#sometimes you make a pretty shitty plot or make plot holes

[treezxu]

We need to start treating bad writing like bad art and im not kidding

[sincerelyyadere]

Predatory marriage review [no spoilers] 8/10

Royal, Lovenemies to Lovers, King x Princess, Brute x Sophisticated, Poc, Polar opposites, Beauty x The beast, Switch, nsfw, tbc, crazy sex scenes, Political, medieval, mental health, Ying Yang, Mates, Size difference, the man is built like a wardrobe while the girl is built like a kid dying of starvation, breaking gender norms

TW: CnC, suicidal themes, incest, child abuse, eating disorders, family trauma, slavery, racism

Plot: ★★★★☆

Storytelling: ★★★★☆

Characters: ★★★★☆

I actually had two takes on this manhwa, since i read the first two or something chapters around a year ago - it was all over the internet, and you know i can't say no to a good yandere shit.

Well, i gave up after two episodes, since it seemed dissapointing at first. It was using tropes i automatically hate, which is Giant ML x snowflake MC, and weird power imbalance.

OH BOI WAS I WRONG.

I lately forced myself to reread since i promised myself some time ago i'll read first 10 episodes of the comic i'm reviewing, no matter how shitty it seems in hopes it'll get better. Well, in this case it DEFINETELLY PAYED OFF.

What bothered me in the first few episodes was quickly resolved, or maybe i just got distracted because of how pretty the art was and how the plot moved on.

This manhwa is not that surprising, it doesn't have nerve-wracking plot twists, but it'll get you to kick your feet in the air just like you'd reading a book with enemies having to sleep in one bed. It's not that surprising, but - gods - it still has me squealing every time.

I just love how the characters were build. MC, who seems to be a snowflake (both physically and mentally) is a really strong person, who manages to live another day despite the hardships of her life, and the royal connotations she's been put in. Her character was not flat as i expected, and i love how she and ML fill the emptiness in one another.

ML on the other hand, who seems to be a brute, really has a softness in him he can show to MC, and actually respects her will and her decisions, even if he sometimes wants to go against them.

Although when i'm reading a manhwa with political themes i usually scroll the "boring" parts (aka let's skip to the good part) even i can see that this arc was written well, and one thing logically led to another, which i really value cause this way we didn't get many plot holes.

The writing of the villains also makes sense, and although it's visible most of their actions come purely from their character, at least i could enjoy the character writing and appreciate it.

Also: WE GOT A BEAUTIFUL DEPICTION OF POC CHARACTERS!!!!! HALF OF THE CAST ARE POC.

Some things that annoyed me in the manhwa were connected with some weird choices made between the main characters, which i feel like were not explained well enough. But that's on the storytelling, not the characters' writing i feel, so i didn't take away a star for that.

Also some "plot-twists" or arcs were so predictable or cliche it made me go "Ugh...". Another thing is characters had a weird vendetta against Gypsies? Which was weird? They did explain it later in the manhwa, but the connotations to the IRL Romanian people are a bit uncanny and lowkey racist to me but okay. Like, couldn't you just call them something else? Idk. Some arcs also have some pretencious undertones, that make the MC appear as annoyingly good, which is not really realistic, and bothered me a bit.

But all in all, I really recommend this to people who want some (a lot) of spice and hard fucking, while also get some soft and lovey-dovey moments with a plot that doesn't evolve only around the main characters.

[ladyloveandjustice]

Someone's been in the Revolutionary Girl Utena rabbit hole for a bit 👀

I don't even know what it's about, I just see it and get happy

Mind telling me a bit on what it's about? I might watch it myself if it sounds like my thing, bc you seem to have great taste in anime and games

I do have good taste thank you! *flips hair* lol just kidding,

Revolutionary Girl Utena is a surreal and wild queer feminist deconstruction of fairy tale romance and shoujo tropes and it has a lot to say about systems of power, cycles of abuse, the ways people cling to an ideal of innocent childhood which may have never existed anyway, the concept of purity, fear of change and loss, and whether becoming an adult inevitably means being corrupted in some way. Lots and lots of gender, lots of queer characters struggling with compulsory heterosexuality... but over all, it's a deeply meaningful story about the human condition and growing up in an imperfect world.

But also people turn into cows sometimes, there are elephants of surfboards at one point, and one character has a very emotive pet monkey in a tie. at least we think it's a monkey. It can be very silly, is what I'm saying.

The basic plot is that a girl named Utena lost her parents at a very age, but a prince came and comforted her, giving her a ring and telling her to never lose her strength and nobility. Rather than taking that as an engagement offer and aiming to be his princess though, Utena actually admires him so much that she decides to become a prince who saves girls in trouble too. She's determined to find the prince who changed her life though, and her search leads her to a very fancy and phallic looking Ohtori Academy.

Then, when this shitty popular guy makes her friend cry, Utena challenges a guy to a duel to make him pay (as you do). ONLY to find out that the student council of her school are all secretly dueling each other to be engaged to "the Rose Bride", a girl who is supposed to give whoever's engaged to her the power to revolutionize the world. As part of the student council, the shitty popular guy assumes Utena wants to "win" the Rose Bride too.

So next thing Utena knows, she's been dragged into a duel to "win" the "Rose Bride" (who is actually just Utena's classmate, Anthy). Utena thinks that fighting to possess a girl like she's an object is pretty screwed up, but on the other hand, she IS devoted to saving girls, and that shitty popular guy IS treating Anthy pretty badly....

Could be that she'll end up engaged to Anthy, whether she likes it or not....

It covers a lot of dark topics, from misogyny to abuse (sexual abuse included) to child predators to incest (never framed as healthy or okay though, in one case it initially comes off as a joke thing for a character, like the typical anime comedic brother/sister complex, but throughout this characters arc it becomes clear that no, it's really not, and it is not good for the character in question). It's not a graphic show by any means, it handles its subject matter tastefully imo, and the way it explores these things is very effective. It takes a while to build up to where it's going, but the journey is worth it.

If you're interested at all in queer anime or like...queer western cartoons even because odd are they'll have a Utena reference-- it's a must see because it was massively influential. It was made more than 20 years ago and really holds up still.

I also did a review series about it here a while back that people found handy!

[thehouseofevangelista]

The Bear s3 spoilers ahead:

I don’t get how season 1-2 revolved around Carmy “not wanting to be shitty” and being shitty at times but recognizing it pretty quickly to a flip just being switched and him becoming every chef he’s hated.

I think Storer should have done one more consult, this time with a licensed mental health professional, because the dynamic between the characters (or more so carmy and everyone else) just seems so off this season. Like in s1-2 both Nat and Syd call Carmy shitty in some way and you can see him process their critique and try (at least in some small way) to get better. But in s3 he’s just off the deep end!

Like the character arc is not arching! you mean to tell me that he’s so far gone there’s not one heart to heart Sydney convo, or a Nat heart to heart! You mean to tell me that the Faks are the only ones we get to see visit the hospital, no reference to “oh the rest of the crew is on the way”. So Donna gets a redemption arc but the main character doesn’t?

And the character development confusions don’t stop with Carmy! (I will say, it makes sense based on s2 that Nat would forgive her mother fairly quickly. It’s what she’s always longed for and it always seemed that if her mother at all gave her an inch she’d run with it.) I loved seeing the little bits of other characters and loved loved loved Tina’s episode, but from s1 Tina to even the confidence of s2 Tina how did we then so quickly get to a Tina that is afraid to speak. All of Marcus’ dialogue seemed chat gpt generated tbh, the “do it for me” line made me cringe so hard. And did any one ask for the Faks to become main characters. I feel like they got the most growth and unexpected screen time and for what reason.

Apologies for all of these disjointed thoughts, I’ll do a rewatch sometime soon and really dig in because I think there are real ways s4 can be redeemed. In many ways s3 felt like 1 long filler episode.

The last thing I’ll say, and I’ll say this not from a sydcarmy shipper perspective, but I literally don’t buy that Sydney doesn’t seriously call him out. Like she walked with a quickness in s1 and especially since she never signed the partnership agreement the fact that she never walked or at least not getting to see her rationale for staying (it would’ve been nice to see more with her dad, I feel like the fact that her dad called this “the thing” is the main motivator for her staying). And I also don’t buy that Carmy didn’t notice anything was off about her as she dealt with the turmoil of having this new offer. It also made no sense to me that when carmy confronted EMP chef, syd said that she was going to go after him and then we literally don’t see her. He spent all that time in the hallway and what she saw him confronting EMP and crying and turned around and said, “nah he’s got it”. Like that plot hole is bugging me, like when they all leave she’s not gunna ask, “oh where’s carmy” like the man she CAME WITH!

All in all, I believe I can enjoy s4 when it comes as long as there’s some actual plot development. This season felt like being caught in a rip tide. You’re swimming your life out, swimming the hardest you’ve ever swam only to realize you haven’t actually gone anywhere, in fact you’ve gone backwards! And what I hated most is that no part of me was rooting for Sydney (or Claire or anyone else at the bear) to stay. I sincerely hope the fanfic girlies can make me not want to see carmy die alone in a ditch.

[frostypoppy]

opinions on blossutch,,, thoughts, headcanons, or maybe you hate it now idk.

This is going to be a long post because there are so, so, so, so many thoughts I have on Blossutch. I think about them, at least, once a day, to keep me sane.

Blossom has always been my favorite puff. There's something about A-Type characters and me, we just jam together. Butch, on the other hand, grew on me so freaking much when writing and expanding on what his character can be. He's a crackle of energy and lives in the moment and is kind of all over the place, but he just wants to make whatever he's doing fun for himself and those around him. The dude is observant and better at understanding people than you may think.

This is kind of where I like to find their balance. Butch brings a needed spontaneous nature into Blossom's by-the-books life. She helps him want to get organized, or at least, motivates him to figure shit out and have a direction to whatever he pleases. She thinks analytically, he thinks with emotions; they see both sides of things and learn together. Blossom, let's face it, is a perfectionist, it's her fatal flaw, but Butch is a person who's okay with failing and trying again. Seeing that from the person she admires dearly, eases her fears and it's what allows her to feel the most comfortable with Butch. Blossom is the one person who takes Butch seriously when no one has, and he's pretty sure she's the first person to ever turn to him for advice or acknowledge his intellect. He's loud and obnoxious and outgoing, he's absolutely ridiculous to be with, but he's also the person Blossom has laughed the hardest with and why she's more willing to put herself out there and open up to people. And with Blossom, Butch finds the beauty of what can be said in the silence.

As far as head canons:

Growing up, Blossom didn't think much of Butch other than twitchy ruff, and for Butch, she was girl Brick. They don't really interact beyond puff/ruff feuding and school bump-ins, until later in high school when they're assigned as lab partners and from it, a budding friendship into best friends that doesn't take a turn until their mid-twenties.

Blossom is the big spoon. Always.

They're the kind of couple whose favorite thing is just to be with each other. They could be waiting at the DMV for hours, or suffering from food poisoning, but if it's together, it was the best day. This also makes them the worst couple to invite places. Because if you invite one, you best believe the other will be there, and they kind of will do their own thing. This isn't a diss or intentional, it's just they have the most fun when with each other.

Shouldn't be surprising, but they are THAT couple when it comes to PDA. Butch is a touchy, puppy dog kind of a guy, and Blossom has come to understand and accept his need for physical touch. Besides, he's hot and she's allowed to make out with him whenever she so pleases.

They are terrible sleepers. Butch has too much energy to get more than two-three hours if he's lucky. Blossom, either overworks herself or her mind overthinks. This leads to them having a lot of late-night hang-outs/dates at the start of things, and when they do move in together, they find it a bit easier to sleep until an acceptable five to six hours.

They have the worst taste in media consumption. Their watchlist consists solely of whatever is ranked low on IMDb, and probably the reason that one shitty show you swear no one watches got renewed. The same goes for Blossom's choice in non-academic reading. Any of those terrible romantasy books you've heard about, she's torn through it with highlighted passages and colored sticky tabs on all the cringy dialogue/plot holes/questionable smut. She rants to Butch about them often, and sometimes, he'll quote something to see if she notices (primarily the spicy stuff). 97% of the time she catches it, and 3% of the time she's embarrassed a line worked on her.

Butch buys her flowers every other week just before the last bouquet is about to die.

Butch is and will always be ACAB, and he is strongly against any superhero organization. He gets Blossom and her sisters are genuinely trying to make a difference and help people, but superheroing sometimes involves collaborating with cops. Unless there's an attempt of assault or murder, Butch won't get involved even if it's happening right in front of them. This tends to be their biggest disagreement because Blossom understands his personal grievances and she agrees to a point with him, but she does wish he'd helped out when a robbery or monster attack derailed their date night.

Before they even got together, they were relationship people. Blossom's past ones were known to have at least a two-year minimum, and Butch had a hard time entertaining anything if he wasn't committed due to his quickness of boredom.

Blossom's humor is saltine-cracker dry and her jokes are often taken as rude because not a lot of people realize she's attempting a joke, they don't even think she's capable of telling one. But ask Butch, and he'll tell anyone willing to listen she's the funniest person he's ever met.

While I'm a color-crack shipper first, I do love other ships (brickercup, the blues, bubbles and/or boomer having a queer relationship with a normie), and I like to think of Blossutch as the constant. There has to be a time of wacky hijanks that lead to them and the others breaking into the multiverse later in life, and while their siblings are disgusted/perplexed by whoever is paired differently with them, Blossom and Butch are together in every alternative timeline they are shown.

Okay, okay. I think that's more than enough. Before I go, I wanted to say thank you for this ask. I've been putting off a Blossutch project I have planned for a summer release (hence why I think about them daily) and this definitely got the ol' brain working in the right direction. Hope this was something worth reading, lol.

[randum-famdoms]

Well. Sometimes this is true. Please keep in mind that for a lot of things, OP is fully correct and fannon definitely needs to be a hell of a lot better in a LOT of fandoms.

But, sometimes, I’ve seen fandoms where the fannon is better than cannon in a lot of ways. This can be small things, like expanding on a one-dimensional character, or adding to the worldbuilding or lore, or even small things like personal headcannons you’ve created with friends that add nothing to the story but they’re fun. Cannon doesn’t need to be tossed out entirely - if we did that there would be no story, and all fannon is based on cannon in a fundamental way.

I sometimes say fuck cannon, fannon is my new cannon. I usually say this for fandoms like Harry Potter, because JK rowling is a terf who writes largely one dimensional characters while leaving huge plot holes and not taking advantage of amazing worldbuilding (I am still bothered about her not utilizing parseltounge after book 2). I say this about BNHA, because imo it went really downhill after season 3 and everything after the class A versus class B fight featuring Shinsou was absolute trash and the story has been dragged on to the point of snapping and the characters have no depth beyond maybe 5 characters and I could rant about it for hours - but I digress. Fannon in that fandom is honestly also pretty shit a lot of the time, because the fandom is pretty shitty itself (not all of it, but still). But there are still parts of fannon that I love. Kaminari being adhd, being fluent in English, and loving classic literature. Dabi having Marie Antoinette syndrome. Red Shoe Theory. Dad for One. I could go on.

Sometimes fannon can be predictable, because we as humans often long for representation of some kind or another. In all fandoms you will see fannon of characters being queer or POC or neurodivergent. That is not a bad thing. It’s also not all of fannon. A lot of fannon expands on lore and worldbuilding, it gives characters hobbies, it retcons deaths and makes conspiracies about family ties (hello, Todoroki).

And you are right that a lot of times fannon can verge into infantalization of neurodivergence and queer identities and racism, because a lot of fandoms can be toxic in those ways. Bnha is a great example of this. But you can ignore that. You can ignore “Mina Ashido is Afro-Asian and [insert racist trope here]” and only interact with “Mina Ashido is Afro-Asian because that community needs better representation and a lot of the fandom supports this headcannon out of a genuine place”. Block the assholes, if you will. It isn’t perfect, but nothing in life or fandom is.

You don’t have to accept all of fannon. You can pick and choose what you engage with. “Fuck cannon, fannon is my bestie” isn’t how most people in fandoms actually feel, it’s just fun to say. Sometimes that is how they feel, because sometimes cannon really is that shitty, for one reason or another.

But above all, I love fannon because of how it can bring a community together. These thousands, millions of people with this shared interest looked at this thing and decided that this made up thing about it is now a universal shared truth. They saw these one or two little things in cannon and built an entire headcannon around it and the rest of the fandom saw that and decided that it was great and that is now their cannon. Fandoms do this to the point where there’s sometimes an entire new story in the subtext. It’s beautiful, it is a microcosm of culture and if I had the credentials time and money then I would love to do a scientific study on it. We have been doing this for centuries, this is how religions start, this is how language is made, this is how culture and media and stories and humanity is built.

I’m not trying to tell you that you are wrong. I’m not telling you that the way you engage with fandom and cannon is incorrect. I’m simply trying to give a different perspective, from someone who loves the ways that fannon can build up both a piece of media and the people who engage with it.

I think I dislike ‘fuck canon fanon rulez’ takes because time after time I see how boring and predictable fanon is and how often it reinforces racism and misogyny etc. in ways canon never did

and I think having to work around canon and with canon to make something new usually ends up pushing people to make something weirder and cooler

[lesbian-nick-carraway]

INTRODUCTION – part 2

So now we're back. And the West Coast Poly Queer Sensualism Neo Jazz Age is in full swing. And frankly, I just couldn't stop drawing the parallels. There I was, at the edge of these racuous parties I didn't really fit in at, with all these confident wealthy extroverts, whiling away the days within their drugs and sex parties and kink and the endless pursuit of sensualism. But maybe that's how all parties are. Honestly, for all my pining to be Mx. Carraway, that guy did NOT have social anxiety, and in fact had some magical quality where everyone wanted to spill all their secrets and pull them into their tawdry lives. [I believe they call this quality a "plot device." And I am so keenly jealous of the idea that it could really be like that, that I could just exist in a place, and be polite and pay attention, and dramatic social whirlwinds would just spin up around me. God. The dream. Well, not lately. But we're getting to that.)

I have opinions. But they're not always grounded in the bedrock of firsthand experience. I see things, but I also hear what other people see. And confirmation bias exists, and I might just be hearing and holding onto the story that makes this all Gatsby.

Uh, basically write about today. Coming out of a depression, found myself unwilling to participate in the equation of engaging in activities and with people. And how that probably wasn't good. SO, if I was going to be making bold claims that we're the just the second coming of oblivious 1920s richos, content to distract themselves from societal and interpersonal problems with lights, drugs, and cuddle puddles.

Already there aren't fair comparisons. For one, I do WAY more substances than anyone out there. Honestly, HELLA people are going sober. (California sober.) Drinking was how I rallied and kept a crew lo those many years ago, but things have changed, and I'm not sure I can actually operate sober around people.

I don't want this to be one of those over-summarizy thinkpieces that tries to really Posit An Idea. "Burning Man is wrecked," and they gave a handful of heinous examples – "There was a piano." Come on, guys – Burning Man was shitty way before that. Burning Man is always shitty, and it's always great. Like, that's built into its DNA, the way every city is both shitty and great, depending on your headspace, your company, and your path for the evening.

I don't want to just dunk on the Bay Area, even though that is my inclinication, because I'm frustrated that I don't fit well with a lot of it. (Or imagine I don't fit well, same thing essentially.) "Well, I'm bad at it, so it must be bad." When making this move, crawling out of Vegas, knowing I was wrecked and needed a safe home base to hole up and hold steady for a few years, my choices were basically East or West. And in choosing West, I thought I was embracing my better angels. Like, OBVIOUSLY I have hellllla East Coast energy – I'm depressed, I'm snarky, I'm cynical, I'm introverted, I can tend negative. But are those permanent set qualities? To my East Coast friends, I'm sometimes the positive, woo-woo, wild one. Moving out to the Bay meant chasing those more positive qualities. As it turns out, they're harder for me to catch than I'd hoped. Or maybe I'm just a natural devil's advocate – I see everyone see happy and chill and in the own world, and I'm like, "Well, SOMEONE needs to be the downer apocalyptic alarmist?"

Apocalyptic optimism. Somewhere.

So, honestly, this is investigative journalism. I see things, but I miss a lot more, because going out in hard, and I usually just want to die in a pile with my cat. But you don't get The Great American Novel sitting on your ass at home, do you? You get out there and get to grabbing some green lights and what not.

Honestly, I don't know if this is a project I can fully run in the mode I'm in. This might come with the break. Like, this can't be too day-to-day biographical, because right now, my days are pretty damn bleak. I just checked my Foursquare check-ins for the year, and I'm like, "Hmm, based on content alone, that person is a MASSIVELY negative depressive whose probably kind of a drag to be around." I like to hope that's slightly less true in person – Foursquare is where I go to release my vitriol; who's it going to hurt there? But, like, the goal would be to talk to people and learn more about poly, about kink, about ketamine, about acroyoga, about the sort of progressivism actually playing out out here. Tech. Capitalism. AI. A million different topics. But to actually put in even casual investigation is kind of a task unto itslef.

[nagalias-mindscape]

... ... ... I had a brainworm for my SCP story, but it's for a far-out plot point that may never make it into the actual story. It's currently dialogue-only, thankfully.

--- --- ---

“I mean… the Foundation wants to classify me as SCP-408-B, so you won’t be alone if you end up getting reclassified as 4231-B.”

“Pardon?”

“Yeah. Turns out that being able to communicate with 408 from miles away is pretty anomalous. Same with always being able to see them, regardless of if they’re being invisible or not. Same with always being able to understand them without issue, despite the fact that they aren’t doing their usual picture game with me.”

“You can… hear 408 from miles away?”

“Isn’t that what I just said? Pretty certain I just said that, Clef. I know you’re getting up there in age, but I didn’t realize you were losing your hearing.”

“Shut it. I just mean… That is pretty strange, not going to lie. But- Wait. But if you’re going to be 408-B, then what’re the butterflies going to be classified as?”

“408-A. The chrysalis is going to be 408-1, before you ask.”

“… That’s the thing that spat you out once you were done undergoing whatever ‘healing’ your butterflies decided you needed, right?”

“Yep. Gotta wonder what they did, since I had a bullet hole in my brain and all that. Aside from the occasional headache in that general area, I might as well have never shot myself.”

“You know Darven still hasn’t forgiven you for that stunt, right?”

“Yeah, I know what a shitty father I am. Don’t need to rub it in, Clef.”

“Konny… You didn’t see Darven in the aftermath. He was the one who found you slumped in your desk. Not even James could console him, and you know how sweet the two are for each other. Even Icy and Meri took time off from school to try and comfort Darven. Shit, Alison showed her face to try and comfort your kid. Alison- you know, Gears’ wayward kid? The one who probably wants the Foundation to burn and is probably getting Iceberg to help her with that? That Alison.”

“Again, I know I’m a shitty father. You don’t need to remind me, Clef.”

“I think I do, Konny. I adore you sometimes, really, but there are also days I really dislike you. This is one of those latter situations; you didn’t see Darven in the following weeks. He made a promise, you know. To never follow your footsteps involving the bottle. Well, good on you for making him break that promise.”

“… Am I allowed to ask how bad it was?”

“… I don’t know, are you?”

[fzzr]

The Dreaming Boy is a Realist was the most intriguing anime of Summer 2023

Previously

Yumemiru Danshi wa Genjitsushugisha (The Dreaming Boy is a Realist, henceforth "Dreaming Boy") is not a very good anime on the surface. The animation is often awkward or simply missing, the voice cast is just OK, the music is nothing in particular. On top of that, the core conceit of "guy stops harassing girl, girl isn't sure how she feels about this" is a fundamentally bad premise. Despite all that, Dreaming Boy is the anime I thought about and looked forward to most each week.

Getting the main plot of Dreaming Boy out of the way first, it's pretty straightforward. Male protagonist Sajou Wataru has been asking out female protagonist Natsukawa Aika over and over for two years. In episode one he decides it's time to stop. He isn't over her as such, but he decides to spend his time on things other than badgering her. Though she is relieved at first, Aika finds that his sudden retreat leaves a hole in her life that genuinely bothers her. Her friend Kei can see right through them both, and acts as as an especially aggressive Interloper keeping them from drifting completely apart.

This is where the first hint of something unusual comes along. There's a certain type of romcom that suffers from what is sometimes called Shitty Protagonist Syndrome. This is where the lead character is such an asshole that it becomes unbelievable that anyone could ever fall for him. Dreaming Boy somehow has and avoids that problem at the same time. Since we don't see his years of harassment except in retrospect, we're not invested in seeing him be punished, but it's still a thing he did and the premise revolves around him essentially being rewarded for bad behavior. This could have had the effect of pulling me completely out of the show, but....

The thing is, that isn't actually most of the plot. It actually gets treated more like a background feature a lot of the time. Most of what goes on in Dreaming Boy is about broader social interactions and consequences. If you have a poor reputation at school, you will not be taken as seriously when you might be sick. Yeah, it sure is awkward to walk in on a sibling snogging. Getting your first job can be boring or terrifying depending on who you are. Sometimes your initial impression of someone can lead you into making potentially dangerous assumptions.

Most of Dreaming Boy is emotionally intelligent investigations of small alienations. Wataru is sometimes vaguely included in things but has no one in class to really go to bat for him in the moment, nor does he make an effort to join in. It's not just him, either. In each mini-arc, either he or someone he interacts with finds their social position has changed in some small way. What is it like when you move seats in class and your social circle changes? How does it feel to be the rebound? Is it more painful to turn people down or not to be invited at all? How do you respond when everyone asks you if they can hang out with your sibling? Is it worse to be ignored or have a kind of attention you don't appreciate?

We do see Wataru hit some of the usual romcom checkpoints, except instead of dramatic steps toward some fated ending, they're just things that happen. And... that's just how it really is? Not every time you see someone in the hallway will be a conversation that advances your feelings toward them. Getting sick mostly just sucks, even if your crush comes to check if you're OK. No matter how all-consuming your feelings for someone may have felt like in retrospect, chances are it wasn't the defining feature of your life 24 hours a day.

As one example, there's a beach episode that is much more like actually going to the beach than any I've ever seen. You plan it kinda vaguely, because how complicated can going to the beach be? Oops, you miss inviting someone because you waited too long. You see a beach attraction, let's go check it out... nope it's closed. The arts and crafts store is cute and all but making things like that by hand results in something that looks very handmade, or just doesn't come together at all. The whole episode builds up to Aika and Wataru possibly meeting coincidentally at the beach that day and then they just... don't. Was it a beach episode? Yeah, but also it was just... a day at the beach.

The relationships between the characters (other than the leads) are also way more real than you usually see in anime. The most notable one is between Wataru and his sister. They're close enough in age that they get in each other's way socially, but instead of being some dark resentment that someone will have a drama about, it's just yep, that's what having a sibling that close is like. There's no "I'll do anything for you" speech. It's just clear that they're both alert to what is going on in the others life just enough to be able to step in if their help is needed. If one of them asks the other for a favor, even as small as "make me coffee", they will almost always do it with some pro-forma grumbling. It's understated and very clearly based on a real sibling relationships rather than being there to check off a trope from the list.

So what is The Dreaming Boy is a Realist, actually? It's a slice of life show set in the second act of a shitty-protagonist tsundere romcom. Aika and Kei are living in that story, but when it fills Wataru's life with other ladies, it's not a light harem situation. Instead Wataru is navigating and learning from mundane social interactions. It's half of a good show, drowned in half of a bad show. Despite how bad the bad show was, I don't regret watching the good parts.

Conclusion

Score: I stand by the assertion that The Dreaming Boy is a Realist is not very good in absolute terms. I would give it a 6/10 at best from a purely technical standpoint. However, something that makes me think like this definitely earns some extra credit, so I'm putting it down as a 7/10.

Recommendation: No one needs to watch this. There are actually good shows that dig in to under-addressed corners of human social and emotional ambiguity. But... there aren't a ton of those, either, by definition. Just saying.

Comparisons

I looked at Dreaming Boy as a modified take on the shitty-protagonist romance, so I get to talk about Saekano again! In Saekano, the protagonist starts the series with a tendency to project onto others the traits he expects of them. He trespasses on the feelings and boundaries of others because he's interacting with them based on how he thinks they should respond, rather than who they are. His growth over the series is in very large part about learning to see people as who they actually are. Wataru's story is more about social and emotional transparency, making sure everyone is on the same page about their actions and feelings. Since Dreaming Boy isn't (and probably never will be) complete it's hard to compare them head to head, but conceptually Saekano has the advantage thanks to being more willing to call out the protagonist for his bullshit.

Oregairu involves a kinda glum guy who can fix everyone's problems other than his own. It tends to go much deeper into the problems, and the results vary quite a lot. The big improvement over Dreaming Boy is that it has much more respect for the female leads. When he hurts one of them in his greed, it's a catastrophic event and the show does not hold back in holding him to account. Unfortunately Dreaming Boy will probably not get far enough along for me to see how it would handle such an event, but I can't help but wonder what it would take to push Wataru toward making amends more affirmatively.

Onegai☆Teacher is another show with genuine heart under a trashy premise. In that one, a high school student marries his teacher, who is a hot alien babe, due to a whole situation. It presents itself as extremely horny (and it is) but just when you think it's about to start paying off on all the lewd setup... surprise! This is actually a show with a plot and themes and all those good things. It doesn't have to ignore its setup to do that, either. Sex is a part of life. Instead of holding it back, its willingness to engage with the physical on a deeper level elevates it. I'm not sure Dreaming Boy could have been redeemed in that way, but it's a fact that such a feat is possible.

Horimiya is the best example of a slice of life romance out there. It's arranged inversely from Dreaming Boy, in that it's a romance inside a slice of life rather than a slice of life inside a romance. The romance itself is too different to even contrast. The real point of interesting comparison is in how they handle their characters. Horimiya has an ensemble cast and we see most of them from multiple angles. Dreaming Boy doesn't let as many characters hold the point of view, but it still manages to have its supporting cast show different angles as Wataru learns about their situations and challenges. Obviously Horimiya is still way better, it was just surprising to see Dreaming Boy reaching for that same ring.

Final Thoughts

Oof, bad luck to Dreaming Boy for having to go up against four different 9/10 shows at the end there. That's also a part of the paradox, though. It deserves to be considered among the greats even as it lives with the dreck.

I wish I could say that Dreaming Boy deserved better implementation — better art, better acting, whatever — but it doesn't, really. The technical problems do not change that the gems of insight are trapped underneath a wrongheaded premise. "I wish it had a completely different main plot" is not something that can be fixed with polish. Still, I can't help but think if the author had found a different vehicle for the stories Dreaming Boy actually wants to tell, maybe it would have deserved it all.

[thatfancygirlinblack]

Oh my god, this is sooo exciting!! And I love Where the Heart Is it's one of my favourite Bagginshield fics ever (everyone should read it)!

1. Haven't had the opportunity to write that many different fics but I am soo happy to be coming to the end of my very first multi-chapter fic for the first time ever!! Yes I am doing it again. And again. I can't help it. Too far gone, now.

2. Soooo many but I'll say 5 that I worked on consistently. 2 already posted, hoping the other 3 will see the light of publication sometime in 2024.

3. I'm inconsistent and disorganised but with the right people to hold me accountable I can achieve things!

4. The Hobbit and all the insane fics!

5. Bagginshield :)

6. Bagginshield, Fíli/Ori, Kíli/Tauriel, and Dwalin/Nori.

7. Unsurprisingly, I have an untameable passion for Dís, in all and every fic I fall head over heels for her.

8. I joined the Hobbit fandom this summer so yes!

9. Tough question. There's one I worked on like a madman for some time which was a dragon!Bilbo fic and I have a soft spot for it, though I've also come up with this cool AU that I'm hoping to finish before I post the dragon one 😎

10. Loved writing chapter 1 of Within the Waves, the 'Cool AU' is a personal favourite too.

11. A Tale for the Road, just because I wrote it at 3AM in a cold sweat and it's the first one I've ever truly finished!

12. The 'Cool AU' is soo tough just because I want to include so much world building and I can't settle over a good way to organise the story beats.

13. A Tale for the Road and the dragon AU!

14. A Tale for the Road (7k words) & Within the Waves (35k+)

15. I think Within the Waves is pretty chill, has a few plot holes that make me want to rip my hair out but. You know. Maybe you'll still like it.

16. All kinds of ambiences! Pirate ambience, LOTR/The Hobbit ambience, Cathedral Ambience...

17. I don't snack while I write because of a complicated layout of my writing space (=bed) and I don't want crumbs there.

18. My 'Cool AU' has a shitty title and I really want to change it but I have no inspiration! Within the Waves is kind of a boring title too, I think.

19. "They sing different things." -> Within the Waves, ch2.

20. "He has seen a Sea-troll." -> Within the Waves, ch2, gives me 'They have a cave troll' vibes.

21.

"It is more courageous to hope, Captain."

"It is more courageous to go on without hope. Hope," Thorin says, the word so foul in his mouth, so familiar, "is for those who cannot face the truth."

"What truth?" Tharkûn echoes, "What truth?"

Within the Waves chapter 4... a small sneak peek.

22.

"Of course not," Dís says sagely, her voice pitched low, "We owe it to him to make the most of it." He swallows thickly. It burns down his throat. "Yes." Dís gives a small smile, and brings her hands down from his shoulders to squeeze at his fingers. "He would be happy for us, you know."

Within the Waves, ch3. (Dís please marry me)

23. Oh, man. Any time I had to write a battle. In chapter 3 of Within the Waves I pull a joker and pretend that Thorin is very disoriented but it was all a ploy! I am sorry for it, but I really suck at big action scenes.

24. I like mutual pining and two characters loving each other from afar but am unable to write it.

25. I am a risk-taker. I type everything out on AO3, and a few times my laptop BSOD'ed and I lost parts of my writings. However, I am a firm believer that what is lost is a sign by the fanfic gods for me to rewrite the scene, and so I oblige through my tears of rage and despair.

26. Finishing A Tale for the Road!! I was so happy!

27. Went to sleep, finally.

28. Writing is already how I recharge, and so when a fic annoys me I either don't write at all or write something else. I also often read other fics.

29. @conkers-theficwriter for inspiring me, @ovenstavern for the constant support through tags etc (and also for being an inspiration! My mind is routinely blown by Where the Heart Is) and then all the great artists in this fandom! Also, all the lovely readers who comment I am respectfully kissing (on the cheek) and hugging all of you!

30. The Cool AU I am dying to write it I love the world building so much!

Tagging: @fantasyinallforms, @frodothefair & @marvelruinedmyspirit love their content!!!

fic writer asks

What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year? How did it turn out and would you do it again?

How many fics did you work on this year? (They don’t have to be finished or published!)

What’s something you learned about yourself as a writer?

What piece of media inspired you the most?

What fandom(s) did you write for this year?

What ship(s) captured your heart?

What character(s) captured your heart?

Did you write for a new fandom or ship this year?

What fic meant the most to you to write?

What fic made you feel the happiest to work on?

What fic was the most satisfying to finish writing?

What fic was the most difficult to write? Did you finish it?

What fic was the easiest to write?

What were your shortest and longest fics this year?

Rec a fic you wrote or posted in 2023

What were you go-to writing songs?

What were your go-to writing snacks?

What was the hardest fic to title?

Share your favorite opening line

Share your favorite ending line

Share your favorite piece of dialogue

Share an excerpt from your favorite scene

Share the final version of a sentence or paragraph you struggled with. What about it was challenging? Are you happy with how it turned out?

What's something that surprised you while you were working on a fic? Did it change the story?

What did you use to write? (e.g. writing programs, paper & pen, etc.)

If you had to choose one, what was THE most satisfying writing moment of your year?

Did you do anything special to celebrate finishing a fic?

How did you recharge between fics?

If this were an awards show, who would you thank?

What’s something that you want to write in 2024?

[muzanswaifu]

Fanfic Writer Emoji Ask (Answered)

I"m not even gonna wait for anyone to ask bcuz this bitch is gonna answer them NOW

I wait for no one 😤

Keep reading if you wanna see my answers!

I nominate @xxsabitoxx, @magoliaomega, @yurmomsawh0r, and all my other writer moots to answer all these as well, CUZ I WANNA KNOW WAT YALL HAVE TO SAY

😅 What's a story or scene you've created that you're a smidge embarrassed exists?

All of my old Doushino fics lmao, I like the base storyline I did for all of them, but my writing was so shitty back then and I cringe looking back at them now. Ireally really wish I could just rewrite them but Ik some people would literally shit their pants if i deleted them so im stuck

🥺 Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels?

I have a kink for apology/angst scenes haha, if couldn't already tell from my past works. It's just something that I feel everyone thrives for, especially myself, where the love interest apologizes for all their wrong doings and admits that they long for yn's forgiveness and love. Mama is a heart throb

🤡 What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?

Any scene with shinobu in my Gamer Giyu fic "The Perfect Date". I tried to make her as funny as possible in that one, and believe me, there were plenty more funny moments of her in my draft for that fic that I ended up having to cut out bcuz I felt it drew away from the plot too much. Oh how I wish to make a fic just for her lol

😈 Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?

I like to make the love interests assholes sometimes, just to piss you guys off hehe, everytime they do something shitty that makes you hella sad, just know that it was me 😈

✍ Do you have a beta reader?

I don't unfortunately, I kinda just go read over it myself a couple times to check for mistakes but thats pretty much it. Ngl lie though, I am kinda interested in having someone else proofread for spelling mistakes and plot holes, any takers 👀 preferrably someone who's talented with that sort of thing haha

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

I always enjoy a good simile and metaphor here and there, not really sure about themes... love at first sight maybe? enemies to lovers? tsundere? I like sad fics as well that have happy endings, I will never, ever do a completely sad ending, i just don't like them and they leave a bad taste in my mouth

🎢 Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

Dog, I dont even knooooooooooow, i think all of my fics are pretty straight forward and tame. Maybe Regrettable? All of my super crazy fics are still in production so we'll just wait and see, but for drafts rn, my "No Escape" (Sanemi x Reader) series is gonna be hella crazy, so just you wait

✨ Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. 😉

My fav thing about my writing is probably my dialogue, i think I write pretty appropriate dialogue. I try my damn hardest not to make the characters cringe and to make them relatable so I hope I've done a good job with that

💋 First kiss fics. Love em or hate em?

Ngl, I kinda hate them. Kissing is nice and all but i write smut yall, i got bigger things to worry about than smooching. Now virginity loss fics are a whole nother story, bcuz i can actually make it enjoyable unlike real life ��� Shitty first time gang arise ✊

🎶 Do you listen to music while you write? What song have you been playing on loop lately?

Nope, I bask in silence, maybe some white noise in the background sometimes? Music distracts me too much

🛠What tools/programs/apps do you use to write?

I use my notes app on my phone to make my outlines, google for thesaurus, and an online word counter for the final word count

⛔ Do you have a fic you started, but scrapped?

Yup, for those who remember, I was working on a fic called Night and Day about Kyo x stepsister reader who was living with him. Originally I had him as a yandere, obsessive person with reader being uninterested in him and the fic being non-con, but I ended up scrapping the whole thing and changing it to be a fluff fic with reader living with kyo, reader having a crush on him, and slowly the two grow closer, with tons and tons of angst and sadness. The original outline for the non-con fic is on my patreon if anyone would like to see the poor thing, it had 8 chapters outlined too haha. what a waste.

🙋‍♀️ Do any irl people know you write fanfic?

Only 1 ☝️ I'm pretty sure i've mention her before, my friend sam? We used to read a ton of fanfics and watch anime growing up so she's the only person i've ever told since she understands the field, and i am never gonna tell anyone else 😭I would literally die, my group at college doesn't even watch anime

🍦 What's the sweetest fic you've created so far?

Either Perfect Date or Regrettable

🍷 Do you drink and write?

Hehe no, I do smoke and write sometimes though

🍆 Do you write the spicy stuffs? If so, what's your most popular nsfw fic?

My Little One if I remember correctly

🌞 Do you have a preferred time of day to write?

I usually like to write at night after I've finished all of my hw, right before bedtime :)

💖 What made you start writing?

I had a ton of idea for fics but didn't want to spend my days requesting all of them so I just wrote them myself, I write so much shit already for school, so I just said fuck it, lets ball

💌 How do you feel about comments and feedback?

I thrive off of them ❤️‍🔥 I frame every single comment on my wall ngl

❌ What's a trope you will never write?

Cheating. Not sure if thats a trope but i kinda feel it is in some fics where reader or love interest cheats, the one who got cheated on gets revenge sex with another party, and then they get back together. I just hate it and it hurts my feeling and turns me off

💲 Would you ever open commissions?

Of course! After I finish all of my requests I'm gonna get that started hopefully and use the money to buy hot figurines 🥵

🧐 Do you spend much time researching for your stories?

Sometimes, it depends on the fic. I usually just look up time period stuff so that things are close to accurate

🏆 What's your most popular fic?

My Little One

🎃 Do you write fics for certain holidays? Which is your favorite holiday inspired fic?

I love halloween fics, they are scarily hot

🎯 Have any of your readers accurately guessed major plot points? Care to share which?

YUP, @magoliaomega has perfectly written part 2 for two of my fics, reading her gifts is so eerie bcuz they were exactly wat i would've wanted for the sequel and I love her for for it, she is literally god

🎨 How do you feel about fan art of your stories?

I've never gotten any but I would love to, fan art is awesome

📈 How many fics do you have?

Uhhhh like 20 I think?

🦅 Do you outline fics or fly by the seat of your pants?

I usually outline but I'm kinda thinking ab stopping bcuz my best fics were written without any preparations so well see.

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

Girl Imma talk about I'm Yours, my upcoming series ab alpha kyo and omega fem reader. I am sosososoosososossosos excited for this one yall have no idea. I've already mapped out the chapters and plot and everything. Im currently working on chapter two and just cant wait to get this shit done so i can post everything. I'm just excited to add to the very small pile of kny omegaverse fics and hopefully the series will inspire more abo creations for demon slayer. Another work I'm excited ab is a collab im doing with a fellow bestie 😏 I wont name any names or say wat the fic is ab but hopefully well get the fic done sometime next year, really excited to work with her on this!

🤗 What advice would you give to new fanfic writers that are just getting started?

I would start off with headcannons, then short scenes, then one-shots, then multi-chapter. I went backwords from this list and i wish i didnt haha. theres nothing wrong with doing it out of that order of course, I just think its the best way to build up skill and get a hang of things. Also dont be afraid to take breaks! burning urself out will lead to depression babes

💞 Who's your comfort character?

Shinobu ❤️ she was the first girl I wrote for in demon slayer and she's always held a special place in my heart

🧠 Pick a character, and I'll tell you my favorite headcanon for them.

Can't really answer this one lmaoooooo, so ill choose a random headcannon I have, Shizu taught Sanemi how to cook and he always helped her make meals for the family

🤩 Who is your favorite character to write?

Kyojuro, my love. He is so pure, I wanna suck the soul outta him

🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

Mitsuri was obviously upset.

One day was fine. Two was pushing it. Three was a little concerning. Four was a lite search. Five was thorough detective work. And six was a breakdown. By day seven, today, she was still bawling in her pillow, wondering where-oh-where you’d gone. 

Meanwhile, you hardly had time to worry about your concerning absence with a dragon on you at all times of the day. During the rare moments you weren’t getting knotted or eaten out, you were getting bathed, fed, or hushed to sleep. Similar to Kanroji, you too were sobbing into your bedding - but your reason being your cunt getting ravaged hourly. The pleasure was still incredibly mind-blowing, but your pussy was so fucked raw and puffy that you were sore beyond belief from the mating session. You had misunderstood that section in the book. You’d thought a week-long initial rut meant only occasional couplings, like a sort of honeymoon phase.Nope. Every waking moment was spent hanging off his knot and getting filled to the brim with his seed. Hereallywanted babies. And he was likely going to get them, even if it wasn’t your fertile week. You doubted his sperm would take no for an answer, honestly...

“Are you tired, my love?”

You moaned as he pulled on the lock and replied in a cracked voice. “Ye-eess.”

With one more tug, his knot was pulled free. You came painfully one final time before a flood of spunk gushed down your legs. Kyojuro flipped you over to your back and set you down onto the part of the nest that wasn’t caked in sin.

He kissed your forehead as you panted. “Our rut is done, little one. You did wonderfully, I’m so proud - you may rest now,” he whispered and laid next to you. You sighed and groaned, “Finaallyyyy.” He chuckled.

“Tomorrow we will bring your things here and anything else you may need. Your friends and family will understand, I’m sure.” You eyes shot open and you remembered them.

“Oh my god!”

Lil snippet from My Sweet Kitten (Mitsuri x Dragon Iguro) My Little One Part 2 hehe

😬 Which of your fics would you be most horrified for friends, family, or coworkers to stumble upon?

Any of my non-con lmao, I think they would kill me tbh, but I heard that kinks were hereditary so this is their fault

🎉 What leads you to consider a fic a success?

If people ask for a part 2, even though I wont write one hehe

✅ What's something that appears in your fics over and over and over again, even if you don't mean to?

Breeding kink, I have needs. Also pet names (baby, sweetheart, my love, darling, princess, ect)

📚 Would you ever want to turn writing into a career?

Maybe as a side career, I'm not getting a degree in my field of study just to write smut all day lmaooo, i enjoy having writing as my hobby and dont want to have it bare the burden of being my main source of income, it would stress me too much

⌛ How long does it take you to write a fic, or a chapter?

It depends honestly, if I'm really inspired and horny, it takes less time. My Little One took me only 3 days to write cuz i was so pent up haha, requests take longer tho bc i have a specific plot and terms to stick to, along with anxieties about whether or not the requester will approve wat i've produced, so those usually take me a couple weeks to a month

🤯 What's a genre you struggle with as a writer (ex. romance, action, etc.)?

Action. That shit is hard. I don't think i could ever write a fight scene ever

💔 Is there a fic of yours that broke your heart?

Not the ones i have currently but the ones i have in the works are extremely heartbreaking, i cried a little writing some of them

💥 How do you feel about criticism?

It depends on the type of criticism. I appreciate it if its about errors in my writing since i still have some growing to do in that department. But there has been some drama ab the things I write ab that people find...distasteful. If you don't like what I write ab, leave, dont waste my time pretending to be a mutual, I write for me not you. Some of yall have some real mean girl mentalities and need to grow tf up, this isn't fucking highschool. Im glad for thei experience tho bcuz it's taught me how to deal with negative people better. On the more constructive side of things tho, if you see errors like plotholes, devices, or grammar in my fics, please tell me! I miss shit sometimes and appreciate the help to better my work

🤭 Do you have a favorite tag to use when posting your works?

#Smut. LMFAOOO

🥰 How do you feel about reader interaction? Are you open to receiving questions about your fics?

I looooove reader interactions! I wanna know what people think and what they would like to see next. I also love requests but I've learned that they are harder than they look lmao. I just worry ab disappointing readers sometimes. I want you guys to enjoy it too!

[cno-inbminor]

iterum vivere (childe/tartaglia)

a/n: wow, it’s been fucking forever. first genshin fic featuring childe/tartaglia!!! a very huge thank you to @suspensin​ for reading this over and being my rock and support, and i love her so fucking much. I couldn’t have finished this without her!

plot: reincarnation and modern/uni!au ft. afab reader!traveler with she/they pronouns x childe/tartaglia 

-- in which meeting childe is a bit of a dangerous game of push and pull

wc: 12.1k; angst + fluff

warnings:  DOES CONTAIN IN-GAME SPOILERS (1.5? 1.6? + story quest and idek) and NSFW MENTIONS (mdni to be safe). there’s no explicit smut but thoughts do run a bit wild here and there

EDIT: Altered ChiLumi version now posted on AO3 here!

“Haven’t we met before?”

The shine in your eyes does nothing to hide your curiosity, head even tilting a little in observation. He watches them scan his face for any recognizable features, but attempts to focus on the strange, taut string of déjà vu that pulls him toward you. In a moment of absentmindedness, he had heard a faint voice call out his name from your direction. Confusion overtook him as you weren’t looking at him, but something inside his brain said that it had to be from you. And so his feet redirected his path towards your figure in the student union building, as if on a mission.

“A fucking whale, Childe?”

Oh.

“I don’t think so…?” You trail off, curiosity now replaced by perplexed feelings. “Do we have a class together?”

I think I would’ve noticed you by now if you were.

“Ah, what’s your major?” Childe asks quickly to avoid listening to the little voice in his head.

“History and anthropology, you?”

“Economics, but I’ve taken a history course for core credits. Maybe it was then?”

“With Dr. Zhong?”

“Yes!” He snaps his fingers. Part of his brain decides to usefully function and scan his memories to see if he remembers your face or head of hair in the lecture hall then. “Last year? Tuesdays and Thursdays from 10 to 11:20?”

“Actually, yeah,” you affirm in surprise. You think you would remember the relatively attractive ginger in your class, but honestly, it had all been such a blur and you were often pretty sleepy during class. Dr. Zhong didn’t quite appreciate it, but you made up for it with your exam and essay grades, as well as paying better attention in some of his other courses.

“Did you need me for anything?”

“I’d like for you to come visit and meet my family.”

He’s really not appreciating this extra voice speaking for him.

“Well…uh…” Childe stammers and looks away sheepishly, hand rubbing the back of his neck. He honestly had no reason for approaching you, and now, he just looks like a desperate idiot. Think quick, he tells himself, floundering for some shitty excuse.

“I wanted to, uh, take another history course as an elective and um, wanted to know if you had any recommendations?”

“Oh,” you blink. That’s a first. When he meets your gaze, the swirling shades of sapphire strike something deep within you. Flashes of events you can’t make out go by in the blink of an eye, but then you realize you’ve been staring for too long. Blood rushes to your cheeks because you don’t exactly want this guy to get the wrong idea from you, because how are you supposed to explain, “I’m sorry, but I think we have met before, but just a really, really long time ago, and we might’ve been more than just acquaintances because that’s what it feels like?”

“I think you’d like Teyvat Mythology,” your voice wavers on the verge of cracking. “Dr. Zhong might have a TA this time around, but Xiao’s a great teacher. Doesn’t have long, rambling anecdotes, but explains things well and gets straight to the point.”

“C-cool, I’ll look into it,” Childe replies and smiles brightly. “I’ll head out then,” jabbing a thumb over his shoulder, where he just realized he left a grouchy Scaramouche waiting by a vending machine, newly purchased Starbucks Tripleshot drink in hand. “Nice seeing you, (y/n).”

He scurries off before you both realize that you never told him your name.

“Who’s that?” Scaramouche asks, jutting his chin in your vague direction.

“Someone from my Intro to Liyuean History course last year,” Childe waves off. “Come on, let’s go before the line at the pasta bar gets too long.”

-

The next time you see Childe is by accident, traversing across an open field of grass that many students like to sit out on to relax with friends, sunbathe, hold events, or play casual team sports if room permits.

You had your earbuds in and were scrolling through social media when laughter rang above all other sound, causing your head to snap up and swivel around to find the source. And while it might’ve been strange to an outsider, your steps immediately slowed as you watched the man of your tiring, vivid dreams sprint in your direction, eyes pinned on a frisbee heading towards him.

He’s wearing a grey sports tank and basketball shorts, headband holding back his bangs as he makes a slight jump in the air to catch the plastic disc between his palms. His feet plant into the grass as he looks for someone to pass it to, and you watch (with embarrassment) the muscles in his throwing arm relax and tighten with practice, frisbee steadily soaring through the air in a beautiful arc towards a teammate. He then lightly jogs to get closer to his group, but then his back stiffens.

Before your instincts kick in for you to turn and bail, he looks over his shoulder and stares straight at your now stunned self.

The sole ruby earring that glints in the sunlight catches your attention, and you recall your dreams of terrifyingly dark, violet electric power, blades of water rushing toward you, and then the stomach-churning sensation of falling from great heights pours concrete into your veins—

Childe looks a little amused for having your sole focus, hand lifting up for a quick wave. And as you numbly return the greeting, your heart beats out, “Run from him.”

And so with the flight response pulsing and firing from your synapses, you abruptly speed walk away, almost breaking out into a sprint towards your dorm. You ignore his pointed, confused look, and pretend you don’t feel the two holes of imaginary fire searing into your back. It isn’t until you’re laying back in bed that you release a huge sigh of relief and pray to a deity you don’t believe in that those eyes of mirth will not haunt you tonight.

But of course, with a deity that doesn’t exist, the prayers go unanswered.

-

“Do you believe in any of the mythology you teach?” You ask Xiao about a few days later when you stop by his cubicle. Luckily, no one else is around for this conversation, and Xiao has always been kind enough to humor your thoughts. Granted, he might feel obligated because you had asked Dr. Zhong to be your advisor for your undergraduate Honors thesis, and Xiao was directed to be your receiver of some general questions and source of information if he wasn’t around.

A quick scan of your complexion tells Xiao everything he needs to know. Your eyes are overtaken with rumination and exhaustion, haziness clouding them as you seem to ponder over your own question. It’s not often that you ask him anything not related to your thesis or coursework.

“Perhaps there’s some sense and truth to the tales passed down,” he softly muses. “What makes you ask?”

You lift yourself to sit on the clean area next to his computer, legs slowly swaying back and forth. “It might sound crazy but...I’ve been having dreams lately. They feel too real, too natural to be anything that my mind would make up. I’ve never had the most creative imagination by any means, which is why there’s some comfort to me being a history major, but I can’t shake these.”

“So why ask me about the mythology?”

“...the Archons are there. I even dreamt that I met the Geo and Anemo Archons. And they controlled various elements, just like we were taught.”

You don’t notice that Xiao has ceased his rapid typing, fingers hovering over the keyboard before one hand removes his glasses from his face. He uses the other to rub his eyes and softly pinch the bridge of his nose before sliding the frames back on. Dark, golden amber eyes survey you as you grapple with the unfathomable possibilities of your nightly visions, at least until you shake your head in disbelief at yourself and lightly scoff.

“Who am I kidding?” You ask no one in particular. “Maybe I’ve been doing too much research and everything’s mixing together.”

“You’re ahead of schedule, if that provides any consolation.”

“Some.”

-

It takes Childe a grand total of one minutes and 53 seconds to sign up for Teyvat Mythology for the spring semester.

-

WInter in Liyue is only slightly miserable, being so close to the ocean. It’s chillier than usual on this dreary day, yet something compelled you to exit your dorm and shakily make your way to the campus coffee shop for a warm drink. Coffee, hot chocolate, you haven’t quite decided yet, but just as you let yourself bask in the warm building, familiar ginger hair and blue eyes wash away the comfort.

Or do they douse you in security?

They remind you of your recent dreams that now have shifted away from stress and violence to easygoing summer days by the oceanside, running barefoot in the sand while collecting beautifully patterned azure starconches. Sometimes, you thrust a hand towards an oversized four-leaf clover on a wooden stake with the power of wind and catch yourself in the air, soaring and looking around to find more of the little shells. Other nights, they consist of climbing steep cliffs, only to sit at the edge in the clouds with fatigue wracking through your system and marvel at the view before you.

Someone’s always with you though, ruby earring and maroon mask and cobalt blue gem hanging from the waist, sprinting with you, playfully tackling you down, pulling you up towards mountain peaks, laying their head on your shoulders, brushing their lips against your cheek--

You welcome the change of peace in those dreams, but only because they don’t leave you quite as tired the next day, as if you’d been avoiding an inescapable dark force.

Part of you wants the burning question of why this person, this man, in all his glory and brightness, affects you so fucking much when you barely even know the guy -- why looking at him sends your heart to lodge itself in your esophagus, why your lungs feel like they’re so close to being completely collapsed under the weight of his stare, why feeling like you’re trapped and  caught between wanting to run towards yet away from him.  It makes no sense, and you’re tired of trying to make sense of anything you don’t exactly want to remember from your dreams for some, once again, inexplicable reason.

But there’s no time to think as he quickly ambles towards you, your own feet shuffling forward to meet him in a warped reference of a distance that constitutes to “the middle” before you can stop yourself. Your shivering hasn’t quite stopped yet, and Childe seems to take notice of it.

“Pretty cold out there,”  he softly states. It’s cute, the way you’re curling in on yourself to retain some warmth.

“Y-yeah, not sure why I decided I really needed something warm to drink right now,” you reply and avoid his gaze. He watches you peer over his shoulder to squint at the menu display hanging from the ceiling, seemingly contemplating on what you should get.

“How about I get yours today? My treat for your class recommendation last time.” Anything to keep you here longer. Childe doesn’t realize how much he’s missed you, which confuses him, and chooses to ignore the fact that he’d been camping himself at the study tables in the building where the history department is located in hopes of even just catching a quick glimpse of you.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you immediately attempt to subvert his generous offer, hands shooting out from your jacket pockets and waving in rejection. “It was nothing.”

“Please?” Childe puts on his best puppy eyes before reaching for one of your wrists, gently tugging you to the register. “Just this once?”

You want so badly to squash the tiny flare of disappointment that erupts in your chest from the newly acquired knowledge that this was just a one time thing. Do econ majors hate to feel in debt? That they must be even with everyone, or would rather have people indebted to them than the other way around?

There’s no time to think when Childe gives the cashier his order before turning to you, and without wanting to waste anyone’s time, you rattle off your usual beverage. He’s quick in fishing out his student ID to spend some of his campus currency, shooting you a boyish grin when you pout at your half-opened wallet.

“Go take that table over there,” he says, pointing to one in the corner by some windows. “I’m gonna tell my friends to go on without me.”

“I didn’t mean to intrude or pull you away from them,” you slightly panic. The sooner you can leave, the better. Right? “You don’t need to sit with me, I was just gonna head back to my dorm.”

“I insist. Go ahead, I’ll be right there.”

Why your brain takes his orders over your own is a mystery in and of itself, because before you know it, you’re plopped down in one of the lounge seats and staring off into space, mind reeling over the last two minutes. You pretend you can’t hear the way Childe’s friends nudge his arm playfully with their shoulders, wiggling their eyebrows suggestively as Childe tries to get them to stop being nonsensical.

“You’re gonna scare them off,” he hisses at them, hands pushing at their backs so they could finally leave him to his devices.

“Not before you do!” One of them laughs and Childe groans at their antics. “All right, all right, we’ll go. They’re cute though, might steal them if you don’t make a move.”

The darkening of the aura surrounding Childe is too quick for them to fully process, not before he dampens any of their fleeting hopes with a, “Don’t even fucking think about it.”

But it disappears just as fast when his and your drinks are called out, and he gives them one last shove before retrieving your to-go cups. Childe directs all his focus towards the seat diagonally from yours as opposed to the one that’s straight across, and you’re sharply ripped away from whatever reverie you let yourself slip into.

“Thank you,” you murmur, hands cupping the drink and feeling the heat seep into your fingertips. “You really didn’t have to, it was nothing big.”

“Can you blame me for just trying to find an excuse to finally talk to you?” He asks without a skip and you can’t tell if the quickening of your heartbeat is from a looming sense of doom or excitement. Those eyes, the tiny swirls of the ocean, blue like those shells buried in the sand--

It takes three seconds too long for you to understand where he was going with in his words, and part of you feels unamused at his smooth talking. You’ve always guarded yourself against guys like Childe, devilishly handsome who know their way around language semantics, ready to pull you in and just as ready to push you away. That (possibly unfair) bias, coupled with everything else you’ve been feeling for him, sounded the alarms and set the walls up around your heart. Perhaps you need to stop wearing your heart on your sleeve, because Childe immediately retracts his forwardness.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I promise I’m not looking for anything in return and you don’t owe me anything, but I really did just...want to sit and talk and...get to know you?” Childe trails off a little towards the end. Your body loosens up and relaxes just a tiny bit, feeling bad for your snap judgment. Let the guy do something nice, don’t look into it too much, you tell yourself. It’s a coffee, not a five-course dinner.

You reach out a hand towards him, small smile across your lips, ready for his to join yours in a quick handshake. “I’m (y/n), senior history and anthropology double major. It’s nice to meet you.”

The pounding of your heart against your ribcage has nothing to do with the shimmering of his eyes, nothing to do with the fact that his hand fits with yours just right, and nothing to do with the fact that an eerily similar voice from your dreams whispers, “I love you.”

You learn a number of things about Tartaglia in the four hours, like his family members and their respective interests, which classes he did and didn’t enjoy taking, certain takes on Schnezhnayan politics, his own various hobbies, crazy accidents from the occasional college parties, and more. He’s a bit of an open book, probably telling you way more than any regular person would, and definitely more than anything you revealed during all this time. Everything you tell him seems surface level, nothing too deep. The walls are still there to protect you from the unexplainable, profound feelings his presence seems to elicit, and luckily, he doesn’t prod any further. Childe feels the resistance and respects it, which just adds more brownie points in your book, and you almost feel bad for having given so little in return.

“I wish we were taking Teyvat Myth together,” he sighs when walking you back to your dorm, hands stuffed in his pockets. His ruby earring catches the light from the sunset, the shade almost complimentary to the golden amber rays that streak across the sky. “Would’ve helped having a history major in there.”

“Is that all I am to you, an answer bank?” You jokingly ask, but he watches concerningly as you shoot your gaze to the ground, mindfully stepping over the cracks between concrete slabs.

“Of course not,” a gentle sincerity reaches you, giving you the confidence to make eye contact with him. “I’m sorry for making it sound like that, it wasn’t my intention. I really just meant it as a way of saying if the professor or TA ended up being a total bore, then well, having you would make it more fun.”

“I’m sure I’d bore you even more,” chuckling, speeding up to get away. You’re growing too comfortable in whatever atmosphere Childe has created, like an enclosed air bubble bobbing gently in the depths of the sea and letting the waves carry you both to whichever ends of the earth.

“Hey,” he interjects, hand reaching out to stop you with a soft yank of your wrist. There is no resisting force from you, feet stepping backward until he meets you eye to eye. It’s unfair in the way that he can render you motionless by standing just an inch from you, arms brushing with his head tilted closer to your own. “Seriously, I’m glad we did this today. Are you?”

No, because now I don’t know what to think, I don’t know who you are, I’m not any closer to figuring out why you terrify yet leave me so enamoured with you, I’m torn between punching and kissing you and--

“Yes,” you subconsciously answer, brain immediately short-circuiting to scold yourself. “I had fun.”

His grin, charming, devilish, is so so bright, bright enough to rival the Liyue sun that sits on the pier, on the edge of the ocean, bright enough to rival the love that your fraternal twin showers you with on a daily basis. You want time to stop right here because you’re almost sick of the voice settled deep within your heart that screams, “Don’t get comfortable, you must run from him!”

“Good. Let’s do this again?” And you nod, of course you do. Foolish you. “Don’t be a stranger!” He calls out as he turns on his heel and waves over his shoulder, hand raised in the air, and you’re suddenly transported to another scene, a less refined version of the Liyue Harbor, watching as the head of ginger hair with a red mask in a flashier attire of grey and maroon walks away from you and onto a roaring, magnificent ship; big, ivory sails only seen in books and museums. It’s the same gesture of “see you later”, and just before he turns, you blink, and you’re back to seeing your campus again.

But Childe does look back once, warm and content that you’re still standing there, watching over him, and he can’t help but think about when he can spend time with you again, because suddenly, it truly feels like there’s not enough of it anymore.

-

“Excuse me, what’s a Red Bull?”

The last thing, or person rather, you expect to see on the last day of finals for the fall semester, is a small boy who looks way too young to be here, tugging on the sleeve of your windbreaker. He’s at most eleven, ten maybe, but he has eerily similar characteristics, as well as an accent that doesn’t quite belong to most Liyue natives. Still gathering your bearings from your own perusing of the fridges that hold all the possible beverages a college student could consume, you kneel down until you’re at eye level with the child.

“Repeat that for me? Are you looking for a Red Bull, you say?”

“Yes!” He beams and holds out a student ID that most definitely doesn’t belong to him. “My brother asked me to grab him one because he was busy with something.”

Your eyes flit over to the top shelves where the aforementioned cans of caffeine are located, and definitely too high for someone of his height to reach. “I’ll grab one for you. Did he ask for a specific flavor?”

“Nope, he said regular. Thanks, you’re really nice! Do you know my brother?” He asks, waving the ID at you so you can get a better look at the name. That’s definitely a face you recognize, but the name leaves you confused.

“Yeah, um,” glance over again, “I know...Ajax…”

“He’s the best toy seller in the whole world!”

Somehow, it suits him much better than Childe or Tartaglia, and you’re not quite sure what toys have anything to do with the matter at hand. Speaking of hands, the little boy grabs yours in sheer delight. “Can you take me back to his room? I kinda forgot the directions he told me, and everything’s so big around here.”

“Sure, just let me buy something, too, and I’ll take you.”

“Okay!”

The cashier isn’t the least bit fazed by the little brunette at your side -- it’s always common for family members to come in around the end of semesters to pick up kids or visit, and being an open building with snacks and drinks and a stopping point of most tours, they’ve seen it all. You even let him pick out a bag of chips and a candy bar for himself for being so polite and not a complete menace, paying with your own campus currency.

Teucer, as you’ve learned in the last two minutes, likes to point out things and ask you questions. Luckily, you have answers to most of them and do your best to pad the time, enjoying the feeling of a tiny hand wrapped around three of your fingers. It’s sweet to any normal passerby, believing they’re witnessing an older sister doting on their little brother around the holidays, but to Childe, seeing the tender sweetness on your face as you nod along to whatever Teucer is rambling about to you, sets his heart aflame. He’s already constantly on the verge of wanting to hug and kiss you and never let go, but you haven’t made any indication that you could potentially like him back, and this is just torture.

“Look what they bought me!” Teucer shoves his rewards in Childe’s face as if he had extremely poor eyesight, and you can’t help but laugh a little as you set his Red Bull down on his desk, clutching your own preferred beverage while looking around his room. Finals must have gotten to him with the unusual lack of tidiness in the small space, some laundry strewn here and there, a couple boxes of eaten microwave dinners in the metal wire trash can, some textbooks left open and marked with more sticky notes than you’ve ever seen. You’d only been here once before to drop off some food that he desperately messaged you about, stuck doing a project that he just couldn’t step away from.

“Pretend you don’t see the mess,” Childe pleads, handing a kid tablet to his brother but holding on before Teucer can take it. “What do you say to our nice friend here for buying you these snacks?”

“Thank you!”

“It was nothing,” you shyly smile, ruffling his hair. “I enjoyed meeting you.”

“Wait, what’s your name again?”

“It’s (Y/n).”

“Okay, (y/n)! Wait…(y/n)..as in…”

Teucer trails off and gives a look to his brother, one that spells curiosity and trouble, before he grabs your hand and pulls you into a corner. Any movement Childe makes to leave his desk chair is immediately squashed by Teucer’s disapproval, and the older man is left to helplessly worry when you’re told to squat down so secrets can be whispered into your ear.

“He talks about you a lot whenever he calls home,” and you want to laugh at Tecuer’s attempt to sound as scandalous as possible. “All the time! I think he likes you, like, like like.”

Oh. Oh dear.

“What makes you say that?” You whisper back, indulging both yourself and him, yet also internally snickering at how troubled Childe looks.

“Sometimes, he video calls mama, but we’ll all sit around and talk, and whenever he’s talking about how he saw you or something, he just looks...happy. Really happy.”

The surprise on your face does nothing to settle Childe’s nerves and he’s about to start wringing his hands together. Whatever Teucer was telling you couldn’t be good, probably embarrassing, like the one time he unceremoniously fell on his ass while ice skating over a frozen lake, or when he tried fitting fifteen marshmallows in his mouth and nearly choked on them when their mother caught them in the act, or--

“I think he just thinks of me as a good friend,” you try to inform Teucer, not letting yourself get any semblance of hope. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

“If you say so,” Teucer pouts. But then he stops whispering and bounds over back to his brother, grabbing the tablet before plopping down on the half-made bed.

“Look, I was overconfident and thought I could execute a perfect single loop on the ice, but there was a rock and I lost balance and--”

“I wasn’t being told any stories about you falling on ice, but do tell me more,” you chuckle and take some joy in watching the blush spread across his cheeks. It’s easy to tell that he’s mentally berating himself for jumping to conclusions.

“Well, first off, thanks for buying him all that, and my drink, too,” he sighs. “I spoil him enough as it is.”

“I can see why it’s hard not to,” you smile knowingly. “So is it just him here? Where’s the rest of your family?”

“Funny story, he somehow managed to convince my parents to let him come here on his own as his first ever plane flight, so I had to pick him up yesterday from the airport. He’s flying back with me tomorrow.”

“And the RA?” You ask with an eyebrow raised.

“Ah...well...what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him? Speaking of, what was Teucer whispering to you about?”

There’s a pensiveness that overtakes you when you look at Teucer again, who’s happily playing some sort of game and completely oblivious to the rest of his surroundings. You won’t, can’t, take his words to heart, and will take them with a grain of salt at most.

“Nothing important. Although I did learn something new...Ajax?”

“Say my name -- fuck, say it, please--”

“I guess cat’s out of the bag,” he chuckles and looks away, absolutely unaware of the flare of heat that swirls in your stomach from the fleeting vision just now. “I came up with other nicknames as a kid to seem cooler, and they just stuck with me. Plus, the business world is full of people who just want something from you, or just a transactional relationship. I’d rather not give my real name to them, if you know what I mean.”

“That’s fair,” you nod and lean to sit on the edge of his desk. A thought pops into your head and you turn the words over in your head like a washing machine on the spin setting, teeth gnawing on the flesh of your bottom lip. If Teucer hadn’t been in the room, he would’ve been this close to kissing you.

“But if it’s worth anything,” your voice slowly, softly starts, cautious and wary of your thoughts. “I think...Ajax suits you best.”

Curse fate. Curse the legendary Archons. Curse karma and deities and spirits because all he wants to do right now is stand and tower over you, trap you between himself and his desk so you can’t escape, take those pretty lips between his until they’re bruised and swollen because of him, hear you call out his name in the throes of pleasure so he can finally replace his fantasies with tangible memories. The unnatural, magnetic pull that draws him to you is unbearable now -- he feels like he’ll lose the last tendrils of his sanity if he doesn’t do something.

You can’t stop him from slowly reaching out to grab one of your hands, lifting it towards him until he’s close enough for you to feel his breath ghost over your knuckles. It sends a shiver down your spine and blood is pounding in your ears because you can’t begin to fathom what he’s thinking about while doing this, even more so when his lips make contact with your skin and your breath hitches, stuck in your throat as he languidly peeks at you beneath his eyelashes with a heated gaze, then lowly confessing, “My name sounds best when you say it.”

Good heavens.

It’s difficult to swallow and keep your composure, especially when Teucer yells out in glee over, what you can assume, beating something in his game, and Childe drops your hand. But his dilated pupils don’t retract in the slightest, refusing to let you look away so that maybe, you can understand what he’s trying to convey to you. He’s taking the first step because he’s terrible and can’t contain his self-control anymore, pushing the ball into your court, ready for you to either play or exit into the sidelines.

When you do blink, there’s a vision of your naked body wrapped around another, limbs clinging desperately to a sturdy and panting frame. Lips, much like the ones that have seared themselves onto your knuckles, are at your neck and sucking, biting, before moving to your ear and laying filthy words into them that drive you closer to the edge. It all happens so fast that you feel you’ve just experienced whiplash, yet also feeling secondhand embarrassment at how lewd some of these thoughts have been.

You can’t stay here any longer.

“I-I have to go,” spills off your tongue before you can really think about it. The way the haze shatters in his eyes is heartbreaking in its own way, but there’s no time for you to explain. Your brain is in overdrive and eager to run, run, run. It detects danger on all fronts, but you muster out a, “H-have a good break, come find me next semester, mmk?”

And you’re out the door with inhuman speed. When the door clicks shut, only then does Teucer look up from his screen and frown at the lack of your presence. “Where’d they go?”

Chlide doesn’t seem to hear him, and Teucer has never seen his big brother look so sad and confused before.

-

He holds on to that last tendril of hope, because mark his words, he will find you come January.

-

After about a week at home, enjoying the festive time with his family and mildly unconcerned about next year’s courses because that was a problem for another day, Childe has his first, crazy, nonsensical dream.

At least, that’s what he tells himself when he snaps awake and his body aches with exhaustion. Not only are his joints in agony, he also feels like he’s sporting unforeseen bruises, which makes absolutely no sense because he hasn’t done anything that would warrant them, no matter how much he and his brothers do some rough-housing. His night of sleep was all consumed by flashes and scenes of weapon fighting, lucid enough to remember feeling his arms flex and wield bows and double-headed polearms and being cognizant of all the enemies??? surrounding him. They ranged from deranged looking monsters, floating beings with soulless masks, and large humans in electricity-padded armor, to behemoth machines in the sky that could leave you within an inch of your life thanks to a drill for a hand?!

But what’s even worse is that you seem to have managed a deal with Morpheus himself and infiltrated his dreams. You were there, too, sometimes fighting with him, sometimes against him, much to his dismay, and while it was nice, he just didn’t get it. Why the friendliness and hostility? Why was there an anger that overtook him when looking directly at you, parrying your blade and sending harmful arcs of water toward your figure?

Why did he relish the fear in your eyes when he darted towards you with electricity cracking through the air?

There’s an overwhelming sensation now to grab his phone to text you and apologize -- for what, he can’t fathom and there are no words to accurately convey what he’s thinking. “Hey, sorry for wanting to kill you in my dream :( “? Or “Sorry for being a friend but then stabbing you in the back, but then being nice to you again”?

And the only thing that really made sense was the serenity and contentment that would course through his veins as the two of you danced around on ivory sandy beaches, picking up shiny blue starconches and taking down more weird creatures; the breathlessness when you would fall back into the water and re-emerge to reconfirm his beliefs that you were one of the most beautiful humans he’d ever laid his eyes on; the love--

Hold the fuck up.

He doesn’t love you. He likes you a whole lot and he’s severely and deathly attracted to you, but he doesn’t love you. Your existence has only been made known to him for about two months, and he didn’t really start talking to you until three weeks in. So no matter how comfortable he feels with you, no matter how much he wishes that you were sleeping peacefully next to him so his nights wouldn’t feel so lonely, it was too early, too hasty, to say that he loves you.

“I’ve been wondering, why didn’t you bring them home?” His mother asks him out of nowhere during breakfast, all to add to this extremely tumultuous roller-coaster morning he’s been having. All he wants to do is eat his bowl of milk and cereal, then potentially go back to sleep before fulfilling his promise to go with his siblings to the nearby skating rink. It takes everything in him to not choke on his spoon of grains.

“Agreed, didn’t you mention they didn’t really have any family to go back to and that the move to Liyue was semi-permanent?” His father chimes in, laying a quick peck on his wife’s temple. “It’s never fun to spend the holidays alone.”

“They would’ve felt like they were intruding,” Childe replies quietly, stabbing his bowl a few times before scooping up another spoonful of cereal to his mouth. “I know we’re friends, but we haven’t known each other for that long, and maybe they’d be uncomfortable because that’s a lot honestly…”

“You don’t know until you try,” his mother sings and pats him on the shoulder. “We do have a guest room after all.”

“For them and their twin?”

“And quite a comfortable futon with enough blankets.”

Childe smiles fondly at his parents’ kindness. He can only imagine what this winter break would’ve been like now -- you and your twin floating around, trying to help out with certain chores, sitting by the fireplace and watching TV, huddled up with mugs of hot chocolate, playing board games with everyone and engaging in all the shenanigans…

Laughing. Loving. Grinning. Basking.

Handing over one of his hoodies to you as a sick way of torturing yet blessing himself for seeing how lovely you look in his clothes, standing silently in the doorway as you attempt to help out with mealtimes next to his mother, watching you run around in the backyard and dodging his siblings’ snowballs while lodging a few of your own -- how wonderful it all would be.

But he squashes it down as quickly as possible, because you escaped his grasp. You ran away from his advances temporarily and even though you gave him permission to seek you out come the spring semester, he worries that you might take it back. Something will wake up inside of you to keep him out of your heart and your life, and he’s not confident enough at this point to believe there’s a good chance you will come spend the holidays with him and his family next year.

“Maybe next year, ma,” he sends her a hesitant, yet somewhat broken purse of his lips that’s just the least bit curved. It tells her everything he’s thinking, and the quick patting of his cheek lets him know she understands.

Half an hour later, Childe finds himself curled up on his side under the sheets, phone in hand as he stares at a blinking cursor. It shouldn’t be so hard to send a text to convey his holiday greetings, because that’s all it is -- part of him is becoming desperate and aching for some interaction with you, even if it’s just a text sent back for conventional social pleasantries. He’ll take it for now, right?

Before he can totally chicken out, his thumbs quickly type a, “Happy Holidays, (y/n) :)”, and it’s a little embarrassing how quickly after he hits the ‘send’ button that he tosses it over his shoulder so he’s not directly looking at it anymore. His heartbeat is too quick and he prays for no phantom vibrations or phantom sound notifications to avoid any disappointment of thinking he got a reply. It was a harmless text, yet he’s treating it like he just got assigned on a mission to go and murder someone for the first time. What will he do if you never text him back? Does that mean you really don’t want to talk to him? Are you dead in a ditch somewhere? Did you change numbers and not tell him? Did your twin get all the details and make the executive decision to block his number? Will he never get a chance to talk to you again, even if it’s about something in the Teyvat Mythology class next semester? Will you--

His shoulder screams in protest when he quickly flips himself over at the text notification sound, hands shakily unlocking his phone and opening up your conversation again. His heart rate significantly decreases, reaching back to its normal pace, especially as he reads the little words on his screen.

“Happy Holidays, Ajax ^^”

There is hope.

-

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”

You’re huddled under the comforter of your twin’s bed, phone just peeking above the edge as you stare at it with a brightness in your eyes. For the most part, you had been sulking there, apart from meals and going back to your own room to sleep, and mentally berating yourself for the way you reacted to Childe the week before.

“He just texted me to say happy holidays,” shrugging to put on a facade of indifference. It’s stupid that you’re trying to hide your feelings from your twin of all people, who could pick apart and identify your emotions in a heartbeat. A roll of his eyes lets you know that you haven’t fooled him at all.

“So you think that whatever comment he made, which was very suggestive and indicative of clearly non-platonic feelings, was just something...friendly? Remind me again how you came to that conclusion?”

“I don’t know what I was thinking!” You whine, looking around to see if there was anything you could toss at him. “It’s just, with everything, all the dreams and stupid gut feelings, I just -- I don’t know, okay?? I can’t tell you enough how much I wish I had just kissed his stupid face and see where it goes from there.”

“Okay, gross, but don’t beat yourself up. Though...I do have a good idea on how to maybe get a good reaction out of him. You wanna go to the New Years’ celebration at Xiangling’s?”

“I think she’d threaten me with a knife if I didn’t. She wanted to go shopping at some point, too.”

“I’ll drop the overprotective brother act for one night, okay? One night, just to let this happen, and for your peace of mind.”

He does a fair amount of conspiring with Xiangling, a friend they met one time at a restaurant a couple years ago, even tagging along on the shopping trip. Together, the three of you find yourself a dress that Xiangling swears would make any person drool over you, including Childe, because at the end of the day, he was a person with the possibility of being attracted to you.

You think it’s a bit silly, but honestly, what do you have to lose at this point?

-

At 11:57PM on New Years’ Eve, Childe is standing outside in the freezing cold with his family, arms lifting up bags of sparklers and fireworks. They’ve driven out closer to the wild like they do every year, and everybody excitedly gets lighters ready, making sure someone’s got a clock out there that tells the seconds. As the younger kids open up the packaging and argue over which one to set off first, Childe’s phone vibrates in his coat pocket.

It’s 11:58PM when he manages to fish the device out and thank himself for buying gloves that are touch-screen friendly, excited to see that there are two texts from you, the latter reading, “Happy New Year!”. It doesn’t matter that you’re a little early, but he’s mainly intrigued by the fact a photo came before it. In his mind, you’re probably curled up with your twin brother, hopefully a selfie because wow, he misses your face.

He gets something else instead, and he is so glad that it’s dark outside and the electric lamp they have is too far away from him to draw any attention.

You have your arm around your brother’s waist and another girl’s that he doesn’t recognize, but it’s a full frontal view of your outfit, one that hugs your curves beautifully and shows more cleavage than he’s ever seen from you, sophisticated and elegant, yet fun and leaving enough to the imagination. There’s a bright smile coming from all of you, and you look like you’re at someone’s house or apartment with plenty of other people milling around in the back, but they don’t matter, not when all he can focus on is you.

Gorgeous, breathtaking, arousing, mind blowing, and gods, he wishes he could teleport to Liyue at this moment, find you, and kiss you right at midnight. Fuck the fact that he doesn’t exactly believe in superstitions like, “Kissing your significant other at midnight means you’ll last forever!” but he’s willing to take the chance with it on this night and the ones after, if he’s allowed. He tries not to think too much about pinning you against the wall and letting the world dissolve -- wants to be the one with the privilege to drag down that zipper and feel his bare skin on yours, and --

As Teucer starts yelling there’s only a minute left, he instinctively locks his phone and shoves it away out of anyone’s view. The last thing he needs is his family teasing him about ogling at your photo for a straight 50 seconds, wide-eyed and pupils on the verge of dilating, the visible breath leaving his mouth just a smudge more dense and prominent than usual.

The only thing he can do to distract himself from popping a boner in front of his parents is to join in on the countdown, making sure all the fireworks are set up correctly and grabbing a sparkler for himself. He waves it around with Tonia and promises to fulfill her wishes of taking one of those pictures right as she draws a pattern in the air. Their excitement is palpable and addicting, and even though the larger fireworks set off a few seconds after midnight hits, the nostalgia fills his lungs with fond memories and future wishes that they only continue this tradition for as long as possible, and hopefully, with you at his side.

-

When it’s 12:04AM, you get a picture message back of Childe bundled up in a black paletot coat, matching beanie and all, a gloved hand holding a sparkler and lips curved upwards, with a caption that says, “Happy New Year’s! See you soon :)”. You show it to Xiangling and your brother, both taking it as a win in their books, although the former does tipsily protest that there should be a better indicator of Childe’s brain breaking at how amazing you look right now. Maybe she’s prophetic, because another text chimes in and the words set you aflame, as well as suggestive whoops into your ears.

It’s a simple, “You look incredible btw”.

If you didn’t want to properly savor this moment, you would’ve found the nearest shot of the strongest liquor and tossed it back with abandon. But you want to remember the warmth in your veins that wasn’t from the alcohol or the heating, the fluttering of your heartbeat, the teeth-baring grin that you couldn’t fight off, the constant re-reading of those four words -- because they’re so different from everything you had been feeling before with him, the need for protection, the need to escape. Instead, you’d like to be in his arms right now and see for yourself how he’d look at you in this moment, and if he would take any action.

You want him to. So, so bad.

-

Childe spends his last week at home hating the fact that you’re just sitting around somewhere in Liyue, doing whatever you’re doing, probably doing some light preparation for your last semester of classes, and he’s not there to take advantage of all this free time and hang out with you. When classes start, it’ll be busy and hectic. You still have your thesis to finish and revise, and while that won’t eat up all your time, it’s still some that he’d want to fill in with his presence if he could. He debates whether or not he should ask for your schedule and compare it with his, maybe set up meetings every other day or propose that they all eat one meal together every day. Childe’s not quite sure of what you plan to do after graduation, as it hasn’t come up in conversation yet, but either way, he’s determined to stay in contact and make things work out. Long distance isn’t ideal, but with technology now, he’ll take it.

He feels a little bad for how excited he probably looked to be leaving home, uncharacteristic for the most part. His older siblings have already gone back to their respective homes, and it’s mainly Teucer and Tonia that worry and tear up when he starts packing his belongings. Tonia finds it unfair that Teucer got to meet you first and the latter makes sure to rub it into everyone’s faces. It’s hard for Childe to sleep on the plane because he’s thrumming with excitement, yet somehow even more nervous than usual when the plane hits small bouts of turbulence, and he doesn’t seem to relax until he sets foot back on campus.

He’s here. It’s January, and you’re physically closer to him than ever in the last two weeks.

-

“Found you.”

On the first day of classes, you’re sitting alone with some salad greens in a bowl, poking your fork at some scraps while you watch something on your phone, earbuds in and back towards the entrance of the canteen. It would explain the unannounced entrance of the very person who’s been at the forefront of nearly every thought in the last 96 hours, his fingers gingerly removing an earbud to surprise you as best as possible, and you startle in your seat.

Your heart kicks into overdrive when he hands you back your earbud and pulls out the seat next to you, setting his own plate of food down as he plops down in his chair. But then he says nothing afterwards, instead choosing to send you a cheeky grin before digging in. You’re left to slowly phase out of your state of shock, stuck between either running away or frantically texting your twin to come and save you even though he was off on a date with Keqing.

It’s not that you weren’t elated at the fact that Childe had done exactly as you told him last month, you just weren’t...prepared? It’s a shitty excuse and a cop out -- you’re mainly just having trouble with racking your brain to find the right words. What are you supposed to say? What should you do? Is it socially acceptable to lean over and kiss him on the cheek because that’s what you’d like to impulsively do at this very second??

“So you did,” you settle and steal a roasted potato wedge from his plate. It’s his turn to be taken by surprise, but he gets over it much quicker than you do. In fact, he spears two wedges and drops them in your bowl, smiling at you as best as he can with a mouth full of food. You give them your thanks before the silence settles in again.

“Did you have a good break?” He asks before his next bite.

“I did. You?”

“It was nice. My parents said I should’ve brought you and your twin home to spend the holidays with us. Can’t say it didn’t cross my mind before finals.”

Holy shit, what? “We couldn’t intrude like that, but that’s really nice of you guys.”

“That’s okay, there’s plenty of chances to visit later.”

You tilt your head and furrow your eyebrows. “But we graduate this semester?”

Childe challenges you with one of his own eyebrows raised. “And? Are we never gonna see each other again?”

Honestly, the possibility had occurred to you. You aren’t entirely sure of Childe’s plans after graduation, and if that meant he was staying in Liyue or going back to Snezhnaya or even moving to Inazuma or Mondstat. While people preach on and on about how lasting friendships and relationships are often formed during college, you believe it’s more common to slowly drift apart as life gets busier. And if Childe moved away, or if you did, it’d be hard to consistently keep in touch with 10 hour workdays.

The thought saddens you, regardless. You like him so much and you’re glad that he was even in your life to begin with, because as unbelievable as it sounds, seeing him was almost akin to the feeling of coming home. Amidst all your nerves, your confusion, your spiraling thoughts, something deeply sated in your heart was a comfort that you found with very few people in your life whenever in his presence.

The thought of leaving and never looking back somehow doesn’t feel new -- it’s bittersweet, but the air in your lungs feels like it’s surrendered to something, like it was to be expected.

“You can’t just leave without telling me--”

“It was last minute! I had no choice!”

“You could’ve written up a message, anything--”

“Can you imagine the position you’d be in if the message got intercepted? I wouldn’t have been safe, she’d make you come after me--”

“As if you’d be any safer in Inazuma of all places! That’s the one place I can’t easily get to!”

“I can take care of myself, Childe, I don’t need you to protect me.”

“This isn’t about me protecting you, (y/n) and -- stop walking, will you?!”

“Then what is this about?” You spin on your wheel with eyes aflame. “Why are you so angry with me? It’s normal for me to disappear for weeks at a time, why was this any different?”

“Because you could’ve died!” He yells back in despair, chest heaving. Your silence is his cue to continue. “You could’ve died and I wouldn’t have known until much later. You could’ve died and all I’d ever think about were the things I never got to say to you, and how I wish I had treated every day with you like it was our last.”

It isn’t hard to tell that you’re stunned and at a complete loss for words. Childe often hides behind facades of charm and wit, and only when he is truly weak does he choose to be this vulnerable, baring his heart for you to see.

“I only have two nightmares in this world. One, my family being harmed in any way. Two, reading in a report or hearing from an agent that you’ve been captured and killed.”

“I like to think that we will.”

His hand reaches out to lay on top of yours, giving it a quick squeeze. “Well, let’s make the most of it this semester.”

Conversation afterwards is easy, filling each other in on holiday activities. Childe speaks extensively about several family traditions and you listen with rapt attention, basking in how fond he is of all of them. Even as you both bring your dishes to the return belt and leave, he immediately offers to drive you both somewhere to get boba, noticing your reluctance to part ways. But boba shops have to close, and you both have class tomorrow morning, and you’re both finding any excuse to keep talking, even if that means sitting outside your dorm building on a nearby bench.

You eventually bid each other good night’s and see you later’s, him refusing to walk away until the heavy door locks shut behind you after you swipe your student ID, and you looking over your shoulder to watch his figure disappear into the night.

-

True to his intentions, Childe makes great efforts to meet you at least once a day, and he can’t get enough. Each parting from you tugs and tugs at his heart, as if there’s a high possibility you’ll never want to see him again the next day, and he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. Your twin and Childe get along well for the most part, and he even meets Xiangling on one of her shifts at her regular restaurant, who sends you a salacious wink and an eyebrow wiggle over his shoulder that nearly causes you to burst from embarrassment.

February rolls over without a hitch, even if you’re a little disappointed that Childe didn’t make a move for Valentine’s Day. Granted, you two still spent time with each other and he’s so darn physically affectionate and he bought you a carnation from the event his dorm held, but you wish you had the guts to fess up and just kiss the man.

It’ll happen some day, you tell yourself. You have time before graduation.

Two days before the end of the Friday that would signal the start of Spring Break, you wake up in a cold sweat, mind reeling and head splitting, heart so so heavy, as a connection is made between your present and your dreams. Not long after, there are tears streaming silently down your face and into your open palms placed in your lap, and you sit in shock as everything comes back to you. Memories are such treasured burdens, you realize.

For the most part, you had gotten used to the dreams, choosing to take charge of what you know and feel now with Childe over succumbing to some strange neurological premonitions. Especially in your dreams when many people’s faces were blurred over and hazy, and the only things you could rely on were voices, touch, and other physical features. You thought that maybe your mind was just playing tricks by transposing Childe’s hair onto a body that was also strikingly similar to his, but for the first time last night, you could see each defining feature on his face as clear as day.

The sight of his figure arching gracefully over yours, the water arrows that appeared out of thin air, the back that protected you from some military men, the voice that said, “Hey girlie, hold still.”

And that was when you had snapped awake to your current state.

Past the initial shock and uncontrollable tears, you soon bent over as sobs wracked your chest, overwhelmed by all the emotions and the pain the memories brought you; losing your twin, finding him to only be left with even more questions after roaming for decades and decades, meeting all your loved ones throughout Mondstat and Liyue, fighting yet falling so hard for Childe, feeling the fear when facing his Foul Legacy form, hating him for Osial, loving him, breathing heavily as the tip of your blade was pointed at his neck and his own just centimeters from yours, tendrils of water inching closer and closer--

Everything makes sense now.

When you meet your twin for lunch at the cafeteria, you pay no mind to the fact that you’re in public and hug him harder than you ever have in years. He’s already a little alarmed that your eyes seem swollen and you look like finals came two months early, but when he asks what’s wrong, all he gets is a shake of your head and nothing more than, “Just a bad nightmare. I love you, y’know that?”

“I love you too?”

“Don’t sound so unsure, now let’s go and get in line before they run out of Jueyun Chili Chicken.”

Even when you meet Xiao later in the early evening to talk about your thesis, you find yourself holding back more tears just two minutes in, reminded of his past and his own life, and he’s moderately concerned, hesitantly handing you a tissue from the corner of his desk when a stray tear escapes. “Is everything okay?” He hesitantly asks, really hoping that he didn’t do anything to make you cry.

“No,” you almost wail and sniffle while dabbing at your eyes. “Sorry, it’s just been a really long day.”

Xiao’s inquisitive gaze softens, remembering how hard undergraduate life could be sometimes. Graduate school was a whole other level, but that shouldn’t discount your own personal difficulties. Plus, in all of the year and a half that he’s known you, you’ve never broken down like this before in front of him.

“You work really hard, Xiao,” you continue, and he’s not sure where this is coming from. “You’re always so helpful and willing to work with me and answer my stupid questions and like-- you practice self-care, right?”

Xiao nods as a white lie, but it seems to comfort you. Maybe too much because you pull him in for a quick and unexpected hug, and you both decide to reschedule this meeting for tomorrow.

As per usual, you wait for Childe to join you for dinner since you finished up earlier than expected. It gives you more time to think about everyone from Mondstat -- Kaeya, Diluc, Lisa, Jean, Amber...funny to think that some things never changed as you compared their past version to the ones you know now.

“Mora for your thoughts?”

There’s a peace that warms your heart when you hear Childe’s voice, one that forces you to smile at him as he sits down next to you. “Just thinking about old friends.”

“I have to admit, I’ll be a little jealous if it’s another guy taking up more space than me in that pretty brain of yours.”

What a flirt. This man isn’t good for your heart. “Who said you had any to begin with?”

He dramatically places a hand over his heart. “You wound me, (y/n). How will I ever recover?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you snicker. Childe reaches over to pinch your cheek and you bat at him in protest. Easily, he grabs one of your hands and simply pulls you towards the food lines, knowing that you’ll stop fighting back soon.

Part of it feels strange now to feel and see his hands with no leather gloves on.

“Childe,” you start halfway through your meal, continuing after he hums back in reply. “Do you believe in reincarnation?”

He freezes briefly, but recovers so quickly that if you hadn’t been watching so closely, you wouldn’t have noticed. “I think it’s neat, the idea of having past lives. Why do you ask?”

What he really wants to ask is if you’ve been having those dreams, too; if he’s starring in your nights like you have been in his.

“Just a thought, especially since you’re taking Teyvat Myth now, too.”

“Do you...do you think if there was a past life, that we knew each other?”

There’s something about the look of content on your face before you meet his gaze -- he thinks that you know more than you’re letting on but you’re holding back for some reason. He wants to know what’s going through your brain right now, why the fondness in your eyes sends a jolt through him like he’s been searching for it all his life, if you know anything about this magnetic pull between you two.

“I like to think that we knew each other well.”

-

Even though the first day of your returned memories was somewhat eventful, you couldn’t help but feel yourself wanting to pull back from Childe -- at least, until you can successfully compartmentalize which emotions belonged to you past self and which ones belonged to your current mindset. You didn’t quite agree with his duties and his affiliation with the Fatui back then, even if he had his reasons that did make sense, to some degree.

The killing, the threatening, so intent on stealing Rex Lapis’s Gnosis in the name of the Tsaritsa, summoning Osial as a mean to an end -- and you definitely can’t forget how stubborn he was in not listening to your protests, so caught up in his brain that you had betrayed him and sent you plummeting to a near-death experience despite his earlier promise of no intention of killing you specifically.

Everything had been toeing a faint, thin line with Childe then. Undeniable chemistry and tension, guarding yourself for yours and Paimon’s safety, slashing at Fatui agents, whispering out pleas and affirmations of “I’m yours” while riding him, sometimes having to sneak out in the mornings…

The only thing you don’t remember is how everything ends -- maybe it’ll come back to you eventually, but for now, you think you’re okay not knowing.

If Childe still doesn’t remember anything from back then, you think it’d be unfair to spend time with him in all your conflicting emotions, even when it’s spring break, where you have so much more hours in the day to be with each other than normal. Fun plans around Liyue had been made, like a two-day one-night trip to Yaoguang Shoal, and you’re this close to cancelling on him.

But he had been looking forward to it so much, even made most of the preparations for it. Who are you to rob that joy from him when it was you who couldn’t figure out your own shit? Are you self-destructing?

Perhaps.

Before you know it, you’re sitting in the passenger seat of his car, staring out the window at the scenery. Somehow, it pleased you to see that the nature of Liyue had been carefully preserved over the many centuries despite its development into the modern age. You get lost in picking apart the differences between then and now that you don’t notice how quiet you’ve fallen and Childe looks over worriedly when you show no reaction to your favorite songs playing on the stereo.

Even when he calls your name once, twice, nothing gives as you clearly have tuned everything out. So he leaves you be until there’s about half an hour left on the drive, unable to hold back and succumbing to reach over for your hand. You startle so strongly that he almost feels bad for having done it unannounced. But what’s even more disturbing is that this isn’t really the first time.

You’ve been talking to him less, often sitting quietly and staring off into another world that he can’t seem to reach. His texts are answered less frequently and with less wit and enthusiasm, so much so that he just appreciates you still show up to see him. Each time he asks if you’re okay, you always affirm that you are. He’s had a hard time believing you, but Childe believes you’ll tell him when you’re ready, surely.

It’s a little ironic yet fateful that Childe planned to bring you here, of all places. In the past, you had spent many days and nights running around in the sand with him, fighting slimes and hilichurls and collecting starconches for him. You remember laying on a large towel next to him as you both looked up into the sky, pointing out stars and constellations while sharing endless kisses away from prying, spying eyes.

“I’m sorry, I must’ve zoned out,” you sincerely apologize.

“It’s okay, I just wanna make sure you relax while we’re here. This is supposed to be a vacation.”

“You’re right,” you agree and squeeze his hand. “Let’s make the most of it before we become adults who are too busy to have fun like this again.”

And you do. Childe rented a small beach cabin (rich boys) closer to one end of the shoreline, just big enough with two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a small kitchen with a dining table. You help him bring in your bags and some groceries bought the night before, setting them down quickly so you can peer out the window again to take in the view. Childe picked a good time, too. Although it’d be a little chilly at night, the day was still warm and mainly overcast with clouds.

“What do you say we change into our swimsuits and head down to the water?”

“Sure.”

Childe hadn’t really been expecting for you to step out in a large, casual tee and gym shorts, one shoulder exposed. He might have been hoping to see a little more skin, but his mother didn’t raise a chauvinistic pervert for a son.

The light in your eyes as you both approach the water is everything he had been missing the last few days, your excitement and joy contagious. As soon as you place everything down on the sand, you kick off your flip flops and leave him behind to step into the water, giggling at feeling the waves crash over your ankles and bring sand between your toes. Childe approaches you from behind and starts smearing sunblock on the back of your neck, to which you just grin beautifully at him in thanks and he has to fight off the desire to kiss you right then and there.

You’re too caught up in embracing the ocean afterwards to feel the shrinking distance between you two, mistaking his warmth for the general spring air. It isn’t until he’s done with your shoulders that he hands you the bottle to leave you to do the rest of your body, and when you turn to thank him, he’s much closer than you remember. His eyes are gentle, holding your gaze and almost daring you to look away first.

But if there’s one thing you can place without a shred of doubt, it is the unmistakable look of love, because you had seen it many, many times before without knowing until later what it meant.

How so incredibly lucky you were to have Childe back in your life now, loving you all the same, and with no life-threatening barriers. Fate or the Archons have given you a second chance, and you’d be damned to take it for granted.

Childe welcomes your lips against his, wasting no time to bring you into his arms so you’re pressed against him as much as possible. He can’t care for the overt public display of affection because this is everything he’s wanted for months now, waiting patiently for you to give him permission to make you his. Your lips are incredibly soft and pliant against his as you first kiss him patiently, then applying more force and desperation to taste more of him. He mirrors you, one hand cradling the back of your head and the other on your neck with a thumb extended to your jawline, teeth moving to nip at your bottom lip. It’s dangerous, the way you smile against his lips, and when he sinks his teeth in deeper before pulling back, your quiet mewl nearly drives him over the edge.

But you’re in public, and this was an amazing first kiss. You two have a beach to enjoy and a fun night planned, and now that he doesn’t have to hold back on his affections, it’ll be even better.

His lips part from yours regretfully, his eyes languidly opening to meet yours. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a blue starconch in the sand and freezes.

It’s not that he’s never seen one before, but something clicks. You. The shore. Starconches. Starry nights. His dreams. Monsters. Gods. Fighting. So much fighting. Training. His family. Dragons. You. Falling. You falling. You fighting him. Yelling. Kissing. Loving. Chasing. Him chasing you before you disappear at a teleport waypoint that somehow you only can operate. The abyss. Your twin.

Oh, Archons.

“ -ou okay, Ajax? Ajax?”

He snaps to look at you again. How does he go about this? How does he ask?

“(Y/n)...have you ever heard of the Fatui Harbingers?”

He has to admit that it’s a bit amazing to be able to identify all the emotions that cross your complexion, from curiosity to realization to conflicted. You’re actively trying to piece everything together without revealing too much on the off-chance that you’re wrong, that Childe hasn’t regained his memories and is just asking about something from class randomly and completely out of the blue.

Wait.

“You haven’t reached that material yet in class,” you whisper, heart in your throat at the realization. Could it really be…

“I was once Tartaglia, eleventh Harbinger of the Fatui, who possessed a Delusion and used my Foul Legacy Transformation with you several times,” he murmurs back, tucking a stray tendril behind your ear. “Is it too late to apologize again for summoning an ancient god and letting you fall about five floors with no warning?”

He should’ve been prepared for you wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a tight embrace. “No, never, but I spent weeks after kicking your ass so you’ve been long forgiven.”

Childe burrows his face into your neck, breathing in your scent and basking in this moment. There was so much to talk about, but you two arguably had more time in the world than ever with nothing holding you back. There was no impending war looming over, no one on the run, no opposing forces. His silent wish for a different life with you seems to have been answered finally. If running into you had been the event to set everything in motion, he only wishes he’d done so earlier.

All that matters now is you’re here together in this plane of existence, given a chance to love again, and experience everything you couldn't before.

As written in the stars, take my soul for it is forever yours.

fin

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 121: Record

"I found some weird box full of muggle stuff," Ron called, carrying said weird box out into the open living room that Hermione and Draco were working in since they had mandatory cleaning on Saturday mornings for everyone who lived in Grimmauld. "I don't even know what these are," he added, holding up flat, black circles with holes in the middle.

"They're records," Hermione replied, glancing up from the cabinet she was working on cleaning out. "They play music," she elaborated.

Ron made a face, "They're probably junk," he replied.

"What are?" Harry asked as he emerged from the creepy closet off of the kitchen, covered in spider webs.

"These records," Ron said, kicking the box with his toe.

"Oh," Harry said, making his way over, "Were they Sirius', do you reckon?"

"It says 'Lily Evans' on the side," Draco pointed out.

"Probably junk either way," Ron said.

Draco Malfoy had spent more than half of his life in love with Harry Potter. He might not have called it love when he was young but the older he got, the more clear it became that he had been a lovesick idiot for most of his life. He'd spent a lifetime memorizing every detail of that face. So he couldn't really be blamed for noticing the split second of hurt that flashed across Harry's face before he nodded, "Yeah. You're probably right. I'll just run them out to the bin."

"Let me," he said before he'd really formed a plan. "I've got all this to take out anyway," he said, gesturing to the box of junk that he'd weeded out this morning. "And we all know that Kreacher has less of a problem with it when I do it."

Harry gave him a little smile that Draco wondered if anyone believed was genuine. "Thanks," he said.

Draco levitated his box and the box of records and headed down toward the kitchen. When he was out of ear shot he murmured, "Kreacher," and the elf appeared.

"Yes, Master Draco?"

"Hi," he said, giving him a little nod, "Could you help me with something?"

"Anything!" he replied, nodding hard enough that his ears flapped.

"Could you hold onto this box for me?" he asked, gesturing to the box with the records.

"Of course," he said, immediately taking the box and disappearing.

Draco nodded in satisfaction and started plotting how he'd learn enough about records that he could help Harry use his mother's.

(Read more below the cut)

Two weeks later, on another Saturday morning cleaning day, he still hadn't made much progress. Luna had actually been the most helpful but he hadn't any idea where to find a record player.

But as luck would have it, one turned up in the library, tucked in a cabinet behind some very dusty potion vials and a rusted old cauldron. "Kreacher," he whispered.

When he appeared he held out the record player and asked him to keep it with the records.

He felt quite pleased with himself now that he'd found the record player; he was certain that he'd be able to play records for Harry in no time.

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

It took a couple more weeks. Figuring out how to get electricity into the house was no easy feat (but it was easier once he found out that someone, Sirius he suspected, had done it before).

When Harry arrived home that evening, Draco dragged him into the living room, "Draco, what is going on?" he asked, laughing at him as he tried to get him to hurry up.

"I have something for you," he said, nudging him into the room and presenting the record player. "Ta da!"

"Err," Harry said, looking more closely at it, "What is it?"

"It's a record player," he said.

Harry's head whipped around so fast that it made Draco feel dizzy, "What?" he whispered.

"I found it," Draco said, "when I was cleaning in the library. And I thought you might," he shrugged and reached for the box of records, holding it out to Harry, "I thought you might want to listen to them."

The other man looked at him then down at the box in his hands, eyes wide as he reached out a trembling hand to brush his fingers over the spot where 'Lily Evans' was inscribed on the cardboard box. "You," he started before breaking off and covering his mouth with his hand. "I don't know what to say," he whispered.

His heart was full to bursting and he was pretty sure he'd never done anything as good as this in his life. "Would you like to listen to one?"

Harry looked up at him and nodded.

Carefully, he took out the record on the top and slipped it out of it's jacket, "Ella Fitzgerald," he said. "I've no idea who that is."

"Me either," Harry replied, coming closer to watch over Draco's shoulder as he set the record on the plate, turned the player on, and set the needle.

Music spilled forth entrancing them both, It's not the pale moon that excites me, that thrills and delights me, oh no, it's just the nearness of you.

"Wow," Harry murmured, watching the record spin. He turned to Draco, "I can't tell you what this means to me," he whispered. "Thank you."

He shrugged but couldn't quite keep the pleased smile from his face. "You're welcome."

Harry looked back at the record player before looking over at Draco again, "Do you want to sit and listen with me?"

He nodded, "I'd like that very much."

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

It became something that the two of them did together fairly regularly after that. Sometimes they'd sit together and read while they listened to records, sometimes they'd talk while they listened, or catch up on work, or just listen together but it quickly became Draco's favorite pastime.

One Friday night while Ron and Hermione were out on a date, Ginny was away for a tournament, and Luna was working late, the two of them put on a record and ate dinner in the living room, continuing to drink wine while they talked and laughed long after their pasta was gone.

As the Bob Marley album, Exodus, came to an end, Draco stood up and made his way over to the box. "Etta James," he read, "At Last." He smiled and showed it to Harry, "look, she drew little hearts next to the song titles."

Harry smiled that melancholy sort of smile that made Draco ache inside. "Let's hear it, then."

Draco put it on for them and plopped back down on the floor in front of the sofa, his side mere inches away from Harry's, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off his body.

"I like this one," Harry sighed thirty seconds in as he leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes. "Do you think they used to dance to this one?" he murmured wistfully.

Draco's heart clenched painfully as he was overwhelmed by the sense of loss that Harry must feel constantly. He had to take a slow deep breath before he responded. "Maybe," he whispered back.

The corner of Harry's mouth curled up in a soft smile, "I think they liked to dance," he murmured. "Hagrid gave me a picture of the two of them dancing together when I was at Hogwarts."

"Yeah?" he asked, hoping Harry would say more about that.

Harry nodded, "They looked really happy, you know?" he said. "Like they were the only two people in the world, like they weren't in the middle of a war," he sighed. "I like to imagine both of them dancing with me when I was a baby," he confessed in a whisper, "when I was crying or something. I like to imagine that the love that saved my life was tangible all the time, you know?" he murmured.

"I'm sure it was," Draco said softly.

He leaned over and rested his head on Draco's shoulder and Draco hardly dared to breathe. After a moment Harry said, "Would you dance with me?"

"Yes," he breathed immediately. "Yeah, of course I would."

"Yeah?" Harry asked, sitting up slightly to look at him.

Draco nodded and stood up, reaching for Harry's hand and tugging him up after him. He kept Harry left hand in his right and wrapped his left arm around Harry's shoulder, leaving space for Harry's right arm around his waist.

The other man hummed softly, drawing Draco in a little closer and closing his eyes as they swayed around the room. Draco couldn't stop staring; at the way Harry's eyelashes were long enough that they brushed his glasses, at the tiny nearly invisible freckles that dusted his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, at the barely visible wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, at his lovely full lips, and the way his stubble looked against his skin.

I love you he couldn't help but think, over and over like it was a personal mantra, like it was the only thing that could keep him alive; he ached with it, with the desire to hold him, to kiss him, to tell him what he really thought of him, to build a life with him, to give him everything that he deserved to have.

Harry's eyes blinked open as the song came to an end, his brows furrowing slightly as he brought his hand up to cup Draco's cheek, "Are you alright?" he asked softly, wiping a tear that had slipped out.

"Merlin, sorry," Draco said, taking a step back to wipe his eyes. "Sorry. It's just your life has been so unfair and when I think about you not really knowing your parents and having to live with your shitty relatives, and-" he choked on the tears.

"Hey," Harry murmured, pulling Draco back into his arms and rubbing his back, "Hey, it's alright."

"It's not alright," he managed.

"Well, no," Harry agreed, "I suppose it isn't. But it's all past now," he said. "Now I have my friends and I live with people who love me and whom I love," he carded his fingers through the hair at the base of Draco's neck. "Ron and Hermione, Luna and Ginny," he swallowed, "you."

"I just wish," he started before breaking off because finishing that sentence would be showing far too much of his hand.

Harry drew back slightly to look at him, "What?"

His eyes were so open, so earnest that Draco couldn't help himself. "I wish you'd let me love you the way you deserve to be loved."

The other man blinked, "What do you mean?"

"Promise me that nothing changes if you don't like what I have to say," he said, clenching his fingers in Harry's t-shirt.

"I promise. You're one of my best friends, Draco," he assured.

He took a deep breath, "I'm in love with you," he finally managed. "And I just want to love you, all the time. I want to hold your hand, and dance with you, and make you laugh, and surprise you. I want so many things for you-"

"Me too," Harry interrupted. "I'm in love with you, too, I mean."

"Really?" he whispered, hardly daring to believe it, his eyes welling up with tears again.

"Oh, love," Harry said with a little smile, wiping Draco's eyes with his thumbs, "Yes, really. Come here," he said, pulling him in closer and swaying to the music, letting Draco cling to him as they moved together.

As they continued to dance, Harry started to tell him all of the things that he dreamed about for the future together. Painting a picture of the beautiful life they could have and after a few minutes, Draco joined in, adding bits of his hopes as well.

They stayed up late into the night, talking and dreaming of the life they wanted to give each other. And every time they fought after that, one of them would get out the record player and they'd dance together and remind each other of the lives they wanted to build.

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

Day 120: Tough | Day 122: Moon

[andorerso]

Wanting to spread some positivity among fic writers. 

When you get this ask, link your:

Favourite fic/series you’ve ever written

That one fic/series you poured your heart & soul into

One underrated fic/series of yours you’d recommend

You don’t have to link just *a* fic. Go ham! Even link your masterlist! This is all about all your hardwork.

Thank you for creating!

ooooh FUN

Favourite fic/series you’ve ever written

besides the vampire au, I'd say imaginary homelands

Summary: Two years after Jyn and Cassian separated, a chance encounter brings them back to each other again. Confronted with what she lost, Jyn wonders if it's too late to make it right. Canon-verse, post-war, exes to lovers, angst with a happy ending

I recently reread it because I got a new comment and although I'd change some things now (mostly world-building stuff, my SW-world knowldge is still shitty, but I've gotten better and I do see a few holes) but as far as the relationship and story goes, I really do love it. I was actually kinda surprised, I thought even my writing was pretty solid

but shoutout also to my beloved shadow preachers

Summary: Jyn doesn’t like other hunters, and there’s a good reason for that. She doesn't trust other people, preferring to work alone, a lone wolf by nature. Cassian Andor is no exception to that rule. But they keep running into each other - and he keeps surprising her.

Modern au, monster hunters, supernatural inspired, rivals to friends to lovers

I always love this one for the 100% self-indulgence. while there’s some angst, it was more lighthearted than usual and I enjoyed writing the banter and the humor a lot

That one fic/series you poured your heart & soul into

this is where I wanna use Blood Red Rose no question about it

Summary: 1920, London. An unknown creature dubbed 'the Beast' is terrorizing the streets at night. Vampire hunter Jyn Erso and recently turned vampire Cassian Andor might just be the city's only hope to catch the monster...

Vampire au, historical setting, enemies to lovers

I mean... there’s no doubt about this one. It’s been over a year and I’m still working on it, although we’re close to the end now. Before this one, the longest multichapter I wrote was around 4 chapters, so not that long at all. Writing this story, actually having a plot besides the relationship, trying to do worldbuilding, it was all very challenging but I learned a lot. I honestly used to think I wasn’t capable of writing such long stories (hell, we’re past 90k now) and I’m just very proud to prove myself wrong and keep trying

One underrated fic/series of yours you’d recommend

it’s hard to decide what I’d consider underrated so I took a look at my stats and I chose two fics based on comments and kudos (neither of them have the least amount of kudos and comments overall, but taking into consideration length, plot, my love for the story, date since published etc, I felt like these deserved the spot)

so comment wise I chose small rebellions

Summary: Imperial Jyn Erso finally seizes her freedom and escapes with undercover agent Cassian Andor. But the Krennics catch up to her.

Canon divergence, imperial Jyn, undercover Cassian, torture/violence

tbh I’m not 100% satisfied with this (and I think the plot/warnings themselves do turn some people off so it makes sense it did a bit worse than my usual stuff). I think I kinda chickened out in the end because I wanted to push it a bit further and make it even darker but didn’t in the end.... idk, maybe that’s what’s missing. but at the same time I always wanted to write something like this where one person is kinda in the position that they have to choose between hurting the person they love or possibly dooming them to death, and I think Rebelcaptain is the perfect ship for it, so I’m gonna advertise it anyway (although I kinda wish a writer more talented than me did this concept instead but sometimes you just have to write what you want to read)

and kudos wise I’m choosing i’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife

Summary: Released from prison after three years, Jyn Erso is just trying to pick up the broken pieces of her life. But the man who catches her eye might not be exactly who he says he is.

Modern AU, thief Jyn, assassin Cassian, Good Behavior inspired

writing this felt a bit like writing shadow preachers, kinda self-indulgent, kinda humorous, kinda intentionally messy. I absolutely adore writing modern Jyn who’s just a mess and super snarky, it makes for fun internal monologues, so I think that’s why both this and shadow preachers have a huge place in my heart. also hitman Cassian is really fun too, and if I can ever finish Blood Red Rose, there’s definitely more to tell in this universe. if I had to choose just one, I’d definitely recommend this one over small rebellions 

[bookishofalder]

Catfish & Sunshine

Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader Mini Series

Summary: Frankie is secretly in love with his best friend. Thanks in part to Benny’s shitty horror movie recommendation and stray ice cream, feelings come out unexpectedly during movie night. 

Warnings: Language, SMUT, little angst, lots of fluff, poor writer understanding of US military benefits/retirement. WC 8,215.

A/N: I dreamed this up after rewatching Triple Frontier about a month ago (for the plot, of course) and let it sit for a while. Became inspired to finish it off this week and share it with you all-so please let me know your thoughts!

For over a decade, Saturday nights were, for Frankie Morales, usually spent with his best friends over drinks at their favourite bar. When deployed, the bar was instead smuggled whiskey that they shared under the stars, an attempt to imagine they were anywhere other than the current hellhole. As Special Ops soldiers, Frankie and his buddies had been through the worst of the worst together, until one by one they retired or were forced to retire, and then they were back to regular appearances at the local bar, for a while the five of them, then four.

Until Frankie met you.

Had someone come up to him during one of those nights years before and told Frankie that one day he’d be bringing you along to the bar to join him and the guys, he’d have laughed in their faces. But for a while, that was exactly what occurred, until you and Frankie grew so close that you usually ended up making different plans, like going mini-golfing, or lounging at his apartment and watching movies. Not that you didn’t love the guys, all whom you’d met except for Santi as he had been off the grid for just over a year when you and Frankie had met.

It was thanks to the elder Miller brother, Will, that he had even met you at all. Working at the VA office, Will had learned of one of the few retirement perks they had for putting their asses on the line for their country-physical therapy. And you came highly recommended, a star PT who had worked magic over his friends' ailments. Knowing Frankie suffered from shoulder and neck pains, Will handed him your card and encouraged him to book an appointment.

He hadn’t called straight away. He’d popped your card onto his fridge and every day he’d pass by it, consider calling, and then talk himself out of it. Until the pain became too much to bear, his latest menial job just a little too physical for him, causing him to consider using again just to dull the ache. But he’d walked by your card moments later and instead of making a terrible decision he had promised himself he’d never make again, he called your office. Made an appointment with your friendly receptionist, who thankfully had his name already because Will had put in a good word for Frankie and asked that they try and get him in straight away, whenever he finally did call.

Two days later Frankie was standing nervously in the treatment room, looking at a wall decorated with your various degrees and certificates. He was anxious not only because he worried he’d get his hopes up that this would help the pain only to be disappointed, but also because he had no idea what to expect. Years of service as a pilot had made Frankie into a man who planned, meticulously, leaving little in the way of surprises. But he’d reasoned that calling the office back and demanding they give him a minute-by-minute account of what the appointment would be like was probably going too far.

And then you had walked in and immediately his worries morphed into concern over the fact that he required a beard trim, that he looked like he’d just rolled out of bed and popped his usual cap on, probably appearing a little gruff. And fuck, he almost couldn’t breathe when you gave him the most dazzling, genuine smile like you were greeting an old friend. You were bright, a rare energy radiating off of you as though you absorbed it straight from the fucking sun, and you were beautiful. No wonder Will had winked at Frankie when he’d handed you the business card.

You were observant, introducing yourself and seemingly sensing his overall discomfort. Instead of launching straight to business, you gestured for him to sit and spent a good twenty minutes casually chatting, pulling information you needed from him while putting him at ease entirely. He learned then that Will had already sung Frankie’s praises, given you the heads up that he was a worrier and even told a few stories that showcased his talents as a pilot.

If Frankie didn’t know any better, he’d think his friend was trying to play matchmaker.

All thoughts of Will Miller, and pretty much every other thing on the planet, vanished the moment you laid your expert hands on to Frankie. You zeroed in on the worst source of pain and slowly worked away, and he could only agree with Will that you had magic hands. He could have died happily right then, as you chatted away and brought him the most relief he’d felt in years. You would pause occasionally to check in with his pain levels and make sure he was doing alright, always asking him to look at you to answer and searching his face as he spoke to ensure he was telling the truth.

The care you gave Frankie in just one appointment was enough to start him falling. And he kept going back, multiple appointments a week that not only had him walking taller, feeling lighter on his feet and reducing his migraines to seldom, but also allowing him to get to know you better. You were the kind of sweet-natured person that cried when you saw a sad commercial, laughed freely to the lamest of jokes, and seemed to wake up on the right side of the bed every day. You were sunshine, literal, tangible sunshine, and Frankie thought you might not even realize it.

Though Frankie had convinced himself early on that a woman as beautiful and kind as you could never be interested in a grouch like him, with his crows' feet and a closet full of demons. The longer he knew you little seeds of hope would sprout whenever he made you laugh so hard you had to stop the treatment just to hold your stomach as you giggled. Or when you’d share something with him innocent enough but, upon reflection, he would think it wasn’t something a normal patient-provider relationship would find exchanged.

But there was the age difference, a decade between you both that, if nothing else worked, would successfully extinguish his hope. He had wondered if perhaps you were just a decent people person, that the friendship he felt was there was entirely one-sided.

Until one day, a few months into coming to you for treatment, Frankie sat waiting for you to come in the room only for you to appear looking entirely unlike yourself. He booked his appointments always for the end of the day, a routine that promised he would get plenty of uninterrupted time with you and the conversation could flow without a time constraint. He had been so surprised that you weren’t grinning as you stepped into the room that he stood abruptly, filling with concern.

When he asked, softly, if you were alright, you didn’t brush him off like he might have expected. You instead looked up at Frankie, your lower lip trembling as your eyes filled with tears, and sobbed unexpectedly. That sound had torn a hole right into his chest and he had pulled you straight into his arms and hugged you close before asking you to tell him what he could do to help.

You ended up explaining that you had come in that morning to the news that a regular patient of yours, an elderly man you’d known the entire time you’d been working for the VA office, had passed away in his sleep. And you’d apologized to Frankie while sniffling and wiping at the tears, telling him you’d held it in all day but couldn’t do that when your friend asked you, and he had been baffled to realize you were referring to him. As your friend.

He had cut off your apology to hug you close again, smoothing your hair gently as he whispered calming words and sentiments to you in Spanish. And though you didn’t speak the language, you had since told Frankie it had done exactly what he’d hoped and made you feel all the better. 

After his treatment that day, Frankie asked if he could take you for a drink to toast your friend's life. He waited for you to close up the office, and then you’d followed him in your car to drive over to his usual bar. And you both drank to the veteran who passed, then ended up ordering dinner and remaining at the bar until late, talking even more freely outside of the office. If Frankie didn’t already have it bad for you, that night sure sealed it for him.

After that, you and Frankie began texting regularly, sometimes even calling one another to share a funny story or talk about something in the news. He had joined you for your former clients funeral, his hand rubbing comforting circles into your back before he took you out for lunch, then you’d ended up at his place to watch a cheesy movie, ordering pizza when you both realized there was a sequel that, if it was as bad as the first, you absolutely needed to watch.

And just like that, Frankie saw his life altered completely when you became his best friend.  

Currently, Frankie was seated comfortably on his couch, where he frowned at the TV playing a horror movie that you had insisted was supposed to be good, because Benny had recommended it. Considering the younger Miller brother could barely sit still half the time, that was supposedly good enough for you. 

You were tucked into Frankie’s side, eyes fixed on the screen until a jump scare had you jerk, then twist your face to press into his chest, because you hated the gory bits.

“Fuck! How does this not scare you even a little, Frankie?” You whined, unknowingly causing Frankie to swell with pride when he heard the note of admiration in your voice. He had started to suspect that the reason movie nights were becoming exclusively scary movies was that you were determined to find one that actually frightened him.

So far, you’d had no luck. But Frankie didn’t mind, because though you were already a touchy person in general, you were especially clingy when you queued up the next horror flick as if you trusted him to keep you safe.

Frankie didn’t reply, his chest rumbling with silent laughter that made you teasingly poke his side. He jumped, because you knew exactly where to aim, then cleared his throat. The scene ended, and he began to extract himself from your grip. “My sweet tooth is calling, cariño. I’m going to get some ice cream.”

You let him go, your head popping up, a big grin on your face, “Can I have some too, please?” And he nodded, smiling at you before walking across the open concept apartment and into his kitchen.

He stretched his back before opening the freezer where he had some bars next to an off-limits pint of Ben and Jerry’s. You had put it there months ago, telling Frankie it was for days when you got together and one of you needed to cry over a bad date. You called it ‘emergency’ ice cream. Frankie considered it to be ‘fuck you’ ice cream, because every time he opened his damn freezer he saw that pint and ended up thinking about how neither of you had been on a date with anyone since becoming friends over a year before, then falling into the same circular argument with himself-that the friendship was too important for him to feel the way he did, that he was jumping to conclusions and maybe you had gone on a few good dates that you just didn’t tell him about, and he was out of his mind if he thought you would ever feel the same way.

“Here you go, Sunshine,” He plopped back down next to you and passed you your bar, watching as you beamed at him widely, the inevitable result of his use of the nickname he’d dubbed you with a long time ago.

He desperately hoped you never realized the amount of affection truly behind that nickname.

Because how could he even begin to explain that you were literally sunshine in his dark life?

“Thank you,” You pulled the wrapper off, glancing at the movie and frowning. “Uhg. Benny promised the one was good! I’m starting to think he only recommends movies if they have at least one pair of tits.” You took the first bite of your ice cream bar while Frankie nearly choked on his own.

Amused as he was whenever you joked about your shared friends, Frankie also loved it when you swore. You were a goofy, happy little thing most of the time and curse words just seemed so out of character for you, pulling laughter from Frankie any time you caught him by surprise. You spent your days around gruff veterans and never seemed to lose any light, no matter how many real horror stories you heard. So whenever you managed to sound so uncharacteristically blunt, he couldn’t help but laugh.

“Benny has always been a tits man,” Frankie agreed, and you giggled. He tried to refocus on the movie then, but it hadn’t captured his interest in the least. After a moment, you spoke again and he had to work on not choking.

“What are you, Francisco?”

Your tone was playful, light; Frankie’s head jerked in surprise to gaze down at you and you wiggled your brows, going for laughs. You seemed completely unaware of the roaring in his ears, the visceral reaction your words brought forth within him. You and Frankie had shared intimate tidbits like that before with one another, often during nights at the bar with the Miller brothers. After a few drinks and usually, because his friends knew exactly how he felt about you and tried to steer the conversations into dangerous waters and watch Frankie try to save himself.

Only, Frankie’s friendship with you during the last few months had become...deeper. After the operation Santiago had brought Will, Benny, Tom and him in on, your relationship had evolved. Because that nightmare had reminded Frankie just how dark shit could get in the blink of an eye, and he’d had to do things he thought he was done with when he retired from service. Worse, because they were just civilians using Santi’s connections and intel to rob a drug lord.

And you had no idea what he’d gone through, how hard he’d fought just to get home to you because he couldn’t-wouldn’t-tell you. Yet you still patched him up, physically and emotionally, when he’d come home three weeks later than he’d promised. You held him as he cried and never became angry with him, never questioned him for answers as to why he’d come home with one less friend and a whole lot of mysterious trauma.

After that, Frankie realized he was hopelessly, irrevocably in love with you.

So a simple, flirtatious little question? Yeah, it really managed to fuck Frankie up.

His friends had sensed the change as well, noticed how you held Frankie up when he felt like he couldn’t stand, how you comforted them all when they got home and cried along with them over Tom, over Santi not coming home even though you’d only met him once, briefly. You held strong for him at Tom’s funeral, which prompted the Miller brothers to tell Frankie in no uncertain terms that he simply could not let you slip through his fingers. If that fucking mission had taught them anything, it was that life was too short and you might as well live it to the fullest.

But the thing was, Frankie depended on you. Your friendship was the one real, good, pure thing in his life. And you gave it so willingly and unquestionably even after what he put you through that there was no fucking way he was risking it by telling you how he felt.

Christ, you even had a spot in his bathroom for your own toiletries, a favourite pillow on his bed for the nights you stayed, a fucking hook for your coat that he installed just a little lower than the other because you were so much smaller than Frankie.

And still, he wouldn’t look at what that might mean because he was afraid, and as much as you seemed to think nothing scared him, the truth was that a gory horror movie, or losing his friend, or even fucking live combat could never come close to the fear he felt when he pictured life without you.

You were Frankie’s Sunshine, and he never wanted to be alone in the dark again.

Aware he was still gazing down at you, Frankie found himself entirely at a loss for words. You didn’t seem to mind, simply waiting for him to respond while taking small bites of your treat. His cock twitched at the combination of your words, the innocent way you gazed at him, because Frankie hadn’t touched himself in quite some time and it didn’t take much to drive him up the wall.

His life with you had become remarkably domestic, routine. You often stayed multiple nights in a row at his place, preferring his company over being alone, and the shorter distance to your office. His spacious condo had one large four-piece bathroom, which meant there had been a few times where one of you was in the shower and the other came in, desperate to use the toilet before their bladder could burst. The shower had a thickly frosted glass enclosure, which provided plenty of visual privacy from both sides, the only indication that someone was in the shower was a very faint tint. This was never an issue until it was.

Exactly sixty-two days prior (not that Frankie was necessarily keeping count of passing time since his last orgasm), you had burst into the bathroom one afternoon unexpectedly. Returning early from your jog because you needed to pee, while Frankie stood in the shower. He listened to you tell him about a cute dog you’d seen outside his building. The thing was, Frankie had expected you to be gone longer, and you were in the middle of a three-day visit that had left him needy and horny because he hadn’t had time alone and yet you walked around in his fucking clothes, slept next to him in his bed, and he needed release.

He was grateful the tinted glass prevented you from having any idea what he was doing on the other side. And he had been close already when you came in, one hand fisting over his cock while the other pressed into the tile wall, and guilt sprang up in the back of his mind because he had been thinking of you as he touched himself. And you were just feet away, unaware and fuck if that didn’t lead him to the edge.

But it was when you had sat down to pee and he heard you give a little moan of relief that Frankie lost it, giving in to the most powerful-yet silent-orgasm he had had in fucking years. Rope after rope of cum, his legs violently shaking, and he’d wondered if he would pass out it felt so good. Then you’d flushed and continued speaking, washing your hands before telling him you were going to put on a pot of coffee. And the guilt Frankie felt was so immense that he vowed right there he wasn’t going to touch himself again. He cared for and respected you too much to reduce you to his graphic thoughts without your consent.

Sixty-two days later and you were testing his limits unknowingly.

“I, uh, I’m not sure,” He replied, keeping his eyes locked on yours. You frowned a little, kitten licking the ice cream absentmindedly. Frankie almost groaned, wondering if you were trying to kill him. “I guess, it depends on the person.” He was never, ever going to admit he was a you man, that your ass, your perfect tits, your pretty little mouth were everything he could dream and more.

He tried to shrug casually, as if indifferent.

“I guess it’s a funny question,” You said after a moment, laughing a little, “I mean, no one asks a straight woman if she’s an ass or cock girl!”  

Frankie took a too-large bite of his treat, the cold painful and giving him instant brain freeze but it was just the distraction he needed because seeing your plump lips wrap around the word ‘cock’ might just kill him. He coughed attempting to laugh at your joke despite the brain freeze, and you leaned closer in concern.

“Sorry, are you-ah, shit!” A piece of your ice cream bar, which you’d moved to hold higher as you were checking on Frankie, fell off and landed on your chest, instantly staining the pale pink t-shirt. You hopped up with a noise of discontent, catching the fallen glob and hurrying into the kitchen to toss it in the sink. “Damn it!”

Frankie reached out and paused the movie, standing up and intending to follow you. He took two steps, adjusting his cap as he moved, and then looked up to where you stood at the sink, running your shirt under the faucet. Freezing, he took it the sight of you standing in his kitchen, your shirt removed to run under the water, leaving you wearing yoga pants and a simple white bra. For a moment, he just shut down and stared at you dumbfounded, before internal alarms started sounding and Frankie’s eyes were sweeping over your curves, his eyes zeroing in on the lack of support your bra had, your breasts perky and full and fuck, he had to look away.

He looked up at his ceiling at cleared his throat “You uh, want me to grab you a shirt?” His voice came out much deeper than he was expecting. He hoped you didn’t notice, though with only being able to see your profile even if he did dare to look at you, he’d never be able to tell.

“Can I borrow your big sweater, please?” You asked him, and Frankie nodded as he hurried away, down the hall to grab the sweater he knew you meant from his room. He would have laughed at your suggestion it was his sweater when he barely got to wear it himself anymore, but he was trying to remember how to breathe.

Once out of sight in his bedroom, Frankie took a few steadying breaths before grabbing the sweater off the end of his bed. He was going to subject himself to a cold shower after he handed this to you because you were staying the night again and he could not climb into a bed with you this worked up.

One of the reasons that you and Frankie just worked as friends were your opposite ways of navigating life. Where Frankie was a detailed, meticulous planner, you flitted from idea to idea spontaneously until something landed right, and you seemed to enjoy pulling him along with you as you followed those random whims. And he let you pull him because he trusted you so completely. Even if he would still make a new plan in the back of his mind, it still felt like he was taking chances he never would have without you leading the way.

Planning was Frankie’s way of keeping control. Of keeping himself, his squadmates, his loved ones, safe and secure. After Columbia, where every bit of the plan had gone completely to shit, he’d needed to let you lead more often just so he could feel grounded because he didn’t trust himself any longer. And you had been happy to lead, to test his limits by pushing aside any planning he attempted and pull him from his comfort zone. You had taught him how to grapple with his instincts and his desires, giving him real-world methods to cope, including breathing as he was now.

So focused as he was on his breathing, Frankie hadn’t noticed you had joined him in his room, standing just inside the doorway. If he had heard you, he wouldn’t have spun around abruptly and take two long strides before realizing how close you were, nearly knocking you over as he did. He dropped the sweater when he reached out with both hands to grab your upper arms and steady you, and then he met your gaze.

Frankie couldn’t say whether it was the heat of his hands on you so unexpectedly, or the way you each shivered at the electricity that seemed to pulse from him to you. Maybe it was everything combined, years of friendship, longing and pining and then almost dying in the middle of the jungle only to come home and have you climb into his lap and sob in relief that he was home, and a million other moments in between.

But when Frankie met your eyes there in the doorway of his bedroom, he knew his expression was giving him away completely.

You were looking at him with wide eyes, your mouth slightly open in surprise, whatever words you were going to say long since lost. And then he saw it, was looking right at you when your expression shifted, no longer the innocent, playful woman but instead, one who was suffering just as much as he was, longing and love and this hunger on your face he’d never seen before.

Without hesitating, without thinking or planning his next move, Frankie tugged you against him and leaned down to slot his lips over yours, taken aback when he saw you close your eyes and stretch your neck up to meet him. When your soft lips connected to his, Frankie trembled and groaned, loving the feel of your body pressed against him, the way you smelled like something tropical, how even with your perfect curves you were so small compared to him. Kissing you was everything he’d dreamed and more.

He wanted to deepen the kiss, taste you, but even as he thought it his mind jumped ten steps ahead and imagined you on his bed and he had to stop himself from getting carried away. With great effort he pulled back, first breaking the kiss and then taking several steps away, panting heavily.

“Frankie?” You were out of breath, confused, and deliciously flushed. He could see your nipples tightened against the thin fabric of your bra, goosebumps along your skin. Just the knowledge that he’d had that kind of effect on you was enough to make him want to cum in his pants right there.

“Cariño, I can’t, I’m sorry,” It was physically painful now, his hard length straining against his jeans, but he was more concerned about you, and how afraid he was to lose you. “I-I’ve wanted to do that but you gotta know, I love you. I’m in love with you.” He couldn’t meet your eyes, instead choosing to look at his feet and rubbing his hands over his face.

You approached him again, just as quietly, taking him by surprise when you spoke from just inches away. “Frankie, look at me,” It was an order, a tone you rarely used but that always worked on grounding him, and he realized you understood he was struggling right now not to break down, terrified he’d fucked up the best thing in his life in a moment of weakness. He reluctantly met your gaze, swallowing thickly as he did.

“I need you to hear me right now, okay? Tell me.”

“I’m listening,” He confirmed, heart about ready to beat out of his chest, “I can hear you.”

“Good,” And you closed the gap between your body and his, pressing your hands into his shoulders. Frankie caught his breath. “I want you to do that again, and I don’t want you to stop. Please, kiss me again, Frankie, because I love you too and I’ve never wanted anything more in my whole life than I want you-“

Frankie cut you off, a growl ripping from his chest before he gathered you roughly into his arms and kissed you again, this time quickly swiping his tongue across your lips for permission to enter, and you gladly parted them for him, moaning when his tongue licked into your hot mouth. He slid one hand to the back of your head, his fingers weaving into your hair carefully before he pressed your face to his, needy to taste you more, to get drunk on you. Fuck, you were perfect.

When you whimpered against him, the sound almost lost in his mouth, Frankie moved, walking you back until you hit the wall and crowding you there. He ran his free hand across the bare skin of your side, heat coursing through his veins when you shuddered at his touch, keening for him. He hadn’t realized he was rolling his hips against you, his erection pressed into your stomach until one of your small hands somehow slipped between your bodies and ghosted over the front of his jeans curiously.

“Fuck,” He broke the kiss, this time simply to lower his head and kiss along your jaw, down your neck, “Sunshine, I fucking love you, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, sweet girl.” He licked the column of your throat as he moved to the other side of your face before biting gently. The sound that tore from you was so filthy he groaned again, dropping both hands to grasp your forearms.

“Frankie, fuck, don’t stop,” You were tugging at his shirt, and despite your request, he had to move back slightly to pull it over his head, his bare chest revealed to you and even though you’d seen him shirtless before, the intimacy of this time, of finally being with you after so long, made him self conscious. If you saw anything you didn’t like, you didn’t show it. Instead, you bit your lip as your hands tentatively roamed across his chest, trailing over his stomach lightly enough that he shivered. When you spoke next, you yet again took Frankie completely by surprise, your brows furrowing as your expression became more than just hungry, “Mine.”

You whispered it, but to Frankie, it was like you’d just announced it to the entire world. The possessive edge wasn’t lost on him, no, it shot straight to his core and snapped the final cords of his restraint.

“I should...I need a minute, Sunshine,” Frankie pressed his hands into the wall on either side of you, “I haven’t done anything in a long time, haven’t even cum, I don’t think I can be as sweet to you as I want to be.”

Your lust-blown eyes met his, “Why haven’t you cum?” He could hear trouble in your voice now, the not so careful way you spoke pulling dangerous images in his mind as he stared down at you, his jaw tense. When Frankie made no reply, you pressed your pointer finger to the middle of his chest, your eyes never leaving his as you slowly, lightly, moved it downward, trailing his dark hair. “Is it because you think of me? Are you that amazing that you won’t even let yourself cum because you think it’s wrong to think about me like that?”

A strangled noise was all he could respond with, his hands pressing desperately into the wall. You knew him too well, understood exactly what he’d meant without having to ask. And then you kept talking, and honestly, Frankie was floored at how dirty you suddenly were for him.

“I have to admit, you’re better than me, Frankie,” That finger trailed so slowly, closing in on his belly button now, “I’m not good like you, I think about you all the time. Especially when I touch myself, usually after I’ve spent a ton of time with you and I can’t fucking wait for a second longer. Wanna know what I picture?”

His voice was husky, a warning if ever there was one, “What did you picture, sweet girl?”

You moaned, your finger now closing in on the waist of his jeans, “You, bending me over the couch, that one is a favourite. Or waking you up with a blowjob, swallowing everything you’ve got because I know you taste delicious,” You unbuttoned his jeans now, sliding the zipper down with care, “But I think the winner, the one that always makes me scream your name, is thinking about riding you, Frankie. Climbing in your lap and just-“

Fuck, fuck he couldn’t hold back. He’d told you he couldn’t and yet you wouldn’t shut up and all thoughts of making love to you gently were out the fucking window, Frankie instead growled deeply and grabbed you by the arms, all but throwing you on the bed. You were smirking up at him, your eyes dark with lust and shining with triumph.

“Fuck, sweet girl, you wanna scream my name?” He removed his pants and briefs in one motion, his cock spring up, hard and leaking precum and you licked your lips, giving a little whimper at the sight of him. Frankie grasped himself, pumping his hand a few times as he stood over you, “Like what you see?”

“Jesus, Frankie-you need a new nickname,” You said, eyes glued to his cock, “Catfish makes no sense when you’re walking around with that fucking bat-wait!” He froze in the middle of removing his ball cap, looking at you with concern to see you bite your lip a little shyly, “Keep it on. The hat.”

Warmth spread through him at your request and Frankie replaced the hat on his head, then dropped to his knees next to the bed, his hands running up your thighs as you writhed. At your waist, he grasped the tops of your yoga pants and tugged them down, enjoying the way your body arched when you lifted your hips to help him. The only item of clothing either of you wore now was you in your bra, and fuck were you a sight.

Frankie gazed up at you from the floor in awe, his eyes roving over you hungrily as you watched him, propped up on your elbows. He started kissing up your thighs then, pushing your legs apart and spreading you, his hands kneading your flesh. “Sweet girl, you have such a pretty pussy, better than I imagined.” He moaned, biting into the soft flesh of your inner leg and drawing a whimper from you, “I can fucking smell you already, so wet and ready for me, fuck.”

“Oh god Frankie, please, touch me. I can’t wait anymore, I need you!”

“Told you,” Frankie climbed over top of you, his legs on either side of your body as he reached down and dragged you further onto the bed, his show of strength making you whimper, “It’s been a while. And you walk around here wearing my fucking clothes all the time. You don’t know what you do to me, Sunshine.” He grunted as he repositioned himself between your legs, his hands grasping the backs of them to haul your body against his, his cock pressed painfully against your thigh, “Gonna fuck you, sweet girl.” And with one careful, quick motion he thrust forward and each of you cried out at the pleasure of Frankie filling you.

“Frankie! Oh!” Your legs wrapped around him instantly, urging him as deep as possible as he split you open so deliciously. Once he was fully seated within you, Frankie dropped forward, propping himself on one arm, and cupped your face with his free hand. He looked into your eyes as he started a fast, hard pace, thrusting deep and reeling over how wet you were for him, how perfectly your velvet folds wrapped around him.

“Fuck, cariño, you’re fucking tight,” He grunted, kissing you sloppily as you threw your arms around him, hugging him close, “So tight for me, so perfect making those pretty noises, fuck.” Frankie groaned when you clenched around him as he spoke, “You like it when I tell you how perfect you are?”

“Ye-yeah Frankie, I love it. Oh, fuck!”

You were trembling now, squeezing him each time he whispered in your ear. Frankie kept up a string of praises and filthy words, taking note of the ones that had you gripping him extra hard.

He’d always had a casual enjoyment of dirty talk, nothing over the top, easy enough to shut off if it wasn’t enjoyed by the other person. But something about talking like this to you had his balls tightening that much faster, his thrusts becoming brutal.

Still murmuring in your ear, Frankie lowered his hand to your clit, experimentally rubbing, circling and pinching it to see what you liked. He was going to cum soon, and he’d be damned if you didn’t cum too. Though, as Frankie settled on circling you, both feeling and hearing how this was definitely how you liked it, his worries quickly dissipated when your hips were suddenly bucking up to meet his and you were screaming his name.

“That’s it, let go for me sweet girl,” Frankie’s thrusts were becoming increasingly sloppy as he neared the edge, “Are you-fuck, where should I?” He couldn’t even form a sentence now, he was so close and you were squeezing around him so perfectly as you closed in on your orgasm.

You understood though, your eyes meeting his as you pulled yourself together enough to reply, “Frankie, cum inside me please, please fill me up, pleasepleaseplease-“

“Fuck! H-here you go, perfect little thing!” He roared, dropping his weight over your and growling as he spilled inside you, as you bucked and writhed beneath him and screamed out, toppling over the edge and into oblivion with him. He heard himself cursing in Spanish as he experienced the most intense orgasm of his entire life, his hips slowing to continue to draw it out, still more cum filling you and you were a wreck under him, shivering and moaning.

“Yes, Frankie, yes.” You whimpered, your hands sliding into his hair-knocking his cap off-and tugging at his curls.

It took several minutes to recover, though Frankie had enough awareness to shift his weight so that you could breathe properly. Still hard inside you, he began to kiss you all over, peppering your face and neck before biting a few more marks into your neck, his tongue laving out to soothe. He enjoyed the way you whimpered when overstimulated, twitching when he pinched your nipple over your bra, squeaking his name when he pressed himself as deep inside you as he could one last time before pulling out.

Frankie collapsed on the bed next to you, then quickly tugged you into his arms and kissed the top of your head. His fear began to bubble back up now that the haze of passion was clearing, and he was starting to question every single moment that had occurred since you'd asked him if he was a tits man or an ass man.

What had he done? Was he going to lose you after this? Lose his entire reason for living for one amazing orgasm?

But it was like you could reach his mind, as only a few minutes had passed and then, with a little groan, you pulled yourself up so that you were on your elbow, looking down at Frankie. You took one look at his face and frowned, “That was quicker than I thought.”

Frankie stared at you, “What was?”

“I guessed it would take more than two minutes for you to start regretting this.”

Sighing, he pulled himself up, sitting on the edge of the bed. You followed, but crossed your legs and shuffled next to him. “I meant what I said, I love you,” Frankie explained, rubbing a hand over his face, “I love you so much, so fucking much it hurts. But the idea of messing this up is terrifying me, Sunshine. I don’t think I could lose you, I think it would kill me.”

“Frankie,” You crawled over him, straddling his hips and settling into his lap. You cupped his face firmly, looking into his eyes. Your expression was open, warm and vulnerable and a little incredulous, “You aren’t going to lose me, not ever. I want this-I want you, and everything you come with, okay?”

Though his heart was soaring, Frankie still worried, shaking his head, “I come with a lot of dark baggage, sweet girl. Not to mention the age difference.”

“Jesus, Frankie, do you really think I don’t know what I’m saying when I tell you I’m all in?” You asked him, not waiting for an answer before continuing. “I love you. Can I tell you when I knew?”

Frankie peered at you, his hands coming to hold your waist as he nodded.

“The boys trip.” You stated, using the term each of you agreed upon when referencing his three-week disappearance to Columbia. “When you first left, I knew something was off but I trust you, so I didn’t question it. But then after a few days, with no word from you, I started to really worry,” You paused, momentarily lost in thought, eyes dark now with the painful memory of his absence and the little information you’d come to learn about it since. “Did I ever tell you I booked a ticket to Columbia?”

This caught Frankie off guard because you most certainly had not told him that, “What, are you serious?”

“Yep. Booked it for the day after you ended up calling me. I don’t know what I was planning to do, but I knew you were there and, even if you were dead, I needed to be as well.” You stroked your thumbs over his cheeks, “After you called, and I knew you were alive and coming home, I realized that the way you said it meant you almost didn’t make it home, and I knew you weren’t saying something. I hung up and sat in my room for a minute and it occurred to me that you could have died and I would have never seen you again. That was when I knew it wasn’t just a crush.”

Heavy emotion filled his chest, rendering him unable to immediately respond. Frankie gathered you close and stood, clutching you against him and carrying you into the bathroom. He set you on the toilet before turning to his massive soaker tub and switching it on, fully intending on spending the rest of the night in there with you. When he turned around, you were carefully tidying yourself up. With a grunt, he grabbed a washcloth and ran it under warm water before kneeling in front of you and taking over.

“Why didn’t you say anything? After I came home, I mean.” His tone was light, as he didn’t mean to come across as accusing you of anything-it’s not like he had said anything to you. Good-natured as you were, you simply smiled at him, a little sadly.

“Too afraid, right at first,” You admitted, your eyes fluttering shut as he took care of you with the warm washcloth, “But when you came home you were a fucking wreck, Frankie. You lost your friend, Santi didn’t come back with you either, and Will and Benny had the same expression on their faces whenever I saw them. You saw some shit, did some shit, I don’t know and I’ll be real here, I don’t need you to ever feel like you should tell me what exactly happened. But after the first day you were back, I could see how much it changed you and I thought it would be selfish to tell you how I felt and add more emotional bullshit onto your plate.”

Frankie continued to kneel in front of you after tossing the washcloth into his laundry hamper. For a moment, the only sound in the room that of the tub filling. He stared into your eyes, seeing only how truthful you were being, how incredibly kind. He had never realized how completely he could love someone until he met you.

“I thought about you the entire time I was gone.” He admitted before carefully standing and checking the temperature of the water. He added a bath salt mixture that you’d bought a while ago, claiming it was a gift when really you were the one to use them, locking yourself away for hours to soak because you didn’t have a tub at your place. He shut the water off and held his arms out for you, which you eagerly stepped into and allowed him to guide you both into the water.

Once settled, your back against his chest, you replied. “Your face when you came home, I’ll never forget your expression.” His legs were on either side of you, and you began to lazily trace along his right thigh as both of you fell into your painful memories of his ill-fated trip.

Frankie sighed sadly, “I’m sorry I ever left, Sunshine. I never should have left you,” He tightened his grip around your waist under the water, one hand spread flat across your stomach, “It was just...fuck, everything went bad straight from the start. We had a moment of luck and then it was like nothing could go right. And I don’t know, I’m fucking gutted that Tom is gone, but it’s worse that Santiago won’t come home. He’s like my brother, and he blames himself for everything.”

Frankie knew you had no idea what he meant. You knew he and the guys were former special ops that served together, but when Santi had asked him to go to Columbia Frankie had only told you the basics-the country, who he would be with, that he might not have a lot of chances to call, and that it would be about a week. Santi had picked him up and you had been there to see him off that morning, and his friend had casually referenced a ‘boys trip’ while speaking with you as Frankie loaded his shit in the back.

Of course, you weren’t stupid. You worked with the VA, met a lot of former service members who ended up contracting out their skills after retiring or leaving due to injuries or lifestyle changes. And you knew Frankie, understood him like no one ever had before, which is why as he gave you further details you didn’t flinch or freeze up, you simply listened. When Frankie had gone quiet for a while, you eventually turned to gaze up at him over your shoulder, your cheek on his chest.

“From what I could tell,” You began slowly, your words cautious, “Whatever you did, what happened, you all put it aside to get Tom’s body home to his family. And considering the type of work Santi was doing out there for three years before he came here to ask you guys to join him, I figure you all must have almost died a few times each, probably took out some terrible men along the way.”

Frankie had to bite back his sob, turning his face away from you to stare, ashamed and remorseful at the wall. You reacted quickly, pulling yourself up and turning over, your naked body pressing over his as you grabbed Frankie’s head and gently turned him to look at you. “Baby,” You cooed, your eyes shining with concern, “Don’t do that, don’t hide from me.”

That was all it took. Frankie let the sob out and the relief of it was instantaneous, so much so that he let out another, then another, all while you held him and murmured soft, sweet words and pressing chaste kisses to his cheeks, his forehead, along his jaw. It didn’t last long, he’d cried so many times over everything that had gone down, but this was the first time you had revealed you sort of had an idea of what they had been up to, and you were still supporting him and loving him and it was all very overwhelming.

A short time later, Frankie wiped his eyes and shot you a grateful look, hoping you could sense how much he appreciated you. You settled into the water again, knees pulled to your chest as you faced him and trailed your hands comfortingly up and down his chest. “Sunshine,” He whispered, catching one hand and holding it against his heart, “I love you, thank you for being so fucking incredible.”

He tugged you closer, joining you in laughing when a little water sloshed up over the edge of the tub as you landed against him. You snuggled close and kissed him, your fingers carding into his curls and holding him steady. When Frankie took you to bed that night, there were no pillows between your bodies, not a shred of clothing separating you. He held you close, falling asleep faster than he had in years.

And for the first time in Frankie’s life, he felt whole and complete, like nothing could ever bring him into darkness again, not when he had you, literal sunshine, lighting his existence.

PART TWO

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@mermaidxatxheart @paintballkid711

[mpwrites]

because it wouldn’t leave my brain as soon as the idea was planted, may I present:

The Quantum State of Adam “The Beast” Beauty-and-the-Beast

So you know how, in Disney’s Beauty and the Beast, the last petal of the enchanted rose will fall on the Beast’s 21st birthday? And in Be Our Guest we establish that for “ten years [they’ve] been rusting, needing so much more than dusting”?

That means Adam was 10 or 11 when the witch cursed them all to be a big furry slab of meat and various inanimate objects respectively. Yeah, turning away someone in need from your literal castle full of servants is a shitty thing to do at any age, but it does seem harsh; he was a kid!

…but he also wasn’t a kid.

Despite this frequent talking point among Disney fans, the image of Adam in the stained glass prologue is a grown-ass man, complete with crown and scepter.

And if he had been turned into the Beast as a kid, how would there be a portrait of his *adult human face* in the West Wing for him petulantly slash?

You could reasonably argue that everyone in the castle is locked in time. Chip wasn’t birthed as a teacup; he was turned into one as a kid and stayed a kid for all that time. But everyone else are inanimate objects, they wouldn’t grow or age. Adam, on the other hand, is still a living mammalian creature with no reason to be frozen in time. More than that, if he were stuck in time, *why would they be counting his birthdays*? Rose petals don’t fall in a closed time loop.

Now, we’re having a lot of fun here trying to George Lucas our way out of a plot hole in a kid’s movie about a fairy tale, but I think it’s important to remember that telling stories is hard. Making a movie, particularly an animated one, is a long process, and sometimes the years of decisions you make telling a story layer over and obscure one another.

In some ways, this makes Beauty and the Beast a pretty accurate depiction of what it’s like to try to find a “definitive” version of a fairy tale that would have been altered over and over by time and the teller.

My guess is that they didn’t want Adam to be significantly older than Belle or to age Belle up to him (whether for nonsense sexism reasons or maybe legitimate demographic ones), and the curse only lasting a couple years wouldn’t have carried the same weight. In the end the job gets done either way; fairy tale’s gonna fairy tale.

It’s often a beautiful thing when you glimpse the person behind a creation, and mistakes should be part of that. Just because something has an error or inconsistency doesn’t mean you can’t like that thing or you have to focus on the piddly problems it has; how much we love this movie and how rarely this plot hole comes up is proof of that. It doesn’t matter whether Adam was a kid when he was cursed, by the end he learns to be a person who wouldn’t do that.

We don’t need every little thing to make sense or to headcanon our way out of a plot hole most of us didn’t notice.

But…there is one way that might work. I think it would go a little something like this:

The winter winds howled around the castle, just as the forest howled with its hungry creatures, filling their bellies to best the cold.

Prince Adam pushed his plate aside and wandered toward the fireplace he never lit himself. Before his plush robe could meet his plush armchair, a knock came at the door.

He looked around; if any servant had heard the door, they made no move to answer. A blustering wind blew snow up the windows, and another, more insistent knock followed.

His silence threatened, the Prince stalked down the stairs and opened the door.

At that moment, presumably in a lull from their eternal bickering, Lumiere and Cogsworth were passing the foyer when they heard their master’s voice and felt the draft of an open door.

With a look at the Prince and one at each other, they could sense their master’s mood, but curiosity gripped them.

“Please sire, once I enter, your home is large enough you’ll never see me again,” they heard over the creak of their tipped toes.

“I won’t see you again, lest I be more ill than this cold would make me.” Lumiere stifled a chuckle for his master’s barb.

“Beauty is only skin deep, as my lord must well know from his mirror, that being the only thing to reflect beauty on him.”

The servants’ eyes went wide, first that someone would speak to the Prince in this way, then with the understanding that as the voice spoke it changed—it grew younger, louder, more terrible in its confident lilt—and a flash of light knocked Prince Adam to the ground.

As they reached the end of the hall, the pair glimpsed the enchantress at their doorstep and ducked behind the swung open door. Adam’s eyes met Cogsworth’s then rose to Lumiere’s; fear and silence gripped them—and silence had never once fallen over the pair of serving men.

“For your unfeeling heart,” the witch cried, “you and your castle will be cursed…”

The wind stood still, the snowflakes held their place in the air.

“Until your twenty-first year.”

Adam hadn’t a strong grasp of numbers, but he was fairly certain he was near two decades if not past it. His fingers were locked to the floor and so unavailable for counting.

The ageless witch looked down at the chiseled young man, “Is there a problem?”

Lumiere found his voice, “Sire, listen here—more women have cursed me than they have their washboards; I know what to do.”

“Nonsense, Lumiere, there’s no such thing as curses.”

“Then what do you call that?” Lumiere cranked Cogsworth’s head to the crack in the door.

“…a witch.”

Lumiere somehow grew more smug, “With a face like yours, I’d assumed you’d met one before.”

“Lumiere!” Adam whispered, “Speak!”

The enchantress held her chin on her wand, surveying Adam on the floor, “I’ve lived for centuries, you see, so ages are difficult. You must be—what—ten, eleven years old? A decade being cursed seems sufficient.”

Adam’s confusion was wrung upon his face, but Lumiere nodded so hard his chin dug into Cogsworth’s scalp.

“Yes?” Adam said. “Oh. Yes! Oh no, my twenty-first year—so far away!”

“Very well,” the witch said, and as she wove her hands ‘round, snowflakes gathered and grew verdant until they formed a thorny stem in front of her.

“Yes, sire, well done! Now spring it back in her face,” Lumiere said, “tell her she’s been duped.”

“No, you fool,” Cogsworth clocked Lumiere in the shoulder, “she’ll just change the curse. Let her finish and leave us in peace.”

Still more snowflakes gathered to her, now sanguinating and attaching themselves to the stem until a rose floated before her; a bloom made of winter.

“I needed to know how many petals I needed,” she said.

Adam’s face had almost found relief, but it grew tense again. “How many?” he said. And the tension spread into growing discomfort as his jaw clenched and his teeth seemed to grow larger in his mouth.

“Yes,” the enchantress said, “one petal for each year. Ten years, as I said.”

Lumiere and Cogsworth didn’t see the rose fly to the tower, didn’t see the enchantress fade into the resuming snowfall or their master fold into himself in pain and anguish. Their minds were filled with the growing sensation of change in their limbs and how the castle seemed to grow around them.

“All that time…” Cogsworth said.

And it was written on his face.