#people are saying it takes at least a months for the glaze people to get back to them. so. have a screen watermark

[asexualbookbird]

Happy spring! gave them a CROAKus crown <3

also trying out a new watermark pls let me know if it's too faint or distracting!

[webslingingslasher]

IM GLAD YOURE GOOD <333

also whilst we’re here. you know how girls get scary horny right before their periods? like i need to be tied to a tree like a wolf when im ab to get mine JDJDJDJ

peters never had a gf before trouble and the first time it happens he fr thinks he’s in HEAVEN. he doesn’t understand but she’s just on him 24/7 and he’s living for it. but also confused bc he can’t think of what he’s done differently to have u pouncing on him 24/7 but he’s not complaining djdjdnd

BOYFRIEND FRAT!PETER LET'S FUCKING GOOOOOO

-i've literally had this done for like two months but i got scared and let it collect dust. not anymore bby!!!-

for the fourth time today, peter tilted his shoulder towards his face to sniff his shirt. it smells just fine, it's clean cotton. he didn't get a new fabric softener so it couldn't be that, and it's not like he got a new cologne or soap.

peter couldn't place it, but something about him lately has you absolutely feral. especially today, he almost had to peel you away from his skin so he could go to class.

'i missed you so much,' you moved quicker than peter's ever seen, his feet haven't even come to a stop on the pavement before you're kissing him.

it becomes more sensual than he's willing to provide in public.

'it was an hour, trouble. what'd you do, wait for me?' peter meant it in a teasing way, he didn't expect you to nod quickly. 'yes. you're about to open your instagram to thirty messages, i'm so sorry.'

your palms race over his arms, something about him seems ultra soft today. in the least joking way possible, he really does feel like boyfriend material. and he was all yours.

'did you know i love you? like, so much.' he did, but he still loves to have a reminder. 'i love you so much it's uncool.' you've got a glazed look in your eye.

peter knows that look and if he's being honest, he's done nothing to deserve it. the last two days you haven't been able to keep your hands off him.

is this what people mean by the honeymoon phase?

'i love you too, trouble. what's got you so mushy recently?'

puffed cheeks, no regard and absolutely no reason to hold back. 'i just really wanna fuck you.' peter takes a sharp breath, something about you being bold makes his knees weak. it must be his desire to please.

'i would, i really, really would...' with gentle scratches up and down the back of your arm, you know he's setting you up for a no. you whine and pout up at him.

'no! you're not allowed! just say yes, please say yes!'

it's literally tearing him up inside. 'baby, i'm already going to be late for my library session. i also have a chapter meeting tonight.'

'do you really-'

'yes.' there was no way he'd be budging on that one. peter made you know you were number one priority, frat responsibilities sat right under you.

if he was suggesting you'd have to wait until late, or worse, the next day, you'd die.

'what about after the library? before the meeting?'

peter's never seen you so persistent. he really doesn't know what he's done, but he won't complain one bit. he'll be a little crunched for time, but that's no reason to let you down.

'if we use your dorm, yes, i think we can make it work.'

peter’s forced to balance himself, you attacked him with a bear hug and nuzzled into his chest. ‘thank you, thank you, thank you! i’ll tell my roommate right now!’

seconds tick. he’s already late and you’re not moving, keeping him in your grasp while your thumbs fly across your phone to send out a message.

‘trouble, you’re making me late.’ because you’d be offended if he pushed you away.

a finger is held up, ramped texting takes priority. ‘trouble,’ the second you feel yourself pushed to the side you huff up at him. 'don't toss me off to the side like i'm some toy, i'm your girlfriend.'

'you're not a toy, you're just not listening, therefore making me late.'

your arms cross over your chest, 'fine. whatever, go.' peter is nowhere in the wrong, but you're making him feel like he is. if this was before, he could just walk away. but now, he has to pause and address your concerns.

he's still adjusting to boyfriend duties.

'don't get mad with me, i'm being very nice.' he is, he even let you gently bully him into getting him into your room in an hour and a half. you hold your stance, it takes a few seconds, but he catches on.

'you're not mad, you're pouty. don't be pouty, you're gonna see me in an hour.'

a toddler grumble, 'i'm gonna miss you too much.'

peter really doesn't know where the sudden desperation came from, he really needs to check in with you, but if he's any later, he's gonna piss off a whole room of people.

'i'll miss you too, trouble.' it appeases you enough, you finally allow him to pass. peter isn't able to go a full three steps until you tell him to wait, he realizes his mistake.

'sorry, c'mere.' three quick kisses, you make it hard to pull away. 'love you,' he allows you to sneak another kiss. 'love you too, petey.'

—-

one thing you loved about peter was that he was always on time, at least for you he was. just like he promised, he was at your door an hour and a half later with a hand on his stomach.

‘i’m missing dinner for this, i could be having a nice catered meal with the boys, but no, it wasn’t allowed.’

‘that’s very kind of you, handsome.’

‘i just needed to let you know, you know, in case i go lethargic or my stomach starts growling.’

‘as long as you don’t pass out on top of me, gerald’s game scared me.’ peter holds his fingers up in a scouts honor, ‘i promise.’ it’s all it takes, you reach for his shirt, clenching the fabric, you tug him in. shutting the door and slamming him against it, your lips on his in a minute.

peter’s mind is spinning, he’s never been pushed up against a wall. it feels nice, it’s a good feeling to know someone wants him so badly a tinge of aggression comes with it.

your kisses trail over his jawline, you’ve never been so desperately horny in your entire life, something about him has you dialed to ten recently. it could be the impending period, but that just feels like a fraction of the reason.

feeling slightly guilty you’ve ruined his meal plan, you pull back, just for a second to rip his shirt off. when his skin is shown, your hands race over it, he’s toned, and tanned, and down right delicious.

you scatter kisses over his chest, peering up at him. ‘are they saving you a plate?’ peter looks down, he’s lost at your words. you’re asking about plates while worshiping his body?

‘huh?’ a trail of wet marks across his collarbone.

‘dinner. are they saving you a plate?’

how do you expect him to answer while you nibble a bruise on the bottom of his neck? ‘i don’t…’ peter takes a sharp inhale, he never knew he had a sweet spot until you found it. it’s behind his ear, and he has to lean down, just slightly, but it’s so, so worth it.

‘i don’t know, probably not. guys don’t think about stuff like that.’

you pull away with a pop, raising your thumb to brush over the red mark. ‘hold on,’ you turn for your phone abandoned on your bed, on the walk over you take your own shirt off.

it’s a quick text and a quicker response, your guilty conscience cleared. ‘done. ethan said he’ll save you one.’

‘my hero.’

you jump to your bed, shimmying your pants off before sitting up on your knees, you get into position, shaking your hips at your boyfriend before arching slightly.

‘are we thinking doggy?’

peter’s still stuck to the door, ‘you wanna start with doggy? what happened to foreplay?’

you move to your back to tug your underwear off, you were only following his words. ‘you said we would be strapped for time, i’m making it easier.’

‘by blowing past the most important thing and having me jam it into you?’

you narrow your eyes at him, ‘once upon a time you didn’t care about foreplay.’

‘that’s old peter, he’s dead.’

‘let’s revive him.’

peter finally steps away from the door, he feels ten times warmer. his arms move around like he’s trying to clear the air, ‘alright, hold on, we need to talk.’

four words that are forced to put the night on pause, he could wait for a heart to heart after. ‘let’s not.’ you reach for his jeans, he steps out of reach. ‘peter! you were the one that said it would be a time crunch, i’m doing my best here, let’s go.’

‘not until you tell me why you’re so possessive lately. this whole week, you can’t get enough of me. what’s going on?’

peter’s starting to think you have some doubts running through your head and if you have enough of yourself to him he’d stick around. it’s a bogus idea but you’ve done it before to him, maybe it’s worse because there’s more to lose now with the title.

‘i’m horny.’ there wasn’t much else to add. he’s just made you wildly needy this entire week, but peter wasn't buying it. with crossed arms he waited until you really told him what was going on.

you groan, the quicker you explain, the quicker you get what you wanted. 'fine, what do you know about the menstrual cycle?'

'as little as possible.' while he's slightly more knowledgeable than most men his age, everything he's learned has been against his will.

'great. i just got off mine two weeks ago, i'm ovulating, aka, my body wants a baby real bad. not just any baby, your baby, that's why i'm so horny for you.' you hope it's enough to appease him, you shuffle around on the bed.

'fucking in this bed sucks.' there's little room for peter but you did what you could with the space you had. 'also, expect this monthly. cause, it's gonna be your problem now that you're my boyfriend.'

peter breathes deep, 'that has got to be... the best problem i've ever had in my entire life.' peter moves so quickly your head spins, he's on his knees in front of the bed while you're pulled to the edge.

kisses up the inside of your thigh has you pulling at his hair, 'peter, you're gonna be late.' you suck in hair as he nibbles on your skin. 'we don't have time for this.'

it pauses him, peter looks up into your eyes, a cocky smirk forms. 'my girl has a primal urge, and it's my job to take care of it.' 

[feyascorner]

7 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. “It’s too hard to see. We need to turn back.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little bit of darkness.”

You scrunch your nose at this, and he merely grins. Before you can say anything, he’s back to pacing across the dirt without a care in the world—almost too fast for your liking. “Will you at least slow down?”

“Shall I hold your hand?”

“I’d rather cut it off.”

“A pity.”

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, tav reader is a bard, italics are flashbacks

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. 6.9k words !!! this chapter took forever but somehow i managed!! thank you so much for your kind words and patience !!! he's kind of a silly guy in the chapter so pls enjoy this peace offering as the calm before a storm

“Are you sure this is the right course of action? Letting him ascend?” Shadowheart asks as you adjust one of the logs in the campfire, watching the other companions organize their tents from afar. You stop at this, turning to face her.

“It’s what he wants,” you mumble. “I won’t stop him if he’s sure this is the right thing to do.”

You’re still getting used to her hair, which’s now as white as a sheet, but you think it looks lovely against the fire. She seems calmer than she did when she was with Shar. At peace, almost. She casts you a sidelong glance. “Can we really trust his judgment of all people? He’s—I mean, well, him.”

“I know it sounds unreasonable," you say letting yourself sit down beside her on her bedroll. “But I want him to make his own decisions. He’s spent too many years having no choice of his own, and I’d be the worst person to take it away from him again.”

“I just,” her voice softens. “Astarion’s a complicated person, and I’m sure you know better than us. It’s because he couldn’t make his own choices for so long that it makes me think he’s lost his capability to make any choices anymore. Good ones, at least.”

“I trust him.”

“Gods knows how.”

You stifle a laugh, and she sips at her wine, eyes still glazing over the camp. There’s a kind of solemnness to them that makes your stomach churn. “You seem worried.”

“Not worried, per se,” she shrugs. “I just realize that I owe a debt to you for what you did for me against my lad—I mean, Shar. And I myself almost went down that dark path of becoming a Justiciar if it weren’t for you. At the time, I thought it was the best thing for me too, like Astarion believes ascension to be what will set him free.”

You nod patiently, urging her to continue.

“I only fear he might make the wrong choice if he doesn’t have the right guidance as I did.”

The words feel hesitant on her tongue. And although they make the voice in the back of your head, telling you to convince Astarion otherwise, louder, you ignore it, opting to smile at her softly instead. “Is this you caring about our companions?”

“Heavens, no,” she snorts, but there’s a joking tone behind her voice. “But like I said…I’m indebted to you all. Astarion also aided in my personal affairs with Shar, even if he didn’t have to, and even with his incessant complaining…I suppose this is my way of paying him back.”

Your chest warms. It’s soothing to know that even without you, your other companions have enough care for your lover to offer him bits of advice; in a way, it relieves a bit of weight off your shoulders. Even the companions who claim to detest his presence have grown fond of him over the months, and you’re sure it goes both ways. It helps because even if you’re gone, you know he’ll be okay.

“I never told you formally,” she sighs. “But thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me or feel indebted. I just did what I could for you.”

“Don’t be so humble. What you’ve done for me—for all of us—is something we’ll cherish for the rest of our lives,” she takes her last swig from her wine. “But from one messed up person to another, please, be careful.”

Your wrist feels sore.

Two days. It’s been two days since the incident at the Blushing Mermaid, and still, your body seems to burn whenever you see his closed door across yours from the hall, and all you can do is rub shamefully at the healing puncture wounds on your wrist. The bandages looping around the skin do a good enough job of hiding them, but you genuinely wish you could just ask Shadowheart to heal them for you because being able to see them does little to help with the constant thoughts of the vampire muddling the clarity of your mind. 

But you’d rather not let your companions know what happened between you and the vampire on the dirtied floors of the Blushing Mermaid. You’d likely die of shame for letting him drink from you, even after your mutual agreement to specifically avoid just that. What’s worse is that you expect the worst from Lae’zel, especially after her explicit advice to do the exact opposite of what you chose to do.

You tighten the bandages again.

“Did those yourself, did you?”Alfira snorts, and you almost have half a mind to glare at her if it weren’t for the crumpled sheets of paper surrounding the legs of her chair. The ink on the discarded pages now blends into mush as they lie in the puddles forming around her—an aftermath of the recent rainy weather. You don’t tell her, though. She seems frustrated enough as it is, and you fear she might snap a string of her lute if this prolongs any longer. “How’d you get hurt anyway?”

“It’s a bug bite.”

“A rather massive bug, apparently.”

The corners of your lips quirk downward, and she finally sets her lute aside, careful to avoid the puddles as she props it against the side of her stool to focus on her notepad instead. Though most of its pages have now been torn out, the remaining few have scribbles of song lyrics that even you can’t decipher with how messily the ink splatters across the page. She, however, seems perfectly fine reading its contents aside from her glaringly obvious distaste for the words themselves. You raise your brow. “Can you really read that?”

“Oh, hush. Don’t insult my penmanship.”

You snicker, eyes continuing to scan the sheets of paper that had been abandoned on Dalyria’s desk at the Blushing Mermaid. It’d taken quite some time to take apart the pages plastered on the wall and to organize the mountain of doctor’s notes lying across the lair, but you’d managed to fish out something useful eventually. The journal was one that seemed especially important, filled to the brim with Dalyria’s so-called ‘research.’ 

But if the past few days have told you anything, it’s that Dalyria is a terrible note-taker.

The pages are filled with shapes. Some are curved, and others just bend and contort into odd figures that you’re sure aren’t supposed to look like letters. Each page studies a different shape on a random part of the page, leaving them scattered and difficult to decipher.

You’re starting to think this is just some odd attempt at art rather than the studies she claims to be performing.

“And? Why are you here if you’re not here to look at those lyrics I gave you?”

“I’m trying to figure out what this journal says,” you sigh, flipping another page you don’t understand. “And if you couldn’t tell, I’m rather busy trying to find the people responsible for murders around the city, so excuse me if I haven’t had the time to glance at your song.”

“I’m plenty busy myself, you know! I just got hired to sing at this fancy party for some celebration. They even said I could dress all nice for it,” she smiles proudly, and you offer her a crooked one of your own. “It’s my first serious gig—so I’m a bit nervous with how large it is…”

“How’d you land something like that before you’ve even played at children’s birthday parties?”

“Well, I’m not doing it alone, obviously,” she reasons, scratching something on her pages again. “I’m going with one of my friends. She’s a wonderful violinist, and she managed to squeeze me into the event, which I’m so grateful for…I suppose I’m just a bit worried.”

You look up from Dalyria’s notebook. “Worried? What for?”

“That my fingers will lock up, and I’ll humiliate myself,” she admits sheepishly, tucking a portion of her hair behind her sharp ear. “Lihala used to call me silly for worrying about things that haven’t happened–but I can’t help it. It’s the before-show jitters. Pesky things. It’s a bit embarrassing, really.”

Humming in acknowledgment, you look to the murky skies overhead, where dark clouds threaten to pour down for at least another few days. A shame, you think. You’ve never seen the Summers of Baldur’s Gate feel so dreary.

It’s fitting, almost, considering the state that the city is in.

The painful sound of quill scratching against paper is all you can hear now as Alfira sighs irritably again, ripping out another sheet of paper.

“It’s not embarrassing,” you finally say.

She blinks up from her notepad. “What is?”

“Being nervous. I’ve done more performances than I can count, and my hands would still get clammy in front of a big crowd,” you laugh to yourself. “But when you see how they watch you as if you’re performing sorcery with your lute, it’s like you were never anxious in the first place. The audience is what makes it bearable.”

“Gods, I hope you’re right,” she smiles fondly as you continue to reminisce in your own memories. “It’s a rather shame we never got to perform together. Not after the last time we played at the Grove–and I don’t even count that occasion with how unstable my voice was…”

“I can watch if you’d like,” you offer. “Your performance, I mean.”

Her eyes gleam with excitement, and she reaches to clasp both your hands, beaming brightly. “Will you? I’m sure if you’re there, it’ll ease my nerves, too!-”

As you shift in your seat to follow your hands, Dalyria’s notebook slips off your lap. The simple splash beneath you tells you all you need to know as your eyes shoot down to where the notebook now lies face down into a puddle, and you don’t even have to lift it to know that its pages are soaked.

But you don’t have to pick it up yourself because Alfira’s carefully holding it in an instant, her face pale as she fans her hand in a fruitless attempt to prevent the damage already done. “Dammit, I’ve done it again! I’m truly sorry…I didn’t mean for that to happen! But I’m sure if we just put it in the sunlight for a few days, it’ll–”

You gently take it from her hands, shaking your head. Perhaps it’s because you were just deep into memories you hold dear to your heart, but there isn’t an ounce of panic in your voice. “It’s fine. I wasn’t getting anywhere with this thing anyway.”

“Still…”

The pages stick together in chunks as you flip the journal towards the pages that are at least half dry. You fear they might tear off at the slightest touch, so all you can do is stare at a page you deem to be soaking up the ink from the pages behind it. Alfira groans into her hands, and before you can spare her a glance to remind her it’s alright, you spot something in the middle of the page.

“Holy shit,” you whisper so quietly she doesn’t catch it.

“I’ll grab us a wind scroll. Or maybe that’s too strong? Surely there’s some spell that can dry off books.”

“You have no idea what you’ve just done for me, Alfira,” you blurt, already halfway to stuffing the journal into your pack. She blinks up at you with weary eyes, but you quickly clamber off the stool with no time to offer an explanation. “Let me know when the performance is. I’ll be here next week as usual.”

“Don’t you want me to dry off the pages?”

“No,” you shake your head, your heart pounding. “I need to show this to the others.”

She stares at you as if you’ve grown a second head. Still, as you rush toward the stairs leading to the city streets, she calls after you.

“Don’t forget to look at the lyrics!”

“Runes? As in the ones carved into Astarion’s back?”

“I thought they were random blots of ink, but,” you raise the notebook in your hands, and the soaked pages now show the contents of the following sheets, blending to form a larger image. The placement of the shapes were not random at all, and you internally apologize for calling Dalyria a few less-than-kind words in your mind. “They’re not. They’re parts of the runes that Cazador tried to use for the ritual. There are six sets of runes in here, and each one’s slightly altered.”

“But what purpose does that serve?” Shadowheart cocks a brow, eyeing the page questionably with crossed arms. “Cazador’s dead. There’s no ascension to be done.”

“Unfortunately, just because that haunting man is gone doesn’t mean the threat of an ascension is either.” Intrigued but clearly disturbed, Gale takes the notebook and squints at what it holds. “Cazador himself never needed to be the one to execute the ascension.”

The room goes silent, leaving an uncomfortable tension in the air that keeps you from moving. You’re not sure how many seconds pass before you hear the figure who’s been awfully quiet the past half an hour mutter something under his breath from the comfy armchair beside the fireplace.

Astarion clicks his tongue, seemingly unfazed. “Ah, I see.”

The fists at your side clench tighter. The bandages feel impossibly tight all of a sudden.

“It’s for the ascension, clearly. There’s no other plausible explanation,” his eyes remain glued to the flickering flames, swirling a chalice of wine in his hand. He doesn’t sip from it, knowing that it tastes of nothing but vinegar on his undead tongue, so why he’s poured himself a glass, you don’t understand. You also can’t be bothered to ask. “Perhaps they plan to enact it. Take a piece of all that power for themselves.”

“But they can’t do the ascension,” Shadowheart frowns, turning to you. “You said there’s only six runes in there. They don’t have the last one to enact the ascension because Astarion’s with us. Cazador’s the only one who could have done it because he’s the only one who knows what each of the runes looks like. Without Astarion’s, they can’t—”

“They wanted him,” you whisper the confession, and you swear your voice nearly cracks. “They wanted Astarion. That’s why they wanted to speak with me.”

All three of your companions whip their heads to you, and you stare down at the ground. Shame burns through you, and you can practically feel the disappointment radiating off them as it dawns on you that you lied to them. You lied to your closest companions for the sake of saving yourself the embarrassment that no matter what you do, no matter what you tell yourself, your subconscious forces you to care for the bloody vampire sitting beside the fireplace. Despite the many eyes on you, you can only feel one crimson pair that bore into you like the sun beating down on a hot summer’s day.

Even now, he’s your biggest concern, and you hate yourself for it.

“Then it’s not Astarion they need,” Gale says breathlessly. “They need the marks on his back.”

“And you didn’t tell us this, why?” Shadowheart hisses. “You said they just tried to kill you!”

You blurt. “They did! They said they’d stop killing citizens if I just tossed Astarion over to them, but when I said no, they completely flipped and–”

“You declined that deal?” Lae’zel snarls, and you unwillingly flinch at the venom in her tone. “You swore, istik. You swore you wouldn't be foolish if it came down to you or him.”

The words feel like a knife to your throat.

“Well, obviously, it worked out,” you grumble, ignoring how Lae’zel’s eyes are narrowed dangerously. No doubt, she has questions of her own that she’ll demand answers to later. “If I handed him over, they would’ve had the last key to conducting the ascension.”

“You still lied to us,” Shadowheart steps toward you, but Gale quickly clears his throat.

“I know how deceived we all feel, but must we fight? What matters is the spawns can’t conduct the ascension as of now, correct?” he attempts to calm her down, but her scowl only grows deeper. “As disappointed as we all are, we must admit that keeping Astarion here is the right decision.”

“You’re too hasty, wizard,” Lae’zel snaps. “A vampire’s ascension would mean ridding of all the other spawn wreaking havoc in the city. We mustn’t throw away a chance being offered without considering it.”

Shadowheart is immediately on her feet, her eyebrows furrowing. “Don’t be an idiot–a few thousand spawn is better than a nearly impenetrable being capable of creating even more spawn. That’s asking for just as bad as we are now–maybe even worse.”

They break into a simultaneous debate, one in which two room occupants do not take part. Because even as you try to focus on what the others are saying, all you can feel is the unsettling stare of the spawn in the corner of the room, his hand still swirling the wine. You wonder if his wrist ever gets tired. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of returning his stare, but you watch him from the corner of your eye as his attention shifts to your wrist.

“Are we even sure this is what they’re planning? Do a few drawings prove that they want to go through with this ritual, again, after what it nearly did to them?” Shadowheart’s attention darts to you. “This ritual would kill them. Why in the hells would all of them agree to do it if it only means one would come out alive?”

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out in return. The hurt embedded into her expression is so glaringly apparent that it makes your chest squeeze uncomfortably, and all you can do is look away in shame. “...I don’t know.”

Her face hardens. “Do you? Or are you just lying to us again?”

Cheeks flaring, you shake your head. “I’m not lying, I swear it.”

Her eyes flicker with something you don’t recognize before they flit to your bandaged arm and then back to your eyes. She doesn’t miss how you try to move your arm behind you. A miscalculation on your part since your attempt at hiding it makes your secret that much more obvious. “Then what are those for? You’ve had them on since you returned from the Blushing Mermaid, and you refuse to let me heal you myself. Just what did you get injured from?”

The room is so silent you can hear your own heartbeat.

“I–” you stop, wavering. “There was a—”

Shadowheart clenches her jaw. “Don’t lie. Please.”

But still, no words are willing to leave your throat. 

Your companions await words from you that do not exist. Like a deer in headlights, you stand numbly, unsure what to do. Fortunately, and also unfortunately, before long, Lae’zel has had enough of waiting, and she begins to march toward you in a way that makes you step away.

“Give me your arm,” she demands. “If you cannot say, then show us.”

You can feel all the blood draining from your face as she draws closer. But even Gale cannot hinder her this time because everyone in the room knows what she’s capable of with that blade attached to her hip, and she’s not against wasting a few potions of healing if she has to barrel her way through. You brace yourself for the inevitable, teeth gritting together.

Just as she reaches for your arm, someone else snatches it away.

“I drank from them,” Astarion says as you bump slightly into his chest, eyes wide at his pale fingers wrapped around your wrist. He yanks the edge of the bandage down with his free hand and lifts it for the others to see. The two puncture wounds, where the skin that surrounds it is darker than the rest, make you feel naked under the eyes of others. It’s too vulnerable. Too mortifying.

Your heart hammers pathetically, and whether it’s from the expressions of your companions or the hand wrapped around the sensitive skin of your wrist, you’re not sure. You hope it’s not the latter.

Gale’s jaw drops. “We agreed that this was the one thing you wouldn’t do.” 

“If I hadn’t, I would’ve perished,” the vampire retorts in response, releasing his hold on your arm as it falls back to your side. The place where his hand had been tinges under your skin. “And there weren’t exactly a few boars lying around the damn city for me to feed on.”

You notice he fails to mention there had been more than enough bodies to satiate him, but you keep your mouth shut.

The hurt on Shadowheart’s face is no longer one that throbs your sympathy. Instead, she seems to burn with something you haven’t seen in ages.

Anger.

Her palm flickers with radiant light, and Astarion immediately flinches, hissing as he moves to hide his body behind yours. In your haste, you can’t think of anything to do besides stepping toward her, holding out your hands. Astarion releases a strained laugh from behind you. “Now, Shadowheart, let’s not do anything hilarious, shall we?”

“I’ll kill you,” she growls maliciously, the glow of her palm growing brighter. “Like I should have done the second you came back to ruin everything we’ve done without you.”

You cautiously approach her, focus never leaving her eyes despite the danger festering in her hands. “You shouldn’t, Shadowheart.”

She throws daggers in your direction with just her expression, and you can’t deny how helpless you feel. “Killing him would end all of this. If we buried him somewhere, they’d never find the runes. They’d never be able to follow through with the ascension, and we won’t have to deal with his pompous ass anymore.”

You hate that she’s right. You hate that even though she’s right, you can’t agree with her methods.

“I know he’s—not exactly a friend—but he was once. And I know you considered him one as well,” you insist, inching closer. The hesitance in her motions as you come too close to the radiant light is undeniable. “I don’t want you to bear the guilt of his death.”

Because as much as you’re wrapped up in a world of your own–a world where you fight to hate the man behind you–you know that your companions feel the same way. The sentiments gathered from months of sharing the same camp, months of saving one another from multiple deaths, and months of aiding one another overcome their own pasts don’t just disappear. You know what they shared. Being the most similar amongst your companions, forced under the influence of a power they did not want to be subjected to, you know they considered themselves friends, even if they never voiced it out loud.

You know that deep down, Shadowheart’s hatred for Astarion stems from her own feeling of betrayal when he tried to kill you. When he attempted to harm the only other person who guided her to a path outside of Shar.

“Trust me, I won’t feel guilty,” she finally forces out. “You’re a fool to trust him again.”

“I don’t trust him,” you reassure her, your hands finally reaching hers as they dim and eventually vanish all traces of magic. “But if he’s to die for nearly killing me, I want it to be under my hands. Don’t sully your own for my sake when you’ve just escaped all the bloodshed.”

Shadowheart’s brows soften, but her face turns cold. Thoughts seem to run through her mind like an endless train before she decides that thinking through each one is worth more than Astarion himself is worth. She inhales deeply and nods, allowing you to finally release her hands. She shoots the others one last glance before turning to retreat upstairs.

You’re left in a pitiful silence—one that nobody in the room dares to break.

An entire day is spent with you wallowing in your shame, refusing to get out of bed.

You hope this is just a terrible nightmare, but you know better. If this were a nightmare, you’d already be dead.

You only climb out of your covers when you have to change the bandages on your wrist. It’s a painful process now since you don’t even want to look at the puncture wounds anymore, but it’s better than risking it to get infected. A knock on your door makes you stand from your bed, kicking the bandage rolls under your bed. “It’s open.”

You expect Gale or even Lae’zel, but you’re met with piercing red eyes. You contemplate begging him to leave you alone because looking at him right now only conjures up the guilt that’s been eating away at you for hours now. Instead, you build that wall between the two of you again, your face hardening. “What do you want?”

He’s never come to you willingly before. Not unless you were positively drenched in blood, and he had no choice but to follow his instincts for what he hopes to be a meal other than stale boar blood. Much less approached you in your own room.

Astarion lifts the empty glass bottle in his hand. “A charming welcome, as usual, I see.”

“You just had a full supply yesterday,” you say, brows furrowing. “I checked it myself.”

“Clearly, now I don’t,” he shrugs, and when you shoot him an intense glare, he frowns. “You can’t possibly blame me. I haven’t exerted myself as I did at that dirty tavern since the last time I had that damn parasite swimming around my head. So, unless you decide to offer yourself to me, again…”

You think he’s genuinely lost his mind. “Right now? Seriously? After what just happened yesterday, you want to ask me for blood?”

“Just a suggestion, darling. Otherwise, we always have the other option, as boring as it is.”

Perhaps you should just toss him to Lae’zel and call it a day.

Groaning in exasperation, you march past him, slapping a cloak into his chest. “There’s 15 minutes to sunset.”

He laughs, but it only makes your face turn sour.

The forest isn’t far off from the main square of Rivington. And by the time you reach it, the sun has long gone down, and you watch as Astarion takes off the hood of his cloak, breathing deeply in the moon's bask. And as he glances back at you, you don’t bother trying to walk side by side, remaining on guard and surveying his every move from three steps behind. He comments on it even though you think he doesn’t care for what you do. “I don’t bite, you know.”

“You’re not funny.” He snorts at your deadpan and continues into the deeper parts of the forest.

The entire time, your eyes remained glued to the backs of his heels, palms growing increasingly clammy as you become surrounded by nothing but the soft ambiance of the woods. His steps are as silent as they’ve always been, and it feels like following a ghost into the darkest parts of the forest. It’s becoming hard to see more than a few feet in front of you, and if your training with Lae’zel has taught you anything, you know that you don’t want to be at a disadvantage—especially when the other party is a bloody vampire.

You halt in your tracks. He does, too, turning to shoot you a questioning look. “What is it?”

“It’s too hard to see. We need to turn back.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little bit of darkness.”

You scrunch your nose at this, and he merely grins. Before you can say anything, he’s back to pacing across the dirt without a care in the world—almost too fast for your liking. “Will you at least slow down?”

“Shall I hold your hand?”

“I’d rather cut it off.”

“A pity.”

You curse his long legs as the forest becomes darker and darker, even as each time you think it can’t possibly get worse than this. You swear his steps become quicker, and a part of you wonders if this is where he attempts to run away and whether you should cast a sleep spell before he succeeds. But the most rational part of you reminds yourself that he’s had plenty of chances to escape. Hells, he could do it even now, considering how much more easily his eyes adjust to the darkness than you.

“Astarion, I swear to the Gods above, if you don’t stop walking so quickly…”

This time, you don’t get an answer.

Suspicions rising, you break into a jog and then into a gradual sprint. Every time you think you finally caught up to him, a branch whips into your face, and you barely manage to swat it away before it manages to cut your skin. You call his name a few times to no avail, and you genuinely begin to ponder if you should’ve brought your scroll for daylight.

Finally, you stumble through a tall berry bush into what you assume to be another branch.

And rather than more darkness, you’re met with a clearing. It’s only a few long strides in width and a couple more in length, but here, it doesn’t seem like nighttime at all. The moon peers down at you in all its glory, and you think this might’ve been Selune’s pocket of the forest if she were here. You blink wide when a speck of light—a firefly—flies barely past your face. And suddenly, you’re surrounded by light rising from the green grass beneath you in fragile wings. 

The tightness in your chest dissipates, if only for a moment.

Only once you’ve taken in the vast difference of your surroundings just a few moments prior do you see Astarion pulling off the clasp of his cloak. He tosses it to you, and it lands on your face before you yank it away with a scowl. “You could have just handed it to me–”

“Stay here,” he says. “I’ll return when I’ve finished hunting.”

You gawk at him. “I’m not going to let you just leave.”

“I’ve proven myself plenty,” he scoffs. “If I remember correctly, you would’ve likely perished were I not there at that tavern a few days ago. And I must remind you that I do have quite the memory. If I planned on betraying you, I would’ve done it then—at a more fashionable time.”

You don’t have much of a rebuttal to that.

While you could bring up the dozens of other times he’s made questionable decisions pertaining to his loyalty, the soothing bath under the moon’s gaze seems to calm you down. So, instead of fighting the internal urge to continue your petty quips, you drop the cloak beneath you. He cocks a brow, surely expecting more of a protest, but you just swallow your pride, plopping down on the grass with a huff. “If you don’t return in 30 minutes, I’m coming to find you.”

“40 minutes,” he tries. “30 minutes isn’t nearly enough time for anything fun.”

You scowl. “20 minutes.”

Astarion smiles wickedly just enough for his fangs to peek beneath his top lip. “Very well. I’ll expect you no later than that.”

And like a predator fading into his natural environment, he vanishes into the darkness.

Time passes slowly when all you can do is pick at pieces of grass. As beautiful as the clearing is, it’s a bit too soothing—enough to make you doze off as you lean against the trunk of a tree. Though you attempt to keep your eyes open, reminding yourself you have a responsibility to uphold, you haven’t had this sense of relaxation in ages. Especially now, in your home with an atmosphere thicker than the butter you use on your bread. It’s almost like a spell as you feel your heavy eyelids droop helplessly.

You pray you don’t dream tonight. Not when you know all you’ll think of is the betrayal you inflicted on your companions.

A rustle of leaves snaps you back awake.

And when you look up, you see two blood-red eyes staring down at you from the branches of the tree opposite of yours.

They look exactly like the spawn in the alleyway, practically a month ago now. The same ones that haunt your nightmares and the same ones that morph into your ex-lover in the ones you despise the most. And while you can’t see their face, you don’t need much more than that to break into action.

Immediately, you’re snatching the cloak and sprinting back into the forest's darkness. You don’t care about the branches flinging themselves at you anymore because you can barely breathe even without worrying about them. Twigs and thin branches flail across your cheeks as you practically barrel through the woods, your legs feeling like they could give up if you were ever to stop running. With only the cloak in one hand and a dagger in the other, you don’t even attempt to fight whoever this person is upfront–you learned your lesson well the last time you tried. So, instead, your boots crunch against whatever plants are being crushed beneath you as you frantically run from the creature chasing you.

The worst part is you can still hear leaves rustling behind you.

Your lungs hurt. Your head hurts. Everything hurts, and yet you cannot stop. You hope the forest itself swallows you whole at this point, especially as you hear the movements getting closer and closer.

Tripping over a particularly large root, you fall through a bush, bracing for impact as you curse everyone you can think of for your luck. But rather than your shoulder crashing into a pile of dirt and twigs, you plant face-first into what feels like…cloth?

“Eager little thing, aren’t you? If you wanted to touch me, you could have just asked,” Astarion teases and you instantly tear yourself away, pushing your palms against his chest with wide eyes. And as much as you hate to admit it, a flood of relief hits you. And as much as it shouldn’t, meeting his gaze makes you able to breathe again.

Gods, what is wrong with you?

“There’s something chasing me,” you say hurriedly, pointing in the direction behind you. “I think it’s another spawn, I saw his eyes–”

His face stills when you practically jump at the bushes moving in ways the wind cannot will it to. Your arm flies to push him in front of you in case something were to leap out, and while you’re sure he’d complain dramatically about this gesture on any other occasion, he’s too busy worrying about what lies behind the bush. His hand shoots to what you assume to be that blasted comb he takes everywhere while you grip your knife, and you hear both your breaths hitch when something lunges out of the shrub.

It’s a small, puny squirrel.

Astarion doesn’t even try to stifle the laugh that escapes him as he throws his head back.

“I swear there was something following me!” you hiss, slapping his arm while the squirrel scurries away back to wherever it came from. He doesn’t stop, having little care about how your face flushes with embarrassment, and instead seems to revel in it. The bastard is enjoying this.

You wish you could throw the damn squirrel at his head.

“Oh, yes, I do believe there was,” he’s barely fazed while you continue glaring daggers at him. “I’m impressed you survived an encounter with such a terrifying foe, my dear.”

“It was definitely following me...” your voice trails off, and the bloodlust that had overwhelmed your lungs is fading away, leaving nothing but the sound of Astarion and his annoyingly loud laughter. 

He stops when there’s a shrill scream from across the forest. One that wails in what is unmistakenly of excruciating pain.

The two of you slowly turn to one another, and a knowing gleam flashes behind his eyes.

“Darling, the smart decision here would be to leave–”

But you’re already rushing toward whoever this victim is, forcing him to groan loudly and trail after you, snatching up your cloak from the ground in the process. You feel him close behind as you practically fly through the forest, with little care of how exhausted you were just moments before as the screams of pain seem to fuel your determination to lend aid. 

Astarion, although displeased, only grumbles as he continues to follow your lead. “Is it necessary to be heroic now of all times? In a dark forest where there’s sure to be animals twice our size?”

You ignore him.

A leaf slaps into your face as you finally reach what’s now been reduced to soft sobs. And you’re not sure what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t someone you knew.

“Berry?” you blink at the small girl, who you’re sure can barely even see you with how teary her eyes are. She watches you wearily before she gasps in recognition, and it’s then that you realize that her arm is bleeding.

“Tav!”

“You’re hurt,” you’re kneeling beside her in an instant, assessing her wounds as you reach to dig around your pockets in hopes of any medical supplies you might’ve left in there. “Did something attack you?”

“Yes,” she winces as you lift her arm to inspect it closer. “I’m not sure what it was, but it came out of nowhere, and they—-they tried to bite me.”

A lump forms in your throat. As twisted as it is, you're relieved you weren't actually imagining what you saw earlier. “Did you see if they had fangs? Did they look like a regular person?”

“I think so,” she replies in a hushed voice, wiping her tears. “I was so scared. I didn’t know what to do when it–”

A hand grabs her by the back of her cloak, yanking her in the air with her legs dangling helplessly as Astarion holds her just high enough to render attempts to kick at him useless. “I’d normally entertain tasteless tricks like this, but I’m in a less than forgiving mood, I’m afraid. You’ve cut into the time I have to fill my own stomach.”

You gasp, jumping to your feet. “Astarion, what the actual hells are you doing?”

“Trust me, you’ll thank me later, darling,” he sneers at the girl, hissing at him aimlessly. “Show them, you little imp.”

Having no idea what’s going on, you decide the best thing to do is de-escalate whatever misunderstanding he’s had about the poor girl tied to his hand. “You’ll hurt her. Just let her go and explain what’s going on.”

“Show them,” he pronounces each word harshly, glaring at Berry. 

And finally, she tries to bite at his hand. This prompts her to unhinge her jaw just enough for you to see the glint of sharp teeth. Ones that do not certainly belong to an innocent orphan.

Were you always this unlucky, or was the past month just a living hell for you?

“See what I mean? You can offer your thanks to me later, darling,” Astarion smiles proudly, and if you knew him any less than you did, you’d think he’s psychotic for smiling like that in this situation. But then, again, maybe he is. “How you seem to attract so many of us is beyond me, but I believe we should refrain from keeping this one alive.”

Your jaw drops. As much as you feel appalled that the innocent girl you’ve been soothing over the death of her adoptive father for the past few weeks turned out to be one of the very creatures that nearly took your life (on multiple occasions), you can’t fathom the idea of just ridding of her. She’s still a kid—at least, to the naked eye. “Are you insane? No, we’re not killing her!”

“Gods, please don’t tell me you’ll try and make this brat see sense. She’s practically feral! Look at her!” he grits through his teeth, waving his free hand to the girl in question, who’s too busy trying to snap her teeth at him. “This thing doesn’t deserve your sympathy right now.”

Berry manages to catch the tip of his finger in her teeth, and Astarion lets out a string of curses as he drops her to the dirt. It doesn’t even take another second for her to lunge toward you, fangs bared and claws ready to sink into your flesh. You barely manage to swerve out of the way, her sharp nail grazing past your cheek.

“Berry, just listen to me! I don’t want to hurt you!” you practically yell, but she only stumbles on the ground a moment before rushing at you again. You reach for your dagger, fearing you may have to use it on a child until she’s snatched into the air again.

This time, Astarion hangs her by the cloak onto a tree branch, where she screams and grasps at the air, practically throwing a tantrum.

You gawk in utter disbelief; too many things are happening simultaneously.

And Astarion doesn’t help as he slips out the damn comb again, grinning from ear to ear. You notice that this time, he seems to have taken the time to sharpen the tips of the teeth, which nearly look akin to a row of needles. 

He holds the comb in Berry’s direction. “Well? Shall I do the honors?”

As you watch him threaten a child who also happens to be a vampire, you ponder that maybe you should have just handed him over to Dalyria when you had the chance.

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[sanccharine]

blueberry muffins | sn

single parent au, christmas au

pairing: babysitter!sana x single parent!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 7.2k

warning: so sweet it'll rot your teeth ! ew that ryhmed, i'm sorry

summary: when your own life becomes a b-rated hallmark holiday movie (not that you're complaining)

a/n: finally, what was supposed to be last year's christmas fic and the sequel to pizza party! is here !! all thanks to this request !! this was co-written by @eternallyghosting (she wrote three (very important) sentences and the summary, which is easily the hardest part of writing fics) strangely, it was nice writing domestic fluff again and also i gave up on the banner :D also is this happy belated christmas bc this was for last year or is it early bc christmas is in five days ?? anygays, happy holidays !!

The moment the car stopped, a door was being shoved open. You didn’t have to check the rearview mirror to know that your son had sprinted out. Shaking your head, you shifted the gear to park before turning your gaze at your girlfriend. 

Minatozaki Sana was a confident woman. Or at least that is what you’ve gathered over the last year. She was never one to hide how she felt; it was she who had made the first move. So to see her eyes glazed over, trained on the raindrops collecting at the edge of the windshield was concerning, to say the least. 

“Hey,” was all you uttered, even quiet to your own ears. But Sana was attuned to your voice so she straightened before she turned to meet your gaze.

In the many years that make up a life, a year may be inconsequential. Between those three hundred and sixty-five days many things can happen. You can meet new people, spend time with them and get to really know their likes and dislikes, understand what truly makes and motivates them. During this time, you could gain lifelong friends, whom you instantly sync with only to lose them by the end of the year. Twelve months is enough time to drive you away from your family, to uproot your life and start anew, or perhaps return home to loving arms where everything remains unchanged. A year is a million moments of frustration and tears and happiness, a combination of beginning and endings, and gain and loss. But many years later, those instances would be fleeting at best. 

A whole year; a passing moment. 

Perhaps that’s why you were pleasantly surprised with how well things were with Sana. Having known each other for almost two years, from kind greetings building up to genuine conversations. The slow build of your relationship, from when you first asked her about her bad day to when she finally asked you out for a coffee date. There was not a moment you regretted, and to think that this was all the result of your son, the last shove the pair of you needed. 

Now Sana has moved in, you wake up to her running around your home alongside your son. She’d gone from his babysitter to someone who takes an active role in his life, someone who shapes him to be better. Someone he can learn from, grow with, and rely on, especially when you weren’t there for him. 

Simply put, you couldn't be more sure of your decision to be with her. Now, there were only a few more steps. 

Without saying a word, you reached for her hand, her fingers interlocking with yours instinctively. “I’m not worried, I just need a moment,” Sana said, the frozen glaze slowly dissipating from her eyes. 

Exhaling, you reached out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. Silky soft to the touch, even with her constant dyeing. How she managed to maintain the texture remained a mystery. From her natural brown to blinding orange to auburn to back to her brown, you’ve seen Sana’s hair shift faster than the seasons. Though in the dark of the night, your car was only illuminated by the lamppost a meter away, her hair seemed so depthless it was inky black.  

Sana leaned into your touch, her eyes fluttering shut as you held her. Just as you were about to assure her, a loud thump on the glass startled you both apart. 

“Aren’t you coming?” Your son asked loudly, though it sounded muffled since he had the side of his face and palms pressed flat against the glass. With another slap to the glass, he moved away but not before saying. “Open the trunk, I need to show grandma my chef’s hat and cookbook.” 

Sana had gone from clutching her heart to clutching her stomach as she doubled over with laughter. You, on the other hand, had to rest your forehead on the steering wheel to let out a long and exaggerated groan. 

“He will be the—”

Your son hit the car twice, yelling. “Trunk, please!” 

“Okay, okay, I’m opening it! It’s opening,” you stumbled to find the button. With a huff, you took out your car keys while Sana was still giggling as she got out to help with the suitcase. 

Your son had catapulted himself into your father’s arms as you headed up the porch, luggage in hand. Sana followed behind you, not necessarily hiding, but slightly obscuring herself from your parents. Smiling, you extended your free hand to take hers as you reached the door. 

“Oh, look who’s home!” your father exclaimed, as he swiftly lifted your son up and placed him on his hip. 

“Don’t do that! Who’s going to pay for another surgery?” you said, scowling while your mother slapped at his arm, trying to pry your son away. 

“With all that hard work, it will be you, of course,” your father said, before whispering at your son who then burst into giggles after peeking at you. 

“Well, if it's all the same, help me out with our bags—”

“Not happening,” your father said before walking into the house. 

“Here, let me,” your mother passed right by you and attempted to take the bag Sana was shouldering. Sana tried to decline politely, but your mother wasn’t having it. Soon the bag was in her hands and she took Sana’s hand in hers. Your mother gave you a smile as she guided Sana into the house. “She’s beautiful.” 

“I know, Mom,” you groaned, the smile hard to suppress. 

Home felt familiar. There was a smell, something you couldn’t pinpoint exactly. Of course, there were notes you recognised. A blend of your mother’s baking and your father’s obnoxious perfumes against the smell of rain. Something you’ve experienced so many times before and have long yearned to return to. As for furniture, nothing seemed to have changed. You spotted a few new frames, photos of your son now competing with numerous photos of yourself. Then one that really stopped you in your tracks. 

Your mother, artistic in all of her endeavours, had a growing collage of her favourite photos on a pinboard. You don’t come home often to notice all the small edits she makes, but this one was glaringly obvious. It was a picture that was clearly printed out recently. On normal paper it seemed, it lacked the gloss. It was cut to the shape of the three people in the photo, bordered with orange craft paper and stuck on at the very edge of the board. 

It was a picture of you, your son… and Sana. 

One night, when Sana decided it was time for her classic bright orange to return, she asked whether you wanted to dye your hair as well. 

Of course, in an instant, you answered no. Unfortunately, your son had overheard the question and practically begged you to let him dye his hair. So that night, both you and your son earned a few strands of orange hair that matched Sana. 

Almost on instinct, your hand drifted to the spot behind your neck, hiding a few stray strands of fading bright orange hair. When you had sent the image to your mother, you’d laughed at it because your face was barely in it to your mother’s disappointment. In fact, you were showing your back and looking over your shoulder so the orange was peeking through. Sana wore a blinding grin that also matched your son’s, who was pointing at the streak of orange in his fringe. But here it was, printed and cut out and pasted. 

The sight invoked a feeling you couldn’t place. 

Someone stepped to your right to observe the same picture. 

And then Sana turned to look at you, her eyes glassy. 

Even if it wasn’t said, you know what this means. 

The words were in your mouth when your mother spoke from your left. “I hope you don’t mind me putting up that picture there,” she said with scrunched eyebrows. “I really liked it.” 

Sana’s lips twitched upward as she shook her head. “I don’t mind at all.”

Introductions were quite brief, having heard each other quite a bit from you. Besides, you knew once your son tired himself out and was asleep, your parents could really get to know Sana. So, you decided to move your bags up to your scheduled room. 

Unfortunately for you, Sana stopped by another door. 

Gasping, Sana pushed the door open and took in every corner of your childhood room. 

The room was exactly as you left it. Except less messy. No furniture was moved, no posters torn down, no trinkets replaced—it was as if you had never even left. 

Sana moved to your study desk, her finger brushing the spines of textbooks that had made your high school years a living hell. 

“Did you study a lot?” Sana asked, her voice light as if she were absent-minded. 

“Not really, just enough to pass I guess,” Sana sent you a look over her shoulder, head slightly tilted in suspicion before turning her attention back to the desk. 

She poked the trophies and participation awards, smiling at your photos crammed to a side before picking one up. 

“Someone looks awfully upset here,” she brandished a photo of you standing on a podium, glaring holes at the person in front of you while you gripped your smaller award. “Sore loser much?” 

“I deserved first place! You weren’t there, alright?” you rolled your eyes, plucking the photo away from her while she moved towards your bed.

“I can’t imagine you’d ever have such a tidy room,” she chuckled as she took a seat by the foot of the bed, bouncing a little on the comfortable mattress. 

“Yeah, well, you have my mother to thank for that,” you smiled, as you leaned on your desk, facing Sana. Watching her. 

Perhaps, it was nostalgia. Or exhaustion. Who knows, maybe even the holiday spirit. But you liked staying here, being in your old room, surrounded by things you’ve long forgotten, from a time you don’t particularly miss, but now, with Sana. Someone who promised a new start. 

Sana watched you in turn, her lips pressed thin as she suppressed a knowing smile. 

Leaning back, she asked. “So, is this where we’ll be sleeping? In your old room?” 

Chuckling, you shook your head. “Not a chance,” you jutted your chin at the single bed, “you feel like being crammed into that?”

Sana shook her head as she turned around to feel the quilt, lips quirked up at the shark pattern.

“No, we’re taking the guest room,” you said, walking to your door. From here, you could just about see over the stairway railing and into the kitchen. Both your parents buzzed around your son like moths to a flame, grins on all of their faces. With a soft sigh, you said. “The one that will be coddled, pampered, and spoiled for the next week will be sleeping in here.” 

Content for the moment, you turned your attention back to Sana but she was already looking at you. An expression akin to worry was on her features. 

“They’ll like me right?” 

Sana closed in on herself, hands dragging down the quilt to feel it one more time before folding in front of her stomach. Her eyes darted around the room before settling back on you. You hated seeing Sana like this. 

“You don’t have anything to worry about,” you pushed away from your place at the door and took Sana’s face in your hands, helping her to look up at you. “They’ll love you.”

You leaned down, your nose brushing against hers as a chuckle escaped her. 

“Just like you do,” she giggled cheekily. 

You kissed her to stop her teasing. 

“Hmm, sure,” but still, you admitted. “Just like I do.”  

Once your son had tired himself out and you had unpacked your things, you decided it was time to put him to bed. With his blue set of pyjamas that matched your ancient shark-patterned bed sheets, he clambered and got under the sheets, tucking himself in neatly. You took a seat by him on the bed, hand reaching out to comb his unruly hair out of his face. 

“How are you feeling?” you asked, a bit slowly. 

“Good,” your son admitted, “it’s nice to see grandma and grandpa again.” 

The muscle in your jaw tensed. 

You wished you could visit home often, a long drive or not, it wasn’t too hard to come back home. However, work dragged you away and you didn’t even have time to consider a plan for the weekend. Even now, your ‘long’ weekend as an excuse for a holiday was extended into a week of freedom after you’d lined up your leave days and practically begged for the holidays. There was no shame in it, the end of this year was important. There were big changes ahead. 

“Good,” you parroted. 

“Grandma loved my hat and said we can bake some treats from the cookbook,” he exclaimed. You nodded as he continued. “I asked her if we could make a cake—a blue one!—like Percy!”

“Like Percy,” you scoffed as you completed the sentence with him. 

“She said she knows a trick so the food doesn’t come out green,” he added and you didn’t doubt him. 

Ever since his class was given free rein over the library, your son has been reading quite a lot. On top of his fascination with cooking, of course. This was the longest he’s stuck with a hobby or interest, and reading that his favourite character managed to eat special blue food, catered to him by his loving mother, only spurred your son more to mimic it. 

With your help, and Sana’s… mostly Sana’s, your son has mastered green pastries, desserts and sweets. Or ogre food, as you lovingly call it. For reasons that you couldn’t guess, no dye seemed to do the trick, perhaps you were buying cheap brands?

“Yeah, I’m sure she does,” you rolled your eyes before pinching his nose, at which he swatted your hand away. 

“So which book are we reading tonight?” Sana asked, walking into your childhood home with a book in her hand. You could guess which one it was. 

“The Lightning Thief!” your son squealed when Sana held the book up. 

“Don’t you get tired of reading the same one again and again?” you asked, watching Sana as she took a seat on the other side of the bed. 

“Nope!” your son said, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis. 

“Okay, but aren’t you curious about what happens next—?”

“Oh, don’t start this again,” Sana said, as she conspirately shook her head with your son, clearly over your grumbling. 

“I’m just saying—!”

“Oh look at the time,” your son pulled up his empty wrist. “It’s bedtime, we only have time to read a few pages, let's get started!” 

Scowling, you pinched your son’s cheek and he had the audacity to giggle. 

Sana had started reading the chapter you’d stopped on. Her voice was soothing to listen to, even if the story wasn’t too uplifting. Getting comfortable, you curled up next to your son over his quilt and watched his drooping eyes struggle to stay open. 

As Sana finished the chapter, she glanced over. A smile tugged on her lips when she found that your son was deep asleep. 

With a nod, you kissed him on the forehead and made sure he was comfortable. Following suit, Sana placed a kiss of her own on his temple. The pair of you exited the room on your tiptoes and slowly closed the door behind you. 

“I’ll take the book back,” you said, extending your hand out. 

Instead, Sana placed a kiss on your cheek, her eyes lidded. 

“What was that for?” you asked, surprised but you weren’t complaining. 

“Just because,” she shrugged and then handed the book over to you. 

“Are you stalling seeing my parents?” you asked with a smirk as your hand came to rest by her neck, your thumb tipping her jaw to face you. 

“Not at all,” Sana said with such conviction that if you didn’t know her better, you’d have believed her. 

“They won’t take much time, I won’t let them interrogate you. I can tell them we’re tired and we need rest,” you said tilting your head to the side. “Which we do, honestly.” 

Sana nodded with a sigh, her eyes shuttered close as she leaned into the warmth of your palm. 

You pulled yourself in for a kiss, a gentle one, on her lips. Sana hummed before pushing away. 

“I’ll see you in a second,” you whispered. “You got this.”

She nodded and turned towards the stairs. You waited till she reached the bottom of the stairs before making your way to the guest room. Staying for such a short time, there was no need to unpack completely, and for that, you were slightly grateful. That meant you could hide things without anyone being the wiser. 

Dropping the book down on the open suitcase, you kneeled to rummage through the clothes. Making sure to lift layers of clothes as it is, you find a small velvet box at the very bottom. The sight of it brought a smile to your face. It can only mean so many things, though you still have some things to complete. 

Leaving it in the same room would be a gamble. The guest room was basically empty, anyone would be able to find it. Every other room in this house had someone staying in it or had them frequent it often. Anything moved out of its place would ring the alarm bells, no, you needed to hide this somewhere no one was likely to check. 

So you walked back to your childhood room and entered as quietly as you could. Your son was sound asleep. The left door on your cupboard creaked when it opened, but if you applied pressure on the hinges as you opened, it made barely any sound. Locating the bottommost drawer, you pulled up your old clothes and shoved the box at the very back before hiding it under the clothes. 

Happy with your task, you exited the room just as stealthily and made your way down to join your family as if nothing were amiss. 

Even with the help of your mother, it seems your son had difficulty mastering blue food. 

Somehow your mother managed to convince your son from an elaborate tiered cake to a classic sponge cake to plain old blueberry muffins. You’d hoped that maybe you could escape for the day, maybe with Sana, around your old neighbourhood. Unfortunately, you’d been roped in as assistant chefs and taste-testers instead. 

Seated on the couch, you watched three of the most important people in your family take a crack at making blueberry muffins which were actually blue in colour. Sana had been assigned mixing duty, which made no sense to you because you knew for a fact your mother had an ancient stand mixer lying around somewhere in the house. Though Sana didn’t seem to share your sense of justice as she was happy to do so. 

Your mother was taking her time going through the recipe book and teaching your son her own techniques. The sight helped you recall some of your own moments under her wing in the kitchen, though you were neither as interested nor skilled to be there. Oh but your son, he was completely enraptured. You’ve never seen him in school and struggled to attend parent-teacher meetings, but you guessed this is how he was in class as well. The swell of pride on your chest was an indescribable feeling. 

When Sana said that the batter was ready, your head perked up. Leaving your place on the couch, you made your way to the kitchen. Making sure your mother and son were distracted by the oven, you moved behind Sana. You had to be quick!

Rounding one hand on her waist, you placed your chin over her shoulder and at that, she chuckled while snuggling into your side. And then, you struck. 

Your free hand’s index finger dipped into the bowl to carry a dollop of aqua-blue batter straight into your mouth. 

By the time Sana had realized what you’d just done, you were already out of her reach. Her indignant shriek altered the other two chefs of your crime, though even they couldn’t do much now. 

When the muffins had been completed, you were surprised to see they were properly blue. Not some horrid inedible shade of green. 

Your first question after inhaling a few muffins alongside your father was to your mother. 

“How did you get them so blue?” you asked, staring at the dishes in the sink, looking as if a smurf had been murdered. “We never managed.”

“Well, depends if you bothered to buy the brand I told you to,” your mother showed an empty tube on the counter and you rolled your eyes at the dig.

“I did buy that brand!” you said, moving to pick up and examine the tube… only to find two more tubes hidden, flattened beyond recognition. 

“Well, then it depends on quantity,” your mother said as you turned on the balls of your feet, incredulous. 

“Is this much dye even healthy?” you asked, already reading the ingredients on the tube. 

“Guess we’ll find out,” your mother only shrugged as she looked at her husband, still scarfing down the muffins. You sent your mother another incredulous look but she just laughed at her own silly joke.

As the holiday came to an end, you finally got your chance to spend some time alone with Sana. 

Your father claimed he barely got any time to spend with his grandson. Of course, that was a complete lie. With how much time and money he spent, you’d even debated getting your son a gift at all. Though that was out of the question, you and Sana had already set your mind on what it was and had it ordered beforehand. You just had to go collect it. 

So your father said he’d take you all to the park. Once there, you let them go their own way. One moment, your son was accompanying your father and the next he was running at the nearest dog, eager to pet it. 

Holding hands, you and Sana watched as you made your way through the park. With every step, you were getting further away until you could see your son no more. Suddenly, the velvet box in your jacket pocket weighed you down, as if it had materialized into your jacket out of thin air. 

“Not going to lie,” Sana started, “I thought you’d show me more of your old home.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

“I don’t know, something like your old friends? Your old school? Old hang-out spots?” Sana drew on. “Maybe how that high school enemy of yours and how they work at a general store, having never escaped this small town?”

“I don’t know what winter budget film you watched, but that’s not happening here,” you rolled your eyes at her imagination. “Also, what enemy?” 

“The first-place winner,” Sana said with a cheeky smile. 

“Oh please, I’m not that petty to be thinking about something that happened so long ago,” Sana watched you intently, nodding along almost in a mocking manner. “And besides, they’re a professor at the university across the city, I believe.”

Sana’s grin widened as you just realised what you admitted.  

“I wasn’t keeping tabs on them! I just saw a post of theirs recently, alright!” you cried, though it fell on deaf ears. 

The most important thing to come out of the walk was your destination. To and back, it was mostly filled with Sana’s inane questions (filled with imaginative scenarios to paint you as some egregious husk of a human, might you add) and you answering them with proper facts and maybe some anecdotes. Sana stopped by the crafts store to collect wrapping paper while you collected your son’s gift. 

It was the following series of his favourite books; Heroes of Olympus. 

Yes, he has yet to finish the last two books of the current series. And yes, you’d only just berated (teased) him about rereading the first book. But you could just imagine how his face would light up when he sees these books. In fact… you don’t even know if you’ll be reading these books to him by the time he gets to them, which was strange to think about but really, there wasn’t a better gift for your son. 

When you arrived back home, your son was taking a nap on the couch, which made it all the more easier to wrap the present for him and get dinner ready.

When your son woke up the table was already set and the first thing he did was take his seat. All eyes were on him, everyone was wearing smiles watching him practically bounce on his seat. He gets to have his dinner, the muffins that he made, and then open his gifts early. Your father, chuckling, ruffled his hair and took a seat beside him. 

Dinner, for the most part, was uneventful as usual. That's not to say you didn’t have any fun. You did, you really did. As you ate your meal, you took a backseat in the conversation, observing just how comfortable Sana was alongside your family. She had absolutely nothing to be worried about. Your parents adored her. Almost as much as how much you and your son did. 

“So when is it?” your father’s question filtered in and you looked away from your nearly clean plate. 

“When is what?” you asked before taking your final bite. 

“I asked when are you two getting married?” 

Sana had to rub your back so you didn’t choke on your food, or worse, spit it across the table. 

“What?” you tip a sip of water. “What do you mean?” 

“It’s a valid question, really,” your mother admitted, not really looking at you, but you could see the smile toying at the edge of her lips. 

“Yeah, when is it happening?” your son looked up at you, eyes wide and shiny. 

“Um…” you turned to Sana for some help. Instead, she took her hand from your back and placed her chin on it, leaning in and expecting your answer as well. 

The velvet box seemed to burn in your jacket pocket.

Somehow, you’d managed to get out of that dreadful situation. 

Once the plates were cleared and blueberry muffins disappeared. It was time for presents. 

As if aware of what he might get, your son gravitated toward the large box set you’d gotten. And you were right. 

Nothing could compare to the expression on his face when he realized what he’d gotten. 

Without hesitation, he jumped into your arms and thanked you a thousand times. You reminded him that Sana had pitched in as well and he was flying at her to give her the same treatment. 

Perhaps, you were petty. 

Because you took pride that no other gift earned the same amount of excitement. 

The night settled down and your family received one last gift from your mother. 

When all of you were out, she’d tidied up the backyard and made hot chocolate.

All throughout this holiday, every moment seemed to be building up to this one. 

Under the twinkling fairy lights, you joined your son on the steps to the backyard. He was sitting with his knees up, his hands toying with a small figurine of Poseidon. Sana had bought it for him the moment she laid eyes on it, having thrifted it from some store, you couldn’t help but smile at the memory. 

Seeming to be in deep thought, your son watched the sight before him. With steaming cups of hot chocolate in their hands, your parents conversed with Sana. You didn’t know what she said, but it had your father throwing his head back and letting loose a loud snort. Your mother’s eyes crinkled in amusement as she flitted her attention back and forth between them. 

Clearing your throat, you began to speak. “Your hot chocolate is turning into cold chocolate, you know.” 

You were sure that comment would earn a look from him, but instead, your son moved a hand towards his cup, the figurine still in the other. He sighed and brought the cup to his mouth anyway. But before he could take a sip, you switched out his for your own cup. 

“Here, have mine,” you said, carefully placing the warm cup in his hands. 

Your son mumbled his thanks and sipped the drink silently, his eyes back on Sana. There was something he wanted to say. You had something you wanted to ask him too. But you decided to wait him out, let him come to you first because you surmised both of you wanted to discuss the same thing. 

And so for a moment, on Christmas day, you sat in silence with your son, on the steps to your childhood backyard, sipping warm (and yours, cold) chocolate. 

When he was done halfway with his hot chocolate, he placed the cup back down. You followed him. His hands were fidgeting with the figurine again, spinning it round and round, only stopping from time to time to run his index finger over the trident. 

“Grandpa was right, you know,” you’ve never heard your son’s voice so small. Wavering, as if he were confused, nervous even. “Why haven’t you asked Sana to marry you?” 

He paused to bite his lip while his eyes flitted to the figurine, thumb caressing the figurine’s armour. 

“Is it because of me?” he asked. The utterance is almost like an exhale, light but onerous. 

It would be so easy to provide empty consolation, that no, it wasn’t anything to do with him. But he knows you too well for that to pass, he’d see right through your attempt. Your son is already quite wise beyond his years, especially at the most inopportune times for you, and was only getting older. For as long as you can remember, it's only ever been the two of you. 

Your dates, however rare, come and go. His babysitters, much to his distaste in the beginning, come and go. Having a partner at the start seemed so important, if not to share the burden of caring for a child, then to at least have another figure for your son to look up to. And when you questioned that sort of thinking, you’d figured that all that really mattered was that you were there for your son. With little time as you did have with him in your day, you fought to make time for him. You hadn’t even entertained the idea, that perhaps, you’d date just for yourself. When it came to your son or some romantic dalliance that would never amount to anything real, the choice was easy. 

Because at the end of the day, it's only ever been the two of you. 

But all of that changed when Sana arrived at your doorstep. 

You doubted that neither of you, all three of you even, expected this outcome. 

So you understood where your son was coming from, asking this question. 

And you decided to be honest with your son, as you always have. 

“Yes, in a way.” 

Finally, your son turned his full attention to you. His hands were still holding the figurine, but they weren’t fidgeting anymore. 

You also turned to face him. 

Round eyes had turned sharp, searching for something. Yet his face was a little less expressive, more difficult to read. There were lines of worry decorating his forehead, he seemed older. He’s always by your side, it’s so easy to miss. But this close, on this night, it was obvious. He had grown up. 

“Before I asked her, I wanted to ask you,” you confessed. The velvet box that was previously hidden underneath your old clothes in the third drawer of your cupboard was now heavy in your pocket. Your son tilted his head in question. “For as long as I can remember, it has been just you and me.”

You sighed. These words were harder to get out than you’d expected. 

“I know you like Sana, and I know she already stays with us, and I know you know how much I love her,” the corner of your son’s lips twitched up a bit. “But there’s a difference between being together and being married. I think it’s a big step. And I don’t want to take that step with your blessing.” 

It only took your son a fraction of a second to react. He nodded, eager to say yes. 

“Of course, I want this for you,” he said, grinning. “She makes you happy. You make her happy too. And that makes me happy!” 

And he was back. 

He was giggling to himself as he poked your side with a finger. You rolled your eyes as you tried to brave the tickling sensation. 

“But seriously, I want this,” he nodded before turning his attention back to his cup of hot chocolate. He was going to take a sip, but stopped and looked at you. “And… and thanks for asking me.” 

“Of course,” was all you could say as both of you went to take a sip from your mugs. 

“Ugh!” your son let out an ugly bleh! and frowned. Your parents and Sana turned to look over at you. “This is so cold! Is yours too?” 

Your mother chuckled and nodded. From across the yard, she asked. “Shall we go heat them up?” 

“Yes, please!” your son stood up and pocketed his figurine. He extended a hand for your cup as well. When you gave it up, he whispered conspiraterly before your mother could whisk him away. “Good luck! You got this!”

And then with a giggle, he’d skipped off into the house. 

Your mother stopped at the steps just as you got up and dusted yourself up. 

“What were you two whispering about?” she asked with an uptick of her brow as if she hadn’t had her guesses. You shrugged. 

“What were you laughing about?” you asked. Your mother glanced back at your father and Sana, then back to you. She shrugged. 

“Okay, be like that then,” you said and your mother only chuckled. 

Then, she turned back again and called out to your father. “Did you take your tablets?” 

“Shit, no!” your father excused himself and rushed over. 

“Language!” your mother said as your father zoomed past, though he was more hobbling. Then your mother looked back at you. “She’ll say yes.”

And with that, she followed your father in and closed the balcony door to shut away the cold air. 

You turned to Sana. She was already looking at you. 

Without a mug, she had nothing to fidget with, so she had her hands steepled in front of her stomach. Her eyes were wide, expectant, as you made your way over. 

“Hey,” you said, both your hands finding their place in your pockets. Of course, it was only a front to find the box they were hiding. 

“Hi,” she said, the corner of her lips twitching up. 

There was nothing left to do. Nothing more you were so sure of. 

So instead of stuffing up the moment with unprepared words and emotion, you pulled out the box. 

Sana didn’t gasp or squeal or tear up. She just raised her steepled hands to her lips, her cheeks pushed up so high, elated crinkles forming beside her eyes. 

You weren't a grand person either. No big dinner, no big celebration, no build-up. You’d considered it, you really had, merely for the sake of Sana. But everything else just felt so unlike you, well, unlike the pair of you. Your start had been so simple, so unassuming, only because there was already so much between you. And everything that had followed, with her, and her with your son, had been the same. Everything just made sense. 

But you did think, perhaps, you should get down on one knee. 

So you started lowering yourself to the ground as you opened the box. But before you could complete the pose, Sana grabbed you by your collar and pulled you into a crushing kiss. 

You surmised that was a yes and smiled into the kiss.

“Come on, come on,” your son was ecstatic, practically shooting off from his seat on the couch. Sana only smiled to herself as she set up the laptop on the coffee table, making sure the camera showed everyone and that she looked all right. “We’re in!”

Handing Sana the mugs in your hands, you seated yourself down and lifted your son onto your lap. Just as you were taking back your mug, a shrill voice shrieked. “Sana!”

Your son giggled while your eyes widened. Because Sana returned the greeting with the same energy. “Nayeon!”

You’ve heard of that one before, Nayeon, and seen photos of her too. Well, you couldn’t remember exactly, Sana had quite the group of friends but when Nayeon’s face appeared along with another person, you just smiled and waved awkwardly. 

“Hi! It’s so nice to finally meet you,” Nayeon said politely to you just as another screen popped up. You knew them, the newlyweds!

You parroted her greeting as more screens popped up with familiar faces, but none close. You’ve only heard stories or seen photos. The laptop erupted with voices, none of which you recognized, it was quite overwhelming. Though, Sana had no trouble at all catching the flow of the conversation and laughing along. Your son seemed to follow her, although silently. Someone with the name of Choi Tzuyu housed two people on their screen, they both waved at your son, who responded eagerly. 

“I think everyone is here!” one of the women said, her profile name read Jihyo. She was clearly wearing a suit, though her tie had been undone. “Yup, headcount done, everyone is here. How are we moving forward with this?” 

“Well, that depends on Sana, really,” a woman from Nayeon’s screen said, she’d just joined the pair that was already there. She was wearing a smug smile, and in response, Sana rolled her eyes. 

Both you and your son turned to Sana, expectant. 

Grinning at the ground, feigning bashfulness, Sana held up her left hand. And there it was, glinting in the light, your engagement ring. 

The audio lagged from how much volume erupted. Someone wolf-whistled, while the others laughed and clapped. You knew people were congratulating you, but you were too busy fending off Sana burying her forehead into your shoulder. Only your son seemed to delight in the revelry. 

And then, to your horror, someone yelled. “Show us your ring too!” 

Before you could even lift your hand, your son had taken your left hand and held it above his head, showcasing the matching ring!

Someone shrieked again, although this time around the celebration was a bit more subdued. 

“Damn, I thought we were all gonna scream again but okay,” the one with the profile name Hirai Momo said, while the person next to them swatted their arm. “What? It’s—”

“Please ignore Momo, congrats on your engagement,” Jihyo said, leaning forward, trying to look right at you. “I know Sana has been excited about this for quite a while.” 

“Oh,” was all you could say, as Sana pulled away from you, a blush coating her cheeks. 

“We knew this was coming,” the profile Dahyun said, “but I think this is the first child in our little group—hello!”

Your son perked up as all attention was on him. “Hello!” 

He was readying himself to be asked questions, to share his interest in cooking with a whole new group of people, though the conversation switched again. 

“He’s not the first child, we have children too,” Momo whined. “Look, Boo and Dobby are here.” 

And then she continued to make the most obnoxious noise to call over her dogs. 

“You did not just compare an adorable kid to your feral dogs,” said the person next to Momo, even though they reached out to a dog themself and picked one up. “I’m sorry for this one, kid.” 

Your son didn’t seem to mind, instead, he was absolutely taken with the two dogs in the hands of the couple. 

“Then, I guess I have children too,” someone from the profile Choi Tzuyu said and called over another dog too. 

“Oh, Tzuyu, you’re back home?” someone asked and once again, the conversation changed. 

Smiling at the sight, you were content with just seeing Sana interact with her friends. She’d been pretty adamant about staying with you for this Christmas, and she’d mentioned how horrid the one before had been. It was the reason this group had decided to call this time around. 

Then out of the blue, Jihyo asked. “So when is the wedding?”

“Why are you asking? So you can bring that plus-one of yours from last time?” 

The call erupted again. 

“Right, right, how long are you just going to be attending weddings? When are you going—”

“Jeongyeon, I’m going to stop you right there, you’re giving me traumatic flashbacks to my mom,” Jihyo said, holding up her hands. “And, that plus-one was a one-time thing, I’ll probably never see them again.” 

“They’ll probably be there for Sana’s wedding, let's be honest,” even the slightest mention of your wedding had you sweating. Sana seemed to notice. 

Muting yourself, Sana turned to you. “They’re going to go at this for a while, thanks for agreeing to meet them… they’re basically family to me.” 

“Yeah, no, of course,” you said, placing a quick kiss on her cheek. You ignored the one who whistled again. You were muted, not off-camera. You tried not to display your embarrassment. “I’ll get this one ready for bed then.” 

Your son was pouting, but Sana just nodded. “I’ll finish up this call, and we can finish up your favourite chapter.” 

At that, your son’s smile returned. 

“Come on,” you said, picking him up and giving him a boost to land across the couch. You took the empty mug from Sana’s hand and left as she re-entered the conversation as if her little pause never occurred. 

“Mina! Ask Mina, she’s single too—!”

“But we’re here to talk about you, Jihyo—!”

“What do you mean? You just got engaged!”

Their voices faded with every step you took away from Sana, your son in tow. 

Maybe it was the end of the year, maybe it was the communal holiday spirit, but every Christmas, you found yourself reminiscing about past memories. Watching your son take his first steps, to watching him become confident in his own skin, you were glad he was surrounded by people who loved him as much as you did. And now, that permanently included Sana. These holidays have changed so many things, all of which you were so deeply grateful for. 

Surged with a wave of emotion upon reaching the threshold of your childhood bedroom,  and unable to suppress your elation, you grabbed your son by the hips and lifted him into the air. You were sure the sound of his surprised giggles would stay imprinted in your mind for many more Christmases to come.

any feedback is much appreciated.

a/n: first and foremost, i am so very sorry dear anon for getting this to you almost two fucking years later ;-; and second, happy percy jackson day !!

tagging: @someone-who-likes-broccoli

[parrythisucasual]

What About Me? Ch. 2

Pairing: Jax x Reader (Romantic)

Sub-pairing: Gangle x Reader (Platonic) / Ragatha x Reader (Platonic)

TW: Bullying / Implied depression

Content: You get settled into your room and make a new friend.

Your bedroom was rather plain. A desk, a bed with white sheets, and a tacky poster of a kitten hanging from a tree. “Is this… supposed to mock me?” you ask with a raised brow. “Erm… not sure, exactly? Everyone’s room starts like this. You could always ask Caine to personalize it, or get the paint and do it yourself. Gangle is wonderful at drawing- she could make a poster or two if you asked,” Ragatha explained. 

You step into your room, running your fingers over the smooth wood of the desk, thinking, “I have a few ideas… for one, the blankets should be (F/C), not this boring white. I’ll need some desk ornaments, and a few posters too.” You envisioned the perfect room as you listed it. Ragatha smiled, “Well, I can run and tell Caine, if you’d like, you just get settled in,” she waved as she headed back up the hall, “if you need me, holler!”

You turn, settling onto the bed and taking a deep breath. This was crazy, impossible, even, but you were going to get through it. You could take it. You’ve been through worse. At least it’s better than a trip to the emergency room for a broken bone, right? No pain. And it isn’t as if your life before was something spectacular, in fact, it was the opposite. Weren't you now living about a million people’s dream right now? A new, fantastical place with new, interesting people?

“How’s it feelin’, whiney?” your head shot up. Jax was leaning against the doorway, his already typical smug grin plastered across his face. You roll your eyes, “Pretty good, actually, this is gonna be better than my life back home.” Your statement seemed to surprise him, his smile faltering a moment, before he retook the jerk persona, “Oh, yeah? If you’re sooo sure about that,” he shrugged and invited himself into your room, glazing around with disinterest, “I’m betting you won’t last a month. The tough ones crack first.”

Your lips twitch as you resist snapping at him, “Mm, well if you say so,” and lay back against your bed. You were determined to ignore his rather desperate cries for attention. You ran your fingers over the soft white quilt and sighed, relaxing yourself. 

Jax, on the other hand, was staring at you, eyebrow raised and a rather irked expression painted on his face. He narrowed his eyes, huffed, and left the room. This made you snort, he was acting like a toddler who was told “no.” Once he was out of earshot, you began to giggle out loud. His reaction was priceless. You were definitely going to ignore him like that permanently.

“Um… Ragatha told me you wanted a few p-posters?” a shy voice peeped. You glanced up, surprised that someone else appeared so quickly. You glanced up, seeing the ribbon-and-mask girl, then smiled a bit, “Oh, yeah. Gangle, right?” She nods and steps closer hesitantly, sniffing. Her ribbons were wrapped around a small stack of papers and ink liners.

“Oh, do you draw manga?” you ask without thinking. The ink liners were the kind you saw anime artists using all over the internet. Gangle nods, setting the stack of papers on your desk, “I don’t anymore, not really… Jax just makes fun of me for it. You frown, that familiar annoyance tingling in your gut, “Hey, just ignore him okay? He’s just a @#$%*,” your rather unpleasant name being censored by a cartoony boink. 

She nodded a bit, then lifted a sketching pencil, “Um… what did you want me to draw?” You think a moment, then smile, feeling a twinge of sibling-like love for the sorrowful girl, “How about you just draw? I’d like your art on my walls either way.” Gangle perked up a bit, “Anything?” “Anything.” She nodded and shyly began to sketch. You watched her doodle for a moment, then realized something.

“Weren’t you a comedy mask when I got here?” you inquire, wondering if it changed depending on her mood. “Oh… yeah, I was but… Jax took in in the hall…” she blinked and her tears fell, but new ones immediately formed, “I don’t know where he went with it…” So her mood depended on her mask, not the other way around.

You made a small growl, “I’ll go get it back,” you gently pat where her shoulder would have been, “just stay here, enjoy yourself, okay? Don’t worry.” She nods, and you walk out the door, “And Gangle?” you add on your way out, “if he tries to mess with you, just tell him you don’t care, okay? He wants a rise out of you.” And off you went, in search of the annoying purple rabbit. Oh boy, was he about to get an earful.

TAGGING TIME: @lostsoullover (my bestieeee) @dai-tsukki-desu

[phantom-0-writer]

short 3: operation mousetrap

table of contents ao3

Nightwing’s eyes glazed over the case file he had already memorized as they made their way to the scene of their mission. Superboy fidgeted in the seat next to him, untempered. It had taken Nightwing and Robin (mostly Nightwing), and M’gaan almost the whole pre-mission briefing to convince Superboy to not just fly there, and actually take the bio-ship with them. He could empathize though. When Young Justice had first formed unofficially on their unsanctioned mission to CADMUS to, eventually, break Superboy out of his cloning pod the Justice League along with the bandit of misfits the Young Justice team was at the time had done everything they could and expended every resource to track and shut down anymore similar projects. Unfortunately and fortunately, Konner had been the only one to be stable enough to survive outside of the cloning pod, and since CADMUS had been permanently shut down there would be no more cloning projects (from them at least).  

Or so they thought. 

A mission that the Teen Titans were on almost a month ago had given them a tip off that there were still more CADMUS research operations happening. According to the files and research they had gathered, which, granted, wasn't as much as they would've liked, it seemed like there was something about this specific branch that had been different than the ones they had been tracking down after finding Konner. That had been the explanation to why they were only finding out about them now, years after they had thought they’d seen the last of them. Batman wasn't happy to be blindsided like that. And neither were they. Konner, naturally, had taken it the worst. Practically begged to be on the mission even though it’s not his usual modus operandi. Nightwing suspected that he felt some kind of responsibility to see it through, which as illogical as it may be, he understood where Konner was coming from.  

So here they were, Nightwing (Since Batman couldn't oversee it himself), Superboy (As previously stated), Robin (Teen Titan representative of choice) and Miss Martian headed towards the new CADMUS location in an intense silence. The mission was sanctioned as a recon mission, the objective was to not to be seen so they could bug their systems and find out just how much of CADMUS they had overlooked. Hence the two bats and a martian that could go intangible. Cyborg was on standby at the Watchtower in case his expertise was required, Robin could put him through. CADMUS dabbled in a lot more than just clones, so the team was surely in for a surprise. 

Nightwing was confident it was nothing they couldn’t handle. 

They kept in the shadows, Miss Martian connecting them telepathically as they split up. She headed off with Robin to the main control room, Nightwing stuck with Superboy as they got eyes on whatever was afoot here. Superboy easily fell into Nightwing’s lead, leaving minimal traces of their presence. 

‘We’re clear.’ Robin informed them that he and Miss Martian had successfully reached the control room, ‘I’m tapping into the mainframe; downloading and in process.’ 

‘Were you seen?’ Nightwing asked back, hotwiring the security panel for one of the doors marked Authorized Access Only (that translates to “you should probably check this out” in vigilante speak). 

‘Negative.’ Miss Martian echoed back. 

‘It tell you what we're up for?’ Superboy asked, as the door silently opened. Nightwing stopped him from entering so he could scan the area for laser, boobie (heh) traps and other such sensors. All clear.

‘Systems scanning. Will update. Over.’ Robin said curtly, likely busy getting past the security without ringing any alarms. 

‘Heading into an access point. Still clear. Over.’ Nightwing reported, as their communication line went quiet but the light buzz the connection gave still echoed in his scalp. 

The lack of guards was concerning to say the least. The building wasn’t abandoned, there were still people going about. But they had all been in lab coats doing things that people that wore lab coats in shady underground operations did, not security going around securing the place. Even the access point hadn’t had any sensors that hotwiring couldn’t dismantle. Nightwing knew enough about CADMAS operations to know that this wasn’t how CADMUS operated. Knowing better than to hope for the best he told Superboy to keep his guard up, trusting Robin to come to the same conclusion as him. 

They surveyed the access point. They had managed to get pretty deep into the building so there was sure to be something juicy in here. Weapons of mass destruction, an unnamed virus that could kill on impact, neo-Armegedon. All in previous case files stored under CADMUS along with superhero cloning. Nightwing was relatively certain he wouldn’t be finding any more cloning attempts, which had been the core of what they had been searching for during the first CADMUS eradication operations. Looked into all the big pharmas connects and everything. Crazy how far a name like “Wayne” could take you. 

So imagine Nightwing’s surprise when Superboy calls him over while he’s snooping through the on hand files in the large room to see what all the freaky green bio-substance in the rows and rows of mason jars were supposed to be for and he sees an all to familiar pod. A pod that might even be referred to as a cloning pod. There was a kid inside, male, estimated age 7-10. It was always hard to tell ages with clones. Skin tone was hard to tell in the green of the liquid he was basking in, but it looked tan - melatonin tan, kid probably never got a lick of Vitamin D in his life. His hair was white in some parts and black in others, kinda like a zebra. Or was dalmatian a better reference? His umbilical cord was still attached- or something that served as one, if he were to guess. Nightwing couldn’t see where it led to as it disappeared into the ceiling. 

“We gotta get him out.” Superboy said through clenched teeth. Nightwing couldn’t imagine the memories going through his head. His hand went for the control panel before Nightwing stopped him. 

Superboy looked like he wanted to put up a fight so Nightwing was quick to explain, “We don’t know if he’s stable enough to not be in there. If you open it, or wake him or whatever- you could kill him. You need to think about this objectively, Superboy.” The anger didn’t dissipate but Nightwing trusted the nod of understanding he received and released his arm. “Clones don’t usually have an umbilical cord.” Nightwing noted, “They must’ve tried a new recipe.” Tuning back into Miss Martian's mental link, ‘Rob. You find anything yet?’ 

‘The information’s coded, Cyborg and I are working on it. But all I’ve found so far is not looking good.’ There was a beat of silence, and Nightwing’s chest twisted in anticipation. ‘They have a project Grayson.’ 

‘What?’ Nightwing ‘Are you sure it’s not just a coincidence.’ Superboy’s eyes snapped to Nightwing who turned to look at the boy in the cloning tube and wondered if his eyes would be blue when (if) he opened them. The memory of his own parents telling him the trails of his birth flashed in his head. His mother couldn’t conceive, so they’d found a doctor to help. He’d been a test-tube baby. At Least until he was old enough to be in a womb. He knew how it worked. And he knew that both his parents had to get harvested for it. Considering who they were dealing with, it wasn’t impossible their samples weren’t stolen. 

‘Codename: P40-N10; Attempt 16: Project Grayson.’ Robin recited ‘That’s all I got so far.’ 

‘Robin, we're getting company.’ Miss Martian's voice said, alarmed. 

With a curse Robin ended the conversation. If they found Red Robin and Miss Martian then it wouldn’t be long until guards came by their alley either. Quickly Nightwing tapped the computer screen that most likely connected to the kid’s suspension chamber. Superboy made himself useful looking through the paper trail stored in the shelves, since he could read faster than the average human. Robin was right about the coded information, trying to bypass whatever software they were using a pinprick he hadn’t been expecting poked through Nightwing’s glove drawing only a drop of blood. 

That can’t be good.

The computer screen shifted to the loading sign, force-freezing any other on going processing for whatever just popped up. Instinctively, Nightwing backed up from the screen, bracing for some kind of explosion or attack to come from somewhere. But the screen finished loading and a present icon popped up, deceptively colorful. Despite not touching the mouse, the cursor moved to the icon with an exaggerated click and the present opened with a light fanfare of digital confetti. 

Operation MouseTrap: Activated. 

Nightwing didn’t know what that meant, but it couldn’t be good. Before he could process what course of action he should take- optimally a self-extraction, they’d been sniffed- the glass dome encasing the kid retracts with a loud sound and the substance is drained only just fast enough to not spill over the glass. 

They had been expecting them. 

MouseTrap. They were mice. 

Crap. Crap. Crap. 

‘Rob, MM. We need to leave. Now.’ Nightwing ordered urgently. Superboy was on his feet, catching the kid from hitting the floor with a speed Nightwing couldn’t match. 

“I got him. We need to cut the wire.” Superboy said, checking the boy for a pulse. Approaching them quickly, Nightwing sliced through the umbilical cord with a batarang. 

‘What’s the situation?’ Robin asked, 

‘We’ve got them handled on our end.’ Miss Martian reported. 

‘We’ve been set-up. I’ll explain later. We need to go.’ Nightwing snapped, just as the overhead alarms started blaring. He should’ve seen this coming a mile away.  

Superboy picked the boy up. “Pulse is there, but barley. He needs medical attention, fast.” He used his jacket to cover the boy, holding him to his chest as he made his way to the door they had come in from. 

“It’s too risky to take him with us. They wanted us to find him, there had to have been a reason.” Nightwing stepped in his path, staying aware of potentially being approached from behind. The containers he had been looking into earlier were forgotten in their corner of the room. 

“So what?” Superboy asked venomously, “We leave him here? ‘Cause he's dangerous?” A took a threatening step closer, “A threat?” Cloning projects were always a sensitive topic for all the Supers, Konner specifically. Reasons obvious. 

Nightwing sighed, “No.” He looked at the child and he couldn’t help but notice the similarities. Both with himself(phenotypically) and with Konner(in every other way). “No, we can’t leave him here. But we can’t go into this headfirst.” There was a volley of footsteps approaching. 

‘Nightwing. Superboy. ETA?’ Robin asked through the link. 

“We could take him to Mt. Justice?” Superboy tried to offer. “Titan’s Tower?” 

“Mt. Justice is a secure location, we shouldn’t risk them being able to track the kid. We’d be risking everyone that stays there.” Nightwing explained, he could hear footsteps approaching. There was a crowd of them. “And the tower wouldn’t have the proper equipment to monitor or take care of him, medically.” The option of the Bat Cave filtered through Nightwing's mind, but he didn’t offer.

‘Guys.’ Miss Martian, called. ‘Do you copy?’

“Watchtower’s the safest bet, then.” Superboy pressed, “It’s crawling with heroes. Batman will be there. And Superman. What’s the worst one kid can do?” A lot. But Konner wouldn’t take that answer. Nightwing caught the kid’s hand twitch from under Superboy’s leather jacket. 

‘Nightwing. Superboy.’ Robin called again, urgency in his tone. ‘Do you copy?’ 

“Why can’t our recons never actually be recons?” Nightwing sighed dramatically reaching for his batons as the door opened to reveal a folly of security guards. If they were meant to get in and get the kid, then they would sure as hell leave with him. Batman’s lecture be damned. 

‘A few friends dropped by. We’ll catch you in five.’ Nightwing finally responded, ‘Get the medkits ready, we have a stowaway.’ 

Superboy let out a breath and his shoulder’s visibly relaxed, as he pulled the kid closer in his arms. He looked tiny next to Superboy's wide shoulders. Even if he was 7 he was small for it. Nightwing didn’t have much time to take in the kid, locked into a fight he could’ve taken in his formative Robin days, with a Super as back up. The two hurried down the corridor they had entered from, not bothering to take to the shadows when the loud red buzzer and alarms had exposed them. With Superboy’s enhanced strength the boy in his hands barely caused a dent in their escape plans. Though he was so small and skinny, Nightwing was confident their roles could’ve been reversed with minimal disadvantage.

The bioship took off the second the two landed both feet on board. Robin took one look at the heap of a child in Superboy’s arms and domino shifted in what Nightwing knew to be a questioning eyebrow. 

“Heading back to Mt. Justice.” M'gann said as they steadied in the sky.  

“Drop us off at the Watchtower on your way.” Dick called, following behind Konner to where Tim had set up their makeshift Medbay. 

“B’s gonna flip.” Tim said approaching the stretcher the ship formed for them, as Konner laid the kid down gingerly. Dick shrugged, watching the monitors Tim hooked the kid up to. They were low, but they were steady. “He looks like you.” Tim commented again, stepping back to examine his work. 

His hair had strips of white in that Dick never had the displeasure of dealing with, but Dick had never been in a cloning pod and he couldn’t be sure if the white hair was a genetic thing or a side effect of whatever the green stuff was. He should’ve gotten a sample of the vials when he had a chance. Have something to show for himself at the lecture he was no doubtably going to have to sit through with B. His skin wasn’t as tan as Dick’s but Dick spent excess hours in the sun and the kid got his umbilical cord cut only minutes ago. He had a dust of freckles, like Dick did. His nose bridge had a crick in it like Dick’s mom’s in the pictures, but Dick’s nose didn’t have one. His jaw was slim and angled like Dick’s had been before he hit puberty, and his skin was clear of any of the acne Dick had fought hard and long in his middle-teens. His shoulder’s didn’t have the muscles Dick had been trained into since before he could remember, making his entire body slimmer and smaller than Dick’s had been at that age. 

It was like looking into a funhouse mirror of himself.

---

“Nightwing.” Batman called in a tone that Dick had become, unfortunately, very used to over the years. “Explain.” 

“We were reconn-ing, like planned. Found the kid, alarms went off. It was no longer a recon.” He slumped into the empty chair with the Big Blue’s emblem etched into the leather of it. A bored look on his face to hopefully deter the length of the incoming lecture. 

“You were team leader and as team leader you should know better than to not notice things. Clues that aren’t there are tells as much as clues that are there, and you led your team-” The lecture was cut off by a color-clad man Nightwing hadn’t had the pleasure of knowing the name of, his hurried eyes filtering between the duo and landing pointedly on Nightwing, hesitant to say anything in the presence of The Almighty Batman. But Nightwing knew. There was only one reason anyone would be looking for him right now. 

“The kid’s-”

“Awake. Yeah, I got it.” Nightwing said pushing past him and hurrying in the direction of the Medbay Konner had refused to leave. Batman was on his tail, never one to leave a child vulnerable or unattended, regardless of the potential threat levels. Or maybe it was because he was a threat. 

Nightwing entered before Batman, but he could feel him falter at the sight of the kid that sat in the bed with a posture Alfred had taken years to instill in Dick. His hair was still a patchwork of black and white, Dick wondered if he was wrong to think there was more white than there had been before. But as he stepped through the door, large blue eyes locked with Dick’s own. His Father had blue eyes. And his mother had a hooked nose. He’d seen the pictures. He’s memorized them. The slim jaw, the large eyes, and the lush lips. He looked like Dick, but not identical. 

“He just woke up.” Konner told Dick quietly, but still loud enough for the kid to hear. Dick took off his domino, Batman left his on. The only people in the room were the three of them, the kid, and the doctor who was looking after him. The kid eyed them all wearily nonetheless. 

“Hi,” Dick started with a smile, making sure to keep his hands in view and move them slowly, “I’m Richard Grayson, most people call me Dick.” He wondered if the joke would make him laugh or cringe. The kid just watched him and gave no reaction. Dick cleared his throat and continued, “I was one of the people that helped you get out of your pod.” he informed him. Still no reaction, but he could tell the kid was listening. 

Batman stepped to speak, “Do you know who you are?” A clear question, classic Bat. 

“P-four-zero-dash-N-ten.” He recited in almost a robotic way. When Konner had been broken out of his pod, he had memories, an objective. 

“What he means is do you have a name?” Dick said even though he knew that’s not what Batman had meant. 

“Project Grayson. Attempt 16, variation B-7.” He said in the same tone. His eyes moved fast and widely and he took in Dick and Batman’s reactions. Without prompt he continued, “Subject A-1 of operation MouseTrap. To be released from confinement under circumstances of acceptance of preliminary requirements.” 

There was a beat of silence, “What are the preliminary requirements?” Batman asked his voice hesitant in the way that Batman never hesitated. 

“Requirement 1: Suitable requirements of sustainability. Requirement 2: Overridden entry granted,” When Nightwing hotwired the security to get in, “Requirement 3: DNA match Richard Grayson.” 

“What do you know about Richard Grayson?” Batman questioned again. The doctor stepped closer to the kid, but waited for Batman’s question to be answered. 

“Richard Grayson, son of Mary Grayson and John Grayson. Recognized as the Flying Graysons, a well known international circus act. Orphaned at age 8, adopted by Bruce Wayne at age 8. First notable appearance as Robin estimated age 9. First notable Nightwing appearance estimated age 19 to 20. Noted weapon of choice: dual escrima sticks. Proficient in martial arts, with emphasis in aerial maneuvers. Threat level: 9.” He paused again, eyes not leaving the whites of Batman’s cowl. “Do you require more details?” 

“No.” He said quietly. He took a small step back as silent permission for the doctor to go ahead. 

The kid’s eyes went to the doctor, taking in the lab coat before the doctor herself. “I’m going to draw some blood for testing. Is that okay?” The doctor displayed the empty syringe in her hands, not bringing the potential threat closer. The kid eyed the medical device. 

“Understood.” He offered up his still bare forearm. The doctor seemed hesitant at that, but proceeded regardless. The boy’s features that had stayed a daring still during the entire not-really-a-conversation-probably-more-of-an-interrogation, made the light twitch of his left eye as the syringe penetrated his skin only more apparent. 

Dick considered the interaction they had so far. The kid was definitely a kid. Presumably human considered the resemblance they seemed to share, but you could never be too sure with CADMUS. The tests would prove that once the results were back. But he seemed sentient, picking up on (the lack of) social cues and trying to correct (in his perspective) the mistakes he had made. He reacted to pain, maybe not in the way most kids would, but he wasn’t most kids. He had blood, so he wasn’t a cyborg. There was probably some brainwashing they needed to tap into, but nothing the League hadn’t dealt with before. 

The doctor asked him whether he preferred a Superman bandaid or Wonder Woman. His head tilted to the side just a bit, as he examined both bandaids. Then stared at the doctor in silence. The doctor retreated to grab one of the boring brown ones they gave you when you weren’t allowed to have choices anymore. Konner watched the whole interaction from the corner of the room. 

When Dick moved in wide steps, the kid watched him carefully with more curiosity than fight. He brought Konner close, but not so much that they were crowding the boy. They still didn’t know what he was capable of, and this would be the worst way to find out. “This is Konner.” Dick gave his shoulder a dramatic clap that he knew wouldn’t hurt the man, “He’s from CADMUS too, long story.” Curiosity took the better of him, “Do you know about project KR?” The kid tilted his head the way he had done with the doctor, which Dick took to mean he was confused and decided not to press the topic, “Well, anyway. Konner here can help you out with anything we can’t. Isn’t that right, Kon?” Dick spoke animatedly, pointedly being overly friendly in his demure with Konner. 

Konner gave a nervous nod. Given the fight he’d put up to make sure they brought the kid with them, he was being awfully shy. 

The kid looked between them, expression calculating. “Konner.” He echoed Dick’s cadence at the name, but it sounded strange in the monotone. Then he seemed to take a moment to process the name, eyebrows bunching up. He turned to Dick head tilted again. Dick was starting to find it quite endearing. “Konner here.” He echoed Dick’s voice again, but Dick gave him the space to try to find his next words that were brewing on his face, “Kon?” It had the slightest tilt of a question.  

“Kon is a nickname.” Konner was quick to explain, his voice was gentle and placating in the way Superman’s often was. “My real name is Kon-el, but most people call me Konner, and my friends call me Kon.” 

“Kon is a nickname.” The kid repeated, looking point blank into Konner’s eyes. Then he turned to Dick, “Most people call me Dick.” He repeated Dick’s introduction from before. 

Dick gave him a large grin, “Yeah, Dick is a nickname, too. People only call me Richard if they’re mad at me. You picked that up pretty quick kid. You’re a smart one aren’t ‘cha.” 

“Pretty quick.” He echoed. 

“Do you want to pick out some clothes?” Konner asked. They kept a reserve of all sizes in the room across from the MedBay, they came in handy and also reminded people that Batman designed this place because who else would think to have a gift-shop themed store in the middle of space. 

“Pick out? Some clothes.”

“Oh yeah, we got a bunch.” Dick nods.

Surprisingly it was Batman that spoke up next, “Would you like to go see?” 

“You’re a smart one aren’t ‘cha.” He says in the same praising manner Dick had, the musculature of his face still steady. Konner hid his laughter much better than Dick, who doubled over in hysterics. Batman didn’t laugh, he never did, but there was a wisp of a smile on his face and that was as close to a cackle you could get out of the cowl.

Dick decided to save the Nightwing merchandise indoctrination for when the kid knew how to say no and mean it. They’d gone through and shown him a handful of options that were his size, because there were a lot of options. In the end he’d picked a hoodie with patchwork of Wonder Woman’s logo on it, that he wore over an equally vibrant Green Lantern t-shirt, and bright red Flash pajama pants. A lot of color, not that Dick’s original Robin costume had been much better in that aspect. The kid could use a bit of color in his life after whatever insanity he’d been put through. 

Dick saw the way Batman’s eyes trailed after the kid’s every movement, and hands ready to pick out wherever his eyes landed on. He’d definitely be seeing more of the kid. Pulling the clothes on to replace the hospital gown, the kid looked at himself in the mirror, pulling at the clothes that were still a little big on him and examining them under the gaze of the mirror. When he was satisfied with the ensemble, he turned back to them. 

Dick’s phone buzzed with a text. 

Timbers: Updates?

It’d probably be best if Dick called him to explain. Which he’d have to do later. “Are you hungry, buddy?” 

The kid looked at him curiously, head dipping to the side. The oversized hoodie only added to the look. “I like mac’n’cheese. Do you want to try that?” 

“Pretty quick.” He said, in what Dick would deduce to be a yes. 

“There’s going to be a lot of people there.” Batman explained, voice slow and enunciated, “We can bring you the mac’n’cheese or you can come with us to get it.”

The Watchtower wasn’t too crowded today, most of the heroes with other bases were there, but even today’s small number might be overwhelming for the kid. “Lot of people there.” he echoed, wide eyes looking up to meet the Caped Crusader’s. 

“They’re other heroes. Like Wonder Woman,” Konner pointed to his hoodie, “Green Lantern,” the shirt peeked out from under the hoodie, “and Flash.” 

“Superman. Aquman. And this is the Martian Manhunter.” The kid quoted from their quick explanation earlier. 

Dick nodded, “Yeah like them, and they’re our friends so they’re not going to hurt you. But they might not be there because uh-” Dick hesitated about what he should say, “they’re at work.” he settled. 

After a lot of consideration the kid seemed willing to head to the cafeteria, and they picked a seat in the corner where they could see the whole room but be out of the way enough so the kid didn’t get spooked. Batman and Konner took the kid to pick out which of the meals he thought looked most appetizing while Dick called Tim. 

The phone rang a few times, “How screwed are you?” Tim said in lue of a greeting. 

Dick laughed, “You should come by and meet your new brother.” 

“What! It’s been like four hours?” 

“He’s known him for like thirty minutes.” Dick watched as Batman and Konner did their best at explaining what each of the foods were. 

“Seriously?” Tim exclaimed before sighing, “Kid got a name?” 

“We’re working on it.” 

“Is he gonna stay at the Manor?” 

“Probably not for a while. What did you find on him?”

Another sigh, more frustrated. “It’s taking a while. But I should have it done in an hour.” 

“Personal delivery?” 

“I’ll see what I can do.” A pause, some of the other hero’s gave the kid curious looks. But fortunately no one approached since Batman was his shadow. “You know who he is, yet?” Tim meant in relation to Dick. Because there was some relation, people don’t just look alike. Not the way they did. 

Brother. Son. Duplicate. Dick hadn’t really given himself the chance to think about it. Like really think about it. He has a family, sure, Bruce, Alfred, Barbra, Jason and Tim. But he had a family. The ones who told him Romani folktales and helped him feed the circus animals even though they weren’t allowed. He was the last of the Graysons, but that could only happen if there had been Graysons before. And there had been. Until they had fallen from grace, and the show light stopped shining upon them. But there was another Grayson now, in whatever way he had been made, and whoever he was supposed to be. Dick wasn’t the last Grayson anymore, and he hoped he would never have to be again. “We did some tests. They haven’t come back yet.” 

“Hm. I’ll stop by when I can.” 

“‘Kay. Toodles.” Dick could hear him snort at that before the line disconnected. 

When Dick finally made it to the table, the kid looked up at him. He put a singular cheesy gnocchi in his mouth that took him a few tries to get on the end of his fork. The kid tried for another bite, hair flopping around as he tried to work the fork. Batman watched him as he managed to fill his fork with more than he would be able to fit in his mouth, then toppled and fell into the bowl. Confused, he tried again. This time Batman took the fork from him demonstrating how to use the utensil with a silent patience, and handed it back to the boy loaded with a bite. 

Flash, ever the conversationalist, caught sight of them and made his way to the table. “Cool pants, kid.” he commented jovially sitting in the empty space next to Konner. 

The kid looked down at his pants, cheese smeared around his mouth that Dick could tell Batman was seriously contemplating whipping. But neither of them were ready to push the kid’s boundaries yet, if he even had any. The kid examined the Flash emblem that patterned his pants, then up at the matching and much more meticulously designed on the speedster’s chest. His eyes went wide with recognition, but his face didn’t move to smile. The kid pointed to Flash’s chest, “Cool pants, kid!” He exclaimed excitement was easily laced into the Flash’s cadence of speech. 

“Hey! That’s what I said!” Flash was easy to laugh, despite the whisper of confusion in his eyes.

The cheer Flash displayed was matched easily, “Hey! That’s what I said!” There was a laugh in his voice like he was trying to say a joke that reached his eyes but not his cheeks. “And Flash!” he exclaimed. 

“That's right, I’m the Flash.” He gave a quick lap around the table to show off his speed, both the kid’s and Dick’s hair tousled in the show. 

“Pretty quick.” Danny cheered. 

“I’d like to think so.” Flash puffed his chest out, a prideful smile on his face. Dick rolled his eyes. Speedsters. 

“You should eat your food before it gets cold.” Konner nudged the kid gently. Reminded of the earlier mystery of the fork and mac'n'cheese, his attention was quickly diverted. 

“Kinda young for the family business, don’t you think, Batsy?” Flash questioned, “He didn’t even earn his colors yet.” Flash alluded to the Robin suit. 

“He’ll be staying at the Watchtower for a period.” Batman said, and whatever other additional explanation he was about to give was forgotten when the kid placed his forkless hand on the table to aim at the pasta from overhead, like he’d been doing earlier. Except unlike all the other times, his hand went straight through the hard material of the table, causing him to topple over. A surprised gasp escaped him. 

Flash caught his head before it hit anything, the other’s on their feet. “Oh, dear.” Flash commented lightly, trying to disperse any tension the kid may have had. Like all the other times, he didn’t cry or seem alarmed in any way. He tried to pull his hand out but it seemed stuck, and he turned to Dick for an explanation. Not that Dick had one to give. He wasn’t a meta, untapped or otherwise. His parent’s weren't either. And even if the tests hadn’t come back Dick had had his suspicions of who the kid was supposed to be to him. And meta didn’t fit anywhere into the bill. 

“Can you get him out?” Batman asked Flash, when it was clear the kid didn’t know how to. It took him a while to phase his hand out, and it was obvious he didn’t like the idea of using the speed force on the kid, but they didn’t have that many options. The kid, to his credit, seemed only mildly put off by the experience and went back to his goal of finishing his mac’n’cheese. The same couldn’t be said for the rest of them. 

Batman gave Dick a look. “Tim says he should be done in an hour. Stop by if he can.” Batman didn’t look pleased, but there wasn’t much else for him to do. 

“Are you ok?” Konner asked, trying for a gentle hand on his shoulder. The kid didn’t protest. 

“Pretty quick.” He said pointing his fork to Flash, as a final comment.

me: has a prompt idea me: i can write a short little exerpt abt this lol. it' be fun. maybe like 2k?? me four days later pulls put this monstrosity:

for your convince I only have the "original amount" i was planning. the rest will be on ao3

[archangeldyke-all]

hi angel!!!

sevika and vampire reader again because i can't get them out of my head <3333 can we get vampire reader turning sevika into a vampire and how their lives would be after her transition?

black reader pleaseee <3

yes yes yes let's do it! i'm going to include an idea mars, @sexysapphicshopowner gave me too! so be sure to check out their blog if u like the bucket list bits <3

same disclaimers as always with this series! i don't know much about vampire lore, so i'm just guessing and making shit up as it goes haha. also, i'm white, so i'll try my best to make this an obviously black reader, but if i mess anything up lmk!! i'll change it asap :)

man and minors dni

sevika's getting older.

a few grey hairs here, a few new wrinkles there, some new aches and pains she'd never had before-- it's an inevitable part of life. at least it is for most people.

but sevika's got you, now, and you've got an out for her-- a very permanent out, but an out nonetheless.

for a while now, she's been pressuring you to change her. about a month ago at work, she very narrowly dodged a fatal blow, and you started taking her demands seriously.

but-- there's a few things you want her to do before you guys go through with it.

you didn't get the chance to live out your final mortal desires before you were changed. you know just how depressing it can be to mourn being human, especially when you don't get to properly say goodbye. so, you've been helping sevika make a 'bucket list' of sorts-- all the things she wants to do one last time before she won't be able to do them anymore.

soaking in the sun, wearing silver jewelry, drinking a glass (or bottle) of whiskey-- stuff like that.

she's been steadily checking items off the list, and now you're down to the last few, and she wants to check 'em off all in one go.

she wants to eat a big, full meal-- steak and potatoes and a slice of chocolate cake on the side. then, she wants to feed you, one last time. and finally she wants to do what all humans are eventually bound to do: she wants to die.

that last one makes you nervous.

changing her requires that you drain her completely before you kiss her back to life. there's going to be a solid ten or so minutes where she's completely dead-- and she's apparently looking forward to it.

"i wanna know what it's like. see if i feel anything, see if i see anything." she says with a curious shrug.

it makes you nauseous to think about.

the entire reason you're doing this in the first place is so sevika never has to die. the idea of her body going still and cold beneath you, of her eyes glazing over and staring off into space, of her breaths ceasing, it hurts you to even fucking think about.

you're trying not to think about it at all.

"babe." sevika says to you over the table as you place her plate in front of her. you look down at her, smiling, and she reaches up to grab your hand. "this look fucking amazing." she says, not even looking at the plate. you snort. "you look... nervous." she says. you groan and slump down into her lap, scooping up a bite of potatoes and shoving it into her mouth. she chuckles.

"i'm trying not to freak the fuck out." you say. sevika hums, grabbing the fork from you to tear into her steak.

"it'll be fine babe." she mumbles around a mouthful. she groans. "fuck, this is divine."

"enjoy it." you say. she grins.

"i'm trying to savor it but i kinda wanna wolf it down and get your teeth in me." she says. you snort.

"eat slower." you demand. she giggles.

"baby." she says, putting her fork down to hold your hips. you lean forward, pressing your forehead against her shoulder. "i promise it'll be okay. it's gonna be fucking amazing, actually. just think about it-- in a few hours i'll be able to float around with you, we can start hunting together, i'm gonna be able to stay up all night with you. think of all the endless sex we'll have once i've got vampire stamina." she says, kissing your head. you snort.

"i'm just. i really don't want you to die." you say. sevika hums, rubbing her hand up and down your back.

"i know. but it's gotta happen one way or another. it's either this-- you killing me with your sexy fucking teeth then fucking me back to life or whatever--" you giggle. "-- or, i die at work or i get sick or something and you're not there to save me. and then we'll both be miserable forever." she says.

you sigh. she's right, of course, but you're still worried. you think you will be until she blinks back to life.

sevika reaches behind your back to grab another bite of her food. with her free hand, she reaches up to gently rub your cheek.

"you're everything to me, you know that right?" she asks around another mouthful of steak. you smile.

"feeling's mutual." you say. sevika smiles, gently toying with the tiny curl near your ear, pulling it straight then watching it coil back up again when she releases it.

"and i wanna spend infinity with you. if you'll have me." she says. you snort, and flick her head.

"course i will." you say. sevika grins.

"so there's no problem." she says.

you'd be lying if you said there wasn't at least a small part of you that's looking forward to tonight. you've been fasting for a month-- in preparation to drain sevika. you're ravenous. and sevika's your favorite fucking meal.

especially now, with her all glowy and happy after a big meal, a little tipsy from the bottle of wine you'd bought her-- she looks delectable.

she grins up at you from her spot on the bed. "hungry?" she asks. you chuckle.

"starving." you say, licking your lips. "i gotta say. i'm really gonna miss your blood."

sevika chuckles. "we'll find something else you like. together." she says, reaching up to thread her fingers through yours. you sigh, leaning down to kiss her, gently trailing your fangs over her lower lip. sevika shudders.

"c'mon, babe. i'm ready." she says, kissing the back of your hand, tilting her chin up, and widening her legs. you laugh.

"i'm not fucking you tonight." you say. sevika gasps.

"what?! why not?" she asks, pouting. you snort.

"because, i gotta stay focused." you say. sevika groans petulantly.

"but!" she tries. you press a finger to her lips.

"i'll fuck you when you wake up." you promise. sevika sighs.

"that works, i guess. is vampire sex any different than human sex?" she asks. you giggle.

"i dunno, it's been so long since i was a human it's all a bit of a blur now. you'll have to tell me." you say. sevika smiles.

"alright." she says. "c'mon." she says, tilting her chin up again. you giggle, leaning down to press a few kisses over her pulse point. sevika sighs, relaxing into the bed beneath her. "i love you more than i've ever loved anything or anyone, you know." she says shakily. you smile against her neck, licking her artery.

"you're sure?" you ask, one final time. sevika reaches up to hold your hips like she always does when she's beneath you.

"more sure than i've ever been about anything in my life."

"i love you sev." you whisper.

"i love you too, baby." she responds.

you take a deep breath, and sink your teeth into her throat.

sevika shudders and sighs, her nails digging into your skin as you retract your teeth and lick against her wounds, before you start sucking down her blood.

she tastes so fucking good. you're tempted to stop, just so you can keep her around as a bloodbag for a bit longer, but you know she'd be pissed if you did. so, instead, you let your instincts take over, and you start to devour her.

sevika's squeaking and gasping beneath you, her hands clawing into your flesh, her thighs squeezing together as you drink.

"th-that's it, honey, drain me. take it all from me. make me yours. make me yours." she whimpers. you growl against her neck, reaching down to hold her shoulder, gently tracing your thumb back and forth on her collar bone. sevika sighs. "c-can't believe you aren't gonna fuck me, shit! gonna make me cum in my p-pants." she says. you groan and readjust, shoving your thigh between sevika's. she laughs as she starts grinding down against you. "fuck i love you." she mumbles.

sevika cums a second later, shivering underneath you as you continue to slurp her down. you're messy-- messier than you've ever been before. something about the fact that you're changing her is making you fucking feral. you can taste the rush of hormones as she cums, and you shiver on top of her at the taste.

sevika goes limp beneath you, her grip loosening as she tries to catch her breath. she's getting lightheaded and dizzy, you can tell from the way she keeps giggling.

"f-fuck." she mutters. you hum against her. "feel drunk 'r somethin'." she says. you snort. "'m so fuckin' in love with you. you gotta marry me now, y'know." she says. you chuckle.

sevika's breaths start getting shaky, the hands on your hips slipping down to her sides. you reach out to hold her hand, intertwining your fingers again. she hums.

a minute later, and all of sevika's sounds stop. you can still hear her heartbeat, but it's much slower and softer than it usually is. your stomach flips, and you continue to drink from her.

when the gentle rhythm of her heart stops completely, you nearly choke with fear.

it's happening. fuck, it's happening.

you take a few more sips from her, draining her completely as she grows cold beneath you, and then you pull away with a gasp.

the usual high that accompanies a recent feed is nowhere to be found, dread taking its place.

sevika's eyes are shut, her skin clammy and cold, and she's not breathing, not moving, her heart completely silent.

you take a second to wipe your face of her blood, licking it off your arm, looking down at your girlfriend. she looks... peaceful. you hope she's feeling peaceful too.

you wanted to give her a solid minute or so to experience death, but your anxiety's too high. you only manage a few seconds before you lean down, cupping her face between both of your hands, and leaning down to gently, shakily press your lips against hers.

sevika's lips are cold and unresponsive.

you start to freak out.

you kiss her again, licking your tongue against her lip.

she stays still.

you gasp, sitting up to tap her cheek with your palm. "sevika." you call. she doesn't respond. tears start to well up in your eyes as you duck back down, sucking her lip into your mouth, running your tongue against it.

she still doesn't move.

you begin to panic.

"sevika!" you shout against her mouth. you bite her bottom lip, then follow it up with a quick peck. sevika remains still beneath you, and tears begin to well in your eyes. "wake up, you bitch!" you cry against her as you press your mouth to her again.

suddenly, sevika gasps and snaps upwards, her lips moving against yours, her hands coming up to hold your hips. you sigh in relief against her, and sevika flips you, pinning you to the bed. you squeal.

"oh thank fuck." you whisper up at her. she grins down at you.

"that is a hell of a way to wake up." she says. you chuckle, a few stray tears escaping your eyes as relief floods your body, and you reach up to grab her by the hair and pull her back down against you.

sevika chuckles against your lips. "you really thought i'd leave you behind?" she asks. you sob.

"fuck off. you had me worried!" you say. sevika snorts.

"i don't think you even fully let me die, babe." she says. "could hear you the whole time."

you giggle, and sevika gently swipes your tears away.

"how do you feel?" you ask. sevika grins, her fangs descending, and you gasp. fuck that's hot. you think.

"honestly?" she asks. you nod up at her. "better than i've ever felt before. what did you do to me?" she asks. you giggle.

"exactly what you asked me to!" you say. sevika grins.

"i didn't know i'd feel so... refreshed!" she says. you chuckle.

"i'm so fucking glad you woke up." you say. "i was gonna kill you if you died on me."

sevika snorts. "how would that work, exactly?" she asks. you groan and shrug, then reach up to pull her against you again, hugging her to your chest. sevika hums, nuzzling against your neck.

"i love you so fucking much." she says. "so fucking much."

"let's get married." you say. sevika grins against your neck.

"that's my line." she says. you giggle and blindly reach out to pat down your bedside table, pulling the drawer open and fumbling for the tiny box you've been hiding for months now. you pull it out and pull sevika away from your neck by her ponytail, before shoving it in her hand.

"i'm dead fucking serious." you say. sevika blinks, her eyes going wide.

"fuck-- really?" she asks. you nod.

"i mean. we're already spending eternity together, what's a ring and some paperwork?" you ask. sevika grins, then tears the box from your hand, tears welling in her eyes.

she opens it and bursts into laughter as she reveals the gold ring, strung on a gold chain so she can wear it all the time. you smile as you watch her squint, trying to make out the inscription.

your secret admirer it reads. sevika bursts into laughter.

"oh fuck-- i love you so fucking much." she cries. you grin up at her.

"yeah?" you ask. "is that a yes?"

"of course it's a fucking yes! are you kidding me?" she asks. you grin, and sevika swoops down to press her lips against yours. "thank you." she mumbles. "thank you thank you thank you thank you."

"for what?" you ask. "i should be thanking you!" you exclaim.

"for stalking me! for falling in love with me and being so fucking sweet and all the gifts and how much you take care of me and changing me and being my fiance and--"

you cut her off with another kiss. sevika hums against you.

"i love you." she finishes.

"i love you too. for infinity." you say. sevika grins.

"for infinity." she agrees, pulling the chain over her neck. you smile as the ring dangles down over you, gently tugging her closer by it.

"you want me to show you how to float?" you ask. sevika grins.

"fuck yes. but first i want to pay you back for that orgasm." she says, leaning down to kiss you.

you giggle, and sevika grins, and right before your lips connect, you think that even forever with sevika might not be enough time.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby

[hkkingofshades]

Tumblr's new policy, and updates going forward

Yeah, I bet we all saw this coming, huh.

So, given tungl dot hell(tm)'s new deal with midjourney, I think pretty much all artists on tumblr are, well, not having a great time. Like deviantart, tumblr has provided a way to opt out from having your blog content scraped, but like deviantart, it's a little unclear what has already been shared before the opt-out went into place, and how much they'll actually work to stop machine trawlers from trawling opted-out blogs.

I'll put the tl;dr up front:

King of Shades will not be leaving Tumblr, but due to the new policy, I won't be posting full pages here anymore.

There's no point in taking down all the pages I've already posted. Deleting them from my page won't delete subsequent reblogs, and there's a pretty high chance that tumblr has already scraped them. (haveibeentrained.com seems to think I haven't been yet, at least. I don't think I really have a big enough following for that to happen, although I don't want to jinx it...) But I certainly won't be posting the full-size pages here anymore.

Instead, I think I'll go the Trying Human route and post a little preview of the update (possibly heavily watermarked; my computer can't run glaze/nightshade, unfortunately), so you guys will still get notifications, but you'll have to visit the ComicFury main website in order to read it. I'm very sorry for the inconvenience (although I will say that I think it's a much better reading experience over there)!

Speaking of which:

I have never and will never ask for any kind of compensation (other than your wonderful feedback, which I've just been absolutely blown away by) for doing this. Even putting legality aside, that's not why I'm here! However, if you've enjoyed this comic, ever thought that you might be willing to tip me on ko-fi if I had one, or even just want to continue having an internet that isn't entirely a corporate wasteland, I ask that you consider donating to ComicFury instead.

ComicFury is a relic of the old, good internet: it's been around for at least 15 years, and it's all hosted and managed by one guy (Kyo). Aside from his team of volunteer moderators, everything on this website is done by one person with a passion for supporting artists. I've chatted with him a little, and he's a great dude! Most of his operating costs are paid for out of pocket, and the site is currently hurting a little bit because it doesn't run ads, it doesn't have subscriptions or paywalled content, it doesn't have any corporate interference or monetization of any kind outside of his Patreon. And—perhaps most relevantly for this post:

I will cut right to the chase, we have decided not to allow AI-art based webcomics on the site. [...] As for our reasoning, there are obviously ethical concerns regarding the source images of most commonly used AI image generators (namely them just being scraped off the internet without anyones permission). But even beyond that, another concern is that due to the extremely low effort involved, webcomics of this nature could just over time completely drown out in numbers art by passionate people who put a lot of time into it , which would be a real shame. So we asked ourselves what would be better for the community, and we agreed that banning it would probably be the better thing overall.

—Kyo has been quite firm that he will not allow AI art to be posted to or scraped from any ComicFury domain. While this isn't a protection against huge web trawls or people putting someone's art in individually—there's not a lot anyone can do about that yet, even with tools like glaze and nightshade—it's a little peace of mind that the art posted there won't abruptly be sold en masse to the highest bidder.

The Patreon starts at $2/month, and Kyo has said that he doesn't mind people pledging for a short time and then dipping if they can't afford an ongoing subscription. If and only if this is something you can afford, and you want to continue seeing independent webcomics including King of Shades, please consider donating!

The Patreon is here. There's not much in the way of reward tiers, especially if you're not a member, but I posit that the real reward is being able to read free webcomics done by real humans as labors of love, without being advertised to or sold as the product. And also maybe the friends we made along the way. Or something.

Once again, there is no pressure, and no shame if you're not willing or able to give money. But if you've ever thought you might be willing to tip me for what I do, consider passing it along to the guy who makes it possible instead.

Thank you for your time!

P.S. Page 64 is coming, I promise! Recent developments kind of kneecapped my motivation for making online art 🙃

[daisyful-gvf]

sweet as berries

****************************************************

pairings: josh kiszka x reader

tags: fluff, friends to lovers in a mild way, making out, drinking, autumnal vibes, josh is cute, idk people

word count: 5.3k

summary: a bonfire night w the kiszka twins, except you’ve had a crush on josh for god knows how long

notes: i imagine josh in this fic exactly like the above photo 🫶🏼 sweet bonfire boy.

****************************************************

“Thought I may find you here,” you yelled.

He looked up from the beer he had just popped, and his face turned quickly from one of focus to one of pleasant surprise.

“Hey!” Josh beamed and pulled you into a hug before you had time to protest. He seemed to be a few beers deep from the subtle smell of alcohol and the slight glaze in his eyes.You nuzzled into his grey and black hoodie a bit, already smelling the bonfire on him.

“You have a drink?” He looked to your empty hands, answering his own question, “Let me get you one,” he patted your forearm gently. “Whatdya want? Beer, liquor? Wine cooler?”

“Um—“ you started.

“I want you to know if you say wine cooler, I’ll get ya one, but it’ll come with a heavy dose of judgment,”

You grinned at him and his teasing. Your cheeks were flushing already; you couldn’t help it. You were just like this around him, despite your best efforts not to be.

“Liquor,” you answered, “Vodka and sprite is fine,”

“Berry’s getting wild tonight, huh?” He winked at you and you rolled your eyes, feigning annoyance.

“Something like that,” you chuckled, taking the drink from him.

Berry. You could never get over how the nickname sounded in his mouth, no matter how many times you’d heard it.

One year in high school, you’d planted a bunch of strawberry plants in your backyard at home, resulting in an abundance of strawberries by early July. You brought the Kiszkas fresh strawberries just about every week until the season ended. Somewhere along the way, Josh and Jake had given you the name, and it stuck.

It wasn’t the first time you’d heard it again this summer. The guys had been home from tour for about a month now, so you’d been in and out. But seeing Josh each and every time was dizzying, this was no different.

“Oh, wait,” his voice pulled you out of your stream of consciousness.

He leaned forward and stuck his finger into the cup, then swirled it around. You gave a small laugh in disbelief. He pulled the finger out and licked it clean, something you had to try and not stare at, with his lips pink and glossy.

He smiled, “Had to stir it.”

You nodded, trying to keep it together.

“Where’s your brother?” You shouted over the music. He raised a brow and leaned into you to hear you, his head suddenly close to your body. You repeated the question and he nodded.

“Backyard, I think,” he answered, still close to you.

You gave him a final nod and then tried to decide the least awkward way to make an exit.

Before you could say something to the effect of ‘I’ll see you around,’ Josh spoke.

“I’ll help ya find him, come on “

Then, he was grabbing your hand to lead you. Your stomach dropped at the feeling of his warm palm against yours.

He tugged you along, weaving through the small crowd of people in his living room, before you made your way to the deck.

When you walked down the stairs of the wooden deck, there was a bonfire pit with hay bale seats circling it.

Hay bales.

Jake had assured you during your visit last week that they were purely seasonal, with it being late September and all, and that they weren’t that Michigander to have the bales out year round. If you hadn’t seen the regular lawn chairs out the rest of the year, you wouldn’t have believed it.

Currently, the bales were half-filled with random friends-of-friends, and one Jake, complete with an acoustic guitar.

He smiled at you once the bonfire illuminated your face in the dark.

“Berry!” He cheered, standing up from his spot and walking toward you for a greeting hug, causing Josh to drop your hand.

You laughed at Jake’s already drunken self.

“Hey, Jakey,” you patted his back a couple times as he hugged you almost too tight. When he pulled back, he grabbed the sides of your head and gave an obnoxiously loud kiss to your forehead.

“Ugh,” you wiped the spit off your face as he grinned at his work, “Thanks.”

“No problem at all,” he turned back to sit down in his seat, picking back up the guitar. Jake’s flannel shirt hung open, just one button done at the bottom; you’d expect nothing else. He wore his favorite blue jeans—he wore them so much they nearly started becoming a comfort item to you too.

“Well,” Josh rubbed his palms on the tops of his thighs awkwardly, watching you take a place next to Jake on the bales, “I suppose I’d better go make some rounds,” he thumbed to the house, “make sure no one’s breaking mom’s decor,”

You took a half second to decide whether you should protest his departure, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. You gave a soft smile and a nod, with a high-pitched, “Okay”

He nodded back, turning on his heels to head inside.

“You’re fucking pathetic,” Jake was giggling, shoving his elbow into your side, “Okay,” he mocked you.

You rolled your eyes and kicked over his beer that was sitting near your foot.

“Hey!” He furrowed his brow, leaning down to save the beer.

“Serves you right,” you taunted.

Jake put the bottle to his lips and threw back the rest of the drink, tossing the empty bottle into the fire. He chuckled to himself at that.

“Just get it over with and make out with him already. I’m sure he’d make out with you back. He’s really lame, he doesn’t get any action otherwise,” Jake mused, starting to pluck at the acoustic.

“Ohshutup,” You breathed, cheeks flushing at the suggestion.

Jake shrugged, “What do ya wanna hear, Berry?”

“Mm,” you took a long sip of your drink, “Surprise me,”

He rolled his eyes, “You always say that, you’re so boring,”

“Cause you always play what you want anyways. Just pick something,”

He laughed, “You know me well,”

He started plucking something soothing, some vaguely memorable melody.

You’d been friends with Jake for years; back when his band was barely even such a thing. He was—dare you say—probably your best friend.

The problem: with Jake came Josh, and that was far more complicated.

While they were twins, you couldn’t feel more differently about them. Jake was boyish and silly, easygoing and familiar. The perfect person to order a pizza with and hang out in the garage until 2am. He was understanding and kind.

Josh was Josh—toothy smiles, soft hands, suggestive strip of his stomach showing when he wiped his face with his shirt, plush lips he bit so often, velvet curls, umber irises, cautious gaze, bubbling laugh—you could go on for a while. He was mesmerizing.

Jake knew, at least in some sense, about how you felt about his twin. He teased you about it rarely, given that it clearly struck a nerve. But sometimes he couldn’t help it. He swore up and down, though, that he never said anything to Josh. You believed him, maybe stupidly, but you did.

“Hey,” Jake snapped you out of your daze. You blinked at him.

“Hmm?”

“I said, what are ya drinking?” He pointed to your cup.

“Oh. Vodka and sprite,”

He cringed, “Ew, okay. Well, finish it, you’re too far behind. I’m, like, two drinks from taking some clothes off for the hell of it, and you seem sober.”

You burst into a laugh, “God, please, no, spare us all.”

He gave you the finger before resuming his playing.

“Chug,” he said, nodding at you.

“What are we, sixteen?”

“Oh, shut up and do it already.”

So you did, cringing at the way the cheap vodka stung your throat, but getting it down nonetheless.

“Atta girl,” Jake grinned, “Lemme get us some more,”

He handed you the guitar, standing up to head inside.

You took it and amused yourself, playing random strings, attempting to recall the year or so Jake tried to teach you the instrument (tried being the key word).

It was peaceful: the crackling of the fire, the chilled september air, the soft murmur of the other partygoers immersed in their own conversation. You closed your eyes briefly as you plucked, breathing deeply.

“Play me some blues, Berry,” you heard his warm voice cut through everything else.

You opened your eyes to Josh standing a few feet away.

“Ha!” He laughed with a big smile, and your heart ached, “blues, Berry—sounds like blueberry, get it?”

You rolled your eyes at the awful pun. You patted the seat next to you on the haybale. He took it.

“You’re not blueberry, though, just Berry, aren’t ya? Strawberry, if anything, huh?”

You stopped the plucking and looked at him, taking in his drunken rambling. He looked so sweet, lit up in orange and yellow highlights from the flame, the hollow of his cheek perfectly shaded, his dimple easily visible.

“How drunk are you?” You grinned.

He nodded, “I feel great,”

You giggled, “Yeah? Didn’t really answer my question, did you?”

He giggled then—the most beautiful of sounds.

“Drunk,” he said, “Perfectly so, not too drunk, not too…” he furrowed his brow, “…under-drunk.”

“Okay,” you laughed, “Can you see straight?”

He squinted at you and then, in a motion that shocked you, he grabbed either side of your face with his hands. This was not like when Jake touched your face. This was a chill-inducing, cheek-warming touch.

You waited, still, trying to understand his actions.

“Yep,” he said, examining you, “Just as I thought, you have six eyes and four noses, as usual.”

You were too stunned at the feeling of his hands on you to laugh. He giggled again and dropped his hands, but not before he gave a soft touch to the tip of your nose.

“Relax, Berry, I’m only kidding, you don’t have four noses. And I’m not that drunk. Jake’s probably more gone than I am”

You exhaled, not realizing you’d been holding your breath. You offered a weak smile.

“I wouldn’t be upset if you had four noses, for the record,” he took a sip of his beer, “It’s a very cute nose, you could handle a few more.”

Forget what you said about breathing regularly. Your breath caught in your throat. You forced yourself to inhale anyways.

“Yeah?” You grinned, “Yours isn’t too bad, either,” you reached out and bopped the tip of his. He rewarded you with a playful grin.

In that second of time, it was like there was some mutual understanding. A fragile, vulnerable moment. His tongue licked over his bottom lip, his eyes flitted over your face, and then—

“So, I put a lot of vodka in here, I just wanna let you know,” Jake yelled, shoving the drink into your hand. You silently cursed him.

“Perfect,” you murmured, “I need to be more drunk, anyways,”

You took a heavy swig of it, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Josh, grab the guitar, Berry and I have to do these shots,”

Your head turned to Jake finally, registering what he said. Josh took the guitar from your lap and just then you spotted two little cups in Jake’s hand, nearly overflowing.

“Jake, no, you’re—“

“I didn’t ask!” He handed you one of them.

“I don’t have a chaser,”

“Oh my god,” Jake groaned, “Just use your drink, come on now, don’t let me show you up,”

You rolled your eyes and he cheers-ed you. You gave him a surrendering smile before tossing the shot back. Trying not to choke, you quickly chased it with the too-strong drink.

After you swallowed, you could not help the cough that was tickling your throat, trying to get revenge from the abuse you’d just put your body through.

Josh patted your back as you coughed for a moment, but it was soft—not hitting you on the back like you’d usually do, just soft pats. The feeling startled you enough to stop coughing.

“You got it, you got it,” Josh laughed, handing the guitar back to Jake with his free hand.

You looked at Josh and gave him a playful middle finger. He smiled, letting his hand fall gently down your back, skirting down your spine. You tried to savor the touch, expecting his hand to pull away soon, but then it stayed.

It rested on the small of your back, warmth radiating from his palm. He moved it slightly, rubbing softly. Your cheeks were hot.

You cautiously looked at him, waiting for it to be a dream.

He was watching the fire, taking the occasional sip of his beer, looking mesmerized by the flame. Just when you wondered if you were imagining the touch, he would rub gently again.

He finally met your gaze. His eyes glistened, not just from the liquor, but with the unspoken thing that was passing between the two of you.

“Having a good night, Berry?” He murmured.

Get it together, you told yourself, not wanting to throw away this whole opportunity because of how nervous he was making you.

“Yeah,” you rasped out, clearing your throat, then, “Yeah,” you repeated, grinning, “S’fun.”

He nodded, offering a gentle smile back, “Good, me too. What’s your favorite part?”

You

“The air,” You smiled, closing your eyes and breathing deeply. The breath helped ground you. “So crisp and cool.”

He nodded, “Yeah, yeah, that’s a good one. I like the fire,” he nodded at it.

“I know you do, you pyro,” you laughed.

“Oh, hush,” you could swear he was blushing, “It’s so…otherworldly, but so human. Look at the flames lick the air. And the ash glowing and swirling. Isn’t that something?”

You couldn’t look at the fire, though. Just him.

The shot was hitting you, warm and bold. He looked beautiful. You just wanted to kiss him.

He must have realized you weren’t paying attention, because his head snapped back to you. Almost immediately, he seemed to understand the look you were wearing.

His eyes danced from your lips to your eyes and back. You swallowed, just waiting, watching him closely.

He hummed, then, something you could barely hear over the background noise. A soft, pondering sound.

He nodded slightly, maybe just to himself. His hand on your back moved, and your entire body stilled, waiting for what it would do. He scooted closer to you and let his hand rest on the top of your thigh near your knee. There was no stopping the smile on your face.

“This okay?” He murmured, thumbing over your skin. You bit your bottom lip and nodded, fighting a wild grin. He nodded back, and then turned his attention back to the fire, all the while rubbing his thumb softly over your skin.

“Josh, sing a little,” Jake chirped, and you realized that he was actually playing a song.

You looked to Josh and watched him find his footing with the song. Softly, he started singing along. He gave an occasional bright smile, tapped his foot on the ground, and sang as he always did, wonderously.

You couldn’t place the song, you were probably what most would consider drunk at this point, but you knew it was something Dylan.

Jake got into it and went off on some acoustic tangent, and you were left with Josh humming along, grinning at you.

You bit back a smile, a little embarrassed at the attention, but you looked back at him.

“You drunk?” He asked you quietly. You nodded.

“You?” He nodded.

“Not terribly, but yeah,” He grinned. You both watched each other carefully, afraid to say something the other wasn’t ready for.

“Wanna go inside?” He asked, eyes flitting all over your face, “Get some water?”

Get some water

You turned it over in your head, trying to disassemble it, trying to pick up on any nuances. It was too hard, you were too affected by the liquor. You settled for a nod.

He stood up, extending a hand to you.

“Where ya goin?” Jake slurred, rapping his fingers against the guitar. You turned your head to him

“Gonna go get some water,” you answered

He looked between you and Josh and nodded.

“See ya later, Berry,” Jake tipped an imaginary hat to you and turned his attention back to playing.

You stood up, taking Josh’s hand, except—shit—you hadn’t stood up since all the drinking, and your head spun. You wavered, legs feeling not all there, and nearly fell over.

Josh caught you with a hand on your hip and another grabbing your forearm, giggling at your drunken display.

“You alright?” He laughed. He was so close, you could smell the beer on his breath.

“I dunno, actually,” you laughed, gripping his hoodie, trying to settle yourself.

“C’mere,” he said, and with that, you were being lifted, scooped up in his strong arms.

“Josh!” It startled you, “What—?”

He giggled, beginning to walk inside, “What?”

“I can walk, I just was a little dizzy…”

“Maybe I just wanna carry you, huh? That okay?”

You looked at him, his face mere inches from yours, and your stomach turned in a pleasant way.

He smiled at you as you both made your way into the house. A few people tossed some concerned looks your way at the sight of you being carried, but you could care less. You could only feel his warm hand on your thigh, on your arm. He smelled of the bonfire.

You realized then, that he had walked straight past the kitchen, and you were going upstairs.

“Getting water, huh?” You grinned

He smiled back, “We will, I just figure I should get you somewhere more comfortable than the crowded couch downstairs. S’that okay, Berry?”

You blushed at the nickname—something you heard so many times before sounded so tender now.

“Yeah, Josh,” you smiled softly at him.

He took you to his bedroom; the one just past Jake’s that you’d only seen peeks of for so many years.

“Now, don’t you judge the decor, I’m hardly home anymore. This is how high school Josh left it.”

You laughed, wondering what you were going to find.

He eased the door open with his foot and carried you into the dark room, setting you down on his bed. For a moment, you had to fight the urge to just pull him by the hem of his hoodie down on top of you.

He grinned sweetly at you as his hands left you. He stood up, running his hands into his hair.

“Lemme go get us some water, okay?” He said quietly. The room seemed so silent, even his quiet voice echoed in it. You nodded, and he moved towards the door.

“No touching anyrhing,” he grinned, before finally slipping through the open door. You laughed to yourself at his warning.

You looked around, then. It was too dim and you were too intoxicated to make out the details of the posters on his wall, or the various items on the wooden desk across from the bed, but you could see enough.

The room smelled of incense, and his bedding was burnt orange. There were a couple small plants in the windowsill, a plethora of books stacked against the wall. A pair of drumsticks on the floor, random pieces of notebook paper here and there.

You decided, then, that it was a bit too hard to look at everything, and opted instead for laying back on the bed, taking deep breaths. It smelled overwhelmingly like Josh, why that was shocking you weren’t sure, but it filled your chest with a warm, adoring feeling.

“I put extra ice in yours, cause you’re weird and I know you like ice,” His voice startled you, as gentle as it was.

You sat up and looked at him. He shut the door softly behind him, something that made your heart rate pick up. He left the lights off. The moon shone through the thin curtains, casting soft white-blue light over everything.

He handed you the water, and you took small sips. He took a seat in the desk chair, swiveled to face you, and sipped his.

“Good?” He smiled.

“Mm,” you hummed, taking another drink, “refreshing.”

He giggled. “So, how many of my secrets did you unveil during your time alone in here?”

You breathed out dramatically, “Far too many, Kiszka. Far too many.”

He laughed as you played along with the joke, “Hopefully not too many, I’d like to keep ya around, Berry.”

You stilled at that, looking over his face. His grin faded slowly, and now his eyes were fixed on your face.

“You’re so pretty,” he breathed.

You blinked, wondering if you heard him correctly.

“Mm?” you squeaked.

He stood up, walking closer, “You’re pretty,” he repeated, “You’re so pretty, always.”

You were glad the lights were off, as you were sure your cheeks were violently red. You sat in stunned silence. Speak, your mind urged you.

“Josh…” you trailed off, and he was close now. He pushed his knee gently between yours. “My water,” you murmured, unsure what to do with the cup, of all things.

“Just—here,” he took the plastic cup from you and tossed it to the floor.

You grabbed his hoodie and tugged, sending him falling on top of you. The bonfire scent was comforting and warm. The heat of his body radiated against your skin.

“Can I kiss you?” His eyes watched yours, almost frantic for an answer. You nodded, shocked that you’d landed here.

He didn’t kiss you, though. He moved a hand up to your face and brushed your hair aside, thumbing over your cheek. The touch was a static spark.

“Can you talk to me? You’re really quiet, it’s making me nervous,” he giggled.

“Sorry,” you exhaled, “I’m just…” you licked your lip, collecting yourself, “I’m surprised this is happening.”

“Really?” He grinned, still touching your cheek, “I haven’t made it obvious enough?”

Your breathing was shaky, “What?”

He just laughed, a sound that made you so giddy you could hardly stand it.

“I like you, Berry, quite a bit,” he watched your face, waiting for some kind of recongnition in your expression. Quickly, his face fell, “Oh, fuck, please don’t tell me it’s just me—“

“No, no, no,” you cut him off, “No, it’s not, of course it’s not just you. Sorry,” you tried to catch your breath, “I’m just kind of drunk and you’re on top of me, and it’s hard to think.”

He pulled his bottom lip under his teeth and waited. “Maybe we should have done this sober,” he laughed briefly, seeming slighly regretful.

You shook your head, pushing your body up into him a bit, “No…” you searched for the words, “No, I think this feels right.”

His eyes were shiny black pools in the dark lighting, and they watched you so closely. You could see him trying to study you, trying to understand every little thought you were having.

You just wanted him, you hoped that was plain as day.

You reached a hand up and traced it over his cheek, and gently, you urged his head towards yours.

He took the touch as your permission and finally closed the space, slotting his lips with yours. He was warm, and his lips were soft.

You hummed into him, a sound of relief and desire.

He gave a soft hum back, leaning fully over you now, one hand braced on the mattress by your head and the other still thumbing over your cheek.

You touched the soft side of his head with one hand, and brought the other up to touch his hand on the mattress.

Slowly, after a long moment of his lips pressed to yours, he pulled a centimeter away, and then came back deeper, mouth just barely open, a gentle invitation. His body was the perfect weight on top of you.

You nipped his bottom lip, sucking gently on it, and he whimpered softly.

“Josh,” you breathed. He leaned up and held your face, and he was smiling. Such a full-fledged smile.

“Fuck, I’m so mad I haven’t done this before now,” he bit his lip.

You giggled and scratched the side of his head lightly.

“Come back,” you murmured.

“Yeah?” He grinned. He looked wonderfully dazed.

“Please,” you whispered.

“Oh,” he was breathless, “You don’t need to say please, Berry,” he kissed you again, over and over, at some point gently sweeping his tongue over your bottom lip, and you let him.

Your tongues met easily, soft and unobtrusive, nothing too hot and heavy, but certainly intimate.

He made a suprising amount of sounds, which was music to your ears.

“Hey,” he separated you gently, “S’it okay if we move up there?” he pointed to the top of the bed. You nodded, offering him an eager smile.

He quickly removed himself from you and climbed to the top of the bed, leaning his head back against the pillows, half laying and half sitting. You realized he probably was asking you to straddle him, which made you blush in a scandalized sort of way.

He seemed to pick up on this, as his eyes widened, and his hands went up,

“We don’t have to—I’m not trying to—“

“Josh,” you rolled your eyes, making your way to him, “It’s okay, It’s just…,” you kneeled near him. There was no reason for you to be so bashful; you knew him so well. You were comfortable. It was just so new and so close.

“I’m just processing,” you grinned, “It’s fun,” you reassured, “it’s really fun.”

He bit his lip, a nervous habit, “Yeah, it is,” he smiled back, “You wanna come here?” He pat his lap softly, looking vulnerable.

You nodded and leaned forward to kiss him again as you swung a leg over his, sitting on his thighs.

“Shit,” he breathed against you, and you could not stop the slight whimper that slipped out of you.

His lips and tongue were warm, and you never wanted to stop feeling them. His hands rested on your waist, and yours on his jaw.

It went on for a few minutes, heady and more intoxicating than the liquor. Your lips were greedy, and they slipped down to lick a kiss against his jaw. His exhale was shaky.

“Berry, Berry, Berry,” he murmured, hooking your chin with his finger and bringing your gaze to meet his, “Let’s save that for another time, okay?” He grinned, “I don’t wanna do too much when I’m not sober,”

You nodded, feeling a little embarrassed at how eager you were.

“Sorry, I—”

He cut you off with a kiss. When he drew away, he spoke before you could, “Don’t be sorry, not even for a second,” he touched your nose gently, “I want that, too, I just wanna be sober,” he giggled again. His thumb grazed your cheek, then traced over your bottom lip.

“You’re so…” he shook his head slightly, “Mm. One more, come here,” he pulled you in, another hot and wet kiss.

You started laughing into it; you couldn’t contain the wonderous feeling in your chest. He laughed, too, kissing between the giggles.

“What are we laughing at?” He pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“I have no idea,” you admitted, “I’m just happy.”

He pulled your face away slowly, thumbing over your temple. “Good. Me too,”

You took a deep breath, just looking at the way the moon shone over his features.

“You wanna go do something?” He smirked. He reached for your hand and threaded his fingers into yours.

“Like what?” You whispered.

“Mm,” he grinned, “Wanna go sit on top of my Jeep and look at the sky?”

You felt like someone squeezed the air out of your chest. He was so perfect.

“Yeah,” you replied, eagerly, “But wait, we can’t drive,”

“No, no,” he giggled, “It’s just in the driveway, but I don’t think anyone will bother us up there. Everyone’s inside or in the backyard.”

You nodded, wiggling off his lap to stand up. You steadied yourself with a hand on the bed.

“Oh, god, you need me to carry you again?” He laughed, standing up.

“No, no, I’m fine,”

You smoothed out your hair and clothes, and he did the same. You caught him adjusting his shorts a bit and were unable to hold back the giggle that bubbled up in you.

“Shut up,” he blushed, “Come on, darling,” He extended a hand to you. If the alcohol wasn’t enough to make your legs weak, the ‘darling’ sure was. You took a grounding breath and laced your hand with his. His palm pressed against yours was the sweetest feeling.

He shot you a grin before guiding you through the door, down the stairs, out the front door.

He climbed onto the hard roof of his Jeep easily, like he’d done it a million times, and to be fair, he probably had.

He extended a hand to you and you carefully climbed up, almost falling on top of him once you got to the top.

Softly, he laughed, “Careful,” he murmured.

You moved to sit next to him but then he spoke, maybe emboldened from how you’d already reacted to him this evening, maybe the liquor, maybe just a bit of bravery:

“No, come here,” he opened his legs and pat the space between them, “You can lean back on me.”

You heart thrummed. You nodded and moved, sitting between his legs, resting a careful hand on his thigh. He slid his over yours, fingers looping together. His other hand pet your hair; something that felt extremely intimate given that you’d just finally kissed him about twenty minutes ago, but you didn’t really care. It was sweet.

You turned your attention to the sky.

The moon was shockingly large, a huge glowing mass in the sky. Something transcendent.

Michigan had just enough cornfields and just few enough city lights not to drown out the stars. You could see constellations. You searched for it…

“Taurus,” you pointed out the cluster of stars way far up, grinning at your ability to find it. You were just starting to sober up.

“Smart girl,” Josh murmured, “I can only find the dippers, to be honest. And the north star,” he pointed at it, “That would be embarassing if I couldn’t, though.”

You laughed. You searched for other constellations, pointing out this one and that. He would hum in acknowledgement.

“That one looks like a strawberry,” he pointed.

“That’s cephus, it’s not a strawberry,”

“Well, I don’t care, they should have named it Berry. That’s what it looks like.”

“I like when you call me that,” you said softly. There was a beat of silence.

“Yeah?” He murmured, so near your neck it gave you chills, “Me too. You’re sweet, I think it’s fitting.”

You were glad he couldn’t see your face. He continued,

“I’ve never liked when Jake called you it. I know it’s stupid, he doesn’t mean anything by it. But I do, ya know? I just want you to be my Berry, not his,”

Sort of stunned by the implication, you only managed a soft, “Josh…”

He waited for you to finish the sentence.

“I’m not his,” you said softly.

“Mmm,” Josh hummed into your hair, “I’ll get him to stop calling you that,”

You laughed, “Okay, you try that, let me know how it goes. Jake doesn’t do anything anyone tells him to.”

“Oh, he’ll listen, I’ll beat him up if I have to.”

You laughed harder, “Sure, Josh. Just let me know when that’s happening, I’d like to watch.”

“Of course, of course.”

You sighed and leaned back fully against him.

“So this isn’t a one-night thing?” You asked softly, almost afraid of his answer.

He took a deep breath, “I hope not. Do you want it to be?”

You shook your head, “No, not at all. I hope it’s not.”

“Good,” he pressed a kiss to your temple, “Now, let’s look at the stars again. Tell me all about ‘em.”

You scanned the sky for another you knew, pointed into the cool air, let him play with your hair, and named all the stars you could.

fin.

y’all i love josh kiszka so bad

[redahlia-writes]

you make loving fun. | frankie morales x ofc

four. crystal

content (for this chapter): smut, family gatherings and That really annoying relative, a lot of feelings, a hint of possessiveness, frankie is once again being an idiot

word count: 5.8k

a/n: i'm so sorry for the delay, life's truly kicking my ass and i hope the chapter will make up for it. updates might be a little bit slow from now, but i'll do my best

reblogs and feedback are always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too

series masterlist | masterlist

previous

“For the first few months of their relationship, Fish didn’t even know it was a relationship. They moved in together, and still he would say stuff like she’s not my girlfriend, we haven’t talked about it, I don’t want to pressure her. Considerate, really, but so–Alba, chiquitita, cover your ears a moment–so fucking dumb. And that was how I knew. We’ve known Frankie a really long time, we’ve been together through a lot, and that was the first time I’ve seen him be so stupid–which is saying a lot. But, after all, isn’t that what love does in the beginning? It makes you foolish, nervous, doubt things you would’ve never doubted before. It was a new look on him, and it made it crystal clear how enamored he was, probably without even realizing it in the beginning–because I know he fell for Camila right off the bat. And I mean, how could he not? He called me, that first morning, and even then Camila was a surprise. Will said it all already–funny, kind, smart, beautiful, but most of all right. You were, and still are, right for him, Cami, the right person at the right time, and that is something rare, something great. Sometimes I think we should thank you more, because you changed Frankie’s life, and with his, ours too–mine for sure, because not only did I get to see my best friend finally start living again, but I also gained a sister. So, one Garcia to the other: thank you. That being said, it’d be nice to have him back every now and then–seriously, they’re practically glued together, can’t keep their hands to themselves to save their lives! I have some stories–”

Frankie’s hand tightened slightly around the glass of water in his grip when he felt a hand clasping him on the shoulder, tight and all too buoyant, shaking him and forcing his eyes away from Camila, Alba and his mother–Alba was lying on her back over Verónica’s knees, the older woman laughing in her chair as the child stretched and let her head dangle back towards Camila, sitting on the grass and smiling.

“Who would’ve thought–young Cisco with an actual girlfriend,” the man at his side was grinning, a glaze clouding his eyes, mouth stained red from wine. “Well, not so young anymore, are you?”

“Takes one to know one, Nicky,” he retorted with a hint of a laugh, some of the tension melting from his shoulders when he saw Camila move again at the corner of his eye, could hear Alba’s loud giggles from his spot.

His cousin laughed, clearly not put off by his comment–he wasn’t trying to be mean, exactly, but out of all the people in the family currently gathered in his mother’s backyard–

“So you got one of the last good ones, huh?” he still had his hand on Frankie’s shoulder, standing a step back as they were angled towards the other three. Camila’s hand was underneath Alba’s head, supporting it up as she leaned in, brushing their noses together as the child giggled again. A small smile caught on Frankie’s lips, warmth spreading across his chest. “Man, and she’s good with the kid. You oughta keep this one.”

Frankie’s family wasn’t mean–they’d never given him too much shit for what had happened to him, for what he’d done, at least not to his face and certainly not to his mother’s, for they wouldn’t even be there if they had. But he’d gotten good at understanding people’s double meaning, at hearing the light shift in their voices. You oughta keep this one, not like the last one, or all the others before.

“Thanks, Nic,” he sighed–across the garden, Camila tilted her head as she looked at him. She quirked up an eyebrow, and he was quick to shoot a smile in her direction, the slightest shake of his head at her silent question.

“Fine, too, your girl,” he continued, clearly not put off by Frankie’s lack of trying at keeping up the conversation. “Young face, pity for the grays–I mean, she could always dye it,” he shrugged, before grinning and elbowing Frankie in the side, making him turn fully towards him, his lips pressed in a thin line as he inhaled deeply. “Although I’m sure she makes up for it plenty in–”

“Listen, Nicky–” he exhaled sharply, the sentence dying on his lips when he felt a hand brush up his back, from the lower side up–his shoulders sagged slightly, leaning towards Camila’s touch as she settled at his side.

“Sorry,” soft-voiced, she pulled his cousin’s perplexed gaze towards her, too. “I need to borrow Frankie for a moment–Alba spilled some juice on my dress and I could really use the help before it stains.”

“Oh, of course,” Nic cleared his throat, stepping back, his gaze flickering from one to the other–shy, all of a sudden. Frankie almost rolled his eyes, held in check only by Camila’s hand sliding into his, gently pulling him along.

“Alba wasn’t drinking anything,” he murmured, his head bowed slightly as they walked back inside the house. She shrugged lightly, then looked over her shoulder as she smiled–quick and amused, making him scoff. “Mila–”

“Just come with me for a moment,” she retorted before he could finish forming the protest. “Alba’s with Santiago and your mom, it’s alright,” she added as he went to speak again, walking past the kitchen and living room.

“I’m still not sure why he’s here,” Frankie muttered, making her chuckle and pull him slightly closer as she reached the stairs–he placed the glass on the closest surface at hand.

“According to him, he’s included in the family for the family reunion,” he got closer each step, his now free hand coming up to brush her hip. “Don’t get ideas, Morales,” she added, giving a delicate slap to the back of his hand.

“You’re the one getting me away from the rest of them,” he retorted as she pulled them both inside the bathroom–to which he arched an eyebrow, as if that was proof of his point even before she turned the key. “Really difficult to not get any ideas now,” Camila laughed, shaking her head before turning fully to face him, eyebrows slightly arched. “What?”

“Out with it,” she said simply, resting her hands on the countertop of the sink behind her back. Frankie frowned slightly, stepping closer again–she tipped her chin up to look at him, her gaze soft.

“With what?”

“You’ve been jumpy all day,” she told him, voice as soft as her eyes, and he wondered if he was truly that obvious or she simply knew him so well. “Your family is not so bad, you know? I mean, Nicky is–” she let the sentence hang, mouth turned in a grimace.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” he sighed, and she shifted the weight on one hand to reach for his face with the other, cupping his cheek.

“You don’t have to apologize, honey,” she hummed, thumb brushing along the apple of his cheek, warm from the sun. “I like them–by now somebody in my family would’ve started a fight for sure,” she added with a quick grin that made him scoff out a laugh, gaze lowered. “But they’ve all been nice,” he must’ve tensed up again, because she tilted her head to try and meet his gaze. “Is that it?”

“No, it’s–I’m glad they are, it’s just–” her hand moved down across his cheek and jaw, pushing underneath his chin to get him to look up at last. “It’s nothing. Nicky said some shit, and he talked about me having an actual girlfriend or something,” he scoffed, gaze darting away and back–behind her, he saw their reflection in the mirror, her hair shifting with the movement of both her arms shifting up.

“Frankie, sweetheart,” her words carried her soft smile as she took his cap off, putting it aside because she held his face in her hands, looking at him with such tenderness in her eyes he almost crumbled in front of her, hands twitching at his sides. “So what?”

“I don’t know,” he groaned softly, eyes shut for a longer moment before letting out a long sigh. “We just never discussed it, and people keep bringing it up, and I didn’t want to pressure you or–” when he looked at her again, her lips were parted, brows knitted tightly with perplexity as he repeated, “I don’t know.”

“Pressure me?” her confusion bled into her voice, her touch getting a little hesitant for a moment–if he were to look past her head and into the mirror, Frankie would register the guilt in his gaze. Instead, he only noticed the realization dawn in her eyes. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry–I kept thinking I would bring it up and then never did and I was worried it would be too much, or too early,” he shifted back a little, her hands falling to his shoulders.

“Wait, so this is because he called me your girlfriend?” she asked, a little baffled. At his little nod, a quick laugh escaped her, and she pushed herself towards him. “Frankie, honey, we’ve lived together for two months,” she smiled as she said it.

“I know,” she locked her hands behind his neck, pulling him slightly closer in the process, fingertips pushing at the nape of his neck. “I just didn’t want to assume,” she laughed again, a little louder, and Frankie frowned once more, pouting slightly. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not, I promise I’m not,” she said quickly, getting herself closer, though still laughing. “I’m sorry, just–I thought there was nothing to discuss. You’re it for me?”

“You–” he was still frowning, a little deeper, and she let one hand move from the back of his head up across his face, gently kneading the spot between his eyebrows where lines were etched. “You’re still laughing. Camila–”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, unable to help herself as she shook her head through the laughter turned giggles, shifting her body weight so she was leaning against his chest. He instinctively wrapped his arms around her, keeping her upright and ducking his chin to keep his gaze on her face, the lines at the corner of her eyes deepening as her smile widened. “Why would you worry about that, honey?”

“You told me you thought you’d jumped in too fast with that guy,” he’d been that guy for months now, no longer Jason–Camila found some amusement in it, her nose scrunching up.

“I did,” she nodded, bringing a hand to his chest while the other still cupped the back of his head. “But you’re not him, and I’m no longer 20-something, so I’d like to think I’ve wised up,” Frankie sighed, carefully lowering his head towards her. “Then again, I’ve moved in with you after–what, eight months? So maybe–”

“Mila,” he groaned in half-complaint, making her laugh again before she tipped her chin up, kissing him in full. He sighed again, the tension in his back melting away as her fingers brushed through his hair, the other palm pressed firmly against his heart.

When she didn’t pull back, Frankie’s arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him and straightening his back to sweep her off her feet, taking the half step that separated them from the countertop to sit her there–he slotted himself between her legs, her back arching slightly as her lips parted for his tongue.

He kissed and kissed and kissed her until the rest of the world blurred away, until there was no Nicky or Jason, no Santi nor the rest of his family, just the two of them tangled together, sharing soft breaths and touches and the only thing grounding him was the weight of her against him, the shift of her body as he let his hands wandered back and thighs and legs, right underneath her dress.

“Are you gonna ask me, then?” she breathed out once they parted, heavy breaths from both of them and Frankie’s vision blurry for just a moment as he chased her, interrupted only by her soft words, the hint of laughter in them.

“What?” he licked his lips as if trying to cling onto the taste of her, fingers digging into her flesh. Her cheeks were red, bruised lips as she looked up at him while it all came back into vision for Frankie. “Is it–official?” her smile turned into a snort at the uncertainty in his tone, a shimmer in her eyes to highlight her amusement.

“You can do better than that, Francisco,” she murmured, mockingly, and he huffed out a breath as his lips quivered in a semi-pout. Camila leaned forward, kissing it away, but before he could chase her again she pulled back abruptly–one hand on his chest, the other falling behind her over the counter to support herself.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” he scoffed, letting his hands travel a little up across her skin, the skirt of her dress bunching up with the movement.

“Maybe,” she said with a light shrug, letting her hand travel down across his torso, lingering on each button–just teasing to undo them, Frankie’s eyes following the movement as his own fingers moved up and up. “You know what I’m going to say,” she murmured then, the tip of her first and middle finger hooking in his belt and pulling him forward ever so slightly, “ask.”

“I don’t need to ask,” he lowered his head towards hers, hooking his fingers at each side of her underwear–she squeezed her knees at his sides, humming softly as he pulled. “Do I?”

“Ask,” she repeated, lips still curved in an amused smile.

“Camila,” uttered as a warning before he kissed her again, a little harsher than before, almost feverish, pulling and pulling at her underwear that wouldn’t shift.

He could feel the laughter bubbling in her throat as she pushed against his lower stomach to make him step back, hopping down the counter to bare her lower half–Frankie kept his hands on her legs, her dress bunched up between the two of them, and slowly began lowering himself, ready to shift onto his knees in front of her.

“We don’t have time,” she mumbled against his lips, swiftly undoing his belt. “Later. Home.”

“Did you not tell me to not get any ideas?” his mocking question ended with a groan when she cupped her hand to his front, stroking his already half-hard length from above his briefs–his hips twitched into her touch, and he felt the grin forming on her lips at his immediate reaction.

“Ask me,” she replied instead, stroking him again.

Again, and again, until he was panting in her mouth, hips bucking with each movement–Frankie kissed her one more time before turning her around, her hands coming down against the counter for balance as he gently kicked her legs apart to slot himself closer, his still clothed front pressed against her back.

“I don’t have to ask,” he repeated, punctuating each word with a kiss to her neck, one hand to her hip as the other bared himself. Camila’s reflection smiled in the mirror, her head ducked as if hiding herself but not quite, as he pushed the tip of his length against the seam of her folds. “You’re my girl, aren’t you?” he murmured then against the shell of her ear.

Before she could form a response, her mouth fell open as he nudged at her entrance, slowly–agonizingly slow–starting to push into her. Her eyes rolled back and she nodded, soft gasps leaving her as she gripped the countertop, both of Frankie’s hands now on her hips, guiding her back to meet him.

“Look at you,” his gaze remained glued to the mirror as she tilted her head back towards him–her eyelids fluttered a moment, trying and failing to focus on their reflections as he kept going. “My beautiful girl,” another kiss to her neck, right behind her ear, making her shudder and rock her hips back. With a groan, his front pressed to her back as he sank fully inside her, he spoke against her shoulder, “mine.”

“’Course I am,” she panted, her thighs trembling slightly against his. “Yours,” at the word,  Frankie’s cock twitched, his grip on her hips tightening. “God–Frankie,” she moaned, back arching as her walls fluttered around him.

“Baby, you gotta keep quiet,” he mumbled, pushing forward so her hips were against the countertop, and he was leaning against her in turn. One arm wrapped around her middle to keep her flush to him, he let his other hand wander up across her torso, the fabric of her dress wrinkling underneath his touch.

“Thought you liked it when you could hear me,” her gaze flickered over their reflections, down to his rising hand and up to meet his eyes, a flush spreading from her heaving chest up and her lips slightly parted.

“Yes,” he shifted back, the slow drag of his length as he pulled out almost all the way making her breath quicken. “When I–” he snapped his hips forward, and Camila bit down onto her lip to keep herself from crying out, knuckles turning white as she gripped the counter a little harder, “can. Not the rest of the family.”

“We wouldn’t be here if that were a problem,” each word felt like it was punched out of her chest, Frankie’s movements steady, hitting a spot deep inside of her that had her vision wavering. “You enjoy the thrill, Francisco,” she added–not a question, rather her ability to read him so perfectly laid out in a tease.

And he did–he liked his life, his new one, with no drugs and very little alcohol, a steady, almost boring job, a home with the two halves of his heart, a bed with hogged blankets and slow nights. He loved that life–but sometimes he missed the rush, and Camila seemed to know exactly when he felt like he was starting to waver. Exactly what to do about it so that he wouldn’t topple over again, returning back to her each time.

“Fuck–don’t stop, don’t stop,” he’d gotten so lucky. He was so goddamn lucky.

The hand that had been traveling up her body moved up again, grabbing her by the chin to turn her head so that he could kiss her, and kiss her, and kiss her, swallowing each sound away as he picked up his pace, his hips snapping against her skin almost too loudly–and only spurring him further.

A shiver ran through her as Frankie stopped with one last thrust, his head falling into the crook of her neck as he came–he tightened his hold around her, keeping her flush to his front. Her walls fluttered around his length buried deep within her, a weak, frustrated cry leaving her at his sudden stillness–he breathed out a quiet laugh before pulling his head up, chin hooked over her shoulder as he brought two fingers to his mouth, coating his fingertips before reaching for the apex of her core.

“My beautiful, beautiful girl,” Camila’s pupils were wide, eyes glazed over as she let her head loll back and sighed at his perhaps-too-delicate initial touch. Each of Frankie’s words was accompanied by a soft kiss across her skin–cheek and jaw and neck, his gaze never leaving her face as he began drawing quick circles over her clit.

“Frankie,” with a breathless cry, she grasped at his arm still wrapped around her, holding her upright. He kissed her neck, humming at her sharp intakes of air with each of his movements.

“I know,” he could feel her muscles grow taut under his touch, her thighs shaking as she got closer and closer–he groaned when she squeezed around his length, sensitive and softening as she tethered the edge. “Come on, baby, I can feel you–so good, you feel so good, baby, you–”

Camila twisted her neck and kissed him abruptly, harsh and trembling as her orgasm rippled through her–she quietened herself, the loud moan muffled by Frankie’s own bruised lips. He drank the noise greedily, slowing down the movement of his fingers until she twitched in his hold and dug her fingernails into the arm she was holding onto, a weak whine as she went limp into his hold.

He pulled out slowly, another softer moan escaping her as she folded forward, hands coming down to the countertop with a shaky exhale and equally shaky arms. His gaze remained low a moment longer, following the slow trail of their combined releases dripping down her thighs, and then he bowed down, kissed the space between her shoulders softly from above her dress.

“You alright?” he spoke softly, hands rubbing soothing circles on her bare hips as she evened her breathing, head hanging forward. She hummed quietly, rolling her shoulders back.

“I just need a minute,” she nodded, bringing her head upright again and wincing slightly. “Jesus–maybe two minutes,” she sighed, and Frankie chuckled softly, another kiss pressed against her shoulder as he tucked himself back in.

“Turn around,” he guided her by the hips tenderly, meeting her eyes for a brief moment in the mirror. “Let me clean you up.”

She hummed softly as she let him move her, leaning back again with her hands on the counter, her breath now even as Frankie recovered a clean towel from underneath the sink, turning on the water and waiting for it to turn lukewarm. Camila’s eyes remained on him as he moved, eyelids low and a tired half smile stretching across her lips.

He sank to the floor in front of her, gently brushing the towel up between her thighs, one hand on her calf rubbing circles with his thumb again against her skin, gentle and soothing. He helped her get dressed back up, smoothing down the skirt of her dress and pressing one last kiss to her now clothed hip before standing back up, mere inches from her.

“Promise me something,” she wrapped her arms around his middle, threading her arms underneath his. Frankie lowered his gaze to her still slightly flushed face, a small frown crossing his brow. “You’re gonna ask me whatever it is that crosses your mind, anything you want to–even if it’s something as banal as is my hair alright,” her fingers curled against his back, gently bringing him closer.

Frankie sighed, cupping her jaw in his hands before nodding–small movements, getting closer to leave a delicate peck against her lips.

“Promise,” he conceded, voice a little hoarse as he kept it low. “We should head back–you okay?” she nodded, mimicking his quick kiss before detangling herself from him and stepping aside, reaching for the door. “Wait, Mila,” he caught her hand as she unlocked the door, her gaze a little perplexed when she turned back around. “Is my hair alright?”

Camila laughed, a light roll of her eyes as she reached for the cap left on the countertop, putting it back on his head and pulling it low over his brow–he grinned in return, tipping his head back to keep his gaze on her.

“Better,” she nodded, wrinkling her nose before opening the door.

He pulled her under his arm once they were into the corridor, fixing his cap as she wrapped one of her arms around him again, bumping her hip with his while they stepped forward–and stopped at the stairs creaking, Santi’s head popping up with a deep frown that vanished as soon as he saw them.

“Ah, there you are–Alba’s been asking for you,” the other man said, looking at Camila, then made a face, somewhere between a pout and a grimace, muttering, “for some reason. Also, is it me or has Nicky gotten worse?” this he asked Frankie, his expression turning into a full scowl. His gaze then darted from one to the other, still tangled together, and surely somewhat guilty-looking–Camila’s face was still reddened, Frankie’s shirt slightly wrinkled, their hair just about messed up. Santi groaned, full on rolling his eyes. “Seriously? Gross.”

Camila laughed, loud and amused, leaving a rapid kiss to Frankie’s shoulder before sliding from under his arm, keeping her own open as she advanced towards Santi.

“Come here,” she said at his mock disdain, reaching for him. “Come on, Garcia–give me a kiss.”

“No, I don’t know where that mouth has been,” he argued, trying to step away and back down the stairs. Camila all but leaped for him, laughing again and throwing her arms around him–he quickly got his arms around her, too, keeping them both upright with a huff of protest as she smacked a kiss against his cheek. “Fish, will you keep your girlfriend in check?”

Frankie just watched them, the quick, purposefully sloppy kisses she peppered across his face from the upper step, his twisted expression as he tried to pull away but couldn’t make a move–they both knew it was an over-dramatization on Pope’s part, that he’d been basking in the affection Camila reserved for them all.

With one last kiss to Santi’s forehead–loud and possibly even sloppier, making him groan in protest–she skipped away with a laugh and a gentle pinch to his arm, one last glance in Frankie’s direction from above her shoulder with a wide grin across her reddened cheeks before walking down the stairs.

“What, no not my girlfriend?” Santi muttered, running a hand across his face before looking back up at Frankie–his gaze somewhat lost towards where Camila had gone.

“No, not this time, actually,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Oh, thank God,” Santi exclaimed, lifting his hands. “Seriously, fucking finally!”

Frankie had gotten used to sleeping as close to Camila as he could get–whether she was curled up in his arms, her back pressed against his front, or her body draped across his, it was rare for them to roll on opposite sides of the bed.

Mostly because she still hogged most of the covers, and Frankie would wake up in the middle of the night with half of himself exposed to the room, and she would then complain his hands were cold when he sought out her warmth.

He didn’t mind it one bit–each excuse he could find to feel her skin under his hands, to wake up and know she was still there, would be enough to make him withstand anything.

And he always woke up first, taking a few moments before her alarm would go off to look at her sleeping, relaxed face, hair braided back and away, eyelids trembling as she seemed to be following her dreams, lips slightly parted to let out soft huffs of air–he would pepper her skin in quick, delicate kisses as soon as she turned off the alarm, tightening his arms around her.

But the alarm didn’t sound that morning, and when he glanced over her shoulder to where the clock was he sat up so quickly the whole room spun, dragging the covers with him before turning towards the already curling up woman, her face twisting in a still-asleep frown.

“Mila, we overslept,” he called, gently shaking her by the shoulder. She groaned softly, burying her face into the pillow. “Mila,” he tried again, and she turned in his direction.

“You overslept,” she protested, bringing a hand up to rub her eyes. “I have the day off,” she added in a mumble, head heavy on the pillow and exposing the sleep lines on her opposite side of the face. “Did you not set an alarm again?”

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, leaning in to press his lips to hers as he brought the covers back up over her while simultaneously sliding off the bed. “I didn't–you know I usually rely on you.”

“And that is twice you’ve made that mistake,” she mumbled, her eyelids drooping again, ever so slowly. Frankie scoffed, quick steps around the room as he searched blindly for some clothes. “I’ll take Alba to daycare, it’s alright.”

“Are you sure? You can go back to sleep,” he was still rummaging through the closet as he spoke, and suddenly the light was on and he could see the shirts hanging in front of him.

“I’m up already,” Camila groaned softly, and turning around he saw her sitting up, rubbing at her eyes again as she suppressed a yawn. Frankie’s expression softened as she kicked her legs off the bed, lingering there a moment with her head tilted forward slightly. “Go finish getting ready, I’ll make us some coffee.”

Frankie grabbed a shirt before turning around, padding across the room to reach her–he tipped her head back gently, hooking one finger underneath her chin before kissing her. Camila hummed softly, her eyelids fluttering open and shut and open again when he pulled back, thumb brushing along her jaw.

“See? I knew it’d be convenient for you to move in,” she snorted at his grinning remark, pushing him back with both her hands on his chest before getting up the bed, stretching as Frankie kissed her again, lips just at the corner of her mouth.

He passed by the living room once he was dressed, Alba sitting on the couch with her morning cartoons playing, hair still ruffled by the night–her breakfast was waiting on the coffee table, along with Camila’s empty mug.

“Morning, nena,” he murmured, placing a kiss to the top of her head. The child moved her legs, bouncing her feet and smiling and looking up at her dad. “Are you waiting for Mila?”

“Ma!” voice laced with sleep, Alba nodded, eyes squinting as she smiled. Frankie chuckled, ruffling her hair before heading towards the kitchen, leaving her to the images on the screen.

It was a new development, ma–an imitation of Frankie, of possibly the other children at daycare. The beginning of a word that signified much more for them both. The three of them, actually. Frankie’s doubts had dwindled with one single word, and he had started to tell her truly what went through his mind (almost everything).

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” he murmured as he walked up to her at the sink, one hand falling to her hip as he reached for the travel mug she was already offering him with the other. She smiled in the reflection of the mirror, taking the moka pot from the turned off stove. “I’ll set an alarm next time, I promise.”

“Heard that one before,” she chuckled, bumping her shoulder into his front as she gently leaned back into his half-hazarded embrace. “Go on now, before you’re late.”

“Thank you,” he kissed the curve of her neck–a peck, really, quick and non-committal. “I love you,” he added then, stepping back.

Camila’s head straightened abruptly, the sleep seemingly still clinging to her leaving her all of a sudden, and in the reflection he saw her eyes widen ever so slightly.

He told her almost everything.

Until that moment. He wasn’t sure he’d fully woken up just yet.

“Alright, bye,” he said just as quickly, a little louder, walking away before she could even begin turning around. Alba babbled for him from the couch and he went on, holding his breath through the corridor and entrance, down the steps and across the front yard until he reached the car.

Only then did he exhale, heavy and almost too loud as he leaned his head forward towards the steering wheel, almost hitting his forehead to the honk in the process, a soft groan abandoning him. I love you. Alright, bye.

“For fuck’s sake–” he muttered, bumping his head against the wheel again. “Alright, bye?” he grimaced. He jumped in his seat at the quick knocking against the window, pulling his head straight quickly and turning around, gripping the mug tighter to not topple it. “What–”

Camila stood next to the car, hair wild around her now that it was unbraided as she gestured at him to lower the window, bouncing ever so slightly on the spot. With a slight frown he did as she asked, and before he could form the question she was leaning into the car, grabbing him by the collar of the shirt to pull him closer and kiss him.

Frankie’s body relaxed, his eyes fluttering shut as he shifted in the seat and brought his free hand to her shoulder–he could feel her lean closer and closer, her torso sticking inside the car as she used his shirt as leverage and kissed him, kissed him, kissed him.

“I love you too,” she gasped, pulling back. Though his gaze was unfocused and he felt slightly breathless, dizzy, he managed to make out the shape of her body draped over the car door, legs dangling and the shirt of her pajama riding slightly across her back. “I thought you heard me already–a while ago.”

“What while ago?” he muttered, still a little dazed. He would think about her smile for the rest of the day, distracted out of his mind.

“I was talking with Alba, she couldn’t sleep,” the tip of her thumb brushed the side of his neck, right where his pulse was stuttering rapidly. “Telling her how much you love her–and I love her, and you,” she murmured, still leaning close, the tip of her nose almost brushing his.

“Well you didn’t tell me,” he could feel the pout on his mouth that seemed to only pull her smile wider. “I just thought–” she kissed him quickly this time, pulling back before he could register it, return it.

“Always a bad idea, honey,” she quipped, her eyes shimmering ever so slightly. “I told you, Frankie–you can tell me anything. Everything.”

“I know,” he sighed with mock defeat, leaning towards her until he was the one resting against the car door and she could touch the ground again, his head sticking out of the window. “Everything?” he asked then, looking up at her once she straightened.

“Yes,” she let her hand shift so it was cupping his jaw, thumb pushing gently into his cheek.

“You keep stealing the covers,” he whispered it, like it was a secret, and after the moment of initial shock Camila laughed. As she laughed, he turned his head to kiss her wrist, the heel of her hand, her palm, words murmured against the soft skin there– “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she repeated–she’d repeat it over and over from then on, whispered close to his ear or shouted from across the house when either one or the other left for the day, mumbled before falling asleep and just awoke. It’d always have the same effect on Frankie. “But I’m cold, so I’m not giving up the covers.”

“I know you’re not,” he chuckled, taking her hand in his to turn it around and kiss her knuckles, too. “I’ll just have to stick close, then.”

She hummed in assent, squeezing his hand in hers before leaning one last time, the kiss too brief for both their tastes–if it were up to them, that’d be where they’d spend the whole day, just as close to each other as they could get.

“I’ll see you later,” she said instead.

Frankie remained in the driveway a moment longer, watching as she ran back inside–still barefoot, a light skip in her step, and one last look over her shoulder towards him.

next

[troutfur]

Brightheart and Jayfeather having a conversation about his brief time as her apprentice after he gets his medicine cat name.

You were one of the first people to submit but also one of the ones I consciously decided to ignore for the longest time because even though Jay is an absolute blorbo and I'll always take every opportunity to write him, I wanted to deliver more variety and challenge myself a little. Plus I did get randomly into the mood for doing pfurr stuff. But now that I'm clearing the inbox I may as well indulge.

I briefly deliberated going an AU route with this one because I do like AUs in which Jayf either swaps later in life or otherwise has more agency in becoming a meddie. But I felt canon was more in spirit of the prompt and has a certain emotionality that can't be gotten anywhere else.

(Wanna submit a prompt of your own? Check out my guidelines and send it in! Inbox cleanse coming soon so I'm gonna definitely need a good number of these to last me the 2nd half of the month.)

Brightheart waved goodbye to Birchfall as Berrynose approached with a heavy step to relieve him on the first shift of sentry duty that day. His ruffled fur and glazed eyes clearly betrayed why he hadn’t been ready at sunrise sharp and had instead delayed until the sunlight began to filter down from the canopy in weak beams. When she greeted him with a motion of her head he responded in kind and began with his morning grooming routine.

For a senior warrior such as her to be doing two consecutive shifts of sentry duty, no less at the border between night and day... It had been an odd request, much less having first been presented over a half-moon ago. But her persistence had made Brambleclaw ultimately accept. Rumors had been exchanged, reaching even the ears of their brothers who had offered her to serve the shifts alongside her on the assumption it had to do with remembrance of their sister. She ended up declining. It had to do with oracle business but it wasn’t about their sister this time.

As the day brightened and the forest and camp wakened with activity, Brightheart kept her vision forward and focused. Her ears stood tall, her position was perfectly squared. At least from the outside she was the model of a sentry. But her focus was really only placed on a very particular thing.

Once her good eye registered the approach of two familiar tabby pelts, one brown one silver-gray, she gently touched Berrynose’s side to bring him to alert and stop his daydreaming.

“Mrruh?” he mewed, turning to face his senior.

“Keep on guarding camp,” she instructed. “I’m going to be back shortly. If you need me for anything I’ll be heading in that direction,” she signaled with her muzzle towards her right side.

“Fine, fine, fine,” he mumbled as he shook his head to free himself from the stupor he’d been in.

Brightheart strode up to Leafpool and Jaypaw --Jaysomething rather-- in long steps. From where she saw her approaching Leafpool beamed her a smile and gave her apprentice a nudge. He barely had time to get to taste the air before the senior warrior was right in front of him.

“Greetings star-touched,” she began with a bow as was protocolary when the oracles were returning from their official functions. “Leafpool, Jayp--”

“Jayfeather,” he promptly interrupted. “It’s Jayfeather now.” Leafpool gently bunted against his shoulder with her own. “...And greetings to you too, Brightheart.”

“I think she’s got something to say to you,” Leafpool told her apprentice. “I’ll go to the den and get ahead in catching up with cases we might have missed while out last night.”

“Better they be something worth the time and not a matter of vanity like with Berrynose last time,” the newly-made full medicine cat huffed as his mentor strutted off.

“Come walk with me,” Brightheart prompted, hanging her tail over his shoulders as she positioned herself for the direction they were going to go in.

As he turned he shouldered off her tail and made a quick inspection with his whiskers and nose before setting ahead.

“So, I guessed right,” Brightheart said, heaving herself towards the front. “How is the new name suiting you, you think?”

“Not what I thought I’d get,” he said rather non-chalant. But from what she could see out of her flank she knew his stride was bold and his tail fully upright. “But I never did think Leafpool would give me something good. So all in all I’m happy.”

“You ever thought Firestar would give you something good?” she asked.

She could see him startle and then his tail droop even though he kept up the tone and the stride. “Really doesn’t matter now does it?”

“You seem really proud to be Leafpool’s apprentice,” she said.

“It’s good work,” he replied. “Most of the time at least...”

“Does it make you happy as well?”

“My Clanmates are well taken care of,” he replied. “I get to know the forest in a way no ordinary warrior ever really can. I get to have more freedoms than them across the borders. I am privy to StarClan’s secrets. I--” The more he spoke the more unconvinced he himself sounded.

“And do you ever miss the brief time we spent together?” she asked.

He sighed. “Frankly, no. Leafpool may have fretted about me but she did let me be out of camp. At least with her I can be out of her sight.”

A silence hung between them for a moment, letting the awkwardness grow. “I... see...”

“I know why you did,” he replied. “And I’ve tended to the aftermath of enough battles to see what were your worst fears. But between being stuck in stuffy dens all day and only most of the day... I think it’s easy to see why I think like I do.”

“You’re right,” Brightheart admitted with a bow of her head. “And do you think that with what you know now you’d rather have had a youth like your other peers?”

“Hard to know for sure,” he said. “I’d probably get frustrated more. That battle with ShadowClan...”

“It would be my job to make sure it didn’t get to you,” Brightheart said. “It’s something every apprentice experiences on some measure. We hardly had time to work on it, but if you had let me...”

“The herbs clicked for me in a way nothing else had,” Jayfeather said. “So much so that when Leafpool tried to pull our lessons towards the other parts of our duties I was very strong resisting. She chastised me often, ‘we are supposed to heal not mend, StarClan’s light is a must.’ If I had find something about being a warrior like that I can only imagine it going down similar.”

“That would have been a challenge,” she conceded. “But if I could have found that talent in you, we could have worked a lot more on it than what I imagine Leafpool would allow you to work in the mending part of your duties.”

“That would’ve been nice,” Jayfeather mused.

“I’m sorry for how I failed you,” Brightheart said, coming to a halt. “You made your choice and I’m happy for you in it. But if you ever feel like you could use some more skills, I’ll see what I can do for you.”

“I feel like I’ll end up doing all the outdoors chores,” Jayfeather said, beginning to turn and retrace his steps. “So I’ve got a hunch I’m gonna end up needing them.”

[salamandergoo]

Was thinking about stonathan in the ST Writer’s Guild discord and I wrote some long winded frottage :) 

Jonathan and Steve fall into bed together for the first time sometime in 1985. Steve is having more trouble than usual in school and doesn’t quite recognize the symptoms of head trauma and keeps it to himself. Jonathan is sleeping less and less with each passing week to the point he’s dozing off in the dark room pretty regularly. He meets up with Steve every so often to smoke and shoot the shit, somewhere along those lines they’ve become something close to friends.  Neither one has fully said it though.

Nancy and Jonathan fizzle out and suddenly their dynamic feels the same as it did before they hooked up with just a little less fire behind it. If she asked, yeah, Jonathan would go out with her again, be her boyfriend, but he’s not gonna put in the effort of asking her first. So he smokes with Steve, sits in the chill of spring evenings.

One of those spring evenings, Steve tells him he isn’t going to college, but doesn’t say why. Jonathan knows the Harringtons have enough pull to at least get him in a decent state college regardless of his grades, but doesn’t say anything. 

On a different particular evening, they end up going inside after their cigarettes go out, Steve offers to make dinner. No one has cooked dinner for Jonathan in a long time. His exhaustion catches up with him and he falls asleep on the couch to the sound of Steve bustling around and cooking.

Steve wakes him up awhile later with a hand on his cheek, and Jonathan, bleary and sleepy, leans into it, presses his face more firmly into the touch with a sigh. It’s nice. He’s not a touchy person, avoids touch with most people, but Steve’s hand is broad and warm and he’s tempted to sink into it. Then he remembers where he is and is suddenly incredibly awake.

Steve doesn’t say anything, just serves him a plate of pasta and pours him a glass of wine. Jonathan learns he doesn’t like wine, but drinks it anyway. He’s a guest, he’s gonna be polite. 

They eat in relative quiet, Steve asks him about his family. Joyce is fine. Will is fine. Lonnie called last month and is still a bastard. Jonathan asks about Steve’s family. His parents haven’t been home in three months, his dad yelled at him over the phone, he’s getting cut off at the end of May. “Dads, right?” And they both shrug.

Steve invites him to stick around longer, says it’s nice not being so alone. And Jonathan knows Steve’s house is way bigger than his, but he thinks he’d rather take his own haunted home with its torn wallpaper, axe marks still in parts of the front wall, the edges of burned carpet, and papers in crayon scribbling that still seem to pop up out of nowhere over the different type of haunted feeling in Steve’s house.

He calls his mom and says he’ll be home late, checks to see if Steve’s out of earshot and adds that he might spend the night. He doesn’t want to ask outright, doesn’t want to sound presumptuous, but knows he’ll say yes if Steve asks.

Joyce doesn’t ask any questions, tells him to have fun. He wonders if she knows where he is or if she thinks he’s somewhere else. Where else would he be (Why would he be here)? Has he ever told her about his tentative friendship with Steve?

They sit on the couch and watch a worn out copy of Animal House.

Jonathan doesn’t pay attention, mostly watches Steve watch the movie as his fingers twitch for the camera that’s sitting on his desk at home. Steve looks tired too. He’s got the bags under his eyes that Jonathan usually sees in the mirror on his own face. He’s not paying attention to the movie either, his eyes seem almost glazed over.

In a sudden burst of bravery, Jonathan reaches out, nudges his fingertips against Steve’s knee, feels the rough denim against his skin. Steve tenses, but doesn’t push him away. Instead, he stretches out his leg until their thighs are touching. Glances over and they make eye contact before they both look away. Jonathan’s hand slides until his palm is pressed against the curve of Steve’s thigh, fingers splayed out and nudging the inseam.

Steve doesn’t stop him. His hand slides upwards, hesitating at mid thigh. Steve’s hand settles on top of Jonathan’s and with the other hand, he grabs the remote and pauses the movie. “Do you-?” Steve cuts himself off and turns so they’re staring at each other. He guides Jonathan’s hand up, inch by inch until it’s pressed against the swell of his dick, the denim feeling even rougher, the harsh metal of the zipper against the side of Jonathan’s hand. His fingers twitch against the curve of it, he can feel the warmth and the way it twitches, the way it gets fuller. Harder.

Steve swallows and Jonathan watches the bob of his adams apple. His eyes flicker up to Steve’s face, the harsh shadow cast by his nose. He’s staring back, mouth open slightly and face going pink, an odd shade under the lighting of the tv. He doesn’t move his hand away, gets on his knees on the couch and leans in until their mouths touch. It’s not a good angle, but neither of them care. It’s hot and a wet and Jonathan licks over Steve’s tongue, tastes a little bit of wine still staining it red. Steve pulls him down, but the angle is even worse now. He has to pull away to breathe and looks down at the sight of Steve’s erection under his hand.

He’s had a lot of slurs thrown at him over the years and distantly wonders if they were right. He likes the way Steve’s hands grab his waist and pull him in until they’re chest to chest and he has to pull his hand away. He breathes in and out a few times before pressing his lips to Steve’s again, not as aggressively this time. 

He really likes kissing Steve. His hips are pulled forward until his own erection presses against Steve’s. Jonathan groans and arches his back, grinds down once, twice. He gets a handful of soft hair, uses it as leverage as he tilts his head to deepen it. They make out for awhile. Jonathan doesn’t try to keep track of time, just appreciates the feeling of it drifting past as his mouth is thoroughly licked by Steve.

By the time his hands are shoving up Steve’s shirt, stroking over warm skin and feeling the roughness of growing chest hair, they’re both breathless. Steve pulls away, lips bitten and wet and Jonathan knows he’ll be thinking about this view when he’s alone in his room for a long time. His fingers curl against Steve’s chest as his pants are unbuttoned, as they’re shoved down with his briefs. He fells exposed, but it’s not terrifying for once. He lets out a groan as Steve wraps a hand around him and his head falls forward, sharing breaths with Steve now as he tries not to bite through his own lip.

He drops his head more to mouth at Steve’s neck, the tang of his sweat thick on his tongue. Jonathan’s hips jerk forward and he hisses as the head of his sensitive dick brushes over rough denim. Steve mumbles an apology and lets go, frantically undoing his jeans. He lifts up his hips and Jonathan lifts with them (which is its own kind of hot) as he wiggles his jeans down. Steve gets himself exposed and his cock nudges against Jonathan’s, a totally new sensation that has him gasping for breath and cursing. Steve looks way too cocky at that, so he leans in and kisses him again, letting a nail catch against Steve’s nipple to shut him up.

Steve’s dick is hot and thick against Jonathan’s and Steve wraps his hands, both of them, around them. He moans when Jonathan starts moving his hips, fucking into the tight space. Jonathan isn’t going to last long, he already knows it, but he just hopes Steve won’t mock him to hard. He bites at Steve’s lip, wants to leave it swollen and bruised. No one will know it was him, but Steve will know. That’s good enough for Jonathan.

He rocks into the warmth, into the hold, hands planted firm against Steve’s chest. It’s over before too long, his hips stuttering as he finishes over Steve’s stomach. Steve starts moving his hands as soon as Jonathan begins to cum. It’s overwhelming and he breaks the kiss to gasp and groan, hips going still. Steve doesn’t stop, even when he’s definitely finished, knows there’s nothing more coming out of his dick. When he’s ready to tell Steve it’s too much, Steve freezes and squeezes tighter with a noise of his own, choked and desperate and a little whiny as he cums too. Jonathan gasps as he jerks his hips back to pull away from the touch, settles with his ass on Steve’s knees so he can look down and watch as the dark hair of Steve’s happy trail is covered in their spend.

He licks his lips and doesn’t let himself think too hard before he’s pushing off of Steve’s lap, legs asleep as he clumsily kneels down. “Byers, what are you- oh. Oh my god, that’s… that’s fucking hot.” Jonathan can feel Steve’s stare more than see it as he leans in to start licking up the mess. It’s bitter and salty against his tongue, but worth it for the way Steve’s dick twitches under his face.

He closes his eyes as a hand cards through his hair, keeping him held in place, and licks it all up until there isn’t a trace of what happened left. He swallows as he pulls back and gazes up at Steve. The lighting from the tv hasn’t changed, but there’s something in Steve’s eyes that has. Something Jonathan wants to chase again.

“Your hair is getting long,” is what Steve breaks the silence with.  “You should let me wash it for you.”

“Yeah.”  Jonathan feels a little dumb as he stares up at Steve.  “My mom hasn’t cut it in awhile, I kind of-“

He’s cut off by a long groan and the hand in his hair gripping.  “Please, Jon, don’t bring up your mom when my dick is out.”

Jonathan sputters, sitting up a little straighter to ease the tugging.   “You brought it up!”

“I didn’t bring your mom up!  If I’d known talking about your hair would make you mention her…”  The hand relaxes, smoothing down his hair again.  Jonathan closes his eyes and sighs, tilting forward to lean his cheek against a warm, hairy thigh.  “Damn it, stop being cute.”  Steve sounds less irritated now, more teasing.

“You think I’m cute?”  Jonathan opens his eyes again, face going warm.  “Um.  Thanks.”  He bit his lip and eyed Steve’s soft cock.  He didn’t think it over too much before leaning forward to press a soft kiss to it.  It jumped under his lips.

“Shit.”  Steve’s hand drifts down to cup Jonathan’s jaw, lifting his face so they could look at each other.  “Do you… want this?  Want… me?”

“Yeah.”  Jonathan whispers it before he can think about it, the word falling from his lips easily.  He planted his hands on the couch and lifted himself, kicking off his jeans and briefs fully.  He straddles Steve again, naked from the waist down.  “Yeah.  I want you.  You’re not… you’re not what I used to think you were.”  His eyes flick down to Steve’s kiss-bruised lips.

“Jon…”  Steve’s eyes swirl with emotions that Jonathan can’t quite parse but wants to.  Then he leans in to kiss him.  It’s soft, gentler than before.  Jonathan’s eyes slide shut and his arms wrap around Steve’s shoulders in a loose hug.  It felt like they were doing things a little backwards, but Jonathan’s pretty sure it’s the only way he can start relationships anyway.

When Jonathan pulls back, not letting go of Steve yet, he starts to feel the sweat making his shirt cling to him uncomfortably, the dried spit that had dribbled down his chin, the way his breath definitely smells like spunk.  “So uh… washing my hair still on the table?”

“You ever fucked someone in the shower?” Steve blurts, going pink after asking.

Jonathan can’t help his grin as he leans in to kiss Steve one more time.  “First time for everything, right?”

[mazeinthemiroh]

be gentle

Genre: Hurt/comfort, romance, roommate! au, angst, Beomgyu x reader

Word count: 1k

Warnings: None

Requested?: Yes

Synopsis: Beomgyu comforts his roommate after yet another break-up.

Please like and reblog if you enjoy! Feel free to request anything <3

It happened again.

This felt like such a recurring factor in Beomgyu's life. Another heartbreak he would have to live with. Another heartbreak he would have to watch and observe as you tore yourself apart of people that didn't matter. Lovers that didn't matter.

He stood outside your room a lightly knocked on the door for the third time. He could hear the sniffling sounds from your room that you tried to conceal with little effort. It was only so much he could bare.

"Y/N?" His voice was soft.

He was always soft, Beomgyu. Always gentle. He never raised a hand to you. Respected your privacy, respected your space, your time, your energy levels. Granted he was the person you probably spent the most time with without even realising it. Living with him was a breeze. It was so easy because he was so agreeable, so easy to get along with.

And he knew exactly how you ticked. Especially with regard to romance. And, if he was asked to judge, he would say that he isn't too impressed. Your track record of picking the right partner has been unimpressive, to say the least. Cheaters, assholes, gaslighting maniacs. Beomgyu couldn't believe he watched you time and time again bringing a new person into your life that he could see was not the right vibe. You attracted the wrong type of person, that was for sure. And he was another strike off the list.

You continued to sob into your pillow, even with the kind pestering of Beomgyu from the other side of your door.

"I got you a takeaway," he sounded again from outside your bedroom, "I'll leave it out here on the floor for you."

He knew what to do. He set the food down, all nicely unpacked by him, with your favourite sauces on the side and a napkin which could double up as a tissue for wiping away those persistent tears.

And then he would wait. In the living room, he would wait, legs propped up on a footstool as he watched the drama that played on the tv. His eyes were glazed over, not taking in the plot of the drama or the dialogue between characters. His mind was elsewhere.

It would take about 10 minutes for you to have finished your meal and emerge finally from your room. By that time, you would be wrapped up in a blanket-cocoon as you shuffled to the living room, plopping yourself to the seat next to Beomgyu. You didn't look at him, even if you felt his intense gaze on you.

Your roommate was stubborn at times. He almost always got his way, but, infuriating as it was, you couldn't hate him for it. Not ever.

He paused the tv and continued to look at you. By that time, you turned your head away shamefully.

"Talk to me."

It was an instruction that you didn't want to comply with. You turned to him meekly, with glazed, red eyes from all the crying.

"There's nothing to say," you sniffled, "you know what's happened."

A helpless feeling took over Beomgyu as he saw the tears prick up in the corners of your eyes. It was enough to make his heart clench for you. It was enough to turn him angry. Angry at the people who had screwed you over time and time again. Furious at the frequency of such awful people in your life, and such bad decisions on your part. It was only so much he could bare.

He turned his gaze away so you didn't see the anger in his eyes.

"You're so gentle, Gyu."

The sound of your voice perking up again echoed in his brain.

"So, so gentle."

You sounded tired; emotionally exhausted from the hours of crying, the days you spent fretting over someone useless, the months you spent pining over a person who was bound to break your heart in the first place.

Beomgyu was tired of this too.

"I don't feel gentle, Y/N. Not now," Beomgyu confessed honestly, glaring at the ground, "how dare they treat you like this."

The tears, by this time, had stopped flowing. You had very little in you left to feel, and yet there was a nagging feeling you couldn't get rid of. The feeling of curiosity for the man who sat next to you.

"I sure know how to pick 'em," you joked bitterly, sniffing once more and reaching to grab a tissue from the side.

When you turned around, your eyes locked with Beomgyu's. His eyes were like the moonlight; a milky shine glimmering in the deep brown pools of his iris' as you swam in the hopeful delight of his gaze. You felt the intense emotions convey just through his eyes alone. The hurt he felt with you, the frustration of the same painful occurrence, and the protective urge he had over you. You felt safe under his gaze. You felt safe just by being with him. And that was something you couldn't say about any other person you had been with.

Lifting his hand to your face, he cupped the side of your cheek tenderly. His long bangs caught elegantly between his eyelashes as he gazed downwards at you. There were so many colliding emotions rippling through his system, it was almost overwhelming. How could he provide comfort, solace, shelter and reassurance all at once? How could he do all this when the only thing he wanted to do was kiss you?

You waited for him with eager eyes, to do whatever he must with you.

The softer side of him took over. As you closed your eyes, he leaned down slowly, and it was as if time stopped. His lips landed on your nose; a cute, small whisper of a kiss that you had never quite experienced before.

He pulled away bashfully and gazed downwards at his hands. Your eyes fluttered open, and a small smile pulled at your lips.

Never had anyone treated you with such kindness. It was a different feeling. A feeling you wanted to chase after and explore.

But you knew in your heart that no one would give you this feeling again. Not a soul could display this much compassion.

No one else but him.

[gramophoneturtle]

Update/Pinned Post

Welcome to my art archive. I've posted a lot about my OCs, TWEWY, Persona 5, Xenoblade X and in other fandoms.

Unfortunately due to recent-ish changes on Tumblr I no longer feel comfortable posting here much or at all. I'll keep my blog up for the foreseeable future or maybe even forever because of how Tumblr stores data. I'd rather have the link back to the source.

Or if the other sites explode in the meantime.

This has nothing to do with the date sadly. I'm just at my limit.

Here's where you can find me:

Pillowfort: gramophoneturtle. The most artist respected place and a decent long form blogging place.

Neocities: I'm currently developing an art archive on neocities over here. This will be THE archive place, one day! With RSS, one day!

Bluesky: gramophoneturtle. Twitter replacement. I don't trust it but it's meshing with me more than mastodon. Stream announcements are here b/c I ran out of energy for crossposting.

cohost: gramophoneturtle. I don't trust it'll stay but it has both a draft system & can save alt text on draft edits. Wild stuff to praise but when porting art out of Tumblr, it's helpful to have new drafts.

Twitch & YouTube: I stream weekly on Twitch and store VODs on both. Twitch has all my VODs and YouTube has VODs from Fall 2023 and onwards.

More details, pros and cons about each site below for those who are curious. Thanks for sticking around and reading.

Pillowfort

It's user funded and transparent about the breakdown of funds

They're against generative AI. Their reinforcement came out around the time Tumblr's not-really-against-it stance came out. This is huge to me.

They're working on a PWA of the site so it will have a way to function like a smartphone app

Image post options aren't great but you aren't limited to 4 (unlike cohost - kinda, and Bluesky)

Alt text gets eaten if you edit a post currently which is awful. (Tumblr used to do this.) Alt text isn't an option for picture type posts but is for text posts with pictures. But hey at least you can include alt text!

Communities are nice for fandoms and stuff. You can search by tags but you don't follow tags, you join/watch communities.

They have funding for the next 6 months past any month that was fully funded. So as of April 1, 2024, funding should last until (the end?) of October if they were to not get any more donations/subscriptions from now on. Basically, they have a 6 month buffer and so far for 2024 they've been keeping it and maintaining their monthly funding goals

Neocities

Home page URL should not change but artwork URLs might

The artwork section is inspired by Tumblr's archive page/system. I don't think I want it to be exactly like it (might be a limitation of static pages re: tag filtering) but I want to try and partially make it

Artwork on there have been nightshaded and glazed. I would like to reglaze some pieces that are too glazed for my liking, now that I have a better computer for it (so it doesn't take forever). That's why not a lot of art is on there yet

I might go into detail about how I automated some of the web dev stuff to make my life easier on my my main blog. In summary: I'm using 11ty (eleventy), generating pages from data and templates, using github for version control and github actions for updating the site automatically

Bluesky:

Feeds are cool. I've found and made (through SkyFeed) a lot of Feeds. Feeds can look for text in posts and alt text, and/or specific tags. Can filter out reblogs or replies. Can work off of user lists. Can include/exclude specific posts - like Twitter Moments. There's a lot of flexibility and filtering.

Feeds can lookback anywhere from 25 hours to 1 week when not looking at one user. So when pulling from many users, you could just get the latest updates. For one user (say your own gallery of whatever) you're allowed to go back to the beginning, it can be your art gallery. And then people can just follow that feed so you don't have to worry about your art getting buried if people just want to follow your art

There's a setting you can turn on to warn and prevent you from posting until you add alt text. I love this. Especially since, like Twitter, you can't go back and edit a post

Forcing ALT text has the added bonus of leaving it last so I can double check tags and text in case I accidentally hit the post button before I'm ready

Twitch

There is art. And VTuber stuff. And life updates. Art/project updates. Lots of OC talk. Like I wish I could post more about Null considering how much stuff I've spoken about them on stream but freaking time! And energy.

YouTube

Used to do more Timelapses but stopped because laptop was not having fun with it. Now that I have a new computer it might be better!

Also has Twitch VODs because I want another place to back up VODs since local recordings take up a lot of space. And I can mark Chapters(/Moments?) timestamps to find stuff again.

Special thank you to those that made it all the way down here!

So what is the blog for now? Archiving, mainly, as I said at the beginning. I might link to my neocities page in maybe art updates or to pillowfort. And I might need a place to fall back to if the other sites don't last. I know bluesky and cohost are not much better/probably not better in other ways so I know that posting on them probably won't be good long term.

But that's why I'm working on the art archive site on the side. I'll always have a safe and controlled place where I can have all my art and details and stuff. It's gonna take a while and it's challenging but it's what I feel like I gotta do now.

I'm just so tired.

[foundtherightwords]

All Our Yesterdays - Chapter 9

Pairing: Ralph (Timewasters) x OFC

Summary: Thu, a museum archivist, only wants to escape her dull life in 21st-century Hanoi. The last thing she expects is to end up in 1929 Indochina via a time-traveling elevator and cross paths with Ralph, an Englishman on the run from the French Foreign Legion. Romance blossoms between them, but in a colonized country, unrest is always looming on the horizon, and Thu must decide if she wants to stay with Ralph in the past or return to the safety of the future.

Warnings: outdated/period-typical attitudes about women, mentions of war, mentions of pregnancy and abortion (involving a supporting character), some angst, some smut (non-explicit)

Chapter word count: 3.7k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Winter had finally arrived in Hanoi. For a few short, glorious weeks in November, the sky was a blue dome, the sun was a gentle glaze over the landscape, and everything was crisp and crystal clear. Then December came, and the Northeastern monsoon swept through Tonkin, changing the entire city in a single night. A merciless wind stripped the trees bare, leaving them to raise their skeletal frames toward a sky the color of tarnished silver. The traditional houses, not built for retaining heat, seemed to huddle closer together for warmth, as did the people on the streets. Vendors selling grilled corn on the cob and roasted sweet potatoes popped up on every street corner, and crowds flocked to them, for the fire from their stoves as much as the snacks. In the Western area of town, around Rue Paul Bert, Christmas decorations started appearing in shop windows and around doorways. For the locals, however, the real celebration—the Lunar New Year—was still about two months away.

The weather wasn't the only thing that changed. Thu sensed that something had changed between her and Ralph as well, in the days following his birthday and their outing at the dance hall.

On the outside, everything was the same. They still hung out (Thu tried not to think of their outings as dates)—eating at this or that vendor that they hadn't tried, going to the theater or the movies, even venturing to the Botanic Garden, though Thu was always careful to keep them away from the area around Robin Park. However, the easy friendliness between them was gone, replaced by a sense of tension, not just mental but physical as well, as both seemed to hold their bodies alert like a string, taut with wanting, waiting for the other to say something, do something, to break this terrible suspense, but neither dared to make the first move. It wasn't entirely unpleasant—it was like having a low dose of adrenaline constantly pumping through her veins—but it left her frustrated at the end of the day, when he walked her home, mumbled "Good night" and stalked off down the street, without even looking at her, without even shaking her hand, as if one touch would make them both spontaneously combust.

OK, so she liked him. She could admit that, at least to herself. He was cute and sweet and fun and she liked hanging out with him and taking care of him, and she even liked letting him take care of her once in a while. But it was no use entertaining the idea. This wasn't like meeting someone on vacation, because then at least there was always a chance they could see each other again. No, this was simply impossible.

It would be so much better if she could just sit him down and rip the Band-Aid off. "Listen, Ralph, I think you're great and all (what's that goofy 1920s slang word he uses? "Wizard"?), but I can't stay here forever, so how about we just kiss and get it out of our system and then go back to being friends?" But it was never that simple, was it? It wouldn't stop at just a kiss, would it? And there was always a chance that she had completely misread his signals, that he wasn't interested and was just being nice, and how humiliating would that be? And so she said nothing, and he said nothing, and they kept circling around each other in that limbo, taking both comfort and dissatisfaction from each other's company.  

Christmas came without much fanfare. None of the staff at the newspaper was Christian, and Thu didn't celebrate it either—though it had become an unofficial secular holiday in modern-day Vietnam, she didn't see any point in celebrating as a non-Christian. Ralph did though, so she made an effort to give him a nice time, knowing it would be the one day when he felt the most homesick. They didn't go to church—it was far too crowded and the risk of Ralph getting recognized would be greater. Instead, they stayed home for a Christmas dinner, French-Indochinese style. Ralph bought a bottle of champagne, a cake, and some sweets from Godard's, and she bought a Peking duck and side dishes from a Chinese restaurant.

"This is so good! Beats a roast goose any day," Ralph said, stuffing himself with the duck and pickles wrapped in crispy pancakes, while Thu watched him, smiling indulgently.

For presents, she gave him a dozen cotton handkerchiefs embroidered with his monogrammed initials, R.P. It was the most practical and least romantic present she could think of—she kept forgetting to buy some for herself, and Ralph was always having to give her one of his.

"I have something for you too," Ralph said, blushing a little, and handed her a long, rectangular package.

It was a photo album. "To Autumn, from Ralph" was written on the front page. The photos were all of her, carefully captioned in Ralph's own handwriting. Here she was, standing with the kids in front of the toy shop at the Mid-Autumn Festival. Here she was, leaning over a basket of flowers and smiling up at the camera. Here she was, standing at the balcony and looking over the street, deep in thought. There was even one of them together, reflected in a shop window like two ghosts floating over the busy pavement.

Thu looked from the album to Ralph, lost for words.

"A little memento for when you go home," he said. "I know you have all those pictures on your clever telephone already, but—"

"I love it," she interrupted, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. "Thank you."

He beamed at her.

Later that night, back in her own room, as she looked over the photos again, tracing the captions with her fingers, Thu thought to herself, After the Lunar New Year. She would stay for the Lunar New Year. And after that, maybe she'd find the strength to say goodbye.

***

As the New Year—the "Western" New Year, as it was still called in modern day, as opposed to the Lunar New Year—approached, the office of Women's Weekly was abuzz with excitement. To thank the staff and to celebrate the paper's three-month anniversary, Madame Phuong was going to throw a party at her house on New Year's Eve. Thu realized that then, as it is in modern times, the Lunar New Year is for families, while the Western New Year is reserved for social gatherings.

It was Lien who came up with the idea of putting on a pantomime play, both to entertain themselves and the guests at the party, and to help the staff bond. Madame Phuong gave her approval, and the women had been rehearsing all through Christmas. Thu was glad to see that it didn't seem much different from the amateur shows she and her co-workers often performed at the museum on special occasions, except they were all going to be cross-dressing for maximum hilarity.

They decided to perform Thach Sanh, or the story of the woodcutter who braved monsters and won the hand of a princess, since it had more male characters than other fairy tales, thus more cross-dressing roles for the all-female staff. Lien even roped her henpecked husband into playing the evil adoptive mother, which left the role of the Princess. The other staff members were asked if they had husbands or brothers or male friends that could step in, but the women all laughed behind their hands and said, "Playing a princess? They'd rather die!" It was then that Lien suggested that Thu asked her "photographer friend".

"I'll ask him, but I can't promise anything," Thu said. She turned to Mai and lowered her voice. "Maybe you can ask Louis too?" she asked with a teasing grin. Louis with his mustache playing a princess, now that would be a laugh.

"I—I don't know if he can," Mai mumbled, looking uncomfortable, and Thu's grin immediately disappeared. The girl had been rather subdued and distracted lately. Perhaps her relationship with the dashing Louis wasn't going well. Thu felt sorry for her, and again wondered if she'd done the right thing, keeping quiet about Louis's lechery.

To her pleasant surprise, Ralph agreed to help right away.

"We used to put on a panto for Christmas all the time at home," he said enthusiastically. "It'll be a laugh!"

And so on New Year's Eve, laden with costumes and props and musical instruments, they all made their way to Madame Phuong's villa on the quiet lane of Chân Cầm Street. Thu was astonished to recognize the place—in her time, it was converted into a couple of boutiques on the first floor and a coffee shop on the second floor, but the interior was more or less the same, down to the floor tiles, the tall French windows that opened onto the balcony, the carved columns on either side of the door, and the painted moldings on the ceiling. So many times she and her friends had been there drinking egg coffee, wondering who the previous owner was. Never had she dreamed that one day she would be there when it was all fresh and new... The feeling of derealization, which she hadn't felt in months, was back, and it was only when Ralph touched her shoulder that Thu realized she was gaping at the house like an idiot.

"Everything all right?" Ralph asked.

"Yeah, yeah, just—you know. I know this place." She shook her head. "Sometimes this whole thing feels like the longest bout of déjà-vu ever."

"Come on, we have to get into costumes." He pulled her toward the back of the house. The "actors" had congregated in a guest room, which had been set up as the changing room, and were putting on their costumes with much laughter and teasing. The play was to be very informal. It would be easy to hire a theater troupe, but Lien insisted on impressing Madame Phuong with their enthusiasm and homemade skills, hence the amateurish preparations.

Soon, Thu found herself clad in a men's robe of navy brocade, borrowed from Lien's husband, with a crown constructed out of paper and gold foil. She was playing the king, but as Vietnam still had an Emperor then and the royal color of yellow was forbidden for the common folk, they had to settle for blue instead. Mai, who was in charge of make-up, whipped out a cooking pot, its bottom blackened with soot.

"What the hell is that?" Thu asked.

"It's for your beard and eyebrows," Mai said, dragging a finger through the soot and smearing it on Thu's face.

Ralph took one look at her and bust out laughing.

"I don't see what you're laughing at," Thu scoffed. "Look at yourself!"

Lien had lent him her wedding robe of red brocade, and a crown, similar to Thu's, was on his head. Even though the robe was loose-fitting, Ralph was still too tall and broad-shouldered for it, so he had to wear it open like a smoking jacket, and his wrists poking out from the sleeves struck Thu as adorably awkward. At least he was allowed to wear his own trousers underneath.

Mai was smiling along with them, but then she suddenly went pale, winced, and clamped a hand on her stomach, dropping the pot of rouge she was going to use on Ralph.

"You OK?" Thu asked, looking at the girl with concern.

"Um, yeah, just cramps."

"Why don't you get some air?" Thu said, picking up the rouge. "I'll take care of this. The King and the Princess aren't on until the third scene anyway."

Mai gave her a grateful look and slipped out the door. Thu sat Ralph down in front of her, dipped her finger into the rouge, and rubbed a circle on each of his cheeks.

"You're worried about her," he said.

"She hasn't been herself. No doubt that dick Louis has something to do with it."

"Maybe they've broken up."

"That would be for the best, honestly."

Then she glanced at his face and tried to suppress a giggle.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "What?"

"Nothing. You look like one of those Russian nesting dolls. "

"And you look like a chimney sweep," he said, grinning at her.

"Don't talk, or I'll get lipstick on your teeth."

As she touched his lips, however, all thoughts of Mai went out of Thu's head. She was all too aware that they were alone in the room, and she was tracing his lips with her finger, how full and soft and warm they were, and he was looking at her almost expectantly, and if she just leaned down, she could kiss him—

"Ready?" Lien bustled in. She wasn't going on stage, preferring to be the director instead.

Thu looked up, hoping the soot was enough to cover her blush. "Um, yeah," she said.

"Good. You're up next!"

***

Peeking through a gap in the door, Thu saw that the drawing room was full of people, both French and Vietnamese. They were a rather Bohemian-looking lot, some dressed up, others looking like they just came off of their easels or writing desks. Madame Phuong's own children wove in and out amongst the guests. The atmosphere was casual and relaxed, and Thu's nervousness about her performance dissipated a great deal.

It helped her, also, to see that Ralph seemed to be enjoying himself. Her own role consisted of nothing else but sitting on a wingback chair, lifting her hand, and pointing a couple of times, so she spent most of her time on stage watching Ralph. He took to the stage like a duck to water. It being a pantomime, there was no line, but his gestures and looks earned a great deal of laughter and cheers from the audience. The princess's heartbreaking sighs at being separated from her brave woodcutter were especially convincing, even if she tended to look over at her father the king quite often during that scene. Thu was only glad that she was not a good enough actor to play the lead role, or else she would've melted into a puddle when the princess was finally reunited with the woodcutter.

Afterward, the actors took to the stage amidst enthusiastic applause, bowed, and rushed back into the changing room, laughing and congratulating each other. The women crowded around Lien's husband and Ralph, heaping them with praises, and telling Lien and Thu how lucky they were that their men were so supportive. It hit Thu then, that not only the staff took it for granted that Ralph was her partner, but they were also jealous of her. Her heart swelled with something akin to proprietorial pride, as she watched Ralph taking in the compliments, looking a bit overwhelmed but pleased.

They got out of their costumes, wiped their faces clean of make-up, and joined the other guests for hors d'oeuvres and champagne. The children had been sent to bed, and the party became more boisterous. At one point, Thu overheard Madame Phuong and a few other people getting into quite a heated discussion in French, of which she only caught a few familiar words like parti and révolutionnaire. Then they noticed her looking in their direction and quickly changed the subject.

Thu knew the August Revolution, which led to Vietnam gaining independence from France, was still fifteen years away, but the nationalist movements that gave birth to it must have started around this time. She looked at the happy, amicable faces around her, wondering if any of them would be involved in the war to come. Her stomach twinged with the slight embarrassment of being too wrapped up in her own personal affair, while there were much bigger things going on around her.

Then she caught Ralph's eyes across the room, and that embarrassment vanished. She realized she hadn't talked to him since the play was over, and suddenly she missed him. It was ridiculous to miss someone who was literally five meters away, but she did. As she made her way to him, one of Madame Phuong's friends started asking her about her hair, where she'd had it cut. By the time Thu got rid of her and turned back, Ralph himself was locked in conversation with a French gentleman. Before she could try to reach Ralph again, there was a tinkling of glass, and conversations paused as people turned to Madame Phuong. "It's almost midnight!" she announced, first in Vietnamese, then in French, pointing to the big grandfather clock behind her. "Let's ring in the New Year!"

A countdown began, in both Vietnamese and French. The clock struck twelve, a loud cheer of "Bonne année!" went up, and then, to Thu's great surprise, the guests started giving each other hearty kisses on the cheeks. She had heard of the tradition of kissing at midnight on New Year's Eve, of course, but it was a purely Western custom, never practiced in Vietnam, and certainly not in 1930, when the country was only on the brink of modernization. This must be a very liberal, very Westernized crowd if they took to it so naturally.

She saw Ralph making his way toward her and panicked. True, she had fantasized about kissing him just a few hours ago, but ever since their accidental kiss on his birthday, she had gone back and forth between yearning for his lips and dreading them. What if he was to kiss her now and she didn't know how to behave? What if it was just a friendly peck on the cheek and she didn't know how to deal with the crushing disappointment? No, better not risk it. She spun around and dashed through the other guests, escaping to the back of the house.

Walking down the dimly lit corridor, Thu found her way to the toilet, intending to take refuge in it until the moment for midnight kisses had passed. But as she reached the door, she heard a sound coming from within—quiet, whimpering sobs, like those of a child trying to hide her crying. She paused, not knowing if she should knock or retreat in discretion. Before she could decide, the door opened and Mai emerged, her eyes red and puffy. Thu realized she hadn't seen the girl since the play began.

"What's the matter?" she asked, but Mai only sniffed, shook her head, and disappeared down the hallway.  

***

Her mind was still on Mai when she said her goodbye to Madame Phuong and met Ralph at the front door. Belatedly, Thu realized that he was waiting to walk her home. Ah well. He had done so over the past two months and nothing had happened; there was no need to make things more awkward now.

If Ralph had noticed her running away from him at midnight and was hurt or offended, he made no mention of it. He only saw her shiver in her quilted jacket, so he took off his coat and draped it over her shoulders. She tried to protest, but he shrugged. "It's only a short walk, I won't freeze."

"Thank you." She clutched the coat closer around her, breathing in his warmth and the familiar soapy scent, while Ralph walked in long, leisurely strides next to her, his hands stuffed in his pockets. Some of their easy silence had returned, and Thu felt herself relaxing slightly. Perhaps they could go back to being friends after all.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked.

She sighed and told him about catching Mai crying in the bathroom. "I really should've warned her about Louis."

"What happened to not getting involved?"

She gave him a sharp glance. "It's a bit late for that, isn't it? I've been involved in all sorts of things now."

"So if you return to your time and the robots have taken over, you're not going to blame me?" he said, grinning.

She couldn't help grinning back. "No, you're off the hook. Great party tonight, wasn't it?" she said, changing the subject. She didn't like talking about going back to her time.

"It was. You did a great job with the play."

"Me?" She waved her hand dismissively. "Pfft. Trying to look kingly isn't that hard. You, though. If this photography thing doesn't work out, you should think about going on stage."

"I wasn't acting," Ralph said quietly.

"But when the princess was leaning against the window frame? All that sad longing? That was so convincing!"

"Like I said, I wasn't acting."

He had slowed his steps and was looking at her rather wistfully, but Thu strode on, pretending not to see, pretending not to notice the throbbing of her heart. He was probably just thinking of Lauren during that scene. Yes, definitely...

She walked so fast that Ralph had to scramble to catch up with her, but they had arrived at her boarding house. She turned to him. "Well, good night."

Ralph looked down, deflated. "Happy New Year," he mumbled.

"In Vietnam, we say 'Chúc mừng năm mới.'"

"Chuc mung nam moi?" he repeated, trying to form his mouth around the unfamiliar words.

"Close enough." Thu smiled. "See you then."

He gave her a brief nod, turned to leave, then seemed to have come to a decision and turned back, stepping closer to her, crossing the gap between them with just one stride. "Do you know that if you don't get a kiss on New Year's Eve, you'll be doomed to a year of loneliness?" he whispered.

The string inside her snapped. Why did he say that? Why did he keep saying and doing these things that made it so hard to resist him? Didn't he know how painful it was for her?

"Damn it, Ralph." She grabbed him by his shirt, pulled him to her, and clasped her mouth to his.

Chapter 10

A/N: Finally, things are happening! Smut is coming next chapter! Although slow burn is my jam, this is the slowest burn I've written so far, and even I was getting a little antsy with these two, so thank you for your patience :))

[eideticspider]

Where was the GLOW? The walking on CLOUDS? The unending and teeth rotting HAPPINESS? Everyone else around her was chattering and smiling, seemingly unaware of the internal PURGATORY Cindy found herself in. It felt like she was FROZEN in place, like someone else had command of her body and she was watching through a hazy shield.

Clutching her champagne glass, Cindy glanced around at the engagement party, toes wriggling in her white pumps. It was opulent in the way the Cervantes felt looked best. Like a backwash Kardashian cocktail party. There had been no input from the Moon camp, but honestly, she would've been happy with a backyard BARBEQUE at her parents' house. Hell, she didn't even know HALF of the people here. Hector had introduced her to about a quarter of that half and then left her to reconnect with old friends of his.

It's fine. We LIVE together. We'll talk when we can.

At least Peter and MJ made it. And from the doorway she could see the Morales bunch with George and Gwen. Hobie was somewhere in the crowd giving Mr. Cervantes a hard time for his apparent FASCISM by having the event be valeted. Her FRIENDS brought a small smile to her lips, despite being awash in a typhoon of social anxiety.

She couldn't remember getting DRESSED for the party and yet every aunt and sister-in-law and grandmother seemed to LAVISH her with compliments. The WHITE dress was pretty, she supposed--very BRIDAL, her mother complimented. It was short, simple and exposed her legs, but Hector seemed to LIKE it. His tie was white satin, he'd chosen it to MATCH her.

But it was OFF white. Like a creamy eggshell. The shade of white that was just a tinge away from being PUS colored. It was...WRONG. Cindy felt bad to focus on such a minute detail, but it just seemed to signify everything she FELT since saying 'yes'.

She LOVED Hector. They'd been together since middle school, so moving in together? Sure. That made sense. Buying FURNITURE together? Of course--she was a sucker for some good IKEA meatballs. Marriage? Children?

...maybe? They were happy.

Right?

At least they were happy ENOUGH?

Hector loved her. He seemed to, in any case. He told her at least ONCE a day. (Okay sure, he'd forgotten to a few times in the past few MONTHS, but he was caught up in work. That's understandable.) He took her out on semi-regular DATES. (Lots of GUYS forget that their fiancée' didn't care for CURRY. It happens.) He brought her FLOWERS. (Sure, the last time was PROM, but that counted.)

At least they still had plenty in common to TALK about. He would tell her about his job, how STRESSFUL it was and how he was praying for a promotion. She would LISTEN, offer advice--even a few pieces HELPED him out in his last meeting! He would ask her about her day and she would answer.

All he was looking for was that it was FINE. Anything else risked an argument or a lecture.

They were INTIMATE on a semi-regular basis. She did like the way he kissed her NECK--one of the more sensitive spots on her body. She just wished he focused more on her than HIMSELF. Surely she could finish too, right? At least they had TIME to learn more about the other's wants and desires.

Till DEATH, right?

The party moved in FULL speed around her and no one else seemed to noticed the HAUNTED glaze in her eyes. A image came to her mind, something she'd HAVE to paint. Not something she'd want to paint--but a necessity. A room full of color and NOISE and there she was, a vision in WHITE and completely gray with just the thud of her heart to signal that she was ALIVE.

Lost.

Audrey bounced over to her but her words were MUFFLED. It sounded like a compliment and Cindy forced a smile to her lips, tilting her head to her BRIDESMAID. Her friend's little upturned nose was already PINK, a sure sign that she had taken full advantage of the BAR and it reminded Cindy to take a sip of her champagne. A VAGUE attempt to look human. She gave her friend's hand a gentle squeeze, brown eyes flickering down to the RING on her finger as Audrey slipped away back into the party.

It was BEAUTIFUL. For someone else.

She could've understood if it had been a FAMILY heirloom, but Mrs. Cervantes had guarded her engagement ring like the HOLY Grail. Not that I would've wanted her RING. But the ring Hector had chosen was just on the verge of GARISH. The diamond was huge, square cut, and glittered in the CANDLELIGHT of the party. But it was cold, hollow. As if he had just walked into the jeweler and picked the FIRST one he saw.

Which was FINE. She could hardly complain--wouldn't COMPLAIN about it. Even if MJ and Rio, even little Gwen had recognized the dissatisfaction on her face.

Cindy glanced away from her ring and took another sip of COURAGE, setting her glass on a tray as she searched for her fiance. A rare flare of ANGER curled in her stomach like a vine, twisting and SQUEEZING her into action. He should be by her side, holding her HAND. He should be BEAMING and kissing her cheek--not hoisting beers with his old college friends.

He had caught her look: something near DESPERATE and pleading, her lips turned up as if begging him to join her--and he looked away at some JOKE his best man guwaffed out.

He had been lucky she glanced away before his hand landed on Audrey's back in a less-than BROTHERLY fashion. As if there was something more...familiar there. Something UNTOWARD and unkind to the woman he was marrying.

Just as soon as the anger had flared, it had cooled down to a resigned, disappointed SIMMER. She recognized it as the familiar sting of UNHAPPINESS, but tucked it away. Regardless--they had been together for YEARS. It was only natural that they'd get married. Of course, they'd met before puberty. People CHANGED. She wondered if they had both changed to the point of INCOMPATIBILITY. Hector wouldn't understand if she brought her CONCERNS to him anyway.

It was easier to just focus on the POSITIVES. (What few there were.)

Her parents seemed so PROUD of her and Mr. and Mrs. Cervantes were THRILLED to have Cindy join their family. They had all done so much to be so WELCOMING. Maybe she was overthinking everything. Maybe...Maybe they could FIX things before they became irreparable.

Maybe things would be OKAY, if not perfect. She could learn to TOLERATE the decay.