°*TouMaki - Advent Calendar 2018*°
DAY 21 - “GREEN”
by @twinkmastertoudou
Artist’s Notes: “Since drawing something about Maki’s hair would be too obvious, I decided to do something about a Christmas tree, so here - Toudou visiting Maki in London for Christmas! It’s getting cold over here.”
There isn’t a single thing I don’t like in this entry - everything is amazing, from the colour palette to the lighting, passing through the background, their outfits, the composition, the snow, the steamy cup of coffee and Maki’s hat and round glasses. There’s an intense atmosphere and the style is terrific.
Thank you so much, @twinkmastertoudou, for pinch-hitting and having delivered us such an amazing piece! We were lucky and honoured to have you!
Isnt the actress who plays Abigail in spn too?? I think she was a girl in a hospital when Sam was in hospital bc of the lucifer head fuck. She was hunted by her brothers spirit & sammy had to excorcise him. & she had a throat problem like Abigail which is 🧐 🤔 anyway need to rewatch hannibal again
She is! And yeah her bandages are in almost the exact same spot lol.
I'm really enjoying it so far! Definitely a trip. So much. So much happens.
Neil’s total lack of self-preservation was charming earlier but I’m at the end of book 2 and his logic here is killing me (& making me bother @believeinthe13 with my incredulity). WHO DOES THAT????
Lance loves long hot showers, fluffy bathrobes and organic face masks, all that relaxation she-bang. Keith is all in and out in, don’t forget your knife before going to bed.
how do they make up after a fight?
they fight so often about everything they don’t even notice it, but after having a “real” fight, they isolate themselves from each other, Keith silently brooding in dark corners, and Lance whining to everyone who cares to listen, until they just can’t take it anymore and apologize like adults they’re supposed to be, and fight about something else ten minutes later like the children they are
who prefers rain and who prefers sun?
Lance could probably live on the sun, but he even misses the rain at this point, and Keith doesn’t notice the weather most of the time anyway
what’s their favorite place to go together?
the training room, where Keith trains to the point of complete exhaustion, and Lance casually hangs out to watch him, pretending to study his techniques in case he ever turns to the dark side, but he just likes watching Keith sweat, and secretly hopes Keith will want to spar so they could get sweaty together
who’s more likely to be voted prom king/queen?
I don’t know if it’s Keith, but I know it’s not Lance
do they celebrate anniversaries, etc.?
these boys can’t agree on how long a tick is, what makes you think they can agree on the first time they said I like you or locked lips? besides, Lance wouldn’t settle for anything less than a parade
who’d pressure the other into singing karaoke?
Lance doesn’t want to pressure Keith into karaoke because he sucks at providing quality vocal harmony, okay, this guy can’t even grasp the simple concept of “I say VOL- you say -TRON” and Lance is here to dazzle, Keith would only hold him back
what’s their nightly routine?
making out in space broom closets Keith’s room with Lance taking forever to leave and sneak back to his own and ending up just sleeping together and please don’t look at me let them be horny teenagers
who’s more likely to burn dinner?
you’d think Keith was a master chef after living alone in a cabin in the middle of the desert but that was all cup ramen and canned ham, man, why else wouldn’t he complain about the goo he’s eating now
@twinkmastertoudou wanted a fix-it-fic and I owe it to her for dragging her to this hell with me
When Syd woke up, Liam wasn’t there.
They weren’t there at all, so Syd thought for a moment that it was another dream. Like the one when he woke up right where he fell asleep, wrapped around Liam, their hands still tangled, and a metal hand digging uncomfortably but protectively into Syd's back. Knox was there too, legs crossed in front of him as he stared at Syd pointedly, grinning and making obnoxious kissy faces. That might not have been a dream – it could have been fever.
He was lying on a bed in a dimly lit room now, and Liam was dozing off on a shabby chair nearby. He nearly tipped over and fell once he realized Syd's eyes were open, but he didn’t dare speak. He just sat there, his back a straight line pulled taut, as his eyes raked over Syd's body in search of signs of hurt or discomfort. He looked tired, but alive, and Syd felt relieved, even though he was never really in any danger, at least not when he wasn’t being shot at. At least not like Syd was, or Marie.
Marie.
“Marie is fine,” said Liam as soon as he noticed Syd's eyes widen in sudden realization. “She’s already up and running around changing the world.”
Syd sagged against the bed in relief. He didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure he could even if he knew. How long has it been since the last time he spoke? Swallowing hurt. He didn’t know what to say anyway.
“I’ll go get her. She’s been visiting whenever she could. She’ll be happy you’re awake. The water is on your left. Do you need help sitting up?”
Syd shook his head, and Liam nodded curtly before he left. Syd knew Liam hadn't left his bedside, because he'd promised Syd wouldn't suffer alone. As cold water finally slid down his dry throat, Syd finally fully comprehended that he was alive. He, they, had more time, and Syd had no idea how to use it.
Marie would have known what to say.
Everything changed, but it was as if nothing changed at the same time. Only the lucky ones survived – not the strong, or good, just random lucky individuals that were going to create everything from scraps again. They no longer treated Syd like their messiah – another word from the world before this, and the one before, that made Syd think fondly of Mr. Baram, and miss him terribly – and they seemed happier. Free. Like Marie always believed they could.
Liam was still hovering, no more nor less than before… everything. He kept his distance, but his presence felt as constricting as it felt then. He touched Syd only if he absolutely had to, and only with his metal hand; as if nothing changed at all. Syd wondered if Liam lost interest once Syd stopped being Yovel, if he kept an eye on him out of some misguided sense of duty or guilt. Syd didn’t like the idea.
“He’s giving you an out you know,” Marie said, watching Syd watch Liam. “All these breath-stopping looks, dramatic kisses, and whatnot, he thinks it was just a 'well if we’re going to die anyway' thing. He’s giving you an out, and you’re taking it.”
“No, I’m not. Because no, he’s not.”
Syd didn’t think so. Now that he was only Syd again, he was just that one guy who almost got Liam killed in all the imaginable ways, and ended up not saving anyone. Who ended up like everyone else – lucky. Liam didn’t want to hear Syd's story anymore.
“He has your name tattooed on his chest Syd,” Marie reminded him.
He shook his head. “He has a political function tattooed on his chest. I’m no longer serving that function.”
“I don't know enough about blood transfusions,” she said with a sigh, “but I worry that Knox infected you with his stupidity somehow. Through sheer exposure perhaps.”
Syd didn’t want to talk or think about Liam, so he welcomed the change of subject. He smiled despite himself, unable to remember if they'd ever talked about Knox like that, after. He decided it was a good way of remembering him, and hoped he and Marie would do it frequently from now on.
He missed Knox now more than ever. He missed Egan too. They should have been here. They should have been able to see this world, and be a part of it. He believed both of them would have been lucky enough. Idiots like them often were.
“Maybe stupidity is transmitted orally,” he mused.
Once Marie realized he was talking about kissing, she punched him in the arm and laughed. Syd laughed too, but he was thinking about Liam again.
At first, it was weird to work again after being an untouchable savior who only used his hands to wave at the crowds. It was weird having Liam let him, most of all. Then it felt refreshing, and then exhausting, and then it was just a part of his day, like he was a part of the community. It was normal, and boring, and tiring, and Syd liked it. Things have changed completely, for the second time in his short life, but he found himself wishing they would stay like that, at least for a while.
He also wished Liam would talk to him. He didn't have to want Syd again, but a conversation of more than five clipped sentences would be nice. Syd assumed that was what Liam felt like when Syd was Yovel, and determined on remaining stubbornly ignorant of Liam's feelings. He assumed that was what having feelings felt like.
Having feeling for Atticus Finch, in all their superficial convenience of the first unattainable crush, was easy. Having feelings for Knox, in all their inappropriate complexity, and most probably utter hopelessness, and confusion that never really went away, was easy too. All that was easy because Syd never had to – never had a chance to – do anything about it.
Having feelings for Liam was different, but Syd still did nothing about it. With the world changing drastically around him, not much about Syd has changed – in many ways he was still a Chapter Eleven orphan from the Valve that didn't deserve, or amount to, anything.
Marie was rolling her eyes a lot, which wasn't helpful in the slightest.
Liam seemed to gradually become more comfortable around Syd, and they started spending time together again. They talked a lot, laying foundation for tentative friendship, as there was no longer any obligation or difference in status between them, and they could. They discussed the future, the past, the people, the weather. They shared their stories. They got to know each other, and Syd was happy. And yet, something was missing.
“You want to kiss him,” Marie drawled, pursing her lips not unlike the fever-induced Knox. “Admit it. You really care about him.”
“Of course I care about him,” said Syd, frowning and crossing his arms defensively. “Me not caring about him is not the problem.”
Marie whistled, impressed for some reason. “You actually think he doesn’t care about you. Amazing. Millions of years of evolution and boys are still as dumb as bells.”
No one talked like that anymore. Or rather, no one had before, and now they started to speak like that again. The people have found more books. Not many, but enough to start reading again, for education and pleasure. Liam brought Syd whatever he found, and while they lost on their novelty and rarity, the gifts still made Syd’s chest tighten. He offered to teach Liam to read, but he refused. Syd understood.
“You need to talk to him,” Marie said, suddenly serious. “I know the big, strong, silent type has its appeal, but you need to communicate.”
Syd blushed at Marie's description, because it was quite accurate, and it did hold some appeal to Syd. There was still a part of him that didn't believe Marie, that was convinced that Liam was simply no longer interested in Syd like that. Marie's argument about dramatic life and death situations boosting male libido went both ways – it was more likely to be attracted to someone you believed had saved your life and changed your world for the better than for “just Syd,” who was now only good for fixing the few machines people were slowly learning to trust again to make their lives easier, instead of taking control of them.
But Marie was probably right, as she often had been, and besides, could he really call himself and Liam friends if they weren't honest with each other? It was only fair to get everything between them out in the open, and deal with any unresolved issues, unfinished businesses, and the like.
Syd also maybe wanted to kiss Liam again, possibly many times. At least that's what Marie thought.
He was more surprised than he probably should, really, that Liam’s metal hand needed some minor repairs. It made sense, of course, because things broke all the time. Body parts broke too, and Liam’s hand was both. More of a thing, perhaps, if Liam came to Syd with it. Syd hadn’t performed any makeshift medical procedures on anyone since that one time in the hovercraft.
He blushed at the memory. As he tweaked with metal hand currently in his lap, Liam’s elbow resting on his knee, he regretted not having a reason to ask Liam to take off his shirt this time. He blushed even harder at that.
“Is doing this making you uncomfortable?” asked Liam, his voice tight.
Syd didn’t want to say it was making him kind of horny. He sometimes still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact he had time to get kind of horny nowadays. He shook his head and shushed Liam, focusing on the task, which was difficult with Liam’s thighs shifting restlessly in his peripheral vision, and his uneven breath fanning over the top of Syd’s head. Marie was right, and Syd disliked her for it very much.
“We've never really talked about what happened in Mountain City,” Sid managed to say finally. “Between us, I mean.”
Liam's metal hand clenched so hard, the loose parts Syd was fixing nearly popped off. Blinking, Syd sat up straight, and looked at Liam, who averted his eyes, a pained grimace twisting his mouth. Syd put away his tools, taking Liam's hand off his lap, and waited, holding his breath. This had to be the part where Liam said the truth, and Syd walked away, scorned and disappointed.
“I thought you've forgiven me,” Liam said through gritted teeth.
Syd didn't understand. “Forgiven you?”
“For the things I said when I... when we fought.”
Syd remembered. He remembered all the ugly things Liam felt he had to say to make Syd fight back. He remembered thinking that saying those things hurt Liam more than hearing them hurt Syd. He remembered feeling it was wrong of Liam to use his affection as a weapon, to see it as ugly and depraved enough to cut. Stupidly, he didn't realize Liam was still troubled by that.
“You said you loved me.”
“I do,” Liam said immediately, appalled Syd could ever doubt it. “I always will.”
Syd sighed in relief, surprising himself. “Then- Why? Why did you push me away? I don't care about that, I know why you did that. You know I don't care, Liam, I didn't even then, I- I kissed you. Did you think I did that because, what? I was sending a soldier off to die?”
He sucked in a breath when he realized there was some truth to that statement, and that Liam had known that then. After all, he had watched Syd a lot. He let out a shaky breath, a half-laugh. He looked away, unable to face that wet puppy look and see it confirm that Syd was too late with his feelings, or that they weren't enough for Liam.
“I'm not an easy guy to love, am I?” he asked, resigned, and he almost flinched when Liam put his good hand on the side of his neck.
Liam was smiling. “But I don't need easy, remember?”
That whole shotgunning business- it all seems nice and romantic in fiction but i tired it once, we smashed our faces, one of us ended burning a ciggy hole in The others sweater, we choked a bit and then i basically cried bc i got smoke in my eye and it hurt a bit 1/10 would not recommend
This anecdote made my morning. 10/10 would enjoy hilarious anecdotes from you again
Harry didn’t say anything when Albus ended up sorted into Slytherin (he wasn’t Ron, who’d probably boycott the entire housing system if that happened to one of his children). He even didn’t say anything when Albus ended up best friends with Scorpius Malfoy – the boys weren’t their fathers, thank Merlin, and Harry was happy for them. But he couldn’t say quiet when Albus ended up just showing up home for the summer with his bestie without telling anyone. He could already see the headlines: “Harry Potter kidnaps the heir to the Malfoy fortune.”
“Your father will hear about this,” he threatened, pointing a finger at Scorpius.
The boys just looked at each other with raised eyebrows and identical patronizing smirks; Harry couldn’t understand how he could have liked himself at thirteen because that was absolutely the worst age. and, fine, it was a very uncool thing to say, but he never claimed to be the cool parent – Ginny’s new Australian husband was the cool stepdad, with his tattoos, and dreadlocks, and a magical sea creature he rode like a surfboard. Harry was the kind of dad who got patronizingly smirked at by two unruly teenage Slytherins.
“Call your father now, Scorpius,” he demanded, gesturing at the fireplace.
Scorpius just shrugged. “I don’t want to talk to him, and you cannot make me.”
“There are literally countless ways I could make you,” deadpanned Harry, but he didn’t mention how many of them were completely illegal. “Call him.”
“Very well,” agreed Scorpius with a heavy dramatic sigh that reminded Harry of Draco. “But I still don’t want to talk to him.”
Harry nodded as Scorpius got up from the couch. He has assumed he would have to do most of the talking anyway, despite the fact he hasn’t seen Draco for almost three years, and haven’t spoken to him for at least twenty – always fleetingly. Which was fine; if anything, it only proved that his weird obsession with Malfoy during his school days was nothing more than an unhealthy phase that didn’t hinder his fully functional adult life at all.
“Mom wouldn’t make such a fuss, dad,” complained Albus as Scorpius talked to his house elf.
Harry rolled his eyes, walking over to the fireplace. “Then you two should have eloped to Australia.”
Albus was in the process of puffing out his cheeks in a display of highest offence, when Scorpius lunged at him, pretending to swoon into his arms, and using falsetto to spew some nonsensical poetics about their tragic star-crossed romance. He was slightly thinner than his son, but a good head taller, and they both so looked ridiculous with Albus trying not to drop Scorpius with his knees bent awkwardly from the weight, even Harry couldn’t help snorting.
“What’s so funny, Potter,” snapped Draco’s head suddenly.
His voice startled Harry, and the familiar way he spit out his name sent an equally familiar shiver down his spine. He turned his head stiffly to face Draco, faintly registering the boys leaving the room behind him. Draco was looking at him impatiently – even through the flames, Harry could clearly see the dark circles under his eyes, and a few disobedient strands of fair hair falling down his forehead.
“To what do I owe the… pleasure… for lack of a better word,” asked Malfoy, when Harry continued to stare uselessly.
“You don’t look too good,” he blurted out before he could stop himself.
Draco blinked slowly, and then he laughed. Harry’s never heard Malfoy laugh before – really laugh, not snigger behind his back, or to his face, but actually laugh because he was amused. He watched Draco grin into a tumbler before taking a generous sip out of it.
“Harry bloody Potter himself calls me to comment on my unseemly appearance. You have to forgive me. I’ll have you know Malfoys have always aged spectacularly well, but not many of them actually worked.”
Harry snorted; who knew Malfoy could be funny. Definitely not Harry, seeing as he spent most of their shared time together acting like he hated Draco’s guts because it was easier than actually analyzing all his feelings for him in all their confusing complexity. Even though some sort of nostalgic regret nagged at him when he thought about school, he chose to focus on the strangely warm feeling in his stomach evoked by the easiness of talking to Draco now.
“You have. Aged well, I mean. It’s… oddly nice to see you, actually.”
It was Malfoy’s turn to stare. “I don’t believe I’m drunk enough for this. Are you trying to butter me up before telling me you accidentally killed my only son, Potter?”
“You know he’s here?” blurted out Harry, simultaneously relieved and offended.
“Of course,” said Draco with a scoff. “I might not be the father of the year, but I’m not my father. It’s absolutely fine, feel free to make Scorpius hunt his own food, or whatever it is that you do in the country, and they can spend the next summer in the mansion being served by house elves, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
Harry gaped. “That’s not-”
“Oh? So you don’t want my son there, is that it? Afraid he’ll corrupt your impeccable offspring, Potter? A bit too late for that, if you ask me…”
“No, I-”
Harry let out a defeated sigh, biting his lip. That was an unexpected turn of events, and he honestly haven’t thought that far, which was admittedly something he’s been known for. In all fairness, his only issue with Scorpius staying the summer was the fact that his father was unaware of that, and since Draco seemed perfectly aware, there was nothing Harry could complain about. He could feel Malfoy’s intense gaze on himself, burning hotter than the flames, and he did what he did best – something rash and stupid.
“Do you want to come over too?”
To say that Malfoy looked surprised would be an understatement, and Harry felt himself flush with embarrassment. He honest to Merlin spluttered, flailing his hands, which resulted in Draco raising an eyebrow in a mixture of confusion and amusement.
“That was dumb, you have work, forget I asked, why did I ask, I gotta g-”
“I could use a few weeks off,” interrupted Malfoy calmly.
Harry’s heart was hammering in his chest, and he felt way more nervous than he should. He was wondering what he was thinking just now, asking Draco bloody Malfoy to spend summer with him and their two teenage sons after twenty years of absolutely no contact, and what Malfoy was thinking when he actually agreed to the insane idea.
“What about your wife?” he stammered, feeling like a mistress for some reason.
Draco chuckled darkly. “Please, Potter. We’ve slept together enough times to produce an heir and went our separate ways.” He laughed again seeing Harry’s confused frown. “Oh, Potter, get your knickers out of the twist. I assumed you’d be a hopeless romantic, marrying your school sweetheart and all, but what else did you expect of me?”
Harry suddenly felt weirdly prudish with the way Malfoy was teasing him, and he had to fight down a blush. For a moment, he wondered what it would have been like to be subjected to that caustic, dry sense of humor as a kid, not a middle-aged man, and he felt sentimental again, but his pride forced him to push back.
“Divorcing your school sweetheart after ten years doesn’t seem too romantic to me,” he said, deceptively offhandedly.
The grin Malfoy offered him was almost filled with pride, and decidedly filthy. “Can I bring a couple of house elves?”
Harry miraculously managed to hold back the laugh bubbling in his throat. It was positively irrational, and unthinkable, and completely insane, but it felt right. Harry might have wasted all the opportunities he had to change the hostile relationship between him and Draco in the past, and he might have even regretted it from time to time when he allowed himself to dwell, but for all he knew, perhaps it was never possible when they were teenagers. Maybe they had to wait twenty years to start over, and Harry was about to find out.
