#i accept tips for learning coding

[niramies-blog]

This shit is confusing as fuck

[ellie-writes-games]

Lucanis Lunchboxes: Toasted Vanilla Gelato

What if Lucanis packed Rook lunchboxes with little notes in them throughout the main story?

On the map, a "!" icon appears in the hallway just outside Rook's room in the Lighthouse. A temporary chest here holds a one-of-a-kind Valuable and a letter from Lucanis that is added to the Codex. Triggers after the completion of Taash's companion quest Lair of the Dragon King.

[SPOILERS] Read the letter from Lucanis below the line:

Watching Taash and Lucanis' friendship develop was an unexpected bright point of the companion interactions for me. If you haven't heard all of their companion banter, you are missing out! They both struggle with putting their feelings to words and prefer problems they can stab. There are some painful, beautiful parallels between how they've learned to cope with wanting acceptance and love from emotionally unavailable mothers. (Or grandmothers, in Lucanis' case.) The generational trauma bonding is real. And they really DO try to use their words for each other. Ugh I just loved the hell out of all their little conversations. (Edit - Writing Nerd Ramblings Below:) I loved the whiplash with how matter-of-fact Lucanis was whenever he spoke about the ABSOLUTE HORRORS he's dealt with. To me, that's this massive breadcrumb on how deeply he has stuffed down his feelings and what he has faced in his past. "My parents died horribly. Do you want to go on a date when this is all over?" This leads me to something I'm fiddling with. It's been an interesting exercise trying to find the right pace for how to fill out these entries and tease at romance without changing who Lucanis is. He's romantically distant. Inexperienced. Terrified of what it would mean to want Rook. But he's also deeply empathetic. A teammate who shows care through acts of service. An avid romance reader. He's seen his cousin Illario work his magic at romance and Lucanis has picked up enough to fool Rook, at least at the start. (Even though I think the wall lean is more fun to interpret as a "Oh, he's a romance book" guy. Because he totally got that out of a book. Let's be real.) The reason I started writing these was I thought the push-pull of Lucanis being more vulnerable through an indirect form, like writing, could work to feed us, the hungry players, while still leaning into the "disaster bisexual" label his writer used for him. What's more disaster-bi-coded than flirty texting followed by weirdly distant in-person interactions? It begs the question, how slow is a slow burn?

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi | Have a request? Part of an on-going series of fan-writings. See the full Masterlist here.

This is fanfiction written by me, @ellie-writes-games. These are NOT actual screenshots from the game. Peace, love, and mad props to the DA writers.

[antisnookdog]

I made a humans are weird pamphlet

⸻

[Welcome to Earth!]

Diplomatic Briefing Pamphlet: The Human Species

(For Official Use Only – Do Not Leave in Orbit)

⸻

Species Designation: Homo sapiens

Common Names: Humans, Earthlings, Gremlins with God Complexes

Status: Emotionally volatile. Excessively curious. Terminally dramatic.

Threat Level: Vibes-based. Somehow both harmless and extremely dangerous.

⸻

1. General Overview

Humans are a carbon-based bipedal species that developed intelligence, opposable thumbs, and the alarming tendency to either love or destroy everything they encounter.

They are fueled by caffeine, spite, and memes.

Despite their fragile physiology, humans are incredibly persistent. If an environment is considered “inhospitable,” a human will attempt to live there for fun or content.

⸻

2. Cultural Duality

Humanity exists in a state of constant contradiction. Examples include:

Dark Side Wholesome Side

Warhammer 40k Stardew Valley

Doom Eternal Animal Crossing

Final Destination Pride and Prejudice

The Crusades Bake-Off Competitions

Exploiting labor via colonial empires Adopting stray animals and crying

They are simultaneously writing love poems and building orbital death platforms. Proceed accordingly.

⸻

3. Violence (See Also: Sports)

Humans made rules about how to be less evil during war, then immediately violated them. These are called the Geneva Conventions.

They also made sports out of fighting each other for trophies, fame, or vibes.

Favorite pastimes include:

• Beating each other senseless in a cage

• Running at 40 km/h for fun

• Climbing lethal mountains

• Jumping out of flying machines

Note: They will say it’s “for the experience.”

⸻

4. Denial Reflex

Even in the face of literal interstellar beings landing on their lawns, many humans will:

• Claim it’s CGI

• Blame the government

• Insist it’s demons

• Ask for merch

They evolved this reflex to avoid existential crises and somehow made it a cultural cornerstone.

⸻

5. Reproduction & Romance (Warning: NSFW)

Human mating behavior is chaotic and often ritualized via elaborate apps, confusing signals, and courtship dances involving memes. They:

• Invented robots for companionship

• Wrote fanfiction about everything

• Made “tentacle romance” a genre

• Occasionally attempt to seduce supernatural entities

Proceed with caution and boundaries. Consent is important. They learned that… eventually.

⸻

6. History (Not for the faint of core)

Earth’s timeline is packed with:

• Empires built on slavery

• Religious wars over metaphysical real estate

• Repeated cycles of “oops, genocide”

• Philosophers who were also warlords

• Burning witches. And books. Sometimes both.

They also recorded these events, dramatized them in film, and won awards.

⸻

7. Interaction Tips

• If a human offers you food, accept it. Then ask if it’s poisonous. Sometimes it is. They eat it anyway.

• Avoid debates unless you have 6 hours to spare and a tolerance for shouting.

• They will name you. Prepare to be called “Steve” or “Gary.”

• Do not show fear. They can smell it.

• Show them a shiny rock and they might worship it or mine it. Possibly both.

⸻

8. Warning List

DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE:

• Mention their oceans. Even they don’t go down there anymore.

• Bring up Australia without mental prep.

• Assume they’re peaceful just because they’re smiling.

• Take them to space before explaining that aliens exist.

• Say “Warhammer is real.” Some believe it already.

⸻

Final Summary:

Humans are unpredictable, violent, hilarious, empathetic, and incredibly weird.

They’ll destroy a planet for oil and then cry over a 2-minute animal rescue video.

They are terrifying and lovable, like if a raccoon had a PhD and nuclear codes.

We recommend extreme caution, cultural immersion, and bringing snacks.

⸻

Issued by:

GCIR – Department of Chaotic Species Affairs

Document: Earth-001-HowToHuman (Rev. 2.0 – Updated after Florida Incident)

⸻

[narislvr]

── simp!abby anderson drabble ₊˚ෆ

,, cws? none. pure fluff ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ ── 1.04k words.

,, abby x fem!reader ♡ / college au

ᝰ.ᐟ loosely inspired by this series' depiction of abby. | pt. II

she's so hollie col & taylor swift coded, fight me

₊˚ෆ simp!abby who was absolutely lovestruck for the pretty girl she'd bumped into on the way to their campus' library.

She had barely exchanged more than a few mumbled words with you, but she already knew she wanted to see you again.

₊˚ෆ simp!abby who did in fact see you a few days later behind the counter of a less populated coffee shop in the westend part of campus. you looked so pretty she thought, and if it weren't for her usual reserved expression she was sure you'd see the hearts forming in her eyes.

"hello? you alright there?" you'd ask, brow raised as you tried to get the woman's attention from behind the counter.

₊˚ෆ simp!abby who snaps out of her enamored daze only to meet the confused look on your face with a sheepish smile.

she should say something smooth. anything.

"you sell coffee here, right...?"

₊˚ෆ simp!abby who is awkward as hell and can't flirt to save her life as she's lived her life avoiding any chance of romance despite being a secret romantic.

your eye twitches at the question, but you smile at her anyways because.. well, just because.

"yeah, we do. what can j get for you?"

your number

₊˚ෆ simp!abby who makes it a routine to come in the three days of the week when she knew you'd be there. by the third week of her showing up, you couldn't help the small smile that settled on your lips as you handed the blond her usual coffee, your hand lingering a second longer as the feeling of her calloused fingers brushing yours sent a fuzzy feeling through your body.

she'd thank you with a small smile of her own before sitting in the table closest to the exit with a good view of you in the prep area and taking slow sips of her drink as she'd take subtle glances of you, admiring the way you hum ever so quietly to yourself as you worked.

after a good hour of subtle glances and pretending to focus on whatever text book she brought in that day, she'd leave, but not before leaving a tip folded neatly in the napkin as you went to wipe down her table.

'have a great day and thank you for the coffee. it was delicious as usual :)'

you can't help but shake your head, cheeks flushing ever so slightly.

it was a simple black coffee, nothing special.

and yet she was always so greatful.

huh.

₊˚ෆ simp!abby who after a month, slowly begins to talk to you, less awkward than her initial approach once you started initiating conversation and light banter.

God, if you looked pretty from afar, having you close to her, talking to her, made every last bit of her resolve melt. especially when you looked at her, chin resting on your palm, with those bright curious eyes of yours.

"you actually owned horses? That's so cool! I've always wanted to learn how to ride, but I've never had the chance to."

she'd chuckle, feeling her heart flutter as she flashes you a charming smile.

"I could always teach you, y'know?"

God knows she hoped you weren't kidding when you giggled and accepted her offer.

₊˚ෆ simp!abby who, now comfortable enough to, would tease you whenever she'd catch you stealing glances at her arms whenever she came in from her morning run.

"I can feel you staring, hon," she'd quip, catching you off guard and stiffling a laugh as you quickly denied it.

she made sure to wear more tank tops and compression shirts, stretching out her arms every now and then, knowing well she'd have your full attention then.

"you're always welcome to touch, you know."

"I am not doing that, abbs." you'd respond, heart racing as you rejected, what was to you, the offer of a life time.

"suit yourself," she'd snicker, earning a playful shove.

₊˚ෆ simp!abby who after four months of playful visits to your job, finally asks you out, hands sweating as she leans against the counter of the almost empty coffee shop.

to her surprise, you agree, and she can't help the wide grin that spreads on her face as you accept.

"we could go out for coffee or something. I know of a good coffee shop around here we could try out. The barista is pretty cute too."

"I'm not going on a date to my work place, Abby." you'd say, eyes narrowed as she only laughs at your response.

"was just a thought. how about dinner next week? there's a place about thirty minutes from here I'm sure you'd like."

"sounds like a plan."

₊˚ෆ simp!abby who picked you up the following week, a charming smile on her face as she held open the passenger seat door to her pick up truck, complimenting you with awe in her voice before driving off.

soft music could be heard playing in the background as the two of you spoke of anything and everything.

you were so caught up in the conversation, you didn't notice where you two had parked until the rumble of the trucks engine finally shut off.

it was then that you noticed the scenery before you, a nice grassy area overlooking the mountain campus of the school you two went too.

"found this place while on a run a month back, it's pretty, huh?"

you could only hum in response, still in awe as you got down and followed abby to the bed of her truck where the two of you would eat takeout from a place she knew you liked.

amidst the pretty scenery, she could only find herself looking at one thing.

that being you.

It was cliché, but from what she had learned about you during the time she had spent getting to know you through small talk and banter, she knew it was something you liked and that's what mattered.

and what wouldn't she give to continue seeing the look of pure adoration on your face as your hand found hers, pinkie locking with hers as you two look at eachother in silence as the nature's ambience and soft music from her radio play in the background.

[fanficsandcodposts]

König X Reader (F) ~Nerdy Little Maus~ When the reader successfully gets into a Dark Web Forum and makes a name for herself, how unfortunate for her she's a little to trusting with her client. How fortunate for the client, König, though that she falls right into his trap for him to take his nerdy little maus, all for himself. (Daddy Issues, Sugar Daddy, Kidnapping, Corruption Kink, Size Kink, Female Reader) Ao3 Link No TW - Part 1

Life had not been kind to you when you were young. Your mother passed away tragically, leaving you to be cared for by your father, who took the bottle to cope with her death. You tried desperately to gain his favor by excelling in your studies, but sadly, his drinks kept all his attention.

You were taking a computer science class in high school and excelling at learning code. The teacher, Mr. Johnson, was impressed at your ability to pick up the new information so quickly. Mr. Johnson pulled you aside one day and handed you a flyer for an ethical hacking competition; he truly believed you had what it took to win. For a few weeks straight, you stayed after school studying with a small group of other students, learning everything Mr. Johnson knew to teach. On the Saturday of the competition, your father begrudgingly permitted you to go with Mr. Johnson, Mrs. Johnson, and a few other classmates as a group.

You won the competition that day and were awarded a $10,000 scholarship to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT). The joy you felt as you stood on stage accepting your scholarship brought tears of happiness to your eyes. It was a shame your father was too busy-(drunk) to see how you glowed with pride at the most significant achievement of your life thus far.

Now, you sat in a dingy studio apartment. Staring at your Dell laptop at overdue bill emails. Student loans, rent, and credit card payments all accumulated with no significant income to pay them. You graduated from MIT but at the cost of over $80,000 in student loans. You couldn't find a job in the computer science field; the only work you landed was as a bartender at the bar down the street from your place. At least you were good at making drinks; tips kept the lights on, but you were sure you'd never make it out of the financial ruin you sadly got yourself into.

Whenever the manager encountered computer issues, you were always the first one he'd call. One day, while on the clock, you sat in his office, updating his pc to Windows 10. He watched as you had no issues clicking here and there; it was almost infuriating because, to him, what you did so effortlessly would have taken him hours to achieve just step one.

"You know, sweetheart, you need to get out of here and get a job in the computer field." Mike, the manager, said gruffly as he leaned arms crossed on his office door frame.

"Would if I could, Mike. I've all about givin' up on that dream." You replied, still staring at the blue computer screen.

"Don't cut yourself short. You are young, beautiful, and way smarter than any of the other idiots I have working here. Bring in the most money, too. I would miss that, though, if ya leave."

You let out a half-hearted chuckle. "Yeah, well, I use my pretty privilege more than my fucking MIT degree. But it helped me pull a $100 tip last week from the bachelor party, though. So don't worry, I'm not going anywhere, Mike."

Mike stands quietly and clears his throat, waiting a brief moment before he speaks again.

"Don't tell anyone I told ya, alright? But my buddy David knows a kinda underground Dark Web group that is always looking for someone like you. You know, that knows how to do computer stuff." He talked as he gestured vaguely with his hands.

You turn your head to Mike with a curious, almost dumbfounded look. "I don't know, Mike. The Dark Web is a pretty scary place I've heard. But they have open computer science jobs?"

"Yeah, from what I could understand, it's like a job forum, I guess. They have special passwords and whatever, but if you get in, they post jobs for people to take up and work."

You couldn't help but chuckle at Mike, but you appreciated his thoughtfulness in thinking of you, so you decided to take the bait.

"Sure, you give me the info, and I'll look into it, boss man."

A few days later, you received an email from someone you guessed was Mike's buddy, David, on your day off and clicked the link that opened a new web browser to a black screen. You fiddled with the settings on your old Dell laptop while sitting cross-legged on your thrifted couch when you increased the brightness to see a small set of instructions.

"I'll be dammed." You spoke quietly as you began your journey to unlock the puzzles hidden in the code.

It took five hours to finally get to the last section that unlocked access to the Dark Web forum. Sure enough, there were jobs from all around the world posted. As quickly as your excitement grew, worry flooded over you. These were not regular hacking jobs. Some were as simple as finding passwords to ex-lovers' accounts, but others were looking for classified government data locked away behind high-security firewalls. The thought of possible jail time or worse was frightening, so you shut your laptop and went to shower before bed. That night, you couldn't sleep, primarily due to the fear of the unknown but also because some of the jobs posted had the amount of money they were offering when completed. The memory of a 10,000 dollar payout for a hacking job bounced around your mind, toying with you. It danced along in bitter-sweet harmony with the memory of the 10k scholarship you won so many years ago.

On your next day off, you entered the forum again. It was too hard to resist the temptation of a simple job paying your rent for the month. So you avoided the big, scary ones and stuck to hacking into wealthy civilian accounts. You created an online persona account that allows the clients to send money and messages as needed. You called yourself "Cookie," a play on Cookie pop-ups for advertisers to gather your online information. Soon, you grew a small following and became recognized for your impressive hacking abilities and Trojan Virus creations. You told yourself repeatedly you were only ruining wealthy people's lives. What is a million dollars stolen from a billionaire anyway? It only took eight months to pay back almost all your debts. You've paid your rent up, no more credit card bills, and you've paid $5,000 into your student loan debts. You felt on top of the world and proud of your mischievous achievements.

It had been a long shift at the bar, and you entered your tiny apartment completely exhausted. You reheated some leftovers and took your regular seat on the couch. You open your laptop to see a new message on your Dark Web account.

"Hallo, Cookie. I am very impressed by your work. Care to look at a job I think you would be perfect for?"

You stared at the message as your curiosity peaked. You click on the stranger's profile to learn more about the mysterious sender. There is no profile picture, but in a small bio, the sender had "Austria" with a cute little red and white flag. They identified themselves as male, and his username was "TheKingCol."

That's interesting, you thought. You haven't worked with many international clients thus far. Your eyes began to cross as exhaustion set in deep in your bones. So, you decided to pick back up with the stranger tomorrow after sending him a message.

"Thank you for your message; yes, I would like to speak further with you. Let's chat more tomorrow."

You woke up later than usual with the sun high in the sky, peeking through your closed curtains. You stretched your body, and after a trip to the bathroom, you returned to your laptop. A new message was waiting for you, and you clicked it open to read. It was a Word Document link with what the client needed. He needed a Trojan Virus, and it had to be discreet so that the victim downloading it wouldn't know it was a fake link.

"That's not too bad." You thought to yourself.

You had created multiple Trojans up to this point, but it helps tremendously if you know what would make the victim unsuspecting to download the disguised Trojan.

"Hello again. I received your instructions, but I would like to discuss more details needed to create the perfect Trojan you are looking for, if possible."

You sent the message and waited a few minutes before your stomach began to growl. You stood up and began to rummage through your fridge for anything you could make to resemble breakfast and settled on making two fried eggs and a buttered piece of toast.

Once you ate your food, you returned to your seat to see another message had come through.

"Ja, may I call you to discuss details?"

You stared at the email, re-reading it. You quickly googled what language is spoken in Austria, and it said that mainly German is spoken. "He must not be a native English speaker," you thought, but that shouldn't be a problem. You, however, only knew English and maybe one or two words in Spanish.

"I'm sorry, I do not make phone calls or talk to clients outside the forum." You sent the message back and waited while you took sips of coffee from your favorite mug.

"Ah, but can't you make an exception for me? I understand your concern, little maus. I see you are a woman, no? Your father taught you well not to trust strangers on the internet."

You scoffed out loud at his message, placed your mug on the coffee table in front of you, and typed him back before thinking.

"Let's be clear that my Father has never done shit for me, first of all." You instantly regretted the message sent, normally you would write messages but always caught them before you tapped the enter button. There is no way to unsend a message like on Facebook. Airing out such dirty laundry to a client was entirely uncalled for and absolutely embarrassing.

"I'm sorry, that was very unprofessional of me. Please ignore that comment." You sent another message as quickly as you could type it. A few agonizing minutes later, you received a response.

"Is that so? A woman needs a supportive father to look after her, you know. No need to apologize Liebling. Here is my phone number; please call me if you decide to proceed. I will not discuss any more details by message."

That was the last message he sent before his profile was marked as "offline."

A day later, you paced around your living room. You held your phone tightly in your right hand. There was something about what he said that stuck with you long after you read it. Why on earth did you let your daddy's issues slip through to a prospective client? Embarrassment washed over you all over again, and soon enough, the anxiety of calling a client outside the forum was an afterthought. Before you knew it, you had typed in the number and hit the green call button.

The phone connected, but on the other side of the receiver was quiet.

"Hello?" You called out. "It's um, Cookie, from the forum." A second passed before you heard a voice from the other end.

"Ah, my little maus, so happy you've finally called."

[piratekane]

(rated m for mature)

Ava’s room is the last sacred space in their apartment. A room that belongs to Ava, and Ava only. The living room is shared space, of course. Their breakfast bar holds both of their tea mugs: Ava’s in the shape of a bulldog holding a bone, her own a dark gray and white plaid pattern. The bathroom has a small stand with both of their toothbrushes and two face cloths on small hooks, one on each side of the sink. The face of the kitchen refrigerator is littered with pictures and ticket stubs and small post-it-note drawings they’ve both accumulated over the last few months.

We exist, Beatrice, Ava likes to tell her. If we died and someone came to pack us up, they would know we both existed here.

It’s a morbid thought, but it rotates in her mind for days afterwards. They exist. They exist together, in this shared space. There’s two of everything - a testament to a life shared between two people who found comfort in each other. Who found a home. Their shoes are by the front door, their bills are on the counter, their sweaters tangle into knots on the couch where they dare cross the line Beatrice has drawn between them.

Ava’s room is a line. She doesn’t cross it. She lets their shared existence fill every corner of the apartment except for Ava’s bedroom. She’s never crossed the threshold. Even on the day Ava moved in, she dutifully passed her boxes from the living room, marveling at the idea that one person who existed in a single dorm room for a handful of months could accumulate so many things.

She’s not sure that Ava even noticed. If she did, she didn’t say anything about it. Because she’s kind and takes Beatrice’s actions into consideration with the sort of care no one else in her life has ever shown.

But that’s par for the course. Ava is unlike anyone else in her life.

It’s why Beatrice is so careful. She’s gotten used to having this unusual, perfect thing in her life. She’s gripping it tightly with two hands, firm enough to keep it in one place but soft enough that it doesn’t break. It took her years to learn that grip and only a month with Ava to master it in a whole new way.

She should know by now, after seven months, that being careful around Ava is never careful enough.

“Blue or green?” she hears Ava call from inside her room.

Beatrice sighs, resting her pencil tip against the page she’s taking notes on. “Ava.”

Ava’s head pops around the doorframe. She’s smiling in a way a younger Beatrice would have called dashing or roguish. It’s charming. Infuriatingly so. Ava knows it—has never forgotten it since the time Camila said it out loud one night when Ava convinced them to try roller skating at some wooden rink nearby. That smile is a weapon, a carefully drawn bow whose range Beatrice can never escape from.

“Blue or green?” she repeats.

“I’m afraid I need a bit of context, Ava.”

Beatrice resists the urge to rub tiredly at the space between her eyes. Finals week is upon them. She’s prepared - has been preparing all semester - but then her Early Christian Women’s professor gave her some last minute feedback to restructure her entire research paper. It’s left her molded to the stool at the breakfast bar for the last three days, the entire top of it covered in color-coded index cards and texts she’s expressly forbid Ava from going anywhere near.

Ava pinky promised that she would listen. Beatrice would have accepted a confident “okay,” but Ava had taken it a step further, tightening her grip on Beatrice’s pinky and pulling her whole hand up to her mouth as Ava kissed her own fist, eyes on Beatrice the whole time.

“There. Now it’s really a promise.”

Beatrice thinks maybe she didn’t have enough friends growing up. Or that she didn’t have enough friends like Ava growing up. Because she’d never heard of this particular kind of promise. Shannon had made a face when Beatrice asked her about it. No, I’m not making fun of you, Shannon assured her. I just mean… Bea. Come on.

Beatrice does not come on, but the next time Ava makes her promise she won’t throw all her sources out the window and develop a list of new ones, she quickly presses her lips to the outside of her own hand, eyes darting to Ava’s face. Just as a test. Just to see if she’s doing this right.

She must have. Ava beamed for hours.

“Blue paint or green paint?” Ava expands.

“For what?”

Ava extends her arm past the doorway into Beatrice’s view. A small bucket of paint, hardly larger than a box of baking soda, dangles from her fingers.

She holds back the long-suffering sigh building in her chest. “Ava.”

“I’m painting my room.”

“You’re-” Beatrice turns, notecard on Thecla abandoned. “You’re painting your room?”

Ava frowns at her like she’s the one who just announced that she’s completing a home makeover project. “I told you this.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.” Ava’s arm drops to her side, and she leans a little further around the doorway.

Beatrice shakes her head. “You most certainly did not. Because I would have remembered that.”

“You can’t remember everything I say.”

I do. The thought nearly makes its way to Beatrice’s tongue, but she bites it back. She certainly can’t admit that, though she thinks Ava would, if she was in her position. Ava has always been more free in her words, in her certainty.

“I would have remembered this,” she repeats.

Ava shakes her head. “I definitely told you I was doing this. I asked if you wanted to go pick out-”

Her forehead wrinkles into a frown that Beatrice immediately wants to smooth away. She can feel Ava’s skin under her fingertips, warm and soft. She blinks.

“Huh. Maybe I mentioned it to Mary, now that I think about it.” Her face brightens without Beatrice’s help. “I guess I’m telling you now.”

“You can’t- You can’t paint your room.”

Ava nods like she understands. “I can’t paint it alone, no. I’ll need help. Oh! A paint party!”

“No, I mean-” Beatrice takes a deep breath. “We would lose our security deposit if you paint the walls. It’s in our rental agreement.”

That doesn’t seem to bother Ava. “We can just paint it back when we move out. Or if we never do, then no one will ever know.”

If we never do. The words are like a lightning bolt in her chest. If we never do implies that Ava has thought about living with her indefinitely. That Ava has considered the possibility of a future where they're still in each other’s lives, where they’re still living in this same apartment doing the same things together. Movie nights and take out and reading while Ava watches something on TV, and talking about the few hours they spent apart and deciding where to take weekend trips and what new household decoration Ava is going to talk her into.

Their life in shared spaces, for everyone who visits to see.

Forever roommates.

The thought is too overwhelming for her to breathe properly.

“So, will you help me pick a color?” Ava continues on as if Beatrice isn’t slowly burning from the inside out. “I’m thinking green. Blue seems more like your color. Hey! We can paint your room next.”

Beatrice shakes her head. “Ava, no.”

Ava either doesn’t hear her, or pays her no mind. “I got this cool mint color. It looks like mint chocolate chip ice cream!”

“Mint,” she repeats, voice strangled.

Ava beams. “It looks like our toothpaste.”

Dread washes over her, as cold as ice cream out of the freezer against her tongue. Their toothpaste is a frightfully minty green color that always catches Beatrice off guard no matter how many times a day she’s brushed her teeth, even after the ;five months since Ava started buying it. It’s a sickly green, almost. Certainly not something that should be on a wall, let alone four of them. Ava’s room would glow, practically radioactive.

“No,” she insists. “Not that color.”

“Come see it. Then you’ll understand.”

She moves without meaning to, without giving much thought to it. Ava calls like a siren, and she swims out to meet her. She gets as far as the couch before the water comes up to her chin and she stops again.

“I don’t think you should paint your room.”

Ava waves away her concern. “It’ll be fine. The whole room is just so… white. We need a little color in our lives, Bea. A little bit of… spice.”

“A little bit of spice.”

“You know. Excitement.” Ava is firmly in the doorway now, paint can hanging at her side. “We can’t live with white walls forever.”

Why not? she wants to ask. She grew up with white walls. Pristine ones. Washed down every week by their housekeeper. Sanitized. She pauses. Ava might have a point.

But their landlord would not approve of it. And Beatrice intends to stick by the rules. She opens her mouth to say so, but Ava cuts her off.

“Come here. Just have a look.” She pads forward on bare feet and curls her fingers around Beatrice’s wrist, tugging her forward gently enough that Beatrice could step back, break their connection if she needed to.

She doesn’t. Not yet.

But she gets closer and closer to Ava’s doorway, to the raised threshold that separates her from this last sacred space. Ava is stepping back over it, eyes on Beatrice, and then her toes are bumping against it and she stops. Their arms stretch between them for a moment before Ava catches up and steps forward so they hang loosely again.

Ava waits for her. Always waiting for her. It’s not fair, she thinks. It’s not fair that she’s always waiting for me.

“So, I have something to admit,” Ava says slowly, pulling her out of her head. She’s smiling sheepishly, her head ducked a little as she searches Beatrice’s face. “I might have already painted a few swatches on the wall.”

“Ava.”

“Just a few,” she rushes on. “Small ones. Like, the size of a book. A small one! I’m sorry, I just wanted to see what they looked like.” She strokes her thumb over Beatrice’s wrist. “The mint kind of looks horrible,” she admits.

Beatrice fights that never-ending sigh again. “Of course it does.”

“But the other green looks good! It’s kind of turquoise-y, actually.” Ava’s forehead wrinkles into a frown that lingers for just a second. “Greener than a normal turquoise, though. Almost like the sea. Like - okay, just look.”

Ava’s hand falls away, and she takes a step back into her room. She’s looking at the wall, eyes moving quickly over what Beatrice assumes is the paint swatches she’s done there.

She eases her weight onto the ball of her foot. The floorboard creaks under it. Ava is still looking at the wall, still studying her choices. Beatrice feels a ripple of fear race through her. It’s just a room. Their apartment is made up of rooms. But it’s Ava’s room. Opening this door, crossing this line - she’s not sure she can come back from that.

Ava meets her eyes again and tips her head in that effortlessly endearing way, a soft smile on her face that immediately ebbs the fear away. Ava crooks a finger in her direction, beckoning her forward. It’s like a piece of string loops its way around Beatrice’s wrist and it pulls.

“You’re going to like the turquoise,” Ava says just quietly enough for Beatrice to hear. Another siren’s call.

She’s a strong swimmer. She can survive this. Her toes brush the raised threshold, and then they’re curled over the other side of it as her shoulders breach the doorway. The air shifts. She feels a little lightheaded. The lights seem dimmed, lowered. She holds her breath and waits for God to strike her down, and when nothing happens, she silently exhales a thin stream of air.

She doesn’t go further than that. Her body doesn’t seem to want to move past the invisible line that goes from the ceiling down directly to the floor. Her eyes immediately go to the wall Ava was looking at.

She was correct. The mint looks horrible.

“I know,” Ava says, reading her mind. “It looked a lot better at the store. Maybe it’s the light?”

It takes Beatrice a minute to reply, almost as if the words were a trade for tipping forward into Ava’s room. “I don’t think different lighting is going to help this.”

Ava studies it for another moment before she nods decisively. “You’re right. But what about this green-turquoise?” She moves and touches her finger to the wall. It comes back with a sticky greenish color. She frowns at it. “Huh. Thought it’d dry.”

“I like it,” Beatrice allows. “But Ava-”

“I promise we’ll paint it back. I just…” Ava stops, running a hand through her hair. She leaves behind a smudge of turquoise on her forehead, disappearing into her hair. “It’ll be easy to paint back. Please, Bea?” She clasps her hand in front of her, holding them to her chest. “Pleeeease?”

They both realize she’s going to give in at the same moment. Beatrice didn’t think she had any tells, has always prided herself on being someone fully in control of their actions, emotions, and facial expressions. Lessons learned from her parents that she actually appreciated. Expressive got you in trouble, gave too much away. She spent years tightening up to prevent anyone from knowing too much.

Ava does not carry the same burden. And Ava, it appears, has learned to recognize when Beatrice is on the cusp of expressing too much, of giving in. Maybe she’s giving it away in the quick pull of the corner of her mouth. Maybe there’s something in her eyes, a flicker of acceptance. Maybe she clenches her hand into a fist, a small flex of her muscles. Maybe she shifts her weight. Maybe she blinks too many times.

Whatever it is, Ava sees it in her. And she grins, the light in the room becoming impossibly brighter.

“I want nothing to do with this,” is what she decides to say.

Ava claps her hands together. “You won’t regret this.”

“I’m sure I will.”

It doesn’t dim Ava’s smile. “When I’m done, you’ll see how much it brings this place to life. And then we talk about your room. And the living room! Oh, and wouldn’t the kitchen look so great if we painted it some kind of blue? I saw a swatch at the store that looked exactly like the water in the Blue Grotto. I want to go there one day. I always thought it would look-”

Beatrice steps back. Something that was fizzling inside of her fades, though she didn’t know it was there until she felt its absence. Ava is still going on – the bathroom would look good in pink. With black and white tiles on the floor – but Beatrice feels a sense of calm come over her, and she takes her first deep breath since she crossed the threshold.

Ava stops. “I’m getting ahead of myself,” she says sheepishly.

“It’s okay.” And it is. Beatrice doesn’t mind getting swept up in Ava’s elaborate plans. “But I’m going to go back to my homework.”

Ava flashes her a thumbs up. Her finger is still stained turquoise. “Okay. But you’re not studying for too long. We can’t have a repeat of this weekend.”

Beatrice feels her face flush. “I swore I went to bed.”

“You did. Standing in front of the refrigerator. I thought you were going to fall over.”

“I’m very disciplined.”

Ava grins. “Well, put a cap on studying tonight. When I’m done with the first coat, we’re going to get something to eat.”

She pretends to be annoyed by this, just because she likes the way Ava narrows her eyes playfully and shakes a finger at her. She’s not disappointed when Ava does exactly that before turning back to the stool she stole from the kitchen where she’s stacked two small paint cans, one open and one closed, and a paint roller.

Crossing the room back towards her homework is easier than going the distance from it to Ava’s room. She feels lighter with each step. She sits back down, her intention to focus on this paper she’s supposed to submit in two days (but feels nowhere near completion). Work, then break. As long as she works for the next hour, at least, then she can offer to buy Ava Indian food and ask her to watch a documentary about a filmmaker befriending an octopus. Cedrick, in her Study of Film elective, had suggested it to her. She doesn’t think it’ll be hard; Ava has said more than once that she thinks octopi are cute.

But as thoughts of Ava and octopi float in her head, some of the words Ava just mentioned start to register in Beatrice’ brain. Ava never mentioned the Blue Grotto before. They’re inching closer to the end of the school year and she doesn’t know Ava’s plans yet. Does she want to go backpacking across Europe? Alone? Will Beatrice have to haunt the corners of the apartment waiting for her to come back? Will Ava be different when she comes back? Will she forget about Beatrice?

Will she find a new forever-roommate in another city and leave Beatrice on her own?

Her homework is suddenly the furthest thing from her mind. She can’t focus on Eve or Thecla or their impact on the religious narrative. She can only think about the possibility of spending the summer alone - Mary and Shannon are going on a graduation trip across Spain, and Camila secured a summer internship with a tech startup company, and even Lilith found a program that allows her to travel for the few months before the start of the fall semester.

Beatrice’s big plan is to work at the campus library, splitting her time between shelving books, starting her graduation capstone project, and Ava. The practical side of her knows she should try to make that time an even three-way split, but the more she thinks about the coming months, the more adventures she keeps coming up with in her head. Things she wants to do and try with Ava, because she knows it’s on Ava’s list. They could visit the Prado Museum. Take a long weekend and travel to some seaside town where Ava could practice swimming in the waves. They could find new restaurants and new hiking trails. She’d even let Ava convince her to try roller skating. Again.

Beatrice hasn’t told her yet, but she has the whole summer mapped out. And Ava is embedded into every bullet point of that. It just hadn’t occurred to her that Ava might have her own plans. Ones that didn’t include Beatrice.

“Ow!”

Beatrice’s head snaps up. The sudden noise is followed by a heavy thud, thud and a rattle as something hits the floor. She’s up and moving before she has time to second guess herself, crossing the apartment in long strides until she’s reaching Ava’s room.

She crosses the threshold in a breath, suddenly plunged into the smell of paint and the sight of the bright lights Ava has rigged up in the center of the room. It nearly blinds her and she quickly looks at the ground.

Ava is lying on the thick, plush navy rug at the bottom of the bed, body curled in on itself as she clutches her foot. A small unopened can of paint is rolling slowly away from her towards the corner of the room. Ava groans loudly and turns her face into the rug as her whole body expands with a breath.

Beatrice drops to her knees, ignoring the dull ache that rockets up her thighs into her hips. She grabs Ava’s shoulders, turning her onto her back as her eyes scan Ava’s face for any blood or bruises. Her hands follow the same path, tucking Ava’s hair behind her ear and trailing her thumbs across the flat of Ava’s cheeks.

“What happened? Are you hurt?”

Ava’s eyes flutter closed, and Beatrice immediately becomes concerned about a concussion. Her fingers slide to the base of Ava’s head, and she applies a little pressure to tip it back. Ava’s still blinking up at her but as the light reflects against the honeyed color of her irises her pupils shrink. Beatrice heaves a relieved sigh. No concussion.

“Bea,” Ava groans again. She turns her face into Beatrice’s palm. “I think I broke it.”

Beatrice’s hands fall from Ava’s face and skim down her shoulders to her elbows, cupping them gently. “Let me see,” she says softly.

Ava shakes her head. “Just leave me behind.”

A rush of fondness ripples through her. She presses her fingertips into Ava’s bare arms, the sleeves of her This may be cheesy but I feel grate t-shirt brushing against the backs of Beatrice’s knuckles. “Ava,” she urges.

“No, it’s too horrible.” Ava’s grip tightens on her foot and she immediately winces.

Beatrice slides her hands down to Ava’s slowly. She curls her fingers into the spaces between Ava’s and her foot, pushing them back until she has enough room to free Ava’s foot from its self-imposed prison. There’s a bruise already forming at the base of her toes on the top of her foot, blooming across the first three toes. She ghosts her thumb across it and Ava flinches slightly.

Beatrice’s lips purse into a frown. “I’m sorry.”

“S’okay.” Ava rolls completely onto her back, staring up at Beatrice. She’s still blinking rapidly and Beatrice is worried about a delayed concussion now.

“I think you’ve bruised it.” She presses down, gentler this time. Ava draws in a breath but doesn’t flinch away. “I don’t think anything is broken.”

Her hand drifts higher, curling around Ava’s ankle bone. It’s delicate under her fingers, the point rounded. Her other hand, still resting on Ava’s foot, goes to her other shin. There’s nothing but an expanse of smooth and warm skin under her palm.

“Good,” Ava says faintly. Her eyes go to Beatrice’s hand, lingering.

Beatrice’s eyes follow. Oh. She quickly pulls her hands away, cheeks suddenly hot.

“I didn’t mean to-”

“You don’t have to-”

They both pause, staring at each other. The air feels electric, goosebumps running up Beatrice’s arms. Her chest feels tight with unspoken words. She looks away first.

Ava’s hand on her own pulls her eyes back around. She looks at Beatrice for a long moment before she smiles a little. There’s something on her face that Beatrice can’t read, but it settles the rising tide of fear in her chest and she feels it ebb away into nothingness.

It’s not unusual, the sense of calm that comes with a simple look from Ava. It’s a peace that feels second nature now. It’s odd how seven months with Ava has untied almost all the knots her life created. Seven months isn’t very long - a blip on the radar, really. She’s had the same study group for longer than that. But these seven months have felt so monumental that it seems to have lasted years.

But Ava is monumental, so really, it does make sense.

Still. Her hands got ahead of her head. She touched before she thought, and now she’s kneeling on Ava’s floor with her hands hovering between their bodies, and Ava’s eyes are even more honey-colored than usual. The lights reflecting off the white walls makes her feel like she’s under a spotlight on a stage where everyone can see her, here in Ava’s room.

In Ava’s room, across the threshold. Completely across it.

A line she hasn’t crossed, a step she hasn’t taken. The room rushes in on her suddenly. She’s hyper aware of the faint chemical smell of paint, the too-bright lights, the rough fibers of the rug against her bare ankles, the way Ava’s laundry seems to be crawling out of the basket in the corner.

“I’m-”

“Don’t apologize.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“Bea.”

“I’ll just-”

“Beatrice.”

Beatrice blinks. Ava’s hand has turned over in hers, her palm up. “Yes?”

“Help me up?”

Beatrice blinks again. “Oh. Yes.” She shifts back onto her heels and grabs Ava’s wrist, fingers spread to distribute her grasp so she doesn’t pull Ava’s wrist off her arm, and gently leads her forward. She wobbles as she rises, leaning into Beatrice for support, and Beatrice quickly winds an arm around her waist to steady her as she stands. They’re so close that Beatrice can feel the way Ava is breathing, the push of her ribs against Beatrice’s hand. She helps her to the bed carefully, cautious of the paint around them, and sits her down gently.

There’s more turquoise paint along her forehead, and dried paint on her fingers, and Beatrice wants to find a clean washcloth, wet it, and gently wash it away. She does the next best thing.

She picks up a rag next to the small container of water Ava must be using to clean the brushes and dips the corner into it, wetting it. She hands it to Ava and waits as she rubs furiously at her finger, washing the paint away.

“What happened?”

Ava sighs, eyes narrowing as she looks at the unopened paint can on the ground. It’s rolled across her room away from them. Luckily, the open can remains in place on the stool, the paintbrush hanging precariously on the edge of it.

“I went to reach for the paintbrush and knocked it off. Freaking thing landed on my foot. Obviously.”

Beatrice’s free hand goes to Ava’s foot. Her thumb sweeps across the bruise. Ava’s fingers flex against the back of Beatrice’s forearms. “You are lucky it didn’t break anything.”

Ava shudders. “Manuel, one of the guys on my floor when I lived in the dorms, he broke his foot the first month in. He had to wear a big walking boot for weeks. It was so ugly.”

“It would hardly go with your outfits,” Beatrice agrees.

“How would I even get my jeans on?” Ava frowns thoughtfully. “I’d have to walk around in my underwear all day.”

Beatrice nearly chokes on a cough, but she swallows it back down, uncomfortable in her throat. “I think… I think you could remove it to put your clothes on,” she says, her voice too light to be her own.

Ava’s face flushes unusually. “Oh, right. Of course.” She starts to smile wickedly. “Don’t want me walking around in my underwear, of course.”

Beatrice doesn’t quite hide her blush like she hid her cough. Because she has envisioned Ava walking around in her underwear before, just with one of Beatrice’s big sweaters dusting her thighs and coming down over her hands. She quickly blinks, turning the image to black in her mind. It was a passing thought, just once. She never had it again. It was unfair to Ava to even begin to form that picture in her mind. It flashes in her head like a bang now and she tightens her grip on Ava’s wrist, suddenly aware she’s still holding on.

She goes for a strangled joke. “It would prevent Lilith from coming over.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Ava latches onto it. Her eyes light up. “Consider it done.”

Beatrice immediately concerns herself with something else. Ava’s foot.

“Let me get you some ice,” she says. Her voice doesn’t waver this time. Shannon, if she knew about this, would be proud. She’d praise Beatrice’s restraint, call it admirable.

Shannon would also probably tell her that she should do something that would completely change the trajectory of her friendship with Ava. So maybe the Shannon in her mind should be a little quieter.

“I don’t think I need ice.”

Beatrice looks down at the bruise, darker now, and then gives Ava a pointed look. It has the desired effect. Ava’s cheeks pinken and she smiles sheepishly. Beatrice nods, assured in her success, and carefully extracts her hands from Ava’s foot, standing.

“I’ll be right back,” she promises. “Don’t forget the paint on your forehead”

Ava carefully taps her foot, higher than the bruise. “Not going anywhere.”

Beatrice could argue that Ava could go somewhere. It’s not broken. It’s uncomfortable, of course. She once flexed her foot at the wrong moment and kicked a pine board toes-first. The bruise remained for weeks and the slight limp from accommodating the pain had lasted a little longer than that.

But Ava wipes her forehead carelessly and falls back onto her bed, hands hanging over each side of the bed in a T-shape as her legs dangle off the end. Her shirt rides up her flat stomach revealing a sliver of skin Beatrice wants to run her fingernail over. Ava’s eyes are closed, head tipped back just enough for her chin to lift up, exposing the long unbroken line of her neck.

Beatrice looks away before another thought rushes unbidden into her mind. Her cheeks burn.

“I’ll be right back,” she repeats, unnecessarily. Ava hums on the bed.

She doesn’t linger, striding out of the room and across the apartment. She opens the freezer, welcoming the blast of cold air against her face. She takes a moment, almost forgetting why she’s standing there. But Ava calls her name from the bedroom, and Beatrice remembers quickly. The ice maker hasn’t worked in a few weeks - she makes a mental note to have Mary look at it before she calls her landlord - but Ava only found that as an excuse to buy increasingly ridiculous ice cube trays.

It takes her a minute to decide between ice cube shapes. Ava went a little crazy online, buying shark fin-shaped ones, brain-shaped ones, ones shaped like ice monsters and another set shaped like centipedes. Beatrice decides on ones shaped like rubber ducks, twisting the silicone tray so they pop out. She wraps them in a cloth quickly so her hands don’t get too cold.

Crossing the room feels like a walk she’s made a hundred times before. She knows in her mind that it’s only been twice but now that she’s opened the flood gate, her feet move her without thought. Past the books and notes she’s abandoned, the armchair, the couch. She pauses just before Ava’s bedroom, toes against the threshold.

She crosses it as easily as she exhales.

Ava is still laying on her back, an approximation of a cross as she rests with her eyes closed. Beatrice watches her chest rise and fall as she breathes in and out evenly. There’s a beauty in simplicity, she’s always thought so. Ava only strengthens that.

“Ice,” she says quietly, unsure of why she doesn’t want to say anything at all. She doesn’t want to break this moment, startle Ava and ruin the weightlessness of it.

Ava cracks one eye open, a half-smile on her face. “You’re back.”

Beatrice holds out the ice. Ava crooks a finger at her, beckoning her closer. She hesitates. Ava pushes up, resting on her elbows now.

“I think we’ve established that I don’t bite.” That smile turns wicked again. “Unless you ask nicely.”

Her fingers clench around the ice, and she feels the cold bite at her skin. But she stays still, not giving anything else away.

Ava sits up, foot dangling over the end of the bed. She rests her palms flat against the comforter before she pushes up and stands. She puts her weight down on her foot and her leg buckles almost instantly.

Beatrice doesn’t think, arms looping tightly around Ava’s waist and pulling up her. Her fingers slide into the dips of Ava’s back, the ice trapped between one of her palms and Ava’s skin. Her feet tangle with Ava’s. Their hips are nearly pressed together, almost no space between them. Ava exhales in a noisy rush, lips twisted in a grimace. Beatrice feels the hot air against her collarbone.

“Are you okay?”

Ava tilts her head back slightly. “Would you believe me if I said yes?”

Beatrice’s mouth flickers in a smile. “No.”

“Then we’ll just assume the answer.” Ava’s hands are wrapped tightly around her elbows and her fingers flex against the back of Beatrice’s arms. “Wow. Do you work out?”

“You know that I do.” She keeps her voice light.

Ava’s fingers dance further up her arms, under the hem of her sleeve. She squeezes again, gently. “Yeah, well knowing you do, seeing you do it, and feeling its effects are three very different things.”

Her fingers are maddening, burning hot against Beatrice’s skin. Ava rubs her thumb in a small circle over her bicep.

“Really, Bea. You could probably crush an egg with these things.”

She frowns. “Why would I want to crush an egg?”

“Well, it’d be a way to spice up breakfast.” She presses gently, dimpling the skin. “And a killer party trick.”

Beatrice fights a shiver despite the way her skin feels like it’s burning. “I don’t go to parties.”

But that’s a lie. She does when Ava invites her. She thinks of the party they went to, the spinning disco lights and the way Ava’s body pressed against hers in the hot swell of sweaty, drunken students. She thinks of Ava slumped over on their couch later, saying she’d wait for Beatrice.

That voice that sounds just like Shannon’s whispers that it means exactly what Beatrice hopes it means. She’s never been good at telling Shannon to stop, but this is easy enough to sweep under the mental rug so it remains unknown and unseen.

Truth unknown and unseen is still truth, Shannon has said before. I read that on Pintrest.

Beatrice shakes the memory from her mind and focuses on the facts in front of her: Ava. Ava, close enough to breathe in. Close enough that Beatrice could eliminate the mere inches between them and-

“I bet you’d go to more parties if you had a party trick,” Ava interrupts.

“I doubt it.” But Ava is grinning and Beatrice can’t help but smile back. “But I’m sure you could convince Mary to give it a try.”

“I mean, Mary has decent biceps, but I don’t think she could crack an egg.”

Beatrice shakes her head. “Why an egg? Why not, I don’t know. A walnut.”

“A walnut. These are good goals.” Ava squeezes Beatrice’s bicep once more to emphasize her words. “Let’s start with an egg and work our way to something more advanced.”

The flex of Ava’s fingers against her skin pulls her from her next thought. It’s not that she didn’t notice the lack of space between them, it’s just that it’s rushing in on her now. It’s dizzying, the way Ava is standing so close. Beatrice tries to breathe in, but her chest pushes out until it nearly brushes Ava’s and she’s sucking all the air back into her lungs just as quickly.

Ava notices, eyes dropping down past Beatrice’s chin and neck before they dart up again, crinkling at the corners. She takes a step back, dropping to the bed again, the ice in her hand. She pulls one leg up under her, chin resting on her knee as she puts the ice against her bruising foot.

Beatrice blinks, oddly cool air rushing in where Ava’s body had been despite the humid air of their apartment as the spring pushes towards the hot summer. “You’ll need to ice that for a bit.”

Ava nods, adjusting the ice for a moment before she looks up and says, “So, first time?”

Beatrice frowns. “Administering first aid?”

“First time being in here. Properly, I mean.” Ava looks around, throwing one arm wide. “What do you think?”

Beatrice takes stock of her situation. It’s technically her third time being in here, but Ava is right. She’s in here properly now. Not just over the threshold or charging through barriers because Ava’s been injured. She crossed the line intentionally this time. And she remains, the walls of Ava’s room coming at her from each side without boxing her in.

Ava’s laundry flows from the hamper. Her bed isn’t quite made, but isn’t quite a mess. There are books stacked on the desk in a way that tells Beatrice Ava hasn’t opened them in some time. Hobbes sits next to them. A series of pictures is on the wall opposite her desk, ones of her and Ava and the rest of their friends. Beatrice’s eyes catalog each inch, committing it to memory in a place where she knows she’s going to see it for a very long time.

“You’re missing the best part,” Ava says. Her voice is quiet, like she’s afraid to startle Beatrice. She waits until Beatrice looks before she points upward.

Beatrice’s eyes follow the imaginary thread from Ava’s fingertip to the ceiling. She nearly gasps.

White-green stars dot the ceiling, filling all the space. Spider web-thin lines connect some of them, forming constellations she recognizes from the pictures Ava has shown her and the ones Ava has pointed out on rare nights when she can convince Beatrice to go out to the quad and lay on the grass to watch the night pass by. Some of them she doesn’t and she focuses on those ones, studying their shapes and trying to decide what they look like.

“Apus.” Ava’s finger moves, tracing the lines she’s drawn between the glow-in-the-dark stars. “We call it the Bird of Paradise. Derived from the Greek word apous, which means ‘footless’. There’s a story that birds of paradise were once believed to have been footless.”

“I don’t believe I know what a bird of paradise looks like,” she admits.

“My mom loved them. She’d never seen one in person, but she liked looking at pictures of them. They have these large plumes. They look so soft.” Ava sighs wistfully. “There was a nun, in the orphanage when I was first there, that called me a bird of paradise.” She pauses, eyes darting to Beatrice. “Because I was footless, you know? She reminded me of my mom. She didn’t stay long, but she was nice.”

Beatrice’s heart clenches as it always does when Ava talks about her past. But this is a softer ache, a longing to thank this woman who showed Ava a sliver of mercy.

“And that’s Grus, the crane,” Ava continues. “Originally, it was part of another constellation, Piscis Austrinus. But a Dutch astronomer defined it as its own separate constellation. Its brightest star is Al Na’ir. It’s Arabic for ‘bright one’ which feels a little on the nose.”

Beatrice studies its shape, noting the bigger star that Ava must have defined as Al Na’ir. “Why do you like this one?”

Ava thinks for a moment. “Did you know that cranes have the ability to fly over the Himalayas? They can. They can go as high as 8,000 meters. Imagine being that high up, feeling the wind in your hair.” She blinks, looking off towards the wall littered with paint swatches. “I spent so long tied to one place that the idea of being able to fly over a mountain, to graze the tip of it with a set of wings, sounded like a fairytale.”

Beatrice slides her hand over Ava’s, fingertips resting in the dips between her knuckles. “I think we could hike the Himalayas one day, if you wanted to.”

Ava looks down at their hands and blinks before her eyes meet Beatrice’s. “You think so?”

“I think you could do anything you want to do.”

Ava doesn’t blink this time, doesn’t even look away. “If I can do anything I want to do, I want to…” She pauses, tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip.

Beatrice waits, but the rest of Ava’s sentence doesn’t come. She clears her throat. “What do you-”

“Did you see that one?” Ava asks, interrupting her and pointing up at the ceiling.

Beatrice blinks, startled at the intensity of Ava’s voice. She searches Ava’s face but it’s unreadable, a mix of something Beatrice can’t quite put a name to. So she looks up helplessly, searching for what Ava is pointing at.

“That’s Drago.”

“The dragon,” Beatrice translates. “What’s his story?”

Ava shrugs. “He’s just fucking cool.”

A sharp laugh slips out from between her lips and Ava grins widely back at her.

“So, you like it, then.” Ava looks around her room and nods to herself. “It’s a pretty great room, isn’t it?”

“It’s very… Ava,” Beatrice allows. She’s smiling though, hoping that her words don’t sting.

“Isn’t that all I can hope for?” Ava sighs and turns her hand over so her palm presses against Beatrice’s. “But can I ask another question?”

When she breathes out, “anything”, she means it.

Ava hesitates still. “You never come in here,” she says slowly. “Why not?”

Something tightens in her chest. Words rise in her throat and she swallows them back down, a reflex more than anything else. Ava must notice something pass over her face or feel the way that Beatrice’s hand jumps in hers, because strong and warm fingers stroke up her wrist as they lock around the bone, keeping her anchored to the moment.

“You don’t have to answer that,” Ava rushes on. “I’m just… curious, I guess.” She smiles crookedly. “Does it smell in here?”

Yes. Like something deep and woodsy and so uniquely Ava.

Ava’s nose wrinkles. “Does it? Because if it does, I-”

“It doesn’t.” Beatrice’s voice is too loud. “It doesn’t,” she says, softer now.

Ava’s frown doesn’t smooth out. “Then… why?”

It’s not you, it’s me, her mind supplies. She doesn’t say that. She thinks about how to put it into words, how to unpack all the things she tidied away and put in a cedar chest, locking it tight. Nothing comes from it, just an empty explanation that won’t make sense if she says it out loud.

But Ava is her best friend. And if it doesn’t make sense, if the words don’t come out right, she’ll wait patiently for Beatrice to try again. She’ll sit here, one leg tucked up as ice melts through a washcloth and she’ll wait for Beatrice to find the right words.

I’d wait for you forever, Ava had said, lips loose with party punch. And Beatrice believed her.

Ava makes her brave. Brave enough not to make an offhand joke and turn the conversation back on the open can of paint and the paintbrush quickly drying out.

Instead, she clears her throat and straightens up, the first thing she does when an image of her parents enters her mind. And Ava doesn’t let go of her wrist, moving with her instead, ebbing and flowing with her seamlessly. Beatrice turns to face Ava, watching Ava mirror her, and she exhales out the tension building in her muscles.

“Bea, if you don’t want to-”

“I do.”

She does. Holding onto these things makes her feel heavy. And almost more than anything - but not more than wanting Ava - she wants to be lighter.

Ava shakes her head. “I’m serious.”

Beatrice grips Ava’s other hand, their arms tangled around each other. “I… I have to.”

“Okay,” Ava says softly. Her smile is the same. “Whatever you want to tell me, I want to hear.”

Ava isn’t always sledgehammer, she realizes. She thinks of her as a hammer, crashing into everything and leaving a wake of needed destruction in her wake. But Ava is also a set of picks, quietly and discreetly slipping into the lock around her. For all the stomping around she does, all the things she knocks over in her haste to get from one moment to the next, she’s also deft, hands built with finesse.

Beatrice tries to find the start. Was it Penelope Marshall? Was it the start of boarding school? Was it her parents finding her journal when she was thirteen? Was it all the time she spent with the diplomat’s daughter? Was it her fifth birthday when she cried because her parents bought her the dress with the pink frills instead of the bicycle she wanted?

“My parents…”

“I hate them.”

She doesn’t chide Ava for saying so. A deep, angry part of her hates her parents too. She smiles humorlessly. “They sent me to boarding school, as you know. When I was thirteen. Right at Christmas time. I remember it because it was my present that year. An ‘opportunity to further my education in an environment that would foster appropriate and lifelong lessons’,” she quotes. She can remember the brochure she’d been given unceremoniously, a smiling girl on the front. Even in print, Beatrice could see the hollow light in her eyes.

“Appropriate,” Ava scoffs. “Like anything they did was appropriate.”

Beatrice feels Ava’s pulse thunder under her fingers. “They said it would give me a framework for my life. Lucille Thomason had graduated from there a year before and she was going to Oxford, on her way to inheriting her mother’s social calendar. My mother always fawned over her at dinners. ‘Lucille is following the plans her mother set out for her. Lucille has accomplished so much at such a young age.’”

“Lucille sounds like a loser.”

“Lucille sounded exactly like the daughter my mother wanted.”

Ava frowns softly. “You know that you’re leagues above whoever Lucille is.”

“I didn’t think so,” she admits. “Lucille was someone to admire. Her achievements were something to strive for. She had something I so desperately wanted when I was younger: my mother’s approval. And so, when they presented the option-” She stops herself. “It wasn’t an option. But when they presented their plan, I reconciled myself with it by reminding myself that Lucille was leading a very successful life.”

“There’s more to life than success,” Ava says gently.

Beatrice smiles a little. “To you. To me. But to my parents, there is nothing more.” She takes a deep breath. “And if they were framing it as me taking an opportunity to lead a successful life, then they would forget about… the things they were discovering about me.”

Ava immediately tenses. The Beatrice she is now knows it for what it is: an attempt to contain her anger. The Beatrice she was months ago would have worried. Was Ava afraid of her? Was Ava disgusted by her? The thoughts had swirled that movie night. What if she did admit to a crush on Patricia Velasquez? Would this new person she wanted so badly to be around, without knowing why, suddenly change her mind once she found out the truth?

But Ava hadn’t. Ava won’t. Beatrice knows it with every fiber of her being. There are very few absolute truths in the world, but this is one of them.

“They read my journal, you know,” she continues. The words are coming out easily, this tiny fissure in her chest cracking open as Ava looks at her with wide and trusting eyes. “A new girl started school at the beginning of the term. Her name was Mina. Her father was in banking, I believe. She had the bluest eyes I had ever seen in my life.”

Ava scoffs lightly. “Blue eyes.”

She skims the pad of her thumb over Ava’s wrist. “One day, our hands brushed. It was something simple, innocent. She was passing me a paper, and we miscalculated the distance. I’m sure it meant nothing to her.”

“It meant something to you,” Ava guesses.

“I was thirteen. Everything meant something.” Beatrice sighs, feeling her chest rise and fall heavily. “And anything that meant something to me went into my journal. I just didn’t know that what went into my journal eventually landed in my parents’ hands.”

“So those bastards went through your private journal and read about some girl who touched your hand,” Ava hisses. “I swear, the minute I meet them, it’s fist to face. They don’t call me The Piraya for nothing, you know.”

“No one calls you that.”

“They might call me that, you don’t know. I have a whole superhero persona you don’t know about.” Ava puffs out her chest a little bit.

“The name Piraya implies you’re more of a villain than a superhero.”

“I’m a villain’s villain. How’s that?”

The trickle of despair of dragging this up again fades as Ava’s smile widens. She knows what Ava is doing. But she doesn’t stop her, grateful for the brevity and the way it makes her feel like she’s grounded in something, not floating listlessly and endlessly in her terrible memories.

“I mean it.” Ava’s voice drops, low and serious. “I’ll be their worst nightmare.”

“I’m afraid that role is already taken,” she says quietly. “Though, I don’t think they intended for it to be their daughter.” She sighs. She used to be her mother’s doll. But once she started moving her own parts, she found herself moving in the opposite direction.

“Bea,” Ava whispers. She tightens her grip on Beatrice’s wrist.

“I remember I wrote that touching her hand was as if the heavens opened up and I finally understood what song the angels were singing. We were in the middle of a poetry unit, and I fancied myself quite good at it.” She lets out a dry chuckle. “When I found them in the kitchen one night holding onto my journal I foolishly thought they had found out I was reading Emily Dickenson instead of studying for my science exam.”

Beatrice remembers coming down the stairs, flushed with the late November cold. Mina had invited her for dinner the next night, and she promised to show Beatrice the new video game she got. Beatrice didn’t care about those kinds of things, but no one else had gotten an invitation to Mina’s. Beatrice felt special.

But her parents’ faces had stopped her in her tracks. She didn’t notice her journal at first. It was made to look discreet, not to stand out. It had blended into her mother’s dark skirt, and it wasn’t until her mother raised it into the air that she saw it for what it was.

They asked her to explain herself. She wasn’t sure what they wanted her to explain, not at first. She stumbled through an apology about delaying her studying; she’d do it immediately and ask her teacher for an extra take home lesson. She scrambled through a rushed explanation about having new friends meant more opportunities for networking. With new friends, she could join a new club. It would do well on her list of extracurriculars.

It wasn’t until her mother spit out the name Mina that she had any idea of what she was supposed to be afraid of.

“What did they say?” Ava asks gently.

“They didn’t have to say much. There were questions about who Mina was. My mother had a particular talent of making something that wasn’t a swear sound like it. And she hissed Mina’s name like it was the dirtiest word she could say.”

Beatrice thinks of Mina now. Where was she? What was she doing? Beatrice never heard from her after she left. No letters, no calls. She came and went in her life so quickly, it was as if Beatrice made her up. The only sign that she had been there was the page missing from her journal, returned to her the night before she left for school.

“They demanded to know what she had done to me. What had I done to her? I was so confused. She had touched my hand. I certainly hadn’t…” Beatrice’s chest hitches at the thought. “It was a fleeting moment, but I learned that fleeting moments were the most damaging ones. That,” she says dryly. “And that locks do nothing to keep a determined person out.”

“Locks are meant to keep people out,” Ava all but hisses. She sighs, working her fingers up Beatrice’s arm to her elbow. They rest in the dip of her arm, right over the thin vein under Beatrice’s skin. “God, Bea. I’m so sorry. They were - are - horrible. No one should have had to go through that. Especially not you.”

Especially not you, Ava says. Like Beatrice is better than anyone else. Like she should exist under different rules.

“Of course you’re afraid,” Ava says quietly, speaking to herself. She raises her voice, talking to Beatrice now. “Of course you’re worried about even - Jesus, Bea. Touching a girl’s hand?” She looks down as if she’s suddenly noticing how she’s knotted herself around Beatrice’s arm. She laughs dryly. “What would they say if they saw us now?”

Ava means what if they saw me comforting you? Not what if they saw how I touch you like nothing else matters?

The answer would be the same: her mother would simply set fire to the room.

The chasm is widening now. She’s cracked the seam on these memories, and her mind is cycling through the events that followed: a new suitcase set, pink with her name on an address tag; a set of starched uniforms that felt like coarse wool against her skin; a final meal in her parents’ formal dining room, the chef-of-the-week uncaring of her dislike for persimmons; a single plane ticket pressed into her hand and a dismissive nod as a car pulled away from the airport, leaving her alone.

She tells Ava this in stilted words, as if narrating someone else’s life. But then it starts to sink in, the anger. And it spreads in her belly, burning into a rage. She feels the moment the numbness transitions to an inferno. She hears herself exhale the word alone and something snaps.

“They had no right,” she says. Even through her anger, the words surprise her.

Ava’s voice sounds hoarse, unused. “They didn’t.”

“I was a child. Their child.” Her hand clenches tightly into a fist, Ava’s hand moving with the flex of her forearm muscle. “A ‘problem’ arose and they just…” She stops. “They strung me along until I was no longer of use to them.”

“You are not a problem.” Ava's voice is low, burning hot in the rapidly closing space between them, in a tone she’s never heard before.

Beatrice almost startles, confused. She had nearly forgotten that Ava was here, so consumed in her story. But now she’s noticing her. 

Her eyes flash. The tops of her cheeks pinken slightly. She’s angry. Beatrice has seen her on more than one occasion get angry on her behalf. The mere thought of her parents seems to send her into a flurry, but the anger in her eyes now is nearly staggering.

“You’re not,” she says again, insistent to the point of almost desperation. “Beatrice, you are not a problem.”

And Beatrice, blinking, already falling, dives deeper into love with her.

-

Ava feels her cheeks go hot with a liquid anger that roils in her blood. She’s been angry before - angry at Bea’s parents, even. But this feels like pure molten rage. All of the pieces are slotting together: a young girl who just wanted to make her parents proud; who saw someone - touched someone so innocently - and felt the world shift; who didn’t understand why a cliff rose up between her and the people who were supposed to love her more than anything; who trusted so completely and had it thrown back in her face as if she was the one who somehow failed.

Ava’s fingers tighten until her fingernails cut deep half-moon shapes into her palm. She pulls the words out from between her teeth like nails scratching the floor.

“You are not a problem.”

Bea blinks. The broiling heat in her stomach softens its edge, replaced by the confusion in Bea’s eyes as she blinks again.

“You’re not,” Ava insists. She tugs Bea’s hand, pulling her closer until they’re pressed together, an almost-sweaty slide of the skin of their knees bumping together. Bea blinks a second time, mouth parting slightly. “Beatrice, you are not a problem.”

She needs Bea to believe her. She’s never needed anything more in her whole life. She could live without air. She could make it minutes without oxygen. But she can’t live with another second of Beatrice believing her parents’ poison.

She coaxes Bea another inch closer. “Do you hear me?”

Bea’s mouth parts further, something on the tip of her tongue. Ava squeezes Bea’s hand a little tighter. “Do you hear me?”

“I hear you,” Bea says faintly.

Ava isn’t satisfied. “You need to believe it. You’re not a problem. You’re-” She softens her grip, thumbs Bea’s wild pulse. “You’re-”

“Don’t say perfect,” Bea whispers, eyes slamming closed. “Please don’t say perfect.”

Ava hesitates. She was going to say perfect. She was going to say frustratingly perfect. But she can pivot. There are a million other things she can call Bea - courageous, intelligent, kind, beautiful. All things she’s told Bea before and all things she’d tell her a million times more.

“Human,” she lands on. Bea’s eyes open slowly. “You’re human, just like every single other person on this big rock orbiting in space. You live like everyone else. You laugh, you cry. You love, just like everyone else. And none of that-  not who you are or who you love, or even the special little rules you have for tea that took me forever to learn - not a single part of you is a problem.”

The space between Bea’s eyes wrinkles in thought. Ava usually holds herself back, usually just wishes to press it flat gently. But the line between them is so thin now that she doesn’t think twice about it, reaching up and resting her thumb between her brows, pushing gently until the skin relaxes.

“Can I tell you a secret?” she asks in a whisper. Bea holds so many of her secrets, one more won’t hurt.

Bea nods slowly.

“When I first met you, I was so… intimidated.” Bea’s eyes widen slightly and Ava nods. “I was. You seemed so… cool. Composed. Not at all affected by someone who crashed into your table with the grace of a… what did you call it?”

“A newborn foal,” Bea says lightly.

Ava grins, her smile widening when some of it reflects in Bea’s face. “A newborn foal. That’s a giraffe, right?” She doesn’t wait to be corrected. “I thought, I need to know who this is and I need to know everything about her right now or I’m going to combust.”

Bea rolls her eyes, the motion of her eyes disrupting Ava’s thumb, still on her forehead. She doesn’t drop her hand, being bold and dragging the blunt ends of her fingernails against the smooth skin just above Bea’s eyebrow.

“You’re very dramatic.”

“Did I pretend to be anything else?” Ava shakes her head when Bea opens her mouth. “Don’t answer that. Just know.” She sobers, breathing in and exhaling the most truthful thing she thinks she’s ever said in her life. “The minute I met you, I knew you were something spectacular. I knew you were going to change my life.”

A weight hangs between them now. Bea looks shy under it, her head ducking slightly. Ava’s fingers slip, nearly burying into Bea’s hair. She drops her hand back into her lap but curls it over Bea’s, not quite wanting to let go yet.

“Can I tell you a secret now?” Bea asks, eyes still on the space between them.

Ava nods without being seen. “Anything.”

“I never really felt like that.”

“Like what?” Ava frowns. “Spectacular?”

“Human.” Bea looks up. “I spent so long feeling like�� an other. That feeling like a human just didn’t… I couldn’t make sense of that. It took some time.”

Ava smiles gently. “But you got there.”

“After-” Bea stops herself, pulling her lips in as if she’s trying to keep something from erupting out. Ava watches the thin stream of air work its way through her nose, and catches the slight shine of Bea’s eyes, the way they seem to sparkle as unshed tears fill them.

“Hey,” she says softly. “No. No, don’t cry.” She drops Bea’s hands, cupping Bea’s face. Her thumbs brush along the flats of Bea’s cheeks. “I don’t know what to do when pretty girls cry,” she admits.

Bea laughs, choked and watery. “Neither do I. But it never stops me from telling you that Lilith doesn’t actually hate you no matter how much of her fancy vodka you drink.”

“One time,” Ava mutters, lips pulled back in a smile as she pretends to be annoyed.

It works. Bea’s smile seems a little stronger. “Ava,” she says quietly.

Ava strokes down a line of freckles absentmindedly. “Yeah?”

“Can I tell you another secret?”

“You can tell me you’re responsible for bringing down the Vatican, for all I care.”

Bea doesn’t laugh, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth instead. Ava wants to press down against the smooth skin but she stops herself before her thumb drifts that low. That perfect, soft-looking skin, a breath away. She focuses, pulling herself back into the moment.

Bea’s voice is nearly a whisper when she says, “Someone thought I was spectacular once.”

“Just once?”

Another silence. Ava tightens her jaw. Listen, don’t talk. She can do that. She can be still. It’s something Bea has taught her - just be still. Just wait. It will come to you when you stay in one place. So, she’s been waiting, patient against every urge within her to jump up and down and scream.

Sometimes, these feelings for Bea are so big in her chest that she feels like she’s going to explode into a hundred stars. She pictures herself shattering as the unspoken words build in her until they can’t go anywhere but out. But Bea is something to wait for. Bea is someone Ava doesn’t mind standing still for. She knows it’s there. She knows the feelings aren’t just her and that Bea needs to find her way forward. Ava just needs to be the flashlight in the distance, waiting for Bea to find her.

“At least, I thought she thought I was spectacular,” Bea continues, almost as if she didn’t hear Ava. “She said-  well, she said something close enough to it.”

Ava can feel another piece of the puzzle slotting into place. Another brick that makes up Bea’s nearly-impenetrable walls. For every one Ava manages to crack and loosen, another suddenly rises in its place. But she feels like this time, it falls and nothing slots into place.

She doesn’t stop herself from touching a freckle this time, tapping out a song she heard years ago before her hands drop again. “Was she pretty?”

She’s clumsy on a good day. Boisterous on others. But Bea is doing that thing again, learning how to run without knowing how to walk. And Ava is practicing. She’s trying so hard. She stays so still that Bea could almost imagine her gone.

“People are pretty in different ways,” Bea finally says. It’s a very diplomatic answer, something so very Bea that Ava breaks her stillness to smile. “All the other girls wanted to be her. I remember someone saying that her hair was so shiny, she must brush it a hundred times on each side before bed.”

Ava can’t help herself. “Is that why your hair is always so perfect? Are you secretly combing it until your wrist hurts?”

“A brush through wouldn’t kill you, Ava.”

“Speak for yourself.”

Bea’s growing smile flickers out. “I suppose it didn’t matter if she was conventionally pretty. I…” Ava watches the way she shores herself up against an invisible storm. “I thought she was beautiful.”

“What was her name?” she asks quietly.

“Penelope Marshall.” Bea says it like a prayer.

“Penelope.” Ava suddenly creates an image in her mind. A girl with wide brown eyes, bronze skin, a perfect smile of perfect teeth, a button nose, long and shiny hair.

Bea swallows and Ava feels the click of her jaw under her palms. “She was in my year, her room just down the hall from me. We were partners in Latin.”

“I bet she copied all her answers off your test.”

“Maybe once or twice,” she admits. “She certainly did not always do her homework on time. But Sister Magdalene liked her and simply turned a blind eye every so often.”

Bea’s cheeks are warming. Ava can see it in the way they pinken.

“It’s silly, but… I remember the first time she smiled at me. I had conjugated the verb, sum, to be, in the pluperfect subjunctive. She had been trying for the better part of an hour, but the switch from esse to fui for the tenses was always confusing to her.” Bea smiles slightly. “When I gave her the answer, she smiled at me and it felt like…”

“Like the world kind of tilted off its axis?”

Bea looks surprised. “Yes. Exactly that.”

“I’m familiar with the feeling.”

Because she is. So, so, deeply familiar with the feeling. The first time she saw Bea, that first smile she got as she bumbled her way through cleaning up the few drops of tea that spilled, the world went sideways and it hasn’t completely righted itself since.

“It’s peculiar, that feeling. It sticks with you, doesn’t it?” Bea looks down. “I used to dream about it,” she admits.

“That’s normal, Bea,” she says gently.

Bea looks up again. “Is it? Because it didn’t feel normal. It felt… other. Strange. Like a rock in the pit of my stomach. Penelope would touch my arm over our Latin text, and I could see my parents poring over my journal, looking for any otherness that might exist between us.”

“She made you happy, though.”

“I thought I made her happy as well.”

Ava doesn’t need Bea to tell her the rest. She can imagine how it went: touches as they broke down a dead language, sitting with their shoulders brushing at meals, giggling as they studied in what Ava assumes must have been a massive and cold library. She can imagine the small strands of Bea’s hair slipping from her bun across her cheeks and Penelope pushing them back behind her ear with quick fingers.

Ava lets herself be selfish and do that same thing now. Bea’s face turns slightly into her hand. Not enough that she probably even notices.

“When did she kiss you?”

Bea looks surprised again and Ava’s hand falls away. “How did you-”

“A good guess,” she lies. Because she knows that having Bea there and not kissing her is God’s strongest battle. She has been a good soldier.

She’s not sure how much longer she can be good.

“A few months into the semester.” Bea’s voice goes taut. “She invited me to study for her biology test. On the recommendation of our teacher, she told me. I imagined it was a lie; she had the same grades as I did.” Her cheeks pinken. “We were reviewing the different biological features of various aquatic animals and she…”

“She kissed you over the cod?” Ava says, voice a little strangled.

Bea meets her eyes. “It was my first kiss. Everyone I knew had theirs already, but I thought that if this is what I was waiting for, it was worth it.”

“The best things are worth waiting for.”

“I’d read about whirlwind romances in novels. Girls in the dormitories talked about it. Boyfriends they had back home that they saw on holiday weekends. But it was nothing like kissing behind locked doors. It couldn’t be. No one else could be experiencing what I did. It was so uniquely ours. Do you know what I mean?”

She does. It means closed doors. It means secrets. Bea reads it on her face because she can see something close to shame bloom across Bea’s cheeks.

“It was just for us,” Bea confirms. “A secret not even my parents, kilometers away, would learn of.”

Ava has never been one for secrets. She doesn’t like the way they taste in her mouth. You’re keeping your own, a voice like Mary’s reminds her. But that secret isn’t really a secret, is it? Because Mary knows. And Shannon knows because Mary knows. And her favorite barista, Lucy, knows it. JC knows it. The belayer at the rock climbing place and the guy at the one party she dragged Bea to and Lilith and Camila - they all know.

Bea knows too. Ava feels the truth of that in every crevice of her heart. Bea knows. Bea isn’t going to do anything about it - she feels that truth too. But the list of people Ava is hiding this from is shorter than the list of people who know it.

“You loved her.”

Bea’s smile is sad, far away. “First kiss, first love. I was convinced we would graduate and run away together. She would lie in my bed propped up on one arm talking about Paris and Rome and the places we could travel as soon as we got away from school. I’d felt so futureless when I arrived, but now I could imagine a million possibilities.”

Ava thinks of making a joke. Something about Bea jet-setting across all of Europe with a pretty girl, exactly the kind of lifestyle she deserved. But she knows this story doesn’t have a happy ending.

“She told me she loved me. More than anyone she loved in her life. She said we were young, but it doesn’t matter. You just feel love louder, she would tell me. I…” Bea takes a deep breath. “Mina may have been the first girl to touch my hand, but Penelope…”

Bea goes quiet long enough that Ava nudges her hand gently. “She…”

Bea’s eyes clear a little. “She touched me in other places. In other ways.”

Ava guesses the next part of this story too. “You wanted to tell someone and she wanted you guys to stay a secret.”

Bea laughs, short and sharp. “I wish it had been that simple. I wish I had been enough to stay a secret. Instead… She must have learned my parents’ trick. When someone becomes unseemly, when it becomes ugly and unwelcome, you simply… strike it from the record. Forget it ever existed. Send it away to boarding school and hope for the best. Or-or pick a new Latin partner and create an ocean that feels uncrossable.”

“Bea,” Ava says quietly.

“I could have accepted it was all done. An ending. I’m sure I could have. But instead I was…” She shakes her head. “Have you ever had someone you thought you were in love with look at you and tell you that none of it mattered? That it was girls being girls and that whispered promises in the corners of classrooms were never more than just a game? A joke?”

“Bea.”

But Bea has a haunted look in her eyes, like she’s somewhere else than Ava’s bedroom with its overflowing laundry and rumpled comforter and the paint swatches on the wall. Ava imagines she’s back in a girls dormitory standing in front of a pretty girl who is cutting her down to bits.

“She told me that none of it was real. It was wrong. It was just something to do. She wasn’t like that,” Bea says, voice just as haunted. “She promised that she wouldn’t tell, because she didn’t want people to think there was anything wrong with her.” An empty laugh, sardonic and hollow in a way that Ava’s never heard, escapes Bea’s lips. “Don’t worry, she said, I wouldn’t want people to think there was something wrong with you, either. I suppose in some twisted way, she still cared.”

The thing about Ava is that she’s always capable of more than she thinks she is. They said she’d never walked; now she runs across campus after Mary. They said she’d never be smart enough to go to university; now she’s in the front row of all her classes, her scholarship enough to make sure she doesn’t need to worry about her degree. They said she’d never make friends; now she has six of them who make every single day something more than she ever hoped.

They said she’d never fall in love; now she has Bea.

And when she doesn’t think she can go a little further, push a little harder, she thinks of Sister Frances and the way she told Ava that she’d never be capable of anything.

But she’s capable of this: setting everyone on fire who ever hurt Bea.

Her anger unleashes like a wildfire, and it swells in her chest so brightly that for a moment she can’t breathe. She can’t see straight. She’s imagining Penelope again but all of the softness is gone and she’s a cutting monster knocking Bea to the ground. She tightens her hand into a fist so tightly that sharp pinpricks echo in her palm from her fingernails.

She doesn’t realize she’s nearly growling until Bea’s fingers are working hers apart, smoothing them flat.

“Ava, it’s alright.”

“It’s not.” Her voice sounds stretched thin. “She’s not.”

“She’s gone.”

“But she’s still here.” Ava shakes her head insistently. “She’s still stuck in here.” She presses a single finger over Bea’s heart. “She still has all this space to be cruel. And when I meet her - not if. I’m going to find her - I’m going to make her suffer. I’m going to-”

“You can’t go on a one-woman crusade because someone hurt my feelings.”

Ava stares. “Hurt your- Bea, she didn’t hurt your feelings. She broke them.”

Bea straightens up slightly. “I’m not broken.”

Ava softens instantly, like someone turning out a light. “No. No, you’re not Bea. Of course you aren’t. There’s nothing wrong with you.” She ducks her head, catches Bea’s eyes, and smiles a little. “You’re incredible. You are spectacular. I promise you that.”

Bea exhales. “I’m embarrassed to say someone had such a hold on me.”

“That’s not embarrassing. That’s human.” Ava raises a cautious hand to Bea’s cheek again. “That’s wonderfully, perfectly human.”

“She just…” Bea takes a deep breath. Ava’s hand slips to her jawline. “My whole world ended in a single minute. Everything I did after that felt… fraught. I couldn’t trust her, couldn’t trust anything anymore. I was constantly looking over my shoulder, wondering if she was going to change her mind and tell someone how different, how terrible I was. She made me… nervous.”

She made me… nervous, Ava thinks.

Ava feels the soft skin between her eyes wrinkle as she works the words over in her mind. Of course Penelope made Bea nervous. Of course she made Bea doubt everything - every friendship, every interaction. Of course she held so much power over the way Bea engaged in the world. Of course she-

Oh.

Bea, who doesn’t linger too long when she’s looking at Ava. Bea, whose cheeks go pink when Ava dusts a hand down her bare shoulder. Beatrice, who is always the gentleman, always the one to hold back when they seem to be teetering on this invisible line of why aren’t we.

Of course Bea is going to be scared of what their friendship could become. Because she had this happen. She put her whole heart into something only to be told how wrong it was when it was over, how wrong she was, and that none of it was real.

Ava has been wondering why Bea is so afraid of what they could be. She thought if she proved herself, if she stayed when she could have run, then Bea would understand. She thought Bea would look at her and see someone worthy enough of falling in love with. She thought, some nights when the stars on the ceiling just weren’t enough light, that there was something wrong with her. Something that Bea wasn’t telling her because she was too nice to let Ava down so cruelly.

But it’s not her. It’s not Bea. It’s all the ghosts of Bea’s past stacked up against an ‘Enter’ door that are stopping Bea from pulling it open. It’s all these things outside of Ava’s control that’s holding them back.

It all comes together so neatly in her mind. Bea is not going to make the first move. She never was. She’s been leading Ava to this place, but she can’t make the final step. She’s loading the gun but she can’t pull the trigger. She’s putting this in Ava’s hands and hoping that Ava doesn’t break it in two.

Ava’s clumsy on a good day. Boisterous on others. But she’s also been practicing so hard at being still and maybe that was the wrong thing to do. Maybe Bea needs her to move, to run ahead and give in first.

Ava takes a deep breath, feeling it expand in her chest. It’s loud, roaring in her ears. Bea looks at her curiously. Maybe she doesn’t know that Ava has put it all together. Maybe she’s just as confused as Ava was a second ago. But Bea is smart. No, she’s not just smart, she’s Ava-smart. And she can read Ava like one of the dog-eared books littering their breakfast bar.

“Bea.” Her voice is remarkably steady.

Remarkable, because her whole body feels like it’s moving, vibrating at a frequency unable to be heard by the human ear. She catches Bea’s wrist in her fingers, locking them tightly around the delicate bone.

Bea is still, eyes dropping down to where their skin meets. “Yes?”

“Beatrice.”

Her hand is the thing shaking now as it rises up between them and slowly presses to Bea’s cheek, fingernails curling around her jaw. She feels it move as Bea swallows, hears the slight click of it as the silence magnifies. Bea’s eyes widen and she nearly pulls away, Ava’s hand on her face the only thing stopping her.

“Ava, I…”

Ava imagined their first kiss. She’s dreamed of it almost from the moment she met Bea, already wondering what it would be like before she knew who Bea really was - before she knew how good it was going to be. But she read something somewhere about how knowing someone enhanced the experience of loving them. How something steeped in history made the love richer. And the history she has with Bea may be short, but it is rich. Bea knows all her secrets and now she knows all of Bea’s.

So, fucking kiss her, a voice like Mary’s demands.

And isn’t Mary always telling her she has to listen better?

She only closes her eyes just before their lips touch. She wants to see Bea’s face and is rewarded with the fluttering of delicate eyelashes, the slight parting of Bea’s lips, the quiet hitch of her breath and the way her throat bobs as she tries to hold it back. Her hand slips to the back of Bea’s neck, pulling just until her top lip brushes Bea’s bottom one.

Her eyes slip closed as Bea’s bottom lip slips between hers and they’re kissing. They’re kissing. Bea is warm and soft and still. She stays there, intent in the way her mouth clings to Bea’s. I’m here. I’m kissing you. I’m choosing you. And you’re spectacular.

Bea shudders, her whole body coming alive, and she surges forward as Ava starts to pull away. The air goes out of her lungs and she tips backwards a little and she panics, unwilling to break apart now that Bea is kissing her back. But Bea’s hand goes past her, holding her up as she exhales against Ava’s mouth.

They’re so close together, their knees knocking. Bea’s mouth presses hot against hers, closed mouths clinging to each other. She can’t believe it, can’t believe they’re finally kissing and Bea isn’t running - she’s closer as Ava’s shoulders fall back against the bed, Bea’s hand curled around her shoulder as she settles against Ava’s side. Her free hand has found the hem of Ava’s shirt and her knuckles are brushing against the sensitive skin above Ava’s navel, steady and warm.

It’s Bea who takes the hesitant step forward, her lips parting just enough that Ava’s slide, and then Ava can feel Bea breathing as she kisses a little harder, mouths open against each other. It’s Bea who takes a less hesitant step again, the tip of her tongue ghosting along Ava’s bottom lip.

Ava pulled down the last brick, but Bea was a roaring river behind the dam and she kisses like she’s been uncorked. Her fingernails dig into the soft flesh beneath Ava’s shoulder, her knuckles press into Ava’s stomach, and she kisses with reckless abandon.

“Bea,” Ava whispers between kisses. She’s never been one for religion but maybe she’s been worshipping the wrong gods. Maybe this is who she should have been praying to all along.

Bea hums pleasantly against her mouth. She’s bolder now, kisses a little more frenzied. Ava understands. She tightens her hand at the base of Bea’s neck, pulls her closer. Her other hand slides down the flat of Bea’s stomach and curls around her hip bone, thumb stroking over the soft fabric of her sweatpants.

She thought kissing Bea would be amazing but she was wrong. It’s life-altering. She can see everything shifting to accommodate the way Bea’s lips press, hot and open-mouthed, against her own. She’s going to be completely altered after this, her life now in two separate parts: Before Kissing Bea and After Kissing Bea.

Bea’s hum burns into a low moan as Ava’s fingers dig more insistently into the dip of her hip. Ava is addicted now. She kisses harder, body starting to move as she rolls, a leg going over Bea’s until she’s bracketing Bea’s hips. She slides her mouth along Bea’s jaw to just below her ear, following the way Bea pants at the sensation of her teeth against smooth skin.

She needs to be closer. She needs nothing between them. She sits up, holding her weight as she works her fingers in her shirt and lifts it high and off her shoulders. She tosses it onto the corner, adding to the laundry pile, and sits above Bea in her bra with the flamingos on it, her chest heaving in anticipation.

Bea stares up at her, her face flushed and her lips bruised. Hesitant hands go to Ava’s waist, fingers flexing experimentally as they settle just above the hem of her shorts.

“Hi,” Ava whispers.

Bea nods, the line of her throat bobbing. Ava watches as her eyes track down her body, shoulders down to the sliver of skin just above her shorts. It takes her a minute to look back up and meet Ava’s eyes.

“Is this-?”

“Yes,” Bea interrupts. Her fingers feel purposeful now, like she’s burning her fingerprints into Ava’s skin. “I… I want this.”

A niggling thought works its way into Ava’s mind. Just a breath of hesitation. “You’re sure?”

Bea sits up, hands sliding to the small of her back. She blinks, eyes wide but focused. “Ava, I’ve wanted this for…”

“So long,” Ava finishes.

“So long.” Bea’s eyes flutter and she leans forward, mouth brushing over Ava’s collarbone. She feels her eyelashes against her throat. “Are you sure you want me?”

Me, she says unspoken. Me out of everyone else you could have.

Ava puts two strong fingers under Bea’s chin, lifts her face up until their eyes meet. I’ve never wanted anything more sounds too small. But it’s the only way she can think to say it. And when she does, Bea’s smile brightens the room.

Bea presses her lips to the pulse thudding in Ava’s neck, gentle teeth scraping against the skin. Ava breathes in sharply at the feeling of it, of Bea’s fingers working steadily up her back until they’re hesitantly touching the clasp of Ava’s bra. Ava is brave enough for both of them. She reaches back and loosens it, the fabric falling away from her chest. She tosses that away too.

Ava hisses softly when Bea’s fingers skate up her stomach to cup her breast. Her hand is burning, and Ava pushes into it so she can feel herself on fire. It only grows hotter when Bea kisses her collarbone again, teeth a little more insistent as she makes her way down to her own hand.

Ava pulls at the bottom of Bea’s shirt, freeing it from where she’s sitting on it, and pulls gracelessly until it’s over her head and somewhere by the door. She traces the lines of Bea’s navy bra until she finds the clasp and undoes it, flinging it away.

“I’m not going to make a joke about your boobs,” she whispers into Bea’s temple. Her tongue swirls over sensitive skin at Ava’s chest. “But just know that I really want to.”

Bea lifts her head. “I appreciate your restraint.”

“Saint Ava, they call me,” she babbles. “Patron Saint of-”

Her words are swallowed up in a gasp as Bea presses a hand down purposefully down on her waist. It sends a shiver through her and pulls a little bit of a moan from the hollow of her throat, Bea’s eyes widening slightly in surprise.

Ava tucks some of the loose strands framing Bea’s face back behind her ear, cheeks just a little red. “Before we… Before we do anything else, you need to know that I’m not going to be normal about this. Like, at all.”

Bea walks two fingers up her side, using ribs like steps. She moves them across her chest, brushing against her nipple. Ava shivers again. “I don’t know that I’m much interested in normal,” she admits.

Ava arches into her touch. “I’d hope not, considering how much you’re into me.”

She pauses, breath caught in her lungs as she waits for Bea’s reaction. Bea looks up with wide, imploring eyes. She searches for something on Ava’s face, and Ava hopes beyond hope that she finds it.

Not because she needs Bea’s hand to keep doing what it’s doing. Not because she wants to slip her fingers beneath Bea’s waistband. Not because she wants to hover over Bea and nose down the long stretch of what she’s sure is perfect skin from her chest to her belly button.

Because she wants all those things. But she also wants Bea to know she’s safe. That it’s okay to want her. That Ava is going to be someone she can trust, that Ava won’t treat her like something that’s going to break but will hold her gently regardless.

It feels big, to say that. But Bea is right there, a fingertip away, with her lips bruised and her hair starting to tangle around Ava’s fingers, and she thinks: I’m never going to come back from this. I’ll never be the same. What she feels is undeniable and real, the most real thing she has ever known and she would never, ever want to go back, even if she could.

“I am,” Bea finally says, voice a breathless whisper.

“A lot?” Ava asks, a sliver of neediness in her words.

Bea nods, unblinking. “A lot, yes.”

Ava makes a show of breathing a sigh of relief, a relieved smile on her face. “Well, that’s embarrassing for you.”

“Ava.”

Ava buries her reply in a kiss, fingers curling around Bea’s shoulders as she slowly inches her backward onto the bed until Ava is a shadow hovering above her. She wonders what the hollow of Bea’s throat tastes like, and she smiles into the kiss as she realizes she doesn’t need to ask. She breaks away from Bea’s mouth, kissing over the point of her chin and the underside of her jaw and down to the dip of her throat, teeth nipping at sensitive skin as Bea’s breath hitches. She can feel fingers flex at her waist and then tighten more purposefully.

Sensitive neck, she catalogs. She wants to make a list, grow it until she knows all of the places that cause Bea to make that breathless noise.

Bea’s fingers are insistent at her neck, drawing her back up until they’re kissing, harder than they have before. Bea kisses with lips and teeth, her tongue soothing away the nips, while one hand works its way to Ava’s waistband, curling into the thick denim fabric of her jeans.

She would have been satisfied with some heavy making out. Her skin is already burning where Bea’s bare chest is pressed against hers. She can live with this. But Bea doesn’t seem to be able to live with just this. Ava feels the back of her knuckles against her stomach as Bea pops the button of her jeans and works down the zipper. It’s so loud in the silence.

Ava kisses her way down Bea’s throat again then goes lower, tongue leading the way as she flicks the tip of it over a pebbled nipple. There it is again, that breathless noise. The fingers at her waistband freeze, tighten around the denim, and then release. Ava’s hand goes to Bea’s other breast, and she feels it press into her palm as Bea arches her back slightly.

Ava dares to go lower, kissing over the swell of Bea’s breast and down to her navel. She slides back on Bea’s legs, her fingertips light against Bea’s skin above her hip bones.

“Ava,” Bea breathes. She reaches down, hands reaching for Ava’s chin. Ava kisses the center of Bea’s palm as strong fingers curl around her jaw. “Ava.”

She doesn’t know what Bea’s trying to say, but she doesn’t need to. She can feel the heat radiating off Bea, the anticipation. She hooks two fingers in the waistband of Bea’s study-sweatpants, the ones she wears on all-nighters where she’s going to fall asleep sitting up, and starts to work them down a little as Bea’s hips lift off the bed.

She rests her forehead in the dip of Bea’s hip. She’s never believed in a God, but she does believe there’s a higher power out in the cosmos, and they’ve suddenly found her worthy of this gift: Bea stretched out across the sea of her comforter with her eyes closed and her chin tipped into the air as her chest rises and falls with increasingly harder breathes and her hips arching just slightly until Ava feels her against her forehead.

Because shit, this is holy.

A hand snakes its way into her hair, blunt fingernails scratching against her scalp. She can feel them trembling slightly. Ava wants to feel the whole of Bea tremble. She kisses down as she pulls Bea’s sweats down until they’re past the top of her thighs to her knees.

This feels like a moment they can’t come back from. And looking up at Bea, at the way those dark eyes stare into hers and the hand in her hair tightens slightly, she doesn’t want to come back from it. She wants to never, ever come back from this. She only wants what happens on past this moment.

She works Bea’s underwear down until they’re on the floor with her sweatpants in a tangled heap, and she noses her way lower until it’s nothing but heat and something slick against her tongue. Bea keens, hips lifting high off the bed, and Ava presses down hard against them with flat palms, keeping Bea down in one place.

The hand tightens in her hair, Bea’s knees tighten around her shoulders, trapping her in this crystalline moment. She rolls into it, tongue working more steadily as she feels Bea’s hips start to roll in response. She dips lower and soars higher, an unknown melody working into her mind and guiding her as Bea lets a sigh loosen from her throat.

Her hand climbs until she feels Bea’s breast against her palm, and she works her fingers over sensitive skin. Bea’s hand traps hers in place, palm burning. She can feel Bea’s legs start to tremble, and she licks a little more precisely, a little more purposefully.

She swirls, she drives forward and pulls away. She finds a rhythm until Bea’s whole body starts to tighten into an invisible line, pulled taut by an some unseen string. Ava doesn’t stop, even as Bea’s legs tighten around her. Even as that hand in her hair pulls a little harder. Even as Bea’s breathing swells into a hard pant and she lets out a strangled cry of Ava’s name.

She doesn’t stop until Bea’s body melts into loose muscles, until Bea’s hand goes slack in her hair. Everything is hot against her skin. Her tongue eases away, laving up and over Bea’s hip to her navel and charting a slow course to the center of her chest until she’s back at the hollow of Bea’s throat, teeth nipping as she feels Bea’s chest rise and fall rapidly against her own.

Bea draws another ragged breath, a hand up over her red face.

Ava pulls it away and kisses Bea hard, their mouths sliding together. Bea’s fingers curl around her throat, holding her in place when Ava tries to pull away. A tongue dips behind her teeth. Bea inhales sharply, stealing the air from Ava’s lungs.

Bea, still panting softly, hooks a leg under her and twists, rolling until Ava is on her back, and Bea is hovering over her, eyes dark and flashing.

The air punches its way out of Ava’s throat. If she’s cataloging the things that turn her on, this has just gone to the top of the list, right after the way Bea tastes and the feeling of her mouth sliding against hers.

“Bea.” Her voice is strangled and warped between them.

But Bea doesn’t answer her. She works her fingers purposefully down Ava’s front, sliding beneath her waistband without fanfare, without hesitation. Ava’s legs part with a half-breath, the other part of it stuck in her throat.

Then it’s nothing but an overwhelming sensation and the soft sound of Bea panting in her ear as Ava feels the world start to tighten around her. Bea’s breath is replaced by a white static, and there’s a fullness in her that she knows she’s going to be chasing for a while. Her hips lift and fall, a rhythm she knows without having to think about it. She rides it out, settles into it like she’s known it all her life and then-

And then-

Then she’s soaring, hips off the bed and her whole body shaking as she tries to focus on the rhythm again, the whole dance gone from her mind as it’s replaced by fireworks exploding, one after another. She can feel Bea’s hand on her, in her, and nothing else. She’s disconnected from reality except for where Bea is touching her. Floating weightlessly in an in-between where nothing but this feeling and Bea, hot against her side, exist.

She crashes back down, the world slamming back into her head as her legs clench, Bea’s hand between them. Strong fingers slide away and stroke across her thighs before they go up and curl around her side. Her breath comes hard, her pulse pounding in her head. She squeezes her eyes tightly, afraid to open them and see that the whole world has been turned upside down.

She wouldn’t care if it was, is the problem. She wouldn’t care if she suddenly found herself light years away where there was no oxygen in the solar system. As long as Bea is next to her, she doesn’t care.

She opens her eyes slowly and turns her head, finding Bea looking back at her with liquid pools for eyes.

“Hi,” she breathes, the word sticking in her throat.

Bea smiles softly. “Hi.”

“That was…” She inhales raggedly. “It’s never been like that.”

Because I’ve never been in love, she doesn’t say out loud.

Bea is biting on her bottom lip, eyes searching Ava’s face. “Me either,” she finally says.

Ava hums, content and boneless. “We are so doing that again. Soon,” she promises. “When I can feel my legs, it’s over for you.”

Bea laughs a little. “Okay, Ava.”

Ava lets her eyes close again and when she opens them, Bea is still looking at her. It doesn’t unsettle her. She lets Bea drink her in, and she lets her own eyes follow the lithe line of Bea’s body.

“Boobs,” Ava sighs. She curls one hand around Bea’s breast, no intention in the movement.

Bea wiggles around as if it tickles slightly, but she just settles more tightly against Ava’s side.

“I’m going to be insufferable,” she warns.

“So I can expect more jokes about my boobs.” Bea walks two fingers up her side and across her chest, pressing over where her heart is. “What else?”

Ava inhales shakily. “Anything else you want.”

“Anything?”

“Anything,” she promises. “Whenever you want. I’ll be a court jester for you, babe.”

Bea’s face pinkens at the name, but she holds Ava’s gaze for another moment before she rests her head between Ava’s shoulder and neck. “I do find you marginally funny,” she admits lightly.

Ava grins, the smile lazy. “See? You need to tell more people how funny I am. Mary doesn’t believe it.”

The blush doesn’t fall from Bea’s face. “Please don’t talk about Mary while we’re naked.”

“Why not? She’ll think it’s hilarious.” But Ava stretches her neck and kisses Bea’s temple. “But okay. Just this time.”

“I appreciate it,” Bea murmurs. It’s familiar, the exasperation, but it’s tinted with this whole new feeling. A new depth. “Ava?”

“Hmmm,” Ava hums, sleep pressing against her body.

“I can tell you later.” Fingers brush hair off her damp forehead. “Close your eyes for a little bit.”

“Just a little,” she agrees. “And then I’m making you stir fry.”

Warm lips press against the hollow of her throat, humming an okay against her skin. Bea settles against her side as a warm and welcome weight.

She doesn’t remember falling asleep, but she knows she goes quietly and calmly, and that Bea is still there, still pressed against her side, molded to her like she was never meant to be anywhere else.

-

She wakes up to the smell of paint. Her eyes take a minute to adjust to the light in the corner but she pushes up on her elbow, the comforter over her sliding down to her waist. She blinks as Bea comes into focus.

“You’re painting?”

Bea turns. She’s barefoot, in her underwear again, and one of Ava’s cropped t-shirts that has a white cat in red shadows and I’m not cute I’m purr evil written on it. It hangs a little higher on her and Ava can see the swell of her breasts through it.

She’s the most beautiful woman Ava has ever seen.

And she’s blushing. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

Ava sits up more fully, stretching her arms above her head. She watches, a slightly smirk on her face, as Bea’s eyes drop to her chest. But she doesn’t push. There’s time to tease Bea about staring at her boobs. All the time in the world, really.

“How long was I asleep?” She looks at the wall. Bea has nearly finished the whole thing.

“Not long.” Bea puts the paint can down on the stool, balancing the paintbrush on the edge of it. “But you looked…”

“Like a dead fish?” She’s aware of the way she sleeps, limbs thrown about and head rolling back. Years of being unable to move makes it so she never stops now, even sleeping.

“Peaceful,” Bea finishes. She’s hesitating, torn between wanting to do something and worrying about doing it.

So, Ava takes the lead, leaning in until she’s kissing Bea. She feels Bea sigh into it and knows it was the right move, that it’s what Bea wanted to do. She wants Bea to know she can do this whenever she wants. Bea kisses back almost instantly, sliding into an already-familiar rhythm.

She pulls away, a smile on her face. “Hi.”

Bea is a little breathless when she says hi back.

“I thought we weren’t painting.”

Bea looks back at the wall, most of it covered already. “You were right. About leaving our mark on this place. Someone needs to know we were here.”

“If we ever move out.”

Bea smiles. “If we ever move out.”

Ava pulls her legs up under her and Bea’s hand into her lap. “The only place I plan on moving is into your room. Or you can move in here, since we’re already decorating.”

“Oh?” Bea says. Her voice seems tight, like she’s holding something back.

A wiggle of doubt worms its way into her mind. “I mean, if you want to. No pressure. I’m more than happy to stay here and we can pretend like-”

“I don’t want to pretend,” Bea interrupts. She seems surprised by the firmness in her words and she sucks in her lips for a second before she shakes her head. “I wasn’t sure if you- I know you just kissed me but maybe that was you letting me down and-”

“Bea.” Ava waits until Bea’s mouth snaps closed. “I don’t want to pretend. I’ve been waiting months to kiss you, and unless you tell me otherwise, I plan on kissing you at least a hundred times a day.”

Some of the tension drains from Bea’s shoulders. “A hundred.”

“Give or take another hundred.” Ava grins. “One kiss for every time I’ve thought about kissing you the last seven months. Spread out, of course. Otherwise we’d probably be stuck in this apartment for days, just kissing.” She narrows her eyes playfully. “That might not be the worst thing to happen, though.”

“I’d miss finals,” Bea points out.

“Do you really need to pass them? Aren’t you teaching the classes at this point?”

Bea rolls her eyes, fond and exasperated. “Ava.”

“Bea.” She rolls her eyes back. “Fine. If you won’t lock yourself away to make out with me for days on end, what else are you willing to offer me?”

Bea is quiet for a long moment, her hand twisting in Ava’s as she thinks of something. Ava can see it pressing against her teeth, can practically feel the tension of whatever Bea wants to say radiating off her and lighting up the whole room. Ava waits it out patiently, knowing that whatever Bea has to say will be worth it.

She stays still. She waits. Bea has a way of bringing out all of the things in her that no one else has bothered to look for before. And after another minute, Bea looks up.

“Me.”

Ava’s heart clenches in her chest. “You.”

“I’m willing to offer me. Just… me. If you’re willing to accept.”

Ava turns Bea’s hand over in hers and presses two fingers to the thudding bundle of nerves at the base of her wrist. Bea looks down at where they meet and her eyes stay locked there for a moment while Ava watches her.

“If you think there’s anything just about you, then you don’t know the Beatrice I know,” Ava finally says. “Because I’ve never thought there was anything just about you. You always leave the light on for me. And you never make me do the dishes alone. And you don’t mind mushrooms on your pizza. You keep soda in the apartment and you always vacuum when I’m not home.”

A funny smile graces Bea’s face. “I think that makes me good for you.”

“The best,” she agrees. Her smile softens. “I’ve never thought there’s anything just about you. You’re incredibly kind, trustworthy. You’re humble - maybe too humble,” she jokes. “And considerate. And insanely intelligent. Hilarious. My best friend.” She pauses. “And I’m pretty sure you’re the love of my life.”

Bea inhales sharply.

“I know that’s, like, a lot. And I don’t need you to say it back, because I’m not trying to pressure you. But saying it all has lifted some kind of weight off my chest. Like, I didn’t know I was suffocating under not saying anything but I guess that I was,” she babbles. “But honestly, you don’t need to-”

“Ava,” Bea says patiently. She waits until Ava snaps her mouth shut and mimes zipping it closed. “My parents…”

“I’ll kill them,” Ava says cheerfully, looking guilty when Bea’s eyes cut to her. She closes her mouth again.

“My parents made me believe that love had to be earned. That if I wanted it, I had to work for it.” She takes a breath, astonishingly steady. “But you’ve never done that. You’ve never made me work for it. You’ve just… given it. It’s who you are.”

Ava’s smile wavers a little. “Because you don’t need to deserve love.”

“I didn’t know that before you.” Bea shakes her head. “I’ve had to unlearn a lot of things since meeting you. Like that. Like how to not be afraid. Like how to eat pizza. All these things that were so ingrained in who I was that I didn’t think I’d ever know anything different.” She reaches up and cups Ava’s cheek. “You changed all of that for me.”

She thinks Bea is saying I love you. She thinks Bea is saying You’re the love of my life, too.

And then Bea, spectacular Bea, looks into her eyes and says exactly that. “I love you. I’ve loved you since you spilled tea on my very important notes, and I’ve fallen in love with you every day since.”

Ava feels relief flood through her like a dam breaking. “That’s good. That’s really, really good. Because it would be embarrassing to be sitting here naked telling you how much I love you if you’re not going to say it back.”

Bea shakes her head but she’s smiling. “Ava.”

“Beatrice.” Ava curls a finger under Bea’s chin and beckons her forehead. She kisses her slowly and sweetly before she pulls back. “Kiss one of a hundred today.”

A blush spreads across Bea’s face. “You’re not really going to count, are you?”

“I’m going to keep a tally, that’s how serious I am.” She kisses Bea again. “Number two.”

Bae rolls her eyes and when Ava kisses her a third time, she opens her mouth, tongue brushing Ava’s bottom lip. It leaves her breathless when Bea pulls back.

“If I knew getting you in my room would have ended up like this, I would have tried a lot harder,” she says, eyes still closed.

Bea’s lips press against her cheek, then under her eye. “I wasn’t ready for that,” Bea whispers against her skin.

Ava doesn’t open her eyes. “I know you weren’t.”

Bea’s forehead rests against hers. “I am now.”

“It’s okay if you’re not. I won’t stop loving you.”

Bea’s breath ghosts across her mouth. “I am. I’ve never been ready for anything more in my life.”

“Not even your finals? Because you’re really ready for those, even if you think you aren’t.” She feels Bea start to argue more than she sees it, eyes still closed. “I’ve never met anyone who studies as much as you study. Seriously, you’re a beast when it comes to notecards and colored highlighters and-”

She does stop this time as Bea’s lips press against her. She hums, sinking into it. “Oh,” she says when Bea ebbs away. She finally opens her eyes.

Bea is smiling, beautiful and wide. “More than my finals. If only because I’m still not convinced of Thecla’s real contribution to modern religions.”

“I don’t know who Thecla is, but she’s never been less relevant to my interests right now.” Ava twists a strand of Bea’s hair, resting on her cheek, around her finger. “She could be Jesus’ mother for all I care.”

“She’s not-”

“I know she’s not.” Ava grins. “But I like the way you look when I say something wrong.” She presses her finger to the space between Bea’s eyes. “Like you’re not sure if you want to lecture me or kiss me. For the record, I’m very much in favor of the second option.”

Bea’s lips pull up in a slight smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Ava breathes in deeply, letting the air fill her lungs as she stretches her arms over her head, noting the way Bea’s eyes follow the lift of her chest. She smiles to herself. Maybe Bea is a boob-girl. She’ll have to weaponize that knowledge for later. 

“I think I promised you stir fry.”

Bea opens her mouth to argue.

“And I’m hungry,” Ava says over her. “And can be trusted with a knife. So, I will be making you stir fry, because it’s the one thing I’m good at. And I want to impress you.”

Bea’s smile is fond, and Ava thinks back to the first time she saw it, how it was aimed at Camila and how she wished one day it would be a smile for her. And now here she is, Bea in her shirt and an I love you between them and a smile that is reserved just for her.

“So let me make you stir fry and you can come sit and study some more. In my shirt. Which, by the way, is very sexy.” She winks.

Bea rolls her eyes. “Mine was quite tangled up in the comforter, and this was just the most easily accessible.”

“You have a bedroom about a hundred feet away,” Ava feels the need to point out. Bea’s eyes narrow and Ava grins. “But for the record, I really like seeing you in it.”

Bea blushes a little but stands and opens Ava’s drawer, pulling out a pair of underwear - Ava’s favorite, yellow with pineapples on them - and then a big t-shirt she stole from Mary that has a pug with a pair of aviators on printed across the front. She hands them to Ava.

“No pants?” she asks as she pushes the comforter down and wriggles into her underwear. She pulls the t-shirt on, huffing her hair out of her face.

“No pants,” Bea says simply.

Oh. Okay. She grins and stands up, curling her hands around Bea’s waist and pulling her in. “This is going to be so good. I know it.”

Bea smiles, swaying slightly with her when Ava starts to go back and forth on her feet. “I know it too.” She presses her lips to Ava’s forehead and speaks against it. “Thank you, Ava,” she breathes.

Ava frowns. “For what?”

Bea pulls back and tucks a strand of Ava’s hair back behind her ear. “For waiting for me to be ready.”

“Of course I waited. I love you,” she says easily.

Bea’s smile widens. “I know.”

Ava beams back at her, feeling like everything has slotted into place so neatly. She never wants this moment to break, never wants it to go away. She wants to remain forever in this room with Bea in her arms and the rest of the world somewhere else doing whatever it is they’re doing. All that matters is this moment, these kisses between them, the possibility of what the next moment brings.

She can’t wait.

[mommyownsmee]

how can i be a better domme to my partner? i have no experience and am nervous about trying to domme. they're into praise and degradation too and im not good at that

Being a good Domme starts in your own mind. You can‘t be a good Domme unless you understand the psychology of submission and why your Sub wants to be submissive and why you have the need to be dominant.

First you have to find out what you like and what you don‘t like. What do you want and what are your no-go‘s?

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You always have to remind yourself that BDSM and every session is for both of you. A part of your role as a Domme is to nurture your Sub into someone who is comfortable with her sexuality, and being able to enjoy everything that she wants to do and feel without feeling guilty about it.

Some Subs are completely at ease with sex, their bodies and their fantasies. Others have issues with all or some of those topics. As a good Domme you must understand and accept this and not push their boundaries.

There is a Domme code I once did read and I still think it’s perfect to remember in every situation: „Leave your Sub better than you found her.“

Of course you’re not her therapist, but you can do your part to make her feel great about sex and BDSM.

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Whenever a Sub comes to you as a Domme, you have to be able to quickly gauge where she lies on the submissive spectrum. This means you need to find out: What does she need in the first place, what does she want, etc.

I know this sounds complicated for someone without any experience, but you‘ll learn it after some time.

Just listen to your girl. She will tell you what she needs and wants. Your job is to fulfill those needs. Don't assume your own way is right. Often it is not. Always talk to your Submissive, never only do what you want.

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As I began to be a Domme myself, l've been learning how to present myself strong and dominant. This taught me that showing them that you can be strong and brutal is way more powerful as a turn on than being actively brutal with them.

Don’t believe you have to shout to make your Sub do something for you. I almost never raise my voice. A raised voice indicates annoyance, aggression and loss of control – everything that is the opposite of being a calm and in control Domme. Often a quieter voice is far more effective. As an example, suppose your Sub answers back. An eyebrow raise and an “Excuse me?” said quietly whilst maintaining eye contact with her works wonders.

You don't have to be brutal and treat your girl aggressively to be a Domme. Being a Dominant is not about aggression, manipulation or abuse.

You won’t always get your own way. In fact, being the Domme in the relationship often equals more work, because you now have to look after two people (yourself and your Sub). As much as she is there to serve and attend to your needs, you must attend to hers and not take advantage of her eagerness to please without giving her back anything in return.

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Some more tips:

Whether you are a beginner or professional Dom, you are never going to get it right all the time. Make light of your mistakes and your Sub will too.

There’s no need to be heavy and intense all the time. You don’t have to approach this with the solemnity of a politician delivering bad news. If your personality is naturally jovial and light-hearted then incorporate that into your play. Laugh and have fun with your sub.

Being a good Domme does not mean you have to enjoy all aspects of BDSM. I don’t like inflicting pain, for example, and I’m not that into leather. Does that make me a bad Domme? No. Don’t try and do everything. Learn what you and your partner enjoy and stick to that.

Everything you do should be consensual. Never force someone to do something they do not want to do or is going to cause long term physical or emotional harm. Remember the principle of Safe, Sane and Consensual (SSC) at all times.

Not owning up to mistakes. If you make a mistake, admit it and apologise if necessary. There’s a real strength in being able to admit your flaws.

It’s wrong to demand submission too soon. Some Dominants expect their partner or date to be submissive right from the off. This isn’t how it works. You must earn her submission. A Sub must respect and trust you before she is willing to submit to you. Don’t be the dumbass who starts ordering someone around on a first date.

Expecting submission outside the bedroom. Not all submissives (or dominants) enjoys submitting in everyday life, and you shouldn’t expect them to. Some subs want to be treated roughly during sex, but return to an equal power status afterwards. Some want an unequal power dynamic 24 hours a day.

If you aren’t clear in communicating your desires, or make your rules too complicated, or haven’t written them down, you can’t expect your Sub to follow them. Consider writing a BDSM contract for clarity.

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Execute your dominance slowly but progressively, learning where her and your boundaries are. Don‘t overstep them ever.

When you both have set your boundaries, respect them, but (of course depending on the situation/person/kind if boundary) play with balancing just on the edge. You could end up pushing their boundaries and either make her and you feel bad or make you both enjoy it in the end. You definitely have to talk to your Sub before doing anything.

Definitely talk after every session in great extent. No matter if it was a session over 5 minutes or 5 hours. Have your Sub tell you every detail they liked and didn't like, what they thought you could do better, etc.

In the same way, tell them how you felt.

Trust your Sub. She is a grown woman and more than capable of telling you if she believes you are taking advantage of her or if you‘re doing everything right.

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Find a mentor, someone who knows a lot about BDSM and is in the scene for a long time already and ask them all your questions. Ask them for help if you need.

Try to talk to many Dommes before you settle for one. Get a wide spectrum of answers, verify those answers against one another and as you find a trustworthy mentor, listen to how the answers from other places differs from theirs.

Experienced kink folk are the ones that have already screwed up and carry the scars from it. Learn from their scars instead of making that same mistake yourself.

Become a member of the community. Find out who is good and what makes them good. Who is bad at it and what makes them bad.

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Your Sub should know it's your first time domming. If you mess up, it's entirely okay to laugh about it. No shame, you're learning. You will feel more confident if you can laugh about it.

If you are not having fun, don't be afraid to say „Ok, this isn't working“ or „I'd prefer if we do this and this and this instead right now, want to change the plan?“.

Never change plans without bringing up a solution and ask that if your Sub has a complaint, that she comes with a solution following her complaint. This is so you aren't left feeling like all the responsibilities are on you.

This helps not break the Sub from their state of mind, it makes you dominant and handle the scene. It also leaves a space for the Sub to negotiate these new terms without breaking characters.

If no one is having fun, you both aren't doing it right and are probably just not compatible. Be honest, speak your mind, trust your partner as much as they trust you.

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Not everything you read online will suit you. Don’t think you have to do something just because another Domme is doing it.

For example, if you don’t like spanking, don’t do it. It doesn’t make you less of a Domme.

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Since it's your first time, make sure your Sub knows that you might need aftercare as a Domme too, but that you might not know what you need yet. Some people like to cuddle in silence, some like to talk about it all and others like me needs a shower right after sex. Don't be ashamed of not knowing what you want, but make sure you can voice it out as you go.

I recommand for you both to take the bdsmtest.org before you start domming. It will help you find out more about yourself and your Sub.

Afterwards, you should read a lot about the kinks that were shown you as the most compatible.

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A Mommy Domme exhibit caregiving tendencies and enjoy the softer, more tender qualities of caring for someone else. They are often paired with Littles and provide a motherly type figure or role model to guide their Sub. Mommy Dommes and little girl dynamics are often referred to as MDLG (Mommy Domme Little Girl) or CLG (Caregiver Little Girl).

A sadist Domme enjoys inflicting pain on her submissive, who is referred to as a masochist (or a „pain slut“, if she is not offended by that language). The sadist Domme will be interested in bondage, spanking, flogging and perhaps even inflicting pain during sexual activity. A sadist Domme may also enjoy humiliating or degrading her submissive through words, during sex, or when punishing her.

A Lady Domme is paired with a slave or service-orientated submissive. In this style of Domme and Sub dynamic the Lady treats her Submissive as property, and they engage in sexual and non-sexual play. For example, the Submissive might be responsible for maintaining the household, cooking dinner, or being a sexual plaything for the Lady Domme to enjoy. They might engage in slave training where the Submissive learns what the Lady Domme enjoys and how to perform her duties.

An owner Domme may refer to ownership for a submissive slave, but may also refer to owning a Submissive who enjoys acting like a pet. During pet play the Domme would serve the Sub food from a bowl on the floor, wear a collar and sleep in a cage.

A Caregiver/romantic Domme enjoys nurturing her Sub. She helps her achieve her goals and may be involved in making choices in her life such as what clothes she wears and what she eats.

A financial Domme controls the money of her submissive.

A rigger Domme enjoys rope either for the appeal of seeing her Sub tied up and restrained or simply for the beautiful ropework.

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The thing that changes degrading from an act of bullying to a source of pleasure is context and consent. Sex and real life are not the same. The difference between what you are comfortable with in the bedroom versus in a real life or public scenario entirely depends on consent and the element of choice.

The understanding that consent is key to incorporating degrading should not be taken lightly. In order for everyone involved to feel safe and find pleasure from degradation, there needs to be regular talks about limits, boundaries, and what you want to gain from the scene. In the heat of the moment, it can be easy for a degradation scene to be taken too far, even with one simple comment or act.

Due to this, it is essential to have advanced planning before attempting any act of degradation. Safewords should also be established, allowing anyone in the scene to give the warning to slow down or stop the scene completely if needed. All parties need to express what they are and are not comfortable with doing or saying. Someone may express that they want to have certain parts of their bodies insulted, but the other person involved may not be comfortable saying these insulting terms. That is absolutely okay but should be discussed prior to the scene. Everyone involved is allowed to have boundaries, and they need to be respected.

The intention behind degrading is to bring intense feelings of humiliation or embarrassment, and because of the emotions that can stem from this, aftercare is a must. Aftercare provides reassurance and affirmation, creating a feeling of safety and respect that was not present during the degrading scene. 

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On the complete opposite spectrum to degradation, some Subs find arousal from praise. There is nothing some Submissives love more than positive reinforcement. Whilst praise can be verbal, there can be physical elements incorporated. A pat on her head or a kiss on her forehead can be just as good as a verbal affirmation. When giving out compliments, make sure to be sincere in your praises. Half-hearted compliments will be noticed, and your goal of making your Sub feel appreciated will not be reached.

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Some Submissives are into both degrading and praise, which is totally alright. The thing is: You need to talk with your Sub beforehand about her boundaries and what exactly she wants to hear and what not. Are there words that trigger bad feelings in your Sub? Are there things that do the opposite?

To use praise and degradation in one sentence, combine a praise with an „insult“. For excample it could be: „You‘re my pretty slut.“ or „Your cunt is already molded into the shape of my strap, and you look so perfect- fucked out like this, baby.“

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[cricky-butspicy]

(Supposed to be sleeping) but I was re-reading Killing You With Kisses and had the thought of borrowing Soleil's notes and slipping in little notecards between the pages with small doodles and little compliments like 'thank you, you're the best' or 'your handwriting is so cute!' And such and needed to share the thought with you before I drop my phone on my face and pass out XD

Oh my goodness, imagine him!!

He'd be so flustered and would keep each little note you left him to hang up in his room and look at often! He'd thank you for them after receiving and reading them and compliment your doodles and would beam about them to you. He'd probably get you to borrow his notes more often after just to get more of your little notes so he could expand his collection!

I love it so much 😭💕💕

A little thing to imagine for you!

Soleil tries very hard to have nice hand writing. It's curvy and usually pretty even with large capital letters and straight lowercase ones. It's very swoopy and a lot of cursive mixed with print just for easier reading, but every letter in one word tends to connect, but he is a vicious notetaker. So, while it still looks pretty nice, it's a little sloppy at points. He's good at making sure his writing stays inside his writing markers on the page and matches up with the lined paper like children do when practicing writing in those learning books, but you can tell he can't sit and spend the time he wants with his notes to make them perfectly pretty in class when the professor is going fast to get through material. Soleil probably expects this to happen. He honestly might take sloppier notes in class and then takes them home and re-writes them in a nicer book so he has two copies, the frantic "scribbled" version (his writing is still pretty nice, just not up to his standards) and the perfected version he studies and lets others see. The nicer version is color coded with nice stationery supplies and sticky notes/page markers. He has a key in the beginning of the notebooks that explain symbols and colors to reference if you need to. That's mostly for if others read his notes. He has them memorized. His perfect college notebooks. Soleil prefers actually using thin tipped markers or felt tipped pens on thick lined spiral notebooks so they lay flat when he writes. His favorite color to use is orange and sometimes red. (Yellow is too light for words, but perfect for highlighting or accents.)

Atlas naturally has better writing when writing fast. If he writes slow, he thinks too hard and it looks funny, like he forgot how to write. He writes music in his notes sometimes when he gets an idea (that will come before his actual note taking most of the time because he doesn't want to forget the melody and he needs it out of his head to pay attention and keep writing.) He doesn't have a perfect writing style, you can tell he just writes to have it nice and legible, but besides that, he lets it flow out naturally. His is full print, no cursive (he fucking hated cursive.) It's very kind of create each letter with a very clear start and stop before going to the next, but sometimes you see how the pen or pencil will lightly trace the paper to get to the next letter in line because he won't pick it up enough when deep in note taking. If he feels he is falling behind with note taking, he will start a few letters of a word before just leaving some space and going to the next to fill in later. He'll remember it well enough to fill in the blanks when he has more time. (He's crazy for that. Truly a different breed.) Atlas doesn't color code or anything, but he does have nice paragraphs that section out things well. He doesn't rewrite notes either, he just accepts what he gets the first time and moves on with his life. Atlas prefers using blue or red pen in any notebook really. He likes ballpoint mostly.

[ordinary-lab-assistant]

A Lesson in Kindness

Summary: Lane shows Cain what kindness means to her, and, together they explore trust, vulnerability, and their feelings for one another. Part of my growing "HSR First Kiss" series!

Pairing: Lane x Cain [Heaven's Secret: Requiem]

Word Count: 3,095

Rating: T

Taglist: @rc-catalog

TW: None

A Lesson in Kindness

Lane slipped into her room, easing the door closed behind her. The fact that the rest of the squad kept her at arm’s length in the wake of Noah’s disappearance had its advantages—she wasn’t trusted to participate in the search mission, so she was allowed to remain behind in the estate, alone with the Book.

They probably think this is some kind of punishment, she thought, reflexively glancing over her shoulder as she opened the desk’s secret compartment and took out the Book. She ran her hands over its cracked cover reverently before opening it to the new spread she’d discovered—the spread she hoped would crack the code of the first part of the Book.

She settled in for a long afternoon, examining each character under a magnifying glass and carefully comparing it against the lines Pileon had written in her notebook. Small similarities began to jump out at her—she was making progress. Slow progress, but progress nonetheless.

Just as the beginnings of a new word began to surface, a disturbance outside ripped through her concentration. A gust of wind, then the sound of beating wings, before a flash of white and red streaked by her window.

Cain.

She shook her head and turned back to the Book, then sighed heavily. The word was gone, and her focus was ruined now that she’d noticed him.

The angel occupied her thoughts for reasons she didn’t fully understand. Like the Book, he was a puzzle to which she desperately wanted to find a solution. Unlike the Book, though, she hadn’t managed to figure him out at all, or why she was so drawn to him. Why she felt warm, alive, around him, in ways she hadn’t since he’d pulled her from the Rift.

Picking up her magnifying glass again, she tried to focus on the Book again, but it continued to elude her. The only things on her mind now were white wings, flashing red eyes, and tongues of flame rising seductively from burning books, warming her from the inside out in a way that felt dangerous—and tempting.

She sighed again and put the Book away, accepting that she would get nothing else done today. Not until this strange curiosity was satisfied.

*****

He’d landed in the yard of the estate, his back to her. She quickly realized why she’d noticed a flash of red through the window—he was covered in blood, from the tips of his wings to the tips of his boots. She watched him quietly from the shadows of the porch as he combed his fingers through his feathers, shaking his head in irritation.

He must have run into one of the Infected. Did he tear it apart with his bare hands?

“I know you’re there,” he called, looking at her slyly from over his shoulder. “Haven’t you learned not to stare at me when you think I’m not paying attention?”

Caught.

“You distracted me from the Book,” she said, ignoring the uneven throb in her chest as she caught his gaze. “I noticed you fly by my window.”

He looked away, continuing to absently run a hand over one of his blood-streaked wings. “Ah. Well, I’m sorry for that.”

She nodded mutely, her eyes lingering on his wings, following the path of his hand. His feathers had been soft and warm the last time she’d touched them, sending pleasant thrills down her spine. Thrills that had only intensified when she noticed how he’d stilled under her hand, allowing her to explore him.

“What happened to you?” She asked, leaving the porch to approach him. It was a question she didn’t really need an answer to—more of a tool than anything else.

“An Infected in the woods,” he said, smirking slightly. He’d noticed that she was still distracted by his wings. “The rest of the squad is dealing with the body now.”

“So close to the city?” she asked, mild alarm cutting through the pleasant haze of memory she’d allowed herself to linger in. From what she’d gleaned from the squad, this level of activity was unusual, and the proximity, nearly unheard of.

Could it have something to do with what we’ve been deciphering in the Book?

He watched her closely, his eyes narrowing, before he shrugged. “Yes, but we’ve handled it. For now, at least.” He stepped closer, experimentally, as if testing her boundaries. “I have to rejoin the search soon, but I have to take care of this—” he grimaced as his hand caught in a particularly matted patch of feathers “—first.”

She wouldn’t get anything done while he was gone, that much she knew. Not with fresh anxiety still lurking at the edges of her mind, and a vague sense of loss tugging at her heart. She didn’t want to be alone in the estate—didn’t want him to go, to leave her alone again.

“I could help you,” she offered, then fell silent, shocked by her own statement. Taking a deep breath, she studied him askance, waiting for his reaction.

She’d surprised him, too. He looked at her sharply, his eyes flashing red, before he said slowly, “Do you understand what you’re offering? It’s not like—”

He stopped short, tilting his head as he eyed her like how a predator would stare down prey. She realized that he’d recognized this as a step forward, one that she’d taken perhaps unconsciously.

“Once you figure out what this is, I’ll be waiting.”

Now she was the one waiting, her mind turning over and over as she asked herself where that wild impulse had come from. Curiosity? Reciprocity for the help he’d given her with the Book? It couldn’t be gratitude—he’d broken his promise to her and disappeared on her again, leaving her alone in the hallowed halls of the monastery archives. But still, there it was...a nagging desire to connect with him somehow, coming from some place hidden deep within her.

“I understand,” she said, meeting his gaze steadily as her mind raced through all the possibilities of what she was agreeing to.

Still looking at her closely, he nodded, seeming to come to a decision. “All right, then. Let’s go.”

Her breath hitched as she realized what she’d done. She would have to touch him, her hands roving through his wings, his body hers to explore. Unsure if it was anxiety or excitement racing through her veins, she shuddered, then quickly attempted to disguise it by stepping towards town.

He caught her arm in his hand, nodding towards the forest. “We can’t use the bath house. The General asked us to try not to make the locals uncomfortable,” he said, one corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk as he gestured towards himself with his free hand.

Noticing distantly that he seemed to be in no hurry to take his hand off of her arm, she allowed him to guide her. “It doesn’t seem like you’re trying that hard.”

He laughed quietly, leading her deep into the forest.

*****

After a long walk, most of which Lane spent questioning her sanity, the trees thinned into a small clearing with a still, glassy lake in the center. A rickety dock, half-collapsed against the shore, jutted over the water. Ice ringed the edges of the lake, but the area around the dock was clear.

“I didn’t know this was—oh!”

While she’d been admiring the landscape, the angel had walked to the edge of the lake and begun to strip to the waist. His jacket was carelessly abandoned on the shore, and he was maneuvering his wings through long slits on the back of his shirt, folding and unfolding them carefully.

She had never stopped to wonder how something as simple as clothing worked for Cain, Pileon, and Anhea before, but she realized now that they must have to make accommodations like this constantly. They were living in a world that wasn’t meant for them, wearing clothing that didn’t suit their anatomy, using furniture that wasn’t designed for them. Surrounded by people who didn’t understand them—people who mistrusted them at best, and hated or feared them at worst.

It must be so lonely, she thought, wavering on the spot. She hadn’t truly thought her actions through; she had just followed her impulses and gotten herself in over her head, as usual. This was a bigger step than she’d anticipated.

Cain looked back at her, amusement ghosting over his face when he noticed her reaction. “Are you surprised? How did you think we were going to do this?” he needled, turning to face her, bare chested.

She shook her head, quickly looking away in an attempt to force herself to stop paying attention to how soft his skin looked in the weak sunlight. Seeming to mistake her confusion for reluctance, he smiled thinly and said, “You don’t have to help me. I can handle this on my own.”

“No,” she said, taking a decisive step towards him, her heart in her throat. “I said I’d help you, and I will.”

A strange emotion flitted over his face, gone too quickly for her to identify, before he nodded and said, “Come on, then. We can use the dock.” Then he smirked, his eyes flashing red. “Don’t worry—I’ll keep my pants on.”

“I’m not worried.”

I’m not afraid of you.

After removing his boots, Cain moved to step into the water, then stepped back and looked askance at the dock. Shooting her a quick look, he walked down the dock, carefully testing the boards, before sitting down at the edge and dangling his feet in the icy water.

“It’s safe for you to come on,” he called, slipping into the water. “There’s soap in the front pocket of my pack.”

She took the soap, wondering briefly what else he kept in his bag, and followed his path down the decrepit dock. Feeling as if she was observing herself from a distance, she knelt behind him and tried to settle herself.

His wings rose and fell slowly as he breathed, and she could feel the warmth radiating off of them—off of him—even though he was submerged in icy water up to his waist. Small tremors raced up and down his back, and she frowned slightly. Angels didn’t react to the cold.

Is he nervous?

She reached out a tentative hand and gently ran it across the top of one of his wings. Warm, soft. Comforting. He stilled beneath her touch, seeming to hardly breathe, before his wing raised slightly into her hand. Silently asking a question that she had also been asking herself since the day he’d taken her into the sky.

Can you accept me as I am?

Running her fingers through his feathers, she reached down into the water and gasped at the temperature. It felt like knives against her skin, lancing through her scar and shocking her back into the present—kneeling on a dock halfway collapsed into frigid water, with Cain in front of her, waiting for her to begin.

She’d gone too far to turn back now, if that had ever really been an option, so she worked the soap into a lather in her hands and then began gently picking her way through the first bloody patch marring his wings. It was a methodical task, and she settled into a rhythm quickly: soap and water, preen her fingers through the area she was working on, rinse, clean her hands, repeat.

There was nothing methodical about the way he was reacting to her, though. His wings rustled in constant minute movements, brushing against her hands and body, and he made small sounds occasionally, catching his breath or exhaling quietly through his teeth. Tiny groans, so low that she knew he was trying to keep them from her.

 Does this feel good for him?

Following his reaction, she adjusted her touch to what he seemed to like and watched, gratified, as the tense muscles of his back relaxed. He leaned back a bit, then asked in a low voice, “Is this what kindness looks like to you?”

“If you want me to be kind, teach me.”

“Yes,” she murmured, hardly recognizing her own voice as she continued to comb her fingers through his feathers. “Kindness is...trust that the other person won’t take advantage of your vulnerability.”

In all of her interactions with him, she had never forgotten that she would always be the vulnerable one. A human and an immortal would always be an uneven pair, no matter what she said or did. To even be around him was dangerous, and many would say that she was putting her life at risk by trusting him with kindness.

And yet, here she was, on her knees, fully clothed but still exposed. Trusting him with her safety, as he trusted her with his body.

“You can turn around,” she said, her breath catching in her chest. She would have to look him in the eye now. She wasn’t sure what she would see, but she knew she wouldn’t look away. “I’m finished with your back.”

Slipping smoothly through the water, he turned slowly and caught her eyes with his right away—cool steel blue, open, searching. She returned his gaze, feeling her heartbeat quicken, and reached out to continue her work on the front of his wings. Trailing a hand through the water, he tracked her movements closely, tremors still running across his chest.

As she worked, he lifted his hand from the water. Paused, as if questioning himself, then reached out to rest his fingers lightly on her cheek, cool and damp. “You can trust me, you know,” he murmured, the look in his eyes cutting through her focus. “When I promised to protect you, I meant it.”

“I know,” she whispered—and to her surprise, she meant it, too. Even though he subverted all of her expectations of angels, even though he’d disappeared on her twice, she believed that he would do his best to protect her.

A small smile playing across his lips, he raised his other hand from the water and caressed her shoulder in the barest of touches. She sighed, her breath frosting in the air, as a jolt of electrifying warmth ran through her body. For a moment, he was silent, watching her reaction to him as she shifted into his touch.

“I know you have questions for me,” he said quietly, his eyes following the path of his hand as it trailed up her neck. “But believe me when I say that there are reasons I haven’t told you everything.”

“I do,” she said in the same tone, as if speaking more loudly would shatter this small moment in time. She understood secrets and the patience it would take to unravel them well. She certainly had her own, but even now, a question turned over and over in her mind—were they secrets to him, too? Or were her secrets among the things he couldn’t tell her?

She closed her eyes, allowing herself to drift through a fantasy as the easy motion of his hands lulled her into a trance—one where he would tell her everything, answer all of her questions. One where she knew what had happened to her, where she had been, and why, at times, Cain almost seemed to know her already.

“Did you remember something? Me, perhaps?”

His quiet voice edged into her fantasy—“Where have you gone?”—and she opened her eyes. He was close to her now, so close that she could feel his breath warming her skin.

“I’m still here,” she breathed, feeling as if she were still half-caught in a dream. Secrets, questions, answers—all ceased to matter as she caught his eyes and his hand drifted to the back of her neck. There was no need to speak, all questions answered with one look before they moved as one and their lips met in a burning kiss.

She gasped into his lips, and he pressed his advantage, deepening the kiss, his tongue roving through her mouth. Sinful heat, life, coursed through her veins as she answered him, searching, wondering—could I remember you? Can you help me remember?

Mesmerized, she reached for him, one hand on his chest and the other running through his hair. A small sound escaped him as his wings rose from the water to envelop her in his sanctuary and press her closer to his body. She sighed, leaning into him as his warmth filled her with sensations that she hadn’t even known she’d been missing since he’d pulled her from the Rift.

This must be what it feels like to be alive.

Opening her eyes, she admired him—with his eyes shut, his body warm and urgent against hers, his lips soft and insistent, and tiny ice crystals in his wings catching the sunlight, he looked every bit an angel. Beautiful.

Sensing her gaze, he opened his eyes, a glint of red fading as he pulled back from her. Too soon. Bereft, she tried to will the blush to stop rising in her cheeks, but she knew she had failed with his lips lifted in a teasing smirk and he raised his hand to her face, feeling the warmth he’d nurtured in her body.

“Do you understand yet?” he asked, his eyes boring into hers.

She didn’t have an answer for him. There were still so many questions, but she felt closer to finding answers now. Closer to the woman she may have been before the Siberia base collapsed and she lost three years of her life.

She said nothing, only leaned into his touch, hoping he would understand her vulnerability. After a long moment, she steeled herself and whispered, “You should change and get back to the squad.”

“I should.”

And yet neither moved, frozen in time, tormented by questions, answers just out of reach. Time was nothing to an immortal, but it was everything to Lane—days for the mysteries of the Book to remain unsolved, weeks for her veiled past to haunt her every step, years for the world to tear itself apart at the seams.

But a small burst of hope bloomed in her chest—hope that, in time, they could try to solve these mysteries together. She met his gaze again, a promise in her eyes.

With time, I will understand.

Don’t leave me again, and don’t give up on me.

Wait for me, and I’ll wait for you.

[yautjalover]

Since I’m a Gemini, I thought this would be a fun prompt. I’ll need more research for other zodiacs, though, if I decide to do them. ☺️

This is a long one, so strap in. There’s a lot I thought of. 😅

Anywho, here ya go! SFW!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gemini GN Reader x Male Yautja ♊️

• You enjoy mental stimulation. You need it. So, when your Yautja mate brings you along on his hunts, you are more than excited to tail along. You will be the first human to traverse the stars, seeing strange planets and even explore some.

Mind you, your hunter will only let you explore worlds you can breathe without equipment, but it’s way better than waiting back on the clanship for him bored out of your mind!

• Your massive ego takes a healthy hit every time you try to wrestle with your mate. It’s even worse when you fail at harmless pranks to let loose a little and cave into those childish whims you like to bottle up.

He’s impossible to sneak up on, much less tickle! The Yautja secretly enjoys your attempts and even more so when you get annoyed and storm off, your plots foiled. Despite your obvious failure at pranking or being playful with him, he’ll make sure to smother you with purrs to soothe your anger. Like cat, you’ll give in, accept his apologies, and set your ego aside…for now.

• While you’ve never been a fan or gossiping, you secretly love it. Back home, while publically you hated tv shows like Love Island, Big Brother, Housewives of (fill in the city), and other reality drama shows, you secretly enjoyed them like a drug you couldn’t get enough of!

On the clanship, you enjoy pitting young hunters together to get your fix. You enjoy them hearing the rumor through the rumor mill, one you “innocently” spread, and eventually watching the showdown when they go at each other in the kehrite. You hide among the crowd, taking advantage of your diminutive size among the giant hunters, and watch the show with barely concealed glee.

Your mate has to drag you away or attempt to lock you in y’all’s home to stay out of trouble, but you manage to break out. He never noticed you watching when he created a new entry code. Ha!

• Admit it. You’re a fence sitter. You wait until a situation tips one way or another to determine what side you take.

Your Yautja disagrees how fluid you are in your decisions, which leads to arguments here and there. Of course, they always end up with you both tangled in the furs and fucking it out.

At the end though, after careful and discreet observation, you change sides anyway.

• Being a Gemini, creativity comes natural. You’ve always enjoyed crafts, no matter how fleeting your current obsession on is!

Your mate will appreciate your craftiness. If he’s teaching you how to hunt, he’ll be intrigued how you decorate your shiny trophies with art. He will think it strange but support your way of remembering the hunt.

There’s always some project you’re working on when you’re on an energy high point, putting your entire focus into whatever it is that has you hooked at the moment.

Despite it all, your mate is always supportive of your various hobbies as they come and go. Your home is cluttered with projects that are completed and in different stages of completion. Some were never finished because it became a lot more work than you wanted or you simply found a shiny new thing.

• If others try to catch your attention and court you, you make it known that you’re strong when it comes to loyalty. Your mate is the only one you want and that’s it. He’ll quickly learn that you’d die before you betrayed or willingly hurt him. Once he earned your trust, he would have you for life.

[magickkate]

What is Gray Magic?

Gray magic is a term used to describe a style of magical practice that sits between what’s often called “white magic” (focused on healing, protection, and positive intentions) and “black magic” (typically associated with harm, baneful workings, or manipulation). Practitioners of gray magic often prioritize balance, nuance, and results, rather than adhering strictly to moral binaries.

A gray witch may use protective hexes, binding spells, or curses in extreme cases—but they might also engage in healing rituals, blessings, or divination. The key idea behind gray magic is personal responsibility: the practitioner makes thoughtful choices and accepts the consequences of their actions.

Why Use Gray Magic in Witchcraft?

Some witches find the binary of “white vs. black” magic too limiting or inaccurate. Life is complicated—and so is magic. There’s also a stigma that has been voiced in occult spaces about the discrimination of using the terms “white” and “black” magic when one has a lighter tone versus the other. Gray magic allows practitioners to work with the full range of tools available, tailoring their craft to the situation instead of a fixed code.

This approach emphasizes discernment, intention, and accountability. It invites you to make your own ethical decisions, based on your values, rather than following a rigid rule set. Gray magic may resonate especially with witches who want to protect themselves or others, challenge injustice, or integrate both shadow and light in their practice.

Beginner Tips

Get clear on your values. Know what you personally believe is right or wrong and why. Write it down if it helps.

Understand your tools and spells. Don’t jump into baneful magic without researching its impact and history.

Learn magical ethics. Even if you’re not following the “harm none” rule, knowing how others approach ethics helps shape your own.

Practice shadow work. Exploring your own motivations, wounds, and fears helps ensure you’re not casting from a place of reaction or harm.

Balance your practice. You don’t have to curse to be a gray witch—but being open to harder decisions when necessary is part of the mindset.

Start with protection magic. It’s a great entry point for exploring boundaries, safety, and empowerment without rushing into baneful workings.

Cautions and Ethics

Avoid acting out of anger or revenge. Sit with your feelings before casting—magic rooted in emotion can be powerful but also reckless.

Know your laws. In some regions, magical actions that impact others (like curses) may cross legal or social boundaries. Be aware of the potential consequences.

Respect other paths. Some traditions strongly oppose baneful magic—gray witches should avoid imposing their ethics on others or dismissing their concerns.

Be honest with yourself. Don’t use gray magic as an excuse to hurt others without reflection. Being a gray witch means taking responsibility for your choices.

Don’t glorify harm. Harmful magic isn’t more “powerful” or “real” than positive spells. The strength is in intention and awareness, not aggression.

How to Incorporate Gray Magic into Your Practice

Journal about your magical ethics. Reflect on when you would or wouldn’t use certain spells and why.

Learn different perspectives. Read about white, black, and gray magic—knowing the range gives you more tools to choose from.

Add balance to your spellwork. Combine protective and banishing spells, or include shadow work alongside manifestation.

Create custom spells. Gray witches often blend traditions and build their own rituals to suit their beliefs.

Study correspondences deeply. Knowing which herbs, symbols, and colors are used for baneful vs. healing magic will help you work safely and intentionally.

My Experience and Notes

I didn’t identify as a gray witch at first—I just thought of myself as someone doing “whatever works.” But over time, I realized that a lot of my choices were based on nuance, not absolutes. I didn’t feel wrong using protective spells that had banishing or binding elements, especially when safety was involved.

What helped me feel grounded was sitting down and writing my personal magical ethics. Once I knew what I stood for, my path felt a lot more focused—and I could use magic in a way that aligned with both my power and my principles. Gray magic doesn’t mean being morally vague—it means being intentional and flexible.

⸻

Anything I missed? Add some tips and more info below!

Anything you’d like for me to cover? Send me an ask or a message!

[burnedcheese]

I may be wrong but you said your making a raise a c00lkid game? Would you mind telling us how it’s coming along? I don’t know how long ago you started haha! Also I love you Sebastian and c00lkid arts they’re awesome :3

There isn't much yet, mainly the c00lkid model and the map im building on roblox studio. Though I am planning to make a model for n7 too, since he's going to be the playable character, but progress is slow since my phone is currently broken so it's a little hard for me to sketch freely how i want him to look XC ----------------------------------------------------------------- Here's what I've done until now:

2 models of c00lkid, one big and one small, which you'll be able to choose if he's a little monster or a regular robloxian.

Some expressions... Which will be used in certain dialogues, or blinking default. I'm also working on the house n7 and c00lkid will stay in, but its currently so sketchy I prefer to not show at the moment LOL I accept suggestions of anything, any ideas, story, building tips, anything rlly ----------------------------------------------------------------- It's a fairly new project, which has only me working on it on the moment, so things will be very slow... But its going! It's a game based on the raise a floppa games, but with a more Adopt Me kind of interactions with your son. You'll be able to buy new skins for him, feed him, play, and comfort him when he's upset. Not sure if I want to make this a multiplayer or single player yet, because I kinda want to add a little story into this game, a little bit of angst who knows... I'm still learning LUA code too, so it might have some broken features at first, if I ever release a Beta version of this for people to test out!

[myadhdchronicles]

Navigating Life with ADHD: My Journey, Tips, and Hacks

Living with ADHD has its unique challenges, but it's also a journey filled with creativity, resilience, and countless small victories. I've learned to embrace my ADHD and discovered some invaluable tips, hints, and hacks along the way. In this blog, I'll share my personal insights and strategies that have made life with ADHD more manageable and even exciting.

1. Embrace Your ADHD:

Accepting your ADHD is the first step to managing it effectively. It's a part of who you are, and that's okay.

Learn about your specific strengths and weaknesses associated with ADHD. You might be exceptionally creative or have hyperfocus superpowers!

2. Create a Structured Routine:

Establishing a daily routine can provide a sense of stability and predictability.

Use digital calendars, planners, and reminders to keep track of appointments, tasks, and deadlines. I particularly like Sunsama, it is very ADHD-friendly. Habitica is good too, it is a gamified digital calendar that engages the ADHD brain much better than regular planners.

3. Prioritize and Set Goals:

ADHD brains can easily get overwhelmed by too many tasks. Prioritize your to-do list and break tasks into smaller, manageable goals.

Celebrate your achievements, no matter how small.

4. Minimize Distractions:

Create a dedicated workspace that's free from distractions.

Consider using noise-canceling headphones, fidget toys, or white noise to maintain focus.

Learn what kind of workspace works best for you, it's not the same for every ADHD brain.

5. Time Management Techniques:

Use the Pomodoro Technique (working in short, focused bursts with breaks) to stay on track.

Set timers for tasks to prevent hyperfocus and procrastination.

6. Medication and Therapy:

Consult a medical professional to discuss medication options.

Cognitive-behavioral therapy can help you develop coping strategies and improve executive functioning skills, but know your own ADHD brain because it does not work for all of them.

7. Mindfulness and Meditation:

Mindfulness practices can help you stay present and reduce anxiety.

Try meditation to improve concentration and self-awareness.

Meditation and mindfulness do not have to be the typical sit still and clear your-mind things they are for non-ADHD brains, for a lot of ADHD brains we need to move so something like knitting/crocheting, going for a walk, or sitting outside in nature with your dog are our forms of mindfulness and meditation.

8. Stay Organized:

Use color coding, labels, and file systems to keep your physical and digital spaces organized.

Daily checklists can be a game-changer.

Know your own ADHD brain and make your system one that works for your brain or organization will continue to be a struggle.

9. Don't Fear Mistakes:

It's okay to make mistakes. Learn from them and keep moving forward.

Perfectionism can be your enemy; aim for progress, not perfection.

Learn to let good enough be good enough, perfection does not exist.

10. Get Adequate Sleep and Exercise:

Prioritize good sleep hygiene; it can significantly impact your ADHD symptoms.

Regular physical activity can boost focus and mood.

11. Utilize ADHD-Related Apps:

Explore ADHD-focused apps designed to help with time management, organization, and focus.

Some popular options include Todoist, Forest, Trello, Clarify ADHD, Sunsama, and Fabulous.

12. Seek Support and Community:

Connect with others who have ADHD through support groups or online forums.

Share your experiences and learn from the journeys of others.

Living with ADHD doesn't mean you're destined to struggle. By embracing your uniqueness and applying these tips, hints, and hacks, you can take control of your life. ADHD has its challenges, but it can also be a source of creativity, innovation, and unique perspectives. Remember, you're not alone, and there's a vibrant community of people who understand and support you on this journey. Embrace your ADHD, and together, we can navigate the world with success and resilience. See you next time, ADHD Team!

[maodebo]

@kuukispam

Yes! That's what is bothering me about the movie. How are those characters implemented into the game? Do u just need to make them a home? Feels kinda strange, you need them to be implemented into the code

In the movie ive got the feeling that the code and the code room are not things that the characters know a lot about so i doubt Felix could code Qbert n friends in

Turbo knew. The how he learned to code is left unanswered in the movie. Buuuut in the scene where he enters the code room we see something interesting

The napkin where the Konami code was written is from Tapper's

Either Turbo got the tip from a customer (I doubt since his act wasnt accepted by the other videogame characters) OOOORRR from Tapper himself

Ive this idea twirling ib my head for quite sometime that Tapper helped Turbo. Reasons? Idk for sure. But he is a bartender part of his job is lending a ear to customwrs venting their frustrations. I can see Tapper as a neutral player that just gave a nudge to Turbo.

How does Tapper know about coding? Somethin somethin meets lots of different clients and some might knew a thing of two?

Man, when i think of Tapper it makes me sad because the dude after working in the arcade he doesnt rest but has to work at the bar for the other characters! My man cant catch a break!

So i have this headcanon of Tapper as a neutral player thwt helped Turbo. I thought of other things related to this concept thst ive not written here but i still dont know where to push the possible fic about it

[notetaeker]

Hello!!! How did you become so dedicated to your studies? Do you have some advice?

I love your blog, btw✨️

Hi hi hi!! Thanks for the sweet message 💞💞

My BIG study tips (after 25 years of studying):

Accept your fate. This goes for anything but I used to procrastinate with studying a LOT and once you start it's actually not that bad. It's guaranteed. Automatically once you start, you have started, so you're already on your way, so it's already automatically not as bad anymore. Whining abt ur studies and avoiding them will not make them go away unfortunately. Just do it.

Make study time sacred. A few minutes of focused study is much more valuable than 5 hours spent at the library "studying" + scrolling + talking to friends + listening to music at the same time. Doing 5 hours like that is literally putting yourself thru hell because 1. you cant fully enjoy any of those non-studying activities and 2. you come out of that being like ugh I studied this page for 5 hours I'm tired of studying I need a break. Pomodoro method really changed my life pls try it out if u haven't already

That one tumblr post that says 'learning is basically being exposed to the same materials many times in multiple ways' is 100% correct. How many different ways can you expose yourself to the material. Memorizing facts- can you draw it? Can you organize the facts into lists? Can you attach a funny story to one of the facts? The more ways you interact with any material, the stronger it's saved in your memory. Find out if you're a visual learner- and then create visual tools, maybe color coding things helps you. Do a little digging and find out what works for you.

Diversify your life. Have some hobbies, spend time with friends/family, take a break. Let the computer of your brain sort out things in the background while you do other things. Once you go back to studying, you will feel refreshed (and not fatigued from 5 hrs in the library doing "studying") This also means that if you fail an exam, you won't be like 'oh no i spent my whole spring break studying for this exam and didn't even enjoy it and now I got a bad grade i must be horrible my life is nothing' and spiral. def not based on a true story :) Instead you'll be like yeah I failed but look at this scarf I crocheted look at mee i have mental health!

Sleep is magic- no matter what anyone else tries to tell you. 1. If you studied something during the day, just review those things right before bed and magically they will get set into your brain. Also 2. sleeping is when our brain sorts info so if you don't get any sleep at all it' the same as taking your study sheets and throwing them into the air, so when you ask your brain for the info during the test it's like lol it's around here somewhere. On the other hand, if you slept and gave ur brain time to sort it, when you ask for that info, it'll just open the right drawer and give u the info!

That's it for the big ones- if you want more specific advice feel free to ask! Also as a disclaimer, these 5 are all big life lessons that I had to learn thru trial and error, so consider these to be the advice I would give myself at a younger age. Pls don't be offended lol whenever I said 'you' I rlly was thinking abt myself.

[verdemoun]

Wait wait wait please tell me more about Kieran and Javier timewarp plsplspls do they go on manfailure dates. Will they go on fishing trips. Does the timewarp vdl gang own a shitty little kayak like they deserve? Need to see Kieran and Javier being losers in love traversing modern times

THEY ARE MY ENDGAME because this is johnigail charthur era but i need my boys to find happiness.

kieran having been in modern era for 12 years when javier gets there. he may be a loser and also neurodivergent but he's so much more relaxed and confident than the gang ever got to see him be. grew his hair longer learned what a razor is and keeps his beard more even length even if his moustache is never more than like kitten whispers. healthy weight functional muscle from walking (drunk sprinting) and gardening like he's thriving

and javier's like having a rough time y'know he just wants to be around the gang all the time. he has felt so alone pretty much since the gang broke up and he's really ashamed of the fact he gave up his/Dutch's ideals and started working for the government for the sake of saving his own skin. and the general learning modern era stuff. most of the gang are busy with their lives though so kieran is accidentally the one who has to show him around?

javier has a type. and kieran very confidently taking his hand with a smile and saying they had to hold hands crossing the road? tall pasty manfailure with ratty dark hair? javier is panicked he is screaming oh no he's hot. it's a constant game of 'is he flirting or is he being socially dense' and javier is about to rip his hair out which kieran finds hilarious and adorable. its completely intentional. kieran is very honest, will fall in love with anyone he finds beautiful and thinks dad bod timewarped rdr1 javier is every bit as damned fine as rdr2 javier.

look they are disasters okay they're disasters in queer genderless human forms. javier went from still holding onto an on-and-off relationship with john pre-1899 that relied on codes and discretion not for being gay but because john was still trying to work things out with abigail (javier was so in love he just accepted being treated like that!!) to blushing at spontaneous pda because kieran glanced over and remembered how handsome his boyfriend is. getting told i love you seventeen times a day. doing something stupidly mundane only to hear 'pretty' from across the room and kieran just watching with the goofiest in love smile on his face. not only how flustered javier gets but also has he ever been in a relationship where he was loved as much as he loved someone? trying not to cry as he catches his semi-verbal boyfriend practising spanish so they can talk in javier's first language because NO ONE IN THE GANG EVER TRIED TO LEARN SPANISH EVEN THOUGH HE DIDN'T SPEAK A WORD OF ENGLISH WHEN HE MET THEM

javier's loyalty also meaning he is the biggest advocate for anything kieran needs to support his neurodivergency?? using the famous 'make grown men piss themselves' glare before staff can even comment on kieran bringing his snacks to a fancy tapas place on date night. also knowing exactly what makes safe foods safe and being able to offer mouthfuls of new foods that kieran might like or very honestly say 'do not touch you will be physically disgusted by this'. both considering a perfect romantic evening fishing. just quietly fishing lost in sharing tips and bait and the total bliss of one another's company. couple pic looks like american gothic with both of them completely blank and holding fish. nestled on the couch watching tv in spanish because kieran has his headphones on and doesn't listen anyway but really enjoys it. javier replacing the weighted blanket. kieran being taller and just picking javier up if something his brain detects as a threat happens because protect loved one comes first and javier trying trying to assure him the small yappy dog is not a threat to their lives but also almost tearing up because imagine someone loving him enough to actively try and keep him safe

it started ironic but their song is literally fish by craig campbell and javier will sing it while playing guitar despite neither one of them particularly enjoying country music but loving that song. the gang are mortified and see kieran as an innocent soft bean of purity who doesn't understand the song is not about fishing. not only is he fully aware but that is exactly why it is their song. trust they have the best sex life in timewarp. just losers with trauma and seperation anxiety who are completely devoted to each other, actually listen to one another so sincerely and never have to be worried about being left behind or forgotten again

to the second point annabelle being the big cheese wealthy woman of the group bought hosea a very modest aluminum boat with a low power engine because he's getting too old for rowing and she knows he does enjoy fishing. john will not touch it with a 10 foot pole he is convinced it is going to sink at any second when someone is reeling in a fish all other passengers have to move to the other side for balance and despite opportunities to buy significant better ocean vessels hosea loves the ss old girl. they can pry his shitty boat from his cold dead hands. so many happy, good, new memories he's formed with the gang in post time-warp.