#AU: foster this love make me whole again

[tangerinesperfume]

Safe in the silence, we don’t have to leave (just hold on to me, I’ll hold on to you)

Sam does not know what to do. She has no idea how to fix this.

She’s starting to think that maybe she’s not qualified for this. She knew how to deal with hungry Tara, upset Tara, out-of-breath Tara, shy Tara, chatty Tara, almost every version of Tara

But right now, she’s experiencing a Tara that’s panicking and sobbing so hard that she’s probably unaware of her surroundings. Pretty much inconsolable.

Sam’s best guess is that a nightmare occurred since she’s 100% sure that Tara went to bed.

So, here she is, trying her best to fix this.

“Tara sweetie,” Sam quietly says, “do you wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

Tara is underneath the dining table, huddled in a fetal position, unresponsive to Sam’s words. Just crying very loudly, only slightly muffled by the way her face is hidden in her knees.

She’s been there for the last 20 minutes and Sam is getting a little bit scared.

She considers reaching out for Tara and just pulling her into her embrace to hide and protect her from the world, keep her cocooned in the empty curves of her heart that only fit her little Tara.

But she knows better, Tara just started getting used to holding onto Sam’s arms whenever they’re out and about and she gave Sam a total of 3 hugs. She’s doesn’t want to push it when Tara is this vulnerable.

She’s not used to being patient but she sits there, a few feet away, waiting for Tara to give any sort of sign.

Sam starts humming a sweet tune, praying that it might have some effect on Tara; she knows Tara likes it when she sings. She’s known for a while now that Tara hides herself close by her whenever she’s singing, she’s been singing to herself a little more loudly for her one special, hidden audience member.

Time passes by, either Tara feels better or she’s just worn out. The loud sobbing is reduced to hiccups and tears, while Sam’s soft humming is the loudest sound in the house accompanied by Tara’s shaky breathing.

When Tara turns her head to face Sam. She’s met with her big sister’s sweet smile, her big sister’s face that she knows will never hurt her, her big sister’s voice that can bring her back to earth.

Swollen, dry eyes could not deny her from seeing the possibility of hope that exists in the shape of her Sammy.

She decided right then and there to be brave. She gathers all her courage and crawls out from under the table right into Sam’s arms.

Sam’s arms that welcomed her so warmly, so safely.

She puts her head in the crook of Sam neck where she knows the world won’t find her. Sam’s hand reach out to Tara’s head, patting her and the other arm secures her into position as she stands on her feet to rock them both side to side.

“Hey, hey, sweet girl,” Sam softly coos, “are you okay? Do you need an inhaler?”

Tara shakes her head, she just wants to be where she is right now.

Sam realizes that this is a huge moment. For both of them.

They have never ever been this close and Sam recognizes for the first time that she might’ve needed this as well.

Maybe they missed this their whole lives. Anyone could tell you that they did, seeing how tightly they’re both holding onto each other.

Sam sways them for a few minutes, continues humming and waits for Tara, this time less nervous.

A few minutes go by and Tara finally speaks,

“Mommy came back again,” there’s a tremor in her voice, “she had a knife to hurt us, even sam.”

Sam’s movements stop for a second, she wants to say something quickly to reassure Tara but she beats her to it,

“It was so scary. I couldn’t protect us.” Tara whimpers, Sam can feel the tears coming back.

“Shhh, baby, no,” Sam retorts, “I won’t let anything bad ever happen to you, okay?”

Tara hesitates but nods weakly into Sam’s shoulder.

Not enough, Sam thinks.

“Do you even know how strong I am?” Sam tries to brighten the mood, “everyone’s scared to fight me and even, little sam is a tough cat.”

That gets a little laugh from Tara and Sam kisses her on the head.

“And you, my sweet girl, are strongest and smartest and bravest girl I’ve ever seen, but you don’t even have to be strong because you’re so safe here with me, okay?”

“Okay.” Tara says as she’s playing with the string of Sam’s hoodie.

“Can I please see your face?” Sam asks.

Tara moved her head to meet Sam’s eyes. They’re red and swollen and her cheeks are blotchy from all the crying but there’s new look of determination in her face. A look inherited from Sam.

“As long as the three of us are together, no one will ever hurt us or even think about it, okay?” Sam reassures, “not in here or in your dreams.”

“I’ll just tell them that my big sister will come and get them.”

“Yeah, that’s my girl.” Sam laughs and kisses Tara’s cheeks (she seems to welcome them.) and brings her back into the hug.

If only the Carpenter sisters, at that moment, realized this gravity of this exchange.

If only the Carpenter sisters understood that this moment would define their lives forever.

Did they accidentally seal their fates? Or were they always walking towards this path?

[krikeymate]

In the foster au i can see sam making a short joke directed at tara but she forgot that kirby is also short. Tara and kirby share a look before playfully attacking sam

Side note: tara is out for blood when someone makes a short joke about her! She fully tackling the person and she wont stop her attempted attacks until the person takes it back

Sam: makes a short joke

Kirby: fucking excuse me?

Tara tackles Sam's legs while Kirby takes a leaf out of Tara's book and jumps on Sam's back. They all go crashing down. Sam was not prepared for a two-pronged attack.

Sam: I can't believe you swore in front of the baby

Tara: *bites Sam*

[wabitham]

YES. YOUR TAGS!! Tara's drawings are all so dark and hard and speak to the trauma that she can't speak of, except when she's drawing Sam. If Sam's involved, the pictures are happy. Tara doesn't draw sad or dark pictures with Sam, she doesn't want that darkness to touch her big sister too.

Makes me think that one day her dark drawings become fewer and fewer. As she grows up with Sam and sam, her art works gradually take on more vivid hues.

But then GFs happen and the darkness makes a comeback.

[evening-rose-309]

to not spoil it, they quietly killed off the ncr for absolutely no reason and made the BOS victors for some reason.

house is not dead, but for majority fucked over at the battle of the hoover dam. how it is not stated yet.

but you’re pretty much correct everything else, so real “let’s wipe the slate clean bullshit”.

Of course he lost the dam.

The NCR was the main force behind Hoover Dam's acquisition in the first place, wrenching it out from under Caesar at the last second when Hanlon and the Rangers pulled their hail mary.

Without the Bear of the West, the Three Families probably defected into Caesar or fell to the Legion or just straight up deserted House once they realized a couple hundred tanks on tricycles would never be able to stand up to the Several Thousand Trained Berserkers that make up Caesar's Legion by year 2277.

I'm just curious as to what the Tin Can Buffoons will do to him when they find him. Or if he's made contact with Boston yet as his own last stand hail mary, though that part's purely wishful thinking.

[justiceiscalling]

au batfamily idea

au batfamily idea where talia found out she was pregnant and decided to do the whole pregnancy term with bruce, maybe negotiated some terms with him (that ra's obviously had no plans of following). right so, bruce/talia fic. you can write out the nine months of pregnancy, do this however you want i dont care.

but then around seven to nine months into her pregnancy (you pick) something happens, rouge attack or ra's attacks her and she's badly injured. the doctors and bruce tell her she had a miscarriage/still birth (depends if it's past 24 weeks or not), right?

except, she didn't. almost immediately talia leaves with ra's. cut to bruce watching them leave

"are you certain about this, master bruce?" alfred asks over the comms.

"it's for the better, alfred." bruce mutters as he watches talia leave. "she would've made a terrible mother."

you can change that line all you want to fit with your fic, i don't care. from here this can go two ways. one: the bat-family way

damian spends his first 10 years with the bat-family. he grows up with bruce as his father so you can change his personality however you see fit. maybe he was robin post jasons death instead of tim or maybe he has his own vigilante name, point is he grew up with bruce and dick and jason and cass and alfred. either bruce convinces everyone he's adopted or damian stays hidden for his whole life (that'd mean homeschool and no vigilante title, all the other batkids would think it's totally fucked up and none of them except dick probably know where he's from).

somehow after he turns ten, talia finds out about his existence. this is a point where you can use jasons time at the league for explanation, maybe he mentions a brother while he's there and says he looks just like talia or some shit. or dont use him, whatever. back to talia, she finds out about damian and is like 'yo wtf' and obviously tries to get her son back.

she succeeds, faking his death to throw them off. she gets a good five years or so before someone finds damian and then it's just all hell and you can pick who he ends up with.

now for the second option. after bruce fakes talias miscarriage/still birth bruce thinks this kid will never be safe. if he's with bruce talia will always try to get him, and if he's with talia damian will never know peace and eventually be a capsule for his grandfathers body.

so, he gives him up.

damian bounces from orphanage to orphanage or foster home to foster home--whatever you want--until hes anywhere from 10 to 15. now this is where tim drake come in. he's 16/17 when damians 10 (that's what i normally go by) and tim catches some members of the league looking for something that seemed really important. no captured league members would utter a word, all killing themselves instead.

but tims tim and somehow found out their looking for a fucking child and he goes out to find this child and save him. maybe tim recruits his brothers idk, do whatever. once tim finds him he's like 'holy fuck that kid looks just like talia al ghul' and tim's actually thinking about backing off cuz clearly this is a family issue....

except. well, that kid is equally confused and he's clearly had a hard life and hey, he kinda looks like bruce! so suddenly tims on a mission with this kid (again anywhere from 10 to 15) and he's trying to save him from the league while also trying to figure out what the fuck is going on! and you know, he'll need some help from his family to crack that shit.

that one ends in a big battle bat-family vs the league of assassins and damian has no clue what's going on this whole time. great potential for damian and tim bonding too which i love. please, someone make this a thing.

if this is already a thing please lmk i want to read it so bad

anyone can take this and run with it, give credit though, and PLEASE give me the fic name.

[sea-lanterns]

Wait, but you know how there's a ton of stories of young women being given as sacrificial offerings to dragons? What if that is how our dragon ladies meet their Reader's?

Like imagine if they have full like beeg dragon forms, and then their human forms, plus mayhaps a third in-between. So Ningguang just enjoys going for walks through the harbor under the guise of a human. And when looking over a relatively new merchant's goods, she meets you, the daughter of this new merchant, bright smile and friendly beautiful besides.

Suddenly Ningguang is taking more walks, visiting this new merchant regularly, just to see you. To have you smile at her, to hear the sound of you laughing at her rather stale attempts at humor. Its not long before her walks are no longer alone, she soon has you chattering away at her side, and any and all on lookers can see how absolutely smitten she is the entire time.

But the time for the sacrifice comes near. Ningguang is unable to take her walks to see you with all the dealing with the humans in charge. They want their perfect sacrifice to guarantee her satisfaction. And not focused enough, Ningguang accidentally describes you perfectly.

Soon you're being delivered to Ningguang, wrapped in delicate silks and small gold chains hanging from your limbs more for decoration then restraint, a light veil drawn over your features. An offering made in the hopes of maintaining the prosperity of the harbor.

Imagine Ningguang's surprise when such an adorable little thing walked into her den. Dressed to be a sacrifice, the humans who brought you have long left, and expect to never see you again. Shaking like a leave, looking so nervous, but when she finally pulls your attention to her golden gaze, she is surprised to see no real fear at all. More so however, to see you of all people standing there as her newest sacrifice.

It's seconds before the woman that you'd grown so fond up stands before you, the same one who you've fostered a massive crush on, but had no idea how to approach. Now holding your face delicately in golden claws, looking at you with glowing serpentine eyes filled with worry. Massive tail swishing behind her, both scared and pleased to see you here.

Soon gold chains are changed for bejeweled jewelry, the revealing silk wrappings now changed for the finest clothing the harbor has to offer.

And the Harbor has never known a greater peace then this. When their guardian dragon walks in all her glory, for all to see, smiling like a love sick fool down at you clinging to her arm.

I am totally in love with this idea :0

Something about the Reader being a sacrificial maiden for the Dragon! Women is just scratching my brain in all the right places. Maybe if we write this with some lore, it could be like…every 12 years on the year of the dragon, the different nations of Teyvat must offer a sacrifice to the Dragon Women so that they could bless their nation with good fortune.

Usually these sacrifices are stuff like jewelry, riches, expensive food, etc. but one year, the sacrifice is a bit different as the nations have offered a bride to the Dragon Women as the sacrifice for this particular year. That bride being you so that you could please the Dragon Women for another 12 years of good fortune 💕

Ahhhhh you guys are gonna make me write a whole Dragon! AU at this point 😅

[if-loki-was-a-fox]

The differences in cultures and behaviors between different fandoms is so fascinating to me, I love just musing on the various differences

Back in my Warrior Cats phase on scratch there was barely an single fanart of canon characters, everything was original characters and original clans.

During my time in the Genshin Impact fandom people would play with the various canon character elements to make new characters but there wasn't quite the level of wholly divorced from canon stories there.

There was shipping tho! An absolutely unhinged amount of shipping. Every single character who wasn't a literal child had at least one, maybe two default/mainstream ship partners that most people shipped them with, then a handful of rarer ships as well

Then I moved to Dream SMP 'cus I heard that it had a lot of platonic relationships that were so popular that they made it into the top 100 ao3 ships multiple years in a row, and I was getting pretty romanced out by Genshin at that point so it seemed like a perfect choice.

And it was! Dream SMP had the best platonic relationship representation of any fandom I've been in before or since. But it has the dark flipside to it, where the reason was partially because the fans were freaking off the rails toxic and hostile to the mere suggestion that any character might ever be attracted to another

The Hermitcraft and Life Series are better with platonic relationships than Genshin Impact, but nowhere near as good as DSMP, with the return of a handful of mainstream ships, but not the pressure to have a ship for every single character

Then there's the fascinating ways MCYT fandoms had every characters' designs and even species up in the air and it's common place to just make any random guy part any random animal, which is incredible fun

But then OCs in the MCYT fandom are a whole other thing, as they tend to come most in the Warriors style where they come out of fanmade servers and tend to be fairly divorced from canon most of the time, only generally inspired by the setting

And now in the Magnus Archives fandom we've got the canon ships, with one specific one vastly dominating the whole fandom to even more extremes than any singular Genshin ship ever reached, which I've gathered is a pretty common experience in other fandoms but this has been my first time actually experiencing it first hand

And TMA has a similar thing with Warrior Cats where it works really well as a set of world building that can be shoved upon other fictional characters for some fun AUs, which was never really a thing with MCYT (though I think it kinda was with Genshin Impact, to a degree, where people would draw other characters in Genshin splash art style and assign them Visions and all that.)

Warriors is by far the most extreme of these, up with My Little Pony in terms of how you're almost guaranteed to see at least one fanart of the characters in any fandom drawn as warrior cats/ponies

And then there's the popular AU types! Genshin Impact was chock full of highschool AUs. Dream SMP had Foster Family AUs and Superhero AUs galore (especially with SBI), but it also had a smaller Humans Are Space Orcs / Alien AUs phenomen that I've not been able to find again in my other fandoms since. I never read enough Life Series and Hermitcraft fanfic to get a good grasp on their popular AUs, but various flavour of Modern AU with the characters assigned random jobs seemed common, and they had a lot of Superhero AUs spawned by HoTGuY. TMA is mostly everyone is happy AUs, like No Paranormal Nonsense AUs and Happily Ever After Post Canon AUs, but also a whole heckin' lot of Time Travel (usually fix-it fic) AUs, which is something I never really saw in the other fandoms

I don't have a good ending to this post as there's no real point to it, it's just me babbling about fandoms

[tgmsunmontue]

Saga of Solitude 17/21

Nepo!Baby Bradley and his life at USNA and afterwards. DADT fully in force. IceMav AU. (Begun prior to 'It's not who you know' - the non-angsty version). (Side Hangster, which is ALSO angsty).

PROLOGUE (He remembers)

HANGSTER FIRST MEETING (Lonely Nights - set 2009)

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

ONE (2000) TWO (2001) THREE (2002) FOUR (2003) FIVE (2004) SIX (2005) SEVEN (2006) EIGHT (2007) NINE (2008) TEN (2009) ELEVEN (2010) TWELVE (2011) THIRTEEN (2012) FOURTEEN (2013) FIFTEEN (2014) SIXTEEN (2015)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN– 2016 – Jake Seresin Interlude 2

                He works at making himself harder, tries to give himself a hard shiny protective shell that can’t be broken through. He succeeds for the most part, his tongue and words become sharper, weapons he wields with cutting precision. He fosters his reputation as an asshole. Selfish and arrogant. It’s fine, he doesn’t need people to like him. He has his small circle of friends who know him. The real him. It’s an exclusive circle, numbering three whole people. That the circle grows to include Phoenix had been weird at first. Then he’d discovered that they had quite a bit in common, their hard shells worn like armor not even the start, but less than ideal families and Javy’s easy open friendship attracting them like moths to a flame.

                “You ever been in love?” Phoenix asks and Javy is snorting around the mouth of his bottle of beer.

                “Jake’s still in love with the first guy he ever slept with…”

                “Fuck off Javy,” Jake mutters, annoyed, because he’s admitted that in confidence. Isn’t even sure if it’s true. Doesn’t even know if Phoenix knows he’s gay. He’ll have to punch him for that later. There’re different levels of letting people in, and he hadn’t let that one slip yet, had taken every opportunity to flirt with Phoenix and make her believe he’d be down for a friends with benefits situation. Now of course she’s staring at him, one perfectly sculpted brow lifting and Jake just shrugs.

                “Oh. I didn’t realize… And you mean it’s not… you?” Phoenix asks Javy, as she looks at Javy. He’s grinning and shaking his head.

                “Nope. Not me. We’re just friends, only thing we’ve ever been. I’ve never even been curious enough to kiss the fucker…”

                “Your loss,” Jake throws out and Javy laughs, and he can’t help but be amused in response. Phoenix is laughing, and Jake just shakes his head, relaxes at her complete non-reaction. Then again, she’s also best friends with Bradley, so she might know about Bradley…. Maybe. He’s never let anyone know who it is, not even Javy. It’s only ever been between him and Bradley, which he knows is exactly how Bradley wants it. Something secret and hidden. He might not get a dishonorable discharge now, but neither is he out and proud and shouting anything from the rooftops. His family only talk to him if he never brings it up.

                Which is why the whole thing with Bradley is so confusing. He lies in bed and thinks about it some nights. He’s heard the rumors about Maverick Mitchell being Bradley’s… godfather. Maybe father, but he’s going to err towards godfather because from the pictures he’s seen of Maverick Michell he looks nothing like Bradley at all. So if Maverick Mitchell is indeed part of Bradley’s life, then it means Admiral Kazansky is as well. Which means that Bradley grew up seeing this solid loving relationship between two men in active service. Sure they would have had to keep it on the downlow, but it was probably an open secret or something, given how far Admiral Kazansky has moved up the ranks. It makes him admire the man more than he already did, that he’s managed to serve under DADT and still climb the ranks and then get married and be happy. Jake wants all that, suspects he probably needs to be kissing more asses and greasing wheels if he wants to start moving up the career ladder. He’ll worry about that later. If he ever figures out the enigma of Bradley.

                And he should really try and call him something, anything, other than Bradley. Bradshaw and Rooster both work, as does asshole and dick. Not that Bradshaw ever promised him anything. Never whispered sweet nothings. Jake isn’t an idiot, they couldn’t have had anything other than something secretive seven years ago. But he’d sort of hoped, only to have that hope dashed every single time they’ve met since. The fact that all Bradley has to do is smile at him has his resolve and hard shell shattering and crumbling around him breaks him. He’s kept the fucking moustache and wonders if Bradley has done it on purpose, a constant reminder of Jake saying he liked it. And he does still like it which is infuriating. On anyone else he can’t stand them, and the one time he tried to grow one had been a mistake of epic proportions. Bradley however looks effortlessly confident and sexy and Jake hates it.

                Hates him.

                Except he doesn’t, despite how much he wants to some days. He thinks he even loves him and Jake hates himself for loving someone who just… doesn’t care about him. He thinks back to the last time they hooked up, and it had been a complete surprise, neither of them expecting the other to be there. They’d still gotten drawn towards each other like they were trapped in the same whirlpool. Afterwards, not long enough after, because Jake could have stayed there with Bradley pressed against him for hours, breath warm on his skin before he’d pulled away. Jake remembers feeling cold.

                “Fuck. Fuck.”

                “We did that already.”

                The laugh Bradley had let out then had been strangled, bordering on hysterical maybe. Jake bit back the question he wanted to ask, which was whether Bradley was alright. Hard shell. He had to be better at not letting it crack.

                “I was trying to fucking apologize.”

                “Weird way to go about it,” Jake had replied, and he’d started moving then, pulling clothes back into place.

                “Jesus Jake… I don’t… Fuck. I really didn’t mean to let this happen. Again.”

                A little part of him thrills at the memory, that he’s apparently as irresistible to Bradley as he is to him. It doesn’t mean that they’re good for each other though. He knows Bradley can be sweet. Has memories of their first time together, that entire weekend, which had felt… well. He doesn’t want to use the word magical, because that’s horse shit. However it had given him hope.

                “It’s all good Bradshaw. Not like it was a hardship. Guess it’s back to pretending we can barely be civil with each other though…” Jake had said, and he hadn’t meant for bitterness to creep through, but the look on Bradley’s face had told him that he’d failed horribly.

                “I… I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that I was, uh, looking for something more. I’m not. Not at the moment.”

                “No. I didn’t think you were.”

                “Shit. Jake. I’m sorry. You don’t have to go. I'll go.”

                “Uh, I kind of think I do. I’m… I am looking for something more so I think I better not waste any more of my time here if it’s not on the cards.”

                Saying the words had felt right at the time, but he still feels like he’s broken his own heart.

                Still.

                He has hope for one-day.

                Doubts very much it’ll ever be Bradley Bradshaw, however much he might want it to be, no matter how ill-advised that is.

[transorufrey]

extra ordinary

Summary: Coco spends a rainy autumn day with her friends and foster family.

[4.2k words, gen, coco-centric, foster family ft. married orufrey]

They piled into the van; Qifrey turning up the heat in the passenger’s seat, Agott with room for Tetia in the middle, and Richeh and Coco in the back. Agott was still nose deep in her book, which Coco was awfully happy to see, since she had finally swapped her study materials for a novel that she could read for fun. (How Agott could read in the car, though, Coco had no idea. She herself always felt sick when she tried.) As Olruggio and Tetia joined them, Coco’s phone lit up once again. This time, it was a message in the group chat from Jujy: a blurry, very zoomed-in picture of Tartah and Coustas, taken from across the food court, was captioned SPOTTED!!!!!! “Jujy’s there already,” Richeh complained. “Hit the gas.” “I’ll speed the whole way there,” Olruggio said, equally deadpan. At the same time, Agott and Qifrey both said, “You better not.” Olruggio’s sigh was long-suffering.

modern au enjoyers make some noise !!! read below or on ao3.

Coco was sitting on the couch next to Agott and scrolling through videos on her phone when she received a very alarming text. She read it, sat up, read it again, then announced to the room at large, “Tartah and Coustas are already there!”

From the top of the stairs, Tetia, in the middle of brushing her teeth, poked her bonnet-clad head out and shouted, “What?! It’s only, like, ten!”

“‘Course,” Olruggio muttered from the kitchen. Coco heard some rummaging, then a cabinet shut and her first of two sort-of-foster fathers came up the steps with a protein bar in one hand and his half-finished mug of coffee in the other. “Girls,” he said to Coco and Agott, “get your shoes on. And Rich– Rich, where did you go?”

Richeh materialized at his side. She was, as always, already ready to go, wearing her wireless headphones and favorite boots.

“There you are. We’ll hurry, I promise.” He stuck his protein bar into the pocket of his hoodie. It was dark blue and splattered with an assortment of paint and ink, and one of the sleeves was singed; Olruggio himself wore it very infrequently, as the five other denizens of the house loved to steal it. “Tetia,” he called, “d’you still want me to do your hair?”

Tetia hurried down the stairs, followed by Qifrey, and hopped onto the arm of the couch. She tugged off her bonnet with a flourish and procured her comb, while Qifrey said, “Tartah is so close, we could have carpooled!”

“He and Coustas were having a sleepover,” Coco said. we’re a little behind, she replied to Tartah. i’ll let you know when we’re almost there! :D

sweet, came the reply, with an attached selfie featuring Tartah’s forehead and bright hair and a wide-eyed, clearly caught off guard Coustas. They sat in the mall food court, and Coco caught a glimpse of jackets spread out to save seats.

“We could have driven both of them, we have room in the van.” Qifrey knelt by the shoe rack. “Olly, where are my boots?”

“Mr. Dagda’s car has the ramp,” Coco reminded him. “Ours doesn’t.”

“Ah, of course. Olly?”

“Hang on a min’.” Olruggio had a hair tie between his teeth and both hands in Tetia’s hair. “I moved ‘em to mop, sorry. They’re on the very top shelf of the rack, but Agott’s sneakers are balanced on top.”

Agott snapped her book shut. “I’ll move them.”

“Thank you, dear. Is everyone almost ready?”

Olruggio, frowning in concentration, adjusted the second of Tetia’s pigtails and smoothed her hair back. “Almost, almost.”

“Hurry!” Richeh said impatiently.

“Go start the car, if you want, we’ll be right there.” Olruggio gestured absentmindedly over his shoulder. “Qif, keys are on the middle peg.”

Qifrey retrieved the keys, his white cane, and an umbrella, and stepped out into the autumn rain, with Coco and the two other girls close behind. While Qifrey hurried to the car - followed by Richeh and Agott, the latter hunched over to keep her book dry - Coco paused to appreciate the array of jack-o-lanterns on the front steps. As much as she wished that nothing bad ever happened to her or the people she loved, she could not help but be grateful that they had all ended up here, together.

She shared a smile with Agott’s cat-pumpkin.

They piled into the van; Qifrey turning up the heat in the passenger’s seat, Agott with room for Tetia in the middle, and Richeh and Coco in the back. Agott was still nose deep in her book, which Coco was awfully happy to see, since she had finally swapped her study materials for a novel that she could read for fun. (How Agott could read in the car, though, Coco had no idea. She herself always felt sick when she tried.)

As Olruggio and Tetia joined them, Coco’s phone lit up once again. This time, it was a message in the group chat from Jujy: a blurry, very zoomed-in picture of Tartah and Coustas, taken from across the food court, was captioned SPOTTED!!!!!!

“Jujy’s there already,” Richeh complained. “Hit the gas.”

“I’ll speed the whole way there,” Olruggio said, equally deadpan.

At the same time, Agott and Qifrey both said, “You better not.” Olruggio’s sigh was long-suffering.

Coco had not been surprised to learn that Agott was Qifrey and Olruggio’s first “foster failure,” as Agott herself had said, but she had been totally shocked when she found out that Qifrey and Olruggio had not, in fact, been married for nearly as long as she thought– she’d been so sure they had been together for at least ten years. They certainly acted like it.

Then again, Coco was not well-versed - or versed at all - in living in a household run by a married couple.

She frowned at the rain that raced across the window.

They arrived at the mall a little past ten-thirty, then drove around the parking garage looking for a spot for another ten minutes. Tetia repeatedly filmed dramatized updates for the group chat, and even managed to catch Olruggio saying a particularly foul word when they approached what they thought was an empty spot, only to find a motorcycle parked there. Regardless, they made it in one piece, and hurried across the covered path and through the department store on squeaky shoes.

In the food court, Coco and the others saw their friends before their friends saw them. Coustas and Jujy were talking animatedly about something that involved lots of gesturing and arm waving, and Alaira’s two-toned hair was easy to spot. It was Euini who saw them first, and he elbowed Tartah, who waved them over.

“How was traffic?” Alaira pushed her own chair aside then helped Olruggio drag several others over. The table was designed to seat six, but most of the kids were more than happy to squeeze together on the booth side.

“Fine, considerin’ people usually forget how to drive in the rain.” Olruggio nudged Qifrey into a chair.

“Oh, Mr. Qifrey!” Tartah rummaged through a tote bag that hung from Coustas’ wheelchair. From it, he drew a smaller plastic bag and passed it across the table. “Grandpa got in more of that ink you like, so he sent me with some for you guys.”

Qifrey beamed. “Why, thank you! We’ll swing by the shop sometime this week and drop some treats off for you two, but make sure to thank your grandfather for me the next time you see him.” He tucked the bag safely into a coat pocket.

The kids at the table then dissolved into good-natured bickering about where to go first while the adults debated what to do while the kids had their fun. Eventually they agreed, mostly at Agott’s insistence, to start at the new bookstore that opened next to the better of the mall’s two boba cafes.

“Meet us back here in two hours,” Qifrey told them as they rose to leave.

“Two?” Several voices cried in protest.

“Three, at least,” Coustas argued. He grinned and added, “You know I can’t get around as fast as everyone else.” It was more of an inside joke than anything, since everybody was well aware of the remarkable upper-body strength that he used to power his manual chair.

(“I used to do a lot of dance and gymnastics and stuff,” he had told Coco one day. “I could probably still do a handstand, kinda.”

He tried. He could not, but he seemed to enjoy Coco and Tartah’s raucous laughter.)

Qifrey rolled his eye, a habit he had not lost alongside his vision. “Two and a half.”

“Two and forty-five minutes,” Tetia pleaded.

Qifrey put his head in his hands, and Coco cheered with her friends at their victory.

“They’re getting too rebellious,” Qifrey muttered under his breath as Olruggio rubbed his back sympathetically.

“I seem to remember you two getting into way more trouble when we were their age,” mused Alaira. Coco had already heard a few stories about her foster fathers from her, including one about the time they had managed to drive all the way from Osaka to Sakata in Olruggio’s rundown Beetle before Beldaruit found out, and she was keen to learn more, but it was time for their two groups to part ways.

Coco and the others split further not long after. Agott wanted to take her time in the bookstore while the rest soon wanted to move on, and Coco was more than content to trail after her and listen to her ramble to her heart’s content.

“This one was bad,” Agott said as she tapped a faced-out cover. They were meandering through the young adult section. “Every sentence was structured the same way, and once I noticed it, I couldn’t stop noticing. And that one gets glowing reviews, but I was bored to death. I just didn’t care about the main character… Plus, I think I just don’t like first person point of view most of the time. Sometimes it’s done well, of course, but that was not.”

“I like when they switch POV,” Coco offered. She didn’t read as much as Agott, but she had a handful of books and series that she kept close to her heart. The main problem was that all her books were still at home. Well, at her old house, which–

A hand touched her shoulder. “Coco?” She turned and found herself face to face with Agott’s dark, concerned eyes.

“I’m alright.” Coco offered a smile and Agott blushed and retracted her hand. “Just thinking about some of the stuff I read growing up… I never did get around to finishing the Grisha trilogy.”

Agott actually gasped. “You’re joking.”

“Nope. My mom got me the box set for my birthday last year, but I…” Coco shook her head. You have to stop thinking about that! she berated herself. It just makes you sad and you’re not helping anybody. “I never got around to the third.”

“After the way the second ends?” Agott took her hand without hesitation. This, it seemed, was quite a serious matter. “You have to finish it, and then read the sort-of sequel series. It’s even better. It takes place in the same world, but in a different country with different characters, and if you like POV-switching–”

There were soon two books nestled in the crook of Coco’s arm, and Agott held the third in the series she was currently reading. They made their way through literary fiction - “Don’t read that one, her other work is much better,” Agott informed as they passed a display - and were still holding hands when Coco tugged her into the manga section.

“I think Mr. Olly’s new volume is out! Let’s go see– plus, I wanted to look for Yokohama Kaidashi Kikou.”

To her surprise, Agott frowned. “You still call him that?”

Oh. Coco frowned a bit, too. “I mean… He’s not my dad.”

“Well, yes, but I thought you would have dropped the honorific by now. It’s not a big deal, just curious.”

Coco’s cheeks heated and she scuffed the toe of her shoe against the ground. “He’s also, just— just so talented, you know? He’s such an amazing artist, and I really look up to him.” She ran a finger over the store’s volumes of Brushbug Wars. “It’s like… I don’t know. It’s silly.”

What was silly, probably, was that Coco was tearing up for no apparent reason in the manga section while holding her best friend’s hand. Everything was fine– everything was good. She sniffled just a little. Her emotions had been annoyingly touch-and-go recently, and though she could recognize that, it seemed there was nothing she could do about it.

A teenaged stranger gave her an odd look, but she paid them no mind, because Agott squeezed her hand.

“It’s not,” she insisted. “Whatever it is.”

“You kinda sound like him.” Unwilling to drop Agott’s hand, Coco shifted her grip on her books so she could wipe her eyes.

“I mean, we’ve lived together for a while. Look, they have YKK on that display.” Agott pulled her toward them.

Coco was more than happy to be distracted. She picked out the first volume of Yokohama Kaidashi Kikou, and Agott’s single choice became a small horde as they finished up in manga and swung by the books on art. Coco knew for a fact that Agott was running out of shelf space - if she hadn’t already - but her inclination for books was, in Coco’s humble opinion, quite admirable. Olruggio had mentioned adding another bookcase in the living room, anyway.

They caught up with Richeh and Euini, who had likewise gone off on their own, at the Lego store, where Richeh was taking pictures of sets she wanted. She had a box tucked under her arm, which she presented with a flourish and announced that she was buying.

“Do we even have enough room for those?” Agott frowned as she inspected the box.

“They’re small.” Richeh snapped a picture of a huge Lord of the Rings set. “Besides, it’s Richeh’s allowance. Agott spends her allowance on books, Richeh spends hers on Legos.” She paused again and added, “There’s three in it, but one is for Euini.” Euini did not reply, but his broad smile said more than enough.

Richeh made her purchase. She was, as usual, very straight-faced and almost solemn for the whole ordeal, but did a very self-satisfied and enthusiastic little fist pump as soon as she left the store. That, on the Richeh scale, indicated a five star experience.

The four of them then rejoined the others in the line at the boba cafe. Drinks and shopping bags in hand, they descended upon the rest of the mall in a pack, ready to laugh and be rowdy to their hearts’ content.

After a series of show-and-tells over lunch in the food court, they parted for the day with promises to help each other with homework and assorted assignments at school on Monday. Coco dozed off on the ride home, but wasn’t quite tired enough for an afternoon nap - unlike Richeh, who went straight to her room without a word - so she settled on the couch with one of her new books. Tetia joined her, and they managed to convince Agott to then join them. It took many promises that they would be quiet, since she wanted to study, but they got through to her eventually.

Everything was well. Thin textbook pages flipped and Agott’s pen scratched; blankets rustled as Tetia struggled to find a comfortable reading position; Qifrey and Olruggio murmured in the kitchen; rain drummed against the windows. Soon, Qifrey brought them tea, and the quiet turned to a gentle buzz when Agott asked him for homework help. Olruggio sat in his favorite armchair with his tablet and pen, purportedly to work. (When he sat in the living room to “work,” he often sighed lots and, somehow, erased more than he drew. Coco suspected that sometimes he just wanted to sit with them all, but she said nothing.)

An hour or so before dinner, Richeh joined them to play video games, and Coco, growing restless, leaned over to watch her. Tetia evidently felt similar, but she tended to be more of what Richeh called a “backseat gamer.”

“There’s one behind you,” Tetia advised.

Richeh’s little character on the screen dodged and rolled. “Richeh knows, thanks.”

“You’re low on health, you should eat something.”

“Ran out of food.” She mashed buttons.

“Make some more.”

“This is the Trial of the Sword, it doesn’t work like that.”

“Well, how am I supposed to know? You should– oops.” The screen faded to black and announced Richeh’s untimely demise.

“Be quiet,” Agott snapped, then immediately followed it up with, “Sorry.”

Coco glanced over at her, cross-legged on the floor with her math textbook resting on the couch. Qifrey, closest, patted her shoulder and said, “Read me the problem again.”

“‘If the line m is parallel to the side AB of–’”

Well, best to tune that out. Agott was in one of the advanced math classes, and hearing her talk about geometry and advanced algebra just made Coco’s head spin. It was a good thing that Qifrey, retired early at the ripe age of thirty-something, was still a teacher at heart; Tetia was still caught up by the introduction of letters into math, something she found entirely unnecessary, Richeh and Coco were simply not there yet, and Olruggio, as he always said, hadn’t thought about math in at least ten years.

(Coco thought he was kidding, the first time he made that joke. It was not long after what they ended up calling “the Romonon Incident,” and with Qifrey temporarily incapacitated, Coco had been doing some homework to pass the time. When she asked Olruggio for math help, he had laughed and shaken his head like the whole thing was absurd.

“Last time I did anything harder than arithmetic was in college, which would have been…” He started counting on his fingers, and a strange expression came over his face when he reached ten. “Never mind that.”)

Coco did not know what a “soh-kah-toh-ah” was, and she was not looking forward to finding out.

When it came time to start dinner, Agott followed Qifrey into the kitchen, and Olruggio trailed after them. Coco retrieved her sketchbook for some doodling and joined Agott at the table.

It’s like a sleepover, Coco used to tell herself. A very long sleepover. Or like a magical boarding school in one of those books. But she learned quickly that there would be no writing home, just silent hospital visits with Qifrey and whispers that followed her at her new middle school. As the days dragged by and the seasons changed, she grew to love this house and everyone in it, and they loved her, too, but she never forgot the things she lost.

Sitting at the kitchen table with Agott felt like a strange reflection of those early days. Now, they sat next to each other because they wanted to, and the silence between them was comfortable. Out of everything - all the people she’d met, all the places she’d been - Coco was most grateful for Agott; for knowing her, for caring about her, for knowing that she was cared about in return.

Coco leaned over her sketchbook and hoped that no one would ask why she was smiling to herself.

“Qif-” Olruggio gestured with his wooden spoon to Qifrey’s phone, sitting face-up on the table– “Iguin’s calling.”

Qifrey cursed under his breath. “His ringtone is muted for a reason. Sorry, Agott, I’ll be right back.” He scooped up his phone and hurried out of the kitchen, but not before they caught his highly irritated, “What do you want?”

Coco and Agott exchanged a glance. Conversations with Iguin always left Qifrey in a foul mood, fouler even than surprise visits from Beldaruit. Qifrey’s raised voice, though muffled, could already be heard from upstairs.

It seemed they were a house that could not escape family troubles.

Moments later, Tetia and Richeh crept down to sit at the table; Richeh kept her eyes fixed on her game, but Tetia squirmed and glanced around nervously. Coco took her hand and squeezed it, to which she received a forced smile.

Dinner sizzled away on the stovetop.

Rain pattered against the windows.

Something clattered upstairs.

Olruggio sighed. “Could one of you watch the veggies? I’ll go check on ‘im.”

Agott, who had been staring at a math problem and making little progress for the last couple minutes, hopped up immediately. “I will. I can start the rice, too.” Olruggio ruffled her hair in thanks as he passed.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Tetia turned to face Coco fully and blurted, “They were talking about you!”

“Who?” Coco immediately abandoned her drawing.

“Dad and, uh…” She gestured vaguely, but Coco understood just fine. Even referencing Iguin, while not forbidden, was quite discouraged under their roof.

“What were they saying?”

“Well, I couldn’t hear him, but…” Tetia faltered, suddenly guilty. “It was, uh… something about custody.”

“Tetia!” Agott shot a glare over her shoulder. She stood at the sink, rinsing rice. “What did I just say about that, like, yesterday?”

Right. On a day-to-day basis, it was easy for Coco to forget that her position here - the place she now called home with ease - was more precarious than the other girls. Agott and Tetia were adopted, after all, and Richeh was safe and sound while she waited for Riliphin to decide where he wanted to stay. Coco did not know all the details, just that Qifrey had been fighting near constantly to keep custody of her, and that his own brother had repeatedly proved to be one of his bitterest enemies.

“It’s fine,” she said, but it came out weak even to her own ears. She pictured a file folder with her name on it and the word “temporary” stamped in red ink. “It’s fine,” she repeated, louder. “Really, it is. If there’s something I need to know, he’ll tell me, and if not, there’s no use worrying about it.”

Richeh rolled her eyes fondly. “A good little Coco Speech,” she said.

Upon returning, Olruggio said nothing about whatever had just transpired out of their earshot. When they all stared expectantly at him, he assured them, directed mostly to Tetia and her big watery eyes, “There’s nothin’ to worry about, I promise. Dad’s just had a long day, an’ you know how exhausting calls like that are for him. He needs some time to decompress. He’ll be down for dinner soon enough.”

And, indeed, Qifrey rejoined them as the table was being set and portions of stir fry were scooped onto plates. He rubbed at his forehead, a telltale sign of an oncoming headache, but his small smile was genuine.

“Sorry about that, girls.” Coco and the others all leaned in to receive a pat on the shoulder or the top of the head. “Everything is alright, I promise. Now, shall we eat?”

Olruggio elbowed him. “Go take something for your headache, first.”

Qifrey sighed and grumbled but obliged.

After dinner, it was Coco’s turn to help with dishes. She preferred drying duty, but today volunteered to brave sticky food residue to let Qifrey do the drying, since it was easier and she wanted to do what little she could to make his day better. And it worked! At least, she hoped it did. He seemed mostly his usual self, which was good, of course, but there was an undercurrent to his mood that she could detect but not name. Still, he laughed at her jokes and offered a few of his own, so Coco considered it a win.

Richeh and Agott both turned in early - Richeh to wind down and sleep and Agott to work on an art project due at the end of the week - so Coco and Tetia played Pokémon (Tetia wanted to trade a basculin for Coco’s spritzee, which was not a fair trade) and snacked on yesterday’s apple cider cookies until Olruggio gave them the ten minute warning. Out of the kindness of her heart, Coco settled for receiving a seedot, mostly because she knew how much Tetia loved fairy types.

The two of them took their sweet time brushing their teeth together so they could chat more about team composition and gym badge progress. She wasn’t very good at battling yet, but Tetia assured her that there was more to the games.

“You can really get into strategy, if you want,” Tetia said as she affixed her bonnet for the night. “I like to just collect them and put all my favorites on my team, and I overlevel them a whole bunch so I can beat everyone without worrying about types and stuff.” She smiled a bit sheepishly. “Papa let me borrow his old copy of Ruby, and it was a lot harder, so my usual method didn’t work.”

“I won’t be playing that one, then.” Coco pulled a wad of hair from her hairbrush, wrinkled her nose, and flicked it into the trash.

Tetia gave her bonnet one final pat. “Well, you can always learn. I’m probably gonna play a little more before bed– don’t tell anyone. Oh, and remind me to make sure I put my sheets and stuff in the wash tomorrow.” Coco promised, and they hugged and parted ways for the night.

Out on the landing, Coco glanced down the stairs at the sliver of living room she could see. Under the unceasing rain, she could hear low voices and the clink of glassware.

She flipped the lightswitch and the hallway darkened. The night light plugged in just above the sculpted baseboards flickered to life in response, casting a warm orange glow over the hall. The furnace rattled to life somewhere deep within the house.

On Coco’s door was a great big C, crafted on short notice by Tetia and bedazzled excessively yet somehow still tastefully by Richeh. Agott had not participated– something she later apologized for.

Just as she reached for the handle, the door next to hers creaked quietly open, and Agott slipped out on silent feet as if summoned. She sported an empty water bottle and her hair was mussed in that specific way it got when she raked her hands through it while working. Their eyes met.

“Good night,” Coco whispered.

Agott glanced over her shoulder. The night light illuminated stray curls and made her cheeks look rosy. There was a smudge of paint on her chin. “Good night,” she whispered back.

[tangerinesperfume]

Long work days bring Sam home exhausted. The energy she has left in her is reserved for Tara’s sake only, at least for this night.

Maybe fuck self-care tonight.

While she usually likes talking to Tara as she prepares dinner, despite not receiving verbal responses from tara, she’s grateful for this particular quiet night.

Sam was used to only worrying about herself; how she’ll survive, what she’ll do the next, who she, alone, has to deal with, and etc.

Now she’s got a little shadow in the form of her sweet sister. She would never trade her for the world but she’ll admit that it’s been difficult to raise a kid and also, ensuring the ability to keep her happy, worry-free, and safe.

After dinner was finished, she helped Tara prepare for bed. Tara wouldn’t touch her or talk to her yet but Sam was okay with that, there was no reason to rush her. So, Sam’s help just looked like laying out her PJs in bed, helping her with the faucet, checking the inhaler, and all that.

Tara was in bed with her stuffed wolf and Sam made her way to the living room to watch some tv until she accidentally fell asleep on the couch.

As the routine goes, Tara wakes up in the middle of the night and with her wolf, goes to Sam’s room to sleep under the bed but no one’s there.

Oh? Where’s Sammy?

The inaudible sounds from the dimly lit living room grab her attention so she follows it. She walks into Sam messily asleep on the couch without a proper pillow or blanket.

Tara may have a difficulty reading people but she knows what exhaustion looks like and that, Sam’s sleeping face with her brows knotted, is exhaustion.

Tara turns off the tv, places her wolf down, and runs back to the room to fetch a pillow and a throw blanket for Sam.

Back in the living room, Tara decides the she might not be able to lift Sam’s head to put the pillow under it, so she just throws the soft blanket on Sam’s body and places the pillow on the floor.

Tara also decided that sleeping alone the bedroom is a no. So, she runs back to the bedroom to grab her pillow and blanket to join Sam in the living room in the adjacent couch to crash in for the night.

No wait, everyone should be here.

She brings her wolf along with Sam’s wolf and lets them sleep in the pillow she had already put next to Sam’s couch.

Before hitting the hay, she thinks that maybe Sam needs a goodnight kiss, she lifts her stuffed wolf from the ground and squishes a soft wolf kiss to Sam’s cheek.

Goodnight Sammy.

And that’s the scene in their home, sam asleep on the couch, Tara making herself comfy on the other couch, and their two stuffed wolves “sleeping” on the ground.

Sam wakes up early the next morning, her eyes are adjusting to the light and her confusion is setting in.

Didn’t I make it to bed?

God, Sam must’ve been so exhausted and she feels guilty for shortcomings to Tara all over again but she looks around the room and takes in the sight around her.

Oh.

She’s covered in a blanket that she knows for sure that wasn’t on her last night and she looks at a sweetly sleeping Tara on the couch and Sam takes notice that her sister looks so relaxed and comfortable.

And she remembers why she does it all in the first place.

For her. For her sweet girl, Tara.

[krikeymate]

heyyyy, how are you?

so, for the mother's day (and the foster this love au), what about sam and tara having the greatest day, doing all the things together and at night, when tara is going to sleep, she calls sam "mom" without noticing? and sam is like 😭😭

The first time Sam hears Tara call her mom, she's bleeding out on the kitchen floor. She thinks she must have been imagining it, blood loss will probably make you hear all kinds of things. Stuff got pretty hectic after that, and Sam forgets about it. She doesn't hear Tara say it again.

After 7 months of being too nervous to leave the house, Tara wakes her up one Sunday morning, earlier than she'd like on her day off, and asks to go to the zoo. Sam would have said yes anyway, overjoyed that Tara is ready to take that step and move forward with everything that happened, but the fact she brought Sam breakfast in bed makes sure she agrees without pretending to complain about it first. Tara looks so nervous, constantly fidgeting with her hands. Sam doesn't want to scare her off the idea.

So they go to the zoo. Sam's a little concerned that Tara's pushing herself too far, and wonders why now, as she sticks to Sam's side, hand squeezing hers tightly. She's shaking slightly as she eyes all the people around them.

"Hey, so what d'ya wanna see first, the wolves?" She asks, nudging Tara, hoping to distract her. Tara loves wolves, Sam knows she'd never pass up an oppor- Tara shakes her head. "Hyenas," she declares, scanning the park map for a moment before pulling Sam off in the direction of the hyena enclosure. "Huh," Sam mumbles to herself, a little confused as she lets her lead her away by the hand.

"Y'know, hyenas are my favourite animal," Sam says in a faux-whisper, like she's revealing some grand secret. "I know," Tara responds simply, like it was obvious knowledge. It leaves Sam speechless as she tries to figure out how Tara could know that. She's never talked about her favourite animal before... has she? No, no, she's certain.

"And do you know why they're my favourite?" Sam questions, a laugh in her voice as they watch a mother play with her cubs. She's always impressed by Tara's observation skills. "They're pack animals, like wolves," Tara answers, "but the females are in charge. They're fast, and clever, and often misunderstood and misrepresented. Like you."

Sam's a little stunned by Tara's response, and more than a little touched. She blinks back tears. "You forgot one thing," Sam declares. Tara frowns up at her, doubt in her expression, "what?" "I like their spots," Sam says, tapping Tara on the nose in a way that never fails to make her giggle. "They're just like your freckles, adorable."

It's a long day, Tara taking Sam to see every animal she thinks Sam must like (and she's right, much to Sam's amazement). "Look, they're just like us," Sam announces, waving their held hands together at the otters floating past paw-in-paw. By the time they get ice cream, Sam's favourite flavour, and have Sam's favourite food for lunch, she begins to wonder if she's done something to make Tara think she feels bad or that she's having a hard time.

She can't imagine what, she thinks she's been doing pretty well, given... all that happened. It weighs on Sam, seeing Tara get steadily more stressed as the day goes on, watching the way she tries to hide it from her so they can stay a little longer.

By the time they get home, they're exhausted, and arm-in-arm with two new stuffed toy hyenas for their pack. Little sam is sleeping on the two stuffed wolves that sit atop Sam's dresser, and is delighted at the chance to scent mark the new additions.

After their evening routine, Sam flops back onto her bed, Tara cuddling into her side, yawning. "Did you have a good day," Tara mumbles into Sam's neck. "I had the best day," Sam proclaims, closing her eyes, "just like any day with you." Tara hums into her neck. "Thasgood," she slurs, beginning to fall asleep, "love you, mom."

Sam's eyes snap open. Oh.

[krikeymate]

Sam's seen all her childhood pictures by that point, the dark ones and the bright ones. After Sam adopted her, she dragged Sam into her bedroom one day and had her sit on the floor, and let Sam go through her sketchbooks one by one. There were dozens. Tara tells her she can look from now on, if she wants. Sam chooses not to look at her art unless Tara specifically wants her to.

After the Ghostface attacks, Tara's gone back to being reserved and scared all the time. Sam creeps out of the bed one night and goes to the desk where Tara's latest sketchbook lies. The very first page is Sam on the floor, bloody, looking up at a shadow holding a knife. The only colour on the page is red. She flips to the next page, something similar. And on the next, and the next. It's just full of pages of Sam, injured. Tara got hurt too, and she's never shied from drawing herself, so her absence in these pages feels... she's going to call Tara's therapist in the morning, they need a joint appointment.

YES. YOUR TAGS!! Tara's drawings are all so dark and hard and speak to the trauma that she can't speak of, except when she's drawing Sam. If Sam's involved, the pictures are happy. Tara doesn't draw sad or dark pictures with Sam, she doesn't want that darkness to touch her big sister too.

Makes me think that one day her dark drawings become fewer and fewer. As she grows up with Sam and sam, her art works gradually take on more vivid hues.

But then GFs happen and the darkness makes a comeback.

[onthewallwiththis]

its ma birthday! my gift to u are some of my fave quotes I've gathered from tlou fanfics!!

suitcase full of stars - @barlowstreet

"Three out of ten," he says, picking her hands up and rubbing them between his. "You're rating my bite?" she wheezes in disbelief. It's the first thing she's said besides apologies since they got to the hospital. "Didn't even break skin. You could do better.

one of my absolute fave foster fics!! and between such whump, this made me giggle.

A hopeful stranger - @two-birds-alone-together

A long-suffering sigh "I swear you were born contrary." "Nope." Joel glares at her as she waggles her eyebrows at him. "It's a finely honed skill, Joel. I've had a lifetime of practice. You'll never be as contrary as me." She grins up at him, giggling when he takes the now-empty mug from her hands. Joel snorts. "Now that I believe."

I <3 book shop AU, I also quote this particular one to myself DAILY

Oh mirror in the sky, what is love? - @boopernatural

"Joel." she sets her fork down and turns to face him, expression ultra-serious. "I solemnly swear not to get black out drunk, or have sex, or break anything valuable. I may do a bunch of drugs, it just depends on what they offer me." "Downers if we're lucky," he says, going back to his breakfast. "What does that mean?" "It means finish your eggs."

when I tell you i CACKLED

Ellie Williams' guide to teenage rebellion - @simoncowellstits

"You don't get to talk fake lawyer." she crosses her arms. "you're supposed to be winning my fucking legal case so I don't need to hang out with Kim anymore! No offence, Kim." "None taken." Kim says from her position near the door.

--

'questions about J-Dog.' do he and Tommy shit-talk me? did he forget how to laugh and/or smile in a terrible amnesia incident? does he know a lot of facts about the cold war or is that just his vibe? what makes him so grumpy? Is it just an old age thing? why is he so weird all the time??? why can't he just act normal and choose a personality? why does he care if I told frank I couldn't have sex with my vampire boyfriend on their honeymoon because he was too freaky with it??

This whole fic is so damn funny. In between some of the most heart wrenching story and crazy realistic characterisation I found myself in tears of laughter. I also quote the twilight reference almost daily.

Let me be your shelter - @messydepressy95

Not to be dramatic or anything, but she's a child of divorce.

--

Still, Joel continues to teach her to drive, and Tommy keeps inviting himself to their lessons.

BEST ONE LINERS IN THIS FIC

Inordinary - @heroes-fading

"Mhm," Ellie nods. "That's why every love song you've ever written has been depressing as fuck. All the mutual-ness."

--

"Just because it isn't seventy percent oat milk doesn't make it shitty, Ellie." "Thats homophobic," she tells him, and he rolls his eyes again.

the inordinary-verse is full of incredible quotes SO FUNNY

Lessons in wayfinding - @penandinkprincess

"Why so fucking nosy about it?" "Fatal flaw, I'm afraid," he says with a theatrical sigh. "Ask Joel. I had all the good gossip at family reunions."

Uncle Tommy is the root of most of my day to day happiness.

ANYWHO! I have so many more of these quotes saved, you'll never know when I'll strike again.

Pls lmk if you want me to remove a tag or quote <3

[bokettochild]

Hi, I've been following you lately. Your fictions are so awesome, they really made my day.

I'm currently looking for new works and came across your Opera House AU. It's a bit unfortunate that those main ideas and plot aren't quite on AO3(where I usually read most because I'm not good at English). So I follow your instructions to Tumblr to search by tag.

I don't know and I'm not sure but I have scroll down all the way to find the first post about the idea of it. Well... I've come to the post from 20/3/2023 and it not the first one(?). It seems like you've talked about it for a while before having the tag.

The story plot made me feel so curious because you've been talked about it for a while. What have happened? What are those about? What will happen next? So exciting, can't wait to know!

Sooo... If you don't mind, can you tell me about the first idea of it and the story line up until now. I'm really grateful and thankful for any ideas that will help me know more about the AU!

After all, thanks for answer me and please forgive me for bothering you. I love you so much! Wish you have a great day/night! <3<3<3 💗💗💗

Oh hi!

So, the opera house AU actually did only start around that time! I made sure tag all the posts with the appropriate tag, it's just that ny missing pieces you feel might have existed before exist only in Ds between myself and @/cantankerouscanuck, who I believe was one of the ones to start the AU rolling and really get me making it (him and @/mermain123)

The AU is still pretty new works wise, although I guess it's been around for over a year now!

The main plot is yet to be written, but would focus, theoretically, around a young Hyrule, who, freshly booted to the streets after out-growing foster care, is homeless and working a crappy job while trying to figure out life, and runs into Legend, who is, well, on the run from the cops (he's a graffiti artist in his spare time).

The two boys would sort of connect as Hyrule insists on helping the guy- who literally fell through a window of a (seemingly) abandoned building and landed him while he was trying to sleep there -back home. After this, they meet again and, attempting to help Hyrule in return, Legend gets him a job at the opera house where he's worked since he was small.

The main story would follow Hyrule getting familiar with the cast and crew of the opera and finding his own place among them, either as a performer himself or in some other role (so far unknown because that's something he has to decide for himself).

I fully intend to write this one day, but have a lot of other big stories in my head so it's been slow. that said, there's been so many great ideas, suggestions and prompts given to me that I did end up creating a few one shots for the story, focusing around the other Links and their own respective drama (mostly Legend and Twilight but trust me the OH AU Time brainrot is real rn)

If you have any further questions about the series, feel free to ask! I love talking about this one so very much and it's never a bother for me when I see messages or asks about it (it honestly brightens my whole day!)

[hythlodaes]

and then came june

emile/leofard 9.2k words [read on ao3] explicit summary: modern AU. when leofard becomes friends with benefits with his university's star quarterback, he never expects to fall for him. (also ty @scionshtola for letting me borrow cori!! ♥)

Chapter One- Spring

Leofard has every reason to feel alone in this world.

He doesn't remember his parents, doesn't know what happened to them, only that he was left to grow up by himself. He used to wonder about his relatives—when other children would talk about grandparents, aunts, uncles, siblings, and he'd think, Where are mine? Why couldn't they take care of me?

He's long grown out of those thoughts. 

At nineteen, he loses the one person that he could call family. Not related by blood, Raimille still loves him as a son, still leaves him everything she has with only one request: that he graduates college. At nineteen, he moves across the country with the car he loves with all his heart, speakers blasting Nirvana the whole way. Years in foster care have taught him never to feel sorry for himself, only to chase the freedom that he finds out here. After watching Raimille waste away with sickness, he chooses life. 

And he never feels alone. He meets Stacia at orientation, and she instantly becomes the sister he always wished he had. Over the years he meets friends in classes, at parties, at work, and it becomes a new kind of family—silly, loud, and his. 

Then, early spring of his junior year, he meets Emile. 

—

It starts with a half joke between Leofard and Stacia at two in the morning, curled up on the couch of their apartment and barely awake after marathoning their favorite movies all day. We should throw a party, Leofard murmurs into the tv flashed dark, and Stacia—his usual voice of reason—doesn't say no. 

Their apartment ends up cramped with dozens of college students the next weekend, loud and messy and the kind of thing that makes Leofard laugh until his stomach hurts. He shines under the extra attention, his body warm from alcohol, and it’s the kind of happiness that feels just real enough. 

He runs into Stacia as the front door opens again. A bunch of tall, bulky guys spill through, and Leofard may not follow their school's football team the way Stacia does, but she's dragged him to enough games that he recognizes a few of them. 

She always says she comes from a football family, and well, that includes Leofard now too. 

"God, they're huge," he comments, and he's about to turn his attention away when his gaze catches the last of them ducking under the door. He’s a little taller than the rest, and dark brown hair falls to his chin but he tucks it behind his ear, big eyes searching the room before someone claps him on the shoulder. 

The guy smiles, eyes curving into half moons, and Leofard feels the corners of his lips threaten to raise. 

Stacia shakes her head. "Leo, I swear if you try to sleep with anyone on the football team..." 

"Who said anything about that?" he asks, but this time he lets his mouth pull into a grin. "I'm just appreciating the view." 

The night drags on, the music blurs from one song into the next. Leofard feels only slightly hazy—that sluggish kind of drunk that makes the room spin a little slower. He gives into it, hearing his own laughter as a loud and distant sound in his ears. 

He finds himself in the kitchen again, a full drink in his hand. Utata sits on the counter, singing along to the music at the top of her lungs, and Leofard keeps his focus on her for a moment too long. In hindsight, it's funny that he doesn't see it coming, but Leofard turns away, knocking into the person behind him, and the entirety of his drink spills onto their shirt on impact. 

He has to tilt his head back to meet wide brown eyes, shock evident in the gaze that looks down at him. Leofard recognizes him from when he came in, but he's even cuter up close, where he can make out the freckles on his cheeks, the pout of his lips as he glances down at his shirt. 

"Shit, sorry," Leofard says, wincing at the red splotch that trails from collar to hem. 

"It's okay," the guy says quickly. His voice is softer than Leofard expected and a little hard to hear over the music. He looks up over Leofard's head and into the kitchen. "I'll just rinse this off." 

Leofard almost laughs until he realizes he wasn’t joking.

"Hate to say it, but that's not coming out, baby," he yells over the music. "Come on, I'll get you a new one." 

"You'll—" he starts, but Leofard claps him on the back as he walks past him. He leaves no room for argument, and the guy follows him to his room. The door shuts behind them, quieting the party to a dull roar in the background. It grounds Leofard for a moment, steadies him against the blurriness of the alcohol in his system as he goes to his bureau. 

“You called me baby,” the guy says, and when Leofard glances over his shoulder, he’s looking around the room, pausing at his desk to pick up one of Leofard's records. He meets his gaze. “This is your apartment.” 

“Right on both counts," he answers, and the guy smiles at him. There’s a warmth in Leofard’s chest that has nothing to do with being drunk. "What's your name?"

"Emile." "I'm Leofard." 

"I know," he says, and clears his throat. "I've heard about you." 

Leofard’s hands still. "Really?" 

"Well...I've heard about your car." 

"Even better," he says, letting his lips split into a crooked grin. He turns his attention back to the bureau. "Given the obvious, I'm not sure if I have anything that'll fit you." 

"You really don't have to, I'm sure this will wash out." 

"As much as I enjoy the mental image, do you really want to walk around in a wet shirt the rest of the night?" he challenges, just as he finds an old band tee that's always been way too big for him. When he turns around, he has to smile at the pout on Emile's lips. It doesn't last long, but he continues to stare at Leofard for a moment before his shoulders slump in defeat.

Then he takes his ruined shirt off. 

Leofard has to bite down on his tongue—he should look away. He doesn't. His eyes roam along the thick muscle of Emile's chest and up to the line of his broad shoulders, back down the bulk of his arms. Lifting his gaze, he meets Emile's, who watches him watch, something not quite discernable in his eyes before he smiles shyly—it's the tilt of his chin, the curve of his lips... 

"Baby, you're something else," Leofard breathes out, and hands him the clean shirt. 

Emile rolls his eyes before he puts it on. It stretches around him—where it hangs loose on Leofard, it clings to Emile, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “Thank you.” 

"Don't mention it," he says, and he shifts his weight between his feet, unwilling to let the moment go. "So what’s this you heard about my car?”

“Oh,” he says. “Some of the guys were talking about it on the way over—said you could hear it halfway across campus.”

Leofard raises his brows, grinning helplessly. “It’s not that loud. Shit, I thought it would be something good.”

"Like what?" 

"Like what? I've worked on that car for the last six years of my life, it's perfect. A thing of beauty."

Emile laughs, watching him for a moment longer before he asks, "Will you show it to me?”

That single question sets his mind racing. For a moment, he can see it so clearly: Emile's long legs in the passenger seat, Leofard's hand on his thigh. He'd roll the windows down, stealing glances at his loose hair blowing in the wind while the Shins play over the speakers.

He thinks he’d show Emile anything, if he asked. 

"Play your cards right," he says. "I'll even take you for a ride." 

Emile laughs again, something closer to a giggle. He must be just as drunk, but he's so cute in Leofard's shirt, his big eyes bright with amusement. “You're flirting with me.”

“Well, you’re the one wearing my shirt.”

“You spilled your drink on mine!”

Leofard grins. “And I almost wish I did it on purpose.” 

A blush colors Emile’s cheeks as he turns his head away. “I wouldn’t say no,” he murmurs, and when he looks back, he doesn’t hide the way his eyes cast down Leofard’s body and back up to meet his gaze. He clears his throat. “You know—to a ride.” 

Leofard swallows hard. Everything in him says to move closer, to reach out, to touch him, but he holds himself back. “Come on, let's get another drink.” 

The sound of the party passes over them as Emile follows him out of his room. They walk down the hall together, but as soon as Leofard makes it to the kitchen, someone wraps an arm around his neck and yells into his ear. Leofard makes out half of the words, but as he looks behind him, it seems that Emile is similarly lost in the crowd. 

The stab of disappointment lasts longer than he expects it to. 

The night grows weary, the music still plays. Leofard is definitely drunk but it only makes him tired. There are a few times throughout the night when Emile catches his eye across the room, and a small smile crosses his lips. It feels like something secret exists between them—something merely waiting for the right moment. 

They collide again. 

This time it’s Emile’s hand on his shoulder, holding himself steady as his body sways closer, as he leans down. Distance is a second thought when he fixes those brown eyes on Leofard, lips curving up at the edges in a shy smile.

“I thought you were going to show me your car," he says, his soft voice loud over the music, but all Leofard can focus on is the strength of his grip on his shoulder, and as he blinks at him through the blurry lights of the living room, the only thought on his mind is touch him. 

This time he doesn't hold back.

He reaches out to wrap his arm around Emile's waist, hand grazing along his own shirt clinging to his body. He bites down on a grin at the way Emile shifts into his touch, the way his eyes widen when Leofard inches his fingertips beneath the hem, teasing at his warm skin. With their faces this close, Leofard just has to tilt his chin towards him to be heard, keeping his voice deep, quiet. “All you have to do is ask, baby.” 

“Please?” Emile murmurs against his ear, and Leofard closes his eyes for a moment. That single word sets the room spinning, keeping in time with the way his heart pounds in his chest. He turns his head towards him, noses brushing for a moment, breath ghosting against each other's lips, and he swallows hard as he pulls away. 

“Come on.” Fresh air sounds like a good idea. 

He turns his gaze to the door, and Emile is a step behind him as they head outside. There's a few people smoking on the front steps, but in the fuzzy dark they hardly pay Emile and Leofard any mind as they slip around the corner. The streetlights barely reach them here, washing the yard in gray light while everything sits muted and quiet. Only the distant sound of music from the house can be heard, a beat that sinks under the surface of the night.

It's cold, but Emile's body is warm as he crowds him against the side of the house, the excuse of seeing his car all but forgotten. Leofard touches the hem of his shirt again as Emile's head bends towards his, and there's a certain sway to them both, something hazy but desperate, lingering at the boundary line between them. 

Leofard crosses first, reaching up to wrap his arms around Emile's shoulders and pull him down into his space, where he meets his mouth with his own. Emile tastes like sugary punch, and he kisses him softly until he parts his lips. Leofard gasps against him, tangling his fingers in his hair as he deepens the kiss, a sound caught in the back of his throat as Emile's hands skim down his back and pull his body against his.

It's the right kind of messy—lacking just enough control to satisfy that desire in his chest. It says I need you without holding back, and Leofard hates how much he wants that from a stranger familiar enough to give it to him. 

He pushes further, hands seeking the touch of his skin beneath his shirt, and he moans when Emile slots his thigh between his, as a rhythm begins to build, heavy breaths warming the air between them, and—

"Hey, Emile, are you out here?" comes a voice from the dark.

They break apart. Leofard doesn't recognize whoever calls out towards them, but he keeps his eyes closed as he catches his breath. Emile’s touch shifts to his waist as he leans back in, his voice just above a whisper. "That's my ride home." 

Leofard cracks his eyes open. "You're kidding." 

“I wish I was.”

He has the thought to offer to take Emile back himself, but he's too drunk to drive. His next thought is to offer to let him stay the night, but he dismisses it the second it comes to mind. The thought of Emile taking his hands off of him is unbearable in this state, but he can't think of another way out. 

“Okay, Cinderella,” he relents, and he can see the stretch of Emile’s smile even in the dark. "This was fun."

"It was," he agrees, and for a moment Leofard thinks he's going to kiss him again, but he just shakes his head. "Goodnight." 

Leofard watches him walk back towards the lights of the driveway, where the silhouettes of his friends wait for him. Leofard just stares, his head in a daze as he blinks into the night. Emile opens the door to the passenger side of an old jeep, throwing one last look over his shoulder before he gets in. 

Headlights pass over the yard and then disappear down the street. Leofard tilts his head back against the house, willing his body to calm down before he goes back inside, where the party slows to a stop. Stacia raises a brow when they meet in the kitchen, but he merely shrugs a shoulder at her despite the disappointment in his chest. 

When he finally makes it back to his room, he has to laugh at Emile's stained shirt left on his bed. Cinderella indeed. He tosses it into his closet and crawls under the blankets. The room still spins even when he closes his eyes, but he thinks about the warmth of Emile’s body along his, the press of his lips, and what could’ve happened if they had a little more time. 

He lets his hand drift down his stomach—an echo of Emile's touch—but almost isn’t quite enough. 

—

It doesn’t stay on his mind for long. 

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t keep an eye out for Emile on campus—he’d be hard to miss, anyway—but a week goes by, then another, and Leofard lets go of the idea of running into him again. He never mentions it to Stacia, who would only make fun of him for it anyway, he merely chalks it up as a missed opportunity, something that wasn't meant to be. 

Where he's content to let it stay, until a few weeks later. 

Utata invites him and Stacia over on a Friday night. She says she's throwing a small party, but they all know better. She's one of his only friends that lives with her family off campus, which means whenever her parents are out of town, they have the whole house to themselves. 

Leofard walks over with Stacia—they meant to show up early but they're both perpetually late, and the party is in full swing by the time they get there. Cars line the street and the yard, and inside the lights are low, skimming over the crowd in a blue haze. It smells like smoke and like someone spilled punch, which makes him think of a stained shirt, and—

"I'm going to grab a drink," he yells over the music, and Stacia nods at him before she disappears into the packed living room. 

He navigates through the crowded hall, and it’s funny how everyone feels a little familiar at this point, strangers faces that he can pick out from classes over the years, from this same party he's been to time and again. It's always the same and yet they keep doing this, keep repeating it because it's the smallest break from the stress of school, from the stress of figuring out what they're supposed to be doing with their lives.

At the end of the hall, he runs into Cori. 

They’re bent down in front of Utata’s dog—Pickles, a fluffy collie that's currently nuzzling his face into her lap as they scratch behind his ear. Leofard’s used to seeing them at school, their similar majors all but guaranteeing shared classes over the years, but they've become something like friends at this point. 

Mostly they share the same love of cars, which—and he would never admit this to anyone, not even Stacia—Cori is far more knowledgeable of. 

"Hey," he says, and a wave of hair cascades over their shoulder when they glance up at him. 

“Hi,” they return. "No one was paying attention to Pickles." 

“It's a good thing you're here, then," he says. "I was just going to grab a drink, do you want any—“

His voice cuts off as he glances into the kitchen, where his gaze lands on the one person he thought he'd never see again. Big brown eyes curve into half moons as he smiles, loose hair curves around his chin as he talks, the light of the kitchen makes his skin golden. 

Emile is here. 

“Leo?” It’s Cori who says it, and Leofard barely registers his own name.

"Sorry, I—" he starts, but then Emile looks over, brows lifting when he notices Leofard. A small smile crosses his lips, but someone grabs him by the arm, pulling him out of the kitchen. He lifts his drink towards Leofard for a moment and then he's gone again. 

"Someone you know?" Cori asks. 

"Yeah," he answers, and he clears his throat, forcing himself to look away. "I'll catch up with him later." 

He tells himself that he'll let it happen naturally, that if they run into each other again then he'll talk to him, but it's just a few minutes later that he finds himself fumbling over an excuse to Cori before heading in the same direction that Emile left in. 

The music has definitely gotten louder, and the sound of laughter and conversation has risen to match it. The living room is a mess of people dancing and silver balloons that get thrown into the air, skimming along hands raised from the crowd. Emile shouldn't be hard to find, but Leofard doesn't see him anywhere. Maybe he left already—

"Looking for someone?" Emile asks, and Leofard turns towards the sound of his voice. There's something so bright about his brown eyes as he grins. "Hi, Leofard." 

"Hi," he returns, and he catches himself smiling back. "I didn't think I'd see you again." 

"Me neither. I owe you a shirt." 

"Don't worry about it," he says. "Looked better on you, anyway." 

Emile glances away for a moment before huffing out a laugh. "You're so..."

"What—charming?" he suggests. 

"Something like that."

"Come on, let's dance." 

He immediately shakes his head. "Oh, I'm not much of a dancer." 

"No one's judging, baby," he says. "Besides, everyone's too drunk to care." 

"Are you?"

Leofard didn't even stop for a drink. "Not yet." 

"Me neither," he says. "I have a meeting with my coach first thing in the morning, I shouldn't even be here." 

"Miss me that much?" 

Emile laughs. "Yes Leo, I've actually spent all this time looking for you." 

"Well here I am," he returns. "May as well make the most of it." 

Leofard watches him press his lips together, the way his gaze shifts over him as he considers it. His shoulders lower the slightest bit and Leofard smiles, knowing his answer already.

"Fine," Emile says. "One song."

"Before you turn into a pumpkin, yes I remember," he says, and he takes him by the hand into the crowd. 

He was right, hardly anyone even looks over at them as they begin to move to the music. The beat is fast and heavy, pulsing through him as he keeps his eyes locked on Emile. They move closer and closer and impossibly closer, and  Emile puts his hands on Leofard, long fingers pressing into his waist. 

More.

Leofard raises a brow before he turns in his embrace, moving back until he fits against Emile’s chest. Emile’s hands skim down to rest low on his belly, and Leofard covers them with his own as he rolls his hips against him. 

Blue dimmed lights, the kiss of balloons against the ceiling, he blinks in and out of a dream. There’s something possessive about Emile’s touch, and Leofard lets his head fall back against his shoulder as the music beats through him. Are both of their hearts pounding? Emile’s head lowers to his neck, and he can feel the warmth of his breath as his lips ghost against his skin—

The song ends. 

For a moment, neither of them move. 

"You know," Leofard says, turning to face him. "We have unfinished business, Cinderella." 

"What do you mean?" he asks, but his hands are still on Leofard, and they inch the slightest bit lower.

"I mean," Leofard starts. "I never showed you my car." 

Amusement makes a home in Emile's gaze. “I don’t think that’s what we were doing.” 

“No? Maybe we’ll have to try again.”

Emile glances at his lips for a long moment before meeting his eyes again. The next song starts but they don't move, still standing too close, faces angled just right—all it would take is the slightest effort to kiss. 

It's been weeks, but it's the same feeling crawling up Leofard's chest. 

"Come on," he murmurs. The music drowns out his voice but Emile's hand finds his as he leads them through the crowd. Going outside didn't work for them last time, and he knows Utata would kill him if he took Emile to her room. Still, they go upstairs where the house is emptier, the music is still loud but the sound of voices dims to the background. 

They slip into the bathroom. 

Silver blue light streams in through the window, echoing across the tiled wall. The silhouette of Emile steps ahead of him, and they stay in the dark, bodies moving closer. Emile is so big and solid and yet he yields to Leofard, lets him crowd him against the sink. It's quiet enough that Leofard can hear the hitch in his breath, the small sound in the back of his throat when Leofard puts his hands on him. 

In the dark, their lips meet. 

It's better than his drunken memory, sharper without the haze of alcohol blurring the lines between them. His heart races as they rush into it, his own desperation climbing as they continue what was cut short. He kisses Emile's jaw, lips brushing along warm skin as he works down to his neck, and he has to hold back a grin as Emile's hands bunch at his shirt, pulling him closer. 

"Isn't this," Emile breathes out, "a bit of a risk?" 

"Maybe," Leofard returns, but he lets his hand skim down to Emile's jeans, tugging at the waistband. "I can stop if you want, baby." 

Emile pushes his hips into his touch. “Keep going.” 

Leofard bites down on another grin before he presses his mouth to his shoulder, hand reaching lower to undo the button of his jeans. Heat surges through him at the sound of Emile's shaky breath, at the crack of his voice loosening into a moan as Leofard finally touches him. 

It’s like the rest of the room disappears. Leofard pulls back enough to watch his face, to see his brows push together, his lips part, the way his eyes shut as his head tips back. He does not hide his pleasure, and in the ghost of the moonlight, Leofard is transfixed. 

"Wait," Emile murmurs, and Leofard looks up in question when he puts a hand on his wrist to stop him. "I want to—with you." 

Leofard is about to ask what he means when he reaches over to tug at Leofard's jeans, a small smile on his lips as he looks up to meet his gaze. His hair is a mess, lips still parted, his big eyes wide as he watches him—Leofard doesn't stand a chance. 

He's already close, and he groans openly as Emile takes them both in hand. Somehow they find each other's lips again, and they kiss as their hips work together, the sound of the party all but gone as they pant into each other’s mouths. For a moment, all that matters is the rush of warmth through his body, building with each stroke until his breath catches in his throat.

They’re still kissing when they come. 

Leofard tilts his head back, eyes squeezed shut until the feeling begins to fade. The world comes back to him in pieces: the distant sound of music playing, Emile's hand steady on his hip, the room shifting into focus when he opens his eyes again. 

He catches Emile's gaze, and they both laugh.  

"Utata would actually kill me if she knew."

Emile shakes his head. "I won’t say a word." 

And then it's just the two of them in a dark bathroom. They clean up, taking turns washing their hands and fixing their hair and clothes. Leofard almost wants to put the lights on just to see the flush of Emile's skin, but once they're both ready, they slip back into the empty hallway, where a rare question leaves Leofard's mouth: “What if I asked for your number?”

Emile blinks at him for a moment. “Oh, I don't really date. It's kind of hard with my schedule, and I don't want to commit to anything if I'm not sure about it—not that I don't like you! I just don't know if it would be a good idea, or if I'm even in a place to figure that out..." 

His voice trails off and his brows push together as he watches Leofard for a reaction. 

Leofard laughs. 

"Relax baby, I'm not exactly boyfriend material either," he says. "I just wanted to hook up again." 

"Oh," Emile says, and he begins to laugh as well. "Sorry." 

"It's okay," he returns. "We can leave it like this, too." 

Emile bites his lip. "No—no, I'd like to see you again." 

"Yeah?" He fishes his phone from his pocket and opens his list of contacts before handing it over. He watches the way the light flashes against Emile's face as he enters his number. It makes his freckles stand out, and it's hard not to stare at the way they cross over his nose. He clears his throat. “I don’t date either, you know.” 

“Okay,” Emile says, and he lets their hands brush when he gives him his phone back. “So no expectations?”

“No expectations," he confirms. "We can just be friends."

Emile smiles. “Just friends.”

—

If Leofard knew, in that moment, that Emile was in love with someone else, he probably still would've gone for it. 

If he knew how easily his own heart could break, how this conversation would be the one he'd come to regret—

Well. 

Maybe that would've made him pause.

—

He sleeps in too late the night day, the sun bright behind his blinds and warming him even as cool air seeps in through the cracked open window. His blanket is in his fist, curled up beneath his chin as he takes in a deep breath and stretches his body out for a moment before relaxing back into his pillow.

He gives himself a few more minutes; it’s been a while since he's felt this good. 

It's noon by the time he gets up, and he shuffles into the kitchen with his blanket still wrapped around him. Stacia's at the table with a steaming cup of coffee and an open book, but she stares blankly at the space in front of her. It takes a moment for her to look up at him, and the looming afternoon light only highlights the dark circles under her eyes. 

“You good?” he asks. 

“Hungover,” she returns. “You?”

He bites his lip for a moment as he recalls last night, the phantom memory of Emile's hands on him, the new phone number in his contact list. “Just tired.” 

It’s a testament to her hangover that she doesn’t notice the tone of his voice—light and entirely too pleased with himself—but he leaves her to her coffee while he makes breakfast. Though he is prone to burning most of the food he cooks, he is more than capable of eggs and toast, and he pours himself a cup of coffee to sip at while he works. 

Sometimes it's like this: bare feet on the cool kitchen tiles, warm sunlight on his skin, the smell of coffee in the air—moments of the smallest, most simple happiness can happen so unexpectedly. 

When he sits back down, he takes a breath and asks, “What do you know about Emile?” 

Stacia's head pops up from her book. “Jenidaut?”

“Maybe?” he says, lifting a shoulder. He doesn’t have a clue what his last name is. Through a mouthful of toast, he says, “He’s on the football team.” 

“Yeah,” she answers. “He’s the best quarterback this school has ever seen. He’s a sophomore and there were already rumors of a Heisman this season.”

Leofard just blinks at her. 

“You've seen him play. Do you remember that playoff game last year?" she tries. "They put him in at the last second and he caught the game winning pass—I lost my voice from screaming."

See, he remembers actually going to the games, but as far as what happens during them? “I thought Emile was the quarterback...”

“Well not at first, but Varlineau injured his shoulder and Emile took his place,” she says. “You really weren’t paying attention, were you?”

“I pay attention,” he argues, but quickly relents at the look she gives him. “Just not that much.”

She shakes her head. “Why are you even asking about him?”

Hands on his body, head tipped back with a groan, the heat of his skin—Leofard clears his throat. "I might've hooked up with him last night." 

"What," she exclaims, and he has to laugh at the way she sits up, eyes wide, her hangover all but forgotten. "The hell, Leo, why wouldn't you start with that? Tell me everything!"

It starts in their own apartment, it starts with a stained shirt, it starts with kisses that lead nowhere in the dark. It leads to last night, to their dance, familiar enough with each other to push them over the edge. He brushes up against the details, skims past them, but he fails to hide his smile at the memory of the two of them slipping away from the rest of the party. 

He can tell that she notices, but all she says is, “So, what—are you going to call him?” 

“Probably,” he says, lifting a shoulder. The truth is, he can’t imagine passing up another opportunity to see him, but he just smiles before he takes another sip of coffee—

“We’ll see what happens.” 

—

He gives it a couple days. 

It crosses his mind while he partakes in his favorite activity—laying on his bed and staring at the ceiling, music playing too loud while he ignores his homework. He can't seem to focus, mind spinning between thoughts but unable to land on one, and he turns his attention to his phone laying at the other end of his bed. 

Emile would make a better distraction. 

Still, he stares for a long moment without moving, and the second he wonders if he's nervous, he gets up and makes himself call. 

It rings a few times before the soft sound of Emile's voice comes through. "Hello?"

Leofard smiles. "What's this I hear about you being a hotshot quarterback?" 

There’s a beat of silence, and then: “Leofard?”

"Who else?"

He hears him laugh. "And you call me a hotshot."

"Am I wrong?" he says. "My roommate was just talking about some play you did last season, thought I'd see if it’s true." 

“Yes, it's true,” he says. "Is that the only reason you called?" 

"No," he returns, biting down on another smile. "Let's go for a drive, I'll pick you up." 

"In the infamous car that I still have yet to see?"

"The one and only." 

"Alright," he says. "Give me a half hour."

He tells him where his dorm is, and Leofard gives himself approximately twenty minutes to look nice before he has to leave. One glance in the mirror, he ruffles up his curls and takes off his old sweatshirt and replaces it with his favorite beat up denim jacket. 

Stacia is in the living room when he comes out of his room, and she takes one look at him and raises a brow. "Off on a date?" 

"It's not a date," he says, grabbing his keys. 

"Off to get laid?"

This time he laughs. "I'll catch you later." 

"Be safe, have fun!" she calls out after him. 

Early evening means the campus is quiet. Leofard lived in the dorms his freshman year before moving in with Stacia, so he's familiar with them. He navigates across campus to Emile's building, biting down on a grin at the sight of him waiting on the front steps. 

Emile looks unfairly good, simply in a sweatshirt and jeans, hair falling loose from his ponytail. He looks up and waves. 

Leofard is in trouble. 

"Hey, gorgeous," he says as he gets in the car. 

“Hi,” Emile says, smiling in that shy way. His attention turns to the dashboard. "So this is it."

"This is it," he says. "What do you think?"

"It's nice." 

His voice tips up at the end, almost like a question, and Leofard can't help but laugh. “You sure about that?”

“I don’t know anything about cars,” he admits. “But it's pretty." 

"I've always been obsessed," Leofard says as he pulls out of the parking lot. "I got my first job just so I could buy it."

He worked every day after school. Raimille wanted to pay for it for him but he wouldn't let her, convinced he needed to prove that he could do it himself. Part of him regrets it, if only for how much time he unknowingly lost with her. 

"I like that,” Emile murmurs, the sound of a smile in his voice as they take to the tree lined streets, headlights coasting over gravel. "You know, I never actually learned how to drive." 

“Shit, baby, I’ll teach you,” he returns. "Why not?"

"I was just busy with football, I guess," he says. "And my friends were always willing to drive me." 

"So football is your thing." 

There's a long pause, but then, "Yeah, I guess." 

Leofard's brows dip down. "Not your thing?" 

"I don't know," Emile answers, and there's a slight laugh in his voice. "I don't love it anymore. Not the way I used to, at least." 

"Stacia says you're the best quarterback this school has seen."

"Stacia?" 

"My roommate," he says. "Which is an understatement—she's more like an annoying sister. And my best friend. She's the biggest fan in the world, drags me to your games sometimes." 

"You've seen me play?" 

"Don't get too excited—it's kind of like you and my car," he explains. "I don't know anything about it, but it's pretty to look at." 

Emile laughs. "You're such a flirt."

"And you've got a nice ass," he returns. "Are we just stating the obvious?" 

"Leo."

"Yes?"

In his peripheral, Emile shakes his head. "Where are we going?" 

"I don't know," he answers. The evening begins to settle into night, deep hues of the sky bleed into the orange sunset peering through the spaces between trees. Leofard smiles to himself. "Don't you ever just want to get out for the sake of getting out?" 

"That's usually when I go for a run." 

He glances over at Emile, getting the feeling that there's far more to him, but he won't ask. "Then let's see where it takes us." 

It takes them across town for ice cream, which takes them to an empty park. It's too cold to get out, so they sit in the parking lot, music playing softly while they talk. He learns that Emile's from Maine, that his eyes light up when he talks about his sisters, and that he's a music major. He brushes it off when Leofard asks, but he sounds more excited about playing guitar than he does about football. 

He learns that Emile is a good listener, even if the spoon at his lips is distracting, and Leofard ends up talking the night away. Everything from school to work to his car. He doesn't mention Raimille, doesn't mention family at all, because he never wants his loss to define him.

And then it's sugar sweet kisses in the dark, Leofard fumbling over the console to settle in his lap. It's cramped against the roof of the car, but nothing else matters when Emile's lips are on his, when his hands roam up his thighs as his heart picks up a beat, breath growing heavy as their kisses deepen. 

Emile reaches up to tangle his fingers through his curls, pulling him that much closer, and Leofard rolls his hips against his, grinning when he moans into his mouth. At twenty two, he feels like a teenager getting off in his car again, something secretive and exciting about it. Emile kisses his neck and he can't help but let his head fall back, giving into it as it overwhelms him. 

He stays in Emile's lap afterwards, head on his shoulder, face tucked into his neck. Neither of them say anything for a moment, but Emile's hands linger on his back, smoothing over him in an absent rhythm. It doesn't last long, but it's nice. 

When Leofard pulls away, they smile at each other as he reaches up to pat Emile's hair down, and they clean up the best they can before he scrambles back into the driver's seat. 

He turns the music up as they drive back to campus, the windows cracked and leaking in cool air. Each time he looks over at Emile, he's staring out the window, and Leofard can't tell if he's okay or not, but maybe he just doesn't know how to accept something peaceful. 

He pulls up to Emile's dorm, but Emile stays a little longer, looking over at him with a soft expression.

"You should call me again."

Leofard grins. "You can count on it, baby." 

—

It begins in a bathroom of a crowded party, and what starts as intermittent, becomes frequent.

They learn each other's schedules, and between classes and Emile's workouts and Leofard's job, they find time during the week to hang out. Since Emile lives in a dorm, they always meet at Leofard's apartment—Leofard either picks him up, or Emile will walk over—and in the privacy of his room, he finds out just how much better it can get. 

That first shirtless glimpse of Emile the night they met couldn't have prepared him for the sight of him stretched out naked in his bed. Leofard can hardly look away, can never keep his hands to himself, always tracing his fingertips along warm skin. They learn the ways their bodies fit together, how to say more and now through touch, through breathless gasps, through the way their eyes meet, tangled up and not letting go until they're whispering jokes and giggling into the small space between them. 

Whenever they finish, Emile doesn't leave right away. He never stays the night, but they always end up talking for hours, about school and friends and life, video games and tv shows, or stories about Leofard's job at the pizza shop down the road. One time they watched a marathon of Saved by the Bell while they ate leftovers from the fridge, and Leofard ended up driving him back to his dorm at three in the morning, Elliott Smith playing softly to fill the tired quiet between them: I’d say you make a perfect angel in the snow. 

Leofard has had friends with benefits before, but this is the first time it feels like they're actually friends. 

It's nothing more, despite what Stacia says. She's only run into Emile a few times in the apartment, but she always raises a brow with a smirk, always teases Leofard the next day about his boyfriend coming over. 

Leofard just laughs it off. 

He's too young to be tied down, too selfish to be good at a relationship. The thought of trying to make this romantic sounds exhausting, like a performance neither of them know the steps to. What exists between them is the easiest thing in the world—he couldn’t be happier with this arrangement. 

No expectations, they’d said, and it was a good idea. 

It begins to change with this:

Early May means finals, and with one year left of school, one year left of his promise to Raimille, Leofard needs to make sure he passes these classes. The only one that gives him trouble is his English paper—he's never been good at planning or gathering sources, and he keeps putting it off until he has ten pages due the following day, and maybe two done, at most. 

It becomes a marathon to finish on time, surrounded by stacks of books and a perpetually full cup of coffee at his side, but he gets frustrated with himself again and again as he loses focus. He stares at his laptop for so long that his vision feels a little blurry, so when his phone rings, he accepts the distraction for what it is. 

"Hello?"

"Hey," says Emile on the other end of the line, voice soft.

Leofard bites his lip as he stares at the ceiling. "What's up?" 

Emile is quiet for a moment, and then: "I was wondering if you're free tonight." 

Leofard spares a glance at his laptop. "Shit, I wish I was, but I’m going to be stuck working on this paper all night." 

"That’s okay," Emile says, and there's something distant and strange about his voice, but Leofard can't tell whether or not he sounds disappointed. "I don’t want to—we don’t have to have sex.” 

Leofard frowns at the ceiling. They've never hung out for any other reason. “What do you mean?”

“I’m just…” he trails off again. “Sorry, I’ve been having a really hard day, and I don't want to be alone. My friends ask too many questions and I—I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“So I’m an option because I don’t care?” he jokes.

“God, no, that sounds terrible,” he says quickly. “You’re just…easy to be around, Leo.”

Leofard’s left with the sound of his heart beating in his chest. For a moment, his thoughts blur together and it feels like he only hears himself say, “Come over." 

Emile lets out a soft breath. "I promise I won't distract you."

Something in Leofard's stomach twists uncomfortably, and he wants to tell him that that doesn't really matter. What comes out instead is, "Do you want me to come get you?" 

"No, I'll be okay," he says, and pauses. "Thank you." 

Leofard has a hard time focusing on his paper after that, unsure of why it bothers him so much. He gets a single sentence done by the time there's a knock on the door, and Leofard gets up to answer it before he can think better of his appearance. 

He regrets it when the door opens and Emile’s expression shifts into a grin. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

Leofard scrunches his nose as he looks down at his outfit—an old baggy t-shirt and sweatpants. “Sorry I didn’t get dressed up for you, baby.”

“No, I like this,” he says as he steps inside. “You look comfy.” 

It's difficult not to be affected by those brown eyes steady and warm on him, the softness of his smile. “Don’t get any ideas, I will indulge them.”

Emile laughs. “I’ll be good. Look, I brought my books so I can study too.”

He holds up his bag. Leofard shakes his head. “Do you ever get tired of being so cute?”

He lets him inside, and he ignores Stacia’s grin as she glances up at them from the couch. Emile stops to greet her while Leofard goes to his room, where his laptop is still open, books spread out everywhere. He cleans off a space for Emile on the bed, who merely raises a brow before settling in beside him. 

It feels oddly intimate. They work separately but they're merely inches apart, brushing elbows and passing books and stray comments. Leofard wasn't sure he'd get anything done with Emile here, but he finds it easier to focus with someone beside him. 

For the most part, Emile seems fine. Leofard finds his thoughts drifting towards what could've happened today that he's having such a hard time, but he can't ask—Emile specifically came to him because he won't ask. Still, it doesn't stop him from worrying. They know each other but they don't, their intimacy is limited to the physical, and that's all they wanted, right?

He doesn't know why he can't stop thinking about it. 

It becomes more obvious as the night goes on. Emile doesn't move for several minutes at a time. Leofard gets through half a page of his paper without Emile turning a single page of his book, and when he looks over, Emile’s gaze is fixed blankly at the space in front of him, worrying at his lip with his free hand. It takes too long for him to notice Leofard watching, but he offers him a closed lip smile when he does. Leofard smiles back.  

With two pages to go, it creeps past midnight. Leofard is ready to throw his laptop out the window when Emile's book slips from his hands onto the bed. He looks over to the dull light of the lamp casting shadows over his face pressed into his pillow, eyes closed and chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm as he sleeps.

Leofard stares for far too long. 

He half asses one more page, makes the margins and the spaces between lines bigger so that it goes onto another, and closes his laptop. Emile shifts but he doesn't wake up, and Leofard debates for a moment what to do. To wake him and send him home seems cruel, especially if he's having a bad day. To let him stay here feels...too close. 

Carefully, he gets up to brush his teeth, but by the time he gets back he still hasn't decided. He stands in the doorway of his own room, watching the late night shadows cast over the shape of Emile in his bed, and something tugs in his chest. He closes the door with a soft click and crawls back in beside him, pulling the blanket over them both. 

This time Emile stirs, eyes blinking open slowly. "Leo?" 

"Hey," he says, his voice whisper soft. "You fell asleep." 

“Oh. Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

"Just stay—it's too late to walk back and I'm too tired to drive." 

He doesn't think that either of these things are true. 

Emile is quiet for a moment, but then, "Are you sure?" 

"Yeah," he murmurs, voice drifting off. He reaches over to turn off the light. "Of course, baby." 

He can't remember the last time he shared a bed with anyone—maybe not since his second foster home, when the other kids would come to his room at night and he'd tell them stories until they fell asleep. He takes a deep breath at the memory, and watches the ceiling until his eyes grow used to the dark. Judging from the sound of Emile's breathing, he falls back asleep quickly, and Leofard lets his head turn towards him, foolishly wondering what it would be like to reach out and touch him. 

He closes his eyes and waits for all of it to pass. 

—

The sun spills into the room through Leofard’s cheap blinds, paled light that still stirs him awake. There’s a weight around him, something solid that seeps warmth into his body, and his brows furrow for a moment before it comes back to him.

Right. Emile stayed the night.

Leofard knows their size difference well, but for the first time he lets himself catalog it—the way Emile’s broad chest spans past his shoulders, his heavy arm curled around his waist, and his cheek pressed to the top of his head. Each point of contact says you’re safe, and to Leofard’s surprise, he doesn’t mind.

He’s never needed anyone. He’s never wanted anyone like this, but he isn’t awake enough to overthink it as he lets himself inch further back into Emile’s space, sliding his arm along his to cradle it against his chest.

Blinking through the dust dazed light, he breathes in time with him—something steady to pull him back under as his eyes fall closed.

Distance will be easier in the morning.

—

Except—then he's alone. 

He wakes faster this time, but the only evidence that Emile was here at all is the rumpled blanket beside him. Something in his chest pulls at the sight, but he refuses to call it disappointment. Leofard wouldn't have woken him to say goodbye either, if their roles were reversed. 

Putting on his glasses, he glances at the clock to see that he still has a couple hours to submit his paper, and he chooses to ignore his laptop in favor of coffee. 

He stretches out his back as he gets up, but there's a crick in his neck from spending all day working on his paper yesterday. It's forgotten the moment he opens his door and hears the sound of voices trailing from the kitchen. He frowns to himself, but when he turns the corner, Emile and Stacia sit at the table eating breakfast, so deep in conversation that neither of them notice him. 

"I trust you saved me some coffee?" he asks, interrupting. They both look up, and there's a sly smile on Stacia's face and an earnest one on Emile's. He doesn't know how to process the way it makes him feel. 

"Sorry, you're on your own," Stacia says. 

Emile laughs. "There's some left." 

Leofard still just blinks at both of them before he goes to pour himself a cup of coffee, his brain struggling to catch up with the situation, and for once in his life he's quiet as he listens to them talk about football. Stacia's voice is bright and more excited than he remembers it ever being, and Emile indulges her, going back over specific plays and explaining the story behind them. 

“That pass from Estinien,” she says, and apparently it’s all she needs to say. Leofard watches the twitch of Emile’s mouth, the way he looks down at the table as he runs a hand through his hair. 

“It was his idea,” he says quietly. The memory seems to come to him, and he smiles a little to himself before he looks back at Stacia. “We used to practice those kinds of throws together all the time—it only worked because no one was expecting it.” 

But before Stacia can say anything, he continues, "I should probably go, though. I have a final at noon." 

"I'll drive you back," Leofard offers before he can think about it. 

Emile glances at him, his expression soft. "Thank you. I'll go grab my books." 

Leofard just nods as he gets up and leaves the kitchen. He wants to ignore the look on Stacia's face but it's impossible with the way her lips curve into a smug grin. 

"Your boyfriend stayed the night,” she says the moment he’s out of earshot. 

"Stacia," he returns, not quite a warning but more of you know it's not like that. "He fell asleep, I wasn't about to kick him out." 

"Of course not." She takes a sip of her coffee, and just when he thinks she's going to let it go, she says, “I’m assuming you were the little spoon.”

“Stacia.”

She laughs, but then her voice turns a shade softer. "He's a sweet guy." 

"He is," Leofard lets himself admit, and he stares in the direction that Emile left, suddenly overwhelmed with the need to tell her we didn’t have sex last night.

Because there's a limit to their relationship. There is a defined boundary, and last night doesn't fit within that. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. A moment later, Emile bounds back into the kitchen, bag slung over his shoulder and surely way too energetic for this early in the morning. Leofard just smiles. "Ready?" 

The drive back to his dorm takes only a few minutes, but Leofard can't help but sneak little peaks at him along the way. The windows are down because they’re always down, and Emile’s hair blows with the wind while music plays softly, morning light along his profile. Leofard tries not to think about his body curled around his, different from the way they usually touch, and ignores the thoughts that creep into the back of his mind. 

He parks outside Emile's dorm, and Emile turns towards him. 

"Thank you," he says, his voice so earnest that, for a moment, Leofard can't return his gaze. 

"Of course," he returns, and he thinks too hard about what to say next, settling on, "Did it help?"

"It did," he says with a nod, and he leans in close, sliding a hand along Leofard's jaw as he pulls him in for a soft kiss. Leofard gasps against his mouth but leans into it, letting his lips part against his and lingering for too long. 

“As a promise for next time,” Emile murmurs against his mouth.

“Next time,” Leofard echoes, opening his eyes as he pulls away. “Let’s celebrate when finals are over.” 

Emile smiles. "Good luck!"

He gets out, and Leofard is left to watch him go. Something stirs within him, a feeling that is both unfamiliar and unwelcome, and as the door to the dorms closes behind Emile, Leofard stares for a long moment before he looks back at the road. 

Under his breath he mutters, “What the hell...”

He goes for a drive. 

[empressgeekt]

I'm curious now, if someone made a reaction fic with canon watching your stories (not me because I suck at those), how do you think they would react? Especially if Branch was still gray?

Oh I play out this fic plot in my head on almost a daily basis.

If I were to put, Grey Branch, Poppy, Viva the snackpack, and Brozone into a room to watch my aus, both fics would probably start the same. Shock on both sides (brozone to Branch's state, and The Snackpack to Branch's alter ego as Bitty B), but eventually they'd all settle and start watching. Though, Brozone would definitely not that Creek at first glance. Viva would cling to her sister and the Snackpack would welcome her, but they would be very confused when she starts acting paranoid about the bergens like Branch, and Creek would..be Creek...getting on her bad side. Bruce would have to step in explaining that Trauma doesn't work the way Creek is trying to simplify it (he read a lot of the vacationer's psychology books before his kids were born). Needless to say, by the time that everyone has sat down the room is tense.

For Burning Branches it's pretty clear that this is an alternate universe so, they kind of just sit back and enjoy.

The Snackpack would get to witness the abuse a tiny grey branch would get in the tree, while Brozone gets to see Branch follow in there footsteps and escaping on his own. Branch himself remembers a few of these events but doesn't remember leaving so he interested in seeing where he counterpart went. Practically everyone panics when they see the head injury on screen, Floyd even starts crying at the sight. Once the rock trolls get involved it draws a lot of surprise from the whole group. Floyd and JD aren't too surprised they've been around the block before, and have a basic gest of the other tribes. Bruce is in the same boat as a few Techno trolls have washed up on Vacay island. However none of them had seen rock trolls in person and their dulled nature are a little disturbing, considering what dulled means for Pop trolls. Clay and Viva are paying rapid attention to the rock trolls on screen, because considering the environment their people live in these guys know how to survive and protect themselves. The Snackpack has mixed reactions, Cooper wonders if theirs another tribe that looks like him, Poppy just wants to help these guys find happiness cause they are way to serious in her opinion, Creek calls them brutes (impressing no one), while the rest of the pack are either confused/fearful/curious. Branch is just awed, this troll, the rock king no less, on screen took his other version and saved him. Not only pull him from the water but take this trolling stranger into his home and raised on-screen Branch as his own. It's made veery clear that the pop and rock tribes do not get along, and yet this king was willing to risk his power and reputation to care for Char, King Peppy never kept Branch for more then two days until shipping him off to the next foster family. He even seemed mad on Char's behalf, something Branch had never thought anyone would do. The amnesia is something that hurts Brozone, learning that in one world there brother forgot about them. Branch is a little envious of Char, after all losing his memories was pretty starting a new life with a clean slate. Sure he watches Char struggle, but he also watches Char thrive, regaining his color, learning to love music again, making friends, having a family behind him, heck even getting Poppy for a love interest. Sure, it's an arranged marriage between the tribes, and makes the theater very awkward, but there's a clear connection between the two of them. By the end of the whole first movie all the snackpack (minus Creek) and Bruce are shipping Poppy/Char (Choppy? We should call them Choppy), and they get pissed when John Dory on screen interrupts their wedding.

For FOF, it's more of confusing reaction since this could still be their actual future.

Branch makes notes to look out for Keith, cause just in case there might be a trolling who's a little weird ending up in the foster system after losing his dad and he doesn't want that to happen. Kid seems sweet and not that judging. As the au goes on, Branch feels all sort of embarrassment, from them witnessing his panic attacks and how they called him cute for the more wholesome reactions when it comes to Keith. When the whole wolf incident comes on screen, Poppy ask Branch if he would really do that for the village, and everyone is shocked when he nods. Creek tries to say the the forest is over dramatizes in this and that the critters aren't that cruel in real life, Branch just rolls his eyes only to hear John Dory come to his defense, as a survivalist himself he had to deal with predators, and everything on screen is necessary. FOF Branch is a lot harsher on his brothers and the interactions on screen are a lot more charged. Branch isn't sure how he feels about this counterpart. There's a feeling of justice at watchin his brothers get what's coming to them, but it also hurts that he's hurting them. He doesn't hold the same anger that FOF feels. Smidge kind of wants to meet her FOF counterpart, someone who uses her strength to save others, she's down for it. And Asks Branch if he could set up something like that in there world or at least train her, to help him in the forest. Branch is confused by that. Creek completely denies that he would betray everyone, but strangely Branch doesn't believe him. FOF Branch's wounds are scary to think about for everyone but Branch forces himself not to react. Broppy makes once more everyone uncomfortable, Branch feeling awkward, Bruce teasing, Poppy blushing, Creek giving the grey troll the stick eye. It's harder to different Canon from AU with FOF since Char is less Branch like.

There's just so much that could happen that i can't fit it into one post, but if anyone wants to make one to these they have my full permission. Though that might want to wait until the final product is finished.