familiar is so good

 so some fun facts about working in carpentry (from someone in the field) that probably no one wants but could be fun for writing about julia and mags with:

  • it is so so important to maintain a positive relationship with your clients and that’s probably why mags is so proud of his rustic hospitality and wants to use it at every corner because your relationships and reputation is half the job
  • for one you get returning clients and tends to be the best and most reliable source of income and you also usually will end up getting gifts from them too which is, sweet
  • if they’re doing pretty well off during a year i’m almost certain that they offer discounts for their services for the poorer members of raven’s roost, mangus in particular has a “doggy discount” that if they own a dog and they let it work with him they get a good discount
  • both of them (+plus stephen) are probably ambidextrous to a degree as when working on repeat projects, you tend to get really tired and sore and continue working until that arm gives out and then switch to the other to be able to continue working
  • going with that, you get paid by commission or project usually and so hypothetically you could pick up as many as possible (or as many as the union will allow) and probably will do that a couple times and you could literally blow out your entire body but be set for the year in a couple weeks
  • going with the stress on the body, the physical labor definitely means that they have bad knees and probably a bad arm as well not to mention if there is a lot of heavy lifting you can get multiple hairpin fractures along your spine and legs causing intense pain that cannot be treated 
  • also if they’re working with saws (which i’m pretty sure trav did say were in the pocket workshop) then i have no idea why mags reacted so badly to losing a finger because everyone i have ever worked with has or has almost cut off their finger once a week
  • also you get a very high tolerance for pain (which probably helps mags as being a sword for hirer)  like i have literally sliced my entire forearm open and just wrapped it up and continued working
  • since raven’s roost has a carpentry district, that most likely means that they have a lumber sister town that provides all of the resources
  • and again, going with the importance of rustic hospitality, if you’re friends with the lumber providers then you will get first pick on the quality wood and quality literally will save you days of work
  • if there’s a bad harvest one year then it will fucking suck because people don’t stop needing furniture or buildings and you as the carpenter have to pick up the slack for the shitty warped wood and most projects will take about double the time
  • woodworking is a skill trade and has to be learned over years so most likely by the time mags came along julia was already extremely skilled and is able to do commissions and bids on her own and has her own reputation in ravens roost (which…tbh mags could have very well apprenticed under her) 
  • it is extremely hard to go from apprenticing one carpenter to another because even the basics get muddled with your own style to the point where most people measure in different ways and cutting something wrong (especially cutting it short) will waste so much material thus mags being brand new to apprenticing under stephen probably takes years while jules just laughs each time he fucks up a leg of a chair

anonymous asked:

I'm curious about what procedures you think need to change in the livestock industry?

Practically, or philosophically? There is so much that can be talked about in this field

From a practical standpoint, there are a number of areas where current livestock practices are far from ideal. Farming has a huge history behind it, and many of these practices are ingrained and so difficult to change.

Before I go through the list, I should preface that if you’re not comfortable with the fact that farmed animals die for human benefit, if you just want all farms to stop using animals, then you’re not going to find this list satisfactory. If you’re fundamentally uncomfortable with livestock industries, and you haven’t already questioned why you consume the products it produces or what your alternatives are, then it might be worthwhile.

For now, these industries are not going anywhere. They’re certainly not perfect but we could improve them. Regardless of whether you personally believe all these industries should be ‘just stopped’ you have to agree that will not happen overnight, and that other welfare improvements could happen today.

  • Pain relief being more widely used. There has historically been an aversion to using pain relief medication in livestock due to expense, drug residues and the lack of products made for and tested in the species. This is beginning to change so there are not more options for pain relief at castration and mulesing , for example, but this needs to be more widely used. Another hurdle to this is that they are prescription products, and in order for a veterinarian to prescribe them they must have been out to that farm within the last year and be familiar with their set up and stock. Not every farm will call out a veterinarian on a regular basis.
  • Minimize transport time. Transport, whether by road, train, boat or plane, is incredibly stressful for livestock of all kinds. We can measure their physiological stress, so this is definitely not just anthropomorphism. Livestock are more stressed in transport than they are by witnessing death, which is the opposite to what many people would think. 
  • On-farm slaughter and refrigerated transport. Following on from the previous point, we have the technology to transport chilled carcasses. Performing slaughter on farm removes or eliminates a large percentage of the transport an individual animal needs to be exposed to, and will improve their welfare. Animals don’t perceive death the same way we do, having a mini abattoir at the farm entrance isn’t going to bother them.
  • Using genetics instead of procedures. It astounds me in this modern day that we still have breeders of hereford cattle that breed the horned version, and then de-horn the calves, instead of selecting stock with the polled (no horns) trait. If you want horns then fine, but if you’re going to cut/burn/cauterize them off anyway when why not remove them genetically? The polled gene exists! Similarly there are a small number of merino sheep with a ‘bare breech’ trait, which don’t need mulesing. It would be ideal to spread this trait through the Australian sheep population, but with millions and millions of sheep and a ram only about to impregnate about 60 a month, that will take time.
  • Enrichment. Toys. Something for animals to play with, to investigate, to do. This has been historically neglected for a long time because originally animals weren’t though to have souls, or to be thinking, feeling entities. We know differently now. Enrichment only improves the lives of these animals, and often reduces unwanted or destructive behavior, like piglets biting off each others tails.
  • Dam-neonate bonding in certain industries should be reconsidered. In some situations, the dairy industry in particular, neonates may be taken from their mothers within 24 hours to reduce disease transmission in eradication of certain diseases, like Johnes disease, but in other situations it’s because for some mind boggling reason it is more cost efficient for a farm to sell the mother’s milk and feed the neonate on milk replacer.  
  • In a similar vein, giving sows enough space to nurse their litter would be great. They’re kept in sow stalls (basically a cage that they can stand up or lie down in that the piglets can run through) so that they don’t squash their piglets and kill them. That’s great and all, except you can accomplish the same thing by giving the sow more space to turn around it and slopes on the wall of the pen.

So, the important question I hope you’re asking is why don’t we do these things already?

There are lots and lots of reasons someone could grab, but the short (and I dare say more honest) reason is this: Money.

Granting an animal more space costs you money because it reduces the number of animals you can stock in your space. Using more pain relief medication costs you money. Calling out a vet costs you money. Providing enrichment costs you various amounts of money. On-farm slaughter and refrigerated transport is more expensive than the current system.

So if this is all about money, is it the fault of greedy farmers? Well, generally no.

Most farmers actually like the species of animal they work with. And most of them, especially with recent droughts, the current political climate and monopolization of the companies that buy their products, are not making big buckets of cash. More and more farms are selling up and small producers are not keeping up.

They are under constant pressure to lower the prices of their animal products because there’s only a few big buyers, and right now it’s the buyers that dictate what price they’re willing to pay. Because these animal products are perishable, you can’t save them for a rainy day if you don’t sell them, and these buyers are big enough, they can hold out and only pay what they want to pay. This severe downward pressure means farmers get paid progressively less, and these companies make more profits while claiming it’s good for consumers.

^ Look familiar?

So we get cheaper food, the company makes more profit, and the individual farms get screwed.

Especially with milk, there was a huge crisis recently where one of the big milk buyers suddenly declared it had been overpaying dairies, and that not only was it now going to pay them much less for the season (on contract mind you), but that all their dairies now owed them thousands of dollars. After years of downward price pressure on their product many farms could not, and can not, afford this. You can get an overview here.

The point I’m trying to get to is that if these industries are gong to improve, then we need to value the individual animal and its experience of life more than we currently do. 

If we value the experiences of the individual animal, and consequently put our money where our mouth is when it comes to their products, then there should be both motivation and financial ability to improve their lives. We could progress from mere ‘prevention of cruelty’ and minimum standards towards animal welfare and good welfare states.

Changing consumer patterns is probably the only way to do this, and it’s quite hard when you’re already paycheck to paycheck, but a in depth rant/discussion about politics/policy/economics etc is beyond my scope, though I would happily add veterinary and industry specific detail to a discussion if someone wants to tackle that side of it.

withmyteeth  asked:

Stiles all but gives up on ever finding his red hoodie again until he finds it stashed away in Derek's loft.

A short sterek ficlet for one of my favorite followers.

Stiles ran a hand through his messy hair, groaning loudly in frustration. He was standing in the center of his room, surrounded by a mountain of laundry. He scanned one more time for his signature hoodie before finally calling it. Today, at 10:07 a.m. on September 5th, 2017, his red hooded sweatshirt was officially lost to the void. He hadn’t seen it since the spring; California summer starts early and runs late, and on the first day it was cold enough to wear it he couldn’t fucking find it. What a summer ending bummer. A summer bummer, if you will.

He shot off a quick text to Scott to let everyone know he was gonna be late to the pack meeting, and grabbed his car keys, hoping desperately his dad wouldn’t see the ‘small island village post a hurricane’-esque mess his room had become.

The second thing Derek noticed when Stiles walked in to his loft set his brow in a deep furrow. The first thing was that Stiles was an hour late, and the second was the cyan hoodie Stiles was wearing. It looked crisp and new, and Derek could smell from across the room it had just been purchased, stale department store air clinging to it. Derek wrinkled his nose. It was a total assault on his senses. Stiles was supposed to smell like himself and pack, not the mall. Stiles wore red, not this teal crime against nature. This color actually almost hurt his eyes to look at. The brunette in question was staring at him, eyebrow raised. Derek felt him tense up, probably because his alpha’s intense expression.

Derek guiltily looked away, and continued listening to whatever Erica was saying about the pointlessnss of fingerless gloves.

Stiles shook his head, unsure of what caused the gorgeous alpha to be so annoyed by just his presence, he hadn’t even said anything yet! His heart hurt at that thought, he never expected Derek to return his feelings but being scorned like this was almost too much. Derek looked younger today, like he had finally gotten a bit of rest, but apparently even that wasn’t enough to soften his sour demeanor towards Stiles. Scott clapped him on the shoulder, and shook him lightly, bringing him back to the present. Act normal, he thought.

“Nice threads. New look?” Scott asked good naturedly. Stiles frowned, it was still a sore subject.
“Nah, I can’t find my favorite red hoodie, you know, the trademark Stiles one? I can’t figure it out, I wore it last spring and now it’s just gone. Had to shell out forty bucks for a new one today, everything else has holes in it from our ‘dark forest fun times of nearly being killed by supernatural creatures.” Scott frowned, shaking his head just as Isaac nuzzled into Stiles neck from the side, scenting him.

“You know, I think I saw that one here on the couch like…maybe a week ago?” Isaac interjected, lazily launching himself from Stiles to Erica.

Derek froze, heart rate spiking for moment as his ears blushed red. His untrained betas didn’t notice, but the picture was now clear. He must have left the hoodie he had sneakily taken from Stiles’ floor on the couch last week after he had taken a nap. Smelling Stiles’ scent helped him sleep, and he had been so tired, he didn’t think taking it would be too much of a big deal. He felt guilty, sick to his stomach, and ashamed. His longing after Stiles had never really caused problems before, and he couldn’t fix the problem without giving away he had stolen the hoodie in the first place.

“Really? I must have left it here…but this place is always so clean, why would it have been here a week ago? I haven’t worn it in at least two months.” Stiles trailed off, seeing he had lost everyone’s attention to the pizza that had just arrived. (The delivery guy didnt even get to knoock, the werewolves had already been there waiting. He was so startled Jackson had to catch a few of the toppling boxes.)

A fuck ton of pizza, two twelve packs of soda, and two bad horror movies later, everyone was saying goodbye and filing out of Derek’s loft. As Stiles was leaving, a hand gripped his bare arm firmly where he had pushed up his sleeves.(Derek refused to touch the blue monstrosity.) He looked up at Derek who was wearing the same annoyed expression as earlier.

“I’m sorry I was late, is that why-”

“I need to give you something.”

“Uh..okay, big guy. What’s up?” Stiles blushed, the close proximity being a little overwhelming.

Derek led him to his dresser, and carefully pulled something out of the top one. Stiles noticed he was acting slowly, like whatever was in his arms would fall to tatters or bolt if he moved too fast.

“I’m sorry.” Derek said gruffly, looking away as he held out something stiffly. Stiles grinned, taking the hoodie excitedly.

“My hoodie, you found it! That’s amazing, I’m so fucking happy. But wait, what are you sorry for? It’s in perfect condition, it even smells good.”

“…” Derek didn’t meet his gaze. Stiles stepped closer, touching his alpha’s arm lightly. The firm muscle of his forearm stiffened, and Stiles let go.

“C'mon, what’s up?” The werewolf looked up at him, cheeks burning bright.

“I took it. You didn’t lose it. I took it without your permission and I shouldn’t have.”

“But why, I don’t understand? I don’t think you’d wear it. It’s not really your style.”

“I couldn’t sleep. After the alpha pack and Kate kidnapping me again I didn’t feel safe. I was desperate. You smell like pack and someone I can trust. It helps.”

Stiles blinked, stunned. Derek trusted him. The sexy, badass, leather-clad alpha of his dreams was sleeping with hoodie to feel safe. The pale brunette felt himself flush from his chest to his ears. Derek had been looking less tired recently, and thinking about the countless terrible hardships he’s had to endure was heart-breaking, any kind of relief he got was well-deserved.

“Oh, that’s, it’s totally fine. No worries. No big deal. Keep it. I’m glad it’s been doing a good job.” Stiles rambled, smiling bashfully. Derek looked shocked, unsure.

“You’re not angry with me.” Derek stated quietly. Stiles’ heart broke a little more, Derek apparently thought he’d be furious.

“Of course not, you’re my alpha and my friend. I wish you had told me sooner. Maybe I can help somehow. Like, bring you some of my stuff to keep around or my bedsheets or something.” Stiles yelped when Derek suddenly pulled him forward and scented his neck gently with his nose and stubble-covered chin. He’d seen the alpha scent some of the others before on rare occasions, but he’d never been this affectionate with Stiles directly. Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek slowly, and damn did it feel great.

“You know, I could crash in your bed sometimes and then it’d really smell like Stiles Stilinski in here. Would that help?” Stiles was given an answer via Derek yanking his new hoodie off and pushing him towards the king size bed in the corner of the room.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Stiles gulped again. Was it getting hot in here? Was he dreaming? Did he hallucinate from some bad pepperonis on the pizza?

Stiles fell back when the back of his knees hit the mattress, bouncing lightly. Derek crawled on beside him, about a foot away after shucking his shirt and hitting the lights off.
Derek could hear Stiles’ pulse thumping loudly, and a mixture of nervousness and arousal. Derek was startled by his findings, but definitely on board. He’d take whatever Stiles was willing to give him.

Stiles rolled over, facing away from the alpha.
“This would probably work better if you’re c-closer. Like to me.”

Derek hesitantly wrapped his arms around Stiles, nose pressed into the brunette’s hairline. He was overloaded on the familiar scent and it felt so, so good. He could practically feel the stress pouring from his body.

Stiles felt the muscles of his alpha relax, his own body going slack against Derek’s hard muscled chest. After a moment, he felt hot breath tickling his neck. Derek had passed out.

“Wow. That was fast.”


“I hate the blue hoodie. Take it back to the store. Burn it. I’ll give you the money you paid for it.”

Stiles chuckled in Derek’s arms. “Okay, sourwolf.” It was the start of something, he could feel it.


A Werewolf Boy (2012) || Legend of the Blue Sea (2016)

the-good-witch-of-babble replied to your post

“Greening the Cube" thoughts (p3)”

He’d be a pretty strange child, wandering out of the desert with only a few possessions -including a strange knife. It could have left him somewhat isolated, especially if he ‘acted out’ whenever an adult tried to confiscate his knife for the precaution of safety. Lack of interest + isolation from your peers can be the only two things needed for someone to not know about popular culture.

None of this explains his motivation for fighting the Galra tho

Even in season 1 Keith is pretty quiet the entire time they arrive at the castle, and unlike the other paladins, doesn’t seem to be too fazed by the Galra.

And for some reason gets his own separate window here (to emphasize something I assume)

Infact I think the first time he speaks is when they need to decide if they’re fighting or running away. He’s all like “We have to fight these guys!”

Lance and Hunk want to run away, Pidge wants to stay because she wants to find and free her family, Allura and Coran obviously have a thing against them, so does Shiro, he knows what they do. Why Keith insists on fighting them?

Why Keith cares? So much? (even before Allura says the Galra will get to Earth, and like he’s even got something on earth to begin with..)

Why this?

Facing Zarkon by himself was not a rational decision, getting the black lion ASAP was, but when he understands who it is exactly he’s facing, suddenly it is all emotion for Keith.

Where does it come from? Why he seems to care more than all of them about putting an end to the Galra empire?

More than Allura even

What goes through his mind in this shot?

Pokemon History

Can we talk about Wooper for a moment?

Originally posted by nidoqueen

I was the target audience when Pokemon Red and Blue were first released. I grew up with the original 150 Pokemon, with the debate about whether Mew counted or not as the 151st.

While we might imagine and draw ‘new’ Pokemon, in our minds the number of Pokemon were fixed. The 150/151 was all that there was, through there were conspiracies about missingno and the bird Ash saw in the anime, Ho-oh.

Then rumors of a new game circulated. Images started appearing of ‘new’ and ‘real’ Pokemon. Specifically, Wooper.

This arm-less, weird looking creature looked like a fake. It didn’t look like it could be quite real. Of all the Pokemon you could make, that were made, this was the first new one we saw?

When it turned out to be real, that we were getting a hundred new Pokemon to catch and train, and genders, and breeding, and happiness, and time, it was a game changer. Pure and simple. There were so many things added to that game, and the opportunity to see the old, familiar map after the Elite 4 battle was refreshing. That game was so good. I can’t explain just how many of the things I’d hoped for were given.

And this little Pokemon was water and ground type! Immunity to electricity for a water type was a big deal. You can imagine how much our little minds were blown when lanturn was revealed. .

This goofy, nearly featureless face was the herald of our Pokemon world expanding.

I’m reminded of all of this playing Pokemon go again, and seeing this blue blob pop up. All that hope an wonder.

Sweet Tears Pt.6

Jungkook x Reader { Cat Hybrid/Dystopian Au! }(a)(f)(eventual smut)

Warnings: None???

Who could have known that taking home a hybrid would change ones whole life? How could y/n have guessed he would affect her so much? All she wants to do is help, but she doesn’t even know if he’ll let her.

Wordcount: 6k+

A/n: Ah~ I’m so glad I could finally get this out. So, grab your popcorn, and something to drink cause I hope you’re ready <3

|| Masterlist || Previous ||

Previously: Jimin and you both got up as well. As they put on their shoes and grabbed their items, you picked up the now empty glasses before walking to where they were. “Who is Suga anyway.”

Slinging her purse over her arm, Hyemi opened the door. “That’s a secret.” She showed you a smile, pulling you into a hug before starting to walk out. “If you need anything, we’re only across the hall. Don’t be afraid to stop by.” You let out a laugh, waving her off before Jimin stopped in the doorway.

“Y/n?” You hummed, watching as he stepped inside once more. “I don’t know much about what Suga does, but I heard there’s an important part of his process”

“What is it?”

He smiled at you, his eyes turning to into those lovely half moon crescents. “You have to create a bond stronger than the initial connection.” You cocked your head in confusion, watching as he gave you a hug and left.

It had been an hour since Hyemi and Jimin had left, the pitch black night sky and blinding city lights your only company. You had cleaned up everything. After putting the bottle of wine away and washing your two glasses, you listened. The house was now silent, an atmosphere that you were used to yet wished had stayed away.

Two days and three nights- one of which you counted as today yet the amount of action you had faced made it feel like years. You had found a hybrid, taken him in and already found yourself attached. The thought that there was over a sixty percent chance that Jungkook would meet a doomed end scared you. If you couldn’t reach Suga and get his help, what then? Bring him back to his owner to live a miserable life- or let him die? With a sigh, you decided to push everything to the back of your mind.

Keep reading

“My, we are grumpy today,” the soft voice is teasing, and it resonates from Draco’s left side. Draco ignores it and turns his head the other way.

“Hey,” it says. The bed sinks and a gentle hand rests upon Draco’s rigid shoulder.
Draco doesn’t move.

“Draco,” by now, the voice was pleading. “Draco, talk to me.”

No sound.
No movement.

A sigh.

“Draco, you can’t stay mad at me forever.”

Draco’s eyebrows slowly dip downward in frustration. His bloodshot eyes, fuming. “Don’t wager on it,” he snaps.


“No, Harry. You don’t get to have an excuse for this one. You don’t get to ‘Draco’ me. You don’t get to apologize. In fact, you don’t even get to talk to me,” Draco’s heart was racing. Fuming. Angry.

Draco shakes Harry’s hand off him and Harry drops to the floor, situating himself in front of the angry blonde, hoping he would get him to look at him. “You don’t mean that,” Harry’s voice is quiet, muffled. Hurt.

Draco stays silent.

“We’ll get through this,” Harry takes Draco’s hands and glides his fingers onto his palms, unclasping his fists by intertwining his fingers with his. “I know we will.”

Draco’s hands are soft. Nimble. Trembling. He shakes his head at Harry, eyes brimming, but never really flooding. Harry’s heart wrenched. He wanted to reach out and wipe it all away. But he was holding Draco’s hands, and he didn’t want to let them go.

“How can you say that?” Draco’s speaks, and a whisper is barely heard. But Harry hears. Harry always hears. And the painful sound of Draco trying to choke back his tears pricks painfully at Harry’s chest. “How can you lie to my face like that?” Draco continues, and a tear finally slips and falls.
Then another,
and another,
and another.
The dam is broken. The walls are crumbling down. Draco’s tears are relentless.
Harry’s heart keeps hammering painfully in his chest.

“I’m not… I wasn’t… Draco, I could never lie to you,” Harry stutters and Draco drops to the floor, shoulders shaking uncontrollably, eyes shut tight, tears streaming. He lets go of Harry’s hand and grabs his collar, twisting it in anger. Draco looks up to search for the green in Harry’s eyes. He finds it, but it’s barely the bright shade he remembered. Perhaps it were tears brimming in Harry’s eyes that made things hazy.
Perhaps it were his own.
Draco does not know.
He doesn’t bother.

“You can’t ever make up for this,” Draco cries into Harry’s shoulder. He lets go of Harry’s collar and wraps his arms around him; wanting him, needing him, clinging to him, pulling him closer, tighter, as if he feared Harry would disappear if he so much as loosened his grasp.

Harry holds him close and says nothing to comfort him. He knew it was useless. He’d done it this time. He’d crossed the line. Draco was never going to forgive him. The least Harry could do was stay there
with him
for as long as he possibly could.

“I’m sorry,” Harry finally says after a while, when the storms have calmed and the flood has dried. When all they could see was the exact amount of damage caused by the disaster. When all that was left was the sight of the debris.
Of what was.
Of what could have been.

“Sorry won’t cut it this time, Potter,” Draco breathes, rubbing swollen eyes with tired hands as he prepares to open his lids.

Draco wakes to a familiar room laden with so many memories, both good and bad.
It’s big,
and empty.
Too empty.
He sits up and fixes his eyes on the drawer beside him where Harry’s glasses lay. He picks them up and cleans them with the sheets.
But it gets hazy again.
Because another tear has fallen.

“Sorry, won’t bring you back to life,” Draco whispers to himself as he realized another dream of Harry had come to haunt him once more.

Hehehehe, she’s better than you Jinki😂TVChosun Idol Festival 161121 #shinee #onew #jinki #taemin #1and1

Made with Vine





I’m Sorry (I Fell In Love Tonight)

( PROMPT: We’re making out on the couch when a member of your family - who doesn’t know we’re friends with benefits - walks in and what do you mean I have to be your pretend girlfriend? )

A/N: Ahahahaha, guess who’s back? The sin is not so strong in this chapter, but I’ll try to sin more in chapter 3. Things are really starting to heat up with the reader and fuckboi Peter!! If anyone has more prompts for me to do (fuckboi Peter or no), drop me an ask, and I’ll try to post it! Comments and reblogs are appreciated!

WARNINGS: Sin. But slight sin this time. 

Taglist (temporary, for this series only): @mashed-fandom-imagines | @gryffindoggo 

Taglist (permanent): @mainspidey | @x-wing-starwriter |@tomsleftbrow | @tryn25|@tanglefire | @midnight-memorial | @tiny-friggin-human |@tacklemyackles| @fangeekkk |@beamagtuto | @captainaudreystark | @hellosuperewczi | @dasia-aye

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stop for a minute (and be by my side)  // tom holland oneshot

Summary: Tom comes home from the press tour. His girlfriend is waiting for him. (smut).

read on ao3

He’s been gone too long.

The press tour took two, nearly three weeks, but it was too long. She still wakes reaching out in the bed, searching for a warm body and finding nothing. The apartment is quiet, and still, without him to fill it, doing stupid, unnecessary flips off pieces of furniture and humming to himself as he makes dinner and cooing at Tessa. There are phone calls, of course, and SnapChats, and blurry Skype talks, but he’s busy, and she’s busy, and the time difference is crazy. She changes the sheets one day, and realises only afterwards that the new linen smells only of her, none of Tom’s cologne or shower gel to remind her that she’s not alone, even in sleep. The weather is bad, seemingly mourning his disappearance. It’s been weeks, and it’s been too long.

His flight changes, and she has a work thing, so she comes home late to a quiet flat, the lights off. But where, in the past few weeks, the apartment had lacked warmth, had felt empty and bare, there is a promise in the air, a reminder that there is another person here, living and breathing and waiting for her. In the bedroom, there is a shape under the covers, taking up the side of the bed that had been cold and sparse when she left that morning. She can hear Tom’s quiet breathing, the presence of him, real and there. She undresses quickly, eager to touch his skin, to take his warmth without clothing in the way. He’s warmed the cold sheets, the portable heater he is, and she slips in, sticking to her side of the bed for a moment to just witness him.

He is fast asleep, exhausted from travel, but he’s at peace. His face is clear, his eyelashes resting gently on his cheeks. The gold of the thin chain of his necklace glints in the low light of the room, the strength of his shoulders a contrast against the soft bed linen. His arm reaches out across the bed, bracelets gathered at his wrist from the places he’s been, faded from showers and planes, as if he knew she would be returning, and he wanted to touch her first. His fingers steeple on the white of the duvet, waiting for her.

She takes Tom’s hand, feels it move with her, curl into her, fingers linking. He makes a soft sound in his chest, and stirs, opening up his body for her to press against. He smells like an airplane, but underneath there is the soothing sense of his aftershave, of his soap, of something that she’s only ever been able to link to him. She lets him wake up slowly, indulges herself in touching him, his bare chest, up the side of his ribcage, just softly enough to tickle him, so his mouth crooks into a grin.

 “Stop,” he mumbles, thick with sleep, but it’s teasing, and he pulls her in closer.

 She lets her hand travel to his back, feels the movement in the cords of muscle as he shapes his body to hers, slipping a knee between her thighs, gathering her up close to him. He’s scooped her up, tucked her in, until there’s barely any of her skin left that isn’t touching his. She watches his eyelids flicker, promises of brown eyes, until he’s there, awake, conscious, and smiling at her, watching her from his place on the pillow. His face is soft with sleep, his blinking lazy, his movements lazier.

 “Hello,” she says, a whisper, too much to say and settling for too little. He understands though, because he shifts close enough that she can’t keep him in focus. A brush of his nose against hers, a whisper of breath, and then he’s kissing her, good and proper. It’s clumsy, this close, and sleepy, but it’s warm and familiar. They’ve long figured out how they fit together. It’s good. It’s so good. To taste him, to feel him, to have his body react to hers. Tom makes soft sounds into her mouth, moans from his chest as his body presses closer, limbs twining under the sheets. Her name is like a prayer in his mouth as his hands find the band of her underwear, struggling to push it down her legs.

 “Please,” he says against her jaw where he leaves sloppy kisses, distracted by the warmth of her body, the rejoicing of having it against him again.

 “I know,” she whispers, their hands meeting and fumbling under the covers as she rids herself of her underwear, kicking it down to the bottom of the bed, “I know.”

 She’s heady with having her boy back, feeling him, knowing him again. His hips rock against her, the slide of skin making her shiver. Tom’s voice is muffled against her collarbone as he laves his tongue over her shoulder.

 “Missed you,” he mumbles, “Missed this.”

 She tangles a hand in his hair, feels the cool of the pillow under her cheek as she tilts her head back for him to kiss over the arch of her neck, feel her stuttering pulse under his lips. He knows her inside out, what she likes, what she’ll react to, and his hand slips down her belly all too easily. He kisses her again as his fingers curl inside her, thumb rubbing against her knot of nerves to make her breath stick in her chest. It’s a luxury to be able to touch him, to feel him, and she appeases herself, her hands moving over his body, never settling in one place for long.

Their bodies shift and arch and writhe. It’s more than just feeling him, it’s hearing him, it’s seeing him, it’s smelling him, it’s tasting him, all at once, after so long denied. His voice in her ear as she tucks her face into the crook of his neck, talking nonsense that makes it hard to think clearly.

 “I love you, I missed you, there you go, darling, there you go,” his voice is thick, and rough, and she comes looking up at him, her body wrapped in his, a safe, warm place to completely come apart.

 She pants for a moment, his fingers still stroking her, careful to her sensitivity. Tom waits for her, like he always does, like the kind soul he is. He keeps her alight with purposeful touches. A brush over her breasts, a lazy kiss over her nipple, a glide of a hand over her stomach.

 She reaches down when she’s ready, can feel him against her leg, ready, waiting, desperate but trying to contain it. She fumbles in a bedside draw for a loose condom, the heat of her body pressed over his as she leans over him making him shudder. He distracts her by dropping kisses across her breasts, so her fingers shake as she tears the package open.

 When they’re ready, he collects her again, under him this time, the weight of his body intoxicating, a reminder of everything she’s missed, of everything she can have again. He settles home deep inside her. It’s been a little while, and she touches his face, tucks hair behind his ear while they wait for her to adjust. Tom shakes with the restraint. Sweat shines on his strong chest. Her body opens for him, languid, pliant, welcoming him back.

 They find a rhythm, a dance they never forgot. Tom’s arms bracket her, the heels of his hands pressing hard into the mattress. One of her legs lies loose around his waist, holding him close. He licks up her neck, breathes into her skin. She shivers, and is set aflame, burning up for him, ignited by all he gives to her.

 “Tom,” she says, a chant for the revered, “Tom.”

He groans from deep in his chest, dropping his head so the tips of his hair brushes over her chest, bowing to her. She palms his shoulder, writhes under him.

“Oh, Tom,” she gasps, and shatters. She sees nothing but the brown of his eyes, the red of his mouth, feels the slickness of their skin, hears his moans and calls of her name as he follows her lead, his face crammed into her neck, his body so close to hers she doesn’t know where they separate.

It’s very late. The city sleeps around them. The linen has been disturbed by their activities, but they rest under a sheet, limbs tangled. Hair is lovingly brushed off faces, lips are kissed. The apartment is filled again.

Better This Way (Chapter Ten)

I don’t want to spoil anything, so I won’t say anything lol.
Can’t wait to hear what you guys think about this chapter!


Enjoy :)

Peter woke slowly, wanting to stay as long as he could right here, feeling content and warm, the arms around him familiar and comforting, the scent in his nose easy on his raw senses.

“Pete.” Harry’s voice was still sleepy. “Hey.”

“Harry.” Peter stretched out along the Alphas body without even thinking about it, rolling his hips lightly, his body responding automatically to the Alpha beneath him.

Harry’s body responded as well, nearly instantly, and Peter purred happily at the feeling, rubbing himself more firmly against Harry, shivering when a hand landed low on his hips.

But Harry didn’t hold him tighter or encourage him to move or anything. Instead, Harry squeezed Peter’s hips lightly, holding him still.

“Pete.” He said again, much more awake this time. “You’re killing me, honey.”

“Well then why did you stop—” Peter started to tease but then shame, sadness, wrong flooded him and he jerked away with a gasp. “Jesus, I’m sorry. Damn it. We already had this talk and–”

“Hey.” Harry ran his hands down Peter’s back, trying to cover the shame from the omega with calm, settle, secure. “It’s fine. We slept on each other all night. Even without being Alpha/Omega we would have woken up ready to go. It’s not a big deal.” He chuckled and Peter relaxed again. “You feeling better?”

“Yeah. I am. Um. Thank you for all this. Um—”

“A night with a familiar Alpha can do a lot for this sort of thing.” Harry kissed his forehead before urging him off and to the side, careful not to let their hips touch. “I’m gonna take a quick rinse, and then you can shower, alright?”

“Thanks. Um Harry—” Peter pulled the sheets around him and looked up at his friend. “Sorry again about last night. And this morning. I probably should have just gone home last night and avoided this whole…thing.”

“It’s fine.” Harry assured him. “Pete it’s fine. No Alpha in the world would let an Omega go home when they have been drinking and are upset. I certainly wasn’t going to let you go, alright? It’s fine. Give me ten minutes to get cleaned up and then you can hop in, alright?”

Harry lay one last kiss on his forehead, then turned to go. The bathroom door closed, and once the shower started Peter fell back against the bed, curling into the warmth left by the Alpha.

This was the first morning in a month where he hadn’t woken up crying.

It was… nice.

Harry was such a good Alpha. Familiar and nice and just so easy to be around.

Why couldn’t Peter want an Alpha like Harry?


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come what may

When you’re immortal, there’s a point after a couple decades or maybe centuries, when everything becomes boring. It has happened to Magnus as well – after a long while of going through day-to-day motions, ordinary chores and mundane routines, he has gotten sick of them and instead searched for new ways to reinvent living without falling into absolute decadence.

He stopped doing his own laundry in favor of sending it to professional businesses, cooked rarely and instead snapped his fingers to conjure the best dishes from around the world; even walking or talking became a show of grace and elegance and poise to the point of not seeming remotely human underneath layers of satins and silks and the most expensive jewelry.

So this shouldn’t feel special, yet it is. The windowsill is cluttered full of clay pots with herbs preening in the natural light, mint and basil and rosemary alongside species that do not have a name in any language close to English; the window itself is thrown wide open, letting in a breeze smelling of pollen and carrying the buzz of the city.

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