Finally a decent length chapter ahahaha

I just wanted to write some domestic things of just what characters do at home/in a house? Not really different from what I usually write, honestly. First one isn't real because...well, idealism and we can't have good things in this household. Basically it's if everything was somewhat OK, I suppose. The others could be counted as real since they're more along the lines of what's really going on. Tense changes at the end because I didn't realize I was writing in present and I just stuck with it.

Steff frowned, her fingertips grazing the edge of the tea box where it taunted her in the cupboard. Whoever had used it last must have had some spite against anyone under 161 centimeters because it seemed to be just out of reach. Either that, or it was just her luck. Things seemed to be like that sometime.

The kettle whistled to let her know to hurry up and Cole eyed her from his Java Jones coffee at the table, a book perched in his hand. He'd had a head start on the day before her, although she never understood why he was up at such ungodly hours of the morning. It wasn't like he had demons to track or Downworlders to investigate, but she didn't want to ask. Mainly because she didn't think she'd like the answer. Still, he sighed and set his book down, running a hand through his not-yet-styled hair. Steff had the feeling he was far more high maintenance than he let on.

Walking over, he pushed the cabinet door open a little wider to reach for the tea box, pushing it in a good couple centimeters. Passing her, he gave her a wicked grin and snagged some napkins from the far counter instead.

"I don't do anything to warrant this bullying," Steff commented, rolling her eyes a little at the fact that he'd gotten up partly just to annoy her. "You're lucky I'm nice."

"Rather, I'm lucky you're a pushover," he remarked lazily, returning to his seat and setting the napkins down by his cup. "I think I wouldn't mind it if you were mean once in a while to me."

She only gave him a halfhearted tired look before looking for a stool, finding a foldout one in the corner. If discarding a bit of her dignity was what she needed to do to make her tea, she supposed she'd have to do it. Cole could be nice at times, but she theorized he enjoyed getting a rise out of people and was frustrated that she was difficult to upset. Rather, it wasn't that she didn't get a little annoyed from time to time; it was just that she didn't want him to see. Once she had snagged the tea, she nudged the stool back to the corner, opening the box and taking out one of the bags. She had already set out a mug, so she set it inside and looped the string around the mug.

"Do you realize just how English you are?" A teasing voice came loudly from the doorway, and then a crash and a swear. Steff glanced back, trying to hide a little amusement at the twins' sudden bickering at whose fault it was that one of them had nearly tripped over the cat. Church laid there lazily, either unaware or unbothered by the calamity he had nearly caused.

"It's just tea," Steff said with a bit of a smile to defend herself, picking up her mug to blow away the steam. "Everyone drinks it."

"Well...maybe," one of them conceded - whoever had nearly flattened Church. He brushed off his jeans and they continued into the kitchen. "But it's still a stereotype."

"And good morning to you too." She eyed them fondly, but she hadn't heard them talk quite enough to identify who was who. "Connor-" one of them flicked a hand up briefly and Steff narrowed her eyes, "-...then you're Cadyn. I know your tricks."

Cadyn grinned, swatting away Connor's hand when he tried to slap his shoulder lightly. "Damn. Yeah, I guess you do. Either way, though, you're playing up to the good Englishman."

"Are there any crumpets?" Connor asked to poke fun, sorting through the cupboards for anything that would catch their fancy.

"I'm sure you two live up to some stereotypes too," Steff sighed, sipping at her steaming tea. "For Russia, anyway."

"I, for one, detest the taste of vodka," Connor defended to prove her wrong. "And I'm not Communist."

"Well-..." Cadyn shrugged and made a face, holding up his hands. "Maybe a little, little-"

"-Microscopic bit Communist," Connor interrupted, snagging some pastry box off the counter to look through it. "Because Capitalism sucks. Also I think it's a bit of an aesthetic thing. I won't get shipped out of America for saying that, will I? By the Angel, we're going to restart the Red Scare."

Steff had read a little bit about what they were speaking of in her books. There was no urge for Shadowhunters to learn anything about mundane history, but there were certainly many things she had picked up through her devouring of libraries. It seemed they had done her some good for a reference point in something grounded in real life, even if it was as trivial as recognizing a term. She had been about to comment but realized their attention had been fleeting, Cadyn now looking back at Cole with a raised eyebrow.

"Oi, you look like you're at a funeral." Cadyn called over at him, causing Cole to raise his eyes slowly. "Who's it for?"

"I haven't decided yet," Cole replied coolly, closing his book and leaving it on the table. The twins had always bothered him with their carefree mood and tendency to barge into things that didn't involve them, but he didn't like to indulge them with a bad mood.

"Ah, so scary," Connor laughed. "Don't get too close or it might be your funeral, Cay."

"Oh, he's just being mean," Steff said and pursed her lips, giving a look to Cole when the twins were back discussing other things. He merely arched an eyebrow to feign ignorance, but returned to his coffee with a hint of amusement. Deciding to just get an apple from the counter, Steff picked it up before walking over to sit at the table as well. Setting her mug down carefully, she pulled out a chair, biting into her apple as she sat down. She tried to peer at the title of whatever he was reading, but he had an arm rested over the front.

Quietly, she ate her apple, her gaze flickering every now and then to Cole's face to try and guess what he was thinking about. Any other person would have inferred something like revolting against the Clave or the next way to wear down Mason's patience, but she reckoned it was more along the lines of the fact that Java Jones was notorious for burning their coffee.

"Ugh. They burnt the coffee again," Cole muttered, setting down the to-go cup. "I don't see why people still go there."

"Because not everyone is economically privileged." Picking up her mug with her free hand, she raised it to her lips to take a drink.

He didn't seem to have a good answer because he just shrugged and stood up to take the coffee to the trash, dropping it in the waste bin. One of the twins leaned up against the counter, eating a donut someone had apparently dropped off in a box earlier that morning while the other was microwaving something that made the entire kitchen smell vaguely like fish and sauerkraut. She wrinkled her nose a little and reached over to open a window.

"I didn't realize there was a breakfast gathering today." A tired voice derailed her thoughts and Steff looked over, catching sight of Percy, who looked a little rumpled with various burn marks on his shirt cuffs.

"Just woke up?" She asked with a close-lipped smile as a greeting, setting her mug down and pushing hair back from her face.

"Rather, I don't think I've slept in a few days," Percy said with a self-depreciating look, shrugging as he avoided walking in Cole's path on his way to the fridge. "I've got an order to deliver tomorrow morning and I think I've bitten off a bit more than I can chew."

"I'm sure you'll be able to finish it," she said encouragingly. She rather liked Percy and he'd helped her with a few small things from time to time.

"Let's hope." Percy rummaged around in the fridge before making a bit of a face, looking back at the twins. "What are you two making?"

When the microwave beeped, Cadyn pulled out a bowl of some dubious looking fish before reaching for a thing of bread. Connor grinned, laughing a little into his donut. He slid open a small drawer to fetch a spoon, sliding it over to his brother. It seemed most of the things they did in the kitchen were questionable and most of the things they made were for a certain palate. Either that, or they enjoyed the strangest foods that they had grown up with.

"Well, it's like...Бутерброды со шпротами..." Cadyn fumbled over his words a little, trying to find the words to explain in English what suspicious looking meal he was making. "You know...with...What's that called? I mean, I know what it's called but not in something he'd understand."

"Sprat," Connor chimed in helpfully.

"Yeah, well it's like a sprat bread thing with..." Cadyn mumbled a few words in Russian, having never needed to translate some of them before. "And it's like a sandwich but not really." Rambling on, he digressed into Russian, pointing at some of the things he was making with Percy nodding once, looking a little confused. Connor observed for a few moments before he walked over to Steff, noticing that Cole had disappeared, probably while the sprat sandwich topic was forming.

"You're going to leave Percy at the devices of your brother?" Steff inquired, stifling a look of mirth that crossed her features.

Shrugging, Connor made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Eh, they can handle it. They seem to be getting along."

Rather, it seemed Percy didn't want to point out that he couldn't understand what Cadyn was saying, but it might have been best he didn't query. It was rather funny, anyway, seeing Cadyn make gestures to explain whatever he was talking about before pointing at a strange array of ingredients, from mayo to an egg he had started boiling in a pot, whenever that had occurred. It was then that Percy realized he probably sounded like Cadyn when speaking about his potions, for he often rambled off in terms no one else was familiar with. Steff raised her eyebrows at whatever Cadyn was creating. She liked to cook, but she didn't recognize whatever he had concocted.

"Seems so." Steff reached for the napkin that Cole had left on the table, wrapping her apple core in it so it wouldn't make a mess. "I don't think either of you have the right to tease me about drinking tea."

"...Maybe not," Connor conceded, looking sly. "But we'll still be keeping an eye out."

Staring in the bathroom mirror, Blake watched himself for a short moment before reaching for a bottle with gloved hands. He flicked open the cap and squeezed a bit of blue dye into his hand. The bottle felt light and he debated between getting more or just letting the bleached parts grow out until he cut them off. The thought didn't linger for very long and he dragged the dye over the faded parts, careful to not let it touch his skin. Though he really didn't care what he looked like, he wasn't entirely sure why he kept up that habit. He didn't think it was that deep, so he let it go.

He bit his lip in concentration as he did his hair, careful to get even the parts in the back. With the entirety of his appearance and his demeanor, he guessed he should have gotten a septum ring or eyebrow piercing or something to finish his image. Maybe an impulse tattoo on his shoulder or wherever else the usual Downworlder punks liked to tag themselves. The only things he decorated himself with, though, were some scars from training and he was content to keep it at that. He'd probably regret whatever he got and look like some try-hard, and that was the last thing he wanted. Savannah or his old Unseelie folks would probably tease him to no end about it.

Pulling off his gloves, he turned them inside-out and tossed them into a waste bin, sparing a glance for the bathroom and what he could see of his bedroom. He'd gotten lucky with such a place in the Towns back when he'd had a job. Now, he could get a bit of an income selling poisons he made to warlocks he didn't know the names of, but the opportunity was ubiquitous. Plus, he'd done the landlord a few favours to stave off the rent.

The place was a little small, but he didn't need much space and he didn't have many possessions. It was quiet - most of the time - and clean and furnished and that was really all he wanted. He had made do with less in the Unseelie and now he felt a little spoiled.

Slowly, he tried to tug his shirt off without touching the neckline against the dyed part. He'd tried to wash out the dye before with it on and the fabric had gotten all wet and blue and he knew he should have dealt with it before he thought to re-dye his hair. Even though he was cautious, a bit of his hair brushed up against the edge, marking the grey collar with the dye and he sighed.

Walking to the bedroom, he tossed his shirt over on the bed, his wings brushing up against the wall. Making a sound of annoyance, he glanced back at them before looking down at his side where a somewhat recent wound was still healing. It was best if he didn't get into more trouble. If he didn't think about it, it didn't smart so bad. Returning to the bathroom, he pressed his thumb against his hairline to brush away a dot of blue that had dripped. Reaching for the faucet, he turned on the water to rinse his hands, taking his time. When the water was back off, the silence of his room ensued. It wasn't that he particularly needed company; it was just he wasn't used to silence. He'd been raised in the fast-paced, involved life of the Unseelie only to move to a few Institutes, and then to the Towns where he was suddenly...alone. He liked the independence, though.

Bracing his hands against the sink, he tilted his head to the side, trying to gauge how much time it would take before the coloured sections would grow out. He was never good with time. That was one thing he could never grasp since moving to the mortal world. Twenty more minutes, and he'd be good to wash his hair out. A few more days, weeks, months - who knows - and the Unseelie might ask for him to return. With all things, he'd just have to wait.

Nyx gets home from supervising the tavern and Aspen is reading.

The sleeves of a hoodie are rolled up once, just enough to see the rings around his wrist, and his wings are sticking out the back. His dagger lays on the living room coffee table but it's been untouched for the past couple days. He's never been particularly interested in books, but his head hurts and he doesn't think he can focus on much else. Besides, it passes the time.

"How is your place going?" Aspen asks, setting down the book on the table without saving his page. He can't recall any of the storyline anyway.

Closing and locking the door, Nyx looks back at him, eyeing him for a long moment. "I'll take you by sometime again. Might loosen you up, kid."

"At least it's not so full of the...more unsavoury folk." Stretching out his arms, Aspen yawns a little. "Seems respectable. Ironically."

"Tsk, now, now." Narrowing his eyes at him, Nyx silences him with a look. He heads to the kitchen with purpose in his step, the button of his coat undone, his gait smooth and domineering. His hand reaches for a cupboard to grab two glasses before taking a bottle of some sort of alcohol. It's red and has a fancy-looking wrap and Aspen knows he can't turn it down. Nyx heads to the living room to set the items down, pulling the cork out of the bottle and pouring the two glasses. They fill like blood. A smell of something like violets wafts over their space and Nyx picks up one of the glasses, walking over to Aspen. He holds it out as he looks down at him, the full glass so near his face that the scent overwhelms him a little.

His fingers reaching to wrap around the stem of the glass, he takes it. The green of his eye is almost reflected back at him in the side of the glass, but it's swallowed by the depth of the wine. The smell hits the roof of his mouth and he takes a sip before he can be ordered to. It's...softer than he expects. A little oaky and dry, but he's not used to identifying tastes. He swallows and doesn't set the glass down. Nyx is still there watching him, his gaze analyzing his movements until he looks satisfied enough to sit down on the couch and start on his own glass.

"Enjoying yourself?" Nyx asks, amused. "Do you like it?"

"It's nice." Regarding the glass, Aspen swishes it around a little. He's used to the burn of tavern drinks when they bite at his throat with acidity. Usually, they make him cough and his eyes water, so this is a good contrast.

"It's expensive."

"I figured."

There's a bit of silence as Aspen realizes Nyx is judging him. There's nothing unusual about that. If anything, he's accustomed to eyes always being on him as if he's under some examination. He doesn't think there's much in that regard that he's not aware of. His hand brings the glass back to his lips and he finds he likes the taste.

"I'll be upset if your...Unseelie friend shows up here," Nyx brings up suddenly, languidly, meeting Aspen's gaze finally. "To think he's dirtying my best, making hotel visits to your room."

"We didn't-...We're not..." Aspen hates not knowing what to say, and he finds that's only something that really happens with Nyx and Caspian. "...The room is a good place to talk. He's only visited twice."

Visited is a strong word. He does not call the last time Caspian came a "visit" so much as an escape. It was more of Caspian trying to get away from the Hunt because of the issue with his father, but Aspen doesn't deem that as information Nyx needs to know.

"If you say so, sweetheart."

When he finishes his glass, he moves to set it down on the table but Nyx only reaches for the bottle to pour more. A protest dies in his throat and his skin feels warm and comfortable to be in for the first time in a long time. Some time passes and Aspen registers Nyx's gaze is still fastened on him in the way one might look at art or the horizon. He feels it taking him apart and unfolding him, unraveling really, and he does not appreciate being exposed so thoroughly.

"God, I love you," Nyx says in his own perverted, affectionate kind of way and Aspen doesn't say it back.

Ending A/N: Cadyn's making russian sprat sandwiches (Buterbrodi so shprotami). They are surprisingly good, but I'm also a heathen that loves anchovies, herring, sardines, etc. Also new mundane headcanon errr Blake is an anarchist and lives in a punk house. Probably plays bad bass and makes origami in his spare time. Would kick a small kid down the stairs but also die for a galpal. Okay, thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.