#I accidentally flattened the sai file so I can never go back and finish this properly now lol

[roadsaltedpretzels]

I always use themes when I nickname pokemon, and for legends arceus I’m using musical instruments

My gardevoir is named Erhu, and it infected me with the gijinka bug

[heliads]

Radio Silence Chapter Three: Say Again

Poe Dameron has been assigned to work as an intel receiver to Acer, a Resistance recon agent. They’ve only ever talked through the comms, so when she’s captured by First Order troops he assumes she’s lost forever. When Poe accidentally rescues the absolutely infuriating Resistance spy Y/N L/N from a First Order Star Destroyer, he knows she’s got nothing do with with Acer. Right?

previous / series masterlist / next

They have only been on this ship for about three standard hours, and already Poe is beginning to go mad. The journey to the Kinoss system to deliver supplies to the Resistance supporters hadn’t seemed that long, yet somehow the return trip seems to crawl by, second by second. It could be because the ship is damaged and the flight isn’t as efficient as it was previously, or it could be because of the third passenger: a cocky, arrogant, altogether infuriating recon agent named Y/N L/N. 

Suddenly, Poe can’t entirely blame the First Order for locking her in a cell. Of all the turns to take on that Star Destroyer, of all the detention blocks to wander past, they just had to pick the one with the girl who was his mortal opposite. There’s a problem with the nav screen, they’re both standing up to fix it. There’s an incoming call from headquarters, Poe has to race her to the comms to answer it. Poe knows he has an issue of always wanting to prove himself to people he doesn’t know, but with her, it’s the complete opposite. He can’t wait to get off of this ship and never have to talk to her again.

Finn, on the other hand, seems to be enjoying himself. His eyes cut between Y/N and Poe, a barely contained laugh written into every line on his face. Poe slumps down into a seat next to him. “Hey, pal, I thought you were supposed to be having my back in an argument, not watching this like it’s a podrace.” Finn just chuckles. “I’ve never seen someone so similar to you. It’s kind of funny, honestly.”

Poe’s mouth drops open in outrage. “We are nothing alike! She walks around this ship like she owns it!” Finn raises an eyebrow. “Is that not what you’ve been doing ever since you found out you’d be piloting a Mandalorian Needle?” Poe waves a hand dismissively. “That’s different, I was given control of the ship by the Resistance itself. She just happened to be on board.” Finn gives him a look. “Sure thing.”

Poe is distracted from delivering a no doubt witty defense by a choking sound coming from the consoles in front of him. “That doesn’t sound good.” Finn mutters, taking in the sudden appearance of several blinking red lights. Poe stands up, considering the controls arrayed on the walls and ceiling around him. “No, it doesn’t. I think the sublight engine power couplings were-” “Demagnetized by the jump to hyperspace?” Poe glances over his shoulder at Y/N, who has walked up in time to finish his sentence.

A slight smile surprises itself onto his face. “Yeah, actually. That’s right. How’d you know that?” That sound and these alerts aren’t just any ship problem, this is a very specific issue that Poe’s only seen once or twice in his life. The fact that Y/N knew it so quickly is actually pretty impressive, although he’d never say it to her face. Even this barest hint of approval is already hard to dole out- a smirk is present on Y/N’s face once more.

“You can stow the surprised look, you know. You’re not the only one in the Resistance who knows their way around a space cruiser. I’ll go check the couplings, you can pick your jaw up off of the floor.” With that, Y/N turns and heads down the corridor, a teasing grin still on her face. Poe makes a face at her departing back, and glances over to see Finn trying to hide a smile. Finn holds up his hands defensively. “Hey, say what you want about her but I’m glad someone’s finally standing up to you. The amount of times I’ve heard you brag about ships is astonishing and it’s pretty funny to see someone do the same thing to you.”

Poe doesn’t know what Finn is talking about, but he pushes it from his mind, standing up from his seat near the front windscreen to check the sublight engines near the back of the ship. Y/N probably has it handled, but he just wants to make sure everything is right. If he returns the Needle to the Resistance in a state of disrepair, they won’t let him fly anything larger than a speeder bike for the next decade.

Eventually, Poe finds Y/N leaning over an exposed panel near the engines, gaze riveted to the mechanical parts before her. Her sleeves are rolled up to reveal toned arms already streaked with grease, and she’s donned some light worker’s gloves to protect her fingers as she methodically fiddles with the couplings. She instinctively turns towards the door when she hears Poe approach. There’s a strange panic in her eyes, as if she’s not used to being in the same ship as someone. Then she relaxes and turns back to the panel, confidence once again flowing from her with such surety that Poe begins to question whether or not she’d looked uneasy at all.

“You know, I do actually know what I’m doing. You don’t have to check up on me.” Poe shrugs. “Not that many people have seen the demagnetization problem with the couplings. Guess I was just curious to see how you’d fix it.” Y/N shrugs, taking a step back to consider her work. “I didn’t know until about a month or so ago. A friend of mine told me about it.” There’s a slight smile on her face as she talks about her friend, whoever that might be.

Poe himself can’t help but think of one very important friend. It’s funny that Y/N should mention that she learned about the coupling issue from someone she knew- Poe can picture himself in that closet of a radio room, fingers tapping absentmindedly on the edges of the navicomputer as he told Acer about a problem he’d had with his X-Wing. He’d thought that he would have to replace an entire engine, but it turned out to be a simple fix. All he had to do was rewire and remagnetize, and then he was done.

He can still hear Acer’s static-laced chuckle over the radio channel. “I’ll keep that in mind for the next ship I steal,” she’d said, “I’m sure it’ll come in handy on this backwater planet.” Poe had protested, something about how all of his ship-fixing tips were handy, but she had just laughed and assured him that she’d write it down somewhere, just in case. Poe doesn’t know if Acer had ever thought about it again. It hurts more than it should.

Poe straightens up, forcing himself to return back to the present day. Y/N’s pausing with the replacement of the panel, staring at him with a quizzical expression. “You alright there, Captain Mechanic? You look upset.” Poe shrugs, flattening his face back into neutrality. “I’m just thinking about a friend of mine. It’s easy to lose people in this line of work, and I don’t know if she’s going to be alright.” Y/N’s usual smirk loses its conviction. “It’s hard to lose people, isn’t it? Even when you get away, there’s always someone that doesn’t.”

The room falls silent except for the beeping and whirring of the engines. Y/N seems lost in thought, then slowly closes the panel on the wall. She walks over to Poe, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder. “If it makes you feel better, people have a way of making it out. Maybe they’re alive after all and just unable to check in at base.” Poe frowns. “Actually, I don’t feel better.” Y/N’s face drops for a second, and Poe continues. “Do you know why? It’s because I had a pristine white jacket, and you are going to get grease stains on it. Your hands are filthy, you realize that?”

Y/N breaks out into laughter. “Here you had me worried, I thought I offended you or something. But you’re worried about grease? How are you an ace mechanic if you can’t stand grease?” She moves towards him as if she’s about to rub her dirty work gloves on his jacket sleeve, and Poe catches her wrist just in time. “If you keep that up, I’m going to turn this ship around and drop you off at that Star Destroyer again.” He tries for a glare, but Y/N’s grin just broadens. “We’re about three parsecs from base. Would you make a return trip to the First Order just for me?” Poe grumbles, dropping her hand. “I might. I just might.”

Poe has never been happier to see the entrance lights of the Resistance base hanger in his life. He rushes through the entrance codes before dropping the ship into a perfect landing in the designated zone. Poe, Finn, and Y/N file down the entrance ramp, but they’ve barely taken five steps into the hanger before there’s an excited shout from one of the ship workers. “Y/N? Is that you?” Y/N’s beaming as she is swept up into the embrace of a beige-clad mechanic. “Stars, Jala, how is it that the First Order didn’t break any of my bones but you have?”

This mechanic- Jala- just laughs. “First I didn't see you for months, then I heard that you were dead. Sorry I’m happy to see you.” Y/N holds up her hands. “I’m still alive, don’t worry about me. There was no way I was going to curl up and die in a First Order cell, it would kill my reputation.” Jala snorts with laughter, then cocks her head at Poe and Finn. “Who are they?” A teasing glow enters Y/N’s eyes, and she slings her arms around their shoulders. “These are the hotshots that pulled me from a Star Destroyer. Isn’t that something?”

Poe can’t help but grin. “We’ve been arguing this entire trip back and now we’re your rescuers? I would have liked the thank-you a little earlier.” Y/N makes a face at him. “Unfortunate.” Jala glances over at a message popping up on her comms unit, groaning. “I have to get back to work. You should probably go see the General and tell her you’re back, but we’re catching up after this! I know you’ve got stories to tell.” Y/N raises a hand in a mock salute. “I’m not sure I’ll have that many stories, Jala. Almost everything is classified, I’m afraid.”

Jala waves a casual goodbye, promising to drop by later with some drinks and expectations of Y/N’s anecdotes. Poe, Finn, and Y/N start heading down the twisting and turning corridors of the Resistance base to find Leia. On the way, Finn turns to Y/N with a curious look. “You know, you never really told us why you were in that cell in the first place. What, you were trying to find Resistance supporters and got captured?”

Y/N shrugs as they disappear down the halls. “It was mainly just recon work gathering intel from the First Order bases nearby. I think somebody found out or tipped off the stormtroopers, because all I knew is that I was relaxing by myself and then the First Order shot down my door.” They’ve arrived at the main debriefing room of the base, and although Leia’s in the middle of a critical discussion with some advisors, her eyes light up when she sees Y/N walk through the room.

To pass the time until Leia can greet them, Poe glances over at Y/N. “You were doing recon work in the Unknown Regions? Then you weren’t a tactical officer, you were a spy.” Y/N nods. “Exactly. I would relay information back to an anonymous receiver, and I did it for a long time until I was ambushed.” Poe mulls this over. “That reminds me of someone. Did you ever know a fellow sender named Acer?” 

Poe figured it was a long shot to ask Y/N about Acer, but the second he says her name Y/N’s gaze locks onto his. She tries to play it off, but Poe can tell that he caught her attention. “I do, actually. How do you know her?” Leia is approaching them now, only a few feet away. “I’m probably not supposed to say this, but I was her receiver. We worked together for months before she disappeared. Do you know what happened to her?”

Y/N’s eyes widen. There’s something new in her gaze, a stunned realization. Poe can’t quite name the emotion, but he’s certain that Y/N knows something that he doesn’t. Y/N looks over at Leia, then back at him. “No, I- I don’t know about her. You were her receiver?” Poe nods, smiling slightly in spite of himself. “Yeah, until she dropped off the air. How did you know her?” Y/N gestures loosely with her hands. “We, uh, ran into each other as spies. While we were in action.” Y/N pauses for a second, then continues on, as if the words are racing out of her without even thinking about it.

“She mentioned you, I think. She kept making some joke or something whenever she mentioned her receiver. She never said a specific code name, but she’d always use some play on words about applause.” Poe chuckles. “I could see that. My name was Bravo, it was probably because of that.” Somehow, the thought stings like a vibroblade. Somewhere out there in the world, Acer was talking about him to another spy. She laughed to herself and made jokes that only the two of them could know, even when she was speaking to someone else. Stars, he misses her.

Leia notes the break in the conversation and smoothly begins speaking. “Y/N, it’s so good to see you again. We were worried that you were captured by the First Order.” Y/N winces. “I was, actually, but Poe and Finn managed to break me out.” Leia smiles at them. “I would ask why the two of you were in a First Order detention block, but I have a feeling that I don’t want to know.” Poe and Finn chuckle quietly, but Y/N’s expression still looks strained. 

She turns to them. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to the General for a moment.” Finn nods, turning briskly down the corridor once more. Poe, however, is still wary over Y/N’s sudden change in demeanor. He leaves the room, but pauses just outside of their view, hovering by the wall as if checking his weapon. It’s hard to hear them from the hall, but Poe can just make out Y/N’s voice. It’s changed again, and sounds unhappy, almost angry. She’s asking something, a question. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell him?”

Leia is beginning to answer her, but Poe can’t make anything else out. He waits for a couple more seconds, then continues on down the corridor. Even after he’s left the room behind him, Poe can still hear Y/N’s voice echoing through his mind. What was Leia keeping from them, and why would it be important enough to render even the never-serious Y/N L/N into a state of panic and disarray?

radio silence tag list: @kesskirata​, @ubri812, @itsnottilly​, @20th-centu-fairy-girl​

[ppoquita]

He Walks in Starlight

Tags: bong jaehyun x reader, vaguely Star Trek inspired, mostly just a sci-fi au

Length: 2.1k words

First time writing a scenario/imagine so excuse my amateur writing. I really just wrote this for fun lol

Your eyes felt blurry as they struggle to open while you hear the tone of your alarm go off. It felt cold and all you wanted to do was lay under your blanket where it was warm and cozy. You sighed as you turned off your alarm. You looked at the calendar displayed on a screen. Star date 21499.2. You flattened down your disheveled hair before getting up to get ready.

The Compass was business as usual. The ship's bustling crew members were all at work. You went down to the records department to start your day of organizing files and data logs when you saw a rather tense figure standing at the door. It was a young man your age. He stood rather agonizingly. Once he got a glimpse of you he looked like a deer in headlights. Confused, you walked over to unlock the records lab. “Excuse me,” he said with a surprisingly deep voice. “Are you in the department of records?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.” you said after swiping your card. The door automatically slid open and both of you walked in. You sat and turned on the computer. He only stood in front of the desk where you were stationed.

“These are my files, I’m new.. just transferred from the Miracle.” he explained while handing over some rectangular discs. You took the discs from his slender hands and put them into your computer for analyzing.

[ Bong Jaehyun

Age: 22 Earth Years

Birth Place: Seoul, SK, Earth

Specialty: Geography and Cartography

*** ]

You looked at his photo and then looked up at him. Spitting image, no doubt he was legit. He’s quite handsome in your opinion. His eyes looked like shiny glass. They were pretty, almost like tiny galaxies were hidden in them. You looked away to finish the processing. You took his discs and filed it under Crew Members subsection ‘B’. “Alright, welcome to our ship, you’re officially part of the Compass now.” you gave him a slight smile. Jaehyun’s lips also curled into a smile.

“Thank you.” he said. He made his way to the door and promptly left.

***

Records were extremely flooded that particular day. Your fingers moved quickly as you processed files and organized discs. Dwarf Planet ZETA110 was being explored. Many records of the flora and fauna were piling in. Not only that but information the planet's makeup and natural climate came in as well. You felt exhausted as you moved back and forth between your computer and the filing wall. Thankfully, it was almost break time. You could almost taste that roasted chicken breast. The thought of food alone made you salivate. You stretched as you got up from your chair. Just then your shift relief came in and you grabbed your keycard and walked out. You tiredly rubbed the back of your neck as you made your way to the elevator.

The dining room was half full. You groaned and weaved through the amount of people sitting. You entered your card into the ordering machine and tapped your choice. It was only a moment's notice until the food came out. You looked around for an empty seat and saw Jaehyun again. He was sitting alone, still with that anxious body language from before. He looked like he was spacing out to a far off world. You hesitated, you weren’t really one to make acquaintances. Yet, you sympathized. Space was lonely and cold. It felt empty and void. When you didn’t have someone to really confide in, it felt even worse. Almost as if you’ve been exiled to a blackhole of self-pity and bitterness.

You walked over and sat across diagonally from him. You glanced at his plate to make conversation. “Spicy pork belly stew, nice choice,” you commented rather nervously. He looked over at you and perked up a bit.

“Hi.” he said, smiling a bit. His eyes glimmer and twinkle. You feel breathless for a moment.

“Hi,” you repeated back. “Are you settled in yet?” it had only been a few hours since you last saw him but you figured to ask anyway.

“No,” he sighed. You watched as he moved the handle of his spoon. “Had to beam down and take a look at the planet’s landscape.”

“How is it?” you asked out of sheer curiosity. You never really got the chance to go to other planets. Most of your companions were people who work on the ship and had no business being on the ground.

“Humid,” Jaehyun replies. “It’s so humid, like a jungle, but there’s not that many trees. Everything just feels heavy...”

You started to eat your food. After eating you got up to put back your tray and utensils. Jaehyun got up as well. You felt shy as you walked beside him. You wondered if it’s okay to open up more. “Hey, when will you be done for the day?” you asked.

“Not sure,” he replied. “Why?”

“Well, if you’re up for it, I’ll be in the break room. We can play a game of 3D chess if you’re interested. Or maybe a friendly 1-on-1 on the arcade machine if that’s more your style.” You suggested. Jaehyun blinked before smiling. He shyly looked away from you. You only took a moment to appreciate his side profile.

“Yeah, that sounds good.” He said.

“Well, duty calls, I’ll see you later.” You excused yourself from him.

***

Jaehyun’s presence was almost intoxicating. You wondered if it’s an effect due to the planet’s troposphere. Nonetheless, as the two of you stood together hovering the arcade machine, you felt warm. The both of you were focused on the game quietly. At one point you felt your hand accidentally brushed up against his.

Afterwards the two of you moved on to 3D chess. You tried to make conversation asking things about him. You found out that he’s a picky eater, he likes music, and fantasy movies. Much like yourself you enjoyed a good movie. The conversation then spiraled into the best movies made in the 21st century.

“Check,” you said while moving your piece to the second level.

“I’m not good at games, huh?” He joked.

“I mean, you’re not awful.” you assured him. Jaehyun held his chin thinking for a moment before making a move.

“Checkmate,” you laughed as you captured his king. He lets out a disappointed sigh before sitting back in his chair. You look over at the clock at the time you usually go to bed. “Well, it’s quite late isn’t it? I’m sure you’re tired.”

“I guess so...” he said before getting up from his chair. Almost immediately he loses his balance. You stood up quickly to hold him.

You put his arm around your neck. “Hey, Jaehyun, are you okay? Jaehyun?” You looked over to see his face had grown pale. His eyes looked dull, it no longer had that shine.

“Head...hurts… so bad…” he groaned.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you to the medical bay.” you comforted him.

In the medical bay Doctor Lee was busy taking care of two others. You were instructed to help Jaehyun onto one of the beds. You wondered if you should stay with Jaehyun. You obviously worried for him but maybe this was too much. You turned away from him but before you could move you felt a hand grab your wrist. Jaehyun’s fingers were wrapped around your wrist weakly. You looked at him softly. “Stay, please,” he croaked. His cheeks blushed red and he looked anxious. You only stood by him unsure of your ability to comfort him.

Thankfully it wasn’t dire. It turned out that several of the crewmen were affected by the planet’s air quality causing them to have hypertension. Jaehyun was fine. He’ll be back to normal by the next date. You let out a big sigh of relief as you lied in bed.

During your break you decided to visit him. When you entered the medical bay you saw Jaehyun sitting upright. His eyes were looking sparkly again. He almost resembled a puppy who was happy to see its owner. “Hi.” you greeted.

“Hi, good to see you again.” he smiled. He seemed to be in better condition.

“Status report?” you asked.

“All good, blood pressure back to normal, should be able to retreat to my quarters within the next hour or so,” Jaehyun reported. The two of you laughed as you looked into each other's eyes. “Once I’m out of here there’s something I’d like to show you,” he said. You lifted an eyebrow at him. “Meet me in the botanical lab when you’re free.”

The rest of your shift felt painfully slow. You were too curious about what was going to occur later. While your relationship with Jaehyun wasn’t extremely close yet it often felt intimate at times. You sighed as you organized the incoming discs. Everything felt like walking on thin ice. You never knew what exactly to feel other than attraction.

You promptly met Jaehyun in the botanical lab. He was sitting among the countless native flora of different planets. “Hi, again.” you greeted. Jaehyun stood up and signaled with his hand. You walked over to where he stood. You looked in the same direction as him and saw the most stunningly vibrant red plant. It was crimson red and it’s leaves were olive green. You stared for a moment then looked at Jaehyun.

“They call it a Carmesí Florera,” Jaehyun plucked a petal and sniffed it. “It smells like fruit punch,” he held it to your nose and you took a whiff. It really did smell like a fruit punch. It made you feel a little nostalgic. “And they say,” Jaehyun grabbed your hand and put the petal in the palm of your hand. “If you give a petal to someone, they’ll be with you for a long time...” you looked up at him as he gently closed your fingers into a fist. Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked at him. His ears were as red as the flower petals.

“What are you trying to say?” You questioned.

Jaehyun only shrugged. “You’re a great companion,” he said. You frowned a little. Part of you wished this could be a fairytale where next he’ll sweep you off your feet. But this wasn’t a fairytale, this is a science fiction that somehow became reality. However, this gesture was too strange. It didn’t make sense. Jaehyun was staring softly. He worried that he might have said something wrong. You clutch your flower petal and sighed. “What’s wrong?” He asked.

You shook your head. “I don’t understand,” you said honestly. “What do you mean with this? We may be miles and miles away from Earth but this sentiment can be seen as a romantic gesture from any planet, I’m confused...”

Jaehyun looked scared for a moment. As if you said something awful to him. He seemed appalled but then something changed. He straightens out his back and looks you in the eyes. “Okay then, I’ll be honest, I like you, I have a fondness for you, I… want us to be closer, and maybe in the near future we can be more than that.” he admitted.

You blinked a few times. It was a romantic gesture. Jaehyun made a romantic declaration. Your relationship was, in part, intimate. Your face was red at that point and your heart was beating quickly. It happened too fast and you’ve never really felt like this before. You were smiling without noticing.

“I like you too.”

***

Bong Jaehyun walked in starlight. He was as bright as the sun but can feel cold as the moon. Behind his eyes was the universe’s tiniest galaxy. It twinkled and shined for the world to see yet it was tucked away for only the brave to explore. Just when he felt unreachable, he held out his hand just enough for you to reach. He was almost undetectable yet his gravitational pull left you no choice but to adore him. There may be thousands of galaxies out there to discover but you were glad to have discovered him.

Even though the two of you laid flat on the cold observatory room floor staring at the endless void that was space, he was still more breathtaking than the billions of stars littered around them. You stared at him wondering what he was thinking about as he looked up at the vast sky. Was he also comparing you to a star?

Slowly you inched your hand close to his. You wondered if it was okay. Your pinky finger shyly bumped into his. You felt his hand touch yours almost as if it were asking for an embrace. Your fingers interlocked with his and you couldn’t help but smile. Jaehyun turned to look at you. He looked with a certain tenderness that makes your stomach flip. In that moment, you concluded that out of all the stars in the universe he was the brightest.

[dreamingofmilk]

I love love love everything that yall post and I saw that yall were taking requests! Would you please write a fic where Sam and Reader get drunk and accidentally get married and like, they lowkey have feelings for each other with fluff and smut please?

Thanks for the support Love!!! We appreciate it. We wrote up something for you and we hope you like it!!

You were always a cautious person.

Even as a child, you always made sure to make logical and sound decisions, ones that usually seemed boring to your peers. 

There was only one decision that you made that was irresponsible, your decision to become an Avenger. There were absolutely no logistics involved in that choice, but when you saw Falcon and Captain America save a school bus full of children from a band of evil aliens one day, you knew that was the path you needed to take. Your brain told you all along the way that it was dangerous and stupid and that you'd get yourself killed, but you couldnt shake the feeling that this was where you were meant to be. That feeling only got stronger when the Avengers agreed to have you join their team. You'd never forget the tight hug Sam gave you, his smile wide. 

"Good job Y/N. You're going to be great!"

You still get butterflies in your stomach just thinking about that moment. 

There was something about Sam that comforted you and made you uneasy at the same time. An awareness that you didn't have with anyone else on the team. You both got along great, he was your closest friend on the team and you both worked really well together. So well that you did most of your missions together. You both had a very easy chemistry while fighting. Like your bodies instinctively knew what the other was going to do.

So it was no surprise to anyone that the two of you were assigned to a mission in Vegas, busting an undercover crime ring on the strip. You always knew Sam was very good at his job, but it was amazing to watch him do espionage work. Everyone knew him as a loud, boisterous man, and he definitely was, but underneath all of that charm and humor was a genius. He always knew exactly how to twist a situation in his favor and the two of you made quick work of getting to the core of the organization and pulling out its heart, the infamous mob boss Tony Facinelli. He was an embarrassingly arrogant man, but watching Sam tear his confidence into pieces before he apprehended him was equal parts terrifying and fascinating. You would never think that a man capable of that kind of mindfuckery would also make dad jokes and laugh so hard he wheezed watching funny dog videos. It really opened your eyes to how amazing this man was. 

You both quickly cleaned everything up and tied up all of the loose ends and after spending 2 months undercover you were ready for a relaxed night in your hotel, but Sam had other plans. 

"Y/N! Another mission down. Can't beat the dream team baby!" He reached his arms around your shoulder and pulled you into his side, his head turning to give you a kiss on the side of your head. "You did a great job, just loosen up a bit during interrogation. You seemed more scared than Facinelli." 

You looked up at him and frowned, "You scarred that man for life and you didn't touch him once. That's some scary shit Wilson. What the hell are you?"

He shrugged nonchalantly, "It's just part of the job sometimes. I don't enjoy doing it, but it's effective in some cases." He shook his head slightly, "That's irrelevant though, I don't want to focus on any of that crap. We did good work and saved a bunch of people. We should celebrate! Let's get lit!"

You were shaking your head and trying to fight a smile, but his enthusiasm was infectious. You could never really say no to him. "Fine, but just a couple drinks and some dancing. That's all."

Sam practically vibrated with excitement. "Yes! I've always wanted to party in Vegas! Now I get to do it with my best girl!"

You rolled your eyes, but there was not much sting since you were smiling. "Let me go get ready, you idiot. I'll meet you in the lobby."

You took your time getting cute. Luckily this mission involved a lot of nightclub visits so you had several sexy dresses to choose from. You chose a blood red dress that hugged everything perfectly and showed just the right amount of boobs and legs. You pulled on some matching heels and added a red lip and smokey eye to finish everything off. You were bad as fuck! Maybe you'd be able to get some dick tonight! Lord knows it's been a while. You quickly grabbed your things and made your way downstairs.

When you stepped out of the elevator you almost passed out when you saw Sam. It didn't take a rocket scientist to see that the man was attractive, but dressed like this, he was irresistible. You made your way over, paying close attention to his eyes following you. 

When you reached him he grabbed your hand and took his sweet time looking over your outfit. "Damn Y/N! You look… fuck…” He took a deep breath “You look good! Give me a spin, let me get the full effect." He pulled your hand up and you spun slowly, filing away the groan you heard when your back was facing him.

"Thank you. Should be enough to catch some attention huh?" You grinned. 

He shook his head, "Nah, that's enough to catch some cuffs. Let's get out of here."

The taxi ride was short and pleasant. The two of you chatted about random things, cracking a few jokes. 

When you pulled up to the club you could hear the bass booming. The line was so long you couldn't see where it ended.

"We can just go back." You turned to Sam 

"Nope, I know the owner. Did a favor for him a while back. We'll get in no problem." Sam shook his head and grabbed your hand.

He walked right up to the bouncer and after saying his name you were let in. Sam walked you both immediately to the bar, catching the bartender's attention. "4 patron shots please, and two whiskey sours." Your favorite liquor, and your favorite drink. Once the bartender made them, Sam handed one to you and smirked. "Alright! Let's have a good time tonight Y/N!" You both took two shots each, and downed your mixed drinks, then made your way to the dance floor. You were ready to throw some ass, so you started looking around for a worthy taker, and once you spotted one you started to make your way over to him, but Sam grabbed your wrist and pulled you back. He leaned down and crooned into your ear, 

"Where are you running off to sweetheart?" 

You tilted your head in confusion, "To twerk?"

"There is no way in hell I'm not getting the first twerk." Sam grinned. 

You shrugged, "Fine with me." Inside you were freaking out. This was a dream come true! You assumed position, fully ready to blow his freaking mind. When the beat dropped, you put all of your energy into twerking. You twerked high, low and everything in between. You grinded and popped and clapped and showed out completely. And Sam took every bit of it with ease. You had to admit you were getting a bit turned on. His hands were unconsciously sliding up and down your hips as you danced. It made you want to be touched everywhere. 

After a few more songs you were tired, so Sam took you both back to the bar and you both got two more shots of Patron. He started to take his first one, but as he looked at you he paused and the grin that lit up his face was definitely up to no good. He sat the dring back down and pulled you close to him. 

He leaned down and whisper-yelled into your ear, "Let's do body shots Y/N." You both were definitely lit and you didn't hesitate at all. You nodded immediately. Sam's smirk grew wider. He pulled you completely into his embrace, and buried his face into your neck. "You smell so damn good Y/N. Makes me so fucking hard." You clenched your legs in response to combat the flood that just fell between your legs. You've never heard him speak like this, but you'd be damned if it was a huge turn on. 

You whimpered as he pulled back, but it was short-lived because he licked a long stripe along the side of your neck. You gasped and held onto his arms for balance. Sam snickered and sprinkled the salt on your neck. "There, now hold still Y/N." He bit the lime, tossed the shot of tequila before leaning down and sucking on your neck. You definitely couldn't fight the moan that left your mouth. He took his sweet time on your neck, licking, sucking, and biting. There was no way there was any salt left, but you had no intentions of stopping him. After a few immensely pleasurable moments he pulled back and licked his lips, his eyes twinkled with lust. "You're turn, Y/N"

You smiled and moved even closer to him. You splayed your hands across his chest and just relished the feeling of his muscles for a minute before you unbuttoned his shirt just enough to reach the center of his chest. Really it was the only place you could reach comfortably on this tall man. 

You pushed the fabric out of the way and flattened your tongue to lick right between his pecs. You sprinkled the salt and did the shot just like he did, not caring at all that it was backwards. He didn't let you play for very long on his chest though. You pouted when he pulled you back. He grabbed both sides of your face. 

"Y/N, look at me. I know we're both drunk right now, but I need you to really think about what's happening here. If this keeps going I'm gonna take care of that ass. Are you completely sure that's what you want?"

You were drunk, really drunk, but you were also very sure that you wanted Sam to crack your back. You looked into his eyes and nodded slowly. "Yes, I'm sure."

He nodded back, "Ok. Get up on the bar stool, baby." You wobbled for a second, but managed to get on the stool. Sam kneeled on the ground and grabbed your legs. He pulled them so you had no choice but to fall back on the stool, your back supported and your legs held up by him alone. You had a passing thought of you two being in public, but you couldn't bring yourself to care very much. Sam spread your legs on each of his shoulders, your dress hiking up to right below your butt. He took a soft bite of your inner thigh before he licked it and sprinkled the salt. Your eyes almost bugged out of your head. You always knew Wilson was fucking nasty! By the time he finished his shot you had absolutely no interest in taking another or staying in this club when you could be getting wrecked. You pulled him to eye level by his shirt and bit his earlobe before whispering. "Take me to bed, Wilson."

******************

You always prided yourself on having made only one illogical decision in your life, and now you've made several in one night. The rest of the night was a complete blur, you can only remember small bits, like the feeling of Sam on top of you, or the cab driver yelling at the two of you as you made out in the car.

But this? You had absolutely no memory of this. You looked down at your left hand again, the huge beautiful rock on your finger still shocking you just as much as it did when you woke up, hungover and smothered by your 'husband'. You wanted to pull your hair out. How could you be so stupid?! 

This was going to ruin everything between you two! There's no way Sam was going to want to be married to you. And you had to admit to yourself deep down that it was going to hurt like a bitch when he woke up and rejected it. You wrung your hands as you watched his still form on the bed. You would just have to keep a really good poker face, and hope he doesn't see through the cracks. 

He'd think you were absolutely batshit crazy if he knew you were ok, no happy, ecstatic to be married to him. On your end there have been feelings there since the beginning. Sam was a great guy, almost impossible not to fall in love with, and you weren’t immune to that. 

Your mind completely blanked as you heard him shuffle in the bed. He rose up and stretched, and you couldn't even look at him. Your stomach was in knots. 

He grunted, then paused, before you heard his footsteps coming toward you. Here we go, brace yourself for it. 

"What a wild night! How are you feeling Babygirl?"

You shrunk into yourself, "I've been better."

He tsked, "Well we can't have that. It's our honeymoon after all. Do you want some waffles?"

“What did you say?" Your head shot up so quick you almost gave yourself whiplash. 

His expression was clear, a touch of humor in his eyes. "Waffles?"

You frowned and rolled your eyes, "Before that Wilson."

"You made an honest man out of me and finally cuffed me."He raised his left hand and wiggled his fingers. 

"Wait, you're not mad?" You shook your head in confusion. 

He shook his head, "No, why would I be? It was kind of my idea."

You stood up and crossed your arms, confusion etched on your face. "I don't understand Sam. What the hell are you talking about?"

He smiled softly. "After our escapade at the bar," he smirked when you looked away in embarrassment, "we got back to the hotel and had some mind blowing sex, like, fucking amazing. You sure know how to work that smart ass mouth Mrs. Wilson. We talked for a while after and you told me you loved me." His voice got much softer and his smile grew wider. 

"I confessed my love for you too and said a joke about getting married by a fat Elvis since we were in Vegas and you practically demanded we do it. Had to lock down that good dick I guess. Though I’m not complaining cause that sex was something else." He was openly laughing by the time he finished speaking.

"And you listened to me?! We were drunk off our asses!" You frowned.

Sam nodded, "We were, and I tried to talk you out of it, several times in fact, but you shut all of that down and said you knew exactly what you were doing. Like I said, I already had feelings for you and at the time it made sense. We had a lovely chapel wedding with Samuel L Jackson, kinda looks like Fury if you think about it."

"Sam I swear to God if this is a joke to you…" You looked into his eyes.

He crossed the room faster than you could blink. "Don't even finish that. You know me Y/N. Would I ever play about something like this?" He grabbed both sides of your face. "I've been in love with you for over a year Y/N, and I felt like you felt something too, but you always seemed to be scared of it so I didn't push it. Last night was the first time I got to see into your mind and your heart. I know it's crazy, but I want to be married to you. I want to stay together. And I think you do too."

He was absolutely right. You got the same feeling you did when you decided to become an avenger around Sam. That feeling of fate. This was exactly where you were supposed to be, no matter how illogical the decision was.

You nodded, tears coming to your eyes, "I do want to stay together."

Sam pulled you into a tight hug, "Say it again Y/N."

"I do."

You remembered how soft his hands felt on your body, how you begged him to hold you and never let you go, and he agreed.

“I’ve always loved you Mr. Wilson.” You said wrapping your arms around Sam’s thick neck. “I just always felt like you were too good for me.” You bit your bottom lip and looked up at him through your eyelashes.

“I felt like you were too good for me Mrs. Wilson.” Sam says pointedly, he smiles proudly down at you. He’s genuinely happy he gets to call you his for the rest of his life. And you were beyond happy to have snatched up The Falcon. How many women dreamt of being married to this charismatic dreamboat of a man?

“I wonder how good you can make me feel. Again.” You smile and trail a teasing finger down his chest. The Vegas skyline was a sight to behold, but the man in front of you was something else and you both wanted to savor your first day together. Regardless of how many drinks the two of you had before and after the ceremony.

“Well I wouldn’t want to keep my lovely wife wondering. But let me show you I can make you feel sooooo good.” Sam smirked down at you, while sliding your dress sleeve further down your shoulder. You smiled quietly and took a step back running off quickly to seductively lie down on the bed.

“All talk Mr. Wilson. Mrs. Wilson wants to play.” Never before had you been so bold, the multitude of thoughts swirling around your head you had made you more vocal than before. Sam groans quietly and rushes to attack you, his heavy body feels perfect against your body. His lips feel so perfect against your, soft and intense, you never want this night to end. 

“Fuck babe, you're so perfect.” Sam pulled back to look down at you, his eyes held so much adoration for you. You couldn’t believe that all this time, all these missions the two of you could have been together. But you were together now and that’s what mattered.

“Sam.” You said pointedly. Your eyes filled with lust as you reached up to take off his shirt and start unbuttoning his pants. The leftover liquor in your system made your movements wobbly and unsteady, but you got the job done.

“Yes my love?” He answered steadily, his breathing became heavier as you placed chaste kisses up and down his naked torso.

“Please stop staring at what is now yours to stare at for the rest of your fucking life and fuck what is now yours to fuck for the rest of your fucking life.” You growled irritably, Sam seemed to be taking his sweet time for the first time all night and you had no time for it.

A switch clicked within Sam, he bent down to kiss and suck on your neck, just like the night before. He worked hard to leave marks on your neck. He watched you pant underneath him for a bit before he stood up. He removed his pants and motioned for you to move towards him. Once you were within his grasp, Sam ripped your dress. And before you could even open your mouth to complain, he had your ass perked in the air with your cheek firmly pressed into the mattress.

“One thing it’s best you learn about your husband soon, is that I go at my own pace, little one. Don’t rush me, or you get nothing.” You open your mouth to call his bluff, but he cuts you off already knowing what your smart mouth had to say. “This position you're in is enough for me to get off. I could easily just jerk off and go to sleep next to this pretty ass covered in my cum.” Sam smacks your ass hard. You bit out a moan. “Don’t tempt me with disrespect.” 

Disrespect was something that was always a big deal for Sam. Sure he joked around with you a lot, and he loved your sarcastic attitude. But one thing that Sam could not stand for was disrespect, he always said it was the traditional side of him.

You shivered and nodded, you wanted his hands on you more than anything else and right now you’d do anything to make that happen. Even if it meant being tortured in the worst possible way by your new husband. Sam pulled your lace panties to the side and watched the most intimate part of you. You gently wiggled your ass in front of him to entice and remind him that he could stare and touch.

The loudest moan left your lips as your body arched into Sam’s tongue. He attacked your pussy with ruthless kisses. His tongue delved into you with a ferocity. You cried out into ecstasy as Sam expertly worked your body, as if the two of you had been married for 200 years not 200 minutes.

“Fuck Sam!” You cried out as you climaxed onto his tongue. Sam smirked as he continued to taste you throughout your climax. You just knew you were so wet.

“That’s it babe, cum on my tongue.” Sam continued eating straight through your orgasm and right into another one. You shook in his hold as he tried to keep going into another one. With all your strength you roughly pushed him away, eyeing him warily as he chuckled behind you. With exhausted legs you fell onto the bed.  Sam climbed over you and smiled brightly down at you.

“Hope you’re not tapped out, love.”

You smiled and weakly reached up for him, relishing in his warmth when he leaned down in between your legs. “Never too tapped out for you babe.” Sam lined up at your entrance and slowly pushed in, giving you time to adjust. You flinched a couple of times the pinching pressure of his large dick fleeting and painful but worth it. Sam groaned loudly as he felt the warmness of you.

“Feels so good.” You smirked as you squeezed around him, your hand hot as you traced the outline of his muscles, Sam took your idleness as a sign to move.

Sam moved roughly each stroke better than the last, each stroke bringing you closer to climax. Sam buried his head in your neck, his ear open to hear the pleasured moans and sighs you let out. He paid attention to what you like and what you didn’t like. You couldn’t breathe, his strokes felt so good. 

Your mouth rounded out the silent O, when Sam snaked a few fingers between the two of you to rub on your clit. Your body arched into him as you cried out, your orgasm overtaking you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, admiring the beautiful ring on your finger.

“Shit babe.” You breathed out. Sam hit that spot again. You couldn’t help the orgasm that overcame you. Your legs shakily wrapped around him, his hips flexing over and over again, trying to bring you the most stimulation during your climax. You made one more reckless decision and voiced your wishes.

“Cum in me.” Sam stopped, his jaw clenched and his dick twitched within you. You pressed a soft kiss into his cheek, excited for how it might feel to be even more filled with him.

“You don’t know how badly I want to.” Sam pressed an urgent kiss on your lips, you smiled when he pulled back. “Butttttt I’d rather save that for another time. I know you have definitely skipped a few pills during our time here and I’m not yet ready to share you or your beautiful tits with anyone.” You pouted and he kissed your lips again. “Don’t worry, after debrief and a week of prepping for our next mission in two months, this weekend I’ll take you somewhere real tropical and fill you up.” Sam stroked a few more times and pulled out and came on your stomach. His warm load made you shiver. “You’ll be dripping from me.”

You shivered at the promise. 

**************

The next few days were a blast. You had the most fun you ever had in your life. You were excited but nervous to return to New York. The two of you held hands tightly in the elevator ride up in the Stark Tower, the rest of the team waiting for your return to detail your mission.

The two of you decided to tell the team in the most Wilson way possible and your heart was hammering in your chest, just waiting to see how they would respond.

You walk into the room and everyone greets you two with warm hugs. Steve and Bucky ecstatic to see their third man back, ideas of pranks and outings flowed excitedly between them. You watched them quietly after greeting everyone else yourself. You notice Bucky glance at Sam’s hand that’s moving around wildly as he talks.

Bucky’s metal arm snatches out to grab Sam’s hand. Sam smiles proudly, admiring his wedding band then peeking over at you, he sends you a quick wink.

“When did you have time to get married?” Steve questioned his eyes glancing at you two. His smile getting bigger than ever as he sees the ring on your finger.

“You finally did it?”Steve and Bucky clap Sam's back roughly. “You finally manned up instead of just talking about how beautiful she was.”

“Or how cool and sweet she is.” Bucky teased.

“I’m right here you guys.” You smile teasingly at your husband and his friends.

“How much you wanted to fuck the disrespect out of her.” Bucky whispered. Your jaw dropped as you stared at your husband in disbelief.

“Buck! Chill before I tell everyone what I think about Buck nasty.” Bucky blushed and turned away quickly, throwing a quick congratulations over his shoulder. Steve smiled warmly and hugged you both congratulating the two of you loud enough to draw attention to the group of you. 

Bottles popped and champagne was drunk. Everyone was happy that the mutual pining finally turned into something. 

Tony, Pepper, and Wanda showered you with happiness and cheers. Natasha admired your ring, and Thor sang wedding ballads from his own home. You couldn’t have been happier. 

You felt Sam wrap his arm around your waist pulling you closer and he whispered in your ear. 

“Thanks for making me the happiest man in the world Mrs. Wilson.” Sam places a chaste kiss below your ear. 

You rocked yourself happily in his arms. “Who knew an irresponsible drunk night in Vegas could have a happy ending?”

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[lovelylogans]

where you lead, i will follow

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start from the beginning!

ao3 | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: food mentions, complicated parental relationships, mentions of transphobia and homophobia, verbal fighting, top surgery mention, classism, 

pairings: moxiety, logince

words: 5,414

logan's second birthday is altogether a bit noisier, a lot less well-dressed, and with much better food.

patton sends logan out to harass rudy (well, he mentioned maybe going to hang out with roman or talking to rudy, and picking at the errors in the courant won out when rudy managed to misspell something on the front page again) and virgil comes over to help patton decorate, toting the materials he needs to cook/already prepped food from the diner. 

"what was his face like, last night?" virgil asks, as he's onto patton's ploy.

"confused," patton says, pleased with himself. "i really think i got him this year, v."

"it is a pretty good plan you came up with."

"hey, you helped too. you have, like. split custody of the plan. we communally raised this plan."

like the person the plan's for, patton thinks, but virgil's cheeks have gone red so he probably gets what patton's hinting at here.

but anyway, they prep the food and douse the house in streamers and patton nearly forgets until—

"oh god."

"what?" virgil says. "we didn't forget anything, we checked twice. but maybe—"

"no, no, not that, it's just," patton says, and chews at the inside of his cheek. "i might have tipsily invited my parents over to the party tonight."

"oh," virgil says.

"i—they've never been to the house before. the inn, a few times, when logan was a baby. the town square, that once. but never the house."

"that's... big," virgil says cautiously.

patton blows out a long breath. "yeah."

"should i...?"

"no way," patton says immediately. "you're staying. you're a part of logan's life too and i need someone to help my frayed nerves."

if your parents and i fight it'll do a lot more than fray your nerves, virgil thinks, but doesn't say. instead, he says, "do we need, like. a plan? backup plan? multiple back up plans?"

patton shakes his head, flattens his hands on the kitchen table. "i just—this is big," he repeats.

"yeah," virgil says. 

"it's probably a while coming," patton says, and chews the inside of his cheek some more. "and it's been going so well lately."

"it'll be fine," virgil says lamely, as if he isn't mentally calculating every way this can possibly go wrong, and a few ways it can't.

"right," patton says, and blows out a forceful breath. "right, right. okay," he says, and claps his hands. "crisis over, time to hang up space-themed banners."

they do, and by the time patton's finishing affixing glow-in-the-dark stars to the ceiling guests are starting to trickle in—roman, who is also in on the plan, first—and patton gets some (logan-approved) music on, and then he kind of loses himself in greeting the citizens of sideshire that he and logan spend the most time with and get along with best.

logan and rudy walk in, to cheers, and patton surreptitiously checks his watch. 7:01. his parents are almost never late. he gets a drink for rudy instead of thinking about it.

logan's staring, eagle-eyed, at the pile of presents that's accrued by the fireplace. roman, cheerfully, is running interference to keep him from going over to shake them, or discreetly peel back a corner of wrapping paper to examine it, or—

roman's running interference, anyway.

someone rings the bell. patton jolts for the door, because there is one person (two people) who would ring the bell for a party in sideshire.

"mom, dad!" he says, smiling, conscious of the fact that he's in a sweater and jeans, casual in a way he basically never lets himself be at their house. he refuses the urge to start adjusting everything to make sure it’s all neat and tidy. "glad you could make it, come on in."

"traffic really is dreadful between our houses," emily says, and they file in. 

"grandma, grandpa," logan says, rising from the couch, and suffering through the hugs he receives.

"grandma, look," he adds, and holds out his wrist to display the watch patton had helped emily pick out for him, the one with the galaxy-studded background that reminds patton of the opening theme of doctor who.

"why, it looks lovely," she says, sounding a little surprised that something that cost $13 could possibly look lovely.

"um, everyone," patton says, "these are my parents, emily and richard sanders. mom, dad, this is... everyone."

"hi," the room choruses.

"hello," richard says back. 

"i'm emile," says emile picani, local therapist who had helped patton through a number of dilemmas free of charge back in the day, offering the first hand to shake. "we love your son and grandson."

"thank you," emily says.

"they're like our own belle and maurice!"

"without the beast, i'd hope, i don't want my son taken prisoner," patton intercedes, smiling at emile. "mom, dad, can i get you a drink?"

"stoli on the rocks with a twist," emily says.

"right," patton says, and escapes back in the kitchen, mouthing an exaggerated THEY'RE HERE at virgil as he does.

"how's logan?"

"happy," patton says.

"well, that's something," virgil says with a sigh.

"you'll be nice, won't you?"

"i will if they will," virgil grumbles.

"okay, well, their version of nice is different from my version of nice, so—"

"patton, i just tried some of these hors d'ouevres, they're unbelievable," emily announces, bursting into the kitchen. "who is your caterer?"

patton jabs a thumb toward virgil. "you've met him, actually."

she looks abruptly put out that she's complimented him. "ah."

"hi, mrs. sanders," virgil says. he only sounds a little stiff.

"we eat at virgil's practically every day," patton continues. 

"something healthy, i hope."

"not if patton was in charge of it," virgil mutters, and patton "accidentally" jabs him in the ribs with a playful little glower.

inexplicably, emily smiles. "he always had a terrible sweet tooth."

"mom," patton groans.

"i have to sneak him his vegetables in a smoothie every morning," virgil says, cautiously friendly.

"virgil!"

"ah. it was waffles, for us."

"it was—wait, what?" patton says, blindsided by this revelation.

"we used to instruct the chefs to sneak vegetables in your waffles for years," emily says. "you never noticed there were seeds in your syrup?"

"okay, first of all, i was nine, second of all, you said they were maple seeds!"

"patton," virgil says, trying not to laugh.

"that's what they were?" patton demands. "i thought it was just that you had really fancy maple syrup or something!"

"patton," richard says, walking into the kitchen, "your fireplace doesn't look structurally sound, i have someone you can call to inspect it—"

"i'll get right on that, dad," patton promises, and passes over the drinks he's poured for them. "come on, we shouldn't all be hiding back here, it's a party!"

"once these are out of the oven," virgil says, and patton sighs but accepts it. not much of a party guy, his virgil. he'll let him have his introvert time but eventually he will come back in here and drag him out to sit in a corner by remy aserinsky, local café owner, supplier of coffee beans to the inn and the diner, and source of an slightly joking, intensely confusing feud with virgil that patton has no hope of tracking, even after almost exactly sixteen years of living in sideshire. (three more weeks, to the anniversary. he and logan and virgil have a little celebration about it.)

"let me know when they're done?" patton requests. "i'll plate them and bring them out."

"sure," virgil says absently, already moving on to prep the next thing. patton squeezes his shoulder, but drifts after his parents to head into the living room. 

it's like a veritable merry-go-round of patton introducing people to his parents—or, well, a line actually kind of forms for people to shake their hands, his parents looking increasingly bemused with each. it ends up in a kind of pattern—people shake hands with his parents, wish his son happy birthday, split off into corners of the room to get food or drinks, and then find a place to settle.

"i'm larry, and this is my wife, dot, we live right across the street. such a good pair those are, nothing like my days back with pop-pop..." 

"...taylor doose, grocer. very nice to meet you, it must have taken quite the pair to raise someone like your son, such a good man. i hope you're proud of him, we certainly all are...."

"...sookie st. james, i'm the chef at the inn, i really cannot tell you how much i love working for your son, best boss i've ever had, and logan's so smart when it comes to food combinations..."

"...jackson melville. no, taylor, i really think she's more of a meryl streep than a julie andrews, but of course—ow, you don't need to kick me!..."

"...babette dell, and this is morey, and this is our sweet little baby cinnamon." (patton cannot help but reach out to pet and coo at cinnamon, even if he sneezes immediately. stupid allergies.) "we're their neighbors, just on the left side. oh, morey, do you remember the time that logan decided our old tree stump was gonna to be a lightning rod? used to sit in the rain until patton would herd him back inside and even then he'd be glued to the window, waiting, he was such a cute little thing, always running experiments on the plants in our garden, and patton always tagged along as his lab assistant, kept helping us replant anything that got uprooted..."

eventually, patton ducks out of the receiving line. logan looks after him, and he's been splitting his gaze between people greeting him and his pile of presents. patton can't help but wiggle a little bit in glee as he enters the kitchen. logan has no idea.

"those done yet?"

"just about," virgil says. "how're things, out there?"

patton grins. "my parents are being thrown straight into the deep end of the people of sideshire."

"they met ms. prince yet?"

patton's grin widens. "nope."

virgil snorts. "well, good luck to them," he says, and turns back to the oven right as the timer starts beeping, tugging on a pair of oven mitts to pull out the latest batch of jam tarts, before plopping them all onto a wire rack to cool.

"this is the last thing, right?" patton asks, sidling up beside him.

"should be," virgil says. "we've got these, the hors d'ouevres are out, we've got chips and dip, we've got dinner, we've got dessert..."

"then i pronounce you done," patton declares. "thanks for being my caterer."

"i can't believe your mom actually liked my cooking," virgil says.

"well, it's probably genetic," patton decides. "sanders loving your cooking, i mean. logan does, my mom does, i do..."

virgil smiles at him, and it strikes patton very suddenly how close they're standing, without a counter or a table to separate them, the way it always does when they stand like this. so much of their lives are spent divided by a counter, or by patton sitting in a booth, and when they’re together like this, in a space away from everyone watching, in a space where it’s just them...

"plus you're a good cook," patton adds, forging valiantly ahead, trying to make his heart not react.

"am i?"

"the best," patton amends. "the best cook."

virgil's smile quirks at the corners, turns a little sweeter, a little shier, and patton's failed remarkably at making his heart not react. 

"well," he says, a little gruff. "thanks. i guess."

"you're welcome, i guess," patton teases back. "we should head out into the living room, i bet logan's practically foaming at the mouth to open presents."

"i want to see the look on his face," virgil says, and double-checks that the oven's off (a habit) before following after.

logan does indeed look about five minutes away from foaming at the mouth. the receiving line's faded, and his parents are floating about the corners of the room—his dad looks like he's about five seconds from bolting, which patton gets, and goes to tug a little at his suit sleeve.

"here," he says, and presents him with a copy of the latest tabloid that taylor doose stocks at the grocery store. "i know it's not exactly national geographic, but there is a story in here about how people who are trying to help climate change are actually shape-shifting reptilian aliens who want to destroy all life on the planet."

richard blinks at it. "logan allows you to have this?"

"logan buys them," patton says with a laugh. "or at least, he makes a beeline for them when we're getting groceries and reads the headlines and gets increasingly gleeful with outrage, so i have to buy it for him, so he can rip it apart without holding up the line."

"ah," he says, and takes it. "well, thank you."

patton refills his drink, before he claps his hands to silence the party, and declares, "presents time!"

logan brightens, straightening up. roman's about to get up to grab his present, but patton wags a finger at him, mockingly stern.

"uh-uh, young man. you're last."

"but—"

"do you remember what happened last time you went first?" patton says, because he sure does. "you go last."

roman slumps back into the couch, mock-disappointed, and emile fetches his present for logan instead. 

logan is delighted. logan gets to guess what his presents are (90% of the time, he's right, and 100% of the time, he's at least close enough that he isn't actually very wrong at all) and rip up a bunch of fancily-wrapped paper and monologue at length about it. patton's getting pretty delighted himself, because logan still doesn't suspect a thing.

the presents pile has dwindled down, and it's now the order of people that it's settled into for years.

rudy grunts from the corner, and hands over a tiny box to logan. logan frowns at it, and then at rudy.

"you never get me anything physical," he says, which is true. the usual gift from rudy is a story pitch of logan's choice that he can run on the front page. last year, he'd managed a profile of a chemist at the local state university who'd won some prize or other, and patton had been walking into recreations of experiments on his kitchen table for weeks.

"well, special circumstances," he says, and patton readies his camera, like he's been doing for all the presents.

logan rips off the paper, opens the box, and stares down at it, and then up at rudy, and then down at it again, before lifting up the professional blue lanyard.

"is this—?" logan breathes.

"press pass," rudy rumbles. "it's about time you stop heckling me to do more stories at the state level and do them yourself."

logan cradles the id in his hands, flipping it over to look at the photo—and then he looks to patton, because he surely recognizes where rudy would have gotten a photo from.

"now that you have a driver's license, i figured it would only be fair," patton says. "as long as you don't let it interfere with your schoolwork, which i know you won't, and as long as you don't become a total workaholic, i think you can ask me if you can take the car to run up to the capital if there's breaking news, don't you?"

a massive grin splits over logan's face, and—

"really?!"

"really really," patton promises.

"there's a press conference on monday afternoon, if you're free," rudy begins.

"yes!" logan exclaims. "yes, i'm free, what's the conference about—?"

"i'm forwarding the pr release now," rudy says.

logan's cradling the press id, and slings the lanyard around his neck, like he doesn't want to lose it.

"okay," virgil says, and nudges over a fairly sizeable box. logan gives him a curious look, but reaches over to take it, ripping the star-dotted paper.

he unearths a lamp that displays constellations around the room, and a leather bomber jacket covered with space patches: nasa and galaxies and one little “i want to believe” patch. it’s hand-stitched, but, well. of course it is.

"cool," roman declares, then seems to remember who it's from and coughs. "um, i mean—"

"no take-backs, it's cool," virgil says smugly, as logan's shrugging it on, and smooths over the collar, tugging his press id so it's still front and center. it does look cool. a perfect balance between nerdy and cool.

logan smiles at virgil, just a little—the fact that virgil’s the closest thing that logan has to another dad has been an unspoken truth between them for years, now—and virgil clears his throat, trying his hardest not to look emotional.

“yeah, happy birthday, kid,” virgil says gruffly, and logan’s smile widens.

"we should plug this in," logan declares, holding up the lamp.

"not yet," patton chides gently, "you've still got a couple to go."

logan frowns. "no, just roman's. rudy, virgil, you, then roman. but you've already given me my—"

but he falls silent to see emile and remy carting in two boxes, and—

logan's jaw has fallen open. patton snaps a picture.

"you," he begins, and then, "you—"

"i got you!" patton bursts out gleefully. "for the first time in sixteen years, i have managed to get you!"

logan's jaw is still hanging.

"you didn't really think i'd just get you a puzzle, did you?" patton teases him gently, taking the larger of the boxes and setting it in front of logan. 

"you," he says, stunned, "tricked me."

"i did," patton says. "i got a decoy present and i hid the real presents at the prince's apartment—"

logan swivels to glower accusingly at roman, who snickers, holding up his hands.

"—and i got you," patton finishes. 

"i," logan says, and then, "i'm—"

"are you mad?" patton checks, suddenly worried that he's pulled one over on his son, and logan doesn't like being made a fool of, but he wasn't trying to do that he was just trying to surprise him, nicely, and logan—

logan just grins at him.

"you've finally managed subtlety for once in your life," logan declares. "i never thought i'd see the day. at last i have taught you something."

"hey," patton chides, but he can't help but laugh. "it might be your birthday, but that doesn't mean you can't get grounded."

logan scoffs and the rest of the room laughs. 

"i could!" patton says defensively.

"that boy's never been able to stay in trouble with you more than a day in his life," babette says in the corner. 

patton turns to virgil for someone on his team, but he just shrugs, putting his hands up in a don't look at me kind of way. 

"fine, i'm a softie," patton declares, "but one who managed to surprise our own logan sanders, modern-day sherlock!"

there's a cheer. logan rolls his eyes at everyone in the room. (one man has escaped to the porch, and one woman is watching this display in the room, feeling very... thrown off.)

"open this one first," patton says, excitedly patting the box. for once, he has managed to surprise his son. he's absolutely over the moon (ba-dum-tsh!) with his success.

logan tears off the paper, and then he gapes at patton.

"no."

"yes." 

"no!" logan says, tearing off the rest of the paper to stare in absolute delight at the telescope that patton's bought him—the one he'd gone on and on and on about when it first came out, excited over all the features and its capabilities.

"you like it?!"

"i love it!" logan says, so excited, so openly happy in a way he never lets himself be. patton's heart soars. "but it's way too expensive—"

"i know, that's what i told them," patton teases. "so i hunted until i got a discount."

"it's perfect," logan says lovingly, tracing his hands over the box, looking ready to cart it outside and set up shop to examine the constellations and ignore the rest of the party. 

"you've still got another one from me," patton says, holding the smaller one forward. it's still pretty sizeable, but not to an absurd degree.

"dad, the telescope's already too much—"

"hey, it's your sixteenth birthday, that only happens once," patton scolds. "plus this one wasn't very expensive. c'mon, open it."

logan gives him a little smile—soft, private—and looks down, ripping open the paper to see the back of a frame for a poster. he flips it, and he stares.

"it's," patton begins. "it's the way the stars were in the sky, on your birthday. that morning, i mean, when you were born."

"dad," he says, soft, tracing the shiny silver lettering reading november third, the year of his birth, the astrological details of the placement of the moon and the sun, the shiny little five-pointed stars connected into constellations.

"happy birthday, kiddo," patton says. "eight."

logan's lip twitches up. "sixteen," he breathes back, and patton ruffles his hair, just a little, before he backs up closer to the wall makes a gesture at the rest of the room.

"and now, what we've all been waiting for," patton says, and begins a drumroll on his thighs. the rest of the room echoes it. roman hands over his box with a flourish, and logan tears open the paper eagerly.

"what's all this?" a familiar voice asks, and patton nearly jumps. he'd almost forgotten his mother was here.

"roman's present," patton says, in an undertone, but can't explain anymore because logan's lifting the lid off the box eagerly, unearthing a massive, massive sheath of paper. the cover of the book is decorated with roman's lurid doodles of stars, and galaxies, and what look like the gears of a watch, and stickers plastered over any available space.

"doctor who?!" logan says eagerly, and looks up at roman. "you wrote me into doctor who?!!?"

"i did," roman says. "you're a companion."

"with which doctor?"

"please, i know your passionate opinions about the benefits and drawbacks of each doctor better than that. all of new who, obviously, with cameos from the old ones."

logan beams at him, and cradles the papers in his arms, hugging them close to his chest, like it's something precious, something to be savored. and he does: logan has a space on his shelf saved for the birthday stories of years past. roman has to go last for presents, because logan will start reading the story right then and just about ignores all his other presents to get to the end so he can babble happily about it with roman. 

logan's staring down at the papers, and roman's staring at him, wide-eyed, like he's seeing an eclipse, or a blood moon, or a meteor shower, or something equally cosmic and amazing, something that you only get the chance to see only every so often and something so beautiful that it stuns you, makes you think about the whole wide universe and everything that is and was and ever will be and how lucky you are to see this, this precise moment.

"what," his mother says, and she narrows her eyes suspiciously at them. even a totally oblivious stranger could see it then, at that moment, and emily sanders is not a totally oblivious stranger. "are they—"

patton taps his finger to his lips, eyes twinkling. later, he mouths at her, and she shuts her mouth grudgingly.

"hang on," virgil says, because he knows that the best way to keep logan from getting completely engrossed in the birthday story is to interfere before he can read it. "hang on, cake!"

"cake," logan says, distracted, and tears his eyes up away from the cover page. roman, similarly, tears his eyes off logan. "right, cake."

virgil ducks into the kitchen, and emerges carrying the traditional cake, stuck with sixteen lit candles, and sets it carefully before logan. patton switches off the lights and takes in a deep breath, and logan only pulls a little face that somehow seems magnified by the light of the candles, the only thing in the room ignited.

"happy birthday to you," the room sings, "happy birthday to you, happy birthday, dear, looo-gaaan... happy birthday to you!"

logan huffs a breath, then another one, and patton flips the lights back on as everyone cheers.

"okay, first cut," virgil says, handing over a knife.

"then toast," patton says, "then you can escape to a corner and read your story."

logan smiles at him and cuts himself a large slice, before passing the knife back to virgil so he can distribute the cake equally.

once everyone who wants a slice has got a slice, patton calls out, "okay, everyone, attention please!"

the room quiets.

"okay, i'll keep it short, because we all know how amazing virgil's cake is," patton says. "and technically someone stole the birthday toast on logan's actual birthday this year."

roman grins at him sheepishly.

"so i would like to propose a little toast to the one thing in my life that is always good, always smart, and always eager to take on the whole world. without him, i don't know what my reason would be to get up in the morning. my kiddo, logan. cheers."

"cheers!"

"and now in honor of this very special boy, i invite you all to dig in!" patton declares, and people split off into their own conversations, chattering away.

when the attention's surely off him, logan leans in to hug patton briefly before sliding off the couch to sit in a quiet corner with roman, eating cake and commenting aloud on the story, and patton rolls his eyes fondly at virgil.

he also notices that someone is not standing where she was before—and that that someone is climbing the stairs. patton follows after. 

he turns a corner into his room to see his mother, holding up a quilt.

"i made that."

"really?"

"from logan's old baby clothes."

"how nice," she says, blankly, then, "that's quite an assortment of characters you've assembled down there."

"they're great people," patton says affectionately. "i really lucked out on living here, mom."

"that prince boy," emily says. "are they dating?"

"ah," patton says, and sits on the bed, shooting a discreet look out into the hall, before looking up at his mother with the distinct air of someone telling a secret. "no, but—and don't breathe a word to logan that i'm telling you about any of this."

she nods.

"no, they aren't dating, but logan's had the biggest crush on him. for ages."

"really?" she says, even more blankly.

"really," patton says. "i think logan's been in love with him since they were little, and roman's just as hopeless about it."

"really?"

"really," patton repeats, and sighs. "but roman went out and got himself a boyfriend, just last month. asked me about advice, actually, he said that he feels like he shouldn't wait around for logan to maybe like him back when someone he could grow to really like was right there, wanting him, and making moves to want him."

"what did you say?"

patton sighs even more. "i told him that he should have fun and to be careful, and to call me if he did anything that made him uncomfortable."

"did he?"

"he fell asleep without going home," patton says.

"he what?!"

"literally fell asleep, nothing else," patton says hastily, "but that's not like it particularly endeared anyone to that boy, i'm telling you."

"you don't like him?"

"he's part of the reason roman broke my son's heart for the first time, so no, i don't like him. and he..." patton hesitates, huffs out a breath. "you're going to be so smug about this."

"about what?"

"he reminds me," patton says, scowling just a little, "of those boys you always tried to warn me off of, and now that i'm a parent, i don't like them, either."

emily smiles, and patton waves a hand.

"i know, i know, you were right, et cetera, but. that's the situation with roman and logan."

"hm," emily says. then she says, “why were you and logan talking about numbers? when you gave him his present.”

“have we never done that in front of you before?” patton asks, distracted.

“obviously not.”

“huh, i guess. but, um, you know logan’s not the most effusive kid, and i’m a pretty effusive parent. so we made a code so that we could have the best of both worlds in public—i could tell logan i love him without embarrassing him, he could tell me he loved me back without admitting to feeling an emotion.”

“why those numbers, though?”

“there’s eight letters in i love you. and i love you too seems to imply multiplying by two, so—sixteen. eight, sixteen. just some sanders shorthand.”

she blinks, before picking up one of the (many) picture frames that patton has dotting his room.

"what's this?"

patton squints at the photo. "me, mom."

"i know that's you," she snaps, "you're wearing a cast."

"oh, yeah," patton says, and laughs. "yeah, that's when i broke my arm."

"you broke your arm?!"

"yeah, three years ago," patton says. "you know what a klutz i am, i stepped wrong on some ice outside of virgil's diner and now logan and virgil won't let me walk anywhere alone in the middle of winter if i'm not holding onto a railing or someone else, or something."

"i never knew that you broke your arm," she says, and patton can see the way she's drooping.

he's never seen her like that.

"oh, hey, mom," he says, awkward. "it wasn't a big deal, if i got really sick you would have known."

"yes," she says, "well," and sets down the frame. "i should check on your father."

"it was really nice that you came tonight, mom," patton says quietly. "it meant a lot. to logan," he tacks on.

"well, he is my grandson, after all," she says. "i should be here."

patton smiles. "i definitely agree."

he follows her down the stairs, and gets briefly waylaid by refereeing the terms of a feud he doesn't understand, and then gets waved out for being biased, and by the time that's happened patton looks up to see his parents approaching his son, and he hastens over in time to hear richard say "absurd, but entertaining," holding the tabloid back out for logan.

"hey, are you guys heading out?" patton asks. 

"we had a lovely time, patton," his mother tells him, with a straight face.

"get that chimney inspected, i've sent you a number to call," his father says.

"well, thank you," patton says. "and i'll get right on that."

logan and patton watch as they leave, and then they both throw themselves back into a night of fun, and friends, and happiness.

(out in the car, emily stares out of the window and is silent for so long that richard has to say her name three times to get her attention. she's too entrenched in thoughts of that cheerfully cluttered house, small and lived in and messy in a way her and richard's house has never been, with frames fighting for space the walls, photos of logan and patton in the midst of stories that emily would have no hope of identifying, of her grandson's first heartbreak she's told about like it's a piece of errant gossip and her son's broken arm that's a funny story and the way patton had looked, here, dressed in that absurd sweater and those terrible jeans and with his hair a frightful mess, talking to that motley crew of neighbors that had been full of nothing but glowing, delighted praise for her son and grandson, the way patton had looked so right here, so comfortable and happy with himself and free, and how securely he has made his own little world and didn’t even seem to notice that she’s been shut outside of it, and the way he squirms and hunches over and avoids her world until he can't anymore, and how she has seen her son smile more in this night than she has since he was very small, and how her grandson had smiled more this evening than she had ever seen from him, and—

"he was right," emily says, choked up, wilting in a way that richard has only ever seen her wilt once, and his stomach plummets. "patton. he's right. he's a mystery to me, and i don't know him at all.")

[dreamofstraykids]

This is an out of the ordinary post for this blog, but the following story is over a year in the making. I hope this story can make up for missing a birthday last year which is why I’m posting it a bit early for this year. Happy super late and kinda early birthday Harley.

- Shai

Story under the cut.

Chan was the only one to know, he had been the only one Felix could tell because he didn’t have the words to tell the others at the time. He wanted to tell the others but it never came up in conversation and it didn’t seem like something important. He was sure the others had put two and two together at some point and just hadn’t brought it up. He had gotten questions about why he never changed in front of the others and why there always seemed to be a pill bottle with the label ripped off and his name written in sharpie on it or why he got random pains every month that seemed to go away without reason after a week.

Changbin was the next to find out. Felix blamed himself for being careless after Chan had bought him a new binder. He knew he should have listened and not worn it to practice but he was too excited. He’d had to excuse himself because of the pain after a couple hours so he could change into the sports bras he had in his practice bag. Changbin had followed out of concern and had seen Felix changing. It was then that everything clicked for Changbin.

“H-hyung, w-what are you d-doing?” Felix asks when he notices Changbin in the room.

“I-I was worried. You looked like you were in pain and I wanted to make sure you were ok,” Changbin says.

“You won’t tell anyone, will you?” Felix asks. Changbin shakes his head. “Thanks, Hyung.”

“Are you gonna keep practicing?” Changbin asks. 

“Y-yeah, I practice all the time in these,” Felix gestures to the sports bras in his bag, “I just got excited about what Chan-hyung got me.”

“Ok, I’ll let you finish changing then.” Changbin turns to leave. “Oh, and Felix?”

“Yeah, Hyung?”

“This doesn’t change anything, ok? You’re still one of us so please don’t distance yourself from me.”

“I won’t, Hyung.”

Changbin leaves after that and allows Felix to finish changing. Chan gives him a questioning look when he enters the practice room again but doesn’t say anything so the others wouldn’t overhear. Felix enters the room again a few minutes later and they get back to practice. Everything goes back to normal except now Felix can feel two sets of worried eyes watching him as he dances.

Everything went back to normal after that. No one bothered him and Changbin kept his word about not telling anyone so Felix felt safe again. It wasn’t until the cramps started up again and Chan and Changbin were both at the studio working. Hyunjin became very worried because the cramps were worse than the last few months and it had been an hour since he had gotten Felix’s medication for him. He was debating on calling Chan when Felix finally came out of his room to grab a few heat packs. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and Hyunjin could see the sports bras he had on. Felix didn’t notice Hyunjin on the couch until he was making his way back to his bed.

“Uh…” They both start.

“Do you need anything?” Hyunjin asks. He’s doing his best to not draw attention to what they’re both thinking about.

“N-no,” Felix says. “Will you not say anything about this? Please?”

“I won’t,” Hyunjin says. “Go lay down for a bit longer. I’ll call you out when I order food.” He offers a small smile. Felix returns the smile and leaves for his bed. He really has to be more careful around the others or they’re all going to find out soon.

A half hour later and Seungmin returns from his vocal practice with some food and an odd box. Hyunjin is about to ask what it is when Seungmin sets the food down and immediately heads for their room, the box still in his hand. Seungmin knocks on the door before entering and almost slamming the door shut behind him. 

“Lix?” Seungmin asks the second the door was shut. He knew Felix’s cramps had started again and had spent his breaks that day talking to his sister about ways to get rid of them. He had been able to guess the reason behind Felix’s sneaking off and the reason why the medicine bottle had the label ripped off not too long after the last months week of cramping and sneaking off more often than usual. 

Felix was currently curled up in his bed clutching something to his stomach. He had a large shirt on that was riding up just enough for Seungmin to see the sports bras he was wearing to flatten his chest. He made a small movement with his head to acknowledge Seungmin’s presence. 

“I brought you something that might help,” Seungmin says. He makes his way over to the bed and opens the box he brought in the room with him. “I talked with my sister and she said this really helps with the pain.” He pulls the heating pad out of the box and plugs it into the nearest outlet before gently prying Felix’s arms away from his stomach so Seungmin can place the heating pad there.

“You know?” Felix asks. His voice is strained slightly from the pain and moving slightly to get a better look at Seungmin.

“I guessed a while ago but hadn’t had time to talk to anyone that would have good tips to help and I was always late to help you since Chan-hyung was already helping,” Seungmin says. “Are you hungry? I brought some food my sister said can help a bit too but you don’t have to eat it now.”

“I should probably eat, I haven’t eaten much today.” Felix tries to sit up but immediately lays back down clutching the heating pad to his stomach even tighter.

“Don’t worry, Lix, I’ll bring it to you.” Seungmin leaves the room only to return with the food and Hyunjin a few minutes later. They eat in silence, a quiet promise from Hyunjin and Seungmin is said through eye contact as they sit together on Felix’s bed.

Jeongin is the next to find out as he accidentally walks in on Felix showering a few weeks later. Felix doesn’t notice him and he is able to quietly leave the room before he does. He goes to Chan immediately to ask about it knowing the two Aussies are very close and have a secret they didn’t tell any of them. Chan sighs and makes sure the others aren’t near to overhear as he confirms it. 

Felix doesn’t find out until a week later when another binder arrives in the mail for him. There’s a note in it from Jeongin saying the online description said this binder is meant for dancers. He finds it hard to face Jeongin for a while after that but he does end up testing the binder the next day.

The way the others have all kept his secret from Woojin, Minho, and Jisung has given him a bit of confidence to talk to them more openly about it. He’s been working up the courage to tell them but he hasn’t quite been able to go through with it. Jisung walks in on him as he’s giving himself a pep talk before he tells them at dinner. 

“Uh…” Felix screams and jumps at his voice which causes all the others to come see what happened and make sure he’s ok. His binders and sports bras are strewn around his room as they all file in and he feels exposed to the world. 

“That explains a lot” Minho says as he connects the dots. He gently pushes his way through the others and goes over to Felix to pull him into a hug. It’s a bit awkward and Minho isn’t sure where to put his hands anymore. “You’re as much one of us as day one, nothing can change that.”

Felix hides his face and nods. He can feel himself tearing up. Soon all of the boys are in a group hug, comforting and reassuring him of his place in Stray Kids and as their brother. 

There is a clear change in Felix after that day. He becomes much more open and happy now that he isn’t hiding part of himself from his family.

[watercolorjen]

This year The Philadelphia Flower show is doing something new. They are holding a photo contest. I heard about this contest last summer through my nephew who works for the Flower Show. Knowing how much I love to shoot photographs of my flowers, Andrew thought I would be interested in entering.

After he sent me the link to the contest and I entered six of my photographs in three of the six categories.  Knowing that the judging and notification of finalists was around the same time I would be on a Panama Canal cruise with a friend of mine, I decided to get prints made of all the photos I entered. Although there was no fee to enter, it was up to finalists to mount each selected photograph on black foam core, trim it to size and then mail it to the contest coordinator by Feb. 25th. I though I had a slim chance of having any of my photos selected but, just in case, I would be prepared if I was pleasantly surprised.

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When I returned home to PA on Feb 4th, I spent a couple of days deleting emails. While at this task one afternoon I received a text from Andrew

“Congratulations! You made the cut for category 195-Avant-Garde at the Flower show.”

I did? Wow!

Turns out I had accidentally deleted the notification emails. I went back and scoured through my trash bin and found all 3. Two were rejections but sure enough, there was one –

“Hello Jennifer Congratulations!”

This is where Gremlins took over what should have been a relativity easy process and turned it into an absolute fiasco.  I’m talking about the Gremlin that ate after midnight, and got wet. Not the cute fuzzy Gremlins.

I quickly opened the email and I was crestfallen. Wouldn’t you know the one photo that was accepted was also the only print  that looked terrible. Either I provided Shutterfly with a crappy file or they printed it badly. In any case, I had to have this photo reprinted and rushed to me so I could get it mailed out by the deadline stated in the email of February 15th! This didn’t leave me much time.

For 12 years or so I was a certified picture framer. I even had my own shop at one point. So I have a shops-worth of framing supplies and equipment in my basement. While I waited for the rush delivery of my accepted photograph, I rooted around in my boxes of mat boards hoping to find a piece of black foam core. Wouldn’t you know  I have several sheets of white foam core and hundreds of mat boards but no black foam core.  Luckily, my local Walmart had some black foam core and spray adhesive.

I was nervous unwrapping the photograph when it arrived, fearful that it would look dull and out of focus like the first copy. If that were the case I wouldn’t be able to send it. I would have to withdraw. But no, it looked great! I got it flattened out and ready to mount.

While looking for the foam core in my studio, I too was searching for my heavy metal utility knife. It was one that had belonged to my dad and I had used it for years. I couldn’t find it anywhere. But my husband & I keep a yellow plastic one in the kitchen that we use for opening packages.  I believe the blade in this knife had never been changed. It wouldn’t cut butter let alone trim this photograph so I replaced the blade.

And, I promptly poked my finger.Blood was everywhere!

I wrapped my finger in a paper towel while I trimmed the mounted photo. Luckily no blood got on my picture, but the yellow cover of the utility knife looked like it had been lifted from a crime scene!

Off to the post office I went, finger now wrapped in a band-aid. As I drove into the parking lot, I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was packed with cars. I swear it looked like 3 days before Christmas and everyone in town had forgotten to mail their packages! Once inside the tiny room, I found a line of about 10 people. I busied myself finding an envelope big enough for the photo and I finished taping the cardboard around my photograph. After about twenty minutes, it was my turn.

“This has to arrive by Friday 15th. ”

“Not a problem”.

I included a self-addressed stamped envelope, sealed up the whole package and finally breathed a sigh of relief when my photo was among the huge stack of mail collecting behind the counter.

Friday night I’m watching TV and decide to check my email. I see an email from the contest coordinator:

Jennifer,  I received your beautiful photograph today and unfortunately two corners are badly bent! Can you please reprint, matte and send to me again ASAP! Unfortunately I can not pass this for the show. Your deadline to have to me is no later than Feb 22! If you can not make this happen I will need to know ASAP so I can let the alternate know.

Thank you and I’m so sorry. Next time please use a much thicker, cardboard material to support the photo in shipping.

Sally

  Oh no! This is Friday the 15th. I am supposed to leave for Florida on Wednesday the 20th. Panic sets in. Can I get a new photo printed, shipped to me, mounted and mailed to her in a week? Shutterfly was giving me a guaranteed delver date of Feb. 20th. It could work but I would have to have the supplies on hand when I arrived in the evening and rush the picture to the post office the next day mailing it next-day-air. I could do it but I would need help.

I called my husband and asked him, if needed, could he could go to the Walmart near us in Florida and get a piece of black foam core. ”

Yeah, no problem. Just let me know. I can go tomorrow.”

I also sent a text to my sister & brother-in-law asking if there was any place around here that could print the photo while I wait? No sense having to pay for rushed delivery if I can take care of this locally.

Turns out our local FedEx does do printing! They do what’s called-Personal Prints up to 8×10 and they also do Poster Sized prints starting at 16×20.

Seriously?

I bet you can’t guess what size my photo needed to be.

Right, 11×14. And, they don’t offer 11×14.

Back to the Shutterfly rushed delivery option.

My sister in law suggested I have the print sent to her, she would mount it and get it mailed for me. I thought about it for a minute and decided it’s too stressful a task for someone who has never spray-mounted before. Also, that utility blade does like to draw blood. I declined that offer and, afraid I was going to lose the guaranteed delivery from Shutterfly of Feb.20,  I quickly placed a super-rush delivery with Shutterfly and I decided to go with my original plan of having the print sent to Florida. I could do the work when I arrived.

Gremlins don’t like getting wet and my plan was beginning to feel like a wash out.

Monday the 18th was Presidents Day & there is no mail. Does Shutterfly use regular USPS, UPS or FedEx to deliver? couldn’t remember. Did their guaranteed delivery take this holiday into account?

A giant snow storm is forecast for Wednesday. Of course it is. It always snows when I go to Florida in the winter. it doesn’t matter what day I decide to fly down, it’s going to snow and I’m going to have to reschedule my flight.

I kept a close eye on the tracking of my Shutterfly order and the weather forecast. Both were dismal. Shutterfly’s guaranteed delivery of Feb. 20th was changed to Feb. 20-21st.

No, no, no. This is no good. There is no way I can get my mounted picture delivered to the contest coordinator by the 22nd if I don’t receive it by the 20th.

The snow storm forecast went from bad –

‘Snow and ice from Tuesday 19th through 20th’

to, hey wait this might work

‘Snow starting Wednesday night through Thursday’

to I’m doomed and probably won’t be leaving Wednesday after all-

‘Snow staring early Wednesday 6-8 inches with ice in the afternoon’

Oh great. Plan B. Marcus isn’t going to like plan B.

Turns out Shutterfly uses UPS and delivered my photo on Monday 18th. Really? I wish I had known they were going to be able to deliver it early. I could have mounted it and and mailed it out in plenty of time. No need to worry about snow or Plan B.

Plan B, as it turns out didn’t work out as expected.

On Valentines day Marcus calls me from Walmart to tell me they only have white foam core.

“Really, oh ……! OK, OK, you will have to find a Michael’s or a frame shop and get a piece from there. ”

I texted him the addresses of Michael’s stores near us in Florida. Turns out there are three pretty close by our apartment. He got two pieces ‘Just in case” also was able to get new utility knife and some sturdy cardboard. Yay!

When I saw that the photo would be delivered on Monday the 18th I suggested he go ahead and mount it and get it in the mail.

“I may not make it down in time because of the snow.”

Always the optimist, “Na, you’ll be okay, I’ll wait.”

Today Feb. the 19th, I called Marcus telling him it’s looking more and more like i’m not going anywhere on Wednesday. There is already a ‘No fee for rescheduling canceled flights’ notice on Jet Blue’s website and no snow is falling…yet.  Anyway, I walked him through how to spray mount a photograph and trim it. I suggested he do a practice magazine cover or something to get the feel for it and call me back. He agreed to give it a go.

“I can’t get the page to stick.”

That’s weird.

“You may not have used enough spray stuff. Try again while I have you on the phone.” he put me on speaker phone.

I hear the spray can over the phone and then he says “It stuck that time. I think I used too much, there is a sticky puddle outside the photo.”

“Try another page and don’t hold the can so close. 3-4 inches away should be fine.”

This worked fine.

“My fingers are full of glue.”

“You can get that off with alcohol or acetone.”

“Okay that worked but I’m afraid I’m going to get fingerprints all over your photograph.”

“You’ll be fine. You just washed your hands in alcohol. There’s no oil left to leave prints.”

Now I suggested he try trimming the foam core to get the feel of it.

“I don’t want to cut these out because I’ll get glue all over the ruler. then when I trim the photo, it will get glue all over it.”

I suggested he do a practice cut on the extra piece of foam core that doesn’t have any glue on it yet. I could hear him through the phone grunting and groaning as he tried. It didn’t sound like it was going well at all.

“Marcus, come here. Stop. You’re too nervous and getting too worked up. Something will go wrong because you are too worried about messing it up. Take the photograph and the black foam core back to Michael’s and ask them to dry mount it for you while you wait.”

“They can do this?”

“Yes. they do it all the time.”

“What if they mess it up? You only ordered one copy. What happens if they mess it up?”

“How about we don’t create another problem before we have to? If that happens, then I email the coordinator telling her Michael’s ruined the photo & I will not be able to send my photo. I’ll be screwed. but, this isn’t going to happen. Relax.”

I’m happy to report that Michael’s broke the Gremlin’s spell over this endeavor.  My photo is mounted, trimmed and wrapped in heavy cardboard. The gal even adhered the required information on the back of the photograph. It’s ready to go into the mail and will arrive by Friday.

This free submission contest has cost me somewhere in the neighborhood of $100 so far. I wonder how much rushed delivery costs?

I’m not saying I’d like to go through all of this stress again. This hasn’t been fun. But somehow it’s worth all of this to have my photograph among the other finalists in the Philadelphia Flower Show! Maybe it will win a ribbon!

If you go, send me a photograph of the display. Unfortunately, after all of this, I won’t be able to make the show this year. When I finally do get out of town after the snow, I will be testing out my new camera on a much anticipated Galapagos Island trip!

ArtGiftsEtcGroup@yahoo.com

(https://www.facebook.com/jennifer.wheatleywolf)

Enjoy the show! Get your tickets here

“Your Entry Has Been Accepted!” or ‘What can go wrong will go wrong’ This year The Philadelphia Flower show is doing something new. They are holding a photo contest. I heard about this contest last summer through my nephew who works for the Flower Show.

[everlind]

I was going through all my unfinished and rejected text files (there’s… quite a few). So, instead of leaving them to collect dust on my computer, I decided hey, why the hell not. Think of these as the roughest of rough doodles. Doodles that might be missing hands. Or are all drawn in side-profile. Most of these are NOT finished. kinda based on this thing here

If there was a world’s biggest douchebag award you’d be winning the motherfucking shit out of it. But you can’t stop staring at John’s boobs.

It’s awful. You’re awful.

Hate it, that you’re not better than this, that after a fucking decade of John being John your love twizzler still goes hello ladies at the sight of John’s chest and he’s not, they’re not, it’s just him, John, your best friend and your best bro and complete full package deal asshole and god damn it, he has the cutest frickin’ boobs. You’re scum, you’re horrible and you deserve so many pinecones up your fucking ass you can out-fart a Febreze.

It’s not fair of you, because it’s hot as fuck, summer at Houston at its worst and you’re sweatier than Equius’ asscrack during a Byrne Daily commercial, so why should John have to suffer through it in his binder? He shouldn’t, is what, in fact, it shouldn’t even matter whether he wears the damn thing or not. Most of the time it wouldn’t, John’s tall and thin, like someone stacked a bunch of elbows and knees and ribs together, and topped it off with a cute face. His boobs are tiny, and under a hoodie they’d be nearly invisible. He’s wearing a t-shirt though, the old slimer one, all worn soft and threadbare around the edges. You can see his nipples.

Right about then Karkat makes an inquiring grunt, and your attention is drawn back to the screen of your computer, showing a first person POV view of a creepy dungeon.

“Where do I go?” Karkat demands, eyes huge and lamplike as he stares at the screen. His claws clack on the keys. The camera swings left, to a rickety stairs leading down into gloom, then right and up, towards a torchlit corridor.

John’s leans forward intently, nearly glueing his nose to your desktop. “Down,” he breathes.

Karkat’s left eye twitches exactly once. He goes up.

“Dude,” John scoffs.

You laugh.

It gets you a suspicious squint from John. “Why did you laugh?”

That’s about when Karkat finishes ascending the stairs, turns a corner and suddenly something is standing there, waiting. It’s totally predictable. Both of them shriek like idiots.

“UUUGHOLYAAAAA!”

“AAAAAH!”

The screen roils wildly as Karkat books it back down the stairs, then goes red as he’s attacked from behind.

John screams.“I TOLD YOU TO GO DOWN YOU ASSHOLE!”

“SHUT UP. SHUT. UP. OH MY GOD IT’S ATTACKING ME RUN YOU USELESS PIECE OF SHIT.”

“Oooooh no no no no NO KARKAT RUN FASTER!”

“I CAN’T SHUT UP. FUCK. FUCK THIS STUPID NO.”

You just laugh your ass off. These nerds.

“Oh my god.”

“Don’t look back,” you suggest.

“SHUT UP,” Karkat growls. “I can’t believe. THIIISISAAAAAH IT’S STILL RIGHT BEHIND ME!”

“What is that thing?!”

“D’aw I bet it just wants some sugar, you know? Poor things been stuck down there for ages, constantly dealing with these shrieking trouserwetters. Just try it, give it a hug.”

“Shut up, Dave!” John says, jostling into your side. He’s warm and damp from the summer night heat and the skin from your arms clings in a prolongued kiss.

“Where do I go?” Karkat hisses. “Fuck fuck fuCK.”

“Door!” John yells pointing at the screen. “DOOR DOOR DOOR KARKAT DOOR!”

“YES I SEE IT I SEE IT SHUT UP FUCK YOU PIECE OF FUCK. SHIT. AAAAAA-“ He opens the door, turns, shuts it behind him. “I made it. I made it. Hell yes. Fine here see? Everything’s under control. Yes.”

“Why is dark?” John wants to know. “Dave, why is it dark, is there gonna be another scary thing?”

“Naw, bro. Just some sparkly unicorns moshing it up,” you lie, as Karkat goes exploring through a labyrinthine room full of shelves.

John jostles you again.

“I found a key,” Karkat informs you, sounding offended about it. “This game is such bullshit, I fucking swear. What am I supposed to do with a goddamn key?”

Snort. “Oh, I don’t know,” John says. “Open a door?”

That’s when the scary thing makes its rather half-hearted zombie entrance, lumbering suddenly from behind a corner and groaning.

“wuuuUUWAAAAAH!!” the both of them howl and Karkat actually half-jumps into John’s lap, knocking him sideways into you and sending your bag of milky ways flying in all directions.

“Ow my boob!” John snaps, pushing at his shoulder.

“FUCK YOU,” Karkat yells, furiously slamming buttons. “Door he says, and here am I, the biggest fucking tool pile of history, actually going through the door. Fuck you, John Egbert. Fuck fucking you. Shit, shit, it’s killing me, what do I do what do I do what do I do?”

Blood splatters dramatically across the camera.

“Pause it!” John suggests, hand jammed between Karkat’s horns to peek over the top of his head.

“Oh my fucking god, that’s so you, I swear, like that’s going to fix anything,” but he pauses it all the same.

You’re nearly pissing out the mirth you’re trying to contain, this was the best idea ever, seriously, best bro night ever. But then you notice how Karkat and John are still squashed together, Karkat exhaling hard and leaning back into John, hands leaving the keys. You can see John bite his lip, paw at Karkat’s dark mop of hair again in a futile attempt to flatten it so it won’t get up his nose.

It’s so normal, so easy, and you can’t remember the last time John was close to you like that, close and comfortable. A long time. Damn Karkat anyway, for sitting there and scowling at John, for not freaking out about the elbow-to-boob thing, something you always fudge up royally, blushing and stammering an apology when it happens and it always fucking does, cause even flattened by his binder the damn things are stuck smack-dab on his chest and a prime target for accidental grazing or nudging. It’s not that Karkat doesn’t look at John, he does, but never his chest. The long, sweat-damp line of John’s throat, or even the insides of his wrists, yes. His face. His eyes. His mouth.

It doesn’t help that you saw this shit coming lightyears ago, Karkat is as transparent as the trashy novels he reads. It doesn’t help that you would never have been able to guess John’d be, well, receptive. You think. It’s been a long time since John dated. Years. A decade.

Since you.

Karkat is the better person, he fucking is, you’re jealous of how he sees John as John, just John, and you aren’t even sure whether you can say the same thing. Because you’ve known John since you both were kids and he was Joan and sometimes wore skirts to school and held your hand and kissed you.

And you fucked it up, cause you were just as young and confused as John’d been.

Not Karkat though. Karkat treats him exactly how he treats everybody else: like shit. But special super deluxe shit he’ll fight to protect to his last breath, because you’re his special super deluxe shit.

“I hate this game,” Karkat snarls. “What use is it if you can’t kill the things killing you?”

“It’s survival horror, Kitkat,” you say. “Gotta use your noggin’ and not your aggressive alien invasion tactics.”

“I’ll aggressively alien invade your word chute with my fist.”

(and that’s all I had; the end)

[diamondsareapearlsbestfriend]

Sans/Toriel 30 Day OTP Challenge: Day Ten

AO3 | Day One | Day Two | Day Three | Day Four | Day Five | Day Six | Day Seven | Day Eight | Day Nine

day ten: flustered

prompt: “Your OTP being flustered. It could be one member, it could be both.“

It was just a pie.

Sans had been over to Toriel's a ton of times – with Papyrus, on his own, for dinner, swapping joke books, helping Frisk with homework, whatever. Today wasn't any different; she'd been promising/threatening to teach him how to bake properly pretty much from the moment they met. Just because he might have accidentally developed some...complicated, possibly not 100% platonic feelings about Toriel, it didn't have to change anything. He hadn't screwed everything up yet, and anyway, it was probably just a phase, like that week he let Papyrus convince him that matching backwards baseball caps were a good idea. No big deal. And those couldn't be butterflies in his stomach when he thought about spending the day with her, because he didn't even have a stomach and if there were butterflies, they'd just fly out of his ribcage, so. No butterflies. No reason for anything to bug him – just two good buds, making baked goods. Sans smirked to himself at the unintentional becoming-a-poet-without-being-previously-aware-of-it, mentally filing it away to tell Toriel later as knocked on the door.

"Knock knock," he called through the door as usual.

"Come in! It's open!" came Frisk's cheerful response. Sans let himself in, sighing and shaking his head at them in (mostly) mock disappointment.

"Kid, you're supposed to ask 'who's there?' Kinda irresponsible to leave the door unlocked like that, don't you think? You know, there are some real weird types around here."

"I know, and most of them are our friends," Frisk pointed out, not incorrectly, without looking away from examining themselves in the hallway mirror. "Anyway, it's obviously you because no one else except Mom actually says "knock knock" when they knock." They grinned as they caught Sans' sockets in the mirror and spun around, striking a pose as he took in what they were wearing: an anime-style school blazer and skirt, topped off with a neon pink wig that almost came down to their knees and a matching pair of huge, fluffy cat ears.

"What do you think? Notice anything different?"

Sans cocked his head. "Hmm...nope, not getting it. Help meow-t here?"

Frisk groaned, burying their head in their hands to stifle a giggle. "That was pawful. Mom!" they yelled up the stairs. "Sans is here!"

"I will just be a few minutes!" Toriel called back. "Tell him to come in and make himself at home!"

"Come in and make yourself at home!" Frisk told him, enthusiastically if unnecessarily. Something buzzed, and they grabbed their phone from their blazer pocket, glancing down at it with concern. "Oops, I gotta go. Alphys will freak out if we're late to the convention – more than she is already, I mean. Tell Mom I'll be back for dinner! Wait, Sans, come here a sec –" Before he could blink, Frisk pulled off their cat ears and slipped the headband over the top of Sans' skull instead, holding out their phone with a triumphant smile. Sans played along, grinning and throwing up some bunny ears behind their head as the camera clicked.

"I'll send it to Mom later! Save me some pie, okay?" Frisk grabbed their ears back before they disappeared through the door in a pink whirlwind, leaving Sans alone in the hallway. He remembered Toriel had a thing about people moving stuff in the kitchen without her, so he hung back, looking at the pictures framing the walls while he waited. There was Toriel and Frisk smiling outside the school; a surprisingly good portrait of that kid with no arms with Frisk's signature scribbled underneath; a still life of some flowers that looked older, but it was hard to tell because they were yellow anyway. Sans was halfway up the stairs looking at them when he heard Toriel...singing? It was more like a soft hum, indecipherable but tuneful snatches of words, or maybe just noises, floating down the stairs, rising and swooping around a melody as soothingly beautiful as Toriel herself. Sans felt the smile on his face growing as he listened to her, and he found himself following the song the rest of the way up the stairs like the call of a Shyren.

"Tori?" It was coming from behind an old-fashioned wooden door; Sans hadn't been upstairs too many times, but he was pretty sure this was her room. He knocked, and the door creaked open. "Are you in –"

The song cut off in a sharp, startled bleat as Sans poked his head around the door and Toriel whirled around –wisps of fire magic dancing in the shower around her, pure white and very naked. She scrambled to cover herself with the shower curtain as Sans slammed the door so fast he barely avoiding taking his own skull off in the process.

"Sorry, Tori, sorry! I thought, uh, I mean, I didn't know you were..." The words tumbled out in an incoherent rush as he felt himself blushing so furiously he had to press a hand to his cheekbone to make sure he wasn't actually on fire, eyes still firmly shut even though there was a whole door between them now.

"No, no, Sans, please, it is not your – ah, silly me, I ought to have locked the door!" Toriel let out a shrill, nervous giggle, her voice rising to a pitch more audible to dogs. "I do apologise for keeping you waiting. I will just be a few minutes more, and then we can..."

"No, right, sure, yeah – you take your time, I'll just be, uh...stairs. Down. Downstairs." Sans cringed at his own incoherent babbling as he headed back down the stairs – seriously, what was he doing? He was supposed to be a lot more chill than this – if he'd walked in on anyone else, he'd just have shrugged it off or thought it was funny. It was funny, sort of, the kind of wacky misunderstanding that happened in those terrible MTT sitcoms Papyrus used to watch all day. Toriel was cool, they'd probably laugh about it later – or just never mention it again, he'd be cool with that too. 

"Hello, Sans!" True to her word, she reappeared barely a minute later, greeting him with a typically warm, though slightly apologetic smile. "Please do excuse the, ah, delay. I thought I had better find some suitable attire for baking." Instead of her royal robes, she was wearing a loose, flowing skirt and her #1 GOAT MOM shirt from Frisk that was maybe a size too small, but she always wore with pride anyway; her cheeks looked just a little pinker than usual, probably from her shower – not that Sans was still thinking about that, or at least he was sure he'd forget in, like, the next five minutes. "Anyway!" she beamed, clapping her hands together excitedly. "I trust you are ready for your..."

"...tu-Toriel?" Sans finished with her; he knew it was coming, but somehow it still hadn't gotten old, the way Toriel's eyes sparkled as she brayed with laughter and nodded approvingly.

"Ah, you are learning already!" she teased back, beckoning him into the kitchen with a twist of her head. "Come – take off your jacket, and we can get started. I mean..." Toriel hesitated for a moment as she caught Sans' sockets, a blush colouring her cheeks as she realised her accidental innuendo, "you do not have to take it off, of course, if you would prefer not to! But it will be easier without your clothes – I mean sleeves – in the way." 

"Heh." Sans grinned back at her, trying to shrug off any lingering awkwardness along with his hoodie, as he slung it over the back of a chair. "Sure, Tori, whatever you say – you're the boss."

"Wonderful." With a sweep of her hand, Toriel turned to the immaculately presented countertop, where all the ingredients were already precisely weighed and laid out in preparation. "In that case, let us begin! First we make the shell. Combine the flour, sugar and butter in that bowl, if you would be so kind."

Sans did as he was told, and they soon settled into a rhythm; it was weirdly soothing, pouring and mixing and breaking eggs while Toriel directed him, reading from the recipe and occasionally nodding and murmuring to herself as she studied his technique.

"Mm-hmm, yes, good...ah, I see." She paused, hovering over Sans' shoulder for a moment as he prodded ineffectively at the sticky mass in the bowl that had yet to turn into anything that looked like pastry with a wooden spoon. "May I?"

"Uh, sure...knock yourself out." Maybe it was all the stirring, but he was starting to feel very warm as Toriel leaned over him, removing the spoon before gently taking his hands and guiding them into the bowl, kneading and squeezing the mixture between their interlinked fingers.

"There, do you see?" she murmured, breath warm against the top of his spine as the dough began to form, soft and sticky under their hands. "Like this – it is a little messy, but do not be afraid to be firm with it. Feel your dough. After all, a good pastry is an essential foundation for the perfect pie – the backbone, one might even say!"

"Heh...right." Sans managed a weak chuckle, even though it was pretty difficult to concentrate on the dough with Toriel's body pressed against his back, the gentle vibration of her laughter through his bones; he could feel his cheekbones heating up as her fur inadvertently caressed his bare forearms, electricity like little pinpricks shooting all the way up his arms and straight to his soul. He wasn't even sure whether to be more relieved or disappointed when Toriel moved away, appraising their handiwork with a satisfied nod. 

"Much better! Now you can roll it out."

Sans scooped up the ball of dough, squishing it experimentally a few times before he laid it out on the countertop and picked up the rolling pin. He attempted to flatten it out, but the dough clung stubbornly first to his hands and then to the rolling pin, making it pretty much impossible to roll it into anything resembling pie-shape. 

"Ah, you may want to use some more flour for this part," Toriel offered, after a few moments watching him wrestle with the dough with her head cocked curiously to one side. "To stop it growing so...attached to you." She smiled and winked when Sans caught her eye, reaching for the flour bag. "Allow me..."

She sprinkled a generous helping of flour over the dough, dusting the countertop, the rolling pin and a little on the top of Sans' skull too, but he was more than okay with it as he flashed her a grateful smile in return. "Hey, you're right - that's a lot better. Thanks, Tori."

"You are most welcome, Sans – that is what I am here for!" She beamed like a proud teacher – which he supposed she was – as he rolled out the dough again and this time it actually stayed in place, enough for Sans to lift it carefully into the pie tin. He glanced back at Toriel for confirmation, who nodded encouragingly, so he started evening it out, pressing the dough with the tip of the rolling pin and his fingers - messily but firmly - as far into the crimped edges as it would go, like the recipe said. Toriel was quiet for a few moments, giving him space to work until Sans stepped back to take a look and she leaned in expectantly.

"Does that look okay to you?" 

"Wonderful!" Toriel clasped her hands together, her eyes lighting up with delight as she looked over his shoulder. "That looks to me like a fine dough indeed. I do believe it is ready for the oven – would you like to do the honours?"

"Don't mind if I dough." It wasn't his best joke, but Toriel still giggled as she made a show of opening the oven door for him; Sans had to admit he never expected to get this excited about pastry, but her enthusiasm was infectious and he could feel himself grinning too, weirdly honoured as he slid the pie carefully into the oven.

"Usually, I would add a touch of fire magic at this point," Toriel added as they closed the door together. "But sometimes it is nice to do things the traditional way, is it not?"

"Sure, traditional is good." Sans agreed as he glanced up from the oven and into her eyes; there was a smudge of flour across her nose, and it made him smile. "Hey, Tori – you, uh, you got something there..."

"Hmm?" Toriel blinked, her crimson eyes widening as Sans reached up, edging forwards onto his tiptoes just a little. She lowered her head to meet him, and the slightest hint of pink seemed to bloom across her now extra-white cheeks as Sans gently brushed his thumb across her nose, making her scrunch it up in an almost unfairly adorable way that made him want to do it again, and again.

"Got it."

"Oh! I see. Thank you." Toriel straightened up, but there was a mischievous edge to her smile, a sudden glint in her eye that was somehow simultaneously alarming and exciting (alarmingly exciting?) – and then she reached out and patted the top of his head, deliberately dusting off the flour and dough debris on her hands. "How rude of me. I suppose I ought to share?"

"Oh – okay, you wanna go?" Sans asked, any attempt at sounding tough probably undermined by the fact that he was laughing too as he shook the sticky flakes of dough from his skull. "Fine, if that's how it is – but I gotta warn ya, Tori, you might be about to have a -"

A blizzard of flour hit Sans right between the sockets before he could finish, and then it was on, both of them shrieking and snorting with laughter as they hurled any and all available foodstuffs across the kitchen at each other like they were Frisk's age. Toriel wielded her flour bag like some kind of snow queen, casting merciless flurries into the air and coating everything in her path, while Sans grabbed whatever he could to defend himself – sugar, cinnamon, the sticky globs of dough still clinging to his hands – until they ended up in a kind of standoff, backed against the counter. Sans was pretty sure he'd got her with a conveniently placed tub of cocoa when she dropped the flour and hurriedly bent down to pick it up – but she somehow slipped past with ninja-fast reflexes before he could touch her, neatly reversing their positions as she caught both of his hands in one of hers, not roughly enough to hurt but effortlessly rendering him helpless as she pinned him back against the counter.

"Oh my – I am sorry," she crowed, a blatant lie going by the triumphant smirk playing on her lips as she dangled the flour bag threateningly just above Sans' head with her other hand, "but what was that you were saying about a bad time...?"

"Okay, okay..." Sans knew she wouldn't actually dump the whole thing on him – even if she was that cruel, it'd be a terrible waste – but he squirmed ineffectively in her grip anyway, because damn, she was strong. She could probably snap him in half if she wanted to, and that...probably shouldn't have been stirring up as many feelings as it was when he caught Toriel's eye, both of them flushed, laughing and panting, "you win, I surrender, uncle. I'll do anything you say – just, please, no more flour."

“Hmm, I thought so.” Toriel released him, smoothing down her skirt and trying to sound stern, but she still had a twinkle in her eye as she glanced around at the state of her kitchen. “Very well, enough of this – we still have a pie to complete, do we not? The work has barely begun!”

She wasn't kidding about that, as they spent the rest of the afternoon dashing between pots of ominously bubbling cream and caramel, pouring and stirring and whisking frantically under Toriel's guidance: "Hmm, that looks a little lumpy. Try raising the heat – not too much, it will burn! Ah, perhaps leave this to me, you can start mixing the eggs over there...you do not think it is supposed to look like that? Well, try tasting it – with a spoon, Sans. You did remember to separate all the yolks, yes? What is that on the floor...?"

But despite being dangerously close to hard work, when Sans pulled out the pie wearing Toriel's way-too-big oven gloves, it was worth it. Because even the delicious aroma of butterscotch wafting temptingly through the room couldn't compete with the way Toriel's face lit up as he revealed their masterpiece, her fangs gleaming as she broke into a wide, dazzling smile.

"Oh my goodness, it looks perfect! Such a lovely colour – a little burn is fine, it adds character  – and a very nice rise. And that smell! Mmm, I can hardly wait to taste it!" Toriel licked her lips as she threw an arm around Sans' shoulders, pulling him into a celebratory hug. "Well done, Sans! Truly, I am impressed with your progress."

"Heh...thanks, Tori." He grinned up at her, flushing a little with pride despite the automatic instinct to shrug off the compliment. "It's not bad, huh? I mean, you helped a lot, but –"

"Oh, nonsense – do not be modest," she interrupted, fondly but firmly, giving him a playful squeeze before they separated and she moved onto collecting the various pots and bowls scattered across the countertop. "You should be proud of yourself. I must admit," she continued, piling them into the sink, "when Papyrus told me about your...first attempt at baking, I was surprised. I did recall you asking for the recipe, but somehow, I did not expect you to be interested in this type of thing."

"You mean the infamous sweet quiche?" Sans met her eyes with a wry smile as he joined her, picking up a few spoons and dropping them into the sink. “Yeah, I know –guess I was finally ready for a change from Grillby's every night. That and, well, Paps always cooks for us, even if it isn't the most...edible – but he tries, y'know? Always has. So I guess I thought maybe it was time to start pulling my weight, too. Make us something nice every once in a while.”

“How sweet.” Toriel glanced over at him, smiling with big, soft eyes that made him a little weak at the patellas. “Well, you have certainly made us something nice, and I do not doubt there will be many more where that came from – if you wish to continue learning, of course. But, for now...” She paused, quickly drying her hands on a tea towel while casting a hopeful look back at the pie. “I would say you have earned a little break, have you not?”

“You saw right through me, Tori.” Sans pulled up a chair, grinning as Toriel eagerly placed two plates on the table and went to bring the pie over – because yeah, of course he wanted to make something nice for Papyrus, But maybe he'd also kind of always wanted to make Toriel proud of him, even back in Snowdin when she was just a mysterious voice behind a door. He wanted to tell her he'd tried her recipe, just to hear what she'd say; back then, obviously, he never thought he'd get to bake it with her, and that it'd be better than anything he imagined, watching Toriel cut the pie into near-perfect triangles with as much care and precision as she took over everything as he sat with his jaw resting on his hand and a warm, fuzzy feeling growing in his soul, so sweet and strong he had to glance down to make sure it wasn't actually glowing through his t-shirt just before Toriel looked up and caught his sockets.

"What are you smiling at?" she asked, raising a suspicious eyebrow but smiling too as she slid a generous portion onto both of their plates.

Sans resisted the temptation to point out that technically he was always smiling, even if he was pretty sure he hadn't actually smiled like this in a long time. "Just the, uh...the pie. It's a great pie. Great lesson, Tori. I really feel like I've learned a lot.”

“If you say so.” Toriel let out a soft chuckle, a little bemused but fond as she dug into the pie. She was so perfect, closing her eyes and sighing in bliss as she took her first bite, and Sans couldn't have wiped the grin from his face if he'd tried, as a heavenly chorus of butterscotch and cinnamon melted in his mouth and he knew for sure – if he didn't already – that he was so, so boned.

But he didn't even care any more, because this – this was so, so worth it.