#mediation log

[agate-dragon]

☀ About me ☀

Hi, I’m Agate! Welcome to my alterhuman sideblog :)

You can learn more about me and this blog under the cut!

☀ Main Blog

☀ Moodboard Requests

~INTRO~

I am a 20 year old college student studying psychology and philosophy, I use any pronouns.

This is my side blog for specifically alterhuman/dragon thoughts, as well as meditation logs, dream journals, and just general ramblings. Basically my own little dragon diary!

I’m relatively new to the otherkin community, I had my awakening around five or so years ago but this is my first step in actively looking into my draconic identity + interacting with other nonhumans, so please correct me if I get anything wrong!!!

Id also love to interact with more dragons / nonhumans, so please interact with this post if you have a blog dedicated to your experience!! I would love some friends to help me get my footing!!!

~MY DRAGON~ 

Some general info about my draconinity. I used to believe my identity came from a past life, but lately I've fallen much more into the purely psychological camp. My identity is very closely linked to my identity as a queer person, linked to my experience with autism, and linked to kink, both sexual and non-sexual. (don't worry, I wont be talking about anything NSFW on this blog)

I will often refer to the more dragony part of my brain as "my dragon" or "Agate", and may refer to it in the third person for ease of communication, although we are not two separate beings. I am both 100% a dragon, as well as 100% a human, the two identities are indistinct and inseparable.

This is what I look like!

(Art by me!)

~TAGS~

Dergposting

Used for conversational, lighthearted, or meme posts that are directly draconic or dragonkin related.

Alterposting

Used for conversational, lighthearted, or meme posts that are relate to the alterhuman, otherkin, otherhearted, or non-human community in general. Will also be used for talking about a specific non-human past life.

Petrichor

Used for aesthetic images / moodboards specifically for my dragon kintype

Agate Dragon

Used for more serious posts directly related to my draconic identity or dragon kintype- such as shifts, kin memories, meditations, dreams, or vent / species dysphoria posts.

Fluffposting

Used for all post regarding my plushy hearttype, weather its lighthearted/conversational, serious, or aesthetic. Due to this being a dragon-centric blog, I wont be using this super often.

Kinboard

Completed moodboard requests

Meditation log

Used to describe specific experiences while meditating

Card log

Used to describe experiences during a tarot reading, weather that be my own or reading someone else’s

Dream log

Used to describe experiences during my dreams, or interesting dream analyses

[bleepthegrawlix]

Dean would watch 6+ hour video essays on Youtube titled like “Giant Boy Detective: A Retrospective (part I)” meanwhile Hank fills the home page with fail compilations and Youtube poops

[frantic-fiction]

Secluded Evening 18+

(GIF: leopardmuffinxo)

Astarion x F!Reader, Astarion x Tav

Warnings: 18+ MDNI pretty much pure smut, fluff, nipple piercings, nipple play. Skinning dipping, unprotected sex, Late Act 1 Astarion

Summary: Astarion catches reader during a midnight swim. Playful flirting becomes physical. Basically, my take on reader and Astarion's first time in act 1. There is way more implication of Astarion's real attraction for reader, not just a manipulation tactic.

Word Count: 2.8k

The shadow curse land is just a few days west, and a sickly feeling has crept through the camp. The party is on edge, fighting a constant headache as you attempt to mediate the tension in a group of solid personalities during highly stressful events. Shadowheart and Lae’zel are at each other’s throats, bickering and pulling daggers when either sends a quip in the other's direction. Karlach is still burning hot despite her upgrade, and with Dammon already far along the path, all you can do is promise to get her to Baldur’s Gate as quickly as you can. Wyll is fine, but he’s Wyll, so that’s not surprising.

Gale, however, might be the one pushing your buttons the most, or at least he is testing your patience past your limit now. “Tav, I don’t believe I have to express again how important it is to acquire a magical artifact soon.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, and you get the sudden urge to whack him over the head with the book you held unread in your hands. “I will be glad not to have to feel my chest be ripped in two, but I will repeat: if I do not consume an artifact, I will die and level the general vicinity with me.”

You push off the log, slamming the novel down. Level-headedness has been one of your strong suits. It’s the main reason you found yourself leading these misfits across the kingdom. You can keep your cool under the most extreme sources of stress, but everyone is just annoying you today.

“Look, I get it. You need a shoe to chew on, or you’ll go boom. But guess what? I have given you every spare artifact I have to give. Our coins are down to silver and copper. So unless you are willing to chomp down on the stupid circlet you just ‘had to get,’ then you can suck it up and wait until we reach another town.” By the end, you’re yelling, and Gale looks like a kicked puppy. The rest of the camp has turned to look at your outburst. You burn with regret for everything immediately.

You reach out a tentative hand, “Gale, I didn’t—”

“No, you are absolutely right. Apologies for my inconvenience. I hope you enjoy the rest of the night, Tav.” He quickly returns to his tent and pins the flaps close.

Sighing, you rub your hands down your face. You feel terrible; Gale’s condition is excruciating, and you hate to be unable to get him something to alleviate the pain, but your supplies are down to the bone. “Fuck,” you breathe, picking the book back up and storing it away.

“I must say, my sweet, I could get used to this more dominating personality of yours. It certainly gets me excited.” Astarion practically purrs in your ear. You turn face to face and stumble back slightly at his proximity.

Brushing your hair behind your ears, you avoid his eye contact. A warmth spreads across your face. “Oh, I'm sure,” you smirked, clearing your throat and recovering quickly.

It was a game between you two, ignited on the beach with a knife to your throat. Harmless flirts, playful banter with no attention to go further. Attraction is thick, but neither dares to press in this dance.

He crowds into your space. His nose practically tickles yours. He plays with your hair, fingers tangling in the locks. His face dawns an emotion of concern. “Darling, I’ve noticed you’ve been very stressed these last few days.”

His breath fans your face. You grab the edge of his shirt. “I think it would be a good idea to release some tension. Some alone time, maybe?” His pointer finger traced the bone of your jaw.

You smirk and pull away, trailing your hand up the contours of his chest. “You're right.” His wicked grin widens like a cat playing with prey. “I think I'll call in early and have a night to myself. I hope you will be okay hunting tonight.”

When you were scouting the perimeter, you stumbled across a small alcove. It was breathtaking. Several willows enclosed a small lake, water beautifully sparkling in the sun. You love swimming and have been thinking about the lake ever since. You occupy yourself with finishing your book until the sun sets. Once the camp settles for the night, you grab your pack and sneak your way out to the forest line.

Astarion’s grin drops, and his arms go limp. You slip away, lifting the edge of your tent. “Thank you again. Do you mind telling the others as well?”

He glares knowingly, and with a wink, you drop the flap and sit on the floor. You gather your supplies: a change of clothes, your only towel, and your washing bag.

The lake isn't too far, and before you know it, you're there. It's different in the moonlight. Fireflies buzz around the cattails, the willow branches sway softly above the water, and frogs croak on lily pads. You set a blanket to place the rest of your stuff around, quickly tossing your clothes off and wading into the water.

It's not as cold as expected, but you still gasp at the initial sting. You adapt quickly and soon dive fully, submerging into the fresh water. You stay underwater; ears plugged, giving a warped vibration through your head. Once your lungs begin to burn, you surface and gulp air.

“Well, isn't this just a coincidence?” Astarion chuckles, standing at the shore with pale forearms crossed over his chest. “I was just out on my hunt when I came across such a delectable treat.”

You bite your bottom lip, pulling your hands back and forth, sucking water in and out around your form. “Well, now that you've found me, what do you plan to do with me?”

You move onto your back and float, exposing your entire front half to his eyes. The water on your skin chills in the air. Your nipples pebble, and you hear a groan.

Floating in the water, you close your eyes. It's quiet momentarily before a large splash startles you and you're pulled under. You kick instinctually, and Astarion grabs your foot and drags you closer.

His strong arms circle your waist, and you resurface. You smack his chest. “You asshole.”

He laughs, and before you know it, you're laughing too. You sway in Astarion's arms as he carries you deeper into the lake. Grabbing a flower floating in the water, you begin to pick some of the limp petals. You look up and slide the flower into his hair. It's adorable.

Astarion pinches your chin and pulls your face close, staring deep into his eye. There are no words; you feel the line shatter when the reality of what's happening sinks in. There is no performance in his eyes. No formulaic flirtatious lines or sexy words. What is happening? You don't know, but when he crashes his lips to yours, you really fucking want to find out.

It's like a rubber band. The kisses open the damn, and soon your legs are wrapped around his hips. One hand threads through his pale curls, the other encircling his neck.

Astarion breaks from your lips and trails sloppy kisses down to your neck. "I have waited long enough to ravish you, my dear,"

And then you are moving; he's quickly wading through the water, not once removing his lips from your throat. You know it will bruise, and the idea of another mark of his sends heat lower down your body.

You sigh when Astarion nips your neck, pressing you down on the blanket. Wet skin slides against damp skin. Grabbing his hair, you pull him back up, capturing his lips. It is messy, sloppy, and all too much to handle.

You arch up, pressing your breast against his chest. He pauses, and you whine when he pulls away.

"What are these?" Astarion practically growls, pinching your hard nipple. You gasp his name as he twists the small metal bar through the nub. He grinds his hips against your leg. He's hard, his cock presses against his stomach.

"Jewelry," you moan, clutching his shoulder. "They make me more sensitive."

"Oh, my naughty girl," he lowers to take your neglected breast into his mouth. His skillful tongue sucks your breast, his hand paying equal attention to your other. Feeling a scrap of his fangs, you let out a cry of ecstasy, rolling your hips, seeking any source of friction.

Astarion pins your hips down and pulls away from your breast with a wet pop. "No, no, my sweet. I think you have not been fair keeping least lovely tits from me. I can't remember ever seeing such unique body modifications." He gives a sharp bite to your breast, just deep enough to pierce the skin.

Droplets of blood beaded to the surface; it was quickly lapped up with his tongue, a groan crawling its way up his chest. He slips one of his legs under yours, and his hips slide his stiff cock between sopping wet folds. You choke out his name, and his mouth moves to the other breast. "I think I'm owed a bit longer exploring such a beautiful chest."

"My, my, you're so responsive. I could spend hours pleasing you with my tongue." Astarion trails his tongue up between your breasts, eyes boring up into your flushed face. "Just imagine the delightful words I could pull from your beautiful lips as I lay between your thighs, playing your exquisite body like a bard's violin."

Your breath is uneven, panting while Astarion takes his time lavishing your breasts. Soon, your nipples are on fire, swollen from the ruthless attention Astarion has provided. Tears sting your eyes. You are desperate for anything, nothing; you are not sure, but you are moaning and pleading up into the night air. All available skin was victim to your desperate fingers.

"Starion, ugh-please, they're too sensitive." You tug at the small hairs at the nape of his neck. His lips tug the metal bar just enough to pull another cry from your lips. He releases your breast with a wet pop.

You bite his neck (almost the same spot he uses to feed from you) and all semblance of his control dissolves—you're back on the blanket in a show of Astarion's speed. Air was knocked from your lungs. "Fuck, my dear," Astarion grinds against you coating his cock in more of your juices. "I believe we've waited enough time to enjoy each other. So, I think I fuck you, deep and slow, until you can only scream my name. And if you're lucky, spend the rest of the night pulling lovely whimpers from your over-sensitive cunt."

His husky voice purred in your ears. Your thighs clench, arousal dripping onto the blanket. "Star," you breathe out, grabbing his face and crashing your lips together. Teeth clashed, and tongues fought for dominance. Wrapping your legs fully around Astarion's slim hips, you roll up. Using his distraction as leverage, you twist your hips and maneuver the two of you.

Astarion is now on his back, curls silver in the dark, and his eyes are wide with shock. You comfortably sat on his hips, hands pressing on each of his pecs. "You have my full permission to do that, but if you don't fuck me right now, I will be taking care of myself in my tent." Lips are back on his before you chuckle in his ears. "We have teased each other for months. I think it's about time you do something about this pretty boy."

Astarion doesn't leave a moment to respond before he impales you with one deep thrust. Your nails dig into his shoulders. Astarion grabs your calf, raises your leg, and sets a brutally slow pace.

You were matching each of his thrusts with a roll of your hips. Your mouth at his chest and throat, sloppily leaving kisses and spit on his pale torso. "Ug-fucking Gods, you so tight," The sounds of skin slapping against skin and collective cries of pleasure break up the quietness of the lake.

Astarion presses his forehead to yours, breathing in your whimpers of ecstasy. The force of his thrusts is jostling your breasts; your nipples rub against his cold skin.

The moans roll off your tongue; you put a hand into his hair. "A-astarion fast…faster," you choke, snaking a hand between your conjoined bodies to rub small circles over your clit. The warm tightening coils in your lower abdomen. "P-please, Star."

"Beautiful." Astarion's pace picks up, his balls slapping against your pussy. He quickly pushes your hand away and replaces your fingers with his own.

He doesn't need to be asked twice, and the cold pierce of his fangs digs into your throat. You choke on gasp, hips stuttering. Astarion is dragging, mouthfuls of your blood down his throat, his fingers picking up pace, rubbing tight circles on your clit.

The coil is tightening, and soon, you cannot form words outside of Astarion's name between pleases. "Oh, my sweet girl, so lost on my cock. I...fuck...I know it feels good."

He pinches your left nipple again and you whimper. "Your body is exquisite. I won't be able to last much longer, my love." His voice is hoarse, and he rambles between frantic ruts. He presses his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply.

Astarion presses kisses and licks to the hollow of your throat. He is asking for permission, and you quickly press him closer. "Yes, please," you groan. All the sensations Astarion was giving you were becoming too much. You were quickly approaching the edge.

The pain mixes with pleasure, and it's too much. Tears prick at your eyes. You ticken around hos cock and a rumble ruptures through his chest. He takes a few more gulps before pulling away. Astarion's tongue licks, ensuring no waste of your blood.

As soon as he pulls away from your neck, he's pushing his tongue into your mouth with a quick thrust—the metallic tang of your blood mixes between your mouths. "I'm close," you breathe, running your nose against his. Your panting, feeling like no breath can satisfy your burning lungs.

His thrusts are becoming sloppy, devolving into more grinds of hips. His fingers drag over your clit in tight, fast circles. "Me too," he's just as breathless, hips stuttering with pleasure. "Come for me, darling, let me hear you."

It's like your body was waiting for his honey-slick words to give you permission. Because the moment those words leave his devilish lips, you snap. You scream his name, legs pulling him close.

You didn't expect post-sex cuddles from Astarion, but gods, you could fall in love with this man if you weren't careful. But would that be too bad? To fall in love? You kiss his collarbone and pull your towel over the majority of your body.

With one, two, three more deep thrusts. Astarion comes with a breathy moan spilling deep into your core. You two lay there, tangled in each other's body. Hearts are pounding as you breathe each other's air.

Astarion pulls out and rolls to his back. You curl onto his chest, laying your ear over his silent heart. He plays with your hands and peppers kisses over your hairline.

You wish to stay the night in his arms right here, just having him hold you. But Astarion stiffens slightly when a shiver rolls through your body. It's like the bubble of serenity pops. Astarion is quick to remove himself from you.

"I don't believe cuddling wet and naked with a vampire is good for one's health." He's pulling his clothes on. And reluctantly and with shaky legs, you follow his lead. Astarion is quiet on the walk back, lost in thought. He plays with a coin mindlessly.

You don't push, knowing Astarion better than to pry. So you let him walk you to your tent. And just as you move to duck into your bed for sleep, Astarion grabs your wrist.

You turn and look up into his scarlet eyes. His expression is hard to read; his confusion, hesitancy, affection, and anger are fluidly behind his eyes. They could all fit, but nothing seemed to reflect Astarion's eyes. "I…" He pauses, thumb rubbing the back of your hand. He opens his mouth again but clicks it back close. Astarion searches your eyes as if they held the answer to his unspoken question.

Astarion doesn't seem to find what he's looking for because he shakes his hand—pressing a light kiss to the apple of your cheek. He drops your hand reluctantly. "Have a good night, my dear,"

Then he's gone, leaving you alone, the tingle of his lips still lingering on your skin. Your fingers trail across your cheek, and a small smile stretches your lips. Yeah, you could very easily fall in love with that man. Maybe you already have.

Okay let me know what you thought? I haven't written smut in forever and have never been super confident in it.

If you liked this how about checking out my other two Astarion pieces.

Happy Birthday **** Reoccurring Nightmares

[tinytennisskirt]

Let It Linger

Summary: When post-canon divorced! Art goes back to high school for a fifteen year reunion, he’s met with strong memories of the his estranged best friend, the girl he loved those fifteen years ago. He gets caught in a rally between his past and present. A whirlwind of past yearning, casual touches, meaningful conversations and pining rushes back to him like the time never passed when he sees her again for the first time in fifteen years. Turns out not so much has changed.

Warnings: mentions of sex, alcohol, marijuana. casual touching, pining, yearning, MEGA SLOWBURN, a longer fic with time skipping between MRTA! art and POST CANON! art. AU.

Art wasn’t sure how to feel about this. He was parked outside, in some dress shirt he’d owned far too long and the black dress pants he wore for when he did pre-game press. His hands on the wheel, lips pressed into a straight line. This would be interesting, he knew it would be. He was sitting in the parking lot outside the smaller gym of Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy and he could hear the music through the walls of the car and through the open gym door, he could see a purple cast of light from inside.

It had only been fifteen years. That wasn’t much time in perspective, but fifteen years felt like a lot when he remembered who he was that many years ago.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- past

“My mouth, my mouth!” You called, opening your mouth and slowing your running to walking backward. Patrick tossed a marshmallow and you caught it in your mouth as the three of you ran down the hill, Patrick with a bag of marshmallows, you with the chocolate, and Art with the graham crackers.

Both boys cheered loudly and you jumped, triumphantly raising your hands above your head. Art nearly ran right into you with the momentum from the hill and you all ended up laughing way too hard at it, even with the marshmallow in your mouth. Art tried to catch his breath, his hand sliding over your waist as he passed you, trying not to stumble the rest of the way down the hill. Patrick just laughed. “I had no idea my aim was that good,” he said, teasing.

You swallowed the marshmallow, “You’re kidding? Your aim? That was all me.”

Art grinned, “I think it was a joined effort…” He played mediator. You hit him in the upper arm gently. “No, all you. All her, Patrick. Sorry.”

Patrick threw his arms up in forfeit. There was no winning against you. They both knew that. You giggled and shoved a marshmallow right in Patrick’s mouth before skipping down the rest of the hill, leaving both boys behind you. Art watched, a huge grin on his face. The three of you had found a great way to sneak out of your dorms at night. It was 11:42 and you were heading toward the back of the grounds with the ingredients for s’mores, a lighter, and matches for good measure. And maybe the remainder of a pack of cigarettes.

What good was your last year at the academy if not the one you rebel just a tiny bit? You were down the hill humming Groove Is In The Heart by Deee-Lite in your big Mark Rebellato sweater and yoga pants just happy to be out at night. You were fun, carefree, and bright, even in the dark of the edge of the property, away from all the fuss of the school. “You’re so slow!” You called out to them. Both Art and Patrick jogged to catch up to you, finding your regular spot between a few trees.

You sat on your regular log and pulled the blanket from your bag before getting up to drape it over. Patrick got to collecting the twigs from the stash and put them in the hole you three dug the first time you snuck out. Art took the seat next to you on the log, “Crazy, you have like seven tennis balls in here.” He laughed. You shook your head, nudging him just a little while he grabbed the three marshmallow skewers from your bag. He grabbed one of the balls out and threw it at Patrick.

“Can take the girl out of Mark Rebellato but can’t take the Mark Rebellato out of the girl,” Patrick said, catching the ball and throwing it back at Art. He got the fire started and lit one of the remaining cigarettes off of the growing flame. “You guys ready for that test on Monday?”

“Since when are you an academic?” You chuckled, putting a marshmallow on the end of Art’s stick.

“Since he found out Lydia Jennings is into smart guys,” Art said. You chuckled, biting your lip just gently. Art noticed.

Patrick blew smoke out the side of his mouth, “No- okay, she said she liked smart guys we all know there’s no way in hell I’m becoming a straight-A student like this one over here,” he gestured with the cigarette between his fingers to you. “She’s hot, she’s not drop-everything-and-study hot. I’m talking about the test on Monday because I know that with you two and Stanford, you’re obsessed with your grades… I am… not ready.”

You shook your head, looking up at him, “She is so drop-everything-and-study hot, you’re just picky. And I’ll lend you my notes tomorrow if you want- Art and I worked on them together, they’re pretty extensive.”

“They are good.” Art nodded, dangling his marshmallow over the embers. “You’re actually worried about it? I mean, the year is almost half-done, you’ve got time.”

He nodded, “I know, but I have to graduate to be free of this place for good. No way I’m doing that GED thing.”

“My mom did the GED thing.” You said. “She’s doing just fine. It was only a setback. Plus, if you plan on truly going pro, it won’t be a big thing. Just player trivia.” Art laughed at that, pulling his stick back to pull the marshmallow off. You had already prepped his graham cracker and chocolate and pulled the marshmallow off between them for him. Patrick watched how you two worked so wordlessly- wasn’t his focus. “I will lend you all of my notes tomorrow, it’s just a matter of reading them a few times a day and you’re set.”

Patrick shrugged, grabbing himself the things he needed for a s’more. “Thanks.”

Art nodded, “You’re lucky you’re good with a racket.”

“Rude!” You said, shoving him backward off the log. He landed on his back in the leaves and it was all-around laughter again. The dynamic was this. Shoving, pushing, insults in good fun, but caring all too much. Art knew there was nobody in the world who cared more about anything than you did. He was, as your friend, able to enjoy just how passionate you were about the things and people you liked. He pulled himself back onto the log, shaking his head at you as you dusted him off and removed the leaves from his hair. You smelled good, like fall, vanilla, and chai, almost, but with a sweetness that reminded Art of the caramel apples from the fair. He shut his eyes as your hands picked the last little bits from his hair. You pat his cheek when it was done and the conversation moved onto the new tennis coach’s really bad toupée.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

Art got out of his car, shut the door, and locked it, car keys sliding into his pocket. He stared out over the grounds, past the outdoor tennis courts, and to the point in the field where it dipped down into the big hill. He wondered if they’d ever found your makeshift fire pit, filling it with dirt, moving the logs… He glanced at himself in the side mirror of the car, remembering when his hair was longer, more golden. Part of him wondered if he would even see you tonight. Maybe he’d see Patrick, which was a more likely occurrence, Patrick wouldn’t miss something like this.

If only they made it less of a surprise who you’d run into at one of these. He guessed it would be his class, a few extras, people who had settled down bringing their fiancees, partners, husbands, and wives. He wondered if he was too dressed up? Dressed down? And he was nervous, for some reason, when he shouldn’t have been.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- past

“I know I shouldn’t be deciding on a dress this late but I can’t tell if this dress is too much?” You said from inside your dorm room. “I’m afraid Mark Rebellato himself will come to smite me for how much boob this dress shows off.” You spoke through the door.

Art and Patrick grinned at each other. “I’m sure it’s fine!” Art called back. Both boys had spent about twenty minutes tops getting ready for the mid-term formal. One of many formals the school so unfortunately had. “Can we see?”

“It’s not the right dress!”

“How would we know?”

The door to your room unlocked and you opened it, standing looking very unimpressed in a gorgeous purple dress. Both boys stood, a little dumbfounded for a second. “Too much?”

“No.” Both boys said in unison, gazing at you, your hair perfect, your makeup perfect.

Art blinked hard to snap himself back to reality, “You look… beautiful.” His eyes lingered a little too long on the slight shimmer to your eyelids and the gloss on your lips. Your eyes softened and you looked down at yourself again.

Patrick agreed. “Damn.” Both boys had themselves forgetting you were the same girl they called their friend on a day-to-day basis. “Mark Rebellato is rolling in his grave.”

“Is he dead?” You asked, laughing. Art didn’t find anything funny when you were standing there looking like that. He thought you were gorgeous, he could say that as your friend of a good few years, but this was breathtaking. You were.

The dance was more fun than both Art and Patrick anticipated, but you made anything fun. Patrick nudged Art’s arm as they stood off to the side with cups of punch. “She’s different this year.” He said. Both boys were watching you dance with one of your girlfriends. You were so free and you were once again the brightest thing in the whole room, purple and pink light cascading over your face and you were laughing.

Art hardly heard him. “Hm?” His eyes didn’t leave you.

“Exactly.”

Art nudged him back, seeing what Patrick was getting at. “Fuck off.” He grinned. “She’s just pretty. She’s always been pretty.”

Patrick nodded, sipping his punch, watching your dress swish around you as your friend spins you. “Too pretty.”

“Mhm,” Art sighs. The way he watches you is different from Patrick's. There’s something buried in what he feels, but he’s never acknowledged it much. Aside from when you met at twelve in a co-op game and you made fun of his ears. It honestly hurt his little feelings but Patrick found it absolutely hilarious that someone so funny-looking could say something so mean to someone else. Art laughed when Patrick defended him. But you, always so smart, nodded. And you smiled, which both boys didn’t expect. Then you apologized to Art and introduced yourself like nothing even happened. Art forgave you. There was something about you that both he and Patrick knew would make a good addition to the duo they’d formed over the first week. And it had been that way ever since. Didn’t make it easier when you stopped looking so funny and disproportionate when you turned fourteen but, being friends, it was ignorable. For the most part. They were only boys.

When presented with a slow dance, you excused yourself from the floor and came to stand with the boys, taking Patrick’s cup of punch right out of his hands and downing it. Patrick went to grab it but it was too late. You pulled a face, “Seriously?” You scrunched up your nose and Art laughed as he pieced it together.

“Didn’t give me a chance to warn you,” he chuckled. You felt the warmth spread down your throat- he’d spiked his own punch. Of course. Art, mouth agape, placed a hand on the small of your back without thinking. You just giggled and shook your head at him. Patrick took his cup back from you, sipping the very last drops. The couples and wannabes behind you continued to dance closely. “Awful, right?”

“So bad,” you giggled. Art twisted his mouth to the side, trying not to laugh too much. Your hand closed around Art’s wrist and pulled it up over your opposite shoulder and you kept talking about how gross it tasted, making fun of Patrick for spiking it so badly. If anyone sniffed it, they would have immediately known it was mostly alcohol. Art’s arm stayed around you, the perfect place for it, so it made sense to step a little closer. It’s only worth noting as something that happened because Patrick, who was used to your casual displays of closeness like this one- saw the angle Art kept his hand at so that his hand wouldn’t rest too close to your boobs. He laughed just a bit. Art just shook his head at Patrick and flipped him off with that very hand.

By the near-end of the night, you’re danced out and you asked the boys to come back with you, but Patrick had taken to chatting up Lydia Jennings, of course, so Art obliges. Patrick didn’t need a wingman, he would do fine on his own. Art holds the door for you as you leave and you’re immediately laughing as you cross the parking lot. “Fucking insane,” Art laughs, running a hand through his hair. “I always forget it’s not a school dance until Patrick sneaks in two shooters.”

“I had at least one whole shooter in that punch,” you said, knocking against him as you walked. The cool autumn air hit your bare skin and it was harsh. “It was disgusting.” Art felt you shiver just a bit beside him and he was already taking off his jacket to give to you. “He could have gone with vodka or something, spiced rum, and fruit punch is one of the worst things I think I’ve ever tasted- thank you.” You said, taking his jacket with a smile and pulling it over your shoulders.

“It was spiced rum?!”

“Yeah!” You laughed with him, still leaning against him as the two of you walked. “He ends up with Lydia Jennings she’s going to hate, hate, hate his breath. I brushed my teeth in the bathroom,” you said, pulling a pink toothbrush out of your bag. Art couldn’t help but laugh at the thing.

“Smart,” he grinned wider as you showed him the travel-sized tube of toothpaste that went with it. Art just flashed you his pack of mint gum in return and you narrowed your eyes at him. Art shoved it back in his pocket along with both of his hands. “So… you had fun tonight?” He followed up.

You smiled at him with those perfectly glossed lips parting to show teeth. “I did. However-

“There’s a however?”

“However…” You grinned, taking his hand and walking backward. You lowered your voice, pretending to be extra serious. “You need to dance more so you can dance with me.”

“You didn’t like the nodding I did? I feel like that was a lot, too much, even.” He held the door open to the other building and you mouthed another thank you as you passed him again. ”How much more do I need to do to dance with you?”

“You can always dance with me. I promise it’s a lot more fun when you’re not feeling centered out.” You told him, heading up the stairwell. It’s still early in the night so the girl’s dorms were mostly empty. “I knowww, I know how you get with it, but-”

“I’d dance with you.” He nodded, but squeezed your upper arm, “You didn’t ask me. I would have.”

“Okay then. Swear on your life right now that if I asked you, you’d say yes.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, fighting that neverending grin that lived on his face when you were around. “For what?”

“All future purposes.” You replied, stopping outside your room and leaning against the wooden door. “Where dancing is involved.” You held out your pinkie finger and Art took it before he got to question any more. You grinned and jumped a few times. “You just made the craziest promise, I’m going to make you hate me with that one.” Art just grinned.

You talked a bit more just at the door until both you and Art were wary about someone seeing him on the girl’s side of the dorms. You opened the door to your room and stepped just inside, about to say goodbye, but just one more thing before he left, you asked. For him to help you unzip your dress. Art should not have felt the way he did when you handed him back his jacket and turned around while lifting your hair. Your bunkmate had zipped it up before you had left and you had no idea when she’d be back, you explained.

Art wouldn’t say no to you. Who could? He stepped closer, met with the closer, stronger scent of your perfume and you still smelled sweet. You always smelled sweet. With gentle fingers, he took the small zipper and slowly unzipped the back of your dress. The sound of the zipper being the only thing in the empty of your room and he wouldn’t forget how when the zipper hit the bottom of its track, his finger grazed the bare skin of your back. Soft, softer than he could have even imagined. And you turned so that he wouldn’t be faced with the bare of it all, braless underneath, he could tell, and you thanked him for the night, for his jacket, for his help. Said you’d see him tomorrow. Usually, you’d hug him goodnight, but with your dress about to slip off you just smiled, making fun of the promise he’d made to you just thirty minutes ago before a real goodnight.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

Art looked over at the dorm building across the lot, looking at the exact path between cars you and him would have walked that night. His hands shoved themselves into his pockets, habit. He decided not to stand out in the parking lot anymore, swallowing hard as he allowed himself through the door and into the smaller gym, which was decorated just like the regular school dances. There were streamers and early 2000s radio hits and so many people.

It was almost immediately people recognized Art. He was possibly the most successful of the graduating class, though he hated to think it. He wouldn’t put himself above anyone. He was already getting pats on the back and he started in some small conversations but he was a little distracted.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- past

“They have parties at Stanford?” You said, looking at some Stanford webpage on Art’s mom’s computer. “Frats, too. Insane. Hey Art, you should join the frat.” You chuckled. Art and Patrick were playing Jenga at the coffee table, two or three of the blocks wet from falling into the eggnog.

Patrick ruffled Art’s hair, “Frat boy Art Donaldson?”

You spun in the chair, “I could join a sorority, they have those too.”

Art grinned, “Yeah? You think they’d take Patrick?”

Patrick pushed Art into the couch and the Jenga tower toppled over once again. You laughed, watching him shake his head and reach for his eggnog, once again pulling a Jenga block out of it. You came and sat next to Art on the couch, sitting on the arm. His hand mindlessly wrapping itself around your ankle as your foot rested on his thigh. Gentle, like letting you know that he’s there despite the readily available knowledge that was your being. Something sweet. Patrick took a seat on the floor in front of you both. “I think they’d take me, but you have to be a Stanford student, so you know, it’s too bad.”

“Their loss,” You smiled. “Do you think I’m pretty enough to rush a sorority when we get to Stanford?” You asked. Both boys looked at each other.

“...Yeah,” Patrick said, nodding just a little. You narrowed your eyes.

“Yes.” Art said firmly. He squeezed your ankle just a little. You smiled at that. Art’s mom called you to dinner, christmas dinner, and in seconds both boys were bolting to the dining room. You exchanged a look with Art’s mom when you got there. She was lovely and she was letting both you and Patrick stay for the holidays. Her food was amazing and the conversation was Stanford, mostly, and your tennis plans for after graduation. The application process, the fuss of getting a dorm room there, and how excited she was for you and Art to be going to the same place. She loved you, his mom. She called you her daughter when the mailman came around during the holiday season and to whoever asked. She’d been in a household of boys for far too long.

The post-dinner conversation laying on your back on Art’s bed next to him while Patrick was laid at the foot of the bed was on exactly that. “Art, I think your mom likes Y/N more than you.”

“I know,” Art replied, hands folded on his chest. He turned his head to look at you, giggling.

“I can’t help it,” you replied through your laughter. “Everyone loves me, it’s not my fault.” Nothing about that statement was false- everyone did love you. And who wouldn’t? You were kind and sweet and loving and so warm to everyone you met so of course they all loved you. There was nobody like you so everyone who crossed paths with you would never be able to forget you. Art’s smile fell, looking at your freshly glossed lips and that unforgettably beautiful smile. He’d zoned out so when you rolled onto your side, nearly onto him, his eyes widened just a bit.

“You’re jealous?” You beamed.

“Not even,” Art scrunched his nose, using a gentle hand to push you away but you returned, giggling. “She’d go insane having a real excuse to go to sales at the mall.”

“Sugar mommy,” Patrick remarked. He had way too much pie, he was half-asleep. Art just kicked him with the foot that rested closest to his chest, eliciting an ‘oof’ noise from Patrick that you giggled at.

“You’re so jealous your mom likes me more, it’s crazy, it’s crazy,” You giggled, grabbing his upper arm. Art twisted his mouth to the side, eyes flickering from the gloss on your lips, to your eyes. “Don’t worry, when she comes to visit me at Stanford, she’ll probably have enough time to see you as well. I’ll make sure of it.” You teased.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Art said, pushing you back again and you just laughed madly, a laugh that was so room-filling and contagious and completely perfect. Art turned his head to look at you. You were more than sorority pretty. Who wouldn’t think so when you laughed like that?

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

Art found that Lydia Jennings had three kids now. Three in fifteen years, which was a little crazy. She, of course, had pictures with her. Spitting images of her bright blonde, big-mouthed self and Art pretended to care, more than he cared to admit. There was no sign of Patrick. Lydia Jennings asked Art about his divorce, asking about his own daughter, but he had to real interest in talking about that sort of thing. Not with her. He excused himself, raising his head above the crowd to scan for anyone else he knew.

He ended up talking to an old friend who was already balding with his pregnant wife at his side. It was good to see just how well people were doing. Settling down, having quit tennis or only pursuing it on the weekends, some of them with kids in tennis classes already. Art was continuing to be congratulated on his career by even the partners of these past classmates.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- past

You were dancing to some Tal Bachman song and Art was internalizing every lyric. “What song is this again?” He asked, leaning back against the tree. The light from the fire was flickering around your face that was nearly hidden by the winter jacket you had on.

“She’s So High,” you replied, spinning in circles. Patrick locked eyes with Art from across the fire, giving a knowing smile. One, because you were high, so was he, so was Art- Two, because Art was completely zoned in on you, the way you moved, the way you looked. And he couldn’t help it, you were the most fascinating thing around and he’d smoked quite a bit. It was like the song was written for you, he thought, out of his mind and red-eyed. You were dancing alone, like you hadn’t even though twice, the music coming from your little portable music player thing. Art met Patrick’s eyes and Patrick raised his eyebrows, nodding at you. Art shook his head, but Patrick jumped over the fire to sit next to him anyway.

“So are you telling her or am I?” He teased, ruffling Art’s hair and Art bat him away, huge grin on his face. “So when’s the wedding?”

“Shut the fuck up, she’ll hear you,” Art chuckled, shoving Patrick over just a bit. Patrick came back laughing. “It’s not like that.”

“You really think I’m fucking stupid, huh?” Patrick chuckled, pulling Art into a bit of a headlock in return. “I’ve known you both how long?”

“Too long,” Art laughed, trying to wriggle out of Patrick’s grasp, finally escaping just to shove Patrick all the way over. He was glad you were minding your business, occupied with the song. “It’s not like that.” He repeated, still keeping his voice low.

Patrick pulled himself back up, “Tell that to your dick,” he said, taking a shot at Art’s groin that he gladly blocked just to sock Patrick in his. Patrick doubled over just for a second and Art laughed a bit too hard, the fry of the weed that burned his throat making him cough. Patrick couldn’t stop laughing at the coughing and being high, everything was a lot funnier. It took a minute for them to stop laughing over the stupidity. Patrick sighed heavily, looking over at you still dancing mindlessly to a song by Avril Lavigne, then back at Art, who was trying to regulate his breathing, also staring at you again. “Maybe not always your dick but definitely your eyes. I’ve never seen anyone with bigger heart-eyes, it’s sickening.” He said.

Art looked at Patrick and twisted his mouth to the side. “I don’t think so. She’s just…pretty.” His eyes gazing back to you, spinning in your fluffy winter coat, swaying, firelight flickering over your face, defining your features in shadow.

“Uh-huh… You really think I don’t know?”

“There’s nothing to know,” Art replied, pulling his eyes off of you again.

Patrick shook his head, adding more to the fire, hand still over his groin as the pain continued to die down. He kept his voice low, “Fuck off with that. It’s bullshit. I know it, you know it. You spend more time with her than me, she’s your partner for every co-op game, your mom loves her, you look at her like I’ve never seen you look at anyone.” He chuckled, “And you so want to fuck her.”

“Not as much as I want you to fuck off,” Art chuckled. “Okay, well, I mean- I might. She’s gorgeous, yeah, but I don’t think I could ever tell her anything. She’s perfect, too perfect and we’re friends. We’re her best friends, it would fuck everything up.”

“So you don’t even try? I’ve seen you ask for girl’s numbers within forty minutes of knowing them, it’s unlike you to not even try.”

“She’s different,” Art replied, looking down at his hands. “I couldn’t. I make a move and she doesn’t want it, we’re fucked forever.”

“And you don’t make a move and you’ll never know,” Patrick replied. The weed made him oddly thoughtful. “I’ve seen you two with my own eyes there’s something there, I swear to god there is. You can’t just let things play out, you’re going to miss your chance. Think about Stanford next year, all the college guys hitting on her and you know they will, she’s Y/N… Fifteen years down the road she’s married to some frat guy she met at a rager and you’ll be wishing you told her while you could.”

The silence between them was filled by your music and humming. Art looked at you, eyes closed, lips glossy, boots in the dirt. And for the first time he let himself think that he could never want anyone more than he wanted you. He would never see past you, he wouldn’t ever feel this way about anyone else and in the moment, through the weed, it felt real. You, perfect, gorgeous, here.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

Art glanced around the room, feeling some familiar fire burning in the pit of his stomach. It felt oddly highschool, it felt oddly familiar. He wondered if you had kept up with tennis, he wondered if you had a husband and kids, he wondered if you’d gained weight, lost weight, changed your hair, were going just a little grey, even. He was nervous- that’s what he was and he could place that. It was then that he saw Patrick, coming in through the door across the room.

Art, over Tashi, had put her in the past, including what Patrick had done. Him and Patrick didn’t keep up much other than a few texts and meeting at the bar a few times, but the hard feelings were pretty much gone. Art started making his way over to his old friend just to be grabbed by another ex-classmate who wanted to catch up. He was faced with more pictures of kids and meeting someone’s wife and Art wasn’t so bothered to talk about his own daughter, he’d always take that opportunity. She was the best thing he currently had.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- past

You and Art sat on the bleachers in the gym, just having finished a co-op game, having won, of course. You both showered and got dressed again and met back up. The air was warming up, mid-spring and Art had still not told you yet. He decided he would at the end of the year and see if you’d make the first move, just to be safe. It didn’t weigh on him- he’d been friends with you for ages, liked you for ages, so it was a secondary thing.

“Hoping my tennis career is enough to buy an old victorian home,” You said, packing your things into your gym bag.

“I remember you saying that,” Art said, hauling your bag onto his shoulder along with his own. It wasn’t abnormal to have him carry your bag. It was sweet. “You want a blue one. Well, blue-grey.” He said. You looked at him, a little surprised he remembered the blue-grey thing. “With the white trim. I remember things.”

You nudged him just a little bit as you passed him. “I’m surprised, after so many tennis balls have hit you in the head.”

“And whose bad aim is at fault?” He teased back. You held the door for him and went out into the early afternoon sun.

You rolled your eyes at him with that gorgeous smile. “Bad aim, uh huh. Who’s to say it’s not on purpose?”

“Y/N!” Your girl friend called, bounding over. “My hair tie broke and I can’t go all the way back to the dorms in time for scrimmage, do you have an extra?” Art watched your full attention go to this girl, linking hands with her and everything. He watched you take the hair tie off of your wrist, the purple glittery one that you swore was your favourite. “Hi, Art.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, noticing him standing there. Art just raised his hand in a subtle wave.

“Of course,” you said, pulling the purple sparkly hair tie off and giving it to her, no questions asked. “Do you need anything else? I have a redbull in my bag if you wanted that before your scrimmage?”

“Really?” She asked. Art lowered your bag for you and you unzipped it, pulling the redbull out and handing it to her as she finished tying her hair up. All Art could wonder was how could anyone not love you when this was who you were? Art knew that purple hair tie was your favourite and you gave it up, just like that, and didn’t even ask for it back later. And your redbull that Art watched you go through your coins for six miinutes counting literal dimes and pennies to get it from the vending machine was in this girl’s hand just because you thought to offer it. You were kind and beautiful and Art moved the date up a little in his head- the date that he’d tell you how he felt. For now, he dug his free hand into his pocket and pretended like you weren’t absolutely perfect.

Saying goodbye to the girl, you and Art resumed your walk back to the main building. “You know Abbey, right?”

“Her?”

“Yes, her,” you giggled. “Don’t tell her I told you this, but she keeps asking me about you. Your favourite colour, song, movie, all of it.” You explained, gesturing with your hands and leaning against him as you two walked. “She likes you.”

Art was only half-surprised. But was more surprised at you bringing it up. “Likes me how?”

“Exactly in the way you think,” you replied. “I’m always down to play wingwoman, but I did tell her all the wrong information.” Your smile turned into a bit of a cringe. Art liked that even in your full care and support, you were just a little evil. Plus, what harm was it really? Art was only seeing you. He couldn’t spend a second on anyone else. Seemed impossible. “She thinks you’re a huge fan of Green Day.” Art couldn’t help but grin.

“Yeah?” Art set down your things at a table in the cafeteria and the two of you got in line for food. “Playing interference?”

“Uh-huh,” you said, bowing so your head nudged his arm. The smile that pulled at your lips was one you appeared to want to suppress. A strand of your hair, wet, fell in your face and Art wasted no time moving it behind your ear. Your eyes met his as your smile broke into full action and your eyes fell back to the ground. Sometimes… just sometimes, he felt maybe you were worth ruining the friendship.

Your lower lip between your teeth, you grabbed a tray for him before you grabbed your own.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

Art finally made it over to Patrick, who looked decent. He shaved a bit, cleaned up just enough. Art thought about how strange it was to be back here with him after all this time. It almost felt right, was just missing you. “Hey, man.” Patrick said, reaching forward and locking hands with Art in a quick greeting.

“Hey,” Art replied. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too,” Patrick replied. “See anyone worth talking to?”

“Not really. Lydia Jennings has three kids now, in case you were looking forward to that,” he chuckled. “She doesn’t look bad though. I didn’t check for a ring either, so.”

Patrick chuckled, hands in the pockets of his dress pants, wearing virtually what was the grey version of Art’s outfit. “Not for me.” He said. “I actually- I ran into Y/N in the parking lot. I thought maybe you’d be looking for her tonight.” Patrick added. Art hated the way his stomach did a little flip as if he wasn’t a full-grown man with a failed marriage and a daughter.

“She came?”

“Yeah, she headed in here before me. She’s good, she hasn’t aged much, it’s weird. You know what they say about the way good people age…” He added. “She’s in purple, said we’d talk more later but she was excited to be here.”

Art swallowed hard, “I’ll keep an eye out. Thanks, man.”

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- past

When Patrick left early to hang out with Lydia Jennings, swearing he was going to ‘get some’, it left you and Art in the boy’s room. How they’d been bunkmates for six years running you had no idea, having been room with at least four different girls. Their room was decorated with sports posters, tennis awards and medals, and Star Wars memorabilia. You weren’t supposed to be there, but oh well. “You think purple is my colour?” You asked Art, going through the nail polish you had in your bag, buried under the bag of cheetos you brought over.

“Hm?” Art slid off his bed and onto the floor where you sat, your back to the edge of his mattress. “Yeah. The medium one, though. Not the dark one.” He said, pointing to the bottle he liked better. You shot a small smile his way before grabbing that one.

“I haven’t painted them in ages,” you said, doing a bit of a jazz hand really close to his face and then pressing your hand to his cheek. Annoying, or trying to be, but casual. Art scrunched his nose and batted your hand away, though he really didn’t want to. “So about Abbey.”

“Your friend?” Art adjusted the way he sat. His knee overlapped yours.

“Mhm,” you replied,beginning to paint your nails. “Did she end up talking to you after class yesterday?”

Art thought back to after class when he was on his way to his next class to meet up with you and Patrick. She had come up to him, but he almost immediately shut her down. “Was she supposed to?”

You smiled, “Yes. I told her to ask you about your favourite Star Trek episode.”

Art grinned, you were still playing interference. He wondered why. “I brushed her off… I didn’t think anything of it I was on my way out.” He grimaced a little and you looked up from your nails, trying not to laugh. “I don’t think I was too rude…”

“Where were you off to in such a hurry?”

“You- And Patrick.” He saved himself. “I had someplace to be! Plus, she’s not really my type.”

“And what is that type? Girls with purple fingernails, maybe?” You laughed- Art wondered what you meant by that because at this very moment there was nothing you said that had ever been more true. “Your future girlfriend is going to hate me.” You followed up. Art’s heart sunk just a little at that. You then mumbled something under your breath that Art didn’t catch.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

Art caught up a bit with Patrick, who was interested to hear that his daughter was just getting into tennis, but really liked ballet. Patrick himself had still not settled down, but he’d landed a good job adn was now making decent money, enough to find himself a good apartment. He talked about this girl he’d met at the mechanic and Art didn’t mind the tale of it all, but he did glance around every few minutes to see if maybe you’d be nearby or even come to speak to them. They way you’d left things he wondered if you’d say anything to him at all.

It’s not like you left things horribly… But he knew the way things went just weren’t ideal and that was the problem. It was the lack of grace in the process of losing touch.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- past

“Patrick held both envelopes up. “Saw these on the mail piles, grabbed them before mail day.” He said. You, who had been mindlessly playing with Art’s curls on the couch in the corner of the library, and Art, who was pink from just how intimate the feeling had been, both perked up. Patrick shot a look additional to the excited expression he wore and Art just flipped him off. “They’re yours.”

You and Art looked at each other, Art tilting his head back to do so. Both of you scrambled from where you sat to grab the envelopes Patrick held, huge grin on his face. “Stanford Tennis,” you breathed. Art pressed his lips together. “Acceptance letter?” You questioned. Patrick shrugged, but continued to grin.

Art shook his head, “Should we open them? I mean- same time? Or?”

“I feel sick,” you said, words overlapping his. “Oh my god.” You pressed your hand to your stomach. “I knew they’d be here soon but this is so… late. I was getting scared I wouldn’t get anything, we got something… We got something.”

“Yeah,” Art nodded, big crooked grin on his face. “Together?”

You swallowed, sitting back down, then standing right back up again. “No, you first.”

Patrick sat on the couch, ready to watch both of his friends excitement, arm up on the arm of the couch. “Hurry up!” He kicked Art in the back of the knee and Art didn’t even feel it, opening the big envelope. He narrowly avoided a paper cut. You paced a short distance, back and forth, back and forth anxiously. He unwrapped the papers, eyes scanning over the letter.

“Fuck yeah!” He exclaimed, all too loud for the library. He didn’t care though. “I’m in!”

You gasped and your grin was the first thing Art looked for. Your arms up and around his neck, so excited for him. “That’s amazing, I’m so so proud of you!” You exclaimed, also so loud. Art’s arms around your waist, squeezing you tight as you kissed his cheek enthusiastically. Patrick was there to clap him on the back, hugging Art when you let go. Art was glad for it- it helped hide how pink he went from just the kiss on the cheek. You were jumping up and down and you were beautiful and you were happy. It would be one of the last times Art saw you so happy.

“What about you?” He gestured to your envelope and you looked down at it like you’d forgotten you were holding it.

“I- I can’t, one of you has to do it,” you said. It was for sure. You’d met with the faculty there, the coaches, you were scouted two years ago when you weren’t even old enough to apply and the second you knew you loved tennis you knew Stanford was the best place for you. Patrick took your envelope for you, opening it as you nervously bit your lip, swaying into Art, letting your fingers intertwine with his just to have something to brace yourself. He squeezed your hand, smiling at his own acceptance, knowing that if anyone had it in the bag was you. But Patrick read it over and there wasn’t a grin- in fact the smile he did have fell just in the slightest. Art felt your hand squeeze his harder.

“What is it?” You asked. Art looked at Patrick, who then looked up at you with sorry eyes. “Patrick?”

“You’re- um-” he paused another moment and handed you the papers. “Waitlisted. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

Art watched your colour drain. The obvious bright light you brought by just entering a room dimmed as you read it yourself. Art could feel the slight tremor in your fingers, so he squeezed your hand as hard as he could, just so in the new wave of overwhelming sadness, you’d know he was still there. He felt guilty for celebrating so soon.

“I’m waitlisted.” You repeated, monotone. “And not even until next semester. Next year. And even then there’s no guarantee.”

Art didn’t wait another second, he used the hand he held to pull you in. You didn’t resist, you couldn’t, you felt limp as Art wrapped his arms around you. Patrick’s hand on your back for just a moment, but Art’s hand on the back of your head and the other running up and down your back. His crush on you was unaffected by this hug because he knew that you needed it more than anything. You were the one with the plans, you were the one who knew exactly how things would play out and Stanford was the first step on every path you’d imagined. Knowing you so long, both boys knew you were right to cry.

Art held you, standing, for as long as you needed- his arms around you stayed tight and didn’t waiver once in the thirty minutes you stayed there. He was quiet, Patrick was just cursing Stanford for being fucking stupid and though Art agreed with him on that, because who in their right minds would look at your grades and your tennis stats and say they didn’t want you? Who wouldn’t want you?

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

When Art saw you from across the room it felt like he was eighteen again. He’d anticipated feeling nostalgic for a time, but you were there and you were in purple, like Patrick said and he knew it was you from the smile you wore, reuniting with what looked to be a very-pregnant Abbey Campbell. Good for her, Art though, seeing past the bump and looking at you. Patrick was right- you’d aged like fine wine or whatever that saying was, but you were still youthful and you were still… bright.

“You should talk to her,” Patrick said, noticing where Art’s eyes had landed. As if he hadn’t been watching Art scan every five minutes during their conversation. “You haven’t seen her since…”

“September 2006,” Art replied, looking at Patrick.

“Have you kept in touch at all, or?”

“No.”

“Oh. Well fuck.”

“Yeah,” Art nodded, eyes not leaving you. You were different, older, for sure but not in ways noticeable. Many of the men in the room had grown into bigger bodies and were either unfortunately balding or had already gone bald for some. Mid-thirties you wouldn’t think it, but it was there. And you were there, looking youthful and bright and you were still one of the prettiest girls in the room. Women… in the room. He gestured to you, eyes not leaving you, scared to lose track of where you were. “I’m going to-”

“Good luck.” Patrick pat Art on the back to send him off and Art, drink in hand from his stop by the food table, walked over to you, ignoring everyone who wanted his attention this time.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- past

“You’re not telling her at graduation? You’re fucking joking.” Patrick said, shoving Art back onto his bed as the boys got dressed for one of their last classes at MRTA. “How fucking stupid are you, you can’t just not tell her.”

“I tell her and I ruin our friendship while I get to go to Stanford in the fall. I can’t do that to her.”

“You sound like a fucking idiot,” Patrick said.

“Okay, yeah, maybe, but even if I tell her and it goes well, we would only have the summer before I move all the way to fucking California. You’ll be on tour and this whole… thing would just be broken. And fucked up. I don’t want her for a summer, Patrick. I want her all the time, every day, like it was supposed to fucking be. I don’t want her for just a summer.” Art huffed, looking at his hands. The whole waitlisting bullshit threw a wrench in everything. Everything.

“You’d rather not have her at all?”

“I-” he flailed his hands around, “I don’t know! I don’t know how to tell her something like that and then move away.”

Patrick shrugged, “Could just kiss her.”

Art opened his mouth to speak and a knock on the door cut him off. Art pulled his shirt over his head as Patrick lunged to open it. It was you. Who else?

“You guys want to cut class?” You asked, arms folded over your chest, mouth pulled a little to the side, standing in your shorts and tank top, not dressed for class at all. Your hair was behind your ears, your lips just slightly glossy and you had that slight sparkle to your eyelids, but it was never too much. He would never get over just how beautiful you were, never ever. “I don’t feel like going today and I just want to do something fun or maybe even nothing?”

“That sounds great, but I actually was looking forward to doubles today…” Patrick groaned, putting a hand aside his head. Art knew him well enough to know Patrick was not looking forward to doubles. “But Art already has all his credits, I think he can stay. I’ll come back before dinner though?”

You nodded slightly and looked to Art, who still had his mouth a little open at the sudden position he was in. “Would you? I really don’t feel like going but I can just skip and meet you guys for dinner?”

Art nodded back at you, slowly. Patrick was playing wingman with expectations this time. ‘Could just kiss her,’ echoed around his head. He made eye contact with Patrick who, out of your line of sight, shot Art a telling look. He was giving Art a window. But skipping with you, being alone with you wouldn’t change the fact that when September came you’d be states away, alone, probably. The long distance would be hard and he knew he could maintain the friendship, but if he confessed and it went well, the long distance of a new relationship would probably kill him. And you. “Yeah, I’ll stay.” Art said.

When Patrick left for class, you came into their room and sat down on Art’s bed, next to him. You weren’t exactly yourself, the way you sat with your arms crossed and lacked that gorgeous smile Art looked forward to every day. You sat so close he could smell the sweetness of your perfume. “You okay?” he asked, looking at you with his head a little tilted, smiling gently.

“I can’t get the Stanford thing out of my head,” You admit. Art nodded. You’d been good about it. It upset you, he knew that it absolutely killed you, but you didn’t talk about it much- for Art’s sake, not wanting to depress him and Patrick with your delayed dream. “I know it’s stupid, I’m only waitlisted a year, but it was supposed to be different. They said I was a shoo-in, how could they say that and not mean it?” You vented. Art heard every word.

“They’re missing out for sure.” He said, hand sliding over your knee to rest just above it. “And Patrick is right- they’re fucked in the head and you deserved that place in the program more than anyone else.”

“Even if I deserved it, even if they’re fucked in the head, I’m still not going and that’s whats killing me.” You said, looking at him with sad eyes. He missed when they were full of light and happiness. “You know, it was supposed to be us. And now it’s not and I don’t know what I’m going to do without you- And Patrick.” Was Art mishearing or was there a pause? And us? Us. “I just feel so stupid and I’m suddenly so lost? I knew exactly what was coming and then it just stopped coming. And I’m terrified that I’m going to lose you both when we all go separate ways.”

“Couldn’t lose me.” Art said, eyes locked on yours. “I might be in California, but I have a phone. And it has a ringer and we have email and facebook and I don’t think I’d even know how to go a day without talking to you, so you know if you didn’t call, I would.” He said, admitting a little too much. “Patrick too, I bet.”

“I love that,” you smiled just a bit. “I just… I was so ready for things to change, but now I’m not. Even if I call you a hundred times in a day, would it feel the same?”

Art looked at the hand he had on your leg, at his thumb as it moved back and forth over your skin. “Probably not… But it would be the best thing until you come and visit. Or when I come home on holiday. It would just be to fill the spaces between, you know that the distance would mean nothing once we’re all together again.”

You looked down. “I know. I just don’t want it.” You sighed, leaning your head against Art’s shoulder. Art could smell your shampoo, it was soft and just as sweet as your perfume. “I’d just... I hate the idea of having to miss you. Distance fucking sucks.” You added. He agreed. Distance would suck. But right now you were here, next to him. He wouldn’t kiss you, he knew that. Not now.

But he turned his body just slightly and wrapped his arms around you, your head moving to just under his chin, resting against his chest. And he held you tight, he always would. And he didn’t resist his other urge, slowly tilting himself back so that he was laying down. You didn’t protest, you just held onto him tighter, laying next to him. Like most things between you two, they went unspoken. You in his arms, in his bed, god it was so telling but you didn’t say a thing. And neither did Art, aside from, “I don’t want it either.”

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

You didn’t seem to notice when he approached. You were heavily invested in your conversation with your friend, laughing and gesturing and you were even more beautiful up close. He could admit it to himself, he was amazed by how well-preserved you’d been. He maybe was expecting a bit of a grey streak, he remembered your mom being fully grey when you were only a teenager, but your hair was perfect. He was just a little bit to the side, in Abbey’s line of sight and she saw Art first, she looked happy to see him, he noted. Too happy for someone with a baby on the way. She put her hands up in the air like she meant anything to him and you looked over at him, seeing what Abbey was so delighted to see and for the first time in fifteen years, you locked eyes with Art.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- interlude

Art remembered the last time you looked at him. Confused eyes, sad ones, the ones he hated seeing, the ones he knew he caused. It wasn’t supposed to be the way it was. Your best friend felt like he just… wasn’t that anymore. Missed texts to missed calls after promises of hundreds in a day felt like lack of care. And it wasn’t on your end. When Art missed your calls, you stopped looking at your phone so much and you missed his. You visited him twice at Stanford, within the first few months and it was the same but he was so busy. So distracted, it seemed. You met Patrick’s girlfriend, Tashi Duncan and the only thought in your mind was that she looked at Art strangely. So when things unravelled, you asked him things and he answered honestly, leaving out the part that he knew went against his character. He was looking at you, thinking about how he should have kissed you at the airport before going to California but he was looking at a girl who wouldn’t kiss him. Not anymore.

And he missed you like he missed no one- when you stopped responding to his emails and Facebook posts. Your last post was October 4th, 2006, and it was a picture of you at a coffee shop you were beautiful, but Art was so lost on the guy next to you. He should have kissed you at that airport but he was tangled in this mess of Tashi who he had admittedly used to try and not miss you so much when you posted with one of your new guy friends, who you did not like romantically. But Art didn’t know that. He didn’t know how badly it hurt when you traveled to California to find him completely happy and distracted in a new life with new friends and forget that you were coming to visit. That hurt. He should have kissed you at the airport when he could before all of these things crashed and collided and brought you down. He was at fault, but you forgave him, you just didn’t speak again.

Patrick said it was fine, you’d come around. Art’s mom told him that you called to check in on her, but that growing apart does happen. He would ask himself how in the world did he end up growing apart from you. You of all people, but admittedly it was his own fault. These things just happen, distance ruins things.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

But there wasn’t much distance now. You were standing in front of him. Your expression didn’t change- it was a gentle smile upon laying eyes on him. Abbey asked him how he was and just like years ago, he brushed her off with a ‘would you excuse me?’ and passed her, sheepishly walking over to you.

“Hi, Art,” you said, head slightly tilted, lips pulled into that smile he hadn’t seen in years. Art felt shy around it, he hated that, but he was happy to see it. And you.

“Hi,” he replied.

You gestured to Abbey, “Reminds me of something.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” he replied with a small chuckle. “I-um… How are you?”

“I’m doing okay,” you nodded. Art found himself glancing for a ring on your finger or maybe a baby bump he missed, but nothing. You were doing okay. “Oh, no ring.” You said, holding up your hand. “Wasn’t so lucky. How are you?”

He shook his head, still a little dazed that you were here in front of him, talking to him like you hadn’t gone fifteen years without doing so. “Not so bad.”

“That implies that there’s some bad,” you nodded, leaning against the wall. Your dress reminded him of another you’d worn. “Not so bad?”

“I’m okay…” He said. “Just… I didn’t think I’d see you tonight.” As if he hadn’t spent every moment since RSVP-ing thinking about seeing you again. Finally seeing you again.

“Oh,” you nodded, understanding. “No, I get that. I didn’t think you’d come. Thought maybe you were busy winning some grand slam, too far ahead than the rest of us. It was a good win, your last big game in Chicago.”

“You kept up,”

“I couldn’t not. I’m not me if not nosey and that aside, your name all over everything tennis-related- billboards, even. You and Tashi.”

“You must have heard about the separation, then?”

“On the tennis new channel, surprisingly. Fuck them for making that public, and I am sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He replied, eyes not leaving yours. “It just wasn’t working out. She cheated.” He admitted, which he hated. Something about your eyes was a well-working trap for him to fall back into the exact boy he used to be in your presence. He wanted to tell you everything, he forgot what it felt like to be around you. But you weren’t different at all. You were still that same warm, caring girl you used to be.

“Art, I’m so sorry, that’s terrible. Nobody deserves that.” You said, eyes soft. Beautiful.

“It’s in the past.” He nodded again, looking at the ground. They hadn’t changed the gym floors since you’d left, he noted. They were the same. “Thank you, though. I actually, um, I have a daughter, though.”

“Lily,” you smiled. “I’m nosey, I told you. Is she much like you?”

“I think so.” He smiled back. You knew his daughter’s name and you knew about the divorce yet he had no idea what you’d been up to. “So, are you… working, are you…”

“I am.” You nodded. “I teach children with special needs how to play tennis, it’s a great job. Lots of fundraisers and events. It’s really lovely.” Art remembered when you were younger. You’d mentioned something of the sort- doing that. He couldn’t help but wonder if you had joined a company or made one. But he wouldn’t ask, the small talk was already killing him. “About your daughter though, I’d love to know more.”

He wanted to know more about you but he liked to talk about Lily and her hobbies and habits. It felt good to talk to you again as you engaged with him as if fifteen years was three months. It was strange, but the feeling of being around you and your light again, it was easy to brush it all off. Like he was eighteen and you were an addictive happiness. You were smiling as he spoke about his daughter. You were smiling so much that he had to stop at one point, unable to hide his own smile. “What?”

Your eyes went a little wide, but you kept smiling, shaking your head. “Oh, nothing. I just… I always knew you’d be a girl dad. And you seem like a good one.”

“Always knew?”

“Oh yeah, I think I first thought about it in grade ten… A girl knows these things.” You said. Your body language changed slightly, you tilted your head to the door. “Hm- Do you still smoke?”

“Do you?”

“When I need to.” You said. “It’s not a habit, it’s an occasional thing. Come with me?”

Art was surprised by the offer. But how could anyone say no to you? He nodded and followed you out. You stopped outside your car, a decent distance away from the building and hopped on the trunk, sitting like you would so many years ago. Your car was nice, so you must make good money, he noted.

“How are you really?” You asked Art, eyes genuine as you lit the cigarette. Art, focused on you, didn’t know how to answer that. He was wondering how you weren’t someone’s wife or mother because even after all these years, he couldn’t find flaw in you. Not one. You were still sweet and kind and lovely and you looked amazing, so how did nobody find you and keep you? You asked him how he really was as if you still saw through him. “You’re really doing okay?”

Art took the cigarette as you passed it to him. “I’m okay. It wasn’t easy- any of it, but it happened and it’s in the past.”

“That’s good.” You said, watching him take a drag. The soft wind blew your hair around your face. “I am sorry about what happened, it sounds awful. I had to check in, really check in. But that aside, you’ve really made a name for yourself out there. Big games, high stakes and a good reputation.”

Art nodded, eyes on the ground as he inhaled again and passed the cigarette back. Something about being here with you was surreal. You’d kept up and he had no way to do the same. “Thank you. I planned on retiring three years ago, but second wind came around. I plan on retiring next year, thinking about starting to coach.”

“You’d be a good coach,” you nodded, smoke blowing out from between your perfect lips.

“Maybe…” He started. Silence.

You nodded, “You’re thinking about the elephant in the… parking lot.” You said, looking around.

“I might be,” he replied, straightening himself out. “It’s been fifteen years and you’ve not said a word to me since… And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it. I’ve had a lot of time to.” Art rolled up his sleeves. You watched. “Fifteen years.”

“I know,” you replied, quiet. “But you have had an amazing career and you married the girl I was so worried about, had a daughter. Your life has been exactly what you wanted, that’s amazing. Could it have been the same with me in it?” Art wished it was you in it. “So I let time be time and do it’s thing, I know it’s been fifteen years.”

Art shook his head, “It couldn’t have been a space thing. Maybe I needed the space, but it was bound to exist anyway. We were best friends, you, me, Patrick- and Stanford changed things but you didn’t have to walk away. My life has been my life but it’s not that way because you walked away.”

You chuckled, “I know that. And I am beyond proud of you either way, but me, eighteen years old and in love with you? Showing up after a month of planning and you forgot I was even coming? Just about broke me. And of course, there was Tashi and-” You had more to say but Art felt all of his thoughts come to a halt. His fingers felt cold. He interrupted you-

“In love with me? You were in love with me?”

You laughed, so genuine, the sound was something he had missed sorely. “That’s even a question? Oh, I was so young, but I was very much in love with you. Patrick would never let me forget it. I had such a crush on you. You… you didn’t know?” You covered your mouth as you laughed, but Art felt a little bit frozen, but it was easy to laugh with you.

“I didn’t know, no.”

“So the fifteen years is because after you broke my little eighteen-year-old heart, I took the time to recover and I just… never did.” You admit, handing him back the cigarette, which he took without looking at. He was only seeing you. Part of him was kicking himself hard, angry that he hadn’t confessed when he had planned, knowing now, so many fucking years later than if he had said what he wanted to, he might have had you. There were the complications, but if he had you, there wouldn’t have been a Tashi situation. And in his mind he watched the possibilities unravel his life as he knew it- knowing that it could have been you. It could have been you. “As sorry as I am about it, I don’t regret it. You have an amazing-sounding daughter and the life that you and I used to talk about, going pro… And I have a job that I only got through staying on this side of things. If I was in California, I wouldn’t have met the sweet lady who started the company I own now.”

He hated that you were right. But he hated it more that he could have had everything he really wanted- the things you and him talked about- and it could have been with you. A house, a marriage, a child? The things he really wanted. He couldn’t bring himself to feel regret, but it was something close to the feeling. “I understand. I just- you liked me? Patrick knew?” His whole adult demeanour was destroyed by your youthful smile.

“He would play wingman,” you said. “It was awful, but it was still fun. And I think I should tell you, though it feels wrong, that I missed you. And I am sorry I didn’t reach out. It was too much.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he nodded back. “I missed you too. A lot. It took a while to get over what happened, but it’s been good…”

“I’m glad,” you replied. The cigarette was almost at it’s end. And for a while you just stared at each other. The words unsaid filled the air until it was almost suffocating. He could have had you. If he had said something. If he’d kissed you at the airport. Tashi might have been Patrick’s. Art hated to think about a world without his daughter but it was you. It was always going to be you no matter how many years passed. “I hate to ask this for the sake of my phrasing, but… no hard feelings?”

Art smiled down at his feet, hands back in his pockets, “No, no hard feelings.” He replied. “And for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you too.”

You smiled that beautiful smile, the wind blowing your hair a little more. There was something so painting-like about this moment. It could be frozen in time, he wished it could be, and he made a mental note to engrave this image of you in his mind. You were just as gorgeous as the day you left and sure, it hurt to think about a little bit, especially all of the ‘what if’s, but you were here now. And there were no hard feelings. How could he ever have any toward you? It was you.

“You want to head back in?” You asked, digging a foldable toothbrush out of your purse along with a tiny tube of toothpaste.You truly not changed much in your ways. Art wondered if you remembered the last time you’d brought a little toothbrush and toothpaste out. He dug in his own pocket and pulled out his pack of mint gum. He noticed the way your eyes widened at the parallel. But then you just grinned, starting to laugh as you half-brushed your teeth, half giggled. Art chuckled too, popping a piece in his mouth. And the laughter lasted a while. It was like you were the same giddy teenagers who wouldn’t tell each other their biggest secret. But eventually it died down and you headed back inside.

The moment you were inside, he noticed the song playing. So did you. You stood there for a moment, not looking at anyone but him. The Cranberries playing loud over dusty speakers. The only Cranberries song you ever liked, Art remembered. You couldn’t stand the voice cracks in the one about zombies… He was a little confused when you held your hand out, but when you smiled, he remembered. In the spirit of parallels, you were asking him to dance. He remembered the promise he made you, he wouldn’t forget it. He had pinkie promised and you swore to make him regret it, but he never got the chance to. You never gave him a real reason to.

“You pinkie promised.” You said, tilting your head just in the slightest. “You swore.” You said it a little sing song. Fifteen years forgotten- they didn’t exist. You were here and you were asking him to dance with you.

“I did,” he said, smiling, hands still in his pockets. And he did take your hand and with a youthful giggle, you pulled him to the dance floor. It was one of those songs where you could scream the lyrics, you could spin and you could maybe even jump, but you just stayed close. Art wasn’t sure what exactly to do, but it was okay. You led at first, swaying just a little to get him into it. He grinned, unable to stop it. Fifteen years felt like seconds, like you never even left. Like you were those same young best friends dancing around your feelings, your truth. And you were so beautiful, spinning and swaying and your dress following you as you did. You laughed and it was melodious, you were so unaware of the eyes on you, of Patrick’s eyes. They met Art’s from across the room and a knowing smile spread up his old friend’s face. He raised his drink in their direction and Art nodded back.

Time might have made Art a little bit harder, colder, but you made him right back into who he used to be before life existed. Your light was brighter than the strobes spinning the walls of the room. You got him into it with a nearly-sixteen-year-old promise. The music loud, but just dull enough to hear you. Art was drawn back into you like you were a magnet. It didn’t matter that he didn’t have you. That he didn’t get that life with you. But you were here and you were still so perfect.

The dancing had somehow melted itself into something slower, though the pace of the song didn’t change. It was almost a hug, the way his hand slipped around your waist. It felt familiar and you… smelled the same way you used to. So sweet. Your arms around his neck, close to him. It wasn’t even a thought in either one of your brains that you ended up this way, but it felt right and you just did it, so that’s how you were. Swaying, like a slow dance, and the end of the song rolled around, the music dulling to only an instrumental.

You pulled away just a little, your faces just a little bit close. “I think it’s best we went our separate ways. It would have killed to me to stay your friend and watch you and Tashi’s life in person rather than in pictures.” You said quietly. “And if I’m honest I think I might still be a little bit in love with you.”

Art met your eyes at your confession. You looked like you regret what you said, but the concern in your eyes changed, eased. You could still read his expression. “I did love you too, you know.”

“I know.” You smiled. He grinned a little sheepishly, his grin still the same. His eyes were soft and he looked at you like he always did. Such a familiar gaze. “And I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“For still feeling the way I do. After what I did.”

“You’re not alone in it.” He admit with a small chuckle. And you giggled. And it felt like nothing else existed in the entire universe. Just you. Just him. He wasn’t blunt, but it was definitely still said. It really could ever only be you, no matter what. Even with Tashi, it was always you. A first love that could never truly be erased, despite the countless mistakes and sins of youth. It hadn’t worked, but looking at you now, he had that hope again. That it might.

You just continued to sway to the music. The promise to dance whenever you asked fulfilled. There was peace in saying what was left unsaid for so many years. There was peace in feeling it still. Feeling how he did about you was the most consistent thing in his entire life. He wasn’t who he had to be with Tashi, he was who he truly was with you. His big career in hindsight, his past with Tashi, his life that didn’t include you was behind him.

Patrick did wander over when the song ended. He came and stood beside you both, the lip of his bottle resting against his mouth. You and Art shared a look before you left the position you were in, hands slipping back to your sides. He was grinning a sly grin. A familiar one from back in the day. Knowing.

You just tsked, “You need to shave.” You said. Patrick just grinned, laughed.

“You too.”

“Really?” You laughed. “Okay, I see how it is.”

Art chuckled. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss this. As much as he wanted just you and him, the three of you together were something entirely different. Who wouldn’t miss the better days? The three of you got a little more caught up, Patrick was free to reveal his position as a double agent in your teenaged slowburn that never really fizzled out… You and Art didn’t mention anything said during that dance, but he knew without being told. Everyone who knew you both knew that you belonged together. The night was still young, but Patrick lowered his voice. “I have an ounce in the car.” He said, shrugging. The three of you shared a look and in minutes the three of you were hiking across the schoolyard. Adults. Stupid adults with stupid nostalgia, laughter echoing across the empty courts as you all walked down the hill.

Art moved the dead leaves and under it was still that circle of rocks. The dirt had somewhat filled it, but it was still a bit of a divot. And the logs had thinned out but they were still there. You sat next to Art like you always would. You turned your body to face him and you just looked at him, studying the way his face had changed, his hair… but it was still very much so the boy you’d loved years ago. He looked over at you and he smiled and it was a reflection of so many years ago. The exact same spots, the exact same people, the same reason to sneak away.

You had hoped you hadn’t overstepped. You didn’t come to the reunion to say what you said, but it was right. And you knew Art felt the same. He said so. The three of you stayed and talked for hours like nothing ever changed. Time could never truly change the three of you. No matter who fucked who, who married who, who went where, who did what. It was always you. It would always be you. And that aside- you and Artwould figure that out- it would always be the three of you. Proven by your very own lives.

taglist: @swetearss @lalalandofive @xoxog0ssipg1rl @bayleequits @reallycreativeusername @kaaaiiaaa

[kikidoesfanfic]

Run away with me

For the prompt 'go, see if I care' for @steddieangstyaugust some misunderstandings and making up, feat. Wayne Munson, local voice of reason/mediator.

ON AO3

-----

It was regular Thursday when Eddie got the news that Corroded Coffin had been picked up by a producer. And Steve was excited for him, over the moon even, but it's only been three days since then and everything's changed.

He's still happy for Eddie, he is, he just assumed... well he shouldn't have assumed, is the thing.

They'd been packing, ready to move into an apartment they'd found in Indie, Robin getting ready for her first year of college with Steve and Eddie trailing behind. They were looking to get out of town anyway, wanted to stay close enough for the kids, but to still be out, and they were days away from leaving. Pivoting to Chicago wasn't that much work, they hadn't signed for the apartment yet, and Robin understood. Robin pushed him to go in fact, she'd be in a dorm room for the first year, and 'Chicago is barely a three hour drive away Dingus so you both better visit'.

He thought- it doesn't matter what he thought, apparently.

"And anyway the only place we could find on such short notice only has two bedrooms, so I'm bunking with Jeff." Steve pauses, marker in hand hovering above cardboard where he'd been about to label their kitchen things, a mismash of items donated by their little Upside Down family. "But, the walk to the studio is really short, and there's a lot of bars and venues really close to the apartment, and it has a parking space, so it could be worse."

"Wait go back, you're bunking with Jeff?"

"Well yeah, Gareth snores like a chainsaw and Frank sleeps like a log, so it makes sense to stick them in the same room so Jeff and I don't lose our minds." Eddie is a picture of nonchalance, not even looking at Steve.

"Right," Steve says, capping the marker, "because that makes sense."

"Yeah, and Jeff's parents have given him a little cash for furniture and stuff, and Gareth's mom wants to drive up with a moving van since mine will be full of all the band stuff and mine." Eddie says, and he's so happy, and Steve wants him to be happy, he does, so instead of voicing any of the questions he feels practically clogging up his lungs he says:

"Sounds like you have it all figured out."

And Eddie smiles big and bright and seemingly oblivious to anything Steve is thinking, perhaps hadn't given Steve a second thought at all when faced with his dream job. He uncaps the marker again, starts writing kitchen in big wobbly letters when his stupid hand won't cooperate and keep still.

"Oh hey can we have some of the kitchen stuff? I don't want to make the boys get everything for the new place, you know?" Eddie says, offhanded and flicking the cardboard flap on his way past to the couch, flopping down on it in the picture of ease.

"Sure, do what you want," Steve says, and he can hear how tight his voice has gotten, Eddie must be able to as well because he sits up from his lazy sprawl on the couch to look at him closer. Steve doesn't want to be looked at closer. He needs to get out for a while, go calm down so he can come back and be a supportive... is he even Eddie's boyfriend any more? Just a friend? Eddie sure as hell hasn't mentioned even visiting after apparently deciding he's leaving Steve behind, so maybe this is his way of getting a clean break. "I need to..."

Where was he even going to go? He's been living in the trailer with Eddie and Wayne since just after Eddie graduated, all his stuff is either here or in boxes in the Henderson's garage waiting to be driven to fucking Chicago.

"I have some stuff to drop at Robin's, I'll be back later." Steve walks out, gets in his car and drives away before Eddie can question that Robin isn't even home right now, off with her parents at her aunt's place for a last big family dinner before she leaves.

He doesn't know where to go. It's not like he can take this to any of the kids, Robin isn't here, maybe he should just get some of his boxes from the Henderson's and drive up to Indie alone like Eddie was going to just drive off alone to Chicago. But that's stupid, because even if he did drive up to Indie, signed for the apartment, moved his boxes in, it's not like he could afford the place alone.

Which just. Did Eddie even think of him at all? He knew they could only afford the place together, didn't even ask if Steve found a new place or, or if Steve had any plans.

Steve pulls over when the road gets fuzzy and he realises he's crying.

***

"Where were you?" Eddie asks as soon as he's back through the door.

"I went for a drive"

"Why?" Eddie asks, and Steve can't look at him.

"I needed to think"

"And you couldn't do that here?"

"No."

"No?"

"No." A pregnant pause follows, where Eddie just stares at him.

"Is this about Chicago?" Eddie says and something in Steve just. Snaps.

"Fuck Eddie, of course it's about Chicago!"

"Well sorry if that wasn't the first thing to come to mind, I thought you were happy for me!" Eddie says, immediately matching his energy.

"I was. Am."

"You said was. What changed then?"

"Just, did you consider me at all? Even a little bit?" And it hurts to ask, because Steve desperately wants the answer to be yes, but with all the evidence in front of him...

"Of course I did, but this is my dream Steve, for me and the guys, this is our big break." And that's- Steve can be okay with that, he wants Eddie to achieve his dreams, that was never in question, but.

"What did you think I was going to do, then? You haven't even asked." It comes out more wounded than Steve wants it to.

"I asked if you could take care of the apartment and you said yes!" Eddie sounds exasperated, looks it too when Steve meets his eye instead of some vague point over his shoulder.

"Yeah because I thought you meant- you know what fuck this, I can't do this."

"Can't do what?"

"This," he gestures between them, "the fighting, because you don't care, and I'm done sticking around where I'm not wanted."

"Oh my god Steve nobody said you were unwanted. Just because I didn't turn down the opportunity of a lifetime for a relationship that hasn't even made it to a full year? What exactly is there to think about?"

"You know what, Eddie? Screw you, go, see if I care!" Steve wrenches open the trailer door hell bent on getting the fuck out of there before he embarrasses himself any more than he already has, but his path is short lived.

"What is all the yellin?" Wayne says, stepping into the doorway and effectively blocking Steve's exit. "I can hear the two of you goin at it from the drive."

"Oh it's nothing Wayne, Steve's apparently been lying about being happy for me, about going to Chicago." Eddie chirps, and Steve rounds on him, angrily swiping the tears off his face because no. He's not making this Steve's fault.

"That is not what I said."

"You may as well have!" Eddie shouts, and Steve is about ready to shove past Wayne manners be damned because he wants to be anywhere but here right now.

"Alright, that's enough, the both of you. Sit." He puts a hand on Steve's shoulder, pushes him toward one of the dining chairs and points at the couch until Eddie sits back down. There's a loaded silence while Wayne scratches at his chin, thinking.

"You've been excited about Chicago all week, even when Eddie wasn't here to see it, what changed?"

"Found out today I have no reason to be." Steve says, and he knows he's being stubborn but god if he isn't feeling like he has the right to.

"Oh except for your boyfriend living his dream or doesn't that matter? I-"

"Edward Munson you get your ass back in that seat and your mouth buttoned." Eddie wisely sits.

"Why've you got no reason to be?" Wayne asks Steve

"Because Eddie is going to Chicago." Wayne nods but it's slow, eyes narrowing.

"Gonna need a bit more there, son." It's the 'son' that does it, makes Steve's lip quiver before he gets control of the traitorous thing.

"Eddie's going to Chicago, he asked for some of the kitchen things, he's sharing a room with Jeff and an apartment with the guys."

"Ah. An' where are you supposed to sleep?"

"Indie. Apparently."

"But I didn't-" all it takes for Eddie to cut himself off is Wayne holding up a hand.

"You'll get your turn in a minute, kid," Wayne says, placating. "Now, did you not talk about Chicago?"

"He asked me to take care of the apartment, I thought he meant talk to the landlord and tell them we weren't coming. He knows I couldn't afford the place alone, he heard Robin say we both better visit, he just. He didn't even consider me going with him and that's worse. He didn't ask what I was gonna do even thinking I wasn't going, didn't even think... he just said that he doesn't need to think about a relationship that hasn't made it to a year when he's making decisions." He breathes out a hastily measured breath, "so what am I even doing here? Take the kitchen stuff Eddie, take all of it for all I care I'm-"

"Okay, alright, let's simmer down." Steve nods, resigned, and slumps back in the dining chair. "Ed, you wanna tell me what's goin on?"

"How was I supposed to know he'd want to come to Chicago? He never said anything-

"Because I'm your bo-"

"Hey now, he let you speak, you let him speak." Steve huffs out another sigh but doesn't interrupt again, his arms come up to cross over his chest, instead ending up somewhere around hugging himself.

"He never said anything about coming with me, how was I supposed to know he wanted to? Robin is in Indianapolis." He runs a hand through his hair, looks over at Steve, "was I supposed to just assume you were coming with me?"

Wayne gestures at Steve and then steps off into the kitchen, grabbing down mugs and setting up the coffee machine, leaving them to it.

"Considering you knew I was going to stay in Hawkins if you did, in the first place? Yeah Eddie, kinda thought you would."

"Well... I didn't think of that."

"Yeah. There's a lot you didn't think of. Look, it's fine, and I am happy for you. I just thought when you saw your future with your dream career and whatever I was still in it."

"You are, of course I want you to come with me!" Eddie says, standing and taking a few steps closer.

"Then why didn't you say that? Plan for it at all?" Steve throws back with a burst of movement as he gets to his feet as well.

"I thought you WANTED to stay with ROBIN!"

"Well I WANTED to stay with YOU!"

"GOOD, THEN DO IT!"

"MAYBE I WILL!" Their chests are heaving as they both stand across from each other, table still between them, Eddie's eyes dart down to Steve's lips, so Steve wets them with a quick swipe of his tongue.

"I'm gonna go ahead an' guess you don't need me anymore, so I'm gonna take a shower. You kids get all your business out while I'm in there."

"Yessir," Eddie says with a salute, not taking heated eyes off of Steve.

They still need to talk, but after feeling pretty insecure about their relationship Steve isn't going to say no to a little physical reassurance, lets Eddie pull him closer by the hands.

But instead Eddie surprises him, a quick peck to the lips is all he gets before their foreheads are resting together, hands swinging back and forth either side of them.

"I'm sorry, we should have talked about it, I was just worried that you wouldn't want to come and didn't want to hear you say it. Or worse for you to come and then resent me for it. It won't happen again." Eddie's big bambi eyes are wide and imploring, close to Steve as he is, and it's really rather unfair. "And I'm sorry about what I said, I was just..."

"Defensive," Steve supplies.

"Yeah, that. I... panicked. A little. You're pretty much all I think about Stevie." Steve kisses him for that, has to, really, before pulling back.

"I'm sorry too, I shouldn't have assumed you'd know I would go with you, I'll say it with words next time. Right away."

"So you'll come? It'll be a bit cramped until we can find our own place, you'll have to share with me and the guys."

"Of course I still want to come, if you want me to?"

"I just asked if you wou-"

"Sorry, sorry, I'm just being," Steve shakes their hands where they're still joined at their sides.

"Steve, come with me to Chicago, run away with me, please?"

"I'd come with you anywhere," Steve says, sincere, and Eddie's face contorts and smooths a few times. Steve sighs for what feels like the hundredth time today but at least this time it's more fond, "Eddie."

"Oh come on, you walked right into that one, you'll come with me anywhere?" He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

"Anywhere except for in a room shared with Jeff, yeah." Steve kisses him on the tip of his nose, pulling away to go pour their coffee.

"Hey wait, no, I think we need our own room actually. Who's Jeff? A band? What's a guitar?" As Eddie continues, his laments getting more and more ridiculous while he drapes himself over the kitchen counter, Steve brings up his mug to hide his smile.

Yeah sometimes he and Eddie are idiots about this stuff, but it's okay with him as long as they're idiots in it together.

[cheritzteam]

[Mystic Messenger] May 2024 Event Announcement

Hello, it’s Cheritz.

Almost half a year has already passed.

As always, spring is short, and some people are probably worried about the upcoming summer heat, right?

However, let’s worry about that later! 

Now is the time to enjoy the fresh and green spring to the fullest. 🌿

The members have decided to make some time to go on a vacation together!

It is said that they seriously(?) thought about where to go.

Among the numerous options, where is the final destination they picked?

It is the amusement park that Yoosung★ strongly insisted on!

It was reported that this season's amusement park was also operating a horror-themed haunted house in preparation for summer, so some members became curious and voted for the amusement park… 🧐

It's been a long time since we all spent a holiday together, and some of the members who shouted, "Let's stay at home on our days off!" are said to be secretly looking forward to it.

Then please check below for more details~😉

< ① May Event >

The members ended up going to the amusement park due to Yoosung’s★ suggestion of trying to play like children to celebrate Children’s Day!

It feels a bit hectic in the bustling atmosphere, but why do they feel excited, whether it's because of the sunny weather or the people they’re with …?

Opinions are already starting to diverge between let's prepare a lunch box vs. let's just go and buy it since it's too much of a hassle. Jaehee, who mediates in the middle, is said to just be sighing.

Headbands are an essential part of amusement parks, and we’re looking forward to seeing what each member chooses.

Also, there will be a repost event on May 5th Children’s Day on X 

To the people that reposted we will be giving out 50 hourglasses​⌛ through a raffle♥ (15 participants)

There’s more! There is a discount event on goods that are perfect for outings.

For those of you who were hesitant to purchase, please★ take advantage of this opportunity!

Cheritz Market Discount Period : May 3rd(Fri) 2pm ~ May 10th(Fri) 2pm 

< ② In-Game Login Event >

If you log into the game during the event period below, you can check out the May Title Image! Enjoy the game with the May title image.

Also, Don’t miss out on the surprise login reward that came with the spring breeze!

Title Image Period : May 3rd(Fri) ~ May 16th(Thurs)

Children’s Day Celebration Login Reward : May 4th(Sat) ~ May 7th(Tues)

Did you receive the May event news we prepared?

We would like to bow our heads in gratitude in advance to the Coordinators who will participate in the May Event.

We hope you have a happy May filled with the scent of spring, Coordinator!

Thank you!

Sincerely, Cheritz

[glitterincandles]

smiling friends playing minecraft ; ☆

glep

is the one who thought of the idea in the first place #socialmediamanager

brought it up to mr. boss as a "team bonding activity" LOL

in charge of their minecraft server and mediates any conflict that happens within it

the ultimate gamer actually a gamer GOD

is in the game 24/7, they never stop the grind

definitely the first one to find diamonds

yo glep the typa guy to have his whole house and storage decked out by the first day

has an automatic farm for everything (cobblestone, iron, gunpowder, slime, etc) like u name it they have it for some reason

he doesn't let everyone use them for free though

he makes the others "pay" (read: do something embarrassing, run an errand for him, give him iron or something) to get access to any of his automatic farms of their choosing for a whole day

they can negotiate w them tho

like if one of them comes up to him and they have something that he doesn't find valuable then they DO have a chance to convince him of its value but otherwise it won't work lol

in fact he'll be quite offended

like u think that red dye is enough to get access to my automatic iron farm?! HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA

undeniably the most powerful person in the server

his minecraft skin is definitely either one of those meme skins with an oddly realistic face on the torso or a skin that looks like some sort of lizard dragon monster thing

mr. boss

honestly barely knew what minecraft was before glep brought it up

he did assume it was some kind of game when he hears the word

like any other video game, he had to be introduced to it by the ppl around him

despite him approving of the game, he's barely ever joins the server

^^^^ he's more into rhythm games and fps

has no clue whats going on in the server tbh

he just gets bits and pieces based off of what others say to him or around him

because of that he tries to join the server more often but he really really can't get ahold of minecraft in general bc he gets bored very easily and needs outside stimuli

is the type to log into a server he hasn't touched in a hot second and be upset that everyone else is so far ahead

he always spawns in the middle of nowhere every time bc he hasn't made or slept in a bed yet

^^^ because he usually leaves the server within 5 minutes which isn't long enough for the day-night minecraft cycle to commence (minecraft days are 10 minutes long)

when he logs on while its nighttime in the server he literally BREAKS into allan's house (much to his dismay) and forgets to patch any hole he left in his walls or windows

he hits/kills everyone else in minecraft for fun

literally just logs in to cause chaos then leave

^^^ everyone is thankful that he doesn't have access to tnt yet

definitely uses the alex minecraft skin

allan red

he took a while to accept that they have a minecraft world together

he found it kinda obnoxious (he joined the server anyway)

determined to have the best house in the game

if he had to take any role, he would be the builder

the first thing he did when he logged in was start building a house... like wood enters his inventory, he just makes a fuckin axe then uses the rest of the wood to build his house ;w;

he's actually pretty good at it since he already is very detail-oriented and shit so he can definitely make a fire house

when it comes to mining or combat tho he's so shit

^^^ glep helps in this aspect LOL

only went to the nether for glowstone and it pissed charlie off once

bc theyre already pretty close, glep is more lenient on him and is usually on his side when it comes to any conflict that occurs in the server

not only does he put a lot of effort into his houses, he also puts a lot of effort into the outside of his houses

he just be building shit

built a whole mansion for his minecraft dog once (just bc)

every time he dies in minecraft he's like "ok that means its time for me to log off"

surprisingly has a very healthy balance of play time. he plays just enough to get very far in the game and keep up with everything and ALSO keep his real life stabilized and normal

he has a creative minecraft world outside of the server that he tries redstone in to get lights in his normal minecraft house to work without it looking too bulky and ugly

^^^ he also uses it to make booby traps for anyone entering his house without permission

^^^^ they never fucking work on mr. boss

he made his minecraft skin himself and its just him if he were yassified

charlie dompler

oh god fucking finally was probably what ran through his mind when he heard the news

he probably joked about it once to pim and was surprised that it actually came true

this guy is second to glep when it comes to gaming

like srsly bro probably has a gaming setup and/or is saving up for one

he was the second to join the minecraft server (second to glep again)

he is the opposite of allan; he hates building and only ever mines or fights mobs

in fact he made his whole minecraft hideout in the side of a cave and it only has like. one crafting table, six fucking furnaces, and like 10 chests full of random drops and bulllshit, then his singular bed in the middle of the room with a big path leading down to a random ass cave

looking at his minecraft hideout would make a minecraft builder CRY their eyes out its worse than u think

would often vc with pim and play with him on the server

spends a concerning amount of time on minecraft bc he always has something to do on it, he just gives himself random side quests

despite the disorganization of his minecraft home he's actually more organized in minecraft than in real life believe it or not

he probably hasn't touched grass since he joined the minecraft server

him and glep duel it out sometimes for fun, or they do like fighting challenges with each other like who can kill the most zombies without dying

extremely attached to a wolf he tamed when he first joined the server

he watched minecraft gaming youtubers and bc of that he enchants everything he owns bc those were his favorite episodes

his minecraft skin is some sort of character from one of his interests, like mr. frog or a random salty's mascot bc he finds it funny

pim pimling

his poor cheap office laptop can barely run minecraft omfg

when he boots minecraft up, it'd lag so hard and the fans in his laptop would go crazy, then after five minutes minecraft runs "as normal"... like it's playable but not to ppl who are used to 250 fps

^^^ it happens every fucking time he doesn't know how to fix it

he's ok with it though he's like ok give it a sec this happens all the time ^w^

^^^^ was the last person to join the server bc of this

sings a song while he's doing a minecraft chore, like in the silly halloween special episode when he was singing picking up twigs! picking up twigs! that'll be him while getting wood or something similar

he's real careful about how long he plays bc he doesn't want his laptop to overheat

his combat skills r pretty good bc of his experience playing gwimbly's games when he was younger

his favorite thing is definitely farming though

he's at a constant dilemma of using bones for either bone meal or taming another wolf to add to his mini army

^^^ the mini army is only making his lag worse charlie Really doesn't understand

settled down in a village in one of those empty houses and fight to protect them from any raid that occurs

talks aloud to minecraft villagers as if they can hear him

his village house is filled with many animals actually

he is charmed by baby zombies and baby villagers

^^^ he adopted a baby villager in minecraft once

^^^^ she died in a freak accident during a raid

^^^^^ pim was heartbroken for days

he does a lot of side quests with charlie for fun

like charlie, his minecraft skin is a character from one of his interests,, most likely gwimbly or a character from that game

[the-crimson]

I need everyone to understand that q!Tubbo, q!Bbh and q!Aypierre spent seven hours fighting a psychological war today and they lost… but it prevented both teams from dying and no one will ever know.

(All talk about character not ccs etc etc)

Tubbo wasn’t there during the egg battle so he doesn’t feel the betrayal and humiliation that the other two do. He looks at green team and sees his friends. People he cares about. He doesn’t want them to lose especially not like this! He’d made up his mind the moment he learned of the event. No one was going to die.

Aypierre looked at green team and saw the snakes who broke their promise to tie the previous challenge. Why would they agree to tie this time when they’ve already proven to be untrustworthy? They betrayed him. They humiliated him and his entire team. This was his opportunity for revenge. Why shouldn’t blue team take it?

Bbh is much more in the middle. He agreed with the premise of a tie because he wanted to give green a fighting chance. He had a gut feeling it wasn’t going to work but he was willing to try. However, he didn’t trust green either. The whole time he was paranoid about green logging in at the last minute to scrounge together the quests to beat them. He was constantly reminding the group to stay together so they couldn’t be killed in case green logged in. He did not trust green to keep to the deal but he was willing to try.

For the first five or so hours of the streams the three had too many conversations to count where Aypierre would try to convince them to just say fuck it and turn in their tasks. To break the tie and be done with it! But each time bbh and Tubbo manage to hold him back and keep to the plan. It was only when bbh and Aypierre were in green’s secret base standing in front of green’s merchant that Aypierre finally caved and turned in his missions.

This was one battle lost. The next was Aypierre and Tubbo pulling bbh in two different directions and Tubbo choosing to give Green the quest items to rebalance the score. Two different battles that culminated in the single decisive moment of bbh claiming all of his missions. But what happened leading up to that moment? Chaos.

Various members of green team were logging in and out for the next two hours which only fueled bbh’s paranoia even more. Aypierre was trying to convince him to just claim the tasks the games already over! While Tubbo was confident they could still tie the score. It all went to shit in the last fifteen minutes.

Bbh and Aypierre discovered the quest items were gonna from the chest and Tubbo was lying to them about where he was. Tubbo made an executive decision to try and balance the score knowing the other two were too on the edge and chaotic at the moment. They’d discussed potentially giving green some items to tie the score but this was never agreed to and bbh and Aypierre had no idea what Tubbo was giving them.

They arrive at the center and the score starts changing and bbh starts panicking. Aypierre calls Tubbo a traitor for going behind their back and bbh is trying to mediate and figure out what’s going on - what did Tubbo do? Tubbo doesn’t explain fully so bbh assumes he gave both ElQuackity and Roier the quest items. Then Mouse logs in and bbh’s paranoia goes into overdrive. Did green have the items stockpiled and ready for Mouse to turn them in to sweep the victory last second? It’s happened twice before so it’s not out of the question. Bbh looked at the being Coco that acted so much like his son and asked, and it told him to cash in the quests. So he did.

At this point, everything was pure adrenaline. All bbh was thinking was save Dapper. “Run over anyone you need to to win”. If it ended as a tie or if blue won, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was he could not LOSE.

All three of blue fought so incredibly hard today it’s incredible. I wouldn’t be surprised if the ccs aren’t completely emotionally exhausted. Aypierre gave into his revenge after fighting it for nearly five hours straight. Bbh gave into his paranoia after fighting it for SEVEN HOURS straight. Tubbo gave into his need to do the right thing at any costs by going behind his team’s back which lead to the miscommunication that lead to that pivotal moment.

Blue failed today. They fought an internal war for seven hours and they lost at the very last moment. But in so doing, they saved their entire team. And they’ll never know. And no one will ever know. They will continue being the villains in this story even though no one on red or green knows what they went thought mentally today. None of them understand that it took seven hours of constant stress for them to break when they could have cashed the quests and secured victory within an hour.

In the end, Aypierre said it best “Either we win a fraud or die a villain.”

[attn-pls1]

Shifting log #1 ig?

So I was doing a reya singh guided mediation yesterday to shift to my wr and it was just like normal but then when she said to feel around the room I actually felt things? Like I visualized waking up on a leather couch so I touched it and I could actually feel the leather?? And then I touched my jeans and I could feel them completely like I was wearing them

I was also kinda cold before I started but my wr's sunny and I suddenly started getting really warm. And I could see like a light above me but in my cr the curtains were closed and the light was off.

She also started fading out and I couldn't hear her but I was still aware? It took a while to realize I was conscious cause I felt like nothing but every now and then I'd randomly hear her say something. And then I just started twitching like crazy. My whole head twitched and my hand twitched straight up but I tried to ignore and persist. OH AND it was almost like I could still see my room? But my eyes were closed?? It was like I was looking THROUGH my eyelids it was kinda freaky. I haven't experienced that before so idk what it means 🤷‍♂️

I didn't end up shifting to my wr but I did feel really close, more so than I have in a while. Afterwards I felt REALLY out of it like I had just woken up from a deep nap like I was stumbling all over the place. I've also noticed that since doing it I'll slip up every now and then and instead of saying like "I'm gonna eat" I'll say "I'm gonna shift" which is like,, that's interesting 🫣

Def doing this meditation again

Meditation I used

[veritas-scribblings]

welcome - @jegulus-microfic - words: 843

[Exists within the same universe as ‘safe’ and ‘more’]

It’s raining, night-time, when Regulus shows up at the Potter home. A full school term ago, Sirius had been the one standing in his place and since then, their relationship has been broken. Not that they had ever really seen eye-to-eye to begin with, but as far as James knows, Sirius and Regulus have barely spoken. James has been the not-quite-mediator. The neutral middle space. Switzerland. Not passing messages like an owl, but rather, checking in with both boys to ensure their conflict and hadn’t mutated into something worse.

But James has always been Switzerland.

So when Regulus shows up on the Potter’s doorstep, everyone is caught off guard. He has a small bag thrown over his shoulder and the hood of his cape ominously pulled up, giving the impression of a midnight vigilante. It’s James who answers the door and finds Regulus. Wet. Blank-faced. His black curls water-logged and plastered to his forehead like he’s forgotten that Umbrella Charms exist. Sirius stands on the staircase to the left of the entrance hall some distance behind James just staring, speechless. 

‘Regulus,’ James breathes. 

Regulus’s nose is pink from the cold. His cheeks are pink. He has his scarf coiled around his neck, thick and yellow and fluffy. Regulus places his bag by the open front door and simply invites himself inside, barely acknowledging Sirius’s presence.

‘It’s cold,’ he informs them. ‘I’d like a cup of tea.’ He says this firmly, pulling his gloves off and lowering the hood of his robe. Like he is a guest in their home, one who has been invited over, and they are the ones who have dropped the quaffle on basic tenets of hospitality.

Sirius charges down the stairs and stops in front of Regulus. ‘Do mother and father know you’re here?’ he demands. ‘Did they send you after me or something?’

Sirius doesn’t mean it the way it sounds, James knows. He’s wanted Regulus here, was conflicted for months about leaving without telling Regulus, had feared the reaction of their parents. It had kept Sirius up many nights trapped in a tug-of-war between knowing he had to leave and feeling some sort of retrospective responsibility for Regulus now that he was out of Grimmauld Place. 

Regulus shrugs. ‘Possibly, I wouldn’t know,’ he says in a low voice. He tucks the gloves under his arm. ‘So, tea?’

James grins. ‘Tea,’ he repeats, delighted. ‘Come on, mum’s in the kitchen, there’s some chai. She makes it when it’s raining.’ He leads Regulus down the hall and into the kitchen, which smells like roast (it was his father’s turn to cook). 

James knows Regulus loves Yorkshire pudding, knows that Regulus loves crispy roast potatoes slathered in gravy. He knows Regulus hates peas, that Regulus hates cheese sauce, loves crispy Brussel sprouts fried with bacon and parsnip mash.

Euphemia and Fleamont Potter greet Regulus warmly when Regulus sits down at the bench in the kitchen. They’re used this now—boys taking up residence in the Potter Home for Runaways—and have long stopped questioning it since Marlene ‘ran away’ when she was seven. 

James potters around, heats the chai on the stove, grabs a plate to fetch Regulus dinner because the Potters feed people as a form of love language. Sirius floats by the door. He’s trying to determine whether Regulus is staying or whether Regulus has an ulterior motive. Because Sirius is wary of being hurt; it’s a trait that both brothers possess. 

‘You can have the bedroom down the hall from me and Sirius,’ James says. He looks over to his mother for confirmation and she nods. Unlike when Marlene had ‘run away’, she won’t be contacting home. She understands. 

‘Great!’ James chirps. ‘Mum’ll put linens in the room. And sweets on the pillows or something.’ He places the plate and mug of chai in front of Regulus and grins. ‘You know, Dad keeps a potions lab. It’s a small one, but it’s got almost everything. He could show you. Dad, Regulus is a genius at potions, you know.’ At Regulus’s look of scepticism, he adds, ‘Crouch says you could brew an explosive to blow up the school if you wanted to.’

Regulus scoffs, but doesn’t say anything. He looks around and seems to note that Sirius is gone. Pushing the food around his plate, he says, ‘I’m sorry for putting you out,’ because he was evidently raised to have manners. 

‘Nonsense,’ Euphemia says. She crosses the room and places a reassuring hand on Regulus’s shoulder, and then immediately notes how tense Regulus becomes at this and withdraws her hand. ‘We’re glad you’re here. And Sirius is too. Just…give him time.’

‘I’m glad you’re here,’ James says, and he means this from the bottom of his heart. He does. He really does. 

Regulus nods. It’s a placating nod. He still isn’t sure. But that’s okay, James decides, because he’ll do everything he can to make sure Regulus believes it.

[commsroom]

i think it's worth noting how individualism and the "big picture" in wolf 359 are not opposite ideas, but in service of the same goal: people that serve systems, rather than systems that serve people. goddard's recruitment tactic (in its moderately less coercive form) is an appeal to meritocracy and exceptionalism. a once in a lifetime opportunity to be part of something, to matter. it's a lie, of course. but that's the promise.

goddard futuristics and the dear listeners are parallel forces with compatible goals. cutter's proposal is a humanity without humans (save for the select few, like him, who get to make the choices), and that's perfectly acceptable to the dear listeners, who have no concept of the individual. the dear listeners are the only truly non-human characters in wolf 359, and they're narratively presented as a hollow reflection of humanity - borrowing eiffel's voice + appearance, unable to understand music - the ability to replicate, but not create. i think the implications are pretty clear, in the context of wolf 359's anti-corporate themes.

back to goddard's recruitment: minkowski wants to prove herself, to be in command, but she's initially too caught up on doing things the right way to be a leader for the people around her. the only tip in the dssppm she forgets is the one about effective communication. even her musical: hera is the only one willing to take part, and minkowski will only give her a small role. hilbert is a scientist who seems to believe he alone can revolutionize medicine, with no outside input or cooperation. of course, he not only fails, but his research results in further harm. goddard selects for people with this type of self-centered ambition... and also for people who are deeply isolated. eiffel and hera were not recruited through flattery. they're company property, and they've always been aware that their 'choice' was either 'agree to this' or 'we'll make things worse for you until you agree.' even with such a small crew, this creates an underclass, and a very pointed attempt at division of interests. and explains a lot about s1 dynamics.

which isn't to say eiffel and hera don't have their own problems re: communication. goddard's AI program is inherently isolating and pushes for ruthless competition under threat of death. hera isn't used to being able to trust people, and is extremely reluctant to accept help, even while she's suffering. eiffel, as the communications officer, is an advocate for communication and an effective mediator, but he's also extremely self-centered. it's very purposeful that eiffel's part of shut up and listen is paralleled by maxwell's logs about the dear listeners: "i've spent so much time thinking about how we're going to get a message across, and i haven't been thinking at all about reception. but what if the first challenge is figuring out how to listen? how much have we already missed?"

wolf 359 is a show that highly values the individual, personal identity and personal connection, but with the condition that connection is key. every person matters, but no one can make it alone. at the heart of the show, what you have is a group of very willful, very disparate personalities who have to learn how to see beyond their own assumptions and understand each other as full people with their own lives and desires and interiority - and then learn to move forward together. ultimately, it all comes down to that exchange between hilbert and eiffel: "you did not beat me. you needed help from AI, from minkowski." / "uh, yeah. it's called being part of the crew. you ever meet anyone that could get things done all on their lonesome?"

[shiorimakibawrites]

Congratulations on your 300 followers Shiori!!! ❤️🎉🎉 You definitely deserve all the love!!

For my request I'd like to do an Inside the Mind and request a headcanon for camping with Frank. I just imagine the man loves camping and I'd love to hear what you think camping with him would be like!

Thank you Bella!

Here are your HCs about Frank and camping

Frank loves camping.

Out in nature, he can relax some of that hypervigilance. More so in less popular camping locations but even in those, there are far less people for him to threat-assess and keep track of.

The dangers of the wilderness (weather, wild animals, etc) just doesn’t tickle his paranoia the same way that people do. Maybe because there isn’t any real malice? The bear is just hungry. That sudden heavy downpour wasn’t personal (unless Thor or Storm was nearby).

That being said, Frank is fully aware that nature doesn’t have to be malicious to kill you.

Now if it was just his own neck he was risking, he might have got somewhere with few supplies and relying entirely on his Marine Corp survival training.

But since it was you (and your kids if you have any), he’s a lot more cautious. There is a lot more planning - no spur of the moment camping trips when he has to worry about someone else’s safety during it.

There is a list of necessary supplies. And his truck isn’t moving until that list has been checked, then rechecked.

The emergency kit is something else. Frank tried to balance his paranoia (which wanted everything for every possible scenario) and the knowledge he could only haul so much stuff in the woods without it becoming more of hindrance than a help.

Some of the things like compasses, water-purification tablets, extra fire-making supplies are duplicated so everyone is carrying some in case they get separated from the group. Or something else happens and you lose some of your other supplies. Basically making sure not all the eggs are in one basket.

Frank is careful to make sure that food is properly stored and disposed of. Particularly if you are camping in bear country.

Frank doesn’t think he can fight a bear and win. But he does think he could do damage. “I’ve fought Red. Bears can’t be that much of a pain in the ass.”

The decision between sleeping in a tent or renting a cabin depends on a lot of factors. When and where you are going. Health concerns of the people he’s camping with.

Frank can set up and break down a tent impressively fast. Though he has much trouble convincing the tent to pack small enough to be returned to its case as anyone. He has given up on sleeping bags.

Frank likes to camp somewhere with a lake. Because he enjoys fishing. It taps into the same calm headspace he uses for snipping but more peaceful? His version of mediation is sitting on his chair or a log, his finger resting on the cast-out line, watching the lake. The reflections of the water, the ducks doing their thing, the birds in the trees, even the squirrels barking at him from the branches. He finds it soothing.

Frank also likes a good hike, taking in the views and seeing what wildlife he can spot.

He might have confidence about his ability to handle a bear but is less certain of a moose. They are a lot bigger than he was expecting.

[ultimate-blorbo-bracket]

I feel that the Vash v DCA poll is slowly falling into the same hole as the Nanami v DCA poll. It’s not as bad right now, but I have seen quite a few reblogs essentially shaming people for liking the DCA.

I just want to say that I don’t care if the DCA loses. Sure it might hurt to see my favorite character fall, but it hurts more to see people call the people in the DCA community homophobes and republicans because of a character they like.

Yes, Scott Cawthon did back Republican candidates, but people forget this poll has absolutely no bearing on Fnaf as a whole or what Scott did. This is a poll about favorite characters, not about a franchise or creator as a whole.

People can like a character and not support what the creator does. People can like a character separate from the source material.

All I am asking of poll-goers is to respect each other and to stop trying to shame other people for liking a character.

The DCA community is full of some of the kindest people and has encouraged people to explore their own identity in so many different ways. I love this community with all my heart and to see people try to say that because we like a character from Fnaf we are all homophobes is a disservice to the people who founded and keep this fandom alive.

To reiterate, I don’t care that much if the DCA loses. I’m just upset that people continue to shame a community and try to generalize us under a label that simply isn’t true of a large part of it.

Hey I'm like, really sorry for only just now seeing these asks! Admittedly I haven't been logged in and following the notes for the polls much this past week.

Even though Vash vs DCA is now closed, it's like I've mentioned before that I only made this tournament just for fun and for others to simply vote for their favorite characters. In hindsight I know I probably should have done more to mediate the conflict that sparked up, but all the fights that broke out because of it just like, racked up my anxiety and made me so afraid that if I tried to say or do anything it would just make things worse and I apologize for that.

Again, this tournament was created purely just for fun and I didn't really want it to be a place for all these heated discussions and conflict to take place. I am hoping though, now that that we're on the Semifinals, that things will be smoother from here on out and I'm grateful to all the voters who have been respectful towards others regardless of who they voted for and have just been having fun with these polls!

[officialclangen]

February Release is out!!

Content:

New herb system! In expanded mode, your medicine cats will gather herbs and treat illnesses and injuries, reducing lethality, duration, and potential risks. Information about your current herb stores, sick/injured cats, and a log of medicine cat activity can be found in the new medicine den, accessible via the medicine cat den label on the clan screen or the matching button on medicine cat's and injured/sick cat's profiles

Mediator role has been added! The mediator is an optional role. Once a moon, you can choose to "mediate" between two clanmates, increasing relationship values. Or, if you would rather sow discord, you can sabotage the relationship, lowering relationship values. Mediators also have a chance to visit other clans upon timeskip, affecting reputation values. Mediators can take apprentices, apprentices will only choose to become mediators if there is already a fully-trained mediator in the clan. In settings, you may allow warriors and elders to choose to become mediators upon timeskip.

New pelt patterns: Mackerel, Classic, Sokoke, Agouti, and SingleStripe

New White patches: Seal, mink, and sepia point.

New colors: Black has been renamed to ghost, and new black has been added.

Heterochromia is now possible with all eye colors.

New eye colors: Gray, Copper, Sage, Pale Yellow, Pale Blue, New Blue, Gold, Heather Blue, Cyan, Emerald, Sunlit Ice, and Green Yellow. Dark Blue and Hazel have been tweaked.

Tints! Cats can now be slightly tinted, to give some variety to cat colors. Tints do not affect white patches, scars, or eye color.

Redone shaders.

You can now view lost or exiled dead cats under the "Unknown Residence" sub-tab.

Many, many new herb patrols, unique to each biome. New patrols involving a fox, new training patrols, and new cat-joining patrols. And we mean… many. Like over 1000 in total.

Some new ceremony text.

You can now retire warriors, medicine cats, mediators, deputies, and leaders. You can also demote a leader to warrior status.

Many new thoughts!

New pelt color, pattern, pelt length and white patches inheritance system. Note that this is not a completely realistic genetics system, it’s just meant to give kits more of a chance to look similar to their parents!

Quality of Life:

You can now sort your cats by rank, age, or ID!

New role management screen, with summaries and icons for each role (some icons are still placeholders)

You can now disable first-cousin romance in settings.

Timeskip events now link to the involved cats.

Patrols now have a short summary of outcomes at completion.

Fullscreen mode added

Made sure splines are properly reticulated

Your currently loaded clan no longer shows up on the switch clan list.

Patrolled cats are now saved.

Many bug fixes!

Download Here:

https://sablesteel.itch.io/clan-gen-fan-edit

Join The Discord :

[connecting-the-stars]

How I had envisioned the last scene of the Bad Batch would have gone:

Going frame by frame- 3rd person- following up this bright tan gravel hill, the different sets of footprints and how boots slowly follow them, when the bright trees disperse we find a blonde facing out past the hill, dunes and valleys stretching ahead with bright water and clear sky’s, she’s wearing light weight armor and a satchel,

A shoulder appears next to her, offers a bright container.

“You’re going to burn. You don’t need to use much.”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind the sun.”

“I won’t feel sorry later when I told you so.’

She shakes her head at Echo’s push for the importance of sunblock, she looks down at something in her cupped hands. Shows Echo’s face with patches of red along his nose and forehead.

when she hears the footsteps behind them she twists her head to the camera and smiles impossibly wide at the person approaching, excited and thrilled but we see the scar besides her temple, her hair braided back, her sharper nose and chin, a skull painted on her shoulder armor,

“look what tech found!”

hunter then steps into frame as she unfolds her hands, tiny geo-salamanders wiggle on her palm, their scales reflecting like glittering crystals in the sun, and she recites what tech explained

“Very shiny. Have you added them to your logs?”

She nods quickly, smiling wide, her eyes crinkling

“About to!”

hunter looks up to see tech crouched next to a nest and scanning with his datapad while wrecker holds a rock back for him, omega yells for their attention and they turn to wave

“about time serge!” Wrecker hollers.

tech adjusts blue modified goggles on his nose. “you could've missed the new record”

“You’ll owe me 15 mentell mix this time and I won't let you forget” wrecker shouts over,

turns their gazes to the hill on their right, highest point where batcher (larger and brighter blue) is resting, she lifts her head at them as crosshair is mediating peacefully not even moving as his rifle sits beside him, hunter puts a hand on her shoulder and they share as smile

“he’s gonna make it to 324 clicks this time”

hunter crosses his arms. “we’ll see about that”

wrecker shouts in the distance as a dust cloud erupts from a overturned boulder, a swarm of much bigger reptiles begin to crawl out and tech says something about how unexpected the amount is and identifies why they are attacking while wrecker throws one past frame, tech turns to run but his cybernetic leg is a bit slower than expected in the gravel thus wrecker hurls tech over his shoulder and makes a run back up the hill, tech brings his blaster up setting it to stun.

A massive salamander lunges for them but it crashes into the gravel with a crackling zap, the shot echoing up the valley to where crosshair has taken on cover fire, Echo doubles back the opposite way, heading to the newly repaired Marauder. Omega unfolds something from her satchel and it hovers beside them to hop up hunter chuckles and omega slaps his arm

“he’ll have better luck next time”

They speed down the hill laughing, they disappear down the hill with the shouting and the growls of monsters but across the fray the voice that stands out the most says

“can we check out the eastern beach next?”

black screen

“of course we can.”

[breannasfluff]

Most days, Wild is more than happy to fill the role of social bird in the group, flitting from person to person. Four often joins him and they bridge the gap between pairs and raptors.

Wild plays peacemaker and attentive friend, making sure no one is left out unless they prefer space to themselves. Four chatters at anyone nearby; a near-constant soundtrack on their travels.

Today, Wild doesn’t have the energy to fulfill his normal role. He sits a little off from the camp, wings up to block out the others while he swipes through photos on his slate.

“Mind if I join?” Four’s voice is soft as a wing nudges his.

Wild grits his teeth, because he just wants to be left alone, but lifts a wing so the smaller hero can crawl under. “What’s up?”

Four keeps his wings tucked in and curls over his knees. “My head is too loud.”

Ah, a bad day for both of them, then. There’s no chatter now and Wild can’t help but be grateful for the silence. He swipes at photos without seeing any of them. He should delete some before the storage gets full again.

In camp, Legend screeches and Wind’s cackle answers; goofing off, probably. His stiffens; he should have moved further away. Too far, though, and the Chain would really know something is off.

Giving up on the slate, Wild drops it to the dirt and copies Four, resting his head on his arms and knees. He’s just…not up for being social.

By the Goddess, he’s not up for anything. Exhaustion weighs down every limb and the bright spark in his chest barely smolders. Wild got plenty of sleep, but he’s just…tired, all the time.

Four whimpers and digs his hands into his hair.

“Come here.” Wild pulls the other forward to rest against his knees instead, combing gentle fingers through Four’s straight hair. The smith relaxes marginally, but his wings remain tucked tight to his back.

Footsteps approach and someone taps Wild’s wing bone for attention.

It’s Sky. “You two sharing snacks?”

Wild glares back, not up for it today. “No. Go try someone else.”

“I bet you two are sharing bugs, aren’t you?”

He continues the soothing motion over Four’s head as the other burrows deeper into his knees. “Sky. Not now.”

The chosen hero’s smile drops as he registers Wild’s mood. “Right, sorry.” A final tap to the wing and he leaves.

Four growls into Wild’s knees and his wings snap up and open, knocking Wild’s away. “Sorry!” His eyes swirl when he glances up and pulls them back down.

Wild doesn’t comment, just shrouds them once again in blue feathers. It’s hard to be at war with your own body.

Sometimes, when his scars ache and his muscles spasm, Wild wishes he’d stayed dead, or that the Shrine had done a better job of healing. He’d never give up the group, but the pain has a way of muddling everything but release in the moment.

Four continues to mumble into his knees, but it’s under their breath. The words slide smoothly into each other and Wild tunes it out, eyes closing.

Maybe he can just…take a break. For a little while. Maybe someone else can cook and take watch and play mediator in the group. The burdens he’s imposed upon himself weigh heavier with every moment Wild ignores them.

If Twilight cooks, they’ll eat nothing but meat for dinner. Sky can’t cook and he’ll try to steal food all night if someone doesn’t keep an eye on it. No, Wild should plan a meal for everyone. Pick up the slate, check the ingredients, and pick out a meal.

He doesn’t move.

With a deep sigh, Four pulls away with a nod and waves vaguely. Wild lifts a wing to let him out, watching as they wander deeper into the woods away from the group. Whatever the smith needs, he’s not finding it with Wild. Should he have done more? What else could he do?

No longer having to wrap them around another, he folds his wings back and hunches down, making his own feathery cocoon to hide in.

He’s so tired. Wild doesn’t want to sleep but…just…stop.

The rustle of wings points to someone approaching. He doesn’t look up this time. The person settles on the log next to him and wraps one wing around his back, ducking down to nudge his arm. Hyrule.

Someone joins on the other side and a sheen of yellow and black fans around him as well; Legend.

Sandwiched by both of them, he lets his wings droop back and slumps.

They don’t push, thankfully. Hyrule lays across his lap, much like Four did, and snuggles into his stomach. It tips his feathers at a skewed angle, but Legend snakes an arm around Wild’s side and pulls him to lean on his shoulder.

Surrounded and supported, Wild lets his eyes slide shut again. One hand runs gently through Hyrule’s curls.

The silence stretches, but it doesn’t need to be broken. Maybe dinner can wait. Maybe…Wild can rest a little longer.