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luimagines · 3 years

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First Kiss! Part 3

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2

Part three will include Four, Hyrule and Wind!

Content under the cut!

Four

The night was crisp and young as you walked with Four around the forest before Wild had to eventually send out the Wolf to come and find you two if you wanted to eat anything at all.

He walked a little ways ahead of you and grinned when he came across a little tree stump with a small crack down the middle. “I found one!”

“Found what?” You tilt your head. “When you said you were going to show me something, I didn’t think it would be this? Unless it’s still something I’m not seeing yet.”

“We’re not there yet!” Four bounces on the balls of his feet like an excited kid and gestures you to come next to him frantically.

You try to hide your laughter and go do what he’s asking of you.

He’s quick to grab your hand and he takes a breath.

You raise your eyebrow and copy him.

Four looks over to you, knowing that you’re messing with him before he grins and says, “Ready?”

“Ready for what?”

Four starts chanting a spell before you can even think to stop him and your whole vision shifts and everything grows and it’s warm and sweet and there, before you is suddenly a small hut with mouse people that you’ve never seen before. With feathered tails and little hats and ponchos with acorn cups and pots and you take a minute to take it all in.

Four laughs at your struck dumb expression and ushers you forward.

“What is this place?” You ask on a breath.

Four grabs your hand and gestures with his free to the space around you. “This is a safe haven for the Minish or the Picori as they’ve been known to call themselves.”

“Wow...” You feel a bright smile on your face as you head deeper into the little village inside the tree stump.

But alas, it’s only a few seconds before Link is swarmed by the mouse peop- the Minish as they asll seem to recognize him.

“Hello Mr. Hero!”

“You’re back Link!”

“How have you been?”

“Come sit with us! Have a drink!”

“Link, it’s been awhile. Do you have any new stories to tell us?” A group of the mice- minish- you have to remind yourself again- walk up to Link and one dares to loop their around his, leaning her head on his shoulder as she says this.

Four grins and pulls himself away much to your relief. “You know it! But not right now.” Four says your name, introducing you to the people who must be his friend before saying he was going to show you around.

One minish girl pouts and goes to reach for his arm again. “But Mr. Hero~!”

“Later.” Four smiles in your direction and takes your hand for everyone to see, lacing your fingers together.

You smile a little more easily and gladly follow him through the town.

And it’s really quite lovely.

But... You would enjoy yourself more if Four didn’t have one of them come up to flirt with him every ten minutes.

You can see him begin to get uncomfortable and he’s already apologized more than once about not being able to give you his full attention and show you around like he wanted. Your heart breaks for him.

One girl though, really pushes your buttons.

It’s the same one from earlier- the one that didn’t hesitate to latch onto his arm. “Link! You’ve been here long enough already! Tell us your stories!”

“Sorry but he’s with me today.” You growled and pulled him away from her.

He lets you.

You glare at the girl who doesn’t seem all that impressed by your attitude and claim. She scoffs a little and crosses her arms. “And you are you supposed to be?”

“His lover.”

Four coughs a little next to you but doesn’t deny anything.

The picori around you all still as if you popped a balloon in a silent room. All activity stops and there’s a nervous air around everyone as they all turn their heads to look at you, Four and the small group of minish girls that backup the original.

The original blinks for a minute before smirking a little. “No you’re not.”

You feel like you’ve been slapped.

You take a step back before a calm washes over you.

She doesn’t believe you?

That’s fine.

You shrug and turn to Four who’s watching everything with intense interest.

You don’t hesitate to pick him up and pin to the wall beside you, kissing him like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. Like you’ve been dying of thirst and he’s the glass of water you’ve been waiting for. Like you’re about to get heat stroke and he’s the shade to protect you.

Four kisses you back with a smile on his lips.

Four wraps his legs around your waist and buries his hands into your hair, bringing you closer to him.

He tastes like apples and you vaguely remember the apple pie Four had managed to snag for breakfast earlier. There’s the hint of cinnamon and sweet sugar topping.

“I think they’re together.” Someone says in the background but you’re not paying attention to them any more.

You pull away from Four and rest your forehead against his. “Hey there Lover Boy, sorry about the lack of warning.”

“I am not complaining. That was hot.” He smirks and pulls you back in for another kiss.

Those who were interested in Four back away somewhat and everyone returns, with great difficulty on their part, back to what they were doing before.

Minish are terrible gossips.

But you think you can accept that the news is going to be that Four is with you now.

All those fangirls can back off, he’s yours.

Hyrule

You were in trouble for real this time.

You don’t know what it’s going to take but you think it might just be the end of the road for you.

You’re out of potions, you have no fairies, you can’t move your dominant arm and you’re ninety eight percent sure that you’re leg is broken.

To make matters worse, there’s a whole bunch of monsters nearby that you think you’re going to be unable to avoid when they find you.

Eventually.

You take a breath and try to calm down.

There’s no amount of adrenaline in the world that can help out of this one.

And you know you’re not getting any backup either.

This is it.

You can at least leave this plane of existence with a good conscious and a clear head. You can go down with dignity and you can at least you didn’t go down easy.

You just know that the next fight will be your last.

You try to sit up, ignoring how everything in your body seems to hurt, all for different reasons.

It beginning to hurt more now that the adrenaline is leaving your system and you’re getting tired.

A nap wouldn’t hurt.

Maybe the monsters will find you in your sleep and end you then. they say that’s the best to go. In your sleep.

Or (and you know this is unlikely) they’ll think you’re already dead and just leave you alone. Then you can wake up and try to go find help after you’ve rested a little while.

It’ll be tough, but it’s possible.

Who’re you kidding?

You’re going to die.

You’re never going to see your family again.

You’re never going to tell your friends how much you appreciate them.

You’re never going to be able to tell that Traveler that you’ve fallen uselessly in love with him.

You’re never going to see the sun again and sing and laugh and see a future family for you....

You don’t want to die.

A single tear runs down your face and you lean back against a stone wall. the corner you were in is secluded enough but not at all hidden.

You can hear the monsters come closer- they’re fighting something. The chaos is loud and thundering in the otherwise empty and quiet cave. They’re coming in your direction and you start counting the seconds.

They get closer and you see the fringes of one huge moblin take a step back to be in front of you. He’s not facing you- too busy fighting something on the other side but you’re out in the open.

You’re tired.

You take another breath and close your eyes. You hear the moblin go down and die but from what, you don’t know. You can’t even open your eyes anymore, that was how tired you were.

But then there’s a scream.

A familiar scream.

Link.

No, Hyrule. It’s Hyrule. It’s your Traveler.

He sounds horrified, pained and it’s enough to try to get you to move again.

You need to see what caused it, you need to see if he’s ok, you need to see what made him scream like that.

But you can’t.

The most you can do it flop an arm and move your head to the side.

Something lands on your side, you can feel it and if you can’t move you can speak. “Mmm...”

Ok, you guess not.

“Oh my god...” Hyrule voice breaks. He sounds like he’s crying.

Please don’t cry, you think. I’m not worth your tears. Save them for someone who matters.

“No...” He gulps and you can feel him move your head, being as gentle as he can with you. You take the biggest breath you can and try to move your head to the other side.

“You can’t die here.” He says. “I won’t let you.”

You can feel the spell he’s used so often on your friend’s fingertips, flow through you and it lessens the pain somewhat, but you know you’re too far gone. You’re too weak. You want to try to stop him from using all his magic but you can’t but at least you can die happy, knowing that he cared about you. It may not be as deep as you would have liked to take your relationship with him, but this is enough. More than enough even.

You feel him turn your head more and begin to lose consciousness.

This is ok.

You think you can go now.

Hyrule kisses you.

It’s desperate.

It’s longing- painful.

Magic flows through your whole body at an alarming rate and you think you can see a golden glow behind your eye lids that forces you to keep your eyes shut tight from the brightness of it all.

But you can move again.

You bring a hand up to your face, feeling Hyrule’s more clearly and let it rest on his jaw.

Slowly, you kiss back- half sure that this is a dream your dying brain has cooked up to make the process easier for yourself.

It’s not sweet, it’s not gentle anymore and the magic wakes you up again enough where you can feel how tight Hyrule is holding onto you.

You push him away with what little strength you managed to get back and blinked your eyes open.

The golden light fades and there’s sits in front of you, your Traveler.

He’s crying.

You blink and begin to feel more of your body again, confusion drowning you in its wake. “Link?”

Your voice is rough and you feel like you need to cough but Hyrule cuts you off and hugs you close.

“You can’t die.” He says, gulping down the sob that threatens to break through. “I won’t let you... I promise. You’re going to be ok if it’s the last thing I do.”

Wind

“Wind!” You whisper yell and frantically wave your hand to convince to come over to you.

The boy in question grins and looks around momentarily before jogging over to where you were hidden in the bushes. “What is it?”

“Come with me.” You beam and take his hand, wasting no time in dragging him behind you. “There’s something I want to show you but only you. Wild might destroy it and I’ll never be able to get him to leave.”

“Leave where?” Wind asks in his normal volume.

You spin around and place your finger to his lips before glancing for the others again. When nothing appears to have heard the little outburst you pull away and lace your fingers together. “You’ll see!”

Wind doesn’t know what you’re talking about but the secrecy is fun for him, so he’ll place along.

You take him off the trail and take two lefts, a right then a left and Wind considers you two to be lost the second you make the last turn.

He takes a breath and looks around, each tree looking more imposing than the last but he would have no idea where to start if he were to try and go back. “I think we’re lost.”

“No way!” You snort. “This is my home. We’re almost there.”

“Your home?” Wind stands straighter.

You nod and pull away from him.

Wind goes to reach for your hand again.

You don’t notice.

You instead skip over to one of the trees and knock on it three times with your ear pressed up against the truck. You wait two seconds before nodding and take three large steps to the tree on the right and hit it with a branch Wind didn’t see next to it.

The tree shakes and a rope falls down.

You seem encouraged by this and take the rope, pulling on it with all your might which then drops a small ladder, that Wind sees is held together by ropes and connected to something at the top of the tree.

You don’t hesitate to start climbing , getting half way up before looking down and gesturing Wind to follow you.

Wind grins maniacally and follows you up the ladder faster than you would have thought he’d be capable of climbing.

You get to the top which is blocked off by a bunch of wood, but you know this place and you lift the trap door with ease and climb inside.

You get on your knees and turn around reaching your hand out to help Wind into the tree house.

He climbs in slower than you, glancing around with wide eyes, taking in everything.

There’s a small unmade bed in the corner with two stuffed animals from what he can. One is a dog and another is a bird but he doesn’t know what kind.

There’s a small bookshelf under a window that’s propped open with a small wooden board. There’s not a lot of books there, maybe seven at most but that’s more books than Wind is accustomed to seeing in one place and the rest of the space is filled is nick nacks and trinket that Wind assumes are from your adventure. And small chest next to it that must be where your clothes are if the cloth hanging out is any indication.

There’s also a small- (toy sized) wood stove with matching metal pots and pans and a small sink on the other side of the tree house. Out of curiosity, he walks over and turns on the faucet.

It has running water.

“This is my home.” You whisper when Wind comes to stand up. “It’s little... and a little broken, if I’m being honest. I don’t have the tools to fix it but it’s mine.”

“Broken?” Wind blinks and looks around even more. There’s some rotting wood by the bed, now that he sees it and it doesn’t look like it’ll be able to hold much more weight if it continues without being replaced. It’s holding up the ceiling above your head- Wind instantly feels concerned for your safety should it collapse while you’re there, or what you’d do if it happened while you weren’t there. He’s almost sure now that there’s more that he just can’t see right now, if that was glaringly obvious off the get go.

“Some parts need fixing and replacing.” You admit. “But I didn’t build this place, I just found it and moved in, so I don’t know where I would even start. It’s not safe on the ground at night so I’m better off up here. There’s also some pipes on the roof are beginning to rust and get nasty. It collects the water from the tree leaves when it rains and keeps it in a container buried in the ground, that’s how I have running water. But it’s cracking.”

You sigh and sit on the floor, crossing your legs under you. “I’ll figure it out. Worse case scenario I’d have to leave and find a cave or something to live in but-”

“We can help you!” Wind turns to you and falls to knees in front of you. “Wild’s good at collecting materials. Twilight and Time can help build. Warrior can plan it out. Legend and Four can help with the pipes. You don’t have to lose your home.”

“The others might make fun of me for having this place.” You mutter with a small pout on your face. “But I knew you wouldn’t! That’s why I brought you up here! I may have nothing, but it’s a lot of nothing so I have enough to share.”

Wind leans into your space suddenly and places his lips on yours.

You gasp and touch them with the tips of your fingers, staring at him wide eyed and shocked.

It was just a peck, a butterflies touch, but the look on Wind’s face says something else. It’s heavy with emotion, with concern and care, and there’s a little part of you that finds it more attractive than you thought it would be.

“You won’t lose your home and I won’t let them make fun of you, I promise.” He gulps and bite his lip. “Let us help. Please.”

You blink at him and let the furious blush encompass your face entirely. You shrink a little bit away but smile. “Ok.”

Wind takes a breath and releases it a nervous but joyful laugh. “We’ll go get the others, ok? And we’ll make sure that you’re ok and safe and this whole place will be as good as new.”

You nod with a smile and Wind looks overjoyed that you agreed.

You hum and shift your weight onto your knees as well, leaning into Wind’s space, steadying yourself with a hand on his shoulder and place a delicate kiss on his lips as well. “Thank you Link.”

Wind also blushes something fierce and he begins to play with his hands in front of him, giggling and bashful. “Oh- Um- Well- I- Uh...You- You’re welcome.”

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader

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goldenroutledge · 3 years

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okay bitch can I request dates with rafey? thanks my ugly fuzz butt 😚😚😚

dates with rafe

a/n: of course you can my love muffin 😚😚😚

rafe masterlist

rafe would do anything to see you happy

he would do things that he never thought of doing in a million years

but if it brought a smile to your face, he was satisfied

hot air balloon rides

rafe called around in the outer banks

finding an availability for a hot air balloon ride for two

he wanted it to be a surprise

which was hard given the fact that he could barely keep a secret from you

but he knew keeping this would be worth it

he took you out to dinner rather early, telling you to be ready around 4:30pm

“for dinner? are you sure that’s all we’re doing?” you asked over the phone.

“you’ll just have to see about that, babygirl.”

he hung up shortly after, trying to get ahead of your many queries

but even then he couldn’t escape them

he couldn’t help but chuckle when a text from you popped up on this screen

y/n ❤️‍: well what do i wear? at least tell me that much

rafey 🧸: preferably nothing

y/n ❤️‍: RAFE

y/n ❤️‍: be serious please. will we be out late? will i need a jacket?

rafey 🧸: you can wear mine :)

rafey 🧸: now stop asking questions, i already told you it’s a surprise

y/n ❤️: you’re no fun :/

rafey 🧸: hmm we’ll see about that. i’ll be there at 4:30

and at 4:30, he was there

he rang the doorbell, unbuttoning another button on his white shirt as he started feeling hot

he gripped the bouquet of flowers in his hand as he waited for you to open the door

almost nervous like he was taking you out for the first time again

“hi.” you chirped upon greeting him, taking his free hand to welcome him inside

“for you.” he offered, handing you the bouquet of your favorite flavors

“aww, rafey. you didn’t have to.” you grinned, kissing his blushing cheek softly

soon enough, you were off to dinner

you still felt like it was quite early, and that rafe had to have something else up his sleeve

and he did

he didn’t drive the way back towards your house, confirming your suspicions that you weren’t going home

when he pulled off into a random parking lot, looking out onto a field of grass with a basket attached to a deflated balloon, you knew your dreams were coming true

“no!” you exclaimed in disbelief. “rafe? are you kidding me? we’re taking a hot air balloon ride?!”

he smiled at your reaction, parking his truck. “only if you want to.”

you clicked the seat belt latch and threw the car door open, rushing over to the other side and hanging your arms around rafe’s neck

“of course i want to! this has been my dream since like… forever!”

and rafe knew that

which was the whole point of him setting this up

ever since the obx had a hot air balloon show, you’d always wanted to go up in one

but rafe was a bit of a wimp when it came to heights and stuff

so you thought it would be impossible to get him up there

let alone for him to plan it all on his own

you grinned the whole way to the balloon and the whole way up

rafe held you from behind, his arms circling around you firmly

you swore you could feel his heartbeat, and it only escalated as the balloon did

“this is beautiful, rafey. i love it.” you raved, admiring the colorful hues of the evening sky

rafe was really admiring your eyes as they sparkled in the sun, your face radiating a glow of happiness as a result of the golden hour

“you’re beautiful, y/n. and i love you.”

“i love you, too.”

once you had landed, the sun had fully set and the sky was darkening with minutes

“did you enjoy it?” you asked him. “i know you were a little bit nervous.”

“ehh, i like the ground.” he answered, earning a laugh out of you

midsummers

as an obx power couple it’s only a given you and rafe attend midsummers together every year

one year, you weren’t the happiest because of something that happened earlier in the day

rafe had promised he would wear something to match your dress

even if it was his pocket square

but no

he switched it up entirely at the last minute without mentioning a thing

saying: “oh, sorry. i thought i told you babe.”

so that kind of put a damper on your mood because you were really looking forward to coordinating

but he was forgiven by the end of the night

it didn’t take much begging to get you to dance with him

and to kinda make up for the miscommunication, he led you away from the party way earlier than you both were supposed to

and took a walk with you on the beach

“here.” he muttered, slipping his suit jacket around your bare shoulders

he noticed you wobbled a bit in the sand at first, holding your hand for stability as you took off your heels and let them dangle at your side

he interlocked your fingers as you strolled down the beach, the waves crashing calmly against the shore

“you know i’m sorry for earlier, right?”

“yeah. it’s not really a big deal.”

“i know, but you were looking forward to it.” rafe noted. “next time, i’ll wear whatever you pick out for me. i’ll even wear a trash bag if you decide to dress me in one.”

you giggled, picturing your rafe in a trash bag. it was far fetched of course, but his attempt to lift your spirits was appreciated. “oh, i’m not that cruel. but you’d still look smoking hot in a trash bag, so don’t tempt me.”

rafe would definitely accompany you anywhere you usually went with your girlfriends

for example

the spa

the nail salon

the mall

especially if they canceled plans on you for whatever reason

in this case, 15 minutes before you were supposed to leave rafe’s house

he could see the disappointment in your features as you reread her text over and over, mumbling an: “i guess i just won’t go then.”

“huh? why not?” he inquired. “didn’t you book the appointment weeks ago?”

“yeah. for two. but now meredith can’t go so i might as well stay here.”

“oh. why can’t she?”

“she said she’s really sick. i guess she didn’t know she was sick until 30 minutes before our appointment.” you blunted. “i can go home if you made plans.” you told your boyfriend, just in case he had other plans while you were supposed to have some of your own.

“you’re fine, sweetheart. you don’t have to leave.” he reassured, gazing at you sympathetically.

“ok. well let me call the place and cancel real quick, i’ll be right back.” you informed him, thumb already typing the number of the nail salon as you left his room.

“no, no— wait!” rafe stopped you, standing from his bed and grabbing your hand, now facing you. “what was it for again?”

“mani pedis.”

“we could go…” rafe trailed off, scratching the back of his neck. “if you’re still up for it.”

“really?!” you gasped in awe, eyes lighting up again.

“yeah, why not? it’s something new for us to try together, so i’m down.” he added.

which is exactly how rafe cameron ended up in a massage chair, feet soaking in a small tub of hot water

he didn’t get his nails painted any colors, claiming it’s only his first time and he needs to work his way up

even though you insisted black nails would look sexy on him

he compromised for a clear coat and made you swear not to tell anyone

you had to take this to the grave or your spa days together would be no more

“am i a better spa buddy than meredith?” rafe questioned, the vibrations of the massage chair sounding through his voice.

“you’re the best spa buddy, rafe. who knew.”

golf dates

now we all know rafe loves a good game of golf

and looks good playing it

which is really where he got you hooked because you couldn’t resist his golf looks

if you didn’t know how to play, he’d for sure give you lessons

wrapping his arms around yours to help you swing

he’d give you a kiss every time you made a really good swing

sometimes better than his once you got the hang of it

but for his ego, you let him believe he was the tiger woods of the outer banks

cheering him on and making a big scene whenever he has the slightest victory

one time, you did a whole cartwheel for him and some high kicks like you were a cheerleader

the only thing missing was some pom poms to be honest

rafe stood there, beaming as he watched you

“are you blushing?” you asked once you came closer to him

“what? me? blushing? no.” he scoffed. “it’s the heat.”

you chuckled, poking his sides playfully. “sure it is.”

taglist: @ilovejjmaybank @missevi @nxsmss @cameronsrafe @msgorillagripcoochie @bibliophilewednesday @tovvaa @rudybarnes @annab-nana @babeyglo @sunsetholland @moniamaybank @outerbankspreferences @laneybobeczko-g @jjpouggues @j-j-may-bank @heartdose @eifhames @outerbankies @amourtentiaa @k-roleplay20 @mildkleptomaniac @weasleysbitch2

rafe: @vintageobx @chrisevansfuturewife @drewstarkeysbitchh @littlementalpolaroids

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fluff #rafe outer banks #rafe obx #obx rafe #outer banks rafe #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks fic

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moonbeamsung · 3 years

Text

Winter Nights & City Lights

Because nothing says ‘Christmas’ like spending the big day (and not to mention the whole holiday season) in the Big Apple living with your high school friend-turned-roommate, Mark Lee.

member: mark (featuring johnny)

au: roommate!mark x gn!reader, college roommate au, christmas au, ‘the gift of the magi’ au/inspired

word count: 9.5k

genre: fluff, angst, slice of life

warnings: profanity, underage drinking, hangovers, insecurities, mentions of food and drink, money issues, embarrassing moments

author’s note: This fic is close to becoming my favorite that I’ve ever written. It’s also almost twice as long as I planned, not to mention that tumblr crashed right as I tried to post it so here I am, two hours later. Overall I had a blast writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it! Please let me know what you think, too! :,) Happy holidays! <3

taglist: @astroboy-lele @kisshim @radiorenjun

network tags: @kpopscape @neo-constellations @starryktown @culture-cafe @dreamlab-nct

“That parade was so cool! I mean, did you see the size of all those balloons? They were huge! I’ve never seen so many people all in one place before,” Mark chatters away like an excited child as you navigate through the crowd that always seems to grow bigger year after year, gathered along the curbs of the New York streets to watch the famed Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

“How are you not more excited about this?” He questions, and you stifle an amused giggle. “I’ve lived in the city for over a year, Mark. I’ve seen a thing or two.”

“Oh, right. I knew that.” The cold air only accentuates the blush on his face as he remembers that particular detail about you. It isn’t often that it’s demonstrated, however, considering you spend so much time cooped up inside of your shared apartment cramming in university work and studying. There are hardly any opportunities during the year to take in the sights of the concrete jungle you live in the very heart of, but luckily, one of your long-awaited breaks is coming up soon.

Thoughts of Christmas vacation are the only things keeping you going, along with countless cups of steaming hot coffee, as you prepare for exams in just a few weeks, weeks that seem to go by in a flurry of snow.

There’s less than three days left until your first one, but you’re nothing short of drained after pulling so many all-nighters, and you need a break. A breath of fresh air seems like just the cure for your burnout, so you slam your textbook shut and lethargically drag yourself off of the soft comforter you’ve been sitting on for the past two hours. You grimace at the deep imprint left behind.

Trudging through the living area, you knock softly on Mark’s bedroom door. A tired “Come in” sounds from the other side, and you push it open, immediately noticing his disheveled state. Eyes heavy with fatigue and lacking their usual sparkle of youthful innocence, he blinks back at you, “What’s up?”

“You look like you need a break just as much as I do,” you insist. His already-open mouth widens a bit more, “But... our first exam is on Monday, we can’t just—”

“Mark, come on, you’re one of the smartest people in our class. If anyone’s going to pass, it’s you.”

He huffs, “Maybe you have a point.”

“I do have a point, and you know it. A little walk in the park never hurt anyone, right?”

Mark rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, fingers raking through his dark locks before he musters up enough strength to push himself off of his bed and into a standing position.

“I’ll get my jacket.”

Central Park is a sight to behold on its own all year round, but something about the Christmas season makes it even more magical. You and Mark step at the same pace, your paths lined by metal benches blanketed in fresh snow. Even through the many layers of warmth you’re both wearing, the chilly air still nips at your skin. It’s Mark’s first time experiencing the holidays in New York City, and you’re determined to show him everything this real-life winter wonderland has to offer.

The story of how you two came to be roommates in the first place is an extremely lucky one. You met in high school, and had been part of the same group of friends along with six younger boys. Both Canadian, you’d been hoping to get into the same New York college since what felt like forever. The day that you received your acceptance letters in the mail was full of joy and celebration, but not even a week later, Mark got an unexpected scholarship to a local but prestigious university not far from where you lived that he simply couldn’t pass up.

Parting ways after graduation, you had thought you might never see each other again until you got a call from him. It was the day after your last exam of the spring semester in college and you were sitting on your two-person couch, feeling rather lonely. The number seemed too familiar, too good to be true, and scrambling to pick up the phone as it blared throughout your fairly small apartment, you answered with a shaky voice. Mark’s recognizable tone met your ears, and a wide smile met your face. Though he couldn’t see it, he could hear the happiness in your words.

As it turned out, his college had given him the opportunity to transfer to yours for the remainder of his four years, as their programs were closely linked and on similar levels. Graciously, he had accepted, and wanted you to be the first to know.

“So, uh... are you living with anyone?”

The question he dreaded asking more than anything else. Call him cliché, but he had the biggest crush on you in high school, much to his dismay and to the rest of his friends’ excitement. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to like you, but he feared that college could tear a potential relationship apart, regardless of whether or not you went to the same one.

As a result of this, he had never acted on his emotions. But he’s older now, and wiser, which leads him to believe that maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to maintain one, should he ever gain enough courage to ask you out.

“No, actually, I have my own apartment.”

Silence.

“...Are you looking for somewhere to stay?”

“Yes! Yes,” he replied a little too quickly, eager to accept what would hopefully be an invitation from you. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Well, my place isn’t the biggest, but you can live with me if you want to. Plus, we could split the rent between us!”

You’ve always liked Mark. He’s hardworking, kind, and humble, maybe a little too much of all these things for his own good. Even back in high school, you spent endless nights and very early mornings on the phone with him, trying to convince him to go to bed after he refused to stop studying. To reassure him that he did the right thing by ending that friendship, or to insist that he tell the teacher no one worked on the group project, so he did everything himself. You’ve been his shoulder to cry on for years, you’ve seen a side of him that he’s never been brave enough to show anyone else because they expect so much of him.

Mark knows he’s blessed to have had a picture-perfect childhood, a good family, and an education that was rigorous yet rewarding enough to prepare him for his next chapter in life. The pressures that came with being so lucky just got to him sometimes, and they made four years of high school seem more like fourteen.

You, on the other hand, didn’t quite have all the same luxuries that he did, but you still managed. He’s been there for you plenty of times, too. In your opinion, though, he’s the much more vulnerable one of the two of you, mainly to his cumbersome insecurities and shortcomings, however rare those shortcomings may be.

So in your mind, Mark Lee deserves the entire world and then some. The least you can do is share your apartment with him, either until he finds what you’re sure would be a much more desirable place to live, or if he wants to stay with you indefinitely.

What you don’t realize, and will eventually struggle to admit to yourself, is that your admiration for his perseverance and endless generosity is teetering rather precariously on the edge of blossoming into something more than just platonic.

“Sounds good, then. Thanks so much!” He had exclaimed, the sound of his pure excitement and gratefulness bringing a wave of heat to your face, and you were glad he wasn’t there in front of you to see it.

You talked a little bit more for the next few minutes, catching up and enjoying a lighthearted conversation about what you had both been up to. These sessions on the phone began to occur more and more frequently, turning into weekly, and soon daily, affairs. Mark planned to move in a couple weeks before school started again, giving himself some time to settle in and adapt to urban life in general. The calls became a highlight of your summer vacation, and every day without fail, you found yourself waiting to hear the unique ringtone you had set his contact to.

Less than twelve hours before Mark was scheduled to arrive at New York’s largest airport, you were on the phone with him just like always. The clock in your apartment chimed eleven o’clock, and as reluctant as you were to hang up, you knew you should turn in for the night. After all, the sooner you went to sleep, the sooner the morning would come. The morning you would meet him at the airport.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” His voice was hopeful. Slightly unsteady, but hopeful all the same.

“I guess so. What time does your plane land, again?” You confirmed the time you had scribbled down onto a neon yellow sticky note a few days earlier as he repeated the short string of numbers, nodding to no one in particular. Why did you feel so nervous? It’s just Mark, you had told yourself.

“Have a safe flight!”

He bade you goodnight in return, accidentally throwing in a “sweet dreams” before he could stop himself. When you put your phones down, you were both too busy trying to calm your racing pulses, however, so it didn’t matter. Mark collapsed onto his bed, hand bumping his duffel bag and heaving a sigh. You sank down into the couch cushion, closing your eyes and leaning your head against the back of the furniture. Neither of you could find the strength to stand in those moments, scared that your legs would give in from the unsteadiness of your nerves, your hearts, your emotions.

A singular worry occupied both of your minds from that point on until you greeted him in the JFK airport terminal the next morning, shy smiles on your faces: is it dangerous to enter into the impending situation of living together? Are you really ready to be in such constant close proximity to the object of your affections, however oblivious you might be to them?

Before his brain could talk his heart out of it, Mark had wrapped you in a tight hug, extra thankful for the welcome since you were all he had here, in the city. You wouldn’t have missed his arrival for the world, and you told him so. You also wouldn’t have missed the chance to make him flush a deep but adorable shade of red, reaching from his rounded cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears.

In your long-term rental car, you drove him back to your apartment, enjoying the quiet sounds of surprise and amazement that spilled from his lips, generated by the city’s sights. As you passed underneath towering skyscrapers, navigated bustling avenues, and caught glimpses of world-renowned landmarks that you both had seen only in the movies when you were younger, you just knew Mark’s eyes held their signature sparkle, despite your inability to see the dark brown orbs glimmer with wonder. You kept yours on the road ahead.

His first day was spent unpacking his suitcases and bags full of possessions, one of which was his most prized: an acoustic guitar.

It had been a gift from his parents when he finished the eighth grade, and all throughout high school, he had turned to music as an escape whenever he needed it. As any new musician does, Mark had played around with chords, experimenting and seeing what sounded good, and before you knew it he had composed a song. Another one followed, then another, and by the end of his freshman year he had written enough to fill an entire album if he so wished.

The guitar had heard every note, every lyric, carried every melody from his heart into the world. It had grown to be a part of him, a worldly sliver of his soul in the form of a simple musical instrument that could convey every hope and every dream, every concern or every frustration. Every love confession. Though that wasn’t saying much, since he only had eyes for you. You didn’t know it, but one of those songs was about you. For you.

You and Mark’s circle of friends tried to set you two up one day in the school’s band room after hours, with the excuse that the second-youngest of the group, Chenle, had forgotten his piano sheet music in there. They sent you to retrieve it, which you only agreed to do after being persuaded by the boy’s intimidating but still lovable pout.

With no sheet music in sight, your eyes landed instead on a diligent Mark that appeared to be the only sign of life in the room, plucking away at the strings as the sun set outside. You had sat with him for a while, neglecting your task and listening to him strum gracefully, softly murmuring lyrics that sounded like your name at one point. You didn’t think much of it, though, not making the connection behind the rest of the words coming out of his mouth and accompanying the chords. His love song was left unacknowledged by the subject of it themselves, and that was both the first and last time he ever attempted to confess to you.

He wondered if now that you were sharing an apartment, he would let something slip by accident. What would he do then?

University had other plans, though, and his fears were temporarily relieved. So fortunately and unfortunately, you were so occupied with schoolwork that trying to balance dating, or even mere thoughts of doing so, with all of your other responsibilities would have been exhausting, not to mention impossible.

Snapping out of your memory-induced daze, you realize that you nearly wandered off the path into a deep snowbank, only aware of this fact because Mark catches you by the wrist and pulls you back toward him to walk at his side. His fingers stay curled around your forearm as you approach a famous bridge, stepping to the side and gazing down at the icy waters below, calm and rippling with the chilly breeze.

“What do you want for Christmas?”

You honestly haven’t thought about it yet, so you can’t give Mark a definite answer. The same goes for him, both of you leaning against the brick railing in a comfortable silence.

In Mark’s mind though, he knows what he wants to give you: something to complement your own equivalent of his guitar, a large collection of handwritten letters and notes from your childhood and school days. Sentimental by nature, you had saved every colorful post-it note one of your friends would slip through the narrow slats of your locker, every birthday card received over the years, every thoughtful postcard from someone’s vacation.

Your favorites are undoubtedly the always-awkward Christmas cards that your friends’ families consistently mail out each December, by far the most humorous parts of your growing collection. You always found yourself chuckling at the pictures displayed on the front. Eyes bright with mirth, you would observe their forced smiles and arms slung carelessly over siblings’ shoulders, their eyes flickering between the camera and something going on behind it, probably the family pet getting into trouble across the yard. You pitied the photographers, surely beyond frustrated as they would try to get everyone to stand still for more than five measly seconds. Mouths were clamped shut and for a brief moment, the air was void of complaints of how itchy someone’s sweater was.

Then the camera would snap, capturing an image that was simply “good enough.” They’d plaster it on the card and in a few days, it would magically appear in the mailboxes of relatives and close friends. Grandparents would overlook the uncomfortable expressions and focus instead on how fast the kids were growing up. You didn’t blame them. Even in four years’ worth of cards, so much could change. In between fits of laughter, you’d stare in awe at the way your friends grew into their features, only becoming more handsome with time and some growing so tall that they even towered over their fathers. You always kept the letters they included, too, detailing the highlights of the year that was soon to come to an end by the time they dropped it into a nearby mailbox.

And like he could read your mind, Mark makes an offhand comment right then and there. “My folks texted me the other day to ask for our address. You know, for the Christmas card.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Shame I couldn’t be there for the family photos this year.”

“Is it really a shame, though?” You prod, tilting your head a bit at the boy. “You always told me you couldn’t stand waiting around for the so-called ‘right lighting’ and all that.”

“Well, I couldn’t, but now that I’m not there I wish I could go back to those days. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know?”

“Right,” you sigh, thinking about how the same saying could easily apply to the way you felt about Mark all throughout your first year of university.

You have a box, made of a dark mahogany wood and lined with elegant golden trim, where you keep all of these letters, these handwritten memories and souvenirs from some of the happiest moments in your life. A gift from a past Christmas, your family had your initials engraved onto the front in a loopy cursive font, making it truly unique and utterly irreplaceable. And, you’ll soon come to realize, valuable.

Mark remembers it well, remembers the many times you’ve shown him its contents, remembers how his eyes sometimes land on the delicate container resting beneath the windowsill in your room, sunlight catching the accents. He knows how much those letters mean to you, and he also knows how much you love returning the favor.

That’s why he wants to give you the tools you need to do just that, and to do it well.

You’ve always been one for writing thank-you notes for any and every gift you receive, your parents having ingrained the habit in you since you were very young. Slowly, crayons turned into pencils and lead became ink. To this day you remain unfazed by the increasing amount of yellowing papers residing in the letter box, but the words imprinted on them never quite fade, strong enough to withstand the test of time.

Too many times in high school Mark would find you, hunched over your dining room table in frustration with a stack of letters beside your arm that you deemed “failed” because your handwriting was bad, or something of the sort. Usually it was the other way around, him being the one in need of comfort, but on those days your roles were reversed.

He had always wondered why you didn’t have fancier supplies that were more suited to your task, but he supposes now that maybe it simply wasn’t an option for you and your family. So a stationery set seems like the perfect gift for you this year.

On a similar note, you’ve already decided what you’re getting him: a guitar case. You happened upon a sleek leather one while browsing the website of a popular music store, coincidentally with a location not too far from your apartment.

Now it’s no longer a question of what to get the other, but how. As university students living on your own, money is scarce. Unknowingly, you both contemplate this concern as you walk side by side, returning to the start of the path that you set out on at least a half hour ago.

This stroll of yours was supposed to clear your minds, but why are they racing even more than before?

There’s no time to worry now, though, and for the next week, your thoughts are forced to shift back to the topic of school and midterms and all your academic endeavors.

Your exam week is over before you know it, and the two of you return to your apartment after the last one only to collapse onto your respective beds, beyond exhausted.

The dreary Friday afternoon clearly calls for a nap, but unbeknownst to you, Mark decides to seize the opportunity that has so conveniently presented itself to him: a chance for him to go out and buy your gift without suspicion. He drops his backpack on the carpet next to his dresser and sighs, wondering if what he’s about to do will be worth it. But it’s you, of course it’ll be worth it.

Thus, his next move is done with a heavy heart. He’s been forced by a lack of funds to come to a decision about your gift, and a difficult one at that. The only thing he can think of doing to even come close to affording a nice stationery set is to sell some things in exchange for cash. Namely, the most valuable item he owns: his beloved guitar. He doesn’t really want to, but deep down he knows that a true friendship warrants the occasional sacrifice. He’s done some research on a nearby pawn shop, and however sketchy those kinds of places may seem, it’s his only feasible option at the moment, with just a week left until Christmas Day.

After making sure you’re fast asleep, he not-so-stealthily slips out of your shared flat, his actions far from silent but even so, you don’t wake up. Mark winces at the unintended high volume of pulling the front door shut behind him, sticking his hand into his jeans pocket and relaxing when he feels his keys at the bottom of the fabric compartment. Guitar strung over his shoulder by the flimsy, fraying strap, he sets off.

With his phone in hand and directions to the pawn shop displayed on the screen, he strides through the lobby of the apartment building and pushes the revolving door, stepping onto the busy sidewalk and into the cold winter air. Shoppers crowd the pavement with hands full of department store tote bags, crinkling loudly as they pass by one another. Shoulders knock together and heels click against the concrete, just some of the many sounds of the city that Mark is still growing used to hearing.

A few blocks and several wrong turns later, he finds himself on a quieter street, standing in front of the shop. It’s dimly lit inside and looks almost abandoned, the letters painted on the window chipped and faded from the wear and weather of past years. A soft bell rings when he lets himself in, searching for some sort of employee.

From behind a cluttered shelf a tall man emerges, the shabby name tag pinned to his vest reading “Johnny.” Well, he’s not some shifty-eyed, balding man wearing a muscle shirt stained with grease. New York continues to be full of surprises.

His dark hair looks neat, the jacket he’s wearing free of any wrinkles and face young but chiseled, high cheekbones prominent.

“How can I help you today?” Johnny booms, stepping behind the counter and absentmindedly sifting through some loose change in bottom of the cash register.

Mark gulps, “I’d like to sell something.” Still not entirely sure he wants to do this, he instinctively tugs on the strap resting atop the fabric of his wool jacket.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” Johnny assures with a small laugh. “What did you have in mind?”

Taking a deep breath, Mark slides the guitar off his shoulder and holds it near his chest for a moment, before extending his arms out towards the counter.

“A guitar, huh? We don’t see many of these,” the tall man comments. “Are you sure? It seems pretty valuable to you in more ways than one.”

Mark’s fingertips trace the strings for the last time and he decides to just get it over with, before he can change his mind. His hands are shaky as he gently places the instrument down on the counter in front of Johnny, taking a step back once he’s done so. “I don’t have much of a choice. I need the money to buy a gift for my… uh, my friend.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow, “Just a friend? Or a special someone?”

“They are special,” Mark confirms, noncommittal to either title that Johnny suggested.

“They must be if you’re willing to give up something like this for them. Okay, that’ll be…”

Johnny tells him what the guitar is worth, matching the amount with a stack of cash and a few old coins, rusty but still holding their value.

Despite the pain of letting something so meaningful go, a bit of joy creeps into Mark’s heart as he realizes that now he can give you a gift that will hopefully become just as meaningful to you as his guitar was to him.

He thanks Johnny and bids him goodbye, step lighter than when he entered, much to his surprise.

It’s the next day when you and Mark find yourselves getting into the Christmas spirit for the first time this season. After he had returned yesterday, you were still out cold on your bed, so he chose to follow your example and do the same. The both of you had slept the rest of the day and almost the entirety of the following morning away, waking up just before noon.

With a sudden burst of energy you spring up from the sheets, overtaken by your excitement for the nearing holiday as you dig out the artificial Christmas tree you had bought last year from your closet. Sure, it may seem lazy of you, but let’s face it: there was no easy way to find a real one in New York City, let alone lug it down the streets, through an elevator and down a narrow hallway to a door it wouldn’t even fit through.

Mark hears the loud rustling of various decorations as he begins to stir, leisurely getting out of bed and checking one of his dresser drawers to make sure he hadn’t merely dreamed up his shopping adventure of the previous evening. There the stationery set sits, tucked safely at the back of the wooden cabinet.

The bookstore he stopped at on his way back last night had many different options to choose from, so he made sure to get one that both matched your box of letters and reminded him of you, with its color scheme and style. A surge of pride brings a smile to his features, pleased with his choice, and he pushes the drawer shut before joining you in the living area.

Your knees brush as he sits down next to you to help unpack the large but manageable box, taking out the tiers of the tree to eventually stack on top of one another. Working more quickly than usual (and probably necessary, there are six days left after all), you assign Mark to stringing the lights across your small balcony while you finish setting up the tree. You knew you shouldn’t have let him do it alone, though, because when you look over at his progress you find more lights wrapped around his body than the metal railing.

“Do you need a hand?” You question, holding back a laugh at the way the cord restricts his arm movements to the point where he can’t even reach for the handle on the sliding door.

From outside he opens his mouth to reply, but pauses, looking down at himself and the mess he’s made of the lights before meeting your eyes once more. His voice is muffled by the glass, but you hear him shout playfully, “I’m the tree now! We don’t need that one.” He tries to gesture to the one you’re currently decorating, but fails, and this time you aren’t able to contain your amusement.

“Let me help you,” you offer, joining him on the balcony and helping him untangle himself from the glowing strands. “Thanks,” Mark replies, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck. With your combined efforts, you manage to thread the string of lights through the railing with little to no mishaps, and both of you continue decking out the apartment with other seasonal items for the next several hours.

At some point during the afternoon one of you decided to connect their phone to a speaker and play some music, all Christmas songs of course. As the classic version of “Jingle Bell Rock” begins to blare throughout the living room, Mark abandons his task momentarily to walk over to you. He extends a hand down to you, sitting on the floor, and you accept the invitation to stand up with a questioning look.

“Dance with me?”

It’s hardly a platonic request, Mark realizes once the words leave his lips, but even so you don’t shy away, glancing down at your feet with a slight trace of bashfulness in the action.

He intertwines your fingers somewhat loosely, placing his non-dominant hand on your waist and beginning to sway, slowly at first but then his movements become more exaggerated, shoulders tilting dramatically to one side after the other and straying from the rhythm of the music. You join Mark in drawing out the jesting movements, losing yourself in laughter and leaning forward to bury your face in his shoulder, the heat of your breath hitting his skin through the thin t-shirt he’s wearing. In one last attempt to keep the joyful smile on your face, he steps back a bit and holds your wrist above your head to twirl you in a circle.

The electric guitar in the song fades as you collapse onto the carpet, recovering from your fit of giggles. The sun has begun to sink in the sky, you can tell by the gold and orange glow that your apartment becomes bathed in as it sets, inching closer to the horizon and eventually becoming hidden by tall skyscrapers in the distance.

Satisfied with your progress so far, you both decide to call it a day, though in truth there aren’t many decorations left to put out. A few stray ornaments and some garlands remain, still packed up in boxes that you would need help reaching. You’re also eager to get your mind off of the way your heart was palpitating as you danced with Mark, your roommate and friend but nothing more, nothing less. You have enough to worry about at the moment, not wanting to add potential feelings for the boy into the mix. Shit, you think, you still need to buy his gift.

“What should we watch?” Mark asks, scrolling through the list of movie choices on the TV screen.

“I don’t really care, anything’s fine.”

His finger presses a button on the remote to select a film at random, the intro playing as you scan the refrigerator shelves for a frozen meal. Hopefully it’s not one of those cheesy holiday romances.

Settling down on the couch a few minutes later, you with the warmed-up container in your lap and Mark holding a cup of ramen noodles, both of you fall into a comfortable chatter about the movie. Thank god it’s a comedy.

Occasionally you find yourself diverting your attention from the harsh display and directing it over to the panes of floor-to-ceiling windows, where you watch more and more lights flicker on in the distance, illuminating the urban landscape as night falls. The view is breathtaking, but so is the way your face softly glows with their warmth, even from blocks away. Not that Mark would ever tell you that, of course.

“I’m going out!” Mark hears shuffling from outside his bedroom the next morning, your voice instantly bringing him to his senses. Curious, he shoots out of bed and flings the door open to find you, one arm stuck through the sleeve of your coat and the other buried in a bag, but it’s not the one you usually bring when you leave the flat. Eyes wide and panicked at the boy’s unexpected appearance, you clutch it to your chest with a visible amount of difficulty, Mark notices.

“Where are you off to?” He squints at the brightness of the living room, the early morning light pouring in through the glass on the far wall.

“...Maybe I can’t tell you,” you respond with a huff, slinging the heavy bag over your shoulder and pulling the rest of your coat on.

“What do you mean, you can’t—oh.”

“Nice going, genius,” you shake your head, feigning disappointment. “It’s not like it’s Christmas this week or anything.”

“My bad, sorry.” Mark winces and rakes a hand through his bedhead, abashed.

“I’ll be back soon, okay?”

With that, you step into the hallway and offer a parting smile over your shoulder, shutting the front door behind you.

At least your being out of the apartment gives Mark time to wrap your gift. All he has to do is figure out how.

Johnny gets a familiar feeling when he sees you enter the pawn shop, fumbling with your things and reluctantly gazing at whatever’s in the tote you’re holding. Are you also about to make an exchange you could potentially regret?

“One second,” you excuse yourself as you step up to the counter, placing the heavy bag down and removing the large item from inside: your letter box, minus its contents. Of course you would never get rid of those, but despite the letters and notes being so special to you, the box they were always kept in is also a significant part of your attachment and the memories you hold dear.

With a thud you set it down, Johnny glancing between the hesitation on your face and the wooden container on the counter in front of him. “Let me guess, you want to exchange this for cash?”

“Yes, sir, that’s exactly what I—” You pause, biting your tongue. “Hold on… Look, I know this is a pawn shop and that’s what people do here, but how are you so sure?”

Johnny’s gut tells him he shouldn’t give away the fact that a boy wearing the very same expression and with the same sense of purpose and determination was in here just two days earlier. So he corrects his mistake with a simple “Lucky guess” and a hearty chuckle.

Without Johnny even asking, you tell him that you’re also looking for some extra cash in order to afford a gift for your “friend,” and you say the word with so much conviction and certainty that it’s almost laughable. The information given to Johnny helps him fully connect the dots in his mind, realizing that each of you are the one the other talked about.

Before handing you the money, Johnny tears off a sheet of paper from a nearby notepad and asks you to fill out your information, most importantly your address. He has to lie a bit, saying it’s for contact purposes, but his heart is in the right place nonetheless. Just in case something goes south (and the sinking feeling in his stomach tells him that it will somehow), doing so gives him an option, even if he doesn’t know what that option might be yet.

“Thank you, Johnny, and Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas!” He returns your wish cheerfully as you push the door open to leave.

“Good luck finding a gift for your ‘friend,’ too.”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks when you see his teasing use of air quotes, but still smile.

On your way back to the apartment Mark texts you and asks you to check the mail, saying he forgot to do so yesterday. When you arrive in the lobby and make your way over to the cluster of mailboxes, you’re instantly shocked to find a large cardboard box shoved into the small cubby with your and Mark’s name on it. You’re already struggling to carry the guitar case you bought for him, so you decide to make a second trip later.

A few moments after stepping out of the elevator, you knock on the door to your apartment, hoping with all your might that Mark won’t actually open it and instead just answer with a “Come in” as he always does. Your wish is, thankfully, granted, but it’s quickly followed by “Wait, wait, wait!” As it happens, he just finished wrapping your gift and needs another minute or two to tuck it away somewhere until the big day arrives. “Can you stay out there until I say?”

“Sure,” you reply, “but I’m going to have to ask you to do the same.”

“How about I stay in my room while you come in and do… whatever you need to?”

“Sounds good.”

With his door closed, Mark hears the front one open and shut as you enter. Trying not to make any noise that would give away the size of the item you just bought, you finally settle for hiding the leather case underneath your bed, concealed by the drapery attached to its frame that hovers just above the floor.

Mark had hastily placed the now-wrapped (though not elegantly so) stationery set back into his dresser, so he’s already out of his room by the time you leave yours. “Any letters or packages?” He questions when he sees you.

“Oh, right!” You snap your fingers, “We do have a package but my hands were full, so I’ll bring it up right now.”

“Eggnog?”

While the box had looked fairly ordinary from the outside, upon opening it and glancing at the return address you learned it was actually anything but that. Mark’s and your parents had sent a holiday care package of sorts, including both of your families’ Christmas cards and a carton of eggnog, along with some small gifts that are meant to be saved for the morning of the 25th. Also mixed in are a few small decorations (not that you need more), some baking supplies complete with a copy of the recipe for the cookies you make every year, and a soft pair of mittens for each of you. He hopes you don’t realize that one of the items is a sprig of mistletoe.

“You don’t like eggnog?” You ask, stunned. Mark shrugs, “I don’t really care for milk but it’s the thought that counts, I guess.”

That evening you and Mark take another stroll, this time choosing to stay on the streets and admire the festively adorned buildings and shops as you pass by them. Admiring Christmas lights at this time of year is nothing new to you and Mark. In fact, when you lived in Canada you would do the same thing. The only difference is that back then, it involved driving through quiet suburban neighborhoods and not ambling through crowded city streets and alleyways on foot.

Snowflakes begin to cascade from the heavens as you make your way back around to the block where you live. Mark sticks his tongue out to catch one of the small crystals, and it immediately melts in his mouth, eliciting a high-pitched laugh from the boy. Snow is also something you both are more than used to by now, having grown up with white Christmases all your lives. It makes you wonder if the holiday season would be the same without it.

“You know what we should do?” Mark turns to you just as you’re about to enter the apartment building again. “Go ice skating at Rockefeller Center.”

“Mark, c’mon, you know stuff like that is overpriced. And besides, I can’t skate to save my life. Remember—”

“That time in sophomore year? You bet I do,” he laughs as he remembers how you clumsily fell not even two seconds after stepping onto the ice with your skates, and then refused to let go of the railing for the rest of the day. The elevator whirs to life, climbing floor after floor with ease.

“Hey,” you offer, “we can still go and watch people skate, I’m sure there’s some place to sit.”

“And we can look at the Christmas tree, too,” Mark adds, eyes brightening at the idea.

“Right. I forget you haven’t seen it in person before.” The cabin doors open with a ding and you step out, your eyes landing on the door to your apartment a few yards away.

When you turn on the TV, Mark becomes mesmerized by the movie that’s playing, since it takes place in NYC and he recognizes so many places from actually being there. He scrambles to remove his jacket and beanie, plopping down onto the couch once they’re safely hooked on the coat rack.

Watching him, you sigh. Would anything really change if you were dating? Assuming your feelings were returned, of course, but you can’t imagine that your relationship would differ much. You certainly wouldn’t go on extravagant dates, or buy expensive gifts for each other, but that’s not what love is about, anyway. With the exception of a few extra hugs and the addition of kisses, along with more forms of physical affection in general (actually, scratch that, Mark’s always been awkward with those kinds of things), you’d still be by each other’s side just like always.

As you sit down next to him and feel an arm wrap around your shoulder, you don’t shrug it off, instead embracing the warm and fuzzy feeling in your heart that you can’t blame on the holiday season this time.

Mark’s glad, too. He’s been working up the courage to do that all day.

Late that night, you quietly tiptoe into the living area, retrieving an old box from your move-in last year that will fit his gift perfectly, and won’t give away what’s inside. Your hands fold and tape the wrapping paper with care, tying a neat ribbon once you’re done. Sure, you had to give up something that meant a lot to you in order to afford Mark’s present, but the gains outweigh the losses. You find comfort in imagining the way his face will surely light up with pure joy on Christmas morning, drifting off to sleep with ease once you’ve hidden the rectangular parcel back underneath your bed.

A few days pass and soon it’s the 23rd, and you join Mark at the railing of the ice rink, of course on the side with solid ground. “Ice is solid ground,” Mark had corrected, but you stood firm in your words. “More like slippery ground, if you ask me.”

Luckily you had been allowed to stand here for free, because god only knows what small, simple thing someone would be charged for in New York. It’s happened to you before, and you’re not even a tourist.

Mark’s dark eyes gaze up at the 75-foot-tall tree in wonder, pupils dilating and reflecting the tens of thousands of bright lights strung through the dark green branches. They seem to sparkle with sheer amazement. Just then someone skates a little too close to the section of railing you’re leaning on, startling Mark out of his LED-induced daze and putting the most adorable look of surprise on his face.

His focus shifts to the people on the ice, wearing sweaters and jackets of every color imaginable, and the sight is still as beautiful as the looming Christmas tree above. He notices some couples, holding onto one another or skating hand-in-hand, and it makes him wonder if that could be you two someday, at a future Christmas, or if it’s an idea absurd enough for an alternate reality.

Mark sees you shiver out of the corner of his eye, and it’s his cue to suggest returning home for the evening. In a very cliché and boyfriend-esque gesture he offers you his jacket, but you decline, insisting that it’s not far and assuring him that you’ll be okay.

Back in your heated flat, you twist open the lid of the eggnog carton and pour a small glass for yourself. “Are you sure you don’t want some?” You call out to Mark from the kitchen, snatching one of the cookies you made the other day and finding a paper plate for the thin shortbread wafer, lined with elegant white icing and dusted with sprinkles.

“I already told you, I don’t like eggnog!”

“Have you even tried it before?” Mark grumbles at your nagging. You really sound like his mom right now.

“No…”

You appear at the other end of the couch, holding out a small cup with just a sip or two of eggnog in it. “Try it. You never know.”

He knows you won’t leave until you see him lift it to his lips for yourself, so he does. Immediately the sweet drink overwhelms his taste buds, and also leaves a slight sting on his tongue.

“What’s in this stuff?” He coughs, nose scrunching a bit from the strong taste. Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t hate it. Following you back to the kitchen, Mark pours a full glass this time, already gulping it down.

“Uh,” you scan the ingredients on the back of the carton once he sets it down on the counter, “milk, cream, sugar, eggs…”

“...whiskey? What the hell?”

“It has alcohol,” Mark slurs, his giggling interrupted by a hiccup. Having never drank before, he’s undeniably a lightweight, and even a little bit can get him wasted almost instantly.

“Mom and Dad must have mixed something up, because they definitely didn’t mean to send us alcoholic eggnog.”

Sure enough, back home in Canada your parents are wondering why they only have the kid-friendly stuff in their fridge.

Mark latches on to you, arm curling lazily around your waist. Great, he’s one of those people that gets clingy when they’re drunk. “Try some,” he whines, nuzzling into your shoulder a little.

“Are you crazy?”

“No one will know,” he laughs, hiccuping again. Giving in to his adorably drunken pout, you take one sip from your original glass but no more, an unpleasant buzz taking over your whole mouth.

Not looking forward to finding a hangover cure on Christmas Eve of all days, you pray that you’ll stay sober enough to take care of the tipsy boy, who’s currently pressing his face into the back of your neck and—shit, did he just kiss you there? You really don’t need this right now.

“Mark, you’re drunk, okay? Stop it,” you caution.

“But I love you,” he murmurs, warm breath fanning your skin, and you want to kick yourself for almost saying it back. Does he even mean it, though? Alcohol makes people say crazy things, things they don’t mean, so you shouldn’t get your hopes up. You unhook his arm from your torso and turn around to push against his chest, frustrated. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He seems to have just remembered something, because he ignores you and instead goes over to where the care package was still sitting, digging into the bottom and pulling out something you hadn’t noticed before. “Look,” Mark declares in a nasal voice, “mistletoe.”

You exasperatedly hang your head, desperate to slam it into the nearest wall. With much difficulty, you eventually manage to get him tucked underneath the blanket, leaving a glass of water on his nightstand for when he wakes up. “Get some sleep,” you say simply.

He tells you goodnight with a fond mumble of your name as you shut the bedroom door behind you. Rubbing your eyes, you yawn before turning off the lights and heading to bed yourself, trying to block out the events that had just taken place.

Your head aches when you wake up the next morning, and you feel like garbage, so you can only imagine how much worse Mark must be doing. Quickly chugging a water bottle, you reluctantly go to knock on his door, hearing a pained groan once you enter. He’s sitting up, chin resting in one hand and the other anchored onto the heavy comforter covering his legs.

“How are you feeling?” The obvious question with an even more obvious answer makes Mark wince. “Awful.”

“Sorry.” It’s silent for a moment, Mark pressing three fingers to his throbbing forehead and you staring aimlessly at the wall. “I knew that eggnog was a bad idea.”

“You were the one that told me to try it!”

“I didn't know it had alcohol in it!”

You sigh, dejected. Something tells Mark that your head isn’t the only thing hurting.

“Hey, I know that look. What’s wrong?” He prods, voice soft and gentle and altogether unlike how it had been last night. You meet his eyes for a moment, about to speak but biting your lip at the last second. Mark’s brain puts two and two together at your expression.

“Oh god, did I say something? Do something?”

“Yeah, actually,” you reply in a huff. “First you kissed my neck, then you told me you loved me, and then you held up a clump of mistletoe and implied that we should kiss underneath it.”

His memories of the previous evening are all a blur, so he truly would have no idea what happened if you hadn’t just said something. Mark knows he screwed up, bad.

You tense when you feel him place his hand over yours, but you don’t snatch it away. After collecting his thoughts, Mark clears his throat.

“Look, I… I know that’s not the best way for you to find out how someone feels about you. But I’m completely sober, and I can tell you that I meant what I said last night.”

“You promise?”

“Promise,” Mark replies.

“...Can you say it again, then?”

He blushes, “That I…?”

You nod, the corners of your lips lifting into a small smile.

“I love you,” Mark tells you for the second time in the last 24 hours, but this time you know you can believe him. The pain of your hangover goes away for a moment as he takes your jaw in his hands and connects your lips, just barely retaining the buzz of the alcohol but not enough to bother you. Slowly you kiss him back, sinking down onto the mattress beside him.

Mark pulls away for air a few seconds later, thumb grazing your cheek lovingly. “Does this mean we’re—”

“Dating? If you want it to, then sure,” your finger traces swirly shapes on the small of his back while you assure him that neither of you need to rush into anything if you aren’t ready.

“I don’t want things to change, though.”

“Who said they have to? I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and we’re already pretty close, you know? Making it ‘official’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘different,’ so...”

Mark hums in agreement, “You’re right. Okay, I can live with that.”

“And I can’t live another second without food. I’m making breakfast,” you quip, reverting back to the usual banter between you and him.

“I’ll cook the eggs,” Mark insists as you both make your way out of his bedroom and into the kitchen.

“You absolutely will not!”

The night before Christmas had started out unlike any that you’d ever experienced before, with you confronting your now-boyfriend about a drunken love confession the previous day. But now, it’s ending just like every year, with you cozy and curled up in front of the television as the last few segments of the news play.

It’s the coldest Christmas Eve in years. You learned this after the meteorologist had informed viewers of the record only a few minutes earlier, inadvertently planting an idea in Mark’s mind.

Right as you’re about to turn in for the night, setting a plate of decorated cookies and a glass of milk down on the end table (as is tradition in your families, no matter how old you are), Mark holds out his arms like a child might. “Can we…?” He asks in a quiet voice, nervous to finish his sentence.

“Huh?”

The boy inhales sharply, “It’s freezing. Do you wanna sleep in my bed tonight?” His cheeks flush a deep red that’s almost the color of Christmas itself.

You’re slightly taken aback, and then you remember it’s just Mark. “Sure, why not,” you answer with a light shrug and a smile on your face.

“But no funny business,” you inform him as you climb under the sheets together, instantly happy with your choice to join him because double the people means double the body heat. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Mark replies, pecking your lips. His wrist finds the warm skin of your neck and you flinch away.

“Your hands are cold!” He just snickers at your whining.

The two of you fall asleep more quickly than you ever have on Christmas Eve, usually overcome with nerves and excitement, but now, as two college-aged kids, you’re comfortable and not rushing the morning’s arrival at all, content in each other’s arms for the moment.

You feel like you’re 10 years old again as you rush into the living room at 8am the next day, the bright, early morning sky lighting up your entire apartment. At the base of your Christmas tree sits a humble amount of presents, composed of the two that you bought for each other plus the half-dozen small ones from your parents.

You hand Mark one of the cookies from the end table and grab one for yourself, taking a bite of the sweet treat as you sit down and motioning for him to do the same.

“Open yours first,” you say eagerly, referring to your gift for him. Mark shakes his head and points to what he got you, “No, you go first.”

“Fine, we’ll open them at the same time.” Mark nods, satisfied with the compromise and handing you both the packages.

“On three. One, two…”

The final number barely leaves your lips before you both begin tearing into the paper excitedly, Mark reaching for the flaps on the box and you unfolding the tissue paper.

When you each see what the other gifted you with, it’s completely silent, save for the TV playing a Christmas Day special in the background.

He gazes blankly at you, licking his lips as his eyes dart between the guitar case and your expression.

“I appreciate the gift, but I…” Mark pauses, unsure how to tell you this.

You don’t say a word, raising your eyebrows as a signal for him to continue.

“I sold my guitar to pay for your gift,” he breathes.

“You what? Mark, that guitar means everything to you! Why would you do that?”

“Because you’re worth it, of course!”

“Well, I did the same thing,” you break the news with an unamused expression. “I sold my letter box to pay for that case.”

His eyes become impossibly wider at that, nearly bulging out of their sockets. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

You groan and lie down on the floor, beyond discouraged. “Let me guess, the pawn shop on 23rd?”

“Yep.”

“Hey, wait a minute.” An idea hits Mark like a rush of cold air. “Maybe we can work out a deal or something.”

“Meaning?”

“We go back and see if we can trade in our new gifts for enough money to get our old things back.”

“One, I doubt it’s that easy, and two, pretty much everything is closed on Christmas Day.” You’re half tempted to laugh because of how ironic this situation is.

Mark sighs, “I guess that makes sense.”

“We can still try, though.”

Sure enough, the pawn shop is dark, even more so than usual, and the door doesn’t budge. A sign taped to the window from the inside confirms your fear: Closed on Christmas. Gloved hands pressed onto the glass, you and Mark admit your defeat. You had been bested by the giving spirit of the holiday season, almost too generous for your own good.

But it’s the message that the day itself stands for after all, for putting aside material value and doing something out of the kindness of your heart just to make someone else happy. That’s what it’s all about, and you and Mark had personally experienced it this year.

So you’re surprised to find two boxes leaning on the wall beside the door to your apartment the next morning, shapes oddly familiar. Could it be?

Just hours earlier, the hallway surveillance cameras caught a tall man striding down the corridor, carrying those exact packages under his arms. In the video he pulls out a scrap of paper and a pen from his coat pocket, scribbling a short message before tucking it underneath the ribbon of the larger parcel and leaving the building just as quickly as he came.

You and Mark’s only clue as to who had returned your items is a messy ‘J’ at the end of the note attached to the box containing his guitar. Exchanging knowing glances, you both grin, squeezing your intertwined hands with the same name in mind.

...So what if Johnny had to take a bit of money out of his own paycheck to cover the cost of the items? Besides, it’s Christmas. And his boss never has to know.

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caprina-mints · 4 years

Note

I WANT HEADCANONS QWQ CRACKER GIVE ME HEADCANONS QWQ this timeeee- Jason, Lj, Ej and maybe some creeps you like at their S/Os birthday and what they do or so UwU - Fibby

What They Do During Their S/o's Birthday : ( I did this For You Fibby 😊✊✌)

Laughing Jack :

✫ He Knew way ahead of you That It was Your Birthday tomorrow... And you didn't even Notice.

✫ He pointed it out but all you said was-

✫ " Oh it's my Birthday Tomorrow... Yay? "

✫ Your Lack of Excitement made him a bit Confused but it didn't matter. He was sure to give you one hell of a experience.

✫ That Night when the clock striked 12 it was officially your Birthday and He had Visited you in your bedroom only to drag you into his own small pocket dimension where everything was a never ending joy of carnival.

✫ You had never been there before and it was your first time coming to his dimension but you did expect everything to be black, and white all over.. But no

✫ He decorated the place just for you and now the carnival was in full bloom with glazing colors .

✫ The Place was packed with Little Candy Animals and Jack took this opportunity to show you around.

✫ There were balloons and the rides were indeed extravagant.

✫ He Obliged to everything you wanted and He became the perfect Ringmaster of his realm just to please you... His little s/o.

✫ By The end of your fun times he finally introduced you to a mountain filled with gifts everything wrapped by L.j himself and the finally finally came and soon the Black and white billboard in front of you lit up to reveal a beautiful painting of You .

✫ This clown of yours just earned himself a lifetime of love and care from you. You were his precious Possession and he was your greatest dream.

Eyeless Jack :

✼ Your Birthday was Fast approaching and Honestly you were far too busy to actually care and you were even planning on not celebrating it this year.

✼ But a certain Demon Boi wouldn't allow that to happen.

✼ so at the Day of your Birthday you didn't expect him to suddenly 'kidnap' you on the streets riding a black Van and drove off to some place you didn't know.

✼ First He took You for Dinner and let me tell you this... You never expected him to actually have the whole staff of that new restaurant in town to serve you two... And on my you two for the night.

✼ You didn't want to know how he managed to persuade that but it got even crazier.

✼ After dinner he took you to the mall and the mall was already closed for the night but he managed to sneak you inside where two go karts were placed.

✼ He told you to get whatever you want while passing by the stores you two were going to pass through during your little race and you didn't have any problem with it... I mean... You are dating a cannibalistic demon so meh.

✼ The Date was Fun and you managed to grab a few stiff you fancied and you followed his lead until the securities went on and guards were already chasing you two hot on your tails.

✼ who knew causing trouble was so much fun? It was so unlike Jack but seeing how he's putting an effort to make your birthday memorable was really something.

✼ the chase lasted for 30 minutes until Jack finally decided to escape with you.

✼ This time the two of you sneaked in an ice skating rink where the two of you started playing tag without skates on and it was really hard to keep balance.

✼ you were having the time of your life and by the end of the night Jack dragged you along the forest the darkness completely surrounding you two and later he led you to a cliff.

✼ He turned to you giving you a long passionate kiss before pointing at the sky where numerous lanterns with different colors were decorating the sky.

✼ mesmerized by the beauty you turned to Jack with teary eyes hugging him.

✼ " You did all this for me? "

✼ " I had some help from the guys but... Anything for you "

Jason the Toymaker :

✽ Well Even before you two started dating he already knew everything about you.

✽ So on the day of your Birthday a Line of Different Toys came marching in your Room to serve you Dinner made by Jason.

✽ it was too much of a feast to call it breakfast and on the side was a brown envelope with a letter inside.

✽ ' Hello Beloved, It's your birthday Today! I do wish to stay by your side the moment you wake up but I have bigger plans for you my dear. Wear those clothes I prepared for you love and come to my study room to blow the candles on your cake '

✽ That was the content of the letter and you ate as fast as you could and when you opened your closet a majestic color of Gold and Red flared through your eyes. It was absolutely Beautiful and Jason made it just for you. A couple of days earlier you saw him stitching through a silky fabric and you never expected it to be for you.

✽ You wore the Clothes which complimented every aspect of your beauty and headed out only to see a silver train waiting for you.

✽ You excitedly boarded the train and it chugged through the tracks heading straight to his study room.

✽ On the way you could see pictures and portraits of you and Jason with all the moments you had with him and it warmed your heart.

✽ once the doors to his study room opened your jaw dropped seeing the 20 layer cake decorated with the perfect texture of your favorite flower.

✽ Tracks were neatly swirled around the Cake and the train led you to the top where it stopped just above the cake for you to blow the candles.

✽ smiling with delight you blew a puff of air wiping out the flames of the candles and this time a Balloon came floating to your way and it popped infront of you and inside that balloon was another Letter.

✽ ' You look absolutely Astonishing in that dress my beloved y/n now how could something as beautiful as you settle for a train? Take that white stallion to the very top of our fortress my love and I shall reveal another surprise'

✽ the train led you down and immediately a horse came gracefully towards you and it bowed down in front of you before staring at you with fond eyes.

✽ You went with the flow and got on top of the horse and it didn't waste any time to gallop to the balcony.

✽ You felt like royalty and you were loving it. And who knew a possessive killer would ever make you feel this way.

✽ And waiting on the Balcony was Jason wearing all white and the Balcony was decorated with roses, gifts, ribbons and balloons. And on the side was a table for the two of you.

✽ He helped you down and led you to your table where ethe two of you ate and conversed like how you two would normally do.

✽ Your Happiness was genuine and charming no wonder he fell for you.

✽ He was the perfect gentleman and for his grand finally he led you to the corner of the balcony standing behind you and fireworks lit up the sky exploding in a magnificent color of sparks.

✽ Your jaws were dropped once again at the sight but you thought it would end there... But no.

✽ The last fireworls was set off and exploded in the sky the sparks forming Letters and words and it read out.

✽ ' Will you marry me? '

✽ your eyes widened and when you turned around to look at Japan he was already kneeling on one knee with a small box on his hand containing a sapphire ring.

✽ " Will you marry me? "

✽ Your heart started jumping in joy and your lips began to quiver, tears of joy escaping your eyes and words couldn't explain how happy you were.

✽ You tackled him with a hug saying ' Yes ' multiple times before he twirled you around laughing before pulling you to his side with a kiss on your forehead before securely placing the ring where it belonged... On your finger.

#Creepypasta Headcanon #Creepypasta #Headcanon #Laughing Jack #Eyeless Jack #Jason the Toymaker #Jason #E.j #L.j #s/o #y/n #sweet #imagine #Creeps #Birthday #Fibby✊💞

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darktypeimagines · 4 years

Note

Hi! I was wondering if you could expand a bit on the ´S/O from Unova´ who travels the world (Specifically Leon). This request is a little specific so here goes; The S/O has a thing for fire types, and while in Galar studies under Kabu (They are a HUGE fan) They have two partner pokemon, an Emboar and a Drifblim. Thank you so much, for your time :)

2nd ask – I assume you saw my message about missing posts and re-sent this. Since the asks have slightly different details, I’ll just combine them into one post

“Hiya! Could you do some HC´s for a trainer who´s mentored by Kabu? To elaborate they´e been a fan since a young child, and also adore fire types. Said trainer has gone to Galar to test their mettle against gym leaders w/ their ace Emboar. After the match, the trainer asked if Kabu could help them specifically w/ fire types.”

So, based on the asks, I’m assuming you want the same character as from the Unovan strategist ask, so I’ll expand on that. I changed up the order of things a little bit. AND OH BOY I WROTE WAAAAY TOO much again. I split it halfway to save your dashes. There’s nothing really triggering, although some people might not be into a relationship with a decent age gap.

———————————————————————————

You were pretty young when you decided to be a trainer, much like many kids. But, unlike many kids, you were hyperfixated on one particular trainer: the fire type specialist, Kabu.

You first became a fan ALL the way back when he first joined the Galar League. Despite being from Unova, you often watched the Galar league because there was just a sense of excitement that was lacking in other leagues. Galar made a show of their tournaments, so their televised battles were watched worldwide.

Once you set out beyond Unova, you decided to head over to Galar. You needed a fresh challenge, and considering it was the Galar League that helped you decide your course in life, it felt natural to head there next

You ended up battling all the other Galar gym leaders before finally heading to Kabu. Might as well save your favorite for last!

Apparently, he heard about you already. News travels fast, especially when the news is about a famous Unovan trainer who’s randomly challenging all of the gym leaders of his region. He knew he’d encounter you eventually.

He greeted you in the gym, rather formally, saying he was expecting you. You were low-key freaking out on the inside, but managed to keep yourself together. For about a minute. Then you lost it. You started gushing, telling you how you watched him on TV since you were a little kid. How you looked up to him. How you became a fire-type specialist because of him. And how, growing up, you wished you could have trained under him. How that was your most common daydream.

And then you stopped. Oh no. You went too far.

Kabu gave you a knowing look, and let out a small laugh. He was used to this; it happened all the time with fans. Although, it wasn’t every day such an accomplished trainer came up to him and told him he inspired them… It was incredibly flattering.

He said he would have loved to train you, but you probably surpassed him by now. He wasn’t sure if you could learn much from him.

WHATAREYOUTALKINGABOUTOFCOURSEICOULDLEARNMOREYOUREAMAZINGYOUHAVESOMUCHMOREEXP- was basically the gist of what you incoherently blurted out.

Kabu was surprised at the outburst, but he just smiled again. Did he blush, or did you imagine it? You’d never know.

Well… in that case. He knew you came to battle, but if you really, really wanted to, he could train you. He wouldn’t mind. He’s still not sure what he could possibly teach you, but he could try to come up with something!

After a bit of mental short-circuiting, you said yes! Of course! It was a dream come true for you, and… it took you a while to feel like it was actually happening.

You stayed at the inn during your training. The first thing Kabu had you do was change your schedule. You had to meet up with him before dawn and then make your way down to wherever you were training that day.

Usually, it was one of the mines or his gym. What surprised you was the content of his training. Often, it wasn’t even battling. It almost seemed like he was training you rather than helping you with your Pokemon or battling…

You had to endure the elements. Snowstorms near Circhester. The heat of the Dusty Bowl. Battling in the pitch-black night.

You jogged together. Meditated. Kabu even talked to you about eating a little healthier.

You asked him when you were actually going to train with battling. And that was when Kabu decided to explain his thinking to you. It was clear that you were a talented trainer. You knew strategy. You knew your Pokemon inside and out. But, what about you? Were you in peak condition, mentally and physically? A battle could occur anywhere, at any time, so you needed to be prepared at all times. Otherwise, there was a chance you could let down your partners…

Plus, as he said earlier, he explained, you seem to have surpassed him in terms of actual battling long ago.

After this, you agreed to continue. Being with him was a dream, even if it wasn’t what you were expecting.

This went on for months. You began to wonder how long this would go on for. Not that you were complaining. And, in that time, the two of you grew closer.

You started having dinner together frequently. Kabu was a pretty good cook, so often the two of you just ended up at his house. Due to the intensity of your training, you often ended up curled up next to Emboar on the floor, passed out after dinner. You always found a blanket on top of you when you woke up.

But, in time, you began to feel the itch to battle. Specifically, against him. So, one morning, when you first met up, you simply asked him.

He smiled, and said sure. If you felt you needed to battle him, then you needed to battle him! So, the two of you headed down to his gym. It wasn’t open yet, so it was eerily quiet, but in a way, it felt right.

He asked if you wanted to battle in a certain way; he knew Unovan people sometimes had battles with three Pokemon, after all. And he knew you didn’t Dynamax. You said a typical single battle would be fine, and that you’d LIKE it if he Dynamaxed! More challenge, after all…

You did agree to have a three on three battle, though, since he only had five Pokemon.

You sent out Emboar; he started with Arcanine. The large dog growled, baring its teeth – the aggression was quite intimidating and seemed to daunt Emboar. You knew its attacks might be weaker and more hesitant now…

But, before Kabu could give an order, you had Emboar use Sucker Punch, catching Arcanine off guard and stunning them. Despite being intimidated, Emboar landing quite the hit!

While Arcanine was trying to recover, you had Emboar follow up the last attack with a Fire Punch. Not a very effective attack type wise, but it would be fast enough for a quick follow up attack.

Before Emboar could ready another attack, Kabu had Arcanine launch a flurry of Extremespeeds. They took their toll on Emboar, and it was difficult for your Pokemon to get back on its feet.

·As Arcanine was about to start another round, you had Emboar strike the ground and use Earthquake. It hit Arcanine before it could reach Emboar, and it fainted.

Kabu sent out Ninetales next. This round was a bit more uneventful, as Emboar got another Earthquake in, which badly injured Ninetails. But then the fox got in an Extrasensory, knocking out Emboar.

You sent off Drifblim next, the balloon ghost rising high on the residual heat from Emboar’s attacks. Most people were surprised that you, a fire type specialist, had a random ghost type on your team. But this was purely strategic. What most people didn’t know is that Drifblim, like a hot air balloon, could rise higher and faster with hot air. You used their lack of knowledge to your advantage.

With Drifblim flying high above, Ninetales tried to launch a Fire Blast at them. Before the move could hit, though, you had Drifblim use Phantom Force. The ghost vanished, making the fire move miss. Both Kabu and Ninetales searched around the arena, but Drifblim was nowhere to be found. Ninetales braced itself for an attack, but didn’t know where to focus its attention.

Moments later, a dark portal appeared behind the fox, and Drifblim flew out, attacking Ninetales. Between this powerful move and the damage Ninetales took earlier, Kabu’s Pokemon fell, unable to battle further.

Kabu sent out his last Pokemon, Centiskorch. Luckily for your strategy, just the fire bug’s presence bought new heat to the arena, speeding up your Drifblim. Kabu immediately Gigantamaxed his Centiskorch, the bug type surrounding itself in energy and quickly taking up the other half of the battlefield.

And you know what? You had a plan to deal with the giant Pokemon. It was a cheap tactic, but you knew it’d work. You had Drifblim use Phantom Force throughout Centiskorch’s Gigantamax time. The giant bug tried to hit Drifblim with Centiferno multiple times, but due to the hot air, Drifblim kept out speeding its opponent. Finally, Centiskorch reverted to its normal sized form.

It hadn’t taken much damage due to its defense boost, but it was far from unscathed. As Centiskorch reverted back to its normal form, Kabu surprisingly had it use Crunch, landing a critical blow on Drifblim.

Drifblim wouldn’t be able to last much longer. It sputtered up and down, trying to keep altitude, obviously exhausted. You felt a little bad doing this… but, you knew it would earn you the win.

You had Drifblim rush Centiskorch, which Kabu didn’t expect. When they were within range, you yelled to your Pokemon to unleash Explosion! In the blast of smoke and fire, you couldn’t see whether or not it finished the job. But as the battlefield cleared, you saw both Pokemon, Drifblim laying on top of Centiskorch, fainted. You had won, with a Pokemon to spare.

After returning your Pokemon, and quietly promising Drifblim a nice treat when you got home, you and Kabu approached each other.

He congratulated you. It had been a while since he had such a fierce battle! With an explosive ending, too! He said he hoped to battle you again someday, and wished you the best along the rest of your journey.

What?

Oh yeah. You were traveling the world. Right.

Honestly, though, being with Kabu reminded you what “home” felt like. You felt comfortable with him. You didn’t want to leave.

And. You broke down and got emotional. Kabu was rather worried, and quickly crossing the space between you, putting a hand gently on your shoulder. He asked what was wrong, although you have a feeling he had an idea.

You told him. You blurted it out. That you adored him, beyond that of a regular fan. You… loved him? You weren’t sure yet. But you knew you had feelings for him and the thought of leaving was a nightmare for you.

It took a moment for Kabu to respond. He seemed to have to gather his thoughts. And then, he said it. He felt the same way. But he felt you needed to move on. After all, how could you improve yourself if you stayed here?

But… While he doesn’t want to admit it, because of the age difference between you two, he, too, had feelings for you. He loved your passion; how you were willing to go to such lengths for your dreams. You looked up to him for so long, and worked your way towards eventually meeting him. And even after you realized how hard his training was, you stuck with him! He admired you. And he also didn’t really want you to go.

After a long talk, which took place at his home since you both needed somewhere more comfortable to work things out, it was decided that you two would give this a shot.

You immediately moved in with him. But, beyond the added romance, the same structure that bought you together remained. You still trained together. You still woke up early together. Only now, you woke up before dawn with a kiss and retired to your home – the one you shared.

#kabu #kabu x reader #pokemon swsh #pokemon sword and shield #pokemon imagines #pokemon #scenario #ask #x reader #darktypeimagines

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davidedwardking · 4 years

Text

Has anyone heard of this city?! No one seems to remember it, and something horrific might have happened to it.

Apparently, there was once a city in the north of Sweden called Korona, but somehow we’ve all forgotten about it. I’m a police officer working in Kalix, a municipality close to where the lost city of Korona is supposed to have been. At that place, there are no signs of the city – only a dense forest – but certain details related to my own family makes me certain this place was indeed real.

The entire world just forgot about it… I can’t imagine how or why, but it’s the only conclusion I’ve been able to reach. For me, this all started when two Romanian blueberry pickers came into my small office to report something they had found deep in the dense forest. They didn’t know enough Swedish or English to explain exactly what it was that they had found, but it was immediately clear to me that it had terrified them completely. From what I understood, it seemed to involve a human corpse. Eventually, after having brought in an interpreter from the town next to mine, it was revealed that they had stumble upon a dead child, no more than ten years old.

They led me and two of my colleagues – followed by an ambulance – to the location where they had found the child. The sun was setting behind a thick mist when we got there. I lit a cigarette while we left the main road and walked into the forest, to where the child was supposed to be. I felt a bit uncomfortable having to deal with a dead child, but I had handled cases like this before – some car accidents – and didn’t feel too affected by it now. It was just another job, or so I thought.

The Romanians stopped when we got close and refused to go any further. There was panic in their eyes, more than I expected even given these extreme circumstances. One of my colleagues stayed with them while the rest of us continued. We soon came upon a huge boulder that had been placed there by the ice sheet that covered Europe during the ice age. My colleague walked around it and a few moments later he came running back, pale as if he had seen the Devil himself. He bent down and puked right in front of me.

“It…” he said. “It’s on the other side… Holy shit.”

I didn’t ask him any questions, I only proceeded to check it out for myself with the medics following behind me. What we found on the other side of the boulder… It wasn’t natural. Half the child – a blond little girl – was fused with the boulder just as if she had been passing through it as a ghost and then suddenly turned into a human before she had time to exit the rock. Or, as my colleague later remarked, it was as if she had been teleported into the rock. The girls sorrowful, dead gaze into the forest seemed to tell a story of a tragedy unknown to the living. The medics quickly shied away from her eyes in silence, horrified by the fate she must have suffered, but I couldn’t look away. I’ve never been a religious man, but this experience made me doubt everything I’d believed before.

And I don’t just mean the bizarre way the poor girl had lost her life, half engulfed by the boulder… There was something else about the girl as well. Something that made me feel completely empty inside, just as if a piece of my own soul was ripped out of me leaving an empty hole in my heart that quickly filled up with a sorrow I had never felt before. It was a dreadful feeling, only made worse by the strange fact that a small part of me recognized the girl. I couldn’t tell from where… Her face was like the vague memory of a dream recently forgotten.

We collected ourselves and started talking, trying to make sense of the situation without any success, while the medics approached the body. I tried to focus on the hard facts while we investigated the scene. The girl was wearing a pink jacket. In one of the pockets, we found an odd looking flower – it’s colors were exotic and resembled the wings of a beetle – and a yellow library card with a text that puzzled us. “The library of Korona,” it said.

The girl had written her name on the card as well. When I saw it, my world started spinning. “Isabella Lexelius”, it said in the girls childish handwriting.

“Isn’t that your last name, sir?” my colleague said.

“It… it is…” I didn’t know what to say or think.

“Well, do you know her?”

“I… I don’t know… No… No, I’ve never seen her before in my entire life. It must be a coincidence.”

“That’s a pretty big coincidence, sir.”

I didn’t respond to that.

“There’s something on the ground as well”, one of the medics said.

On the bloodstained moss beneath the girl, there was a notebook. It must have fallen out of her hand, the one that was hanging limply above the book. I picked it up and opened it. The pages were covered with small text, written with a different handwriting than the girl’s.

“Sir!” one of the medics said. “We will have to bring some tools to cut her down.”

“Yes”, I said absently.

“There’s one more thing”, the medic said.

I put the book in a plastic evidence bag. “What?”

“There’s too much blood.” The medic pointed at the ground.

“What do you mean there’s too much blood?” I asked.

“Beneath the boulder, sir”, the medic explained. “It’s impossible for all that blood to come from a child.”

A moment of silence, then I said:

“We will have to come back here with better tools.”

A day later, we successfully removed the upper body of the girl and brought it back to the morgue where it was examined. We also tried to lift the boulder with the help of a crane, but it wouldn’t budge. Instead, we dug a hole under it but we didn’t find any new body parts. All we could do this day was to sample as much of the blood as possible.

During the examination of the body, I read the notebook. It contained the story of the city of Korona. I was convinced it was fiction – a deranged story written by the man I thought must have killed the girl – until a few weeks ago when the forensic lab called me.

I still have a hard time believing it, but they told me there’s no other way. They had tested the DNA of the girl and compared it to mine because of her last name. It was my idea, since I didn’t want anyone to suspect anything. We didn’t think it would reveal anything, but it did… The ten or so years old girl, Isabella, was my daughter. I was sure it wasn’t possible. Ten years earlier I lived with my ex-wife and I never cheated on her and certainly didn’t have any children with her. We stayed together for five more years, so I would’ve known if she had a baby during that time. And yet, there was nothing wrong with the test.

Below is a transcript of the notebook. I’ve typed it out here in the hopes that someone will remember the city of Korona or someone who might have lived in it. Please contact me if you have any information.

This is what was inside the notebook:

My name is Helena Fredriksson. Five years ago I was a different person. I was younger back then, not just in the ordinary sense but in spirit too. There was joy in my life and I had hopes and dreams. That’s all gone now… I don’t have that much time to write this down, but I will try and explain what happened to us – to our entire community – as well as I can.

The event, as we have come to call it, occurred on July 9, 2013. I was only visiting Korona over the day to take my niece – Isabella – to the grand opening of The Red Grove, the cities new amusement park. It was supposed to be the biggest one in Sweden and Isabella had begged her parents to go to the grand opening, but neither of them had been able to due to work. So they called me and asked me to do it for them. I was their go-to person for when they needed help with Isabella, the only one they trusted. How I wish that hadn’t been the case now, considering what happened.

We arrived pretty early, a few hours before the opening, so that we wouldn’t need to stay in line the whole day to get inside. The weather was amazing. It had rained earlier in the morning, so we had been a bit worried, but when we got to the city there wasn’t a cloud in sight.

Isabella couldn’t stop talking about how much fun we would have, and it warmed my heart to see her so happy. It took us a bit longer than expected to get to the amusement park since one of the main streets had been closed off for a military parade. This didn’t bother us that much, it rather increased the feeling of celebration in the air. To avoid the parade, we had to take a bus to the city center, the Freyja square, and from there we had to take the subway to the Yellow Neutral business cluster – the tallest skyscrapers in Sweden. It was possible for us to walk to The Red Grove from there.

There were people everywhere. It turned out that a lot of them had taken a ferry down the river that I didn’t know about. This meant we had to stand in line after all. Isabella didn’t mind, but I knew she would get hungry soon, and I worried that it would ruin her mood. Luckily, there was a man selling hot dogs from a cart that he was pushing down the line. I bought a hot dog and a soda for Isabella. Her parents didn’t really like when I bought her junk food, but a day like this I thought they would understand. The man was also selling red balloons to the children. Isabella said she wanted one. I tried to tell her that she would have to carry it around all day and that there would be more balloons inside the amusement park, but she wouldn’t listen. Reluctantly, I bought her a balloon as well.

At this point, no one knew that their entire lives were about to change in a matter of minutes.

Isabella accidentally let go of the balloon. I feared it would make her sad, but it didn’t seem to bother her that much. We looked at the balloon as it rose up into the air and drifted away. Soon, it was but a red dot against the vast blue sky. Then, suddenly, it vanished.

“Where did it go?” Isabella said.

I couldn’t explain it. It had just disappeared.

“I don’t know”, I said. “Maybe it popped?”

But something – an uneasy feeling I couldn’t rationalize – made me doubt that. Then, only a few minutes later, strong winds came from every direction. It carried a smell with it that reminded me of something rotten.

“Ew”, Isabella said as her long white hair was blowing in the wind. “What’s that smell?”

I held her hand harder. “I don’t know,” I said.

People looked around, confused, and their joyful voices became concerned. Something was happening, but no one knew what it was. Sirens echoed in the distance, seemingly coming from the business cluster.

“Oh my god,” a woman said and pointed towards the skyscrapers. “The top of the building is gone!”

It wasn’t that easy to see, but she was right. The top of the tallest building was gone as if it had been cut off with a knife. Isabella was too short to see it, but she picked up that something wasn’t right on everyone's faces and she became worried herself.

“I think we need to get away from here,” I said, acting completely on instinct. “I don’t think it’s safe.”

Isabella teared up. “But the opening, aren’t we…”

“We will come back later sweetheart,” I said as I walked away from the crowd with her. One of the ferries were just about to leave. We quickly stepped aboard. A few others joined us, but most of the people stayed behind in the hopes that everything would be sorted out. Isabella cried, but she wasn’t mad. As the ferry slowly drove away from the riverside promenade a commotion of some kind erupted among the crowd back on land. I couldn’t see what was going on, but suddenly everyone screamed in terror and tried to run towards the water. They were clearly escaping from something, but I couldn’t see what it was. All I saw was people stepping on each other while they tried to jump into the river and swim away. It was a horrible sight, and I’m glad Isabella wasn’t tall enough to see over the railing.

Next, the sirens from the emergency alert system began blasting its eerie sound of imminent catastrophe. Everyone asked questions no one had any answers to. Most people I heard thought we were under attack, either by terrorists or the Russians.

I picked up my phone to call my sister, but there was no signal. I tried with Isabella's phone as well without any luck. I soon discovered that no one had any signal. At the sides of the river that passed through the city, people were looking out of their windows trying to get a glimpse of what was going on but the only thing they could see that was out of the ordinary was the cut off building in the Yellow Neutral business cluster.

“Look”, Isabella said and pointed at the sky. “I’ve never seen such a big bird before!”

An enormous bird-like creature soared high above us. It was pitch black. Although it was impossible to say for sure, it seemed to be just as confused about seeing us as we were seeing it. It circled the city center a few times and then flew away again. The sight of the giant bird, or whatever it truly was, turned our anxious confusion into terror. We still didn’t know what had happened, but now we knew it didn’t have anything to do with terrorists or some foreign power. This was something else, something impossible to believe and yet at the same time impossible to deny.

The ferry let us off a bit further down the river, close to Freyja square. People seemed to be in a state of panic, although no one knew what was wrong. Some were packing their cars to escape the city, others were running somewhere – perhaps to their loved ones – but most people clustered around police officers, city workers or military personnel from the parade to try and get some information. But they only got the same answer over and over again, yelled at them so that it could be heard over the sirens from the emergency alert system: that nothing was known and that they needed to return to their homes and listen to the radio for more information.

“How are we suppose to listen to the radio when the power is out?!” The voice came from an old woman. “Look around, there’s no power!”

She was right.

“Go home and close your windows and wait for the power to come back,” a policeman said. “We don’t know what is going on, but the safest thing to do is to follow the procedure…”

He was interrupted by something happening a few meters away. The first person who had tried to leave the city – a man on a loud motorcycle – had come back. I was carrying Isabella, comforting her at the same time as I tried to hear what the man on the bike was trying to tell everyone. I pushed through to get closer to him. He walked to the center of the square and climbed up on the foot of the statue of Freyja. Few people believed him, but everyone that had seen the creature in the sky had no doubt he was telling the truth however impossible it seemed.

“There’s no way out!” the man yelled. “The main road cuts of at the edge of the city and… There’s only jungle. I can’t explain it. I’m sorry. But it’s true. We are surrounded by a dense, thick, jungle and there’s no way around it.”

“Then it’s true,” a policeman whispered to himself next to me. “For the love of God, it was all true.”

I asked him what he meant. First, he didn’t want to acknowledge my question, but when he saw my confusion and tears in my niece's innocent eyes he turned to me and said quietly:

“Before we lost contact with the helicopter that was surveilling the parade, the pilot said something that simply didn’t make sense. He… He was crashing. Something had cut off his rotor blades. And he said that it all had changed somehow… The view had changed. Before he hit the ground he yelled that he had seen a jungle to the west and an ocean to the east.”

More and more reports came in and even though it was impossible to tell rumors from facts they were all telling the same story: the entire world around the city had been replaced in an instance. The city was the same, but the sky above it wasn’t. Eventually, the screaming sirens went silent, the cars stopped beeping their horns and the cacophony of voices died out. An uncanny silence fell over the city. The feeling was beyond unreal.

I didn’t know what any of this meant. I tried to explain it to my niece, but she was only five years old and she couldn’t understand. She wanted to go home to her parents and I didn’t know what to tell her. She was tired and needed rest, so I went to a hostel nearby and paid for a room. Soon, the economy of the city would collapse but for the first few days in this new unknown world, people still accepted money as payment.

What followed was five years of unending trials and hardships, a continuous battle for survival with no hope for help or rescue. It started during the first night. The sun, identical to our own yet new and strange, sat due north instead of west and was replaced by unrecognizable stars covering the entire sky. As I looked up at them from the small window in our room, I didn’t feel awe, but rather I felt completely lost. The strangest feeling during all these years must have been the paradoxical sensation of familiarity on the streets mixed with the awareness of total displacement. I think this was partly why people kept close to the city center, to drown themselves in the illusion of being home even though they knew, deep down, that they couldn’t escape their fate as stranded in the unknown.

Then, as I leaned out the window, I heard the sounds. People screaming, gunshots, cars driving madly through the streets without anywhere to go and the occasional odd howling that made my blood run cold. I never saw anything of what happened that night, but it changed the population – more than two million people – forever.

I closed the window and hid behind the bed with Isabella. She wanted to cry for her mother, but I kept my hand over her trembling mouth.

The next night was calmer, probably because no one dared venture outside. During the days, I soon realized, the threat didn’t come from the unknown jungle outside of the city but from the people within it. It was impossible to tell how much crimes were committed, but given what I saw with my own eyes – looting, robberies, and even murders – I figured the rate of crime must have gone up by a lot. However, it wasn’t total anarchy. The police and the few military units that had been in town for the parade kept some vital order to the community. Since ordinary people didn’t have guns, the police and the military wasn’t threatened by the average citizen.

A leader stepped forward – the man on the motorcycle – and after a few weeks, everyone seemed to cooperate peacefully. The food that was left in the stores were mostly distributed fairly and everyone that could work seemed to do it without hesitation, even I.

The scientists that had been working at the university at the time of the event couldn’t figure out what had happened, but with the help of hundreds of citizens, they managed to build a small nuclear power plant that could return electricity to the city. I mostly helped out with that project. I didn’t know anything about nuclear physics, but I did what little I could. It was amazing what we were capable of as a people and in all my dreadfulness a feeling of pride grew in my chest. Although, our time in this world wasn’t simple. Far from it.

Aside from my personal problem with keeping Isabella healthy and safe – which I succeeded with although she never felt safe – there were three major problems that kept growing larger for every week.

The first one was the food and water situation. Some people had managed to grow wheat and potatoes in parks and on soccer fields, but it wasn’t enough. We were running out of food and water. It did rain from time to time, but very few people felt safe drinking the rainwater. To battle this problem – and to find solutions to some other problems as well – expeditions were sent out to explore the jungle. These typically ended the same way, that is with no one coming back. Only once or twice did someone manage to return to the city, but they weren’t themselves anymore. It was as if something in the jungle had captured their souls and let their bodies walk back unscratched.

The second problem was nature. It seemed to have spared us the first couple of months, but soon after we got the electricity back it turned on us. It took a while before I saw it with my own eyes, but – seemingly at random – mysterious creatures entered the city. Sometimes they just walked right through it, never to return again. A policewoman – one of the new recruits – told me that she had followed a naked blue child as it solemnly walked into the city and then back out of it again.

At other times indescribable monsters wreaked havoc on the streets, killing as many people as they could before returning to wherever they came from.

At one point – and this I actually saw for myself – an enormous centipede, pure white with hundreds of red eyes, suddenly appeared from a manhole. It quickly climbed up against a building – as if it knew exactly what it was doing – and entered one of the windows on the top floor. Next came the screams from the people inside the building. A few escaped, but everyone else inside were ripped to shreds. Only after about five minutes did the centipede exit the building from the entrance, it’s white segmented body stained with blood, and returned down the manhole.

These attacks, as they were called, aroused fear and panic in all of us. Although it didn’t happen that often, it happened often enough for everyone to be on edge all the time.

The third problem also didn’t become noticeable until later. It was a problem of health. There was no pattern to who was affected or not, but some people – probably no more than 1% – got sick. It started out like a fever and slowly progressed with nightmarish mutations randomly hitting the body. Most of these mutations made the victims handicapped and disfigured, but sometimes – very rarely – the victims developed properties that were seemingly beneficial to them. The most extreme case of this that I saw was a young girl who grew a third eye in the middle of her forehead. The iris of the new eye glittered with amazing colors and the girl claimed that she could use the eye to see other peoples emotions.

At the beginning of the health crisis, the sick people were treated badly, just as if they had been monsters from the jungle. This treatment only got worse when it was revealed that the creatures from outside never attacked the sick. At one point, a mob gathered at Freyja square, set on chasing the sick people out of the city. Luckily, this was stopped by the military.

In the end, however, the sick people were sent into the jungle. Not to be away with them, though, but to make use of their immunity to the nature of this world. This turned into a huge success that eventually solved the food and water problem. They could venture out and explore the surrounding area and return with edible fruits, vegetables, and small mammal-like animals that they hunted.

This was a turning point for us. And then luck stroke again. All attempts at fishing had failed so far, but all of a sudden there were fish everywhere in the river. We soon learned that there were different periods for when the fish was out to sea or close to land. However, as soon as they came close to land mysterious purple thunderstorms that lasted weeks tormented the city. And yet, we survived. Many people didn’t, of course, but life was possible. In the end, we prevailed.

During the five years that followed there weren’t that many catastrophes and our focus on survival kept most of our thoughts of home away. Even Isabella thought less and less of her parents as she grew older. Over time, most people got used to the bizarre situation they had found themselves in back in July 2013. Many people did commit suicide, yes, but most people choose to live on in this unknown land.

Two events, however, changed things. First, it was what happened to a planned expedition at sea. Hundreds of people, mostly men, decided to venture out into the ocean with one of the luxury cruisers that had been moored next to the city. This was going to be a great adventure and, perhaps, a way to find some answers to where we had ended up. It inspired all of us. Thousands of people – Isabella and I included – had gathered to watch as the huge boat slowly sailed out. It all felt similar to that day five years earlier when we had waited for the amusement park to open. We all stared at the horizon as the boat – named Birdo de Espero – turned into a small dot against the setting sun. We imagined the amazing adventures they would be on and looked forward to their return. But then something that must have been larger than anything we had seen so far came out of the water and swallowed Birdo de Espero whole.

Some people screamed and others cried. This was a hard blow to the city. Just knowing that a being like that – a being able to eat an entire luxury cruiser in one bite – could exist deprived many people their hopes of a future.

The next event was different. It was a miracle, to say the least. It happened only a month after the destruction of Birdo de Espero. A military guard, a young man who had only been fifteen at the time of our disappearance from Earth, discovered that when he stood at a certain place at Freyja square he could tune into to a specific radio station from our old world. The station's name was Synthwave Mix and dedicated most of its broadcasting to that kind of music. Hope returned immediately, but this time the hope was different from the one we had spent five years building up within ourselves. This was the hope of seeing our loved ones again. The hope to return home. The people at the university investigated the area to try and determine where the radio signals were coming from. They didn’t have much success but soon realized that they emanated from the ground beneath Freyja square.

While the area was investigated by the scientists, ordinary people showed up en masse. They all had radios of different kinds with them, like children carrying stuffed animals to feel safe, hoping to tune in to Synthwave Mix and get a taste of their lost home. Of course, the area where the radio station could be heard was too small and the police had to chase everyone away to give the scientists the room they needed. A few days later, though, the scientists placed a set of large speakers at the foot of the statue of Freyja and connected them to the receiver they were using to listen in on the radio station.

Day and night the relaxed, somewhat melancholic, synthetic music played non-stop to the entire city. People congregated around the statue. They even defied the dangers of the night. This became our cities new tradition. Ending the day by going to the statue and sitting down around it, as if in prayer, became our pilgrimage. It wasn’t exactly the music that drew people to the square, but rather it’s origin. Still, the electronic melodies soon turned into a symbol of all of our hopes and desires. From time to time, people got up and danced – sometimes while crying from a bittersweet joy difficult to explain. Although, the thing that made us all go silent and become totally focused was when the hosts said something. Usually, they only spoke about the music they were broadcasting – completely unaware that an entire city full of people were listening to them almost religiously – but on rare occasions, they talked about the world outside. At those times it felt like our hearts collectively stopped in anticipation. Would they say something about us, about their efforts to figure out where we all had gone and how they would bring us back? But there was never any news about us, just as if they had already forgotten about us or never known about us at all. The tragic fate of the city of Korona never came up. Yet, we never lost fate.

It took a long time – and now I’m getting closer to the present day – but eventually, the scientists decided that it would be worthwhile digging a large hole right where the radio waves seemed to sip out of the ground. This was no easy task and neither was it safe. The work took weeks. Again we all helped. No one really knew what exactly we were looking for, we only knew that it was something.

When we reached the bottom, where the rock was too hard to dig through, a mountain of dirt covered the entire square. Our efforts hadn’t been in vain, we discovered. Right beneath the place where the radio waves had been picked up, there was a small hole in the bedrock. People were asked to back away from it while the scientists investigated it. First, they tried to measure how deep it was. This took some time since it was hard to find a long enough rope. In the end, it was estimated to be about 700 meters deep. Next, some equipment was sent down tied to the end of the rope, and to everyone's surprise everything that was sent down was swallowed by the hole. Of course, no one knew where it went but we all thought the same thing. That, somehow, it had returned home. It was a reasonable assumption given that the only thing coming out of the hole – the radio waves – came from Earth. We all rejoiced in this discovery. More experiments were done and although some questions remained unanswered the consensus – even among the scientists – was that the hole really was a portal back to our own world.

There were two large problems that needed to be solved though. The first was the safety. Every time something tied to the rope disappeared at the bottom of the hole, the rope was cut off just like the skyscraper five years earlier. This meant that it was possible that whoever entered the hole would be cut off as well. However, this problem was solved pretty soon. By tying a camera to the rope, connected to a screen above ground, it was discovered that the rope was only cut off when pulled back. As long as it wasn’t pulled back, the screen still received signals from the camera. The camera never recorded anything other than darkness on what was assumed to be the other side, but since it continued to work until the rope was pulled back this didn’t seem to be such a big problem. After all, some technical issues were expected under the circumstances.

The second problem was that the hole was too small for anyone to fit into. Many attempts were made to widen the hole, but the bedrock seemed to be made out of a stronger material than any of our machines could tear into. This was extremely frustrating. It made us feel like we had reached the finish line only to discover that we were unable to cross it. In the end, one of the scientists said she wanted to send her ten-year-old son down the hole. He was small enough to fit into it. This was widely debated for quite some time before it was approved. The mother argued that the city of Korona was no place for her son and that all the evidence suggested the hole was the only way home.

The boy was brave. He knew he would probably never see his poor mother again but still went through with it. He was given a walkie-talkie and after a tear-filled goodbye to his mother, he was sent down the 700 meters deep, pitch black hole. He was instructed to radio in after he reached the other side, confirming he was safe. After the rope was pulled back, the mother waited and waited for her son to report. However, he never did. For weeks, the mother sat at the edge of the hole – under merciless heat and under pouring rain – calling her son over and over again with her walkie-talkie. No one knew what, if anything, had gone wrong. Since no other radio waves had been picked up other than Synthwave Mix, it was possible that other radio waves simply couldn’t enter into our world for some reason. Still, the authority deemed the hole too unsafe for anyone else to enter.

This didn’t change peoples minds though. The hole represented the only true hope we had felt in years. And given all the horrible things in our world that could destroy us at any moment as easily as it is for us to blow out a candle, the small risk of going through the hole seemed to be more than acceptable. The hole was guarded by the police, but most of the police shared the cities collective opinion that the hole was the only way out… not for any of the adults, but for our children.

And now I’m sitting here, in the room I payed for five years ago, writing this down. During the last few weeks, many parents have been sending their children down the hole at night. This world is truly no place for them. Although they could survive, they deserve better. Hence, like many others, I’ve decided to send Isabella home. When I told her about it, she looked at me with a happiness in her eyes I hadn’t seen since we were transported to this dreadful, godforsaken world.

I’ve been writing this all day now. It’s my testimony to what happened to Korona. I will give this notebook to Isabella. I’m sure she will be able to give it to her father. Somehow, I know it in my heart that she will find her way home to her parents. Soon it will be dark and I will bring Isabella to Freyja square one last time.

I’m sorry it took so long,

Helana

#favorites

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mlpdestinyverse · 5 years

Photo

Soaring

After Dream Flow reveals an interest of hers to Eventide Twister, the pegasus decides to help her friend out.

*NOTE: For a better experience, listen to this song during the flight sequence! Thank you!*

Feat. Eventide Twister, Dreamaria Flow

Story and Description Under The Cut

"So I know this is a liiiittle out of the blue, but...would it be okay if I inspected one of your wings, Eve?" At Dream Flow's question, Eventide Twister turned to look at her companion quizzically. On a cool autumn day, the two mares were standing together amongst the colorful trees of Ponyville's park. With the shifting of the season came Dream's first experience of fall in Ponyville and the unicorn mare had eagerly requested Eventide to accompany her in appreciating the sights. This led the two to the park where they were enjoying an autumn walk side-by-side. All was peaceful with the gentle swaying and rustling of the leaves, the light breeze brushing through their manes. Aside from Dream's commentary and admiration of the town's scenery, the two were simply appreciating one another's company, as they always did. Dream Flow's question, however, had been a sudden shift in conversation. While Eventide wasn't sure where the request had come from, observing Dream Flow had her notice how shy her friend strangely appeared. It was as if she was uncertain of how the pegasus would react. A nod was all it took for Dream to perk back up, brimming with excitement. "Ah! Thank you! I won't take long, I promise!" After extending her wing, Eventide curiously watched as Dream stepped closer, carefully supporting the underside of her cream and pink feathers with a hoof as her eyes roamed over the plumage. This had to be the first time Eve had ever seen Dream look so focused. Dream Flow appeared nothing short of fascinated, lifting her hoof to extend the feathers as she turned her head every which way to analyze the details closely. "Wow...this is so cool. I've never seen a wing up close like this before." Dream sighed, a light smile on her muzzle. "It must be so nice, getting to fly whenever you want. Not to mention you always look so pretty when you do, Eve." 'P-pretty?' Dream was always saying such nice things about her when she least expected it, and every time, Dream left Eventide not knowing how to take the compliments. Embarrassment came over her as Eve glued her eyes to the ground. It was then that she felt a feather-light touch on her wing, causing her to raise her gaze. Dream Flow's eyelids had drooped, her gaze and voice soft as she gently traced her hoof along the soft edge of a feather. "You're so lucky...I wish I could experience flight like you do." Eventide stared at her friend, observing the way Dream seemed to grow more distant as her eyes flicked over the feather's every edge and line. Lifting her head, Dream Flow met Eventide's eyes. And just like that, whatever dazed spell she was in broke. Dream's eyes shot open as she swiftly jerked her hooves away. "AH! I'm sorry!" Although feeling equally embarrassed, Eventide folded her wings and shook her head. That failed to appease the unicorn as Dream sheepishly rubbed her foreleg. "I really didn't mean to get so touchy and distracted. Sorry about that." "It's okay." It had gotten easier, speaking one or two words to her friend when she felt it was necessary. Her words still came out stiff, but somehow, it never seemed to bother Dream. If anything the sentence reassured Dream Flow as relief washed over her expression. "Okay...it's just, ever since I was a filly, I've always been fascinated with flight. My uncle even used to take me to racing events just so I could watch the pegasi fly around." Dream looked up at the partially cloudy sky as a pegasus flew over the park, a younger one following his trail. She smiled contentedly to herself. "I admired the emotions pegasi got to feel whenever they flew. There's this rush of exhilaration for some and this incredible sense of freedom for almost all of them. It's a form of happiness that's so unique I'm still enraptured by it." Chuckling, Dream shifted her attention back to Eventide and pointed at her own horn. "Even if it's just from the sidelines, it's nice getting to experience even a fraction of that feeling!" Eventide silently nodded with interest, although a part of her mind was somewhere else, thinking. It never occurred to her how much of a unique experience flight was. It was naturally more convenient, and it made sense that flightless creatures may wish they could possess the ability. But flight had become so natural to her that Eventide would never have considered that the sensation of flying alone would be special. Hot air balloons and flying carriages, now that she thought about it, wouldn't provide that same experience. And now that she was face-to-face with somepony who felt so passionate about those feelings, Eventide realized how much she had taken it for granted. Not once had she taken a moment to appreciate the freedom her wings provided her. '...she would appreciate it more than I ever have.' Eventide didn't consider herself somepony of the spontaneous sort, but her line of thoughts were enough to settle on an idea she was silently contemplating. Unfurling her wings to their full length, she noticed how Dream was looking on in confusion. Making sure she had gained the unicorn's full attention, Eventide calmly pointed at Dream with a hoof, then to herself, her wings, and finally, the sky. She punctuated her question with a tilt of her head. While cutting down her inquiry to two words was possible, she figured the 'how' of it would be easier to convey with her miming. Like previous times before, she couldn't help but worry that her thoughts wouldn't be able to reach the unicorn. It never failed to surprise her, seeing Dream catch on so quickly. In her realization, her friend became slack-jawed from disbelief. "Y-you want to lift me into the sky? And fly around with me? Really?" Shock gave way to excitement as Dream practically bounced in place, her eyes wide and gleeful. "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, that would be amazing! Oh, but are you sure? I won't be too heavy?" Eventide was already hovering above the ground when she shook her head. As a mailmare, she had carried around her fair share of giant, heavy boxes. With the muscle she had built over time, being able to carry anything while flying - while it slowed her down - was the one thing she felt confident about. And seeing her friend's excitement only spurred her on. Easing her way above Dream Flow, Eventide wrapped her forelegs under the mare's arms and firmly secured them around her chest. As she slowly flew upward she heard Dream squeak as her hooves lifted off of the earth. The unicorn instinctively pulled her limbs closer to her body. "Ready...?" Eve asked softly, beating her wings in place as she waited for Dream’s answer. There was still a chance her friend would end up changing her min- "I‘m so ready!!" Dream responded with hearty enthusiasm, kicking her legs a bit. "Whenever you're ready, Evie!" With that confirmation, Eventide flapped her wings and flew forward. Almost immediately, Dream Flow released a squeal. She tried to make the elevation gradual, flying parallel with the park's path while lifting higher and higher off the ground. Soon enough the two were above the sea of trees, the treetops obscuring the rest of the park below. All the while, Dream Flow was still squealing and laughing. Like, uncontrollably laughing. "Oh, this is marvelous!" Dream yelled above the air rushing around them. "Look at all the colors!" Crisp fall leaves flew past them, swirling about in a mix of warm shades wherever the wind carried them. A single glance down and Eventide could see Dream looking around at them with wide-eyed wonder. Noticing a nearby lake, Eventide began descending, which only brought on more delighted giggles from the unicorn. As they approached the lake, Eve lowered herself until they were just flying across its surface. The water, while having red and orange leaves scattered about, perfectly reflected the two mares and the brilliant blue sky above them. It also gave Eventide a better view of Dream's expression as the unicorn joyfully stared down at the surface, captivated. Something came over Eve and she couldn't help lowering the two of them ever so slightly. While Dream squeaked at the movement, it was just enough to cause one of Dream's rear hooves to break through the water's surface, parting the liquid and making it ripple. "H-hey, that's cold!" Dream exclaimed, but every ounce of laughter and glee filled her voice. Eventide felt the corner of her mouth lift, and as they neared the other side of the lake, she flapped her wings and soared back up into the sky. It was less gradual than earlier and sent Dream into another laughing fit. "O-oh gosh! This is amaaaziiing!!" Eventide flew towards the more uninhabited part of the forest, where the trees were denser and ponies were less likely to look at them like they were crazy. Yet as they flew, as she listened to Dream's joyous exclamations, Eventide didn't think she would even care anymore if they did. She could feel an unexpected amount of warmth filling her chest. Just looking down, seeing the mare enjoy herself and laugh so openly, brought a smile to Eventide's muzzle. Soon, Dream's infectious laughter had Eventide giggling along with her. Dream's head snapped up almost instantaneously to look up at Eve, cutting her off short. Though before Eventide could even feel self-conscious, her friend grinned up at her. The two continued to fly for a few more minutes before Eve descended back to where they had started. Once both mares had their hooves back on the ground, it was like Dream couldn't sit still as she pranced around Eventide and gushed. "And I thought the view from hot air balloons was amazing! That was like nothing I'd ever felt before!" Dream Flow kept jumping from one hoof to another, turning in circles in her elation. "Feeling that rush of wind and just moving every which way! It was so interactive and beautiful and- and INCREDIBLE!" Dream's ecstatic eyes locked onto Eventide. "You're incredible!" Eventide jerked her head back, followed by adverting her gaze every which way. As far as she saw it, any pegasus could have done the same thing. It wasn't like she was flying at her full speed. It was just something her friend deserved. Finally coming down from her high, Dream Flow exhaled deeply and placed both of her hooves over her chest, closing her eyes serenely. "What a wonderful emotion...and I finally got to feel it for myself." Dream opened her eyes and met Eventide's. Her gaze crinkled with adoration and shone with the purest gratitude. "Thank you so much, Eventide. Look at you, making the emotion counselor experience a new emotion...!” Before Eventide could even respond, Dream had walked closer and pulled the pegasus into an embrace. While Eventide tensed, caught off guard, she felt her face grow warm as Dream nuzzled her cheek against Eve's head. "I'm so glad I chose to move here...I wouldn't have met you if I hadn't." Pulling back to face Eventide, keeping her hooves on both of the pegasus' shoulders, Dream shone one of her brilliant smiles. "You're a wonderful friend. Aren't I lucky~?" Eventide was left in a stunned silence, searching the mare's face. After all the years that had passed, with the friendships she had lost, not once had she ever imagined being referred to as...'a wonderful friend'. Or someone somepony would be glad to have met. Ponies were supposed to consider her hard to be around, or embarrassing, or a failure. ...or at least, that's how she would have usually thought, to brush off Dream's pleasant words. Somehow, ever since the unicorn had made her way into Eventide's life, kind sentiments like these had found ways to sink in and reach the pegasus. Dream was so open and honest about her thoughts. Eve wasn't sure if she'd ever get used to it. But what she did know was that...that kind of open and kind honesty was stirring something warm and fluttery in her. "A-ah, um...y-you'rewelcome." Dream's eyes softened, whether due to Eve's nervousness or the fact that she had made more vocal sounds that day than any other. With that, Dream finally pulled away and breathed in deeply. "Alright! Let's celebrate this occasion!" she declared, jutting a hoof towards the direction of town. "Let's go settle down with some nice ice cream and I am absolutely treating you! Okay?" Eventide chuckled at Dream's usual positive energy, nodding in agreement. "...soundsgood." While Eve didn't normally vocalize something she could easily express with movements, something about the way Dream brightened yet never put her on the spot whenever she spoke brought forth even the smallest responses at times. Grinning at her reply, Dream took lead as she began walking down the park's path. Eventide stood still for a few seconds longer, allowing herself time to just appreciate the mare from afar. With a soft, fond smile, she moved to catch up with her dear friend.

And it was that day Eve knew Dream was somepony who’d stay. That should conclude Eventide's past arc. Thanks so much for reading up to this point. <3

#mlp #My Little Pony #mlp art #mlp oc #Eventide Twister #Dreamaria Flow #destinyverse #story

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mgmks · 7 years

Text

Self-indulgent Gay Bullshit ft. Destroya’s Decaying Corpse

(P.S: Missile Kid changes pronouns for no apparent reason)

The sun is brutal.

Is brutal, has been brutal, will be brutal until they start getting closer to their final destination. When. If. It’s like chasing a dream every time they try to find it, a literal mirage. The closest thing MG’s had to a home since he stumbled blind out of that nightmare white room.

The two of them walk arm in arm towards the angel’s resting place, through the haze of heat blurring above the cracked earth. A sight, for sure, MK’s face is totally obscured by a hot pink gas mask she doesn’t even need. MG is covered up by his ski goggles and the ratty green scarf that’s pulled over his mouth and nose to keep the fumes out.

His face and wrists are still raw with the removal of the duct tape the crows they’d killed earlier had deployed. Stung like a bitch to get off, as per. But those buggers are gone now, blown straight off the map. In the outer rim without a helmet. All that’s left of them after that pretty little clockwork device MK had cooked up last time they’d stumbled into civilization was a splatter of blood on her dusty boots and a tacky black tie pulled tight around MG’s neck. Over his t-shirt, over the black marker scrawl.

WHOS AFRAID OF THE BIG BAD WOLF???

MG’s throat is raw, from screaming as they forced him down in the chair, from talking all through the process of MK picking bits of ‘crow skull out of his hair. From the noxious gas residue of whatever grisly battle had taken place in this god-forsaken zone a million lifetimes ago, when the wars were still raging. The scarf is a good look, but it’s a piss-poor method of keeping shit out of MG’s lungs.

Long term health detriments be damned, that’s his motto! The two of them had barely made it out alive today- he doesn’t have forty years for this fuckery to really start digging into his system and bending him clean out of shape. Might not have five. Probably won’t even have one, at the rate they’re going, they could very well be cannibal-fodder by the end of the week. It’s not a scary thought anymore, just an inevitability. Life’s a lot easier when you embrace death as more of a casual fishing buddy than a rogue trick-or-treater who won’t stop screaming at your front door until she’s gotten what she wants.

MK’s humming a tune as they go, something the two of them came up with together the other night as they were sprawled out under the stars. MK’s more in tune with this stuff, sees music like the stars intended, solar winds crashing into the atmosphere and running along the magnetic field. Patterns in the sky, alignments that MG will never be able to pick out. She says the cosmos whispered the bassline to her just as she was powering down. Stars. Sirius, in particular, because you can always count on the dog star to churn out the sickest fuckin’ basslines on this side of the universe.

“What’s this?” They’re drumming the bassline out on MG’s arm, voice muffled by the mask.

Four? Four. Four run-ins. Four jives. Four times they’ve almost gotten curb-stomped by Dracs. In how long? He can’t say. Since they saw another living soul last. That’s how they measure time. It’s been a long time.

Would life be easier in the long run if there was more than two of them to run around with? Probably. But Mad Gear doesn’t fuckin’ roll with anyone else, under any circumstances. It went to fuckin’ Antarctica last time, and he doesn’t repeat bad songs. He smashes those records and moves on with his life, so here they are, the two of them. Two of them, four near death experiences. MG holds up four fingers to the sun, closing one eye as he looks up.

“And where’s this?” MK looks up with him. Nothing to see but the sinking sun. Not a toxic fuckin’ cloud in the sky.

“The path to righteousness,” he says, laughing when they growl and hit his arm. “The road to the Angel’s Graveyard, honeybee.”

So it is. The sun is sinking low soon as the sheet metal spires stab through the horizon, and they thank whatever invisible god that’s out there that they went the right way. Getting lost in the desert this far out is a one way ticket to death’s door, and as cool with that as MG’s become, he’s got some things he wouldn’t mind completing before he kicks the bucket.

It’s only confirmed when MK sighs in relief, because MG can’t trust his own eyes sometimes. Some things are mirages, some things are the direct result of too much gas getting into your head. This isn’t his favourite place to go, the resting place of his only friend’s greatest heroes.Great for shelter, though. Great for stories. Not many people can say they slept in the eye of the hollowed corpse of the destroyer of worlds.

Sweet, huh?

The giant robot’s hand sticks out of the dirt and they stand there on its palm, squinting up at its rusted ruined face. MK presses a kiss to the pillar of its thumb and they stand in silent remembrance for one who could have set them free. One of the originals who walked out here long before anyone thought of raising a gun to Better Living’s head.

MG pulls his scarf tighter and pushes his goggles up off his face, and they approach.

“This feels wrong,” MK says quietly, lowering her voice as if she might wake the sleeping giant. They always do this, and MG has no idea why. The dead don’t hear, he can confirm that.

Instead of spouting nonsense about the dead not having ears, MG just hikes his bag further up his shoulder and presses on. “My continued existence feels wrong, but you don’t see me complainin’.”

“You complain all the time.” MK sits down, rooting through xeir bag. “You complained seven times today.”

“That’s not a lot for me.”

“You think people are around here?”

“I think the ghosts keep them away.” MG sits himself down, pulling his scarf off and fanning it out. It’s sort of dusty in here, but it’s safe. No noxious gas- the giant doesn’t breathe anymore. Nothing to harm them. Just the dust and the air. Sand trickles down through cracks in the metal like an hourglass, but time doesn’t exist in this place.

There’s explosions from somewhere far away. Or maybe it’s fireworks, or firecrackers. Or bombs. The thought makes MG feel bad, somewhere in the pit of his stomach, a feeling he usually ignores. He shakes his head to clear it and sighs, brushing off the memories of people and places he’d rather forget off him like dust. “You ever wonder why they want us dead so bad?”

MK looks creepy in the light of the flare, perfect teeth gleaming as her face stretches up into a grin. “I wonder why you want them dead so bad.”

“Circle of life, baby.” He’s not sure when things became this way, but he’s not sad about it. If he’s rotten to the core, that’s fine with him, he’s always been that way, just now he screams when things go bang.

There’s work to be done now.

Far as MG is concerned, no Scarecrow deserves a proper funeral. They shouldn’t be touched once they’ve been dispatched, no matter who they were in their life. They’ve taken a lot away from the community, every single one of them, but desecrating holy ground won’t stand.

Someone left a mess in here, a couple of ‘crows a hothead greenhorn must’ve killed. Honest mistake, thinking their holy savior is a hunk of metal for hoarding dead ‘crows. MG won’t hold it against anyone but if this happens again someone’s getting stuck with a switch.

The two drag the bodies out of the robot and sit them in discarded lawn chairs to rot in the sun for a while, or maybe to serve as a reminder to the next ‘crows who come by that this isn’t their property, that the ghosts will chew them up and spit them out if they trifle with forces they don’t fuckin’ understand. Forces they misunderstand. Not that MG’s more than a man, not that MK stopped being a nurse droid soon as they got out here, just that there’s a certain je ne sais quoi about Killjoys that gets the fuckin’ job done.

“Marco,” MG calls, his voice echoing through the robot’s hollow insides. the sunlight is dying, slipping through cracks in his chest. MK is standing, looking up through closed eyes. Angel’s graveyard has a profound effect on those who can still believe in something, as much as MG wants to believe this giant robot is going to rise from the sand and storm the city in a blaze of glory he can’t forget everything he’s seen, the things that flash behind his eyes when he closes them.

Being realistic isn’t a bad thing, Tommy told him once, probably the only smart thing he’s ever said. Because that’s where you get when you’re too realistic, you’re Tommy Chow Mein in your fancy suit, a hollow shell of the person you used to be.

MG stood by and watched all the fight leak out of him like a balloon there in the trenches all those years ago, watched a(n admittedly decent) man become a case for a dead brain and some bad attitude. That’s what you become after all of that, if you’re not crafty. You’re this robot. Everyone thinks you exist but you’re empty on the inside and your eyes are vacant. MG hasn’t seen himself in years, but he’s almost certain he’s still kickin’ somewhere in his own head.

“I’m sleepy, bunny, let’s go say goodnight.” MG holds out a hand, breaking MK out of her trance. He never touches them unless he’s sure that’s what they want, so he hangs back, and they look from him to the sky again.

MG believes in things that exist, and the universe is out there. The stars were something to hang on to all the time he’s been out here, since the wars. Even when they were covered in angry clouds of smoke and spitting bombs down from the clouds, they were still up there, waiting. Watching. Ready to get his messages to where they needed to be.

It’s a tradition now. He used to whisper messages to the stars to send to MK, but now they’re here with him, so he closes his eyes and tries to think of people who might need it.

“Got anything you wanna say?” She tucks herself into his side, looking up. “I wanna say thanks for the bassline.”

“I’m sure you’ll be getting more in your dreams tonight.”

MK smiles. It’s something that still catches MG off guard, makes his chest tight in a way that tells him he’ll never love anything else in the entire universe this much. It’s scary. Sort of comforting. “I’m sure. What are you gonna say?”

“Good luck, I guess.” He shrugs, because there’s not a lot more you can say to someone. “Sionara? May the witch help you home?”

“Be serious?”

“Be safe,” he tells the stars- no, he tells some sorry sucker sleeping on the ground out there somewhere, someone who’s praying that they’ll make it through tomorrow, who doesn’t know the world yet. Who can’t see the strings holding them all upright. “I’ll see you soon.”

MK tilts his head back for just one more moment, mouthing something at the sky above before turning back to his companion. “What a great way to make friends.”

It worked with her, MG thinks, as MK tugs his hair and heads back into the corpse of her forefather. “Hey,” he calls back, “I love you!”

Because he’s waited a long time to say that, crawled through trenches and run through gunfire to say that face to face. Some meaning not even the cosmos can convey. Something that still sets off the butterflies in his stomach, puts a smile on his face.

“That’s GAY,” they yell back. It makes more sense, these moments, how people can believe in immortality. Maybe if this feeling will never die, there’s a chance this robot will pick itself out of the sand and save them all.

Until then, Mad Gear will try his best.

#writing #mgmk #uhhh #I guess it's kinda graphic do i tag it #idk it's just some gay shit #it's almost 6 a.m i ain't slept

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hedaswolf · 7 years

Text

part 18 of the clexa eleven au (aka christmas part 1!)

Snow has always been a nuisance to you. At your previous foster homes, snow made it more difficult to walk to school and feel your toes, no matter how many socks you wore.

Not to mention that every so often it snowed so much that school would get canceled, and you’d have to stay home in a drafty house with a crabby foster parent who had to take time off work to watch you.

But here everything has a tinge of magic to it, and snow is suddenly wonderful.

December has been particularly chilly, but you don’t mind. The lake froze over earlier than ever, Lexa told you on the night before you went skating for the first time in your life. You learned so much that day, like that Lexa played hockey in high school, and that Clarke can’t stay on her feet on the ice even in sneakers.

Clarke let you borrow her white figure skates, which looked barely worn. They were a bit big on you but Lexa laced them up real tight so your ankles wouldn’t wobble. Clarke broke out into applause when you took your first tentative step onto the ice and you felt exceptionally proud.

(There was just something about wearing something of your Ma’s while learning something from your Mum that made the world shift, but in a good way. Like it was all slowly clicking into place.)

It was early still and some teenagers were shoveling last night’s snowfall to clear off more fresh ice, but Lexa led you to a smaller area -- already cleared -- where a few younger kids were skating. Some of them were pushing around milk crates to help them keep their balance. Lexa glanced at the spare crates on the edge of the lake and lifted her eyebrows in question. You shook your head and she smiled.

You took another step on the ice and you felt like that baby deer in one of Clarke’s movies, teetering as it stood for the first time. You remembered what Lexa told you and dug the edges of the blades into the ice and leaned forward. Once you were steady Lexa grabbed your mittened hands in hers.

At first she skated backwards and just pulled you along, letting you get a feel for the ice gliding underfoot. She took wide laps around the shoveled-off section, steering clear of the little kids, and Clarke cheered every time you passed by her on the bank.

(Later Clarke would show you the photos she took and point out how you and Lexa looked so alike, with your knit hats and rosy cheeks and gleeful smiles.)

The first time you tried to skate without holding Lexa’s hands you fell. And you fell a bunch more after that. But each time you took a few more steps before you went down, and then Lexa taught you how to turn those steps into glides, and at some point, without even realizing it, you went from trying to skate to just skating.

When you completed a lap all on your own Clarke tossed two celebratory fistfuls of snow into the air and Lexa spun in a circle, just like the figure skaters on TV, even though she was in hockey skates. You laughed, and then you fell, and then you laughed some more.

You didn’t even realize your knees were bruised until you sunk into a steaming hot bath that night.

***

Two days before Christmas it snows so much that the city decides to cancel school until after the holiday break. And you’re thrilled.

It’s not that you don’t like school. You love it, actually. It’s just that it’s so hard to concentrate on your worksheets when there’s a Christmas tree at home with a pile of presents beneath it that seems to grow larger each day.

(Clarke won the tree argument, in the end, and you bought one from the band kids’ fundraiser in the high school parking lot. Lexa made her pinky promise you’d cut down a real one next year and Clarke kissed her pouty bottom lip.)

Your presents for Clarke and Lexa are all ready to go, though they’re not beneath the tree. As soon as you wrapped them you slid them under your bed, right where you hid your shoebox of food all those months ago.

Sometimes you sit on the carpet, lift the dust ruffle, and contemplate the neatly wrapped gifts. It’s weird to think about what you were like when you first came here. When you talked about it with your therapist last week you said it was like you were a half-inflated balloon that didn’t know you were half-inflated. All your life you were hardly getting off the ground while the other kids soared on by.

You’re still not quite like the others, and maybe you never will be. But your life feels fuller and lighter than it ever has. Than you ever knew it could.

Back when you hid scraps of food under your bed you thought going hungry was the worst thing. If only you’d known the worst part of your life had already ended.

If only you’d known that the worst thing in this world is a scarcity of love.

(Your therapist says ignorance is bliss, but you think it’s self preservation.)

(Your therapist also says it’s normal to worry your balloon will pop.)

(He suggests you talk to your moms about it.)

(You don’t.)

***

The day before Christmas Eve you’re on the front lawn trying and failing to build a snowman. You and Lily made an awesome one in her yard last week, but she’s in Florida visiting her grandparents and you can’t lift the ball meant to be the snowman’s head on your own.

You get it about halfway there when it slips from your grasp and splits into pieces once it hits the ground. It’s just snow, but your frustration boils over and you stomp on the base of the snowman until it’s powder.

Today is just not your day.

Back in the group home, Mike called them your “dark days.” You’re pretty even-keeled, but sometimes all of your anger and frustration reached a tipping point and your whole body would get taut with fury.

The other kids knew to steer clear of you on the days you stomped around with your hands balled up into fists. Once your anger even induced a nosebleed.

But today isn’t really a dark day. You don’t have that kind of anger any more. It’s just that after a string of so many fantastic days this one is just mediocre, and on some level that’s upsetting, too.

It all started this morning when you were playing with Waffles and he got his claw stuck in your new tights. The hole quickly frayed into something Lexa called a “run” and now you don’t have any tights to wear with your Christmas dress.

Making matters worse is the fact that Clarke has been super noisy all day. The phone keeps ringing with early holiday well-wishers and her phone voice is extra loud, especially when she’s talking to her college friends, which she did for over an hour.

And that’s not the only noise getting on your nerves. Clarke and Lexa have been baking since this morning, getting a jump-start on Christmas treats, and the clattering of pots and pans has been constant.

You know your moms aren’t annoying you on purpose. You know that. But it all made your brain feel kinda overloaded -- like you want to jump out of your skin -- so you went outside to play in the snow to get a break from it.

So of course your snowman didn’t work out. Nothing is going right today.

You try to pull yourself together when you hear the door creak open before Lexa comes out all bundled up.

“Hey,” she says, tentatively. She waves a mittened-hand, not straying from the walkway. “I’m going to the store. Want to come?”

“No thanks.”

She bites her lip and looks at the pile of snow next to you -- the one covered in bootprints -- but doesn’t mention it.

“Are you warm enough?”

“Yep.”

You feel bad for being short with her, but it’s like you can’t help yourself. You look down at your boots because you’re afraid to see the hurt expression that very well may be on her face.

“Okay,” she says after a beat. “I’ll be back soon.”

Not long after the car pulls out of the driveway you hear footsteps crunching along the sidewalk and almost groan. You perk up a little when you see it’s Maya, who has a bulky red shovel slung over one shoulder.

“Hey Eleven! Looks like you’ve got the potential for a pretty sweet igloo,” she says, nodding at the pile of snow. “Need some help?”

An igloo. You can’t help but snicker to yourself -- it’s like winter’s version of making lemons out of lemonade.

“Sure!” You wave her over. “What’s with the shovel?”

“I was clearing a path for Harry to get to his car tomorrow. He visits his son every Christmas Eve.”

In no time Maya helps you turn your snowman failure pile into a giant, heaping mound. It’s a little taller than you when she deems it ready to be dug out. The two of you kneel at the base and begin scooping out snow with your hands. Maya hums to herself but otherwise you work quietly beside one another, and the repetitive motion starts to soothe your nerves.

Lexa comes home with a shopping bag a little while later, but you just keep scooping away snow while she exchanges pleasantries with Maya. You feel a lot calmer now, but the sun is quickly setting and you want to finish before it’s time for dinner. You’ve never been in an igloo before, but you bet it’s nice and quiet in there, and that thought spurs you on.

The sun is just barely peeking out above the trees by the time the hollowed-out space is big enough for you and Maya to squeeze inside.

You were right -- it is quiet in here. Warmer too, somehow. You slouch against the wall right next to Maya, and even though you’re in a snow fort you feel so grown up.

The shadows grow longer as the two of you chat. Maya tells you about a book she’s reading for AP English. Like you, she has an affinity for the written word. She’s telling you about her dream of majoring in creative writing in college when you hear a door open.

“El?” Clarke calls.

Maya pauses mid-sentence, waiting for you to reply, but you keep quiet. She quirks an eyebrow at you and you just shrug, focusing on dusting snow off your boots.

“Eleven?” Clarke says, louder this time. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

It sounds like she’s standing at the side door by the kitchen. You wonder if she can see the igloo from there.

“I should be getting home for dinner, too,” Maya says, motioning toward the exit. “You first -- it’ll probably be easier for me to crawl out after.”

The scowl that grows on your face feels foreign after all this time. You don’t want to leave the igloo. You don’t want to say goodbye to Maya. And, most of all, you don’t want to go back into that noisy house.

You know you’re being immature and irrational and a slew of other things, but you can’t help it. You don’t budge.

Maya asks you if you’re okay at the same time you hear Clarke’s familiar footsteps coming down the walkway.

“El? You out here?” she calls, an edge of worry in her voice. And just like that, your annoyance turns to guilt.

By the time Clarke’s legs come into view there’s a lump in your throat. The laces on her boots are undone, and something about that makes your eyes sting.

“We’re in here, Clarke,” Maya says, squeezing past you. You take in a shaky breath and follow her out, keeping your eyes cast down. “Well, I better get going,” Maya continues. “Have a great Christmas! Bye, Eleven.”

You glance at her as you whisper goodbye and you wish you hadn’t because you see that Clarke doesn’t have a coat on. She’s shivering, arms wrapped around herself, and it’s all your fault.

“Let’s go inside,” she says before turning on her heel and striding back toward the house.

You follow, instinctive dread building in your gut. Nothing good comes of disobedience. It’s a lesson you’ve learned over and over again -- one you thought you’d learned for the last time. You’ve never gone against Clarke or Lexa before. You’ve never been tempted -- not even when they made you go to the doctor. With them it’s like even if they’re asking you to do something you’d rather not, you know they have your best interest at heart.

And you had to go and ruin it with your stubbornness.

The smoke detector goes off right as you walk in. Clarke swears -- something she never does (at least not in front of you) -- and rushes to the stove.

“Lex, will you take out the batteries?” she calls over her shoulder.

Lexa’s rushing footsteps sound on the stairs as Clarke tosses a pan into the sink, and your brain starts to feel scrambled again. You cover your ears with your hands and stomp over to your seat at the kitchen table, not caring that you’re tracking snow across the tiles.

When the alarm finally stops you slouch against the chair, pressing the heels of your palms to your eyes.

You hear Lexa walk into the kitchen. She doesn’t say a word but you can imagine her taking in the scene -- you sulking at the table, Clarke frazzled by the stove. Her eyes would find Clarke’s, like they always do, and Clarke would just shrug, maybe shake her head.

Clarke sighs, as if on cue. Curiosity gets the best of you and you open your eyes.

Lexa’s standing by the fridge, looking between the two of you. Clarke glances up at the ceiling and takes a steadying breath before turning her gaze on you.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

It’s the last thing you were expecting. In a way it stings more than any cruel words that have ever been lobbed at you. Because of you there are goosebumps on Clarke’s arms, dinner is a burnt mess in the sink, and there are dingy boot prints tracked across the floor.

All of that, and she’s worried about you.

You bite your wobbly bottom lip and nod. Clarke looks you over as if to make sure, then turns away, running a hand through her hair.

“Did you hear me calling you?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Why didn’t you answer?” Her voice sounds strained -- like it’s taking all her effort to keep it even.

All of the reasons feel so far away now. You shrug. “I’m having a bad day.”

Clarke looks over to Lexa with a stitch between her brows. “The chicken’s burnt.”

When Lexa crosses the distance between them and places a comforting hand on Clarke’s back, it’s like you can actually see how much stronger they are together. They’re a unit, through and through. And for the first time you feel like you’re on the outside of it.

“Why don’t we take a breather,” Lexa says. “Eleven, please change into your pajamas and come back downstairs. I’ll whip up something else for dinner and we’ll discuss this when it’s done.”

You slip off your boots and place them where they’re supposed to go, on the rug by the kitchen door. That’s when you notice a new pair of sparkly gold tights -- identical to the ones Waffles ripped -- sitting in a shopping bag on the counter. Lexa must have bought them for you at the store.

You walk upstairs with your head hanging. You change into your PJs and try not to think about how Lexa’s voice sounded when she called you by your full name.

When you’re done you sit at the top of the stairs and listen to them moving about in the kitchen. Every so often they exchange a few hushed words, but mostly you hear the sounds of cooking. You cringe when someone drops a lid onto a pot and you’re reminded of why your bad mood escalated.

Now you understand what Mike meant when he said you needed to learn how to get out of your own way.

So you pad downstairs and decide that’s exactly what you’ll do.

“I got upset when Waffles ripped my tights,” you blurt before you even cross the threshold to the kitchen. “Then it was really noisy in the house, and sometimes noise bothers me a lot. I went outside to calm down and couldn’t make a snowman on my own, so I stomped on it. Building the igloo with Maya helped me calm down, so when Ma said it was time for dinner I ignored her because I was happy outside.”

You take a deep breath and venture a glance at your moms. Any other time you would laugh -- they’re standing there frozen, Lexa mid-stir at the stove and Clarke partway through setting the table. Lexa nods at you, and you find the strength to continue.

“I should have just told you how I was feeling,” you say. “And I should have listened when you called. I’m sorry. I understand if you have to punish me.”

Clarke flinches at that last part. She crosses to where you’re standing and pulls you into a tight hug.

“Apology accepted,” she says. “And no one’s punishing anyone. This is a learning opportunity, okay?” She steps back and takes your face in her hands, and you nod as best you can. “Good. Let’s talk it out over mac and cheese.”

Your nerves settle as you help Clarke finish setting the table. Lexa squeezes your shoulder when you pass her to get the napkins, and you don’t feel outside of them anymore.

“So, El, let’s discuss what we could have done differently today,” Lexa says, scooping macaroni into your bowl. She sounds kinda awkward, like she’s reading from a script, but she’s calling you El again so you don’t mind.

“I’ll start,” she says. “We should’ve been more mindful of how loud we were. We know that bothers you sometimes, and should have been more aware.”

“Especially me,” Clarke says, smiling at you. “Octavia always said I should come with a mute button.”

You surprise yourself when you laugh, and Clarke and Lexa chuckle, too. Lexa takes her seat, having filled everyone’s bowls, and they both dig in. You push your noodles around with your fork, appreciating the time they’re giving you to gather your thoughts.

“I should have told you that I needed to be somewhere quiet,” you say after a moment. “Maybe I could have gone to visit Mrs. Mitchell.”

“Going outside was a good idea,” Lexa offers. “It’s just too bad you had trouble with the snowman. I would’ve helped.”

“I know.” Your chin drifts toward your chest as you remember Lexa looking at you and your failed snowman from the walkway. You should’ve spoken up then.

“Hey,” Clarke says, and you snap out of it. “Learning opportunity, remember? You’re not in trouble.”

Your eyes well up with hot, fat tears. “I should be,” you whisper. “I wasn’t good.”

Clarke puts her fork down and reaches across the table to cover your hand with hers.

“No one can be good all the time, kiddo. But you always try your best, and that’s why we love you.”

You glance between her and Lexa, fighting the quiver in your bottom lip. You think of over-inflated balloons and Dr. Kapoor’s advice.

“What would make you stop?” you ask.

Clarke’s brow furrows. “Stop what?”

Instead of answering you turn to Lexa, and you can see that she understands. She swallows thickly before she speaks. “What would make us stop loving her.”

Clarke’s jaw falls open as you nod in confirmation. She closes her eyes for three long seconds. When she opens them she crosses her arms and leans back in her chair, arching an eyebrow at you.

“Try us,” she says.

Lexa smiles at her in that way she does sometimes, like she could just melt, and you giggle around the lump in your throat.

“What if I punch Jimmy again?”

“Been there, still love you,” Clarke says.

“If I get kicked out of school?”

Lexa grins. “Wouldn’t even make a dent in how much we love you.”

“What if I run away?”

“We’d track you down.” Clarke squeezes your hand. “We’d go to the ends of the Earth.”

“And we’d love you even then,” Lexa says.

You push your chair away from the table so abruptly they startle, but they’re both standing by the time you make it around to them. You take their hands and look into their faces for a moment. They’re closer to you than they used to be -- you’ve grown over an inch in the time you’ve been here. It’s as if their love is nourishing your body as well as your soul.

“I don’t deserve you,” you say quietly. It’s a thought that’s been running through your mind since your first day here, and it’s a relief to finally say it.

Clarke bends and presses her forehead to yours.

“You’re wrong.”

You shake your head against hers, the tears you’ve been holding back all day finally streaming down your cheeks.

“I’m not,” you choke out. “My mom didn’t want me. My dad hated me. And to all my other foster parents I was just a bother.”

“They were wrong, too,” Lexa says, voice thick with emotion. “All of them. God, If I ever see any of th-”

Clarke shushes her and presses a kiss to her temple. You smooth your thumb over Lexa’s knuckles and watch as Clarke’s touch eases the tension in her jaw.

“I think we should give Eleven one of her presents early,” Clarke says softly.

Lexa’s eyes widen. She looks down at you, then back at Clarke, and nods, like she’s found the answer in your faces. She reaches up to swipe her thumb over Clarke’s cheek and, you can’t be sure, but you think she’s wiping away a tear.

***

You leave the three bowls of barely touched mac and cheese on the kitchen table and relocate to the living room. Lexa turns on the lamp next to the couch but leaves the overhead light off, so the only other source of illumination is the multi-colored lights strung around the Christmas tree.

Clarke grabs a neatly wrapped, rectangular present from beneath the tree and the three of you snuggle in on the sofa with you in the middle. Waffles trots in and bats at a few of the low-hanging ornaments until you tell him off. Instead of running away to sulk like he normally does when scolded he curls up on the armchair, purring and looking at the three of you.

You hope he knows nothing he does would make you stop loving him.

Beside you, Clarke takes a deep breath and you feel Lexa’s arm reach behind you to cup the back of her neck.

Suddenly you feel nervous.

Abby told you that their family tradition was to open presents to each other on Christmas Eve so that Christmas Day would be all about gifts from Santa. You and Lexa had liked the sound of that, and the three of you decided to carry on the Griffin family tradition.

And Christmas Eve is tomorrow night. What could be so important that it can’t wait?

Clarke places the gift in your lap and for a fleeting moment you wonder if it’s a pet -- maybe another kitten -- that would be hungry if it stayed wrapped for that long. You feel silly for even thinking it when you realize the gift is too small, not to mention that Clarke and Lexa wouldn’t do that to an animal.

“So, we were…” Clarke starts, but her voice cracks and she stops.

Lexa reaches across you and takes Clarke’s hand, squeezing so hard their knuckles turn white. It reminds you of the time the social worker came to your house after the incident with Jimmy -- when you saw them holding hands under the kitchen table -- and your stomach lurches.

What if the gift’s something bad, and they’re using Christmas to soften the blow? You trace the edges of the present with your fingers. It’s about the size of a book, shallow with sharp corners.

It could be a picture frame. Something to remember them by.

You’re trembling when you take their joint hands and place them on your knees. Everything inside of you wants to stay silent, but if you learned anything today it’s that nothing good comes of keeping things bottled up.

“I’m scared,” you say.

“Oh shoot, sorry,” Clarke says, voice still wobbly. She kisses the top of your head and you relax a bit.

“We’re just excited,” Lexa says. “We were going to save this for tomorrow night, but after today we didn’t want to wait.”

You frown, keeping your eyes on the elves dancing across the wrapping paper. After today? The first day you ever did anything to upset them? As far as you’re concerned your moms promising they’ll always love you -- no matter what -- is the biggest gift you’ll ever receive in your whole life.

All that, and they want to give you even more?

“Whenever you’re ready,” Clarke says.

You don’t think you’ll ever be ready, but you don’t want to keep them waiting, so you flip the present over to get at the tape. You unwrap it carefully, like you do with wrapping paper you want to save. In this case it’s not necessary -- there are loads of other gifts wrapped in the same paper under the tree -- but the movements are calming, and it feels like a ritual.

(You work a little faster when Clarke starts to bounce her leg.)

Once you slip the paper off, your first feeling is relief that it’s not a picture frame.

It’s a sketchbook. Similar to the ones you and Clarke use, but fancier. This one is white, hardbound, and covered in a clear plastic sleeve, like a library book.

“Psst, it’s backwards,” Lexa says, and you realize the binding is on the right.

You flip it around.

You’re such a weird mix of anxious and excited that when you finally lay eyes on the front cover it’s hard to take in. It’s a drawing by Clarke -- that much you’re sure. But you can’t discern what the subject is.

Everything is in fragments.

Your walkie-talkie is near the center. The frilly hem of a pink dress is off to the right. The tips of your yellow keds are peeking out from the bottom left corner, with a few glittery barrettes scattered above them. And a furry black tail hangs down from the top.

You cover your mouth when it hits you -- it looks like the floor of your bedroom before you’ve tidied up.

Now that you’ve worked that out you notice the writing, done in Lexa’s neat script.

“The Story of Us,” it reads in large block letters. Then, in smaller writing below it, “by your Mum and Mama.”

Clarke and Lexa are practically sitting on the edge of the cushion, so you lean back to look at both of them, grinning so wide you can hardly stand it.

“You… you made me a book?”

“That we did,” Clarke says.

“Want to read it now?” Lexa asks with so much hope in her eyes you can’t imagine saying no.

Not that you’d want to. You can’t believe they made you something. No one has ever done that for you. Well, aside from Mike, but that was only because he couldn’t afford to buy anything. You run your fingers over the plastic protecting the drawing and imagine them working on this after you were in bed. If it’s possible, you smile even harder.

“Of course,” you say, flipping to the first page. There’s a drawing on this one, too, but you focus on the text.

Once upon a time two girls named Clarke and Lexa met on a kickball field. They immediately became sworn enemies… until they fell in love.

You try to smother a giggle as you take in the illustration. It’s in panels -- like a comic book -- showing Lexa hitting Clarke with a kickball, Clarke hitting her back, and the two of them sitting side-by-side in a dorm room with little cartoon hearts floating above their heads.

Your moms scoot in closer as you turn the page.

After they graduated from college, they moved into the smallest apartment in existence. But they had each other and were very happy. Then, one day Lexa told Clarke the one thing that would make her even happier.

You lean into Lexa’s side as you take in the drawing on this page. It shows a little room that has a bed, sofa, and kitchen inside of it, which seems very silly. Your moms are lounging in the bed, smiling at each other and covered to their chins with a fluffy white duvet.

A little word bubble above Lexa says, “I want to be a foster mom…”

For some reason goosebumps sprout on your arms. You turn your head to kiss Lexa’s shoulder before flipping to the next page.

They knew they couldn’t raise a child in their tiny apartment, so they started saving as much money as they could. It took them several years, but one day they were able to buy a little blue house, right down the street from a lake.

They were finally ready.

This illustration, of course, is of the house you’re in now. Clarke’s mowing the lawn and Lexa’s planting rose bushes by the front door. (You’d just assumed they’ve always been there.)

Your heart beats a little faster as you turn to the next page, because you know what’s coming.

Not long later, a little girl in a pink dress stepped out of a social worker’s car. She had short hair and a sweet smile. Her name was Eleven.

Here Clarke has drawn a portrait of you. Well, a version of you -- the you who was trying so very hard not to get her hopes up. You’d felt sorta miserable, back then, but you wouldn’t know it from Clarke’s depiction. Your hair is short and you’re wearing that itchy pink dress, but Clarke has somehow made you look beautiful.

You want to thank her, but you’re worried if you look at her you’ll start crying, so you settle for resting your head on her shoulder. Slowly, you turn the page.

It didn’t take long to see that Eleven fit right in with Clarke and Lexa. She was smart and kind and had a talent for art. She loved to eat waffles and wear pretty dresses.

She was even a hit with animals -- one day a kitten followed her home and decided to stay. And Clarke and Lexa’s little family grew a bit bigger.

This drawing looks just like a photo you took on Clarke’s phone a couple days after Waffles followed you home. He’s sitting on the tiled floor in the kitchen, licking his left paw. The bottoms of Clarke and Lexa’s legs are out of focus in the background. You can’t tell in the photo, or the drawing, but you remember that their arms were around each other.

The next few pages show the three of you growing together. It’s so fun to see Clarke’s depictions of some of your favorite times as a family -- trick-or-treating and dancing at Lincoln and Octavia’s wedding and spending lazy mornings cuddling in bed.

Every couple of pages you have to stop and pretend you’re taking in the illustration as you try to wrangle your emotions. You’re just so utterly touched. You’ve known your life with your moms has been all kinds of wonderful, but now that they’ve turned it into something tangible it feels unbearably precious. It’s like their present isn’t a book -- it’s your time with them.

You flip to one of the last pages when Clarke stiffens beside you and Lexa takes in a sharp breath.

You see, Eleven made Clarke and Lexa’s lives brighter than they could have ever imagined. They wished it hadn’t taken them so long to find her, but they’re so glad that they did.

And now it’s time for them to live happily ever after…

The next page has no words -- just a family portrait. And you can tell Clarke spent a lot of time on it. The three of you are standing together with you in the middle. Your arms are looped around each other and Waffles sits at your feet.

But this picture is different from the others. Your hair is long -- down past your shoulders -- and you’re as tall as Clarke. When you look closely, you see that there are wrinkles beside Clarke’s eyes and streaks of gray in Lexa’s hair. Even Waffles looks older.

You hold your breath as you turn to the last page.

This one is the opposite of the last. It has no drawing -- only words.

At first you feel nothing. Or maybe you’re in shock.

You read them again and your skin flashes hot, then cold. Comforting arms wrap around you and you’re grateful, because you’re starting to feel dizzy.

You’re breathing really heavily, like you’ve been running laps, but you make yourself read the page one more time because it doesn’t seem real.

It can’t be. It’s too much to hope for.

El, we love you more than you will ever know. And we want you in our family forever.

Can we adopt you?

Your world narrows to a pinpoint, and then it’s blown wide. You cover your face with your hands, but the book in your lap teeters and you rush to catch it.

“Shh, it’s okay, kiddo, just breathe,” Clarke says, rubbing your back.

You look up at her through bleary eyes, confused until you take in a shallow, shuddering breath and your whole body trembles with it. It takes a few tries for you to get the words out, but you have to ask.

“Really?”

Lexa kisses your cheek, then your temple. It sounds like she’s crying, too.

“Really,” she says.

Clarke sniffles and clears her throat. “Only if you want,” she says. “If you’re ready.”

You burst into tears again, not that you ever really stopped.

They want you.

They want you forever.

All you can do is nod, and for the first time it’s not because words escape you. There’s so much you want to say -- so much you want to tell them -- that your brain can’t decide what gets priority.

Your moms hug you from both sides and the three of you collapse against the back of the couch in a soggy, happy heap. The first words that find their way out of your mouth are soft and sure.

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

#clexa #clexa fic #clexa eleven au #i wrote this #eeeeeeek i'm kinda nervous to actually post this #it fills a few prompts #one of which would be a big spoiler so you'll have to read to find out which :D #lmk what you think fronds

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