Turn The Memory To Stone

Malec fic set after 2x13. Also deals with 2x12. Kinda sad, kinda not.

“You never have to prove yourself to me,” Alec says. He has a thousand other things he needs to say to Magnus, everything has been so fucked up lately, he’s been so fucked up lately, but all that comes out is a strained and stuttered, “I love you.”

And Magnus, who has every right to still be angry instead, cups Alec’s face and says he loves him too and kisses him. Alec grips Magnus by the hip and shoulder and kisses back, here on this patio that’s become a sanctuary of sorts for the both of them, together and separately.

Alec pulls away and rests his forehead against Magnus’s, taking a moment to just breathe and be. He can feel the tension still in Magnus’s body, the way he stands just slightly away from Alec instead of leaning into him. “You’re still angry,” Alec states lightly.

“A little,” Magnus admits. His tone is gentle, though, sad more than anything.

Alec licks at his lips, thinking of what to say, and realizes he tastes something smoky-sweet and alcoholic. “You’ve been drinking.”

Magnus pulls away at that, but a small smile plays at his mouth. “A little.” The grin slips, and sadness returns. “Or, a lot.”

Keep reading


“I have been wondering frequently of late
(But our beginnings never know our ends!)
Why we have not developed into friends.”
I feel like one who smiles, and turning shall remark
Suddenly, his expression in a glass.
My self-possession gutters; we are really in the dark.

-T.S. Eliot

She awakens with a start in the middle of the night, fleetingly forgetting where she is. She’s leaning on Mulder and her head was on his shoulder, and the fire has gone out.

She rubs the sleep from her eyes and grabs some material for the fire, heading to the kitchen to look for scrap. This must be the summer home for a rich couple and their two kids; there’s a half-eaten bag of Cheetos and some Chex Mix in the pantry.

She remembers, once, when her family took a trip down to Myrtle Beach, renting a house for a weekend, one of the only times they ever did something that extravagant. Charlie spent the day collecting shells, Bill snuck out at night to meet girls. Melissa sulked in her room because she was away from her boyfriend, and Dana…

Dana read Moby Dick on the beach with her dad.

She wipes at her eyes with the heel of her hand. She’s never getting any of that back, and they’ve taken her chance at a family of her own.

Not having ovaries doesn’t make you broken. She doesn’t need anyone to tell her that.

But they’ve taken her chance at normalcy. Her sister is dead, killed in an accident she suspects they had a hand in. Her brother is missing, her other estranged. She is the only hope her mother has for a family.

She knows it is unfair, all their expectations riding on her like that, but she wants.

She opens the bag of Chex Mix, chews her way through the stale pieces, lost in reverie so she doesn’t notice Mulder entering the kitchen until he’s right next to her. He leans against the counter with her so their arms are touching.

“What did they do to you?” he asks.

She leans her head on his shoulder. “Mulder…”

“I want to know. You owe me that, at least,” he says.

She nods. “Okay.”

So she tells him. She tells him of men who want to save themselves and will use her to do it. She tells him of her sister, of her assistant, of everyone she’s ever lost in the name of this crusade.

“Scully…” he says, his voice soft.

“It doesn’t matter.” She turns her head. “None of it matters.”

“It does matter. What they did—”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” Her voice is firm.

He nods. She leans her head on his shoulder, traces the lines in his palms. When he speaks again, she feels it.

“Do you think they did the same thing to my sister?” 

“I don’t know, Mulder,” she says. 

He turns to look at her intensely. “Can I see? The scars?” 

She bites her lip, teases up the edge of her shirt, the band of her pants. The air between them is charged and electric. He traces the silvery line of her scar and she shivers beneath him, wanting him to touch her in other ways. 

“Mulder,” she whispers, and he leans into her and she knows she shouldn’t do this, shouldn’t be doing this, what is she thinking—

And then headlights sweep in through the window.


Lilac body scrub

I’ve got something brewing over here, and I haven’t shared much about it yet, but I will soon. 

A friend of mine makes the most amazing soap. I recently traded some homemade body scrub for some soap because she loves this body scrub. The lilacs were in full bloom so I infused the scrub with freshly made lilac syrup and fresh lilac blossoms. I have a few other recipes I’d like to try (wild rose is at the top of the list). The coconut oil overpowered the lilacs, so next year I would try this recipe with refined coconut oil. I would also pick the lilacs sooner. 

Bathe in the flowers. Medicinal luxury is coming. Stay tuned.

life-of-architecture  asked:

More about lucky omens: little known and possibly not much widespread is looking for lucky lilac flowers, the same way one looks for four-leaf clovers. Normal lilacs come as four-petals, so lucky ones are five- or more petals. When you find one, you're supposed to eat it. Fortunately they aren't poisonous. :)

Need to note that one down, it’s something I didn’t know about :)

Other rare luck-bringing accessory that I knew of is a double ear of grain, quite hard to find.