#i made a journal page and small encouraging notes in the gift as well

[michelle4eve]

The things I do for the people i love.

[marin3llyells]

A little background, I had attempts on making use of journals, planners and even bought canvas to do paintings as a kickstart for 2023.

I put up a small note, journal prompts, quotes on random pages of that journal I had. It was definitely a beginner-friendly or as if it's for someone who's not yet really sure how to start writing and planning or simply starting over again like me —

This holiday, somehow I have impulsively bought journals/planner for the family and a sketchbook for my little sister; as I was only looking for a 300 worth for an exchange gift at work. It was the best gift I can think of. Yes, it's like my way of sharing a piece of me. I did the same way on their planner, some reminders such as "drink 8 glasses of water", "plan ahead" and even song reco and activities for them. I made sure as well that my little sister (hopefully) will have fun with this small gift I have for her— as it was also a way of introducing her to ✨️Art✨️. Gave her simple prompts on painting since I included painting material.

Honestly, the goal is to provide them, no, I meant us, a safe space for our thoughts. It was my way to encourage writing, believing that expressing ourselves is one step in achieving growth. It was calming.

I wonder how this would turn out at the end of the year.

Let's yell out our thoughts or maybe put it on a paper specially at times when the world may be loud or too quiet that we somehow feel alone.

Enjoy the holiday, appreciate what's in front of you. 🤍

[princess-of-the-corner]

Human After All: I'd like to know more about A) Lust realizing that Hohenheim had an actual life in Resembool and B) everyone's reactions to Ed and Al sneaking off to do the human transmutation and the aftermath.

Oh boy here we fuckin go!!!!!

Lust realizing that Hohenheim had a life in Resembool:

Oh boy. Okay so this has some setup.

When Lust first meets Ed and Al, she assumes the situation is a lot different. Basically They're close enough to be mistaken for twins, so she thought it was more "one night stand and disappeared from town but their mom remembered the name and told the kids". Because... Why would he stay?

But then Lust babysits Ed and Al on a trip back to Resembool to visit Winry and her grandma. And like.

Lust gets curious about some things. And she happens to see a photo album out that she can't help but look through.

Of course Granny finds her snooping but just lets her look through it and explains that it's from Winry's parents' wedding. And Lust eventually flips to a page where Hohenheim is in the photo.

Lust pauses on it because it's so strange. First in general, of how Hohenheim looks just like Father but also nothing like him at the same time. Physically identical, but the way they carry themselves is.. Entirely different.

Especially as this picture is kinda goofy. Granny tells her how everyone was hinting to Hohenheim that he should marry Trisha since they were already "basically married". And the newly married Sarah Rockbell had given up pn subtly, and chucked her boquet right at Hohenheim's face with a "sorry I was aiming for Trisha!"(which no one belives because she has incredible aim).

Lust asks more on that. And Granny mentions how Hohenheim and Trisha had been together for a bit amd were already living in the same home. And that pretty much immediatly after that whole "lack of subtly" the pair decided "despite not going through legal paperwork we are married now fuck you' and also bonus pregnancy announcement. Which has Lust relize Ed and Al aren't twins.

But it's weird to her. Because like. Hohenheim had a life here? He was with this woman for a few years and essentially got married (clearly the "don't go through the paperwork" is because he doesn't legally exist). But like. He had a wife and kids. One of the kids seems to have been actually planned. Why would he do that? And why did he leave? No one has answers on that, but Granny says that if he did leave, it was for good reasons. Not whatever the town gossips make up for fun.

Granny is a little sus about Lust's interests in all this because like. I kiiinda mentioned this before on my artblog but he way I draw Lust she actually looks a lot like "if Ed was a girl" and considering how much Ed looks like Hohenheim... They basically look somewhat related. Granny points that out and kinda pulls some Gaslight Girlboss Gatekeep of "nope no relation whatsoever my father just worked with him long ago but it's totally not relevant to anything!"

Anyway!

Later, Lust is wandering around Ed and Al's home because that fucker hasn't burned yet. And she just... Sees more of it.

True. It's been just the boys for years but there's still things like his clothes in the bedroom closet or something casually put on a shelf too high for Trisha to have reached.

The two rooms that really hit are the bedroom and the study.

Tbe bedroom is mostly untouched. But she sees a shelf of little statues. It's strange to her, but she realizes all the statutes are made from Alchemy. About half of them have very obvious marks, a sign of a talented but inexperienced maker. Seeing two distinct styles, she cam guess Ed and Al made those.

The rest are perfect. Intricate and flawless. If they weren't on the shelf with the others, she would've thought they were made by some master clay artist.

Alchemically made trinkets as gifts for someone they love.

The study is another beast altogether. A whole library on Alchemical texts. Some even older than Lust. All marked up with someone's notes in the margins. The same person's notes, as the handwriting doesn't differ. Clearly all these are important. So why leave them?

The real hard hitter is a journal Hohenheim left. Of course Lust reads it. The fact that the journal is written in Xerxian is just another punch to the gut, but thankfully Lust can read it.

It has a lot of things but the main info she reads is an entry from when Ed was just born and Hohenheim is discussing worries over how his whole "Philosophers Stone in Human Form" deal might be effecting Ed in terms of like. Genetics and stuff.

But the main thing Lust focuses on is that Hohenheim mentions discussing those fears with Trisha. That he told her what he was and his whole history and everything.

It's... Confusing to Lust. Why did Hohenheim just settle down here in this small ass rural town with a normal woman? What was it about her that compelled him to stay in one place so long? To settle down after years and have a kid? Having a second kid? And telling her about... Everything?

She finds no answer because, from all accounts, it seems like Trisha was just a normal, small-town girl. She didn't even have an interest in Alchemy! Just gardening. Why her? Why not someone at least... Great and powerful to match what he was? Even if no one could truly compare to what he was.

Everyone's reactions to Ed and Al sneaking off to do Human Transmutation:

Oh boy. This is a big plot point.

So the boys had quite a plan to trick the adults. Lust has gone on trips out of town for weekends(reporting back to Father), and she's also babysat the boys on a trip to Resembool before. So the boys wait until one of her trips and tell Roy and Riza that she's taking them on a different trip to Resembool. None of the adults know this until Lust comes back without them and has no idea where they were.

They put it together real fast and all three book it to the train station. Several hours of worried pacing of what could've happened.

Roy and Riza are entirely in the dark of what might happen. Lust though... She knows how the Gate works. And what could have happened.

She knows that There's a Price to pay. And while she was planning on encouraging the boys to go through the Gate anyway, she was supposed to be involved with it so she could trade a part of her Philosopher's Stone for their safety. Obviously just so they don't loose a Sacrifice to blood loss or later infection! Not because she cares or anything! But yeah without her, who knows what the Price may be?

They check the boys house first. They see plenty of blood, which is a terrifying sight. But they also see a trail leading out. And that if the boys are still alive, they probably went to the Rockbell place.

Which yeah. Granny's already waiting for them. She wants to yell at them for failing, but it would be hypocritical sinve she didn't notice the first time around.

She tells them the boys are alive but fucked up. Ed lost a couple limbs and Al is... Hard to explain.

Lust is the first to notice the suit of armor in the living room. The way it's arranged like a child, curled up and hiding, barely peeking out from behind the "arms". Light in it's "eyes", like someone's in there watching her.

She remembers the experiments done on the death row inmates. Puttin Souls in suits of armor. She's horrified, but not surprised, when it moves.

That is a whole conversation. Lust has to pretend she doesn't know how that works(while also questioning how the boys managed it). Al tells them what he remembers, which is just everythiny going wrong and then being in the armor and Ed missing some limbs.

We have a long emotional scene when Roy goes to talk to Ed.

Ed is very much not okay at this point and he's trying to be angry but it's just not really there. And he just asks why Roy is still there. He failed to keep them from fucking up why does he still care? Just go back home and leave them so he doesn't have to deal with them anymore.

Well that's just heartbreaking. Roy just talks to him about a lot of things. And the main thing was that this wasn't just "I'm gonna try and stop you but whoops failed that bye bitch" situation. He's not just going to drop the kids because he failed once. He's not even going ti drop them after months of pushing him away and being stubborn about the whole situation. They're a family now damn it.

And Ed kinda feels like that might be worse, because he threw that away ti go fuck up. But Roy tells him it's not "thrown away". They're still going to be here for him. And figure things out.

Later at night, Roy, Riza and Lust all kinda sneaknout individually. Which does lead to some comedy until Granny catches them and calls them idiots. But all of them were thinking of going to the boy's house and looking over their notes.

Roy and Lust are the only ones who can make heads or tails of the notes. Riza can follow some but gets lost and Granny never was an Alchemy person. Roy's looking more for "what went wrong" while Lust is focused more on "what went right". And Lust does find that though they came very close to making a Homunculus, they did do everything pretty right. She accidentally comments on that, which leads to a horrifying theoretical of "what if the boys managed to make a fake Trisha that looked and acted like her but wasn't her?". This also leads to the more disturbing question of "what was it they did manage to make"?

This is a thing that came up in Canon, but here they get answers of the thing that they made wasn't their mom, and you can't bring back the dead. Ed and Al take that news about as well as they did in Canon as well.

The "possible homunculus" thing comes up too with the others wondering if Al really is Al and not just... Something vaguely like him that Ed accidentally created. (Lust knows but can't tell how she knows rip!). Riza to the rescue on this one by asking Al about something Ed shouldn't know about. So that existential crisis is averted!

Of course there's discussion of what to do to help Ed and Al. Which... Does lead to getting back toward Canon of "have Ed become a State Alchemist". It's debated a lot because ya know. Sure it's the best option to help them have the freedom and access to stuff tk find shit but. Ya know. Roy already feels like he failed to protect these kids once already this is not helping.

Anyway! One more fun scene!

Please imagine once Ed gets the automail arm and just does the clap-slap Alchemy. And Roy and Riza are like "yo what the FUCK???"

[watarigarasu]

May 9th – Change

Lyn’s Writing Event

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x Reader

Word count: 1,691

Warnings: Heavy angst

Author’s note: And for my next trick I’ll step on your feelings :)

Thorin Oakenshield considered changes as an inevitable part of life.

Unlike humans, he was allowed to live through the centuries and watch the world change in front of his bare eyes—the cities to be build, the lands to be conquered, the friends to be made and the foes to be defeated. Although the longevity of Elves was still out of his reach and the cold breath of death always one step behind him, he considered himself somehow lucky. Not everyone could live long enough to obtain a knowledge and skill as great as him, just like not everyone could make a good use of the life given to them.

And he was, indeed, rather proud of his achievements. His family and friends were, too.

Standing next to the majestic oak tree with branches so wide they could reach from one side of the main gate to the Erebor to the other, Thorin thought that he has seen the sun setting behind it thousands of times. It truly was a good idea, to plant a tree when it was barely a seedling on the meadow behind the Lonely Mountain and watch it grow.

He smiled at the memory.

It seemed as if that day happened no longer than few months ago. The grass was as yellowish as today, still not woken up from the winter slumber, the sky crystal clear and the smell of the sun in the air. The first day of spring and yet, the birds were understanding that it was their time coming, chirping sweetly in the distance and flying cheerfully around. It suited your excitement perfectly, the seedling in your hands soon to be placed in the ground.

“I just cannot wait to see it grow big and strong,” you admitted, not vary to get your hands dirty in the ground, while Thorin held the tree to make sure it was positioned straight. “We can get a wonderful place to rest during sunny days. And the birds will surely enjoy it, too, a new place to build nests.”

“Weren’t you saying that their morning serenades are disturbing your sleep during the journey here?” he reminded.

“It was something completely different! Now, look, it is almost done.”

Indeed, it was, the smile on your face so wide, Thorin could barely remember when was the last time you were so eager to do something. He found himself observing you instead of the plant, your features and the sparks in your eyes much more interesting than even the most special tree.

“I love you,” he confessed all of a sudden, causing you to blink and look at him puzzled.

“I love you, too, Thorin,” you answered and moved near him, to give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “More than you do love me.”

“No way,” he groaned. “I am the King and therefore I love you more.”

“And I am soon-to-be Queen and therefore I cannot love my future husband less than he does.”

“Nonsense, I see no correlation.”

And so, you teased him from time to time, just to see the King under the Mountain fall for you all over again. It always ended with a kiss, hands held together and the promises of even better times to come.

You looked stunning in your wedding dress, the jewelry given to you by him only making your beauty more visible and radiant, and for the first moment, Thorin was completely speechless. He stood there like a fool, unable to move or say a single word, simply eyeing you and not believing that you were really going to be his wife—that the love of his life, his One was truly there, within reach. After all he has been through, there was finally a time when all the troubles left him, the bold line being drawn at the end of this chapter with an intention of starting a new one.

The better, brighter one because you were there.

The way your laugh echoed in the halls was a music to his ears, no matter that sometimes, when you got particularly amused, it was nowhere near ladylike. On the contrary, that was when he loved it the most, the genuine expression of utter happiness floating from your heart. You taught him how to smile more often and to find the reason to do so every single day.

Countless stuff were filling Thorin’s once neat and minimalistic bedroom, since you moved in. Naturally, you wanted to make this place look as comfortable as possible, considering the fact that you were surrounded by the cold, dark stone, and he never argued with that. Whatever meaning were your things hiding, he realized that their presence was quite nice, always reminding him of you and your interests.

He did not even say a word when he found out that there was only one shelf destined for him left, all the rest occupied by your belongings. It was precious, to watch you place them and for your bedroom to seem more and more like a journal—every page filled with various memories you wished to cherish.

Thorin was the one to notice the first gray strand in your hair. You were resting your head upon his chest and slowly falling asleep, listening to him telling you an old story from his childhood, when his gaze landed upon something different. Not stopping the lazy strokes over your head, he took a closer look to make sure that he was not mistaken but no matter how much he wanted it to be some kind of hallucination, the single gray hair was stubbornly there.

Soon enough, he did not see it anymore, for the image in front of him got blurry, but the tone of his voice remained the same.

“I love you,” he told you the next day in the morning, right after you woke up in his arms. “Nothing will ever change that.”

“Well,” you started, still not completely awake and surprised by his sudden confession. “I hope so. I would hate to participate in a duel to win your heart again, but if I had to…”

He chuckled.

“I would never doubt that and I can assure you that there is nobody else to duel with.”

“Good,” you yawned. “I would like to have a breakfast with my lovely husband first.”

Thorin kissed the top of your head, in the same place where he found the damned hair previous night.

“You will, my dearest.”

The music was rapid and chaotic in the background and yet, you paid no attention to it, as you swayed with Thorin to the rhythm of a completely different melody. Slow and steady steps taken back and forth and to the sides were creating such a contrast to the joyful jumps and swirls of the other members of the great feast organized to celebrate Fíli’s hundred birthday. In the arms of the King under the Mountain, however, you were safe from the whole world, keeping him close to you with eyes closed and simply feeling his presence with your body and soul.

It was warm and peaceful, just like his love for you.

Wandering through the lands you almost forgot about, you realized how much they changed during all those years spent in the Erebor. The forests seemed to grow taller, the roads longer and the hills higher, as if the world was spreading to every side. It was hard to imagine that you were travelling there with The Company once, on a quest to kill the dragon and reclaim the place you knew now as your home. Thorin, walking by your side insisted that he remembered the way perfectly and encouraged you to visit Shire as a small substitute of the adventure you once had and a present for your anniversary.

Also, to visit an old friend of yours.

Not Bilbo, nor his habits differed from what you remembered and after you crossed the threshold (naturally, without knocking first), you were both welcomed like a guests of honour, with tea and snacks.

“I have to admit,” you stated after walking over the small hill and leaving Bag End behind. “It was a good idea. Thank you for suggesting that.”

“I am glad you consider it as such,” Thorin smiled. “It would be a terrible waste of time and energy if you did not.”

“Time spent with you is never a waste, Thorin. No matter what we do or where we are, it is always good when you are with me. I love you and it is honestly all that matters.”

He truly hoped that the words you spoke that day were genuine, because the thought of wasting your life was haunting him for many weeks after you were gone. If he only did not meet you during the quest, you would have a completely different life, perhaps better than the one he could offer you—living and dying in the kingdom of stone and steel.

Standing alone under the tree you planted together and observing the setting sun for the countless time, Thorin realized that although he seemed to come back to the very same place he started from—to the crushing loneliness and lack of purpose—everything was different. You were the most beautiful and significant change that has ever happened to him and there was no way he would ever be the same as he was before seeing you for the first time.

Thorin was back in his home, the place he knew from an early childhood and nothing was the same.

You gave his life the meaning he was desperately looking for, you showered him with love he believed he did not deserve, you willingly devoted your whole life to him and spent your last hours in his arms. It was much more than he could ever ask you for, the greatest and most precious gift handed to him long before he realized what it was.

The privilege of growing old together, where the only permanent and constant thing remaining was his endless love for you.

And maybe it was meant to be this way.

[wild-aloof-rebel]

waited so long to say this to you

Five times they say “I do” (and one they don’t).

- part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - 

He finds David on a bench outside the restaurant, a striking silhouette in the autumn moonlight.

“Needed some air?” Patrick asks, sliding his hands into his pockets and pausing just outside the little bubble of silence David has created for himself out here. He doesn’t want to intrude if his fiancé needs a little time and space to himself: with their families and friends in full celebration mode, it’s been a busy, loud, chaotic evening, and Patrick can’t blame him if he needs to escape for a bit.

But the slight curl of David’s lips as he meets Patrick’s eye is an invitation, as is the way he squeezes a little closer to the arm to give him space to sit. “If I have to hear Alexis tell one more story about the Galapagos, I’m going to strangle her with her own hair. I‌ swear she’s worse than mom was after Bosnia.”

“Well, I don’t think a jail cell wedding is exactly the aesthetic we were going for, so it’s probably best if neither groom-to-be gets arrested tonight.” 

A smile spreads bright and happy across David’s face, carving dimples deep into his cheeks. 

“What?”

He shakes his head as he answers, like an old habit he hasn’t yet unlearned, borne of a time when he didn’t share his thoughts and feelings with others. Not the way he shares them with Patrick. It’s the kind of growth and trust he never takes for granted. “Groom-to-be,” David says, still grinning around the words.

“You like that one?” Patrick lights up at the delight evident on David’s face. “Then I‌ have a feeling you’re going to like what comes tomorrow even more.”

“Groom?”

“Husband.”

That brilliant smile goes soft around the edges, twisting into something shier, something just for Patrick. “I can’t wait,” he admits. “Though I did like being your fiancé.”

Patrick knows exactly what he means. These last few months have been some of the best of his life. There’s been this ever-present joy bubbling in his veins, soft and golden like champagne. In some ways it reminds him of those first few months after they’d started dating, when everything had felt like possibility, but there’s something deeper and steadier about it this time around. Something certain and settled and unshakable. He can only imagine how much those feelings will grow after tomorrow, but as excited as he is to take the next step, there’s also a peculiar sorrow in having to leave this version of themselves behind.

“I liked being your fiancé, too.” He traces David’s dimple with the pad of his thumb and leans over to press a long, lingering kiss to his lips, letting him feel just how much he means it. David melts into it, honeyed and sweet, taking a few extra seconds after Patrick pulls away to open his eyes. He looks like he’s trying to memorize the moment, and Patrick bites down on a smile at the thought.

Finally he looks at Patrick again, open and adoring, with reflections of streetlights swimming in his dark eyes like stars. “Thank you.”

It’s reminiscent of a kiss on a night long ago. They’d sat beside each other much like this, though they’d been in his car after their first date instead of on a bench outside their rehearsal dinner, and Patrick had been the one with thanks on his mind back then.

“For what?” he asks, and the warmth in David’s laugh tells Patrick he recognizes the callback, too.

“For… everything,” he says with a happy little shrug. “Thank you for loving me.”

The simple honesty of it clenches tight around Patrick’s heart. “Thank you for letting me.”

It’s David who leans in this time, kissing him with such tenderness that Patrick can feel it tingling in his fingertips and his toes. Can feel the light of it shimmering like sparks in his belly, trembling and bright. Not for the first time, he wishes he could stop time somehow, wishes he could stay here with his fiancé’s fingers against the line of his jaw, with his breath warm and familiar on his lips, with the whole of their lives together stretched out before them like rolling fields reaching for the horizon. 

But all too soon there’s a door opening behind them, laughter and music spilling out into the night serving as a pin to burst their cozy bubble, and David’s brushing one last kiss across his mouth and sitting back again. 

“I have something for you,” he says, twisting the ring on his middle finger. “It was supposed to be for tomorrow, but… I thought maybe you should have it tonight.” A small black notebook appears out of seemingly nowhere, and David presses it into Patrick’s hands. He’s seen it before, or perhaps just others like it—David carries one almost everywhere he goes, scribbling away, hunched over the counter on slow days at the store or tucked into the corner of the sofa on quiet nights at home. Patrick’s never asked him about it before, never stolen a peek; he’s been more than comfortable in letting David keep it for himself. 

But here is David inviting him in, meeting Patrick’s questioning glance with a confident nod, so he opens the cover and lets himself look. 

The first page is a list, mostly of their vendors, though there are a few names he doesn’t recognize that have been crossed out. The next is a series of drawings, all of them roses, each successive one morphing into something that looks more and more like a logo he knows as well as his own reflection. Product ideas, sketches of displays, suggestions for names—it’s their store, birthed in ink.

That alone would be gift enough, but barely four pages in he finds his own name, written in the middle of a mess of other notes, crisp and black in David’s precise hand. It’s underlined and punctuated with a question mark, and Patrick traces the shape of it with his fingers. His name, there, amongst David’s thoughts and plans for the store. He wonders how long ago this had been written, how long after they’d met. 

Higher on the page, he finds his answer: appointment at Ray’s, 10:30 AM, incorporation papers. David had written this that first day, had been just as struck by their meeting as Patrick himself had been. He’s known that—they’ve talked about it—but to see it in ink makes it real in a way he couldn’t have expected. Patrick had gone on a long hike to try to sort out what that first flush of feeling had meant, what he’d been willing to allow it to mean; David apparently had taken to paper to do the same.

His name appears on the next page and then again three pages later. He flips quickly through the remainder of the journal, not wanting to get too caught up in reading here, not wanting to share David’s gift with anyone who might stumble out looking to find them. His name occurs more and more frequently as he thumbs toward the end, until it feels like every page is about him somehow.

“It’s— It’s my feelings,” David says when he reaches the back cover. “About you. Well… about a lot of things. But mostly about you.”

Patrick shakes his head because it’s too much and tries to breathe through the messy knot of emotion tangled around his lungs. “David, you don’t—”

“I do.” The strength of his voice is a surprise, and Patrick can feel his eyes go wide at the conviction of it. “I do.”

Those two little words have come to mean so much to them both over the past few months. Hope and laughter. Comfort and encouragement. Trust and understanding and never-ending love. They’re a promise, a reminder that they’re in this together. 

“I do,” he says once more, whisper soft, before he kisses it into the corner of Patrick’s mouth, just one gentle, reassuring touch of his lips.

It does nothing for the sting in the corners of Patrick’s eyes or the tremble in his fingers, but David’s hands cover his where they’re holding his gift in his lap, and he feels a little less like he might shake apart right here on the pavement.

“I know this might be hard to believe,” David says with a self-deprecating laugh, “but I’ve never let anyone read my journals before. I mean, Alexis probably has because she’s the worst, but I’ve never let anyone do it. I‌ don’t— I didn’t trust anyone that way. But I‌ trust you.” The breath he takes is shaky, but his hands are warm and steady where they’re wrapped around Patrick’s, his thumbs sweeping small, soothing circles into his skin, though which one of them he’s soothing, Patrick isn’t sure. “I trust you because you make me feel safe, and I‌ don’t think I’ve ever... felt that way before? Like I‌ can just… be me. Like I can— Like I‌ can be happy.” He shrugs, nonchalant, like that isn’t simultaneously the most heartbreaking and the most touching thing he’s ever said. “But you. You make me feel... that. You make me feel like I‌ deserve that.”

“You do,” Patrick says, fingers twitching with the need to reach for more of him, to hold him here until there’s no doubt left in David’s mind. “David, you deserve that more than anything.”

It’s something that he’s long known, though they’ve always talked about it in less specific terms, and still it fills him with a stifling mixture of anger and sorrow to know that his big-hearted, well-intentioned, endlessly loving and lovable fiancé had been treated so carelessly by so many. David has made Patrick feel safe from the start; from the moment he’d confessed that he’d never done this before, David had taken such diligent care of him, letting him take his time, giving him the space he needed to figure himself out, and Patrick had decided long, long ago that he would spend the rest of his life ensuring that David feels just as safe and secure and wholly, unconditionally loved. 

“I know,” David whispers, like if he says it any louder he might frighten the belief right back out of himself. “I do.” He drags one of his hands free of Patrick’s grasp to scrub it across the tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. “And I‌ know that this isn’t a— a traditional wedding gift, but… I mean, I’m not exactly made of money these days.” 

His lips twitch back toward a smile, and Patrick can’t help but breathe out a chuckle at the sight of it, glad that David’s reached the point where he can joke about it a little, where the bruise is no longer so fresh and he can poke and prod at the pain of it just a bit. 

“It’s just that… my feelings are pretty much all I have anymore. So I’m giving them to you. I want you to have them—all of them, the good and the bad. They’re all in there, and I’m giving them to you because… I know that you’ll keep them safe. That— That you’ll keep me safe.”

Patrick drags him in for a kiss, tears pooling in his palms where they’re cradling David’s jaw, his own slipping down his neck and into the collar of his shirt. It’s messy and inelegant and one of the most perfect kisses of his life, and everything he’s feeling, all of his thanks and all of his happiness, all of his protection and all of his vulnerability, every single ounce of his love and affection for this beautiful, incredible man he has the privilege of marrying tomorrow, he tries to press it all between the seam of David’s lips, to breathe it into his lungs until he’s filled up with it.

David pulls away laughing, a wet, gasping thing. “I can’t believe you made me cry at our rehearsal dinner.”

“Me?” Patrick asks, voice still thick with emotion behind his incredulity. “It’s your gift! You’re the one who had to— to… say all that.”

“Yeah, and it was supposed to make you cry, not me!” The look he gives Patrick is clearly meant to be stern, but there’s too much good humor behind it for David to pull it off, and Patrick’s reply curls itself around a fond smile.

“Oh, so it’s fine for you to make me cry at our rehearsal dinner, but not the other way around.”

“Obviously.” David rolls his eyes and kisses him again, quick but happy.

They both take a moment to wipe their faces and make themselves look a bit less like they’ve been crying together in the middle of what’s supposed to be a celebratory night. And when he feels like he’s finally put himself back together enough, Patrick stands, clasping his gift tightly, and offers his hand to his fiancé. “Shall we?”

David’s hand finds his, warm and soft, and he lets Patrick pull him up to his feet and straight into his arms.

“Thank you, best,” Patrick says, kissing the words into the curve of David’s neck and holding him tight. He doesn’t only mean for the gift and thinks maybe he should say so, but when he pulls back, the soft smile on David’s face says that he already knows.

So Patrick takes his hand and leads him back into the restaurant, back into this beautiful, happy life they’ve built for themselves, and they spend the rest of the night laughing and talking and dancing, surrounded by the people they love and the people who love them, safe at each other’s side.

[porkchop-ao3]

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 19)

A Trip North

Going on a trip with Arthur and Charles :) 

Also it’s my birthday tomorrow (22!!), so if y’all want to gift me with comments then be my guest ;) they make the world go ‘round!

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

  -

A couple of days passed, Arthur had ended up helping Beau some more; accompanying Penelope on a women's suffrage rally. I volunteered myself to go too, but Beau worried that more women going along might make matters worse, riling up the not-so-progressive locals even more. I hadn't argued, despite rather liking the cause Penelope and the other women were rallying for; why shouldn't we have the right to cast a vote, too? Anyway, the rally came and went and Arthur got busy, pulled into some work with Dutch and some others.

When I asked him about it he breezed over it, telling me that it wasn't important and that he'd rather just spend his time with me talking about other things. Though, it was highly puzzling to me to notice the deputy badge on his shirt. He couldn't not explain things to me then, so I prodded him about it one afternoon when he came back from a trip into town with Sadie after she'd yelled down the camp with Pearson.

"Is that badge just an interesting new fashion accessory or are you actually a damn deputy now?" I asked, poking the badge with my finger. He glanced down at it, then grabbed my finger in his hand, keeping it there. 

"I thought I might try something new with my look," he rolled his eyes a little and I wiggled my finger free from his hand, cocking a brow. Arthur sighed. "Alright, if you must know, it's real. But it ain't my damn idea."

"That don't surprise me," I said, glancing over at Dutch where he was sat reading one of his Evelyn Miller novels in his tent. 

"I got you something from town today, you gonna let me show you? Or would you rather me bore you with all these silly details?" He questioned and my eyes widened a little. 

"You got me something?" I squeaked, stunned at the idea of receiving a gift from him. 

"I did, don't get too excited," he chuckled, opening up his satchel. 

"Wait, finish telling me about this first," I decided, touching his arm to stop him. 

"Fine. 'Least if you get mad, I'll have a gift to soften the blow," he breathed. I frowned a little, not quite understanding why he'd be worried about making me mad. "Dutch reckons the Braithwaites and the Grays both have money, enough to go around, if you get my meaning."

"I certainly do, so what's with the badges? You on the payroll?" I snorted and Arthur looked at me for a while, a little hesitant. 

"He wants us to play 'em both. Gain their trust, figure out what's what, and when the time is right; take whatever they've got in the hopes they both think the other family's to blame. You know they've got that silly feud."

"Well it sounds good on paper, a little risky, but what work do you do that ain't risky?" I put my hands on my hips, waiting for some sort of response as Arthur narrowed his eyes a little. 

"You ain't mad?"

"That was what was supposed to make me mad? Why on Earth?" I cocked my head incredulously and Arthur released a quiet breath. 

"You being friends with Beau and Penelope, I figured you might not be too pleased about us robbing 'em," he explained and I nodded in understanding. 

"Fair enough, but I already told you. Their families are terrible, I don't care what happens as long as Beau and Penelope get out fine. Maybe we can help them," I shrugged. "Besides, I know they barely see a penny of their families' money as it is."

"Well, in that case, that's a relief. We can help them, if the opportunity arises," Arthur nodded and I smiled at him, then glanced down at his satchel. 

"So what did you pick up in town?" I asked, watching a little smile settle on Arthur's features as he reached into his satchel again. He retrieved a leather bound book and held it out towards me.

"I said I'd look for a sketchbook for you, got you this and–" I took the book from him, my lips parting as he dug around in his satchel some more, "a pencil, so you can pick up drawing again."

I took the pencil from him too and stared at the items for a while, unable to find suitable words for my gratitude. The journal was wrapped in black leather, polished to a subtle shine and had a strip of embossing next to the spine, delicate swirls. It was a beautiful object, the likes of which I'd never owned. All of my previous drawing experience had been on loose paper, scraps my father gave to me whenever he could. 

"Arthur this is wonderful, I wasn't expecting this at all," I shook my head, flicking through the book and watching the off-white pages flutter.

"I said I would," he chuckled. 

"Yes, but I…" I trailed off, then looked up at him and gave him a smile. "Thank you. What can I do to repay you?"

Arthur shook his head and patted the top of the book. "Nothing, it's a gift."

"It's a beautiful gift, surely there is something I can do to show my gratitude?" I said, reaching and giving his arm an affectionate rub. Arthur looked around cluelessly, shaking his head. 

"I don't know, draw me a picture," he decided. 

"Of course! Any preference for what?" I grinned at him. 

"Surprise me," he chuckled, taking my hand from his arm and squeezing it. "Do you like it?"

"I love it, I've never owned my own journal before, it's incredible,” I told him with a joyous sigh. 

"I'm pleased. I like seeing you smile," he told me, then let go of my hand when someone walked past; Susan, eyeing the two of us up curiously. I laughed and looked down at the book, face warming up.

"Thank you, again. I really appreciate this," I told him and he shrugged. 

"No worries, sweetheart. We'll take a trip out again sometime, when we have the time," he suggested and I nodded eagerly. 

"I would love to."

-

"Is it my birthday today? This is the second time someone's brought me a goodie," I asked when Charles approached me where I was stood slicing carrots – a job I was more than willing to give Sadie a rest from – carrying a bow and a bundle of arrows. "You found some time to make one?"

"Of course, a deal's a deal. Besides, it'll be nice having a new hunting partner," he told me, handing me the bow and the arrows. I inspected it, noting its distinct hand-made quality, made from a strip of wood that'd been carved and bent into shape, and sanded down with what I could only imagine was a lot of elbow grease. 

"You made this?" I said, stunned. 

"Sure. I hope it's okay for you, let me know if it needs any adjustments," he said. 

"This is fantastic, thank you. You ever need anything from me, I'm happy to help. This must've taken a lot of time," I told him, holding the bow and drawing the string back, getting a feel for it. "A bit of oleander hardly makes up for it."

"I wasn't lying when I said I enjoyed making things. I was happy to do it, you know that."

"Well, I'll draw you a picture, how's that? Arthur got me a sketchbook today, so I will create something with my hands for you just as you created this for me," I bargained. Charles smiled, glancing over his shoulder at where Arthur was napping on his bed.

"Sounds fair, you're becoming good friends with Arthur, aren't you? He's a good man," Charles pointed out, innocently enough. 

"I enjoy his company, I find we have things in common," I nodded. 

"The three of us should go hunting together, he knows a fair bit about it and I think we'd make a good team. We could use some new furs for the camp; something thicker to sleep on. You ever hunted a bear before?"

"Christ, no. Look at me," I chuckled, gesturing to myself; being much smaller than the likes of Charles who was well built with muscle and brawn. 

"They're fairly common up north from here. The three of us could head that way for a couple of days, camp out, I'll teach you. You survived on your own this long, I think you could handle it," he gave me an amused smile, no doubt at the look on my face. 

"Bears? Well, okay Charles. I'll go with it," I laughed uneasily and Charles patted my shoulder. 

"You can handle it," he reiterated. "You got that rifle from Micah, right? That'll work, if we fit it with a scope. We won't be getting too close, don't worry."

"Alright," I nodded, "a few days away from camp sounds good anyway, if we don't get eaten."

Charles seemed to agree, laughing. "I will leave you to your work, and I'll speak to Arthur about taking that trip."

-

The three of us – Arthur, Charles and I – got the go ahead from Dutch to leave for a few days, and packed up supplies on our horses to keep us fed and warm. We'd be heading up towards the grizzlies, Charles had planned out the route and we all left early one morning; stocked full of tinned foods, blankets, tents and rifles. We were heading towards a place I'd never been before, to do something I had never dreamed of trying. I wasn't nervous, but I was full of anticipation and excitement. The biggest animal I'd ever taken down was a buck, the most dangerous animal had been a rather angry alligator, a bear was certainly a daunting mark but I trusted Charles. 

Along the way he told us about the animals he'd hunted in the past; he was extremely knowledgeable on the subject and I admired him. Hunting was something I enjoyed, now that I was capable enough to do it cleanly, not because I enjoyed killing things but because of the quietness of the task. You couldn't hunt while stomping around or chattering on about nonsense, you had to concentrate and be careful, it put me into a sort of meditative state which separated me from my thoughts and anything that I was struggling with. Of course, I hunted for survival and it didn't bring me pleasure to harm creatures, but there was a set of steps, a routine, that made hunting rather peaceful, ironically. 

We stopped for lunch, and Charles encouraged me to hunt a rabbit with my new bow to test it out. He and Arthur set up a small fire while I went off on my own, searching out our meal. Rabbits were not difficult to come across, and I was heading back to them quickly with my catch. 

"That bow can't be too bad," Charles said, pleased with himself when he spotted the rabbit. I thanked him again for the bow and we skinned and cooked the rabbit, eating it with some tinned sweetcorn and a bit of cheese, and let our horses rest while we sat down around the fire for a little while. 

I found myself smiling an awful lot, being with Charles and Arthur. All three of us were rather like-minded; a little quiet and happy to enjoy each others' company with long stretches of silence between the odd story. I took the opportunity to sit and sketch Charles while he was sat giving his rifle a clean and Arthur was brushing his horse. The atmosphere – with the crackle of the fire, the sound of birds singing, the company of the two men – made me wonder how on Earth I had gone so long on my own. There was a sense of comfort here, that I'd never experienced by myself.

I jumped when something touched my head, realising quickly that it was Arthur placing a hat on my head. I looked up at him, my eyes a little widened, and he chuckled. 

"I figured you could use this more than I do. Looks better on you anyway," he said, sitting down beside me. When I didn't say anything, he turned to look at me, then straightened the hat on my head. "You can keep it," he clarified. 

"You sure?" I asked him. 

"Of course. Been wearing this hat for years," he tipped his own hat at me. "I was only carrying that one 'round as a spare. I don't like you riding in the sun too long without it."

"Am I burning?" I questioned, putting my journal down to pat my cheeks. 

"Not yet, I'm taking preventative measures."

"Well, thank you," I smiled gratefully, then picked my book back up to continue drawing. 

"What'chu drawing?" He asked, and I lifted a finger to my lips before flicking my eyes over to Charles, who was still absorbed in cleaning his weapon. Arthur chuckled and nodded in understanding. I tilted the drawing to him and he studied it. "Looking good."

"Good," I smiled. "I'm almost done."

I continued sketching, finishing off the rest of Charles' body, capturing a very crooked and inaccurate looking rifle in his hands. It was recognisable as a gun, at least, and that was good enough for me. As I worked, I sensed Arthur's attention on me, and I worked very hard to not let it put me off. I jumped again when his hand appeared by my face, going to move some hair; I was wearing it down and it fell forward, curtaining my face from him as I looked down. When he realised he'd startled me, his hand froze, then moved very gingerly to brush the hair back. When I looked at him, he seemed a little embarrassed and didn't meet my eyes. I shifted, pressing my shoulder up against his in silent reassurance. 

"We should keep going," Charles spoke up, rising to his feet and slinging his rifle over his shoulder. I moved back to a more natural position and closed my journal, looking up at him. "We'll ride for a few more hours and then stop somewhere for the night, I've packed up the rest of that rabbit, we can finish it later."

"Whereabouts will we be by then?" I asked curiously as I stood up with Arthur. Charles put out the fire as we gathered up our things. 

"We're aiming to be just South of O'Creagh's Run. Best place to look for bears is North of that lake, that gives us all day tomorrow to hunt. Depending on how well that goes, we can either start heading back tomorrow afternoon, or we can stay the night and leave the next morning," Charles explained, heading towards the horses. We all mounted up again. 

"There's wolves around there, I heard," I said, glancing at Charles from the corner of my eye, trying not to sound worried.

"Sure, sometimes, but they shouldn't bother us if we give them no reason to. We'll store the food away from our camp just to be safe," he assured me. 

"And sleep with guns in our hands," Arthur laughed mischievously and I looked over at him. 

"You two have both hunted these kinds of animals before, haven't you?"

"I've hunted a couple of bears," Arthur affirmed. "You haven't?" He asked, seeming a little surprised. 

"No, seemed a little risky and pointless when I was on my own," I told him. 

"Hosea and I almost got devoured by this big bastard not too long ago," Arthur told me. "I finished him off, though."

"I reckon John mentioned this," I said, and Arthur glanced at me in question. 

"John? What's he say?"

"Said you made a lovely hat," I smirked. Arthur made a little humming sound and looked away, an embarrassed flush appearing on his face. 

"I remember that," Charles said, speaking from up ahead. "It was an interesting choice. Definitely a little morbid," he laughed. 

"Yeah, well, better than it going to waste, you ought’a admit," Arthur defended and I offered him a grin. 

"My brother had that kinda stuff made. Though, he weren't much of a hunter. He owned a hat with a bunch'a rat parts around the brim; I can guarantee whatever your hat looked like, it was better than my brother's."

"Rats?" Arthur questioned, and made a face. I nodded sympathetically.

"I lived with that for a few months," I said. 

"Jesus, I'm sorry," Arthur murmured, making me laugh. 

We rode until the sun went down, and we set up camp in a little clearing just off the road. We'd made it to where Charles had planned for us to, and finished off the rabbit from earlier. Arthur cracked out some beers, just one each to wet our whistles before bed. We'd set up a tent each – mine being lent to me by John – around the fire. 

Since we were staying put for the night I decided to give Charles what I'd drawn that afternoon, so I retrieved the drawing from my satchel and scooted over to him. He took a swig of beer and eyed me up as I offered it out to him. 

"I hope you don't mind. I said I'd draw something as a small token of gratitude for crafting that bow. How's a portrait?" I said as he took it from me. He smiled when he set his eyes on it. 

"Wow, when did you do this; earlier on?" He asked and I nodded. "You're stealthy."

"It ain't worth nothing, I'm no fancy french artist, but I hope the novelty of having a drawing of yourself brings you a little happiness," I grinned at him. 

"It does. This is great, thank you," he chuckled as he stared at the drawing, lifting it up to get a closer look in the dim light around the fire. 

"I gotta think of something to draw for Arthur since he got me the book I drew that in," I looked over at him, and he perked up at the mention of his name. Before, he'd been staring up at the sky, leaning up against a big rock nearby. "What do you think, Charles?"

"You're not gonna draw him?"

"I've drawn him once before, that's still in my saddlebag come to think of it. I'm thinking something different."

Arthur stood up, stretched a little, then approached the fire; the light of it illuminated him better, highlighting his most prominent features and reflecting in his eyes. "Draw me, uhh… draw me a duck."

"A duck?" I cocked my head. 

"What's wrong with ducks?"

"Nothing's wrong with ducks, that's just real unexpected. What kinda duck you want; mallard? Pekin?" I laughed. 

"How 'bout one of each?" 

"Ohh, of course. Anything else?"

"Naw, I ain't greedy," he said, smirking good-naturedly and strolling over to the horses. He stroked his horse's face and fed him an apple from his satchel. 

"You sure you want ducks? What if I drew Jet?" I asked, getting up and joining him with the horses. Arthur paused, looking at me thoughtfully. 

"You know what? I wouldn't mind that. You like that, boy?" He turned to his horse, giving him some affection. "Get your picture drawn?"

"I think he'd like it," I snickered. Arthur glanced cautiously over at Charles, then reached for my hand. He lifted it to his mouth, pressing a number of kisses across my knuckles. 

"You could draw me anything and I'd treasure it," he whispered. A drop of something warm felt like it rolled from my heart to my belly; affection and longing. I leaned in to kiss his cheek, just once, a fraction of what I wanted to do. 

Arthur looked at Charles again and let go of my hand. I heard movement behind me and bit down on my lip to hold something back, I don't know what, but I felt like some sort of sound wanted to escape from me. I had so many feelings. 

"I'm gonna turn in, you two should too. Early start tomorrow," Charles told us, and I glanced over my shoulder to see that he wasn't even looking our way. 

"Goodnight, Charles," I called to him, and he lifted his arm in a languid little wave before he crawled into his tent, closing the flaps behind him. 

When I turned back to Arthur, he almost immediately closed the space between us to lay a kiss on me, one that stole my breath and coaxed my hands from my sides and to the fabric at the front of his shirt. After a moment he spread his kisses to my cheek, to my temple, then his lips hovered by my ear.

"What I wouldn't give for just ten minutes alone with you, where we don't gotta do nothin' but this," he whispered to me, instantly warming me from head to toe. All I could do was nod. "I'll get us some time, soon."

"There's so much I wanna do–"

"Don't say nothing that's gonna make me resent one of my best friends for merely being here," he chuckled, only half serious. I glanced back towards Charles' tent. 

"I both love and hate sneaking around like this," I told him. "We can tell whoever we like, but I enjoy knowing that this is just between us."

"I know the feeling," Arthur nodded. "We can keep this quiet for now. I guess… I guess if we don't tell no one, for as long as they think we're just friends, we can get away with spending nights away from camp alone without them making assumptions."

"We should take advantage of that at least once, don't you think?" I giggled, watching Arthur lick his lips, his eyes turning a little sultry. 

"Absolutely. A night alone, jus' you and me, that sounds real nice," he purred, pressing another kiss to my temple. "For now, though, we got company. Let's go get some sleep, princess."

[maknaesdancersrappers]

I’ve listed everything I can think of that leads to the fact that I’m in love with him… there could be so much more.

It’s a terrifying thing if I were to be honest. I thought love was fast; it would hit you out of nowhere like a stray ball in the field. But this was slow; it took it’s time, weaved itself in little things so inconspicuously that it felt normal. It was when I noticed it did it began to bare its teeth, sinking its claws and holding tight with a vice grip to ensure its place on me.

Unnoticed. Unavoidable. Unforgettable.

It’s staked its claim and I can only hope it weakens in time.

The only other solution is to let it control me. Let it consume every word and action. The reward is uncertain, but often times, I found it tempting; those times it would present itself on a silver platter. I’d find myself reaching out to it, only to retract my hand in paranoia at the sight of a thorn.

Maybe he prefers roses; and I’m certainly not one.

I’ve made my decision that night and it’s proven to be a painfully difficult one. It’s been nearly a month, I’ve endured so much.

It’s pathetic to give in now, right?

Jaehyun knows this was wrong, but he wanted to surprise you like you did for him. He knows he couldn’t beat you; you gave him a puppy! How could he top that? He’s thought about your gift thoroughly and pooled enough money to get you a new camera for you to use during the photography classes you told him about before.

So here he was, snooping around your room to look for good place to hide it after your mom let him in. She had her run errands to buy him some time, but he had no fucking clue where. He stared at your desk, deeming it too risky to hide it there. He doubts you check under the bed often so that’s the best option he has, probably pull it out when he’s ready to give it to you.

Jaehyun drops to the floor, pushing your draped sheets away to give him a better view. It’s surprisingly clean - well, cleaner than he assumed. Just a few stray writing instruments, a shoebox, and - is that a bra?

He shoots up to his knees as if it was contagious. He exhales, almost annoyed, at how he can feel himself getting hot for recognizing the lacy fabric, but he shakes his head to derail the thought. He lies back down and ignores the brassiere, pulling out the shoebox from beneath to inspect it.

Scrawled onto the top was the unmistakable penmanship of Kang Yebin - it still boggles Jaehyun how you and Minkyung were friends with her - and it read, ‘Learn to love yourself, XOXO YB’ He takes back what he says, maybe he’s read Yebin’s brash and loud nature wrongly. He didn’t think any harm would be done if he takes a peek, right? It would probably be something like crystals or self-love books.

Oh, he was so wrong. It didn’t register at first what the elongated object was; it looked like a bigger version of a bullet. He only realized what it was when he tries to pick it up and it starts to vibrate. He can feel his face on fire as he tries to switch it off, pushing away the thoughts if you had used it or not - but all he can hope it was some crude joke Yebin pulled on her. Once it was off, he gently place it back in the box and closes it with a heavy breath.

“It’s not too late to learn new things about someone.” He grumbles, clearing his throat. He pushes the box back in and sits back up, eyeing the space of your bed that’s flushed against your side table. It barely gets even a sliver of light and he’s hoping the shadow would be dark enough to conceal his gift. He jams his gift there and hopes for the best.

Rising back up to his feet, he looks back to your desk where you kept a photo of your family and a photo of the two of you tacked on the small cork board you had on a mini easel along with other paper memorabilia like tickets and receipts. He remembers when the photo of you were taken: it was his last day in Korea before they temporarily moved to America.

He feels himself blush at the one keypoint of the memory. Before he left, he made a promise that you seemed to forget and maybe that was for the better because it would have been incredibly embarrassing if you had.

“I’ll come back from America, and when I do, I’ll marry you!”

It was such a bold statement for a four year old.

His phone vibrates in his pocket, giving him a small fright. It was only Jangmi, asking about your gift. As he types a reply, he notices a drawer slightly open and something in his gut told him to check it out. He’s already seen what he can label the worse beneath your bed - unless it’s a box of condoms, even worse if it’s nearly empty. He huffs at himself for even thinking about you that way, prying the drawer open.

Jaehyun recognizes the journals piled up; he’s seen you fill them up for years. He can even make out the first journal he’s gotten you near the bottom of the pile. As he was just about to close it, he notices something odd - odd, in terms of it being unfamiliar to him.

He wrestles it out of the weight of the journals on top of it and puts it on top of the desk. It was brown and thin, unlike the rest that varied colors and were at least an inch thick in width. He flips open to the first page and reads, ‘My physics teacher is driving me insane.’ and it continues to go on about their teacher.

He flips to another page and it talked about the day her parents fought and words like divorce and cheating came about. He remembers that day; he was so concerned when he heard the shouting that he wanted to check up on you, but you weren’t responding to his messages. He luckily caught you outside before he dragged you to his room and drowned out the screaming with music. He’s glad it was a false alarm, just her parents getting too heated and careless with their words. On the notebook, you went on to write about how they sat you down and apologized for their behavior. From how some of the inked words bled, he could tell you were crying when you wrote it.

As he continues to flip through the pages, he’s starting to understand the purpose of the notebook. It was merely a diary where you can write out your thoughts. You didn’t care for mistakes or calligraphy, or tapes or photos. You just wanted to get it off your chest.

Jaehyun sighs, feeling a little guilty he went through your personal thoughts and proceed to close it until he catches a sentence he thought he misread. He returns to the page and reads it once, twice, until he’s sure he’s not making it up.

‘I think I’m in love with Jaehyun’

He’s staring hard at it as he restrains himself from reading further because he knows this was wrong. His heart is beating so hard, he thinks it could jump right out of his chest. Without another thought, he continues to read.

‘... I’ve endured so much. It’s pathetic to give in now, right?’

Jaehyun knows this is wrong. This is what he went into her room for, but the hours your mom bought for him to find a good hiding spot for his gift was used to read through her private journal - specifically to read about pages after pages on how you were in love with him. He couldn’t process this properly. He closes the notebook and puts it back right where he got it, making sure it seemed it hadn’t moved an inch.

When he closes the drawer, he picks up his phone and dials a number.

“Jangmi? Jangmi, you were right.” He breathes, running a hand through his hair. “She’s in love with m-me… she has feelings for me. What do I do?”

He finds himself gawking at your photo and being reminded of the one thing he can remember from that day, “Jang, how do I tell her I love her back?”

14 ways to say you love them too

author’s ending note: aaaahhhh and it’s done!! for now ehe (⁎⁍̴̛ᴗ⁍̴̛⁎) this was such a blast to write, i mean, yeah, i crammed most of them and i personally think some are rushed, but hopefully it all connects! thanks to everyone who’s been waiting for it to update, the encouraging words, and of course, the love and patience!! i’m sorry for trolling, but both this and the sequel have been on my mind since january, okay. i wanted to do something for jaehyun’s birthday and i really hope it exceeds everyone’s expectations.

happy birthday once again to our peachy prince who deserves a puppy in real life, jaehyun 💖

[loversandantiheroes]

My anxiety is actively trying to murder me today, so here’s a first kiss ficlet for my farmer Flax and Harvey because writing fluff is good for a distraction...

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The little gathering at the tavern had been Flax’s idea.  She’d seen Harvey’s named penciled onto the community calendar outside Pierre’s by sheer accident.  A week and a half into January had found her standing there with her arms laden full of spring seeds that would need to be set sprouting in the shed before they could be planted, checking the bulletin board for anything of interest.  The wind had picked up, ruffling the pages of the calendar and she’d caught sight of a hastily scribbled note in February.  Written in the box for the 14th beneath the fine print that labeled it as The Festival of Hearts, in a hand that looked suspiciously like Maru’s, were the words “Harvey b-day!”  

Pelican Town traditionally did little for the Festival of Hearts, it had long since been folded into the following month’s Flower Dance, but it still gave her a little pang to think of Harvey weathering the double blow of that holiday and his birthday by himself.  And so she had planned for a dinner.  Nothing terribly overdone, but Gus had been easy to ply with the promise of a case of blackberry wine for the use of the back room.  Maru had come, of course, with a nervous-looking Penny in tow, along with Elliot and Leah.  

Harvey had been deeply flustered by the whole affair, and it had only made it worse when Emily had brought in the cake (black forest - he’d seemed fond of the cherries she’d bombarded everyone with last spring) and proceeded to plant a wet smack of a kiss on his forehead and wish him a happy birthday.  He had eventually relaxed, thanks in no small part, she suspected, to the wine she had brought, and by the time the gifts came out, he was smiling.

Elliot had brought a fountain pen inlaid in black mother-of-pearl.  Leah’s gift was a stained oak plaque carved with a rod of Asclepius.  Penny glanced nervously between Maru and Harvey before handing over her own gift, a book on famous pilots of the Ferngill Republic.  Given Maru’s gentle encouragement and Harvey’s unabashed enthusiasm over the gift, Flax suspected Penny might’ve had a little help.  Maru gave him a glass pour-over coffee maker, saying that while she’d considered making him a proper one, she knew he’d favor the low-tech option.

When Flax set her gift on the table, wide and flat and roughly the size of a wall calendar, Harvey had shaken his head.  “No, Flax, you didn’t have to.  Honestly this is, this has all been, you’ve done more than enough...”

“I am an overachiever by nature, Harvey,” she said, sliding the package across the table.  “Happy birthday.”

Smiling and blushing, Harvey tore neatly through the wrapping paper.  And then fell utterly silent.

He looked up, found Flax’s eyes.

“How did-?”

She smiled hopefully.  “Friend of mine back in Zuzu works at this record store.  I took a guess and I pulled a favor.  I hope you like it.”

There was a long, long pause, long enough for the others gathered at the table to start exchanging nervous looks, before Maru put on here best ice-breaking smile and said, “Don’t leave us hanging, Harv, what is it?”

Harvey blinked, startled out of his thoughts.  “Uhm.  It’s uh.  Jazz record.  Blue Moon Woods.  Phoenix Colt.”  He pulled the rest of the wrapping paper off to reveal a slightly worn record, the cover a serene and slightly ominous painting of tall pines under a bright blue moon.  There was a heavy black scrawl across the bright blue sky.

“Signed,” he added, dumbstruck.  Behind his thick glasses, Harvey’s eyes shone just a little overbright.

Elliot tossed his head back and laughed.  “Lesson learned - I need to step up my gift-giving-game when Flax is involved.”

It was late when they all filed out, Elliot leading a very giggly and quite drunk Leah by the arm with the promise to get her home in once piece.  Maru pulled Harvey down for a hug, wrapping her arms so tightly around his neck his face threatened to turn purple, before offering to walk Penny back to her trailer.  Penny gave a little backward wave as they walked off, calling out “Happy birthday, Harvey!” one last time.

And then it was just the two of them.

They set off slowly across the town square.  The moon was out, bright and blue-white, and there was still enough snow on the ground that it was, even given the hour, quite bright.

“Thank you,” Harvey said as they reached the door of his clinic.  “It hardly seems adequate after all tonight, but...thank you.  This was the best birthday I’ve had since...well, probably ever,” he added with a laugh.

“Thought you could use a good night out,” she said, shrugging.  “I’ve had more than a few low and lonely birthdays.  I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.  Least of all you.”

He blinked, the white plume of his breath ceasing altogether.  “Least of all?”

Too much wine, she thought, feeling the flush creep up her cheeks.  Sweet Yoba, far too much wine.

“You’re one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met, Harvey.  Even if you do chastise me like a flustered nun when I come in injured.”

“Well if you’d exercise a little more caution when crawling through old mineshafts...”

She laughed, and he at least had the good grace to look a little abashed.

“I’m glad you had a good time,” she said.  “You deserved it.”

Leaning his shoulder against the clinic door, Harvey looked up, moonlight reflecting off his glasses, and shook his head wonderingly.  “I don’t think there’s anything could have made this night better.”

“I could kiss you, if you like.”  The words were out of her mouth before she’d even finished thinking them.

Harvey stared at her, the same look of shock on his face as when he’d opened her gift.  And then he smiled, broad and achingly sweet.  His hand cupped her cheek, the leather of his gloves cold against her skin.  And he shook his head.

“No,” he said.  “If I’m ever lucky enough to witness that sort of a miracle, I’d rather be sober enough to remember it.”  And then, almost sadly, “And to know you were sober enough to mean it.”

She covered his hand with her own and squeezed.  “I am.  And I mean it.”

He drew in a sharp breath.  “Tomorrow.  If you still mean it.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Flax.”

“Goodnight, Harvey.  Happy birthday.”

Again he smiled.  “It was.”

* * *

The next morning brought little in the way of a hangover, thankfully.  A hot shower helped, and a few painkillers and an antacid over breakfast took care of the rest.  She made her early rounds feeding the livestock and then set off for town with a thermos of chamomile tea and a “burrito” of eggs rolled in bacon wrapped up in a bit of waxed paper stuck in her coat pocket.

Harvey was sat behind the desk leafing through a stack of medical journals when she pushed her way inside.  She saw him wince every so slightly at the bell, and immediately thrust the thermos at him.  “You’ll want this, I think.”

He eyed it with some suspicion.  “If that’s one of Emily’s ‘hangover cures’ I think I’d rather-”

“Chamomile.”

“Oh, bless you.”  He grabbed for it immediately.

“Have you eaten?” she asked, taking her usual spot on the front desk.

He nudged his glasses with a knuckle, shifting his eyes away.  “Not, um, much.”

She pulled the erstwhile burrito from her pocket and set it next to the thermos.

“You didn’t have to,” he mumbled.  “Really.”

“Did anyway.”

“Yeah, I see that.”  He took a healthy gulp of tea and gave a little sigh.  “I needed that.  Thank you.  Seems to be a bit of a habit lately.  Me thanking you.”

“I don’t mind if you don’t,” she said.

A little of the nervousness left his face.  “I suppose that’s alright, then.”

Her own nerves, on the other hand, were screaming.  Her heart was beating so hard she could feel the throb of it in her teeth.  He was looking up at her, smiling sweetly, and she was struck by how green his eyes were, how kind.  

Now or never, now or never, now or never.  

She bent down, cupped his face in both her hands, and kissed him.

He went completely still, a statue done up in green tweed and brown curls.  As she pulled back his eyes were wide and startled.

“I-” he stammered, one hand finding her wrist and squeezing, as if trying to be sure she was real.  He swallowed hard.  “I didn’t think you meant it.”

She grinned and kissed the tip of his nose.  “You think too much.”

[teatimewithtess]

My Experience at a 4 Week Summer School

Arkansas Governor’s School is a 4 week summer program where the 400 most gifted and talented students meet to discuss the future of the worlds’ current mindset while also gaining new insight from experienced college professors and top high school teachers. The daily schedule is divided into three areas: Area I, an assigned class focused on one specific education (i.e. English, math, social science, natural science, instrumental music, etc.), area II, a philosophy based course focused on critical thinking skills, and area III, the class where we used the critical thinking techniques from area II to apply them to the social issues of today, such as racism, school shootings, climate change, etc. In order to become a student of AGS, one must fill out the simple application process which includes the following: an essay regarding the provided prompt, 2 recommendation letters, a list of achievements/accomplishments in high school, a writing assignment about your reasoning for choosing your desired area I subject, and another essay about why you want to attend AGS. After completing all required materials in the admission process, you then wait until you receive an email granting your secured spot in attending AGS. Receiving that specific email was a step towards the road of change, and I was completely unaware.

Now, let me post a slight disclaimer: I might use the same type of wording in order to express how AGS went for me, but I simply cannot help it. I will not over hype nor will I under exaggerate the experience as a whole. I will speak of my time, what I did, who I met, and how I felt. Let us begin.

First, I wrote in a black leather bound journal every day. I titled each day “AGS Day -- July --” in order to keep my days straight because I honestly did not ever have an idea of what day it was, or what time it was. The first two weeks we were not allowed to have our phones and it was one of the most refreshing times, mentally. I was glad I never knew what time it was; I was going through each day with no worry. I never had a thought about who I need to text, what other people were up to, or what was happening in the news. Having met so many new, different people at one time without having my cellphone was an oasis for my mind. I could openly connect with other different ways of thinking, which overall affected me in a positive way because I forced myself to listen purely- not listen to speak. By speaking less and observing more, I was able to do so much more. For me, it was writing. Now, the writing in this journal was not for feelings and “he loves me, he loves me not” ideas, it was simply to physically document everything that happened that day because if I did not, I would forget them. Time shows no mercy for our memories, and I wanted to make sure that they lived forever.

Secondly, I took notes on EVERYTHING. When lectures occurred at 4:00pm and 6:00pm, I would go to as many as I could and gain as much knowledge as I could. With that, I now have many pages filled in my journal and many other notebooks of what experienced professors had to say. The topics ranged from food psychology to life beyond Earth, the ending of a story to the psychology of self talk in sports, and the debate between science and god to the dissection of short films. If you can think it, there was a lecture on it. Of course I did not want to forget any of those talks either, especially when they were delivering valuable information that is not even mentioned in high school, so I documented the ones that were most interesting to me. The memories of knowledge can be refreshed.

Next, one of the most impactful habits I began was writing down questions. Whenever I started to read philosophy about a year ago, I developed a new, open way of thinking. With this new way of thinking, I started to have more and more questions about everything, which eventually led me to discover the psychological side of it in philosophy via research papers. However, I never thought about writing these down because I thought they were ridiculous or other people would quickly dismiss them; but, as soon as I sat through the first day of area II realizing I had already written down a full page of questions, I knew I needed to continue this practice. Luckily, I met a few very impactful people that allowed me to ask these questions and actually nurtured the methodology I had. 

With that, I prepare for the most important part of my AGS experience: the professors.

I met approximately 5 people that influenced me in the greatest of ways. The first one is a satirical, yet highly intelligent English professor that taught my afternoon area I class, English. He was the first person that noticed my reading of philosophy and became ecstatic at the idea of a student my age reading these works this early. I continued to converse with him occasionally after class and during lunch, where he introduced me to the process of acquiring a PhD in English, and English in college as a whole. He gave me many book titles, notes he took in college, and most importantly a confidence in sharing my ideas. Unfortunately, in my English area I class specifically, I encountered many roadblocks regarding peoples’ way of thinking that forced me to refrain from expressing my ideas/logic. This professor however witnessed I was occurring this phenomenon and later wrote to me that my ideas need to be spread. Since we are on the topic of English professors, there was another mentor that encouraged me to do more creative writing. This old fellow was a master of poetry, but somehow adored my work and pursued me to write a novel after reading one of my pieces. He also endorsed my reading of philosophy, and will also stay in touch post AGS. The instrumental music teacher and I became great friends after attending one of his many Jazz classes. He was a quirky professor of jazz that truly represented the epitome of what a musician is. You could see his love for music in his performing, and I respect and praise that from a student perspective, being a musician myself. He noticed how much I supported my fellow musicians and loved the idea of me doing so. He inspired me to keep smiling as much as I do, and that simple gesture stuck with me. No one has ever told me to continue ‘being happy’, they only question why I do smile. Coming from an older, loving musician, it meant a lot to me. I also met with a library technician that informed me on the world of publishing and writing for the public. She gave me tremendous advice that will help me as soon as I begin writing research articles in college, and I am forever grateful for her insight. Finally, there is one professor that influenced me the greatest. He is an optimistic psychologist that taught my area II class of philosophy/critical thinking. After talking to him several times post class, it gradually became a regular thing after lectures and movies, and even during dinner or lunch. After one  specific talk, he helped me gain traction on what my career goals were. He introduced me to psychology, which I had never even thought about before, and unconsciously opened this academic door that will help me as I complete my final year of college and begin my long journey of becoming an academic. Each conversation posed new questions I immediately needed to document or write about later, and it all eventually led to my reading list reach an unfathomable amount. He nurtured my constant need of questions, unlike other teachers that quickly dismiss them to junk since I am still a teenager, which means it is irrational for me to ask such questions even though they themselves cannot likely define what irrationality is. I cannot praise in written word anymore how impactful this professor was. I will forever be in his debt.

The best part of AGS was the professors because they volunteered to work with these 400 kids. They helped shape me into me. They helped guide me into the right area of assessing who I am and what do I know, and who are the others and what do they know. The atmosphere they created was unlike any other; it was comforting, yet challenging, welcoming, but serious. Even in just the small time I had with these mentors, I believed I could trust them with any thought I had. In some ways, it felt as if they were trying to figure me out, which made the camp even more entertaining. They welcomed my thoughts and ideas with open arms which allowed me to grow exponentially. 

Because of this whole experience, I resulted in developing particular habits that might not make much sense to many people but I know it makes sense to these mentors and fellow students of the camp.

1) Every time I have a memory, flashback, dream, nightmare, vision, or daydream, I write it down. I came to the conclusion that if I do not write down these events then I will forget them, and I need them to use as inspiration.

2) When I have a question, I write it down as well. I hope in the future I can answer some of them, but not all of them.

3) I read some type of research paper and/or listen to a podcast related to my future field of study.

4) I take a heavy amount of notes on everything I hear/read. I did not realize until after this camp how much I enjoy taking notes, especially when it is just verbal, so I have to exercise my comprehension skills. I also, depending on the importance of the talk, will record certain lectures given it is relevant information that I need later on.

Alongside these habits I also developed lasting friendships with fellow students all across the state. Our wavelengths are compatible, which presents positive signs for a lasting relationship with one another. I know I will see them in the near future. 

I will never forget this meta strophic event that planted itself in my teenage years, and I hope my search for the same atmosphere I was in for 4 weeks is successful.

[l0chn3ss]

Color Me Red: A MaStar Reverb, 2018

Summary:  BlackStar, former assassin and self-appointed page to the Prince of Wisteria, finds himself enamored with the new Pharmacist of the Royal Court in-training, Maka, and her lovely red hair. After his failed assassination attempt, he becomes her (again) self-appointed protector… mainly from herself as she works to make the royal castle her new home. Together, they come to realize that maybe their meeting was the work of fate. Akagami No Shirayuki-Hime AU.

Warnings: Foul Language, Akagami No Shirayuki-Hime spoilers, Kidnapping of Main Character, Brief Physical Fighting/Violence, Minor Character Death Pre-story, Maka Albarn Has Red Hair AU

View Art by @happyisahabit​: [Artwork]

Read Story by @l0chn3ss​: [Read Here: FFNET | AO3]

Bonus Recordings by @fynneyseas ♪

Betaworks by @psychadelicrose ♥

Chapter 1: Green is the color of rebirth, of new beginnings [ x ]

She took careful steps on her way back down the stairs. Her arms could barely grasp the railing and her legs wanted to give out at any moment. A few hours of lugging up her belongings to the dormitories, and she was completely over materialistic goods. Each box made her grumble and think to herself: was it really worth it?

Of course it was, she’d answer with resignation. To make her new home feel more like herself, she absolutely wanted whatever few belongings she had left with her. Born in the mountains and raised cities away, Maka had traveled far to get to where she was. She was a fighter from the start, someone who was never given their good fortune, who always had to work for whatever rewards she could earn.

The Kingdom of Clarines was a large and successful country, one whose throne had recently exchanged hands from father to son. Despite having the youngest king in centuries, Clarines had never been more successful. Its cities became beacons of light and innovation, and there was an overhaul of corrupt politicians who were brought into the public eye, exposed for who they were.

In the midst of the change, Maka sold her small shop and rented out her home, using her savings to travel to the capital where her parents met long before she was conceived. In her little town secluded in the woods at the edge of the country, she felt that her growth became stagnant. There was only so much more she could gain from staying in that place, and so she left for the place where the best pharmacists were trained: the royal castle.

After being given a temporary room during her application process, and after crushing her entry exam, Maka was given the job and a more permanent dormitory. Though after being told that she was responsible for moving her belongings from storage, she decided that it would be her most difficult challenge yet.

Like the rest of the castle, the open-air corridor was surrounded by lush grass and flower beds hung from well tended baskets. Small puddles from watering them spotted the floor, and Maka struggled to remember to look where she was going while lost in her own thoughts. She was never the best at meticulous labor, but the sooner she could finish, the faster she became free.

There was only one more box to handle, she assured herself. Only one more trip that she needed to take in order to begin her new journey.

As she walked down to the storage wing, a part of her wished that there was a less conspicuous pathway to her room, one preferably just as short and but a little more hidden from the rest of the castle. Maka slowly became an expert of navigating the immediate area, but the more she went back and forth, the more attention she felt following after her.

It began with a few whispers behind covered mouths and averted eyes, then morphed into openly critical staff and pointing in her direction. The talking, she could care less of, but the rumors that she knew were spreading deeper into the castle were her worries.

Though she could pretend that it was because she was a new face amongst the staff, the fact remained that they were staring at her, or rather, her long red hair.She never made an effort to hide the color, and how could she? It was a brilliant shade and so very clearly seen-- there was no point. Instead, she tied them up into pigtails, framing her face and keeping it from bothering her neck during her more relaxed hours. While she worked, she kept it braided in a fishtail hung on her back to keep the ends from dipping into fine powders and becoming a hazard.

Twirling one of the ends in circles around her finger, she felt more prideful of her hair than usual. If the palace go-ers were going to keep watching her, perhaps later, she’d give them a show.

Successfully arriving, Maka squatted down and pulled the final box closer, testing the weight and cursing at her lack of foresight. She saved the heaviest box for last, and as unfortunate as it was, Maka truly did need all of the notes and journals that she’d accumulated across the years, if not for their content, then for their sentimental value. Most of them were gifts from her community, who believed in her and who sent her on her way to the castle, and a larger chunk of the books were given to her by her late grandparents, her only family who remembered her passion and supported her wholeheartedly before their inevitable passing.

Gathered from odd times and even questionable sources, Maka found that the contents also saved her on multiple fronts. Old wives tales and accounts from a dying generation were a bountiful treasure, at least, once those cryptic messages were figured out. It was a task that Maka felt she could never finish in her own life time, but one that she wanted to trouble herself with.

Drink apple juice to help with diarrhea. Rub turmeric on skin to reduce scarring. Aloe makes a healthy soup. And don’t ever forget: never let someone else plant your parsley.

But reciting these tibbits was a mistake-- rather, not paying attention to where she walked was a mistake. On her way to her room, past the sheds and into the corridor, she remembered too late that the ground was covered in water. She slipped too quickly to regain control, and Maka felt her body betray her, pulled backwards by gravity and the weight that she carried.

Though not soundless, her landing was softer than she expected, soft but firm. Strangely enough, she still felt like she was floating, like her mind hadn’t registered the fall. Box still in her hands, she adjusted it until she felt the surface under her shift.

It was no ground at all. Instead, it was a young man who was under her, supporting her.

They locked eyes for the briefest second, his looking down at her with the ghost of worry while she had enough time to register her embarrassment. She was too vulnerable in her position, too exposed.

Maka pulled away before she could get another good look at his face, thanking him roughly for his rescue. Not hearing an answer, she looked back behind her shoulder to see that there was no one there.

Strange guy, she shrugged, resuming her last trip to her new dormitory. She hoped that not everyone she was going to meet would be the same way.

Perhaps later she will give her new supervisors a quick visit, but only after a very long nap.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 -->

My dudes, it’s been a journey, a ride. I hope you all enjoy this Akagami no Shirayuki-Hime AU and that you all make sure to shower Liz with the same love that you’ve shown me ♥ I’ve also had the privilege and honor of having Emily read aloud some passages from the fic; I thank her so much for giving me such a bonus. Make sure to shoot her a message and to encourage more podfics in the fandom!

[simplyshelbs16xoxo]

Delayed Love

Post-TFP. It's Sherlock's birthday, nearly a year since the phone call. Molly's finally ready to open her heart to him again, surprising Sherlock.

I wrote this originally for the Sherlock birthday celebration, but I actually hated this fic at the time for some reason. Now, I love it, and so, I decided to post it.

               Freshly baked ginger nuts? Check. Birthday gift? Check. Fireplace lit? Check. Molly Hooper used her key to 221B to set up everything. It was Sherlock’s birthday and he had been away on a case for nearly a week. She hated that it took her this long to get to this point, but they had both needed time after the events that transpired at Sherrinford. Well, her more than him, surprisingly. She hated how it had hurt him that she wasn’t as enthusiastic about a relationship as he was. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be with him, but she was terrified. Molly never thought there was a chance, and once it was possible, she had no idea what to do with it…

               The first few months after the phone call, Sherlock and Molly had both agreed to work on their friendship, rebuilding it from the ground up. They became closer than ever. They were best friends and completely inseparable. They both knew the truth of each other’s hearts, resulting in cheek kisses that lingered a bit longer than usual. Sherlock had decided to go back to rehab to clean himself up for good and he continued to communicate with Eurus through music. He spent time with his family, all of them slowly, but surely healing together properly.

               Molly took some time for herself, spending time with Meena and doing new different things. She joined a book club, took a couple dance classes, and picked up extra shifts at Bart’s to save up for a shopping trip with Meena. She felt like adding some new things to her wardrobe as well as look for a couple of new jumpers. She could hardly look at her favourite striped one without feeling sick. Funny how that old striped jumper had good and bad memories attached to it, from her day of solving crimes with Sherlock to that damn heartbreaking phone call.

               Despite their very separate lives, weekends were reserved for each other. Late nights filled with take away or the occasional home-cooked meal, along with murder documentaries, classic films and board games. They’d sleep in the same bed. They’d cuddle. But nothing more transpired. It was a comfortable routine. There was a moment one weekend when Sherlock came out of her bathroom, freshly showered and in his pajamas, when he caught her dancing to an old Sinatra song. He had surprised her by taking her hand in his and pulled her into his arms. They danced for a long while, taking comfort in each other’s arms.

               When July rolled around, there was an awful heatwave. Molly had been wearing a pair of jean shorts and a bikini top with her hair up in a bun on top of her head. Sherlock had let himself in with the key she gave him.

               “Molly, there’s something I need to say and—“ he stopped short, his brain feeling as if it had short-circuited. He was dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt, an unusual choice for him, but the sight of Molly Hooper not covering her curves up for once sent him into buffering mode.

               “Sherlock?” she asked in concern. Following his gaze, she noticed his eyes wander over her in entirety. Feeling self-conscious, she had attempted to cover up her chest with a dish towel.

               “Don’t,” he spoke suddenly. “I apologize. What I meant was that you shouldn’t feel insecure.”

               Before really thinking, she spoke out, “I’m not compensating for size then?” It came out harsher than she wanted it to. Bad memories tended to do that to you.

               “Molly, surely by now you know I was being a jealous git. That’s not an excuse for my behaviour, merely in explanation. I never meant what I said that Christmas. You have lovely breasts,” he blushed at having said that out loud as he spoke quickly.

               “You said there was something you needed to say?” she asked, changing the subject.

               “Yes!” he exclaimed. “Molly, I—well, would you like to—“

               “Solve crimes?”

               “Have Dinner?” They spoke in unison, the roles reversed.

               “As much as I would like to, I just don’t think I’m ready, Sherlock,” Molly told him softly. “I need more time.” She watched his face fall as she unintentionally broke his heart. “Please, understand that this doesn’t change the way I feel.”

               “I understand,” he replied. He then laughed in disbelief. “Who would’ve guessed I’d be ready before you were?” A look of panic crossed his face. “I didn’t muck up our friendship, did I?”

               “No,” she assured him. “Never. You’re my best friend, no matter what.” Despite it being sticky and hot, Molly wrapped her arms around him. “I promise I’ll be ready eventually. My heart is and always will be yours, Sherlock.”

               Snapping out of her memories, Molly hoped he would be surprised for once. It took her almost a year to be ready for this...whatever it was they had. Her hair was up in a bouncy ponytail, as she had loose curls in her hair, and she wore a pair of jeans with one of her newer jumpers which was a cable knit in bubblegum pink. The key turned in the door, and she braced herself for the moment at hand.

               “Molly?” his tone was gentle, curiosity shown plainly in his eyes.

               “Happy Birthday, Sherlock,” she smiled shyly. He stepped closer to her, slowly, as if he was afraid of frightening her. Molly closed the gap between them, hugging him to her. Sherlock allowed his hands to touch her—one on the small of her back, and the other in her hair.

               “I’ve missed you so much,” he finally spoke.

               “I missed you too,” Molly replied. “I’m so sorry it took this long. I was scared and completely lost, and—”

               “I understand,” he said softly. Acting on instinct, he pressed a kiss to her temple, unwilling to let go of her. It seemed that Molly was content with staying in his arms, for she showed no signs of wanting to end it. “You made gingernuts.” She could hear his smile in his voice.

               “I also got you a gift,” Molly added, stepping out of his embrace to retrieve it. She felt so cold without him, already. “Please try not to deduce it and open the bloody thing.” She laughed nervously, as if she were having second thoughts.

               “I promise,” he smiled. Sherlock carefully unwrapped it, revealing a lovely black moleskin journal. There was an engraving in gold on the cover.

               For Sherlock.

               I hope this will be a reminder that you are loved, and more importantly, worthy of that love.

               Love, Molly xxx

               “Open it,” she encouraged him, feeling braver. He did as he was told, his lips parting slightly in surprise. Every page was filled with photos and mementos from all the years they knew each other. There were even photos of them with John, Mary, Rosie, Mrs. Hudson and Greg. His family was featured in a couple as well. There were little notes, written in Molly’s hand, about what she loved about him. He found a photo from that awful Christmas party where he practically deduced her to tears. It was a picture of himself with Molly and John. The message she wrote beneath it had him finally forgiving himself for his cruel words.

               Who you are is not what you’ve said or done. I realise now that it was jealousy that caused you to react the way you did. I forgive you, my love. It’s okay.

               “Molly, this is…” he trailed off, unable to find the words. “Thank you.” The last page was empty, but was obviously laid out in pencil. “What photo goes here?”

               “That’s for me to know and you to find out,” she smirked.

               Six months later, Sherlock was holding Molly close to him in bed. Their hands were laced together, two beautiful rings on Molly’s finger glittering in the moonlight, as well as his own ring. Though Molly was sound asleep, he was wide awake, wondering how he ended up here, with the love of his life. His eyes gazed upon the photo on his nightstand from their wedding last month. It was taken the moment they had kissed, sealing their marriage vows. Both of them were smiling, eyes crinkling on both of their faces.

               This was real. He was Molly’s husband, and she was his wife. He moved his free hand to settle over her belly. She wasn’t showing yet, but in eight months, there would be another Holmes in the world…and he couldn’t be happier. There were no more regrets of having waited so long—Molly had convinced him to just let it go and start living in the present. And it wasn’t so hard to do just that when she took his hand in hers. Sherlock Holmes was truly happy for the first time in his adult life. Meeting Molly Hooper, now Holmes, was the best thing that ever happened to him, of that he was sure.

ao3

[fanficsofmine]

Christmas Date — Jongdae Fluff

By request — a Christmas-y Dae! Enjoy! -T✨

Arms outstretched, I tilted my face toward the sky and closed my eyes. I took a deep breath of brisk air. Although biting, it was also refreshing. I spun in a circle before leveling my chin with the ground again and opening my eyes.

The first snow of the season was only made better by seeing Kim Jongdae smiling back at me. The corners of his eyes crinkled softly and the fluffy flakes stuck to his black hair; the contrast between his hair and the snow perfect. He looked as though he had walked out of a catalogue for that dumb, poofy jacket that swallowed him a bit too much.

He walked over to me and brushed some snow off of my shoulders before wrapping me in his arms. He placed a sweet kiss to my forehead.

“How perfect is it that the first snow of is on Christmas Eve, and I’m spending it with you,” he whispered as his gloved fingers cupped my face.

“It could be 90 degrees on Christmas Day, but if I was with you, it would still be perfect.” I had never been one for cheesy sentiments. Jongdae constantly had me feeling softer than I had ever imagined.

He placed a small peck on my lips before grabbing my hand.

“Let’s go baby. Your Christmas present awaits!”

We had driven downtown. Shops that had been built when the town was first born still lined the streets. Although some of them were no longer the original business, the old-timey feeling lingered. The buildings were all lined with Christmas lights, the trees twinkling like stars as well.

“Are we going to look at Christmas lights,” I asked, excited.

Jongdae chuckled, “we can as we walk. But I have other plans.”

I tilted my head, confused, but he simply mimed zipping his lips and tossing a key.

We talked about our days as we walked. There were a few people doing some last minute shopping. They were much more rushed than we were. Our steps were matched in a slow pace, admiring the flakes falling that caught the colors of flashing bulbs.

Our first stop was a tiny diner. It had been one of the first places built in town. We bought a couple of to-go cups of hot cocoa to keep our hands warm. Jongdae paid Debbie, the diner’s owner, and she winked at me as we walked out.

Our second stop was the bookstore on the strip of shops a few doors down.

“Okay, baby! This is your first part of your gift!”

“You bought me a bookstore?!” I feigned disbelief and he rolled his eyes.

“No! You love books, though. I want you to pick out a few of your favorites.” He beamed at me as I bounced up and down, giddy.

I spent a long time scouring every shelf of each individual section. Jongdae followed, never once complaining about how long I was taking. Any time I chose one, he would take it out of my hands and carry it for me.

My stack was an array of genres. I decided I was done at seven books.

“‘Daughter or Smoke and Bone,’ a first edition of ‘Of Mice and Men,’” Jongdae started to read through my selections.

“I found this one that I thought you might like, too.”

He set my books down and pulled a book off of the shelf nearest to him. I furrowed my brow at the cover. There was no title on it. It looked brand new.

I flipped it open to the first page.

“The moment I laid my eyes on you, I was in love.”

It was Jongdae’s handwriting.

I looked at him. He nodded to encourage me to keep reading. With every page that I turned, it was another reason that he loved me, pictures of us, apologies for various fights, and movie ticket and concert stubs from our relationship together.

“How long have you been working on this?” The book had random dates from where Jongdae had scribbled different notes, as if it were a journal documenting our time together.

He didn’t answer me, but moved forward and kissed my forehead instead.

“Keep going. Flip all of the way to the end.” He whispered with his lips against my forehead.

I heeded his request. My breath caught in my throat when I read what he wrote.

“I ran out of pages with so many reasons and days to love you. Let’s have a love that fills a million books.”

When I put the book down, Jongdae was on one knee. He held a tiny, black velvet box in his hand. Inside, a stunning, yet simple diamond ring was nestled.

“Will you do me the honor of marrying me,” he asked, his voice trembling with nerves despite his smile playing on his lips.

Tears brimmed my eyes.

I nodded as I began to cry.

“Yes! Yes, of course!”

I threw my arms around his neck as he stood up.

“Merry Christmas, babe.”

[imhereforbvcky]

Absolution - Part 3 (end)

Masterlist  -  Part 1  -  Part 2

Summary: Bucky must figure out how to live with some of his worst memories when he can’t shake one particular ghost from his past.

Prompt(s): Could you do a Bucky story inspired by Murder Song - Aurora?

Warnings: AAAAANNNNGGSSTTT so much angst. Ok, we’ve got swearing, nightmares, looks at Bucky’s captivity and the unpleasantness related to it, murdery sadness, I think that covers it?

Word Count: 2667

Author’s Note: Oh god. Okay. I just want to say… I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I just am riding the angst train hard lately. Also I’m watching Iron Man 2 rn and have all kinds of Tony feels, so he’s going to be my supportive buddy, because I think he would get it to some degree, my poor iron baby with the squishy heart.

Italics are Bucky’s journal pages/memories. * I snagged this line from Winter Soldier #12 by Ed Brubaker

August 1

I had the dream again. The whole dream. It comes back to me again and again. Sometimes if I’m lucky I wake up and the whole memory doesn’t replay in my head like a broken record. When I’m lucky I don’t wake up with her voice in my head begging me for death, absolving me of the thing I could never ask forgiveness for.

Every time I wake up, I remember pulling the trigger.

She had been sick for days, I mean really sick. I told her every story I could think of just to keep her conscious. I asked her questions I already knew the answer to so I could gauge whether she was delirious. I begged her to eat but it was pointless, she couldn’t keep anything down. Eventually they’d taken her away. All I could do was worry about her, and do all the things she would have encouraged me to do to survive, hoping she’d come back.

She never did. Instead they came for me a few days later, shoved a gun in my hand and pushed me into a bright room. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that room now that I remember it again.

I blinked against the bright spotlights that somehow made the dingy cement seem to glow. Rooms like this weren’t unfamiliar to me. Rooms like these dominated my life here. It was where they filled my head with words that turned my body into a machine I didn’t know how to operate. It was where they tested the strength of those words with increasing cruelty. It was in rooms like these where my nightmares became a reality, or rather I became the nightmare

This time though, there was only a woman in the room, clearly another prisoner. She looked so incredibly frail. She was just skin and bones, and her skin had that thin ashen blue tint that’s almost always the calling card for death.

She looked at me and I will always be haunted by it. Though her heart still beat, and I could see her breathing, it was a ghost who looked back at me. A ghost with tired eyes that reflected only an immeasurable well of anguish.

Worse still, when her eyes flickered over me and she glimpsed the metal of my arm glistening under the harsh light and the dark metal of the gun in my hand she seemed… relieved.

“Bucky,” she rasped and stepped closer, a warmth gathering in the pools of her eyes. The second I heard her voice I knew it was her: the woman in the cell beside mine, my only companion and friend, my solace and sanity when this place and these people tried to take it from me.

I’d never seen her before, but she must have recognized me for the metal arm. I whispered her name when she moved even closer and lifted the cool metal into her own hands, those small hands that I’d only seen pushing through a drainage pipe in my wall to offer me support. I spun the metal hand over to hold onto her, not daring to lift my right because for a moment she looked comforted and the cool metal handgun I was holding at my side would surely bring an end to that.

“Test P2405 to commence in Chamber 4b.” A voice rang over the speakers. I looked around, spotting the theater of lab coats above with a row of guards, their rifles trained down on us.

“Bucky, listen to me,” she urged, her fingers sliding higher up my arm. Her hand tentatively settling on my chest brought my attention back to her face.

“Test subject: Winter Soldier,” the voiceover continued.

“This is a trial for you, not for me,” she sounded urgent, like this was the only thing that mattered to her on earth.

I only shook my head, refusing to accept the reality in front of me. I wouldn’t be able to do it. “They want me to hurt you.”

“I know, Bucky,” she soothed, “But you won’t. I’m already hurting, don’t you see?”

Her hands gripped my metal arm tighter and I forced myself to look at her again. I knew it was true. They’d hurt her the second they dragged her from her home and destroyed her village. Every time she left her cell meant more pain. She’d been brave and strong, and now here when she had no way out, she still used that pain to ease my own.

I squeezed my eyes shut as I heard the words begin to echo through the room.

“Желание. Pжaвый”

“It’s a gift Bucky,” she tried again when she heard the anguished growl from me, trying everything I could think of to hold it back, this monster they’d put in my head. “It’s mercy. You can… you can do it quick?” she asked, voice trembling, I looked at her despite the pain squeezing my chest and the knot in my throat. She was trembling all over.

“Добросердечный.”

Shit. I don’t know how they got so far so fast. I could feel a shift, it was happening despite everything in me screaming for it to stop. My voice was raw. I must have been actually screaming until I felt her ball her fists into my shirt and press herself even closer against me.

“Bucky, listen to me,” she urged, sounding stronger than I thought possible by the look of her. “I’m dead either way. You will be the one to suffer if you don’t do this, not me. Just--”

“You think I won’t suffer if I do this?” I asked, gripping her by the back of her neck, trying to be gentle with her, but needing to feel her, needing to feel something that wasn’t iron and ice. I needed to hold on to something soft and warm for as long as I could.

“Один.”

“You have to be the soldier, Bucky. That’s the best you can do for me now,” she was pleading with me, tears streaming down her cheeks now, “Be the soldier, be efficient, and let the blame fall on their shoulders.” Her eyes darted to the gallery of monsters before flitting back to me, pleading and sad. “Please.”

She kissed me quickly, clinging to me, needing her last memory to be something less ugly than the life we’d both known the last several years. I would have held onto her like that for a lifetime if I could.

“Грузовой вагон.”

I could only watch her breathing pick up pace, like she was struggling for every ounce of oxygen as my body shifted, releasing her and rising to a rigid position. I wish there had been any way to convey to her that I was sorry, that I didn’t want to do this, that I wished I could have protected her, but I was a prisoner in my own body.

“Mercy is a gift,” she whispered, closing her eyes against the harsh commands coming my way. Maybe she didn’t want to remember me like this. Maybe she didn’t want me to remember her fear. I can’t forget it though, she may have closed her eyes and stood as tall as she could in that weakened body, she may have given me permission and called it mercy, but I remember.

“Cолдат?”

“Я готов отвечать.”

“Убей bаша девушка.”

That’s the thing about being under mind control that nobody talks about… You’re still in there. Some small piece of you is awake… watching. Like being a passenger in your own body. You struggle to break free… but you lose… over and over again… you lose.*

I lost everything watching my body take an aggressive stance, watching my arms rise, gripping the gun with the familiarity of an expert and press it to her forehead. She was still so close. I don’t know if she was too afraid to move, or if she really didn’t care in the end. I guess it didn’t matter because she was dead in an instant when I pulled the trigger.

The worst part was watching her body crumple to the floor while I stepped back and handed the gun to a guard. I knew they were displeased by the tears on my face, but even in this state there was nothing I could do to stop them. There was no one else there to mourn her, to remember her, to scream at the injustice, to weep at the loss. And she deserved at least that.

She was my first kill as the Winter Soldier and I’ll never forget her. I’m unable to forget the awful things, but I make myself remember the good about her. She deserves that, too.

Three weeks later on another late frittata night, Tony had excitedly slid Bucky a large legal envelope with her name written in the corner in Tony’s small, efficient hand.

“I found your girl!” he told Bucky around a mouthful of egg and bell pepper. “But I gotta ask, is she…?”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed heavily, holding the package in his hands like it was a bomb that might set him off if he opened it too quickly or too roughly.

“Do you really think it’s a good idea to chase this down?” Tony asked, skeptically. “I mean, I think we both know from experience here that her family might not want you--”

“Her family’s gone.”

Tony nodded, not quite sure what that meant. For all he knew they’d also met their end at the hands of the Winter Soldier, but that wasn’t the man before him. The man sitting at his counter was hunched over a relic from the past, pained and lost.

“This one haunts you, huh?” Tony probed gently.

“More than you know.”

Only days later the pair of dysfunctional Avengers wound up in a rented car from the mid 1990s driving through an endless sea of uncultivated fields somewhere in northeastern Europe, looking for a village that the world preferred to forget.

“I don’t think this is right,” Tony sighed, completely flustered that his technology had no record of their destination, nor of this road, if you could call it that. “There’s nothing back here but more dirt and grass. We haven’t even passed a potato in like, 5 miles, there are no villages here.”

“Not anymore,” Bucky agreed, “But we passed that oak tree by the river, this has to be right.”

“There are trees by every river, Barnes, that’s what they do.”

“There!” Bucky pointed to a small cluster of old buildings in the distance, the wood greyed with age and buckling under their own weight with rot.

He stopped the car and climbed out slowly, taking the envelope with him. He walked cautiously at first, with his hand outstretched over the tall wheat colored grass tickling his palm. Tony followed at a distance, for once, not saying a word.

Bucky ran his hands over the wood trim of one of the buildings, feeling the smooth worn grain of it, as he imagined her hands in this exact spot, at home, laughing as she chased down that chicken that had gotten loose. He’d told her about every detail of this place and he’d built a picture in his head, but this… was an echo, a skeleton of the life it once held.

He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, an overwhelming sense of loss taking hold of him, not just for her, but for all that HYDRA had taken from this place. The warm sun on his shoulders, and the rich earth at his feet reminded him with distinct potency of the magnitude of war.

He took another breath, memorizing the smell, earthy and simple: warm thick air, dry wild grass, cool black dirt. It’s what she should have smelled like, here, in her home, away from the harsh chemicals constantly in and around her body, the taste of blood staining her lips and iron hemming her in. It’s what she should have smelled like without the stench of HYDRA.

“Hey, I think I got something.” Tony’s voice was gentle, like he didn’t want to disturb a single speck of dirt.

Bucky walked over to meet him. In the apparent center of the abandoned village stood a series of boulders with names carved into them. He knelt in front of one of the stones and ran his fingertips over her name.

“You okay?” Tony asked.

Bucky nodded, unsure how to answer. He wasn’t sure what he expected to find here, but it was crushing to see her name on this stone, in a list of so many others. He wondered how many had gone with her to the same base in Siberia where he’d met her and how many had never made it past the walls of this small village.

A part of him was relieved. He was glad someone had remembered her, had grieved for her when he’d been unable, and had memorialized her like this. His own instability following her death had lead HYDRA to begin their crude efforts to clear his memory. He hadn’t remembered her at all before Wanda had begun digging in his brain to remove the triggers. Now he couldn’t get her out of his head.

“I just can’t let her go.”

“Goodbyes like this don’t happen overnight,” Tony suggested, squeezing Bucky’s shoulder. “If you’re hanging on to her memory, there’s gotta be something there you still need to work out.”

Bucky nodded, taking Tony’s outstretched hand and pulling himself back to his feet. Tony reached into his pocket and took out a piece of scrap paper and a piece of charcoal vine that he’d snatched from Steve and passed it to Bucky.

“What’s this?”

“How old are you?” He couldn’t resist the urge to tease a little, “It’s a rubbing, here.” He snatched the paper back and covered her name with the paper and pressed the charcoal against the engraved stone, brushing back and forth until her name appeared clearly in white against the black background.

Bucky stared at the paper in his hands, transfixed. It was small, and messy, the charcoal already staining his fingers, but it was her.

“Put it in your notebook,” Tony advised, “Be careful not to smudge it until Steve can get some fixative on it, that charcoal will smear, but it leaves a clearer print.” He patted Bucky on the shoulder harshly before turning back towards the car.

“You’ve done this before,” Bucky observed.

“You’re not the only one who’s lost someone.” Tony turned with a raised eyebrow. Bucky followed him back through the grass, smearing black coal across the edges of the page he still wasn’t ready to relinquish.

“Know what? I learned something pretty valuable on this trip,” Tony mused, talking over his shoulder as they meandered through the field.

“What’s that?”

“You’ve been holding out on me. I’ve been making us frittatas every night, but you can make some killer latkes!” He teased, and Bucky couldn’t help the laugh that burst from his chest. The last sound he expected to hear in a place like this, much less from his own lips, but it felt right, like this place had a life and a voice for even a fleeting moment before it returned to its solemn memoriam.“We’re trading off from now on.”

“I can live with that,” Bucky agreed. “It’s her recipe.” He laughed softly a long moment later, enjoying the idea. “After a few years we ran out of interesting things to say so I told her about my mom’s meatballs and how I never learned to cook and she told me how to make her grandmother’s latkes.”

“Latkes it is then,” Tony smiled, sliding into the car and propping his feet on the passenger seat, spinning the dated paper map in his hands. “Now how the hell do we get out of here? I think I’ve developed an arrhythmia from the lack of wifi.”

Everything Tags: EVERYTHING TAG LIST IS CURRENTLY FULL

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[northshorehealthandfitness]

2017 Holiday Gift Guide for the kiddos

Hi friends! How are ya? Hope you’re enjoying the morning. I wanted to apologize for the blog downtime yesterday. It was experiencing a security error, but all has been remedied in Internet Land. ICYMI, here’s my post from yesterday with some holiday party pics and weekend happenings.

For today’s post, I have one of my very favorite holiday gift guides: for the kids! Why is shopping for kids so much fun?! I’ll admit that it’s verrrryyy easy for things to get out of control on the kids’ shopping front – I just love picking out things for them – but to keep myself in check and avoid excessive purchases, we stick to the “something they want, something they need, something to wear, and something to read” checklist. This ensures that they get a mix of things they want and need, without going overboard.

If you’re shopping for a little guy or lady this holiday season, here are some fun ideas that check off all of the major categories:

1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6 // 7 // 8 // 9 // 10

2017 Gift Ideas for Kids:

Something they want:

American girl doll. The girls love these so much. Liv has a few, and P has a Bittie Baby that she ADORES. They’re expensive, but very well-made and I love that they encourage imaginative play. I will admit that I’m sad that they’ve gotten rid of many of the “classic” AG dolls. Kirsten, where are you?!

Mini trampoline

Micro Mini Scooter (or the Maxi if they’re a little older)

Balance bike

Play house (this Palm Springs one is the best ever)

Karaoke set. Maybe a set of ear plugs for yourself! Just kidding but not really.

Crystal growing lab

Magic Science for Wizards Only kit

A ride-on truck or car (P wants this one SO BADLY but I’m still on the fence for safety reasons. Maybe I can put a helmet on her and full-body safety pads.)

Barbie dream house

Hape doll house. This one is made of wood, and is so beautiful!

Corolle baby doll. This was Liv and P’s first baby doll. They are just the right size to be carried around, and very high quality.

Fingerlings. I guess this is the “it” toy of 2017?? Liv is begging for one haha.

Their own little camera

An experience gift! A “coupon” for a special date to an event or activity together. Gift certificates for camps they love or lessons are a great choice, too

Something they need:

A warm coat (this is the one I ordered for Liv, and Miss P is getting this one)

Beanie and gloves

Art supplies

New bedding (Land of Nod has the best)

Pajamas

Something to wear:

Hunter rain boots

Jeans and sweaters (this Star Wars one is amazing)

Bear slippers

Party dress (<— the ballerinas on this one!)

Play clothes. You can never have too many long-sleeved tops and leggings.

Something to read:

Billie B. Brown

Charlotte’s Web

Dragons Love Tacos 

Princesses Wear Pants

The Day the Crayons Came Home

Anything Eric Carle

This Book is a Planetarium

Anything Llama, Llama

Little Owl’s Day and Little Owl’s Night. P knows all the words to these ones, and they’re sweet and simple reads. 

Amelia Bedelia

Usborne Books (especially the lift-the-flap and the flashlight books. I don’t sell these books, but my friend Courtney does. Check out her Usborne page here!)

Stocking stuffers:

Shopkins

Coloring books

A journal and gel pens

Play-doh or slime

A slinky

Harmonica

Sunglasses

Bath bombs

Nail art

Mad Libs

Stickers

Their favorite candies or snacks 

Meling snowman

Bracelets (like this cute ice cream cone bracelet!)

Are you shopping for your kid, niece or nephew this holiday season? What are some of the things are their wish list?

Have a great day and I’ll see ya soon!

xoxo

Gina

Don’t forget to get in today’s Advent Workout here.

More gift guides:

For your fitness-loving friend

For the men

Note: companies are not able to sponsor placement on my holiday gift guides, and all items are hand-picked by yours truly. Some affiliate links are included, but do not affect purchase price. They enable me to earn a small kickback, which I use to help keep the blog running. Thank you so much for your support!

The post 2017 Holiday Gift Guide for the kiddos appeared first on The Fitnessista.

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[echoflowertea]

Hi! I have an idea for a prompt! I know I'm a day late, so no rush whatsoever and feel free to take it or not :) It's for a Sans/Readr/Paps. Your sister and her husband have to be away for the weekend or smth and ask you to take care of their baby/toddler (whatever you think fits best for the story). So they take the child to your house where you live with the bros, but then you have to go out for a bit to take baby things, and they are left alone with the kid. They freak out, funny times ensue

here ya go, it’s my birthday so i figured i would give you the gift of a terribly overdue update!!!!

Pairing: Sans/Reader, Papyrus/Reader

Summary: A weekend with your nephew didn’t sound so bad to the skelebros. Maybe they should’ve read more parenting books.

“So you guys really don’t mind?”

“OF COURSE NOT. WE ARE EXCELLENT COMPANY.YOUR PRECIOUS NEPHEW WILL FINALLY KNOW WHAT IT IS LIKE TO BE CARED FORPERFECTLY! WE HAVE PREPARED THE ULTIMATE DAY OF ULTIMATE FUN FOR SUCH ANOCCASION.”

You shot him a halfhearted smile. Papyrus’confidence almost always made you feel better, but you were a little nervousabout this. It wasn’t as if you didn’t trust the brothers, but they could be alittle…eccentric. As far as you knew, neither of them were well-versed incaring for a child, let alone a human one. Both were still vastly impressed anddisgusted with your bodily functions, which you could control, so having anunpredictable toddler around the house for the day seemed like…

“heh, don’t stress yourself so much. we gotthis.”

You observed them. Papyrus had on his childsafety gear prepped, which included taping a lot of pillows to his body so noneof his joints would end up hurting anyone. Because the brothers were…literallyskeletons, they had some parts that jutted out and could poke or stab if youweren’t careful enough. Papyrus would dress himself up in attire that spokevolumes about how gently he was going to treat this kid.

“Awesome. Thanks, guys. I know that this iskind of last minute.”

Your nephew was supposed to come by nextweek, but his mom and dad had some major things come up. Some business tripsgot moved around, some flights cancelled, and you were their last hope. Youdidn’t mind so much, but you were going to run it by your boyfriends first. Thiswas a relationship founded on open and honest communication, after all.

“SO WHEN SHOULD WE EXPECT HIM TO ARRIVE?”

You glanced at the clock. “In a few hours.When they get here, I’ll introduce you.”

Sans grinned and shoved his hands in hispockets, the pinpricks of light in his sockets flaring to life. “we’re gonnahave lots of fun.”

“You’d better not corrupt my nephew, Sans.If he learns a pun from you, I’m breaking up with you.”

“heh heh heh.”

In the short time before your nephew wasdropped off, you and Papyrus perused through the house to make sure everythingdangerous was put away. Anything knee-high was blocked off or sealed up.Papyrus was the one who crawled around on his hands and knees to make sure youdidn’t miss anything, while Sans’ idea of helping was to give half-assed wordsof encouragement from the living room couch.

The doorbell rang and you did your best tobrush the dust bunnies out of your hair before you answered. Sans beat you toit, having shuffled over clad in his signature slippers and that harmless smileon his face.

Your sister looked down at him and inhaledsharply, a little baffled at his presence. She had only ever seen him get upfrom the couch to his seat at the dining table when they stopped by for dinner,so it must’ve been a shock to see him up and about.

“Hi, Sans.”

“heya. c'mon in.”

Your sister paused and glanced over hershoulder. From this angle, you could see a pair of small, chubby hands wrappedaround her leg.

“Sweetie, it’s okay.” She bent down toscoop him up and he clung to her upper half, squeezing tight and burying hisface in the crook of her neck. “Sorry, guys. He just woke up from a nap so he’skind of grumpy.”

“He’s also never seen the new house before.Or met the skelebros,” you ventured. “Sans, Papyrus, this is Moo.”

“MOO?”

The toddler glanced up with shining eyes atthe sound of his name. On top of his head was a spotted, black-and-white capcomplete with floppy ears and tiny horns.

“He likes cows.”

“oh my god.” Sans succeeded in holding inhis laughter.

His mom and dad came in for just a fewminutes. They’d done their best to tell Moo that he would be staying with you,and considering you were his favorite aunt, he was totally cool with that. Butthe two strangers were still a little bit of an unknown for him, so he stuck tohis mom’s side the entire time.

“He should be okay until dinner. I’ve got abunch of spare clothes for him just in case he has an accident, but he shouldtell you when he needs to go.”

“You’re potty-trained, Moo? You’re such abig boy!”

He nodded and took a step away from hismom. The both of you continued to chat while Moo decided to explore the rest ofthe house on his own. His bare feet resting along the hardwood floors, hesquatted down to inspect a pair of shiny sneakers that belonged to none otherthan Papyrus himself.

“HELLO! I SEE YOU’VE SPOTTED MY SHOES!WOULD YOU LIKE TO TRY THEM ON?”

Moo plopped down in response. Papyrus washappy to join him on the floor. Instead of tearing his shoes off, he insteadpulled apart the laces and loosened them up enough for the canvas material tostretch out.

Papyrus tore them off one by one andgrinned. “THERE WE GO, AND HERE YOU ARE. GIVE THEM A TRY.”

Moo looked down at his feet and raised aleg up.

“think he wants you to put ‘em on, bro.”

“OH!!! OF COURSE. HOW SILLY OF ME. HERE YOUARE, KING MOO. THE MOST DELICATE OF SLIPPERS TO ADORN YOUR FEET.”

You had to admit, it was adorable as hell.He and Papyrus seemed to be okay with each other. And although Sans didn’t wantto admit it, he was keeping an eyesocket on both of them to make sure thatnothing happened. If anything, it was more of a precaution for what-ifs ratherthan just him being overprotective. Because, like you said, kids were wildsometimes and could snap at any moment.

Proud of his new shoes, Moo did his best topush himself up and balance despite his feet being wayyy too small inside.Papyrus kept a gentle hand on his back while he flopped on over to his parentsto show them what he’d done.

“Oh, Moo! They look great on you!”

He beamed, proud of his work. “Mama! Apitcher!”

She fished out her phone and snapped one ofhim. He stretched out to grab it before she could even bend down to show him,marveling at the screen and swiping left and right. How kids adapted so quicklyto technology these days was beyond you.

It only took a few more minutes before hisparents left. You kissed your sister on the cheek and saw her off, promisingthat Moo would have a great time with you and the bros.

Well. Unfortunately, it looked like the onething your sister forgot to pack were snacks.

You thought you would be prepared for thiskinda thing. But after rushing to the kitchen once Moo started going on aboutwanting his favorite juice – pear, as it was – you realized that none of whatyou bought earlier in the week was going to suffice. In fact…as you rummagedthrough the empty boxes of cereal stuffed in the cabinets, you realized thatyou were completely cleaned out. What the hell!

“Sans, where are the fruit snacks in theshape of animals?”

“the frooty tooties? ate ‘em.”

“MORE LIKE HE CHEWED THEM UP UNTIL THEYWERE SQUISHY AND THEN USED THEM AS POSTER PUTTY TO HANG HIS NEW BLUEPRINTS UP!”

“Please tell me that’s a lie.”

“that’s a lie.”

“WAIT. HIS STATEMENT IS A LIE. BUT IF HE’SLYING ABOUT LYING, THEN DOES THAT MAKE IT A TRUTH?”

“Papyrus, no.”

“yes.”

“WHO DO I BELIEVE???”

You knew that you had to go out and getsome more age-appropriate snacks. Papyrus’ bone-shaped crackers were not goingto be a good combo for a kid who would’ve shoved as many as he could’ve downhis throat. That and the recipe was specifically made for making sure that theskeletons were calcified all to hell, which might’ve been a little weird tofeed a human child. Who knew what kind of repercussions would come out of that.

“Moo, follow me for a sec, okay?” You tookhim by the hoof – err, hand – and led him to the living room. He was alreadybouncing and looked restless. You had no clue when his last meal or snack was,but you weren’t ready to deal with the aftermath just yet.

It was kind of a crappy thing to do, butyou needed some time to talk to the boys in private. So you flicked on the TVand let him busy himself with the mindless chatter of some educationalcartoons.

“Okay, guys. We need a game plan.”

“EXCELLENT. I’LL GRAB MY JOURNAL. ONEMOMENT!” Papyrus rushed out of the room.

Every week Papyrus would pick his best mealfrom an array of dishes he cooked over the week, take about a day to create aphotorealistic painting of it, and then put it on the wall to cover a wall safefull of his most precious treasures. The safe was your idea, so that the dogsnooping around wouldn’t get into his figurines any more. Sans was the one whosuggested switching out the cover so people wouldn’t get suspicious. Why thatseemed logical, you would never know.

After snatching the book, Papyrus returnedto the kitchen for your huddle. He was focused, pen in his gloved hand,eyesockets narrowed, ready to strike the page with copious notes andillustrations.

“whaddid you wanna talk about, babe?”

“Moo needs snacks, since you so graciouslydecided to relieve him of those.”

“yer welcome.”

You sniffed. “Anyways, I need you guys torun to the store and pick him up some stuff. I’ll keep an eye on him here whileyou’re gone.”

“OF COURSE. BRILLIANT. I WOULD EXPECTNOTHING LESS FROM MY OTHER HALF.” Papyrus dotted his i’s and crossed his t’s,his careful penmanship a marvel even from all the way where you stood. “I, FORONE, AM GLAD TO EXPLORE THE BELLY OF THE BEAST OTHERWISE KNOWN AS SOOPERSAVERS!THEY EVEN HAVE THEIR OWN SPICE AISLE. HOW EXCITING.”

“sure, we’ll get in and out in under twentyminutes.” Sans winked.

That mischievous look on his face wasenough to put a wrench in your plans. “Okay, wait a second. I think I decidedtoo fast. Papyrus, we can’t trust Sans to go with anyone to the store. Rememberlast time? He locked you in the freezer for an hour.”

Papyrus gasped. “OH, NO. I HAD ALMOSTFORGOTTEN THOSE TERRIBLE, TERRIBLE MEMORIES!!! THE LOOK OF ABSOLUTE CONTEMPT ONTHE CARTOON COWS’ FACES AS I RESTED AMONG THE DAIRY. THEY SILENTLY JUDGED MYBONE DENSITY AND TEMPTED ME WITH WHISPERS OF CALCIUM INFUSED DRINKS!!!”

Sans kept his downright devilish grin,causing a sweat to bead on his brother’s forehead.

“DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT, SANS.”

“well, you n’ me could go.” Sans swunghimself up on the kitchen counter. You weren’t sure how he managed to do thatgiven he was short as hell, but it was best not to question him and his casualabuse of physics. “my bro could stay here with the kid, and you’d make sure iwas on my best behavior.”

“HMM, TRUE. THOUGH THAT WOULD LEAVE ME ATQUITE THE DISADVANTAGE, AS MOST OF MY ACTIVITIES REQUIRE THREE PEOPLE! WE ARETRYING TO MAKE A GOOD FIRST IMPRESSION ON MOO, SANS.”

“That and we would never get anythingdone.” You left it at that. You weren’t going to sit there and give him thesatisfaction of mentioning what happened on June 15th. You still hada scar in the shape of a bite mark that refused to go away, no thanks to him.

“WELL, WE COULD LEAVE SANS HERE ALONE ANDDO THE SHOPPING BY OURSELVES.”

You and Papyrus exchanged looks, then burstout laughing. Yeah, right. The entire house would be in shambles by the timeyou got back.

“hey, i resent that…you’re completelyright.”

You snorted. “Okay, so that’s one moreoption down. I guess this leaves one solution. Papyrus, Sans….are you two okayto stay here and watch Moo by yourselves for about an hour?”

Papyrus was quick to agree. Sans shruggedit off.

“WITH MY FAMILIARITY OF THE HOUSE, I WILL HAVENO TROUBLE DEFENDING MYSELF FROM SANS’ PRANKS. AND WE WILL SURELY BE ABLE TOCOMPLETE AT LEAST THREE PUZZLES WITH ALL OF US PARTICIPATING.”

“you gonna be ok buying groceries byyourself, babe?”

“I should be good. I’m more concerned aboutyou guys. But if you’re sure you can handle it, then I would really, reallyappreciate it.”

They both perked up. Any mention of yourapproval sent a pleasant shiver through their bones. Mostly because they lovedyou so much that making you happy was probably one of the only goals theyshared in life. (That and making sure they never missed an episode of the showall of you adored: Tales of the Aboveground, where monsters from all overshared their experiences of living on the surface.)

“THEN IT’S SETTLED. GOODBYE! WE WILL SEEYOU IN A BIT!”

“Hey, wait—”

You barely had a chance to get another wordout before you were shoved outside the front door, your bag magicallypositioned on your shoulder and keys around your fingers. You wanted to givethem some last minute advice, but the absolute Determination on their facesspoke volumes about their commitment to this. They would get through themorning without you and they weren’t going to take no for an answer.

Papyrus made sure to lock the door with aquick flick of his wrist, turning the small button on the knob despite yourprotests from outside. He sniffled.

“NYOO HOO HOO. I HATE TO LEAVE HER ON OURDOORSTEP. BUT WE HAVE TO BE STRONG.”

“it’s ok.”

“YOU’RE RIGHT. MOO NEEDS US.” Papyrus stoodto his full height and narrowed his eyes. “NOW…WHERE IS HE?”

Both paled.

“SANS ARE YOU TELLING ME WE ARE THIRTY-FIVESECONDS INTO OUR DEBUT AS BABYSITTERS AND WE HAVE LOST THE CHILD???”

“relax, bro. he’s gotta be somewhere in thehouse.”

Both went silent for any clues. Aside fromthe gentle trickling of water upstairs, it was relatively peaceful.

Wait…

Trickling water?!

“THE BATHROOM! SANS!!!”

“what about it?”

“HE’S IN THERE! STOP TRYING TO DISTRACT ME!LET’S GO!!!”

Papyrus put his gloved hand on the railingand propelled himself upward the long flight of stairs, Sans trailing behind.

The closer they got to the top, the louderthe noises became. Splashing and giggles. There were a million things thatcould’ve gone wrong when they opened the door, ninety-nine percent of which youwould probably dump them for. And they weren’t going to let that happen.  

“MOO? ARE YOU IN THERE? I WOULD LIKE TOCOME IN AND JOIN YOU!”

Papyrus jiggled the doorknob.

Locked.

“aw, shit.”

“SANS! WHAT DO WE DO?! WE HAVE NO ACCESS TOHIM! HE COULD BE DOING TERRIBLE THINGS IN THERE!”

“relax, bro. we made sure to turn off thewater for the tub. we put on the special seat for the toilet, and all themedications are locked up. there’s nothin’ he could do from his height.”

At that perfect moment, both brotherslooked down to see their feet sinking into a puddle of water creeping out fromunder the door.

Sans started to sweat.

“WELL, LOOKS LIKE THIS IS A JOB FOR MYIMMEASURABLE STRENGTH. STAND BACK, SANS!”

Papyrus readied himself at the door. Thesheer power of his love for you would surely get him through.

“ONE….” He would be a hero!

“TWO…” You would be so impressed with histoddler caring skills!

“THREE!”

He went for a running start and the dooropened.

“GGAAAAAAKKK!”

He dug his heels into the floor and bracedhimself for impact, doing his very best to stop his body from launching intothe room. All he could see was a hundred scenarios that ended up in someonebeing injured, from a minor scrape to complete and utter annihilation. Maybe hewas spending too much time with Undyne after all. His mind was getting to befar more dramatic than he would’ve liked for such a delicate situation.

As he poured his last ounce of strengthinto stopping dead in his tracks, the tip of his shoe caught on the rug Sansinsisted that they place right outside the bathroom. The gross, musty one hepicked up from a garage sale because he thought it was “a bargain”. Yeah, a bigpile of disgustingness and a cheesy line! What kind of pun was, “make some roomfor dessert”???

Papyrus teetered forwards and went crashingdown onto the floor. It didn’t hurt, but it was unpleasant to feel the stifftufts of the rug’s fabric scraping against his bones. Dazed, he lifted his headjust high enough to see the damage.

Moo had somehow tipped the trashcan overand stood up high enough for him to reach over to the sink. He had taken giantwads of toilet paper, coated them in water and soap, and then slapped the mushymass all over the bathroom. On Papyrus self-portrait made of dry pasta. Onthe cute little figurines that you swore brought life to the place. And even onSans’ joke book that had at least fifty unsanitary references!

With his consciousness fading and lastmortified look, Moo took the toilet brush and brought it up to his mouth tosniff it.

Sans knew that his brother would be okay,but it was still hilarious to see him faint like that. He mostly did it when heoverloaded on sensory things, which happened more often when Papyrus didn’thave his gloves on. But today it might’ve just been a combination of all newthings plus the pretty disgusting state the bathroom was in.

Sans couldn’t be prouder of the little guy.Already destroying the grossest room in the entire house. Man, humans werefascinating already with their digestive systems, but all the tools and suchused to help keep things civilized was enough to make him crack up. Seeing alittle kid completely oblivious toward all of that and dismantling the entirepolite system they had going on was amazing.

“kid, i think we’re gonna get along.”

He stuck his hand out, and was promptlygiven a slimy wad of tissue covered in snot.

“oh, man. that’s disgusting. i love it.”

Papyrus stirred from his unscheduled nap.He felt a little groggy, but the anxiety from before he passed out lingeredlong enough for him to snap back to reality. He sat up and rubbed at hiseyesockets.

“SANS? MOO? ARE YOU BOTH HERE?”

The whole bathroom was in disarray. Papyruscouldn’t bear to look! He reached for the door handle and made sure he didn’thave to subject his eyes to any more torture.

Papyrus happened to glance down at hischest while he pulled himself up from the floor. Pinned to his chest, along thepillow armor that had been fitted on him somehow, was a simple note.

countto ten, then see if you can find us

“I AM NOT PLAYING THIS GAME!” he shouted. “OH,WAIT. THERE IS ANOTHER MESSAGE WRITTEN ON THE BACK OF THE PAPER.” He turned itover.

yougotta. if you’re still not convinced, flip me over again

“WHAT!!!” Papyrus did as he was told.

wait,how does this paper have three sides? anyway, if you don’t do it i’ll trashyour room. love, your bro

“I HATE THIS!!!!” And, against his betterjudgment… “ONE, TWO, THREE…”

After ten agonizing seconds, Papyrus madehis way downstairs. He found a trail of flour leading to the backdoor, at leastfive toys strewn across the floor, some plastic utensils wedged between thecouch cushions, and the phone was off the hook with someone shouting on theother line.

“HELLO?” Papyrus scrambled for the phone,managing to wrestle it up to his face despite the long retro cord being tangledup in knots. “YOU HAVE REACHED THE HOME OF THE GREAT PAPYRUS, HIS EQUALLY GREATLADY, AND ONE LAZY BROTHER, HOW CAN I ASSIST YOU?”

“Paps? It’s me. Is everything okay?”

His breath caught in his throat. Somehow. “AH!!!YES, EVERYTHING IS GOING GREAT!” He started to sweat. “HOW IS THE STORE? HAVEYOU FOUND PRODUCTS AT REASONABLE AND UNBEATABLE PRICES?”

“I think so. I’m in line right now, butthere’s only one cashier and he looked like a new hire. He’s paging the emptystore for someone to do a price check on Mettamuffins. Oh my god. Now he’spanicking.”

“THIS STORY IS INCREDIBLY INTERESTING ANDDOWNRIGHT SCANDALOUS, BUT I HAVE SOME…THINGS…TO ATTEND TO.”

“Hmm. Are you sure you’re doing okay?”

He nearly cracked, but didn’t. “OF COURSEWE AM! I MEAN, OF COURSE I ARE! I WILL JUST HAVE TO MAKE SURE I CLEAN UP SOMEOF OUR…ACTIVITIES! GOOD LUCK ON CHECKING OUT YOUR ITEMS! SMOOCH!!!”

He hung up and heard a quiet snicker in theroom.

“SANS, I KNOW YOU’RE IN HERE. THIS CHILD’SPRESENCE HAS MADE YOU EVEN MORE…CHILDISH!!! PLEASE COME OUT OF HIDING, SHE ISCOMING BACK SOON AS WE NEED TO FIX THIS PLACE UP!”

No answer.

Papyrus crossed his arms and thought deeplyon where his brother would be hiding. His favorite spot to snooze in as of latewas the closet near the front door. But it didn’t look like that side of thehouse had been touched just yet. Sans also liked to roll under the couch andsleep under the comfortable weight of the cushions, but when he did that, healmost always managed to kick one slipper off. No sign of that.

As he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, a smalldroplet of liquid splashed against the top of his skull.

“…SANS!!!”

“heh heh. ya got me.”

Papyrus looked up and put his hands on hiships. Sans had somehow crawled up to the corner of the ceiling and was wedgedup there.

“WHERE IS MOO?”

“around here. told him to hide.”

“WE NEED TO BE WATCHING HIM!”

Sans slipped down the length of the wallwithout batting an eye. “ok, ok. i told him to hide in my room. let’s check itout.”

The trek toward the brothers’ bedrooms waslong and arduous, filled with slick spots of melting sticks of butter and granola.A gross combination, and Papyrus wasn’t even sure how he managed to get accessto more food. So much for locking everything up. But despite the harsh terrain,both brothers persisted until they reached Sans’ safe haven.

“hey, bro. what’re you doing? knock first.”

“THERE IS NO TIME FOR FORMALITIES. MOO, IAM COMING IN!”

The stench was unbearable. Dirty clotheslying haphazardly on the floor. A lampshade on the floor. Cloudy test tubesstacked on top of each other. Crumpled bedsheets, pillows stained with coffeeand tea, a plate caked with mysterious gray mold. The entire place looked likeit had seen the wrath of a certain three-year-old.

“everythin’ looks normal to me.”

“OH MY GOD. THE SMELL IS EVEN WORSE THAN ITWAS THIS MORNING!”

“oh yeah. i forgot to put this back in thefridge.” Sans picked up a cup of milk that already started to bubble in the smoldering,stuffy summer heat. “was gonna see if i could ferment this, but figured it’d bebetter to start another day.”

“DO YOU SEE HIM?”

“nope. call him.”

“MOOOOOOO!”

Sans’ eyesockets crinkled. “bro, are youpart cow?”

“NO.”

“because that impression was moo-ving.”

“STOP THIS.”

Then they heard it. A gasp. It was faint,but it was there.

“IS THAT…THE ATTIC???”

How did one child manage to maneuver aroundso easily? Humans were so tenacious! Neither of them could imagine raising oneof their own if they were all like this!

“MOOOOOO!”

“moooo.”

It was dark. How did he even navigate? Whenyou moved in with the brothers, there was so much extra stuff that it was allshoved up here. You and Sans promised to sort through it, but every time youwere both up here at the same time, you ended up just making a giant mess andleaving it worse off than when you came.

Papyrus nearly tripped over a giant chestfull of early courting gifts from him. You said they needed to be kept in asafe place, and that they were priceless, so they had to be stored away. Hebelieved you wholeheartedly, because you had wrapped them up in the softestblankets to shield them from dust and time. That and he caught you sneaking uphere sometimes just to admire them.

“bro, did you hear that?”

“HEAR WHAT?”

Sans froze. His eyesockets went dark.

“we’ve been cornered.”

Jumping out from the shadows, fingerssplayed and mouth opened wide, was Moo.

“Raaaah!”

Both of the brothers were surprised, butdid their best not to laugh. A tiny human in a cow costume roaring at them likea dinosaur was…probably the best thing they’d seen in weeks. It didn’t helpthat Moo charged toward them, bending down on all fours, the tiny tail sewn onhis backside flapping with every bounce toward them.

“PLEASE DON’T HURT US!” Papyrus cried.

But it was too late. Moo had conquered themboth, crawling on top of their toppled bodies and declaring himself as thewinner with a loud, long roar.

“alright, kiddo. let’s get you backdownstairs.” Sans plucked him off his chest and tucked him under an arm. “yougave us a big scare.”

“YOU COULD HAVE HURT YOURSELF…” Papyrusbegan. But after seeing the near teary look in Moo’s eyes, he recanted. “YOUWERE VERY BRAVE TO COME UP HERE BY YOURSELF. BUT NEXT TIME YOU SHOULD PLAY NEARUS, OKAY? WE WANT TO SEE MOO THE DINOSAUR UP CLOSE!”

All three of them headed back to the livingroom where Moo’s giant bag still sat untouched.

“I HAVE A COLORING BOOK I THINK YOU WOULDLIKE.”

“Crayons, please!”

“nice job, kid. use yer manners and you’llget far.”

“I SHOULD WASH HIS CLOTHING IN A FEW HOURS.HE LOOKS STICKY. OR IS THAT NORMAL FOR HIS AGE?”

Everything was okay after that. Some minorincidents – like Moo breaking a crayon and then throwing a tantrum despitebeing given the exact same color to use instead. The brothers had to muster up alltheir patience to deal with his screams and flailing limbs, but they managed toget him to stop wailing after a while.

In the end, the house was completelytrashed, but everyone was safe and sound.

You parked the car in the driveway andrummaged through the bag, grabbing a piece of candy to shove in your mouth. Ugh.What was supposed to be a quick trip to the store ended up being the biggestnightmare of your life. Long lines, rude customers, unorganized shelves, aclown blocking your nearest exit until you donated to his law school fund, andeven a broken traffic light that resulted in a twenty-minute detour through afuneral motorcade.

Needless to say, you were relieved to behome.

After gathering everything in your arms,you headed to the door. A smarter person would’ve called the brothers to letthem know that you were here, but you were so exhausted that the thought nevereven crossed your mind.

Knock. Knock.

“who’s there?”

“Sans.”

“sans who?”

“Sans, please let me in, my arms are goingnumb!”

“i don’t get it.”

“PERHAPS THE HUMOR LIES IN THE REALISM.”

“oh, ok.”

You heard him unlatch the door and youpractically burst in. “Someone please help me get these to the kitchen!”

Papyrus did more than that. He simplyscooped you up, bags and all, so that you were no longer crumbling under theircrushing weight. You were relieved to receive help, but gosh, it did bring a littlecolor to your cheeks when he easily carted you around like that.

He set you down in the middle of thekitchen. Without hesitation, you made your way into the fridge and startedshoving all sorts of snacks inside.

“So? How did it go, guys?”

Sans grinned. “eh, so boring.”

“What, really?”

“IT WAS…NEW.”

You peered over the fridge door. “I don’tknow if I like the sound of that. Where’s Moo?”

“NAPPING ON THE COUCH.”

“Wait, you guys actually got him to sleep?”

“he was kinda giving us a run for ourmoney, so it’s nice he decided to help us out with that.”

“Oh, no. Was he a handful?”

“heh. you decide.”

You blinked and stepped away from yourlittle comfort zone, only to fully drink in how destroyed the house was.

Yeah, it looked like a toddler had beenthrough here, all right. Everyone’s possessions poked and prodded. Annoying Dogeven had a balloon strapped to its tail, trying its best to run away from it asit hovered menacingly over its back. The walls had some minor scribbles hereand there, the carpet had splotches of (what you hoped was washable) paint,there were scraps of paper and a pair of kid scissors scattered along thefloor, and even Moo’s stuffed cow was completely soaked.

“Do I want to know?”

“not really.”

“WE HAD FUN, THOUGH.”

You sighed, relieved, and smiled at them.Your chest even felt a little tight. Ew, you were about to get sappy on them.Sugar overload.

“Thanks, guys. I’m really glad.”

“NOW YOU CAN HELP US WATCH OVER MOO FOR THEREST OF THE DAY!”

“yep.” Munch. “might as well include you onthe fun. ‘sides, you haven’t even seen how he pronounced the word ‘fantastic’.”Swallow.

“…why would he even say that in the firstplace?” you ventured. “Wait, never mind. The point is. You two were a hugehelp. I couldn’t have done this without you, and…I’m really looking forward tothe rest of Moo’s visit if I have both of you here with me.”

Papyrus’ eyesockets sparkled. Sans wasembarrassed, but shot you a cheesy grin anyway.

“Alright, when he wakes up, I’ll make him asnack plate. Sans, can you stop eating for a sec and hand me the FrootyTooties?”

“uh…whoops.”

[leothelionsaysgrrrr]

Nostalgia [Equilibrium, Chapter 1]

First chapter of the multi-chapter fic I’ve been writing about Emma and Lux, and their time with the Inquisition.  It’s long, so there’s a cut.

AO3 link

It occurred to Lux, as he shivered relentlessly while lugging the small pile of firewood he’d gathered through the snow back towards camp, that he had not entirely thought this through.  

Staring southward at the greenish-tinted remnants of the hole in the night sky over where Haven used to be, he attempted to remind himself why he had insisted on this journey to find the Inquisition’s new fortress in the first place.  It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been perfectly happy in the Free Marches, occasionally adventuring across Thedas, discovering bits of it old and new, and eliminating any slavers encountered along the way.  After hearing of the attack on the Inquisition’s former base, and seeing the aftermath of what the Venatori cultists did in Redcliffe, however, it seemed like the most logical course of action.  

Worthy cause or no, he was ill-suited to cold, harsh climes such as this, no matter how many extra furs he piled on - and piled them on he had.  They were called the ‘Frostback Mountains’ for a reason, he supposed.  At any rate, it was no longer an option to turn back, and his companion back at camp had been difficult enough to convince that this journey was worthwhile in the first place that she would never let him hear the end of it if he complained.  So, he hugged the twigs and branches closer to his chest and trudged on in silence.  

By all accounts, and to his immense delight, Lux was, in fact, a rather comely young elf: he was thin and reedy, doe-eyed and olive-skinned, with straight coal-black hair cut close to the skin everywhere but the top of his head, where it was left shaggy and fell slightly in front of his face.  ‘Unmistakably Tevinter’, he’d been told on numerous occasions, although it wasn’t always a compliment.  A large scar crawled across his left cheek and his right ear had been crudely docked, its characteristic point shorn off long ago as punishment for some trivial transgression he had since forgotten.  He found a strange comfort in that, having forgotten.  

At that particular moment, however, he was hoping less for emotional comfort and more for a fire to suddenly appear and swallow him whole, so long as it meant he was out of this blasted cold.

Although it hadn’t been a terribly far walk, Lux heaved a winded sigh of relief as he crested a small hill and the dwindling campfire came into view, and his companion’s lean, muscular frame coalesced on a large rock nearby.  She never really sat so much as she perched, comfortably at rest but able to return swiftly to her feet if need be.  Presently, she had one leg curled under her body, the mug of tea he had made her before he left still resting on that knee.  The other dangled off of the rock, the toe of her boot rhythmically kicking at the snow on the ground.  

She lifted the steaming mug every few kicks, sipped gingerly, and set it back on her knee in a smooth, graceful motion while remaining focused on something in her lap.  The firelight danced off of the bits of her face not covered by a brown, fur-lined hood, and her thick mess of unruly deep red curls hung loose in an opaque curtain to obscure whatever it was that held her attention.  

Emma Grace Sparrow entered his life eight years ago at what he was certain at the time would be the end of it, and entirely by chance.  

Following a daring and bloody rescue from the all too common fate of elven Tevinter slaves, being sacrificed for blood magic, and a narrow escape from Minrathous, Emma, albeit reluctantly at first, allowed him to accompany her home and took him under her wing (a whimsical turn of phrase, he noted, given her name).  In the years that followed, the diminutive, taciturn apostate mage from Starkhaven became his protector, mentor, and, when the need for those passed, his very dearest friend.  

Lux thrived under Emma’s guidance, and for good reason.  The woman was a marvel.   She was nearly a decade his senior, absolutely brilliant, and simultaneously managed to be the kindest and most terrifying person he’d ever met.  She scarcely spoke, and smiled even less, but in all of their years together, she’d never once raised her voice to him, even when he probably deserved it.  She displayed such unwavering restraint and self-control that, had she not used magic to save him when they first met, Lux would likely have gone years in her company without the slightest hint that she was a mage at all.  

Emma held herself to a high standard in all things, and expected no less from him.  

Unwilling to waste time and breath, she had a particular talent for saying a great deal with very few words, and over the years Lux had learned to understand her well.  It was probably his favorite thing about her; after all, how else could he have learned that Emma, for all her efforts at remaining objective and who would certainly never tell him outright, had a soft spot for him big enough to swallow all of Thedas?    

The thought crossed his mind briefly that they must have appeared a strange pair.  Lux was tall for an elf, where Emma was short for a human (he was endlessly amused by the fact that the top of her head was at the perfect height for him to rest his chin on it), and dark where she was fair.  He maintained a strong wit and healthy sense of humor, regardless of the marks his life in slavery left on him, and in stark contrast to Emma’s quiet, austere practicality.

He also made a point to rarely take anything seriously; the increasing frequency of her responding to his jokes with a smile, or even a chuckle, made the times she glowered at him in silence (which he found endearing anyway) worthwhile.

The elf continued to watch his friend as he set the wood in a neat pile near the fire.  He could see, now, that she was reading a book, although he didn’t know how, with those curls in the way.  She was strangely vain about her hair, despite it being quite impractically bothersome to keep it so long.  Lux often amused himself with the thought that her hair was the true source of her magical ability, and if it were ever cut short she would be rendered powerless.  It wasn’t true, of course, but he liked the story, and it explained why the only time he had ever really felt he was truly in danger from her was the time he jokingly threatened to cut her hair off in her sleep.        

Lux managed to pry his attention away from her with the rationalization that she often brought a book or two on long trips, and turned instead to his pack, which he’d rather made a mess of when he made her tea.  He dug through it for a few minutes, and then became concerned when his journal was nowhere to be found.  

Once he learned to read on his own, rather than having Emma read to him, Lux developed a voracious appetite for it.  After devouring every book he could get his hands on, he got it into his head to try writing his own.  The journal was an encouraging gift from Emma before they left Starkhaven.  He’d spent an hour or so scrawling in it each night, immortalizing, with some artistic embellishment, of course, the story of his life since meeting her.  He was clearly no Varric Tethras, with whose literary works Lux was particularly and hopelessly enamored, much to Emma’s dismay, but he liked to think he could at least do that story justice.  

He frantically searched under and around the pack, his clothes, then inside the tent, before he finally gave up and returned to the fire to ask Emma if she’d seen it.  Just as he was about to open his mouth, she tossed the wall of hair to the side and he could plainly see the small, leather-bound book she’d been reading.

His journal.

“Hey, snoop!” he protested facetiously.  

She didn’t startle, much to his dismay, although he had to admit that the most likely result of successfully scaring her would probably not be pleasant.  Only her eyes left their former position as she glanced up to meet him; their movement was controlled, deliberate.  She did not snap the book shut quickly in a wordless admission of wrongdoing, but rather returned her attention to it and continued reading, as if he weren’t even there, turning the page with the utmost fluidity.  

“Hush, Lux,” she replied, without looking up.  Her voice was soothing and quiet, flecked with the remnants of a Starkhavener’s accent.  Even if he were actually angry with her, he would have ceased to be the moment she spoke.  It had to be some sort of sneaky magic she used - she vastly preferred using magic for subtle things most people would never notice to throwing fire and lightning - but he enjoyed listening to her talk so much that he didn’t care.  

“That’s not for you,” Lux snatched the book from her and cradled it to his chest with an exaggerated frown.  Emma’s brow relaxed as her eyes followed the book, and the corners of her mouth tugged ever so slightly outward into a kind smile.  

“That is very well-written,” she offered, nodding her head towards his prize. “I’m impressed with your improvement, and I’m quite honored you’ve chosen to write so well about me.”

Lux scoffed nervously.  “About you?  What are you talking about?  It’s not about you.”  She raised an eyebrow incredulously.  Blasted woman always knew when he was lying.

“Your heroine is named ‘Jemma’.”  

He met her accusing stare with one of his own, and some colorful Tevene muttered, hopefully inaudibly, under his breath.  Making up names was certainly not his greatest strength as a writer.

“Fine.  Maybe it is, but you still weren’t supposed to read it yet.”  Lux folded his arms indignantly across his chest.  “I’m never going to be able to surprise you with anything, am I?”  Emma smirked and shook her head, then shifted to the side on the rock, tilting her head slightly to invite him to sit.  He did, and tossed the book on his disheveled pack as he stepped over it.  

“I meant it, Lux, it’s a good story.  You flatter me,” she said kindly as she removed her worn brown cloak and offered it to him.

“I try,” Lux replied with a grin.  Emma’s smile widened and she chuckled softly.  Her cheeks did not flush as he had hoped they would, but he was happy to have gotten her to smile enough to bare her teeth.  It wasn’t an easy task, but he was up for the challenge; she was really quite beautiful when she did it.  He took the cloak readily, as it was sure to be pleasantly warm, and wrapped himself tightly in it.  

“I wasn’t gone that long.  How far did you get?”

“Rux and Jemma just escaped Binrathous.”  

Lux winced; hearing his awful attempts at naming spoken aloud, even in her soft, lilting tone, was physically painful.  Blessedly, she didn’t laugh at him, only maintained her gentle smile.  She’d read most of it, then, but it was hardly a surprise.  He could only dream of being able to read as quickly as Emma did.  

Suddenly, her hand flew to her forehead, and her expression momentarily shifted into a pained grimace.  Lux felt a split-second stab in the pit of his stomach as he recalled the first time the intense headaches she suffered, had suffered for years before they met, overwhelmed her, his sympathetic pain relieved a moment later by the memory of her gratitude the first time she realized the tea he made, a simple brew he learned from one of the kitchen slaves, was the only thing that would consistently alleviate them.  She took a long sip from her mug, and her face relaxed once more.  She had a frustrating tendency to hide how much pain she was really in, though, and Lux worried for her.

“They’re getting worse, aren’t they?”  He leaned forward, trying to get her to look at him.  She hated when he tried to play mother hen and would undoubtedly tell him it was nothing to worry about, but she would only look at him when she said it if it were true.  Predictably, she pointedly avoided allowing her eyes to meet his.  He pursed his lips fretfully.

“Don’t concern yourself.”  Of course she would say that.  He moved again, his face closer to hers this time so as to dominate her field of view.

“That’s a yes, Emmi.”

She finished the rest of her tea in one swig, then turned her head and smirked.  “It’s a ‘don’t concern yourself’, Lux.”  

Lux laughed despite himself, and shoved her gently with his elbow.  Emma had mastered a precious few jokes since he’d known her, and that particular one by accident; the first time she’d said such a thing, she was being completely serious, but Lux was in tears with laughter.  

She smiled fondly and snaked her arm under the cloak and around his, clasping their hands and resting her head on his shoulder.  It was a recent and welcome development that she no longer shied away from such gestures.  He knew she cared greatly for him, against her better judgment, and she was his dearest friend and heart’s sister, but Lux was certain she did it less out of a desire to show him affection than a characteristically pragmatic attempt to keep him warm.  Although, she had always shown her affection for him by making sure he didn’t die, so perhaps it was equal parts of both.  

Between them they had four layers of furs, and Lux wore three of them tucked under his leathers, as well as his and Emma’s long underclothes (although hers could hardly be considered ‘long’ on him), smalls, several pairs of his and Emma’s socks, thick boots, bracers, and both his and Emma’s cloaks.  He appeared almost the size of a lean, healthy human bundled up so, instead of the gangling, scrawny elf he was, but still, he shivered.  Emma’s small, wiry body was always unnaturally warm, perhaps as a side effect of her magic.  She was miserable in deserts no matter how she dressed, and only mildly chilly in what he considered unbearable cold with only her sleeveless leathers, unders, smalls, hooded scarf, a single pair of socks under her boots, wraps on her hands and forearms, and a single layer of furs, the last of which she only wore because it would’ve been quite a blow to Lux’s pride if he were to need all of them.   After a few moments of her leaning against him, Lux finally stopped shivering, and she sighed heavily as she pointed towards the book.  

“It pains me to think you still remember all of that so vividly.  Such horrors are better forgotten.”  Her tone was somber, mirroring her words more than she usually let it.  Lux shook his head solemnly before resting it on hers.

“You know I can’t.”

“It was a long time ago, Lux, and I’ve told you I am no hero to be worshipped.”  

He chuckled and shook his head.

“Of course you’re not. Those heroes have an unfortunate propensity for being dead, and you aren’t allowed to die,” he replied, tucking a few stray wisps of hair behind her ear, and he shifted his shoulders so that she lifted her head and looked him in the eye. “And I do not ‘worship’ you.  I simply recognize that without you, I’d be dead, and not a single person would have noticed or cared.”  

“And without you, I’d be dead, as well.  You know my circumstances at the time; who do you imagine I had left to mourn me?”  She always seemed to have a counterpoint at the ready when he spoke highly of her, and he hated it. They were equally alone in the world when they met, that much was true.  He had his doubts, however, that he had anything to do with her being alive.  Perhaps she meant the headaches, but he doubted they would’ve killed her, either.  In any case, she never gave an explanation for such assertions, and he knew better than to press her for answers she did not wish to give.

“You were the fool who bothered with saving me first, you know,” he said with an almost forced laugh.  After a moment, his expression grew severe.  “The years since I met you have been the best of my entire life.  I’ve been places and learned things I could never have imagined.  But, I was nothing before I met you, Emmi, and I was always going to be nothing.   You made me something.  That may not be that important to you, but I can’t ever let myself forget what you did for me, and what it almost cost you.  It’s too important.   You are too important to-”

“Pollux,” she interrupted with a sharp sigh, holding up a hand with her palm facing him.  Pollux servus Navalius was the closest thing Lux had to a full name, and Emma hated it.  “You ‘servus’ no one, Lux, not anymore,” she’d told him.  Now, she only called him Pollux when giving him a lecture, or otherwise being very serious, and she was very rarely more serious than when this subject came up.  He was brimming with self-confidence now, sometimes almost insufferably so, but he knew what he said about his old self and her influence on him was true.  He suspected she did as well.  Nevertheless, Emma was determined that he not feel beholden to her, and there was little he could do about it.  While it was usually possible to sway her given a good enough argument, on this she was always steadfast, so he simply huffed and waited for her to continue.  She reached her hand behind his head and pulled him closer to her, resting her forehead on his.  

“You were never ‘nothing’. That is what you must never forget.”  

Lux sighed, and wrapped one arm around her and hugged her tight.  Maker bless this silly girl, he thought.  Her commitment to improving his opinion of himself was admirable, even if all it really did was improve his opinion of her.  He had certainly done nothing to deserve such kindness.

“You’re going to have to stop being so good to me,” he joked.  “I’m going to end up spoiled rotten.”  

Emma smiled fondly and planted a soft kiss on his forehead before gently shoving him away.  

“You are far too insufferably grateful for that to be a legitimate concern,” she informed him.

Lux grinned mischievously as he stood, hugging the cloak to himself to compensate for the loss of her warmth.  “I suppose I best get some rest, since I’m sure you’re going to wake me absurdly early.  Again.”  Emma nodded, and stood as well to feed the fire.  The elf removed his leathers and furs and crawled into his bedroll inside the tent, piling the furs on top of him.  Emma followed shortly after, stripped down to her undershirt and leggings, and climbed into her own.  

She wouldn’t sleep for hours yet, but she would stay because he’d begun every night since they reached the mountains just fine, but had inevitably ended up huddled against her for warmth before morning.  She didn’t mind, but it was a matter of pride that he didn’t repeat the pattern.  He bolstered his resolve to remain on his side of the tent by nearly disappearing under the furs, only his eyes and nose visible as he turned to face her.

“So, we should reach Skyhold sometime tomorrow?”

“Provided we get a timely start, yes.”  She lay on her back with her hands behind her head, her hair bundled underneath it as a makeshift pillow, staring upward at the decidedly uninteresting ceiling of the tent.  Something was on her mind, he was certain of it.  She was hardly forthcoming with such things, but she would tell him if he asked.  He almost did, but thought better of it; her headaches were getting worse, and she was being rather melodramatic, at least for her.  Forcing her to talk about it now wouldn’t do any good.

It was already getting colder, much to his dismay.  He curled up his legs and pulled the furs closer.

“It’ll be interesting, I think, seeing what he’s really like.  The Inquisitor, I mean.”

“Very busy, more than likely.  I wouldn’t get your hopes up on meeting him.”  

Not what he wanted to hear, but, she was probably right.  

The Inquisitor, the fabled ‘Herald of Andraste’, was probably the aspect of the Inquisition she was looking forward to the least, not that she was particularly looking forward to any of it at all.  She was here because he wanted her to come, not because she did.  Emma despised the Andrastian Chantry, asserting that it was “the equivalent of making up a shoddy, half-hearted answer rather than admit you can’t be bothered to adequately consider the question”.  The Inquisitor’s fame and proximity to the Chantry made him uninteresting to her, but Lux was intrigued by the idea that an elf, someone like him, could be hailed by humans, elves, and dwarves alike as the last, great hope for Thedas.  

“Just a ray of sunshine, you are.”  He scoffed, trying to mask his chattering teeth, and inched closer to her, hoping she didn’t notice.   “It’s just nice hearing people - well, people other than you - speaking so highly of an elf, I suppose.”

“He could be Dalish, Lux.”

Lux’s nose crinkled.  He’d never gotten over the blatant dismissal as a ‘flat-ear’ he received from the first Dalish clan they’d encountered, and subsequent run-ins left him firmly entrenched in the opinion that the Dalish were a pretentious and rude lot.  The Inquisitor being one of them would be thoroughly disappointing.

“Why would you…you just had to ruin it, didn’t you?”  

Emma looked at him with a wry smirk and extended her arm towards him, and flexed her fingers as if to say ‘come on, just get over here’.  He grumbled in Tevene before heaving a sigh of defeat, and sheepishly moved next to her.  She folded her arm around his head as he laid it on her shoulder, and gently stroked his hair as she went back to staring upward, clearly lost in thought.  He mused briefly on asking her about it again, but instead dismissed the idea and allowed himself to relax and drift off to sleep as the comical amount of furs piled on top of him trapped her warmth and finally halted his shivering.