#I'm so happy with how her design came out!!! I almost went with plain pants but Ducky and Pigeon really pushed me to think MORE EXTRA

[mangomaking]

Cassie, also known as the magical girl Shooting Star! 🌠💫💙

here's a close-up on the Calinao family: Alejandro (Pa), Andromeda (Lola Meme), Lucia (Mamá)... and Cassiopeia!

rough sketches: pants edition!!

alternate version: yellow dominant 💛

[mollymauk-teafleak]

(Prompt) ‘’I thought I’d never see you again” hug for Alex and 'Liza because I've been rereading your fic and I'm traaaash for it and you hi

Aw thanks so much! Hope you like it

Eliza didn’t understand. How could she feel so lonely when, technically, she never was alone anymore? How could she feel so limp and lifeless inside when she only had to press a shaky, almost apologetic hand to her swollen stomach to feel the little pulse of life echoing away in there, some dark, faraway place she couldn’t see that didn’t really feel like her own body? How could she feel so black and white when she was surrounded by the tastefully chosen, sunshiny pallets of her parent’s mansion? How could she feel so depressingly two dimensional when she was anything but, so three dimensional it made her back ache and her head dizzy and confided her to the living room chaise lounge like a magnet dragging her no matter how hard she dug her heels in.   

That was where she was when Angelica found her; home for the summer just before starting her new job up in Chicago officially but, in all honesty, her purpose was to help her sister through this.

It wasn’t spoken of, Catherine and Philip dealt with too much outside these walls to risk talk of the war, of politics, of Eliza’s situation (Catherine’s choice of words felt poor and harsh, grating even, but there was little else on offer) leeching into the picturesque, wholesome family unit they’d worked so hard and come through so much to cultivate. So, through sheer force of will, Philip achieved something few generals and senators managed and left his work at the front door. Catherine limited talk of her own job to the bare, inoffensive bones of who in her office was particularly getting on her nerves this week, not the flood of humanitarian crisis cases they were being flooded with as the war received what they all silently and expressionlessly prayed was its death blow. Peggy kept the demonstrations and marches and protests she went to secret from all but her sisters, though of course her parents weren’t entirely ignorant of her activism, maybe even a little proud. Angelica talked only of school, of her husband and the hilarious and just about unbelievable anecdotes he shared with her, of the lively, thrumming, illuminated cities she visited with him while trying not to make it sound like she was preparing to jump ship if the country broke into pieces, which seemed likely in the darkest moments, in the sleepless nights and held breaths. Quite the opposite, in the complex worlds of numbers and legalese she navigated effortlessly she was almost as much of a general as her father was.

Eliza…Eliza just pretended everything was fine.

Angelica could read it plain on her sister’s face as she quietly walked up to her, not wanting to startle or surprise her, put her on edge. She could see it in the slackness, the absence, the shadow that fell over Eliza’s heart shaped face now that she thought she was alone. Now she thought she didn’t have to put on a mask of happiness, of excitement, of the dutiful wife waiting for her husband to return from war like something from an ill thought out romance novel. When she didn’t treat her old personality as a costume to try and convince her family, without much success, that she was okay.

She could see from here Eliza was wearing a soft, dark green, long sleeved Columbia sweatshirt. Angelica knew for a fact that her sister never chose that colour for herself, she liked bright, pastel colours. The sky-blue sweatshirt that belonged to her, identical in design if not in colour, was in the pile of ironing to be done.

Which meant that shirt belonged to Alex.

It made sense. It explained why Eliza was insisting on wearing it, despite the fact that it needed washing, there was ink staining the cuffs and a smudge of white dust, maybe flour, between the shoulder blades and it just had a vaguely rumpled, unwashed look about it. Not only that, but at eight months pregnant, it didn’t even come close to fitting Eliza any more. It had to stay rucked up just under her chest, letting her stomach curve out exposed, showing the tightness of the skin there, the odd faded charcoal line that bisected the globe of it like a hemisphere line, the stretch marks that cut harsh lines up from her hips, their origins hidden by the sweatpants she wore carelessly, as if with a shrug.

Their mother had bought Eliza a heaving wardrobe of maternity clothes, pretty, flowing dresses to make her look like some glowing fertility goddess of summer, elegant and soft kaftans, calmingly coloured tunics, washed denim dungarees to make her look like a young woman glowing and proud with her sleeves rolled up and ready to face motherhood with poise and vegetable smoothies.

Eliza hadn’t touched any of it. She just wore that old sweatshirt and whatever pants she didn’t have to bend down to retrieve and Angelica knew why. If she wore one of those items with the tags still on them, even if she gave that shirt the wash it desperately needed, it wouldn’t smell like Alex any more. Wearing that thing must be the closest Eliza could get to hugging her husband these days.

“Hey, beautiful girl,” Angelica smiled gently, trying not to show how her heart was breaking open with sympathy for her sister, coming and perching on the end of the sofa Eliza had favoured since she was a tiny girl. Maybe it was its soft blue tones, maybe the pattern of soaring birds. It just seemed to be a favourite and had always been thought of as Liza’s Seat.

Watching her scramble for her façade of placid, expectant mother bliss, even with her big sister, her closest supporter, that almost dissolved Angelica into tears. She only just managed to keep hold of her smile.

“Hey, Ange,” Eliza murmured.

That was it, none of Eliza’s usual chattiness, her expected inquiries as to what her sister was doing, what she had done, what she was going to do, the natural curiosity and hunger for friendly information that made every single person she met feel so listened to and truly appreciated.

The act was slipping.

Angelica floundered for what to say next. It wasn’t worth asking what she was watching; the television was showing some asinine sludge common in the early afternoon that couldn’t possibly be holding Eliza’s attention, clearly she just had it on to hear some kind of noise. Elsewise, the silence would have been horrific.

No sense in asking if she needed fetching or carrying for her. The glass of water she’d brought her just an hour ago had only risen as the ice cubes had melted, undrunk, not even toyed with. And besides, she suspected her sister was sick to death of relatives asking how she was feeling when anyone who knew Eliza well could see it really, really obviously. And it terrified the life out of them.

Asking what she was reading was just as much of a dead end. A Margret Atwood novel, the kind Eliza had been devouring since high school, lay on the coffee table but it was part of the performance, as perfunctory as the smile on her sister’s face. Angelica knew what she was reading, what she was always reading until the corners of the pages crinkled and surely, she must have known every word by heart. Alex’s letters, few but each one running into as many as six pages of his hasty, harried scrawl. They were in her hands right now, clutched to her heart protectively as if she feared they’d be taken from her.

The way she wanted to cling to Alex himself, Angelica had no doubt.

She knew her brother in law, she’d seen his summons back to the front line coming a mile away. He’d made enough of a name for himself by this point that it had been clear to anyone who saw the whole picture that Alex needed to be there for this thing to finish. Checkmate couldn’t be called until all the pieces were in place and Alex’s place was beside General Washington.

Eliza had known it to, she was every bit as smart as her sister, as her husband, as her father. Of course, she’d seen it but she’d denied it fiercely until the letter came through the door from the war office. And Angelica couldn’t help but fret that she’d done herself more damage, caused herself more pain by not accepting it until she was kissing him goodbye at the train station, not able to stop her face crushing and crumbling into pure sorrow before Alex looked away from her figure at the platform.

Not that she could blame her of course. Angelica had often heard herself, from huddles of relatives and family friends in the corners of parties and in the low chatter before the boardroom meetings she’d been accompanying her mother to since she was eighteen, being called the bravest of the Schuyler sisters. The strongest, the most iron willed.

What bullshit. She couldn’t imagine facing what her sister was facing right now, standing in Eliza’s place. Falling so hard and recklessly for someone, opening her heart to anyone not part of her family for the first time in her life, taking a leap she’d never dared even consider before only to be caught in Alex’s wiry but strong arms. Four years of college, four years of dizzying happiness, a love she didn’t understand yet that she’d confided in Angelica scared the life out of her as much as she adored it. Falling unexpectedly pregnant, doing something as monumental, as earth shaking as creating a whole new life and all while hers and Alex’s backs had been turned. Being married with a sense of urgency instilled by her family. Getting, what, two days of happiness and then having the man she loved pulled away and sent to face a vastly superior, much better equipped army across some scarred battlefield on the other side of the country too top secret, too shrouded in political mystery for her to even call him. To even hear his voice.

To have to wait with their child growing stronger every day inside her, nature’s deadline for the happy, safe, secure life he’d no doubt promised her to begin looming, the gut wrenching terror of bringing something so fragile, so precious into a world in turmoil, a world where there was the chance she’d have to look them in the eyes and tell them they’d never know their brave soldier of a father. To see Alex’s eyes and the crooked tilt of his smile and the deep fire in his heart in the face of a stranger and know she’d never see the originals again, only the copy.

And still she managed to dredge up a smile every single day.

Whoever thought her sister was weak, Angelica thought fiercely, didn’t know the meaning of the damn word.

“You look tired,” were the words she eventually breathed, her eyes sad, wretched, wanting so badly to take her sister’s pain away while knowing with bitter certainty that she couldn’t give her what she needed, “Didn’t sleep well?”

Eliza gave a small sigh, her hand coming to skate over the rise of her belly, “Not really. The little one was kicking like crazy, I was kind of hot and…”

Her voice trailed away but Angelica didn’t need to hear the finish to know.

Nightmares. Eliza had never slept well alone, it had broken her eight-year-old heart to be told that she couldn’t share a bed with her sisters any more, she was old enough now to need her own room, her own space. Angelica had seen and be unsurprised by how she slept with Alex, winding herself around him completely, like he was her anchor, the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. And now alone, she must see her love die a thousand different ways every time she shut her eyes.

Angelica decided she would invite Eliza to share her bed that night as she winced internally at the bruise like shadows under her sister’s eyes.

The invitation was on the tip of her tongue, her jaw slack to make the words, when their father walked in.

“Girls…” his voice was the toneless, almost echoing sound of someone utterly stunned.

Angelica was the first to see the pale blue envelope in his hands, held so loosely it was in danger of fluttering to the floor. Seeing it in her minds’ eye, she was reminded of a barren, bone like tree losing its last leaf. Of finality. Of a process that couldn’t be reversed.

Blue envelopes meant news from the front, intel from General Washington. News of Alexander.

“Papa…” Angelica’s tone was an inch away from begging, a centimetre away from warning, as if her father really did have the power to stop whatever was coming, if it was what she suspected.

Eliza shifted, immediately sensing Angelica’s panic and her father’s shock, moving more than she had in hours, somehow forgetting the island of her stomach. She span and gave a small, breathless sob as she saw the letter in Philip’s hands. She knew what it meant, of course she did. She knew what it could mean.

“What is it?” she demanded, her voice thin and brittle with panic, the baby inside her roiling and writhing, infected by their mother’s panic, “Is it about Alex?”

Philip opened his mouth to attempt to soothe his daughter but it withered on his tongue as he realised there’d be no point. He just nodded, blinking distractedly.

No, no. No please…

“Word just came this morning…”

Please, God no. I can’t…

Eliza didn’t let herself believe it was true until she was standing there, the first time she’d left the house in days, pulling an old coat of her father’s she’d swiped as she’d ran out, closer in an attempt to keep out the wind. She’d been so close to not coming at all, picking up her keys and dropping them again like the metal was hot in the same minute, slipping her shoes on in the kitchen and then kicking them off again before she even crossed the hall, feeling sick with horror every time an episode of the cartoon she was watching ended because she no longer had the excuse of seeing the end to keep her rooted it the couch but just as aghast when the next one began and brought with it another ten minutes to wait and waste. All morning she drifted, caught in some horrible net, her head spinning, running one way and then the other, so uncertain it made her knees weak.

The baby inside her eventually decided to object, prodding Eliza towards a decision with a gentle but insistent nudge against her skin five minutes away from the deadline, like an old friend reaching out to take her hand across a coffee table when a casual meet up in between trains shifted into a pivot point.

Eliza had just been so terrified, the idea of going down there, driving the six minutes to the tiny train platform that served their secluded corner of the Albany hillside, of waiting, of daring to hope petrified her.  Because if there was even the slightest chance that the train from the city would pull in, that the people would stream out and as she desperately scanned the faces, his wouldn’t be there, was unbearable.

But she managed to seize on that one moment of bravery given to her by the life inside her and here she was, cold but not feeling it, not feeling anything beyond the raw, painful hopefulness in her chest. Her palms rested on the curve in her stomach, comforting and seeking comfort in the same action.

Really should have worn more than this coat she thought absently, it was the dead of winter and all she had was Alex’s sweatshirt and Papa’s gardening coat so worn the canvas was shiny and so big on her she had lost her own hands. And she was still wearing her slippers.

“I might be a bit of an idiot, baby,” she murmured, stroking her bump, “Your mama might be an idiot.”

She was really getting to like talking aloud and knowing someone was listening. It was comforting-

There he was.

There was a long, long moment between the two of them where all they could do was look at each other. It was too much to do anything else, if either of them moved they’d risk shattering into a million pieces, like playing catch with a diamond. A moment long enough for both of them to think the exact same thing in the exact same instant, in perfect beat with each other though they’d never know it.

He looks so young. She looks so young.

He looks so exhausted. She looks so exhausted.

It’s been too long.

The moment ended when Alex burst into tears, his hand covering his mouth, his dark eyes spilling over. Then he was running, Eliza couldn’t run but she stretched her arms out as far as they would physically go to pull him into her arms without wasting a second. As his arms slid around her, holding her close, his tears dampening the shoulder of her coat, his familiar ink and paper and oak wood scent enveloping her as she burrowed her face into his shoulder, Eliza wondered how she’d ever let him go. Her Alex, her beautiful, wonderful husband.

He was just babbling her name like it was a prayer, song, his hands like restless birds flying from the small of her back to her hips to her shoulders to her arms like he was frantically checking all of her was still there in front of him. He only stopped when her lips found his and then there was nothing but the pulsing of their heartbeats in their ears and the familiar and much missed taste of each other’s mouths.

They only broke away when the need for oxygen became incessant and even then, her hands stayed cupping his face, not missing how his cheeks had hollowed out far past her liking, his forehead rested on hers and saw the worry lines there that he prayed weren’t caused by his absence and at the same time knew they were.

“I…I never thought I’d see you again,” Eliza only realised then that she was shaking with sobs, “B-but you came back, you came home to m-me…”

“Of course I did,” Alex wept breathlessly, shaking “I promised. I’d never leave you, Betsey, I’d move mountains to get back to you, like one Colonial army was going to stop me keeping my promise to you and…”

He pulled back, his eyes travelling down her body, jaw slackening as he somehow only just remembered that he was being reunited with two people at once.

“Oh…oh holy fuck, Eliza,” he whimpered before immediately flushing red, clamping his teeth together, “I mean…flip. Fudge. Sorry.”

Eliza had to giggle, reaching out and stroking the hair out of his eyes, “They’ve been doing a lot of growing.”

“I mean, Jesus, you must be ready to pop, right?” Alex blinked in wonder, still entranced by her bump, “How close did I cut it?”

It settled on them then, the scars their time apart had left. Neither of them were the same person that had stood on this platform months before. Alex seemed to grow sicker in front of Eliza’s eyes as she noticed more of him, the way his frame seemed so delicate under the dark, unfamiliar jeans and sweater he was wearing hesitantly like he had forgotten how to wear civilian clothes, the way his shaking hadn’t stopped, the bruise like shadows under his eyes. Alex was noticing the fear that had taken up residence behind his wife’s pupils in the last weeks, the juxtaposition between how young she looked and how close to motherhood she obviously was.

But now wasn’t the time and again, it was their nameless little one who made the decision. As if they wanted to say their own hello, make their own contribution to the reunion, nudging against Alex’s palm gently.

His jaw dropped to the frosted concrete, his eyes widening.

“Oh…” he croaked, the tears making a reappearance as he sank down onto his knees, “Hello. Mi bébé, I’m so sorry, I missed you so much but Papi’s here now and I’m not going anywhere I promise…”

As the choking tears stole his words and he dissolved into just murmuring, his shoulders shaking, Eliza stroked his hair, soothing him, staying by him, never intending to move an inch away from him until she was dragged away. And in the hours after, when Alex realised in horror how cold she was and insisted on giving her his sweater and driving her home, in the nights after where they’d make up for lost time refusing to leave their bed, in the days after it took Alex to fight off the infection he’d picked up in his breakneck rush across the country back into Eliza’s arms, she would look down at her stomach and smile knowingly like she and the baby were sharing a private moment. A realisation between the two of them that everything was going to be okay.

That Eliza was never going to be alone again.