#and cerys can dislike it all she wants but there's nothing she can do when he's grown-ish.

[celtigaar]

my base canon for cerys post-dance is she does find viserys, is the one who looks after him, and eventually returns with him to westeros. obv this is a divergence from canon in re to the rogares. while cerys would never, ever knowingly permit the marriage between child viserys and larra, i do think there's room with my version of events for the rogares to still have found some means of ingratiating themselves if the rogare conspiracies are important for anyone's portrayals.

[topazadine]

Writerly Questionnaire

Thanks to @the-golden-comet for the tag! I enjoyed reading your answers, especially the part about your characters!

Alright, here goes.

About Me

When did you first start writing?

I wrote my first story at age 7, started my first book at age 12 (no you can't read it, it's terrible) and published my first poem at age 15.

Are the genres/themes you enjoy reading different from the ones you write?

Despite writing fantasy, I actually don't read much of it myself. My undergrad career focused most on British literature (specializing in Victorian lit) so that's what I'm most familiar with and what I like the most.

Is there an author (or just a fellow writer!) you want to emulate, or one to whom you’re often compared?

I don't really seek to emulate anyone because I have my own unique voice, and I don't really get compared to anyone else either. If you have suggestions of what I might sound like, fire away lmao, because I don't really know who I emulate. However, I take a lot of inspiration from Willa Cather for atmosphere and Emile Zola for realism.

Can you tell me a little about your writing space(s)? (Room, coffee shop, desk, etc.)

I exclusively write at my desk. My setup looks like this:

I need my little guys and my Emotional Support Stuffed Cow (her name is Bluebell the Moobell because she has a little bell in her). Note the knitting I'm procrastinating on at the bottom right lmao.

What’s your most effective way to muster up some muse?

Funnily enough, I often get inspiration from my day job as an SEO writer, even though it has absolutely nothing to do with the types of stuff I write. Sometimes I'll just be hammering away at a Construction Accident Personal Injury Lawyer page and it strikes me that I need to kill one of my characters.

Did the place(s) you grew up in influence the people and places you write about?

Sort of. I have this thing I do where I like to mentally walk through buildings I used to visit as a relaxation activity, like my childhood elementary school, so that's given me a good memory of how places are laid out. As for actual settings? No, most of those are just made up of pictures I've seen of different places that I've never visited.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing, and if so, do they surprise you at all?

Some of my recurring themes include: Degradation/transformation of memory Struggling against fate/the unknowability of fate Found family Abusive relationships Moral relativism Satisficing (choosing between multiple suboptimal outcomes to pick the least harmful option) None of them surprise me; I recognize where they come from. For example, my obsession with the degradation and transformation of memory comes from my own struggles with dissociative amnesia, and my interest in satisficing comes from my International Relations degree. My concerns about the unknowability of fate come from the fact that I had a premonition that I'd die of a heart attack at 42. And I'm 32 right now. You can imagine that this influences my process lmao.

My Characters

Would you please tell me about your current favorite character? (Current WIP, past WIP, never used, etc.)

As a lesbian, I am not ashamed to say that I am deeply and passionately horny for Uileac (who you can meet in "Cachaille" or read about in 9 Years Yearning). Like how can you not go crazy for a man who thinks this is the perfect declaration of love?

He's so scary and so devoted, yet also very chill and laid-back? And funny? And athletic? And protective of his lil sis? He's just ... (screams into pillow)

Which of your characters do you think you’d be friends with in real life?

Ono. He's a Sinan royal guard who is just so sweet but also kinda dumb.

There's a scene where he has to ask Cerie what kind of menstrual products she needs for their trip, which is both mortifying and really adorable. He's just a really gentle and nice guy who I think would get along with damn near everyone.

Which of your characters would you dislike the most if you met them?

I think Mordrek would scare the absolute shit out of me ngl. Like ... bro just ... does this kind of shit on the regular

Tell me about the process of coming up with of one, all, or any of your characters.

Uileac, Orrinir, and Ono were heavily inspired by Uguisumaru, Ookanehira, and Omokage from Touken Ranbu and I don't apologize for that. Obviously they are a bit different, but their personalities are quite similar. Cerie was developed from a roleplay where I was playing as Uguisumaru's made-up sister, so that's why she's Uileac's sister in Poesyverse. Haniya, Cerie's love interest, was made up by using personality testing and astrology to come up with Cerie's Perfect Match. No one knows where Mordrek came from. He just kinda showed up.

Do you notice any recurring themes/traits among your characters?

They all have daddy issues. Every single fucking one of them.

How do you picture them? (As real people you imagined, as models/actors who exist in real life, as imaginary artwork, as artwork you made or commissioned, anime style, etc.)

All the art I have for my characters was made with AI before I realized AI was absolute garbage shit, so I'm not showing it, but I did commission a painting of Cerie from the amazing artist Caleb over on Twitter:

My Writing

What’s your reason for writing?

For me, that's kind of like asking why a bird sings. It's just what I do and what I have always done.

Is there a specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating coming from your readers?

Definitely when someone says that my writing helped them or resonated with them. My writing gives me catharsis and it feels really good when other people say they got that same sense of catharsis.

How do you want to be thought of by those who read your work? (For example: as a literary genius, or as a writer who “gets” the human condition; as a talented worldbuilder, as a role model, etc.)

As someone who takes risks that pay off.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Depicting trauma without being melodramatic.

What have you been frequently told your greatest writing strength is by others?

People have told me they like how meticulous and carefully set up my stories are without infodumping or being boring. They appreciate the work that goes into planning things, how it all pays off in the end and comes together nicely without plot holes.

How do you feel about your own writing? (Answer in whatever way you interpret this question.)

I think I've come a long way and continue to improve, which is what is most important.

If you were the last person on earth and knew your writing would never be read by another human, would you still write?

The last Kauaʻi ʻōʻō still sang until the end. So yes.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely what you enjoy? If it’s a mix of the two, which holds the most influence?

I write whatever the hell I feel like when I feel like it. People tend to like it, but if they don't, I enjoyed making it anyway.

Open tag!

[hazel-of-sodor]

Something Holy This Way Comes

Ch.7 Safe

Other Stories

Other Chapters

Cassandra's arrival meant the Uman and Din now had ten locomotives, freeing Blaidd to go in for overhaul. Enid and Cassandra took turns covering her branchlines passenger services, while Becca, Ceri, and Screech covered the goods work.

 While waiting for their trains Screech would often talk with Caomhnóir.

"The diesels and electrics are in danger too. Most of them just haven't realized it yet." Cassandra said during her second week.

'Truly?' the whisper asked.

Cassandra nodded, "Many of them aren't performing as hoped, and as soon as steam is gone...they plan to cull the unsuccessful ones." She sighed, "They don't listen when warned. They are convinced they're revolutionary. That they are the future."

Screech shifted unhappily, "The other railway cares not. I outperformed the diesels, but was still sent for scrap."

"It was never about whether we could match their performance." Cassandra scowled, "They think the diesels will be cheaper, and to them, that's all that matters."

"You are saving them as well then?"

"Trying." Cassandra said irritably, "Most refuse to believe they're in any danger."

'And those that do?'

"Are few enough the North Western just buys them. The Other Railway's always happy for us to take a diesel."

"Your controller truly doesn't mean to follow the modernization plan?"

"Never. And if he did he would be replaced," Cassandra said matter-of-factly. "Sodor's crews were hiding engines before I was built, the Other Railway hasn't realized that."

'Why have they simply not replaced him as happened with the Western Region?'

Cassandra smirked, "because they can't. It's Sudrian law that any change in controller for the North Western has to be approved by the Island council, it was originally put in place when the LMS was trying to gain control of the island's railways in the 20s."

Screech tilted her head thoughtfully, "I vaguely recall hearing about that. They cut off your coal."

Cassandra scowled, "They did, and it was an engine's idea" 

Screech was taken aback, "an engine's? Surely not."

"Oh it was," Cassandra laughed bitterly, "they were proud of it when I met them."

Screech her head in disbelief at the engine's actions, "Cutting off a railway's coal...that is the actions of men, not engines."

"For them it was personal," Cassandra sighed, "they had been loaned to us after the war, as it was believed we would be absorbed later anyway. They tried to gain control of the mainline, but our number four's arrival put an end to that. They were sent away in disgrace after causing an accident."

'What happened to them?' The whisper asked cautiously.

"Used as spares for their siblings," Cassandra said grimly. "While the management favored them, the crews disliked them, so they fell out of use. During the war spares were needed to keep the class going, and it was decided it was cheaper to use them to repair the others than to overhaul them."

"I'm not sure if that's a crueler or kinder fate than scrapping." Screech mused.

"Crueler," Cassandra said solemnly. "With scrapping it's at least an end...for most engines anyway," She nodded towards Screech. 

"They're trapped in limbo, no longer alive, but not granted the release of death."

'Could you release them?' The whisper asked.

Cassandra's expression darkened, "No, they did not want to be saved in life, and I can do nothing without them wanting to be saved."

Screech considered Caomhnóir a long moment, "You tried to save them."

The tank engine studied the rails before her for a long moment. "....I did. No matter how it ended, they were once North Western, and we protect our own."

'And they refused.'

"Emphatically."

****

The second week of Cassandra's stay was coming to an end one night when Screech stiffened, her eyes darting to lock onto a distant point in the town, a large tendrils shooting off into the darkness seconds later.

Caomhnóir's eyes lit with a golden glow as she stretched her senses out, scowling as she found whatever Screech had sensed.

"Mali is on her way here," Screech announced with a grinding rumble.

"She has a hurting youth with her," Cassandra growled, sounding far more like Screech than her normal self.

"Can you tell how they're hurt?"Abbey asked, shifting her wheels restlessly.

Cassandra focused, "Mostly emotionally I think. Beyond that, I can't tell much. I'm better at sensing other locomotives. I can only sense Mali because she feels like Screech."

It took Screech a moment to realize what Cassandra had said, "What?!"

"You didn't know?"

The tank engine couldn't help but laugh at the eldritch titan's taken-aback expression. "She's spent enough time around you to adjust to your presence. It's happened with your crew as well, that's why they're so fit for their age."

"That's my doing?"

Cassandra nodded, "your presence at least. Same thing happens with me, Robert is my original driver."

Avon started, "But you were built in 1915! That would mean he's..."

"Almost seventy," Cassandra confirmed.

"He looks younger than my crew," Tyto said curiously.

Cassandra snorted, "He trained your driver."

Before Tyto could respond Mali walked in with her arm around another girl her age, one of Screech's tendrils discreetly following them. Screech recalled the girl as the firelighter that had first asked if Screech should be steamed the night she had arrived on the railway.

"Thank you Screech. I hope you don't mind us intruding, but we have nowhere else to go." Mali said quietly, patting the trailing tendril. It was clear both girls had been crying.

Cassandra glowed as she brought the Lady's power forth, warming the shed and the two girls from the cold.

"Nonsense girls, you are more than welcome," Abbey said concernedly, the other engines chiming in agreement.

Screech reached out and closed the doors of the shed, trapping in the warmth inside.

"What happened young ones?" Caomhnóir asked softly.

The other girl looked up to meet the soft golden glow of the guardian's eyes. She looked up to Mali and nodded.

Mali hesitated for a second then said, "Megan's parents found out about us. It did not go well..."

"They threw me out..." Megan said quietly.

"And your parents?" Abbey asked gently.

Mali hesitated, "I...I'm not ready to find that out tonight...not that it matters. They've probably already been called."

"Would you like me to get Gwyn and Freda?" Screech asked softly.

Mali bit her lip nervously, "Would they...."

Una snorted, "If they can handle Screech and Abbey, they'll have no issues with you two."

Everyone ignored the tank engine's yelp as Screech flicked her.

Mali looked over to Megan who nodded slowly.

"Yes please."

Screech stretched out a tendril into the city. It slithered up the road from the shed, passing barking dogs, maneuvering around stubborn alley cats, and launched a pebbled at one particularly bold squirrel before turning left onto a street lined with two-story cottages and Oaks. The third cottage on the right saw the tendril sneak up the path and onto the porch, rapping three times on the door.

It waited patiently as it heard the man inside yell "Coming."

Gwyn Jones opened the door to find the end of the tendril sat like a large snake on his porch. He blinked in surprise, "Screech?"

The tendril reached in the door and carefully grabbed his coat and handed it to the man.

"So much for getting an early night tonight," he said wryly. "Freda!" He called up the stairs, "We're needed at the sheds!"

The tendril heard the woman quietly swear upstairs before starting down the stairs, only to stop and raise an eyebrow at the tendril sitting on her porch.

The tendril waved politely.

***

Freda strode into the shed briskly, took one look at the girls, and scooped the pair into her arms. Gwyn busied himself lighting the wood stove to prepare hot cocoa for the girls. She scowled as Mali explained what had happened.

"Steven was always a right bugger, I had hoped better of Amanda though." She said severely."

"You knew?" Mali asked in surprise.

Freda snorted, "I knew what to look for. Gwyn always says he got me by the grace of God and good luck. He never mentions the luck was my girl at the time cheating on me with her old boyfriend."

She chuckled as both girls stared at her in shock, "Don't worry about your jobs dears, Miss Morgan has been employing us long before Screech met Abbey."

Screech grumbled halfheartedly as Abbey chuckled.

Freda smirked at her engine before continuing more seriously, "...you two are of course welcome to stay with us..."

She was interrupted by the arrival of Miss Davies, all but running in. If the woman noticed Screech's tendrils lift off the ground, or Cassandra start to glow, she did not show it.

She reached out to Mali, hurt crossing her face when her daughter hesitated.

"Are you all right Cyw?"

Mali rose to her feet nervously, "You know?"

Miss Davies nodded slowly, "the Walkers called after you left."

Mali hesitantly locked eyes with her mother, "I'm not leaving her Mam, not even for you." She looked away quickly, a tear falling down her cheek.

Miss Davies hesitated for just a moment then her face adopted a resolute expression. She gently reached out and turned her daughter's face towards her, "Fy mach i, I did not work so hard to get you back just to lose you over this."

Mali looked up at her, hesitantly hopeful. "you are more important to me than anything else." Miss Davies said firmly. "No matter who you end up with."

Mali burst into relieved tears as her mother pulled her into a hug.

"I still want grandkids though."

Mali gave a startled wet laugh.

Still holding Mali close, Miss Davies looked over to Freda, "I assume you have no problems with taking Megan? I would but I'd rather not walk in on anything." She smirked knowingly at the blush on her daughter's face.

Freda nodded as she chuckled, "Of course. If the Walkers give you any trouble, let us know."

"I don't know how they found out," Megan said quietly.

"Johnny Harris told them," Miss Davies said grimly.

"Oh?" Screech rumbled as she recalled the leader of the group that had been antagonizing Mali. "I thought I had made myself clear he was to leave her alone?"

"That's probably why he outed her instead," Mali said, "so he could claim ignorance."

"That won't help him."

****

The next morning Miss Morgan strode through the yard towards the source of the commotion, Adam and May Harris behind her

She found Johnathon 'Johnny' Harris perched precariously atop the coaling tower, Screech waiting ever so patiently at the base, the tips of her tendrils flicking like the tail of a cat that had spotted a bird.

May stepped up alongside Screech, "what has he done this time?" She asked in a resigned tone.

"He outed someone to their parents," Screech rumbled angrily.

May glared up at her son,  who suddenly seemed to be wondering if Screech was his better option.

"I would ask if you had a job to keep him out of trouble Morgan, but Miss Walker's baying makes me think that would only give him more chances to get into trouble."

Miss Morgan stepped up alongside her, "I can't claim to have paid enough attention to her to know based on that. But his treatment of my employees leaves much to be desired. Too much for me to consider him until he proves to have grown up a fair sight more."

"I can get him a job at the quarry." Adam Harris spoke up. 

"What? No!" Johnny squawked from atop the tower, "I didn't speak to Mali! You said..."

The boy fell silent as Screech batted at one of the legs of the tower with a tendril, shaking the tower.

"Silence would serve you best little snack."

Adam narrowed his eyes at his son, "The very fact you think this doesn't violate our deal proves you understood nothing of the conversation we had." He looked to his wife, "Something has to give before Miss Screech quite understandably runs out of patience for dealing with our child."

May nodded, "Agreed. how soon can he go to work with you?"

"I'll go catch the foreman, Miss Avon shouldn't have left yet with his train."

May glanced up towards her son, "That settles it then. Miss Screech? Would you mind retrieving my offspring so he can be prepared for his new job?"

"Of course."

Johnny gulped.

[myselfinserts]

"Your hands are like magic."

Hizashi stayed perfectly still, keeping a good three chairs between him and Étienne as the designer tinkered with his directional speaker. Tonight’s patrol had ended incredibly badly in terms of maintenance. All it took was the right frequency and the thief not only managed to get away, but also damage his equipment. 

That that was fine. He got the report in. They knew the quirk. It wouldn’t be long until they caught him. 

However, the speaker hadn’t been the only thing that’d gotten out of fight with some injuries. Hizashi had received a few nasty burns. Since the incident was near the pub, he decided to see if Ceri had any of Marianne’s healing waters. She apparently left a few gallons in case Tanith needed them.

She might be a bitch, he thought, but at least she has her priorities straight.

And now here they were. Ceri serving him a drink and helping with his injuries while Étienne fiddled around with the contraption. And Hizashi just couldn’t stop watching.

“Your hands are like magic,” he mumbled.

“You will keep your eyes off my hands,” Étienne said sternly. “Otherwise I will make this chafe like a bitch.”

“Right. My apologies.” Hizashi turned away, choosing to stare into his glass of apple juice. 

“Keep the towel on for another hour and the injuries will be healed,” Ceri said. “While I may dislike Marianne, I will admit she’s quite powerful. Much like her mother.”

Étienne rolled his eyes. “Mhmh. That quirk is wasted on someone as foul as her. She doesn’t deserve her spot in the top 20 in Europe.”

“She’s a piece of work,” Hizashi agreed. “Wouldn’t mind giving her a full ear full.”

“When I’m done with the repairs, you can.”

Hizashi smiled fondly. “Thanks for repairing it. You didn’t have to.”

“I know I didn’t.” Étienne gave a shrug. “But Ceri had the parts, I had my tools. Might as well fix it while I’m here.”

“Still. I really appreciate it.”

“Well, don’t mention it.” He finished the repairs, smiling proudly at his work. “There we are. And it should be more comfortable on your vocals too. Though I think if I were given more time in my lab with this it’d be far better. But as a makeshift, this isn’t half bad. Should do you until you get back to the school’s support course.” Étienne turned toward him, holding the speaker out. “Here you...”

Hizashi, worried at Étienne trailing off, followed his gaze and turned toward the door. 

The thief from before was standing in the doorway with a gun. 

"LOOK OUT!”

As the gunshot echoed in the air, Hizashi felt himself pulled to the ground, his head bouncing on one of the crystal patches. There was the sound of a bottle breaking and a chair breaking. He couldn’t quite tell what was going on. The bump on his head was making it hard to focus.

When he did though, he was pulled up to his feet. The thief was laying on the ground, held down as Ceri tied his hands with his tie. There was a broken bottle of brandy and a broken stool laying on the ground. A few feet away was a transceiver and the gun.

“He has a hardening quirk,” Ceri said. “Not a high frequency one. That’s what the gizmo was for.”

“Are you alright?” Étienne asked, his hands shaking slightly. 

“Me?!” Hizashi gasped. “You two went full attack mode! Where did that come from?”

Ceri shrugged. “Let’s just say...”

“We have some experience with this kind of thing.” Étienne looked at Ceri, smirking. “Please tell me you used bottom shelf.”

“Better. That was the Endeavor Brand Brandy.”

“That poor thief.”

Hizashi noticed the way Étienne was shaking. “Hey...you sure you’re okay?”

Étienne said nothing, finally letting go and turning to head toward the hotel entrance. 

“Étienne-”

“Leave him,” Ceri said, reaching for his phone. “Go sit down. I’ll call the police.”

“But-”

“You’re injured, and we have a villain being held by my skinny ass and a tie. Shut up and sit down. I’ll check on him later.”

Reluctantly, Hizashi did as he was told, hoping the cuncussion would ease soon.

When Ceri went to check on Étienne, the door had been locked. He made sure to knock and receive an answer before unlocking it with the master key. 

Étienne was sitting on the sofa in the open area of the room, hugging his knees as he fiddled with a rubix cube. Ceri came over and sat down, smiling as he leaned back and crossed his legs.

“You acted far faster than I could have,” he praised. “You probably saved his life. You should be happy.” When he didn’t get a reply, he leaned a little closer. “What’s on your mind?”

Étienne shrugged. “...He’s so fucking skinny.”

“Seriously? That’s what you’re focused on?”

“It’s better I focus on that and not how all three of us almost died. Again.”

“Alright. That’s very fair.”

Étienne stopped messing with the cube, eyes soft. “...Is he going to be alright?”

Ceri nodded, holding out a hand to him. “Thanks to you, he will. Eraserhead showed up three minutes after I called police and took him straight to the hospital. They said he’ll be okay. No major injuries. You’re the Hero here tonight.” He watched as É reached out and took his hand, but still refused to make eye contact. “Do you want me to call L? Have her come sit with you?”

“...I don’t think that’s needed. It’s very late. She’s probably sleeping.”

“And what would she say if she heard about this?”

“She’d...” Étienne let out a sigh. “She’d probably run right over here without me having to ask.” He smiled softly. “I suppose it might be a good idea to bump up security for the night.”

“I’ll give her a call. And I’ll bring your favorite tea.”

“Thank you...and Ceri?”

“Yes Étienne?”

“Help me put together a get well package for the bird tomorrow. You lousy sidekick.” 

The two shared a brief chuckle before Ceri stepped out to make the call.

[magiskasyskon]

A new taste (drabble)

A story that explores some of Rig’s backstory - and also pride-themed, based off of a situation that I found myself in last year. I wrote it just to practice and I’ve never explicitly mentioned her interest in women. But it’s a long way to walk, deciding to add something to the story and making it fit in with the rest of it.

I hope it’s a fun read ^_^

Stay gay, stay safe, stay happy!

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Admit it. You’ve got a crush on Cerys.”

“I mean, come on! She’s cute! Can you blame me for- wait, whaaaat?!”

I nearly choke on the Sprite with vodka that I’m having. I can tell from Kieran’s voice and the laughter in it that he is trying to joke and mess with me, just to see what my reaction is going to be like. In truth, his words would have made me blush if I was an easy one to succumb to blushes. But I am not. So he has to satisfy himself with my stuttering and my refusal to meet his eye.

“You like her, Riga. I saw how you were looking at her. I know what’s up.” The Brit walks over to me and sits right opposite from me at the kitchen table. The two of us are at a sleepover, and nobody else seems to have woken up yet - nobody save for us. Or at least so it seems to me.

In truth, all I want right now is to finish the drink I forgot on the kitchen table last night and to check how much food we seem to have left from last night. It’s all over the place, in plates and boxes and bowls: popcorn, burgers, nacho chips, pizza, sandwiches and sushi on the salty side, and chocolate biscuits, mini croissants, cupcakes, pancakes, waffles and candy on the sweet side. But exactly how much of it is still edible remains to be seen.

“Fine! Whatever!” I growl at him, throwing a frown in his direction and grabbing a half-full carton of pizza, starting to dig in hungrily. My stomach, apparently unaware that I am starting to eat already, gives a small growl, and we both snort with laughter. He shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest in the most teasing self-assured manner, making me want to poke him in the stomach or at least tickle him to wipe that smug-ass expression off of his pretty little face.

“So what if I like her? Huh?” I finish after I finish chewing on the pizza, raising an eyebrow at Kieran. I tilt my head to the side a bit, just for comic effect, before I go on. “Anything against that?”

“Whoa there, easy.” He laughs softly, and I feel my lips twisting into a pout. “Again, it wasn’t my fault I walked in on you two, remember? I didn’t want to disturb you guys in any way. Believe me.”

“I do. I really do.” I nod my head perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, and he breaks into giggles again, getting a soft shove in the side. My hands might be busy, but my feet are not, since we have both sat ourselves down, so I have all the chances to make him shut the hell up if I so desire.

“And besides, you two would make a cute couple. Just saying.”

Now it’s my turn to shake my head. I finish the pizza at last and reach out to grab a handful of chips from a bag laying opened by my side. Kieran follows my example, and both of us sit crunching at the kitchen table for what feels like a corner in the endless street of eternity.

“Would, yeah. We would.”

“Oh, c’mon. You’re saying that like it can never happen.” The Brit gives me a soft smile. “If that makes you happy, keep your options open. I’m doing the exact same thing, you know?” The shrug in his shoulders as if makes the weight slide off of mine, as if he has pushed it away. In his smile, in his eyes, in his whole face and posture, I can see it. They are all saying one thing: I have been where you are.

And I know that. He has told me about his first kiss.

...Just like mine, his first kiss has been with someone like him. Another guy. A dare at a party, which his half-drunken self had accepted, albeit with slight doubt, after being cheered on by all their friends. And, Kieran admits with slight embarrassment and a lot of humour, the kiss lasted so long he started wanting other things, too. Luckily for both of them, however, they pulled apart on time, and everyone was satisfied. Sadly, he and that guy stopped talking and have not contacted each other ever since.

And mine? Long story short, it was with my best friend Leila. Back then, the two of us were in, what, ninth grade? - and were very bloody close… and hellishly curious, too. And so while we were out together one afternoon, talking about this and that and snacking on sweets and promenading in the park nearby, we started talking about kissing girls - for a reason I cannot remember, and even if I could, cannot explain.

I realized we were looking right into each other’s eyes. And how would we not? I had just confessed that I had never kissed a girl ever before, and Leila, a girl, my best friend, was standing right there, in front of me, her hands on her hips, her wavy black hair cascading over her shoulder and complimenting her colourful clothes in the cutest way possible.

“So, Rig, you’ve never kissed a girl, eh?”

I shook my head.

“And wouldja like to try it?” Leila asked with a cheeky little smile, a wink and a twirl of her hair, and I realized my stomach had made a somersault. Bloody hell. She had absolutely no idea how curious I was myself and how badly I wanted to try that, to kiss her, to see what it would feel like to kiss a girl. After all, back then the only thing I had were fantasies; I had not yet begun to date anyone.

“Yeah,” I nodded breathlessly.

Admitting it was the easy part. But then, out of nowhere, Leila leaned in. I could see exactly how beautiful her chocolate eyes were, and I could swear the look in them was making my knees melt. She was simply gorgeous. But how… how could I respond to this?!

My hands instantly sneaked over her face, and I pulled her in, closing my eyes and kissing her, sighing softly with pleasure. For now, all I was going to allow myself was just a few smooches on the lips, nothing more - they alone were driving me crazy, anyway; her lips were crazy soft and every kiss sent fireworks exploding inside my whole body. Oh, my God. Is this turning me on?! Of course, Leila, being the cheeky bitch that she is (which I greatly admire her for), decided that she was not going to leave things there… and so she took them a notch up, gently pushing her tongue between my lips, seeking mine. I responded, my blood starting to boil. And let me tell you, a part of me might have ascended to heaven back then.

“...I know. I know. I know.”

“Oi, now.” Kieran nudges me in the side. He is all laughter and naughty winking and nudges and grins again, and, for some reason, I get flustered by it all. “You daydreamin’ about Cerys again, hmm? Care to share?”

Cerys, that name whose adorable face I cannot get out of my head, is one of Kieran’s friends whom I also recently befriended. During another party we had at his friend Matti Mikaelsson - the same Matti who is currently snoring so loudly upstairs that he startled us when we first got down here - I got introduced to a girl with hair, dyed in all the colours of the rainbow, “just ‘cause,” to quote her.

We had one or two years difference in my favour, but aside from that, both of us were into the same stuff. Art. Nature. Music. Reading. Sculpting. Painting. From what I can gather from our conversation last night, right before we got interrupted, Cerys is studying fine arts in an art academy in London and loves tattoos almost as much as I do. The only bad side? She got drunk - perhaps a bit more drunk than I usually like my conversation partners to be. But then again, I was drunk myself as well. That had been the main reason why I had gotten the balls to dance with her and then start talking with her.

I have had crushes on women before. It’s not a big deal, honestly. I have gotten crushes on men, too. I like both. But it seems that, because Cerys is Kieran’s friend, he thinks he is entitled to tease me about her and about how close we almost got that night.

I scowl at him in a teasing manner, and he keeps giggling, giving me such a smug, oily grin that I suddenly get the unquenchable thirst to tickle him out of it, kiss him, poke him somewhere he will dislike, anything - anything that will help me get that grin off his face.

“So… so what if I am?”

Kieran laughs again, shaking his head as he gets up and walks away from the table, looking down at his phone. While I have been staring into space, remembering things, he seems to have been texting someone. Cerys. He has probably told her. Fucking hell. I should have known. This is the exact opposite of the way I would have liked her to find that out.

“Oh, nothing. I was just, you know, curious,” is all I can hear from him. The words get thrown over his shoulder as he has now walked out of the room and has disappeared from view. “I’ll, uhh, I’ll be right back, yeah?” Now his voice becomes more serious, and I calm down a bit.

...for now.

In the very next moment, a sleepy Cerys in a see-through oversized t-shirt, the sight of which makes me bite my lower lip, appears downstairs, yawning and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. I get a cute, sleepy smile and a kiss on the cheek as she passes me by, as well as a “good morning!”, said in the hottest, most adorable girl’s voice I have ever heard in my life.

I reach out and grab her by the hand, pulling her close and kissing her in the very moment Matti and Kieran walk inside the kitchen.