blusollyjd sent:
The gift is wrapped somewhat sloppily, with too much tape and a poorly tied ribbon. But underneath the perhaps childish wrapping job is a large wooden case the size of a briefcase with a small brass plate on front, bearing the monogram A.K.H., as well as a smaller one the size of a large pencil box. Inside this is a collection of artist's brushes, top of the line, of both soft and coarse bristles- and inside the large case are tubes of paint of every imaginable color, as well as a new palate.

Abelärd Haswell nearly forgot about the holiday. Well… not quite. More like he had been too busy with his daily job, and caring for those sick with colds and the flu, that he got caught up in his work. This was a common plight with the man, and he vowed to remedy it, each time he finally ‘got a break’.

He remembered the holiday, but forgot that it was finally December the twenty-fifth when he woke up this morning.

With this in mind, though, it was obvious that he was surprised to find the present left for him. Crudely wrapped, poorly done. Yes, Jane. No doubt his darling, beloved Soldier left him this. He was humbled, and it showed in the way he inspected the package with awe.

He carefully unwrapped it, laying aside the paper. It was barely ripped, could almost be used once more. A.K.H—-yes, his initials, the same exact ones he shared with his twin. The briefcase, how curious. What was inside of it?

A gasp escaped his lips. “Mein Gott.” Eyes widening, Abelärd gazed upon a variable array of artistic tools and paints. “Jane,” he murmured softly. “You precious, stubborn Soldier, you.”

Quickly he began to study and examine each brush, and each tube. Like an excited boy, he was already coming up with ideas on how to put these to good use. He’d paint a picture, yes. One of Jane. One just for him.

kiyoyakko:

Merry Christmas Soldic
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kiyoyakko:

Merry Christmas Soldic

BAH! I told you NOT to tell Jane!

Mein Gott, zhis is not going to end well…

starkindustriesamm sent:
-a young lady comes calling, one familiar to the medic. Though her hair has gotten slightly shorter and now sticks up in a particular fashion in the front. Her glasses are now white plastic cat-eye frames but all of that aside, she looks quite the same. Will this Medic she called her second father remember her? She hopes so. Looking around, she calls out- Doctor Haswell? Abel?

starkindustriesamm:

zecuddlyblumedic:

She could hear laughter. A kind sort of laughter, accompanied by playful chiding in German. The sound itself was inviting, not at all like stepping into Aldous’ wing of the RED infirmary. One would hear the squawking of ravens, the maddening cackle of the madman himself, or… worse: silence.

After the young lady calls out, though, the talking stopped, but the laughter remained. It merely dimmed down to a chuckle. And… she could see why.

Abelärd Haswell poked his head around the corner of his infirmary wing, and he had a few mourning doves perched on his shoulders. They were gently picking at a few locks of his hair.

Laughing, he tries to wave them off once more, but one refuses to leave. The rest fly off, one stays. “Sorry,” he says quickly, attempting to brush himself off, wiping away a few stray feathers. “They get affectionate after they get fed.”

She pauses in her steps to observe the scene in front of her, attempting to stifle a giggle with both hands but unfortunately it isn’t enough. Shaking her head, a smile tugs at one corner of her mouth.

"I can certainly see that, judging from the way you were laughing and how they all seemed to be very happy all settled on you," she muses, making her way over to him, "And from what I can see, one decided to stick around and keep you company a while longer."

"Yes," he mused. "This one always stays. Zhe others will fly of, but not him. Never." He gently rubs under the dove’s beak, and the precious little bird lets out a cooing sort of sigh. "He is precious to me."

After a few more moments of petting the fluffed up dove, the Medic glanced at his guest once more. She… looked familiar. And she sounded familiar. And…

"…I know you." He begins to smile, a smile that’s soft and loving. "I’ve missed you."

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(Source: ask-blumedic)

starkindustriesamm sent:
-a young lady comes calling, one familiar to the medic. Though her hair has gotten slightly shorter and now sticks up in a particular fashion in the front. Her glasses are now white plastic cat-eye frames but all of that aside, she looks quite the same. Will this Medic she called her second father remember her? She hopes so. Looking around, she calls out- Doctor Haswell? Abel?

She could hear laughter. A kind sort of laughter, accompanied by playful chiding in German. The sound itself was inviting, not at all like stepping into Aldous’ wing of the RED infirmary. One would hear the squawking of ravens, the maddening cackle of the madman himself, or… worse: silence.

After the young lady calls out, though, the talking stopped, but the laughter remained. It merely dimmed down to a chuckle. And… she could see why.

Abelärd Haswell poked his head around the corner of his infirmary wing, and he had a few mourning doves perched on his shoulders. They were gently picking at a few locks of his hair.

Laughing, he tries to wave them off once more, but one refuses to leave. The rest fly off, one stays. “Sorry,” he says quickly, attempting to brush himself off, wiping away a few stray feathers. “They get affectionate after they get fed.”

Under the Gun

blusollyjd:

zecuddlyblumedic:

blusollyjd:

zecuddlyblumedic:

blusollyjd:

zecuddlyblumedic:

blusollyjd:

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delicioussquid:

SOLDIER STOP
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delicioussquid:

SOLDIER STOP

Under the Gun

blusollyjd:

zecuddlyblumedic:

blusollyjd:

zecuddlyblumedic:

blusollyjd:

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(Source: pinetreessol)