#I’ve got so many notes and sketches for them but somehow never posted anything?

[alaynnah]

I’m getting out of art block by drawing something fun: outfits!

[erinarigby]

What I find interesting about those sketches is that Paul isn't necessarily enjoying the sexual encounter/cigarette kiss or being in John's lap but he is clearly enjoying being held and kissed by John, he's leaning into it and his eyes are closed so he can enjoy how good it feels more fully. John's eyes are also closed and he's blushing a little. The implied sexual intimacy of the cigarette kiss doesn't move Paul over much and he's already distracted by something in the 3rd sketch despite cradling John's head. but in the 2nd sketch Paul is greatly enjoys being kissed and held while they're nude together, even pressing his chest to John's while they do it.

The sketches seem to me to tell a brief story where maybe Paul is putting up with John's sexual needs so that he can get a flicker of romance from him where John kisses and holds him, and somehow he enjoys that more than cigarettes touching.

Another interesting tidbit is the implied power differential between them. Paul can supply what John wants but he can also pick up and leave (the third sketch where he seems to be already on his way out the door, at least in his mind) whenever he wants. Except Paul's expression in the lapsitting sketch strikes me as "inspired" he's seen a fresh truth or received a new chord progression from the Collective Unconscious. John inspired many people in artistic ways with sexual contact, there's a post on thedissenters of a young woman's testimonial about how spending a night with John opened her creativity, thru conversation as well as sex. Paul as the driving force of the Beatles may have received a new artistic message. Meanwhile John looks up with some resignation and longing and digs his fingers into Paul's ribcage. He's less interested in the Inspiration and wants to stay in bed with Paul to touch cigarette ends again.

It's a little 💔 because John may be receiving more emotionally from their romantic encounters than Paul does and the gap isn't closed easily. 2/2

part 1 of the ask

first off, you’re spoiling me anon. i’ve never gotten this detailed of an analysis on my art work this is making me giddy because i can explain some of my thought process behind my drawings!

your interpretation of the cigarette kiss as a sexual act, super eye opening. strangely enough i didn’t really catch onto that while i drew myself, unintentional sexual allegory there on my part? after all i do use references for my artwork and this was based on a vintage cigarette ad i found.

onto the other sketches, your interpretation is on point with how i viewed it. i mentioned in the notes and reblogs of the post my very intentional usage of stills from a brigitte bardot movie as reference.

john’s attraction and near obsession with brigitte was projected onto people he loved, like cynthia and making her dye her hair blonde. i wanted to make it seem like john was putting paul into a role of being his object of sexual desire, and i thought it would be perfect to use bardot as that symbol. (plus i really liked these poses.) bardot plays that archetype of sexually aggressive hedonistic women, so there’s the part of the power imbalance. though in your interpretation, subverted by paul craving the romantic intimacy more than the sexual. also there’s the importance of paul in that female role (this is not meant as me the artist trying to feminize paul or anything) but rather commenting on john’s objectification of paul. i was mainly thinking of his comments about paul’s only good trait and the only reason he got so far being his “pretty face” in hdys.

important to note, this isn’t commentary on lenmac irl it’s just a fictional narrative in my art inspired a bit on things in reality! this is a disclaimer for everyone that this is not an analysis on the real people, just my silly drawings :)

for anyone else who wants to let me know their interpretation on my art, the drawings are here and here

[sharkboygirlish]

Messy.

ONE-SHOT

Word count: 2793

Disclaimer:  One piece and all it’s characters belong to Eiichiro Oda, I just like to write about them.

Warning: None

Rating: T (i guess?? there’s cursing)

Author’s Note: Whale, this is the first fanfic I’ve posted on the interwebs since high school so please keep that in mind, lol. I do plan to finish it sooner than later so check back in a few days if you want to read the rest, sorry I don’t have it all done right now.  At long last it it FINISHED.

Feel free to tell me what u think! Unless it’s mean, then I ask that u keep those thoughts in ur noggin because I’m just writing these for fun not for grades.

Without further ado, here ya go.

Author’s Note pt 2: So i didn’t end up going the smut route like I originally planned, but I think it worked out better bc this one got nice and Emotional.

Summary: Zoro really shouldn’t agree to be Nami’s drinking partner if he wanted to keep their friendship from getting... Complicated.

__________________________________________

The moon was floating high in the night sky when Nami wandered onto the deck, unable to sleep even after a few hours of sketching. 

She wanted company – specifically, she wanted the company of the crew’s resident alcoholic. It only took a few minutes to find him on the lawn deck with his back against a tree and his eye closed. ‘How typical.’

Nami smiled a small, excited smile as she strode over to him and squatted between his parted legs. An unconscious sigh left her nose as she swept her gaze up and down his face. She caught herself thinking, ‘He really is easy on the eyes isn’t he.’ ....again. 

Who was she kidding? She’d been thinking the same thing every time she looked his way lately. 

Two years ago she’d been able to keep the immature crush she had on him locked tightly away but somehow - it had gotten out and was slowly consuming her entire being. 

Nami hoped he hadn’t noticed how often she invited him to drink with her because she didn’t think she could handle being rejected. So she settled for spending time alone with him whenever and however she could. 

“Hey, moss-head,” the navigator said finally, leaning in to squint at him, “Are you asleep?”

He had literally just settled down for a nice cat nap when the navigator appeared suddenly to interrupt him. ‘Damn. What the hell did she want now?’ 

Instead of answering, Zoro chose to ignore her and pretend like he was deep asleep. ‘Why won’t she go bother someone else?’

Nami started prodding his cheek with one finger to rouse him if he really was sleeping, ”Zorooo wake up, I wanna drink,” she whined and his eyelid opened instantly.

‘Why’s she so damn pretty..’ was the first thought he had when he realized that she was a lot closer than he’d anticipated. 

He mentally chastised himself after, trying to remind his id that Nami had never once indicated that she wanted to be anything other than friends and he should respect that. 

But… There was no harm in looking from time to time was there? And she was pretty. She’d always been... ‘Oh for fuck’s sake, now he sounded like Sanji. He needed to get a grip.’

“Helloooooo,” Nami waved her hand in Zoro’s face until he snapped back to reality and snatched her wrist up, pulling it away. He scowled but it wasn’t deep, and now he was refusing to look her in the eye. “What was that about, huh Zoro?”

“Nothing.” The swordsman replied perhaps a little too quickly to avoid suspicion, “Thought I heard a noise, doesn’t matter – oi, didn’t you want to do something?” 

He couldn’t remember what exactly it was. He’d been so distracted by the way her bangs framed her face and sometimes got caught in her eyelashes—’Damnit! He was doing it again.’

Nami smirked again but didn’t press the subject anymore. She’d do that later once they started drinking. “Weren’t you listening to me? You’re so rude, maybe I should find someone else to share my booze with.”

Was it a good idea to go drink with Nami when he kept catching himself thinking about feelings that he’d been suppressing for the last two years? Probably not…

But he couldn’t just decline an opportunity to get buzzed. ‘And... Maybe he wanted to get buzzed with Nami, specifically.’  

Zoro scoffed, mostly at himself. “Quit playing games, damnit, do you want me to drink with you or not?”

“You’re so stubborn,” The navigator teased with a pleased smile that made his heart beat unevenly, “I could care less if you join me, but you’re not allowed to come unless you say you’ll be nice.”

“Nami. I am older than you, quit treating me like a fucking child or I swear-”

“That’s no way to talk to a lady who’s getting you drunk for free, Roronoa Zoro. If you can’t be nice then I’ll just add the cost of everything you drink to your debt and-”

Zoro didn’t have time to ruminate over the way hearing her say his full name made him shiver because he had to shut her up before she did charge him. 

“Okay, okay. I’ll be... nice.” He hissed through gritted teeth and her answering giggle made his pulse flutter. He had to fight to keep himself from smiling. ‘What the hell was going on with him tonight? Was he sick?’

“Good boy,” she turned and started walking towards the Sunny’s aquarium bar, glancing back over her shoulder to make sure he was coming.

“Don’t push your luck, woman.” Zoro snarled to mask his confusion over the sudden need to touch her that he felt scratching at the back of his head. He really shouldn’t agree to be Nami’s drinking partner if he wanted to keep their friendship from getting... Complicated.

He knew it, but he followed her up the stairs all the same.

                                                       * * *

“Why d’you always want to drink with me anyway, witch?” Skeptical of her intentions, his narrowed eye fixed itself on Nami as she approached him holding two maroon tinted bottles. She offered one to him and he accepted it – but he didn’t let his guard down yet.

Zoro lowered his gaze to check the label out, whistling long and low when he read 23% alcohol per volume. A couple puzzle pieces clicked together in his head ‘Oh, that’s why. Because if she tried to drink this with anyone else they’d pass out after two glasses.’

“Would you believe that I just like hanging out with you?” Though her tone was teasing she was actually being genuine, she had a lot of fun with him whenever they went out.

“No–“ He paused when Nami kicked him in the shin hard enough to make him swear. Reaching down with his free hand he rubbed the sore patch of skin and glared daggers at his crewmate. “What the fuck was that for?!”

“You said you’d be nice, Zoro! So be nice or I’ll charge you a hundred thousand beris for that bottle.” Nami uncorked hers but waited to hand the corkscrew over until he behaved himself. The look he was giving her would probably frighten a small child but she didn’t flinch.

‘This was his choice.’ He reminded himself. Of his own free will he chose to get drunk with Nami instead of napping, and that meant dealing with her bossiness no matter how much he loathed it. ‘Sometimes he just wanted to grab her by the shoulders and make her shut up, there were better things her mouth could be doing anyway-‘

“Why do you keep staring at me like that, do I have a zit or something?”

Zoro sat up so fast that he banged his shoulder on the underside of the countertop. ‘What the hell was that? What the hell was wrong with him?’ He hadn’t even opened the damn bottle and he was already making himself look like an idiot.

“No,” the swordsman grumbled, wracking his brain for a believable excuse, “Just thinking about how I’ll owe you money even after I’m dead if you keep charging me for bullshit.” That made her laugh and Zoro cursed himself for how much he liked hearing it. “Don’t see how it’s funny for me, witch.”

Nami let him take the corkscrew from her, eyes crinkled with amusement while he opened his bottle. “You’ll just have to stay alive until you pay me back in full, I guess!” She trilled before taking a long, heavy drink from hers.

“Yeah?” Zoro snorted before mimicking her and downing about half of the wine in the container. It tasted disgusting, which he’d expected, but that didn’t make the bitter aftertaste any less miserable. His nose wrinkled slightly as he set the bottle down. “I bet even if I did try to pay you off you’d find a way to charge me more.”

“You make me sound so heartless,” the navigator batted her eyelashes innocently, pretending to look hurt, “Why would I ever do such a thing?”

“Hah.” He scoffed before chugging some more wine and failing to keep track of how much he was drinking each time. “Because you want to keep me on a leash since I don’t throw myself at you like that dumbass cook.”

An impish smirk crawled it’s way onto Nami’s face that made him immediately regret what he’d just said. ‘Fuck. Damnit!’

“So…” She began slowly, savoring every second that the swordsman spent avoiding direct eye contact with her, “You admit that you are one of my lap dogs?”

A muscle in his jaw flexed and he stopped drinking for one second to grunt, “That’s not what I said.”

“That’s what I heard!” Chimed Nami as she rose from her seat, stepping over to Zoro and tracing a finger under his jaw while he drained the last few drops of liquid. “I should get you a collar, so people know who to bring you to when you get lost.”

Normally he would have snapped at her for poking fun at his sense, or lack thereof, direction but he wasn’t listening to her. She’d come close enough for him to pick up her scent and maybe it was the alcohol intensifying his feelings, but it was suffocating him in a good way.

He loved the way she smelled. Tangerines from her soaps mixed with salty seawater and traces of sunscreen. A hint of orange blossom, but only when she was close to him like this. 

Zoro inhaled deeply through his nose and, without realizing it, his expression melted into something affectionate and gentle. ‘In two years she’d changed in so many different ways… but she still smelled the same. She still smelled like home.’

                                                        * * *

“What are you thinking about, Zoro?” Her voice void of it’s usual teasing tone, Nami’s curiosity was piqued by his sudden shift in demeanor. He looked soft and peaceful, like he didn’t have anything to worry about. She wanted to know why.

‘Ah, fuck.’ What was he supposed to tell her? That he was thinking about how good she smelled? ‘Yeah right.’ Zoro was quiet for a while, mulling over his words until he came up with an explanation that didn’t sound as creepy – but also wasn’t a lie.

“I guess..” he finally murmured, his gaze shifting to meet hers, “It’s just been a while and… I was thinking about how nice it feels to be back here, with everyone…” a brief pause then he added, “I missed you guys.” ‘Look at him being all gushy and emotional, this wine really was something else.’ Zoro reached to brush his fingertips by her temple, catching a stray lock of hair and tucking it behind her ear, “I missed you.”

When had Zoro ever been this honest with her about the way he felt? Never was the answer, but now he seemed to trust her well enough to know she wouldn’t spill his secrets. Nami took his face in both of her hands, surprising him, and pulled his head down so she could kiss his forehead. “I missed you too, Zoro.”

Something about hearing her say that she’d missed him too broke a dam in his chest that he’d been trying to keep together for two years. Hormoness flooded through his bloodstream quicker than Zoro could even process them and before he knew it he was practically throwing his arms around Nami’s waist and crushing her against his chest.

“Nami—” he pressed his face into her neck to hide the tears that he couldn’t hold back anymore. Sober he might have cared about losing it like this around her but she was here and… ‘He just – needed to hold her.’ Hold her and smell her and feel how real she was because she had almost been taken from him.

‘He’d barely begun to process what he had been through on Thriller Bark when they were attacked in Sabaody. If he tried to think back on it his memories would get hazy and his bones would ache from their very cores. He knew what had happened but it’s like his brain was protecting him from understanding how close to death he’d come. Then – to be torn away from the people he loved with all of his heart? Who he had just nearly killed himself to protect?

It had ripped him apart and rubbed salt into every wound. And it fucking hurt. The same kind of pain he felt when he saw Kuina dead on the floor of their dojo. He was scared, he was furious, he was devastated – all over again but this time it was so much worse. So, so much worse.

That was why he had trained so hard over the last two years. Because he couldn’t bear the grief that came with loving them so deeply – so he got stronger. And stronger. And stronger. No matter the cost to his body, he would become powerful enough to defeat anyone who crossed them. Then… He would never have to feel the agony that he did when he first woke up on Kuraigana Island ever again.

Taking on all of Luffy’s suffering in Thriller Bark had been the most physically painful experience of his entire life – but that was nothing compared to how much it hurt to think that his friends were gone forever, that he hadn’t been able to protect them.

Training made it easy not to think about what had happened -- but now he was home, and they were safe - and he was realizing just how close he’d come to losing all of them. At once. And he could do nothing to stop it.’

Startled by him grabbing her, Nami was prepared to give the pirate a good smack if he was getting handsy but… He started trembling. ‘Was he not feeling well?’ Her mouth opened to form the question then stopped. His breathing hitched while his entire body jerked and she realized…

‘Zoro was crying.’

Roronoa Zoro, who prided himself on his strength, was sobbing wretchedly into her neck. ‘He must have been holding this in since Sabaody.’ Nami’s heart ached for him and his stupid pride that forced him to torture himself instead of letting him cry like he needed to. She’d been expecting him to crash at some point, how couldn’t he? Even someone as strong as Zoro was still a human being.

One of her arms cradled his head while the other wound round his shoulders, her fingers combing gently through his hair. “Oh you sweet, sweet boy…” she spoke in the tone that Bellemere used to use when Nami and Nojiko were frightened by a passing thunderstorm. It always calmed her, maybe it would calm Zoro, too.

‘Quit fucking crying you loser you’re supposed to be a man.’ But he couldn’t, he literally could not stop because he was trying to. “I wasn’t strong enough,” his voice quivered at the edges and he hated it. ‘He was definitely never going to drink this kind of wine again ever. Not if it turned him into a blubbering mess like this every time.’

“Shhh, no. No. Don’t you dare try to blame yourself for what happened. Hey, look at me.” Nami urged his head off her shoulder and cupped his face in both of her palms, “None of us were strong enough, okay? Not even Luffy.” Each tear that fell she tenderly swept away with the pad of her thumb. The corner of her mouth turned up as she assured him, “But we are strong enough now. We can take care of each other. Nothing is ever going to tear us apart again, Zoro.”

‘She was right. Of course, she was right. He needed to have faith in his crewmates and his captain. They could do anything as long as they had each other.’ His breathing slowly evened out as he focused on anchoring himself back to reality. He wasn’t in Sabaody or Kuraigana – he was on the Sunny. In the bar, with Nami who had grown so much since he last saw her. The look in his eye softened like it had before his breakdown.

“You’re staring at me again, Zoro.” The navigator teased, her hands falling to rest on his shoulders. He hadn’t let go of her yet but she didn’t mind, he could hold on to her for as long as he needed.

A ghost of his usual smirk passed across his face. “Sorry, Nami…” Zoro took a little risk by leaning in to press a chaste but lingering kiss to her cheek, then traced a path with the edge of his nose to her ear, murmuring, “Wine makes me a little… Messy.”

[the28thofseptemberr]

helloooo!! i didn't do a fic rec last month because i was so busy with my exams and barely had time to read, so this month's post is going to comprise of mostly fics i've read in june but also some i've read in may.

thank you to all of the incredible writers, please go support them!! and remember to read all of the tags and possible warnings before reading the fic! here is the list of fics (mostly below the cut):

read

•° — led by your beating heart by @missandrogyny 29.4k | E | famous harry/non-famous louis

Nick leans over. "Oh," he says, his voice smug. "Who is that?"

Harry just blinks at his phone. "Um," he manages to stammer out.

"Who's that, Harry?" Nick asks again, but this time he raises his eyebrows and smirks. Harry knows Nick is just teasing, and that he's not really looking for new Harry Styles gossip, but, um. He might have found something. Accidentally.

Harry opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is another 'um'. He really needs to work on translating his thoughts into words. But then it probably wouldn't be any help right now, would it? His mind is as blank as a newly erased etch-a-sketch.

"Oh," Nick says again, this time gleefully, seemingly having picked up on Harry's distress. "Looks like we've got a story here! Are you going to call or delete her number?"

Her number. So Nick thinks it's a girl. Well, Harry can't blame him: 'Lou' is kind of an androgynous nickname. His stylist's name is Lou.

But this Lou, well, Louis, he's kind of, really, really not a girl. He's really pretty though, which, is something.

(Or: AU where Harry's in One Direction, Louis isn't, and they reconnect over a game of 'Call or Delete'.)

note: this was so funny and cute and well written, and everyone was characterized so perfectly!! i adored the chemistry between louis and harry, this fic kept me smiling for the whole time while i was reading <3

•° — sounds like love to me by @neondiamond 14.6k | G | kid fic

“Do you want to hear the heartbeat?”

Louis watches as Harry’s face falls with the realization that this is one of those things he won’t be able to experience. For a second, Louis considers saying no, to show Harry they’re truly on the same boat through all of this. But he nods in the end, reaching over for Harry’s hand as the doctor flips a switch. Noise fills the room then, and it takes a few seconds for the sound to become clear enough for Louis to make out the baby’s fast heartbeat.

“It’s really fast,” he voices his thoughts out loud as he uses his thumb to tap against the back of Harry’s hand, replicating the rapid rhythm of the baby’s heartbeat. It takes the younger man a little while to figure out what Louis’ doing, but a huge grin breaks out on his face as soon as he does.

“Is that them?” He signs with the other hand, his own eyes starting to tear up when Louis nods.

OR: Harry is deaf, Louis is pregnant. They figure it out.

note: i'm not a fan of mpreg or kid fics in general, but i stumbled across the fic post for this on my dash and the summary sounded really intriguing to me, so i had a go at reading and it did not disappoint!! it was really sweet and fluffy but also so touching and heartbreaking in some parts. plus, i really enjoyed how harry and louis worked together and supported each other.

•° — this restless dream by @afirethatcannotdie 5.6k | NR | first meetings

“Hiii, I called earlier about the dogs?” he asks, taking a few steps closer to the desk where Louis is standing. He’s taller than Louis, with a dimple when he smiles and bright green eyes. There's a cute eagerness about his whole presence. “Do you have any puppies?” He’s a bit like a puppy himself, actually.

AU. Louis works at an animal shelter and Harry wants a puppy. Things don't go quite according to plan.

note: this was so so adorable and soft, especially since i have a soft spot for h&l with pets. i also have a soft spot for h&l being oblivious lovesick idiots and this was perfect!!

•° — all i see is you, lately by @runaway-train-works 2k | G | first meetings

Harry noticed him for the first time three months ago. He couldn’t not, really, what with the man being so pretty and all, and Harry remembers it well because it was three days before his birthday and he had joked to himself that seeing someone so gorgeous for three days on the trot must be an early present from the Gods.

Or

The one where Harry has a crush on a fellow commuter.

note: this one was quite short but so sweet and perfect and lovely!!

•° — the things i'd do to wake up next to you by orphan_account 36.1k | M | amnesia fic

AU. Harry wakes up to a pregnant Louis Tomlinson and a wedding band on his finger.

note: this fic was incredible, i'm always up for an amnesia fic and this one was heart-breaking and realistic but also sweet and fluffy as well :)

•° — this glorious mess by theweightofmywords 14.2k | M | post-breakup

His head lolls to the side, and his eyes float open to focus on what used to be his bedside table.

It’s empty now, devoid of the framed photo of the two of them. And Louis knows that he has no right to feel hurt, but somehow, this only confirms what this really is.

“This is the last time,” he cries, his voice breaking both from pleasure and pain.

“I know, baby,” Harry breathes, burying his face in Louis neck.

note: this is the third mpreg-centric fic i've read this month and... i don't even like mpreg?? but god the premise of this fic intrigued me so much, and it was lovely and emotional and beautifully written.

•° — BLAH BLAH BLAH there's a moment you know (you're f*cked) by @mercurial-madhouse 3.2k | M | spy au

Anyone impulsive enough to betray their country is either foolish or overly-confident. Louis’s too cunning for the former. So his inflated ego tips precariously close to the edge between pride and hubris. In sum: He may be an expert, (as proven by the .32-cal Beretta Alleycat Harry found strapped to his back) but ex-agent Louis Tomlinson will explode like a busted bullet misfiring in a broken gunbarrel if Harry can find his trigger.

___

Or, the spy AU in which Harry thinks he's prepared to meet Louis only to find he's not.

note: the banter and tension in this fic was so good and so fun!! i need moreee

•° — every lonely place by @ham-palpert 38k | E | time travel/alternate lives fic

Facing the fact that he’s been prioritizing his career over his relationship, Harry proposes to his longtime boyfriend Louis on a whim. But when yet another work emergency takes precedence over their plans, Louis decides he’s had enough. Harry goes to bed drunk and alone, and when he wakes, he finds himself in an entirely different world. Over and over again, Harry visits a lifetime he’s once lived, across time and dimensions. And wherever there’s a Harry Styles, there’s a Louis Tomlinson.

note: this was such a unique fic! and such an emotional one too, love the message it sends and the character arc and development was so good

•° — tick-tock by bubblegumclouds 6k | G | soulmate au

When Louis was born to Jay Tomlinson with a tiny 2 years on his clock, it starts the most beautiful love story. Even if things are missed, fate finds a way to make it work.

note: this was just so, so cute and fluffy and sweet! i loved it

•° — baby baby, you're a caramel macchiato by @missandrogyny 3.2k | T | coffee shop au

So, yeah, Harry doesn't think it's that far of a stretch to call himself a good barista. There are some particularly bad ones, and some particularly good ones, and, with his work ethic, his skill, and his charm, he'd probably be lumped in with the latter group.

note: this was so lovely, and i especially really loved the little section talking about louis' name and how it suits him!

re-read

•° — one shines brighter by @afirethatcannotdie 11.8k | T | wedding fic

“Hi, baby. You doing anything fun today?” Harry shrugs. “Dunno. Thought I’d see how I was feeling before making any plans.” “You wanna get married?” Louis asks. Harry’s face breaks into a smile, and he nods. Louis’ lips are just brushing Harry’s when Gemma appears in the hallway. “You two are in so much trouble.” Harry's wedding was never supposed to be the happiest day of his life. No, that was going to be the day after, when he finally got to start his marriage. Unfortunately his family (and Louis) have other ideas.

Featuring a pair of moms who only want the best for their kids, meddling sisters with too much time on their hands, and a groom who gets caught up in the fairytale.

note: i adore this fic!! it's so so so adorable and so soft and well written, and you can feel how in love h&l are with each other. so so good!

my own fics

•° — under your bed in new york 33.4k | T | exes to lovers

"We know you're still in love with Harry."

Louis' nostrils flared up. "I'm not—"

"Louis."

"I'm not!"

there are many things louis likes to tell himself. we broke up for a reason. it's been so many years. and of course, the classic: i’ve definitely moved on from him. but when he suddenly finds harry back in his life after three years, louis realizes he might be a little less moved on than he thought.

au; spilling coffee onto an ex, being set up on dates, and having a nosy puppy might be all louis needs to find love again

note: i didn't actually write or publish this one this month, but i did edit, revamp and make a fic post for it this month so i thought i'd put it in here anyway. reblog the fic post here!

[delusionalgirlie]

Based on this post which blew up a bit last night, I wrote a little drabble of how I think it went

NOT CHECKED OR ANYTHING I wrote this on the way to the gym and back 😭

When marinette asked alya if nino would be up to do some modelling for some of her male designs, it should have been a no-brainer that her best friend would try and hook her up with adrien instead.

Before marinette can blurt out the words “no I would be in too much distress and make a fool of myself”, it somehow came out as “tha- uh- adrien-me? model-“

“Sure marinette!! I think I’m free today after school for about an hour before I have fencing, I’ll see you later then?”

A few seconds of utter awkward silence as marinette registers what just happened. Alya nudges her and whispers “get it together girl, smile and nod that’s all you gotta do”

So she does just that, smiles and nods as adrien turns to leave. And that is how adrien ended up in marinettes room that afternoon.

(AN: I’ll allow you all to imagine the clumsiness of our protagonist by yourselves as we all know, lots of tripping and jumbling of words will happen)

“So, how would you like me to pose? Are there a few pieces you’d like me to try on?”

Adrien gave a few model poses and all marinette can do is gape at him, sitting on her desk chair with her notebook on her lap. “Ah- I- you’re hot- no I mean- isn’t it hot in here ahahahahahahahahahah” she quickly got up and opened a window to go with her little excuse, then took out a carefully folded piece of black and green cloth from her drawer.

In truth, she was actually making a jacket for chat noir, as a thanks for sacrificing himself so many times for ladybug. All she needed was someone of a similar stature to try it on and adjust the size

(A/N: I will allow any type of imagination on what the jacket looks like lol I am nooo fashion expert)

Sheepishly she holds it up and shows him, “it’s just a little something I’ve been working on... it’s not finished but please try it on!!”

Adrien shrugs the jacket on and poses in front of her mirror, “marinette, you amaze me every time”, as he cat walks around the room.

Blushing furiously, marinette sits back down and starts taking notes, what needs to be fixed, what can be added... She takes a few photos for future reference and of course future wall decorations, and begins to draw a few quick sketches of his poses. Truthfully, marinette has never had much practice drawing males, and with a real life model right in front of her, it was a good chance to get some experience.

After a few good model poses, “adrien... could you pose a bit more naturally, maybe like...” she thinks about the adrien she came to love, the adrien who, when laughing at something Nino said, lights up the entire room. The adrien who defended her during the whole lila incident, and the adrien who cherishes the lucky charm she gave him a while back, the adrien who even made one for her. She glances up and adrien is doing a pose marinette knows all too well.

“Like this?” Adrien asks, standing in his post transformation chat noir pose. A few seconds pass and adrien awkwardly scratches the back of his neck, “aha... sorry.. kagami didn’t like it ei-“

Marinette starts giggling. And it was a sound that could clear up a sky full of grey clouds. Adrien was shocked to say the least, it was definitely not the response he was expecting, not after the whole kagami incident.

“S-sorry, you just looked a bit silly and it was kinda funny...” marinette was also reminded of a certain little kitty, but she wasn’t going to say that out loud.

The realisation hit adrien like a brick... She thinks I’m funny... SHE THINKS IM FUNNY!!! “Hmmm...” adrien strikes another pose, this time shrugging off one side of the jacket and pulling it in front of him, “hello, I’m carapace,” imitating his best friend

Marinette is now in full blown laughter, which turns into tears when adrien heads towards the mannequin and goes “oh Alya” with added smoochie sounds as he dances around with her.

Soon enough both of them are cackling on the floor, marinette in actual pain with how much she’s laughing, “nooo not the smoochie sounds!!”

Adrien looks over at marinette, still recovering from the attack on her abdominal muscles, and smiles so softly that if anyone was watching, they’d think he was utterly head over heels for her.

The day ends when adrien’s car pulls over outside the bakery.

But since then, anyone could notice that adrien now looked at marinette with just a little bit more tenderness than before.

[squarecarousel]

Challenge 144: 10 Years, Looking Forward: A-Frame Studio Life Buckle up-- this is a long one! Wow, ten years. It’s hard to believe a whole decade has passed since Square Carousel began, and since I graduated college. In some ways, it feels like another lifetime, and in others, it feels vastly shorter than the decade before that, from ages 12 to 22. Time is fascinating that way. College was such an incredibly impactful time period, but just a measly 4 years-- I could have done college 2.5 more times back-to-back in the years since I graduated, but somehow those four, from 2007-2011 were monumental.  It’s hard to believe I’ll be in a post-college world without Square Carousel, since the group has been a constant in my life these last ten years. I’m really proud that we made it this far and are able to choose to end the journey, rather than it fizzling out or dying from lack of interest. Sometimes it felt like that might happen, but other times it felt like we were blooming. There have been many ups and downs over the course of this journey. And damn, it was a lot of hard to work to keep running, but I am so grateful for the learning experience. I know so much more about leadership now than I ever would have before-- the delicate balance of having rules to keep the group running (deadlines, participation requirements, our dreaded “strike system”) and keeping up morale (knowing when to forgive slip-ups, keeping challenges sufficiently entertaining and well...challenging, making sure the group feels like it’s a community). Elizabeth and I were reluctant leaders, just naturally having to take those roles as other original members of the group left and were replaced by folks who needed guidance. We definitely didn’t seek it out, but we knew that if the group were to stay alive, we had to put some structure into the system. Pretty early on we made our rules and guidelines, extended the challenges to 3 weeks from just 2, and worked on our visual image online. Our awesome logo was made by former member Casey Crisenbery, and we switched from Wordpress to Tumblr, purchasing a URL, and Casey using special code for custom organization on the site. Sketch critiques were now a halfway point through our 3 weeks-long challenge, which helped a lot with the community aspect and engagement. We started doing interviews for each member, reaching out to other illustration groups, blogs and submission sites and had our work featured on a few of them. Some of us even got jobs from the connections made through Square Carousel!  There was a bad stretch several years ago when I wasn’t sure we’d make it through, with toxic behavior and a few folks petitioning for removing deadlines and structure, making everything optional. One thing I can tell you with certainty after ten years of working with artists is that 95% of us require deadlines to do anything, and incentives/obligations for meeting those deadlines, or it just isn’t going to happen! Elizabeth and I, along with a few other solid members, were able to keep the structure we’d worked hard to create, but the toxic culture had already killed group morale and we lost a lot of members simultaneously. That was a sad and scary time for Square Carousel, but I didn’t want to go out on a sour note. So the small group of us picked the pieces back up again, did a little refocus on our goals as a collective and created an “Admin” so Elizabeth and I didn’t have to carry the entire burden alone. I am forever grateful to Sayada and Jordan for stepping up into these roles to help us get the train back on track. Sayada especially picked up a lot of responsibilities that a newer member shouldn’t have to worry about, and was a total rockstar for Square Carousel. I wish we’d had her with us for the whole ride. I’m so happy that we’ve had a few really great years with some really loyal and talented artists to round out the experience at Year Ten.  There is nobody I’m more thankful for than my Good Cop, Elizabeth, though. She was so reliable, always able to provide balance in our leadership roles, and such a wonderful shoulder to cry on when things got too stressful. Elizabeth, thank you for this journey and for being my SC Wife all these years! It’s so funny because of all the original members, you were one of the only ones I hadn’t really known from SCAD classes, yet you’re the SCAD Illustration friend I have remained most connected to most consistently. Nothing bonds you quite like running an illustration collective does! It also cracks me up that in all these years, we hadn’t ever facetimed or talked on the phone until a few months ago--I didn’t even know your mannerisms or voice, but knew you so well anyway. My greatest internet friend! I love you dearly and it truly won’t feel right, the absence of our weekly SC conversations. Thank you for all of the memories! As just a member and artist, this group has helped me grow so much professionally. It was my client when I didn’t have clients. It was my motivation to paint when I didn’t feel creative. It was my source of portfolio-worthy work, but also my safe place to experiment and fail when I was trying something new. The girl who started as a Square Carousel member freshly graduated in 2011 was working part-time at Urban Outfitters, had basically no money, and no clue how to promote herself. The “studio” was a corner of the bedroom and nobody took her seriously. But a stubborn dedication and the security, purpose and structure of Square Carousel helped the slow change from that lost girl to a full-time freelancing woman. Now, in 2021, I have been doing freelance illustration fully for six years, through contract jobs, editorial, publishing, advertising, commission and local work, as well as selling prints and products online, in local shops and events. I am not making the big bucks, certainly, and I still have goals I’m working towards, but damn, if that isn’t a glow-up, I don’t know what is. Thank you for helping me achieve my impossible dream, Square Carousel, and always being a place with the right amount of advice, support and critique. Ten years, 34 artist interviews, 38 artists, and 144 challenges. I’m the only member to have completed every single one. 144 illustrations through the years. Some were game-changers for my style and my portfolio. Some were total stinkers and I hope you don’t go looking for them. But all were an important step in my career.   So, in ten more years? I’ll be 42 years old, which is very weird because I have never imagined myself that old before... it’s hard to honestly say what that would look like, especially considering the world we are currently living in and how the last 4/5 years have proven that anything (awful) can happen. Jordan and I have a goal to move to Colorado in the next 4 or 5 years, and I’d love to have a little A-Frame in the mountains with a loft studio, shown in my illustration here. Texas has become extremely problematic, especially after the winter storm in February of this year, and will be impacted greatly by climate change, both environmentally and economically. Right now, Austin is still booming, but at some point the lack of foresight in this state’s government is going to screw over the residents and it will be one of the places from which climate refugees run. Is that tomorrow? No, obviously not. But I want to already be settled someplace more stable, having grown some roots, before other folks start to roll in. But, to be able to do that, I need to rely less on my local jobs and connections and be able to have an “anywhere career.” So right now I am focusing on expanding in that way, particularly with book cover illustration and design. I’ve been doing a lot of portfolio work and self-publishing jobs, and hope to get an agent that can shop my work to big-time publishers sometime in the next year or two. Let’s say I succeed at all of those things in five years-- we’re in our Colorado A-Frame, I’m illustrating book covers (and I’ve also convinced my parents to come with me, and maybe a couple friends!). The next five years after that? I don’t know... hopefully a lot of adventures. Hopefully a lot of cool jobs, but also a lot of work/life balance. Right now, I don’t want kids, so the A-Frame will be filled with cats. Maybe we’ll have an old camper van for regular road trips around the western National Parks. I’d love for my work to reflect those passions-- more jobs with outdoor brands, parks, organizations. More book covers for stuff I’d personally love to read and keep on my overflowing shelf. That’s the vague goal for me in ten years, but I don’t want to plan any further than that, because life just also needs to happen the way it’s going to happen. There are parts of my current life I planned for in 2011... and there are parts I never, ever would have guessed. I hope there’s some fun surprises in 2031, too. Thanks for the decade, Square Carousel. Joining illustration collectives will always be the first bit of advice I give fresh graduates. Caitlin

[sun-daddy-yoriichi]

Can i get prompt 94 on “100 ways to say I love you” with Sanemi? Where reader is nervous about her 1st art commission and kinda starts spiraling?

Sure thing! My blog lacks any Sanemi content so y'know I'll take anything for him-

▬▬▬

Warning(s) : Mentions of anxiety, spoilers (maybe)

Sanemi Shinazugawa x Reader : "You can do it." [ILY Prompts #94] [Kimetsu Gakuen AU]

It was two in the morning when Sanemi woke up to the irritating light coming from his girlfriend's tablet.

He loved her. Loved her a lot, in fact. Quite strange coming from the diamond-tough Mathematics teacher from Kimetsu Academy. Still, it was the truth, and he would be damned if anyone were to think that he didn’t worship the very ground she walked on.

Still, did she not know how fucking late it was?!

“Babe. . .” (Y/n) nearly shrieked in response when a hand gripped her knee, freezing before she figured out that it was just her drowsy boyfriend. Slowly, she turned her head, trying to meet Sanemi’s eyes through the darkness. Something told her that it wouldn’t be a good idea to wake up Sanemi this late at night, but it was too late now.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, turning the brightness of her tablet down, “go back to sleep. I won’t be long.”

‘You woulda said that twenty minutes ago, too. It’s, like, 2:30, babe, and we both have to wake up early tomorrow.” His words were tempting, but so was finishing the last layer to her art commission. Usually, she stuck to physical art, paintings and sketches, so the world of digital art was more or less a mystery to her. She wanted to make sure everything was perfect.

During her moments of hesitation, Sanemi had somehow taken the drawing pen away from her, setting it on the bedside table, before holding a hand out for her tablet. In reality, she knew that she wasn’t obligated to give it to him. She could just as easily have moved to the living room and worked there until she was satisfied.

“M-My work-”

“Will still be here in the morning. Come on, get some sleep.”

The thought of going to sleep did seem like a good idea.

Reluctantly, she set her tablet aside, getting comfortable once again. Tired or not, what Sanemi wanted, Sanemi usually got. Even if what he wanted was just for her to go to sleep at a reasonable point in time.

“You’re so stiff,” Sanemi hummed, pulling her closer to him to curl an arm around her waist, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so worked up before. What’s wrong, dollface?”

Looks like neither of them would be getting much sleep, if that was the direction this conversation would be taking.

“Nothin’ in particular,” she told him, squeezing his wrist gently, “Just. . .stressed, I guess.”

“That’s a dumb excuse, (Y/n).” What that earned him was a slap to the shoulder, but nothing more.

“It’s not an excuse, you dumb idiot,” she defended, her voice rising slightly, “It’s the truth. There’s nothing wrong, I’m just stressed. Digital art is hard.” As delicately as she could without disturbing the arm thrown over her, she shifted to lay on her back.

Sanemi huffed in response, though he couldn’t say that it was out of irritation, seeing as he was digging his face into his lover’s shoulder. She brushed a hand through his hair, listening to the sound of his breathing slow to a calm, repetitive rhythm. He had fallen asleep. It made sense. She did wake him up.

(Y/n) smiled, rotating again to face him, pulling the comforter up to her shoulders. “Dumbass.” It wasn’t loud enough for Sanemi to wake up from it, but the one single word felt as if it echoed through their entire flat.

She was glad that sleep came quickly, dozing off to the sound of her lover’s breathing in her ear.

. . .

Morning came sooner than needed or asked for, (Y/n)’s phone alarm going off on the pillow next to her. Blearily, she reached out one uncertain hand to pat around for it, hoping to God that it wouldn’t magically slip off the pillow and under the bed. She didn’t want to make friends with any of the dust bunnies again.

Thankfully, she was able to grab it before anything catastrophic happened, and turned off the alarm as soon as her fingers managed to swipe into her phone. The time on her phone said that it was around 6:00, which was an hour too early for her to be waking up. And yet her alarm had still gone off.

A post-it note attached to the back of her phone caught her attention.

She took it off her case, and unfolded it, having to focus her tired eyes for several seconds in order to even read what it said. It was no doubt in Sanemi’s handwriting, that messy and somewhat loopy scrawl would be recogniseable anywhere.

‘Hope you’re happy that you get to wake up early and work on your art. I made coffee.’

It made sense now, but she hadn’t even realised that Sanemi had even gotten up when he did. Judging by the fact that the bed was still warm, he didn’t leave that long ago, either.

“Coffee first,” she told herself, “then work.”

Throwing on one of her boyfriend’s many plain shirts, she padded down the hallway, trying to hide her eyes from the blinding morning light. Their flat was as marvelous as it was (surprisingly) cheap, but she still hated how it faced the sunrise. Waking up early was never a strong suit for (Y/n).

As soon as she found herself in the kitchen, she made a beeline for the pot of coffee at the very end of the bar. It was still hot, so Sanemi must have brewed it not long before he was to go to work for the day.

Moving to get her favourite coffee mug down from the cabinet, (Y/n) found another note stuck to it. A note which made her heart melt, a gentle smile gracing her lips.

‘Rengoku promised us dinner tonight, so be ready. You can do it, so don’t you dare stress.’

[nearlymanaged]

4. Remus’ Secret

It had been a couple of weeks since Sirius had come out to his friends, but Moony still hadn’t flung himself into his arms, confessing unbridled attraction. If anything, he seemed more distant now. Almost as distant as he used to get every month before Sirius, James, and Peter found out about his furry little secret. They did have quite different schedules this year that sometimes caused them to not run into each other for half a day, but Remus’ strange coldness seemed to go beyond that.

Sirius was starting to feel a little hurt, thinking that maybe Remus wasn’t as okay with him being bisexual as he claimed, so he confronted him about it one evening in the common room. It turned out to be a rather anticlimactic exchange since Remus assured him, quite convincingly, that it was completely ridiculous of Sirius to even think that. He said he was simply tired all the time since they had come back to Hogwarts and then made some stupid joke about being ready for death to take him.

This particular evening he seemed perfectly energised and happy while doing homework with Evans in the corner of the common room. Sirius was sitting in one of the prime armchairs in front of the fireplace with James and Peter, and if he hadn’t been so preoccupied with repeatedly stealing glances at Moony and Evans, he would have seen that James was doing the same thing.

“Since when is Moony such good friends with Evans?” Peter unknowingly voiced what they were all thinking when the sound of Remus and Lily’s laughter filled the room momentarily.

“Nerd solidarity, I suppose,” Sirius mumbled, watching Remus push the sleeves of his jumper up, seemingly oblivious to how unexpectedly attractive that was.

“I never realised Ancient Runes homework was that much fun,” James mumbled, pouting slightly.

“Are you jealous, Prongs?” Sirius asked, a tickled grin spreading across his face.

“Aw, he is! Prongs is jealous!” Cackled Peter.

Just then, Remus walked over to them, still beaming. “Prongs is…” He glanced back at Lily over his shoulder. “Prongs is jealous?”

“No, I’m not,” James folded his arms over his chest, which didn’t help make his statement any more convincing.

“How curious,” Remus said brightly and made himself comfortable on the couch next to Peter while Sirius draped himself across the armchair, his head hanging off the side.

“D’you know what? I’m jealous too.” He looked over at Remus with a smirk.

“That’s messed up, Sirius. Lily’s the mother of James’ future children.”

“Who said anything about Evans?” Sirius locked eyes with Remus, that same smile still playing on his lips. For a second, Black thought he saw Moony blush, but he couldn’t tell whether it was just the flickering fire light playing tricks. Moony scrunched his eyebrows and turned away to point at the notice board.

“Did you lot see that? Hogsmeade dates have been posted.”

“Yeah, first one’s in a couple of weeks.” Peter nodded. “I’ve thought about this, and I think the best thing for me to do is ask Lydia if she wants to meet up in Three Broomsticks. Then she won’t feel like she has to spend the whole day with me...but if she wanted to, she could.”

“Wormtail.” Sirius impatiently propped himself back up. “Why wouldn’t she want to spend the day with you? You need to have more confidence, mate.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“No, it’s not. You think it was easy for me to listen to my dear mother list all the ways in which I’m a disappointment for years?”

“I didn’t mean--”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just saying, you can’t please everyone, but you can’t let that get to you. Lydia seems pretty interested in you, and even if it doesn’t work out in the end, well...c'est la vie,” Sirius ended his little pep talk with a shrug and Peter went back to his essay, looking slightly more bewildered than before.

“Anyway,” Remus enunciated slowly. “Perfect timing, I have just about enough chocolate to last me two weeks.”

* * *

The heavy clouds above the castle seemed to be turning a darker shade of grey every day, and the sixth years were becoming more and more stressed with every lesson. Now that Remus had positively become friends with Lily Evans, he was thanking his lucky stars for it. He strongly suspected he might have lost his mind without someone to do Ancient Runes homework with.

He also noticed that Lily didn’t mind being in James’ immediate vicinity as much anymore, and James in turn had halted his incessant hitting on her for the time being. Remus had also noticed that Sirius hadn’t been spotted snogging or asking anyone out in quite a while; in fact, it hadn’t happened once since the beginning of term. He couldn’t help but harbour a secret hope that it would go on indefinitely and then he wouldn’t have to pretend that seeing Sirius with someone else didn’t bother him.

Although realistically, he didn’t really count on that. Especially since Sirius had come out about being bisexual. That just meant that now Sirius could choose out of twice the amount of people who were more attractive than his boring old friend.

Still, Remus could not refrain from coming up with imaginary scenarios in his head, in which Sirius would ask him out or confess his feelings for him, or kiss him… Initially, completely against his own will, Remus let his hopes go up just a tiny bit (that’s when the daydreaming started in full force), so he started avoiding Padfoot as a means of self preservation. That hadn’t lasted very long though, because Sirius interpreted that as Remus having a problem with him and confronted him about it...

This particular morning, a few days before the Hogsmeade trip, saw the castle brutally whipped by ice-cold rain. It was looking like their Saturday was going to be spent sipping butterbeer indoors instead of wandering around the village.

“You’ve got jam on your face, did you know?” Sirius grabbed a napkin without missing a beat, leaned over the breakfast-laden table, and dabbed the corner of Remus’ mouth. “There you go, skip along now, my love.”

Remus, who had just announced that he needed to leave to make it to Ancient Runes on time, felt his ears go ablaze, the colour spreading to his cheeks. He wasn’t sure why it startled him so much. Surely, Sirius would have done the same to either James or Peter, wouldn’t he have? That was just how he was. “Right,” Remus cleared his throat, gathering his composure. “I’ll see you lot at lunch then.”

“Wait up, Lupin!” Lily caught up with him in the middle of the entrance hall. “So I’ve noticed…” She began brightly, yet hesitantly but then trailed off. “Are...are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, what do you mean…” Remus tried to sound normal, very aware that he was still blushing. “What have you noticed?”

“Nothing. How did you get on with the Einang stone essay?”

They talked about their homework all the way to the sixth floor, but Remus couldn’t shake off the feeling that Lily was going to say something about the scene at breakfast. He wasn’t even sure that Peter and James had noticed it, but he had gathered by now that Lily was a lot more perceptive than most people. Plus, she kept giving him strange looks all throughout the Ancient Runes lesson and then it continued on the very windy grounds (it had stopped raining), during Care of Magical Creatures.

“Obviously, you don’t need to answer if you don’t want to, but...” Lily began, her voice ever so gentle, while they were making detailed sketches of fwoopers with notes about all their magical properties. “But can I ask you something personal?”

“You can ask, yes.”

“Do you like boys?”

Remus stared at her with a mixture of surprise and horror, until he felt a sharp pain in his hand - he had squeezed the little bird he was using for reference so tightly that it pecked at his flesh angrily. “Why-- Why do you ask?” He tried to sound politely surprised as he shook his hand in the air.

“Please don’t get upset with me,” Lily was gazing at him tentatively with her brow furrowed now. “I’ve noticed a while ago now, sometime last year… And then lately, since you and I... I couldn’t help it, really. I’ve seen the way you look at him, when you think that no one’s watching…”

Remus felt a strange mixture of his heart sinking and feel lighter all at once. Now that someone else knew, it felt like that would make it easier to carry this secret around, somehow. He blankly stared at his half finished sketch for a moment before speaking in a low, determined voice. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“You have my word.”

“Not that it matters anyway,” he added before he could stop himself.

“How do you mean? Is it because you’ve been friends for so long?”

“Well that too, but… I mean, look at me,” he laughed out uncomfortably rather with a roll of his eyes.

“Yes, I am…?”

“I’m about as exciting as Binns’ lessons, with a sweet bonus of ugly scars.”

Remus was surprised by how open he was with Lily. Curiously, it was really easy to talk to her about it. He’d shared so many secrets, confessions, and pains with his three friends, that sometimes he felt like he had maxed out, like he didn’t want to trouble them with any more of his problems. But it was different with Lily, perhaps because they were just becoming friends.

“I don’t think that about you at all, if you care to know,” she informed him, a strange spark lighting up her eyes. “I’ve grown to like you a lot lately and I can objectively say that you are tenfold better than what you seem to think about yourself.”

“You’re only saying that because you thought my friends and I were enormous pricks for years,” Remus smirked at her, feeling his heart grow to twice its size in his chest. “That’s a low bar.”

“Thought?” Lily grinned devilishly, making them both laugh. “Seriously, the more I’m getting to know you, the more I feel like maybe your friends can’t be all that awful after all. You are a beautiful person, Remus. You are!” She added when he rolled his eyes again.

“Sure, Evans.”

“I’ve heard he’s into boys too.” Lily ignored Lupin’s retort and then her face split into an excited smile.

Remus rolled his eyes once more… And yet, he couldn’t help but feel happier and lighter for the rest of the day, even when it started raining again towards the end of Cary of Magical Creatures.

[sheliesshattered]

This Isn’t A Ghost Story extras for Chapter 6: The Future

Chapter 6 of This Isn’t A Ghost Story has been posted! You can find it here on Tumblr, or here on AO3. Spoiler-ish extras under the cut!

With chapter 6 under our belts, we’ve made it through the main portion of this fic! The next two chapters will wrap up a few loose ends -- and possibly create a couple more, of the open-ended variety -- and if I hadn’t gotten quite so deep into the world-building for this, I might have actually ended the story here. All the research I did for the world-building directly inspired the next two chapters, which were both written and finished before I had anything more than a basic sketch in place for chapter 6. 

Egyptology in the 1920s has clearly been a huge part of the world-building for this story from the beginning, and we get a bit more of it in chapter 6. The Doctor mentioned Howard Carter briefly in chapter 5, and here we loop back around to that and find out that Clara and the Doctor knew Carter well. I didn’t want to derail the chapter too much with talking about their friendship in any detail, but large portions of the timeline of when they were in Egypt in the 1920s was built around the historical events of the discovery and documentation of Tutankhamun’s tomb, and there are a few passing allusions to it in the journal entries in chapter 3 as well.

Howard Carter (pictured above in 1924) and his team of excavators found the entrance to Tutankhamun’s tomb in November of 1922, which would have been during the phase when Clara and the Doctor are exchanging letters and falling in love. One little historical detail that I sadly couldn’t quite use was that 23 November 1922 was actually a date of minor significance in the discovery of the tomb. It was the day that Carter’s financier, Lord Carnarvon, arrived at the dig site to witness the opening of the tomb, along with his daughter Lady Evelyn Herbert, who would have been about a year and a half younger than Clara. This picture of the three of them was taken at the entrance of the tomb in late 1922, and is similar to how I imagine Clara and the Doctor’s picture with Carter would have looked:

As the tomb was being excavated, Carter and Carnarvon assembled a team of experts to help with the huge task of cataloging, preserving, and translating all the many items found in the tomb, and though I never called it out specifically in This Isn’t A Ghost Story, I figure the Doctor was part of that team, probably specifically focused on translation work. In late February 1923, there was a short halt in the excavation that lasted a few weeks, which was what led, in our fictionalized version of events, to the Doctor briefly returning to Glasgow, and Clara’s impulsive decision to follow him there. After their wedding in May of ‘23, Clara and the Doctor went directly to Egypt, and the Doctor returned to work on Carter’s team.

Family members, tourists, and the press were all known to visit the dig site during that first year of excavation and the resulting media craze:

Given that, and Clara and the Doctor being ‘disgustingly in love newlyweds’ it seemed reasonable that Clara would have visited the site at least a few times, and been on good terms with Howard Carter. Carter actually got his start in Egyptology when he was hired as a young man to paint reproductions of ancient temple walls and other Egyptian artifacts:

During the excavation of Tutankhamun’s tomb, he made detailed sketches, including careful measurements, of every item removed from the tomb and where it had originally be found in the tomb. Much of what we know about King Tut’s tomb now is down to how methodical Carter was in documenting the original untouched state of the tomb, both with measurements, drawings, and photography. These are both drawings Carter did of the tomb during that period:

Chapter 3 mentions that Clara decided to learn to draw in the summer of 1923, so I liked the little detail that it was Howard Carter, with his meticulous and beautiful art, that suggested she take up the hobby. Modern Clara also notes in passing that she drew all throughout her childhood, particularly her ghost, which all connects back to those early days of their marriage in 1923.

I’ve got more up my sleeve about the world-building elements for the next two chapters, but since chapter 6 was the last chapter I finished, long after chapters 7 and 8 were done, I thought I’d talk a bit about the writing process as well. The final scenes I wrote for the entire story were near the end of chapter 6, and despite knowing what I needed this chapter to do, what needed to be in place to set up chapters 7 and 8, chapter 6 gave me a bit of trouble along the way. 

I imagined this chapter in a lot of different ways as the story was evolving, but I always knew I wanted to emphasize the possibility of future travels for Clara and the Doctor. The theme of ‘101 Places To See’ is so strong in canon that echoing it for 1920s Clara was a big part of my world-building from the beginning, and I felt like any version of a happy ending for Clara and the Doctor had to include travel. An early draft of this chapter ended on Clara’s final line from Mummy On The Orient Express, ‘Then what are you waiting for? Let's go.’ to help emphasize that travel theme -- and because I can never resist borrowing a line from canon whenever I can find an excuse.

Another early sketch for this chapter had Clara and the Doctor venturing out for grocery shopping, with the Doctor complaining up a storm while Clara tried to carry on a conversation with him without any strangers taking note of it. Originally I had planned to include more of Clara’s work week, and had scenes roughed in where her friend and fellow teacher Amy Pond found out that Clara had gotten “engaged” over the weekend, leading Clara to have to make up something on the spot about how she’d been in a long-distance relationship that had only recently turned serious, which was why Amy had never met him. There was a whole thing about how Clara and Amy (who taught ancient world history) were co-directing Coal Hill’s production of Antony And Cleopatra, and Amy wanting to make sure that Clara wasn’t going to run off to see the world with her new fiance before the night of the play. Eventually that all got boiled down to just a single exchange between Clara and the Doctor, as I decided to keep the focus tight in on the two of them and their relationship, and not even include dialogue from any other characters.

One thing that comes up again and again in my writing projects is that when I’m imagining the plotline early in the process, it always takes up a lot more calendar days than the final product does. I imagine events taking place over the course of weeks, but then find that the emotional flow works much better condensed down to a handful of days instead. Despite my stories following that same pattern in development for more than a decade now, it somehow always seems to surprise me, lol.

Really early on in working on Ghost Story, I knew I wanted to keep Clara’s canonical birthdate of 23 November 1986 and build the rest of the timeline around that, and I picked out November 2014 as the time period for the main part of the story because it corresponds roughly to when the end of s8 of the show originally aired. But in a very early outline of events, Clara didn’t have the nightmare that led to her memories coming back until the night of her birthday, a full week later from what ended up happening in this final version. 

Even as recently as a few weeks ago, I was still planning on ending this chapter on her birthday, and it wasn’t until I started digging into the scene by scene and line by line breakdown of the chapter that I realized that it really wasn’t necessary. And leaving her birthday as an upcoming event folded in nicely with the ‘Future’ theme I wanted for this chapter, so again I decided to keep the focus tight on Clara and the Doctor’s relationship as they unravel the mystery and deal with the fallout of what happened in 1927.

Figuring out what I actually wanted to happen this chapter versus what could be left on the cutting-room floor, as they say, was a huge part of the final phase of writing This Isn’t A Ghost Story. Once I had cut out extraneous scenes and meandering plot tangents (and poor Amy Pond), I was left with a very specific list of scenes and conversations, and I wrote them much the same way I write everything, jumping around to a given scene as dialogue or internal monologue occurs to me. To me it always feels like putting together a large jigsaw puzzle, filling in holes and connecting up pieces as the puzzle comes together.

I find that technique works really well for me when I’m in early and mid development of a story, but once I was down to just a couple of scenes that still needed written, progress slowed way down. I got to the point where I knew the emotional content of a scene and even most of the dialogue, and needed just a little bit of stage direction to stitch the whole thing together. Those of you who have been following along with my #process thoughts posts here may remember me posting about working on that last scene just a couple of weeks ago, trying to wrestle it into shape. 

@tounknowndestinations, @praetyger, and a few others of you have asked about it, and I can now reveal that the very last bit to get written was the sequence with Clara preparing for bed and then the two of them getting into bed. I had the awkward sex conversation and the final scene the next morning already written, I just had to connect the first part of the chapter up with those last scenes. I’m happy with how it eventually came together -- and very curious to hear if any of you could pick out that that was the last bit written? -- but not having the option to work on anything else, just those specific words in that specific place, made it more of a struggle for me than writing most of the rest of Ghost Story.

My husband and beta reader Jack was more involved with the editing of this chapter than he was with any of the other chapters, and in several places helped me rewrite individual lines or conversation beats until we were both happy with how they read. @praetyger asked how I know when writing is ‘done’, and I have to admit it’s mostly a process of reading it over and over again, and then getting Jack to read it and taking his feedback seriously. I tend towards overly long run-on sentences, so if Jack gets lost while reading a sentence, that’s one he’ll call out as needing to be reworded for clarity. 

There’s one sentence in this chapter that we went back and forth over quite a lot: ‘The feeling of what might have been that seeing their wedding photo had elicited in her wasn’t some strange, misplaced jealousy, but rather the knowledge she carried deep in her soul, buried in her subconscious, that their story wasn’t over yet.’ It was originally even more wordy, and Jack would have preferred the final version be a lot more simple, but it just didn’t read right to me without ‘elicited’ so I stuck to my guns on that bit, even as I filed down some of the wordiness in other parts of the sentence.

Both for reworking a sentence and for writing big sections in the first place, my method is generally to write it and edit a little as I go, trying to get the word choice and pacing as close to what I want as I can on a first pass. Then I’ll let it sit, at the very least overnight but often for days or longer at a time, then come back and reread it when it isn’t so fresh in my mind. At that point, sometimes a phrase will jump at me as awkward or something I used just a paragraph or two earlier, so I’ll rewrite it, let it sit, come back and edit it all over again. Sometimes what seemed like plenty of room for an emotional beat when I was writing it will go by way too fast when I reread it, so I’ll add to it, give it space to breathe. Rinse and repeat.

For the record, Jack’s favorite line from this chapter is this bit of dialogue for the Doctor: ‘“Yes,” he allowed warily, clearly not sure where she was going with this.’ I imagine it’s probably for similar reasons as why he liked the ‘she didn’t add again but knew they were both thinking it’ bit from chapter 5. I try not to put my own marriage into my writing too much, but there are some experiences of being married that I think are probably pretty universal.

@ephemeralhologram asked about my writing inspiration, and for me my writing is always driven by a kernel of a what-if idea and a desire to convey a certain emotion. I almost always start out with a ‘plotbunny’ idea, some tiny thing that I daydream about and consider from multiple angles until a plot and emotional tone starts coming into focus. 

For Ghost Story, it was actually a shitpost here on Tumblr about a real estate agent having a conversation with the ghost who haunts the house they’re trying to sell, along with wanting to try telling a Twelve/Clara story in an alternate universe completely separate from the show canon, which I had never done before Ghost Story. The emotional tone started out much sillier, more in line with that Tumblr post, but as I got into the world-building and decided I wanted to have a mystery and mutual pining at the center of this story, the tone shifted quite a lot.

The other major drivers of writing inspiration for me are that I enjoy putting words together into interesting and emotionally evocative combinations, and I enjoy conveying character emotion and eliciting emotion in the reader. No matter what fandom I’m writing in, no matter how close to canon or how AU, how short or long the story is, those two things are always at the center of my writing.

I walk around the house or do chores that I don’t have to focus on too much (dishes are excellent for this) just tossing around bits of dialogue in my head until I find an emotional beat that grabs me or a bit of phrasing that I really like. I jot those down into a googledoc -- most of my DW stories start out in a doc called “Doctor Who Bits” that is in fact just fragments of multiple stories, and then eventually a story will graduate into having its own dedicated googledoc. Figuring out the plot is just as much about deciding on the emotional journey I want to take the characters and/or the readers on as it is deciding on an order of events.

Thank you to @tounknowndestinations​, @ephemeralhologram​, and @praetyger​ for the questions! I am more than happy to answer any questions about my writing process or details about this story, or anything really, so feel free to hit me up in my ask, or in the comments on this post, or in a comment over on AO3. Thank you to everyone who has followed along with this story, and for all the support and encouragement you’ve offered along the way, I couldn’t have written this story without this wonderful little corner of the Whouffaldi fandom! ❤️

--

Extras for Chapter 7: The Museum

[omniswords]

Chronicles of a Parisian Dumbass 1

because we all really wanted smitten!Luka so I’m making it happen, PERIOD. slight AU? canon divergence? where Luka begins to frequent Tom & Sabine’s bakery when his sister needs a pick-me-up through her first year in university, and may or may not have a thing for the new girl at the register once summer vacation hits. and tweets about it.

(yes, i’m still working on La Joconde! only two parts left :( but i hadn’t posted any lukanette content in a Hot Minute and wanted to share a bit of what i’ve been working on. enjoy, loves!)

at T&S for mom and sister and oh god there’s a cute girl i’ve never seen at the register

Post.

i think she’s got flour on her nose, and she probably doesn’t even know it’s there, and she’s adorable

Post.

send help

Post.

That’s the magical thing about social media, isn’t it. The cool, casual, even bored expression you sport in a waiting room or on the subway is a master at hiding away every all-caps rant you swipe out with your thumb. At keeping every moment you want to scream, excited or outraged, under lock and key in your chest while your fingers do all the talking. At cementing the lines in your brow and your lips while you broadcast how much you’re Gay And Dyingggg—and yes, you really need the capitalization and those extra letters for the emphasis—over the image of a kitten falling asleep mid-meal. The viral-video echo of a child’s singing in a big-box store. The pretty girl in the coffee shop with the floral cloth headband, the nude lip, the grey eyes that stop you in your tracks and somehow always seem to meet yours whenever you Just So Happen to look up.

It’s those capital letters, you know. They really do wonders for emphasis. Emphasis.

In a city like Paris, the hundreds of thousands of people you could pass in a single day would never know the intimacies they could stumble upon by happenstance. The ones you choose to share with a few hundred strangers, friends across oceans or friends of friends who happened upon you or lovers of art the way you love art, because the distance and the screens make it safer.

In Paris, almost no one knows who Luka really is, aside from a blue-haired busker downtown who sometimes frequents coffee shop stages. Or some guy who delivers their evening meals when they don’t feel like cooking. No one has to know. And he’s been fine with that for as long as he’s had these accounts.

He wouldn’t call himself a stranger to the internet. He hardly could; he’s a product of it, raised by it, like most anyone else his age. Frankly, he could go so far as to call it his third best friend—third, because his sister and his mother might fight him for not putting them first, and because he values them enough to put them there. But on the metro, he’s near invisible, and online, he’s Sort Of Someone. A set of hands and a guitar and strings of notes to pull in a few hundred admirers, and even fewer friends he’s never met in person. He doesn’t have to, he’s decided, for them to mean something.

And he’s getting the keen sense that they’re all already hanging onto his last three tweets. Or will be, if they’re not already awake yet. (He’ll never understand that—his body almost never lets him sleep in past eight, no matter how late he goes to bed.)

He has to gather himself before he goes in—which is hilarious, because he must have been to Tom and Sabine’s bakery at least a hundred times by now. Or at least, enough times that they know him by name and to save him a napoleon or two whenever he’s in the area. Is it really that difficult this time because of a girl?

And then she… whoever she is, she smiles at a customer, and it looks like utter sunshine, and almost instantly he wishes she were smiling at him. Just for a few seconds.

Yep. It really is that difficult.

With a flip of his stomach and one last post—all right, prayer circle before i place this order—Luka pushes into the tiny bakery just as the customer is coming out. He shuffles among the racks and display cases as though he’s in a museum, and given the care that goes into these decorations, he might as well be. Usually it’s Mrs. Cheng who’s at the register, humming along to some classical piece they’re playing overhead—it fits her, being so traditional—and there’s a stack of finished cake or pastry orders beside her on the counter. The orders are still there this time, but the music sounds younger; it must be one of those study playlists he sometimes finds online or touches upon when he needs some extra inspiration for his own music.

And there is the girl, with her chin in her hand and the flour still on her nose, absently twirling her pencil as she stares down at a sketchbook like she’s about to get into a fight with it. She doesn’t look bored there. Actually, Luka isn’t sure he’s ever seen anyone so focused before, because even the bell over the door signaling his entrance apparently hasn’t gotten through to her. If anything, she looks like she’s toeing that impossibly thin line between mellow and frustrated, if the quirk in her lips or the pinch in her brow is anything to go by. Even from a distance, he can tell that her face is soft, that her lashes are beautifully long, and that she probably barely has to do anything with them. If it weren’t so weird, or showy, or even creepy, he’d probably stop in his tracks at the door and watch. Try to make up a song about her, for her, on the spot.

Luka takes a deep breath, readjusts his gig bag on his shoulder, and takes a few quiet steps up to the register, still keeping his distance. It isn’t until he clears his throat that she looks up, and he’d swear that he’s never seen eyes so… so blue, before.

He’s never played a song this color before, and he wants to. Instantly.

Before he can get a closer look at the sketches, one that would have been entirely inadvertent, the girl squeaks and snaps her book shut, immediately apologizing for not noticing him right away. Her fingers twitch a bit, but she smiles cordially in spite of them. There it is. That sunshine, just for him. “Welcome to Tom and Sabine’s. How can I help you?”

Luka wonders if that’s just her Customer Service Voice, or if she always sounds that sweet. Either way, somewhere inside him a cork pops, and warmth floods his insides, just for having heard it. Now that he’s this close, now that he’s really heard her, he’d think she’s only a couple of years younger than him. Nineteen or twenty, maybe. “Hi,” he says, as smooth as he can manage. Maybe it’s her first day; he knows some of the woes of customer service, even if most of his work experience has been in food delivery and not actually processing the orders. Maybe he can ease some of her nerves. “I was wondering if I could get something to go.”

“Oh! Sure thing.” The girl brushes some flyaway dark hair out of her eyes, twirls her pencil again, and taps a few colored squares on the tablet in front of her. “What can I get for you?”

“Let’s see…” He already knows the orders by heart, because in spite of their penchant for chaos and unpredictability, the Couffaines don’t mind anchoring themselves to some things. So much so, in fact, that if it were Mrs. Cheng at the register, she wouldn’t even have to ask. She’d already have the box ready. It’s just that he doesn’t want to overwhelm this girl right off the bat, even if he does have the feeling that she’d look even cuter with a blush. “An opera cake, a pear tart, a fraisier”—that’s for Rose, because he wouldn’t be surprised if she’s still over when he gets back. He goes slowly, gives the girl the chance to look for each item in the menu on her screen before punching it in, just in case she’s ever had customers who were less kind.

Yes, that’s definitely the only reason why, and it definitely isn’t because he wants to spend more time at the register, and has that liberty to do so since there aren’t any other customers in the shop and since he’s done with work for the day.

“Anything else?” the girl asks, her voice slightly more clipped now that she’s in the rhythm of it. She cocks her head, more at the register, and quirks the edge of her eyebrow. Maybe she’s more seasoned at this than he thought. Or maybe she just sinks into this mood when she sets to work.

He kind of likes it. Like, a lot.

But that would be incredibly weird to say, to her face or about her online, so he holds his tongue. “Yeah, um…” He looks around, narrowing his eyes at some of the display cases. “Has Mr. Dupain made any napoleons today?”

The girl’s eyes light up a bit, which makes him smile. “I’ll check,” she says—chirps, more like—and flits toward the room in the back like a hummingbird.

Oh, no.

She’s so cute. Too cute.

She’s back in seconds, before he has the time to agonize about it any further. “Yup, we have them. How many would you like?”

“Just the one.” Luka’s already fishing out his wallet from his back pocket. He holds his breath, card in hand, pushes it into the chip reader. “Say, is Mrs. Cheng… doing all right?”

The girl blinks a couple of times. Is it really that weird to ask? “Yes…? She’s fine. She’s just traveling—she went home for a bit to see her family. She’ll be back in… three weeks?” She trips on her words a bit, not in the way that she can’t recall, but in the way that she doesn’t want to be too forward in her speech.

Huh. Mrs. Cheng didn’t mention anything about a trip the last time he’d been here… “Sorry, it’s just that I’ve never seen you around here before.”

The girl smiles faintly, tearing away his receipt once it’s printed. “Well. I guess that makes two of us.”

Oh, she’s good. He doesn’t even know what to say to that.

She flits around the tiny bakery, different pairs of tongs in hand as she assembles his order, and Luka finds himself tapping out the melody of the current song against his thigh. “Nice music,” he says to make conversation. “You pick it out?”

“Uh huh.” There’s that clipped tone again. “Sorry, I know it’s kinda basic—”

“It’s cool.” He pauses. “Uh. I mean, the music is cool.”

The girl looks up from one of the display cases. It might be the lighting, or the distortion of the glass, but he thinks she might be blushing. “You… said that already?”

“Right—right.” Luka clears his throat, leans back against the wall with his arms folded, and resolves to keep his mouth shut and his eyes down. He knows he’s blushing; his face is too hot for him not to be. She’s working, he tells himself. He can’t bother her while she’s working. Still, he can’t help idly tapping the toe of his shoe, or pressing his fingertips into his arms, to that same rhythm, the same melody. At least that keeps him grounded. He only wishes there were lyrics he could mouth along to to make it easier.

He’s about to dip into his own mind, try to find a song that would do the trick, when he hears his name. “Luka?”

Instantly, his head snaps up. The girl is back at the register, a beige box with a gold sticker in her hands, and she holds it out to him. “Yeah,” he says, doing his best to stroll casually to the front and take it from her. “How’d you know my name?”

The girl looks at him, half-confused, before mutely holding up the receipt. On the bottom, along with the last four digits of his debit card number, is his name in tiny capital letters.

Oh. Duh. He heaves a nervous laugh, and on the inside, he’s looking away with wide, mortified eyes. He takes the box from her; the sooner he gets out of here, the sooner he can kick himself. “Thanks. Could you tell Mr. Dupain I said hi?” And also, could you tell him how dare you for hiring a girl who has no right making my heart stop on her first day working?

She nods, twirling her pencil one last time, and Luka’s off with a wave and a mutual exchange of, Thank you, have a nice day! And the instant the door closes behind him and he turns the corner, he sets the box aside, slides down to a squat, and rests his face in his hands, eyes wide and trained on the ground.

In Paris, no one knows that Luka Couffaine is even capable of being an anxious, smitten fool.

Once he’s churned out as many anxious, shaky feelings as he can—once he’s replayed her smile and the sound of his name in his head enough times—he pulls out his phone.

god, i hope she has a nice day. i hope she finds twenty euros on the ground.

Post.

[littlestarofthewest]

Title: Meeting Miss Morgan | Word Count: 3289 | Rating (for entire fic): 18+!!!

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female OC | Chapter: 04 of 08 |  Link to Masterlist

Arthur knows what he's doing is stupid. In fact, he is stupid. He got up even earlier than usual, taking care of the firewood. Julie prepares it most of the time, but when she briefly mentioned in conversation that she doesn't particularly like doing it, Arthur immediately had the urge to do it for her.

He likes to think that he's just trying to help out around the farm, but after the pencils and the whole trouble Arthur went through with Jasper, he can't pretend that what he's doing has nothing to do with Julie. Somehow he always ends up helping her in particular.

Ever since she kissed him on the cheek, she wanders around in his mind when he's not busy thinking about something else. Having the chance to hold her in his arms didn't make it any easier. In fact, he feels like he's years younger, even more of an idiot, and stupid enough to think that she might like him as more than a friend, if at all. 

Julie's a nice person. Doing sweet things comes naturally to her, and has nothing to do with Arthur, but he still can't stop hoping. He's chopping wood and buys a new shirt like a changed man, as if he wasn't a killer, wanted outlaw, and complete failure.

Arthur finishes the last logs with a sigh, knowing full well that his day won't get any better. With some tools, he heads out to one end of Mr. Henderson's property, beginning the work that will probably take him the whole week, building a new fence.

On the one hand, it's a good thing that he can stay away from the stables for a while. That way, he at least can't embarrass himself in front of Julie. On the other hand, he has a lot of time to think. 

For the last two days, he's been remembering his ride with Julie. They didn't talk much, but Julie kept smiling at Arthur, so abundantly happy that she was finally able to ride Jasper. It was a joy to watch her race over open fields, her blonde hair flying in the wind. She seemed to glow in a golden shine under the warm summer sun, so free and unburdened that watching her made Arthur's heart ache. 

Fuelled with those memories, Arthur keeps working on the fence, trying to neither think back to his old life nor imagine the future. All that matters is hitching up posts, one after the other until the day is gone.

He makes good progress until he hears a rider approach. Arthur's heart drops when Julie rides up to him on Jasper. "Hello, Arthur."

Arthur tips his hat, pulling it deeper into his face. "Jules."

She hops off the horse and strides over to him with a bundle in her hand, her eyes wandering over the already finished fence. "Let me guess, you didn't take any breaks."

Arthur opens his mouth, but Julie shakes her head and takes his hammer away before throwing it into the grass. Then she grabs his hand and pulls him to the nearby woods, making him sit down on a fallen tree in the shadow of a few branches.

"I had time to make something to eat for you since the firewood was already done," Julie says, raising a single brow at Arthur while unpacking the bundle in her hand.

"Was it?" Arthur says, looking out over the farmland in front of them. 

Julie pushes a bowl with stew into his hand and tops it off with a thick slice of bread. "It's cold but better than nothing."

"Thank you," Arthur says, although he's not sure how he's supposed to eat with butterflies in his stomach. 

Julie is sitting way too close, her leg brushing against his. Arthur would move, but then he'd fall off the tree. Instead, he shovels a spoonful of stew into his mouth. That should keep Julie from asking him any questions. 

"You know that you don't have to do everything, right?" she asks.

Arthur chews, but Julie keeps looking at him, waiting for an answer. He clears his throat, trying to come up with an excuse. "I don't mind the firewood. It's quiet work, relaxing. Just like building a fence."

"You must have had quite the excitement before when you actually like doing these boring things."

"Enough for a lifetime," Arthur says, knowing that he's avoiding her unspoken question. It's not fair to keep it a secret from Julie who he truly is, but the thought of her thinking less of him twists Arthur's stomach into knots.

He forces down more stew, and maybe Julie takes the hint or just wants for him to eat, but she stays quiet, looking up into the trees. They sit there until Arthur is done eating, and Julie fetches a bottle of water for him as well, scolding him for not bringing one along in the first place. 

Arthur thanks her again, trying to put the bottle into his bag to bring it along. He curses when one side of the bag tears, and his journal drops to the ground. It falls open, and Arthur hurries to pick it up, but Julie is quicker than him. Her eyes grow big as she looks at the page, and Arthur's heart stops, thinking about the things he recently wrote about her.

"I thought you only wrote in this," Julie says, "I didn't know you were drawing, too."

"It's just silly little doodles," Arthur says, hoping that Julie won't turn the page.

"That's the whole farm from the viewpoint up on that ridge," Julie says with wonder in her voice. She moves a few steps before turning around, holding the journal up against the horizon. "Arthur, that's incredible. Where did you learn to draw like this?"

"My pa," Arthur begins, realizing too late that he was thinking about Hosea and horrible guilt consumes him. 

"Your father was an artist?"

"No, what I meant was that he gave me my first journal when I was 15," Arthur says, the memory weighing heavy on him. "I've been trying to draw whatever I saw since then."

"Well, then he's a good father. You're really talented," Julie says. She closes the journal with such care as if it was a precious relic before handing it over. "I've meant to draw a few places around here, but somehow I never get around to it."

"How come?" Arthur asks, wishing he could see some of Julie's drawings.

"Mrs. Henderson would say I work too much," Julie sighs, "and Mr. Henderson is always concerned about me. A young woman alone on the road? Better not. There's a beautiful pond up in those woods, but there's a road going past with many travelers and stagecoaches, so there are sometimes bandits in the woods as well. Mr. Henderson would kill me if I went there on my own."

"He's not wrong," Arthur says. He met enough outlaws in his time who went far beyond thieving and killing. Some of them were so bad, you wished they would have killed their victims. "There are some bad people out there."

Julie studies Arthur for a moment as if to ask if he's one of them, but then she walks over to Jasper. "I better let you work now, or Mr. Henderson will have my head for distracting you."

"Thank you for the food," Arthur says again. After all, he can't tell Julie that she's already distracting him anyway.

"Somebody has to take care of you," Julie says with a smile before riding off, leaving Arthur with a warm feeling in his chest.

------

The next morning, Arthur walks out of his cabin, finding a fresh water bottle and a tightly wrapped package in front of his door. He doesn't have to look inside to know what it is. Julie must have gotten up even earlier than usual to prepare some food for him. Arthur picks it up, finding a little note tucked into one of the folds. It says, "Take some breaks."

Smiling, Arthur puts the package in his saddlebag and rides out to continue his work on the fence. This time, he doesn't mind those thoughts of Julie dance around in his head. He can't change her as much as he can't change himself, so he might as well enjoy her kindness, no matter how undeserved it might be.

When noon comes around, Arthur takes Julie's advice to have a break. He unpacks the food package, finding cold roast, bread, and berries. Sitting in the shadow of a huge tree, Arthur savors his meal. Somehow, it tastes so much better than anything he's ever eaten before. He's about to pack up when he finds a piece of paper sticking out from under his plate.

Arthur pulls it out, his eyes growing wide. It's a drawing of him on the Mustang riding up to the stables. Despite sketching other people all the time, Arthur has never seen a picture of himself. It's like looking into the mirror, and he's impressed how well Julie can draw. 

Wondering why Julie picked this specific scene, Arthur's stomach does a little summersault when he remembers what happened right afterward. Closing his eyes, Arthur can imagine how Julie's touch felt on his skin, but then he quickly gets up. He can't risk to drift off into these kinds of phantasies. 

Instead, Arthur carefully folds up the drawing and puts it in his breast pocket before riding out to town. Mr. Henderson asked him to run some errands, and he might be able to find a little thank you gift for Julie. At least that's what Arthur thought.

He's done with Mr. Henderson's business in no time, but even after an hour, Arthur can't find anything to give to Julie. He can't exactly gift her a sack of rice, but at the same time, anything more personal could give her the wrong - or worse - the right idea about Arthur's growing feelings for her. In the end, he decides that a heartfelt thank you has to do.

On his way back, Arthur has another idea, though. He's on the road Julie talked about the day before, so Arthur steers his horse into the trees to find the pond. It takes him a little going back and forth, but he knows what Julie has been talking about once he sees it.

It's a beautiful place with high trees and lots of flowers that surround the small body of water. Birds are singing, and when Arthur comes closer, a few deer quickly jump away and disappear. Letting his horse roam free, Arthur walks around the pond two times to find the right spot before settling down with his journal.

Usually, Arthur's quick with his drawings. He always had other things to do or was with someone who didn't appreciate him taking forever to sketch an abandoned church or oddly shaped tree. Today, Arthur takes his time. He tries to capture how the sun sparkles on the water, and painstakingly draws all the single petals on most of the flowers. He only rushes to finish the picture when the sun begins to set.

Looking at his finished work in the dim light, Arthur remembers Julie's words about him being talented, and for the first time in a long while, he feels proud about something that he did. Folding the paper as carefully as possible, he puts it to Julie's drawing in his pocket and hurries back to the farm so he won't miss dinner.

At the house, Julie greets him with a lovely smile, and Arthur's heart skips a beat once again. Thinking about giving her the drawing later makes him so nervous he can barely follow the conversation. When they're done eating, Julie heads outside to play her guitar, and Mr. Henderson holds Arthur back to talk about work.

Arthur nods along until Mr. Henderson finally gives him free. Outside, Arthur finds Julie sitting on the steps that lead up to the door. Her guitar is lying next to her, but she's not playing.

"No music tonight?" Arthur asks.

"I felt like watching the stars," Julie says before turning to Arthur and patting the floor next to her. "Come sit with me."

Arthur swallows a lump in his throat, feeling like he might pass out. He can't remember the last time he's been so nervous. For a moment, he thinks about making up an excuse to go, but his feet act on their own, carrying him all too willingly over to Julie. He sits down next to her, leaving generous space between them, but Julie scoots closer, pointing into the sky.

"I love that one," she says, and Arthur follows the line of her outstretched arm to a big star that shines particularly bright.

"It's pretty," Arthur says, looking at Julie. She turns her head, and he tries desperately to come up with something else to say. "Thank you for the food. And the drawing. You're way more talented than I am."

Julie's cheeks gain a little color, and she waves her hand. "Like you said, just silly little drabbles."

Arthur thinks about the picture in his breast pocket, and it takes all his courage to take it out and hand it to Julie. "I thought about what you said when I was heading back from town. You probably could have done a better job, though."

Julie unfolds the paper and gasps before staring at Arthur. "You drew the pond?"

"I gave it a shot," Arthur says, rubbing his neck. Now that Julie is looking at it, he begins to see mistakes he didn't notice before, and he feels he should have taken more time to get the picture right.

"It's beautiful," Julie says, her eyes wandering over the page. "The details in the flowers. The water. This must have taken you forever."

Arthur shrugs. "Maybe when I'm done with the fence, we can ride up there together, and you can draw it yourself. Or any of the other places you wanted to draw."

Julie looks back up at Arthur, a shine in her eyes that makes his skin tickle. "You would do that?"

Arthur's not quite sure how they ended up so close to each other, and he knows he should just say yes, or maybe nod, but he's always been an idiot. "For you," he says, his voice almost giving out on him.

He moves even closer to Julie, knowing full well that he shouldn't. She opens her mouth as if to say something, but then she leans in, and Arthur closes the distance between them, his lips brushing against Julie's. Arthur's heart feels like it might jump out of his chest any second, and he wants nothing more than to hold Julie close, but then the door screeches behind them.

They move apart as if hit by lightning, and only seconds later, Mrs. Henderson comes out of the house. "Aren't you going to play, Julie? I really feel like-"

She stops herself when her eyes fall on the paper in Julie's hand. "Oh, my dear, that's lovely. When did you draw that?"

Julie throws a quick glance over to Arthur before handing the drawing to Mrs. Henderson. "I didn't. Arthur drew it today."

Mrs. Henderson's mouth falls open, and she looks back and forth between Arthur and the drawing. "Well, look at you, Mr. Morgan. Aren't you full of surprises? Who knows what else we might find the longer you stay with us."

She can't know it, but her words cut deep, and Arthur gets to his feet. "I think I better go to sleep. I want to get an early start on that fence."

"You two make quite the couple," Mrs. Henderson sighs, running a hand over Julie's hair. "The name, the drawing, and nothing but work in your heads. The two of you really need to have some fun for a change."

Julie lets out a muffled noise, and Arthur wishes he could just melt into the ground. Instead, he taps his hat. "Goodnight."

He turns around, walking away so quickly that he doesn't know if the two women respond. Arthur's whole body seems to fill up with rage, and he wishes he could give himself a good beating. 

When he left the gang, Arthur swore that he's done with making stupid mistakes, yet here he is, well on his way to hurt a nice, young woman, and maybe ruining more lives. The surprises he's filled with are danger, sorrow, and regret. Neither Julie nor the Henderson's deserve any of that. If he wants to stay, he has to get himself under control.

--------

Pretending to be busy with the fence, Arthur manages to stay away from Julie for two days, and then he jumps at the chance when Mr. Henderson asks him to bring one of the horses he sold to its buyer. That way, he gets to stay away for three more days, trying to sort out his feelings. 

At first, he goes with booze but concludes that that's just one more mistake, considering how he behaves when drunk. The trouble is that Arthur can't sleep when he's sober. He's tossing and turning, only drifting off for a few minutes before waking up in a cold sweat, guilt consuming him over and over again.

By the time Arthur gets back to the farm, he's so tired he can barely walk straight and doesn't remember the last time he ate. Still, he brings his horse into the stable, doing his best to take care of it. It's already dark, and Arthur hoped he could sneak into his cabin without anybody noticing. Of course, he has no such luck.

"Arthur?" Julie asks behind him, and Arthur does his best to stand up straight when he turns around to her.

"Yes, it's me. I just got back."

Julie takes a step closer, worry in her eyes. "Are you alright?"

"Just a little tired," Arthur says with a forced smile. "It's been a long ride."

He's not sure if he actually sways at those words, but it sure feels that way. Julie comes even closer, studying his face. "A little tired? You're dead on your feet. What's wrong?"

Arthur knows that he won't get out of this so quickly, so he shrugs. "Haven't slept well for the last few days. I'll be fine."

He waits for Julie to scold him, but she just takes his hand and leads him into the next empty stall. It's filled with fresh hay, and Julie forces him to sit down. "I'll be right back," she says, her voice low.

Arthur wishes he could go, but he's not sure he could get up on his feet before Julie's back. Instead, he shrugs out of his jacket and puts it behind his head like a makeshift pillow. He's staring at the wall on the other side when Julie appears in front of him. She puts a blanket over him and then sits down with her guitar on her legs.

"What are you doing?" Arthur asks, but Julie only shakes her head.

"Just close your eyes."

She starts playing, and Arthur does as she says. He's nervous with her closeby, and he wants to apologize, but he's not sure how to even get the words out. "I'm sorry, Jules," he finally manages to say.

"Sleep, Arthur," Julie says, her voice warm and comfortable like the blanket over him. "You'll be fine."

It takes a while until Arthur can focus on the music, but then a nice heavy feeling settles in his stomach, the notes carrying him over into a better world, a world where he doesn't have to apologize for liking someone.

[shipmistress9]

HW2020 -- 5: Buying Flowers For Each Other

Part 5 of my Hiccstrid Week Project.

t-rated; RTTE-canon-verse

This one, I had a lot of fun with! 😁 Partially because of the scenes and conversations themselves, but also because of a certain headcanon that wormed its way into this prompt/one-shot which affects how I feel about many things.

I hope you’ll enjoy it! :)

(Also, linking back to the master post for all the wonderful additions 😊)

. o O o .

“So, any ideas what you’re getting for her this year?”

Hiccup grimaced at Snotlout's question. “What do you mean?” he asked, aiming for nonchalance. He knew exactly what Snot meant, but he didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of playing his game. 

“Uh, Astrid’s birthday, I guess,” Fishlegs helpfully threw in. “It’s in two weeks.”

Hiccup sighed. “Is that so?” As if he would ever forget that. 

“I wonder why I ever bothered thinking about you as competition,” Snot muttered under his breath, then said in a louder voice. “Well, I know what I’ll get her as a gift. All women love flowers. And jewellery. So that’s what I’ll get for her. The biggest bouquet of flowers you can imagine and the most special bracelet you’ve ever seen. She’ll fall in love with me right away, you’ll see.” And with a last sneer in Hiccup’s direction, he left the clubhouse. 

“‘The most special bracelet we’ve ever seen’?” Hiccup repeated, his eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement. “And flowers?”

Fishlegs nodded, eager to share what he knew. "Oh, yes. Snot's been talking about little else lately. Apparently, he asked Johann to get him the most ostentatious bracelet he can find. I wonder what it'll be. Can you imagine the wonders foreign cultures may produce? I can't wait to see it!"

Bemused, Hiccup blinked at his friend but then decided not to say anything. Maybe Snot should give that bracelet to Fishlegs instead, he certainly would appreciate it more than Astrid. 

Or so Hiccup hoped at least.

Because even though he'd been aware of her upcoming birthday for weeks already, he still had no idea what to give her for this occasion. He wanted it to be something special, something she'd truly appreciate, something unique. But no matter how much he thought about it, nothing would come to his mind that felt right. 

The only thing he knew was that Snot's ideas sucked. Because Astrid wasn't like all women. She was special and unique in her own ways, so strong and independent, a warrior. The only worth flowers had to her were when they had any practical healing effects or the petals could be used as a dye. And jewellery? That wasn't her thing at all. Any elaborate adornments would only get in the way during fighting. Sure, she owned a few pieces, a pretty comb for her hair and a brooch to go with it. But those were family heirlooms, pieces she valued because of their meaning and not because they were 'pretty'.

No, there really was no need to worry about how Astrid would receive Snot's gifts, not about any meaningless jewellery and certainly not about some flowers either. But that didn't change that Hiccup still had no idea what to get for her…

. o O o .

Hiccup was still scouring his mind for a suitable gift for Astrid when they all flew back to Berk a few days later. He thought about looking through Trader Johann's goods himself but directly ruled that idea out again. True, sometimes he brought interesting things… but somehow, Hiccup felt like that wouldn't do. The friendship between him and Astrid had evolved and grown since they were living on Dragon's Edge, so she deserved something more personal.

As soon as they'd landed and greetings were dealt with, he headed over to Gobber's forge – or, more precisely, toward his old workshop. 

"Okay, let's see what we have here," he muttered to himself as he pulled out a stack of papers and let them drop onto the desk. There were so many things he'd invented during the rather lonely years before he'd met Toothless, so many ideas he'd come up with but hadn't pursued further beyond making simple sketches. There just had to be something sensible, something he could refine during the next days, something more personal and useful than a big bouquet of flowers. The thought alone made Hiccup roll his eyes. 

Humming to himself, he sifted through the papers, getting out a second and eventually a third stack. It was a fun walk down memory lane that often made him smile fondly or laugh at his younger self. Some of these ideas were absurd. However, once he’d looked through all three stacks and had hunted out every other loose sheet of paper he could find, he had to admit to himself… that he still had nothing. 

Astrid had no need of a splintered twig that could hold a piece of coal. He'd designed that one for his dad once, to keep his hands from getting too messy when he took notes for his chiefing duties. But Stoick had never used it; the twig had broken between his meaty fingers almost instantly. And she also didn't need that utterly ridiculous sword-axe-mace-thing he'd designed when he was thirteen and thought all he would need to get her attention was a cool weapon.

No, none of these sometimes bizarre inventions would work as a gift for Astrid.

Sighing, he let his head drop down onto the table with a dull thump. “What am I supposed to do?” 

The knock on the door made him jump up with a surprised cry. “Wha-what? Who’s there?” he asked as he hastily pushed his old notes aside. 

To his relief, the door opened to reveal only Gobber, a strange grin on his face. “Is just me, laddy,” the blacksmith announced cheerfully. “I just wanted tae check if yer okay. Heard ye laughin' an' cursin' in here all day.”

Hiccup, who’d gotten up to join his old mentor in the main workshop, blinked at the light falling through the window in surprise. Gobber was right, the sun was already setting.

“I… well, I was just going through my old notes. I hoped to find something... Ah, never mind. I’ll just have to think of something else.” 

Gobber frowned. “Yer sure? Is there a problem ye need help with?”

For a short moment, Hiccup actually considered asking Gobber for help. But he sincerely doubted that the older man would come up with an idea for a sensible gift either. Astrid also didn’t need a hand prosthetic that could be used as a cooking spoon, after all. 

“No, I’ve got this. But thanks,” he said politely. Gobber didn’t seem convinced though, so he quickly changed the subject. “Anyway, how are you? Any news to share? How’s the forge going?”

Gobber gave him a confused look, but then shrugged. “Ah, just the same as ever. Lots of work an' too wee time. Just today, I got five old swords tae recycle intae somethin' useful.”

Out of reflex, Hiccup’s eyes shifted to the pile of metal in a corner. “Do you need my help with anything?” Maybe working with his hands would help unstick his mind. 

“Nae, nothing urgent. But yer always welcome tae work here if ye want.” 

Hiccup nodded. “Alright. I’ll stop by tomorrow as long as nothing else comes up.” Casually, he sifted through the mangled and broken weapons, feeling nostalgic when he recognised a blade or a handle he’d made himself. Then he paused, frowning as his hand lingered over one particular sword. “Is this…?” He threw Gobber a surprised look.

“Huh?” Gobber glanced over and then shrugged. “Aye, that’s Gronkle Iron. Grandpa Larson retired an' young Gustav doesnae want it. ‘Too short’, he said.” He rolled his eyes. “A shame. But aam sure I can fin' a new purpose for that metal.”

Hiccup eyed the sword again, an idea forming in his mind in rapid speed. Grinning broadly, he took the sword and turned toward Gobber again. “Would you mind if I used this metal? I already have an idea.”

. o O o .

“Here, these are for you. Happy birthday, beautiful.”

Astrid looked flabbergasted, and Hiccup really couldn’t blame her. After all, Snot had all but thrown an entire armful of flowers at her the very moment she’d appeared at the clubhouse. 

“What the–” she cursed, dumping the flowers onto the nearest table. “Snotlout, are you out of your mind? What am I supposed to do with these?”

“Ah, don’t be like that,” Snot drawled. "Beautiful flowers for a beautiful lady, that's what these are for.”

Astrid’s hands balled into fists. “Are you serious?” she snarled.”Odin, when the Gods handed out intelligence, you really were hiding in a cave and screamed 'I don't want any!', didn't you?"

Hiccup chocked on his laughter, both at Astrid's comment and Snot's puzzled expression. The twins weren't as considered, bursting out laughing and wiping tears off their faces.

However, Snot wouldn't give up that quickly it seemed.  “Well, no,” he hastily backpaddled. “I mean, of course, no stupid plant will ever outshine you, Astrid. They can only ever compliments your beauty and–"

"Okay, stop right there before I'm getting sick," she interrupted him, visibly shuddering in disgust.

"But it's your birthday, baby!" Snot apparently wasn't done yet.

Hiccup was beginning to enjoy the show, and certainly not least because of how little Astrid obviously cared for Snot's attention. It helped kindle the tentative hope that lately had started blooming in his heart. Maybe, just maybe she felt the same…

"Yes, it's my birthday," Astrid snapped back. "So what? Does that mean I'm obliged to suffer even more of your stupidity?"

Snot gaped at her for a second but then seemed to pull himself together again. "Ah, I know why you're upset. You thought those flowers were your only gift and were disappointed, right? But don't worry, the Snotman is your saviour in every situation.” He snatched the box with the bracelet off the table and held it out to her. “Here, this one’s your true present. Come on, look inside. You’ll love it.”

Astrid took a moment to take a deep calming breath. She rolled her eyes but otherwise stayed clam which, given that Hiccup could see the tension in her jaw, was impressive. “All right, what is it this time, Snot? Let’s get this over with so that I can tell you to shut up and leave me in peace.” She inspected the box and the intricate bow that was bound around it, certainly not by Snow himself but rather by Johann or maybe even the one he’d bought it from. She tugged it open and–

“What, in Loki’s name...” She lifted a note and a simple braided leather cord out of the box, staring at them in disbelief. From where Hiccup stood, he couldn’t make out what exactly was tied into it, only that it was about half a dozen charms, all white and of a rather… phallic form. There was a moment of silence, then... 

“Are you kidding me?” Astrid screeched, turning furious eyes on Snotlout. 

Snot had turned an interesting shade of white, backing away with his hands raised in defence and his eyes switching from Astrid to the bracelet she’d dropped onto the ground and back again. “I… I’m sorry! I didn’t know what– It was Johann’s fault! He–” He seemed to realise that no excuse would save him, stumbling back a step or three before he turned to make a run for it – Astrid hard on his heels. 

“That really is the most special bracelet I’ve ever seen,” Ruff snickered. She’d picked it up and inspected it. “I think those are carved dragon teeth. I never would have thought of giving them this form though.” She held it up for everyone else to see which led to Tuff covering Chicken’s eyes while Fishlegs picked up the note that had fallen to the ground next to the bracelet. 

“Uh, no wonder she was so mad,” he muttered after reading the note. “According to Johann, this is a special talisman from somewhere far in the south. Traditionally, it’s meant as a betrothal or wedding gift and is meant to bless the donor and the receiver with...” he paused, blushing a little, “with fertility and never-ending passion. Johan even added a personal note, wishing Snot good luck and happiness with his bride-to-be.”

Tuff looked up, bewildered. “Wait, what? Snot’s getting married? When? And to who?”

Ruff just burst out laughing. “Oh, Snot is so dead!”

Bemused, Hiccup watched in silence from his place in the back of the room. He wasn’t quite sure what Snot had been thinking, whether he’d been thinking at all, or whether it really had just been Johann’s exaggerated enthusiasm. How could he get her something like this and think she’d like it, how could he misread her signs so thoroughly? 

Or, could it be that…? 

No, he didn’t want to think about the other option; that, maybe, it was Hiccup who was misreading her. Surely, there was something between him and Astrid, something that had developed over the past years, right? He wasn’t as stupid sn Snot for getting his hopes up… right?

He was still brooding, a little worriedly, when Astrid came back. Her body was tense with repressed anger. “Get that thing out of my sight, Ruff, or I swear I’ll shove it somewhere nobody will ever find it again,” she growled.

Still giggling, Ruff pouched the bracelet. “So, did you kill Snot?” she asked, mirth clear on her face. Apparently, she was enjoying herself greatly.  

Astrid shot her a glare, then let out a defeated sigh as she slumped down on a nearby chair. “No, I didn’t. He flew off before I could reach him, all the while yelling how sorry he was. I just wish… why can’t he leave me in peace, for Odin’s sake?”

“Same reason Legs would never leave Meatlug and my brother takes Chicken with him wherever he goes,” Ruff prompted, grinning. Both boys looked at her in clear confusion.

Astrid growled at her but then paused when her eyes fell on another box lying on the table in front of her. It was only adorned with a rather simple bow, but it was enough to identify it as another present. Hiccup wished he could rush forward and snatch it away, not wanting to annoy her further, but it was too late.

“And what’s this?” she asked, her voice saturated with annoyance. “If that moron got me even more, then...” She let the threat trail off and grabbed the box.

“No, that’s from–” Fishlegs began but got cut off by Hiccup frantically shaking his head. If she got this angry and annoyed by getting gifts, he rather didn’t want her to know he’d gotten her something, too.

However, Astrid didn’t pay them any mind, eyes fixed on the box’s content. Without a word, she reached inside and lifted one of the two objects out, inspecting it. It was a dagger, sleek and sharp, perfectly balanced, the handle wrapped in practical leather. It was elegant in its simplicity – if Hiccup was allowed to think so himself. What Astrid thought, however, he had no idea.

Mutely, she stood up and walked over to where he stood, her eyes not leaving the sharp blade until she stood right in front of him. “You made this.” It wasn’t a question. She knew his handiwork to well not to recognise it. 

Gulping, Hiccup nodded. “Both of them,” he mumbled, hoping she wasn’t about to gut him. The old sword had been big enough to turn it into two daggers, and while he’d worked away in Gobber’s forge, making them had felt like a fantastic idea. Now, he wasn’t so sure anymore. 

Astrid shook her head, gaze dropping back to the dagger in her hand and face twitching. “A Gronkle Iron dagger,” she murmured. “Two even.” 

“You��� you once said you’d want one…” he mumbled, feeling more stupid with every passing moment. That had been ages ago, he should have known better.

Again, she shook her head, but when she looked up again, there was surprise in her eyes, even something like a smile on her face. “You remembered?” she asked. “I… I didn’t think…” She trailed off, her face softening into a grateful smile. “Thank you!” 

There was true gratitude in her voice, but Hiccup barely noticed anything anymore as she stretched to press a quick kiss to his cheek; Not Ruff’s snickering, not Fishlegs’ happy smile, and not even the blush on Astrid’s cheeks as she quickly turned away and left. All he knew was that he was grinning like an idiot, his hand rising to brush over where her lips had touched him. 

So, he’d been right after all. Astrid wasn’t the romantic type and getting her flowers of all things would never do.

. o O o .

Aah, I really liked this one! 😊 I hope some of you did, too.

* - . - * - . o O o . - * - . - *

If you want to support me you can buy me a coffee. I love coffee 😊 (Ko-Fi)

[curlytemple]

niche interests list 

okay sure yes this is fun! i havent posted a thing like this in such a long time. thank you new gal pal @scottspack for tagging me! 

pigs????

alright first lets throw it back to preschool! my fav childhood toys were my baby doll (snookums) and a plush pig that my grandma got me that i just called ‘pig’ ...i watched the babe movies countless times, and piglet? that anxious little guy GETS ME bro. when my preschool did a nativity play and my class got to choose an animal to be in baby jesus’ manger, my mother recalls me saying that i would be a pig because jewish people (jesus christ) wouldnt eat me. she has no idea how or when i learned about kosher foods. ironically despite my namesake i was too afraid of the movie charlotte’s web to watch it more than once because the scary farmer tries to kill wilbur for being small and the pretty spider dies. 

sugar creek gang 

OKAY this is a book series from the 40s-70s about a group of christian little boys in indiana who went on adventures in the woods and helped people. my dad read a LOT of chapter books to me as bedtime stories when i was little (see also the mandie series, nancy drew and the hardy boys, little house on the prairie) but sugar creek gang is one that really hit. i read all 36 books with dad and at least once again on my own. there was a series of 4 or 5 movies in the early 2000s when i was the Perfect age to have a crush on most if not all of them. this might be too much detail but i have to tell you about these boys. we WILL not be revisiting the heavy religious themes. 

 the narrator is bill who is Good and Kind and wants to be a doctor when he grows up. his best friend is a chubby boy nicknamed poetry because he memorizes and quotes poems, he is the Detective of the group. BIG JIM is the leader of the group who is supposed to be like, 14, which was very cool and hot, to me. and yes there is a little jim, who is the baby of the group. then there is CIRCUS who is known for his climbing and acrobatics, and his FIVE SISTERS AND BEAUTIFUL SINGING VOICE. dreamboy. i’m almost done listing boys, i promise. a boy called dragonfly who is allergic to everything and hella superstitious. later in the series a new boy named tom moves to town and tom has an older brother bob who is NOT A CHRISTIAN (bully) 

tangentially, the buttercream gang, a movie from 1992 that was almost definitely made by some christians who grew up reading the sugar creek gang series which i’m guessing on vibes alone. will spare you Good Boy details but scott is in love with his best friend pete who moves to chicago and falls in with a bad crowd and scott just refuses to stop LOVING HIM. very gay christian film in retrospect. 

peter pan

so i know liking disney’s peter pan isnt niche, but it was the way i liked it. tinker bell stan from day one, i watched all of those disney fairies movies, even the ones that came out after i was definitely not intended audience. there was an online pixie hollow game where you could design your own fairies and play mini games where you gathered dew drops or something. had a HUGE CRUSH on jeremy sumpter in peter pan (2003) then i got really darkly obsessed with the idea of growing up when i was 12 or 13, and everything peter pan was deeply My Shit for my entire adolescence. i read the original book and every other twisted version of the story i could find and seriously freaked myself out about wasting my youth. 

shug

you’ve probably heard of jenny han now, or at least the netflix adaptations for to all the boys i’ve loved before and the sequel ps i still love you (always and forever, lara jean, coming soon?) but before she wrote THOSE, she wrote my first ever Favorite Book, about annemarie “shug” wilcox, a girl in the summer before starting middle school. it is SO engraved on my heart i cannot explain. i felt so incredibly understood and cant even tell you how many times i read it. thinking about all of the ways it made me feel SEEN is actually making me very tender so i’m gonna go on.  

the summer series

on the subject of jenny han, since she was now my Favorite author, when she came out with the summer i turned pretty in 2009, i was ALL IN. it’s not summer without you, and we’ll always have summer were published the next two years. a coming of age series about a girl isabel “belly” conklin who stays at her mother’s best friend's house at the beach in the summers. i really could talk about it forever yall. i actually dont know how to be succinct about it. i will try. her mom’s friend has TWO BOYS. one brother, jeremiah, is the golden boy and her best friend who is in love with her! the older one CONRAD is her childhood crush who's just sort of around while belly is firmly getting over her childish feelings and going out and experiencing teen beach life with jeremiah for the first time and figuring out who she is and wants to be! by the end of the summer he admits he feels differently about her (hence belly internalizing this as The Summer I Turned Pretty) and they get together. this is already too much so i will just say that the next two books deal with a PROFOUND LOSS and the selfishness of grief and the SELFLESSNESS OF CONRAD and i will absolutely lose my shit if netflix picks it up for a second jenny han series adaptation. 

pappyland

this was a kids show in the 90′s that features a character named Pappy Drew-It, an artist dressed like a 49er who lives in a magic cabin in pappyland. there’s tons of characters and music and life lessons but the meat of every episode is a detailed drawing how-to (pappy is actually a cartoonist, michael cariglio) and i have a hard back cover sketch book from my grandpa that i FILLED with drawings that pappy and DOODLEBUG taught me to do. there is a running gag that pappy always breaks his crayons.  

boy meets world

i KNOW this is beloved by many but i’m counting it because i’m simply too young to have such an obsession with it! the show ran from 1992-2000. i was born in 1996, but reruns on the disney channel and abc family cemented it as one of my favorite shows. cory and shawn, closer than brothers, shameless homoromantics, shawn is cory’s first wife!!!!! truly showed me what a best friend can and should be!!!!!! the great love of your life!!!!! TOPANGA, the og weird feminist girl who said stop shaving your legs and start speaking your mind, ladies! the characters are so richly developed that they are real people to my heart. YES every character on this show is in their late 30s-early 40s and YES i feel like we grew up together. in season one they’re in the 6th grade and we follow them all the way to COLLEGE. countless poignant life lessons, often literally dictated by the wise and hilarious MR. FEENY, cory’s next door neighbor and somehow one of his teachers for YEARS. my love was only solidified by the 2014 girl meets world reboot, centered on cory and topanga’s daughter and her best friend. (which was literally cancelled because disney didn’t want to transition from a kids show to a teen show, something essential to the original. also because that teen show would have had CANON LESBIANS. extremely shameful move in 2017!) boy meets world lives rent free in my heart and i will never evict it!!!!!!!

i consulted my mother when i got stumped for more and she reminded me that i had obsessions with the impressionist art period and babies and ANYTHING fairies or pixies, and i was way too young when my love of the canadian teen after school special degrassi began. she also said bob ross, which i was hesitant to include because he’s been super ~trendy in recent years, but to be fair (To Be Faaairrr) she’s right! i don’t think people really watched the joy of painting as much as i have throughout my life. best sick day show of all time.

lastly i could honestly list anna herself as a niche interest, my mom actually metioned that ive always hyperfixated on my girl friends (gay) but i’ll just note that YES friday night lights, YES barry lyga novels. love to share so many things with you, niche or not, they’re niche in Our Mind.

[hailey-with-an-i]

i made a lams one shot a while ago and i figured i’d share it here :)) in which laurens is a caricature artist and he meets alex by chance !

John Laurens hated his fucking job. There was no way to sugarcoat it. He simply couldn’t stand it: the early mornings, the late nights, the large crowds of people… it really wasn’t his scene. Besides, regardless of how big the crowds were, he still only managed to earn close to minimum wage, despite standing in the bitter cold for several hours on end.

This wasn’t how his life was supposed to go. He was supposed to get out of college, make a living selling his art, then get married and have two kids. Technically, he had graduated already, but selling caricatures on the side of a New York City boardwalk was certainly not what he meant by “making a living.” After all, he was still sharing a small apartment- which, keep in mind, was certainly not meant for three people- with his best friend, Lafayette, as well as Lafayette’s boyfriend. He was also still single, but admittedly, that wasn’t the worst of his problems. He was only twenty-three; he knew he still had time.

He didn’t even quite understand how he got into the situation in the first place. Sure, he remembered coming out to his father and getting kicked out of the house, and he remembered begging Lafayette to let him stay with him. But for the life of him, he couldn’t remember how he came to work at this stupid pier. If he’d known what he was getting himself into, he would’ve never even considered applying for a job there, or coming out to his father. At least then he’d still have access to his trust fund.

Maybe that was why he despised working there so much: maybe it was because he got to see all the happy tourists and families come by and make memories that he knew he’d never have the opportunity to make. Or maybe it was because he knew that, even with his many years of experience in the field of art, drawing caricatures was probably going to be the height of his artistic career. Nevertheless, he knew that he still had to get paid, so...

“I’d better be getting paid extra for this,” John whined, leaning his weight against the cotton candy booth next to his. It was run by a constantly hyper Peggy Schuyler, and her older sister Eliza. They had a third sister, too, but she was off in law school while her sisters were still in college. John never quite understood why they worked there, as they were stupidly wealthy, but he also didn’t want to question it; he enjoyed their company anyway.

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, which provided no real source of warmth, and let out a shaky breath. “It’s fucking freezing,” he continued.

“Come on, Jackie,” Eliza retorted, “you know George isn’t gonna be happy if he sees you away from your post.”

“You know what? Fuck this. Fuck George. Why do I have to sit there looking stupid when there’s no one even stopping by?”

Peggy joined the two and giggled, beginning to tangle her fingers into John’s wild curls, which were pulled back into an attempt at a ponytail. “He’s got a point, ‘liza,” the younger girl added.

“Don’t encourage him,” Eliza said, shooting her a look, then directing her attention back to John. “You’ve gotta stop cursing, too. You never know when there’s gonna be kids nearby.”

He sighed. “I know. It’s just frustrating.” He turned on his phone to check the time, then groaned when he realized he still had an hour before he could go home. He trudged over to his own booth and sat down in the wooden stool.

In all honesty, even though he wanted to go home pretty badly, he didn’t mind this part of the day. It was the time of day where things slowed down exponentially. And while that wasn’t good for his wallet necessarily, and it was uneventful at times, it also meant that he could rest his cramping hand until he could go home.

John pulled his phone back out of his pocket and looked on social media, absentmindedly liking the photos in his feed. Each picture was almost identical to the last, so he found himself liking them to occupy his time, not because they were actually interesting.

He smiled when he realized that he’d successfully killed time for thirty minutes. That meant that there were around thirty minutes until he could go home and go to sleep.

“Hey, are you still open?”

John’s head snapped up at the sudden voice, and he was visibly startled. He was getting ready to say, “no, actually,” but he quickly bit his tongue as the man looked at him curiously, a timid smile on his face that made John’s heart skip a beat.

“Yeah, yeah, come have a seat,” John said, gesturing to the stool in front of him. He complied, setting his things down on the ground beside him. John quickly reviewed the script for what he said to customers mentally. He thought it was weird at first that there was a script, but he learned that it actually helped him, especially when he didn’t know what to say… which was a lot.

“Would you like it to be colored or just black and white?” he asked, and watched as the man’s expression turned pensive.

“I’ll just have black and white, please,” he responded. This was fine by John, after all, he wanted to be done as soon as possible.

John reached into his pencil case and grabbed a pencil and a black marker. “So, what’s your name?” John questioned, studying the other man’s face for a second before going to sketch it.

“My name’s Alexander,” he said as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear, “-Hamilton. Alexander Hamilton.”

“Oh, nice! My name’s John Laurens.” An painfully awkward silence loomed over them.“Are you from New York, or are you visiting?” he asked.

Alexander shifted uncomfortably in the stool. “I guess you could say I’m visiting,” he explained. “Is it obvious?”

John shook his head frantically. “No, no, I just wasn’t sure.” That was sort of a lie. He could tell he wasn’t from New York because of the amount of layers he was wearing (sure, John was cold, but Alexander had to be wearing at least four jackets), and because of the slightest hint of an accent in his voice.

“Well, I just came here from the Caribbean, so I’m just trying to find somewhere to live.” John nodded, and decided that he had talked enough for the time being, and that he should focus on finishing the caricature.

As he continued to examine his face, he could help but notice that the man was actually fairly attractive.

His smile was bright and welcoming, that somehow made John feel warm inside despite the freezing temperature. He also took note of the fact that he had wide dark brown eyes, flecked with hazel and gold.

“You have pretty eyes,” John said under his breath. He hadn’t even realized that he’d said it until he heard Hamilton laugh lightheartedly at the comment, and John could feel his face darken with embarrassment. That was definitely not in the script. “God, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”

“No, it’s okay. Thank you. I think you have pretty eyes, too.”

“Oh, uh… thanks…” John wanted to end himself right then and there. He really needed to learn how to filter himself.

“So, how long have you been drawing?” Alexander inquired, and John was thankful that he changed the subject.

“For as long as I can remember,” he told him. “I’ve always loved it. I just love the concept of it, you know? Being able to put something in your brain onto paper.”

“I never really thought of it like that,” Alex shrugged. John grinned crookedly at the man, putting away his pencil and uncapping the black marker to outline the sketch.

“What about you? What do you like to do?”

“Nothing interesting,” Alex said, almost mechanically. “I like writing, and debating, and reading, of course.”

“Why wouldn’t that be interesting?”

Alex stared at the ground awkwardly, running a hand through his thick locks of hair. “I don’t know. Being able to write well isn’t the same as being able to draw well.”

“I’d argue differently,” John replied. “Sure, they’re different categories of hobbies, but I can’t write for shit. I’d give anything to be a good writer.”

“I’m sure you’re just being modest.” John raised an eyebrow at him.

“I barely passed English in high school because I was so bad at writing. That, and I was so focused on art class that I kinda neglected my other classes, but that’s a different story.”

“You should give yourself more credit,” Alexander said. He checked the time on his watch. “I thought these things were supposed to take, like, five minutes? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re dragging this out on purpose.”

Once again, John felt his face burning bright red as he’d realized that he was right. He hadn’t even noticed that he put slightly more detail than he usually did, or that he’d even started to color the picture with crayons he hadn’t even realized he’d taken from his bag.

“Aw, shit,” John whispered, clutching his hair in his hand.

Alex raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, calm down. I was just joking,” he said with amusement. “You know, you’re cute, John Laurens.”

He was almost angry at the beautiful stranger. How dare he make him flustered and tongue-tied with a simple remark? In less than fifteen minutes?

“Thanks,” he choked out, unable to think of anything else to say. “I, uh… I’m pretty much done.”

After a few finishing touches, John was finally satisfied with the way the caricature looked. He put away his art supplies and turned the canvas around to show Alex his caricature.

His heart nearly pounded out of his chest as he was met with Alexander’s awestruck expression. “This is so cool!” he exclaimed, his eyes widening in surprise.

John felt a strange sense of pride, but also relief at the Caribbean man’s reaction. He typically never had to worry about people liking his drawings, but this time felt different. This time, he felt like he had to prove himself to this man that he’d never met before.

“You even made my nose look good! Incredible!” John raised his eyebrows at him.

“What’s wrong with your nose?”

“It’s just so… there. I don’t know.”

“And you said you’re a writer?” John teased, earning a glare from Alex.

“What I mean is that it’s so… protuberant. I hate it.”

“I actually happen to like your nose, thank you very much.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Alex fished into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled twenty dollar bill, placing it into John’s hand.

John stood up from the stool, only to be stopped by Alexander. “Where are you going?”

“Oh, I’m just getting your change. Don’t worry, I’m not charging you for the coloring… that was my bad.” Alex shook his head, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

“No, no, that’s not necessary.”

“But… it’s only ten dollars. Didn’t you see the sign?”

“I saw it. But I want you to keep the change.”

John hesitated, before finally saying, “Are you sure?” Alex gave him another unamused look. “I’m just saying, if you need extra money for a hotel or something, you’re gonna regret giving me extra.”

“I want you to have it, okay?” Alexander clearly wasn’t going to budge, so John gave in and slipped the money into his pocket.

“If you say so…”

Alex stood up and brushed off his clothes, then picked up his things off the ground. “It was really nice meeting you, John.”

“You, too, Alexander.” John felt himself smile at the way his name rolled off his tongue, sweet and smooth like caramel.

He waved goodbye to him with a disappointed frown. His stomach dropped as he watched him walk away, then completely disappear into the crowd of bustling New Yorkers, eager to get home after a long day just like John was.

He wanted to smack himself.

He should’ve asked him on a date, or asked him for his number at least- because there was no way in hell that he would be able to find Alex again.

He didn’t have time to wallow in his own self pity, because he then saw the two sisters walking by his booth.

“Hey John! Get any more customers?” Peggy asked.

John nodded slowly, pulling the wrinkled twenty dollar bill out of his pocket and showing it to them.

“Twenty, huh? I guess today’s your lucky day.”

“I guess,” John mumbled, going to put the money back in his pocket. As he was doing so, he saw a small piece of paper fly out from in between the folds of the dollar, landing on the cement. He furrowed his eyebrows, bewildered, and bent over to pick up the piece of paper.

It was a sticky note, John had suddenly realized. He unfolded it reluctantly, unsure of why his heartbeat accelerated so much, only to see a set of digits- that he could tell were hastily scribbled down- next to a name.

“Alexander,” he whispered inaudibly, a wide smile growing on his face as he stared at the messily written numbers on the sticky note.

It was then that John concluded that maybe his job wasn’t as bad as he thought.

[ineffably-good]

Faeted (Good Omens AU)

Summary:  Ezra fell is an English professor at a prestigious academy for boys. Crowley is the lord of the Unseelie court in the lands without sunrise or moonfall. Somehow fate will bring them together.

Excerpt:  “That’s the only part that concerns you?” Ezra exclaimed. “My heart’s desire is apparently a large reptile and you’re just concerned about the laws of magic?”

Read it on AO3!

Chapter One

Ezra Fell laid down his chalk and turned to face the twelve teenage boys in his care. Twelve bodies ensconced in navy blazers jittered in barely concealed anticipation; twelve pairs of eyes jumped between him and the clock on the wall, ticking loudly as the last minutes of Friday lecture faded away.

There was no competing with the weekend, even at a school as prestigious as St. Aloysius Academy.

“Yes, yes, all right,” he sighed. “I expect you all to read the next section of the Faerie Queen for Monday, and to complete your permission slips for next week’s field trip.”

The bell clanged and the room was suddenly awash with the screeching sounds of chairs being pushed back and students exploding into motion.

“Class dismissed,” he called futilely, over the chaos.

Ezra sighed and wiped the chalk dust from his hands as he returned to his desk and began to straighten up his papers. There was a knock at the door and he smiled to see Miss Device, his friend and the resident art teacher, standing in the doorway. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a braid and there were tiny bits of paint speckled on her glasses and her cheek. She still wore the smock she’d placed over her dress to protect it from her students’ creative endeavors.

“Survived another week, did you?” she asked with a grin.

“Indeed I did, my dear,” Ezra replied. “And you? Still employed I assume?”

“So it seems,” she said. “So that’s a score of two for us, zero for the urchins. We just might get through this term yet. Supper at the pub at seven?”

“Of course! Wouldn’t miss it.”

Anathema sketched a little wave and disappeared around the corner towards her own room.

Read it on AO3!

--

Ezra gathered his things into his leather satchel and made his way outside. It was a beautiful fall day, and the air was crisp and bracing. He stretched in the angled sunlight for a moment and then headed off towards his home.

He passed through the school gates and enjoyed the walk for another twelve minutes before he found himself arriving at his own doorstep – a small, tidy, whitewashed cottage, just the right size for one. Many of the instructors at the academy lived on campus with the students, but Ezra valued his privacy and his quiet reading time too much for that; he’d felt lucky to find and purchase his own modest little home so close to the school when he’d been hired on five years ago.

He stopped to collect his post and examine the flowers in his front window box, and then let himself in with a contented sigh and immediately set about putting a kettle on to boil. Time for tea.

The clock over the mantel showed that he had a little over two hours before he needed to meet Anathema. With a happy wriggle, he carried his tea over to his favorite arm chair in front of the fire, sat down, and picked up the copy of The Mabinogion he’d been reading. It took him just a moment to find his place, and then the world disappeared as he was lost in tales of pre-Arthurian Britain.

--

Anathema was waiting for him when he parked his bicycle outside the pub later that evening. She waved to him from their usual table in the front window and he noted she had two pints ready for them.

“So, what were you reading that made you late this time?” Anathema asked.

“Oh, doing some background research on old Celtic and British legends,” Ezra answered. “Faeries and mounds and elfshot and fairy stroke and what have you. Fascinating stuff! I’m taking the boys out to visit a few sites on Monday afternoon and want to give them context.”

Anathema nodded. “Faeries,” she said solemnly, “are not generally the nice little creatures that people like to imagine. They are dangerous and unpredictable and not to be taken lightly.”

Ezra examined her closely. “In literature, you mean,” he said pointedly.

“Whatever makes you happy,” she said with an ambiguous smile.

“I know you believe in magic, of course, but are you telling me you believe in the fair folk too?”

Anathema shrugged and took a long drink from her pint. It left a bit of foam on her lip that she licked off before answering. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

Ezra tutted at her fussily. “Now, now, using Shakespeare to win an argument with an English professor is completely unfair.”

“Who ever said I play fair?”

“Indeed,” Ezra said with a fond smile. “I keep forgetting that.”

They turned their attention to food, then to sharing the latest gossip from their respective departments as the munched on their fish and chips.

“What is your coven up to tonight, then?” Ezra asked pleasantly.

“Oh, you know. Preparing for the larger gathering next week. Scrying.”

“What are you scrying for?”

She shrugged. “It varies from person to person. Glimpses of the future. The face of your one true love. The essay question that will appear on next week’s exam.”

He laughed. “And you find that this works?”

“Well maybe not for essay questions,” she said with a wink. “Although if the will is strong, anything is possible.”

She stopped and looked at him more closely.

“Oh now, don’t start, my dear,” he protested, knowing what was coming.

“You should come join us,” she said. It was an old refrain and quite possibly the hundredth time she’d brought this up.

“My dear, covens are for women,” Ezra said primly.

“No, they aren’t,” she said. “We are an equal opportunity coven. And you’d fit right in.”

“Perhaps some other time,” he said, signaling for another round of pints.

“Really, Ezra. We’ve got a few men who work with us regularly. And with your powers of concentration and imagination, you’d be a natural.” She peered at him. “What’s the harm in giving it a chance?”

Ezra had to think about that one. Born into a conservative and very rich family, he’d long since abandoned his family’s religious beliefs and instead devoted himself to a life of the mind and the senses. He considered himself an open minded man, and didn’t mind at all that his closest friend considered herself a practicing witch. But to try it himself?

Anathema leaned forward and prepared to break out the big guns. “Really Ezra,” she said. “Where’s your academic curiosity?”

She sat back and tried not to grin while she watched that comment land.

He huffed in mock disgust. “You,” he said, shaking a finger, “are a menace. You are an American menace, come to Great Britain to corrupt the souls of our young.”

She continued to grin smugly at him, one eyebrow coolly raised.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” he said. “I’m not coming to your coven. But perhaps you can show me something about how scrying works, after dinner. I do admit to some curiosity about the process.”

Anathema made a fist pumping gesture, which Ezra primly ignored.

--

“Do you have some ink?” Anathema asked as they entered the cottage.

Ezra gave her a stern look and gestured around him at the overflow of books, papers, notebooks, and pens lying on every possible surface. “What do you think?” he asked. “Of course I have ink!”

“Grab it,” she said, “and a pitcher of fresh water, and a silver spoon if you have one, and meet me in the back garden.”

“No niceties? No sitting down for a biscuit first?” he teased.

“I’ve got a coven to get to in an hour,” she said, pushing her glasses back up on her nose. “If you want a little tutorial, we’ve got to do it now.”

Ezra set about gathering the items she’d asked for, placing them carefully on a wooden tray, and then stopped and added a few biscuits on a plate too, just in case someone got peckish.

When he emerged in the backyard, he found Anathema had upended the brackish water and leaves out of his old, stone birdbath and wiped it as clean as she could with just her hands, and then had pushed and pulled it out of its usual corner beneath the plum tree into a spot where it was open to the sky above.

“It’s actually a beautiful night for scrying,” she said. “Nice bright moon, no wind…”

“Oh lovely,” Ezra said, a tad sarcastically.

She punched him lightly in the arm. “You asked for a lesson in scrying. Don’t be a bastard.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, smoothing his face into a more agreeable expression. “What do we do?”

“First pour the water into the bowl,” she said, indicating the birdbath. “And then add a few drops of ink to make it darken. Then stir it with the silver spoon, three times clockwise.””

He did so.

“Now,” she said firmly, “it’s mostly about your intention at this point.”

“My intention?”

“What do you want to see?” she asked. “You don’t have to tell me, but think of a question in your mind, as clearly as you can, and focus on it while you take deep breaths and calm yourself.”

Ezra sat back and thought. What did he want to know? He thought about asking it to show him his family and what they were doing, but he wasn’t really interested in that, to be honest. His parents were undoubtedly at some fancy fund raiser, as that was how they spent most of their weekends, and his older brother was undoubtedly preparing for tomorrow’s sermon at his swanky parish. None of them were thinking about him and seeing them would just point out how hopelessly different their lives were from his.

Did he want to know about the possibility of love or romance? To be perfectly honest, he wasn’t sure. He’d never had a strong feeling that love and romance were for him. He hadn’t ever really met anyone who evinced a strong interest in him, other than the occasional school crush on an older boy or two. These interests were passing and short, and he’d found himself mostly content with his life alone. He had his books, and his students, and a few good friends. It wasn’t out of the question that cupid could encounter him someday, but it hadn’t happened yet.

“I don’t know what to ask for,” he finally admitted.

Anathema studied him quietly. “Why don’t you ask it to show you what you most need to see?”

He straightened up and smiled. “Why, my dear, that’s a perfect solution. Nice and open, difficult to misinterpret. I do like to be precise.” He closed his eyes and took a series of long, slow breaths. He concentrated on that statement, repeating it over and over. Show me what I most need to see. Show me what I most need to see. Show me what I most need to see.

After a few minutes, he felt calm and centered, and he opened his eyes to look at Anathema, who was watching him closely.

“Lean forward,” she said, “and look into the water. Keep breathing and try to relax, and just wait.”

“That’s it?” he asked doubtfully.

“That’s all it takes,” she said.

He placed a hand on either side of the cold stone basin and leaned forward to stare at the reflection of the moon in the dark, inky water. Nothing happened for several minutes. There was only his face, watery and distorted, and the reflection of the moon, wobbling a little as gentle ripples made their way out from the center of the pool. He realized he was holding the edges of the basin with a death grip and tried to loosen his hands a little, letting the tension flow out of him.

He took a deep steadying breath and leaned in a little further, still repeating the words in his head, and suddenly the image in the water shifted, into a pair of golden, snake-like eyes that blinked at him in surprise and then darkened in alarm. He had a brief impression of hair like flames and a sense of agitation as the eyes leaned closer towards the surface and then — disappeared.

Ezra leapt back as if the bird bath had bitten him.

“What did you see?” Anathema asked, taking in his breathless surprise.

“I — I’m not sure!” he stammered. “Eyes. Reptilian eyes. Possibly a snake? I think it saw me, too.”

“That’s impossible,” the witch said. “Scrying is one direction only; no one can see back across the connection.”

“That’s the only part that concerns you?” Ezra exclaimed. “My heart’s desire is apparently a large reptile and you’re just concerned about the laws of magic?”

Anathema started to make a smart comment and then noted his pallor and how rapidly he was breathing. “Come on,” she said, “let’s get a finger or two of scotch into you.” She took him by the elbow and led him into the house.

The encounter left Ezra off balance and out of sorts for the rest of the evening. He saw Anathema off after more tea and a bit of whiskey, then set about trying to settle down and focus on lesson planning, but found himself distracted by thoughts of those golden, reptilian eyes widening in surprise and alarm. Who on earth was that supposed to be? His soulmate? He might not know a lot about the larger world outside of the academy, but he was fairly certain that nobody human had eyes like that.

[ebhenah]

Future Klance Family Tidbits

Lance is in charge of the baby books. 

Which surprised... pretty much no one. Everyone knows that Lance is the sentimental one. The family-oriented one. 

The Baby Books are intense... bordering on works of art. Lance diligently recorded every milestone in careful handwriting with archival quality pens. He saved locks of hair and hospital bracelets. He oh-so-carefully made hand and foot prints with an ink pad he’d had to special order. Until their third birthdays, he took monthly chalkboard pictures of each child with their ‘important stats’ clearly written in color-coded chalk: purple for Thace, red for Talia, bright blue for Rai, yellow for Kashi. 

When Lucas was first fostered with them, Lance broke out the old baby-stats chalkboard and let Lucas choose his own chalk color (from the ones that had not yet been claimed). Lucas chose orange and Lance sat with him and together they filled in all the stats: age, height, weight, things he loves, things he hates, new skills. He got his own baby book, and Lance didn’t miss a beat, recording every milestone, just like he had done four times before. The milestones look different, “today Lucas called himself a Kogane”, and “Lucas spontaneously hugged Keith. Keith cried.”, “first screaming match with Talia”, “first ‘eww gross’ eyeroll prompted by parental affection”, “first Kosmo trip! Destination: to the kitchen Goal: to steal cookies. Status: busted.” instead of first words and first steps, but they were no less important. When Nyra arrived, a baby book was included in the first supply run, and that sixth installment was every bit as detailed as the very first one. (She chose “geen” chalk.) Lance was a seasoned pro with baby books, and as a result, the children have well documented lives.

No one expected anything less than ‘extra’ from Lance as a father.

Keith though, he does things a little differently.

Tucked in the back of each baby book was a manila envelope that contains... letters. Well... more like... notes. They weren’t long, formal things by any stretch of the imagination, and they didn’t follow a set schedule like Lance’s monthly updates. The very first one, the one that started the whole thing, predates any of the usual parenting milestones... and Keith carefully copied it out and made sure each kid had their own. It wasn’t poetic or long-winded. It was blunt and matter of fact in a way that was typical of Keith. “To my kid. 

I don’t know who you will be yet. I don’t know if I will be any good at this whole parenting thing, but I promise I will try not to screw up too much. I think I’m starting out on the right foot, though... because I picked the best father any kid could have for you. I bought the ring this afternoon. It’s perfect. Lance doesn’t know yet, but today I started building our family. I can’t wait to meet you. You are going to be our best adventure!

Love, Dad”

That is the only note that was the same for each kid. All the others are unique- a quick sketch with the words “because you made me draw you ducks for three hours today” scrawled under it; a game of hangman with the winning score jotted under Thace’s name; a post-it note with the date and “Kosmo farted, you laughed so hard you fell down. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. I didn’t know that I could love so many people so much and in so many different ways”; a receipt from a dry cleaner annotated with “you puked all over Shiro’s dress uniform. Serves him right for tossing you in the air so soon after your bottle. His face was hilarious. Best ten credits I’ve ever spent!”; memories and messages that caught his attention and made him want to record them. Snippets of a childhood from the perspective of a parent.

Every so often, Lance takes them out and reads them, then carefully tucks them back into the envelope for safekeeping. Keith has another record, though, one Lance doesn’t know about. Safe and sound in the storage hold of the Black Lion, Keith has something of a scrapbook. It is filled with little tokens and mementos and reminders of the highlights of his life. The very last page has a list of dates, each one followed by a quote. “So this is what perfection looks like.”

“I’d be screaming too if someone shaved part of my head!”

“I know, I know... today has just been the worst! But you know what? It’ll get better. We promise.”

“You are going to be pure chaos, just like him. I can already tell... and you know what I say to that? Bring it on, buddy!”

“Alright! Important question: pop tarts? Or toaster strudel? Choose carefully, now, there IS a wrong answer!”

“Well, hello there! You are just beautiful, did you know that?”

While Lance insisted on photographs to mark the occasion whenever their family grew, Keith couldn’t resist the desire to record the first thing his husband said to their children. Because somehow, Lance always found a new way to say ‘welcome to our family. I love you already.’ and every. single. time. it was perfect.