow to find it wedged in the cart.” Thranduil let out a laugh blinking away the watery gaze in his eye from the dirt working itself from his eye almost hearing his son laughing remembering his boyfriend’s endearing trait. Fetching the ax he added it to the cart he closed and then straddled the seat on the atv pulling of his work gloves he left in his lap to wipe his cheeks in a settling exhale remembering feeling that body filling light his son and Gimli were wrapped up in. There was no worry of his objecting at all knowing how useless it would be in how enthralling life was when you had that light.

He caught flashes when he could remember you and he could never rob Legolas from that, but he did have to draw the line when Gimli wanted to rearrange his bookshelves to try and ‘repair’ the one crooked shelf after having broken the banister on the front porch somehow after repainting it for him. Somehow the adorably clumsy and repair blind fiery haired Dwarf assumed himself master of all. Yet still he could make a hell of a breakfast smoothie, part of how they had met in a cooking class so Gimli could open his own smoothie shop Legolas loved dreaming of joining with his own dream year round orchard and produce in a special greenhouse he and Thranduil were still designing.

Adding his gloves again a passing glimpse of the ring she had picked for him led to one of the Elk from the herd living on these lands. He fired up the engine and started driving off to the cabin in the distance hearing the rest of the herd entering the clearing now free of the dangerous fallen trees he had cleared much safer for their young ones. They would have come out when he was there had he stayed longer, certainly unafraid of him and even willingly wandering to his cabin, especially their leader who loved to make faces at him through the windows terrifying him early in the morning. Each time making him shake his head and wonder if it was some sign from her to keep some laughter in his days, no doubt another trip coming up by the glint of mischief in the buck’s eye watching him leave.

Parked in the garage he climbed off the atv he switched off and he sighed stretching his legs on the stroll out to the side steps he walked down the snow bank on the concrete half wall beside it to avoid the ice on the steps. Hopping down again he walked to the front door where he froze seeing Gimli racing around in a circle inside the front door, “Oh no, oh no, oh no…”

Peering inside he spotted Legolas grabbing the keys to the bronco saying, “Ada, Tulney said Tony’s loose again.”

Thranduil exhaled and tuned grabbing the flannel coat by the door he wrapped around Gimli’s side halting his circles with a quick grin saying, “Not helping. Back seat, go get comfy,” Gimli nodded and Thranduil turned taking the keys, “I am driving, last time you spooked the moose by driving too close. Come on,” waving his hand for his chuckling son to exit the door he locked behind them in the trot to the bronco in the wrap around driveway.

 **

Three inches from a heart attack you sat ignoring the fact that your boyfriend hadn’t noticed you were on your way to an emotional dive, after all this was your first time meeting his family. It had only been two months, and five dates, which was absurdly early but in a sudden answering of his mother’s skype call in the middle of your last date where she demanded you come out to the ski resort their family owned. Clearly the Numenorean mother had no intention of remembering your name as three times in the twenty minute conversation through that dinner.

But with two packed bags you sat struggling to calm, and a lovely silver necklace with a sapphire ended spiral to goad you into coming you couldn’t stop stroking between glances at your shimmering heart shaped ring. A shimmering white heart shaped stone surrounded by a ring of smaller matching stones spreading onto a trio of bands coated in more shimmering white stones making you miss your first love all the more as it matched his with silver antlers around a heart shaped white stone with woven bands. One person’s misfortune left this dazzler and his in a pawn shop well within your price ranges.

Finally a big hand circled yours on your lap and your head turned to peer up at the dark haired dark eyed scruffy chinned man who said, “They’re not gonna eat you,” as the ding sounded for the landing of the private jet arriving at the resort.

“I know. Just, this is a family thing-,”

He waved his free hand, “They invite the help to join us all the time.”

Nodding your head you looked to the window opposite his and mouthed, “The help.” Inhaling sharply you tried to shake off the memory that you had met at your being hired to photograph a shoot for an article on the founder of the company he works at a few months back he got your number from. That phrase was clearly written all over you as you entered the lobby in your non designer jeans and sweater under your thick fur lined jacket that had clearly seen better days. All the same under the lights overhead heads turned when your white gold hair shimmered and those silver flecked purple eyes lit up in taking in all the decorations inside the building you been forced to come to.

Twelve numbers apart, presumably at opposite ends of the same floor, your rooms sounded to be. Honestly you didn’t mind as the mousy haired mother who called you a seventh alternative to your name you forced a grin and watched as she darted off with her son naming a leggy raven haired beauty who toasted her martini to him on her naming. Five minutes was what his father gave you, the blonde who had his eyes locked on a fiery haired Dam across the lobby he left you for.

Pocketing your key you strolled after the others into the reception area for the luncheon planned for the arriving guests. Ordering an orange juice was all you had been given time to do after a bathroom stop when the party kicked on and in the sea of people you were pulled into mingling and then two hours later your arm was tapped.

A peppy blonde aid came into your view forcing a grin onto your face as you stole a glance out at the starry night coming into view in a break of the incoming snow storm, “Mrs Erge wanted to speak to you.”

You nodded, “Oh, okay, sure.” Standing up you felt your finger ease against the bands on your index finger and you followed the blonde in her trot through the crowded room making you mumble in Gondolin Elvish, “Not a problem, not like I’m busy, being the help and all..”

She glanced back asking, “Did you say something?” With a wide grin.

Shaking your head you forced a grin yourself, “Sorry, just admiring your earrings.”

A blush coated her cheeks and she turned stroking one of the dangling heart shaped pink earrings, “Aww, thank you! My husband bought them for me.” Turning around she continued on and at the door she whispered before opening it, “Her bark’s worse than her bite.”

You nodded, “Thanks.”

Through the door however you were urged inside and it seemed more like meeting a Doctor for a tumor consultation than meeting the parents of your five time date. Words seemed to blur and holding your grin you listened to her spout on and on about the long line of successful Men from her family and how they all had expectations from their boy.

“So you see, it takes a certain amount of pedigree to join our ranks, and, well, some Elven photographer out sightseeing their way through eternity isn’t what we want for our boy. And he has said he has certain, plans for the future, however any of that future would not be funded by us. Now, Belinda, I am certain your family-,”

A chuckling exhale came from you and her brow inched up as your gaze dropped to your lap then rose back to her parting her lips as she saw the tears in your eyes even as you held your smile growing more stunning as it grew. “Mrs Erge, you have no idea who I am, or even my name you haven’t bothered to remember. One thing I can tell you is I lost everything, and everyone I love when Gondolin was attacked.” Your hands reached up behind your neck and you removed the necklace you set on the table saying, “No fight necessary. Family is everything, and clearly I will never be enough.” Squirming on her seat you cut her off from saying anything by saying, “Especially when your son said I would be welcomed because you often invite the help.” On your feet you turned to the door, “Forgive me for wasting so much of you and your son’s time.”

Through the door you went and straight up to your room you went, a quick stop to pee and you eyed your bags you strode to mumbling, “Screw this. I’d rather sleep with the bears.” Grabbing your duffel you shouldered with your rolling suitcase in your hand. On the way to the door strolling through the lobby you left your key on the unmanned counter and strolled your way right out the front door into the night. A quick tug hat your beanie eased on over your braid you tucked inside your jacket you zipped and clasped after raising your hood. “Come on, you can be my little snow bunny!” You mocked to yourself after the first mile you had walked as the wind picked up.

True as an Elf the cold and snow didn’t trouble you but the skidding feet leaving you wide eyed and bow legging yourself across patches of black ice had you grateful when the snow started to float down. In a soft sigh you mumbled, “Dew Drop would never have done this.” Glancing around you sighed again, “This place would have been perfect.”

 ** Two Days Later **

“We have everything? Shop’s gonna be shut down for weeks.” The pair nodded and Thranduil eased closer to his son’s side saying lowly, “You can beat the storm if you’d rather stay with Gran and Gramps so you won’t be stuck with me out here in the middle-,”

Gimli inched up to his other side, “Hup, hup, hup, no, no you are not getting rid of us that easily! Storm or no storm we said we were booked to stay with you for the month and the month we will stay.” He grinned wider, “Besides, I brought Jenga and Life.” He nodded making Thranduil smirk at his son.

Legolas smirked back grabbing Gimli’s hand, “Come on you wild one you. We need to get these supplies back to the house.”

Out to the Bronco they strode while Thranduil once again drew attention to his ring keeping the woman behind the counter from trying to hit on him again after the first time he had moved in and come to stock up. Into the growing snow he smirked and helped to fill up the back Gimli closed as Thranduil eyed the road ahead in his stroll around the bronco to climb in the driver’s seat.

Backing out he smirked catching a glance of Legolas holding Gimli’s gloved hand in the rear view mirror. Shifting gears he turned his gaze back to the road wondering what that speck was in the distance coming from the split in the road. The closer they got the couple in the back leaned forward and Legolas asked, “Is that a person? Walking? There’s nothing around for miles!”

Gimli, “With luggage too. Where the hell could they be going?”

Thranduil said, “Well they can’t be thieves, no one would be foolish enough to rob someone, on foot using suitcases to getaway in this storm.”

Gimli, “By the size of them looks like a Lass. Maybe her car broke down.”

Legolas, “Ada, we can’t just leave her out here, storm’s growing.”

Thranduil, “I know. We can see at least where they’re headed.”

Pulling up beside the stranger he rolled down the window instantly feeling a slap of snow billowing inside through the window, “Car break down?”

All –

@himoverflowers​, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator​, @sweeticedtea​, @ggbbhehe4455​, @thegreyberet​, @patanghill17​, @jesgisborne​, @curvestrology​, @alishlieb​, @jogregor​, @armitageadoration​, @fizzyxcustard​, @here2have-fun​, @lilith15000​, @marvels-ghost​, @catthefearless​, @imjusthereforthereads​, @c-s-stars​

Hobbit/LotR – @abiwim​, @jotink78​, @pastelhexmaniac​

X Thranduil - @evyiione​, @sweetlytenacious25​, @tigereyesf​, @pastelhexmaniac

A detailed look at Stanley Nelson’s Miles Davis documentary: “Birth Of The Cool” (2019)

The following is an in depth review of the New York premiere weekend of Stanley Nelson's Birth of the Cool which I attended on Sunday August 25th, 2019.  Where applicable I have added some additional information about Miles' history and career to give context for new fans in the Davis orbit.  

Introduction

Miles Davis.  All you need to do is say the name and many adjectives are conjured-- restless innovator, genius, temperamental, swagger, fashion icon, tenderness, mentor. All of  these themes and then some are explored in famed director Stanley Nelson's fantastic new documentary Birth Of The Cool. For casual music lovers and devotees of Davis' extensive genre breaking career, there is a lot on offer.  Initially when the film was announced, following Don Cheadle's  creative  vision of the trumpeter's retirement period with Miles Ahead in 2015 the thought in my mind as a lifelong Davis fan was what could possibly be covered that I don't already know?  The answer is quite a bit. Through combinations of interviews with those who knew him best, musicologists, fellow musicians such as Jimmy Cobb, Herbie Hancock, Ron Carter, Wayne Shorter, Lenny White, Carlos Santana, family friends, and ex wife Frances Taylor Davis, it creates quite an intimate portrait.

By far the most impressive feature of the two hour documentary is the coverage of Miles the man, not as an mythical superhero figure as some documentaries or biopics are wont to do with their subjects.   Nelson covers virtually the entire spectrum of his career and life: personal reflections from Davis' joys  following Dizzy and Bird to 52nd street, meeting ex wife Frances Taylor, the unbearable suffering of his heroin habit quitting cold turkey, the relapse into drug use to deal with intense physical pain, his thoughts on creation, the freedom of being a black man in Paris, and the disappointment of coming home and seeing the racism again, among other topics. Davis is approachable and endearing to the audiences voiced by actor Carl Lumbly reading portions from both Miles: The Autobiography and interviews from his later years.

The Music and Film Production

Nelson's interspersion of decade specific footage to track the trajectory of the trumpeter's varied career is incredibly clever featuring stock footage, fast cuts of classic films, and significant political events.  The use of Wayne's Shorter's “Paraphernalia” from Miles In The Sky (Columbia, 1968)  as the director announces the decades through slick headers is striking. It is striking in part because it drives home the point of how the trumpeter was always moving forward.  Though he always went forward musically seeking to change with the times and grow, Miles' previous musical breakthroughs from Birth of the Cool (Capitol, 1957 rec. 1949/50) Round Midnight (Columbia, 1956) Kind of Blue (Columbia, 1959) Sketches of Spain (Columbia, 1959) Miles Smiles (Columbia, 1966) On the Corner (Columbia, 1972) The Man With the Horn (Columbia, 1981) and Tutu (Warner Bros, 1986) just to name a few, informed EVERYTHING he did; and that's important to realize for newcomers should they wish to make the deep dive to access his entire catalog.  The use of  “Agitation” from E.S.P. (Columbia, 1965) as Frances Davis was discussing the domestic violence she experienced, as well as during the recounting of the brutal beating by a drunk police officer outside Birdland shortly after Kind of Blue was issued made the viewer almost feel those incidents.  A wonderfully smart choice by Nelson to use  selections from Round Midnight, Workin' (Prestige, 1956) Kind of Blue, Sketches of Spain, Bitches Brew and On the Corner at the appropriate moments was masterful and lead a gentleman to remark at the post film Q&A that the film's totality was a composition and the director was on par with a musician.

The reasons for having an actor voice Davis was due to the fact that although Nelson had access to 40 tapes of Davis in conversation with Quincy Troupe for Miles: The Autobiography, the director explained at the post film Q&A that the interviews were recorded on a cheap tape recorder, with quite a lot of background noise, so the tapes were unusable.  It was decided to use portions of the autobiography and later interviews to tell Miles' story.  His actual voice is heard in the documentary via session reels from Freedom Jazz Dance: The Bootleg Series, Vol. 5 (Columbia/Legacy, 2015) the 50th Anniversary edition of Kind of Blue and there is some gold there.  The archival photos and footage are stunning.  Davis' friend Corky McCoy had brought two reels of film, and had a 16mm camera for which he took a class at UCLA and provided a lot of source material.  The scenes of Miles boxing are phenomenal, and one sees that he had as much passion for the sweet science as he did for music, and cooking.  He had a terrific left jab!  There were many previously unseen non performance photos that were obtained through photographer estates, and friends that add another deeply personal dimension to things.  Also essential to the narrative arc is that contrasting views are presented.  Stanley Crouch's frank admission of not getting, liking or understanding the 70's period met by a harsh, but true rebuttal by Carlos Santana is just part and parcel of the documentary's mission to feature everything.

Miles' Humor, Stance as a Civil Rights Activist

Over the course of the film's two hours, there are some hilarious bits of the trumpeter's blunt commentary on life experience, and thoughts on other musicians.  For those with a deep knowledge of him, there are no new revelations, but they are quite funny just the same.  Miles is heard in session reel audio “I can't play that shit, man!” and even more uproarious in a story relayed by Wayne Shorter of a well known episode, the trumpeter's response to black folk playing the blues out of suffering is classic: “you're a GODDAMN liar!!!” Finally, tenor legend Archie Shepp discussed wanting to sit in with Davis to which he was met with a stone cold “fuck you!!” which brought a unison chuckle from the Film Forum audience.

As funny as his remark was regarding his teacher's naive comment, it boldly demonstrated  Miles' commitment to  exercising the civil rights of black people, and the pride of being black.  In 1957 when Miles Ahead was first issued, Columbia chose a white woman sailing on the cover because they felt that it would show that the trumpeter crossed over to a mainstream (read: white) audience.  When Davis saw the cover, he incredulously asked “who is this white bitch on the cover?”  The album was promptly reissued with an image of him instead.  In 1961, he demanded that Frances Davis be photographed on the cover-- the first in a series of covers featuring black women on the trumpeter's records which for the time period, an incredibly progressive move. Cicely Tyson was featured on the cover of Sorcerer in 1967, another emphatic statement on the beauty of black women.  As the film discussed early on, Miles saw his dark complexion symbolic of power, and that is something he exhibited time and time again. Although not covered in the film, the famous February 12, 1964 concert that produced My Funny Valentine and the companion Four and More brought forth a rare passion from the players involved because they had learned Davis had waved the fee for the show as it was an NAACP benefit.  Also he had felt strongly about the apartheid in South Africa during the 80's and refused to play there.  He was committed to the civil rights of African Americans up until the day he died.

Transition to Superstar in the 80's

As Miles started back on the road to health in the early 80's after the 1972 car wreck that caused him considerable physical pain and causing him to  dive back into substance abuse, he emerged a new man in the 80's.  He cut Man With The Horn with a new band, diving into the new decade's vision of funk. Along the way he tapped into Caribbean flavored grooves, synth pop, and hip hop.   He did interviews (most memorable, his appearances with Bill Boggs and on the Arsenio Hall Show) television shows like Miami Vice, and played a leading role in the film Dingo. Nelson's choice of footage and commentary from musicians during this period show him as positively ebullient, Davis was healthier, painting and cooking, his passions with increased zeal.  The footage of the Tutu session, showing the trumpeter's investment in current pop music of the day, and with Prince is quite jubilant.  

Touching Moments

There are several touching moments scattered throughout the film that Nelson uses to truly allow the audience to identify with Davis and those who loved and cared about him.  Three particularly stood out. The star of the film was without a doubt Frances Davis who had detailed a few stories previously unbeknownst to me.  When Miles fell in love with her after seeing her in a production, she was heavily courted by top Hollywood and Broadway actors of the day, with unshakable confidence,  and wry humor she professed in the film that as a dancer, her legs were her best asset and that  was like with everyone else, won Miles over.  Though he had many romantic partners, he and Frances clearly had something that was beyond special.  He admitted due to his drug use that he was a bit jealous of the attention she received after being cast in West Side Story and made her quit the show.  The emotion she felt when retelling the regret she had when leaving the show, and  her career behind was palpable and heartbreaking.  She would frequently disappear upstairs in their apartment and gaze longingly at her ballet slippers between bouts of cooking.  Lumbly, as Miles intones in his signature rasp how he wished he knew years later that Frances was the best thing to ever happen to him-- a fact he was unaware of when they were together.

The second really touching moment of the film occurs towards the end of Miles' career during the famous 1991 Montreux concert conducted by Quincy Jones where he revisited classic Gil Evans arrangements. There was no musician closer to Davis from 1983-1991 than Wallace Roney.  In the film, Roney explains his feelings at Miles indicating he wanted to get the quintet with Wayne Shorter, Herbie Hancock, Ron Carter and Tony Williams back together but also revisit the Gil Evans material, he had the sudden realization Miles had little time left. The rehearsals for the July, 1991 Montreux concert were vigorous, and Davis showed up for only a few.  One of the most challenging pieces was “Pan Piper”.  Roney, sensing what his mentor and dear friend was feeling physically jumped in to assist.  The piece was not rehearsed but called at the concert, and Davis, summoning the strength of his youth plays a remarkable solo, sharing phrases with Roney.  At one particularly difficult passage, Roney jumps in, but Miles is also playing the same phrase.  Like Muhammad Ali winning the title a third time in the 1978 rematch with Leon Spinks, Davis managed to reach back and heroically play through the tune, as he did the rest of the concert, providing a memorable late career moment.

The third deeply emotional moment is shared by Miles' last partner, friend Jo Gelbard.  As the trumpeter was rushed to the hospital, she detailed some of their last moments as Miles was in his bed prior to having a stroke.  The moment has a gut wrenching, aching beauty similar to a great solo like on “Blue in Green” or “Time After Time”.  She tells of a conversation that she and Miles had where he said “God doesn't punish you, you get everything you want.  You just have limited time.”  Indeed, a provocative thought on mortality.

Closing Thoughts

Attending the Birth of the Cool New York City premiere weekend was a marvelous experience.  While fans can quibble about what was not included, what albums were glossed over, the lack of bands represented, etc the documentary set out what it was supposed to do; present a balanced, comprehensive portrait of Miles Davis the musician, and human being.  While it would have been nice to hear from band mates like George Coleman, Keith Jarrett, Airto, Kenny Garrett, Foley, Marilyn Mazur, Benny Rietveld, Jack DeJohnette, Chick Corea or Dave Holland, many of them are featured in the Miles Davis Story (2001) and those interviews can be used as a supplement to this new film.  Stanley Nelson treats Davis with respect, and veneration detailing the human experience at each point. The wealth of unseen photos and film footage are a nice bonus for diehard fans, and the well known stories that they all know, will be enlightening to casual and new fans of Davis. The Q&A on the Sunday, August 25th matinee was incredibly insightful, with probing detailed audience questions, with an added treat:  The ageless 95 year old drumming pioneer Roy Haynes in the audience!  One of the few surviving titans to have played with Charlie Parker.  The documentary is on a par with Jaco, Chasing Trane and Bill Frisell: A Portrait.

Rating: 8.5/10

(c)2019 CJ Shearn

All the Time in the World Chapter 16

Murata Ichigo was always told that he would serve the Time Stopper. That it was his birthright. A privilege. He was always told, “Obey his commands without question, and you will be rewarded.” He had seen his father commit terrible, horrible acts, senselessly. Torture for trivial amounts of information or money, and murder for even less. To Ichigo, the Time Stopper was an enigma; a man who created chaos for little to no reason, and didn’t even seem to care about it. He had always imagined a large, imposing man, that would take those who wronged him and turn them into twisted creations of flesh and blood. He was supposed to be a barbarian, a brute, one who had been allowed to live for over a hundred years while maintaining the prime of his youth, and would use that decades-old wisdom to torment those he despised. All he truly knew was that the man was meant to be feared and respected, and praised by both his father and Ichigo himself. So imagine Ichigo’s surprise when Time Enough was revealed to be a simple man, lean and muscular instead of large and towering with mass. He wasn’t even all that tall, either, just average height at most. He spoke oddly, like a man who cared too little and too much all at the same time, but his eyes were dull and dead. The eyes of someone who was bored. There were no light in his eyes, and they were often glazed over and unfocused. Ichigo’s father told him that their master was sick, that he’d lost what had given him his light. He’d gone to a bad place, and was trying and failing to bring himself back. He had been alone, all alone, for a long, long time. But Ichigo’s father was in no place to argue against the master’s wishes, for that was the vow he’d taken. Obey, and be rewarded. He was certainly rewarded, as Ichigo’s father had never once complained about money or food. Majima-sama had once asked for Ichigo to be brought to him, so there the boy kneels before the villain, barely 9 years old. His father stands to the side, nervously watching the master stare down the child. There were bottles upon bottles of liquor covering the floor, and the curtains were drawn shut, casting the room in a smothering layer of shadows. He held a cigarette between his fingers, and smoke curled through the air that surrounded him. The Time Stopper stood up, taking the pistol from the table beside him. He bent down in front of Ichigo, who looked up into the eyes of his so-called master. The words of his father echoed in his mind as the Time Stopper held the gun out to the boy. ‘Obey his commands without question, and you will be rewarded.’ Time Enough handed the boy the gun, and he gave his command. “Kill yourself.” So, without question, Ichigo placed the barrel into his mouth and pulled the trigger. He was thrown to the ground as the bullet pierced the ceiling, and Time Enough’s laughter echoed throughout the room, loud and deep. The elder Murata sighed in relief, giving Ichigo a small smile and a proud nod. “Holy fuck kid, you’re the best.” The master managed to say through his howls of laughter, “People will- Oh god I’m crying- People will usually punk out, but no, man, if you’re a fucking true believer, and you fucking believe in Majima, you kill yourself with no hes-” At this point he devolved into a mess of giggles and tears. It took the man a good few minutes to calm down, but when he did, he looked at Ichigo with a soft smile. “You know, I like your moxie, kid. I think I’m gonna help you out a bit. Got any plans for the future, little guy?” “Only to follow the path you lay out for me, Majima-sama.” “Then use your fuckin’ imagination, kid. In a world where I didn’t exist, what would you like to do for a living?” Ichigo looked at his hands, glowing softly as fire licked the tips of his fingers. “My mother was an udon ch-” “Cooking school. Got it.” The master looked over at Ichigo’s father, “Send him off, Murata. I’ve got a few ideas for what he can do, but he’s gonna need his training first. Also…” He kneeled down in front of Ichigo, “I noticed that quirk of yours… I see a lot of potential. Keep training it, but don’t let anyone know the extent of your power. Always keep an ace up your sleeve.” The master looked away, turning back to his father to talk about plans, but Ichigo had seen it. A faint little twinkle of something in the man’s dark eyes. Maybe he would regain that light one day, but not for a long, long time.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Majima walked into the restaurant, a hostess catching sight of him and immediately sitting him down at a table near the back of house. She handed him the menu, and offered him some wine, but he waved her off, asking for some soda instead. As with every visit to Othello, he had to take a moment to take in just how opulent and elegant his best worker’s establishment was. He took a look around, noticing that the owner had changed the three tapestries on the walls since his last visit. No longer did the walls show a choir of 4 angels, the temptation of 2 of them, and how the tempted 2 were damned, while the untempted 2 were allowed to ascend. Instead they now showed a Lovecraftian monster fighting a large knight, the monsters defeat at the hands of the knight, and- “Oh my, now isn’t this a pleasant surprise, Majima-sama. What brings a man of your stature to my humble little restaurant?” The old, hunched-over form of Murata Ichigo made his way over to Majima, looking every bit like the grandfather he was at heart. Still running his beloved restaurant at the age of 99, this was the man who’d worked for Time Enough for almost 90 years, now, and had been unquestionably loyal throughout that time. Yet at the same time… “Oh, cut the shit, Murata. Humble my ass, you have a fucking crystal centerpiece not 20 meters from us. How’s the family coming along?” Murata sat down, smiling kindly at the waitress who brought a glass of water for him, along with Majima’s coke. “Oh, just fine, sir. My son is getting ready to take over for me, and my great grandson is doubling his training regime. He’s aiming to get into Shiketsu High School, you know, and I know he’ll make a great hero.” Majima raised an eyebrow at that. “Hero training? Won’t that be a little, ya know, counter productive? He’ll know exactly where to look to out you to the public, and we both know that Iwasaki and Ishii aren’t exactly made to replace you. Hell, I don’t even think your son is made to replace you.” “Well, we must make do with the best we have, sir. Besides, who am I to tell my family what they can or can’t do. I know that somewhere down the line, Hori-kun will meet you, and you will find a way to convince him to keep quiet.” “You know that I am more than willing to beat your little Hori-kun into submission, right?” “Then I hope he trains hard enough to survive you, sir.” Majima laughed, remembering just why he’d always liked Murata more than the others. He understood what loyalty was, unlike Iwasaki, who he was starting to believe was planning against him. Other than that, Ishii had always been a bit… Bland. Sure, he was a good worker, and he listened to Majima fine enough, but he didn’t stand out all too much. It’s just a shame that Ishii’s position within the Hero Billboard Chart Japan offices is too valuable for Majima to just fire him. Murata had that air of a man who’s accomplished every goal he’s made for himself, which is true, since that goal was usually just “Follow Majima Kokiri”. “We have a lot to discuss, Murata. Let’s take this to your office.” Majima got out of his seat, walking past the old man and towards the door that had a golden plaque with Murata’s name on it. Murata followed after him, worrying in his grandfatherly way, “Majima-sama, weren’t you going to order a meal?” He tittered, “We can always prepare it for you to take it with you, sir. We’ve hired a new chef since your last visit, and I know you want to try his steak recipes!” “No, I’m good. I have my whole day planned out, and it’s bad luck to go against a plan before it’s fallen apart. We have a lot to talk about, and we need to get started.” “You know, sir, a plan never survives contact with the enemy.” “I’m not facing any enemies today, Murata. Only friends, and maybe a few of my students, if everything goes my way.” Majima lets Murata sit down on his own chair. Unlike with Iwasaki, Murata knows his place in this little group of his, so asserting dominance is unnecessary. Plus, the chair is padded in a way to help Murata’s back, so it’d be rude to take that away from him. “Alright, first things first, I hope you’ve gotten in contact with Ueno’s boys already. They’re not quite as good as their father was, but they’ve got the connections needed to get the shit we’re looking for, all the high-yield stuff. For the smaller stuff that I’ve got Iwasaki looking for, they’ll be able to help him out.” “Already done, Majima-sama. Ueno Jun and Ueno Len have already provided Iwasaki with the sidearm you requested along with both shotguns, and have shipped all of the ammo for it, as well as all of the shells. They tell me that they’re having trouble finding the dragon breath shells, as well as everything to do with the high-caliber rifles. They’re proving to be quite elusive, sir.” “Then I guess Iwasaki is just waiting to get everything together before he gives me a call. How about you? Your guys find anything yet?” “It’s only been a few days, sir, so the only thing we’ve gotten our hands on are the frag grenades and the lower tiered alkaline metals. The rest of the explosives will take a bit more time to acquire.” “You have until after the provisional license exams. I don’t want any major problems to get in the way of seeing what my students can do when their skills are really put to the test.” “That reminds me, Majima-sama. Why is it you’re teaching at UA, exactly? Care to put an old man’s mind at ease, sir?” Murata gave Majima a cheeky grin, making him scoff a bit, though he did smile. “Knock it off, you shit-bag. The reason I’m going to create to get you off of my back is that teaching at UA gives me an insight into the heroes movements, allowing me to plan around my enemies.” “But the real reason, sir?” “They’re good people, and they have a lot of potential. They plan to do whatever it takes to achieve their goals, and I can respect that. I want to see where it is they’re headed, and where they’ll end up. Aimi was a hero, way back when, and a few of them remind me of her. Plus, some small part of me wanted to spite Akira in any way I could, so, you know…” Murata nodded, understanding what Majima was trying to say. “Perhaps we should get back to the plan, sir. I believe you said that you had plans for today? We wouldn’t want to let you wander too far off schedule.” “Yeah, alright. Where were we? The prison, yeah. Tartarus is going to be heavily guarded, that’s not too big a problem. Guards I can deal with. Heroes are going to create factors I’d rather not deal with. They’ll make going in and out of Time Stop a bit more complicated than I’d like. To make sure that as many eyes as possible are looking away from the prison, we need to set you up around UA, put you in one of the buildings near the school. We’ll set up your Sun directly above the school, keep eyes off of me. Only shoot your shit when you think everyone is calming down, and only aim for the buildings. If you hit any of the students, you’ll have to explain yourself to me. But, if you see a guy with blonde hair wearing leather, then feel free to take a few pot shots. I’m still bitter about that time he spilled coffee all over my lecture notes. Ended up giving out confidential information that Nezu got mad at me for.” “They’ll search the area, sir. What should I do should they barge into whatever building I’m in?” “You’re old, Murata. We’ll move all of your stuff in, set it up like you live there. Whatever happens, don’t let Eraserhead use his quirk on you. Act old and senile, and if you have to, get angry at all these youngsters barging into your house. You never updated your Quirk Registry, right?” “I’m still registered with a weak fireball quirk, sir.” “Good, good. Alright, well, I’ve got shit to do today. Make sure you call Ueno’s boys, make sure Iwasaki’s keeping up on his shopping list. I’m gonna head out.” Majima turned and left, walking out of the back room and onto the main floor of the restaurant, with Murata following a few meters behind him. “Yo, I’m stealing a bottle of wine by the way.” Majima called back, grabbing a bottle from the rack as he walked by and startling the waiter that had been taking an order nearby. “What is mine is yours, sir, you know this. But I was under the impression that you were a sober man now, trying to be better. For your students, if I remember correctly?” “Well, more for three students, if I’m completely honest. Ibara has those weird beliefs about alcohol or whatever, but Iida and Yaoyorozu had started to give me shit for it. Plus, I’ve been thinking about Kori a lot. Don’t think she’d want her old man to be drinking as much as I was. Besides, the bottle’s not just for me, I’m sharing it with a pretty lady tonight.” “A lady?” Murata had a confused look on his face. “I was unaware that you’d begun dating again sir, but…” He looked down for a moment, and Majima turned around to check why he’d stopped talking. When he brought his head up, a wide smile was covering his face, like a child coming face to face with their favorite hero, or just Izuku whenever Yagi walked into the room. “Well, I’m just so happy that you’re finally letting yourself be happy again, sir! You’ve been so sad for so long, the whole time I’ve ever known you. I’m so, so happy that you’re doing this for yourself, sir! Getting back into the game, as you used to tell me!” Majima looked away, growing uneasy with just how happy Murata was. He was always trying to look out for the time stopper. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Get back to work, Murata, I need you to be quick with that shopping list. The longer we wait, there’s a higher chance that Akira might try to pull something.” With that said, Majima time stopped his way back to his apartment, closing the door behind him and throwing his coat onto his couch, right next to a Uraraka. He moved into the hallway, pulling his shirt off and closing the bathroom door and started warming up the water. Seriously, over 200 years and they still couldn’t get showers to start off with hot water? That’s probably the only thing he’d been looking forward to during eternity. He set his phone to play some music while he took a shower, something light and jazzy, he’s trying to stay in a good mood, after all. He hopped right i- He turned the water off, put his pants back on and walked back out and into his living room, eyeing the brunette sitting on his couch. He pointed a finger at her, saying “You better hope the school doesn’t have your parents’ phone number on record girl, cause I will be giving them a call about this.” “Wait wait wait, Majima-sensei, please hear me out!” She exclaimed, hopping off of his couch and waving her arms about. Her face was bright red, almost stammering her words as Majima backed away from her. “You stay far the fuck away from me, girl! This already looks bad enough if someone else were to barge in here. Speaking of, how the hell did you even get in here? The only people who have a key are Nezu, Iida, Midoriya and myself. Which of them gave you their key?” “A-Actually, sensei, Nezu-sensei gave me my own key. He told me it was to ‘Pay him back for running away from his responsibilities like a child’.” “That asshole!” Majima yelled, but he quickly took a deep breath and calmed himself down. Today was not the day for this shit, that’s for sure. “Look, just… Just what do you want?” “Is there… Do you happen to know a place that is willing to hire me for a part time position? Money has been a little tight, lately and Nezu overheard me talking to Deku-kun and Iida-kun about it. He gave me a key to your apartment and told me to wait for you to get back.” “Yeah, for future reference, don’t do that. Part time, huh? Whatever, not my place to ask why, not that I care, but I can set you up with a restaurant gig, how’s that? I just got back from talking to one of my guys, owns that place down on Shikifuku Street, high-end place, classy. I’ll get your number off of Midoriya, and I’ll have my guy call you. Now get out, I have a busy day today.” She surprised him by beginning to perform a rapid series of bows, saying thank you over and over in a way that reminded him of Izuku. Finally, after about a minute of this, Majima had enough and just kicked her out. “Oh, shit, uh, when you get back to the dorms, tell Sato to start preparing a little chiffon cake for me, I need it for a date later. Tell ‘im I’ll pay for it.” With a nod of her head she was off, leaving him alone to finally take a shower. When he finished up, he used a towel to wipe away the fog in the mirror, and set about doing something he hadn’t done in 200 years- Trimming his hair and cleaning up his beard. Majima’s not an idiot, he knows that he looks like a homeless man most of the time, but today is about putting your best foot forward, and god damnit, he’s going to look nice for once. Who care if his body resets later tonight, he only has to look good for one day. 30 minutes later, his hair was a tad bit shorter and his face was completely clean shaven. He left the bathroom, putting on a black dress shirt and his best pair of slacks. He glanced at the full length mirror he had on the wall, catching sight of himself. He thought he looked good, even Kayama would probably say so, and god knows she has her tastes. He grabbed his jacket and left, heading to a small soba place down the street. He picked up some hayashi chuka, since hot noodles had always given her a stomach ache. Plus, ordinary cold soba was too cheap for what he had planned, and he’d finally snuck into Nezu’s office to grab all of his paychecks. As a result, he had money to throw around, meaning he was gonna get the best of everything he needed. Good thing Murata’s place was so high class, cause the wine he grabbed wasn’t cheap. He’d even gone so far as to buy some nice crystal wine glasses for later. See, no one can try to say that Majima wasn’t making an effort. He walked back onto the UA campus, passing an irritated Aizawa as he trained that purple kid from the sports festival. That reminded him of something he’d been talking to Kayama about, should he get an apprentice? Aizawa had the purple kid, Yagi had Izuku, hell even Yamada had been eyeing Aoyama. Should he take a student under his wing, show them all about villainy? Maybe, we’ll see. He got to the 1-A dorms and looked around for Sato, finding him in the kitchen just putting the finishing touches on the cake. He paid Sato 5,000 yen for the cake, overpaying a bit because he was in a good mood. He packed away the cake, and nodded happily when he decided that he had everything he’d need for his date. He left the dorms, walking to the train station, not wanting to use Time Stop and walk the whole way to the park. The train took about 30 minutes, and Majima was careful to not jostle his bags too much, lest he break the wine bottles or glasses. Without those, his entire plan is going to fall apart, and he’d be sorely tempted to cry. Well, not real- Yeah, no, really. He’s trying really hard, it would probably be worth a few tears. He hopped off of the train, checking his phone to check the time and continued down the street, heading towards the park. Majima passed a few little fields where children were running around and playing games, and he had to duck to avoid getting hit in the head with a soccer ball. He finally got to where he was headed, pushing past those big iron gates, wincing when they screeched open. That really hammered a few things home. Just how long has it been? He carried his bags down the gravel path, passing a few people here and there, but the park was an old one, very old, so there weren’t too many that he had to worry about. Mostly small families, trying to teach their little ones a bit of family history and whatnot. Majima was heading to the farthest part of the park, all the way towards the back, so he knew he wouldn’t have to deal with any of them. Still, knowing they were around put him on edge. Where there were people, there was the opportunity for crime time funzies, and with crime time funzies came heroes. With heroes came the cops, then investigations, then blah blah blah, you get the point. He didn’t want to deal with that today. He walked for about 20 minutes, the air around him growing colder as night grew closer. He looked up, guessing he had about another 15 minutes before the last of the sun’s light fell over the horizon. That was fine, he only needed just enough time to get them all set up. Eventually, he arrived at the very back of the park, where trees were wide and the grass tall. The benches scattered here and there were old, even older than he was, and were rusted and rotted, falling apart with age. The gravel path had become cobblestone, and the tall rocks that surrounded him were crumbling away. Except for one, though, standing tall, proud, and polished against the dreariness around it, and that’s where his date was waiting for him. He smiled, and laughed as he ran the last few meters to meet here. “There you are, I’ve been looking for you. You wouldn’t believe the day that I’ve had, let me tell you. I had to visit Murata, make plans for murder, you know how that usually works out, then I had to get one of my students a job- Oh, it’s been nonstop all day.” He sat down, looking at the sunset before he started unpacking his bags. “It’s been awhile since we’ve done this, so I made sure I got you your favorite.” He put one of bowls of hayashi chuka on the ground in front of him, before grabbing his own, taking a bite. Majima pulled the chiffon cake out, setting it to the side as he grabbed the wine glasses. Grabbing the bottle of the dark red liquor, he pulled the cork out with a grunt, laughing softly as he poured himself a glass of wine. He filled the second glass and placed it in front of the stone, leaning back and taking a drink. He glanced at the sunset, casting the sky in a beautiful array of pink and purple while as the sun finally fell past the horizon. The stars were beginning to twinkle in the night, and sighed, “So much has happened lately. Let me tell you all about it.”

Take It Out On Me

Giving Darius a confused look as they said that he shook his head a bit “ I have no clue what you are talking about. Are you sure you aren’t just imagining things?”  As Darius then spoke of having known him their entire life Asher let out a small laugh “ Well, I mean, I was fifteen and right now i’m about twenty something. So, unless you were stalking me…” He glanced away, thinking to himself, obviously about the years prior to actually having met the other man. Letting out a breath then he looks back to Darius “Nothing is going on with me, except I got a hatter messing up my kitchen, pissing off the chefs and apparently getting a kick out of pushing me over into cabinets, for some reason.” Nodding Asher went on “ He might also be going partially deaf since he hear black flour come out of my mouth, when I said something only tasted like ink. When it was just a high concentration of flour in one spot.” He shivered as if he were reliving the taste once more.

Asher smiled as Darius seemed to catch onto his clever wording. Then with a nod he continued to listen to the other as they went on “ Yes. A heart attack, which I figure if it weren’t for your …High strung…tendencies toward a bit of madness, it would be me to be the one having a heart attack. “He brought a fist up to the left side of his chest, bumping it against his chest ” Seeing as I have the heart issues. But you are going to work yourself into a very early grave if you keep having these little moments. Don’t you know?“ Asher frowned then, dropping his head as he once again started to think.

Then, excitedly he lift his head up again and poked Darius in the forehead ” Well, I will have to take you to the finest doctors we have, won’t I? I don’t imagine anyone wants You dead, right? You’ve never hurt anyone enough to actually want you dead, now have you?“ Ah, but then there was that one time, in another timeline when Darius had most certainly done something that had most certainly gotten him Dead. Pulling away a bit then Asher slumped back slightly as he brought his arms up to cross over his chest and continued to look at Darius  “Don’t look at me like you have no idea that you are going a little insane with trying to look out for some sort of poison in the chef’s cooking, or being suspicious of me for some reason. I’m just very busy today, obviously. You worrying is appreciated, but I do so wish you would bring it down a notch, at least enough so that it doesn’t get in the way of the rest of the staff doing their work, Darius. They do have families to feed and such.”

Reaching over then Asher messed up Darius hair a bit, smiling at the other as he did so ” You have nothing to worry about,  this business with Tristan surely isn’t something as major as the guards are making it out to be. You do know about his little…incidents while at my party right? Where my mother had him ruin some of the candidates good reputations? Hm? Well, that’s coming back to bite him in the ass. Without my mother around he’s as good as guilty, I suppose…Ah, a few years in a dungeon will probably do wonders for his skin, don’t you think?“

Tristan gave Shay a look as she accused him of having both taken over Asher and Tristan. A small laugh leaving his lips ” Um, bitch, what the fuck are you talking about? I am Tristan. Aren’t you confidant in yourself. Maybe they all just want to get rid of you…Murderer! No! I guess it would be Daughter of one, now.“ Tristan narrowed his eyes on hers before reaching up to grab Asher’s jaw, making him look at her ” Maybe everyone’s just sick of your bullshit. God, I know that I fucking am. The all powerful Shay, what is she to do? What does she have planned next? Does she even know?“ With a small giggle Asher brought a hand up to his lips before leaning over to whisper to Tristan about Shay.

Before they both then disappeared from the room, leaving Shay to her guards. Seti had been working diligently on trying to find anything about the darkness Sean had brought up that was taking over Tristan. It had been quite a while since Sean had left him and most of his staff had been allowed to go tend to other things while he worked on the research since there wasn’t much, the entire team didn’t need to be stuck there. As Shay appeared he twist in the chair, turning it to face the older woman. Narrowing his eyes about her words he stood up before glancing around "Shay left to go to BB and see if she knew what could be done about Tristan, Why? What happened now?” Seti asked, having no clue what she had just been through, but apparently, obviously it had been enough to at least get a peak into what sort of creature they were going to be dealing with for the time being.

Waiting for Shay to say anything, it seemed she had wanted to be a little dramatic about it and keep him in suspense. Crossing his arms over his waist then he waits, drumming some of his fingers along his arms. When Sean finally showed up and broke the silence he turned his head to look toward the other man as they asked her what she was doing there. Over the next few minutes of her then explaining to them what was happening while they were out of the loop Seti nodded “ Good, so you will tell your brother, but come to my castle to wait for him. I could have been doing a lot of research in the time it took him to come back and for you to explain to me what was going on. Siblings, you guys are so cute, it’s sick.” Seti grumbled before letting out a small laugh and tuning back toward the computer he had been out “ Well, let me see…” A few minutes of clicking produced a little more information.

“ There’s nothing on a Manifestation. But more so a man. A man who had lived in this world along side Miso, if not long before Miso.” Seti paused for a moment, looking over the words he had up on his screen “ But, he died about twenty seven years ago…” He then said looking up from the computer screen then and looking toward the two siblings “ That’s it, there’s nothing more. Apparently he’s something that is just like Miso, only, her opposite. But as I said, almost three decades ago he just disappears from history, entirely. Everything on him prior to that is also scarce. Which is what I would expect from a being just like Miso, you know?” Seti let out a breath then “ But if we are dealing with something like that, where has he been all these years…and what is he planning on doing? Why possessing a Dormouse and using him the way it has been?” Seti sat down then, mulling over what ever he could about the strange being. Though after a moment he shook his head “ It can’t be an Oracle though, it has to be something new, a new kind of monster, one that’s just been waiting…. maybe…”

Tristan quirked an eyebrow at Alexander as he had called him master “ Oh, not used to that. Didn’t even ask for you to call me that. But keep it up. You’ll become my favorite, next.” Tristan said as he walked closer toward the other man a snicker leaving his lips as Asher walked behind him “ Of course, I don’t think your body could have handled being my favorite. You are just too…Stiff.” Tristan looked Alexanders body over “ Yes. Not enough room for stretching. Now. Had you been a Cheshire, too. Things would be different.” Lifting a hand to his face he laughs loudly for a few seconds before glancing over toward Asher “ But, the experiment should work this way. And then I will be in someone much more proper for me, instead of this filthy, practically useless dormouse.” Swinging his hand from his face, he points toward the ceiling “ Ah, but why not make some fun of it by tormenting his friends, right?” Reaching over then he jabs and elbow into Alexander’s side “ Not that you care, because you can’t tell me or anyone else what’s happening right now, or stop yourself from participating.”

Pulling away from Alexander then Tristan moved away, a hand moving to his jaw as he started to think, apparently he was planning on doing something massive. Glancing around at all the ooze dripping Guards that had been in the room he nods “ I think that by now, our girl Shay is looking for her checkmate. Let’s throw a wrench at that chessboard, huh?” Making a stance he stretched out his arms before bringing them together in a loud clap that echoed through the chamber of Alexander’s throne room “ Let’s wipe some kingdoms off the map, shall we? Ooo, hoo hoo…It’s going to be fun eating those souls, and stealing those body’s. First we go for Clubs, then we hit Spades.” Closing his eyes a roaring sound could be heard that seemed to encase the entirety of the heart kingdom. The streets of which had been spilling with ooze like sludge. The People however, all of them each having a slug inside of them, had continued on as if life were normal. Even as ooze dropped from the roofs of buildings and homes.

Seti let out another sigh, twisting in his chair as he looked toward the siblings “ We are just going to have to try the box, Sean. I don’t have any other idea on what else we could do to capture some ooze monster that can possess people.” Seti stood then and walked toward the two “ I am probably going to need to do more field work for this, other being you are proposing this thing is. Maybe that will help find something that will seal it away or kill it. If the box doesn’t work… Always good to have a back up plan anyway.” Seti smiled at Sean then before giving a small kiss to the side of the others face “ You are more than welcome to come with me, if you want.” Turning then he paused, giving a look toward the black ooze that was spilling out onto the floor of the room from the cracks in the wall “ That’s not right.” He said just before a flood of pitch black ooze bust through the walls, covering up everyone in the entire area in the stuff. But nothing more, it was just pointless ooze, no slugs. More of a warning than an attack.

Turning slightly when he felt Darius sneak up behind him, he smirked before turning to face Darius entirely “ Oh, will it? Damn. I think maybe, I might have to work early in the morning.” After a moments pause he giggled “ Oh wait, no I don’t. I’m King. I can work whenever I want!” Reaching out then he grabbed Darius’ shirt “ But, right now. All I want to do is work on you.” Tugging Darius after him then, Asher started to walk backward, toward the door to his room, he kicked his foot back, opening the door before dragging Darius inside. Once he got the other in he slammed the door behind them and reached over, grabbing to pull off Darius’ closes as he pressed a kiss to the other man’s lips, his left hand moving to grip around the back of Darius’ head “ Come on, help me get you out of these clothes and into my bed and I can fuck all those little anxieties away from you, hm? Can’t worry about me being poisoned if I am fucking you so hard you can’t even think straight, right?” Asher whispered between gasps as he continued to kiss Darius.

As the kissing grew in intensity so did Asher’s body heat, and his pushing himself up against Darius, his tongue lapping lightly over Darius skin as he broke away from the kiss in the next moment to trail some down along Darius’ neck. Moving his right hand away from where it had been tugging against Darius’ clothing it moved down to loosen Darius’ pants. Before diving into them and gripping between Darius’ legs, grabbing the other males dick before jerking Darius off. Pulling away from Darius’ skin then he lift his head up before giving a Cheshire like grin to the other “ Something about you today, just has had me not be able to stop myself from thinking about fucking you. Isn’t that just weird.” Asher mumbled, almost as though he were saying it to himself. A few droplets of sweat started to form from the sheen that had washed over his body. Again he pressed his body up to Darius’ as they neared a wall, pushing Darius’ body up against it as he gave a forceful kiss to the others lips, almost giving Darius no time to think, let alone talk.  His heart had been raising so fast that the echoes of it’s thudding could be felt against Darius’ own chest, vibrating both of their bodies as a faint purr had started to come from Asher.

Nasim Nejem

TRUE NAME: Yes, from their Fae nature or something bigger, but they do not know this, and never want to. FACECLAIM: Rami Malek NICKNAMES AND ALIASES: ‘Zim, Naz DATE OF DISCOVERY: April 1st, 1988 (date of birth indeterminate) APPARENT AGE: 29 ACTUAL AGE: 29 … or is it… sometimes it feels like… these passages in and out of time and magic get trickier every day. Their parents say they’re 29, so they are. Leave it alone, dude. GENDER: Nonbinary, more agender than gender fluid but they are changeable like the seasons, they/them pronouns KIND: Changeling - Autumn Court Indicators OCCUPATION: Farmer/Chef/Owner, Cumberland Farm to Table, a 24-hour organic “diner” with a limited but very fresh and ever changing menu

DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Nasim has weathered laborer hands, hardened soles to their feet, and bags under their eyes, yet there’s a strange dewiness to their skin, a soft glow like the light of a blood moon. People ask them “what he’s doing” with their skin and their general response is “not sleeping” with a puckish smile and a quick, gentle correction about pronouns.

PERSONALITY:

Protective - Nasim knows a thing or two about being an outsider, about being scared of what you are. As soon as they could they built a place where everyone could be themselves and feel safe, they did. And woe betide the person who tries to fracture that.

Quiet - While they’re known for good conversation when it’s wanted, Nasim generally does their best to leave people alone if they need it. They’re comfortable with silence.

Awkward - Mostly physically, though they are also known for saying the wrong thing at first and following up with a charming correction. At times they move like a toddler who doesn’t quite know their edges, bigger than they appear to be. Other times, they are incredibly graceful, but that only makes the rest of the tripping more embarrassing. The only motions they can depend on reliably are farming, cooking, and carrying food - related. Otherwise, there’s a fair lot of bumps and bruises.

Determined - Starting your own business always involves a level of determination but telling your psychologist parents that you want to open a combination of the two least profitable businesses in the country requires a special kind of resolve. Couple in Nasim’s status as a Changeling protector and advocate and it’s clear why they work so hard.

Weary - Speaking of, Nasim can feel that something’s wrong. They’ve never been able to sleep, but something about Cumberland leaves them even more wired, achy. Whatever strange magic their Fae parents lent them means that’s alright but sometimes they worry. The Fae are dying. Does that mean they will too?

Lonely - Nasim loves Cumberland’s Nighthawks but it’s lonely in the guardtower, so to speak. When you’re responsible for other people’s safety, it’s hard to be vulnerable with anyone.

HISTORY:

(cw: homophobia, suicide)

Nasim means “breeze.” That’s all Jihan Nejem remembered about the day that she found her child. Climbing to a high place in Fall Creek, where the sun met the water far down below. She’d sighed at the sight, breathed in the clear air as it danced across the Earth. Then she heard a cooing. Like a small bird left to fend for itself. She looked through the bushes, over the rocks and pine needles, and then she found the baby. At first, the infant looked gold to her, a trick of the light that made them glitter and dance like leaves in the sun. She blinked, and then she saw them for the first time. Big brown eyes. Tan skin. She couldn’t quite explain it, but the baby looked just like her and her husband. Exactly in fact. Like Nasim had been shaped for them. After all the pain, the lost children and blood on the bed, they had a child. And they even had Anwar’s eyes.

Nasim wasn’t a fussy child so much as a strange one. They were quiet, even serene until they reached 5 months. But as the weather grew colder, Nasim struggled to sleep, whimpering at all hours of the night as if there was a ringing in their ears they couldn’t shake. It never stopped. Ever. But the baby’s sleeping stopped entirely.

They tried treatments. They were mental health professionals, after all. But nothing seemed to be wrong with Nasim. Aside from the not sleeping. And the fussy pallet. And the grabbing at every living thing they could find, watching it wither in their hands. Their father was kind but befuddled. He knew everything a human child needed, but he began to wonder if his child was human at all.

It was the imam who helped at first. He knew a guy who knew a guy who knew a thing or two about dying plants. Aforementioned guy (who turned out to be a hipster before hipster was cool) looked at the little four-year-old and said “Yup. That’s a fucking fairy.”

In Anwar and Jihan’s typical fashion, they researched as methodically as they could. When the hipster disappeared, so did their resources for first-hand sources, so they switched to secondhand ones. Those were hard days, the experiments. Trying desperately not to hurt Nasim while still helping them learn who they were and how they could control it. Jihan decided it was a mutation of some kind, and Anwar quickly bought Nasim every issue of X-Men he could get his hands on. They didn’t get very far, but Nasim had support. Never say they didn’t.

Somehow, your parents being told you’re a fairy made it a bit easier to explain that you were… a fairy. Kind of. Wrong word. Wrong word for sure, but Nasim couldn’t help it. They came out all at once at 16. Figured it would be easier that way, if these things were ever easy. Pan. Nonbinary. Gender is a prison, etc. etc. They had buckled down for a hurricane and found a tropical breeze instead. Jihan and Anwar joined PFLAG. They encouraged Nasim to date, though they never quite mustered the nerve for it. Went pretty well, if they did say so themselves.

At 17, Nasim put a proposal together. Powerpoint, clip art, it was very fancy for 2005. They wanted to buy the farm. A farm. A farm. .إن شاء الله‎‎ InshaAllah! Sorry. Sorry Ummi. Sorry. A beautiful spot of land had been left fallow in the Hermitage for decades. Pennies for an acre. The Nejems had a lot of money saved up for Nasim’s education – bachelor’s, master’s, doctorate. (How could a Najem not get a doctorate, after all?) Could Nasim borrow half of it, even a third, in order to start a farm? And a restaurant. Eventually.

The loan was a scary thing, as were the permits and clearances and topographical studies and equipment and seed purchasing. It was lots of work by themselves, but something about standing on the land, their land, made it more than worth it. They didn’t sleep anyway. What else were they going to do?

Mistakes were made. They bought one too many bulls but they were just so darn cute. The corn didn’t come in well. Planted too early. For three days, Nasim sat in the field, trying very hard to bring one of the plants back to life. Giving up, they lay back on the cold soil, hearing the crunch of the leaves. Then… it grew. All of it. ALL OF IT.

Nasim needed to pass off a lot of crops and quick. Their family’s mosque took a lot off their hands, but they still had far too much for one person or even one nice dinner party. So they threw 20. The “Cumberland Dinners” became well-known gathering spots for supernatural outsiders, particularly changelings like them. Invitations traveled by whispered word of mouth, but as Nasim heard each person’s story, they couldn’t contain their rage at their pain or joy at their triumph. The restaurant was born from the desire to provide for their friends. All of them. People paid what they could, and there was always enough food.

It was a year into their ownership of the farm when they saw their first Fae. A little thing, almost buzzing around the canning station in the shed. Nasim was guarded but they weren’t the one to attack first. The glittering thing had one of Nasim’s guests on the hook for a deal. A tricky one. Nasim couldn’t quite explain what happened that night, but the creature never came back, and the guest stayed for months, helping with the goats and the cows and the corn. Nasim’s parents had wanted them to go to law school. How pleased they’d be to learn they’d found a new way to negotiate a contract.

FAMILY:

Jihan Nejem, adoptive mother, 70 - Dr. (Mrs.) Nejem is an Egyptian-American pioneer of research into cognition and perception. She’s good natured and perhaps a little too permissive when it comes to Nasim. They were Jihan’s miracle baby, her gift from the Heavens. She always knew her child was different, so their coming out wasn’t as confusing to her as the average parent. Plus she had her husband to help.

Muhammad Anwar Al Nejem, adoptive father, 74 - Dr. (Mr.) Nejem, like his wife, is an Egyptian-American and well-known psychologist with a specialty in development and childhood trauma. While his wife has more of a technical approach, Anwar is very emotionally intelligent and took point on helping his wife address Nasim using gender neutral language. He also worked with the iman khatib at Masid Al-Adl to make sure the mosque would still be a safe space for their family.

Fae Parents - Nasim doesn’t know them and doesn’t want to know. They left them. They didn’t care. That’s their problem.

SEXUALITY AND RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Pansexual, single, generally too busy for deep relationships of any kind. They often joke that they’re married to their farm, but it’s more like they’re married to their cause. OTHER TIES:

Sameer - Nasim uses Sameer as a fill in cook when they need to go “off field” but Nasim gets the impression that Sameer’s a bit afraid of them. They have a good working relationship but don’t share much. Honestly, for all Nasim’s gentle affability, they don’t share much at all.

Other Changelings or Supernatural Outsiders - If there’s a Changeling in Nashville, it’s fair to say that Nasim knows them or wants to know them. They’re a little bit less trusting of the practitioners, shifters, and other low profile, mysterious folks, but they’ll still provide any resources they can and generally try to build a community where other magical cast offs can be themselves.

WANTED CONNECTIONS: All Changelings! All Fae! All kinds of refugees! People who like food!

LIKES: Freshly turned earth, anything with apples or pomegranate, midnight pasta, people watching, hearing music in the middle of the night from the restaurant, knowing someone else feels at home DISLIKES: Fae. I can’t say this enough. Fae. They fucking hate them. Garlic presses, funks up the texture and terrible to clean. People who don’t bring books back when they’ve lent them (unless they’ve been passed on further). Fae. Did I say Fae? HOBBIES: Reading, anything and everything. Cooking, which is lucky because they do a lot of it. Cumberland’s changing menu keeps things from getting old, and also invites opportunities to learn new techniques. Watching the night and the leaves. SKILLS:

Agriculture - While their powers help a lot with the harvest, the day-to-day and the planning is the result of Nasim’s extensive research and correspondence courses in Agriculture.

Animal husbandry - Nasim’s abilities lie squarely in the “growing things” arena. Taking care of the animals is a lot of research and a lot of time, but it pays good dividends. They’re easier to take care of than people, for sure.

Cooking - Nasim has always liked cooking since they were a child, but the restaurant has led to more research, more experimentation, and ultimately more joy. They love to swap recipes and geek out about acidity and technique, but they also love a super basic grilled cheese with Kraft. Just don’t tell the organic farming collective they work with.

MEDICAL CONDITIONS: Insomnia, ever since they were an infant. But not the usual 2 hours a night insomnia. Like literally hasn’t slept in decades insomnia. This leaves them a lot of time but also leaves them in a permanent state of exhaustion. They use music to soothe, zoning out, but there’s no napping for them. Sometimes they feel like they might die, but then the autumn comes around, and they’ve never felt more alive. CURRENT FINANCIAL STATUS: The Nejems are well off, and Nasim is their pride and joy only child. Nasim paid back their parents’ loan by the fourth year of their business and generally gets along by themselves. (Not having to pay for labor and having low supply costs tends to fight all those “most restaurants fail in the first five years” pitfalls.) That doesn’t keep the Nejems from sending them elaborate and expensive gifts, which they tend to either give to visitors or donate to the main room of the diner. Who doesn’t want to play Overwatch while waiting for their fries? PLACES: Cumberland Farm to Table, Nasim’s home and business, Masjid Al-Adl, their parents’ mosque PETS: A Tibetan mastiff named Al leads a pack of sheep dogs, a colony of cats in the barn who make their way into the restaurant every now and again, along with the usual elements of animal husbandry required for a real farm to table place - rabbits, goats, chickens, ducks, and a few very spoiled cows and sheep. [Cumberland’s main protein sources are generally from neighboring farms due to demand, but all eggs, cheese, and rabbit come from them.]

KNOWN MAGIC: Nasim’s abilities are a bit… temperamental. Sometimes, they require no help for a whole harvest, the crops effectively climbing into the silos. Other times, they intend to encourage a single tomato to grow and end up watching the whole field rot before their eyes, sickly sweet in the sunshine. As a result, they’ve had to cultivate a degree of control and patience that many of their small community admire and aspire to. “It’s all compost,” visitors to the farm hear him mutter, as new shoots sprout just a bit too quickly from the soil.

RUMORS: Nasim is generally known as the person to see if you’re looking for guidance, not necessarily because of their abilities but because they know the best person to call. This doesn’t stop the more naive or paranoid of the Cumberland visitors from passing around whispers of dark dealings and dark magic, that Nasim knows every secret anyone’s ever told. That they chose to be cast out rather than being left – that there was something more sinister at play.

There’s also the matter of Nasim’s biological parents – a source of much speculation and gossip to any Fae brave enough to venture near. While their powers clearly line up with the Autumn Court, who exactly owns the shame of their birth remains hidden, even as Nasim grows more and more open in their opposition to the Fae and “stronger” magicks.

SAMPLE:

There was a girl at the bar. Gray eyed. A little sad. Out of place, but weren’t they all? Nasim watched her with gentle eyes. She was shivering, but it was at least 70 in the dining room. They’d checked.

They poured hot cider and brought it to her, placing the cup down with a quiet clink. She blanched, doe eyes big and alarmed. “That’s on me.” Nasim said. They looked down to their shirt, caught a tiny drop of the sweet, warm liquid on the Carhartt plaid. “And on me.” They put the kettle back on the stove and went back to prep work, pulling basil leaves from a pot by the dark window. There was a silence in the place. That 4 AM quiet when you could hear the plants growing if you listened hard enough.

After a long time, she spoke. “They told me you can help.”

Nasim didn’t turn, didn’t want to startle her. “I hope I can. If I can’t, I usually have a friend or two who’s more useful than me.” For the first time, she smiled. “That doesn’t inspire much confidence.” “Well I’m not a confidence man.” Nasim replied with a smirk. “Not a man at all, really. Just like the term.” She bit her lip. “How’s it work?” “The helping? Oh. Well, uh, if you don’t mind me saying… you’re clearly a Winter.” She looked lost. They lowered their head a little. “Sorry. Not like the makeup. Though you really could pull off blue.” She smiled again. Nasim refilled her cup. “That cold you’re feeling? That’s normal. That’s alright. You’ve just got to breathe through it, alright? Just wait til summer, you’ll be so grateful. If you aren’t sleepy. You might be sleepy.” “There’s something chasing me.” she stuttered, the frost taking her whole body. Nasim was reaching forward to steady her, when they saw something out of the corner of their eye. A light shape moving past the window, out in the field. They placed the warm kettle down next to her, pocketing a mini-pie they’d been saving for the morning. “I’ll be right back. Finish this up. It’s got your name on it.” Nasim crossed out of the bar and to the door, pulling on gardening gloves. They stepped out onto the porch. It was functional as an event space but the hanging lights were only at a quarter glow.

They waited for what felt like an eternity, sure that they saw it. The wind whistled and then… there it was, framed by the moon and the corn. Nasim reached down slightly to the wood column at the front of the house, picking a pipe up and walking towards the pale blue glimmer. The shape moved to and fro, searching. Nasim walked forward. Even paced. Patient. It thought it was safe, they were sure. These creatures always did. Nasim reached the second row of corn, gently placing the pipe on the ground. They stuck their hands in their pockets and strolled forward, whistling. The sugar on the pie glittered under the moon. He heard a skittering to the side as it emerged from the stalks. Ice white with eyes as black as trees in winter. It sniffed the air. “Why are you here?” Nasim said. “There’s pie in it for you.” “I don’t have to tell you, broken one.” It’s voice echoed like trees in a cold snap, but it still eyed the dessert in their hand. Nasim held it out a bit further. “It’s not your season. You should be asleep.” “As should you.” the thing chuffed, stepping forward towards the pie. “But that’s not in the weather, eh? It is springtime. We only want to bring her home.” Nasim backed up as the thing snatched at the pie. “She has a home, no thanks to you. It’s convenient that you come to take her now. As she’s changing.“ The fae pushed forward still. Nasim felt the frost on their hands as they backed up through the 2nd row of corn. “Things have changed, broken one. The Winter is ready to bring our own back into the cold.” In one smooth motion, Nasim picked the pipe up from the corn and brought it down. The creature burned and cried, collapsing to the ground.

“Why did you do it?” Nasim asked, their measured voice in sharp contrast to the thud of the pipe against the thing’s singed flesh. Bong. That was for her. Bong. That was for him. Bong. That was for every person who had ever stayed at Cumberland. Hiding. “Was it to feast on her?” Bong. Squelch. “To see what muted essence you could pull from her worthless flesh?” Bong. “Or have you grown to regret? No matter.” The thing whimpered with a thousand voices. “You’re dying, only a little sooner than you expected, I think.” “Please…” it gurgled. Somehow, even in pain, there was a kind of early morning birdsong in its voice. A cardinal. “Ask me a boon, faerie. Ask me for what you most desire.” They looked down at the creature, eyes cold, even disappointed. “Life….” it whimpered. “Oh I can’t give you that, Tinkerbell.” Nasim said, their body relaxing ever so slightly. “But I won’t be the one that kills you.” They tossed the pie on the ground, and walked away.

Memory Lane Pastries

@letshareapapou wrote this with me. I must always credit the bae without fail XD Concept surrounding the pastries because I can never forgive for the poor execution of them in the game. I will write about these damn desserts forever. I can write about how Noctis looks at Ignis like he’s a Tenebraen pastry forever. FFXV Spoilers, just in case, but entirely different ending. When can I stop tagging stuff as spoilers? Posted on Ao3.

-

“Once this is over…”

“One thing at a time.”

“Fair enough.”

- Ignis Scientia to Noctis Lucis Caelum, circa World of Ruin

-

Ignis chuckled over the barrage of lectures Noctis received.

The King of Light had restored balance to Eos, fulfilled the prophecy, defied fate, and he received a tongue-lashing for his trouble the minute the four heroes arrived at Hammerhead. He survived to live another day or perhaps the gods deemed that this consequence was a suitable compromise for reclaiming his birthright.

The discourse handed over by Cid and Cidney wasn’t covering the fact that Noctis had gone to sleep for ten years nor he didn’t inform them of his return. No, the two master mechanics found the Regalia in Gralea, damaged beyond repair. It was clear that the Regalia was a small sacrifice in getting in Niflheim territory. Gladiolus and Prompto were fortunate to sneak away before they too, suffered an earful, and figured that they should head over to Lestallum to deliver the announcement that everyone could return to their homes.

Ignis decided to stay behind at the Hammerhead with Noctis to provide support. For someone as energetic and cheerful as Cidney, Ignis was thrown off by the blonde’s incoherent wails. Cid’s reprimands were beyond a roar, penetrating, there was still life within the crotchety elder yet and it wasn’t just over seafood. Nobody said a word to Ignis directly, it must’ve been the seafood cuisine he catered for those years. The advisor could chalk it up to the unspoken rule of not upsetting the chef.

But he didn’t intervene on the king’s behalf nor did he interject. He wouldn’t stoop that low but it also wasn’t Noctis’ fault for his unprecedented absence. However, some part deep inside Ignis felt that a little humility wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. Noctis was king, to hear the common folk’s complaints and input would be advantageous until he’s able to sit on his throne once more.

He knew Noctis looked to him for aid, but Ignis ignored it. Talcott promised to help the king rectify for the misdeeds and imagined crimes he had caused. The advisor decided he should prepare a meal, it did no good for everyone to argue on an empty stomach.

Takka’s kitchen would do. The man was always a character who was easily startled, unlike what you could expect from a reformed thief, but elated to point Ignis in the right direction to the ingredients he needed or provide a helping hand in preparing meals. He had honestly helped Ignis in the beginning. After the Ignis, Prompto, and Gladiolus reconvened to Hammerhead after Noctis’ disappearance, they banded up as active Daemon Hunters. This arrangement didn’t last long, the three split up, it was too painful to be together while Noctis was gone.

Gladiolus drifted off into the night first, ready as ever to fight. He was a bastion and a cyclone, determined to protect but feared putting his friends at risk. He had Iris to consider after all, and Ignis didn’t need him anymore. Prompto was a bit more reluctant to leave his blind companion behind. Ignis firmly reminded the blond to follow his heart and not to worry about him, knowing he wished to pursue after the Shield. Saying farewell to his last friend had been hard, but Ignis did it how he did everything else: deliberate, pride was the most powerful emotion that often worked against him.

Cidney had found him drunk later, it wasn’t the brightest moment to be caught in, but when he sobered up Ignis found himself ready to face the darkness. It was a slow process though, Ignis was hard-pressed to admit that to anyone even when his assignments coincided with his dear friends’s objectives at times. Between his desires to fight, to breathe, to survive, the darkness of the real world seemed minuscule compared to his own. Try as he might, some nights did caught up to him and wallowing in self-pity and contempt.

Then one day, he drifted back to Hammerhead and found himself in the diner, cooking. It was so close to Insomnia, so close to home that it was easy. And so fucking hard. But Takka had helped him. A steady hand in the kitchen. It was what Ignis needed and he got better.

After a while, Ignis moved towards the sea. Maybe because it was the furthest thing from Insomnia, from everything. The sea salt in the air was comforting. Seafood became his best and rarest dishes. But now that Noctis, his king, was home, Ignis could go back to what he knew. It was all right to remember because he wasn’t hanging on memories. Noctis was as real as anything. He was here. Ignis wasn’t being pulled towards the sea anymore. He wasn’t drowning and trying to get lost in the abyss of nothingness.

Takka’s voice was as enthusiastic as ever. “Need a hand?”

Ignis smiled, “Certainly.”

“‘Fraid we don’t have much in the pantry for something huge. Had to give rations to the folks who left in a pitch.” The aged man groaned and his voice sounded much closer as he rummaged through food items. “Hope they get back all right and aren’t too down when they see what’s left…”

Ignis paused. Crown City citizens weren’t the only ones eager to depart to Insomnia and even if they were discouraged of their haste, nobody would stop them. Lestallum had been overpopulated due to the waves of refugees seeking sanctuary. Deplorable conditions also dwindled humanity and morale during that time. No doubt many would remain and others would find their ways back home.

“It’s to be expected, but there’ll be time to mend wounds and discuss reconstruction. All this altruism won’t go to waste now.”

“Suppose you’re right. It’s only day one, after all.” Takka scratched at the patch of a beard on his jaw. “What’s on the menu today, son?”

“There’s a pastry I’d like to bake. It’s been years but I think…” Ignis inhaled deeply. “I’m ready.”

He’d hardly tried desserts in general since Altissia but now felt right. Honestly he was probably still soaring on their victory, it was hard not to. He’d never felt so free.

“Need a hand?” A voice called, familiar yet foreign but it the best sound Ignis had heard in years. The advisor turned toward it. Noctis always had a deep voice but the ten years rolled it low in his throat and it sent a pleasant slide down Ignis’ spine.

“Hold your chocobos!”

“Uh-oh.” Noctis gasped.

“If ya’ll think I’m gonna let you skedaddle from making amends, ya’ll got 'nother thing comin’!” Cidney’s furious heels hammered the diner’s floor and Noctis let out a cry. “Sorry for the trouble, boys! Carry on.” The head mechanic commanded as she dragged the Lucian king out, ignoring his pleas to release his ear.

“Hell hath no fury…” Takka drawled. He jumped when Ignis chortled suddenly.

“Apologies,” Ignis cleared his throat, making his way to retrieve an apron from hook. “Do we have Ulwaat berries? These confections also call for a flaky texture so if we don’t carry flour, I’ll make do with substitutions, say spelt.”

Ingredients were indeed difficult to obtain during the decade. Hunters were assigned to delivery shifts for the basic necessities and resources. Ignis ended up teaching others on making simple, but filling meals with what was on hand. Many of his disciples lamented over fresh eggs and milk. It forced him to be creative and the textures were unexpected, and sometimes experimentation took a turn for the better. He was certain that everyone wouldn’t mind his take on these Tenebraen desserts. They may be intertwined with canned goods or preservatives since Ignis lacked the access to a palace’s kitchen. Would Noctis mind?

“Don’t worry,” A hand settled on his shoulder and squeezed. “He’s going to like them.”

Ignis was positive he allowed himself to be an open book. He turned away to reach for a bowl and cleared his throat, “Ah, that obvious, am I?”

Takka snorted. “Boy, you are so besotted with him. Y'all have to be the dimmest lightbulb in the shed to not see it. But you know… he looks at you the same way. Like you’re a kupoberry cheesecake.”

Ignis swallowed and struggled to keep his face composed. An interesting analogy, but one that he won’t inquire about. “I wish I could see it.”

“It’s the same since the day you boys first showed up here in Hammerhead. You didn’t see it then, but he watched you just as much as you watched him. The only difference now is time. You don’t need eyes to know how he feels.”

-

Ignis stepped out of the diner carrying a large paper bag full of pastries and a thermos of Ebony coffee. The pastries were baked to perfection despite some last minute alterations. Unfortunately, there weren’t enough Ulwaat berry preserves for the thirty sweets baked. Some of them contained banana jam and others raspberry and chocolate in lieu of the Ulwaat fillings. Takka attested that the raspberry and chocolate ones were the best of the batch and Ignis took his word for it. However, he wanted to hear Noctis’ opinion on the matter.

“Ignis,” Noctis greeted with a groan and metal grated against one another. Bones cracked and the king dusted off his hands. “Ugh, I can’t believe Cidney. I tried telling her what happened to the Regalia wasn’t my fault.”

Ignis made a noise expressing mock exasperation, “Wouldn’t listen to a tale you’ve spun? I’m amazed.” Noctis almost always managed to talk himself out of a tangled situation or at least narrated a grand story that brought the advisor enough time to bail him out.

“One order after another. Without a break, too. Now that’s criminal. If it wasn’t for Talcott, I wouldn’t be alive right now and we both know how crushing that’ll be.”

“Your Majesty, you shouldn’t upset Miss Cidney.” A young voice called out from below, Talcott’s, the tone sounded normal as the man rose to his feet. “She didn’t say those things for her benefit. Your idea of putting the car in the museum was a terrible one.”

“My bad.” Noctis grumbled, “Like grandfather, like grandkid.”

“I believe the two of you deserve a break for your hard work. These are still warm from the oven.” Ignis announced, holding up the paper bag. “I took the liberties of divvying portions for the both of you.”

“Knew I could count on you, Specs.” Noctis patted Ignis’ shoulder enthusiastically.

“Perhaps we could eat them together?” The advisor was hopeful as he turned to the youngest man.

“Um,” Talcott was hesitant. “I think I left the monkey wretch in the garage. Yeah. You know how Cid gets with missing tools.” The young man laughed nervously and the bag rustled as he retrieved his portion. “Thanks for the food. Bet it’s awesome like everything else you made, Ignis.” He left the two older men in a hurry.

Ignis was stunned by the man’s behavior. “He left without so much of an explanation. How pellicular.”

“What explanation do you need? Poor kid needs therapy after what we went through.” The king released the advisor’s shoulder. “So that’s for me. You’re a sweetheart. Got coffee, too?”

Ignis smiled, knowing that coffee paired off nicely with the sweet confections though he recalled how Noctis took his. With lots of sugar and cream, more sweeteners than coffee. Utterly unpalatable in the advisor’s opinion, but a certain prince favored it highly. “But of course.”

Noctis guided Ignis to a bench and a warm, nostalgic scent wafted around the two men as they sat down. The bag rustled and Noctis pressed the warm contents against Ignis’ arm, signaling him to grab a sweet for himself.

Ignis took one gently, a piece of the buttery crust flaked off onto his palm as he pulled the dessert to his chest. There was the sound of a lid being pulled back and a light thump as Noctis sat the thermos on the table. Ignis leaned towards him, just a bit, it went unnoticeable by his friend, and listened.

The sound of teeth connecting into his creation gave him goosebumps, he held his breath.

“So, how is it?”

“Could use a bit of work.” Noctis supplied with a lukewarm response.

Ignis leaned away with a grimace, trying hard not to show his disappointment. He bit into his own, bitterness overtaking him. Honestly, he should hardly surprised, it’d be years and even then, his skills were subpar from what they had once been. His mouth twitched, maybe he should cease with these silly attempts altogether, he was getting old.

Ignis used to detest baking. He was self-taught, having spent many hours in the kitchen since he was ten years old watching the chefs prepare meals as if everyday was a feast. When Noctis returned to Lucis from Tenebrae all those years ago, he went through drastic changes that a boy should never experience. The only thing that brought a smile to his face was talking about a mysterious pastry he was fond of but couldn’t recall what was in it. Ignis wanted to see that smile return and did all he could to recreate the foreign pastry.  

“Too sweet”, “not flaky enough”, “not quite”, “close”, and so on became indicators to inform the advisor that he just had to try harder next time. But not once did Noctis not finish the pastry and he always sent his compliments to the chef. Not once did Noctis sent a letter to Lady Lunafreya requesting the recipe, he let Ignis have free reign in this never-ending quest.

But Ignis never got the chance to perfect the recipe. He learned of the ingredients that were used, but never got around to baking. Then he lost confidence in his culinary skills the same time his vision left him.

A finger stroked his lower lip and Ignis’ knees hit beneath the table.

“You got… cream on your lips.” Noctis said quietly, it sounded husky in how the advisor registered it. Ignis didn’t adhere to reason, his heart thumping loudly in his chest. Surrendering the pastries was one thing, but…

I cannot give you up, he thought desperately and leaned it, guided by the sound of the king’s voice. They both made a noise of surprise when their lips met. It wasn’t like he imagined it would be. Ignis imagined their first kiss being more delicate and graceful. Here, he felt clumsy outlining the king’s lips with his own, tripping in dark. Noctis’ lips were dry and cracked. Motor oil and sweat assaulted the air around them. The combined taste of the berries and sickeningly sweet Ebony were heavy on the advisor’s tongue, but his eyes fluttered anyway because it was Noctis.

He was kissing Noctis.

As if the king knew what he wanted, he ran his tougue over the older man’s lips. Ignis scarcely heard the pastry fall from his hand and on the table. They were still close enough for Ignis to feel it over his and the advisor made a sound low in his throat at the motion. He felt Noctis grin before a hand was on the back of his neck and they were together again. Noctis breathed into him and sighed, beard scrapping over Ignis’ clean-shaven chin as the younger man tilted his head to deepen the kiss. Ignis followed like a fire drawn to a hurricane, only the flame didn’t extinguish but fostered into a warmth that spread across his chest.

Noctis pulled back with a laugh, “You taste so much better than those fucking pastries.” He laughed breathily as he leaned his forehead aganist Ignis’, “Which, by the way, you’ve always made perfect, you dork.”

“Perfect?” Ignis echoed, nuzzling weakly against Noctis. Intoxicated by their first kisses, the advisor’s thoughts were muddled. He now understood what Takka meant about the cheesecake metaphor, that embrace was heavenly and the advisor may dare describe, bold, on both efforts. “I could’ve sworn that all my attempts have been unsuccessful.” He frowned, certain that this batch was a failure because fresh ingredients were severely limited. The younger man always was curt in his compliments, it was never in his style to be excessive but what did it mean now?

Noctis’ hand curled over the advisor’s. “I said they’re perfect, didn’t I?”

That’s when it dawned on Ignis. “I never got the recipe down, did I?” Perhaps it was time to concede in the apron. Ignis deemed that he needn’t hear it in Noctis’ words. “It’s all right,” the advisor assured, minding to keep the disappointment to a minimum. “Baking was never my strongest suit.”

Noctis squeezed his hand. “Never stop baking.” He asserted softly, “I’ll never find desserts the way you made them in this damn world if you quit. You made them just for us.”

At that, this time Noctis initiated the kiss, moving close to Ignis and catching his mouth. He worked up a slow-burn of a tempo with his parted lips. Fingers slid up the brunet’s chest and over his collarbone before resting on the sides of his neck. Ignis hummed as the rough pad of Noctis’ thumb ran over his pulse. He pulled back and his hand dragged up to cradle Ignis’ face before he teased the older man’s lips.

“I love you, Ignis.” He whispered softly.

Ignis smiled weakly as he kissed his king’s fingers gently. “I love you too, Noctis.” I have for a very long time, he wanted to add. Ignis flinched as Noctis’ forehead fell on his chest.

“It feels… good to say now that the cat’s out of the bag.” Noctis exhaled as he dropped his hand. “All those years wasted when I should’ve had you.” Vulnerability made his confession raw. “I can’t believe I was headed off to die without telling you…”

Ignis blinked. A moment later he heard the telltale moan and smiled. Noctis shoving his face full of food to silence himself was a bit childish but made the advisor all the more enamored. The king made his point clear and the advisor welcomed any attempts made even if they were incomplete thoughts. He raised his hand to Noctis’ face. “May I?” he asked, hand steady. Noctis snorted but Ignis’ fingers found a cheekbone.

“Only you.” Noctis’ chuckled, and Ignis felt the skin under his fingers flex as the king continued eating.

Ignis carefully brought his other hand and together they mapped out a picture, puzzle pieces clicking into place. His fingers swept over the king’s brow, along his jawline, danced around his nose, traveled to the outskirts of long strands of hair framing Noctis’ gaunt face. The time trapped in the Crystal hadn’t been kind to him. His hair was a little oily, but surprisingly soft unlike the coarse beard he sported. Ignis wished to see the windows of Noctis’ soul, observe the same tranquility and maturity he demonstrated as a king back in Insomnia.

“Forgot what I look like?” Noctis joked, tilting his head up when Ignis touched his eyelids.

“Yes…” Ignis’ hands froze as he delivered the truth. There was only so much information he could gather from his fingertips. He concluded that Noctis was handsome, a tad malnourished but the advisor would see to rectifying that in due time. “It was inevitable.”

Noctis’ face contorted in animated awareness at his callous comment. He swallowed deeply and a stifled apology was lodged in his throat, “Ignis…”

“No, let me finish. I’m not proud to admit it, but human memory is a faulty, fragile thing. I recall…” The advisor commemorated the king’s defined features with each caress. “The imagination of you quite vividly, but not your face.”

Memory has a limited threshold but even before the degradation, it’s malleable, subject to other factors like manipulation and falsehoods. Ignis fought to retain the details of his memories, but they slipped away from reach over the years. Every moment became too precious to be discarded. Intricate concepts and visceral sentiments exist in the brunet’s mind, his disability would never rob those away from him. It was some consolation that he could form stronger and substantial memories through his other senses.

“I won’t forget you this time around.” Ignis said with great certainty. If the forces of the universe leave Noctis be, Ignis would keep his promise to commit the man to memory. Noctis was silent and the brunet feared he had overstepped boundaries, but the king spoke before Ignis could remove himself.

“Ignis, is this what you wanted?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The 'once this is over’ thing you said. Back in Insomnia. The pastries, that kiss… This.”

“Who can say? It feels like a distant memory.” Ignis smiled, blatant lies when Noctis informed everyone the purpose of his destiny and demands of his bloodline. He rather not think back on that time. “But… Not as distant as the first time I cooked for you. A certain young prince flashed a marvelous smile that left quite an impression on me. Good to see His Majesty’s smile is still here.” He declared proudly, tapping his finger on the center of the king’s lips. Noctis smiled and Ignis decided it had to be the same one bestowed to him that fateful day.

Buttermilk pancakes drizzled with brown sugar and cinnamon syrup, plenty of whipped cream on top and sliced peaches on the side, a simple but delectable entrée, but the first meal Ignis made for Noctis. Noctis doesn’t remember, had expressed certainty that he must’ve loved it, and Ignis could verify that he most definitely did. A recalcitrant prince begged the young chamberlain constantly to make them, refusing to eat anything else for a time.

“I get it,” Noctis nodded. “Takes you back down memory lane, huh?”

“Our past forms the foundation of our present. We mustn’t forget that which made us what we are today.”

“Then let’s pave new memories for now on.” The king smirked before adding, “Maybe come up with new recipes along the way.”

“You’re impossible.” Ignis leaned in until the tip of his nose touched the king’s and gave his lips a quick peck. “Of course, we’ll take it one day at a time, Noct.”