Oh look.. a mistletoe.. you know what that means 🤭
(Don’t add text, keep it in tags)
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strawberry wine by noah kahan playing softly in the background :)
yall this is a redraw of one of my favorite scenes from chapter 2 of homesick. by the amazing talented kind and wonderful wayli @wayward-sherlock and basically i cannot urge you to read this fic enough - the prose, the characterization, the dialogue and the vibes are all IMPECCABLE and so, so vivid. wayli's eloquence is super impactful and i adore every sentence. also the depth and thought and care that has gone into it is INSANE. you would not believe it. genuinely. thank u so much for letting me beta this wayli i cannot emphasize enough what an HONOR it is and i love u sm<3333
click for quality, closeups under the cut🫡
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I feel like Donnie would be mush for his teeny, itty bitty little baby girl.
someone has been peeking in my google drive again i see....
yeah i think he (rise donnie specifically since that's the papatello i'm working on) would be one of those dads who has a big talk about how he's so strict, about the intense regiment he has his kid on to maximize their development, and he's always the most annoying piece of shit at the PTA meeting. flex brag flex brag
but then his little toddler comes up to him on wobbly legs and puts her hands on his calf, tapping at him for his attention and looks up at him with paint all over her face from where she got into the art supplies at the back of the classroom and made a huge ass mess, and he just melts at her crooked little grin (bc dad is the favorite) and is completely incapable of chastising her in any shape or form
that changes when she grows up and starts to act so much like him that he HAS to be firmer with her. the first time he has to put her in time out they both ugly cry a lot
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“Oh, but you see, Kazansky,” the boy looks down at him and smiles. Engulfed by the honey-gold haze of a sharp summer sun, the sweetest, most reckless thing he’s ever seen. “I am dangerous!”
And there’s something about that smile, guilelessly fluttering across his flushed face like a hummingbird taking flight, that digs into Tom’s chest like the gentlest of knives. Cleaves its way between his ribs.
Fills his heart with light.
It’s strange, how quickly it all happens. How startlingly unremarkable it really is. How Tom takes a deep breath, lets the faint wisps of warm vanilla sugar trickle down his too-dry throat, closes his eyes, and just knows: he might’ve entered this quaint house in the middle of nowhere with a firm plan in mind to destroy any chances his father had of securing a betrothal (even if that meant stooping low-enough to make a thirteen-year-old cry) but hurting Pete Mitchell in any shape or form, wouldn’t sit right with his conscience.
Knows that there’s no reason why Mrs Mitchell should be so intent on finding her son a match at such short notice, especially when he’s so young. (Especially when she doesn’t seem like one of those parents that unfortunately, aren’t all that uncommon in the Navy: who think their omega children have little value beyond the connections they can help forge via bonding and marriage.)
Recognizes dire straits when they’re staring him in the face: the thinly-veiled distress in Mrs Mitchell’s dull green eyes; the worn dress shirt that’s almost two sizes too big for Pete — that he was probably supposed to grow into several months ago, but never did; the stale scent of grief and pain that clings to even the most carefully-polished surface of their home.
Finds himself thinking that maybe, it isn’t all that strange. Maybe, he could spend the rest of his life with this boy. Finding out what makes him smile. What makes him laugh. What is his favorite dream to dream.
In the end, it all comes down to this: Sometimes, you meet a person and it feels like you’ve known them your entire life. A quiet sense of belonging settles in your bones, and you realize you’d do anything to keep them happy and secure.
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