#I’m sure you’ve seen a lot of it before but still 😅💕

[thesistersarcheron]

Hello hello! Your secret santa again.

Just wanted to let you know that I've finished drafting your gift ;) all that's left is to polish it, and then post sometime after the 17th I believe (I need to double check the rules for posting lol)! I still haven't decided tumblr vs AO3 lol but in either case I'll tag you to make sure you see it :)

To answer some of my own questions:

I too live in a place where it snows only infrequently, so I mainly drink my tea iced as well haha. However it's been rainy lately, so I've been using that as my excuse to go through some hot tea.

I love the sound of boots in the snow, so strongly agree with you there.

And it's so cool that you quilt!! I love the Feyre quilt and I havent even seen it, and I don't need to because it's just that incredible. It's funny you made it before you even got into acotar, it was like some sort of sign from the universe maybe 👀

I've done some quilting with my grandma and it takes so much patience so kudos to you for being able to create such wonderful things!!

I myself have recently taken up crochet - I'm learning to make a bunch of little critters (I started with triceratops, and I'm going to try to learn how to make octopi and stegosaurus over winter break). I have a slight plushie addiction, so now I can make them for a lot less money than I could buy them for ahaha so it works out!

PS Never worry about taking a mental health break! Take all the time you need <3

PPS Happy birthday!!!! Not sure of the exact day, but I saw the fic that @ultadverb posted for you and it was incredible ✨ but yeah I hope you had/have a good bday!!

That’s so exciting!! I can’t wait to see what you’ve come up with—I’m sure it’s going to be amazing, whatever it is! If, for whatever reason, I don’t see it within 24-ish hours, feel free to send a link my way. Tumblr has had trouble alerting me to DMs and tags lately!

Iced tea and boots crunching in snow squad >>>>>

And I’m just the opposite, haha. I think crochet and knitting require extreme amounts of patience and skill; I started off knitting when I was a kid, but quickly transitioned to sewing instead because I hated keeping track of my stitches. I’m wildly impressed that you have enough patience and organizational skills to keep up with plushie patterns. I made a single amigurumi doll that was all misshapen and lumpy, and that was quite enough for me. 😅

Thank you! I had a lovely birthday—so much that I’ve taken another health break this weekend to recover, lol. 🎂💕

[livesincerely]

The scene that comes to mind is your first chapter for the run away with me fic. The symbolism really stands out so beautifully and it made me so hungry for more it was like I had a hummingbird vibrating in my chest and I had to take 10 deep breaths before I was able to calm down and be patient. (Still being patient by the way 😉)

💕💗💕💗💗💕😭✨💗💕🥰💗✨😊💕💕🥰

(Please accept this working draft of chapter two as a sign of my unending appreciation for you)

00000

“You look tired, honey,” Medda says, cupping Davey’s face in her hand. She holds his gaze, then pats his cheek⁠—carefully, caringly⁠. Davey closes his eyes against a wave of tears that threaten to spill over. “You think this is gonna soothe that bleeding heart of yours?”

“I don’t know,” Davey answers, achingly honest. Admitting it hurts, but like how a antiseptic hurts when you’re cleaning a wound⁠—a necessary kind of pain. “But I can’t keep on like I have been.”

“A little space can be a good thing,” Medda says nodding. “No shame in taking some time for yourself, finding some room to breathe. Just as long as you don’t let yourself float away.”

….

Spot rubs at his eyes, hair and clothes rumpled from sleep.

“You couldn’t have waited another couple of days?” he asks, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. “We’re literally about to get out for spring break.”

There’s no censure in Spot’s tone, no heat in his words, but Davey can’t help but sink in on himself, guilt and shame creeping in once again.

“That probably would’ve made more sense,” Davey murmurs, eyes trained on the floor, worrying the hem of his sweatshirt between his fingers, “Would’ve been smarter to wait⁠—”

“This couldn’t’ve waited,” Jack says, a hand landing low on Davey’s back, gently drawing him in, and the expression on his face is as steadfast as stone. He looks Davey dead in the eyes and repeats, in a voice that’s soft and serious meant only for him, “This couldn’t’ve waited. Not even for another second.”

Davey doesn’t know what to do with this declaration. He ducks his head, swallowing heavily.

Spot glances back and forth between the two of them, brow furrowed, then seems to come to some kind of conclusion, his expression and posture easing all at once.

“Yeah, alright,” he says.

00000

Davey watches the scenery rush past in a blur of hazy shadows and electric lights, eyes unfocused and mind whirring. Something’s buzzing in the back of his throat, something fluttering inside his lungs, his pulse tremoring in his chest.

He can’t tell if it’s the car rumbling along the highway that’s shaking beneath him or if that’s just him, the rush of adrenaline fading away into quivering aftershocks that make Davey feel like he might vibrate right out of his skin.

Jack reaches out and turns the radio down, the music quieting into a gentle hum.

“Davey,” he says. “Are you okay?”

Davey sucks in a shaky breath.

“I don’t know,” he answers for what feels like the hundredth time. He can’t tell if it’s gotten easier to say or not. “But I definitely wasn’t going to be okay back home.”

“Yeah, alright,” Jack says after a second, nodding to himself. “We can work with that.”

We, Davey notices, heart giving a nervous jolt. We.

He’s heard the word used far to often, lately⁠⁠⁠, mostly in regards to things that should be Davey’s alone, but that he’s been forced to relinquish: his choices, his plans, his dreams, his life. But it sounds different coming from Jack⁠—like sharing instead of taking.

“—ve? Davey?”

“Sorry, what?” Davey says, pulled from his musings.

Jack slants a look at him, the concern in his expression thrown into soft, golden light every few seconds by the string of street lamps lining the highway.

“You wanna catch some sleep?” Jack suggests. “I’m good to stay up for a few hours if you need’ta rest for a bit.”

Davey shakes his head, a jerky little movement. “No, that’s not… I can’t sleep, I’m too keyed up.”

“Okay,” Jack says, all ease and understanding. “How about some food, then? You hungry? Thirsty? When’s the last time you ate somethin’?”

Davey fiddles with the hem of his sweatshirt. “Dinner last night, I guess.”

Jack frowns, immediately picking up on the guilty, uncertain note in Davey’s voice. “What is it?”

“I…” Davey takes a steadying breath, then quietly admits, “I threw it all up right before I called you. I couldn’t… I couldn’t…”

Davey senses more than sees Jack’s jaw tightening unhappily in response to this confession. He hits his indicator and starts merging right, heading for the next exit.

“I’m sorry,” Davey says miserably. “I didn’t mean to, it’s just a thing that happens, sometimes, if I get too stressed, I can’t help it⁠—”

“Davey,” Jack cuts in firmly. Davey’s mouth closes with a soft click. “I’m not upset with you.”

“You sound like you’re upset,” Davey says.

“But not with you,” Jack says, almost biting the words as they fall out of his mouth. “Not with you.”

It takes Jack a while to find anything open, given how early it is. Davey points out a convenience store sitting on a corner, the lit interior a promising indication, but Jack waves him off, muttering under his breath about a hot meal.

Eventually they pull into the drive thru of a 24-hour burrito stand.

“What do you want?” Jack says, rolling his window down.

The speaker buzzes, a worker calling, “What can I get you?” in an accented voice. Jack responds in Spanish instead of English⁠—asking for a second to think about it, presumably⁠—and turns back to Davey, expectant.

“Whatever is fine,” Davey says, picking at his nails.

“Davey,” Jack says. “C’mon, work with me here.”

“No pork,” Davey offers, unsure of what else to say.

Jack sighs. “Yeah, I’d figured that much. You want chicken or beef?”

The worker says something over the loud speaker⁠—Davey can’t understand the words but the tone of it screams impatience. Jack cuts in with rapid Spanish and the voice falls silent again.

“Chicken or beef?” Jack patiently repeats.

“Chicken.”

“You want your rice on the side?” Jack asks.

“Yeah.”

“Extra pico?”

“...Yeah.”

….

“I’m so fucking tired of crying,” Davey mutters, scrubbing furiously at his eyes like that will prevent the tears from spilling. “I’m never gonna be able to do this, I can’t even keep it together⁠—”

“Hey,” Jack says, gently knocking Davey’s hands away.

00000

@livininmyhead