#and for some reason i found their heights so much more difficult to wrangle than femroes?? i dont get it??

[elliewiltarwyn]

A Specialized Problem (OC Swap Gift for @mythandral)

for the FFXIV OC Swap discord's current swap, my giftee is the incomparable @mythandral! Coming in a little under the wire here cause the deadline is on Sunday ghasldkfjkasd BUT I'm really glad I finally sat myself down and devoted the energy to exploring Myth's whole deal because it's all so cool and fascinating and he's a wonderful character, and I hope this gift lives up to those standards!!

I present a 2,321-word fluffy MythXStephanivien fic illustrated with gposes from Steph's POV centered around Myth. I offered either gposes or fic writing, and then hubristically decided I could do both. >.> also there was technically a theme for the swap but thankfully they were optional because I completely forgot sdghalshgf however I suppose you could say this is adjacent to the Valentione's/Love option?? it is goddamn cotton-candy levels of fluff at least lol

ANYWAY WITHOUT FURTHER ADO hope you all and Myth in particular enjoy!!

It was well after the end of the workday, with the gray Coerthan clouds beginning to tint orange and the sun beginning to aim its reach through the still-open doors of the manufactory, and Myth had yet to move an ilm from his spot.

This in and of itself wasn’t terribly surprising; Stephanivien was used to his husband’s tendency to focus on his projects to the exclusion of most else. It was a method of increasing his productivity and a process of healing both for him, allowing him to turn his anxieties into progress on any number of little projects that had fallen by the wayside in the manufactory’s assembly line, but ones that would be of immense benefit to unfortunate folk from the slowly-ascending peasants of the Brume to the steadily-recovering citizens of Garlemald. Even if it were for no benefit but his own, Stephanivien would never begrudge him these times to himself; Fury knows he could use some of those moments, butting heads with his lord father and Tedalgrinche and other such doubters all day as he does. Albeit less so these days.

No, Stephanivien’s concern was more prosaic: typically, Myth’s personal space in these times was active and bright, delighting in the sounds of his tools tinkering with his project, examining it from every angle and frequently ducking his head and craning his neck into unusual positions to do so, not to mention how he would gladly explicate upon his process to any who asked, especially if they were new hires of the manufactory who were like to stand there in awe of the Warrior of Light more than actually listen to a word he was saying. Quite frankly, Myth was a delight when he was in these moods.

Today, it had been anything but: Mythandral Raas, beloved senior engineer of Skysteel Manufactory, husband of its proprietor, and Warrior of Light, had spent near the full afternoon gazing blankly at the device in pieces before him on the table — his own aetherometer. His elbows had rested on the table for what seemed to be several bells, his hands clasped across the bridge of his nose as his burnished golden eyes, the color of the sun hiding behind the overcast sky, traced the span of gears, nuts, bolts and wires sprawled across his workspace. Most disturbingly, he had paid no heed to any who tried to draw his attention — not that anyone pressed particularly far, fearful as they were of disturbing such a notable figure of renown, no matter how open-minded and approachable Myth presented himself.

‘Twas quite strange for Myth, but Stephanivien had some ideas percolating in his overactive mind — both as to the cause and as to possible solutions.

And so as the day wound down and countless employees and guild trainees trickled out the door, each bidding both proprietor and Warrior of Light good night, Stephanivien pretended to busy himself with a pile of messy letters that a Haillenarte manservant had delivered earlier that day, flipping and reading through the same three or four until activity in the manufactory died down, until all that could be heard was the sound of steam rushing through pipes and small hisses of exhaust — the murmurs, chatter, and laughter of his employees finally absent. Even now, Myth continued to regard his aetherometer sternly, attempting to solve a puzzle that, Stephanivien admitted, could stump even himself.

Once he had judged it to be likely they truly were the last in the manufactory, Stephanivien raised his voice slightly to note, “Stare any harder, my dear, and you’re like to burn a hole straight through the thing.”

Finally, for the first time in several hours, Myth’s head rose from its downturned angle. Smirking to himself, Stephanivien balled up the letters in his hand, tossed them over his shoulder into the wastebasket, and slipped out from behind the desk to make for his partner’s side. As his boots clacked across the wooden floor, Myth’s head slowly craned around to gaze up at him over his shoulder, blinking fairly irregularly and furrowing his brow as if he had just awoken from deep slumber. “Of course, if doing so would solve your seemingly impenetrable dilemma, then I wholeheartedly encourage it by all means.” Stephanivien winked. “As I always encourage exploring such unorthodox methods.”

“Unfortunately, this is a matter that requires a delicate approach,” Myth demurred as the corner of his lips tugged upwards slightly. “I won’t deny I’ve been quite tempted to incinerate the blasted thing a number of times, though.”

“’Twould certainly eradicate the problem in one sense.” Now by his side, Stephanivien reached over and laid a gentle hand on his partner’s shoulder while extending the other around in front; Myth took the hint and reached up to clasp it, each machinist curling their fingers around each other’s thick padded gloves. “Shall I take a look? Fresh perspectives oft bear unforeseen solutions, as you well know.”

Myth sighed. “You’re welcome to, I suppose, but I fear this is a particularly specialized problem. It involves…well.” He chuckled, sat up a little, and wryly rapped his knuckles against his own chest; Stephanivien knew very well the “problem” laying beneath Myth’s perfectly-tailored, shockingly-clean-for-a-Skysteel-engineer shirt. “My stint with the Light is largely resolved, but I am still particularly susceptible to fluctuations in my aether, particularly when I’m doing something aether-intensive; when I accrue a surfeit, the probability that the aetherometer will jam rises — the lightning-aspected aether it is supposed to draw becomes imbalanced toward the umbral.” With his free hand, he reached for a small wrench that laid on the table next to the meter, flipped it into his fingers with all the dexterity of a Lominsan rogue with their knives, and drummed it along the length of an internal piece of the meter’s machinery. “I am trying to figure out how to filter Light aether and restore the lightning’s astral balance, in essence.”

Stephanivien frowned. “That is quite the conundrum — after all, if it were possible before…”

“…I would likely have had a much easier time in the First, yes,” Myth mused with a grim chuckle.

“That aether fluctuations could cause errors with the extraction is a possibility I ought to have considered. It pains me to know my oversight has been causing you grief.”

“Come now, there’s no way you could have possibly known ‘twould be an issue when you invented this,” Myth immediately interjected, shaking his head up at his husband with a mischievous grin. “Frankly, had you, it would have raised serious questions about your choice of occupation. You could make a killing with that sort of precognition.”

Stephanivien submitted to a chuckle himself as he squeezed his husband’s hand and shoulder both. “You say that, and yet I am not unaware of the skeptical glares everyone still gives my prospectometer.” Myth stifled a laugh with his other hand, a sound Stephanivien had not heard all day and had sorely missed. “At any rate, mayhap we should step away from the problem for a time? Even your genius mind cannot carry on forever without rest and recuperation.” That being said, Stephanivien’s insides churned, as he knew quite well why Myth had been focusing so intently on solving this particular puzzle. From the tales he had heard, from what he had seen cross his husband’s torso, the Light had done quite a number on him, to put it far too lightly…

Thankfully, Myth’s response to the proposition was to sigh, lean his head against Stephanivien’s hand, and murmur, “Perhaps you have a point.” He groaned and stretched his other arm and both legs outward, rotating his wrist and feet as he stretched his neck to one side, then the other. There was a grimace on his face when he muttered, “I definitely should not have sat here all day. Have you aught in mind for an alternate activity?”

“‘Activity’ should not be a factor in the equation, my dear…” Stephanivien trailed off as his gaze tracked towards the chronometer sitting on the manufactory’s front desk. The specific time that it was currently displaying suddenly ignited the spark of an idea in his mind, and he grinned. “Though I do believe I’ve thought of something. Here — follow me.”

Myth’s brow furrowed in confusion, but he allowed Stephanivien to pull him to his feet and start to make for the stairs hand-in-hand. Stephanivien’s heart beat faster and faster in his breast as they climbed those stairs to the manufactory’s upper story, crossing the landing until they reached one of the doors on the far side with a ‘No Entry’ placard hanging off the handles; Stephanivien carelessly yanked it off and pulled Myth through, crossing into a poorly-lit corridor.

“Hm.” Even in the darkness, Stephanivien was well aware of the arched eyebrow upon his husband’s face. “I can’t say I’ve ever been down this way.”

“You did not think the ‘No Entry’ was a physical barrier, surely?”

“You never know.”

Stephanivien laughed gaily as they began to climb another set of stairs. After all his worrying, all Myth’s trials, he could not well describe the extent to which he was walking on clouds hearing his partner’s sense of humor return to prominence.

There wasn’t much further banter as the two ascended the stairs to an extent much further than Stephanivien was sure Myth expected, distracted as they were with the effort and the numbered floors counting off in Stephanivien’s mind. Once they reached the fifth landing, he diverted off the steps onto it and led Myth down another few dark corridors, eventually reaching one sitting unremarkedly at the far end.

“You may want to cover your eyes for a moment,” Stephanivien warned with a cheeky grin; Myth looked confused still, but obliged, lowering his goggles and shading them with his hand. Holding his breath in anticipation, Stephanivien yanked the door open and pulled Myth through.

The moment the sun fell across Myth’s face, it rose in shock, his lips slightly parted as it literally dawned on him what was happening. “Wait, but…”

Stephanivien couldn’t help a satisfied smirk as he gently coaxed his partner forward, stepping onto a surprisingly wide stone landing and making for its edge. “Ishgard has a reputation for dreariness that is not wholly unearned,” he said matter-of-factly, “but there are certain places that are adept at reminding me ‘twas not always a cold and biting clime.”

“Right here at the manufactory?” Myth replied in awe; having apparently gotten used to it now, he pushes his goggles back up onto his forehead and lowers his hand, his golden eyes sweeping back and forth, taking in the vista before them.

“‘Tis not particularly known, and I am ill-inclined to reveal it to most. But of course, I will make certain exceptions.” Stephanivien beams at Myth as they reach the edge and draw to a standstill, relishing the way the widening of his partner’s eyes gave him premium access to the view of their golden pupils, now soaking in not just the scenic view of the ridges of Abalathia’s Spine but the way the sun perfectly sat at the apex of one of the gaps between the Pillars for which the district was so named.

A hesitance struck Stephanivien at that moment, the potential pitfalls of his devious plan now catching up with his overactive mind. After all, if Light was the source of such woe for him… But he remained resolute as he gestured at the vista, lingering in particular on the rays of the sun, so strong with such defined shapes that he swore he could reach out and pluck them from the frigid air. “The sun travels over Coerthas as normal, of course — but it never nestles into what I would declare its proper spot aside from this particular time of day, in this particular season.”

He exhaled a visible puff of air and put his hand on his hip, the other now tightly beginning to curl into Myth’s. “From this spot,” he began quietly, “I can remember easier that we are not so isolated here in Ishgard — that the warm touch of the sun can reach even us.” His gaze flicked up to Myth’s eyes again, meeting them as Myth turned to stare at him. “Both that we need not suffer our trials alone… and that ‘tis still possible to partake of that which is comforting about the light.”

Myth’s other hand, on apparent instinct, rose up and placed itself directly upon his chest, over the precise centerpoint where Stephanivien knew the scars laid. “Steph,” he breathed, “you…”

Stephanivien chewed his lip anxiously, the nerves beginning to rise to a fever pitch as he suddenly found himself unable to read his husband’s expression. “I apologize profusely if I’ve given any offense,” he murmurs, averting his gaze, “I merely thought—”

A leather glove wraps around his hip and pulls him in to share a deep kiss with Myth, one which he enthusiastically reciprocates, reaching up to cup his partner’s cheek and move in for a more comfortable position, a warm position, here in the arms of Mythandral Raas.

“You are,” Myth breathed between kisses, “as always, a genius, and have the answer to everything.” They pulled apart slightly, just enough to rest their foreheads against each other; Stephanivien stifled a chuckle as their goggles clacked awkwardly against each other. “Thank you, my love.”

Stephanivien grinned. “I’m overjoyed to have helped.” They kissed again, and Stephanivien began to tangle his fingers in the lengths of Myth’s luxurious hair. “If you like,” he whispered somewhat mischievously, “I can steal down briefly for some of the ale stores? I’ve found it goes quite well with the view.”

“Oh, on any other day, I would gladly,” Myth replied, pulling back and grinning at his husband. “But tonight, I think I would keep my mind clear. I’ve just had a flash of inspiration about my problem, after all.”

[thisbrokenmask]

Thank God For Haunted Houses

pairing: female reader x jung hoseok

genre: fluff, romance, humour, best friends au, friends to lovers

word count: 5,219

rating: PG i think? there’s kissing but that’s about it

warnings: none, really, very brief mentions of the experience of a haunted house attraction

summary: you’ve had a crush on Hobi for a while but you never expected him to return your feelings. so, when your friends make it so that the two of you have to spend some time together, you’re not quite sure where the night will lead you... 

a/n: hey look it’s me again! seems like I can’t stop writing these @btsholidaybingo​ prompts and I’m not sad about that at all. I’m quite enjoying having lots of ideas and being able to write them, too! today’s offering is a request from my best friend, who loves the idea of hobi venturing into a haunted house in order to please the girl he likes. so, here you go!

evidently, this fills my ‘Haunted House’ prompt ☆★

The rich smell of buttered popcorn and sugared doughnuts fresh from the fryer sits heavy in the air, so strong that you can taste them with every breath you take. Neon lights whizz and whirl against the dark blanket of the night sky above you while the bells, whistles and heavy beats of EDM music rings out from all of the rides around you. 

Your adrenaline levels are still soaring high as you come bounding down the steps, fresh off of the pirate ship with Jungkook and Jin’s laughter following close behind you. You spot the rest of your group and bound over to them, dodging and ducking through the crowds despite Jin’s cries to wait for him and Jungkook. You spy your bag still over the same shoulder that was offered to you ten minutes earlier, before you dragged Jin and Jungkook onto your third go on your favourite ride of the night. They were the only two still willing to ride it again, the rest of the group having their various excuses. Yoongi and Hoseok especially had eyed the swinging boat incredibly skeptically, neither of them climbing aboard for even one of your multiple goes on the ride tonight, offering to look after the bags instead. Which was exactly the reason you would give for you making a beeline straight towards the latter of your friends. 

“That was amazing!” you cheer as you fling your arms around Hoseok’s shoulders, your own bag knocking into your leg from where it hangs off of Hoseok’s shoulder. Your smaller height makes him stagger slightly as you beam over his shoulder to the rest of the group, but he quickly balances himself without letting you stumble even once. His left arm is closest to you and he reaches it across your front to curl around your waist, a toxic-looking blue slushie held in his right hand. You know it’s simply meant to help steady you but you can’t help the flutter that erupts in your chest at his touch, your still-rapid heart rate no longer anything to do with sitting at the very end of the pirate ship in order to experience the highest rise. 

“Have fun?” Hoseok chuckles as he smiles at you over his shoulder, looking at you out of the corner of his eyes rather than turning his face towards you; you’d be nose to nose if he did, and you’re both perfectly aware of that. Swallowing the slight disappointment at Hoseok once again choosing the option that doesn’t bring his lips closer to yours, you let your arms slide from his shoulder to wrap around his arm instead, holding the limb close like a favourite teddy bear. You nod eagerly, though, pushing your smile wider as you answer him. 

“Yeah! Would be much more fun with you, though, oppa.” You pout, reminding him of all of his vehement refusals to get on nearly any ride so far this evening, but he playfully rolls his eyes instead as he shakes his head. 

“I don’t know how you ride that thing, let alone come off it looking so damn happy,” Yoongi mumbles from the other side of Hoseok, his dismissive, faux-uninterested tone one that only makes you grin even wider. 

“I bet it’s not the only thing she enjoys riding so much,” Jungkook cuts off your response, teasing you in a low tone as he and Jin finally catch up, joining the circle. Jungkook puts his arm across your shoulder, his large hand gripping you and pulling you close, leading you to unintentionally let go of Hoseok’s arm. 

As you turn to push Jungkook off by pressing your hands against his chest, you miss the way Hoseok’s gaze drops to the floor and a small frown creases his brow for just a moment. If you’d asked, he would have told you he was simply speculating Yoongi’s comment, wondering how you could in fact ride something like the huge pirate ship behind him and not faint from dizziness. He wouldn’t tell you he was finding it more and more difficult to see you and Jungkook becoming so close, even though your closeness in age made it logical that you two would get along. He wouldn’t say how he felt a spike of jealousy in his heart whenever Jungkook made inappropriate jokes with you, wondering whether you two were secretly more than friends.  

Jin rolls his eyes at the youngest but fails to hide the smirk on his lips, the incredibly relaxed atmosphere of the evening so far letting him put down some of his usual walls without concern.  

“So, where next?” the eldest asks as he accepts a sip from the drink Jimin offers him, a bright red yet slightly melted match to Hoseok’s. The question prompts as many different responses as there are people, everyone talking at the same time until Jin calls a hush over all of you with another roll of his eyes. 

Jimin wrangles Jungkook into agreeing to join him on the waltzers, the two of them having quickly found out the ride operators are willing to spin their car incredibly fast and challenging each other to see who can last the longest. 

Yoongi bemoans the fact that his hyung still hasn’t taken him up on his challenge to any of the fair games so far, yet shrugs when Jin asks if he’s ready to eat his words on any game of his choice. 

Taehyung anxiously fiddles with the camera hanging from his neck, saying he wants to wander round and see if he can get any good pictures that capture the night’s atmosphere. Namjoon offers to accompany him, announcing his feeling that there are some lyrics to be found if he walks around long enough, his phone already open on a half-written notes page. 

“What about you, Hobi-hyung?” you almost scowl at the mischievous smile on Jungkook’s lips, painfully aware of the fact that you’d trusted the maknae enough to tell him of your crush on Hobi now that it’s only the two of you left. As you look around the group, in fact, you realise everyone is watching the two of you a little too closely for friends simply deciding their next steps. You don’t hold back your glare this time as you round on Jungkook, and he has the decency to blush as he realises you now know he’s let your secret slip.

“Er, I don’t know, actually,” Hobi frowns as he mulls the question over, glancing around at all the stalls surrounding you. “What do you wanna do?” he asks, turning to you with a smile, your bag bumping against his hip as he still has it slung over his shoulder. 

“Me?” you blink, surprised he’s asking you when he knows you both sit on opposite ends of the spectrum when it comes to rides and rollercoasters. You can’t deny the rush of joy, however, at the prospect that he’s choosing to spend the next portion of his evening with you. 

“Well, everyone else already has plans,” he jokes, but you feel your bubble burst at the realisation he’s only asking because he’s been left with you. Everyone else has paired up; why else would you two?

You try not to let your disappointment show, instead answering him with a simple shrug. “I don’t mind.” Hobi frowns, concerned about your sudden dip in enthusiasm. He knows you love fairs and theme parks, practically anything that could give you an adrenaline rush; another reason why he assumes you and Jungkook would make an annoyingly good match. He always worries that you find him boring or childish for not wanting to go on the rides, yet he comes along anyway purely to see you in your element. Seeing you deflate so suddenly makes him want to do whatever he can to cheer you up, even briefly considering going on the pirate ship for the first time in years just to see you smile again. “Why don’t we just walk around?” you suddenly suggest, a small smile on your lips instead as you reach out to take your bag back from his shoulder. “See if anything jumps out at us?” 

“Hopefully not literally,” he mumbles and you laugh, pulling your hair out of the way as you drop your bag onto your own shoulder. 

“Right, meet back up in half an hour, then?” Jimin and Jungkook barely acknowledge Namjoon’s question before running off, already teasing each other about who will feel sick first and announcing what they want from the other if they win. Taehyung is still adjusting his camera settings as he starts walking in seemingly any direction that takes his fancy, Namjoon quickly throwing an arm around his shoulder to guide him through the bustling crowds. 

“Which way are you guys headed?” Yoongi asks while Jin is already eyeing up a few of the nearby game stalls he believes he has a decent chance of winning. Yoongi’s cat-like eyes are watching you intently from where they’re nearly hidden under the black beanie he’s wearing, and you can’t help but feel like he’s almost daring you to follow him and ignore the chance to be alone with Hobi. His eyes briefly shift to glance over your shoulder towards a part of the fair you know you haven’t really explored yet, and you can’t help but smile at his subtle way of trying to help. 

“Why don’t we explore a bit that way?” you ask Hobi, pointing towards the unexplored area, and Hobi easily agrees with a smile as he takes another sip of his drink. “We’ll see you guys later, then?” Jin nods with a wave before rapidly telling Yoongi which game he wants to try first, the younger silently following his hyung without a question. 

It feels a little bit awkward at first, given that you and Hobi haven’t often spent much time together just the two of you, but the further you walk, the more at ease you begin to feel. You walk closely together, your arms brushing against each other every now and again and you silently curse Hobi for keeping his hand closest to you in his pocket. Part of you likes to think you’d be bold enough to try taking his hand as you walked, even getting ready with the excuse that it would stop you from getting parted in the crowds. But instead his hand sits snugly in his pocket and you fiddle with the strap of your bag as you walk instead. Still, you enjoy sharing Hobi’s drink, passing it between you every few sips, and even stop to watch a few people attempt to win at some of the games you come across. 

There aren’t many rides in this part of the fair, mainly stalls for games, food, and even some small independent businesses selling handmade jewellery, some of which catches your eye. You hesitate over a beautifully intricate bracelet, a small silver chain with alternating purple and black gems hanging from it, but you end up walking away with the decision that you’ll come back when it’s time to meet back up with your group. 

At one point you stand beside Hobi and watch from a distance as several overconfident guys slowly drain their pockets at a tin can shooting game, each of you taking bets at how many times each guy will slam more money on the table before he walks away. Hobi boldly assumes they must all be single and you immediately question his claims, to which he simply responds that if he’d seen something he’d wanted for his imaginary girlfriend, he’d keep going until he ran out of money. You tell him you’d be annoyed if your imaginary boyfriend did that, as you’d rather he spent his money on something you’d shown interest in rather than boosting his own ego for something you didn’t particularly care for. You eventually wander off after a large group blocks your view of the game, Hobi quietly following behind you a few seconds later. When you take a glance at him, he looks thoughtful, but you’re distracted by a group of kids running past before you can question him. 

It’s only when you find yourself in a small clearing that you realise you’re on your own. You figure you must have accidentally separated from Hobi at some point during your browsing, which would have been easy enough given how many people were wandering around between the stalls. When you can’t spot him after a minute or two, however, you start to panic, especially considering the fact he’s in a bright yellow hoodie tonight and you still can’t spot him in the crowd. 

You’re normally not too bothered about being by yourself in a crowd, especially when you know friends are nearby, but for some reason the idea of being lost from Hobi is almost enough to bring tears to your eyes. Your hand goes straight into your bag to pull out your phone and you try to ignore the slight shake in your fingers as you bring up your recent conversation with Hobi. It’s just as you’re about to press the call button that you feel a warm hand on your shoulder. 

You spin on the spot to see Hobi standing before you in all his glory, bright lights in his dark eyes and a lazy smile on his lips that transforms into a worried frown as soon as he sees your wide eyes. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” 

“I thought I’d lost you!” you scold him with a gentle shove to his chest before letting him pull you in for a hug.

“Sorry, y/n-ie,” he chuckles with a squeeze to your waist. Your ear is pressed to his chest, his laugh a rumble in your ear, until he lets you go again. “I just went to throw that drink away, I finished it while I was waiting for you.” His hand stays on your lower back, acting as a tether between you as the crowds continue to bustle around about you. You turn your face away to hide the blush that warms your cheeks at his teasing tone, but Hobi mistakes it for you being annoyed at him for wandering off. He turns your face back towards him with a gentle hold on your chin, then tucks your hair behind your ear as he gazes at you thoughtfully. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

The touch of his hand on your cheek makes your knees feel weak and wobbly, all words leaving you high and dry as you simply stare back at him, his dark eyes glittering in the flashing lights that surround you. All you can muster is a small “it’s okay” and a slight rise of one shoulder, barely even a shrug, but it’s still enough to make Hobi smile. Without thinking, your gaze drops to Hobi’s mouth, wondering whether he would lean in and press his lips to yours like you dream about if you asked him to. His tongue peeks out to swipe across his bottom lip and the brief flash of pink snaps you out of your stupor, drying out your mouth and hastening your heartbeat all in one go. 

You look around you rapidly, desperate for a distraction from an impulsive and potentially friendship-ruining decision, anything to take your mind off the thought of finding a dark corner big enough for two. 

“Hey, look!” you turn on the spot to point towards the sign that’s caught your eye, signposting an attraction that you haven’t seen before. “A haunted house! We should totally do it.” Hobi, however, isn’t so keen. 

“I don’t know, y/n-ie,” he scratches the back of his neck, a pout on his lips when you turn back to him. 

“But there’s no queue! We could go straight in!” 

“You know I don’t like that kind of thing,” he looks at you, expression somewhere between pleading with you to change your mind and wanting to make you happy, his eyes full of affection for you. His pout gets more pronounced with each second that passes, clearly conflicted, and you can’t bring yourself to push any further. You know Hobi doesn’t like haunted houses or anything with actors that can jump out at him from the shadows, so it would be cruel of you to force him into something only you would enjoy. You check the time on your phone and work out that you could probably make it back in time for a walk through with Jungkook and Taehyung before you leave for the night, as long as everyone is back to meet up on time. 

“Okay,” you turn to Hobi with a smile. “We won’t go in. I’ll see if JK and Tae will come back with me once we all meet up.” You put your phone back in your bag and look around you with a sigh, not because you’re disappointed but because you’re not sure what else there is around this part of the park. Hobi, however, once again misreads you and decides that if it’s the haunted house you want, it’s the haunted house you’ll get. He grabs hold of your wrist and starts walking towards the entrance, you floundering behind him. 

“Oppa? What are you-?”

“Two please,” he says to the attendant, handing over his money while still keeping a firm hand on you. 

“Hobi, you don’t have to-”

“Yes, I do,” he says as he guides you inside, still holding your wrist but his grasp has loosened slightly now.

“Why?” 

“Because you want to,” he says, your faces barely inches apart when he turns to you. You see his eyes glance down and you subconsciously wet your lips, heart hammering with the sudden proximity. He rapidly blinks a few times before turning towards the door that leads to the entryway part of the house. “You might not have time later, so, it’s not fair for you to miss out. Come on.” With that, he lets go of your arm to open the door and ushers you to follow him with a nod of his head and a smile. 

You’re pretty sure that if you weren’t already falling for your friend, you definitely would be now. His willingness to even step towards the haunted house just to make sure you wouldn’t miss out is enough to set a warmth blooming through your chest so intense it could bring you to tears. You’ve seen Hobi put aside his fears for his loved ones before, especially when it comes to his band members, but you’ve never seen him so determined to do something he knows he’ll still be scared by. 

Of course, Hobi will do anything for his friends, you’ve seen it enough times in the ways he’ll join in with Jungkook’s games so that he can have two players, or the way he’ll help Jin and Yoongi cook in whatever way he can. Even for you, he’ll set aside his work when he can to keep you company, or let you sit in his studio when he can’t ignore his deadlines. Now that you think about it, this is not the first time he’s ever put aside his fears for you. You remember the time you were terrified by a moth that had made its way into the kitchen one night when the two of you were up late, you making the drinks and Hobi by your side making late night snacks for you both. Despite his own fear of bugs and creepy crawlies, he’d ushered the little creature back out through an open window and closed it for you, a proud smile on his face when you thanked him with a hug. 

Multitudes of other similar cases flashed through your mind, including all of the little moments that didn’t require Hobi to put his own comfort on the line for you, whether it was offering you his seat during a crowded movie night or wordlessly putting your favourite foods on your plate for you during a meal. 

You follow him into the darkened room, thankful that he wouldn’t be able to see the tears threatening to fall as you came to the realisation that maybe, just maybe, your feelings weren’t one-sided after all. Your emotions were quickly becoming overwhelming to the point that you felt like you couldn’t breathe, and you were sure your ribs were aching from how hard your heart was beating inside your chest. Closing your eyes and taking a few deep breaths to steady yourself, you calmed yourself down enough to take in your surroundings. 

Now that your eyes had adjusted, you could see the door on the other side of the small passageway that led into the first proper room, a few portraits hanging on the walls on either side. You eyed them carefully, assuming that at least two of them would have either moving eyes or little doors that would allow actors to pop their heads through.

“Watch out for the paintings,” you say to Hobi in warning, taking a few steps ahead of him to lead the way. You feel him follow closely behind you, a hand tentatively on your lower back, fingertips barely brushing over the small part of visible skin between your top and your jeans. You’re determined to protect him as much as you can to thank him for coming with you, so you focus on using all of your prior experience to help him out. You’ve been to haunted houses and a few horror mazes with Jungkook before, Taehyung coming along to some of the more recent ones, too, the three of you united in your love of adrenaline rushes and all things scary. 

Just as you predicted, one portrait on either side bursts open, actors leaning through to scream and yell and make awful noises in your ears. It makes you jump, but poor Hobi screams out behind you and your hand shoots out behind you to grab onto his without thinking. His large hand engulfs yours, the other shooting out to grab onto your shoulder and you try not to laugh at the brief flash of surprise on one of the actor’s faces at the volume of Hobi’s yell. 

You pull him through the next few rooms, struggling with trying not to laugh at how Hobi’s yells are louder than the actors and his refusal to let go of you even when he’s almost stumbling over you to get to the next room. You can’t even find it in you to be mad at how he uses you as a human shield when he panics, hiding behind your shoulders when the actors jump out of hidden doors or run out from behind a curtain. You barely even register the decor and props around the house, only having enough time to take in the dining table covered in cobwebs and the kitchen sink filled with lumpy fake blood before Hobi is pushing you forward, desperate to get to the other end as quickly as he can despite the rushed apologies he keeps muttering into your hair. 

It’s only when you get to the final corridor that you realise how quickly you’ve gone through the house, half-running the whole way round thanks to Hobi, but you’re not even disappointed in the slightest. The experience of doing a haunted house with Hobi at your side is one you’ll not only never get again, but it’s made all the more special by knowing he would never willingly do this for anyone other than you. You’re sure of it. 

“Oh my god, y/n, I’m so sorry,” Hobi’s holding your hand so tightly you fear it may turn purple but you can’t stop laughing at his desperate slew of apologies. 

“Hobi-oppa, it’s okay!” you manage between wheezing breaths, barely able to stand up straight as you lean on your knee with your free hand. “Are you alright?”

Hobi’s pushing his hair back from his face when you look over to him, his skin pale with a sheen of sweat on his forehead that catches in the light. His grip on your hand is still tight but it’s as if he doesn’t realise he’s still holding onto you, deep breaths pushing at his chest as he tries to steady himself. 

You straighten up and move closer to him, placing your hand on his chest and feeling his hammering heart beneath your palm.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” you tell him, finally gaining his attention so that he looks down at you. “I appreciate it, really I do,” you continue, smiling gently as you push some of his hair away from where it’s close to falling in his eyes. “But I could have waited. I wouldn’t have even minded if I hadn’t gotten to go in.” 

“Don’t tell me that now!” he whines dramatically and you laugh, squeezing his hand where he still holds you by his side. 

“I’m sorry,” you grin, bringing your free hand back down to his chest. “I still enjoyed it, although I’m more worried about you.” You eye him curiously as you ask your next question. “Why did you do that?”

Hobi’s gaze is steady as he looks down at you, breath finally levelling out. There’s no smile this time, just pure, unadulterated sincerity as he says, “because you wanted to.” 

You don’t even hesitate to lean up and press your lips against his, clutching the material of his shirt to pull him closer. His lips are soft and warm against yours and your mind is reeling with the realisation that you’re finally kissing him, here in the middle of a fair, both of you still high on adrenaline.

After the initial second passes and you don’t feel him kiss you back, you feel panic rising in your throat and you go to pull away, but a strong hand appears on the back of your neck and holds you close. You feel him kiss you back, a firm pressure on your lips, and a small whimper escapes your throat in relief, joy and lust for the man holding you. Feeling his fingers gently grip your hair threatens to buckle your knees and you feel him chuckle against your lips, the two of you finally pulling back to look at each other. 

The widest grin lights up Hobi’s features as he takes in your blushing face before leaning his forehead against yours. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to do that,” he confesses quietly, only loud enough for you to hear amongst the hubbub of the fair around you. 

“Really?” your voice is no more than a breathless whisper, a torrent of emotions flooding your body.

“Really,” he confirms, leaning back and bringing his hand from your hair back to your cheek. “The guys have been telling me to hurry up and make my move. I think they were getting sick of me pining over you,” he laughs, though the blush on his cheeks gives away his sudden bashfulness. “That’s why they made sure I was the last one so you’d pair up with me.”

“I thought they did that because Jungkook told them about me liking you!” you exclaim, your hand leaving Hobi’s shirt to point at yourself, your shock evident on your face. Several emotions flutter across Hobi’s features and you’re sure he wants to know more about you liking him, but right now he seems as content as you are to enjoy this moment of finally being honest with each other. 

“Well, all that matters now is that we know,” he says with a smile, brushing your hair back and tucking it behind your ear before tracing your jaw with his fingertips. 

“We do,” you confirm, returning your hand to his chest before pushing it up and over his shoulder, running your fingers through his dark hair at the nape of his neck. He leans in this time, taking your bottom lip gently between his own as his hand curls round the back of your neck, finally letting go of your hand only to hold you by the small of your back and pull your body close to his. Your now-free hand goes to his waist, bunching the material of his shirt between your fingers.

“Damn,” he breathes out as he pulls away. “This is even better than I imagined,” he grins, making you giggle and hide your face against his neck as you blush. “Does this mean I can give you this now?” he asks, keeping his hand on your back as he reaches into his back pocket and you look up, your curiosity piqued. He pulls out a small, folded paper bag with white and blue stripes, holding it out for you to take. You unfold it and tip out its contents to see the same silver bracelet you had been looking at earlier, its black and purple gems catching the lights around you. 

You look up at him in surprise, your questions clear in your eyes but not able to make it past your lips. “How did you-?”

“I saw you looking at it earlier, and then you said about wanting your boyfriend to get you something you’d actually like, so I went back when I threw that drink away,” he tries to appear nonchalant as he shrugs, but he pulls at his ear nervously and you smile, catching his choice of words.

“So, you’re my boyfriend now?” 

“Uh, I mean, I-” he’s flustered and you can’t help but laugh, wrapping your arms around his waist. “D-do you want me to be?” He looks down at you cautiously, hopeful but hesitant, and you nod.

“I do.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, considering I just kissed you twice in the middle of the fair, I’m not sure what more confirmation I can give you, Hobi.” He rolls his eyes playfully before wrapping both arms tightly around your waist and pressing numerous pecks to your face, from your nose to your cheeks to your forehead and finally your lips, although the last one is much more gentle and he takes his time with it. 

Parting for the third time, he rubs his nose against yours, a wide smile on his lips and yours. You’re not sure how long the two of you stand there wrapped up in each other, but you finally bring yourself to pull away from him. 

“Put it on me?” you ask, holding out the bracelet, and he carefully clasps the jewellery around your wrist, running his thumb tenderly over the chain. “I think we have to head back now,” he says, though you can hear the reluctance in his voice.

“Do we really have to?” you ask, pressing a gentle kiss to his neck and you feel him inhale sharply. “Can’t we just… not? Head home just the two of us?” Hobi’s chest rumbles as he laughs but his arms tighten on your waist, holding you close for a few more seconds before letting you go. He takes your hand in his, though, and gently intertwines your fingers as he starts walking you back to the spot you’d departed from just half an hour earlier. 

Half an hour, you think, that’s all it took for everything to change. 

Thank God for haunted houses. 

[ladyfawkes]

THIS IS THE 2ND UPDATE IN 10 DAYS!!! FINALLY posted latest chappy....I spent an hour or two wrangling with the text editor on AO3. OY!! I hope y'all enjoy!! =) I'm not getting much feedback so it's difficult to tell if people are actually liking it or not. Tangled Just Before Ever After Chapter 3/? : Eugene's One and Only Current Word Count: 8040 Chapter 3 Summary: More satisfying character interaction. More homages. A nice loooooooooooong chapter, too. This is just too delicious to skip or gloss over, especially considering the happy couple likely only gets a few hours all to themselves before reintroducing Rapunzel to the royal family....and nothing is ever quite the same for them again.

Chapter 3: Eugene's One and Only “And...is that height a bad thing?” Eugene asked, trying to break the tension. His attempt at levity flew right over Rapunzel’s head, however.

“Of course it isn’t bad --” she said hastily, holding up her hands.

“Because I can slouch if you want,” Eugene interrupted, trying a bit harder this time, his shoulders slumping over so suddenly that it even startled Pascal a little. “How’s this, now?” The sight of Eugene arduously trying to appear permanently humpbacked, even with his lush upper body was so ridiculous that both Rapunzel’s and Pascal’s eyes bugged out and their jaws dropped. A spontaneous snicker escaped Rapunzel in spite of herself and one of her hands flew to her mouth.

“So….no?” deadpanned Eugene, on a roll now. “Because I can always go lower, you know.” Then he bent his knees until he was bow-legged in combination with the super-slouch, and he was schlumping around in front of her, back and forth, like some court jester. Rapunzel and Pascal burst out laughing. When he was satisfied the tension was fully dispersed, Eugene dropped the goofball routine, happy to see that Rapunzel’s nervousness had disappeared. The young man never wanted her to be afraid of him, even if it was merely over their height difference.

“That’s my girl,” Eugene grinned and affectionately set his hand against her cheek. Rapunzel perked up even more after he said it. “Hey, that’s really what I am now, aren’t I??” she replied wondrously, covering his hand with her own. “I’m your girl!!”

“Only if you wish to be,” Eugene amended softly.

“Of course I do!” Rapunzel exclaimed. Unable to contain herself, she bounced from the pads of her feet to her toes. “More than anything!”, and she bubbled over, launching herself into his arms with such sudden and wild abandon that Eugene nearly lost his footing. As soon as he regained balance, Rapunzel again sealed her lips over his and urgently showed him just how much she wanted him, wanted to be his girl and nobody else’s.

After they came up for air, chests heaving, Eugene braced Rapunzel against him so their foreheads could touch. “I want to be your girl,” she whispered, still breathless from their most recent dalliance. “Eugene’s girl.” And oh, how Eugene’s heart soared! “I believe you,” he answered fervently, positively giddy at the prospect. He could have sung….Eugene’s girl, indeed!!! It still sounded so fresh to his own ears. For Eugene hadn’t ever dared to approach a girl before; that territory had been exclusively reserved for one Flynn Rider. Until just two days prior, Eugene had always felt too shy or insecure to approach girls as his authentic self. Now he knew he’d found a great woman who wanted him for who he was, and not just for good looks, not for a projected façade, not for his illegal skills, nor ill-gotten gains, nor anything else. But it wasn’t just that.

For the first time in his life, Rapunzel had actually made Eugene love hearing the sound of his given name. It was both an unintended consequence and serendipitous gift. As far as Eugene was concerned, this gift was every bit the mystical miracle that Rapunzel’s tears saving him had been. Even the lilting musicality of the way she pronounced “Eugene” made it all uniquely special. He felt almost silly for asking, but he just had to hope she would "get" it. And as intuition would have it, he was right.

“Could you….could you say that again? For me, please?” he requested, so softly that Rapunzel nearly had to ask him to repeat himself. His thumb gingerly skimmed her bottom lip as he cupped her chin in his hand. She gazed into his eyes questioningly, but only for a mere second before she understood.

“I’m Eugene’s girl!” Rapunzel stated proudly, her smile beaming even brighter than midsummer’s day.

Overcome with lover’s euphoria, Eugene lifted her high above his head as effervescent laughter escaped from his throat, filling the air. Rapunzel’s laughter immediately joined him as he spun his princess in tight happiness circles across the cleared portion of the floor...and back. Hearing her say that with such love and sincerity meant more than he'd ever imagined.

Following their spinning, it was Eugene’s turn to be breathless as he pondered, utterly awestruck, “Whatever did I do in my miserable life to deserve someone like you?” He trailed a fingertip down from Rapunzel’s forehead and booped her nose. His question was rhetorical, of course, but the young woman answered him anyway.

“Hmmm…” Rapunzel considered. “Maybe it's because you….finally made some better life choices?” she quipped, with a twinkle in her eye.

“PffffSHahahaHAHA!!” The simple baldness of her reply caught Eugene so off-guard that he instantly released Rapunzel and burst into raucous guffaws in spite of himself. “I--I--” he attempted to reply but continued spluttering through his laughter so hard that tears leaked from his eyes. “I cannot argue with that! Not even a little bit!” And wow, did Eugene ever need this release! It had been one hell of a morning (or week) -- even according to Flynn Rider standards -- that’s for damned certain.

Rapunzel pondered innocently, “How can a person even ‘deserve’ another person, anyway?” Her face scrunched up in genuine confusion, which in turn made Eugene want to boop that adorable button nose of hers again. He had enough tact to refrain, though. She continued “Besides, it isn’t about what you deserve….it’s about sharing what you have, right? Sharing time, life, and building new dreams together.”

“My dear Sunshine…..” and Eugene clasped her hands within his, “once again, you are correct.” He brought her right hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. Before Eugene knew it, his diligent princess was once again checking up on his former wound.

“Sunshine, sweetheart, I can assure you that I’m quite all right at this time -- all thanks to you.”

“Yeah, I know….I know,” said the princess, hesitating. “It’s just that, well…..”

“...you keep waiting for life to drop the other shoe and just end the suspense? Get things over with already?” Eugene finished for her gently.

“Yes!” Rapunzel replied, “But….but how could you know? I’m always worried you’ll think I’m just being stupid or naïve or something...”

“I could never,” assured Eugene with utmost sincerity, shaking his head and again taking both of her hands in his own. He meant it, too. “And as far as me having anticipated your answer? That’s easy,” he said with a sad smile, “it’s because those self-defeatist emotions are nearly always born out of genuine need. It’s a hallmark of someone who never possesses quite enough. And admittedly," Eugene dipped his head back and forth in that self-deprecating way of his, "it's something I've seen an awful lot amongst those of us who must live life on the run. Your basic daily needs of food, clothing, shelter, and positive human companionship aren’t being met, no matter how hard you try,” he elaborated, looking down at the floor with a pained expression. Eugene tried hiding it, yet it seemed clear he seemingly wrestled with some long-buried memories that were closer to the surface than he’d let them come in a very long time. “And....then….without even realizing it, you become so accustomed to life’s tiniest happiness crumbs….that you actually start to believe it’s all there is to have. Without anything real to look forward to, you’ve overtrained yourself to deal with the inevitable, which winds up being…..” Eugene paused briefly in spite of himself before continuing.

“....bit-bitter disappointment,” finished Eugene acerbically, stuttering over the words. “Bitter disappointment,” Rapunzel said in unison with him.

“I’m so very sorry,” she continued worriedly, openly concerned that she had inadvertently caused Eugene to recall his own pained past, “we can talk about something else,” Rapunzel suggested. “The last thing I wanna do right now is dredge up painful memories from your childhood--”

“--it’s….it’s quite all right!” Eugene held up a hand and cut her off mid-sentence, eager to let her know that wasn’t at all the reason why he sounded so bitter and angry. "It's not what you're thinking."

Rapunzel was clearly puzzled. “Then….why were you sounding so harsh?” she tilted her head at him quizzically.

Again, she saw that sad, pinched smile -- and Eugene replied softly, much to Rapunzel's surprise, “It’s….it’s because I was thinking about your past, not mine -- that's all. Your upbringing….what it must’ve been like for you being lied to and promised things your whole life, only to have them yanked away when it mattered most.” He reached up a hand and tucked Rapunzel’s hair lock behind her ear and tugged her closer by grasping her wrists. She reflexively winced and sucked in a sharp breath.

“What is it?” Eugene hastily pulled back in alarm. “What’d I do?”

Rapunzel’s eyes had squeezed tight shut, and he looked down to see angry-looking red weals on her wrists from those god-awful manacles Gothel had shackled upon her that morning. Eugene gasped in spite of himself.

“Oh, Rapunzel," he indicated, his voice overflowing with guilt, "I’m--I’m so sorry!” For no reason at all, Eugene clearly felt personally ashamed it had taken him so long to notice these wounds of hers.

“I--it--really, it’s okay!!” Rapunzel reassured hastily, “truth be told, I didn’t even notice them myself until just now. Far too much happening at once, I suppose,” she smiled weakly.

If she weren’t already dead, Eugene would’ve had some very choice actions to visit upon Gothel at that time. Having been caught by some of the worlds most notorious bounty hunters and at times held in some of the world's most notorious prisons (however briefly), Rider had gotten far too familiar with nasty chafing from iron chains. In fact, it's the main reason he got such an infamous rep for picking locks. Pain can be an obnoxiously good motivator. But Eugene refused to dwell on that now.

“Do you have any healing salts?” he asked Rapunzel.

“Yes,” she said. “Across the floor in Gothel’s potions dresser. The second drawer on the left, clear corked bottle.”

“How about water and clean rags? Oh, and a small dish and spoon?”

“We’re out of water. But Gothel always got it from the spring behind the Tower. Spoon and saucer are over there in the cupboard.”

“The one with that waterfall? It’s also a water spring? That’s so cool!”

“Why, I s’pose it is!” Rapunzel agreed, having tilted her head in consideration. “I’ve never thought about it before.”

“I say we’ve definitely spent more than enough time in this place,” said Eugene, as he was gathering up a small bit of Rapunzel’s lengthy cut-off hair. “I have a feeling we’re gonna need this later,” he said seriously. Rapunzel was momentarily concerned with the sudden gravitas Eugene projected but it was gone before she could mention it to him.

Eugene was so pleased with Pascal’s helpfulness, he was nearly beside himself. As Eugene had turned toward the wall in order to tuck in his shirt properly without, ah, exposing things, the little chameleon had shown up at their feet again. This time he had Eugene’s satchel that contained Rapunzel's crown, the healing salts and clean rags, a dish and a spoon. “He’s so strong for something his size! Thank you, Froggy,” Eugene said, “for all your help. Just don’t hurt yourself, hmm?” And Eugene took his satchel from Pascal, who was suddenly indignant. He squeaked out something angrily to Eugene.

“It’s okay, Pascal,” Rapunzel soothed, “he was actually admiring your strength. Not insinuating that you are weak.”

“That’s right!” Eugene agreed, taking his lead from Rapunzel. “Pfffsh. Weak?? I could never think that. Not now, after watching you haul around something that’s gotta be 100x your size.” The little lizard grew proud and puffed up, and dropped the angry stance entirely.

“So,” Eugene turned to Rapunzel, who was again on the stairs, “were you needing anything else here?” He grabbed a purple ribbon from Pascal and tied it around the furled up lock of Rapunzel’s hair, stashing it carefully in his satchel. He slung the leather bag across his body.

“Nope,” Rapunzel stated firmly. “Nothing.” If Eugene was surprised by her resolve, he elected not to show it, instead saying, “Then let’s get the hell out of here.” And he looked around. “But….uhhhh,” he asked, suddenly stymied, “is there a way to get out of here that doesn’t require using the window?” He no longer had his arrows nor Rapunzel’s blonde hair to scale the side of the Tower.

“Over there is a trapdoor in the floor to a second staircase,” Rapunzel replied, pointing all the way across the floor.

“Right you are,” Eugene said, once again full of purpose. “However, as you are a barefoot maiden, I simply cannot have you pick your way across all that broken glass.” He bowed deeply to Rapunzel, much to her surprise. “Might I offer assistance to milady?” He straightened up and held out his arms to her where she stood above him on the stairs.

For a second or two, Rapunzel couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. After all, she really was royalty….but then she caught the quirk of his top lip.

“Oh, you….” she reached out and ruffled Eugene’s hair as they both laughed.

“In all seriousness, though, you can’t safely walk across this floor without shoes,” said Eugene and Pascal squeaked in agreement. “See? Even the Frog agrees with me.” Then, “Hey! I’m learnin’ your language, Froggy!” Eugene turned around to face Pascal, who had folded his arms in pretend annoyance. Yet Eugene’s enthusiasm made Pascal think better of it and the chameleon instead gestured the young man closer toward him on the floor. Eugene crouched down and Pascal hopped up on his knee, then up to his shoulder, and nuzzled against Eugene’s cheek. The man legit giggled. Like a little boy.

Rapunzel’s hands flew to her mouth in utter delight. She had no idea someone like Eugene was capable of laughing like that! It was so endearing that she was almost afraid of ruining the moment. In turn, Eugene had unexpectedly reached up toward the little chameleon. “And you’re ticklish, too!” exclaimed Eugene, as Pascal laughed in his own adorable scratchy-voice way.

As Eugene went to stand up with Pascal still on his right shoulder, Rapunzel said, “You’re right about the broken glass and my bare feet. “I saw someone in the town square doing this one thing….carrying someone on their back. Could we try that?”

“One piggyback across the broken glass, coming up!” confirmed Eugene with a smile. He stood with his back in her direction and instructed her to gently wrap her arms about his neck. “I’m gonna reach my arms backward and hook them behind your knees, okay?”

“Okay!” Rapunzel answered, with far more confidence than she felt. She needn’t have worried, though. Eugene’s arms were so large that even while reaching backward, he could support most of her thighs on just his forearms. It was only after he had situated her around his hips that it occurred to Rapunzel just how intimate her position could be. Instantly she had become supremely aware of just what proximity this piggyback might bring for the two of them. Pascal was also watching her, having hopped from Eugene’s shoulder to hers.

“Are you all situated, then?” Eugene asked. Rapunzel got the distinct impression it wasn’t the first time he’d asked the question. “Mhm…” she replied distantly, trying to deal with the sudden electrifying sensations overtaking her body as she sat with her legs around Eugene’s hips, her arms surrounding his neck and shoulders. “Off we go, then….” he continued.

Rapunzel’s lustful little button nose inadvertently brushed the nape of his neck. As she took in the now-intoxicating scent of his hair, Rapunzel quite nearly forgot how to breathe as Eugene’s walking motions across the floor awakened something deep within her netherregions. With each step he took across the floor, Rapunzel’s own hips involuntarily twitched and quivered a little bit more beneath her.

How was this possible?! A mere two days prior, when she had freaked out over the terror-bunny, Rapunzel had unintentionally wound up on Eugene’s back in a fit of pique. Back then she hadn’t felt anything like how she felt now; rather, she had been extremely embarrassed afterward! Yet the feelings she had at this very moment -- ones that made her want to bury her face into the man’s soft silky hair and the urge to wrap her legs and her entire self around Eugene and never let go weren’t exactly unpleasant but they were definitely unfamiliar. Unable to fully suppress a sound between pleasure or longing from escaping her throat, Eugene came to an abrupt stop and worriedly asked her if she was still okay. “Don’t worry, I’m fine,” she quickly replied, trying desperately not to blush yet again.

“Are you sure?” Eugene asked, showing uncanny perception with his ability to know when Rapunzel was keeping something from him.

The young woman quickly slid off of Eugene’s back and onto the floor by the trapdoor. Mumbling a distracted “thank you” to him, the princess mentally resolved to herself to have no more piggybacks until further notice. And to think she had so erroneously believed piggybacks would be a bit less intimate than having Eugene outright traditionally carrying her in his arms....

Rapunzel opted to let Eugene believe that her current, ah, frustrations(??) were related to something else other than the pinching tightness growing in her groin. It was just too blasted intimidating at that time to even think about bringing up her newness with romantic physical intimacy, especially with someone like him.

“Yes,” Rapunzel finally answered Eugene. That clipped reply had sounded almost mechanical, even to her…..and utterly foreign. The perceptive man folded his arms and replied gently, “Wellllll, that doesn’t sound very convincing. At all. Sooo...out with it. You can tell me anything, you know.”

“I’m--just--” she stuttered, not certain where to begin, only to blurt out, “have…..have you had many women?”

Eugene’s eyes widened and he blanched. He had known this was coming but he hadn’t expected the questions to come quite so soon. In his mind, the only woman Flynn Rider ever truly had was his ex-fiancé. And even then….he’d learned Stalyan had been such an over-controlling viper that it was her who’d secretly manipulated him into proposing in the first place. His discovery of the following became a huge part of why he’d walked away from her in the end.

Not to mention that in large part, Stalyan had been directly responsible for grooming him into the womanizer he had become. Once upon a time, when he was very young and still extremely naïve, it’s true that quantity of sexual conquests was what he sought -- exactly like most randy teens. Along came Stalyan who was so hyper-attractive and had such animal magnetism that it was almost unreal. She was six years his senior when she first recruited him and Lance and it had been far too simple for her to mold, coerce, and gaslight the impressionable 15-year-old Flynn into doing and becoming whatever she wanted.

But how on earth was Eugene going to explain all of that to his dearest Rapunzel without scaring her away?? He was already almost too terrified to even approach Corona again -- especially in light of his most recent escape that was witnessed by the entire royal guard -- though he wouldn’t let Rapunzel see the depth of his fear. The last thing Eugene needed to do was arm the noose-happy Captain with the knowledge of even more of Rider’s lousy past.

[hopidoodle]

Renascent: Full fic

It was requested that I post the full one shot here as well; so here’s the full version of Renascent! I hope you enjoy it! 

His senses were slow to come back.

Where he lay he could hear the usual sounds of the forest unobstructed by the walls of their hut which meant he had fallen asleep outside. Strange... had he and Kagome had a fight? It’d been years since they had fought so badly that they spent the night apart. Years of marriage and fighting alongside each other had done wonders for their communication skills and try as he might to remember any particular argument his mind was blank. Had the monk convinced him to indulge a bit too much then and he’d fallen asleep before getting home? That might explain his lack of memory and the splitting headache he had, but no… this didn’t feel like a hangover either…

He slowly opened one eye squinting against the morning sun. A strange sense of deja vu settled uneasily in his gut. Something was wrong. He was in his forest he was sure but it  looked… wrong? The trees around him were much younger looking than he remembered. Maybe he had never been in this part of the forest before. Slowly he sat up opening both of his eyes to gain a better view of his surroundings. He found himself in a clearing lying against a very burnt old tree he didn’t recognize. Tessaiga was a few feet away on his left which surprised him; if it truly had been a night of overindulgence he would have half expected it to be still tucked in his obi digging uncomfortably into his hip not looking like it had been thrown next to his body. Inuyasha stood on legs that felt like jelly and turned to look at the old tree he was laying against more closely.

His sense of deja vu sharpened and a stone had landed in his stomach as he looked it over. The tree looked dead but it had clearly been huge before being burned. The fire had happened a long time ago but he couldn’t remember a tree like this in any of his patrols. He walked around the base and froze as an all too familiar arrow scar stared him in the face.

No.

No… This couldn’t be Goshinboku. Goshinboku had been very much alive the previous day he was SURE of it. This tree had been dead for years there was no way.

All at once memories of the previous night flooded Inuyasha’s mind. That damn Root-head had somehow been revived and gone after Kagome again. The forest fire. The girls had been chased into the burning forest and he and Kagome had gone after them. Some strange light and then pain and Kagome screaming and then… nothing.

But that made no sense. What had stopped the fires? How had the trees regrown already? There was no trace of smoke in the air. His head whipped around, sniffing wildly for any lingering traces of his wife and daughter or his nieces but there was nothing. The stone in his stomach sank. This was not good. Kagome would not have left him behind in the forest lightly. Something had happened to her or one of the girls and she hadn’t been able to come back for him. But then why hadn’t Sango or Miroku or Shippou come to get him? All of them had been fighting together.

His veins turned to ice at the prospect and he shook his head. No he would not think the worst until he had a reason to. Clearly something had gotten the fire under control and had been able to partially restore the forest. There was blessedly no trace of blood or corpses. Kagome had probably been separated from him getting the girls back to safety and had overdone it so she couldn’t come back to fetch his unconscious ass yet. She was probably waiting for him in the village, trying to wrangle an upset Moroha and the twins. Well he would just have to go back to the village and find out the details from her and then worry about what happened to Goshinboku.

Inuyasha turned and leapt towards the village, running full tilt toward home. Their hut was too near the burning forest so Kagome had probably taken the girls back to Kaede’s the previous night. He’d start there.

___________________________________________________________________________

Inuyasha ignored the frightened shouts and exclamations of the villagers as he sped through town, his mind focused on getting back to his wife and daughter. The only thing he cared about was seeing Kagome’s face as he burst into Kaede’s hut and gathering her and Moroha up in his arms where they’d be safe and then getting them all the hell home. Kagome would grouse about him being overprotective for a bit but he didn’t care; he had no plans on letting either of them out of his sight for a second any time soon. He barely paid any attention to his surroundings as he bounded through the door looking wildly about the hut for his wife but only seeing the very startled hunched over form of Kaede prepping herbs in the corner.

He frowned at the old woman. “Oi Granny where the hell is Kagome? Did she take Moroha back home already?”

Kaede’s one good eye practically bugged out of her head.  “I- Inuyasha?! Can it be? B-but how?” The old priestess stumbled to her feet as quickly as her aging body would allow. Shuffling over to grasp his face, pulling him down to her height and looking over him as if she couldn’t believe he was real. She looked haggard, like she’d aged ten years overnight and his brow creased slightly with concern as the strange sense of dread he felt in the clearing came back full force. Last night must have taken quite a toll on her. Kaede could handle herself but it was clearly getting more difficult for her to bounce back. “Ye haven’t changed at all….” she mumbled under her breath, “But where on earth have ye been Inuyasha?!”

One brow raised incredulously at her. “The hell are you talking about Kaede, are you going senile now? I got knocked out in the forest last night by whatever released that damn root-head and Kagome and I got separated. She must have brought the girls back here right? Did she go home already or what?”

“W-what?! Root-head?” He was shocked at how her face paled at his words. Why was she so surprised at this? A flash of pain in Kaede’s eye sent the ever sinking stone in his stomach straight into the underworld and he found himself starting to fidget uncomfortably. She sighed and released his face to instead stare down at her feet. “Is that the last thing ye remember Inuyasha?”

“I remember some kind of strange light and hearing Kagome yell but yeah… I woke up next to Goshinboku this morning. Speaking of which; how the hell did the damage from the fires get repaired so quickly? And what the fuck happened to Goshinboku?! It never looked like that in Kagome’s world!”

Kaede gaped up at him. Her mouth opened and closed several times as she struggled to find the words to answer his questions. Finally she let out a resigned sigh and her whole body sagged into itself making her look even older. She was silent for another moment and her gaze returned to her feet as she slowly started to whisper “Inuyasha… The last time Root-head attacked this village was ten years ago. No one has seen or heard from ye since ye and Kagome ran into the burning forest after Moroha and Sesshomaru’s children.”

Inuyasha’s heart froze in his chest.

Ten years?

Nonononononononononono.

A villager Inuyasha vaguely recognized burst through the door behind him. At the back of his head Inuyasha realized the last time he had seen him, he had been a man in his prime.

Now he was approaching middle age.

“Kaede-sama! Is it true? Has Inuyasha-sama retu- Inuyasha-sama! It is you!”

He realized why he’d been battling the strange sense of Deja vu all morning now. He’d lost a large chunk of time like this before after all. Except this time it was infinitely worse. Because he’d lost something far more precious than his previous fifty year stint.

Kagome. Moroha.

He needed to see them now.  

Inuyasha bolted out the door, ignoring Kaede and the man calling after him. ��Kenta, his name is Kenta.’ his mind supplied as an afterthought. He’d been one of the men who helped Inuyasha build a house for Kagome back when she was stuck beyond the well. He had told Inuyasha that  he wished for Kagome-sama to return soon and how he hoped they would have a long and happy life together in the village as its noble protectors...

He flew towards his home. Their home. They had to be there. They had to be there. He’d already lost too much time with them; he wasn’t going to lose another second. The time he would actually get to be with Kagome was finite. She was mortal. He could brush off ten years without a thought. She could not. Despairing, he wondered how much ten years would have changed her… How much grey had snuck into her inky black locks? Had the beginnings of wrinkles settled around her big eyes? And what about Moroha?

Oh Gods Moroha…

She’d just turned four that spring. He had just started to show her how to defend herself with her tiny little claws and fangs. Was she still wearing her hair up with Kagome’s old ascot to mimic his ears? She had just been a little girl. Now… Gods now she would be nearly the same age as Kagome when they met.

He wasn’t sure he could handle the thought of her being suddenly a young woman yet.

He froze mid leap as another thought flew through his head: would his daughter even remember him?

When he and Kagome had tentatively started discussing the idea of babies years after she returned he swore any children they had would not have a repeat of his childhood. They would know their father. They would know how much they were loved. They would not be subjected to the lonely existence the first few years of his life had been. Oh he would teach them how to take care of themselves should anything ever happen yes. But he would be damned if he ever let anything actually happen. He had sworn it to Moroha the first time he’d held her tiny little body. Just as he had sworn to protect Kagome with his own life.

Had he failed that promise too?

His heart stuttered again at the thought.

Well fuck that. If Moroha didn’t remember him he would fucking fix it. He just needed to get home and see them first.

In a blur of white and red Inuyasha took off again, not stopping until he reached a familiar hut on the outskirts of the village. He’d half expected to see a figure in white and red digging around in the garden. She had been taking on more and more of the village herb growing needs as it became more difficult for Kaede to spend all day hunched over. She loved being able to spend so much time outside, she said. Every time he had come back from a job with Miroku he had crested the hill to see her standing up from her weeding to greet him. Hands covered in dirt, sweat shining on her brow and her big brown eyes sparkling as she ran up to kiss him.  But there was no one… and the garden looked like no one had been tending to it for a while. He trudged forward anyways, pointedly ignoring the stone that had once again settled in his gut.

“Kagome! Moroha! I’m back! Where are you?!” Silence answered him as he stood in the doorway. “Kagome!? KAGOME! ANSWER ME WOMAN WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!”

Nothing. Maybe they were out. Visiting Miroku and Sango probably or hell, maybe even his brother. Sesshomaru had told him once after his own twins were born and their relationship had ever so slightly mended that he would watch over Kagome and Moroha if anything had ever happened to him. It had been a rare moment of solidarity between them. If he had truly been gone for ten years then he hoped his asshole brother had kept that promise.

Inuyasha took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to get a hold of himself so he could look for clues of his family’s whereabouts without panicking. He opened his eyes and took stock of the house, looking for anything that might lead him back to them. The house was cold. The fire pit sat unused and if the leaves and debris blown in from outside gathered inside of it was any indication… it had not been used in a long time. Thick cobwebs and dust covered everything and any and all traces of his wife and daughter’s scents had long since gone. A few of their things were scattered about the hut like Kagome and Moroha had left in a hurry. His eyes zeroed in on a broken tea cup next to the fire pit and his entire body went numb.

____________________________________________________________________________

The night root-head had attacked, Kagome had been settling down to drink some tea after putting the girls to bed.

Sesshomaru was in the village to discuss some new powerful enemy that was creeping out of the shadows with Inuyasha and he had brought his family with him. He had been trying to convince Inuyasha that he would need both his and Kagome’s help in order to defeat this mysterious adversary and Inuyasha was having none of it. He was not going to just up and leave his daughter by herself here while he and his wife pranced off into mortal danger like they were teenagers again. Sesshomaru, however, planned to leave his children with Kaede for the time being. The conversation had been tense and long and when it was clear neither Sesshomaru nor Inuyasha were any closer to agreeing Kagome tried to clear the air a bit by offering to let the twins stay for a few days with them instead. Sesshomaru had other information he needed to gather and that would give Inuyasha and her a few days to discuss the best options and give him a solid answer. The youkai stared at her coldly for a solid minute before standing up and leaving; telling them he’d be back in three days before vanishing.

His nieces, seemingly being as used to his sudden departures as Rin had once been, were ecstatic to be spending the next few days with their cousin. They normally didn’t have anyone else but each other to play with and Moroha could keep up with them easily despite only being a quarter youkai. Moroha for her part was thrilled to have someone her own age who she didn’t need to worry about accidentally hurting. The three of them had been running Shippou ragged all afternoon while the adults were talking and all four had fallen asleep in a giant pile of limbs on top of the futon Shippou used when he was visiting.

He had been brooding since his brother had left in front of the fire, poking at it aimlessly. Kagome had padded over to sit next to him with a mug, setting the kettle above the pit to start heating some tea water for herself. They sat in silence for a few minutes before Kagome sighed and softly spoke “Listen Inuya-”

“Don’t even start Wench. I’m not leaving Moroha here alone so either you go or I go and it’s sure as hell not gonna be you.”

“Do you really think I would just leave Moroha here with Kaede or Sango without reason Inuyasha?” she growled, one small hand coming up to pinch the bridge of her nose.

No... he didn’t… not the point though because she was not going .

He just scoffed instead of answering her. Poking at the fire again to distract himself.  

Kagome sighed again and stared down at the mug clasped between her hands. “He wouldn’t have come here… he wouldn’t have asked this of us if there was any other option Inuyasha you know that…”  

“He needs Tetsusaiga and a priestess. He never said you absolutely had to be that priestess. Let him find another one if he needs a reiki user so bad.”

Her brow arched as she turned to him “Oh yes because a mysterious entity possibly looking to revive the Shikon no Tama has nothing to do with me whatsoever. Could be any old run of the mill miko. Silly me, of course I’m not required to be there.” she threw back at him sarcastically.

Okay… she had him there. But dammit that wasn’t the point.

“Haven’t you given enough up because of that stupid fucking marble? Why does it always have to be you who deals with it huh? Why shouldn’t some other powerful miko deal with it for once? I don’t want my kid possibly growing up an orphan because you were murdered for a glowing ball of bullshit that doesn’t fucking exist now. You took care of it the first fucking time. It shouldn’t be your problem anymore.” He snarled at her. He was aware he was being dramatic. The dig about Moroha being an orphan was absolutely him playing dirty to get her to stay. Because he knew. He knew.

She had to go.

And if she had to go he had to be there to protect her.

And Moroha would have to stay here. Alone. To possibly never see them again.

Fuck. That.

Kagome’s tea water was boiling. She stood and poured the water over the tea leaves in her mug. Setting it next to her to let it steep as she sat again and she let her head fall onto his shoulder. “And what happens if I stay?” she whispered, “Let’s say Sesshomaru finds another miko and you go? If they’re looking to revive the Shikon no Tama then they know I’ve got more of a connection to it than anyone else. They need me for their own purposes just as much as Sesshomaru does. What happens when they come here while you’re off who knows where? Who will protect Moroha and the rest of the village if I get killed and you aren’t here? Miroku doesn’t have the Kazaana anymore, Sango spends all day wrangling children instead of youkai slaying, and Kaede is too old. They’re strong but they aren’t what they were when we fought Naraku and Sango and Miroku have their own family to worry about.” The scent of salt hit his nose as tears began to form in the corners of her eyes while she continued, “I know this could mean one or both of us die either way Inuyasha. I have as little desire to leave our daughter behind here as you do…. Don’t forget you aren’t the only one who knows what it’s like to lose a parent too soon.”

Inuyasha pulled Kagome into his chest, holding her tightly as he buried his nose in her hair and breathed in her wonderful scent. Tears were streaming silently down her face and he felt a lump in his own throat. “Kagome..” his voice was low and raspy as he spoke, slightly muffled by the top of her head. “Shhhh Kagome… I’m sorry…. I’m….. I just… I’m so scared.” He clutched her even tighter to him as if that alone could stop whatever enemy was approaching them. “I’m scared about losing you…. About Moroha losing you. All I can think about is how hard my life got after my mother died and the thought of putting Moroha in a position like that is scarier than the idea of Naraku suddenly showing back up. When I lost you before when the well closed I knew you were safe at least… but this���. If I lost you now it would kill me. Not just because you’d be gone, but because it would mean I knowingly put Moroha in the same boat I was in as a kid. I swore to her I’d never do that… and you know how I get about promises.” A small laugh and a hiccup escaped his wife’s lips and she tilted her head up to kiss his jaw gently.

“I’m a big girl Inu. I’m not the little fifteen-year-old who has no handle on her reiki anymore, you know that.”

“I do. You’re right...” her arms wrapped around his waist and squeezed in response.

“I also know that…. That the best chance Moroha has of having both of us there is if I go with you and Sesshomaru. That way they go after me, not the village. Not her. And I’ll have you there to protect me. Not to mention Sesshomaru would also protect me if it came to it. He’s done it before after all.”

“Keh. He’s also tried to kill you multiple times woman.”  

She poked his side indignantly and he chuckled into her hair. “Not recently you jerk.”

“Fair enough wench,” he sat there breathing her in as her all but forgotten tea sat cooling next to them. “You gonna drink that or what?” Kagome squeezed him one last time, one hand coming up to tug his forelock and bring his mouth to hers. He was all too happy to comply with her silent demand, planting a searing kiss on her lips as he tried to imprint all of the emotions and fears and words he wanted to say to her. When they pulled away from each other he reached behind her to grab the cup and hand it to her. She took it with a murmur of thanks; the hand previously tugging on his hair falling to wrap their fingers together as she took a sip of the lukewarm tea. Her head falling back on his shoulder as they sat in silence again. It was his turn to sigh as he ran the fingers of his free hand through his bangs in exasperation. “Fine Kagome, we both go... “ he started, “but you have to promise me you will come home to her. I don’t care if it means you leave me behind. You will come home for Moroha. For my sake and hers.”

“...One condition...”

“Wench.” he growled in warning. Gold eyes turning to glare at her in challenge; he would take no argument on this. Never one to back down from him, especially when he was being stubborn, Kagome glared right back.

“You promise me you’ll come home for her too. No letting yourself getting honorably killed bullshit, Dogboy. She needs her father too. There’s no replacing you Inuyasha, trust me.” Her fingers gripped him like a vice. Her brown eyes glowing almost as amber as his in the firelight as she stared him down and threw the words he had said to her eons ago back at him.

His own eyes softened, “As long as you’re coming home with me it’s a deal Wench.” He leaned down to kiss her forehead again. One last tear escaped down her cheek and she stood to softly pad over to the sleeping tangle of children. A small sad smile on her face as she listened to their soft snoring.

“They’ll have each other while they wait for us at least. They won’t be alone.”

She was right, he realized. Both his own daughter and Sesshomaru’s girls were partial youkai. They would be able to understand each other better than any of his so called ‘cousins’ had understood him when he was a child. Not only that, but Shippou would stay in the village to keep an eye on them while they travelled if they asked and he took his older brother figure duties seriously. Sango and Miroku and their children considered Moroha as much a blood relative as Kohaku. He was sure they’d just as easily accept and love Towa and Setsuna if they didn’t already. And the Old Hag spoiled all three as much as any grandparent would be expected to.

Inuyasha watched his sleeping little family and allowed himself to hope just a little that they’d all make it back…

He should have fucking known better.

Sesshomaru reappeared suddenly at the door. His slightly disheveled appearance and hard eyes told Inuyasha far more than the words that followed. “It is here. We must go. Now.”

And then the world shook violently as something exploded out of the fields near the village and roared.

The tea cup fell from Kagome’s hands to smash on the ground next to him. Cold liquid and ceramic shards flying. His wife scrambled to regain her balance and practically dove for the bow and arrows never far out of reach. She sprinted towards the door, only stopping to turn for a second to bark at the dazed Shippou to watch the girls before running off towards the village.

Inuyasha was right behind her.

____________________________________________________________________________

He felt himself sinking to his knees in the doorway as he continued to stare at the remains of the cup. The rest of the night replaying vividly through his head again and again.

Root-head, some bullshit youkai they’d defeated a mere six months after Kagome’s return, was tearing through the village again. Roaring for his wife’s blood this time instead of Kikyou’s. Sango and Miroku had appeared ready to fight and Sesshomaru had gone ahead after whoever had apparently revived the youkai.

They fought it again but something had given it even more power. If he hadn’t known for a fact that the jewel was gone he would think something had given it a fragment or three of the Shikon no Tama.  

They realized too late it had been a distraction for the unseen enemy’s actual plan.

Shippou had frantically run after him screaming that he and the girls had been attacked and something had chased them into the forest after they had been separated.

Kagome had been on his back in a second and they were off before Shippou had even finished speaking. His heart pounding in his ears suddenly froze as the smell of smoke hit his nose and he realized that the forest in front of them had started to glow as it burned.

Kagome and him being attacked in the clearing by Goshinboku. A strange light. Pain. Kagome screaming and then…

And then he woke up ten years later in front of a dead tree with no memory of where the ever living fuck he had been.

The cup was mocking him where it had fallen. Taunting him with the promise his wife had made just a few fucking minutes before it had been smashed.

Kagome had promised him she would come home. She had fucking promised him Moroha would have both of her parents .

But it appeared she hadn’t been able to keep that promise after all.

Was his daughter dead too then?

He stayed there. Numb on the floor. Unable to tear his eyes away from that goddamned cup.

And then he howled. His claws dug into his palms until his hands were covered in blood. Hot tears flowed down his cheeks but he paid them no mind as he roared out his anguish.

He didn’t even hear the figure approaching until they were right behind him. A calloused and wrinkled old hand coming to rest on his shoulder. “I am so sorry Inuyasha.” she whispered, her voice thick with her own sorrow. “We never found her… any of ye… we could only hope since there were no bodies but… after the first year came and went we gave up hope that ye would ever return.”

“Who all is gone?”

“Inuyasha… I do not wish to hurt ye further…”

“Who all is gone Kaede?”

“... All of ye. Miroku. Sango. Shippou…. Kagome. No one has seen hide or hair of ye since that night. Even Sesshomaru is gone.”

Sesshomaru was dead too? He didn’t think the bastard had it in him to be killed quite frankly.

“We did find one of Sesshomaru’s daughters a few days later. The child had no memory to speak of. Like something had stolen it. She decided to go with Kohaku when he came for Miroku and Sango’s brood.”

“Where are they buried?”

“Buried?”

“Where did you bury the bodies, Kaede?”

“Inuyasha... I do not think ye have understood me. There were no bodies. No blood. We found nothing of any of ye except Sango’s hiraikotsu and the monk’s mala beads. It was as if ye all vanished into thin air.”

What? That didn’t make sense. None of this made any fucking sense.

Something Kaede had said… or rather hadn’t said clicked.

“You didn’t say Moroha was gone.” Or Towa for that matter. Had the girls escaped after all? His heart fluttered at the prospect but he smashed down the feeble hope trying to claw its way out of his chest.

She hesitated again. “Until a few weeks ago I thought her and Towa lost as well… but they have reappeared….” He closed his eyes and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. She was alive. His daughter was alive . She was safe. But Kaede didn’t let him process that news any further before she blindsided him with another revelation, “Inuyasha… Towa returned, proclaiming herself to be Higurashi Towa and wearing clothes the like I have never seen before… save one strange child who stumbled into the forest twenty some years ago and released the hanyou my sister sealed to the Goshinboku.”

His eyes shot open and he turned to stare wildly at the old priestess. She couldn’t mean… Towa had been with the Higurashi’s?! Was Kagome there too? Stuck on the other side of the damn well again?! Perhaps she had grabbed Towa and Moroha and escaped down the well. His heart was thundering in his ears as he started to speak “Is Kag-”

“No.” The sorrow returned to Kaede’s face and his heart sank, “I had hoped as well that she had escaped to the other side of the well again… but Towa claims she was raised by Kagome’s younger brother… Kagome was not there.”

The hope died in his chest again. But… Kaede had said something else. Moroha was alive. Some form of determination flickered to life in his heart and his resolve to find her hardened.  He would keep his promise to Kagome even if she wasn’t there with him. He would go to Moroha and be the parent she needed, even if she had no memory of him. Even if she hated him for leaving her as he had resented his own mother for so long. He’d let her hate him all she wanted; she could scream and hit him if she needed to. Hell even if after all that she never wanted to see him again he’d stay out of sight and protect her from the shadows. He would never let her be alone again.

“Kaede. Where is my daughter?”

[mando-chicken]

Back to Normal | Phoenix Squad

Clone Trooper Thrasher has finally been released from the hospital after sustaining terrible burns to his face, chest and arm, and is eager to finally get back to his brothers and his Jedi Commander. It seems that finally, everything will get back to normal for the members of the Phoenix Squad now that their wounded brother is on the mend.

A fic introducing a few character dynamics and with the prompt of what they do on a 'day off'. Not quite what the prompt was asking, but I had an idea and ran with it, so accept my offering of fluff. Unedited and unbeta'd, we die like men.

Read on AO3

Thrasher was over the moon to have finally received the all clear from both the base’s doctors and their squad medic, Drover, to be fully discharged. He hadn’t yet been placed back onto active service, assigned to only simple duties with a large amount of rest time in between, but just being able to step outside of the clinical exam rooms and medical wings that stunk of bacta was enough to greatly lift his spirits. Although he couldn’t quite call the air of Coruscant fresh, it was a great deal nicer than the sterile med bay he’d been confined to for weeks on end.

 As a blaze trooper, Thrasher had experienced his fair share of burns in the past – his skin was littered with little white and pink patches of skin, and his brothers were in much the same state – but the explosion of his flamethrower had been the worst by far. The right side of his face all the way down to the tips of his fingers were covered with patches of grafted skin, and it was sometimes difficult for the trooper to feel things with his hand if he touched it too gently. His face was in quite the state, but he’d never really thought himself much of a looker in the first place, so he wasn’t overly concerned with his new appearance.

 His hair, however, was in quite the state. Usually, he kept his red hair firmly braided, but since his stint in the medical wing it had been flowing freely to the point where it now tickled at his back. He’d managed to somewhat tame his wild locks with a comb, and while he could have braided it himself he decided that it would be best to allow his Jedi Commander the chance to do it. Although their squad hadn’t been working with her for long, Thrasher had quickly learnt that Kaleesh were well known for braiding their hair, and Trysta was able to wrangle his hair into quite beautiful styles when he gave her the opportunity.

 Hair braiding also seemed to help calm her nerves, and with how antsy she had been with him in the hospital he suspected she’d appreciate being able to run her fingers through his hair and confirm that he was, indeed, back in reasonable shape. She had explained once that her culture was heavily seeded with battle and the art of war, and that brothers in arms were near enough equal to actual family. It explained the deep respect and care she showed to the troops – while she was still a Jedi and thus could not take joy from violence and killing, she also understood the importance of having the chance to prove oneself in the glory of battle – she could relate to them intimately in that regard, and had seemingly already decided that the Phoenix Squad were her kin.

 Deathroll, Thrasher’s batcher and closest friend, had been the first to accept the idea, all to eager and excited at the prospect of adding a jetii to their vast mass of siblings. The rest of the squad were slower to accept her invitation at familial bonding, as they had seen how many of the Jedi fought, holding back their abilities and reluctant to even step foot on a battleground. Their General was much that way, trying everything in her power to avoid an actual fight, only giving in to violence at the last possible opportunity.

 But Commander Sheelal? She was constantly in the thick of the fight. She always led the charge, twin lightsabers ablaze while her master hung back to relay strategies her padawan. She carved through their durasteel enemies with vigour and a feral grin only just hidden beneath the fearsome bone mask she wore. The thrived where most Jedi were at their weakest, ploughing through masses of droids and leading men as though she’d been born to do so. That was how jetiise had been described to the clones when they’d been young, as fierce warriors who could stare down a thousand enemies and still emerge victorious at the end of the day.

 The rest of the squad had eventually followed Deathroll’s lead and accepted this padawan as part of their aliit. They did not trust other Jedi easily, but their Commander was an exception they were willing to make.

 While Thrasher had been recovering in the hospital, Trysta had visited him often, bringing him news of their latest battles and helped him to fall asleep when his aches and pains were keeping him awake. Of course, there was only so much time a Jedi could spend sitting around and chatting in a med-bay, but she would often curl up in one of the nearby chairs with a datapad she would study from – learning important information for her Knight trials she had told him – and although they didn’t speak much on those days, her presence was comforting.

 He was most pleased when he’d found that his brothers and Commander were all spending some of their leave time in one of the training rooms near the hospital, so Thrasher didn’t need to walk far to find them when he was finally free from doting nurses and stressed doctors. He’d still have to deal with Drover potentially hovering around him, but from what Thrasher could see, the medic was slouched over a datapad, his usual scowl in its rightful place.

 Fisher and Arson were on either side of one of the training mats, circling one another like wolves, before the younger clone lunged and their fight began. Deathroll was off to the side, leaning back against a nearby crate with the slightly smaller form of their Jedi Commander leaning against his side. She seemed to be dozing for the most part, her ears twitching and following the sounds of the two clones as they trained, but she otherwise remained still with her eyes closed and her head resting on Deathroll’s shoulder.

 Deathroll had the tendency to call their Commander his vod’ika, despite the numerous times they had all tried to tell him that she was, in fact, twice his age. He’d argued back that it was more in regard to her height than her age, and Trysta had seemed to be rather endeared when they’d explained what it meant, so somehow the name managed to stick. Thrasher could see it now though, with their Commander looking so small and fragile, snuggled up to the clone’s side.

 Arson was the first to notice him, pausing in his fight with Fisher the moment he noticed his approach. Unfortunately, his momentary lapse in focus had given the captain and opening, and the poor trooper was struck across the face with a solid right hook before twisting to sweep his legs out from under him. “Ow,” was all Arson mumbled, face down on the mat, not bothering to move from his position.

 “Something got you distracted, vod?” Fisher asked, glancing behind him and finally seeing Thrasher. He grinned, abandoning Arson to his mat-eating fate and jogging towards his squad mate, slapping a hand on Thrasher’s healthy shoulder. “I didn’t hear that you were getting released, Thrash’, you should’ve told us, we’d have come to you rather than making you search for us.”

 Deathroll turned to regard his batcher, his face lighting up in excitement. The action, however, displaced the sleeping Jedi and she jerked awake, her ears perking in surprise while she glanced around in confusion. “Thrasher?” she asked, eyes practically sparkling a vibrant yellow when she spotted him. She shifted to the side, allowing Deathroll to escape from her, watching as the trooper leapt to his feet to go and greet his brother.

 Thrasher couldn’t help laughing when Deathroll crashed into him at full force, enveloping him in a crushing hug, “easy, ‘Roll, I’m not completely healed up.” His brother released him with a rather sheepish look, easily shrugging at him with a briefly muttered apology. “And I thought you guys knew, Drover gave me my final check-up earlier today, I thought he told you.”

 Fisher fixed the medic with a glare more deadly than the flamethrower attached to his wrist, huffing when Drover simply shrugged, “Thrash’ got discharged this morning.” He stated, looking back down to his datapad in disinterest.

 “Thanks,” Fisher deadpanned, moving aside so that Thrasher could join the others in the small huddle they’d formed beside some crates. Arson had managed to crawl his way from the mat and over to Drover, flopping down beside the medic and complaining about the absolute agony inflicted on him by the captain. His words fell on deaf ears with Drover not bothering to look up from what he was reading.

 Thrasher easily nestled himself in beside the commander, with Deathroll coming to sit at his opposite side and the captain sitting across from them all. “Glad to have you back, Thrasher,” Trysta hummed, already weaving her digits into his hair and beginning to redo the lines of braids he was missing.

 “Thanks, Commander.” He turned his body so that his back was to her, allowing her easier access to his hair, “At least I can rely on you, the Captain and ‘Roll to welcome me back.” He turned his gaze to Arson and Drover, jokingly giving them both a pointed look.

 “I’ve had to put up with you moaning about being sore for the last month, ‘s not like I haven’t seen you recently,” the medic grumbled out, offering him only a glance to show his acknowledgement. Drover wasn’t exactly known for being touchy-feely, but deep-down Thrasher knew he cared, he wouldn’t have spent the last month glued to him, constantly checking up on him every spare moment he had if he didn’t.

 “And what’s your excuse, Arson?” Fisher asked, watching as the youngest among them rolled onto his back, only turning his head to regard the other members of the squad.

 “Thrasher distracted me and now my face is broken,” he pouted, aghast when Thrasher simply snorted at his alleged suffering.

 “It’s not broken you ik’aad, I swear you whine worse than the men who’ve lost limbs,” Drover growled, not bothering to even look at the blonde.

 Arson made a scandalised gasp, clutching his chest in mock hurt, “wow, Drover, I thought you were a good ori’vod, but apparently you don’t care that your poor vod’ika is dying.” He made an even louder gasp when Drover simply replied with a “yup,” and continued to ignore his plight.

 Thrasher couldn’t help breathing out a content sigh, leaning back against his Commander slightly as she continued to run her hands through his hair. The feeling was immensely calming and being surrounded by the familiar banter of his brothers was filling him with a sense of calm that he hadn’t felt in over a month. He had missed his family – they might have visited him regularly, but it wasn’t the same as actually being beside them – and he couldn’t wait until he was finally back to normal so he could continue to bask in the warmth that radiated from just being around his aliit.

 With luck, everything would be back to normal soon.

[veneataur]

Fandom: BBC’s The Musketeers

Day 1 of 24

Title: At a Loss

A/N: Back when I finished Whumptober, I thought I’d like to do another challenge like that. The simple prompts were fun to work with and see what I could come up within a day. Then I thought maybe people were getting sick of reading these stories, but then I decided I needed to keep up this writing because right now things suck where I am. The government continues to ruin the lives of the poor and being a grad student is likely to become even more difficult than it is now. So, I needed something fun and happy in my life and that’s always been fan fiction.

So, I’m calling this an advent challenge. There are 24 prompts that I’ve found randomly by scrolling through the internet. If anyone else wants the prompts, I’ll post them.

This one ties back to a Whumptober story, which can be found here. I’ll also make note that it does make some allusion to abortion, but nothing descriptive.

Sitting in the half-lit den, watching as an old friend and former soldier of his struggles to breathe and fights painful memories is not how Treville imagined his night would go. Still, as unexpected as Aramis’ arrival on his doorstep a few hours ago was, while Treville and Sarah were in the middle of playing a card game and watching Christmas movies with Ben and Tim, he can’t find it in him to be angry. Not with the young man at the least. His former friends who left him in his time of need, those are the ones Treville’s truly angry with. Furious with them for their ease in abandoning the code that binds soldiers together on and off the battlefield.

Sarah is off to bed, after having called Maria to let her know about Aramis’ arrival. It took a lot of convincing to keep Maria from jumping in her car and making the four-hour drive to see her older brother. Aramis is the middle of five children and the only brother. Treville always suspected that his growing up in the middle of four sisters attributed to his charm with women and his respect for women. Never once did he have to reprimand Aramis for improper proper behavior with women during his ROTC days, not like he had to with the other men.

Treville listens closely to Aramis, both to his breathing and his speaking. The most Treville has ever been able to find out is that Aramis led an ill-fated mission resulting in the deaths of 20 children and every member of his team, save for Aramis himself, who was very nearly on death’s door, likely knocking for entry, when he was rescued. Anything more than that has been sealed as part of the investigation or for the privacy of those involved. He’s heard the rumors though, the whispers as he asked around in the various military circles he’s still familiar with. Aramis has been labeled incompetent, a failure, worthless, a coward. At that was at best. At worse, he is a traitor and deserved more than a discharge from the Navy.

None of it Treville believes.

He’s known this young man since he came into his recruitment office, obviously distraught, though he did his best to hide it, wanting to enlist. Treville managed to get Aramis’ home phone number and delay the young man long enough for his dad to arrive. It was during that long hour of waiting that Aramis finally told him what he hadn’t told anyone. The one reason for him to throw aside a full scholarship to DePaul for the military. Isabel, her betrayal, and his unborn child. He hadn’t thought about the long-term consequences but was prepared to step-up when she told him two months later that their night in the back of his truck had left her pregnant. But then she made a decision and his child was dead. It was her choice, he knew, but Treville hadn’t seen a young man more distraught than Aramis at loss of his child. He wasn’t surprised when Aramis found him in the ROTC office on the first day of college orientation, joining the Navy the same day. The young man was better, but still not whole.

Today, tonight, he is worse than Treville has ever seen.

When Aramis cries out suddenly, a call for someone that’s louder than the rest of his mutterings, Treville jumps to his feet. As he sits on the coffee table, inches from Aramis, the young man is louder, his voice filled with anguish and tears.

“Aramis,” Treville calls out, loud enough that he hopes to be heard over the pleas. When Aramis continues as if he didn’t speak, Treville tries again, louder, closer to his old drill instructor tone, the tone that always stopped Aramis in his tracks, whatever dangerous path he was going down. It doesn’t work. Treville sighs. His last option is trying physically to wake the man, which he’s hesitant to do. He doesn’t have to be a doctor to know that Aramis is suffering from PTSD. But he also knows he has few options left and he can’t stand leaving Aramis trapped in his fever fueled nightmare.

He reaches out to lightly touch the young man’s shoulder, calling out his name. At the barest touch of his fingers, Aramis jumps and nearly falls off the couch in a coughing, hacking, sputtering mess. If Treville hadn’t been there, he would’ve landed on the floor, likely smacking his body on the coffee table on the way down. But then, Treville muses, if he hadn’t been there Aramis wouldn’t’ve had cause to jump like this.

It’s into Treville’s quick arms that Aramis falls and it’s Treville who takes the smack against the coffee table as he goes to his knees to rescue the young man from more unwarranted damage to his body. He holds on to Aramis’ thin frame as the man coughs, ignoring the smell of the streets, of Chicago. The change of clothes and quick wash with a warm wet towel could only do so much, after all. Tomorrow, he’ll have to wrangle Aramis into the tub for a proper bath. And cut back the hair and beard. There was no hope to salvage either with the knots.

When Treville hears a tell-tale change in the tone of coughing, he grabs a nearby bucket as Aramis brings up pale yellow bile. That, barring a few spare hacks, is the end of the coughing. Treville sets the bucket aside and grabs a towel to wipe away the string of bile tinged saliva that’s clung to Aramis’ chin. The young man doesn’t take notice as he’s working desperately to catch his breath.

“Steady breaths, ‘Mis,” Treville says, the old nickname coming back easily. It was a private nickname that Aramis allowed only the closest of family and friends to use.

When Aramis doesn’t respond and his breathing only grows more desperate and shallow, panic becoming clear, Treville grabs Aramis’ hand, ignoring the flinch and weak resistance to put the hand, palm down on his own chest.

“Feel my breathing, ‘Mis,” Treville says calmly, forcing himself to breathe steadily. “Match my pace. In…. Out.” There’s a subtle change, but Treville sees it clearly enough. “That’s it. Keep it up.” He keeps his tone light and encouraging.

Treville doesn’t care how long it takes. He does care that it works. Aramis is still pale, feverish, and exhausted, but he’s not panicking and he’s not desperate for his next breath. Treville settles him on the floor, his back leaning against the couch, feet stretched out in front of him. Treville mimics the position, keeping his body close enough to just touch Aramis. The young man isn’t asleep, but Treville doubts that he’s truly alert.

Because Aramis is calm, Treville leaves him be. When the young man starts shivering, he grabs a blanket from the couch and wraps it around the two of them because the extra body heat will only help Aramis to stop shivering sooner. And there’s precious little else Treville can think of to do to help him.

It works and, again, how long it takes, Treville doesn’t know. He’d spend hours here if it meant helping Aramis. This young man who’s been through more than is fair.

It might be morning, but Treville knows it’s not because minutes in crisis don’t really tick away that quickly. They are weathered by the slow force of time. Whenever it is, he hears something he doesn’t expect and it eases some the band that’s been tightening around his heart in the hours since Aramis arrived.

“Cap’n?” The voice is weak, scratchy, and nasally, but he would recognize it even heavily muffled by static.

“I’m here, ‘Mis.” Treville resists the urge to reach out a hand to pull the man in closer as he might have done years ago when he was still getting over the loss of his child and end of his first love.

“Why?” There’s confusion there. It’s more than that though. It’s confusion, hurt, apathy, worry. The emotions swirling around in Aramis are too much for Treville. The pain in his voice wrenches painfully as Treville’s own heart. And then, giving into old habits, he does pull Aramis closer. The young man doesn’t fight, but he does flinch and mutters an apology which Treville shushes because it’s not needed, not between old friends. When Aramis is leaning against his legs pulled up loosely, head leaning slightly awkwardly against Treville’s own thanks to their nearly even height, Treville finally speaks.

“I don’t know, ‘Mis.” Treville never had to inform any parents of the loss of their child. He was too old and better suited to train the adult children to go off and fight in battles not their own so someone else could tell their parents they’d died when the wars started. But he imagines this might have been how it felt to have to give that news. “I don’t know, ‘Mis, but I’m here.” Treville feels terrible for his pathetic answer but it’s the best he can give.

Aramis doesn’t speak again for a while, giving a sigh that turns into a few coughs, which, thankfully, don’t become anything prolonged. And when Sarah comes down at the crack of dawn, having barely slept herself over the worry about a young man she knows mostly from stories her husband tells about his antics and heartaches, she finds them still both under the blanket, Aramis leaning against Treville, calm and quiet save for his ragged, wheezing breathing. Both might be asleep; their eyes are peacefully shut. It doesn’t matter because the despair and heartache are lessened. Now is the time for healing, for listening, and for family because there’s no doubt in Sarah’s heart that Aramis is now a part of theirs.

A/N: By the way the prompt for this was agony and I couldn’t think most of the day of a real story for it because I had Chris Pine singing agony going through my head.

[awajid673-blog]

Top holiday gift picks for hard-core science geeks in 2016

Everybody likes getting a thoughtful, warmly intended gift. For this year’s winter holiday season, put a sparkle in your favorite STEM enthusiast’s eye with one of these science-minded picks. Whether you have a bench scientist, a programmer or a science fiction lover in mind, here we try to find a little something for everyone. First things first: labware for around the house

Physicists, it’s been said, are merely machines for converting coffee into theorems, but why let the academics have all the fun? This elegant walnut and brass pour-over coffee stand ($189) looks exactly like an elegant ring stand with a glass funnel, because it is a ring stand with a funnel — except that you can use this one to make coffee at your desk and not have to worry about what the 9AM freshman chemistry lab section spilled on it. It reminds me of Gale Boetticher’s mathematically ideal coffee-brewing rig. The included Hario V60 glass dripper fits into the ring, and the ring itself can of course be adjusted to match the height of your mug, flagon or beaker. Aesthetically, it looks like something you might find in a steampunk lab, assuming steampunk labs have much better sources of funding than their real-world counterparts. While Gale’s vacuum-brewing rig has been the subject of much loving scientific debate, you can make a rich, fine cup of coffee using the pour-over method. Unlike a French press, too, this rig can make coffee just as fast as you can pour water through the grounds. Filter paper circles not included, but you can probably find a new box in the chemical stock room. 

Following the theme of using lab glass for coffee, which everyone should already know is actually a terrible idea, here’s a mug that looks just like a beaker. It comes in two sizes, 350mL ($5.99) and 900mL ($7.99), and it’s made from tempered borosilicate glass, just like real labware. Maybe you need a modestly priced gift for a Secret Santa exchange. Maybe you want a beaker mug labeled in the metric system. Maybe, like me, you just think borosilicate glass is superior to most others for use in your own secret science lair. No matter what your reasoning, this lab beaker mug lets you drink coffee in style. Bonus: it stands a good chance of making your principal investigator double-take. It is said that in ancient Persia, to be sure of an argument’s value, thinkers would debate it twice: once sober, and once drunk. If it stood up to debate both ways, it passed. For those 21 and over, what better way to get your scientific drank on than out of tiny beakers or culture tubes? No sense shelling out for a kitschy giftware “test tube shots” set you know will break when you can get real lab glass for way cheaper. These are actual borosilicate lab glass, whether you prefer to take your shots from test tubes or beakers. Each test tube ($11.19 for six) holds 36 mL or 1.27 fl oz. Each 25mL beaker ($4.49) holds, uh, 25 mL, or just barely shy of one fluid ounce. And you can even mark them for parties. Alternatively, try this Adagio Teas simple mug ($15.76) suitable for hot or cold drinks, which is also made of tempered borosilicate glass — that is to say, just as light and strong as lab glass, with the same clean lines, but in a form factor that won’t make it look like you actually stole your mug from the lab supply cabinet.

It is by the beans of java that the mind is set in motion. Smartphone toys Your smartphone outperforms the computer that powered the Apollo spaceships. Time to use it for something cooler than Candy Crush Soda Saga. Whether you tend to be looking through a microscope, a telescope, binoculars or any other lens-y apparatus, this is a useful phone adapter mount ($19.99) that lets you use your smartphone to capture what you can see through the eyepiece. This adapter is designed to fit on to a huge  variety of optical instruments. It has an adjustable clamp to fit different types of hardware, and is compatible with a range of Apple, Samsung, and Sony devices. It can fit instruments with eyepieces from 28-47mm in diameter and should be extremely useful for photography where you need to shoot through another optical device, but need a stable, secure mount with which to do it. 

If the cell phone adapter mount is meant for people who want to attach an iPhone or Android device to a different piece of equipment, this lens kit ($16.99) is for those doing the photography with their smartphones in hand. It gives you both a 10x macro lens and a wide angle lens for mounting on basically any smartphone. At this price, these lenses aren’t high-end professional grade, but if you’re just trying it out or your needs are modest, or you’ve got a budding photographer just starting off, these basic kits are a great way to increase your hardware’s flexibility without breaking the bank. So many gorgeous macros. When getting and keeping your image in focus is key, you can’t afford to have your camera jostling around. This is especially important for getting pics of what you’re viewing through your telescope viewfinder. With a compact tripod and remote shutter button ($24.99), you can be sure that your photos will be crisply focused with little wait or hassle. Bonus: you can use the shutter button when your phone is mounted on the microscope or telescope, to get perfect shots of the gorgeous slide you just stained and fixed, or the nebula you just found. If you’ve ever wanted an infrared camera add-on for an Android or iOS device, Flir is the company to check out. Both the iOS and Android variants cost the same amount of money ($215), and the camera captures temperatures ranging from -4F to 248F (-20-120C). This particular kit is compatible with the Samsung Galaxy S5 and S6, the Samsung Galaxy Tab S10.5 and S8.4, HTC’s One M8, and the LG V400. The Flir One has its own battery so it won’t hit your smartphone’s battery life. Where Flir lenses attach to your phone, the CAT Phone S60 ($599.99) is a unique device with a specific use-case — it’s the only smartphone on the market with a built-in thermal camera combined with a highly rugged design. At $600, this isn’t a cheap piece of equipment, and as with most rugged hardware, you can get faster smartphones for much less cash if speed is all you’re looking for. What sets the CAT S60 apart is its ability to take a beating and the integrated Flir. That said, the Snapdragon 617, 720p display, 32GB of storage, and 3GB of RAM do put this device in competitive midrange territory. If you need a thermal camera already and a rugged smartphone suits you, the CAT S60 is worth consideration. Gifts for academics and scientists Whether your giftee is a programmer, a mathematician, a bench chemist, an engineer, or a field archaeologist, scientists deserve some love, and there’s a snazzy gift out there that’ll make them wonder how you knew just what they wanted.

Tardigrades are made of indestructible win. Indulge my your giftee’s mild obsession with water bears, and they’ll always have a conversation starter with this tardigrade necklace ($24.99), no matter where they go. Live tiny, die never. This lab notebook ($19.99) is the single best one I have ever touched. True story: my lab partner had one, I saw it and demanded to know where she had bought it, I bought my own, and now I’m a convert. VELA notebooks are better than Moleskine for lab or engineering notebooks, and I am aware that that’s fightin’ talk among those who keep field notes. Its hard binding is sturdy and rejects fingerprints. Its pages are lightly but clearly numbered and laid out in a 5x5mm grid. It has a gorgeous index, and if you mash it down so it lays flat on your desk, it still closes tight and square. If you are mildly, or more than mildly, obsessive about how your project notebook is numbered or laid out or how it feels in your hand; if you’re the kind of person who will lay everything out in pencil before going over it in ink, even in your field notebook; if you hesitate to commit to an organizational scheme because it might be difficult to convert that to an intelligible table of contents later; this notebook is for you. Give this to any science person and it will be a hit.

At $200, this Omax compound binocular microscope is an investment, but it’s every bit the quality you’d expect in a university lab, with up to 2,000x magnification via the oil immersion lens. If the recipient doesn’t know how to use an oil immersion objective on a microscope, don’t buy this for them. If they do, though — and you can safely ask them that question without giving away that you intend to give them a microscope, just say you saw a thing online — this is a bold, durable gift that will make a big impression. The iFixit Pro Tech Toolkit ($69.99) has a ridiculous array of bits and tools for wrangling consumer electronics. According to ThinkGeek, it’s standard issue for some FBI and CIA teams. Can any FBI or CIA sources confirm, or is that classified? Finally, pick up a copy of Make: Electronics ($19) and your giftee can dig into electronics and electrical engineering, whether they’re a layman, an EE major, or an experienced professional. Comprehensive and plainspoken, this book is an exceptional beginners resource, and it enabled me to play around with a RasPi B. Click to Post