#thank you for saying nice things to me :)

[peachcott]

Hello!! I love your ace attorney art!! Your style is very nice and I like it very much thanks for existing :)

hiiii oh my gosh thank you so much!! i'm really happy you like it, and i hope i can make lots more for you to enjoy!! (•̀ᴗ•́)و ̑̑ thank YOU for existing!

[canisalbus]

Happy non chocolate cake day.

.

[stevebabey]

part one here. ze part two to touch-starved stevie that absolutely no one requested hehe <3 but i gots to let my boys have a wee kiss :")

So, hugs with Eddie become… well, a thing.

Not a thing. They’re not a thing, Steve and Eddie. It’s totally the same as when he gets hugs from Robin. Eddie’s doing him a favour as a friend. It’s got the 100% platonic energy of getting a hug from a friend — a hug that usually melts into some form of a cuddle, limbs all tangled together until they can’t tell whose are whose.

Except, Steve doesn’t really do that second part with Robin. Like he hasn’t done it ever with Robin.

So, it’s an Eddie thing.

But they’re not a thing. Not matter how much Steve would actually very much like for that happen. Okay, maybe Steve’s overthinking the whole thing a bit, but he just can’t tell.

Where’s the line? It’s infuriating not being able to discern between platonic and more, just because Steve wasn’t held enough as a fucking baby. Out of all the things he resents his parents for, Steve’s surprised that this is so near the top.

Because, sure, Steve’s had more than his fair share of hookups. He knows that sort of touch. He knows the shape of lust; the scrapes of fingernails down backs, the tight grips over skin, the push and pull of the heat of the moment.

And this thing with Eddie… is not that.

So, really, Steve knows that it’s all friendly. Eddie is just being nice. He’s being a decent dude and helping his friend out — by catapulting himself into Steve’s arms at every opportune moment.

(Steve’s only dropped 3 mugs of coffee because of this so far. It’s only because Eddie says good catch, big boy with a devilish grin every time that Steve manages to catch Eddie that Steve hasn’t completely told him to knock it off. Just yet, at least.)

And he’s different in other areas. He’ll always seem to choose the seat next to Steve on movie-nights now, content to snuggle right up to him. They get thigh to thigh, arm to arm — and Eddie only needs to get about 20 minutes in for him to do a big sigh, like an old dog, and slump over, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve notices though. He always notices.

It’s impossible not to— the skin, even if there’s 3 layers between them, burns blazing warm. Eddie’s hair drapes over his arm, a curl inevitably tickling along Steve’s collar. He can feel the rise and fall of Eddie’s breathing, the little shake of when he laughs.

It drives Steve a little insane— insane in the way that makes him think about burying his fingers in those curls again, about pressing his lips against Eddie’s pretty mouth just to feel the smile against his skin, about digging into his chest so he can climb into his chest and live there.

Yeah, it’s— well, it’s safe to say that the effect of Eddie’s touchiness has sent what was once a fleeting thought of a crush into mind-melting levels of affection.

But he can’t fucking tell.

-

To Steve’s credit, neither can Eddie.

Which is not surprisingly considering sometimes he catches himself wondering how the hell he ended up here; in a close-knit friendship with band-geek Robin Buckley, princess Nancy Wheeler, and King Steve Harrington.

Okay, the Robin one sort of makes sense. He thinks that if no matter when their paths crossed, he and Robin would’ve always even some sort of strange friends - her snark complimenting his bitchiness. Also, the whole super queer thing helps too. Even the friendship with Nancy works, in its own weird way.

Steve though? He’s the fucking curve ball.

It works though, the two of them. Surprisingly well, actually — the two of them get on like a house on fire, bitchy quips back and forth. Even better, is the quiet that they can share. Steve loves to come around and do… nothing. Do nothing with Eddie, though.

So, even though Eddie had noticed the tension in Steve with touch, little moments where he turned rigid when Eddie’s usual wandering hands got too comfortable — Eddie chalked it up to the usual. Guys bring too uncomfortable with him, too weird about another guy being touchy. It didn’t matter than Eddie wasn’t even out to Steve yet, he was still might be that type of guy.

Well, Eddie had certainly thought so. Sure, Steve might not be one of those jocks who smacked around boys who looked too long in the locker room, but if he knew a smidge of the truth, who really knows. It would explain the tenseness at least.

But then— ‘Can I… have a hug?’ There had been a dozen things Eddie was thinking that Steve could’ve asked for but that? Wasn’t even in the ballpark. It was so left-field it left Eddie speechless for a whole moment. And Steve had been staring at the ceiling, his hands curled up tight again like- like he thought Eddie might say no.

A ridiculous thought, honestly. Anyone who knew Eddie well enough knew he was touchy; loved giving it, loved getting it. Like an overly affectionate cat, Wayne had once called him, just 11 years old, because Eddie’s need for affection seem to never be sated.

After that night, Steve’s lack of touch became far more obvious. It’s always hair ruffles or high-fives, yet never hugs. Normally, Eddie would keep to that boundary; some people are less touchy other than others, he knows that.

But… “Sometimes I realise it’s been awhile, since I’ve had some touch.” That’s what Steve had said, his words. Eddie doesn’t even think he meant to say something so heartbreaking. In fact, the guy seemed embarrassed.

It had thrown Eddie for a loop— because Steve gets around. He’s nearly notorious for one-night stands and failed flings, as Robin loves to drone on about considering she’s subjected to all the flirting. What had originally been a point of envy for Eddie, just saturates the bleakness of Steve’s words. Sex but without a moment of intimacy.

So, while Eddie is miles away from being the person who gets into Steve’s pants — not for lack of want, mind you — he does try hike up the touchiness. Little things. Lingering when he taps him on the arm, hooking his chin over Steve’s shoulder to peer over it, leaning up against him when they’re side by side watching a film.

It’s good. It helps Eddie release the pressure of his stupid monumental god-awful crush he has. Yeah, yeah, it’s laughable, even to Eddie. It’s like Gay 101; don’t get crush on straight dudes, especially the ones you’re friends with. And yet…

Steve lets him. He lets Eddie give him touch, more than he lets anyone else. He still tenses; there’s still always a moment before he can remember to relax, like he’s trying to shake off bad thoughts but then he melts. He always melts into Eddie’s touch eventually — in a way Eddie knows Steve actually loves it, drinks it up as much as he can.

And maybe, Eddie is the biggest fool to grace the Earth to let that fact give him some hope. Sue his gooey heart, he’s a romantic. It’s a quiet hope but, it’s there.

Tonight, it seems relaxing for Steve is been harder than usual— several times has Eddie traced a quite long along Steve’s arms, a subtle point that they were far too tense for someone who was wrapped up in cuddles on the couch. ‘Cos that’s 100% what they are now. Eddie will still call them hugs, but usually, when it’s just the two of them, it becomes this.

Steve, tucked up into the corner of the couch, one leg flush along the back of the couch and one hanging off the edge. It’s the prime position for Eddie to crawl up, wind his arms around Steve’s middle and give him a good squeeze and then settle there. Head on Steve’s chest, lying in the cradle of his hips. Safe. Warm.

It makes him warm, oh very warm to know that he gets this. That Steve doesn’t give this amount of trust to many, if any, other people but Eddie — he trusts Eddie.

“Y’know,” Eddie says, cheeks smushed against the plain of Steve’s pec. It feels deliciously warm and Eddie’s fairly sure he can feel how toned it is just through his cheek. Hot bastard. “I’m actually real glad you asked for that hug all those weeks ago.”

He leaves it there ‘cos he knows Steve will ask. Eddie’s eyes stay on the buzzing tv-screen even as Steve’s head shifts, turning to peer down at the boy slumped on his chest. Eddie’s pretty sure he can see Steve’s mouth twitch up into a smile.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie affirms, giving a nod and his eyes flick up to meet Steve’s for just a moment. “Think I’ve had some of the best hugs in the world.”

Okay, that was maybe more honest and sappy than Eddie was going for. He is just letting Steve know he isn’t just doing it for Steve — that he enjoys these moments just as much. He lays it on thick, tries for a smarmy angle.

“Swept up in these pillowy arms?” He croons, giving Steve’s bicep a quick squeeze, making the other chuckle softly. “Who wouldn’t think so? I’m a lucky guy.”

Despite the joking tone, there’s no quick comeback from Steve. That’s alright. Eddie’s quite happy if this is one of the times Steve just takes the compliment; let’s the word sink in and hopefully, believes them, even if it’s just a little bit. He watches the film and doesn’t read into the silence.

Not even when Steve says, “Eddie?” all soft. Nearly shy sounding. It doesn’t quite register to Eddie’s ears.

“Mm?”

“Eddie.” Steve says again, a little firmer and that catches Eddie’s attention. He turns his head and rests his chin on Steve’s chest, his brows drawn together in silent question.

But the moment he makes eye contact, Steve’s doing that scrunched up face again. Is studying the ceiling instead of facing Eddie. And just like all those weeks ago, his hands clench up tight. Twists up the fabric of Eddie’s sweater in between his fingers and uses it to ground himself.

Last time, he asked for a hug. Considering he’s currently just about squishing Steve beneath his body weight, Eddie can’t fathom what he might be worked up to ask for. Unless he was going to ask for something more than a hug— which, well, just wasn’t going to happen, even if Eddie really wanted it to.

“Can I-” Steve starts. He sucks in a breath, almost like he’s gathering courage. But he’s not, because he’s not about to ask for what Eddie hopes for, he’s not, he’s—

Unless…?

“Can I… have a kiss?” Steve asks, barely audible. The sentence is murmured, soft words that hit Eddie like a gentle kiss in itself — imprinting right onto his heart. Steve Harrington wants a kiss — from him!

“Oh.” Eddie says, in a breathy delightful way. He’s fairly certain the little monkey in his brain is clapping its cymbals at double-speed as the words process; or maybe it’s his heart, which feels like it’s leapt up his throat.

“Oh?” Steve echoes, a smile already playing at the edges of his mouth, because he can see Eddie’s want. Because he knows him.

“Yes.” Eddie says suddenly, with a frantic nod, pushing up closer so their faces are aligned. “Yes, absolutely, you can.” He affirms.

Steve huffs a quiet laugh at the eagerness and then his arm that had been slung around Eddie shifts. It moves up til his hand caresses along the line of Eddie’s jaw, tilting him just how he likes.

Eddie holds his breath. Counts the freckles he can see this close. Tries to feel Steve’s heartbeat through where they’re pressed so closely together; can Steve feel his? Thundering and hurried, beating so hard Eddie thinks he might bruise the inside of his ribs.

Then Steve kisses him. And shit, Steve’s lip are better by ten-fold than every daydream Eddie’s ever had about them. They’re warm and so soft — plush and pressing against his own and Eddie is freezing. Fuck, wait, how does this go again? Right, Eddie’s never… well, kissed anybody before.

Steve pulls back and Eddie screws his eyes up — not ready in the slightest for the disappointment of his own shoddy kissing skills. Fuck, did he really just freeze? Steve — Steve Harrington — asks for a kiss and Eddie decides to stab himself in the back by not figuring out how to fuck to kiss back.

“You call that a kiss?” Steve teases and Eddie’s well aware of the parallel — of the irony of Steve repeating his own words back at him. But he can’t make himself laugh even though it’s funny. Instead, a little groan wiggles out his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, earnest. He forces his eyes opens — he needs to see what’s Steve’s thinking. Where he’s expecting disappointment or perhaps regret, is only patience. Maybe a touch of concern. Eddie continues, despite the humiliation that makes his throat sticky.

“I haven’t- I don’t do this often.” He coughs awkwardly clearing his throat and hoping it hides the next word. “Ever.”

There’s a jump in Steve’s eyebrows, a moment of surprise in his eyes that lets him know he did, indeed, hear that final word. It makes Eddie feel… well, it’s nice that Steve had expected him to have been kissed by now. Even if he hasn’t. He tries to take it as a compliment.

“That’s okay,” Steve assures. Absentmindedly, his thumb rubs soothing along Eddie’s jaw. It makes Eddie shiver, some outrageous amount of joy clawing into every nerve. Steve likes Eddie. He wants to kiss Eddie.

“Do you want to try again?”

Eddie nods before the questions even out of his mouth. Steve smiles, all sunshine. This time when he draws Eddie in, he notices the way Eddie holds his breath — the rigidness in his body.

Steve kisses him again, another short and soft one and then whispers against his lips, “Relax.”

‘Cos isn’t tonight just full of the parallels, Eddie thinks. He listens, tries to focus on how sweet Steve’s kiss is than his panicky heart, forcing out a breath between the kisses. His hands along Steve’s sides find a grip, grounding and good, and by the fourth kiss, he begins to feel a bit melty.

It’s good. It’s really good. Kissing Steve is top 5– nay, the top moment of his life so far. Somehow, it’s made all that much better knowing the build-up behind it. Knowing that Steve knows he isn’t just kissing him for a heat of the moment — that Eddie wants kisses here, kisses before bed, in the morning, on dates. Eddie wants Steve.

And with the way he kisses, Eddie’s pretty sure Steve wants him just as bad.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to reach what Eddie decides is an ultra pretty fuckin’ state; lips swollen from kisses, cheeks flushed, hair a little mussed up. He bets he looks no better. The thought makes him grin, enough they have to break the kiss ‘cos Eddie can’t stop his stupid happy grin ‘cos shit— he actually gets to have this Steve.

“What?” Steve asks, somehow half heart-eyed and half suspicious at the mischief in Eddie’s eyes.

“Can I... have a hickie?”

now with a part three !

[doctorsiren]

I loved your headcannons about inukawa, reigen and reigens sister and I would really like to see what you think would happen if mob and reigens sister met and I was wondering if you could possibly draw them :D

hello yes I accidentally made a comic after seeing this ask yesterday 😁 bro psychoanalyzed her 😨

[pnfc]

this is the inside of my brain rn

future edit: heres some nsfw ok

[onerudegentleman]

I wanna hug your Horror so bad. I wanna platonically hug him. Plz- your art of him makes me wanna platonically cuddle him🥺🥺 he looks so scrungly🥺🥺🥺your art is so MMMMMMM- yesh. Forever keep up the good work✨ oh yeah! And have a good day/night!

dont you have any sort of self preservation?

[musings-of-miss-j]

no rest for the wicked (nor the foolish)

part seven: in which the obscenely wealthy resident makes himself a permanent fixture to your list of problems, even after you find comfort in the normality of Snezhnaya's city (and its firewater)

a harbingers x gn reader series!! (includes dottore, childe, arlecchino and pantalone x reader. the rest of the harbingers will most likely not be romantic interests)

notes: cuz i set fire to the rain but rain won't fucking catch fire fuck's sake (slowburn), gn neutral sarcastic legend sick of ppl's bs reader, slightly suggestive

series masterlist

author's notes: *throws this chapter at u like its crumbs and ur pigeons on the pavement*

reblog the crumbs my pigeons <3

word count: 5134 words

*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  

Snezhnaya was so cold. Bitingly, piercingly, mercilessly cold. But the city was warmer, more welcoming. Despite the icy wasteland surrounding it, the rows of shops and frosted-over streetlights boasted an almost friendly atmosphere, tinny music trickling through the cracks of some of the doors and stalls advertising ‘the greatest hot chocolate ever sold!’. Childe took hold of your hand under the guise of not wanting to lose you when you passed through a particularly busy street, but neglected to let go even after the crowd dispersed. You let him, and dragged him into a cosy bookstore piled high with well-loved stories. He insisted on carrying every book you chose while you browsed, following you through the shelves with hardcovers piled high in his arms, leading the owner of the shop to shoot the two of you a knowing glance you didn’t particularly like. A clothes shop nestled into a corner also caught your eye, and after a pleasant half hour of perusing the finest selection of furs and suits and dresses you’d ever seen you left with a brand new cloak to replace your lost one, black with silver clasps and a fur trim that would have been expensive enough to haunt you for a week or so, if Childe hadn’t sneakily paid for it the moment you picked it up. He led you to the city’s landmarks; the frozen fountains and an ice rink you refused to step onto, and you even let him drag you into a tavern.

“Eleven, please. I’m far from a good drinking partner.” Your protest sounded weak even to your own ears; you were quite curious to try the infamous Snezhnayan firewater, and the tavern was wonderfully warm.

“Don’t shoot it ‘til you’ve tried it,” he cheerfully replied, pulling you through the door by your joined hands and steering you towards a table near the window. The place was rowdier than you’d expected; a bard sang and danced on a tabletop, strumming a ukulele while the clattering of coins hitting the surface melded with the people’s laughter and clapping hands. You were reminded of the irresponsible, green-clad bard from Mondstadt who’d avoided you at every turn yet shone onstage. Before you knew it, you were laughing and knocking back a drink yourself, leaning back in your seat and letting your voice join the cheers and chatter. Childe marvelled at how much more relaxed you were outside of the palace, the tenseness in your shoulders gone and the sceptical furrow between your brows softened, one arm hooked around the back of your chair while you swirled your drink with the other hand.

“Say, Eleven,” you half-yelled to be heard over the ruckus. “What possessed you to join this Archons-forsaken association?”

“Quickest way to become a better fighter.”

You laughed under your breath, downing the rest of your drink. No more for you tonight, that was certain; pleasantly tipsy was one thing but you were far from keen on being flat-out drunk.

“Is that so?” You quipped back, appraising him thoughtfully. “You know, Eleven, I’ve heard some gut-churning things about you,” you mused, leaning forward to rest your elbows on the table. “That you’re a bloodthirsty maniac. A murderous villain. That your only home is the battlefield.”

His breath caught in his throat. Here you were, tearing out any last semblances of goodness he still thought he had and laying them before him, tattered and bleeding. And you did it all with that small, thoughtful smile. The ambience of the tavern flickered like a faulty speaker, his ears filling with anxious static.

“I think you’re more than half-decent, though.” Alcohol certainly loosened tongues. The cacophony of the bar came rushing back.

You stacked a few coins on the table to pay for your drink, heedless of the relief coursing through his veins like the most potent drug. You knew. He didn’t know how, but you knew about the savagery lurking so near to the surface of the charm that had once come so naturally to him but now took an effort to maintain, and you didn’t hate him for it. More than half-decent. You might as well have called him a prince. He felt giddy, drunk on your praise.

 Breaking out of his trance, he firmly pushed your mora back in your direction and paid for the drinks himself despite your objections. You bickered over the matter the entire trek back to the palace, settling into the easy familiarity of squabbling back and forth with him. He accompanied you to the dining hall, too, claiming he had nothing to do at all even though Pierro was getting impatient at the lack of progress he’d made on tracking the Geo Gnosis; after all, what significance did godhood hold compared to you and the divine splendour of your laughter?

You found Arlie idling just outside. Preposterous, that she’d be reduced to dawdling around in hopes to see you, but there she was nonetheless, with the last plate of your favourite dessert that she’d snagged before a poor recruit could get his hands on it to boot. All damning evidence of her budding affection. Pleasantly surprised to see her, you made to introduce her to Childe.

“Oh, Arlie! I didn’t expect to see you today.”

She and Childe’s gazes met over the top of your head, the latter stupefied at seeing one of the most high-ranking Harbingers being referred to so casually, and by you, upholder of titles, no less, while the former shot him a formidable glare that warned him to hold his tongue lest she rip it out for him. She nodded shortly at your introduction.

“Childe and I are familiar.”

You hummed and pursed your lips. Surely this was ample confirmation that she was a Harbinger.

“Lovely, we’re all friends here then,” you said with just a touch of sardonic humour. “Why don’t we take lunch together?” You suggested, mostly as a way to further observe their dynamic and gather more evidence to support your theory. Arlie handed you the plate without ceremony.

“I’ve already had lunch, but I’d be happy to accompany you.” Even if she found Childe exuberantly foolish.

“I could eat,” Childe seconded, slinging an arm around your shoulders, not missing the way you beamed at her little gift.

Thus you found yourself seated under a gazebo in the palace gardens, pointedly ignoring the strained tension between your two companions while you admired the snow you’d once lamented and contentedly ate the berries from your pavlova. What a funny situation. You weren’t quite sure how you’d ended up befriending two higher-ups from a supposedly dangerous organisation and willingly spending time in their company over a plate of such exquisite dessert, but you supposed life had a way of being funny like that.                                                                                                                     

“Do enlighten me as to how the two of you know each other,” you said, waving your spoon vaguely. They let an ear-splitting silence fall, tense and rigid. You pointedly ignored the on-edge atmosphere, taking another bite of your pavlova.

“Well?” You prompted.

Childe clenched his teeth momentarily. “We were assigned on the same mission this reconnaissance cycle.” Arlie offered a non-committal hum of agreement.

“Interesting. And why is it that you seem on the verge of lunging at each other with the intent of causing as much bodily harm as possible?” You asked in a deceptively innocent tone. Childe wished you weren’t so clever sometimes, while Arlie turned her head away to hide her smile.

“Enough about us,” she interjected, leaning forward slightly to adjust the insignia you had pinned to the shoulder of your new cloak. “Tell me how you liked the city.”

“Snezhnayan firewater certainly lives up to its reputation for being extremely potent,” you replied with a shrug, setting aside your empty plate. “And Lord Eleven has similarly scandalous reputation outside the palace,” you added slyly, just to push his buttons. A bit of payback for not telling the truth about how he knew Arlie.

He choked on air. “What?”

Arlie raised an eyebrow. “What, indeed. Care to explain, Childe?”

“Not really,” he responded airily, tugging at his collar and clearing his throat. One advantage of Arlecchino being disguised like this was that he could somewhat safely dodge her authority under the guise of protecting her alibi.

Childe was saved from describing the reason for his less-than-ideal reputation when a young recruit, barely eighteen from the looks of it, came marching hurriedly towards you. Apparently the Director of the Harbingers himself was requesting Childe’s presence, and he left with more than a little reluctance and a wave goodbye. Arlie watched him rush off and allowed herself a moment’s satisfaction at the timely intervention. You touched her shoulder to catch her attention again, a small leather box in hand.

“I bought you something from the city,” you said, offering it to her. She stared at it in silence for so long you feared you might have offended her, when really her mind was spinning with the implications of you buying her a gift.

You swallowed nervously. She still hadn’t accepted the gift from your outstretched hand, staring blankly at the little box.

“Do you not want it?”

“I do,” she all but snapped, finally taking it. “I was… surprised, is all.”

 A four-leafed brooch lay inside, gleaming black metal inlaid with red gemstones that glittered as they caught the light.

Her silence left you a little nervous, and you found yourself rambling uncharacteristically to fill it. “The merchant was adamant that it’s crafted entirely from the finest silver, but I didn’t test it in the lab yet. But I can confirm that the jewels have a purity of at least seventy five percent, and it’ll fetch a handsome bit of mora if you choose to sell it”-

“Thank you. It’s…” Stunning? Lovely? Beautiful? Arlecchino was truly at a loss for words, and fought not to stare at you. What a warming thought, that you’d spotted a little trinket and your mind had conjured her as a recipient for a gift. How lovely, to think that she occupied your thoughts enough to become a regular visitor. “It’s exceptionally well-made.”

You beamed. “I’m glad to hear that. You seem to prefer black and white clothing, I think the red will serve as a striking contrast.”

“Indeed,” she agreed mechanically, offering you the barest hint of a smile. You could tell her the sun rose in the west and paper was inflammable and she’d probably agree at that moment. A part of her despised how much power that gave you. You took out your pocket watch.

“Ah, perhaps we should go back inside,” you suggested, rising from the bench and brushing away the layer of snow on your shoulders. “According to my observations, the temperature drops quite rapidly at around this time, and I have a few letters to write.”

Arlie quickly excused herself once inside the palace (to ruminate alone over her gift), leaving you to take a pile of your best parchment and a pot of your smoothest, most pigmented ink to the Regrator’s library. It took a moment of fumbling with your stationery to kneel and get the door open, but the sight within was as rewarding as it had been the last time you stumbled upon the place; bathed in the late afternoon’s pale golden light, the fire crackling merrily and glinting off the silver etched into the bookshelves, chairs comfortable and inviting. You gladly dropped into one of them, sighing contentedly as the plush leather enveloped you, and began penning addresses onto envelopes with magnificent blue and purple quill you’d received from your friends as a graduation gift. You still didn’t know where such a large, vibrantly coloured feather could have come from.

Sumeru – Sumeru City – The Akademiya – Scribe Alhaitham

Mondstadt – Mondstadt City – Mona Megistus

Inazuma – Watatsumi Island – Sangonomiya Kokomi

Liyue – Wangsheng Funeral Parlour – Director Hu Tao

Fontaine – Opera Epiclese – Duellist Clorinde

With some reluctance, you also marked an envelope Inazuma, Narukami Shrine for Yae Miko. The contract you’d signed all those years ago to provide her publishing house with what she called ‘light novels’ would never end.

How far-flung your friends seemed, scattered throughout Teyvat with seemingly no rhyme or reason. Maybe you’d take to travelling again once your diploma was finished, a vacation of sorts to see everyone … You filed that thought away for later contemplation.

For a while, the only sounds in the library were the scratching of your quill on parchment, the slight rattling of the stained glass windows as the late afternoon breeze whooshed by and… faint talking? You frowned slightly, glancing up from your writing. Two voices, vaguely familiar and gradually rising in volume; an argument, then. How irritating. You ignored it for as long as you could, until the shouting was clearly decipherable and loud enough to make your quill pause every few sentences to rearrange your thoughts (you and Lisa’s correspondence was mainly in the form of original poetry, and the distraction was making it even more difficult to find a rhyme for ‘Harbinger’.) The noise grew unbearable, and with an aggravated huff you left your things laying on the armchair to ascertain the source and perhaps ask them to quiet down.

Honestly. People’s utter disregard for a library’s rules is intolerable.

After spending  some time weaving through the towering bookshelves and past iced-over windows, angry voices growing louder and louder, you finally located the culprits.

It seemed you wouldn’t be asking anyone to quiet down, considering the argument was between Signora and the Regrator. Just your luck, really. Resigned to sealing the envelopes and finalising the calculations of your lab report back at the dorm, you turned to leave only for them to fall silent.

“(Name?)”

You cursed under your breath and pivoted on your heel to face the mortifying situation you’d found yourself in.

“My lord, my lady,” you managed after a strained moment of trying to collect yourself. “I heard shouting”- Signora and the Regrator shot each other a heated glare- “and thought it might be wise to investigate.” You conveniently left out the part where you’d gotten so riled up that you were quite prepared to admonish whoever it was. They didn’t need to know that.

“Nothing to worry about,” the Regrator assured smoothly, brushing invisible dust off his shoulders. He wore velvet today, supple and sophisticated, while Signora sported a lavish fur collar that she angrily swept back around her neck. You had to admit her elegance indisputably came naturally to her; even with her face twisted into a frown and no one to impress, she still radiated an effortless air of refinement and superiority.

The Regrator was different. Those endless eyes, that deliberate half-smile, his tasteful-bordering on-excessive attire, the guarded disposition… all of it hinted at a man who’d started low and clawed his way to the top. You were willing to bet he still had the blood under his fingernails to prove it, and wondered if it haunted him at all. There wasn’t any hint of remorse in his polished smile or fathomless eyes. An apprehensive shiver ran up your spine, and you averted your gaze.

“If you’ll excuse me”-

“No, no. Sit down, little one, we could use a mediator,” Signora cut in, gesturing towards an empty chair with a tilt of her head, never once breaking the intense glare she pointed at the Regrator. You sighed, thinking of your yet-to-be-delivered letters and the lab report that still needed writing.

“As much as I’d love to act as the referee for your dispute”- the Regrator had to suppress a genuine laugh at your carefully derisive wording, while Signora let an imperceptible, fond smile take over her face- “I’m afraid I have some rather urgent matters to attend to.”

“Surely not so urgent that you’d risk upsetting us?”

How he managed to sound so innocent yet sly was beyond you. The mischievous slant of his lips betrayed the true intention behind his deceptively benign tone; to embarrass its recipient for his own entertainment. Not to mention how breaching etiquette felt akin to throwing yourself to the sharks when it came to him. Something about the Regrator exuded propriety and demanded a similar demeanour to be maintained, unlike the rest of the Harbingers around whom a certain degree of sarcasm could safely be upheld; Childe could even be described as friendly, and despite the Doctor’s terrible reputation and a justifiable ego thanks to his unparalleled intellect your mutual inclination towards scientific progress made him more approachable, while Signora had yet to berate you for any lapse in politeness, instead regarding you with a sharp smile and an air of superiority that made it quite clear to you that she found you funny. Demeaning, really.

Still, your current problem was how to escape the cage of social obligation Regrator had managed to weave.

“I’m afraid so, Lord Regrator,” you confirmed drily, offering him and Signora a shallow bow. “Here’s to hoping your dispute comes to a swift and satisfying end.”

You moved to leave, gladdened by your evidently inoffensive departure. He couldn’t have that, of course; you’d caught his interest and he’d decided to indulge in his curiosity.

“Allow me to join you,” he proposed, falling into step next to you. Signora let out a very audible tsk. You couldn’t help but agree with her.

“I really don’t think that’ll be necessary”-

“Many of the best things in life aren’t,” he responded, guiding you towards the door with a hand on your back. Annoyed by him trying to steer you, you sped up and went to collect the letters; the Regrator, undeterred by how you’d shrugged away his touch, took the stack of envelopes from you. Wary of accepting any help from a Harbinger, you attempted to retrieve them with an array of pleasantries such as ‘there’s really no need, I can carry them myself’ and ‘you’re really too kind’.

To no avail; in the end, he even managed to nick your satchel right off your shoulder and carry it the entire way back to your dorm, much to your embarrassment. You supposed it was only polite to invite him inside, not that you’d expected him to graciously accept your invitation and make himself comfortable in the armchair across the fireplace. You didn’t miss the way his fingers traced the patches of embroidery you’d painstakingly made along the seams, rows of tiny colourful flowers stitched for the purpose of improving your dexterity before a particularly finicky experiment and maybe even to leave a mark of your stay here; the fact he’d noticed them at all indicated an impressive attention to detail that made you wonder what else might stand out to him about your living space. Perhaps he found your accommodations excessively modest. The thought amused you no end; a rich boy out of his depth would never not be funny, after all. He seemed utterly at ease, though, content to watch you shed your new cloak and pick out leaves and cups for tea without any conversation, those dark eyes following your every move.

“You’re staring quite intently, my lord,” you remarked, handing him a cup of tea and wrapping your gloved fingers around your own.

“Beauty should be appreciated, no?”

You laughed under your breath, hoping you weren’t blushing at such a clichéd line. “I suppose I walked into that one,” you conceded, resting your weight against the edge of your desk and wondering how best to broach the topic of why he accepted your invitation to come inside. He smiled and lifted the teacup to his lips, as if aware of your internal dilemma. You cursed every aspect of his polished personality for making you feel like you had to be especially polite.

“Is the tea to your liking?”

“Delectable,” he assured. That vexing half-smile on his face was starting to get on your nerves; it was as though he was contemplating something awfully hilarious about your countenance that you weren’t aware of.

You offered him a nod of acknowledgement, turning to sort through the pages upon pages of calculations you’d made for your next experiment. It pertained to the various elemental crystals that apparently gave Vision holders extra power; a relatively recent discovery you’d made in your last year at the Akademiya and one you were quite proud of. It still needed further testing before you could guarantee the benefits of using them and how to do so, but the theoretical efficiency you’d calculated was very high at a whopping ninety-four point seven per cent. You really were quite proud of this potential breakthrough, and were excited to share it with the Doctor, someone who’d appreciate the complexities of an experiment even before it came to fruition. Maybe you’d gift Childe a gemstone of the Varunada Lazurite variety after the testing stage was concluded, since he was so incessantly obsessed with improving his combat prowess. You doubted Arlie’s illusionary magic would benefit from such a crystal, though. It didn’t quite shock you as much as it should’ve that you were so casually thinking of gifting a Harbinger something, as though you were friends. Perhaps you did consider them friends. Your brows furrowed infinitesimally. How bizarre.

The Regrator interrupted your musings with a slight laugh.

“I must know what’s on your mind to have such a puzzled expression cross your face.”

Embarrassed by his scrutiny, you cleared your throat and neatly stacked your paperwork into the wooden case to avoid looking at those eyes.

“Nothing at all,” you insisted. “Just my research.”

It was becoming a familiar lie.

“Well then, do enlighten me,” he said, peering up at you over his glasses. You paused in the act of rewriting a horribly complex chemical equation with the correct stoichiometric ratios. You couldn’t believeyou’d made such a foolish mistake, and you grimaced at the thought of the ridicule you would’ve no doubt received from the Doctor if you ended up submitting it.

“I doubt it’ll be of much interest to you, my lord.”

“I suspect I may surprise you yet,” he replied, gazing up at you expectantly.

You drummed your fingers against the wooden surface of your desk, deep in thought. From your perspective, common sense dictated that you should not under any circumstances share the details of your research lest someone apply for a patent of the invention before you, and thus take all the credit for the discovery. You suppressed a shudder of revulsion at the thought. No, the Regrator was not to be trusted with the minutiae of your research.

Celestia’s sake, he’s a banker. He’s not to be trusted, period!

You turned to face him, the beginnings of an idea just barely discernible in the quirk of your brows, the smile on your lips that was a little too devious to be written off as merely polite.

“Why not enlighten me with details about your work instead?”

You sly little trickster.

He surveyed you with a half-smile not unlike the one on your own face, impressed by your deflection.

“Hm. Seems we’ve hit an impasse,” he remarked, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back in the armchair, the picture of immovable and infuriatingly self-assured calm. A side effect of being rich, you supposed, watching him get comfortable with mental sigh. You’d hoped he’d be on his way soon; evidently that would not be the case. “We’re both unwilling to part with the secrets of our trade.”

“Yes, quite,” you agreed with a laugh you couldn’t suppress. It was amusing to think that the Regrator, a man who obviously dealt in meticulously worded phrases with a penchant for hiding his true intentions behind walls of elegance, was being forced to get straight to the point with no purposeful stalling whatsoever. Because of you, no less. Oddly enough, he found himself not quite as incensed as he would’ve expected at being the subject of your hilarity. Perhaps that had something to do with how agreeable mirth looked on you, softening the ever-present suspicion even if only for a moment.

What an interesting little thing you were turning out to be.

He watched as your eyes began to wander in the silence that followed, first to your window and the glowing flowers sprouting from the cracks around it, then to the fire in the hearth where it lingered for a little longer, along the walls, tracing the silver lines engraved on them, before finally resting on his hand. He wondered which of his many rings you were so fixated on.

“Perhaps we should both retire for the night, my lord,” you suggested, tearing your gaze away from the diamond ring you were still quite interested in testing. He raised his eyebrows, his smile turning devious.

“What, together? I didn’t think you were so forward, (Name.)”

You almost wished his insinuation was lost on you. It wasn’t, tragically, and you had to contend with the mortifying ordeal of flushing crimson and briefly debating on whether to say the first thing that came to mind, if nothing else to rile him up as much as he did you (‘Well, I wouldn’t oppose to the idea unless you did.’)

Damned banker and his damned dirty mind…

His fingers were still running over your little garden of embroidered flowers, eyes crinkling ever so slightly at the corners from the wideness of his smile. Abandoning any semblance of courtesy, you opened the door and gestured pointedly at him to leave. Your fear of the Harbingers seemed inconsequential compared to the sheer magnitude of the frustration they caused you. You could only maintain a façade of perfect grace for so long, after all.

“With all due respect, my lord”- (how wonderful you sounded without anything to filter your opinion of him in that moment. Even if said opinion was decidedly negative) – “I’d like you to leave. You’re disturbing me. And there’s a cursed redox apparatus I need to wake up at an ungodly hour to check on.” You muttered the last part testily under your breath, dragging a hand down your face and lamenting the fact you hadn’t waited until later to set it up.

“Come, now. Surely you won’t just kick me out like this?” Regrator implored, sounding more relaxed than upset. “The night is young. Let us at least have a proper conversation.”

How you longed to understand why he insisted on pestering you. Surely he had better things to do. Although, you mused to yourself as you openly sized him up, maybe he’ll leave if I talk to him. Just for a while.

“What would you have us speak of?” You asked wryly, folding your legs to perch cross-legged on your desk chair. “It doesn’t seem likely that we’ll find a shared topic of interest.”

“Why ever not?” He returned, raising his eyebrows. “Do you have such a negative impression of me that you think I can’t keep up with you in conversation?”

“Of course not. I never implied that, my lord.”

He laughed at your swift denial. Clearly you were still apprehensive of his status as a Harbinger, not that he blamed you.

“I hear you’ve received an invitation to the annual gala.”

Your face contorted at the reminder, brows drawing inwards and a frown tugging your lips further away from a smile as your jaw tensed.

“Ah, yes. I’d almost forgotten about that. Lady Eight was so kind as to invite me.” Your real meaning was clear despite the unwavering civility of your words: Lady Eight could very well eat her left shoe. Beautiful women can really get away with anything, you mused to yourself.

“Yet you seem less than overjoyed by the situation,” he remarked, sliding one of his rings up and down his finger as he watched you.

With a sigh, you rested your elbows on your knees and your chin in your hands, proper posture be damned to the lowest ring of hell. “It’s just not my scene, I suppose.”

“Uncomfortable with large crowds of people?”

You scowled at the floor in response to his mocking tone. “Displeased by the public’s general idiocy, more like,” you muttered under your breath, hating the Regrator just a little more for coaxing you into revealing your weakness then taunting you for it.

The Regrator was beginning to think that he enjoyed your scorn even more than your artificial flattery. He’d be hard-pressed to think of a more artful way ridicule his opponent in a verbal altercation without being too direct and ruining the element of subtlety he so valued.

“But you’ll still be attending, no?”

“Unless divine intervention occurs for the first time in this century, yes, I will.”

“Good, good,” he all but purred, relaxing even further back in the armchair. You glowered at the floor. Your armchair. That he was sitting in. He effectively snapped you out of your trance of gradually building wrath with his next question.

“Would you do me the honour of a dance, when the gala does roll around?”

It took a moment of unconvinced staring for you to realise that he was, in fact, being serious.

“If you insist, my lord.” You were confident in your ability to sneak off and prevent such a thing from ever happening, in the unlikely scenario that he even remembered. He smiled entirely too cunningly for your liking, as though he knew exactly what you were planning. You shook off the feeling, rising to your feet when he did the same and throwing a mental celebration when he made his way to the door.

“Let’s not make this our last conversation,” were his parting words before he left. You consoled yourself with the fact that speaking to the Regrator was intellectually stimulating if nothing else, what with having to constantly dodge his questions and avoid offending him too much while making sure your own pride didn’t end up bruised. A raven warbled outside your window, and you cracked the window open despite the sigh of frigid air that sneaked its way into the room to feed it.

“Hello there, pretty,” you murmured, scattering an array of seeds and nuts across the windowsill and watching as the raven, one of the flock you’d so tenuously befriended, hopped across the stone and pecked at your offerings. You hadn’t expected them to be so open to human interaction, but the ravens were quite comfortable with waking you at dawn with their incessant squawking and arriving at your window in a flurry of black feathers to demand more food. You liked them, with all their melancholy glory and sharp little eyes and the symbolism of death they were so often associated with. There were worse visitors clad in ebony to have, you decided, an image of the Regrator appearing in your mind’s eye.

*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*

cult members taglist peeps: @viridian-coffer, @vvzhyxx, @darifes, @whore-of-many-hot-men, @aenishas, @love13tter, @crownohomo, @redcherrypineapple

if you want to be added or removed then please reply to this post or the series masterlist post !!

[downtherabbitholewithlucy]

STOP PLAYING WITH MY EMOTIONS WESLEY AND PUT IT ON❗❗❗

[diabolicalworldwriter]

there's something sadly funny about the way that Kaladin goes into literally every situation thinking "Too bad I'm not cool anymore 😔"

I mean. I get it. Depression fucks your brain up and you feel detached from yourself and any skills you have or had. The PTSD and chronic fatigue are keeping him from doing things he once managed with far less effort. And it's rather impossible to feel like you can just... do things like you used to when you're struggling at a basic level to simply be.

Still, literally everyone who knows him is like "Kaladin you're so storming cool" and he goes "They're referring to the person I was, who is dead. I'll never be cool again. I'm sorry."

The most hilarious thing? He walks into these moments, thinking 'too bad', and then he does the most objectively amazing thing possible while everyone else just watches in awe.

Kaladin, three seconds after absolutely changing everyone's outlook on life: Aw, it's too bad the person I just was died again. Guess I have to find something else to be cuz I sure can't pull that off anymore.

[charalol]

I just saw a post that was like. You should always follow your instinct!! Your friends do hate you!!! And like. No?? Do not do this. To yourself or to your friends. Especially with super close friends. Your friends love you. It's why we are friends.

If you're really worried about it. Ask. And I get it. I'm autistic too. It's hard and you notice little changes and you overthink it but. I get busy. Things happen in my life. And I always have to tell myself life happens to everyone. Even if it's hard to see outside your lense.

Tldr. If you're worried. Ask them or talk to them. If you're right. I'm sorry. That sucks but you don't want to be friends with someone who isn't compatible/ mean to you anyways. You'll make new friends. You'll make better ones. I did.

And. Trust your friends.

[tooquirkytolose]

Women who approach me in public just to tell me how much you love my hair/style/outfit,I hope you realize you've embiggened my head considerably <3

[flowercrowngods]

✨🤍 some steddie softness for @thefreakandthehair's birthday, i hope it's the very best so far! 🤍✨(please please your day comes first, read this whenever you have time and space to breathe 🤍)

Eddie is not a religious man — far from it, actually. But there are a few things that make him believe in higher powers. In angels. In destiny and luck and a love so strong it could conquer everything. 

This very moment is one of them. 

Stevie, soft and sleepy beside him in the back of the car as Nancy is driving, the dim light of the passing street lamps painting his face in hues of gold like the light itself favours Steve Harrington, caressing his features with the softest of shadows. 

He’s beautiful. Ethereal. Perfectly angelic with his eyes closed, his whole body turned towards Eddie in the warmth of the car.

It takes Eddie’s breath away, his heart taking up space where before there were his lungs and ribcage, growing in size until he feels like he is about to burst. And even then he keeps looking, staring at that pretty face that looks so at peace with the whole world right now. Eddie has never seen Steve like this, but now he understands why people start wars. Why people defy gods and death itself to be with their one true love. Why Orpheus looked back. 

He understands. Because Steve, his Stevie, warm and safe and perfectly fine in the backseat of a car? That is everything. He doesn’t even need to kiss or touch so long as he just gets to look. And be. Oh, to be at the same time that Steve is. 

That might just be life’s greatest gift to him. 

A tiny sigh falls from Steve’s lips and Eddie really, really might be about to burst. 

“Hey, angel,” he whispers, because moments like this aren’t made for anything but hushed words, their truths too heavy, too sincere for the world to hear and keep on spinning. He doesn’t need the world to spin as long as there is Steve. 

“Hi,” Steve whispers back, his eyes still closed but the smile lighting up, luring Eddie in like he is but a moth drawn to the flame. 

Eddie leans in and rests his forehead against Steve’s, his hand coming up to cradle a light-kissed cheek. Steve leans into it, following Eddie’s hand like maybe they are twin stars pulling each other closer until there will be an explosion of light and creation. Steve nuzzles against his palm and leans further into Eddie’s body until they share the same breath — but still it’s not enough. 

Eddie wants to say so many things now that their hands are entangled, their soft exhales mixing. But after a while he notices that Steve is humming before gently singing along to the song coming quietly from the speakers. 

“Take it easy with me, please. Touch me gently like a summer evening breeze. Take your time, make it slow. Andante, Andante. Just let the feeling grow.”

Eddie knows the song, recognises it instantly, and his breath gets stuck in his throat once more. Because he has a secret. He loves it. He has imagined for the longest time that one day, someone would make it his song. Sing it for him, to him. 

He’s never told anyone because he has a reputation to uphold and more than enough metal music to listen to, but of course Steve wouldn’t care about his secrets being secret, and just oh so casually make his deepest, most private of dreams come true. 

He’s an angel, that one. A hero. Myths and fairy tales should be woven around that heart of his, folklore speaking of his name until history itself wouldn’t dare to forget. No one can convince Eddie otherwise. Not in that moment, not with Steve singing so quietly, so gently, so adoringly. 

I think I love you. I think I can’t ever stop, not when I’ve seen you like this. Not when you’ve just shown me what life can be about, what it should be about. Gods, I love you and love you and love you. 

That’s what he wants to say. 

But all that comes out is a marvelled, “Shit, Stevie.”

It has the desired effect of a huffed breath, an even wider smile, and Steve cuddling further into Eddie’s side, eyes still closed. Eddie brushes a kiss to Steve’s forehead and feels like maybe his love can make it into the fairy tale, too. 

It will. Oh, it will, when Steve finally lifts his head from Eddie’s shoulder and looks at him through hooded eyes, all soft and sleepy and safe. A moment passes like this and Eddie can’t breathe, maybe he can never breathe again — but it only lasts until Steve slowly, so very slowly begins to lean in to claim Eddie’s lips with a kiss so gentle it could bring him back from the dead. 

Eddie kisses Steve back just as slowly, because in moments like this there is no rush, no hurry. There’s only them, there’s only this. Only a kiss until there is another. 

And with Steve, there is always another. 

Nancy smiles as she is taking the long way to Steve’s house, rounding Loch Nora twice because she knows how comfy Steve gets in cars at night when he doesn’t have to drive and there is soft music playing. 

Eddie kisses her goodbye on the forehead, fully aware of what she’s done. He doesn't tell her about the sun and the myths and all the wars he would start for Steve.

Nights like this are not meant for telling anyone about them. They can hardly be believed as it is. They can only be lived, hand in loving hand.

[thephooka]

I've been dreaming of making a webcomic for nearly half of my life, and I've just started actually working on that, but... do you think it's worth it for me to start even with the decline of the scene? White noise is quite possibly my favorite piece of media, period, and it's in a format I love, so I figure you're a good person to ask the thoughts of.

(In reference to this post, I am guessing.)

ABSOLUTELY! 100%! MAKE YOUR WEBCOMIC!! Please don't let the whinging of us old heads deter you from making a project that you're passionate about.

I think it's important to ask yourself what would make it 'worth it' in your mind. What do you want out of making a webcomic? Is it that you want to experience the act of creation? Do you have a story you need to get out? Is your goal to get a book printed? To have a large audience? To improve your artistic and storytelling skills? To make a living on your artwork? To make merch? Some of these are way harder to do today, but some of these are goals that you will reach simply by making your webcomic.

If it helps at all, I had to do a lot of this kind of talk to myself when I was starting in 2011 (less because of the scene and more because I was low in self-confidence.) The only way I could get myself to start posting WN on Smackjeeves was to remind myself that I was doing this for myself only, and maybe no one would read it, and that would be ok, because if nothing else I would be making something I love and I would learn a lot doing it. 13 years later and I'd consider my goals met, even if I stopped WN before I'm truly done with it.

(Which speaking of, I feel very strongly that unfinished or abandoned webcomics are not a waste of time for either the reader OR the creator. Just because a story doesn't get an ending--or gets an ending you don't like--doesn't mean it's without worth!!)

The webcomic scene is not going to fully disappear anytime soon--it's just suffering the same corporatization that has gripped almost every art scene at some point in some way, and I think that problem has been compounded by the consolidation of the internet into a few social media platforms. But those platforms will crumble, and the corporations will bail once they can't squeeze any more money out of webcomics. The scene won't ever been the same as it was in the 2010s, but that's how time works, and that doesn't mean it won't ever get better than it is or that there's not gems to be found now. The only way it gets better is if more people make and read webcomics!

[piratekane]

Their phones go off at the same time, a tiny ding that echoes across their apartment. Mary frowns at Shannon’s phone, Shannon frowns at Mary’s, and they both reach at the same time.

“Beatrice,” Mary reads off Shannon’s phone.

Shannon turns Mary’s phone right side up and purses her lips. “Ava.”

Mary groans and lets her head fall back against the couch. “What did they get themselves into this time?”

Shannon pats her leg gently before she steals a chip right out of the bag Mary is still clutching. She throws one back, mouth puckering at the salt and vinegar taste. “Between the two of them? It could be anything.”

Mary blindly thumbs her passcode out and the screen brightens. Shannon opens her messages app. 

Their larger group message - F is for friends who do things together - sits towards the top of Shannon’s messages list, just below the other group message that lists her, Lilith, and Beatrice as its only members. 

Mary’s messages also has a group message named lilith stop changing the group name back to something boring between her, Ava, and Lilith.

“On three?”

They both open their individual messages at the same time. Mary hums something unintelligible. Shannon frowns.

“Ava went-”

“-on a date.”

Shannon leans over to read Mary’s screen.

Ava (8:41 PM): halp i went on a date

Bea (8:41 PM): Ava went on a date last week.

“Did you-”

“-know Ava was seeing someone?” Mary shakes her head. “Did you-”

“-know Ava was interested in seeing anyone?” Shannon shakes her head this time.

Mary hums again, interest piqued. She abandons the bag of chips, brushing her hand off on her dark jeans. Shannon absently reaches over and brushes the crumbs onto the floor. They can vacuum later. When Mary cradles her phone and sinks back against the couch again, Shannon follows her, pulling her legs up under herself as she leans into Mary’s side.

“What are you going to say?”

Mary regards her. “What are you going to say?”

Shannon shrugs. “I’m going to ask Beatrice who the date was with.”

“I’m going to ask Ava that too.”

It’s a race to see who can text back first, and Mary beats Shannon by a few strikes of her thumb against the glass screen. Shannon pulls Mary’s phone over so she can read it.

Mary (8:43 PM): who?

“Who?” she reads. “That’s all you said?”

Mary shrugs, unbothered. “What did you say?”

Shannon (8:43 PM): Who did she go out with?

“I used a full sentence.”

“It’s texting, babe. Full sentences are for-” Mary stops when Shannon arches an eyebrow in a challenge. She smiles, all teeth. “Full sentences are for losers.”

“This loser makes your dinner,” Shannon reminds her.

Mary is still grinning. “I can dial a phone, you know. A whole world of food, right at my fingertips. Besides, don’t pretend like I don’t make a mean chili.” She nods knowingly when Shannon rolls her eyes. “That’s half the reason you’re in love with me, admit it.”

“Yeah, the other half is because of your humility.” Shannon doesn’t bother softening it and Mary laughs. “So humble.”

Mary’s next words are swallowed up by the ding of her phone, Shannon’s phone is half a second behind.

“Who is JC?” Mary asks.

“Someone in Ava’s biology class,” Shannon answers, reading off her phone. “At least, I’m assuming? Bea said Ava went out with someone from her biology class.”

Mary snorts. “Figures that if Ava isn’t giving me all the pieces, Bea is giving the rest to you.”

Shannon smacks Mary’s knee gently. “Don’t be mean. She’s trying.”

“Who, Bea?”

“Ava.”

Mary shakes her head, hiding the smile on her face. “She’s something, that’s for sure.”

Shannon snorts. “Don’t pretend like that kid isn’t one of your favorite people. You have a terrible poker face.” 

Mary’s smile sours into a meaningless scowl. “No, I don’t.” She pulls her phone away from Shannon and thinks for a minute.

Mary (8:44 PM): scale of 1 to 10.

“That’s what you’re going with?” Shannon’s fingers hover over the phone, thinking. “A hotness scale?” 

Mary shrugs. “What’re you going to say?”

“Well I’m not going to ask if he’s cute.”

Mary shrugs again. “Of course not. Bea doesn’t care if he’s hot or not.” She nods at Shannon’s phone. “What’ve you got, Masters?”

“I’ve got a girl in love with her best friend at the other end of these messages. So I need to be… delicate.” 

Mary softens when Shannon looks back at her. “I know.” 

She watches as Shannon turns back to her phone, forehead wrinkling in thought.

Shannon (8:44 PM): How do you think that went?

Satisfied, Shannon sinks further into Mary’s side, warm and soft. Mary smiles, her hand curling around Shannon’s knee, pressing gently against a scar left behind after an ACL tear when she was younger.

They’ve always slotted together so perfectly. They knew it from the moment they met, two terrified freshmen on a large campus with no friends. The study sessions, the lunch breaks between classes. When Shannon finally leaned in, finally curled her fingers around Mary’s jaw and closed her eyes, they each felt something click. A world opened up. Study sessions turned into makeout sessions. Lunch breaks that felt like dates became actual dates. 

Mary had been looking for a home for years. She finally knew what it was like to have one.

Shannon walks her fingers over Mary’s knee. “Do you think they realize we’re sitting right next to each other? I feel like they don’t—otherwise they wouldn’t be talking to us about this.”

Mary shrugs. “It’s Tuesday. You usually work on Tuesday nights. So I’m sure Bea thinks you’re just killing time on your shift, and Ava assumes I’m looking for some kind of entertainment.” 

“Is this entertaining for you?”

Mary grins. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Their phones beep almost simultaneously.

Ava (8:44 PM): mid-8 nice smile

Bea (8:44 PM): She said it wasn’t groundbreaking.

“Groundbreaking,” Mary repeats. “Ava said it wasn’t groundbreaking?”

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” Shannon shrugs and reaches for the bag of chips again. She doesn’t like salt and vinegar, but she’s also committed to not getting up for anything short of an apocalypse. “Beatrice doesn’t usually misquote people, though.”

Mary makes a face. “Kid surprises me every day.” She hums quietly.

Mary (8:45 PM): and it took you this long to tell me?

Ava (8:45 PM): okay in my defense Ava (8:45 PM): no i’ve got nothing

Mary (8:46 PM): what happened?

She knows Ava. Something had to have happened for her to bring this up. Because she probably buried a terrible date, said forget about it, and focused on other things. Like her next iced coffee. Or Bea.

Ava (8:46 PM): we ran into JC at dinner tonight Ava (8:46 PM): it was weird Ava (8:46 PM): bea has been idk  Ava (8:46 PM): quiet 

Mary snorts. “No shit,” she says out loud. But her brow wrinkles in concern.

Mary (8:46 PM): was he a dick?

Ava (8:47 PM): no, definitely not he’s really nice

Mary nods to herself. Good. Because she’s been short on gym sessions this week, and she could go a few rounds with someone to make up for the difference. Shannon nudges her, catching her attention. “Right. Okay.”

Mary (8:47 PM): going out again?

Shannon rolls her eyes. “You’re so verbose.”

“Don’t be using those million dollar words on me. We’re not all in school for this kind of stuff.”

“Ha.” Shannon elbows Mary gently, soothing the sting of it with a quick press of her lips to Mary’s shoulder. “This kind of stuff is just talking to people, Mary. It’s not limited to just future social workers.”

“Maybe I’m not good at that.”

“I think you’re not giving yourself enough credit.”

“Well I think-” Mary cuts off when Shannon’s elbow digs into her side again. She huffs. “Fine. We’re both incredible. I can already see the headlines when you win social worker of the year.”

“That’s not actually a thing,” Shannon points out.

Mary’s face softens, her eyes going somewhere far away for a moment. “It should be. Could have used someone like you when I was in the system.” Shannon’s hand spreads out against Mary’s thigh, warm and weighted. Mary meets Shannon’s eyes, a hesitant smile on her face. “But I know you’ll make sure they’ve got it better than I did.”

“Of course,” Shannon promises quietly.

For a long moment, the air stills between them. Shannon can picture Mary in her freshman year - hard-headed and brash and walls pulled up to her chin. She’s still hard-headed, still brash. But the walls are knee-height now and crumbling every day as Mary lets herself breathe, surrounded by their friends. 

Mary finally smiles and squeezes Shannon’s knee, pouring a thousand unsaid words into her touch. She wants Shannon to know that she saved her life, but sometimes the words don’t come out the right way. So she puts it into touch and hopes that Shannon gets it.

Bea (8:48 PM): Shannon? You still there?

Shannon blinks, the world rushing back in on her. Ava, Bea. Their back and forth high wire act where each of them are afraid to fall - even if Ava doesn’t know that yet.

Shannon (8:48 PM): Sorry, just needed a moment. Shannon (8:48 PM): Does a date need to be groundbreaking?

Bea (8:48 PM) According to Ava, it’s a requirement.

“Want takeout tonight?” Mary asks as they wait. She opens her mouth but the words are cut off as her phone goes off.

Ava (8:48 PM): no, no more dates for me. he’s nice but it’s not groundbreaking

Mary holds up her phone. “Guess Bea wasn’t kidding.”

“Told you,” Shannon says, preening only a little bit. 

Mary (8:49 PM): that’s a lot of expectation going into a first date

Ava (8:49 PM): can’t i have a great romance?

Mary pauses. Of course Ava deserves a great romance. But what is that, exactly? Because she’s sat through movie nights with Ava, people-watched with Ava. She knows Ava thinks The Notebook is romantic and that’s toxic as hell. She knows Ava thinks the two guys who sit under the tree at the quad and share a single iced coffee is romantic, and that’s just gross. 

She knows Ava thinks what she has with Shannon is romantic, and she’s not wrong about that.

“Ask Bea what Ava thinks is ‘groundbreaking’,” she instructs Shannon. She’s curious what the rating system is here.

Shannon (8:49 PM): What does Ava think is groundbreaking? 

Bea (8:49 PM): Leaving the orphanage. Meeting us.

Mary shakes her head. “No way Ava didn’t actually say ‘meeting Beatrice.”

Shannon (8:50 PM): Are you sure she didn’t mean meeting you?

Mary raises an eyebrow in surprise. “Nice and direct there, Masters. I thought you were being delicate.” 

Shannon shrugs and waits patiently for Bea’s response. Sometimes Bea reminds her of the fawn she came across once as a child. Skittish, awkward limbs everywhere as it tried to find its footing and run. But when Shannon approached it, hand out and open, it let her get close. It took a few minutes, Shannon suspended in the middle of the woods. But it slowly approached her and let her touch it, nuzzling into her hand. Beatrice can be like that: skittish, but seeking out comforting touches.

She always thought that it was the best way to approach Bea: slowly, hand open. Ava proved her wrong, crash-landing into Bea’s life with a gracelessness that was endearing from the very beginning. Maybe Bea just needed the right person to cut through her trepidation and bring her out of her shell.

“You can be delicate and still be direct. It just has to be a precision hit,” she replies.

“Hammer vs scalpel,” Mary says nodding. It’s just funny because she and Shannon are always so careful around Bea, whereas Ava always seems to need more of a blunt punch of truth. 

Speaking of which. Okay, so if that’s what Ava thinks…Mary cycles through things in her mind. How does she go about this? If meeting Bea was groundbreaking, then a great romance has to be the same thing. Synonymous, like Mary and Shannon. Her eyes flutter closed as she thinks. Maybe Shannon has a point on blending her approach. 

Ava always thought that mopey girl meeting the vampire was a great romance. And she knows this, but Ava has terrible taste in movies. She really needs to watch something of substance. Like Love and Basketball. But she can work with this.

Mary (8:50 PM): thought great romances were reserved for your vampire book

Mary has a plan. She’s easing Ava into a conversation. Because Mary knows that Ava wants a great romance. More importantly, she deserves it. She just might not know that she wants - and deserves it - with Beatrice.

Their phones ding in double time, the replies chasing after each other. 

Bea (8:51 PM): I’m sure she meant ‘us’ and not me.

Ava (8:51 PM): bella isn’t the only one who deserves a sparkly love interest

Mary puts her phone down for a moment. “How are we doing this?”

Shannon thinks about it for a minute. “I’m not sure,” she admits.

Mary sighs. “Ava can be as dense as that meatloaf you made once and - hey! It was!” She ducks the hand Shannon sends towards her shoulder. “I just mean, she’s either sitting behind a huge wall named Denial, or she really doesn’t get it. So we need to, like, be smart about this.” She sighs. “Why are we doing this?”

“Because Lilith would do a horrible job at it?”

Mary snorts. “You got that right.”

At least Ava knows she deserves happiness. Kid hasn’t had a lot of love in her life, with the raw deal she got growing up. Mary knows something about that. So maybe Ava doesn’t need a delicate touch, but a little positive reinforcement and reassurance that she does deserve love from someone who gets it doesn’t hurt.

Mary (8:53 PM) no kid, you do too

“Bea is just as bad.” Shannon holds up her phone. “I know for a fact that Ava said Bea and not us, but she’s going to pretend like that isn’t true because that means she has to face a reality where Ava feels the same way about her as she does about Ava.”

“Maybe you should have gone into psychology.”

Shannon makes a face. “Absolutely not.” 

Shannon (8:53 PM): Bea. Even if she didn’t say you, you’re allowed to want her to have.  Shannon (8:53 PM): And if she did, you’re allowed to acknowledge what that means.

Bea (8:54 PM): I’m not sure what it means.

Shannon groans as she reads Bea’s response. She takes a deep, steadying breath. She loves Beatrice. She’s loved her from the minute they crossed paths in their English seminar - a sophomore level class that Bea tested into. But for someone so smart, she sometimes tends to miss signs right in front of her face. 

No, Shannon thinks. She can read the signs. But the years with her parents… Maybe she just doesn’t want to see them. Maybe she doesn’t trust them. Maybe she just needs a little nudge.

Shannon (8:55 PM): I think you know what it means.

Mary breaks her concentration as she reads Ava’s text out loud, forehead pinched in thought. 

Ava (8:55 PM): i just don’t know if i’ll get it.

Mary sighs. “Are we sure Lilith can’t do this?” She goes to text back, but three grey dots pop up before she can, so she waits.

Ava (8:55 PM): but i think Ava (8:55 PM): i think i realized something

She shoves her phone under Shannon’s nose, all thoughts of Lilith taking over flying out of her mind. “Babe.”

Shannon’s reply is swallowed up by Bea’s next message. 

Bea (8:56 PM): Correction: I don’t think I’m allowed to want it to mean what I think it means.

Shannon sighs. “Oh, Bea.”

Mary doesn’t hear her, too wrapped up as she frantically types, backspaces, types, and backspaces again. “Do I play dumb?” she asks herself. “Or do I just say finally?” She types something out and erases it one more time before she sends something.

Mary (8:56 PM): what’s that?

Shannon (8:57 PM): And in a perfect world, what do you want it to mean?”

Three grey dots pop up on Mary’s screen and linger there long enough that Mary puts her phone down and picks through her bag of chips until she finds one big enough that when she fits the whole thing in her mouth, she has to blow out her cheeks to keep it in there. Shannon makes a noise of mild disgust.

Shannon’s phone beeps first. 

Bea (8:58 PM): I think you know.

Shannon (8:58 PM) Lightning won’t strike you down if you say it.

“Might,” Mary mumbles through a mouthful of chips. Shannon’s eyes cut to her. “What? You know Bea is thinking it.” 

Shannon can’t really argue with that, so she doesn’t try. She just waits for Bea’s response, which comes quicker than she thought it might. 

Bea (8:59 PM): I want her to mean that I’m groundbreaking.

“Atta girl,” Shannon whispers to herself.

Shannon (8:59 PM): You are.

Mary’s phone finally beeps. 

Ava (8:59 PM): i was thinking about it and Ava (8:59 PM): bea is groundbreaking, you know?

Mary (9:00 PM): obviously

It’s a gut reaction, but Mary texts back before she can stop herself. She almost follows it up with something softer to cut the edge off it. 

But she’s been watching Ava trip over herself the last few months and honestly, it’s a bit exhausting to not want to sit her down and bop her over the head with a printed book of all the texts Ava has sent her talking about how Bea looks today, or what Bea said today, or how she wants to do something, but has to check with Bea first.

The book would cost her an insane amount of money to print and it would be bigger than the Shakespeare text she uses as a door stopper since she spilled orange juice on it and can’t sell it back.

Ava (9:00 PM): what do you mean obviously?! Ava (9:00 PM): mary Ava (9:00 PM): mARY Ava (9:00 PM): what does THAT mean?!

Mary stifles a laugh, lets a sigh slip through, and closes her phone. She lets her head fall to the back of the couch and takes a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Mary’s phone goes off again, beep after beep after beep after beep. She doesn’t dare pick it up. 

Shannon picks up Mary’s phone, types in the passcode, and chuckles as she catches up on Ava’s messages. “You really shouldn’t have.”

Then her own phone dings, catching her attention.

Bea (9:02 PM) But I’m not sure she really feels that way. Surely, she would say something.

“Do you ever want to wrap them up in, like, the world’s tightest hug?” Shannon asks.

“Sometimes I want to wrap them to a post and leave them there until they figure their shit out.”

Mary’s phone goes off again and she picks it up this time, opening her messages.

Ava (9:02 PM): there’s nothing OBVIOUS about it Ava (9:02 PM): it’s rude actually Ava (9:02 PM): to say something like that and just NOT ANSWER UR MESSAGES Ava (9:02 PM): Mary pick up your phone. Ava (9:01 PM): at least when i told bea it wasn’t groundbreaking she didn’t go RADIO SILENT Ava (9:01 PM): in fact we went out for coffee because i got bea one but Ava (9:01 PM): wait

Mary smiles slowly. There it is.

Shannon glances at Mary, most of her attention still on her conversation with Bea. She’s making headway, she can feel it. Bea at least admitting that Ava could maybe feel the same way about her is step one. Step two is getting Bea to just say it out loud.

Shannon (9:03 PM): She can’t say something if she doesn’t know.

Bea (9:03 PM): I certainly can’t tell her.

Mary reads over her shoulder. “She certainly should. Because it would save all of us a lot of trouble.”

Ava (9:04 PM): Mary.

Mary (9:04 PM): Ava

“How do you tell someone that the person they’re hopelessly in love with is hopelessly in love with them? Asking for a friend.”

Shannon ignores her.

Shannon (9:05 PM): Bea, you don’t need to tell her right now. Shannon (9:05 PM): But you should think about it.

“What do you think the odds are that they’re sitting next to each other on the couch right now?”

Shannon snorts. “That sounds exactly like something they would do.”

“Picture it,” Mary continues. “Sitting on opposite ends of the couch but you know Ava’s got her feet all over Bea which is disgusting. And they’re probably having a charged conversation where they talk about the weather being nice, but Ava is really talking about Bea’s eyes or whatever. And they’re just… texting us about each other.”

Shannon laughs this time. “How did we end up like this? Mom-ing two helplessly in-love-with-each-other - and I say this affectionately - idiots?”

“I must have really pissed someone off in a past life.” 

Ava (9:05 PM): bea IS groundbreaking

Mary (9:05 PM): you’re repeating yourself

Ava (9:05 PM): i’ve always thought so

Mary (9:06 PM): i’m not going to argue with you

Mary leans into Shannon’s side. “Be honest. They would benefit from some professional help, wouldn’t they?” She dodges Shannon’s hand again. “Or at least someone like Camila. If Ava wants to go for a drink or throw some darts or fix an engine, I can do that.”

“Okay dad,” Shannon snorts.

Bea (9:07 PM): I can’t think about it. Because if I think about it, I’m going to tell her. And if I tell her and she doesn’t say it back, I don’t know what I’ll do.

Shannon (9:07 PM): You’ll do what you always do. Persevere.  Shannon (9:07 PM): But I don’t think you’ll need to.

Mary’s screen lights up with a text that she thinks about ignoring. She shouldn’t have opened this box, shouldn’t have pried at the lock that held back this little revelation. She should have just said it was nice that Ava went on a date and left it at this JC guy being an 8. She should have put down her phone and focused on wowing Shannon with the pico de gallo she managed to make earlier.

Ava (9:07 PM): she’s my favorite person, full offense

Mary (9:08 PM): like that’s going to offend me. i’m shannon’s

Ava (9:08 PM): do you think i’m bea’s

Mary drops her phone. “Nope. I’m not doing this.”

“Don’t be dramatic.” Shannon picks up the abandoned phone and scrolls back a few messages, eyes tracking the conversation. She laughs at Ava’s last message, before handing the phone back to Mary. “Ava loves fishing for compliments, doesn’t she?”

“She’s fishing in the wrong pond,” Mary retorts, punching out a quick response. 

Mary (9:09 PM): focus, silva

“She should try the other side of her couch.”

Shannon glances at her own phone and considers what the person sitting on the other side of Ava’s couch is thinking at this very moment. A minute stretches on with nothing from Bea. Shannon starts to worry her bottom lip between her teeth. 

She’s not trying to push. But Bea deserves something amazing to happen to her. And they can all - even Mary - admit that Ava is the most amazing thing that’s happened to Beatrice.  A needed respite for all the ways the world has let Bea down in the past. She nearly drops her phone in relief when it goes off.

Bea (9:11 PM): I’m not ready.

Shannon (9:11 PM): No one is ever ready for love.

Bea (9:12 PM): What if I never am?

There’s a fluttering in Shannon’s chest where her heart skips a beat at Bea’s text. Bea is so much more ready than she thinks she is, Shannon knows it. But she also knows that Bea’s parents run deep in her mind and that’s hard to overcome. It doesn’t matter, though. If she knows anything about Ava, she knows that her patience with Bea is neverending.

Shannon (9:13 PM): Someone who loves you won’t worry about that. Someone who loves you will want you to take your time, if that’s what you need. Love isn’t linear, Bea.

Three dots appear on her screen for a long moment before they disappear. Shannon takes a deep breath and hopes she hasn’t pushed it. 

Needing something else to do, she peers at Mary’s phone. “Are you-” 

A beep cuts her off.

Ava (9:13 PM): right. but if SHE’S groundbreaking that means…

“She’s going to be the death of me,” Mary groans.

Mary (9:13 PM): that means…

Ava (9:14 PM): hypothetical question Ava (9:14 PM): how do you know if you’re in love with your best friend or not?

“Finally!!”

“Mary,” Shannon scolds.

Mary (9:14 PM) i’m sure there’s a buzzfeed quiz for that

“Mary.”

Ava (9:15 PM): mary 

Mary (9:15 PM): ava 

Ava (9:15 PM): i’m serious

Mary (9:16 PM) so am i  Mary (9:17 PM): but if you don’t want to dig through the internet to find one Mary (9:17 PM): let me tell you what your results would be Mary (9:17 PM): you are

Shannon’s phone goes off and she mistypes her passcode twice before she manages to get it open. Mary leans over, hooking her chin on Shannon’s shoulder to read the message with her.

Bea (9:18 PM): She deserves someone who isn’t afraid to be in love with her.

“That’s not fair,” Mary says quietly. “That’s not fair to her.”

Shannon frowns. “To Ava?”

“To Bea.”

Shannon (9:19 PM): You’re not afraid to be in love with her. You’re afraid of the world around your love. Your parents did a number on you, Bea. That takes time to get over.

Their phones go quiet for a while. So long that Mary gets up and puts away the chips, and Shannon tidies up the kitchen. They decide on getting Thai for dinner because Ava sent them a Snapchat of her leftovers this morning with Bea in the background wearing a disapproving face. Ava had captioned it: she doesn’t like it when i eat over the sink.

By the time she finishes setting out the plates for dinner, Mary is just about to give up on her conversation with Ava. It’s stalled out. Ava will swing by before her class tomorrow for pancakes at the student cafeteria, and they’ll talk about whatever Ava is obsessed with this week - last week it was the manatees she saw in a video when she was supposed to be studying for an exam. They’ll pretend like this never happened, like Ava didn’t come to some big revelation on a Tuesday night in the middle of February while Mary is in her socks with the little handcuffs on them.

She likes that idea. That works best for her. But just as she thinks it, her phone beeps.

Ava (9:31 PM): i am?

Mary (9:31 PM): do you not know that?

“Shannon, help me,” Mary groans, even as she starts texting back. 

Ava (9:32 PM): there’s a lot i’m realizing i don’t know right now

“Go fucking figure,” she mutters. Her fingers fly over the keyboard.

Mary (9:32 PM): let me break it down for you. you went out with this guy last week?

Ava (9:32 PM): tuesday yeah

Mary (9:33 PM): and it was okay Mary (9:33 PM): it wasn’t groundbreaking or earth-shattering or anything that totally rocked your world Mary (9:33 PM): but your best friend is someone who checks all those boxes?

There’s another long pause, another minute of three gray dots dancing on her screen before Ava’s text pops up in its place.

Ava (9:35 PM): you’ve met her

Mary (9:36 PM): but i don’t think the sun shines out of her ass Mary (9:36 PM): and she’s one of my best friends, but i don’t know if i’d call her earth-shaking or whatever  Mary (9:37 PM): because i’m not in love with her.  Mary (9:37 PM): i don’t spend every moment talking to her or about her or wishing i could do those things Mary (9:38 PM): but you…

Mary glances at Shannon but she’s too busy, bent over her phone. She doesn’t even notice the eye roll that Mary sends her phone. Or the tongue she sticks out. Or that she immediately goes to her internet browser, finds the picture she’s looking for, and saves Ava’s new contact image as a clown.

Across the room, Shannon sits back on the couch and stares intently at her screen, willing a message to come through even as it remains blank. She sends out a quiet prayer to whoever is listening that Beatrice allows herself to give into this feeling, to let herself feel like she deserves this kind of love. 

Finally, a bubble pops up.

Beatrice (9:39 PM): I should be over it.

Shannon frowns.

Shannon (9:39 PM): Show me the person who says you should be over it.

Beatrice (9:39 PM): I’m afraid I’d be looking in a mirror.

“Oh, Bea,” Shannon breathes. She has to take a minute. She has to breathe in slowly and count to 7 before she exhales and counts to 11, and in between those spaces she feels her heart break just a little bit.

Shannon (9: 40 PM): Then cover your mirrors and come talk to me instead.

Satisfied with her clown selection, Mary plops down next to Shannon and switches back to her conversation with Ava. She realizes she’s just dropping bomb after bomb right now, throwing them like firecrackers and imagining Ava dance around them. She can practically see them exploding in Ava’s eyes as Mary’s words rearrange what Ava had thought before this conversation.

This is big. This is Mary holding up a mirror to Ava’s face and telling her to look at the truth. Part of her knows she’s going to regret this. If Ava didn’t shut up about Bea before, now that Mary has said something, has opened the proverbial door… God, she’s going to be so annoying.

Ava (9:41 PM): there’s so much to say about her though Ava (9:41 PM): she’s funny and she’s insanely intelligent Ava (9:41 PM): and she’s the first person i want to talk to when something good happens Ava (9:42 PM): or something bad Ava (9:42 PM): or something funny  Ava (9:42 PM): oh. Ava (9:42 PM): shit. 

Something occurs to Mary, and she closes her messages, opening her phone’s calendar. She scrolls back a week and her eyes widen as she reads the date.

Mary (9:43 PM): girl, i just checked the calendar. you went out with this guy on valentine’s day?!

Ava (9:43 PM): i didn’t notice!

Mary (9:43 PM): and THEN you went home and took BEA out for coffee?

Ava (9:44 PM): which wasn’t a date

Mary (9:44 PM): from the sounds of it, coulda fooled me

Mary nearly throws her phone but the only place for it to go is over Shannon’s legs onto the other couch cushion. 

And Shannon has that look on her face like she wants to cry or scream or do both, so Mary’s priorities shift. She puts the phone down on the table and turns, sliding one arm across Shannon’s shoulders and rubs her fingers against the bone there.

“Hey,” she murmurs. “You okay?”

“I don’t know why she’s so hard on herself.” Shannon sighs. “I mean, I know why she is. And if I ever meet her parents-”

“There’s a line, I know.”

“And I’m at the front of it.”

Mary smiles humorlessly. “I think you might be second.”

“Good,” Shannon murmurs. “Bea needs as many people in her life as she can get.”

“Who she has is a good place to start.” Mary rubs at Shannon’s shoulder again and leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her head.

Bea (9:46 PM): Ava says that sometimes, she wishes she could fight my mind for me.

Shannon (9:46 PM): I think you should let her.

Bea (9:47 PM): I think she would win.

Shannon (9:47 PM): Good Shannon (9:47 PM): It’s because she loves you, Beatrice.

Bea (9: 48 PM): I’m worried that, if she ever did, that feeling would be long gone before I was ready.

Mary shifts away as Shannon focuses on her phone, tongue poked out between her teeth as she starts a long message. It’s been a minute since Ava texted her back. A long time for Ava, who fires off texts as quickly as her thoughts come. But this whole conversation has been filled with pauses. It’s a different side of Ava.

It’s an Ava who had the world shift and is now dealing with the fallout. Mary gets it.

But she wonders, is deciding to be in a relationship so hard for other people? 

Because it wasn’t hard for her. It was probably one of the easiest things she’s ever done in her life. It happened so naturally, so - what’s the word Camila says? Organically. She’s so in love with Shannon, even if she shrugs it off when people poke fun at her for it. She’s not above telling anyone how much Shannon means to her, but she is better at showing it. 

Acts of service, Camila told her, when they did some stupid quiz where they asked about love languages. She hadn’t even known there were so many of them. She always thought she was just kind of okay at loving Shannon. Turns out, she was doing better than she thought, giving Shannon what it seemed like she wanted and needed. And once she figured it out, it happened as naturally as their relationship did. Maybe they just got lucky to have it so easy. 

Her phone beeps and Mary rolls her eyes at Ava’s message. Or maybe she and Shannon were just smart enough to use their damn words.

Ava (9:48 PM): do you think she’d want to go out with me?

Mary (9:48 PM): i don’t get paid enough for this conversation.

Ava (9:49 PM): my friendship is payment enough

Shannon hears Mary huff, feels the air across her shoulder. But she’s too busy to turn and give her the attention, too focused to hear about whatever thing Ava said that made Mary feel like she needed to pretend to be annoyed. Because she’s trying to come up with something to make Bea understand that she is worth all the praise people bestow on her. She’s so brave, so committed to healing the wounds her parents etched into her.

Bea needs to know that despite them, she is coming into who she deserves to be. And she’s got someone she deserves to love within her reach.

Shannon (9:51 PM): Anyone who is worth your time will understand and hold that space for you until you’re ready for something so big. You ARE making progress, Bea. I remember you as a freshman, so afraid of your own shadow. And now you’re bold and strong. You’ve come so far. And Ava has been a big part of that. She’s brought out this part of you that everyone knew you had, but you were too afraid to show. Shannon (9:52 PM): She’s good for you.

And before Bea can say anything, Shannon texts her again.

Shannon (9:52 PM): I know you’d be good for her too.

Shannon bites her lip and thinks before she types out, “You should tell her how you feel. She won’t say no.” But she stops and erases it. Maybe it’s too much for Bea to handle right now. Maybe she needs to slow down.

But another part of her, a voice that whispers excitedly in her ear and sounds just like her mother before she gives away a particularly juicy bit of gossip, says, “You could say it.” 

She could. She could be the little push that gets the cart rolling. She could be the one at their wedding telling this story. She can see it in her mind: Bea, flushed with embarrassment. Ava, smiling fondly and teasing Bea for having a crush on her. She can hear the glasses clinking as people call for a kiss and feel the claps on her shoulder when people thank her for helping them take that first step.

Mary sinks further back into the couch and stretches her legs out on the coffee table. Shannon doesn’t even notice. She’s working something over in her mind, and she has this look on her face. Mary can see the wheels turning, recognizes exactly where she’s seen that look before, and she doesn’t like where they’re going.

“We’re not playing matchmaker,” she warns.

Shannon’s cheeks pinken slightly. “Did I say we were going to play matchmakers?”

“You didn’t have to. I can see it written all over your face.” Mary shakes her head when Shannon opens her mouth to argue, resolutely. “I’m not getting in the middle of this.”

“We’re already in the middle of this,” Shannon points out.

“Fine. We’re not getting more in the middle of this.” Mary says it firmly. “These two idiots need to figure the rest out on their own. They don’t need hand-holding.”

“I think that this conversation has proven they need hand-holding,” Shannon argues. 

Mary can’t tell her that’s not true, because it is. Ava is coming to a lot of realizations tonight, and she wouldn’t have gotten there without Mary sticking herself into the middle of it. She knows it. Shannon knows it. And that infuriatingly addictive smile slowly stretching across her face, transforming into a full blown grin means Shannon knows she knows it too. 

“No,” she warns. She opens her mouth to say more when her phone goes off again.

Ava (9:53 PM): mary, i can’t not think about this now

Mary (9: 54 PM): could you talk to me about it a little less?

Ava (9:55 PM): but you’re the only one who knows!

Mary snorts. “I don’t think you’re that slick, kid.”

Shannon laughs as she reads it. “No, the only one who doesn’t know is Bea.” Her head tilts to the side, a knowing look crossing her face. “You still think they don’t need a little nudge?” 

Mary sighs, surrendering to Shannon’s logic and gives in.

Mary (9:56 PM): listen, baby girl. don’t just think about it. do something about it! 

Ava (9:56 PM): i don’t want to do something she doesn’t want to do Ava (9:56 PM): this isn’t trying jamaican food from the burrito place Ava (9:56 PM): this is our friendship

This means the world to me, Mary reads between the lines. She can’t help but smile. Mary talks a lot of shit most days, grunts her way through conversations that require a bit more finesse than she’s comfortable with, but she’s got a soft spot for her friends. A softer spot for Ava.

Ava (9:57 PM): i don’t wanna fuck this up

Ava has a lot of them wrapped around her finger. Even Lilith, who would never admit it, even under penalty of death. But it’s there. It’s real. They’d all go to the ends of the Earth for Ava Silva. Beatrice would be leading the charge.

Mary (9:57 PM): then just hold onto it for now. you don’t have to say anything yet Mary (9:58 PM): but you should think about it Mary (9:58 PM): because i think you’d be good together.  Mary (9:59 PM): and you’re right. you deserve a sparkly love interest. and bea is miles better looking than that edward guy

Ava (9:59): i knew you were paying attention last weekend

Mary (9:59 PM): you don’t know shit

Ava sends back an emoji with its tongue hanging out and its eyes rolling around its head. Mary closes her phone. That’s enough for tonight.

Shannon opens her phone one last time. Bea probably won’t text her back tonight, but that’s okay. She doesn’t open herself up a lot, doesn’t always tell Shannon what she’s thinking. She hopes Bea does that with Ava. She hopes Bea lets Ava see all the parts of herself that she hides away from everyone else, afraid to look those parts of herself in the eyes. 

Because Bea deserves it. Bea, in Ava’s words, deserves her own great romance.

She deserves it with someone who loves her as much as Ava seems like she does.

And Ava might not have known it. Ava may have just figured it out tonight, pieces she didn’t notice independently coming together into a whole picture. But Ava does now. And Ava will continue to love Bea the way she deserves to be loved. Shannon knows it just by looking at the two of them together. The way they fit so easily, the way she fits with Mary.

Shannon (10:00 PM): Be honest. Be direct. Tell her how you feel. If you never say anything, you’ll never know and you might just miss your chance. Shannon (10:00 PM): Just use your words, Beatrice. You’ll be surprised what happens when you do.

She sighs, sinking down into the cushion and dropping her head down on Mary’s shoulder. “We’re totally the parents of the friend group.”

“I hate that.”

Shannon smiles as she turns her head, pressing it into Mary’s soft shirt and breathing in the smell of sandalwood and their laundry detergent. This is her favorite place to be in the world, tucked into Mary’s side like there’s no one else around. 

Her mind goes to Bea. Is that what she feels like when she’s with Ava? She hopes so. Everyone deserves to have this feeling at one point in their lives. For all of their life, if they’re lucky. 

“Think they’ll take our advice?” Mary asks quietly.

Shannon thinks about it. “In time. They’ll figure it out when they’re ready.”

“Lord help me, it better be before we graduate.” Mary shimmies down a little, catching the television remote with her foot and kicking it towards Shannon’s hand. “Because if they haven’t gotten it together by graduation night, I’m going to sic Lilith on them.”

Shannon laughs and presses the power button on the remote. “No you won’t.”

“No, I won’t,” Mary mumbles. “But I’ll want to.”

Shannon pats her knee gently. “I know, babe.”

Mary turns, presses her lips to the crown of Shannon’s head. “I love you.”

Something soft in Shannon’s chest melts even further. “I love you too.”

She feels Mary smile against her hair and then turn her attention back to the television. They’re done talking about feelings for the night and that’s okay. Mary will make her tea before bed and pull down her side of the comforter and leave the bathroom light on for her when she’s done brushing her teeth. And in the morning she’ll make Shannon breakfast even though she’s going to go eat with Ava, and she’ll say I love you a hundred different ways that aren’t those three little words.

Sometimes, that’s enough. But sometimes, Shannon likes to hear the way they sound coming out of Mary’s mouth. 

And she knows Ava will like the way they sound coming out of Bea’s mouth too. 

You can do it, Beatrice, she thinks to herself. Just be brave.

(more forever roomates)

[accidentally-in-fictional-love]

🎉 SURPRISE 🎉

CASS

iTunes fought me for hours and then it was nearly impossible to find a way to strip the DRM but I did it! I downloaded like 10 different programs to try it but I did it! It's only 720p and kinda fuzzy (thanks iTunes!) and the file size is huge despite that, but here it is, just for you guys 💗💗💗

EDIT: Turns out I had my settings set to 720p, so Cass is now in 1080p for anyone seeing this original post, and is in the movie folder along with the 720p version~

UNDER THE PYRAMID

This one was so hard to find oh my god, in the end I had to buy it off a swedish site and record my screen to get it, so there's a flash of my mouse at the very start and no subs for all the nonenglish parts, but his scenes are in english and he looks damn good in them ngl 😏👌

Synopsizes are in the notes, both movies have been added to my collection, but I wanted to make this post just for them so everyone could watch 🥰 and if mediafire betrays me and blocks them I'll just find another place to upload them, no lost media allowed in my house.

[heybiji]

Dande sighs, “Man… don’t you ever just wanna go home?” Jalester replies, “A lot,” and Dande says, “You should.” Jalester says, “Maybe I’ll get to. Not yet.” Dande says, “You could after this. Shadowdale…” Jalester says, “Maybe. Maybe you could come with.”

Dande looks at him for a moment before saying, “I feel like we don’t wanna have the same conversation. That’s okay. We’ll just…” He stops, considers, then nods. “No, it’s okay.” Jalester does not press, giving another glance towards Solias and Khari, and the conversation dies away as they watch the fire burn down low.