#covered in some sort of fireside lighting I just!!!!!! they’re so good in the dark thank you for drawing them at night | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

spectacular-supernova · 3 months

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PRESIDENT OF TONARI CLUB!

I, uh, m-made something f-for you.

Know that I'm totally embarrassing my ass over here, so... Don't laugh loud enough that I can hear you from over here!

Aaaaaand now, per Lyndis tradition, I'm gonna overexplain shits and turn a simple Ask into a whole ass Ramble!

-----------------------------(why is there no "Read More" partition in an Ask? I'm so embarrassed right now goddamn it)-------------------------

If you're short-sighted, try removing your glasses or contact lenses and look at this picture. I just did and it's suddenly even prettier!

I actually planned to draw your Sonicsona at first. And then I realized I deadass couldn't even draw Base Sonic. Then I thought I should draw a mole. I realized I also couldn't draw a mole. I thought I should just go for the easiest shit and draw ToFu. I realized I could not draw either one of them, too.

Because I cannot draw, I cheat! I mean I turn things into shapes (chiefly triangles, though not all of them) and then color them and hope that something shows up. This is me using this scientific /+ philosophical concept called Emergence.

No, I didn't just say THAT to sound like I have a technique of any kind, trust. It's so totally a technique—my very productive ass told me.

I remember you saying your favorite color is something like pink, blue, and stuff? It was from that tag game from last year. Hence, I decided I should create a context so I could draw an obscene amount of pink and blue.

If I'm being honest, it took me less than a millisecond to come up with the exact context—Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom is abundantly blue.

And since I always wanted to sneak ToFu in, I thought I would make a purplish-pink dusk. And then I will sneak those stargazing two in.

Come on. Everyone knows those ToFu panels. Even someone like me, who had not seen that part of the manga yet, knows.

Bless Tonari for being so relaxing to color.

HOWEVER! Fushi's limited-ass color presented a big problem for my cheat-drawing. How many combinations of "white" can you even make before you zoom out and see... nothing?! So I basically sabotaged them. That's what you get for being difficult, you mopey, neck-crick-possessing, fragile-enough-to-be-blown-by-the-wind cutie doofus.

I made up the color of their pants. I didn't even refer to their Nameless Boy drip when I decided on the color. I assed that part.

Yes. I admit I put a shit ton of effort into coloring Zelda. This version of Zelda is my kin, you know. Anyway, I like the way her, uh, shirt turned out.

I also like how the Master Sword turned out, but there was so much blue I ended up requiring outlines to distinguish it from Link's shirt and the sky. Told ya I have no technique or skill. I cheat through and through

I was too lazy to draw those sky islands. Besides, the ToTK side is already saturated with details.

What the fuck issa "proportion?" Everyone's head is an orange. The difference, Nova, is whether it's a Mandarin Orange or an Orange.

I don't know if I overdid Dinraal's draconic mane. It looks like she's wearing a wig. At least she is different from how she initially looked—a red tapeworm outfitted with chicken legs.

I admit I put more effort than any Past Me would have into Dinraal because a certain mutual is very, ah, particular about dragons.

Drawing two of your favorite ships for their show of devotion was a completely deliberative choice on my end. Did you also realize that both Link and Fushi had a short, small, low ponytail and that both Zelda and Tonari had similar hair? I believe it's due to me hitting my drawing skill limitation.

There is actually an Easter Egg of some sort in this picture. It's not the ugly doodle thing, no. That thing is me. I'm not an Easter Egg; I'm a ghost.

I'm not telling you what that Easter Egg is. I'm fine with it never being discovered; it'd be like those secret levels in old video games.

But if you DID discover it, come tell me what you think it is!

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

I hope you like it enough! Instead of it giving you a migraine, that is. Surely my """art"""... doesn't require a trigger warning... right?

Have a good one, mai bruzha!

---Lyn

A RAMBLE FROM YOU LYN IS THE BEST POSSIBLE BRITHDAY PRESENT I COULD HAVE EVER RECEIVED!!!! COUPLED WITH ART BY YOU????? AND OF MY FAVORITE FELLAS????? What did I deserve to be so blessed ;A; 💕💕💕

I’ll spare us all a little extra scrolling on my part by adding that read more you were fretting about, I have my own ramble upcoming!

I KNOW YOURE ON YOURSELF ABOUT NOT BEING ARTISTIC OR WHATEVER BUT THIS IS ART!!! AND DAMN GOOD ART TOO!!!!!!! This is!!!!!!!!!!! I want this made into stained glass I want to make this the permanent window to me bed roOM LYN THIS IS AMAZING THIS IS ALMOST CERTAINLY GOING DOWN AS ONE OF MY FAVORITE ART STYLES!!!! There’s no such thing as cheating in art, it’s all art!!! “Cheating” is a style, no technique is a style!!! I should know I have none either, hehe -w-‘ your art may be some type of cubism? Hehe idk I’m not an art student :3 Either way this is absolutely gorgeous I’m in LOVE!!!

It’s so creative and well done and I LOVE your eye for detail, the lighting is inspired!!!! Like the way the sun hits the space behind Zelda is so pretty, AND ZELDA IS SO PRETTY!!!!!! EVERYRHING IS SO PRETTY, I CANT FOCUS ON ONE THING BECAUSE I KEEP JUMPING BACK AND FORTH BETWEEN ALL THE THINGS I LOVE ABOUT IT (every thing, every last detail!!! Is that a little you in the middle? Is that the Easter egg???? I could just pick you up and pat your little head!!! 😭 I know you don’t love hugs but that’s how I’ll be standing if you’re ever ready for one!!!)

I should slow down maybe and pick a few things to focus on BUT I JUST CANT I LOVE IT ALL!!!! The two scenes just blend so well into one another that my eyes are just naturally being drawn back and forth between both of the scenery! Dinraal, who turned out AMAZIING BY THE WAY, ABSOLUTELY NOT OVERDONE, if anything I’m so glad you had fun working on her!!! She’s so gorgeous!!!! I bet your friend is so so proud of how well she looks!!! Oh but anyway, Dinraal naturally leads my eyes over to the sun/moon (and the 24, hehe, thank you!!! /)//(\ Your memory is astounding!!), which have their own beautiful rays of light leading down onto the adorable couples 😭 I love love LOVE the moonlight leading down onto Tonari and Fushi, and the fact that she’s pointing at it too like she can almost reach it? Beautiful! Gorgeous!!! And it just leads my eyes down to them too, there’s just such a natural circular flow here, no wonder I keep getting caught in a loop of admiration! 😁

The blues and the pinks, and the stars on the ToFu side!!! I just noticed them and they’re everything to me!!!! Hahaha I’m so glad Tonari was relaxing to color hehe, same for me, something about her is just so lovely and calming when she’s relaxed 🥰 As for Fushi’s colors, I didn’t notice! Even after you pointed it out it looks good to me! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ this is from someone who never references colors though, I’m so loosey goosey about everything -w- BUT YOUR SOLUTION TO YOUR PROBLEM WAS GREAT, THEIR SHAPE IS VERY VISIBLE AND EASY TO MAKE OUT hehe :3 I love their crossed little legs 🥰

Zelda being your kin is so good to know hehe, I’ve always been drawn to all versions of Link myself! I think we’ve been perfectly set up to “play dolls” with these characters in the future, so to speak! Aaaahh they can’t have been easy to draw, there’s a reason I almost never dabble in drawing those two and their intricate outfits, but you make it look effortless!!! Zelda’s shirt turned out amazing, and I’m stuck looking at her little triangle braids!!!! I don’t know why I’m so fixated on that it’s just adorable!!! 😭💕 What a lovely technique, man, I’m so enchanted! AND THE MASTER SWORD, I know you called it cheating BUT I LOVE THE LINE WORK, it makes the sword stand out, almost like you lined that specific part with some sort of melted gold??? Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!!!!!

This is gorgeous and beautiful in every which way and thank you!!!! For everything!!! For this beautiful drawing and for giving me a chance to ramble and giving me something gorgeous to look at for the rest of my day, and for indulging in both of my silly little ships /)//(\ I’m so glad I don’t need glasses because I love every inch of your art, thank you thank you THANK YOU!!!!! Gosh it’s so so so lovely 😭💕 you’re so lovely!!!!

I don’t know how to say goodbye so I guess I’ll just say good night for now! Thank you for thinking of me… I’ll have a wonderful day, so long as you promise me you’ll have a wonderful night along side me 🥰

Goodnight, Mai Bruzha!

- Nova

#Lyn the Zelda Kin (I’ll come up with a better tag some day I PROMISE 💕 haha!!!)#Friend Rambles 💕💕💕#long post #IM SO STOKED YOU HAVE NO IDEA AAAHHHHHHHHHH KICKING MY FEET #I’m typing the tags before I actually type the main body heehee I’m gonna jump over the moon!!!!!#and thank you for the letter too I’ve been rereading it! I’ve been getting back into writing letters of my own and wow!!!#the quality of yours are amazing!! I may have to take a note or two on how to craft a good one that one was amazing!! and thank you :’)#ok editing: this nova back after her ramble in the body text #I’m sorry for how disjointed this all looks! I kind of tackled my response based on where I was looking at at any given time #and I wanted to get my reply back before you hit the sheets for the night!!! still it took me some time but I hope I made it!!!#ahhh Lyn I hope you rest well! I’m going to have an amazing birthday and you’re a contributing factor in that my friend.. Mai Bruzha!!!#I know for a fact I’m forgetting details too like just the fact that I love the idea of Tonari and Fushi chilling at night #chatting and looking at the stars and enjoying each other’s company. my favorite scenes of them are always them shrouded in darkness and #covered in some sort of fireside lighting I just!!!!!! they’re so good in the dark thank you for drawing them at night #they are a moon couple to me… and ZeLink is a sun couple to me like idk how you got all these details DOWN about me! maybe we see the world #similarly :3 good to know I have someone in the world who sees them the way I do 😁#aahhhh I’ll let you get off to sleep now dear friend!!! and thank you again! thank you thank you thank you!!!!#this is truly shaping up to be the best birthday ever!

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thanksjro · 4 years

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More Than Meets the Eye #7- Just in Case You Forgot Decepticons Were a Thing

While the Lost Light gets all of Rung’s appointments in order, our narrative is going to take a little shift, so we can get to know some pretty neat dudes.

And by “neat dudes” I mean completely morally and ethically reprehensible bastards.

But first, here’s a brief history of the Phase-Sixer known as Black Shadow.

Very limber, Mr. Shadow. Also, note the abstract sort of Decepticon insignia shape going on with the panel. That’s just neat.

Now, Black Shadow’s kicked a lot of keister in his long, storied career as a ‘Con, which makes his current situation all the more bleak, as he’s in the final throes of a visit with the Decepticon Justice Division.

The guy with the arm-mounted cannon that’s clearly compensating for something is Tarn, the leader of the DJD. His main character trait is he’s sapiosexual, but only for Megatron. He’s so devoted to the Decepticause and its rhetoric, he wears a mask of the insignia at all times.

Behind him are Helex and Tesaurus, who turn into a fondue pot and industrial-sized blender, respectively, and Vos, who turns into a sniper rifle, and was once fired by Megatron himself. I assume he’s only part of the DJD for the clout.

And then there’s Kaon, who turns into a wheelie chair.

Black Shadow’s looking pretty rough, but the boys haven’t killed him yet, and there’s a reason for that; the DJD’s sole reason for existing is to punish any Decepticon who stalls the glory of Megatron’s vision of a better tomorrow coming to fruition, no matter how slight the infraction, and simply killing their victims doesn’t exactly drive the point home, now does it? They’ve got to make an example, you know?

But really it’s so Tarn can pontificate. See, he considers himself a bit of an intellectual, as shown in his quoting of Megatron’s autobiography, Towards Peace.

Ugh, He’s a fanboy. It’s enough to make you want to puke. Which Black Shadow does. It’s mostly blood. Or is it? Hard to tell, energon is everything for these guys.

The DJD have had their fun, so now it’s time for them to say goodbye to Black Shadow. This is where Tarn’s special talent comes into play, and it’s a nasty one.

Tarn has a unique voice, one that, when matching the timbre and frequency of another ‘bot’s spark, can be used to affect said spark, even making it give up the ghost. This is exactly what he does to Black Shadow, but not before making him apologize for selling out the Decepticons for a butt-ton of money.

Speaking of unique voices, Tarn’s characterization is almost completely in his. It makes sense, given his power, that he have a way of speaking that stands out from everyone else. It’s smooth, and cool, and seems well-rehearsed; this is not a guy who stumbles on his words. He sounds like a Bond villain.

Roberts has admitted that he wrote these characters with English accents, and while I can’t say that I buy it for everyone in MTMTE, I certainly do for Tarn.

But maybe that’s just because I’m American, and a lot of the media I consumed growing up had the whole “the villain sounds British/camp gay” thing going on.

Anyway.

Black Shadow explodes, because we haven’t had one of those in a while.

With another tick put on their List, the DJD get ready to move on to their next target. We don’t get any names, but whoever they are, they’re about to have a very bad day.

Then we take a quick jump back to the Lost Light, since things were kind of a massive mess when we last saw everyone.

Rung’s not dead, by the way. I guess Swerve really is just that bad of a shot. Still, he’s not much more than a brain on a rope, and that means that Rung’ll be out of commission for a good while.

Poor Swerve. He feels so awful about this whole thing, even brought Rung one of his little ships to keep him company. The worst part is, now that Swerve’s shot the therapist, who will he talk to so he can work through having shot the therapist?

Speaking of guys who need therapy, Red Alert comes visiting in the dead of night, after visiting hours and in cover of darkness. He tells Rung about the little surprise he found in the basement, and bids him farewell, as he will surely be killed now that he knows about Overlord.

Who the hell programmed that drone to be so menacing?

Red Alert, again showing that this ain’t his first paranoia rodeo, slips a data slug full of Overlord bondage footage into the hole where Rung’s thumb should be- guess it got lost in the helter-skelter when he got shot- then walks out of the medibay, presumably to die.

Anywho, that’s enough of the Autobots for a little while. Let’s see what the Decepticons are up to.

On a planet far from wherever the Lost Light is faffing about, a Decepticon wakes up to a bunch of dudes hovering over him, insulting his looks, and stealing his organs. He reacts accordingly.

This is Fulcrum. No, not the Decepticon medic from Eugenesis, different guy. This Fulcrum’s primary function is probably about as removed from healing as it gets.

The guys trying to harvest him are the Scavengers, and they’re pretty surprised that he’s not dead, because, well…

Yeah.

Misfire- the dude who got kicked in the face a second ago- does both Fulcrum and the reader a solid by introducing all the members of this merry band of assholes, starting with the surliest of their ranks.

Crankcase was first introduced into the IDW run in Stormbringer #3, where he shot at Thunderwing and spouted off a couple lines ripped straight from a porno.

Stormbringer is really just… something else.

Spinister, who can and will shoot anything that meets his unpredictable criteria of being a threat, is the only other Scavenger who isn’t debuting in the comics with this issue. He was in Stormbringer #4, not that he really did anything of note there.

There’s Flywheels, who can’t tell a lie without transforming, and is a born-again evangelical. His character is a removal from his previous iterations, as he’s a triple-changer instead of a Duocon, a robot that only exists if two separate sentient vehicles combine. So, in his case, tank + plane = giant robot. Transformers is weird.

Then there’s the leader of this group, the ever-stressed, glorified babysitter, Krok.

Krok takes the opportunity to save Fulcrum from the verbal barrage, explaining that the Scavengers are expropriation specialists, meaning that they take people’s shit for their own benefit, and that includes bodily fluids. Misfire was supposed to be siphoning energon from the corpses in the area, but accidentally got high on another dude’s supply in the process. Misfire may be hopped up on drugs at the moment, but he’s only a bit more put-together sober, so this really is roughly par for the course with him.

Back on the Lost Light, Chromedome pays a visit to Brainstorm, who is currently hanging from the ceiling. Not in a suicidey way, mind you, just in a Brainstorm way.

He wants to be noticed so badly.

Chromedome’s here because he managed to steal Skid’s weirdly forgettable gun back in issue #4, while Skids was busy harassing that bar drone. He handed it off to Brainstorm to try and figure out what the deal was. Problem is, the gun blew up the moment Brainstorm cracked it open, only allowing him to get a quick look at the internals thanks to his super-futuristic robot eyes. All he can really say is that it looks like something that came from The Institute. Back at it again with the ominous proper nouns.

Getting back to the Scavengers, it looks like the boys have set up a little campfire for the evening. It’s a gorgeous night.

In love with the colors this issue.

We get a very brief history lesson that shows us why reducing your workforce to a spreadsheet instead of living, free-thinking creatures isn’t a super great idea, and then Krok drops the bomb on Fulcrum about the war being over. This is pretty wild to Fulcrum, probably because after 4 million years of that nonsense, you don’t really expect it to ever actually end.

Of course, when the impossible turns out to be possible after all, there’s only one question to really ask: who won?

Now, none of the guys really know how everything ended, only going off of the pulse wave that Vector Sigma shot off during the reformatting of Cybertron. They figure it was probably the Autobots, because they’re at least a little genre savvy. Bummer for them, considering they’re technically part of the bad guys. Just ask the campfire.

You know, I don’t think this is what President Roosevelt had in mind when he started doing fireside chats.

And so our location is finally revealed to us- this is the planet known as Clemency. Hey, wasn’t that the place Tarn said their next target was? Man, that really sucks for these guys. Hope they’ve got their wills in order.

Meanwhile, in the medibay of the Lost Light, Rung has another late-night visitor. This guy takes the data slug from inside his thumb hole, thus removing any hope of Red Alert’s fate being found out. Well dang.

Back on Clemency, the boys have made it through the night, and are using the light of daybreak to start scrounging up parts for their super sweet ship, the Weak Anthropic Principle.

Hold on to your butts, because this one’s a doozy.

The Anthropic Principle is based in the school of philosophy, and states that any and all observations about the universe- or any universe, really- have to be fed through the filter of realizing that said universe is only observable because it allows for sapient life to exist and observe it. There are two flavors of this principle; the strong anthropic principle states that the universe has some sort of compelling force which dictates it be able to house life which can observe it, while the weak anthropic principle basically says that the only reason we’re even considering the strong anthropic principle is because we live in a universe where we can.

Now, why exactly Roberts decided to bring this philosophical idea into the fold completely escapes me, unless he decided to, in a roundabout way, poke fun at the fact that we are currently observing a universe we don’t exist in through the magic of fiction- that theory doesn’t hold water, though, because there are still sapient creatures populating the universe of the IDW comics, and even humans at that. I’m curious where he even learned about this. What an odd, confounding tidbit of information this is.

But enough about that, because Misfire’s just seen a cryptid.

He transforms and blasts past Fulcrum and Krok, interrupting Krok’s explanation of what the device he keeps hidden in his fist is for, trying to catch up to the Necrobot.

The very same, Fulcrum, thank you.

Misfire is a firm believer in the Necrobot, while Krok is firmly not. Misfire’s tried chasing down this guy several times now, but he’s not caught him. The Necrobot is kind of like Bigfoot, if he were also a Catholic priest. This go doesn’t prove any different for poor Misfire, though it’s not all bad.

Flywheels’ only purpose as a character is so that Roberts had a stand-in for the word “fuck” for this issue.

Misfire’s found something very exciting, and he immediately calls Krok to bring everyone over.

Everyone’s super jazzed about finding this thing, and they break out the flashlights and break in to see all the fun stuff that’s inside this obnoxiously large ship.

Of course, this is a Roberts story, and we haven’t yet had any sort of scientifically experimental horrors yet, so we’re honestly a little overdue at this point.

But wait, there’s more!

Aww, it’s nice that Fulcrum and Krok already have each other’s contact info.

Everyone regroups and they weigh their options. Misfire fucking hates this ship, and wants nothing to do with it. Fulcrum however, isn’t so quick to throw this entire nightmare bus off the cliff. Fulcrum’s a little weird, and not just because he looks like he’s got a military pack on and no shirt.

Oh honey, you got a storm coming.

As if on cue, Krok starts hearing music, and asks around for a phone. He picks up a transmission from a familiar masked face. Tarn lets the fellas know that one of them has done a big no-no, and if the others hand the transgressor over, he’ll let them watch, because Tarn assumes that that’s something other people are into. Tarn is bad at people. The transmission ends, leaving the boys to panic, and also wonder where the leader of the DJD learned to count, until they find a very special friend deep within the bowels of the ship. The extra life signal, and the only other living thing on the Worldsweeper- Grimlock.

#transformers #jro #mtmte #issue 7 #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #incoming analysis #comic script writing

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juniperwindsong · 4 years

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Necessary Monsters (9/16)

A/N: This chapter and the next were originally one, but the length got away from me and it had to be separated. So this story has been changed to 16 chapters (guess that can be good or bad news depending on how much you want this story to be over).

Summary: Better sense is screaming at Felix that this is possibly the worst idea he's ever had, that he's about to undo all the progress he's made. But though his better sense has maintained the upper hand most of the last year, thirty minutes with Juniper is enough to send it packing to the very back of his mind...

“Allow me to introduce my son, Felix.” The Rosier Patriarch offers the young woman’s hand to his son, who accepts and bends over it stiffly, making eye contact for only the briefest second. "I believe you two have quite a bit in common. I'll leave you to chat."

Felix twists his mouth into what passes for a smile at these sort of society parties, while inwardly he groans. His father's attempts to facilitate interactions with pure-blood girls are usually more adroit. But with his first year as a Dragonologist in Peru a success and with no plans to return to England anytime soon, Felix supposes his father is getting a bit desperate.

Felix glances at the clock on the mantle, mentally calculating how much longer before he can leave without disturbing propriety.

"You are an alchemist, then?"

The voice, low for a woman and shaded by a light, lilting accent, startles Felix, as does the unusual question.

"I beg your pardon?"

"An alchemist," the young woman repeats. She's the same height as Felix and meets his eyes steadily. "Your father is sure we will have much in common, you and I. I assume that means you are an alchemist, also?"

Felix permits himself the smallest of smirks. "I'm afraid not. My father is under the impression that being pure-blood is the only important commonality between any two people."

"I see." The young woman flicks dark, wavy tresses over her shoulder and smiles, revealing a dimple in one cheek. "Then we have one thing in common after all. My parents are also, as the English say, old-fashioned."

She winks. Dark lashes flutter over dark eyes, and Felix takes his first serious look at Aurelie Dumont.

Felix knows he would not usually be permitted to sequester himself in a corner, making interesting conversation with a single person while the party drags on around him. His father pokes his head round the corner every quarter hour to scrutinise the pair of them, but this is more amusing than annoying to Felix. For once, he’s in the company of someone else who notices and understands and laughs quietly alongside him. Felix spends the entire evening with Aurelie, who stays long past the fashionable hour, and when she finally takes her leave, it's with the promise of a letter to follow.

Aurelie does write, and Felix writes back. It isn't the comfortable, easy correspondence he shares with Juniper; it's something altogether different. It's titillating, exchanging flirtations with a beautiful, intelligent woman, interested in Felix in a way no beautiful, intelligent woman has ever been before. And it isn't long before the desire to see her again wins out. Leave from Peru isn't easy, but Felix manages, trekking miles to designated apparition points to visit Aurelie in France whenever he has time to spare, sometimes for only a single evening.

In spite of their mutual interest in each other, their first time together is awkward and unnerving. Felix does his best, but he feels certain he has not quite met Aurelie’s well-established standard; something about her desire for distance through the night and her rapid retreat the next morning. As with everything in life, Felix resolves to work harder, do better, and eventually achieve his customary level of perfection. He does what research he's able, pays more attention to the fireside conversations of the other men on his team, even daring a few well-placed and casual questions.

But instead of becoming more comfortable with time, each liaison seems to drive them further apart. Felix began to dread the uneasy silence that sags between them as they lay next to each other in the dark, and is always relieved when Aurelie takes her leave swiftly afterward. Her interest in him seems to cool distinctly as the year progresses. She has absolutely no desire to visit him in Peru, and can no longer even feign an interest in dragons or his work, except to mention rather pointedly in one curt letter how "all that" will need to be wrapped up before they can be married.

At this, Felix balks. He's always known this was the endgame for the two of them - he has a shrewd idea both families have already decided on dates and divided up holidays - but the idea of abandoning his newfound freedom for a lifetime laying next to this woman, cold and beautiful and sharp as a diamond, is utterly terrifying. Instead, Felix throws himself into his correspondence with Juniper, who points out that Aurelie isn't the only eligible, pureblood woman in the world. She reminds him he's hardly done any serious investigation into the subject, and encourages him to hold out.

"There's got to be at least one pure-blood girl out there with a passing interest in dragons. It'd be a shame for you to settle for someone that can't appreciate all your talent," she writes, in a letter Felix folds and unfolds so many times the parchment eventually falls into pieces he has to tape back together. He can’t stop re-reading it. The words make him glow. Aurelie's early letters teem with tantalising coquetry, but Juniper simply declares her compliments like established points of fact. If Aurelie is a diamond, then Juniper is a dragon egg; rougher and hotter, a different sort of object altogether, but infinitely more precious to Felix.

Felix can't imagine Juniper ever permitting a chilly silence to blow between them as they lay in bed together. Juniper, with her easy laughs and natural way of setting people at ease, would know exactly what to say to make those moments beautiful and memorable, even if he doesn't. They're hard for Felix to picture with no good point of reference, but he feels instinctively that nights with Juniper would be better.

Which is what makes the aftermath of their brief tryst so much harder to bear.

Felix returns to work as usual, but there’s an ache inside him he cannot soothe, like a miniature dragon tooth lodged in his flesh. Unbearable waves of longing and pain beat against him every minute of the day, exhausting him and keeping his fractured nerves on fire. True focus is impossible. He's caught between an unquenchable thirst for Juniper and resonating, bitter anger for the way she’s treated him. After every sacrifice he’s made for her, Juniper is unwilling even to try. He didn't know it was possible to hate and love somebody so fiercely and simultaneously.

I don't want things to change. Her words kick at his already bruised brain. Somehow, in spite of everything he had done, he still had not been good enough. On some level, Felix knows it must be his fault. He should never have let that night occur. He had rushed in senselessly, swept away by emotion, just as he had the night she'd been attacked. How might everything have been different if he'd only listened to his common sense? The regret makes him physically ill.

Juniper's first letter arrives a week after his return, and Felix can't prevent his heart leaping into his throat when he recognises the hand-writing. For a few wild minutes, as he finds a quiet spot and tears into the envelope with shaky fingers, he's convinced everything will be fixed. Surely Juniper will be fit to burst with desperate apologies and confessions of feelings she was too muddled to express before. But as Felix scans the lines eagerly, his hopes are dashed. It's a few dutiful paragraphs about Juniper's return to the Khanna tree farm, her reconciliation with her friends, some minor improvement in her hands as she focuses on her healing once more, and her subsequent decision to return to school. She's breezy and pleasant, as if nothing remotely intimate had ever passed between them. Felix throws the offensive parchment into the fire, then spends the evening meticulously reassembling the ashes.

His late night craft project makes Felix late for the next day's shift, and it’s a testament to his genuine enervation that he doesn't even notice. Nor does he notice the eyes of his Senior Dragonologist following him as he wanders into the Peruvian Vipertooth habitat an hour past his scheduled time. Felix goes through the motions of inspecting his dragon, instructing his team of assistants in a weary, hollow voice, entirely oblivious to his superior's expression of growing concern. It isn't until Felix fails to notice the tell-tale signs of impending flame from the mercurial young Vipertooth and has to be yanked out of harm’s way by a terrified assistant that Luis Rashbold steps in. Barking orders over his shoulder to the rest of the team, Rashbold heaves his junior dragonologist out of the fray by the back of his neck, and half-drags him across the grounds to a carefully concealed paddock.

The simple covered lean-to serves as a hidden observation deck for researchers and other less daring visitors to the Reserve. One long window looks out over the grounds, offering a splendid view of the team of wizards now stunning the legs out from under the rampaging she-dragon, but the paddock's various enchantments prevent anyone outside seeing within.

Rashbold tosses an indignantly spluttering Felix onto one of the paddock's three-legged stools.

"Alright, talk," demands the bulky dragonologist, looming over Felix, fists on hips.

Felix straightens on the low seat, glaring at Rashbold with what little dignity he can scrounge up.

"What are you on about?"

"Pack it in that," Rashbold scolds. "You nearly had it back there! A blind streeler could have dodged that flame, yet my junior dragonologist wants the aid of a bunch of teenagers to keep himself kickin'. What in Merlin's name's going on with you?”

Felix rubs the back of his neck mulishly. "I'm just..tired. Not enough sleep last night."

"Rubbish. You've been shirty and careless for a week now, ever since you got back from your little furlough. You can't possibly be this bad at your job, or you'd never have survived Peru."

Felix pushes off from the stool brusquely.

"It won't happen again," he assures his superior, voice dripping with obsequious sarcasm, but Rashbold refuses to be goaded.

"It will," he replies coolly,"If you don't get whatever's eating you off your mind. Keep this up and you're going to get yourself killed. And you can't even imagine the paperwork nightmare that is."

Felix says nothing. He squares up against Rashbold, calculating his chances of successfully pushing past the much larger man and reaching the exit.

"It's that girl, isn't it. The one you went to see?" pries Rashbold doggedly, ignoring Felix's murderous look. "I can put two and two together as well as the next bloke. She turned you down, didn't she? Or called it off?"

It's no good, concludes Felix bitterly; even if he were in peak condition, there's no way he could draw his wand on Rashbold before the brawny man knocked it from his hand. Instead, Felix emits a noise somewhere between disgust and exasperation and storms off to the window. He watches the technicians conduct routine scale care on the now unconscious dragon, and waits for the heat in his face to cool. He doesn't really expect his little tantrum to defeat the obstinate Rashbold, and he braces himself for further inquisition. He’s therefore caught off guard when Rashbold speaks again in a voice oddly gruff and choked, as if trying to force a soothing tone through a throat not constructed for it.

"C'mon, mate. It happens to the best of us. Nothing to be ashamed of. It's hell, but we've all been there, haven't we? It’ll be right."

Tears, something Felix has managed to avoid for so much of his life and now finds himself constantly threatened by, prick at the corners of his eyes. He wishes Rashbold would yell at him or berate him, even draw his wand. Felix has defences for all of those things. He has no armour for this sort of camaraderie.

"You don't know what you're talking about," Felix tries to snarl, but it comes out too wet to be threatening.

There's a pause, then the scrape of a stool being pulled across ground, and the creaking protest of wood as Rashbold settles his bulk into it.

"Alright then. Tell it me."

It's neither sarcastic nor saccharine. Just a plain invitation. And words slip out from around the growing lump in Felix's throat before he can even decide what to say. Ironically, it reminds him of conversations with Juniper in his final year at Hogwarts. She, too, had a knack for wrenching Felix's voice from him without his conscious consent, as though she knew a secret password to his thoughts he didn't know existed.

To Felix's own astonishment, he finds himself confessing nearly everything to do with Juniper, from his first inkling of feeling for an unlikely fourteen year old, to his arrival at her Quidditch match, and the horrid mess that followed. But when he reaches the final part of the story, something stops him short. Some piece of well-honed propriety simply will not allow him to discuss that with this man he barely knows.

"I didn't know where else to go so I took her back to the Leaky Cauldron and I...we... had a discussion. I...made it clear how I felt about her, that I loved her. But...she said...she didn't want things to change."

Felix takes a deep shuddering breath. All this uncharacteristic openness makes him woozy and in need of a sit, but he isn't ready to turn and face Rashbold just yet. He hears whining notes of concern from the stool indicating the large body on it has shifted positions.

"Nah, you don't."

Felix cocks his head, wondering if he hasn't understood Rashbold around his heavy accent.

"Don't what?"

"You don't love this girl," declares Rashbold broadly. It's such a strange response to everything Felix has just said that it takes a minute for him to interpret it as an insult and allow defensive anger to rear its head.

"Yes, I do!" he protests, whipping around to face Rashbold defiantly. The bulky man has his long legs kicked out in front of him and his arms behind his head, in a supremely relaxed manner that Felix is sure must be for show since he can't possibly be comfortable balancing all his weight on that ridiculously small stool.

"Nah, mate. You love the idea of this girl," Rashbold explains, and his need to appear so at ease in the face of Felix's heart-rending story makes Felix's blood boil. He stares daggers at Rashbold, but the older man only continues coaxingly, "C'mon, mate. You couldn't even name two things you liked about her beside what? She's smart, kind, beautiful? Anyone you catch the bug for sounds like that. I'm not insulting your girl." He holds up a conciliatory hand, catching sight of Felix's flared nostrils. "I'm sure she's lovely and all, when she's not being a bit of a drama queen, but the rest? All that stuff you love about her? It's all made up in your head."

Rashbold suddenly sits up, propping his arms on his knees. "Tell me this. What's her favourite colour, your girl?”

Felix blinks. "What?"

"Her favourite colour," Rashbold repeats, very slowly and deliberately as if to a small child "The colour she likes best. What is it?"

It's such an insipid question, Felix actually snorts before giving his memory a quick scan. A favourite colour? Surely that had come up naturally in conversation once, or been mentioned off-hand in a letter? But if it had, Felix can't call the information to mind. Panicking slightly, he grabs hold of the colour she sports in the majority of his memories:

"Green! She's always wearing green."

A supercilious smile crosses Rashbold's face.

"That's house colours mate. Not the same thing.” He changes tact before Felix can argue. “How does she take her tea, then?"

This time, Felix pales a little. He's seen Juniper drink tea, on multiple occasions. Had she put anything in it? Probably. He's never noticed.

"How about a favourite meal? Or favourite Quidditch team?" Rashbold inquires, that infuriating smile still playing about his lips. "Do you know where she lives? Her parents’ names? Do you even know her full name?”

"What does any of that matter?” Felix bursts in agitation, "That's all - that's just...little things. They’re not important."

"No, mate." Rashbold shakes his head, the condescending smile replaced by a look of uncharacteristic earnestness. "That little stuff, that's everything. That's who people really are. A bunch of little quirks and preferences and opinions all jumbled together. If you don't know all the little things about someone, you don't really know them at all. Just an idea of them. It’s like fancying a celebrity in a magazine. You don’t love them as a person, you just love their picture and all the stuff you’ve imagined about them."

Rashbold stands, ignoring Felix’s open-mouthed umbrage, and brushes off his trousers briskly. “You'll be right, mate. Trust me. Give it a few weeks, it'll all fade and you’ll be back in business. Just try not to get yourself burnt to crisp before then."

He claps a burly hand to Felix’s shoulder briefly, dark eyes twinkling, before striding from the paddock.

Righteous indignation toward Rashbold takes the place of Felix’s regularly scheduled misery for the rest of the day. What does Rashbold know about him and Juniper? Absolutely nothing. And it isn’t his business anyway, great nosy git. And what was he, Felix, playing at telling the older man things he’s never confessed to anyone before? This whole situation must truly be driving him mad.

But for all his justified resentment toward Rashbold, part of Felix can’t help but feel touched at the older man’s interest in him, his willingness to sit and listen to what Felix had to say. It's a rare enough occurrence. The only other person who has ever been quite so conscientious about Felix's emotional well-being was, well, Juniper.

And Rashbold's blunt words suddenly click into place in Felix’s head.

What if he's right? thinks Felix as he tosses and turns on his camp bed that night. After all, aren’t his favourite letters from Juniper the ones where she talks about him? Complimenting him? Comforting him? Ruminating on their correspondence, Felix realises they hardly ever discuss Juniper herself, beyond her illicit Cursed Vault adventures and his constant admonitions that she stay safe. He’s always thought he knew Juniper better than nearly anyone, that was why he loved her, after all; but maybe what he really loved was having someone who cared about him.

Felix rolls over and folds his arms behind his head. What does he know about Juniper, then? Well, that she’s impulsive and reckless, talented, but with a rather short attention span, shrewd as any Slytherin when it comes to solving mysteries, yet somehow oblivious to anyone or anything that doesn’t matter to her at that moment, including schoolwork. Nearly the opposite of him in every way, when it comes right down to it. The more Felix mulls it over, the more he realises the Juniper he's in love with is mostly fantasy, a character he built in his head. The loss of which might be disappointing, but it's nothing he can't recover from because, in the end, it isn’t real.

It isn't real.

Felix repeats this idea like a mantra until sleep rescues him from further thought. And for the next months, he applies the phrase like a burn salve against his thoughts every time longing or grief threatens him.

Juniper’s letters keep coming; every week at first, then every month once her final year of school begins. But for the first time since his graduation, Felix does not write back. He reads her accounts of her continued recovery and her inevitable adventures and practices maintaining an appropriate emotional distance.

Juniper informs him of her resignation as Slytherin Quidditch captain in favour of Skye Parkin, thus ending her illustrious school Quidditch career. It isn't real, Felix scolds the subsequent wriggle of pleasure at the idea of her spending significantly less time with Murphy McNully or Charlie Weasley.

Juniper is drawn back into the Cursed Vaults, as always, matching wits and wands with R once again. It isn't real, Felix reminds himself as worry for her safety guts him. She's a talented witch, fully of age, able to make her own bad decisions and it's no skin off his nose if she's hurt.

As the year draws to a close, the pain begins to fade, like scar tissue closing over a wound; until he can think of Juniper and feel nearly nothing, so long as he doesn't prod his feelings too forcefully.

Christmas comes and goes. Juniper tactfully neglects to mention their plans to see each other over the holiday in her December letter. Felix feels slightly guilty. It's the first year since he left school he hasn't sent her anything for Christmas, but he puts it out of his mind. She has plenty of friends, he assures himself, he doubts she'll even notice.

The new year drags on bleak and chill. For whatever reason, The Reserve doesn't fill Felix with the same elation Peru did. For the first time in years, he's stuck in one place, and largely alone, with nothing to occupy his newly acquired free time. For something to do, Felix begins to write. Publication is a requirement before one can apply for a Senior Dragonologist position. For the last four years, Felix has kept a notebook full of ideas and research topics for papers and even books he tells himself he'll write when he has the time. Now he does. He spends most of his spare moments writing and researching, but his enthusiasm for the enterprise quickly wanes.

As much as he tells himself he shouldn't, Felix misses talking to Juniper. Occasionally, he toys with the idea of replying to one of the letters she continues to send. It's been enough time now, he hardly feels anything at all toward her. What could it hurt? Only it's been so long since she heard from him last, Felix can't think of any way to begin a letter without addressing his extended silence, and the reason for it, and all his attempts end up crumpled in the waste bin.

True, Felix's fire for Juniper has been essentially smothered, his iron self-discipline has seen to that. But he can't help the occasional fantasy of Juniper appearing at the Reserve unexpectedly, concerned about his silence, and throwing her arms around him in joy the way she had after the Quidditch match last spring. He reminds himself dutifully that it isn’t real love that generates this, just a desire to feel something, anything to break up the monotony of time cards and paperwork. But he allows it, if only for something to occupy his mind. Which is why, as he tromps through the dirty snow after his shift one particularly blustery morning, Felix doesn't immediately register the sight of Juniper waiting for him at the end of the path as real. She trots about in place, arms wrapped around herself, clearly freezing. Her head is tucked into her chest, hiding from the wind as best she can in her inadequate coat, so she doesn't notice Felix's tentative approach.

"Juniper?" he asks in disbelief.

The young woman looks up and smiles; a lop-sided grin Felix would recognise anywhere. She stomps through the snow toward where Felix has stopped in his tracks. His brain is no longer able to control his limbs, every cell engaged in reconciling Juniper's presence with reality.

"What - how-" Felix splutters as she marches nearer until she’s close enough for him to make out the individual snowflakes dotting the top of her head. "What are you doing here?" he somehow manages to ask.

"Waiting for you. Or that’s what I’m doing out here in the cold anyway. That man from the office - your office, I mean -he said you'd be back soon so I thought I’d try to catch you."

Felix's mouth opens and closes like a fish, while Juniper shivers and hunches deeper into her thin coat.

“Can we talk somewhere else? Warmer maybe?”

A dream, this must be a dream, thinks Felix. He's dreaming he's at the Reserve's only pub, sitting just across from a windswept Juniper attempting to breathe life back into her frozen fingers. The barman deposits two mugs of the locally popular warm, spiced Butterbeer, and Juniper wraps her hands around it gratefully. Felix can only stare. After a minute of strained silence, he pulls his mug toward him and takes a long swallow. The liquid scalds the roof of his mouth. Which has to mean he's awake. Which means Juniper really is here, in front of him. A bubbling excitement brews in his chest that his mantra cannot extinguish.

“The real reason I’m here,” explains Juniper into her mug, “is...for a job interview."

Felix chokes on his second sip. He coughs into his hands while Juniper stares determinedly at the table, clenching her Butterbeer so tightly her knuckles are white.

“You’re a dragonologist now, then?” asks Felix once his spluttering subsides.

“No,” Juniper says, still refusing to meet Felix's eye. “I...wanted to apply for the open healing position here. I’m doing better, quite a bit better, actually.” She nods at her hands wrapped around the mug, and it registers to Felix for the first time how still they are. “But St Mungo's only offers a limited number of intern positions to students out of school, and I know I won't score near high enough to get in. That was really sort of my whole post-school plan, on the off-chance I ever made it out alive. So I'm looking into alternatives, and Professor Snape mentioned this job. Apparently, the qualifications for healers here are a bit lax. I guess they sort of...take anyone they can get, so I thought I'd apply. But... I wanted to talk to you about it first.”

Juniper's words seem to be reaching Felix's brain on a delay, so she has time to take another long swig of Butterbeer before Felix has processed her final statement.

"About what?" he asks belatedly.

"About the job. I mean...I won’t take it if you don’t want me to."

"Why...wouldn't I want you to take a job?" Felix asks slowly. Some combination of the cold and the surreality of Juniper's very presence makes him feel slow and stupid. He can't understand what she's asking of him. Juniper finally lifts her head fully, her expression unreadable.

"Felix, you haven’t written all year."

It's Felix's turn to stare into his frothing mug. He raises it to his mouth, hiding as much of his face as he can.

"Yes, about that. I’ve been rather busy. I'm so-"

"You don't have to apologise," Juniper interjects hastily. "I understand. Completely. I didn't mean - I mean, I deserved it, and... you've had all this to get used to and I'm sure it's really overwhelming. I only meant - you know - this is your space, and if you don't want me to...intrude on it, I won't."

Pink patches that have nothing to do with cold appear on her cheeks as Juniper hides herself in her coat, and something about her obvious discomfort starts a primal fire inside Felix's stomach. It's a feeling he hasn't had in so long, and it jumpstarts his sluggish mental faculties.

"Not at all," Felix tells her. Juniper shoots a confused look at him and he clarifies, "I mean, I don't mind. At all. In fact, I think it's an excellent idea."

Juniper makes a valiant effort to raise her eyebrows. "You do?"

"Yes," Felix replies, an almost giddy smile appearing on his face at her familiar expression. He hides it behind a hand, tilted in front of his mouth in a gesture of thoughtfulness. "I think it'd be good for you to get out of the country for a bit. You'd do quite well here. You're not scared of dragons, good under pressure. And we can't seem to keep a healer."

"Yeah, that's what the director said. Guivré."

"You've met Guivré ?"

"Yeah, for the interview." Juniper leans forward in her seat, warming to their conversation. "He didn't even seem to care about the fact that I haven't taken the NEWTs yet, and he didn't ask anything about my marks. Wouldn't even look at my transcripts. He just asked about the Cursed Vaults, mostly. And that time with the common welsh green in my third year."

Felix no longer bothers to hide his grin. "That sounds about right. That's exactly the sort of person he is. He believes experience is a better teacher than education. So, you've already had the interview, then?"

Juniper colours once more and retreats back into her coat. "Um...yeah. Yeah, I did first thing this morning. Sorry, I did want to talk to you first, but-"

Felix overrides her apology. "Did he mention whether he liked you for the job or not?"

Juniper takes a shallow, shaky breath. "Yes, actually. He - he said it's mine if I want it." She tries to purse her lips over a proud smile. "But I told him I had to think about it."

"Take it."

For the first time that day, Juniper meets Felix's eyes.

"You’re sure?"

"Positive."

Both their faces flush with heat at the memory of the last time this word passed between them. Felix looks away first, clearing his throat.

"Alright. I will then," Juniper says. "Thank you.” She takes another sip of butterbeer, holding the mug close to her body as if relishing the heat or the ability to keep the mug upright, while Felix's brain goes to war.

Better sense is screaming at Felix that this is possibly the worst idea he's ever had, that he's about to undo all the progress he's made. But though his better sense has maintained the upper hand most of the last year, thirty minutes with Juniper is enough to send it packing to the very back of his mind where its screams sound more like squeaks, leaving Felix free to revel in the sense of elation blossoming through him at the idea of living in close proximity to Juniper once again.

"So," Juniper interrupts Felix's musings, " Guivré didn’t mention where people live while they’re here? Does everyone...apparate in, or...?"

"Some do, yes. There’s limited housing on the Reserve itself, but there's a few buildings they've turned into flats. Dragonologists generally have seniority, then the assistants and researchers and everyone else."

"Oh." Juniper falls silent, picking at a spot on the table with a fingernail, and it takes Felix a minute to understand what her nerves are about.

"I'm sure I can get you a place on the grounds. In case you'd rather not apparate."

"I can," she insists. "If I have to. It's not a big deal, it's just...I'm not really supposed to do it all the time, and-"

"It's not a problem," Felix assures her. "I'll figure something out." He basks in the glow of Juniper's wide, grateful smile. And a brilliant idea occurs to Felix that makes his demoted better sense absolutely livid.

"You sure about this?" asks the nervous young assistant, staring at the proferred key as though it were likely to turn into a snake and strike him.

"Yes, Lambton, I'm sure and please don't ask again," says Felix trying hard to keep exasperation from his voice. He dangles the key out to the gawky teenager.

"But...you're sure this is allowed? The Upper Flats are for proper dragonologists. Won't I be out of place?"

Felix grits his teeth. "Don't you want to be a proper dragonologist yourself one day?"

"Yeah, o' course."

"Well, then," Felix cajoles, "how better to learn than to live with proper dragonologists? You can make friends, get extra help on your research. It'll be a major stepping stone for your career!"

" 'Spose that's true..." Felix watches the boy's dull eyes light up slowly at the prospect. He reaches out for Felix's key and fishes in a pocket for his own.

"But...why would you want to live in the Lower Flats?" Lambton asks, holding his key out to Felix. "They're absolute shite, you know."

"Never you mind," snaps Felix, snatching the key from Lambton's twitchy fingers.

Those Dragonologists wishing to save a bit of money and be as close to their dragons as possible are usually put up in the Upper Flats, an old but dignified building that had probably once been a large manor house before the Reserve bought the land. It's nearly always cold, and not lavishly furnished, but it passes for comfort and the Dragonologists have little complaints; or if they do, they simply move on as soon as they're able.

The Lower Flats is the cruel moniker given the ramshackle building just down the path from the Upper Flats. No one knows what, if any, sort of building it had been before the Reserve got hold of it and added on stories and side rooms with whatever materials were to hand, but it now has more in common with Frankenstein's monster than any traditional forms of architecture. These flats are given to assistants and researchers, or any Reserve staff members or visitors the director wants to get rid of. Lambton, being the most recent addition to the Reserve, had a top three-bedroom flat all to himself. However, once another new low-level employee arrived, such as a healer, he'd be forced to share. That is, until Felix graciously offered to swap flats with the young man for reasons Felix is well aware of and is determined not to think about too closely.

Felix has heard assistants complain long and often about how the building ought to be condemned, but he's always assumed them to be exaggerating. Right up to the moment his foot smashes through one of the rough hewn planks serving as stairs. It takes Felix a disproportionate amount of time to reach the top floor, as he carefully circumvents the more wobbly "steps", presumably held in place by magic, but not a particularly trustworthy sort. At the top of the winding staircase, he nudges what passes for a door open with his foot. The wood slab separates from the frame with a horrid screeching sound, swinging inward to reveal squalor Felix was previously unaware humans could live in.

He gulps as he steps inside with exceptional caution. There a disconcerting number of burn-holes in the floorboards. The walls are covered in an uneven layer of green fuzz that on closer inspection appears to be the remains of old, peeling wall paper. There's a sofa in the great room that's predominately springs, and a simple unlikely mattress is the only furniture provided in each of the bedrooms. But even the thick layers of cobwebs decorating the corners isn't enough to kill Felix's growing excitement. It'll be work, but he's always been excellent at those household-y sort of spells, and it will give him something to occupy his time until Juniper arrives. Felix settles into his renovation project in higher spirits than he's had in months.

Unable to wait for June to reveal the news to Juniper, Felix starts up their correspondence once more. He informs her he's found her a room on the Reserve, and mentions in passing that it's in the same flat as his, neglecting to illuminate any of the circumstances that have made such a happy coincidence possible. Juniper's response is as enthusiastic as he could have hoped. She makes the expected number of jokes about his newly reinstated status as her live-in prefect followed by a more serious assurance that she's "really glad" to be near him again. Felix is just worrying his cheekbones might fracture from the force of his smile when her next line forces the bottom out of his stomach.

"I forgot to mention I have a friend who'll be coming to the Reserve this summer, as well! He got a job as a junior assistant the same time as me, so I imagine he'll be living near us if there's room. I've mentioned him before, not sure if you remember. Charlie Weasley?"

Chapter 10 | Masterpost

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blackwatchbastard · 6 years

Text

Fireside

Rating: G Chapter(s): 1/1 Relationship(s): Gabriel Reyes/Jack Morrison Warnings: N/A (Winter fluff.) Words: 1,953 Additional Tags: r76secretsanta, Post-Fall, Cuddling, Kissing, they’re old and in love and i love them

Summary: Jack and Gabriel take some time off in a secluded mountain cabin and have a morning they could only dream about before.

A/N: My not-so-secret Secret Santa gift for @mysadtwodads 💕 Ty for running this super cute event with me bb!!

(ao3)

“Gabe, get up.”

The blanket pile on their bed shifted slightly. Followed by a drawn out ‘nnnh’ noise. Then, nothing. Jack sighed and pressed his hands against it, causing the noise to repeat in a slightly sharper pitch.

“It's Christmas, Gabe. Get up.”

More griping noises. Eventually, the blankets peeled back to reveal Gabriel--glaring up at him like he'd personally summoned the cold around them. Jack leaned down and fondly rubbed a hand over his head. (It was bare, meaning that old beanie was lost somewhere in the bedding again.) Gabriel recoiled a little and tucked his face down until it was just those dark brown eyes squinting apprehensively up at him.

“Your hands are cold.”

“So get up before I ruin the sanctity of your nest with them,” Jack teased.

“You wouldn't.”

He would. Jack moved to reach under the covers and Gabriel rolled, wrapping the blankets around him as he went, and shot him a glare from the other side of the bed.

“That's my side.”

Gabriel stuffed his face against Jack’s pillow and faked a hacking noise, like he'd coughed some sort of wraith hairball on it. Jack broke into a faint laugh and shook his head. He plopped down on the bed, reaching out, and was still met with a sideways glare.

“Gabe, c’mon--”

“We live without small children, haven't celebrated Christmas in 5 years, and you've got me snowed in in some fuck-off cabin in the mountains. Explain to me why, exactly, I should get up and freeze?” Gabriel grumbled and tucked back against Jack’s pillow.

Jack held his arms up and put on a little sulk before replying. “I made a fire. And coffee.” Gabriel cocked a brow at him from behind his blankets. “C’mon, why would you have agreed to this trip if you didn't like some parts of it?”

“I like the part where we’re alone. And I get to sleep.” Gabriel punctuated that one by poking a hand out from the covers and patting the mattress. “Also, the fireplace is nice. But you promised I'd get mulled wine and you rubbing my back in front of said fireplace, not ‘Gabe, get up, it's Christmas’.”

“Can't be both?” Jack offered. Gabriel snorted.

“No,” he said, wriggling his arms out from under the covers to reach for Jack. “Come here. I’m cold.”

“You said my hands were cold.”

“Rest of you isn’t.”

Hard to argue with that. Giving in, but only a little, Jack tugged the corner of the blankets away and climbed back into bed. Gabriel was glued to him the second he settled, cold hands tucked under his shirt. It was too common an occurrence for Jack to even really react. He just wrapped himself around Gabriel as best he could, blankets securely around them, and sighed contently.

“Fire’s going to go out,” he said. Gabriel tucked himself closer, nuzzling against his throat. “Coffee’ll get cold.” A little sigh. He could already feel Gabriel’s breathing slowing down. “Your gift is waiting on you.”

“Mm, this is my gift,” Gabriel mumbled. He was nearly asleep, voice slightly slurred.

“You get 15 minutes,” Jack said finally. No winning, might as well just enjoy himself. Gabriel made a noise of agreement, squeezed in closer, and drifted off not long after.

When he opened his eyes again, nearly double the time he’d promised had passed. Sighing, Jack nudged Gabriel’s side and got a soft ‘nnn’ in response. He did it again and the other man sighed loudly and leaned back to look at him.

“What?”

“Gabe, it’s Christmas.”

“Ugh.”

“My fire probably went out. Going to have cold coffee.” Jack did his best to sound long-suffering and tired about it but he really didn’t mind the idea. The fire likely still had plenty of embers and the coffee wouldn’t be too much of an issue to remake. But he could certainly still complain all he wanted.

“Five more minutes,” Gabriel begged.

This time, Jack didn’t take the bait. Instead, he slowly drug Gabriel along with him, arms firmly around his waist, toward the edge of the bed. Stepped off first, hunching awkwardly to lift Gabriel with him. A loud, indignant groan followed as Jack pulled him free of the blankets and awkwardly hauled him up in his arms, whole body limp. Gabriel’s toes brushed the cold floor with nothing but his socks and he recoiled, kicking a little to plant his feet on Jack’s knees.

“It’s cold!”

“You’ll live,” Jack replied, teasing. He’d already started out of the room but Gabriel put up a fuss, twisting in his grasp until he got set on his feet again. Once on solid ground he darted over to the bed and for a very brief moment Jack thought he’d have to pry him out again. Surprisingly, he simply grabbed a blanket to wrap around his shoulders before returning.

Jack looped an arm around him and towed him toward the den. Thankfully, the fire still had enough kick in it to restart easily. It was crackling happily when Jack left Gabriel in front of it to get coffee. He paused, only briefly, to plant a kiss on top of Gabriel’s head on the way by. Faint chuckling followed him out.

Unfortunately, coffee didn’t fare as well. The cups he’d left on the counter are cold, steam long vanished, so he rinsed out the brewer and started over. At least the kettle still had water left in it, meaning he could cut out the time to heat more. He tried to think of what to make for breakfast while the coffee steeped, leaning against the cabinets, but came up empty. He’d just have to pry it out of Gabriel eventually.

Coffee finished, he doctored and taste tested the cups accordingly and carried them out to the den. Gabriel hadn’t moved from where he left him, content to stay in front of the best source of warmth they had in the cabin. The firelight did Gabriel more than a few favors; not that he particularly needed them. Warmth washed over his skin, almost glowing where it touched. He looked serene, eyes closed as he basked in the heat, and for a moment Jack forgot himself. He felt 18 again, with that really awkward crush on his SEP partner. At least now, unlike then, he knew he could do something about it.

“Hey, handsome…”

A smile tugged at Gabriel’s lips but he didn't open his eyes. He just shifted, one ear tilted toward Jack’s voice.

“Hey.”

“Fire helping?”

“Mm.”

Jack sat down on the rug next to him, depositing their coffee on the hearth, and watched the light dance off Gabriel’s neck and face. It was so easy to forget, sometimes, what they'd been through. It just happened to them, it didn't give them time to understand. But the scars littering Gabriel’s exposed skin (as well as his own) served their story telling purposes all the same.

Jack reached out and rubbed his thumb over a particularly rough scar on Gabriel’s shoulder, hand cupping the back of his neck. Gabriel sighed faintly, like it felt good, and lulled his head to the other side.

“What's that one from?” Jack asked.

“Cut myself shaving.”

Jack leaned closer, fingers kneading the back of his neck. “Tell me?”

“Talon, botched mission,” Gabriel explained, eyes still closed. “Didn't know I could bleed that much anymore.”

Jack inched in a little closer--until he could press a kiss to the mark. Gabriel sighed; this long, contented thing like he'd been full of tension for days leading up to this. Jack smiled and pressed another kiss along his jawline.

“I'm still cold,” Gabriel said, hand catching Jack’s wrist when he moved his other hand to pull his blanket cape away.

He moved his head and caught Jack’s lips with his own, other hand cupping his cheek as he pressed in. Jack moved to deepen it, coffee lingering on his tongue evident from the way Gabriel scrunched his nose up. But he didn't pull away, instead moving his mouth against Jack’s and humming in the back of his throat. When they parted, Gabriel hiked his cape back up over his shoulders one-handed.

“Hey,” Jack said, “I had an idea. How to warm you up.”

Gabriel laughed, rubbing fondly at his cheekbone with his thumb. “Yeah? What?” he asked.

“Starts with the fire,” Jack said, motioning to the crackling fireplace beside them, “and we see where it goes from there.”

Grinning, Gabriel shook his head. “Well, I like things so far,” he said.

“Good,” Jack said, “I'm making progress.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes but the smile never left his face. “Maybe,” he said, “gift first.”

Oh, right! Jack half-crawled over to the tabletop tree they had next to the couch--not the best decoration job but it worked in a bind. And they were so often in a bind for time that it was a surprise they’d managed anything at all. He plucked the small box out from under it and shuffled back over to sit next to Gabriel, dropping it in his lap.

“What is it?”

“Just open it, dork.”

Finally, Gabriel did. He tore through Jack’s awkward wrapping job and cracked the box open, peering inside. His face shifted from smile, to curious frown, and right back to grinning at full blast as he did this. The box was tiny, probably a small give away, but the little velvet box inside it just told the whole story. He started talking before he realized, moving his hands awkwardly as Gabriel cracked the jewelry box open.

“I got had to get them repaired and refitted, since fire damage isn’t really kind to most metal,” he explained. “And I thought, while they were at it, engraving them might be nice. Since you said you always wanted to…”

He stopped, finally looking up, and found Gabriel rolling the band back and forth between his pointer finger and thumb. As the word ‘engraving’ registered for him, Gabriel twisted the ring to get a better look at the inside surface. His smile went a little strained, clearly fighting a more emotional response, when he read it.

“Come What May,” he said, “Jack…”

“I wanted something that, uh, fit the mood,” he tried to explain, unsure of himself again. “It’s just that’s what you said when we started working things out, and then you sang it to me, and I guess I just couldn’t get it out of my head.”

Gabriel beckoned him closer and Jack went, leaning heavy on his side and pressing his cheek into the noisy kiss Gabriel planted on it. An arm snaked around his waist, keeping him there, and he watched Gabriel clutch the ring in his palm like a lifeline before awkwardly fumbling to put it on with his arm still around Jack. Eventually, Jack just helped him slip it on and marveled briefly at the joy of something so seemingly mundane and expected.

“I love it,” Gabriel said, ring securely on his finger. “And I love you.”

Jack pressed a kiss to his temple, grinning. “Good,” he said, then, “so does that mean you’ll leave the safety of the fire to help me with breakfast now or..?”

Gabriel laughed and bumped his head lightly against Jack’s. “Maybe,” he said, “just give me a little while longer to warm up.”

“Offer to help still stands.”

Another laugh, and a light pinch at his ribs. “Maybe,” he said finally. “Even if I know it almost always backfires when you have plans like this.”

Jack grinned at him. “Hey, it works out sometimes.”

And maybe, just maybe, it would this time. One could never call Jack Morrison a quitter, that much was certain.

#r76secretsanta #reaper76 #fly writes fics

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