#cool things to do in Orange County

[ritatheraven]

It’s that time again! Second Annual Coffee, Plants and Tattoos! Gonna be doing tattoos st @houseplant.nation on 11/03 from 10am-4pm! Come through, grab a plant, get cozy with some yummy coffee and get tattooed! Hope to see you there!

.

Special Shoutout to @xvii.melinoe for modeling and creating this flyer

[causenessus]

Dating Them. | Haikyuu

inc. akaashi, bokuto, oikawa, iwaizumi, sugawara, kageyama, kuroo

written in 2nd pov (female reader implied)

song recc: i got carried away and gave them all a song but i can't help myself so if u want another one, loverboy by a-wall

word count: 3105 words

summary: "what does dating them look like?"

i love them all sm <3 hopefully these all make sense!! tysm to @luvring for sending me down a deep retrograde with rex orange county whom i almost chose to link a song to for everyone but then narrowed it down to just oikawa <3 also almost put in we & us for akaashi but freaked out 💃 pls check out this post by her that inspired me!! it was so sweet

akaashi

even if my heart stops beating you're the only thing i need with me even if the earth starts shaking you're the only thing worth taking even if the sky's on fire got you here, it's alright

looks like little gifts and notes left for each other everywhere

lunches made for the other left in lockers and on desks with little love notes <3

tell me he wouldn’t end every note to you with a little " ♡ ᵕ̈ " i dare you

you both handwrite the notes because texts are for losers

unless ofc one of you is out of town and you’re separated

then there are good morning and goodnight and i miss you texts

ending with ୧⍤⃝💐 and ᴖ̈ emojis

you both are very busy people so you just try to make sure the other is taken care of and knows they’re loved until you guys see each other again <3

dates are always lovely with him but the best part of them is when you guys get to go home

when it’s late at night and one of you is between the legs of the other, laying against their chest as you both do your individual things or something together

since life is so hectic it’s nice to just have these quiet moments in each other's presence <3 all he needs is to be around you and he doesn’t need anything else

there's definitely so many intimate and domestic moments with him

getting home from games used to be one of the worst parts of playing volleyball but you’ve made him look forward to it 

he loves to call or text you on the way home <3

if you’re able to stay at his house and be there when he gets home even better !!

you’re always taking care of him, making him something to eat or cleaning him up <3

how you guys started getting interested in each other?

I think at first sight you were curious about each other but one specific interaction sealed the deal <3

akaashi for sure knows so many random facts and how things work and most of the time when bokuto says something, it’s incorrect and akaashi will correct him <3

one afternoon when you three were together, bokuto was rambling about something he thought was impossible and threw a look towards akaashi, “and i don’t want to hear a ‘well, actually’ from you, there’s no way i'm wrong. if we're building things on earth that means more stuff on it and so it's getting heavier.”

akaashi only smiled, looking at his fingers as he played with them, “yes, but everything we're making those buildings out of already existed on the earth prior to–”

bokuto groaned, hands in his hair as he bent over, “no way! you know too much akaashi, I don’t even know if that’s a good thing or not” 

you let out a small laugh at the exchange. you wanted to add something but your chest tightened with anxiety, fearing that it would reveal how you truly felt. however, it slipped from your mouth before you could stop it, “i actually like it, i think it’s really cool that you know so much, akaashi-san. i admire it.”

bokuto, still bent with his arms on his legs immediately turned his head towards you with sharp eyes and brows raised, a teasing smile on his face

akaashi, on the other hand, had turned slightly red, his lips stuck between wanting to smile and trying to play off the compliment as if it hadn’t made his heart stop for a second

you’re cheeks had also warmed, realizing that if bokuto immediately got it through his thick skull (with love ♡) there was no way akaashi hadn’t

since he’s quiet by nature, the sweetest thing for him is someone who will really listen to what he has to say and the fact that you found it interesting just topped it all off <3

bokuto

sweet talk everything you say it sounds like  sweet talk to my ears

looks like seeing each other in the halls and he brightens up, the world literally getting brighter as he sees you and he can’t stop the wide smile that spreads across his face <3

i think what he really needs is someone that matches his energy. you might be a little calmer than him due to the fact that you’re not jumping up and down but you’re just as happy, a smile wide on your face, eyes wide and you’re pushing through the crowd to get to him as well

if you are able to, you always come to his matches and it makes a difference in his playing <3

ofc before dating he was just as amazing as a player but now that he gets to see you while doing what he loves, there’s so much energy and happiness that wells up in him he ends up jumping higher and being more vocal

without a doubt he’s always looking up to you in the stands before every rally

it makes your heart stir, too, whenever he makes eye contact with you and you can’t help but smile and cheer with all the love in the world whenever you both meet eyes

whenever he’s home from a match, you bet that he’s heading to you as soon as possible if you allow him to

loves to collapse on you, strong arms wrapped around your waist and he rests his head on your stomach, body between your legs

will fall asleep so fast if you run your hands through his hair, loves it if you just comb through it from the front, pushing it back as they slide to the back of his head and then move back to the front to run through the strands again

even better if you talk to him as you love on him while he’s resting on you

hugs you tighter when you praise him, letting out a small sigh as he relaxes

“you did so well today, kou. ‘m so proud of you,” you hum.

“you mean it, baby?” he mumbles, face still buried into your shirt.

“i mean it. i would never miss any of your games if i can help it for the world, love.”

the last thing he can get out is an “i love you so much" before his eyes fall shut

oikawa

girl, if you want it there’s no good reason not to love if you want it

looks like keeping him company even when it’s three in the morning <3

he’ll hold you close or have you on his lap, arms wrapped around you when he’s up at night watching other team’s volleyball matches

loves to talk you through the plays as well if you have any questions

will take the time to pause the video and point out anything <3

“see what they did here? they purposely left an opening in the block for the libero to cover. it corners the spiker either way,” he spoke softly, a small smile on his face as he explains the tactic to you.

“i think i understand. you guys have done that before too, right?” you nod, eyes focused on the screen as you lean to the side, resting your head on his shoulder

he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close to him, “we have, pretty. i didn’t think you paid so much attention.”

“of course i do!” you pouted, tilting your head to look slightly on him. 

he met your eyes with a teasing smile, “i’m only joking, princess. i see how hard you focus, you look super cute when you do, after all.”

you buried your face into his shoulder, too red to keep looking at him

you’re definitely a part of his squad (iwa, makki, matsu) even if you’re a grade below them

if you didn't already know them, he also definitely introduced you to the group as “his girl”

from then on out, you had four scary guard dogs should you ever need them <3

he’s glad to have someone so close to him that also gets along with his friends, so he’s happy as can be when you’re all hanging out

ofc also enjoys one on one time with u as seen above

after matches, you’re always loving on him, whether he won or lost

if he won, similar to bokuto, you’re praising him the whole way, pressing kisses to his forehead as he lays on you, completely content as he rests

if he lost, there’s no words exchanged between you two until he’s ready. it’s not that words will lead to anything bad, but you know what will help him. you know that for him, he’ll recover with time. after he’s thought about it, he’ll express all his feelings and emotions to you, so you only need to wait for him to be ready. in the meantime, you’ll love on him and make sure he takes care of himself. you’ll stay with him so that he knows he’s not alone and when he’s ready, you caress his face, softly wiping his eyes whenever they tear up and listen to anything he wants to say <3

iwaizumi

my baby here on earth showed me what my heart was worth so when it comes to be my turn could you shine it down here for her?

looks like giving you gifts everytime he sees you

probably actually started with you giving him gifts all the time first <3

def friends to lovers i can see it

when you started giving him gifts, it stirred something inside of him and his friends kept telling him that you definitely liked him back

he was still unsure tho bc we’re talking a man with a whole fan club and two other men who have nothing better to do but tease other people so how trustworthy is their advice really

but he wanted to be hopeful so he started getting you things too (credit to makki & matsu, best wingmen)

because your relationship with iwa was 100% friends to lovers, said wingmen + whatever oikawa is definitely supported you both and were trying to play cupid

makki and matsu helped iwa find out what you liked without making it obvious and since he was too nervous to ask you on his own

also tried to inconspicuously ask if you were interested in anyone in which you immediately turned red and hid your face

the two boys turned to each other with a smirk because they knew they were definitely right

they probably got you to plan a confession to iwa, swearing on their lives that iwa liked you back

(makki and co. also definitely found a way to listen to it all go down and probably even recorded it)

as soon as you guys start dating he’s all over you <3 probably beats you to buying something most of the time but you still try to buy him things as often as you can

i think he’d adore flowers from you <3 they’re some of the sweetest things you can get them

mad dog respects you as an extent of his respect of iwa

definitely lots of words of affirmation in your relationship too

after the spring high semifinals you were in his lap, letting him hide his face in the crook of your neck as his whole body shook

you rubbed the back of his head with one hand, the other placed on one of his arms which were wrapped around you,

“i just want you to know how proud i am of you, hajime. i could hear you everytime you brought up your team. you did so well. you taught them so much. you’re so observant, you’re so strong. i couldn’t be more proud of you, love.”

he tightened his hold on you, and you felt his tears on your neck. “i know. i know it hurts a lot, baby. i’m here for you,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his head.

sugawara

she said i dressed in your favorite  i bought two bottles of red unless you made reservations oh look, you thought all ahead

looks like mothering his flock of children with him and taking care of him after he has taken care of the rest <3

lots of resting on each other’s shoulders throughout the day bc you both are so tired

whenever you guys are on dates, his favorite parts are always the train ride back home, he loves the gentle rocking of the train that lulls you both to sleep as you lay on each other, there’s just something so safe and intimate about it

ofc he loves doing things with you and you both try to spoil each other rotten, surprising each other with gifts and dates

some of your favorite dates to go on are just walks around outside

you guys take turns finding different locations to travel to just so that you guys can admire the beauty together

can u imagine? two pretty people walking around in pretty nature?? it’s too much <3

he loves walking in the winter at night because most of the time you guys will get to see pretty lights too!!

and if u get cold he gets to give u his jacket so two birds w/ one stone

if he’s feeling generous he’ll invite one of the children to walk with you guys while looking at christmas lights

it’s different every time

one night it was hinata, bundled warm in jackets and bouncing around between you and suga

another night it was kageyama, as calm and collected as ever but he enjoyed looking at the lights with you guys

you definitely bought him hot chocolate bc you couldn’t handle the parental love bubbling in your heart for the boy

(mama y papa?--)

but you both were def alone on christmas night when he took you out to walk in the middle of the city, where pretty lights shined at every angle and in every direction <3

he can’t help but kiss you a lot whenever he sees your pretty lips

and you love to kiss his little beauty mark below his eye <3

whenever he’s playing in games, you’re always cheering the loudest

afterwards you’re always flooding him with compliments too once you’re both home or through text message if he’s on the bus ride back

“u always notice so much during matches!! whenever u get in you always have something to tell everyone it’s so cool :000”

“and when you spiked, love, you did so good. we were all freaking out in the stands bc you had just been shut down before and you still went through with it completely!!!”

he'll smile at your energetic messages before replying with his own,

“thank u thank u <3 i can only do so well because i have my own personal cheerleader”

“I’ll see you soon, ok? we’re almost back to school, i love you so much, angel”

if his teammates hadn't drilled it into his head already how much he meant to them, your messages alone would make it worth it <3

kageyama

i wonder if you look both ways when you cross my mind... can i get a kiss? and can you make it last forever?

looks like dates to the milk vending machine and walking together around school <3

he’s already waiting outside your class during breaks and when lunch starts

you step through the door and jump when you see him

“tobio? how are you already here? class just ended?”

“...do you wanna go to the vending machines with me?”

“did you leave early?”

he averts his eyes immediately, trying to think of an excuse but you just sigh to yourself and start to walk, “what am i going to do with you? let’s go before class starts.”

“i wanted to see you,” he mumbles, eyes lowered to the floor and his cheeks dusted pink as he follows after you

your eyes widen at the response and you almost trip over your feet before you smile and lean closer to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek

“i love you too, tobio.”

he’s another boy you’re constantly fighting with to pay for things

sometimes you’re racing to the machine because you’re so desperate to buy him something but there’s no way you’re winning against him even if he gives you a headstart

you work hard to take care of him, though, and you have your ways of getting back at him even if he ends up paying at the vending machine

he’s so horrible at taking care of himself, especially with the amount of times he stays late to practice with hinata

you started to sneak milk cartons and eventually meals into his bags so that he’ll at least be fed

definitely lots of study dates between you both as well, you’re singlehandedly carrying his grades rn

but it’s worth it when you see him on the court <3

he tends to look at you before every serve, and you can feel your heart buzz whenever he makes eye contact with you

seeing him work so hard in volleyball and have so much fun, you can’t help but fall in love with him all over again, and you’ll do anything you can to help him and make sure he can achieve his dreams <3

kuroo

you wanna go out, i wanna finish living you wanna get up, when i could just lay all day, with you

looks like showing up at your door whenever he feels like it either to take you out or to be at home with you <3

after the first time he insisted that he walk you home and you let him, he started visiting you more often

ofc you let him in everytime, you were glad he was the one making moves because you wanted to be around him more, you just didn’t know what to say

when you both started officially dating, you also obviously put in more effort to show that you appreciate him and love to be with him

but he’s always more than happy to be the one to come to you as long as he knows you enjoy it as much as he does

speaking of which he’d really do anything for you

if he’s not already there, you could ask him to at two in the morning and he’d be there as soon as he could <3

especially if you text him something like “i had a nightmare” or “i can’t sleep” he’s over there in a blink of an eye

“alright, princess. are we staying up or should i tire you out?”

🧍

😳

anyway

he’s making any excuse to be close to you

he’s probably helped you in a few subjects if you were struggling with the material

ofc in exchange for kisses <3

he’s surprised when you come to his games, i feel like he’s probably not used to having a lot of people come to cheer him on and he doesn’t want to bother you about having to come to gymnasiums to watch him

but you come of your own free will and it makes him smile, he’s more than ready to crush his opponents to show off for you <3

after games, you’re throwing yourself into his arms as soon as you get to him and he’ll catch you with just as much adrenaline and excitement running through his veins at the sight of you <3

[secretsofafangirll]

you're still my favorite girl

pairing: chris sturniolo x fem!oc

summary: in which chris and isabelle are childhood best friends, who have always had underlying romantic feelings for one another. when chris starts hanging around other girls, isabelle can't help but question their relationship.

tw: talk of insecurity, kind of soft!dom chris, sexual situations but no real smut. mention of fem!oc being "tiny". use of "ma'".

"Come on, Belle," Chris shoots his hand out for her wrist and pulls himself from the couch as she walks away, "You'll have fun, I promise. Madi's gonna be there, Matt and Nick are going. If you're not gonna go for yourself, at least go for them." He pleads staring down at her, fiddling with her fingers.

"No, Chris. I'm sorry, but I'm not going. The last time I went to a party, someone threw up on me and one of Madi's old friends called me ugly, so," She raises her brows at the boy, "I will be staying in the comfort of my bed for the night with Sam and Colby on my screen."

She starts to walk away but Chris reaches out for her again, this time wrapping an arm around her waist hand colliding with her stomach and pulling her back, "Chris!" She giggles as she stumbles, her back coming in contact with his chest.

"Just stay here, B. I'll want to be with you when I get home. Just curl up in my bed and steal my clothes like you always do, hm?" He tickles her ribs and flexes his bicep around her frame.

"Fine," She huffs, throwing her head back against his chest, "but I'm wearing that unicorn, rainbow bullshit hoodie." Putting a finger in the air, she pulls away from his body, and heads for his bedroom.

"Okay, then I'm gonna head over. Be safe. I'll lock the door behind me and don't answer unless it's me, Nick or Matt. Behave." He points and narrows his eyes at me.

"Yes, sir." She jokes, putting her hands behind her back and bowing at the man. His eyes glaze over momentarily and his cool guy act falters for a moment.

"Love you, Belle."

"I love you, Chris." She calls and makes way to his bedroom.

༺♰༻

It's been three and a half hours since Chris left and Isabelle has heard nothing but silence. Not one text or call. She called and texted him several times to ask when he's planning on getting home, as she's getting tired, but he hasn't responded to a single one.

She worries that something bad has happened to him but she knows that Nick and Matt would've called if anything went wrong. While Sam and Colby play quietly in the background of her thoughts, she chomps on her acrylic nails and stares off into space.

Anxious thoughts fill her mind and tiredness threatens to take over. What if he's hurt? What if something happened to Nick and Matt and Chris doesn't have time to tell me? What if Nick and Matt have no idea something is wrong with Chris and he's just suffering all alone with no one aware?

She knows this is the worst thing for her to be doing right now, so to distract herself, she hops out of his bed and saunters into the kitchen to get a glass of water. As she softly pads toward his bedroom door, she hears her phone vibrate against his nightstand. Immediately relief floods her chest and she turns on her heels to run back. She lunges for her phone and is only met with disappointment when she sees that it was just a stupid Instagram notification. But her heart drops when she sees it was Chris who caused the notification in the first place. So he has time to post on Instagram, but not to text his best friend back? Makes total sense!

She reluctantly clicks on the notification to open a story he posted. It's him with one of his other good friends in the influencer space, Paige. He has an arm draped over her shoulders while she curls into his side and blows a fake kiss at his smirking, smug face. The text on the photo reading, My day 1 #1 @paige.

An unfamiliar feeling washes over her. His day one number one? She thinks. What about me? I've known you since kindergarten.

She doesn't know how to describe this feeling. It was like her favorite toy being pried from her hands as a child. Or the spot on the best team in the world being given to someone else. Being given to someone better. Was it jealousy?

No way. She thinks. He's my best friend, I'm not jealous of someone who he's possibly romantically interested in. But when she taps on her profile and sees she also posted a story, she knows exactly what to expect. And boy is she jealous when she sees it.

Paige's post is a different picture. It's a picture of them, back to back. both with sunglasses pointing finger guns at the camera. Nothing's funny about the picture, but Isabelle can't help but laugh. Not at the way they look or the stupid sunglasses, but because Isabelle posted that exact picture of her and Chris not that long ago. She taps through a highlight dedicated to her best friends and two months ago, that exact pose pops up.

Rage courses through her veins. Jealousy and rage flow all throughout her body. You wanna steal my man and my posts? She thinks. And Chris wants to blatantly ignore my attempts to contact him but then be active on social media anyway? Go right ahead.

At this point, she doesn't want to call him or text him. She doesn't even really want to see him at all. Hell, she has half the mind to drive back to her own house and let him find his house empty. But she knows that isn't the right thing to do. So she stays put and tries her best to fall asleep in her best friend's bed.

༺♰༻

Isabella had fallen asleep. Comfortable and warm in Chris hoodie and in his bed. He slowly crept in the front door with Matt and Nick two hours later, careful not to wake the sleeping girl. He signaled with his hand for the two to keep it down as he walked in. Though suddenly, Nick dropped his phone and the smack echoed through the entire house.

Chris' head whips around to Nick with wide eyes "Dude," he whisper shouts, "Shut the fuck up."

Matt and Nick make it to their respective bedroom quickly and quietly, eager to go to sleep after such a long night. Chris, on the other hand, is eager to see his sweet best friend. He ever so carefully pushes down the door handle and cracks the door to see Isabelle sleeping so peacefully on his bed, drowning in his large hoodie she swore she would wear. Her soft breaths making her hair move with every exhale, her small hand resting on the pillow beside her head. He takes a moment to take in her beauty. He can't help it. Chris has always thought she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. With her long dark hair and piercing green eyes, he could never deny beauty like that, even if she's his best friend.

He tips toes to his closet and closes the door behind him to change. He peels off his shoes pants and shirts, stripping to his boxers. He doesn't have it in him to shower tonight. After forcing himself to socialize with people he didn't even really like that much, all he wants to do is cuddle with the one person he can never get tired of being around. He quietly exits his closet, grateful that his girl is still asleep. He creeps over to his side of the bed and slides in carefully next to her.

He scoots in closer to her and wraps an arm around her waist pulling her closer to him. He peels the hood from her head and places a loving kiss on the top of it. However, he feels her shift beside him and she pulls her body away from his altogether, leaving no part of her touching him at all, save for his hand which is still tacked on to her waist. When he doesn't take the hint, she reaches behind herself, grabs his hands, and roughly tosses it off of her body.

Chris' brows raise in shock at her rejection and when he reaches out for her again, she scoots even further away, almost falling off the bed.

"Belle," He whispers. No answer. "Belly," He tries again a little louder. Still nothing. "Isabelle," He speaks in a normal speaking voice and places a hand on her hip but she only shrugs him off again and doesn't answer. He props himself up on his elbow stretches his body over hers and turns on the light, "Isabelle Bianca Lavigne, if you don't tell me why you won't let me touch you right now, I swear to god B," He trails off, his voice stern and assertive.

Isabelle finally answers at this, her face bare of any makeup, only covered in sadness and mild insecurity and she turns to face him. His eyes soften slightly at her expression but he maintains composure and control of the situation. He's always had that power over her. And in a strange way, both of them like it more than they should.

"There's nothing to say, I'm just hot." She lies through her teeth, and turns back over.

"Bullshit," He scoffs, "You're in a thick ass sweatshirt, under my heavy ass comforter and turned my fan off. Plus, you're always freezing cold. So try again, Isabelle, and this time, don't lie to me."

"Okay, Chris, if you don't want me to lie," She spits and turns to face him, "I text you five times and I call you six. I leave four voicemails and I even call Matt and yet, I get nothing but radio fucking silence from everyone. Then, my phone buzzes and when I think it's my best friend finally texting me back, I see he's posting on Instagram instead. And not only that," She continues, looking around the room as if there are imaginary cameras around, "He's posting other girls, calling them his number ones, as if his, correct me if I'm wrong, best friend isn't worried sick in his bed, because he won't text her back. So, sue me, if I don't want you to touch me right now, as I'm not feeling very loved." She huffs, rolls back over and turns the light back off.

Chris sits, his mouth agape in silence. She can shut him up real damn fast, it seems. She's never said anything like that to him. He's around other girls all the time and she's never reacted like that before. He blows out a long breath before reaching for her body again. He drapes an arm over her waist and starts to pull her against him again.

She struggles against his strength again but he whispers her name over and over in her ear, sending shivers down her spine. She gives in and relaxes in his grip, "There we go. Relax and let me talk to you, okay? And let me see that face, hm?" He pulls the hood from her head and turns the lamp on once again. There she is. He whispers to himself.

"Is this about Paige?" He questions, turning her onto her back and pulling her impossibly closer to his chest. He brushes her hair out of her face and behind her ear, his hand slipping under the hoodie and onto her bare stomach, his pinky slipping under the waistband of her panties; a habit he had made when she got comfortable enough to sleep without any pants on.

"Christopher," She groans slapping her hands over her face, "It's embarrassing."

"No," He grabs her wrists and pulls her hands from he face, "it's not. She's just a friend, I promise. She wanted to post those for some P.R. bullshit. I barely know her." He swears, looking into her innocent green eyes. His left hand plays with the hair on her forehead and his right hands still lies on her stomach and halfway in her underwear.

"You don't understand, Chris. I already have a hard time being your friend because of your fans. Sometimes I question if any of this is even worth it and then when I see shit like this, other women who just think you're young and sexy, claiming you and shit, it just makes me wonder if I'm really your best friend or if you just keep me around because you feel like you have to. There are so many women who could have, who should have you, but I feel like I'm just keeping you from being happy. Fuck, I mean, I react like this when someone just posts some bullshit about you. It's actually pathetic Chris. And not to mention, Paige is gorgeous. Like, the kind of beautiful you think is made up. Shes blonde and skinny and kind and social and successful, and everything I'm not. Just seeing you with her, looking so happy and so friendly and close. It made me want to tear my skin off, Chris. I've never felt like that before, and it's really scaring me."

Chris looks stunned next to her, his hand frozen on her head and on her waist. He closes his eyes and shakes is head, "Wait back up. One, fuck my fans and what they have to say about you. I love you more than I love any single one of them. Two, you are my best friends. Always have been. No other woman is ever gonna come between that. Third, sure Paige is pretty, but you. Oh, Belle, I call you princess for a reason. You are the most beautiful woman I have seen and I never want to hear you say you aren't, what was it, skinny, kind, social and successful ever again, do you understand?" He grabs her jaw and forces her face on his. She just stares into his eyes and nods like she's under a spell. "You are a goddess to me, Isabelle. If I have to get your name tattooed on my forehead and that promise burned into my skin for you to believe me, I will." He looks down into her eyes once more, his grip still strong on her chiseled jaw.

She leans into his warm body, his bare chest on display for her to touch. She flattens her hand against his left peck and stares into his blue eyes. His right hand moves to the small of her back, his pinky still in her panties. He presses her body into his, pushing her stomach into his groin. The two of them suddenly become very aware of two things: (1) The meaning of the conversation they just had. (2) The lack of clothing both of them have on. Chris clad only in his boxers and her in his sweatshirt with no shirt or bra and a pair of tiny lace panties.

"I don't just love you, Isabelle," He whispers, "I'm in love with you. You're my best girl, always have been. I can meet a thousand girls like Paige and you'll always be my favorite girl."

"You have no idea how long I've waited for you to say that," She sighs, before stretching her neck to meet his, her nose brushing against his.

"God, Isabelle, you're gonna be the death of me", Chris breathes, before roughly pressing his lips against hers. He rolls himself onto his back, with his back pressed against the headboard. He grabs her hips and hoists her over his lap, allowing her to straddle his thighs. She places her hands on his shoulders as his hands roam her tiny body. The kiss is wild and wet as their tongues exchange saliva between them. Isabella involuntarily grinds her hips down into his, but Chris is too caught up in the kiss to notice.

"Tell me, ma', " He breaks the kiss and catches his breath, "Say it. Tell me you love me. I can't keep kissing you if I don't hear you say it."

She leans into his ear and blows a soft breath, causing his body to shudder, "I'm in love with you, Chris. I always have been."

With that, his hands squeeze her waist and his lips are back on hers. The kiss is rough and passionate and insanely sloppy. This time, when Isabelle swivels her hips on his, his breathe hitches and his hands shoot out to stop her, "Baby, baby." He pulls away form the kiss and the loss of suction sounds around the room, "You have no idea how bad I want to fuck you right now, but I'm too tired to fuck you how you deserve. I need you to answer me honestly Princess, will you be able to control yourself if I don't stop now?" He tilts his head. She bites her bottom lip and gives him guilty fuck me eyes, shaking her head. "So do I have to stop?" He questions one more time to be sure.

"I think so," She drops her hands from his shoulders and places them on his thighs behind her, her hips still moving slightly against his grip.

"That's okay. We can go to bed, I can hold you as much as I want. and in the morning, we can figure all of this out and if you're good, I'll fuck as hard and as good as my best girl deserves, how's that sound? Hm?" He questions, running his hands up her waist, teasingly tugging on her panties and letting them snap back every here and there.

"Fine, I guess." She gives in and flops over to her side, off of his lap, turning away from him.

"Ma' ," He chuckles softly, "I'm doing this for you, ya' know kid? I could fuck you right now, but it wouldn't be that good and you know that." He pulls her back over to face him and hikes her thigh over his lap and stomach as he lays down beside her, he head resting on his chest.

"Mhmmm" She hums annoyed and tired, lazily bucking her hips against his literal hip bone and groin.

"Settle, ma', " He whispers gripping her hip tightly and turning off the lamp. The two fall asleep, her hands curled up under her jaw and his hands roaming every inch of the body that will soon belong to him.

///

a/n: alright! how do we feel? i definitely got a little carried away and i'm not sure how i feel. let me know please! also, let me know if ya'll want a part 2.

like and reblog pls!!! i need my blog to grow....

all the love, she ☆

part 2 here!!!

[cherrrydragon]

➤ you need to be yourself (love someone for loving you instead of someone really cool)

← back to main masterlist

read it on ao3

SUMMARY ↳ Tim Drake and you, throughout the years. Growing up changes things, after all. You've always valued your independence, your ability to navigate life on your own terms. Yet, beneath that independence lies a yearning—for connection, for understanding. There’s a realization settling in—a realization that friendships, like all relationships, evolve and change as you get older. You've grown alongside Tim, but perhaps you've also outgrown some aspects of your dynamic. You’ve noticed the way his muscles flex when he stretches, the way his arms have gotten bigger and you’ve seen a glimpse of his toned stomach. He’s grown up, as seen by his body. But growing up doesn’t just change your body. It also changes your mind. pairing: tim drake x fem!reader warnings: reader gets grazed with a bullet, but i think thats it (other than the angst, that is) tags/notes: unrequited love but not actually unrequited love, hurt/comfort, angst w/ a happy ending, friends to lovers, this fic was inspired by Best Friend by Rex Orange County. wc: 6.9k

You first met Tim Drake at a gala.

Your parents had promised you ice cream if you behaved well. You didn’t want to go in the first place, but the promise of a sweet treat was too tempting for your little eight-year-old mind.

Dressed in your best clothes, you arrived at the grand event, feeling overwhelmed by the opulence and the throngs of well-dressed adults. You stuck close to your parents, clutching your mother’s hand tightly as you navigated the sea of guests.

While your parents mingled with other attendees, you found yourself near the dessert table, eyes wide with anticipation. Your father said not to try anything without permission, but he didn’t say from who. Now, you have to figure out who to ask and how to ask them. Words never came easily to you.

There’s a boy coming up to you. Maybe you can ask him. Maybe not, he looks like he’s your age. An adult would know better.

“Hi, I’m Tim,” he said, offering you a smile that seemed a little too mature for his age.

You introduced yourself shyly, still focused on the food. Tim seemed to sense your discomfort in the unfamiliar environment.

“Do you want to go somewhere less boring?” he asked, glancing around to ensure no adults were watching.

Nodding eagerly, you followed Tim through the maze of guests until you reached a quiet corner of the gala hall. There, hidden from the prying eyes of the adults, Tim produced a small bag of chocolates from his pockets.

“All the chocolates have weird stuff in them. These just have chocolate,” he explains, handing one to you.

You nibble on it gratefully, taking a seat with him on a nearby bench. The two of you chatted about school, favorite toys, and the best flavors of ice cream. Kid stuff, you know how it is. Tim tells you about his parents' business, about why their work is important and that they’d appreciate your parents’ support.

“You should tell your mom and dad about my mom and dads work,” he insists. To be honest, you weren’t paying all that much attention to what he had been saying, but you’ll tell your parents about it since he asked.

Your mom shakes her head when you tell her, muttering under her breath, “They’re making their son network?” You didn't quite understand what your mother meant at the time. You only remember wanting to share ice cream with him.

From that day on, your paths crossed frequently at various events. Tim quickly became one of your closest friends, someone who understood your quiet nature and often helped you navigate social situations. You find out you’ll attend the same school, which makes you happy.

You’ve never been one for friendships. You simply just prefer being alone, often labeled as ‘mysterious’ by your peers. But Tim has dutifully kept the title of your best friend for years now.

The thing is, you’re not sure you're his best friend.

Tim Drake has his friends, and all you have is him. There’s the pretty blonde, named Stephanie, the other pretty blonde, Cassie. The lively one named Bart, and the cool one named Conner. Sometimes Tim invites you to hang out with them, but you’re not stupid. You know there’s a disconnect between you and them. You feel like you're constantly missing something when you’re around them.

You stop hanging out with them, and eventually Tim stops asking. He must’ve noticed, though, since he starts coming over to your place every Friday for movie night.

At first, it’s a bit awkward. Tim brings over some of your favorite movies, trying to rekindle that old spark of friendship. You sit side by side on the couch, munching on popcorn and watching the screen, occasionally sharing a laugh or a comment.

As the weeks go by, you start to relax into this new routine. Tim is patient, never pushing you to talk more than you’re comfortable with. Sometimes, in the quiet moments between movies, he asks about your day, your thoughts, your dreams.

One Friday evening, after a particularly intense movie, Tim turns to you with a serious expression.

"I miss hanging out with you, you know," he admits quietly. "I know things have changed between us, but I still value our friendship a lot." He scratches the back of his neck. “I know I’ve been busy lately, but a lot of things have happened. Out of my control.”

You glance at him, feeling a mix of emotions. Part of you wants to explain why you pulled away, but another part just wants to enjoy this moment of peace with Tim. You nod slightly, not quite sure what to say.

Tim smiles softly, reaching over to squeeze your shoulder gently. "Thanks for letting me come over every week. It means a lot to me."

And just like that, the tension eases between you. You realize that maybe friendship doesn’t always have to fit into a predefined mold. Tim understands you in a way that no one else does, and you’re grateful for his presence in your life.

You try-out for the volleyball team. You make it.

It becomes a staple in your life. Your afternoons are filled with shoes squeaking on the gym floors and sore muscles. The practices, the games, the friendship with your teammates—it all starts to feel like a natural extension of who you are.

The friendship with your teammates.

They form a group chat, adding you in it of course. It stops being used only for practice announcements and starts being used as ‘life’ updates from your teammates. They gossip about who they like, who they dislike, their boy troubles. You don’t say much, but when they ask you for your opinion, you give it. Apparently, you give really good advice.

You’re sixteen when you realize you’re in love with Tim Drake.

You’re not sure how long exactly, but you know that you’ve craved his presence since you’ve met him.

Tim introduces you to his boyfriend, Bernard. He’s blond. You think Tim might have a thing for blondes.

You tell Tim this later, when Bernard leaves. He only shrugs.

You wonder why you didn’t realize when Tim dated Stephanie. Probably because they dated when you and Tim were estranged. Maybe the reason you two became so was because they dated. You don’t know.

You've always known Tim as your best friend, the person who understands you better than anyone else. But realizing you're in love with him changes everything. It's a mix of emotions—joy, fear, uncertainty. You start noticing things about Tim that you hadn't before—the way he smiles, the way he talks about his interests with such passion, the way he looks at you sometimes when he thinks you're not paying attention.

That last thing might be delusion on your part.

But Tim has Bernard now, and you respect that. You value your friendship with Tim too much to jeopardize it with your feelings. So, you bury your emotions deep down and try to focus on being the best friend you can be.

“What about you, [Name]?” asks Mina, libero of your team. Mina is notorious among your friends as the one with the most boy problems. You’d never say this out loud, but you think she doesn’t know that you don’t always need to be in a relationship.

“Any boy troubles?”

Your shoelaces can’t get tied fast enough. “No.” Because there’s not. Tim has his own boyfriend. There’s no you and him, apart from being you being his friend and him being your best friend.

Lilly, setter, gives you a playful nudge, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Come on, spill! There's gotta be someone you're crushing on."

You chuckle nervously, shaking your head. "Really, there's no one."

Your teammates exchange knowing glances, clearly not convinced. You've always been more reserved about your personal life compared to them. They respect your privacy, but sometimes they can't help but tease. You’ve come to realize that it’s just a friend thing.

Senior year is a calm year.

Most people describe it as the most stressful yet chill year of them all. Stressful, because after this life is going to be serious and suddenly you’re swamped with creating a resume and applying to colleges. Chill, because you can simply just not do all that, and barely show up at all.

Your parents want you to go to college, but assure you that if you don’t want to, you’ll always have a place at their company. Nepotism is a beautiful thing.

You think less of Tim and think more of making this volleyball season the best it can be. It’s your senior year after all, when better to go all out? You become the reason your team wins their games. The star ace. 

During the final game of the season, Tim meets you out back, just before you have to go out on the court. He's holding a bouquet of flowers—violets and peonies. His smile is nervous, uncertain, but there's a warmth in his eyes that you've come to recognize as affection.

"Hey," he starts, handing you the bouquet. "I know this might be a weird time, but there's something I've been wanting to tell you."

Your heart skips a beat as you take the flowers, your mind racing with possibilities. Could this be...?

"I've been thinking a lot lately," Tim continues, his words coming out in a rush now. "About us, about our friendship. I realize I've been a bit... oblivious, maybe. And I just wanted to say that I really appreciate you, [Name]. More than anyone else in my life."

You feel a mix of emotions—hope, confusion, and a twinge of disappointment. You try to keep your expression neutral, not wanting to betray your feelings. You’re not sure what you were thinking. You should’ve known better.

You tentatively reach out to take the bouquet. It’s pretty. “You should’ve probably saved them for after the game.” It’s meant to be a joke, but you’ve never been too good at making those.

Tim chuckles softly, his nervousness easing a bit at your attempt at humor. "Maybe. I wanted to give them to you now.”

The bouquet feels heavy in your hands, the flowers vibrant and fragrant against your fingers. “Thank you.”

You play with all your might. Sweat beads at your temple as you leap in the air. It feels like flying. You play with a fierce determination, channeling your emotions into each move, each serve, and each spike.

You spot Tim in the crowd as you’re in the air. He's watching you intently, his eyes filled with pride and admiration. The game seems to blur around you as you lock eyes with him. You almost miss the winning point.

You're surrounded by your teammates, celebrating the victory, but your eyes search for Tim. He's waiting for you at the edge of the court, a proud smile on his face.

As you approach him, still breathless from the game, he envelops you in a hug. "You were amazing out there," he says sincerely, his voice filled with admiration.

"Thanks," you manage to reply, feeling a rush of emotions—pride, happiness, and a lingering uncertainty.

“I like seeing you do things you love.” He should stop saying things like that.

Tim wants to take you out to dinner to celebrate. You initially decline, and he looks a little confused by that.

“My coach said she’d take us out to eat if we won,” you explain.

“Oh,” he says.

“Don’t worry about what Coach said, [Name],” says Anne, captain, laying a firm hand on your shoulder. “Go spend time with your boyfriend. I’ll ask her to reschedule.”

“Tim’s not my–”

“That’s okay,” smiles Tim. It’s his showman smile. “I don’t want to keep [Name] from spending time with you.” He doesn’t deny that he’s your boyfriend. Why doesn’t he deny that he’s your boyfriend?

Anne grins, fierce and sharp. “Take her out to dinner.” And that’s that.

Tim keeps a friendly hand on your back as he guides you out. “Let's go to that place we talked about last week," he suggests, his voice almost as sweet as the victory that's just come to pass. "I promise it'll be worth it."

You're filled with a mix of emotions as you walk alongside Tim, still processing everything that's happened. The restaurant is cozy, with dim lighting and soft music playing in the background. Tim seems relaxed, chatting about the game, your performance, anything really. Tim’s always had a way of capturing your attention.

“Bernard and I broke up.” You almost don’t register the info, too focused on watching his face.

You furrow your brows. “What did you do?”

“Why do you assume I did something?” he asks dryly.

“Have you met you?”

“Nothing happened.” He rolls his eyes. “It just didn’t work out.”

“Oh,” you reply softly, unsure how to respond to Tim’s revelation. You hadn’t expected he would talk about his relationship status, and would’ve preferred if he hadn’t.  Tim continues to look at you, waiting for you to say something, anything, but you’re not sure what to say. 

The atmosphere between you feels a bit heavier now, the weight of unspoken feelings lingering in the air. You've always valued your friendship with Tim above anything else, and while part of you feels a pang of sympathy for his breakup, another part wonders what it means for your relationship with him.

By the time dinner ends and you're walking back together, the tension that had briefly surfaced seems to have dissipated. Tim is back to his usual self, cracking jokes and teasing you playfully about your volleyball skills. You find yourself smiling, grateful for the comfort and familiarity of your friendship.

As you part ways for the night, Tim gives you a warm hug, holding onto you for just a moment longer than usual. "Thanks for tonight," he says sincerely, his voice quiet.

"Anytime," you reply softly, feeling a rush of warmth at his words. "I'm glad we could hang out."

Tim nods, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he finally heads off. You watch him go, your mind swirling with thoughts and emotions that you're not quite ready to unpack yet.

In the days that follow, you notice subtle changes in your interactions with Tim. He is pulling you closer to him. He has taken you to more private places just to hang out. He seems more attentive, more considerate of your feelings and preferences. He makes an effort to spend more time with you, whether it's grabbing lunch together between classes or inviting you over for movie nights more frequently. 

You feel a flutter of hope in your chest with each of these gestures, but you push it down. You know better.

Tim stops going to school for a while, and it feels like you're back to square one. Back to when he found better ways to spend his time, with others who are not you.

You meet a boy. He’s nice and he’s cute. You like him well enough, and he seems to genuinely enjoy your company. Your friends say that you guys are cute together.

He asks you on a date to a local cafe, and you agree. It's a pleasant afternoon, filled with easy conversation and laughter. He listens intently as you talk about your interests, your dreams for the future, and he shares his own aspirations with you. It feels comfortable, uncomplicated.

Comfortable and uncomplicated never last long for you.

“This is a goddamn robbery!”

Two warning shots go off, and people scramble out of their seats to cover. What kind of asshole robs a cafe? You hide under the table, mind scrambled by the sudden change of events. Your hands scramble to grab on to your date, for comfort or for reassurance you don’t know, but you don’t feel anything.

You see your date round the booth and run out of the door. He left you.

You’re left alone and bewildered, shaken by the sudden chaos. Your heart races, adrenaline pumping as you try to make sense of what just happened. Fucking asshole , he just left you!

“Put the gun down, sir.”

There’s someone in the doorway. You peek out from under the table, heart still racing, and see him—Red Robin. He’s a figure of black and red. His presence commands and reassures.

The robber hesitates, gun wavering slightly as he eyes Red Robin warily. It’s a stand-off, tense and uncertain.

“I said put the gun down,” Red Robin repeats calmly, stepping forward with measured confidence.

The robber takes slow steps to the side, gun pointed at the vigilante. Every step taken to get closer has the robber threatening to shoot. “Easy, just put it down and we can talk,” Red Robin continues, his voice steady and calm. The tension in the cafe is strong, everyone holding their breath as they watch the standoff unfold.

The robber’s hand shakes as he weighs his options, eyes darting between Red Robin and the patrons cowering behind tables. His legs carry him closer and closer. He’s.

He’s getting closer to you.

You try to move further under the table, but the robber lunges down and grabs your arm, twisting his and pulling you up. You yelp as there’s suddenly something cold pressed to your head.

“I’ll blast her brains out.”

"Let her go.” Red Robin's voice is suddenly deep and menacing.

The robber hesitates, glancing between you and Red Robin. He tightens his grip on your arm, causing you to wince in pain.

"Let her go now," Red Robin repeats, his tone firm and unwavering. Your breathing starts to pick up.

Suddenly, there's a blur of motion and a loud thud. The robber cries out in pain as he releases you, stumbling back from the force of impact. There’s a loud sound and suddenly there’s a searing pain in your side.

You whimper and stumble to the floor, holding your side. There’s a rush of movement around you as you crawl away. You hear sirens. The police are here. What good they were.

“Hey. Heyheyheyheyhey. It’s okay.” A hand removes yours and replaces it. You look at them. They’re covered in blood. “It’s just a graze. It’s okay.”

Red Robin is at your side muttering reassurances into your ear. You whimper when his hand applies pressure to your wound. He shushes you quietly. “You’re fine.”

Then his voice breaks. “You have to be.”

There’s a heavy thud of boots in your directions. “Red Robin.” It’s Batman, in all this terrifying and dramatic glory. Batman, with a quick glance at you, shifts his attention to the situation at hand. “She needs medical attention.”

Red Robin helps you sit up a little, keeping pressure on your wound while Batman assesses the situation. The cafe is now surrounded by police, and the robber is being apprehended. "Stay with me," Red Robin urges softly, his voice a comforting presence amidst the chaos. "You're going to be okay."

Paramedics arrive shortly after, quickly attending to your wound. Red Robin stays by your side, explaining what happened to the paramedics and keeping you calm. It’s strange, how easily you’re comforted by his presence.

You're taken to the hospital for treatment, where the doctors confirm that your injury is indeed just a graze. Your parents are the first to arrive, appearances rustled. Your mother sheds a tear, even after you tell her that it’s just a graze, that it could’ve been a lot worse. That makes her cry harder.

Your friends arrive next, rushing through the door. You ask how they found out what happened, and they say they were secretly watching your date from across the street. They ridicule your date, having saw how he ran away first thing. You can’t bring yourself to be irked with them.

No one else comes to visit.

You’re allowed to go back to school after a week. Tim is there, waiting by the entrance. He perks up when he sees you. You stop in your tracks as he makes his way over to you.

Tim embraces you in a hug, unexpectedly. You can’t bring your arms up to hug him back. He must notice, because he unwraps from you with a cough.

"...Hey," Tim says softly, his eyes searching yours. "I heard what happened. Are you okay?"

You nod, not being able to bring yourself to say anything. He nods as well. “That’s good.”

“...Are you sure?”

“Tim…” you sigh, finally. He perks up at your voice, looking at you earnestly.

“Do you want to go somewhere? The park? We don’t have to do anything, we can just. Sit. I don’t want you to pull your stitches or anything–”

“You weren’t even there.”

Tim shuts up, staring at you. You don’t look at him, perhaps afraid. You’ve never truly spoken your mind, preferring to simply deal with it and move on. But you… deserve better.

“I waited for you to come visit,” you whisper, looking down at your shoe. “But you never came. Did you even know?”

His hands hover in the air uselessly. “I. Of course I knew–”

“Then why didn’t you visit?” Your brows furrow. “Is that asking too much? For you to just, show up? While I’m sitting in the hospital because I barely missed being shot?”

“I was busy!”

“You’re always busy,” you groan.

Tim's expression tightens with guilt as he listens to your words, his usual composed demeanor faltering. He runs a hand through his hair, looking conflicted. "I know... I know it's not an excuse, but things have been crazy, and I... I should have been there for you. I'm really sorry."

“It’s the same thing everytime.”

“[Name]?”

“You’re not there. You apologize for not being there. I accept, we move on. And then it happens again.”

Tim's shoulders slump slightly, and he takes a moment before responding, his voice quieter now, tinged with regret. "I... I don't want it to be like that. I want to be there for you. I want to... I want to do better. You just… you don’t know what I have going on in my life.”

You glance up at him, meeting his gaze. His sincerity is evident, but so is his struggle with balancing his responsibilities. You take a deep breath, feeling a mix of frustration and a longing for understanding.

“I don’t know because you don’t tell me anything,” you mutter.

He takes a step closer, hesitant but determined to bridge the gap that has formed between you. “I’m sorry, but please. You're… you’re my best friend.”

You shake your head. “You’re my best friend. I’m just… convenient for you.”

Tim's expression softens, hurt flickering across his features before he shakes his head. “No. No, please don’t think that.”

“What else am I supposed to think?”

Tim's eyes search yours, pleading for understanding. He takes a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "I... I know I've let you down. And I'm sorry for that. You mean more to me than just convenience. I don't always… know how to balance everything.”

His admission hangs in the air, vulnerable and raw. You feel a pang of sympathy mixed with frustration. Tim has always been your closest friend, but for a long time, it's felt like he's slipping away, caught up in his own world.

“Can you just,” you pause, feeling like your entire world just shifted on its axis. “Leave me alone?”

“...How long?” he croaks.

You hesitate, the weight of your words heavy on your chest. "I don't know, Tim. I just. I need some space right now."

He nods slowly, expression twisted with anguish. “Okay,” he says softly. “Whatever you want.”

You wanted him, but that’s not possible.

Tim stands there for a moment, as if searching for something else to say, but ultimately turns away. You watch him go, feeling a mixture of relief and sorrow.

Days pass, and Tim respects your request for space. The halls of school feel different without his constant presence, a reminder of the void left by his absence. You start spending time on rooftops at night. You find solace in the quiet, away from the complexities of school and relationships. The city lights spread out beneath you, casting a gentle glow on the world below.

You've always valued your independence, your ability to navigate life on your own terms. Yet, beneath that independence lies a yearning—for connection, for understanding.

There’s a realization settling in—a realization that friendships, like all relationships, evolve and change as you get older. You've grown alongside Tim, but perhaps you've also outgrown some aspects of your dynamic. You’ve noticed the way his muscles flex when he stretches, the way his arms have gotten bigger and you’ve seen a glimpse of his toned stomach. He’s grown up, as seen by his body.

But growing up doesn’t just change your body. It also changes your mind.

It changed the way you see Tim. He’s matured into a strong and confident person, and you can’t help but notice the way he holds himself now. He’s more than just your childhood friend—he’s become someone you admire for his determination and resilience. Yet, amidst this newfound admiration, there’s still a part of you that remembers the boy who used to share chocolates with you at galas, who understood your quiet nature and sat by you during movie nights.

You can try to move on. You can hang out with other people, but he’ll always be in the back of your mind. You know you miss him. Every time you see him at school, you feel a pang of longing, mixed with a hint of resentment.

“You shouldn’t be out so late.”

You don’t move your head from where it’s rested on your arms on top of the ledge. Footsteps echo closer, until a figure clad in red maneuvers himself to sit on top of the ledge. Red Robin has decided to pay you a visit. You hope he doesn’t think you’re up to no good.

It’s silent for a moment, only the sound of wind rustling and cars moving able to be heard. The vigilante coughs, fidgeting.

“...You didn’t tell me why you were out so late.”

“You didn’t ask,” you mutter, finger trailing the surface of the ledge. 

“I guess I didn’t,” he chuckles awkwardly. He shifts, the dim glow from the city below casting a subdued light on his features. His suit blends with the shadows, making him seem almost ethereal against the night sky.

“It’s just that,” he pauses, straightening his shoulders once he seems to find his confidence. “A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be out alone so late.”

You raise a brow at him, which makes him falter ever so slightly. “I’m on a rooftop. There’s no one else here.”

“I’m here,” he points out.

“You are,” you agree. “So now that you have me alone, are you gonna do something to me?”

He sputters, waving his hands. “No! No, God no. I promise. I help people, not–” he stops, hearing a sound. It’s your laughter. It’s nothing grand, but it’s genuine. The vigilante relaxes a gentle smile on his face as he takes you in.

“Sorry,” you chuckle, eyes closing. It’s pretty late. You could honestly fall asleep here. Red Robin lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his shoulders dropping in relief. “Bad joke.”

“No, no. It was good,” he assures. “You got me good.”

The moment stretches between you, filled with the easy silence of two people who have unknowingly shared many quiet moments together. Red Robin’s presence is both comforting and disconcerting.

A finger gently pokes you, stirring you awake. “Sleep at home, not here.”

You blink a few times, slowly lifting your head from your arms, feeling the cool breeze brush against your cheeks. Red Robin’s face is close, concern etched in his features. You yawn, stretching out your limbs and reluctantly pushing yourself up from the ledge.

“Are you not sleeping well?”

“No more than usual,” He offers a hand to help you stand, and you take it, feeling the strength in his grip. Once on your feet, you dust off your clothes and glance around the rooftop, a part of you reluctant to leave the serene view behind.

“Let me walk you home,” Red Robin offers, his voice gentle but firm.

“Sure.”

As you walk together, the city around you hums with a nocturnal life of its own. The streets are quieter, but not entirely deserted. Red Robin stays close, his presence reassuring. You steal glances at him. Something about him feels familiar. Maybe it’s just because he’s friendly.

When you turn back to thank him once you’re at your front door, he’s gone.

It becomes a routine, meeting him on that rooftop. Sometimes he doesn’t show, you feel eyes watching you when you’re walking back home. The days blend into nights, and you find yourself looking forward to those moments on the rooftop. The city feels different when you're up high, watching from a vantage point few ever see. It's a perspective that offers clarity, a place where the noise of everyday life fades into the background.

One evening, you arrive on the rooftop to find Red Robin already there, leaning against the ledge, gazing out at the city. He turns when he hears your approach, his expression softening.

“You’re early tonight,” he comments, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“Needed some fresh air,” you reply, settling beside him. “And some company.”

He chuckles softly, the sound blending with the distant hum of the city. “Well, you’ve got both now.”

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the kind that speaks volumes without needing words. You find yourself studying him, noticing the way his eyes reflect the city lights, the slight tension in his shoulders that eases the longer you sit together.

“Why do you come here?” he asks suddenly, breaking the silence. His tone is curious.

“I like being alone,” is all you say.

He nods thoughtfully. “I get that. Sometimes it’s easier to think when you’re away from everything else.” He looks at you. “Surely you’re not lonely though, right?”

“Lonely?”

“Like…” he hesitates, “you have friends?”

“I do,” you hum, furrowing your brows. “But. I don’t know. The girls on my team are nice, but I don’t really feel all that connected to them.”

“Is there no one you feel connected to?”

“There was somebody, but,” you trail off, looking towards the skyline. “People change. I guess I just can’t keep up.”

Red Robin listens quietly, his gaze thoughtful. "Change can be hard," he agrees softly. "But it's also inevitable. We all grow, evolve... sometimes in different directions."

"Yeah," you murmur, staring out at the city lights. "I guess that's part of growing up."

He whistles slightly. “So, who was that somebody?” You raise a brow at him. “If you’re comfortable sharing, that is!”

“Didn’t take you for a gossip,” you mumble.

Red Robin laughs softly, the sound light and almost musical against the backdrop of the night. “It’s not gossip if I’m just listening.”

You consider his words, your gaze drifting back to the cityscape. “It was my best friend,” you admit quietly. “We grew up together, shared everything. But lately... things have changed. We’ve changed.” You sigh softly. “Sometimes I wonder if I did something wrong, or if it’s just... life.”

“I’m sure you did nothing wrong,” he whispers.

“I was in love with him. I think I still am.”

The admission hangs in the air between you, heavier than any silence that had come before. Red Robin shifts beside you, his posture suddenly more alert, more focused on your words.

"In love?" he repeats softly, as if testing the weight of the phrase.

“I kind of realized it when he introduced me to his then boyfriend. But by the time I understood my feelings, it felt too late. He has friends and big things happening for him, and all I have is him,” you mumble. “But I guess I don’t have him anymore.”

“He let me down so many times and I don’t even have it in me to be angry with him. I just wish he chose me.” You turn to face him.

Red Robin's expression is unreadable beneath his mask, but there's a softness in his eyes that wasn't there before. He listens intently, not interrupting your flow of words, allowing you to spill the feelings that have been bottled up for so long.

Your face turns sad. “But maybe I’m being selfish.”

Red Robin's hand moves slightly, as if he's about to reach out to you, but he stops himself, clenching it into a fist instead. "It's hard," he says gently. "Loving someone who doesn't see you the same way, or who can't be there for you like you need them to be."

You stare at him as he continues, “I know it can’t compare to what you felt, but I’ve been so upset for the longest because I couldn’t share this part of my life with you.” He gestures to himself. “I was angry I couldn’t share with you the crazy things that happen on patrol or rely on you to patch me up if things go bad.”

The fog in your head clears. You look at him in confusion. “What?”

“But I was also so scared of bringing you into this life. I didn’t know if you felt the same and I thought I would just be dragging you into something that wasn’t worth it.”

You blink, staring at Red Robin in shock as the realization dawns on you. The pieces start to fit together—the familiarity, the way he seemed to know you, the concern in his eyes.

“Tim?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He doesn’t deny it. Instead, he removes his mask, revealing the face of your childhood friend. Tim’s eyes are filled with vulnerability and a hint of fear, as if he’s terrified of what you might say next.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I didn’t mean to keep this from you for so long. I wanted to protect you, but I ended up hurting you instead.”

Your heart races as you take in his words, the weight of his confession settling over you. The anger, confusion, and longing that have been building up inside you finally find an outlet.

“I thought,” he pauses, finding the words, “if I stayed away, you would be safe. You’d find other people and you wouldn’t need me anymore.” He shakes his head. “But I couldn’t stay away. You weren’t selfish [Name]. I was.”

The night seems to stretch on, the air tense with unspoken words. You look at Tim, still grappling with the shock of his revelation. His vulnerability pierces through the stoic facade you’ve seen him wear as Red Robin. The weight of his confession hangs heavy between you, stirring emotions you’ve kept buried.

You get up and start walking away.

Tim winces and reaches out to you. “[Name]–”

You whirl around. “I told you to leave me alone ,” you snarl. “So you go and play nice with me in your stupid costume? You pity me or something?”

Tim's expression shifts, hurt flashing across his features before he schools it into a mask of determination. "No, it's not pity. I care about you, [Name]. I've always cared." His voice is earnest, pleading almost, as if he's trying to convey the depth of his feelings without fully exposing himself.

You start pacing. “God, everything I told you–”

“I was just worried about you–”

“I trusted you.” you whisper.

He looks up at you, his expression pained. “I know I messed up. I should have been honest with you from the beginning.”

“Yes, you should have,” you snap, the anger rising in you like a tidal wave. “You had no right to decide for me.”

“You’re right, it was wrong.”

“Wrong doesn’t even begin to cover it,” you retort, your voice trembling now with a mix of anger and hurt. “Tim, I thought you were my friend.”

“I am your friend,” he insists, his voice desperate now, pleading for you to understand. “I’ve always been your friend. I–”

“[Name],” he pleads. “I love you.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words, the intensity of his confession crashing into you like a rogue wave. Tim stands before you, vulnerable and raw, his eyes searching yours for any sign of understanding, of forgiveness.

“That’s why I did the things that I did.” His hand reaches out to gently take yours. “Because I thought I wasn't enough for you, and I know I don’t deserve you, but I still love you.”

His hand, warm and trembling, rests gently over yours. The city lights cast a soft glow on his face, revealing the sincerity in his eyes. Your emotions churn in a tumultuous sea of anger, hurt, and disbelief, struggling to find their place amidst his confession.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The silence is thick with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. Tim's gaze never wavers from yours, a mixture of hope and fear etched into his features.

“You’re such an asshole.”

“I know.”

“I deserve better.”

“I know.”

You sigh deeply, head dropping. “Maybe it’s too late,” you say quietly, your voice wavering. “Maybe we’ve both changed too much.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re so unfair,” you growl, eyes growing wet. “I was trying to move on, and then you just come and do this.”

Tim winces.

You run a hand down your face tiredly. “And I still love you. God. Maybe I hate myself just as much as I hate you.”

“Don’t say that about yourself–”

“Shut up.”

“Okay.”

You point both fingers at his face. “You. You owe me so much.”

He nods rapidly. “I’m talking months, years of making this up to me,” you say, eyes looking into his. “You’re gonna do anything I ask and tell me anything I want to know.”

“Whatever you want, pretty.”

You raise a brow. He purses his lips. “Sorry. You’re kind of hot right now.”

“I’m always hot.”

“You’re right, I apologize.”

You glance at Tim, your anger softening. Despite everything, his familiar charm still manages to tug at your heartstrings. You let out a resigned sigh, realizing that beneath the hurt and confusion, there's a part of you that still cares deeply for him.

Your hands cup his face. “I’m going to kiss you now. You don’t deserve it, but I want it. And this will be the only one you get for a while.”

Tim’s eyes widen, and he takes a deep breath, bracing himself for what’s about to happen. He places his hands on your waist, tightening when you don’t bat him off.

As you lean in, you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. Your lips meet his in a kiss that is both fierce and tender, a complex blend of longing and frustration. The contact is electrifying, igniting a myriad of feelings that have been pent up for too long. For a moment, the world around you fades, leaving just the two of you amidst the city lights and the quiet of the rooftop.

Tim responds with a desperateness that contrasts with the tenderness of your kiss. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer as if afraid you might disappear. The kiss lingers, neither of you rushing to pull away, savoring the connection despite the turmoil that surrounds it.

Tim presses a few fleeting kisses as you pull away. “Sorry, sorry,” he mumbles, not sounding sorry at all. “Who knows when you’ll let me kiss you again.”

“You’re such a loser. Why do I love you.”

His smile goes stupid. He shoves his face into your neck. “You love me.”

You sigh, leaning into his embrace despite yourself. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

The two of you stand on the rooftop, wrapped in each other’s arms, the city sprawled out beneath you. In that moment, amidst the complexities and uncertainties of life, you find a sense of peace—a realization that perhaps, despite the changes and challenges, some things are meant to endure.

“I’ll do right by you,” he vows.

You nod, feeling a bittersweet satisfaction. The process of healing and rebuilding trust will take time, but there’s a tentative hope that maybe, just maybe, things can start to mend. You lean your head against his shoulder, feeling the familiar comfort of his presence. “Let’s just take things one step at a time. I don’t want to rush this or force anything.”

Tim wraps his arms around you, his hold gentle but reassuring. “You won’t be. I want this bad. But whatever you want.”

Eventually, and hesitantly, Tim pulls away from you. “It’s late. Please let me take you home.”

He offers his hand, and you take it.

Tim struggles to let go of your hand as you open your front door. You compromise with a kiss on his cheek. “Goodnight, Tim.”

His face goes red. “Goodnight, [Name],” he replies, his voice carrying a note of hope and promise.

You close the door behind you, feeling a renewed sense of clarity. The complexities of your emotions are still there, but you have a newfound hope that things can be mended. The city outside continues its nocturnal dance, but up on the rooftop, amidst the shared moments and honest confessions, you’ve found a glimmer of possibility. And for now, that’s enough.

notes: tim only went up to you at that gala because of his parents, but his little 8 year old self saw a cutie and said fuck it we in this for life

[curiositymemes]

STICK SEASON: WE'LL ALL BE HERE FOREVER.

taken from the 2023 album by noah kahan. trigger warnings for mental illness, trauma, medication, references to suicide, and the exquisite agony of life in rural new england. feel free to change wording and pronouns and provide context as necessary. do not add to this list.

northern attitude.

how you been? 

you settled down?

you feelin’ right? 

you feelin’ proud?

you settle in to routine.

what does it mean? 

i’m not how you hoped.

you’re gettin’ lost.

scared to live, scared to die. 

you’re feelin’ lost.

stick season.

you must’ve had yourself a change of heart.

now i am stuck between my anger and the blame that i can’t face.

it’s half my fault, but i just like to play the victim. 

i’ll dream each night of some version of you that i might not have but i did not lose. 

i thought that if i piled something good on all my bad i could cancel out the darkness i inherited from dad. 

i miss the way you laugh.

you once called me forever now you still can’t call me back.

that’ll have to do.

my other half was you.

i hope this pain’s just passin’ through, but i doubt it. 

all my love.

how have things been?

well, love, now that you mention it.

i’m sayin’ too much, but you know how it gets out here.

now i know your name, but not who you are.

it’s all okay, there ain’t a drop of bad blood.

you got all my love.

if you need me, dear, i’m the same as i was.

what i’d give to have you out of me.

i still recall how the leather in your car feels.

and at the end of it all, i just hope that your scars heal.

i swear i was scared to death.

i smiled stupid the whole way home.

you said, ‘i’ll never let you go.’

she calls me back.

there was heaven in your eyes. 

everything’s alright.

look at me and don’t you lie.

don’t you hold your head up high.

for bullshit, i do not have time.

do you lie awake restless?

why am i so obsessive?

this town’s the same as you left it.

the radio is taunting me.

i don’t get much sleep most nights.

i’m seeing you in every dream.

if only i could fall asleep. 

i’ll love you when the oceans dry. 

i was too afraid of living life in your footsteps.

come over.

it was there when we got here, will be there when we leave.

you won’t have to guess who they’re speakin’ about.

i’m in the process of clearin’ out cobwebs. 

i was takin’ the wrong meds; feels good to be sad.

my house is just barely big enough for my family.

my mouth was designed for my foot to fit in it.

i promise you, darlin’.

you won’t ever go back.

i know that it ain’t much.

i know that it ain’t cool.

you don’t have to tell the other kids at school.

someday i’m gonna be somebody people want.

new perspective.

makin’ me nostalgic.

we were kids; but that don’t make this less hard.

if i could fly i doubt i’d even do it. 

i’d probably get high and crash or somethin’ stupid.

gave me your word.

i can’t pronounce it.

no thing so sure that i can’t learn to doubt it.

everywhere, everything.

would we survive in a horror movie?

we trust everyone we meet.

we’re littered with scars from our preteens.

i wanna love you ‘til we’re food for the worms to eat.

‘til our fingers decompose, keep my hand in yours. 

i know every route in this county.

maybe that ain’t such a bad thing.

i’ll tell you where not to speed.

it’s been a long year.

orange juice.

honey, come over.

it’s yours if you want it.

we’re just glad you could visit. 

feels like i’ve been ready for you to come home for so long.

i didn’t think to ask you where you’d gone. 

why’d you go?

my heart has changed and my soul has changed.

you just asked me to hold you.

it made you a stranger and it filled you with anger.

my life has changed.

the world has changed.

don’t you find it strange that you just went ahead and carried on?

are we all just pullin’ you down?

strawberry wine.

darling, speak to me.

don’t you say a word.

you thought you were cursed?

i’m in love with every song you’ve ever heard.

if i could lose you, i would.

all the time we used to have.

the things i miss but know are never coming back. 

no thing defines a man like love that makes him soft.

growing sideways.

finally found some middle ground.

i said, ‘i’m cured.’

i divvied up my anger into thirty separate parts.

i’m still angry at my parents for what their parents did to them.

it’s a start.

but i ignore things and i move sideways ‘til i forget what i felt in the first place.

i know there are worse ways to stay alive.

everyone’s growing and everyone’s healthy.

if my engine works perfect on empty, i guess i’ll drive. 

i forgot my medication, fell into a manic high.

now i’m sufferin’ in style.

why is pain so damn impatient? ain’t like it’s got a place to be.

if all my time was wasted, i don’t mind. 

i’ll watch it go.

it’s better to die numb than feel it all.

halloween.

the dawn isn’t here, the sun hasn’t rose.

they got money to make and children back home.

i worry for you, you worry for me.

the bridges have long since been burnt. 

i’m leavin’ this town and i’m changin’ my address.

i know that you’ll come if you want.

i’m losin’ myself.

i’m seein’ my life on a screen.

i know that you fear that i’m wicked and weary.

i know that you’re fearin’ the end. 

i only tell the truth when i’m sure that i’m lyin’. 

homesick.

are you bored yet?

the weather ain’t been bad if you’re into masochistic bullshit.

this place is such great motivation for anyone tryna move the fuck away from hibernation. 

time moves so damn slow i swear i feel my organs failing.

i stopped caring ‘bout a month ago, since then it’s been smooth sailing. 

i would leave if only i could find a reason. 

i got dreams, but i cant make myself believe them. 

i’ll spend the rest of my life with what could have been. 

i will die in the house that i grew up in.

i’m homesick. 

still.

i don’t wanna say goodbye.

it only falls into place when you’re fallin’ to pieces.

you miss something that you can’t place but you can’t deny it. 

you can’t stay here.

it’s hard to face and it feels too ugly.

it’s like i’m still here with you. 

can i fix what is broken?

the view between villages (extended). 

for a minute, the world seems so simple.

i am not scared of death.

i’ve got dreams again.

there is meanin’ on earth. 

i feel so far from it.

it’s all washin’ over me. 

i’m angry again. 

the things that i lost here, the people i knew.

they got me surrounded for a mile or two. 

i found a town big enough for anything i want.

i’m not a city girl, by any means.

it still has a lot of meaning to me.

i grew up there. 

your needs, my needs.

you ain’t gotta tell me what it means.

i promise to be there this time. alright? 

you were a work of art.

that’s the hardest part.

i’m naming the stars in the sky after you.

dial drunk.

i promised to forget you.

i ain’t takin’ any fault.

am i half the man i used to be? i doubt it.

forget about it, whatever.

it’s all the same anyways.

i ain’t proud of all the punches that i’ve thrown. 

for the shame of being young, drunk, and alone.

i gave your name as my emergency phone call.

i’d die for you.

from charmin’ to alarmin’ in seconds.

i’ll let the pain metastasize.

i beg you, sir, just let me call.

let’s wait, i swear she’ll call me back.

son, are you a danger to yourself?

fuck that, sir.

son, why do you do this to yourself?

paul revere.

this place had a heartbeat in its day.

nothin’ was the same.

it just ain’t that simple, it never was.

one day i’m gonna cut it clear.

i’m not from around here.

i’ll leave before the road crew’s out. 

i’ll turn up the music and i’ll forget.

i’m not ready to let go yet.

i’ll just pretend i didn’t hear.

it’s typical, i fear.

folks just disappear.

if i could leave, i would’ve already left.

no complaints.

i thought i had something and that’s the same as having something.

i get mad at nothing.

i pull no punches, then feel bad for months.

thought i was raised better, tried to fake better.

now the weight of the world ain’t so bad.

i saw the end, it looks just like the middle.

i filled the hole in my head with prescription medication.

who am i to complain?

now the pain’s different. It still exists, it just escapes different.

yes, i’m young and living dreams.

i’m in love with being noticed and afraid of being seen.

call your mom.

oh, you’re spiralin’ again.

don’t you cancel any plans.

stayed on the line with you the entire night ‘til you let it out and let it in.

don’t let this darkness fool you.

i’ll drive all night.

i’ll call your mom.

oh, dear, don’t be discouraged.

i’ve been exactly where you are.

if you could see yourself like this.

you’dve never tried it.

stayed on the line with you the entire night ‘til you told me that you had to go.

throw a punch, fall in love, give yourself a reason.

don’t wanna drive another mile wonderin’ if you’re breathin’.

won’t you stay with me?

you’re gonna go far. 

this is good land, or at least it was.

it takes a strong hand and a sound mind.

it makes me smile to know when things get hard, you’ll be far from here.

pack up your car.

put a hand to your heart.

say whatever you feel.

be wherever you are.

we ain’t angry at you, love. 

you’re the greatest thing we’ve lost.

the birds will still sing.

we’ll be waiting for you, love.

we’ll all be here forever.

we spent so long just getting by.

that’s the thing about survival; who the hell likes livin’ just to die?

you told me you would make a difference.

it won’t be by your own volition if you step foot outside this town.

it’s all we’ve had for always.

you’re gonna go far.

if you wanna go far, then you gotta go far.

forever.

let’s drive for no reason.

you look fine in the evening.

honey, it’s starting to storm.

used to wish i meant anything to anywhere, to anyone.

i’m glad i get forever to see where you end.

i won’t be alone for the rest of my life.

i’ll meet a girl in the heat of july.

i’ll tell her so she knows.

i’m broke, but i’m real rich in my head.

when i hold her close, i might loosen my grip, but i won’t ever let her go.

[britt-kageryuu]

Leo is playing Geoguesser on stream.

Though because of technical difficulties with the 3D models, he's using 2.5D cartoony Red Eared Slider model.

The chat is trying to give their input, but Leo knows that chat can't always be trusted with this game.

"Okay, I may not be as big a plant guy as Dee, but those trees look like they might be from ..." Leo brings up the map, "Right around here!" He moves the mouse around a spot, and clicks to make a guess.

And he's only off be 50 miles.

"Ha! Nailed It!" Leo shouts while the game loads the next area.

It's obviously in a big city somewhere, though not very clear at first.

"Wait! I know where this is!!" Leo says while he starts to move around, and looks at some close by buildings, "This is in the LES of Manhattan! Like I know that hotdog cart! Pretty good if a bit pricey."

Leo keeps moving around talking about somethings in the area.

"So if I go back to the start point," Leo does this, and opens the map to zoom in on a very specific spot on the map, "It's right here, not to far from that one roller rink. Cool place really."

After he puts in the guess it shows he was spot on with the "guess".

The chat was going a bit nuts with amazement.

The next location came up. It was a suburban area.

Leo moved the around abit.

"Hmm. Looks like a generic suburb that would be the backdrop of a nice sitcom in the early 2000s. Oh a trash bin." He tries zooming in on the bin. "Does that say 'Orange County' as in Florida, or California?"

Leo takes a few minutes to move around before doing a coin flip. The correct location was not the one he chose.

"Drat. Well then again I remember this kind of thing happening with us. Like we didn't realize there was another street with the exact same address as our home, like 50 miles south of here." Leo explains as he looks around the new location, "Long story short, we almost went the very wrong way to get home once, because that location was closer in the GPS than our home."

Leo pulls up the map to place a guess, and he's pretty close to the correct location, again.

"Gonna switch it up. Anyone want to challenge me in Geoguesser? I'll open a lobby. First come first serve." Leo says as he sets up the multiplayer/VRs mode of the game.

The 'lobby' filled quick, and the game started.

Many lost to Leo, and his odd knowledge of where some random places in the world are.

Leo secretly thinking, 'If only they knew I accidentally sent myself here way to many times~'

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

Masterpost

Watched a few people play Geoguesser who were like "Oh, I've been here before! It's this place south of that city!" Or something similar.

And with Rise Leo's portal training, he probably went so many places that he would probably be pretty good at Geoguesser.

[mrssoapmactavish]

maneater - chapter one

"if you're in it for love, you ain't gonna get too far"

this is the 'first' part of the andromeda series! still working on an official title for it all, but when it's set in stone, that'll be how you can easily find these works :)

mdni at all times! ageless/empty blogs are not welcome here!!

steve harrington had always had a bit of a thing for the emotionally distant women, even if no one would dare point it out to the boy. maybe it's the abandonment from his parents, but it's most definitely not the healthiest thing in the world for him, in fact more often than not leaving him heartbroken, such is the case with the last 'girlfriend' he'd had, nancy wheeler.

after barb's disappearance, she had gone from interested like the sweet, naive schoolgirl falling head-first for the captain of the basketball team like his parents would've hoped for him– if they were actually around, mind you– to detached, then eventually very obviously palling around with jonathan byers.

after accepting the fact that nancy was never really his to begin with– and accepting the heart-aching sting of unrequited love, another emptiness in his life that swallows him whole with loneliness– things had mostly re-stabilized. he was back to hating classes, having tommy and carol still chirping in his ear like nothing had happened. like him and tommy didn't get into a fight last year around this time, before steve had been back into the endless cycle of girls throwing themselves at him, basketball, and feeling oh so alone.

and now, lo and behold, the year he's bound to graduate and he's been applying to colleges and universities left and right, he saw billy hargrove and his two sisters.

sure, he already had a bone to pick with billy himself– the kid had the whole bad-boy thing going on, all the girls that hadn't had a chance to get swayed or swooned over king steve were utterly enamored– but he was pretty indifferent about the young redhead, knowing that the kids would eventually have something to say and he'd get an earful secondhand from nancy.

no, his interest was in the dirty blonde in the leather jacket with cherry-red lips and a furrow in her brows.

she'd been cold and detached when he had first approached her. fine, cool, he totally gets it. but seeing the way billy had given him the nastiest side-eye for greeting his sibling? it lit a fire in him, something he hadn't really felt for a while, and seeing her in his first class of the day stoked it, the flames licking within him, even if he can feel the sting of guilt knowing that this new student is just as interesting to him as nancy had been.

his eyes were locked on her, even as he pretended to laugh along with whatever stupid jest tommy had made that had carol smacking his shoulder and lecturing him, and the way she shifted her balance from foot to foot in front of the class as the insufferable chem teacher continues to ask her about herself.

"we moved from orange county. me, my brother, our half-sister, step-mom and our dad." her tone is full of boredom; she'd rather be anywhere but here, he can feel it coming off of her in waves, but his curious mind swirls at all the possibilities of what she'd rather be doing.

the thought of the girl in a cheerleading uniform just didn't fit. no, she's not the type of girl to spell out a cheer, to shake those ruffled pompoms and get the crowd roaring with excitement. nor was she the sports type; the idea of seeing her in short volleyball shorts is being filed away for later, though, don't get him wrong.

no, the first thought that comes to his head about what she would be doing is something steve harrington would've avoided a year ago.

it's strange to him; he'd never been a big fan of heavier music, always preferring catchy, danceable songs about love, parties, and other light topics, but he could close his eyes now and hear music blasting from an amplifier. she's the type to smell like vanilla and cinnamon, mostly to cover the smell of nicotine from sharing a pack with that ratty brother of hers.

the longer he watches her clash against the teachers' attempt to integrate the outsider into the class community, the more he can imagine of her. the type to drink beer at a party, to hang around whatever friends her brother had because the girls bore her with their chatty nature and mindless gossip.

as much as he wants nothing to do with the 'hargrove' name, he'd give up as many practices as possible to get so much as a glimpse into this girls personal life.

watching the girl walk with confidence but no real anger in her gait to the back of the class, sitting herself down at a table with no other students to be left the hell alone, steve finds himself staring down at his watch. he could swing skipping practice today, maybe, just to see if she'd talk to him more.

"this kinda looks like your old girlfriend, hahaha!" - scotty, evil dead (1981)

steve is, quite honestly, indifferent about the fact that he didn't choose to just skip basketball practice today. on the downside, hargrove is here, smirking and snide and really just giving far too much sass, making him seem like a scrawny kid who only got called the captain of the team because he was king steve.

he'd be absolutely fuming and ready to bitch and moan about this all afternoon and evening to anyone who'll listen– tommy, probably, and try to tone it down a bit more when he's around nancy later– if there wasn't a certain cherry-lipped blonde sitting on the stands, flipping through some boring, keep-you-busy magazine.

sure, he knows the girl won't talk much with him, but it means that the very least he can do is focus more on the game, if only to selfishly hope he'll catch her eye and at least be talked to more than a scowled out greeting. he's dying to talk to someone who doesn't know him as the same prick he was throughout highschool, he's realized.

someone who doesn't, hasn't, or never will associate him with that horrid label of king steve. maybe someone who'll look at him, what he does hanging around the school and occasionally chauffering around some of the kids, and see someone interesting. valuable. worth her time.

too bad his train of thought distracts him from keeping his footing, because it makes it much easier for billy to knock him off his feet, leaving steve to slam down against the scuffed gym floor. now that's embarrassing, he thinks to himself, what a way to make a first impression.

he's not sure whether or not billy had seen the glances towards his sister, he assumes it's the reason for the abrupt shove to the ground, especially in a no-contact sport like basketball. one thing he's very well aware of, however, is the pair of eyes on him from high up in the stands, watching his movements. it makes part of him feel elated; the idea of finally catching her attention, even if it's just because of a loud noise and a human concern for pain, sends a ripple of excitement through his veins.

steve is helped up to his feet, but not before billy mutters something he doesn't quite catch or process right away. "should've planted your feet," the californian mutters, then continuing on with the game like nothing had happened, the jeering and taunts continuing.

steve is no fool; knows that billy hargrove is aiming to dethrone him as king of hawkins high.

a year ago, that might have irked him. his popularity was all that kept his facade together, the glue that kept steve harrington from being exposed as a kid, desparately seeking meaningful connection, something he'd never gotten from his parents. he doesn't like seeking external validation, but because he'd never truly gotten it unconditionally from his parents, he knows it's what he needs to survive. and christ, what's so wrong with him that he doesn't deserve even a single attaboy?

but now? now that he and nancy have been slowly falling apart and he's having to face the fact that he's lost his first love, who he's been turning around for, reforming from his old ways for? now that tommy hagan and carol perkins are only faking friendship with steve, all because steve wouldn't let them call nancy a whore for hanging around jonathan byers?

he couldn't care less. as long as he has something to keep his mind off of the loneliness that seeps into his bones, a reason to stay as far away from his empty home as possible, a reason to come to school every day.. he's alright. at least, he hopes he is.

as he puts on the facade of not being affected or rattled by this entire revelation from the floor of the hawkins high basketball court, he notices that billy hargrove's sister watches intently from the stands, no longer bored and flipping through her magazine to occupy her idle hands and mind.

it's strange, how even just that brings a smile to his face.

[celestialmazer]

Harvey Guillén Brings His “Big and Short” Bombshell Style to the Red Carpet

The ‘What We Do in the Shadows’ actor may only have just recently courted attention for a hot run of looks (the Met Gala, the Oscars), but he’s always been a clothes horse: “I’m like Ariana Grande: I see it, I like it, I want it, I got it.”

BY MIKEY O'CONNELL JUNE 17, 2023 10:00AM

Source: https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/lifestyle/style/harvey-guillen-red-carpet-style-1235514713/

Harvey Guillén was photographed June 2 at PMC Studios in Los Angeles. He’s wearing a shirt by Daniel Velasco, who also designed the actor’s tux-inspired 2002 Emmys outfit featuring a sheer, blue pussy-bow shirt. PHOTOGRAPHED BY YASARA GUNAWARDENA

Harvey Guillén always loved to get dressed up. He cannot say the same of shopping. “Going to the mall was so hard,” says the What We Do in the Shadows star. “Somebody made a meme of what it is to be a person of size going shopping with your friends. Everyone else is like, ‘I got this cute outfit, I got this cute top, I got these cute jeans.’ Meanwhile I’m like, ‘I got this cute bracelet.’ “

Some brands and retailers have gotten better at catering to plus-size customers, but the evolution remains slow-going. Fortunately for the 33-year-old queer actor, a real sartorial standout with a string of buzzy 2023 red carpet looks, he’s now courting the attention of major labels, though not all of them are able to deliver. “They love him and want to work with him, but they are working with limited sample sizes and limited resources,” says stylist Michael Fusco. “It’s not a challenge for people to want to work with us, it’s the execution part.”

Christian Siriano is one who’s handled the execution. In March, Guillén became the first man to don a plus-size look from the designer at the Academy Awards. The pair collaborated again on a pink tweed suit for the Met Gala, a sly “fuck you” to event inspiration (and well-documented sizeist) Karl Lagerfeld. “Christian just knows how to make Harvey look great and elongate his lines,” adds Fusco. “It’s just magic.”

Even without Siriano on speed dial, Guillén is prepared for his increasingly public life thanks to a not-insignificant collection of clothing — his L.A. home boasts two full walk-in closets and four racks for overflow. A few of those looks will no doubt be sported on the Orange County native’s near-endless promotional circuit for Shadows (season five premieres July 13 on FX), DC feature Blue Beetle (in theaters Aug. 18) and a deep slate that includes recently announced New Line thriller Companion, among many other projects on deck.

You’ve had a lot of major red carpet moments this year. Is there a look you’d consider a favorite?

This year has just been back-to-back-to-back. The Oscars started that. We made so many best-dressed lists. Christian had designed for Billy Porter before, but never has he designed for a plus-size guy — so it was nice to collaborate with him on something that was new and had never been done before. The Met Gala was great. They were obviously honoring Karl Lagerfeld, but you also have to represent yourself. So I wore pink. Karl was known for not liking pink. I like loads of things that he didn’t approve of.

PHOTOGRAPHED BY YASARA GUNAWARDENA

How would you describe your first experience at the Met Gala?

I got to walk the carpet before I hosted the night for E! I’d never really put on that hat before. Maybe next time I’ll just go and do the carpet and enjoy the event. It was really cool to watch everyone come in, but it was also very exhausting to be out there in an outfit, all night, talking to people.

Working in even the most basic tuxedo can be exhausting.

Yeah! You’re just wearing Louis Vuittons, and these shoes are meant for being walked on and taking pictures — not running up the hill for hours and hours on end. I can’t even imagine it wearing heels. There’s no way I could do that for eight hours.

I’ve seen you at a couple of events wearing semi-sheer tops. Even with fashion’s easing of older gender norms, that takes confidence. Were you always so adventurous, or is this a recent development?

I’ve always been one to take risks; I just never had the opportunity to do so. It’s already hard to be confident in your own body, especially in this industry. So, if you’re going to do something, then do it full out. And then there are the people who comment, like, “Oh my God, you’re so confident in that.” Yeah, I want to feel my best in what I’m wearing. Why wouldn’t I wear a sheer top? People are just like, “Wow …” They usually assume that people who are a plus size want to cover up, not show off any skin or curves. I do the opposite. I want to show my curves. I want to show a little peekaboo. The sheer is fun.

Harvey Guillén was photographed June 2 at PMC Studios in Los Angeles. PHOTOGRAPHED BY YASARA GUNAWARDENA

What is your everyday style?

For the day, a T-shirt and jeans will be just fine. Obviously, you’re not going to wear a Christian Siriano gown to pick up bread. But I like to play with old stuff. My place in L.A. has four racks of clothes on top of two walk-in closets that are already full. I’ve collected so many pieces over the years that I’ve probably only ever worn once. I can’t bring myself to get rid of them. I have pieces I haven’t worn that are ready to go for an event. I’m like Ariana Grande: I see it, I like it, I want it, I got it. Because it’s hard to find stuff in your size! So when I find something I like, I don’t double-guess it. In the past, I’d be like, “I’ll get it later.” Then it’s gone!

The clothes that we put off buying haunt us for years.

To this day, there are these shoes that I think about. I was in Germany and thought, “It’s fine, I’m sure I can get them online.” Nope! Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I’ll wake up in a cold sweat of regret. “No! The shoes!”

PHOTOGRAPHED BY YASARA GUNAWARDENA

When you’re at the mall, what do you gravitate toward?

When I do a movie or something, the costume designers will call, and it’s always the same conversation: “Where do you shop for your clothes?” Which is so interesting to me because I was like, “Where do you shop for everyone’s clothes?” The difference is they know that question is loaded because a lot of designers or stores only go to a certain size. It isn’t as easy, and then that becomes their struggle. You’d be surprised how many times I’m like, “See, the struggle is real.” I had one costume designer who gave up. They were like, “Can you just bring some of your own clothes?”

Dior’s pre-fall 2023 show in Cairo. COURTESY OF DIOR

If you have the clothes, that means they’re out there.

You can find it! You can find clothes in a size that fits everyone; you have to search. For me, the easy go-to is ASOS. They’re reliable when it comes to a big selection of sizes — and they deliver overnight — so I do ASOS a lot. I remember spending whole afternoons at the mall just looking for clothes. You find something that you like, but then they don’t make sizes past a large or an XL. They don’t think that people who are our size are fashionable. They think you’ll be content shopping at Big & Tall — which is fine if you want to shop there, but it’s very limited. Big & Tall is for someone who’s big and tall. … “tall” being the key word. I’m big and short. There should be a shop called Big & Short. (Laughs.) The average body is not a size zero, so it’s surprising to me how the fashion industry keeps pushing that idea. The average person wants to look fashionable. But that’s aspirational living, right?

“Since he’s become a badass, we tuck his pants into his boots and roll up his sleeves,” Guillén says of his Shadows character. RUSS MARTIN/FX

And, like any other industry, they want to make money. So it doesn’t make sense to ignore such a significant portion of the market.

It’s always surprising when you see, like, “Well, the sales are low this year.” Why? Sales will go through the roof if you just added two more sizes to your collection — or at least another three sizes on top of that. There’s money out there that people want to spend. It’s like in Pretty Woman. I want to walk in like Julia Roberts with a bunch of bags and say, “I came in yesterday, and you didn’t have my size. Big mistake. Huge.” I have money to spend, but you don’t get my money because you didn’t think I was worth making a garment for my body.

“I like playing with the idea of what’s gender-normal or gender-neutral,” says Guillén of his fondness for sheer items, like this Christian Siriano look for Vanity Fair’s 2023 Oscar party. JOHN SHEARER/WIREIMAGE

How would you describe your discussions with the Shadows costume designer about the aesthetic of your character, Guillermo?

Laura Montgomery, who won the Emmy for costume design, is amazing. She and I get together at the beginning of the season. Because we know what the year’s going to be like for the character, we sprinkle in something new. In season one, he’s more buttoned up. He’s almost suffocating in his own clothing. In season two, he relaxes a little bit. He unbuttons the top button. If you look at pictures of every season, he slowly starts to become the version of who he’s supposed to be — to the point where, in season four, he’s wearing Versace. It’s in a non-fashionable way, of course. That’s just what he thinks people with money should look like.

Who are your own style icons?

There are classic icons that never go away — both male and female. Audrey Hepburn is iconic. But I like the new ideas of fashion. When you look at Maluma and Bad Bunny, they’re oozing confidence, right? Maluma, even offstage, looks amazing in the shirt because he’s wearing it in a way that he’s living his best life. And I strive to do that myself. I could wear a potato sack, but I’d wear it with such confidence that people are like, “I want a potato sack.”

Interview edited for length and clarity.

[orange-demons-deactivated2024]

Avatar Voice 3

Buckle your seats, everyone, this post is gonna be a doozy.

So I was in the process of making a post of the VAs behind avatar's voice and I stumbled upon this one. In the Credits, they're credited as 'KIMO' with no last name, so I went to the Behind The Voice Actors to find more information about them.

Turns out their full name is Kimo Leopoldo, at least according to IMDb and behind the voice actors website. He didn't have any other works besides this game so he struck my interest.

KIMO (Kimo Leopoldo) is an American retired mixed martial artist and actor. He made his MMA debut at UFC 3 in 1994. A professional from 1994 until 2011, he also competed in the PRIDE Fighting Championships, Cage Rage, and the World Fighting Alliance.

He was credited with a black belt in taekwondo in his Ultimate Fighting Championship debut at UFC 3.

He was most known for carrying a cross with him to the ring.

Leopoldo has worked since 1996 as an actor in independent productions. He starred in the Femme Fatales  episode "Family Business", the direct-to-video production R.I.O.T.: The Movie, and the films The Process, The Dog Problem, In the Closet, Bullet and Avengers Grimm

Although Leopoldo isn't new to acting, this was his first Voice Acting gig according to www.behindthevoiceactors.com.

Also, I think it's kinda cool that he's one of the VA that Voices Avatar in Street Fighter 6.

But here's the weird thing I found:

(Source 1) (Source 2) (Source 3)

All of them mirroring the same thing:

"The former UFC fighter Kimo Leopoldo reportedly died due to complications from a heart attack at the age of 41."

And that it may be due to "having tested positive for anabolic steroids at the end of his career, and later being charged for possession of marijuana."

He was reported to be dead on July 21, 2009. But as you all know, Street Fighter 6 was released on June 2, 2023.

(Source 1)

But doing some further digging, some websites provided an update retracting their original statements or pulling their articles off the internet.

And in during a phone Interview with Yahoo! Sports, he said "I knew I wasn't dead, So when I was reading this I wondered if I was jinxed or something was going to happen."

Leopoldo even appeared at the Orange County Sheriff's office in Santa Ana, Ca. to put an end to rumors of his death that spread rapidly across the Internet.

"It was really strange," Leopoldo said. "I was surprised at how nasty it was. I guess it wasn't a good thing. … I've always had strange things written about me but nothing this bizarre. I couldn't believe it when I searched for my name and I wrote in 'Kimo Leopoldo' and it added the word 'death.' "

Rumors of Leopoldo's demise first appeared on MMA.tv's popular forum, "The Underground." The post reported that Leopoldo died in Costa Rica "of complications from a heart attack."

The report quickly was picked up by the celebrity website TMZ.com, which "confirmed" the death. It later pulled the story without comment. 

But despite this, Leopoldo ended up returning to his life as normal.

I'm not going to go in-depth about Leopoldo's use of certain drugs like Stanozolol or methamphetamine because there's enough information about his business online. So if you want a more in-depth explanation, you're free to look yourself.

Now even though he was listed in the credits, I was still wondering if Kimo Leopoldo is the actual VA. Mostly because the last name wasn't included in the end credit. And there are no other sources that linked to Kimo even mentioning it on his platforms or in previous interviews. Nor any mention of the Street Fighter games in general.

In the game, he is supposed to be voicing a Young (Age) Normal (Tone) Avatar. And Kimo is now 56 years old.

The videos I found of him talking are Here and Here

The first video is 5 years old around the same time that Street Fighter 6 was in production. And his voice slightly resembles Avatar's, a little bit, especially when you're fighting.

Then in the second video, it's a scene when Kimo was on the show Cyborgs which was released back in 2020.

The most recent video of him I could find on YouTube was from 3 years ago in a Video interview. His voice has definitely gotten more raspier. So I think he probably would have done his lines about 4-5 years ago, but who knows.

I personally think it may be someone else, mostly because of how young the VA sounds compared to Kimo. And with new content dropping the VA has a consistent tone to their voice.

But it's possible for Takayuki Nakayama to know of Kimo.

Because Kimo was a pro wrestler who took jobs out in Japan and was undefeated. And since the Street Fighter devs are so well-versed in different styles of fighting, it wouldn't be surprising that they would've heard about Kimo when he signed a contract with New Japan Pro Wrestling (NJPW).

The Street Fighting devs know about the NJPW because the New Japan Pro Wrestling superstar Kenny Omega stared in the Street Fighter 5 Cody reveal trailer.

But, this is just my theory and speculation. And I wanted to know the VAs behind the Avatars in SF6. I didn't think I would be doing such a deep dive here because my post with the other VAs is nothing like this.

This was all just useless rambling and I'm pretty sure no one really cares but I thought this was interesting and I wanted to talk about it. I also contacted Kimo through IG DMs to ask him personally about it, so I'm still waiting for a response from him. If he does ever get back to me I'll post an update. Thank you for reading to the end.

[safetypinned]

@bansheeslain || halloween aesthetic prompts || accepting!

smoke curling into the sky on the horizon

booted feet rest on cool grass. sat upon a blanket on top of the biggest hill he could find--tall trees with their leaves dozens of hues of red, yellow, orange, brown stretch towards the cloudless sky full of millions of bright, twinkling stars. a round, huge moon shines bright in the dark. enough that their colors can be made out even in the night. he's never been one for celebrating halloween. chalks it up to thinking it's sorta dumb. or for kids. most of the time. that's all it takes for people to pry. though he might get a ribbing or two from the true enthusiasts he had as friends throughout the years. goes far deeper than that. those closest to him know..

..when they were kids, dean always tried to get him in some sorta costume. even if it was a hotel room sheet he could con out of a kind, empathetic desk lady (or take directly from the bed itself) with a couple holes cut for eyes. get him out trick-or-treating. anything to throw them into some normalcy this time of year. even if the light of fake enthusiasm never reached either one of their eyes. they pretended. for each other. because that's what brothers do.

tonight, though? he's enjoying himself. warm cider in green thermoses with their metal lids you can use as cups. a blanket slung around both their shoulders. pumpkin treats and cinnamon apples with brown sugar he put together himself. kept warm inside their container til he made them both a bowl and offered eileen hers. in the distance? the town's pumpkin patch is having it's county famous fireworks show. smoke coils up into the sky. but splashes of bright colors explode here, there, all over. once it starts.

"thanks for coming with me," he murmurs--head turned so he can smile thankfully down at her. sam's chest is warm. so's his face. "don't know if this is your thing or not." sam signs the words he knows. makes a promise, in his head, to figure out the ones he doesn't. but he thought, maybe, they could try and make it something for them to enjoy. god knows they've earned it.

[luellalux]

Te Amo Por Siempre - December 2013

Masterlist | AO3

December 2013

Brooklyn, New York

Carissa hadn’t caught her breath since Pedro got back from Croatia. Unless you counted the thirty-second bathroom and water breaks and the time it took to change condoms. From the moment he arrived up until now, Carissa was on the receiving end of his amorous overtures. She had lost count how many rounds they had gone, but she did know that she was definitely done this time.

“Babe…” Her voice was hoarse, barely a whisper as she turned her head against the pillow, cheek squished against the cool fabric. Her eyes were half-lidded, glassy from exhaustion. “I need a break.”

Pedro propped himself up on one elbow beside her, his hair sticking out at odd angles. Sweat clung to his temples, his chest still heaving from the effort. His dark eyes narrowed, gazing down at her like she had just said the most ridiculous thing in the world.

“What?” His voice was incredulous, deep and raw with exertion. “You’re tapping out on me? Now?”

She gave him a dry look and motioned vaguely toward her spent body. “Yeah ‘cause I’m sore everywhere—the front, the back, all over,” she said. “ And I think you sprained my lady bean in that last round.”

Pedro blinked. His face shifted through several expressions in quick succession—confusion, realization, and then unfiltered pride. His dimple carved deep into his cheek even as he tried to hold back a grin.

“Your lady bean?” he echoed, his voice full of barely restrained mischief. He trailed featherlight fingers down her thigh. “Did I break you, baby?”

Carissa groaned, pushing weakly at his hands, which did absolutely nothing. “Yeah, completely and thoroughly,” she sighed. “I may not function properly for several hours.”

“Oh, poor baby,” he cooed as his fingers brushed higher, teasing along the curve of her hip. “Maybe I should check her out. Make sure everything’s still in working order.”

Her eyes shot open, and she made a noise halfway between a warning and a laugh. “Pedro. Stop.” She caught his hand, holding it in place on her hip. “I’m serious. I’m like… one orgasm away from losing consciousness. Can we just lie still for a bit?”

Pedro shifted, pulling her against him until she was tucked into his side. “Alright, alright. I’ll give you a break,” he acquiesced. Then added, “For now.”

Carissa hummed contentedly as she pulled the duvet up to cover them as they cuddled. “While we’re here, we should probably talk about Christmas.”

Pedro nodded. “Right. Meeting your parents as your boyfriend this time.”

He had met Froy and Emmy Bautista before. Several times over the years, in fact. First very briefly at the opening of Carissa’s first maternity shelter in Orange County then subsequently when they visited Carissa in New York. They had seen him in a play or two and were nice, polite people. While Froy was a study in stoicism and Emmy fussed over Carissa as only a mother could, Pedro often sensed that they bore upon her the weight of wordless parental expectation.  

“Yeah,” Carissa replied, looking up at him cautiously. “First big-ticket item: We have to stay in separate bedrooms. ‘Cause of… you know, the whole no-premarital sex thing they believe in.”

Pedro’s reaction was immediate. “What?!” He jerked his head back so fast he almost pulled a muscle in his neck, staring at her like she just insulted his entire bloodline. His hands hovered, palms up, like he was holding the world’s most ludicrous statement. “They’ve got to have a clue that we’re, you know–” he gestured between them incredulously.

“Even if they do, my parents are the type who vigilantly maintain the illusion that we do nothing more than hold hands and kiss very chastely,” she explained. “And we are not going to do anything to shatter that illusion if you want them to like you.”

Pedro’s face fell into a scowl. “I thought you said they already liked me.”

“As my friend? Sure. As my boyfriend?” She winced. “That’s taking some… adjustment.”

His brows drew together, his jaw tightening as his fingers stilled on her back. “Adjustment?” he repeated warily. “You told them about us months ago. They should be pretty adjusted, right?”

Carissa chewed her lip nervously. “Yeah, I told them,” she said softly. “But you know how parents are. They have their own ideas of the kind of person their kid should be with and… you’re a bit of a surprise to them.”

Pedro’s eyes darted away, his jaw ticking as he did. “Let me guess,” he muttered, his voice a little too sharp. “They wanted someone more like you, like Zuckerberg or Karp. An equal.”

“Hey, come on, don’t do that,” Carissa said quickly. Her hands came up to frame his face, the warmth of her palms chasing away the cold edge of doubt in his chest. Her thumbs swept soothing arcs along his cheekbones, anchoring him to her like she was pressing a fragile truth into his skin. “We are equals, in all the ways that matter to us . So my parents, once they spend time with you and see how happy you make me, I know they’ll see it too. Okay?”

His throat worked as he swallowed hard. His fingers slid up, covering her hands with his as his eyes locked on hers, steadying them both. “Alright, alright,” he agreed, completely assured by her as he always was. “What else should I know?”

She raised her hand, ticking each point off on her fingers as she reeled off the ground rules.“No excessive touching or kissing. No cursing. No taking the Lord’s name in vain. Nothing—” she held his gaze for a beat to emphasize the seriousness, “—and I mean nothing, about politics, gun control, abortion, or that we voted for Obama and in favor of including marriage equality.”

With every rule, Pedro’s face grew darker and darker, tinged with incredulity. “I am literally not even going to be able to open my mouth in front of your parents,” he muttered as he gave her a look that plainly spoke of how displeased he was at this turn of events. 

Carissa didn’t seem to be listening as she added as an afterthought, “And you can’t call me querida in front of my family.”

Out of all the things she had listed, this was the one that really threw Pedro for a loop. His brows pulled together in confusion. “Why the hell not?”

“Because,” she sighed, “querida sounds like kerida in Tagalog, which means mistress. Calling me that in front of my parents basically means you’re calling me your side chick. You can thank your colonizing Spanish ancestors for that one." She tilted her head like she was offering him a moment to process. 

Pedro blinked once, twice, before bursting into sharp, disbelieving laughter. "You mean to tell me that I have been calling you my side-chick in your language all year and you didn’t bother to educate me?”

Carissa shrugged, “Far be it from me to cramp your style.” She cocked an eyebrow at him. “So, you think you can manage being around my family for four days?”

“Anything for you, mi vida. I’ll be on my best behaviour– a fuckin’ saint. Might even be canonized by new years– Saint Pedro of Restraint,” Pedro declared in that suave way of his. 

Carissa bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Baby, you don’t even believe in God,” she pointed out.

Pedro gave an exaggerated wave of dismissal, one hand cutting through the air while the other pulled her closer to him. “Details, details,” he muttered with a squint, like the technicalities were irrelevant. 

They were quiet for a moment while Carissa fiddled with the edge of the duvet, then added, as if speaking quickly would soften the blow, “Oh and, you’re also going to the shooting range with my dad, my uncles, and some of my cousins before we go to Christmas Eve mass.”

Pedro’s eyes bulged out of his head as he pulled back slightly from her. “Wait-wait? Shooting range? And I have to go to mass? I didn’t know we were cosplaying as NRA card bearing Catholics for Christmas.”

Carissa had the grace to appear guilty for sneaking in the activities for Christmas Eve. “It’s a good way for you to spend time with my dad and get to know each other,” she said, by way of an explanation. “As for mass, no one gets out of that– it’s mandatory.”

At this Pedro sighed, “If you think it’ll help your parents adjust to the idea of us, I’m game.”

She beamed proudly up at him. “You’re taking this a lot better than I thought you would.”

“I’m Saint Pedro, baby, canonization pending,” he quipped, leaning in, his lips tantalizing close to hers. “Now let's check on Miss Lady Bean...”

"Pedro!"

LA County / Orange County, California

Most of December passed in a flurry of activity—Carissa balancing holiday parties for her staff and residents at her shelters and team appreciation events at 714Analytix while Pedro navigated post-production obligations for Game of Thrones . The final days before Christmas brought a last-minute audition for Pedro—a multi-episode guest spot on The Mentalist . It threw their plans into slight disarray, but by the day before Christmas Eve, they were finally back in sync, driving down the 405 from LA to Orange County.

“Baby, if you were gonna be this nervous you should’ve let me drive,” Pedro said, from the passenger seat as he watched Carissa almost chew her bottom lip raw. 

She kept her eyes on the road while Long Beach flicked past them. “I’m fine,” Carissa replied, maneuvering the SUV through traffic with ease. “I’m just mentally preparing myself ‘cause this is really happening now– you staying at the house for Christmas and meeting my extended family tomorrow…” She glanced over at him and he caught for a moment, that overwhelmed look ghosting over her features before she looked out ahead of her again.

At this, Pedro raised an eyebrow and scratched his chin realizing once again that he had shaved off all of his facial hair in an effort to look his most presentable. “That’s what’s got you worried?”

“Yeah,” Carissa admitted. “I mean, back in Brooklyn, we have our own little world there. And when it’s just the two of us. There’s no expectations, no one else’s opinions.” 

They both knew this to be true. It was as if their relationship had lived in its own ecosystem, where the inhabitants were just the two of them and visitors (their mutual friend group) to said ecosystem had usually controlled entry. Their friends were all supportive of their relationship whereas family… well, they tended to look after their own. 

“But this, meeting your family and all that, invites their opinions,” Pedro supplied.  

“That and their judgement,” she admitted as they reached the outskirts of LA county on the freeway. “I just want them to like you, to see how important you are to me.”

Pedro understood keenly the subtext of Carissa’s words. You had to, if you were to know Carissa at all. What worried her was the blending of her worlds. For so long, she had compartmentalized, kept the different aspects of her life filed in neat little boxes, never letting the people from those different areas of her carefully constructed life to go from one box to the other. Yet here he was, the outlier, the one who got to see everything, layer by layer, now going box by box as if she was carefully making room for him in all the areas of her life. He knew how monumental it was for someone like Carissa, to share herself, to share her whole self with him. She didn’t do this for anyone else, not even her parents.

He patted her thigh reassuringly. “They love you, baby, they’ll do their best– just like I’m gonna do my best.”

Carissa sighed. “I’m sure my parents and my aunts and uncles will, but my cousins? I dunno. I’m the youngest cousin and they’re not shy about reminding me of where I am in the pecking order, successful or not.” She threw Pedro a long-suffering look. “That’s why I try to limit my attendance to family gatherings. My cousins are an assault on the senses, to put it lightly.”

“They can’t be that bad. If they were, you would have given me a study guide,” Pedro quipped with a short laugh.

Oh, but I did.” Carissa motioned toward her bag. “Check my tablet.”

Pedro’s eyes widened in mock disbelief. “No way. You actually made me a cheat sheet?”

“Just open it,” she said, her tone both amused and exasperated.

Pedro dug through her backpack, pulling out the tablet. He unlocked it—using their anniversary as the passcode— and found the file she directed him to. There it was, a full-on cheat sheet of the Bautista cousins, complete with a picture of each person’s face for easy recognition.

Angel 

Eldest cousin, the Golden Boy

Retired Marine with tours in Iraq and Afghanistan; currently LAPD gang unit officer

Engaged to high school sweetheart, Camille.

JR

Chiropractor; may offer to adjust your back

Angel’s younger brother

Currently in living his best clubhoe life after a bad breakup (ex cheated on him)

Jericho

The nice one

Owns a chain of boba shops 

Usually clubbing with JR

Was close to his older brother, Ryan, before family estrangement.

Ryan

Dentist in San Diego

Older brother to Jericho

Estranged and doesn’t attend family gatherings; don’t bring him up

Darryl 

Works as a designer under Kanye’s Yeezy brand.

Sneaker head

Only listens to himself and Angel

Loves bossing his younger sisters Queenie and Twinkie around and they let him

Queenie

Younger sister to Darryl; older sister and really close to Twinkie

Studying to be a dermatologist; obsessed with skincare

Always talking at a volume of 12 out of 10

Twinkie 

Darryl and Queenie’s younger sister; just as loud as Queenie

Newly licensed nurse, has a job lined up at Hoag Hospital in the new year

Constantly compared to me by our family because we are close in age, which has historically caused minor tension.

“They’re names aren’t really Queenie and Twinkie– those are family nicknames, right?” Pedro asked, glancing up from the study guide.

“Sort of,” she answered readily as if she expected that to be his first question. “Queenie’s name really is Queenie but Twinkie is short for Twinkle May,” Carissa explained matter-of-factly. “I suppose I should count myself lucky that my parents didn’t name me Blessie or Princess– both of which were runners up to Carissa.”

Pedro tried to keep a straight face as he solemnly said, “If you weren’t Carissa, Blessie would be a close second.” Then he howled with laughter. “Imagine if they named you Princess instead.”

“The thought still haunts me to this day,” Carissa said despite her chagrin.

He took another look at the notes she prepared for him, grateful for how much effort she was making to ensure that he had a soft landing with her family. “Remind me to make one of these for you when you visit Chile with me someday. I’ve got thirty-four first cousins from both sides. You’ll need a whole slide deck.”

Carissa looked over at him. “Chile to visit your family, hmm? I’d like that. I’ve never been to South America.”

A short while later, they were finally in far more familiar territory– Orange County, now more popularly known as ‘The OC’ thanks to the TV show and a few MTV reality shows. While Pedro had lived in Corona Del Mar and Los Alamitos during his time in Orange County, Carissa was born and raised in the cities of Orange and Tustin. Early in their friendship, they had discussed life in the OC bubble– pedestrian at best and terribly isolating at its worst.

From the 405, they merged onto the 73, the freeway slicing through the hills like a ribbon under the low winter sun. As they approached Newport Coast Drive, Pedro adjusted his seatbelt, stealing glances at Carissa’s profile. Her hands were on the wheel, her expression calm, but the subtle shift of her shoulders and the way she bit her bottom lip gave her away.

When they finally turned into the gated community of Pelican Crest, Pedro’s brows lifted. The sheer scale of it all hit him—manicured lawns rolled like green velvet under the soft coastal breeze, and towering Mediterranean-style homes gleamed in the late afternoon light. Luxury cars lined the drives, their polished surfaces catching glints of gold from the setting sun. Pedro let out a low whistle.

“This is where your parents live?” he asked, trying to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

Carissa nodded, her grip on the steering wheel tightening slightly as the gates parted. “Yeah. My mom, she always thought this was the classiest neighborhood in all of Orange County. So, as soon as I could, I bought them a place here,” she said, her tone light but tinged with a hint of pride.

“After Heartfire?” Pedro asked, glancing over at her.

She nodded again as they wound their way through the pristine streets. “And as luck would have it, this one was on the market. Got it for a steal because of the recession.”

Pedro chuckled under his breath. “A steal,” he repeated, his voice laced with irony as he caught sight of a gleaming Maserati pulling into a driveway.

Carissa rolled her eyes but smiled, pulling the SUV into the drive of a stately Mediterranean-style home. Christmas lights twinkled along the roofline, their cheerful glow blending seamlessly with the colorful parols hanging in the windows. Pedro recognized the star-shaped lanterns from the time Carissa had explained how they symbolized the Star of Bethlehem. They added a burst of vibrant tradition to the otherwise serene exterior.

“This is gorgeous,” Pedro murmured, stepping out of the car. The cool ocean breeze brushed against his face as he took in the house—a sprawling vision of creamy stucco and terracotta tiles, with an arched doorway that beckoned invitingly.

Carissa hesitated, her fingers brushing her seatbelt buckle. Then, with a deep breath, she unlatched it and turned to him. “It’s now or never, Pascal,” she said with a nervous shift of her shoulders.

Pedro grabbed his bags from the trunk, just as the muffled sound of excited barking erupted from within the house.

“Jimmy,” Carissa said fondly as she motioned toward the door. “Our fluffy alarm system. He’s still teething, so watch out for your fingers and ankles. Oh, and don’t criticize Jimmy Fallon in front of my mom– that’s who he’s named after. She thinks Fallon is the height of comedy.”

Before Pedro could respond, the door opened to reveal Emmy Bautista. She was a petite woman, no taller than Carissa, with her dark hair swept back into a smooth bun. A flowery apron was tied snugly over her duster dress, and in her arms squirmed a small white Bichon Frise who barked and yipped in greeting.

“Anak, just in time,” Emmy said, her face lighting up as she gestured them inside. “Pedro, welcome to our home. Come in, come in!”

Carissa stepped inside first, taking Jimmy from her mother’s arms as the puppy wriggled excitedly. Emmy pulled Pedro into a warm hug, surprising him slightly. “You two are so skinny,” she fussed, her voice lilting with a soft accent. “Is there nothing to eat in Brooklyn, or do you just work too much, hmm?”

Pedro laughed, his hands briefly resting on her shoulders before stepping back. “Maybe a little too much work. Thank you for having me, Emmy. You have a beautiful home.”

“Happy to have you for Christmas, Pedro. And you have to eat a lot while we have you here,” she insisted, ushering him in. 

As she shut the door behind them, Pedro caught a little yellow post-it note fixed just below the deadbolt. Written in neat slanting cursive, ‘Always pray before you leave’.  It wasn’t a directive, more like a reminder– gentle. Like a mother telling her child to put on a jacket before going outside. 

After swapping his shoes for the indoor slippers waiting in a basket near the door, he glanced around the foyer. The floors gleamed white, marble tiles reflecting the golden light streaming through the high windows. And then he saw Him.

Jesus.

A nearly life-sized wooden carving of Christ hung on the far wall, every detail painstakingly rendered. Emaciated ribs, taut muscles, a crown of thorns digging into his forehead. The face was twisted in agony, but the eyes—they weren’t cast down. They were looking forward. Directly forward.

Pedro halted mid-step, his entire body stiffening like he just walked into a trap. His breath caught, his hand clutching the strap of his bag tighter. The words slipped out unbidden.

“Jesus Christ—!”

“Pedro!” Carissa hissed, her eyes wide as she darted a glance toward her mother. “Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain!”

He blinked, his gaze flicking between her and the carving. He raised both hands, gesturing openly at the carving. “It’s HIM,” he whispered urgently. “He’s right there. Watching me.”

Before Carissa could respond, the sound of slippered footsteps approached. Froy Bautista appeared in the hallway, his expression unreadable. Pedro immediately straightened so fast he felt like a marionette pulled taut by invisible strings.

Froy’s gaze swept over him, assessing, unblinking. Then, he extended his hand. Pedro stepped forward, meeting him halfway. Their handshake was firm, neither overbearing nor passive, but charged with the weight of a father’s judgment.

“Pedro,” Froy greeted evenly. “Welcome. We appreciate you coming to spend Christmas with us. It must be hard to be away from your family.”

Pedro nodded. “Thank you, sir. I’m happy to be here.”

Froy’s eyes shifted briefly to the carving of Jesus, then back to Pedro. There was no smile, no acknowledgement, just a slow release of their clasped hands.

“Well, dinner is ready,” Emmy interjected warmly. “Come and eat before it gets cold.” 

Carissa placed a hand lightly on Pedro’s elbow as they followed her parents deeper into their home. It wasn’t a pull or a guide—just a subtle, reassuring touch.

As they moved through the house, Pedro took in the religious iconography scattered prominently throughout—paintings of saints, votive candles, rosaries draped over picture frames. And of course, Christmas was in full bloom. Garlands adorned the banisters, lights twinkled in every corner, and three Christmas trees stood proudly in different rooms. The fancy tree in the formal reception room, the Hawaiin themed one at the base of the front staircase, and the last one in the family room, just off the kitchen.

“Three Christmas trees?” Pedro muttered as they washed their hands at the kitchen sink.

Carissa grinned up at him. “Yep. The fancy one is for pictures. The Hawaiian one is an homage to my parents life on Oahu where they lived and got married before they moved to Orange County and had me. My mom let me save the one in the family room for us to decorate after dinner. Thought it might be fun.”

Pedro smiled, his voice low. “Whatever you want, baby.”

Translations:

anak - child (literal translation); in the context of a parent using it on their child, it is a term of endearment and deep affection/love; can also be used on nieces and nephews 

They settled into their seats for dinner before Froy led them in prayer, Pedro watching Carissa closely for cues. Then, before he knew it, Emmy was serving him a second then a third helping of chicken adobo, rice, and steamed vegetables as she eyed Carissa’s hardly touched plate like a hawk.

“Is that all you’re going to eat, anak?” Emmy asked pointedly. 

“Just pacing myself, mama,” Carissa answered easily, as if long accustomed to her mother’s admonitions. 

Emmy didn’t push the subject but Pedro clocked the doubtful look she cast at Carissa as the latter sheepishly ate her food. He filed that detail away for later.

“So Pedro,” Froy said, leaning back in his chair. He had been silently observing during dinner up until this point. “I understand you were filming in Northern Ireland and Croatia for your latest role.”

Pedro nodded and cleared his throat. “Ehm, yeah, it was a pretty long shoot. But it was an awesome experience especially since I’m a fan of Game of Thrones.”

Froy nodded. “Emmy and I tried to watch that show when it first came out, but it was a bit too bold for us. Too much… nudity.”

“It does have a bit of that,” Pedro conceded evenly.

“But we will watch your season,” Emmy interjected warmly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Carissa always reminds us when you’re in something. We want to support you.”

Pedro glanced at Carissa, who gave him a small, encouraging nod. “I really appreciate that, Emmy,” he said, his tone genuine.

Froy leaned forward slightly. “Just so we’re prepared, do you have any nude scenes?”

Carissa choked on her water mid-sip, coughing violently as she grabbed her napkin to cover her mouth. Emmy thumped her back gently, her cheeks pink. “Froy,” she admonished, her voice tinged with embarrassment. “Not appropriate at the dinner table.”

Pedro coughed nervously. “It’s a fair question,” he said, thinking about the scenes he shot. “I, uh… have a couple of scenes like that. But I can’t go into too much detail—spoilers, you know.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Carissa burying her face in her napkin, her ears tinged red. Even Emmy looked flustered.

Froy remained impassive. “Well, at least we know it’s coming,” he said before resuming his dinner. “Carissa visited you while you were filming in Belfast?”

Carissa’s head popped up from her napkin. “Yeah, I stayed at a really nice hotel right in the city,” she said breezily. She didn’t look at Pedro. She didn’t even blink. “It was great.”

Pedro’s eyes shot over to her so fast it was a wonder she didn’t feel it. His brow lifted, but he didn’t say anything. Hotel? They both knew she didn’t stay in a hotel. She stayed with him, in his flat. In his bed. With him. But now wasn’t the time. He knew what she was doing. Playing the part of the "good daughter" for her parents.

“Ah,” Froy said with a hint of approval. “And from there, you went to see David, right?”

Carissa nodded, finally glancing at Pedro, her eyes unreadable. “Mmhmm, he asked me to consult on that startup he was thinking about investing in.”

“I looked him up,” Froy said, his fork still in hand. “Forbes 30 Under 30. Impressive.”

Pedro didn’t say a word, he didn’t need to. He felt it. The silent comparison was sharp as a knife. He focused on his plate, cutting into his chicken. For everyone’s benefit, Emmy guided the conversation to safer waters, asking Pedro about his next projects which he was pleased to elaborate on. 

“In the new year, I’ll be back in LA to shoot a guest spot for a couple episodes of The Mentalist. That’s why I was in LA up until today, for the final audition,” Pedro said.

“Ah, another show for us to watch, how exciting,” Emmy replied with genuine interest. 

Dessert, freshly fried bananacue with a scoop of ice cream, upon Carissa’s insistence, finished up the meal. Then Emmy sent him with Carissa and Jimmy into the family room to decorate the tree while she and Froy cleared up. 

“So, how am I doing so far?” Pedro asked, low enough for only Carissa to hear as he deftly intercepted Jimmy from attacking the tinsel. 

“As long as we don’t talk about nudity for the rest of the visit, I think we might be doing ok,” Carissa breathed, opening the ornament boxes. 

“I didn’t bring it up though, your dad did,” Pedro pointed out while Carissa hung up an ornament that looked like Emmy might have ordered it from a Hallmark catalogue in the mid-nineties.

“I know, he’s just trying to get a read on you. You know how dads are,” she murmured, wordlessly gesturing for him to add some ornaments himself. 

Pedro hummed, lifting another ornament—a framed photo ornament shaped like a wreath. Inscribed at the top was 1990 My First Christmas , and within the frame was baby Carissa, a gummy, toothless smile lighting up her tiny face as she clutched a stuffed Minnie Mouse.

“Man, you were a cute baby,” he murmured as he hung the ornament up, front and center. Then the words escaped him before he could stop them. “I wonder what our kids will look like.”

The room seemed to hold its breath. Carissa stilled, her gaze fixed on the tree. When she turned to him, her expression wasn’t startled, but curious. Searching.

“You’re already thinking about kids?” she asked.

He didn’t bother walking back on the comment, not when she looked intrigued by the idea and all it meant. “Yeah, I think about that. Us. Our life. A family. All of it.”

Her eyes moved back toward the tree as she hung another ornament, her fingers brushing against the branch. “Should I be thinking about this too?” Carissa asked in that feather light tone that was singular to her.  

“Only if it’s something you want too,” Pedro said honestly, his heart thumping wildly in his chest, leaving the door to their future wide open.

For a moment Carissa’s face was unreadable, looking up at the tree. Her profile glowed faintly in the tree lights as she spoke. “I guess I have been thinking about it, in my own way,” she said simply. 

They didn’t say anything more, though they felt the air between them had shifted—layered with a shared thought neither needed to elaborate on. It wasn’t coincidence or fate; it was a deep gravity that pulled their hearts in the same direction. They didn’t linger on why or how it came to be. All that mattered was that they were both already picturing it. A future together. 

The following morning, Pedro woke to the sound of scratching at his door followed by high-pitched yips. Jimmy. He dragged himself out of bed, his hair a mess, and opened the door to find the little Bichon Frise bouncing with excitement. Jimmy immediately darted into the room, sniffing around his luggage ardently.

“You’re here to escort me, huh?” Pedro muttered, crouching down to scratch the puppy behind the ears. Jimmy barked, his tail wagging like a propeller.

Taking the hint, Pedro got ready for the morning ahead– a boys-only trip to the shooting range with Carissa’s dad, uncles, and cousins. Pedro knew it was a test of sorts, a chance for them to size him up.

Downstairs, the kitchen was alive with activity. The smell of garlic fried rice, eggs, spam and beef tapa wafted through the air. In the kitchen, Carissa stood beside her mother, Emmy, working in tandem. Carissa flipped slices of spam in a pan while Emmy neatly laid out plates of fresh pandesal. Froy was in the driveway, loading up the SUV with gear.

Jimmy bolted ahead of Pedro as they reached the bottom of the stairs, darting straight to Carissa. She turned at the sound of Pedro’s footsteps, her expression bright. “Morning,” she greeted. “Grab a plate. My uncles and cousins are going to be here any minute, and once they show up, the food won’t last.”

Pedro heeded her, piling up his plate while Emmy greeted him as well. Minutes passed as he sat at the kitchen island, eating his breakfast. Then a lively hum of voices rolled through the garage, the unmistakable signal of arrivals. Carissa, standing by the stove, turned her head slightly.

“That’ll be my uncles,” she murmured to Pedro. Her tone was light, though Pedro could see the subtle shift in her posture—preparing herself for the incoming energy. Sure enough, the door to the garage opened, and in came Froy’s brothers: Romy, Lito, and Benjie.

“Good morning!” Lito boomed, his accent thick as he stepped inside.

The three brothers greeted Emmy first, clasping her hands and kissing her on the cheek with familiar warmth. Then they turned their focus to Carissa.

“Anak, Merry Christmas!” Romy exclaimed, pinching her cheek affectionately.

“Still too skinny,” Benjie added with a mix of concern and admonition. “Do they only eat air and drink coffee in New York?”

Carissa maintained a carefully bland expression, enduring the barrage of playful comments. “And bagels and pizza, too.”

“No, no. You need to eat more rice. Boys don’t like girls without curves!” Lito teased, nudging her lightly.

Pedro watched as Carissa continued to respond politely. He could see this wasn’t new to her—she was used to this sort of commentary about her figure. It echoed the same tone her mother had over dinner last night. Then the uncles turned to him, eyes narrowing slightly as if sizing him up.

“So, you’re Pedro. The actor, the artista,” Romy said, stepping forward.

Pedro stood, extending his hand. “That’s me, sir. Good to meet you.”

Romy’s grip was firm, his hand calloused from years of construction work. Pedro returned the handshake with the same firmness.

“Handsome guy,” Benjie noted, looking Pedro up and down with a nod of approval. “And tall, too.”

“But can you shoot?” Lito questioned as he shook Pedro’s hand too.

“I guess we’ll find out today,” Pedro replied with a shrug.

The uncles exchanged glances, murmuring something in Tagalog that Pedro didn’t catch. Their expressions weren’t unkind—just intrigued. As the uncles settled in, more voices filtered through the garage. Carissa cast a look over her shoulder. Then gave Pedro a pointed look, as if to say, ‘ here comes the second wave.’ 

Mood Music: Clique - Kanye, Jay-Z, Big Sean

Before Pedro could brace himself, JR ambled in. Short but stacked, he carried himself like a man who knew he could bench his body weight hungover. His sunglasses stayed on—indoors—because rules don’t apply when you’re this cool. Tattoos crept out from his rolled sleeves, clean black ink of tribal lines mixing with crosses and verses in ornate script. His shirt, open at the collar, screamed the party wasn’t over, just paused.

“Where’s the aspirin, Tita Emmy?” JR rasped, the gravel in his voice a dead giveaway of too much tequila and too little sleep. “I feel like I got hit by a semi.”

“JR!” Emmy turned from the stove, wielding her spatula like she was ready to strike. “You drink too much! One day, your liver will pack its bags and leave you!”

JR leaned in, planting a kiss on her cheek with the easy charm of someone who never got punished for anything. “Last time, tita. Promise.”

“Until after mass tonight?” Carissa deadpanned from across the room, lifting her coffee cup in mock salute.

JR pointed finger guns her way, grinning like the devil. “Girl, you know it.”

Then his sunglasses came off, and his eyes landed on Pedro. JR slowed, sizing him up like a new car in the lot. “So… you’re the guy.” He extended a hand, smirking. “JR. Chiropractor by day, walking hangover by night.”

Pedro took the handshake, mirroring the energy but keeping it cool. “Pedro. Actor by day, still figuring out the night part.”

JR laughed, loud and unapologetic, clapping him on the shoulder. “I like this guy.” With that, he made a beeline for the cabinet where the aspirin lived.

Next up was Darryl. Bigger, taller, and broader than JR, he filled the room just by walking in. His body screamed powerlifting, with arms thick enough to crush a beer can—probably without meaning to. Tattoos covered every inch of exposed skin, from his wrists to the side of his neck, their bold black lines perfectly placed, no filler. His shirt clung just enough to highlight the hours logged at the gym. He didn’t smile—Darryl didn’t need to. His presence spoke for itself.

“Morning, tita,” he rumbled, leaning down to kiss Emmy on the cheek. Passing by Carissa, he ruffled her hair in a casual way a big brother would, completely ignoring her protest.

Grabbing a plate, Darryl glanced at Pedro, giving a slight chin tilt. No words, no grin, just a silent I see you. Pedro returned it, meeting the energy without pushing too hard.

Then Jericho walked in, and the whole vibe flipped in its head. If Darryl was thunder, Jericho was sunlight breaking through. His grin lit up the room the second he entered, arms wide like he was coming to hug everyone all at once. His tattoos—tribals and family ambigrams—were subtler, softer compared to Darryl’s aggressive ink, but they suited him. 

“MERRY CHRISTMAS, FAMILY!” Jericho boomed, pulling Emmy into his arms. “Did you miss me, tita?”

“Of course, anak,” Emmy said as he kissed her cheek. 

Then Jericho zeroed in on Carissa. “Baby big brain, back from Brooklyn!” He scooped her into a hug, lifting her clean off the floor.

“Good to see you too, Jericho,” Carissa said, rolling her eyes but smiling despite herself. She pointed to Pedro. “I’d like you to meet Pedro.”

Jericho turned, and without hesitation, pulled Pedro into a full hug. “What’s up, man? Jericho. Heard a lot about you.”

Pedro laughed, caught off guard by Jericho’s sincerity. “Likewise, man.”

“Anything you heard about me is true and probably worse!” Jericho winked before finally moving to the food.

Then the room shifted again.

Angel entered, and it was like the air got heavier. Taller than the rest, broader than Jericho, Angel didn’t just walk in—he arrived. His steps and stance calculated, his energy impossible to ignore. Tattoos covered his arms, a perfect mix of tribal heritage, Marine pride, and religious reverence. He carried himself like someone who had seen hell and walked out stronger for it.

“Kuya Angel!” Carissa greeted cheerfully, her admiration of him obvious.

Angel pulled her into a one-armed hug. “Hey, bunso.” His voice carried authority without needing volume.

Then Angel’s gaze landed on Pedro. He didn’t rush, didn’t speak. He just looked, taking him in like a drill sergeant assessing a new recruit. Pedro straightened instinctively, holding his ground as Angel approached.

“Angel,” Pedro said, extending his hand.

Angel clasped it firmly, his grip solid. “Pedro,” he replied, his tone unreadable. He held Pedro’s gaze for just a beat longer than necessary before releasing his hand and stepping back.

No words needed to be said. The message was clear: I’m watching you .

Translations:

artista (ahr-TEE-stah) -  actor, actress, or entertainer, used for both male and female 

kuya (KOO-yah) - literal translation is ‘older brother’; can be used for older male siblings or cousins. It reflects the importance of respect and hierarchy in family and social relationships 

tita - aunt 

bunso (boon-SOH) - literal translation is ‘youngest’; used within families to refer to the youngest child or youngest person; like ‘kuya’ is reflects the hierarchy in family and social relationships 

After breakfast, the household hummed with the controlled chaos of last-minute preparations. The uncles were outside with Froy, checking the gear and strategizing about the shooting range. In the kitchen, Carissa and Emmy packed containers of empanadas and musubi for the trip. Pedro, now feeling more at ease after warming up to the cousins over breakfast, hovered in the middle of it all, taking in the familial energy.

Benjie stepped back into the kitchen, clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, boys, time to roll out. The range isn’t going to wait for us!”

Pedro followed Jericho and JR outside into the cool morning air. The driveway was filled with neatly parked cars. Two SUVs stood ready to carry most of the group, but Pedro’s eyes were immediately drawn to Jericho’s car—a perfectly restored 1980s BMW E30. Its glossy black finish gleamed in the sunlight, and the rims sparkled like polished silver.

“You like her?” Jericho asked, catching Pedro staring.

“Man, this is a beauty,” Pedro replied, his appreciation genuine.

“Thanks. I’ve been working on her for years,” Jericho said, running his hand along the car’s roof. “Ride with me and JR. We’re the fun car.”

Pedro grinned, nodding in agreement as he adjusted his jacket. Carissa appeared at the top step of the front door, Jimmy cradled in her arms, looking on as they loaded into the cars. Pedro jogged back toward her to say goodbye.

“See you later, baby,” he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

But just as he did so—intentions entirely wholesome— JR burst out of the house behind them, moving with deft purpose. His hand shot between them, cutting off Pedro’s approach.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, leave room for Jesus, man!” JR exclaimed, loud enough to echo across the driveway. He grabbed Pedro by the shoulders, spinning him around and steering him toward Jericho’s car. His laughter was contagious, quickly spreading to the rest of the group.

Caught off guard, Pedro blinked, then burst into laughter himself. “Alright, alright, I get it!”

Jericho leaned against the open car door, smirking as he watched the scene unfold. “Bro, PDA in front of the parentals? That’s bawal.”

Pedro frowned slightly, confused and intrigued. “What’s bawal?”

JR grinned, throwing an arm over Pedro’s shoulders as he explained, “It’s Tagalog for ‘not allowed.’ ”

Pedro shook his head, grinning now as he stored away the new word. “Got it. Bawal. No PDA. Lesson learned.”

From her spot at the front door, Carissa was clearly biting back laughter, her free hand lightly covering her mouth. Pedro turned back to her, raising his hand in an apologetic wave. “See you later, mi vida!”

“Bye,” Carissa called back and Jimmy barked once as if to join in the farewell.

As JR ushered Pedro into the car, Jericho slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, the low growl of the car’s revving engine filling the driveway.

“Don’t worry, man. We’ll take good care of you,” Jericho said, shooting Pedro a wink.

Pedro glanced back at Carissa one last time before the car pulled away. Her figure, framed by the morning sun, was a reminder of why he was so willing to navigate these new waters. 

Translations:

tito - uncle 

bawal (BAH-wahl) - not allowed, prohibited 

Laguna Niguel, California

Gunfire punctuated the air at the Laguna Niguel range, each crack a sharp rhythm of control and focus.The Bautista men were already in their element, their movements practiced, their camaraderie flowing effortlessly as they settled into their reserved lanes. Even the staff greeted them with familiarity, a nod here, a friendly wave there. This was their space, their turf, and Pedro felt it the moment they walked in.

He wasn’t intimidated—not exactly. But the sensation of being the outsider, scrutinized at every turn, stayed with him. It wasn’t just Froy’s brothers though their low Tagalog murmurs and sidelong glances made it clear they were watching. It was Froy, standing a little off to the side with arms crossed, his attention lingering just a moment longer than the others’, like he was trying to read something between Pedro’s words and movements.

Jericho leaned against the counter beside him, effortlessly relaxed as always. “Alright, man,” he said, his voice low enough not to carry. “First time at a range like this?”

Pedro grimaced, adjusting his grip on the hard plastic case holding his rented pistol. “Am I that obvious?”

“Nah,” Jericho said with a smirk, “but you’ve got that ‘what the hell did I sign up for?’ look. Don’t worry, they’re not expecting you to be Jason Bourne.”

“Good,” Pedro replied dryly, “because I’m fresh out of secret agent training.”

Jericho chuckled. “You’re fine. Showing up here without Carissa? That’s a step in the right direction already. You could have said no and that would have looked worse than being a bad shot.”

Pedro raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “She didn’t really let me opt out when she told me about today’s activity.”

“Carissa was setting you up for success,” Jericho said assuredly, giving Pedro a light clap on the shoulder. “Alright, safety first. Let’s go watch the video.”

The safety video was standard fare—calm narration about trigger discipline, stance, and safety protocols. Pedro leaned forward slightly, absorbing the information while Jericho sat back, arms crossed like he could recite the whole thing in his sleep. When the video ended, Jericho stood and gestured toward the main range. “Alright, Hollywood. Let’s get you geared up.”

Back at their reserved lanes, the Bautista men were fully in their rhythm. Angel was already firing off precise shots, each one landing in a tight grouping near the bullseye. Darryl stood at the next lane, loading his magazine with casual confidence. “Hey, JR, you sure you even wanna shoot today?” he called over his shoulder. “Or you just here to watch?”

“Man, shut up,” JR fired back, though he didn’t make a move to pick up his glock. “I’m letting you warm up before I embarrass you.”

Froy stood with his brothers, his arms still crossed as he surveyed the lanes. His expression was inscrutable, but Pedro didn’t miss the way Froy scanned him as Jericho handed over the safety glasses and ear protection.

“Alright,” Jericho said, helping Pedro adjust the gear. “Now you look the part. Let’s see how you do.”

Pedro stepped into the lane, gripping the rented pistol. Its weight felt foreign, heavy in his hands, and the distant target looked smaller than it had any right to. Jericho leaned in close, his voice just loud enough to cut through the muffled gunfire around them.

“Grip here,” Jericho instructed, guiding Pedro’s hand. “Thumb along the slide. Feet shoulder-width apart. Don’t lock your elbows—let the recoil flow through you.”

Pedro exhaled as he raised the pistol. The first round split the air, the jolt snapping up his arms. He squinted at the target, where the bullet had landed low, barely clipping the edge of the silhouette.

Behind him, Darryl’s voice rang out. “Yo, he’s trying to take out the guy’s shoelaces!”

Pedro lowered the gun, turning slightly with a grin. “Shoelaces can be deadly, man. You don’t want a trip hazard in a life-or-death situation.”

Jericho laughed, stepping back into the lane. “Ignore him. Try again. Aim higher this time.”

Pedro fired again. His next round struck closer to the mark, drawing a faint smile as he stepped away. Jericho gave him an encouraging nod. “There you go. Keep steady.”

The third shot landed even closer to the bullseye, and Pedro exhaled a little easier, lowering the pistol to reload. Behind him, JR whistled. “Alright, Pedro! You’re not half-bad. Better than Darryl’s first time.”

“Shut up, I was fifteen,” Darryl retorted, his mouth curling slyly as he loaded his own magazine. 

As the session wore on, Pedro felt himself easing into the rhythm. The recoil wasn’t as shocking, the weight of the pistol less awkward in his grip. He wasn’t perfect—not by a long shot—but at least he wasn’t making a total fool of himself.

He caught Froy watching him again. The older man hadn’t said much, but Pedro could feel the weight of his inspection.

“You’re doing good,” Jericho said beside him, his voice low. “Don’t overthink it.”

Pedro nodded, raising the pistol again. The next shot landed solidly near the center. He breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. “Not bad for a first-timer, huh?”

“Not bad,” Jericho agreed. “Keep this up, and you’ll make Darryl look bad.”

“Dream on,” Darryl called from his lane, though his smirk betrayed his amusement.

By the time they wrapped up, Pedro’s arms ached, but he felt lighter. As they stepped out into the sunlight, Jericho assured him, “Told you, man. You’re doing fine.”

Outside at the parking lot, they gathered at the open trunk of one of the SUVs where a cooler full of chilled water bottles and cans of sodas sat propped open. Empanadas and spam musubis packed by Carissa and Emmy laid out in various tupperware. The uncles stood slightly apart with Froy, their low-voiced conversation in Tagalog punctuated by the occasional chuckle. The cousins and Pedro formed a loose circle near the SUVs, standing shoulder-to-shoulder as they dug into the snacks.

Pedro stood among them, half-listening to the easy banter while holding an empanada in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. Jericho was next to him, as always, quick to pull him into the rhythm of the group when needed. The camaraderie felt loud and alive here, even with the underlying tension Pedro couldn’t quite shake.

“Alright,” JR said, popping the tab on his soda. “Let’s place bets. Who’s knocking out during mass tonight?”

“Not me,” Darryl grumbled through a mouthful of musubi. “Not after what happened at Easter.”

Jericho smirked. “Oh, you mean when you snored so loud the priest stopped mid-sermon?”

The group burst out laughing. Pedro grinned, shaking his head. “You’re kidding. He actually stopped?”

Angel, who had been silently eating, chimed in with a rare, dry quip. “Yeah, to ask if there was a wild animal loose in the pews.”

Darryl quickly defended himself, though he couldn’t keep the smirk off his face. “That sermon was too damn long, man. What did he expect?”

“You could’ve at least slept quietly,” JR teased. “Queenie and Twinkie looked like they were gonna die of embarrassment.”

Even Pedro laughed at that, imagining the scene. The energy of the circle was bright, electric. But as the jokes wound down and the conversation hit a natural lull, the air shifted slightly. Pedro felt it before he saw it—an almost imperceptible ripple of focus as Angel straightened from where he leaned against the SUV.

“So, Pedro,” Angel began, drawing everyone’s attention, even the uncles and Froy who paused their conversation. Pedro felt the shift acutely—this wasn’t just casual talk anymore. “Tell us about your family. You close with them?”

Pedro adjusted his stance slightly. “Yeah, very close. My dad and my younger brothers still live in Santiago. My sister, Javiera, is in Miami. We’re spread out, but we talk all the time.”

Angel nodded, his expression neutral. “What about your mom?”

Pedro’s smile softened, and for a moment, his voice carried a quiet weight. “She passed in ’99.” He paused, clearing his throat. “But she’s still with us, you know? She’s why we’re all so close. She kept us tight.”

Angel gave a small nod, his gaze unwavering. “Sounds like family’s important to you.”

“It is,” Pedro replied firmly. “Always has been.”

Angel leaned back slightly, taking a sip of his soda. “And work? You’re filming a lot these days?”

“Yeah,” Pedro said, his smile returning. “Just wrapped a show and booked a guest spot on The Mentalist . Keeps me busy, but I’m grateful.”

“You hustle a lot,” Angel said, his tone unreadable. “That show you’re gonna be on… what’s it called again?”

“Game of Thrones,” Pedro replied. “Got to shoot in Croatia and Belfast.”

Before Angel could respond, Darryl cut in with a grin. “Must be rough, traveling to all those exotic places.”

Pedro shot him a wry smile. “Yeah, it’s a real hardship. Great food, amazing views. Pure suffering.”

Angel, still calm, shifted the conversation again. “I didn’t catch how you met our cousin.”

Pedro hesitated for the briefest moment. He knew every word he said now was being finely measured. “A mutual friend introduced us at a party in Manhattan a couple years back,” he said finally. “Sarah Paulson. You might know her from American Horror Story?”

JR grinned. “Oh, her? She’s dope!”

“Yeah, she definitely is,” Pedro agreed. “Sarah and I go way back. She was the first friend I made when I moved to New York to attend NYU. Funny enough, she was also the first friend Carissa made when she moved there.”

Angel tilted his head slightly, his expression sharpening. “Oh? When did Carissa move to New York?”

Darryl answered for him. “Back in ’09, I think.” Then added with a glance to Froy, “Can’t believe you let her do that, tito. She was just a baby.”

Froy shrugged. “Emmy thought Carissa needed to find herself.”

Angel’s brow lifted. “So she must’ve only been about what, eighteen?”

“She was nineteen, actually,” Pedro corrected.

“Pfft, a whole year older. Still ends in teen though,” Darryl muttered under his breath.

Angel passed over Darryl’s comment, his focus locked on Pedro. “Huh. And how old were you?”

The question landed like a hammer, and Pedro felt every eye in the circle on him. There was no way out of this. He had to answer. “I was thirty-four.”

The silence was leaden. Pedro could almost hear the math being done in their heads: fifteen years. Jericho shifted uncomfortably beside him, looking down at his soda. JR made a silent ‘yikes’ face, glancing between Pedro and Angel. 

“I gotta ask,” Angel said, his tone controlled though no less commanding. “What did you, an actor, have in common with a nineteen-year-old self-made tech billionaire?”

Before Pedro could answer, Darryl smirked, stirring the pot. “Yeah, besides the most fucking obvious thing.”

Pedro took a breath, ignoring Darryl. “Honestly? Nothing at first,” he said. “But she was interested in the arts, and I was doing a lot of theater back then. I invited her to my plays and took her to some film festivals. She enjoyed them. I got the sense she didn’t really have time for that stuff before then, so that’s what we talked about for a while.”

Darryl leaned forward, his grin widening. “So what, after a couple plays and movies, Carissa just looked at you and decided, ‘Yeah, imma date this one’? Or did you play the long game?”

Pedro’s jaw tightened slightly. He kept his tone polite, though there was an edge of irritation now. “Actually, a bunch of us—including me—tried to set her up with people closer to her age for years. But you know Carissa. You can’t make her do anything she doesn’t want to. She’d be fine talking to guys at a party but wouldn’t even meet up with them for coffee, let alone a date. As for her decision about me? We were friends for a long time before we decided to start dating last year.”

Angel gave him an appraising look, as if he wasn’t convinced. Then he took a different tact. “Yeah, we were wondering what took so long for her to introduce you to us. A whole year, and we’re only meeting you now? That’s not how we do things in this family.”

Pedro kept his focus on Angel, not breaking eye contact. “I’ve got to be on location a lot, and Carissa’s busy running the foundation and 714. Our schedules were hard to line up this year. And, like I said, Carissa doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want to do.”

His meaning was clear: If they hadn’t met him before now, it was an intentional decision Carissa made, and Pedro respected it. So should they.

Angel tilted his chin at Pedro. Pedro felt his judgment in that gesture, the challenge. “Carissa makes a lot of her own decisions, sure,” Angel acquiesced. “But she’s family and we protect our own. You fuck with her, you fuck with all of us. Got me?” It was an oath and a threat in the same breath and Pedro didn’t misunderstand a word of it.

Pedro nodded. “Loud and clear,” he said, willing his tone to stay plain. “As long as we’re being frank, I’m not here to fuck around.”

Angel looked over at Froy and Pedro saw the older man give Angel an almost imperceptible nod. Understanding came over Pedro instantly. This wasn’t Angel’s questioning—this was Froy’s inquisition, carried out by proxy. A power play, a reminder of how this family operated.

Jericho clapped Pedro on the shoulder, breaking the tension. “Alright, boys, let’s head out or else JR’s not gonna be able to get his beauty nap in before mass,” he said, drawing them all back into an easy banter. “Pedro, ride with me. I wanna show you one of my shops.”

As they loaded into the vehicles, Pedro exhaled carefully, the tension of the moment easing but not disappearing entirely. 

Jericho’s black BMW E30 cruised up the 405, moving effortlessly, its engine humming low, the sound blending with the ambient rhythm of traffic. Pedro leaned back in the passenger seat, one arm resting on the door as he looked out at the suburban sprawl of Orange County rolling by.

For a while, neither of them said much, the silence broken only by the occasional flick of Jericho’s turn signal. But then, Jericho let out a low whistle, as though he was just wrapping his mind around something.

“Man,” Jericho said, glancing briefly at Pedro before returning his attention to the road. “I had no idea you were fifteen years older than Carissa.”

Pedro raised an eyebrow. “Really? You’re starting there?”

Jericho laughed, his grip on the gearshift casual. “Dude, I knew you were older than her, but not that much older. I mean, I thought girls did that if they had, you know, daddy issues or something.”

Pedro couldn’t help but laugh, the tension from the earlier confrontation at the shooting range melting slightly. Jericho wasn’t judging—he was just Jericho, blunt in a way that came off as genuine rather than critical. “Trust me,” Pedro said, shaking his head, “the age thing is one of the reasons I was really careful about keeping things platonic with Carissa for years. We know how it looks.”

Jericho nodded, his grin fading into something quieter, more thoughtful. “Yeah, I get it,” he said after a beat, “You can’t help who you love, man. Shit doesn’t stand to reason.”

Pedro glanced at him, grateful for the understanding in his tone. “Exactly.”

They drove on in silence for a moment before Jericho grinned again, gesturing toward the skyline of Irvine. “Alright, so this is the original,” he said.

“The original?” Pedro asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jericho tilted his head toward the horizon. “My first shop. The one that started it all.”

Pedro sat up straighter, glancing out the window. “Right, Carissa said you ran boba shops. How many do you have now?”

“Four,” Jericho said, pride evident in his voice. “Started with this one about three years ago. Now I’ve got locations in Fullerton, Garden Grove, and Costa Mesa.”

“That’s impressive,” Pedro said, meaning it.

Jericho smiled faintly. “Yeah. I owe it all to Carissa.”

Pedro frowned, glancing at him. “What do you mean?”

Jericho hesitated for a moment, his fingers drumming lightly on the wheel. “Okay, don’t tell anyone this, alright? She’d kill me if she knew I told you.”

Pedro nodded. “Alright. Secret’s safe.”

Jericho exhaled, adjusting his grip. “I had this business plan, right? But no bank would give me a loan—they thought it was too risky. I was so bummed, man. I thought I was gonna be stuck in my desk job forever.

“My mom told tita Emmy about it,” Jericho continued, “and next thing I know, Carissa’s calling me, asking to send her my business plan. I thought she was gonna give me notes or suggestions, you know? Help me tighten it up. So I send it to her. But then she calls again and says she’ll give me—not loan, give me—the seed money.”

Pedro blinked. “She just gave you the money?”

“Yeah,” Jericho said, his voice softening. “I didn’t want to take it, though. Never even thought about asking her for help ‘cause I didn’t want to be that relative, you know? But you know how she is—she insisted. Said the only repayment she’d take was free boba for life.”

Pedro shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “She never said anything about that.”

“Of course she didn’t,” Jericho said, grinning. “That’s her style. She just wants to help people, no fuss or drama.” He paused, his tone shifting as he continued. “But, man, when she gave me that money? I wasn’t about to let a single dime of it go to waste. I worked, like, 100-hour weeks for months—no weekends, no nights off. I turned a profit in a few months and used that to fund the second location, then the third. Now we’ve got four shops, all doing well.”

Pedro smiled, a mix of admiration and respect in his expression. “That’s incredible.”

Jericho grinned, his pride showing through. “Carissa’s not the only one addicted to hard work in the fam, you know.”

They pulled into the lot in front of Jericho’s first shop, a hip, modern space that buzzed with energy even on Christmas Eve. Inside, LED menu screens glowed above the register, listing drinks and snacks. Pedro’s eyes were immediately drawn to a prominent item on the menu: The Carissa Special—Passion Fruit Tea with Coconut Jelly and Boba + Snack-Sized Popcorn Chicken. 

Pedro pointed at the screen, raising an eyebrow. “The Carissa Special, huh?”

Jericho grinned. “Yeah, my way of honouring her. None of this would exist without her faith in me.”

The staff, mostly high school and college kids, greeted Jericho like a rock star as they quickly packed up the family’s Noche Buena order: gallons of milk tea, tall pots of freshly cooked boba, and two Carissa Specials Jericho had requested for Pedro.

“For you and Carissa,” Jericho said, handing him the drinks. “She’ll appreciate it.”

Pedro smiled, balancing the drinks in his hands. “Thanks, man.”

Translations:

Noche Buena -  means "Good Night" in Spanish, but in this context, it signifies the celebration of Christmas Eve, specifically the feast held after church services. 

After helping bring the boba into the kitchen, Pedro waved Jericho off from the front door of the house. Only after he shut the door behind himself did Carissa appear at the bottom of the stairs, looking fresh from a shower.

“Hey, did Jericho just drop you off?” she asked, surveying him as if inspecting him for physical damage from the range. 

“Yeah, he got us some of your specials,” Pedro said. “Wanna chill on the patio for a bit?”

They were quickly joined out there by Jimmy who apparently smelled the popcorn chicken from wherever he was lurking in the house.

“So, how’d it go? My dad didn’t say a word when he got home.”

Pedro gave a look of understanding as he considered what to tell Carissa. He wanted to be forthright though it felt as if he and Froy were engaged in a sort of battle of wills and Pedro didn’t want to rope Carissa in at this point.

“It was a classic dude hangout, I guess,” Pedro answered with a shrug. “I’m a poor shot compared to Angel.”

“Everyone’s a poor shot compared to Angel,” Carissa said fairly. “Really, no grilling or anything?”

“There was a little bit of that, mostly par for the course type shit,” he said, picking through his box of popcorn chicken while Jimmy whined softly for a nibble.

Pedro could feel Carissa assessing him, but she didn’t press him, opting instead to take a sip of her drink. 

“Well, you’re still here. I guess that means it went alright overall,” she mused, sitting back in the patio chair as she looked out at the beautiful coast vista before them.

“It’s gonna take a lot more than going shooting with your family to scare me off, baby,” Pedro said wryly.

Carissa grinned broadly. “Good, you’ve gotta make it through mass and Noche Buena still.”

Irvine, California

The drive to church was peaceful, the city lights casting faint glimmers against the velvet sky. Inside the car, the atmosphere was expectant, conversation mingling with the hum of the engine. 

From the front seat, Emmy turned to look at Pedro. “You’ll like the service, Pedro,” she said brightly. “The church is beautiful. Very peaceful.”

Pedro nodded politely, offering her his most respectful smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Beside him, Carissa glanced over, the corners of her lips tugging upward in a barely-there smile. She was luminous in an elegant dress and a tailored coat that flattered her slender frame. Her hair was swept neatly off her shoulders, her makeup understated, yet every feature seemed to glow. Pedro couldn’t help the faint ache in his chest as he looked at her. Emmy and Froy were equally well-dressed, their humble dignity a perfect match for the occasion.

Pedro himself had put in the effort, trading his usual casual style for a smart jacket, trousers, and polished shoes. Earlier, Emmy had given him a subtle nod of approval, a small but significant gesture that felt like a victory.

When they arrived, the grand doors of the church swung open, releasing a faintly cool breeze that carried the scent of incense. The sanctuary inside was a symphony of light and reverence: vaulted ceilings reaching heavenward, walls adorned with stained glass that bathed the space in jewel-like colors, and rows of flickering candles.

Emmy led them toward an open pew, her steps purposeful. Froy walked at her side, his usual stoicism softened in this sacred space. Carissa followed with an easy grace, her movements measured and calm. Pedro trailed behind, taking in the congregation, spotting cousins and uncles scattered among the crowd.

They slid into the pew, Froy and Emmy taking the inner seats while Pedro and Carissa sat nearest the aisle. As the choir began its hymn, Carissa folded her hands neatly in her lap, her expression serene and focused on the altar. Pedro, however, couldn’t help but let his eyes wander, his mind already restless.

“Baby,” he whispered, leaning close to her..

She tilted her head slightly toward him, her voice barely above a whisper. “What is it?”

“How long is the mass usually?”

“It depends on the program and the priest.”

“Two hours? Three? Is there a halftime?”

Carissa bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “Behave yourself,” she whispered.

Pedro leaned back slightly while the choir’s hymn floated through the space, a serene melody that matched the atmosphere. After a while, his mind wandered. His gaze flicked to Carissa, her emerald green dress that made her tan skin glow. The contrast of her composed demeanor against her figure made his thoughts take a decidedly unholy turn.

“Mi vida,” he whispered, leaning close again.

“Mm?” 

“Who’s the patron saint of this place?”

“I can’t remember if they have one,” she replied under her breath, her eyes fixed on the altar.

“Well,” Pedro murmured, his tone laced with mock solemnity, “if there isn’t one, I’m volunteering.”

Carissa turned her head slightly, giving him a wary glance. “For what, exactly?”

“Saint Pedro,” he said with a grin that was equal parts playful and wicked. “Patron saint of blue balls.”

Her eyes widened, her mouth falling open slightly in shock. She immediately glanced toward her parents, but they were engrossed in the service.

“Pedro,” she hissed, her voice barely audible. “Don’t say that in here.”

“I’m suffering, Carissa,” he continued, his tone so earnest it bordered on comedic. “Do you know what it’s like to see you—prim, proper, playing the good Catholic daughter for your parents—when all I can think about is Paris?”

Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson. “Pedro, stop.”

“You,” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear, “in that raspberry beret. Riding my face like a queen.”

Her spine stiffened, her hands gripping the edge of her dress as heat rushed through her. “Pedro, I mean it,” she murmured, her voice trembling with both irritation and something far less righteous.

“And Belfast,” he added, his tone dropping even lower. “In front of the mirror, the way you looked at yourself while we—”

“Sweet baby Jesus in a manger,” she managed faintly, her thighs pressed together, her body betraying her despite her mortification.

Pedro’s grin widened, thoroughly enjoying her squirming. From further down the pew, Froy glanced over, his expression sharp. Pedro immediately straightened, his features shifting into an expression of pure innocence, hands clasped as if in prayer. 

She swallowed hard, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. “You’re going to hell for this.”

Pedro smirked, leaning in for one final whisper. “Only if you’re coming with me, baby.”

Carissa’s lips pressed into a thin line, her thighs clenching involuntarily as she fought to regain her composure. Her panties were already damp, her mind filled with memories she desperately wished he hadn’t invoked in this sacred setting.

In retrospect, Pedro wished he had appreciated the solemnity of mass more than he had done because by the time Noche Buena kicked off, Carissa’s parents’ house was a cacophony of noise and aromas and the next hurdle of his Christmas with the Bautistas.

The sound of voices—loud, layered, and unapologetically boisterous—drifted into the kitchen as the family began to arrive. The door swung open, and with it came a surge of energy. Dolly, Marisol, and Ethel swept in first, their husbands—Benjie, Lito, and Romy—following behind, holding trays of food and bottles of wine. The cousins soon poured in, filling the house with a chaotic energy.

Pedro, who had been standing by the archway, found himself immediately in the crosshairs. Dolly, dressed in a striking red blouse and gold earrings, gasped theatrically when she spotted him.

“Oh my… so pogi ! Carissa!” Dolly practically shrieked, grabbing Carissa’s arm and shaking it. “Where did you find him?”

Marisol, not to be outdone, clapped her hands together as she approached Pedro, her face lit with delighted mischief. “He’s even more handsome in person!” she declared. “You’re going to be Game of Thrones , right? Oh, we’re so excited to watch it!”

Pedro, caught in the whirlwind of compliments, offered a gracious chuckle, trying to keep up. “Thank you,” he said, dipping his head slightly.

Meanwhile, Ethel sidled up to Carissa, her tone sweet and genuine. “He seems like a good one,” she said simply, her words carrying the weight of sincerity. “A real catch.”

Carissa ave a faint upward tilt of her lips at her aunt’s words. “Thank you, he really is.”

In the chaos, Pedro did his best to manage the flood of attention, answering questions about his work, politely laughing at jokes, and fielding a few too many unsolicited compliments. Emmy, sensing his struggle, clapped her hands loudly from the kitchen.

“Dolly! Marisol!” she called, her voice sharp enough to cut through the chatter. “Let him eat.”

The two raucous aunts immediately snapped into action, dragging Pedro toward the buffet with them, their chatter turning practical as they debated portion sizes and food preferences. Pedro glanced back at Carissa who nodded encouragingly at him.

She returned to meticulously refilling the appetizer trays with the precision of someone determined to focus on anything but the chaotic energy of the gathering. She could hear Pedro’s laugh from the living room, smooth and warm as he fended off Dolly and Marisol fawning over him. He was handling it well, of course.

“Ohhh, bunso, hard at work,” Queenie’s voice rang out behind her, laced with mischief.

Carissa didn’t flinch, didn’t even look up as Queenie slid into her peripheral vision, a playful smirk plastered across her face. “Merry Christmas, ate Queenie,” she said dutifully, reaching for another stack of crackers. “Did you guys eat yet?”

“We will, we just wanted to catch up with you first,” Twinkie chimed in, appearing on the opposite side of the island. Her grin mirrored Queenie’s, sharp and mischievous. “And maybe get some answers.”

Carissa sighed, knowing exactly what her cousins were up to. “About what?”

Queenie leaned in, resting her chin on her hand. “Oh, you know. About your boyfriend, Pedro, of course.”

Carissa picked up the platter and began arranging it with precision. “He’s fine, we’re fine,” she replied, her expression carefully blank.

Twinkie snorted. “ Fine? Girl, come on. Tell us everything. Did he pop all your cherries?”

Carissa froze for the briefest second before continuing to arrange the crackers. She bit her tongue to refrain from responding.

“Oh, so that’s a yes,” Twinkie said, her eyes sparkling with delight. “Was it romantic? Did he light candles and whisper sweet nothings in Spanish, or was it just straight-up dirty, like, ‘Dámelo todo, mamí’?”

Carissa’s cheeks flushed slightly. “I’m not discussing anything personal with you guys.”

“We’re just curious,” Queenie quipped. “Is he any good in bed, or is his old man back pain a dealbreaker? Does he have to stretch and take, like, ibuprofen before you guys—what’s the word—‘wrestle’?”

“Is it true that latinos are mad hot in bed?” Twinkie added, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Come on, don’t be shy. Just tell us!”

Carissa gave them both a withering look. “Are you done?”

“Not even close,” Twinkie replied gleefully. She clasped her hands together, slowly spreading them apart. “Okay, bunso , let’s talk specifics. How big? Just say stop.”

“Twinkie, don’t,” Carissa said, a hot wave of embarrassment spread over her.

“Here?” Twinkie asked, holding her hands a few inches apart. “No? Here? Still going?”

“Go bigger,” Queenie encouraged, biting her lip to keep from laughing. “You know he’s got a big peen. Did you see his hands?”

Twinkie laughed so hard she had to lean on the counter. “Oh my God, you know what this means? It’s so good she’s speechless. That man must’ve ruined her.”

“Right? Probably had her speaking in tongues.” Queenie cackled, nearly doubling over.

Ethel strode into the kitchen, her expression severe. “Ang bastos nyo naman!” she snapped, delivering swift twisting pinches hard enough to bruise to both Queenie and Twinkie, making them yelp in unison. “Go check if anyone needs refills on their drinks, go!”

“Sorry, tita!” Twinkie said, rubbing her arm as she and Queenie scrambled away.

As they disappeared, Carissa exhaled heavily, her hands stilling as she returned to the appetizers. Ethel shook her head, muttering something about “those girls” before giving Carissa a sympathetic look.

Translations : 

pogi (poh-gee) - handsome, good-looking 

ate (ah-TEH) - literal translation is ‘older sister’; can be used for older female siblings or cousins. It reflects the importance of respect and hierarchy in family and social relationships 

dámelo todo, mamí - give it all to me, baby 

ay, mamí, qué rica - oh, baby, you’re so sexy. 

Ang bastos nyo naman (ahng bahs-tos nyoh nah-mahn) - translates to “You’re (plural) so rude”; often used to scold someone for inappropriate, disrespectful, or lewd behavior. 

After the buffet dinner, everyone sat around the family room for games. The White Elephant gift exchange was sponsored entirely by Froy and Emmy and the gifts were extravagant. There were brand-new Apple devices—iPads, iPhones, and even a MacBook—envelopes of cash in varying amounts in the hundred, pairs of Disneyland tickets, and designer handbags and wallets. It wasn’t just a gift exchange; it was a high-stakes battlefield.

It was a chaotic blend of theatrics, cutthroat strategy, and ear-splitting noise. Pedro, who had thought he was prepared for anything after meeting Carissa’s large, boisterous family, quickly realized he was out of his depth. As the cousins and extended family gathered around, the noise level reached a crescendo that could rival a rock concert. As each gift was unwrapped and the stealing ensued, Pedro was certain we was progressively losing his hearing. 

The cousins—Angel and his fiancée Camille, JR, Jericho, Darryl, Queenie, and Twinkie—wasted no time plunging into competitive mode. Their voices cut through the din with sharp English banter, their antics a mix of sibling rivalry and tactical genius.

“Ate Queenie, don’t even think about it!” Twinkie screeched, leaping to her feet as her sister reached for a MacBook. Her dramatic tone carried across the room, punctuated by a wild pointing gesture.

Queenie smirked, unfazed.“Too bad, Twinkie. It’s mine now. Better luck next year.”

“She’s cheating!” Twinkie wailed, throwing herself onto the couch in mock despair. The room erupted into laughter, with a few cheers from the uncles egging them on.

Across the room, Angel sat like an immovable fortress, Disneyland tickets clutched firmly in one hand while Camille whispered to him the strategy for her own prize from behind her hand 

“Kuya, you’ve already been to Disneyland twice this year. Maybe it’s time to share?” JR said, inching closer.

“Don’t,” Angel replied, his tone just a touch dangerous. The single word was enough to send his younger brother retreating, earning another round of laughter.

The aunties—Marisol, Dolly, and Ethel—were no less dramatic. Their voices rose in a symphony of Tagalog exclamations, punctuated by shrieks of indignation. Marisol’s hands waved in the air as she accused Lito of collusion.

Pedro, sitting beside Carissa, turned to her, bewildered. “What just happened?” he asked, his voice barely audible over the noise.

Carissa, calmly handing another numbered card to her mom, smirked. “Tita Marisol thinks Tito Lito is helping Tita Dolly cheat. She’s not wrong.”

“This is wild,” Pedro muttered, completely entertained by her family’s antics.

Froy, sitting nearby with Jimmy on his lap, taking it all in. He covered the puppy’s ears to shield him from the screeching while chuckling at the spectacle. Emmy, unfazed by the noise, continued to manage the game with Carissa’s help.

Jericho, the so-called “nicest cousin,” revealed his cutthroat side, trading a tablet for the Macbook Twinkie had been eyeing all night. “Jericho! You traitor!” Twinkie shouted, stomping her foot in outrage.

“It’s just strategy, cuz,” Jericho replied with a shrug, his grin unapologetic. The peanut gallery erupted in boos and laughter.

Carissa nudged Pedro and whispered to him, “You think this is bad? Wait until the cash envelopes come out.”

Sure enough, the discovery of the first envelope sent the room into overdrive. Twinkie’s piercing shriek could probably be heard by the neighbors as Darryl snatched it from her hands.

“KUYA! YOU’RE THE WORST!” Twinkie howled, lunging at her brother, who fanned himself nonchalantly with the envelope. “I hope you choke on it!”

Somehow, after countless swaps and a tense final round, Pedro ended up holding a coveted iPad. His triumph felt like pure luck, but the room wasn’t having it.

“This is rigged, Froy!” Benjie bellowed, having been the one it was stolen from while Ethel and the other aunts rooted Pedro on.

By the end of the night, the house was still buzzing with post-game chatter. The aunts dissected every swap and theft, Twinkie plotted revenge for next year, and Pedro sat on the couch, iPad in hand, still dazed by the experience.

“I should’ve kept my ear protection from the range for this game,” Pedro said to Carissa, making her giggle.

After several more games and snack breaks, the traditional karaoke session began. Queenie and Twinkie were squabbled over the mic, their powerhouse voices vying to be heard. It was 2 AM, and the energy hadn’t dipped. Carissa, knowing how much Pedro loathed karaoke of any sort and not being a fan herself, gestured discreetly to him and they snuck upstairs to exchange presents in private.

Now, tucked away in the sanctuary of the guest room Pedro was staying in, the noise from downstairs was muffled like a distant storm. They sat on the bed facing each other, appreciating the relative quiet they had in the moment.

“They’ll probably be at this for hours,” Carissa said conspiratorially, glancing toward the door they left slightly ajar. 

Pedro chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “I’m counting on it.”

She had a flattish gift box in her lap, waiting for its moment. “Do you want to go first, or should I?”

Pedro’s lips curved into a faint smile, but he shook his head. “Let me go first,” he said. He leaned down, reaching into his bag by the foot of the bed. After a moment, he pulled out not one but two wrapped packages, one small and rectangular, the other slightly larger and squishy-looking. He set them both on the bed beside him, glancing at Carissa with a sheepish grin.

“Two?” Carissa asked, her brow. “I thought we agreed to only do one gift because Christmas and our anniversary are so close together.” 

Pedro shrugged. “Yeah, well, I couldn’t decide so you’re getting two.”

She wrinkled her nose playfully. “You really didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” he said simply, his gaze steady but warm. “You’ll understand once you open them.”

He handed her the larger, softer package first. Carissa carefully unwrapped it, revealing a beautifully knitted cream sweater. Her fingers traced the intricate stitching as she looked at him, a question in her eyes.

“This sweater was made by a survivor of human trafficking,” Pedro began. “She’s part of a program in Chile that helps rehabilitate and educate victims so they can re-enter society without falling back into trafficking or… worse. When I heard about the organization, it reminded me of your work with the maternity shelters. Restoring a person’s dignity, giving them safety, resources, and a chance to rebuild their lives—it felt like something you’d appreciate.”

Carissa’s fingers brushed lightly over the edge of the sweater as Pedro continued. “I made sure the proceeds went directly to the person who made it, and I looked into the program to be sure it stood by its values. I know you’d want me to do my homework.” He smiled, almost shyly, and added, “I just thought you’d like it.”

She held the sweater close to her chest, an expression of tenderness blooming in her delicate features. Her appreciation of Pedro’s thoughtfulness was evident in her eyes, which glistened slightly as she studied the intricate knitwork.

“Pedro,” she said, her voice tinged with heartfelt emotion. “This is so thoughtful, really.” She kissed his cheek and without another word, she slipped off the cardigan she was wearing and pulled the sweater over her head. The fabric was soft and warm, enveloping her like a hug. She smoothed it down and snuggled into it, a content sigh escaping her lips. 

Pedro watched her, his chest tightening with quiet relief and joy. He knew from the way she cradled the sleeves and pressed her hands to the fabric that she truly loved it, not just as a gift, but for everything it represented. She met his gaze again, her expression radiant.

“I love it,” she said sincerely. “Thank you.”

Pedro reached for the second package. “This was actually my original idea,” he admitted, handing the smaller box to her. “I’ve been working on it since your birthday.”

Curiosity flickered in Carissa’s eyes as she unwrapped the second gift. Inside the box was a book, its cover made of grey linen fabric. The title, embossed in elegant silver lettering, read: Letters to Ms. Reyes-Bautista. 

Carissa’s breath stilled as she opened the book and saw the dedication page. It was from Pedro, written in his familiar handwriting:

To Carissa: A mirror into your heart and soul, to remind you of the work you do and the lives you impact. 

She turned the pages slowly, taking in the letters. They were written by women who had come through her maternity shelters and programs—some handwritten, others emails, beautifully scanned and laid out with care. Many included photographs of the women and their children—children born during their time at her shelters. They were no older than two or three years old now, their tiny faces beaming in family snapshots.

Carissa’s fingers trembled as she pressed them to her lips, her tears falling silently. Every letter was a story she remembered, a name she recognized. Each was a testament to the work she had begun at her dining table in Brooklyn, work Pedro had been privy to and supported since the beginning. He had seen her pour herself into every detail, sacrificing time, energy, and resources to build something meaningful. And now, here it all was—reflected back at her.

She couldn’t speak. The emotion swelled too large, too overwhelming to put into words. She flipped through the pages, her tears spilling freely now, her breath hitching as she reached for the photographs of children whose lives had begun in the safe havens she had created.

Pedro stayed silent, watching her with quiet understanding. He didn’t need her to speak; her reaction said everything. The way her shoulders shook, the way her fingers clung to the pages like they might disappear—it was all the confirmation he needed.

She looked up at him finally, her lips parted as though to say something, but no words came. Only more tears. Pedro moved closer, resting a hand gently on her knee, his eyes steady and full of love.

“Thank you,” she managed to whisper at last, her voice breaking. 

Pedro smiled softly, his thumb brushing over her knee in a small, reassuring motion. “I just wanted to make sure you don’t forget to take in what you do once in a while.”

Carissa gave him a watery chuckle, wiping away her tears. “I won’t forget. But you didn’t need to make me cry over it.”

“How else would I know it worked?”

“Touché, I’ll cry about it a little bit more later when I have more emotional energy to spend,” she conceded. 

Giving herself a little shake, she set the book aside and handed Pedro a sleek black box, her hands trembling slightly despite her steady expression. Pedro caught the shift in her energy immediately. His brow furrowed as he tilted his head, studying the way her eyes lingered on the box before looking back at him. She was poised, her usual feline-like composure observant and intent—making him feel like she was cataloging every detail.

"Before you open it," she began, her voice measured, "I want you to know that I’ve been working on this since Paris. I made this decision with a lot of thought and certainty."

Pedro’s face twisted in exaggerated confusion, his lips parting as he leaned back. "That sounds... kind of ominous," he said, stretching the word for emphasis. His hands fluttered theatrically. "Is this, like, a cursed artifact? Am I about to unleash something?"

Carissa’s lips twitched, a hint of amusement breaking through her calm demeanor. "Just... don’t make it weird when you open it."

"Alright, alright," he muttered as he opened the box.

Inside was a black leather folder, its surface sleek and sophisticated. Gold letters embossed on the cover read 7th Avenue Trust. Pedro froze in stunned recognition, his mouth hanging slightly open as his eyes darted back to her. 7th Avenue almost a year ago.  

"Wait," he murmured, his voice quieter now. "Is this..."

Carissa’s gaze flicked away for a moment before returning to him, her posture perfectly composed except for the slightest shrug. "Open it," she said, the faintest note of shyness threading through her tone.

Pedro’s fingers moved to open the folder, his curiosity sharpening. His eyes scanned the first page, and his brow furrowed deeply. Legal documents? Confusion crept across his face as he looked back up at her, wide-eyed. The questions were forming faster than he could ask them.

"Just read it," she urged, her tone quiet but insistent.

Pedro’s eyes roved back over the papers. The words blurred together at first, but as the meaning settled in, realization struck him hard. She was giving him 5% of her company, 714Analytix.

He stared, stunned. "Nope," he said suddenly, lifting a hand like he was physically stopping the idea from reaching him. "Absolutely not, Carissa, no. "

Carissa raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, no?"

Pedro’s hands flailed, his voice rising. "I mean no! No, ma’am. You’re taking this back. I’ll take a really nice sweater, or maybe fancy socks—like the ones that feel like clouds—but not this. This is your company. Your baby. Nope. I’m out."

Carissa’s expression barely changed, her arms crossing lightly. "Pedro, stop. I told you, don’t make this weird."

"I’m not making it weird!" he exclaimed, his hands clutching his chest dramatically. "I’m being incredibly normal. You, on the other hand—this? This is not normal. Who just hands out pieces of their company?"

Carissa’s lips curved slightly, a flicker of amusement escaping her control. "The ink’s been dry for weeks. It’s irrevocable. It’s yours."

Pedro dragged a hand down his face, his disbelief palpable. "I don’t want it. I understand what you’re trying to do, but this... this feels borderline inappropriate? You can’t just give this to me."

"Yes, I can," she said, her tone calm and unwavering.

His hands shot up again. "But why , though?"

Her gaze softened, her posture relaxing slightly as she leaned forward. "Because you’re rare, Pedro. I don’t have any other experience when it comes to relationships but I know a normal relationship wouldn’t have survived what we’ve been through this year alone. The long hours, the distance, the sacrifices… the drama . Through it all you’ve never asked me to be less so that you could be more. You’ve never asked me to shrink myself or give up what I love. You treat my work like it matters just as much as your own." Her voice was steady, but her words carried weight.

Pedro blinked rapidly, his jaw tightening as he absorbed her words. He tilted his head, his expression a mix of disbelief and awe. "I mean... yeah, but... that’s just what you do for someone you love. It’s what we do."

Carissa’s mouth curved faintly. "Sure, we do. But I know you’ve noticed how it is with my family in the last two days alone. How I have to be a certain way for them. With you I don’t have to do that. You let me be fully myself." Her eyes sparkled briefly, though she held the tears at bay.

Pedro’s expression softened as he watched her. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, his usual quick-wittedness replaced with reflection. He had noticed the dynamic, the pecking order in her family, especially with the extended family in the mix. It hadn’t escaped him how her mother and uncles prodded at her figure or how her aunts and cousins seemed to infantilize her. Then he thought of the moment the day before when he let slip about the future, their future. Her response had been cryptic: I guess I have been thinking about it in my own way. 

Now, it all made sense. This was her way.

A crooked smile tugged at his lips as he finally spoke, his voice tinged with emotion. "Okay," he said quietly. "’Cause it’s not like you’re really giving me a choice here."

Her smile brightened, the tension slipping from her shoulders. "Good, because you’re right—I’m not giving you a choice."

Pedro chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned back. "You know, I never thought the first legal document between us would be this. A lease or mortgage? Makes sense. But this?"

Carissa’s tone turned teasing. "Well, those are more binding, but we can do that too."

His hand shot up in mock protest. "Uh-uh. Nope. I’m not leaving this room without settling that."

Her brow lifted, intrigued. "What are you talking about?"

He leaned forward again, pointing at her with a playful grin. "I’m not even gonna bother asking you about moving in together. I’m calling it now—that’s our anniversary activity when we get back to Brooklyn. We’re gonna look for a place together. That way, you can’t pull a shady move while I’m on a job in L.A. and be like, ‘Oh, by the way, we’re buying a place. The broker needs your signature.’ Nope. Not happening."

Carissa narrowed her eyes, though her amusement was clear. "What, so now we’re gonna live together?"

"Uh, yeah," Pedro replied, his tone rising as if the answer were obvious. "And we’re going through the process together—not this whole stealthy shit you just pulled, Bautista."

She tilted her head, her lips curving slyly. "Okay, fine... I kind of like you a little bossy."

"Get used to it. I am very demanding to live with."

Pedro’s grin softened as he reached for her, his fingers slid gently to cradle the back of her head, his fingers weaving gently into her hair as he leaned in. Their lips met in a kiss that was unrushed and electric with the kind of closeness they had both been craving but couldn’t indulge until now.

Just as the moment deepened, when the world felt impossibly small and still around them, the door burst open and Jimmy bounded in, pouncing between them on the bed with a flurry of wagging tail and yips. He wedged himself right in the middle, looking back and forth between them as if to say, Leave room for Jesus. 

Pedro groaned, flopping back onto the bed. "First JR, now Jimmy. Is everyone in this house on PDA duty?”

Newport Beach, California

On Christmas Day, the house was silent as Pedro snuck out with Jimmy under his arm to catch Carissa’s early morning surf session. He had never seen her surf before though he knew it was a passion of hers that she indulged in as much as her schedule allowed. Carissa’s parents were still fast asleep upstairs, their exhaustion well-earned after hosting a houseful of relatives well into the wee hours. JR and Jericho, who tried to outdrink one another, were passed out in the living room, unable to make it up the stairs to one of the guest rooms. JR was draped comically over the couch, an arm flung over his eyes, while Jericho had taken up residence on the carpet, half-buried under a throw blanket.

Pedro stifled a laugh as he carried Jimmy down the steps to the waiting SUV. Carissa followed in her wetsuit with a beach towel over her arm, her shortboard already strapped to the roof rack.

“They’ll be out until noon at least,” she whispered conspiratorially as they drove down to the pier, the early morning light casting a soft glow over the empty streets. The moment they parked in the little lot at the beach, Carissa was freeing her board from the roof rack and jogging down the beach to meet the waves. Pedro stopped into a donut shop for some coffee and donuts before walking up the pier with Jimmy trotting happily beside him.

Pedro leaned on the pier railing, sipping his coffee, the salt air sharp and fresh against his skin as he looked out at Carissa among a handful of surfers, waiting for her turn in the lineup. She was perched on her shortboard, tiny and solitary against the vastness of the Pacific. Then when her turn came, with one smooth motion, she dropped into a wave, popping up in a fluid motion, balanced and nimble, carving sharp arcs into the face of the wave, the arc of her body impossibly fluid.

He hadn’t expected to feel so moved by watching her surf. He knew she’d been doing it for years, since she was six, as she had mentioned in passing. Yet knowing and seeing were two different things. Out here, she was so in her element, completely absorbed, and it struck him just how much of her life she lived this way—solitary, determined, unflinching. And God, she was beautiful. Not in the obvious, surface way—though of course she was that, too—but her innate grace, present in every corner of her being.

Watching her now, it wasn’t just beauty or grace or skill that had him transfixed. It was this visceral, almost overwhelming pride. That was his woman out there, he girl who could slice through waves with the same precision she brought to running her organizations. The girl who could effortlessly navigate her parents’ expectations one day, then call out bullshit in a boardroom the next. The girl who gave herself to him in ways no one else would ever see.

It hit him like a sucker punch, the sheer gravity of it. He was the only one who got to have her like this. Not just the powerhouse founder, deferent daughter, or the obedient bunso, or even the quiet philanthropist. He got her. All of her.

He had seen the Carissa who slept curled against his chest, her guard down, her breath warm against his skin. The Carissa who bantered with him, her wit sharp and her laugh even sharper. He had seen her serious, driven, commanding. Had seen her fragile, her hands trembling as she told him about the loneliness she carried for years. He had seen her playful, goofy even, when she let herself drop the weight of the world for a little while.

And the thing that floored him—what made his heart beat a little harder, his chest swell a little fuller—was that she let him see all of it. No one else got that.

Out there on the water, she was her most unfiltered self. She wasn’t doing it for him or for anyone else. Surfing was hers, a piece of her childhood she kept alive all this time. But even here, he got to be part of it—not by intruding, not by asking, but just by being there.

Jimmy barked, jolting him out of his thoughts. Pedro looked down, smirking at the dog’s impatient expression. “What?” he murmured, scratching behind Jimmy’s ears. “You’re not impressed? She’s killing it out there.”

The dog wagged his tail enthusiastically, probably more interested in the bag of donuts Pedro still had than in the display of skill happening on the waves.

Pedro glanced back at Carissa. She was paddling out again, her strokes strong and steady. He took another sip of his coffee, letting the pride settle over him. He wasn’t sure if she even realized how much space she took up in his heart, how much of her was etched into his very being. The wave came, and she caught it perfectly, standing tall as she dropped in, her board cutting through the water like a blade. She was so small, so impossibly powerful.

His woman. His whole damn heart. 

She glanced up at the pier, her dark eyes searching for him, and when they found him, she smiled. Not the polite, measured smile she gave her family. Not the gracious one she wore in public. This one was pure Carissa—unfiltered, unguarded, just for him.

Pedro lifted his coffee in a small salute, grinning back at her, feeling like the luckiest bastard on the planet.

“Yeah, Jimmy,” he muttered under his breath, glancing down at the dog again. “She’s a fucking badass.”

And she was his. Only his.

The following day, just before they were to return to New York, Carissa was folding a pair of jeans into her suitcase when she heard the soft knock at her bedroom door. She glanced up as her father stepped inside and closed it behind him. The air shifted immediately, a weight settling between them.

"How do you think he did?" His voice was measured, neither harsh nor welcoming, but his tone carried the edge of intention. She knew her father too well. This wasn’t an innocent question.

Carissa straightened, her hands lingering on the edge of the dresser. "I thought he did fine," she replied, keeping her tone placid, though her pulse quickened. 

Froy’s gaze lingered on her before he crossed his arms. "You know, I can’t tell if he’s acting or not."

Her brow furrowed, even though she knew what he meant. "How do you mean?" she asked.

“He’s charming so I can see why you like him,” Froy said simply, his voice even, measured. “But, ‘charm is deceptive.’” He quoted Proverbs 31:30 with practiced ease.

Carissa resisted the urge to point out that the verse was meant as an admonition for women. Instead, she chose her words carefully. "Pedro is genuine. He’s not pretending,” she said softly, controlled.

Her father exhaled slowly as he regarded her seriously. "I have always supported your decisions, anak," he began, each of his words landing precisely where he intended. "But this one– choosing Pedro? I don’t see anything about him that reflects the good judgement you usually have."

The weight of his disapproval crushed her flat. Everything from the calculated cadence of his speech, the unwavering set of his eyes, the intent behind each word was meant to do just that.

"I expect you to choose better in your next relationship," her father stated, expectation and finality knitted together so tightly, leaving no room for argument. It was a dismissal of Pedro, of the contents of her heart. Her father did not believe or want her relationship with Pedro to last. Without another word, he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Carissa stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door. Her father’s words echoed in her mind, reverberating like the lingering hum of a bell. She exhaled slowly, trying to steady herself, to push down the ache rising in her chest.

December 27, 2024

Brooklyn, New York

The smell of bacon and coffee filled the kitchen, homey and grounding, the kind of warmth you could feel in your chest. Pedro stood by the stove, barefoot in sweats and a rumpled T-shirt, turning bacon strips with the focus of a man trying not to burn something important. The eggs were next, still waiting in the bowl on the counter, but for now, he worked efficiently.

Carissa sat at the kitchen table, knees tucked up under one of his old sweaters, hair loosely tied up in a bun. She had both hands wrapped around a mug of coffee like it was her lifeline, her eyes focused on a spot just past him. Her face was still, calm, but it was that kind of calm that wasn't actually calm at all.

Pedro glanced at her from the stove, brow raised. “You gonna tell me or what?”

Carissa blinked as if coming out of a reverie. “Tell you what?”

He gave her a look. “Don’t do that.” He pointed the spatula at her. “You know exactly what.”

She took a slow sip of her coffee, like it might buy her some time. “Christmas?”

“Bingo.” Pedro flipped a slice of bacon, watching it hiss in the pan. “Let’s hear it. Gimme my performance review, baby. I know there’s one coming. I played it cool, I smiled, I shook hands. I didn’t say a single word about politics, or gun laws, or gay rights. I was the best Saint Pedro I could be.”

Her lips curled into a small smile behind the rim of her mug. “You did do all that.”

“There’s a ‘but’ coming, isn’t there?”

Carissa sighed, her head tilting back as she stared at the ceiling like the words might fall out of it. “There is.”

“And it’s a ‘but’ I’m not gonna like, huh?”

“I don’t like it either,” she said softly, still looking up at the ceiling. She slowly brought her gaze back down to him, and there it was. The soft edge of apology. The look people give before they say something that’s bound to hurt.

Pedro snorted as he flipped another strip of bacon. “Just say it, baby.” He huffed out a quiet laugh, glancing over his shoulder. “Rip off the band-aid.”

Her gaze dropped to the table. She rolled her thumb over the edge of her mug, slow, methodical. “My dad…” She stopped, exhaled hard, steeling herself. “My dad said he expected better of me when it came to my… relationships.”

Pedro’s hand stilled on the spatula. For a second, he didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stood there.

Then, slowly, he set the spatula down on the edge of the pan, his head tipped back, eyes shut for a second. He let out a slow breath through his nose, his jaw working like he was chewing on something he couldn’t swallow. “Right. Cool.” He nodded once, pressing his lips together, arms folding across his chest. “So that’s where we’re at.”

“Pedro…” Her tone fragile, like she was trying to pull him back from wherever he had just gone.

He turned to her, eyebrows raised, arms still tight across his chest. “And what did you tell him when he said that to you?”

Her fingers stilled on the mug. Her eyes flicked to him, then back to the table. “I didn’t say anything.”

Silence.

“You didn’t say anything?” He asked, his expression nakedly incredulous.

“I wasn’t raised to talk back to my parents.” Her voice was still soft. Her eyes met his fully this time.

Pedro leaned forward, palms flat on the counter. “This isn’t about talking back, baby. It’s about telling him you don’t agree.”

She leaned back in her chair, fingers rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I can’t just— It’s not like that. My dad says something, it stays said. That’s how it’s always been.”

“Right, yeah, I saw that.” He straightened up, nodding slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “I saw that the whole time we were at your parents’ house. You don’t push back on any of them. Whatever they say you just…” He shrugged, hands lifting, then dropping. “...you just take it.”

Carissa looked hurt, as if he was criticizing her. He quickly moved to her side to make sure she understood that wasn’t the case. “I know that’s how you were raised, and I know you’re doing what you can to keep the peace. But I’m asking you—” He reached for her hand, curling his fingers around hers. “—I’m asking you not to let him think he’s right. Especially not when we’re about to start house hunting.”

Her gaze softened, but she didn’t say anything.

Pedro squeezed her hand gently, leaning his head in to meet her eyes. “If you walk away from that conversation and you don’t say anything, baby, your dad thinks he got through to you. That’s how parents are. They think quiet means ‘I understand,’ and ‘I understand’ means ‘I agree.’”

Her throat moved as she swallowed, her eyes darting away.

“Look at me,” he said. She did. Slowly, but she did. “Do you agree with him?”

Her eyes stayed on his, unwavering. “No.”

“Then tell him next time.” His voice wasn’t sharp, but it was steady. Certain. “Tell him you don’t agree. That’s it. Doesn’t have to be a whole speech, baby. Just that. ‘I don’t agree, Dad.’ That’s all you gotta say.”

Carissa’s lips pressed together, her gaze dropping to his hand still wrapped around hers. “It’s not that easy.”

Pedro laughed once, short and rough. “You were four years old, refusing to leave a third-grade classroom after they told you it wasn’t for you. Four, Carissa.” He tapped her knee, his conviction building with every word. “You left MIT at 16 ‘cause you knew it wasn’t for you. You bet on Heartfire when nobody else would.” His hand came up to cradle her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin. “You’ve stood your ground before, mi vida. Why not for us?”

Why not for us? The question echoed in her mind, striking at something raw in her heart.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice a whisper. “This is different. I’ve never had to defend my feelings before. I… I didn’t know how.”

His voice dropped to a murmur, thick with emotion. “I get it,” he said. “This is new for you. It’s scary. But, baby… what we have is worth fighting for. Right?”

Carissa’s lashes fluttered as tears welled in her eyes. “Yeah, it is,” she whispered, her voice trembling. 

“I’m not asking you to actually fight him. Just tell him the truth.”

For a long moment she didn’t say anything, chewing her bottom lip, deep in thought. Pedro waited, not wanting to break her process. “Okay,” she said, a note of determination ghosting over the word. “I’ll talk to him. I promise.”

​​Pedro let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his hand still resting against her cheek. “That’s all I’m asking, querida.”

Carissa nodded, reaching up to cover his hand with hers. The sizzle of bacon brought him back to the moment, and he pulled away, reluctantly. 

“Alright,” he said, turning back to the stove, his tone lighter now. “Let’s eat before I burn this breakfast and your dad adds ‘can’t cook’ to his list of grievances about me.”

[stars-n-spice]

Ask game! 6, 20, 30, 38 pls 🌑

Of course! Thank you for sending the ask :D

6: Which Batcher would you want to be your coworker at your irl job?

I am unfortunately unemployed,, lmao. Technically a full-time student and a housemaid so if we're going off that then I would say I'd want Echo to be my 'coworker' because I think he'd be more than willing to give a helping hand (or scomp, lol) when and if I should need it. But if we're talking like what I hope to be doing in the future which is whatever thing that has to do with screenwriting, teaching, or creative writing; I'm going with Tech. I think Tech and I would get along very well because we're both on the spectrum and we could just like parallel play and be cool with just that.

20: Which Batcher has the 'weirdest' taste in music?

Unrelated note, Echo is a k-pop fan and I'll die on this hill (and he's a Broadway fan). I think the person who has the 'weirdest' taste in music is probably Tech and I say 'weirdest' in the sense that he will listen to whatever genre. He simply does not care. You shuffle his liked songs and you feel like you're having a stroke. It's a mix of old dad rock that Hunter and Wrecker enjoy, it's the punk and emo shit Crosshair listens to, there's some old/first-gen K-pop in there, he listens to Los Panchos and Vicente Fernández. County? Sure, why not? He's a big fan of Beyoncé. He knows all the words to Rap God. He listens to Broadway songs and game OSTs. Omega makes him listen to those fan songs of video games. Catch him crying and listening to Mitski at 3 am in the morning. I could go on and on.

30: Tell me a random headcannon you have about Omega.

A random headcanon I have about Omega is that she has a good night routine. Like the book "Goodnight Moon" before she hits the hay she says goodnight to anything and everything. Of course she starts out with her brothers–"Good night Hunter. Good night Echo. Good night Tech. Good night Wrecker."–Then she goes on her personal items and Gonky–"Good night Lula. Good night trooper. Good night Gonky."–Then the ship and surrounding things–"Good night Marauder. Good night stars. Good night planets."–and then when everything is said and done and everything is silent she'll stare out into space and whisper, "Good night Crosshair."

38: What color do you associate with each Batcher?

Ooh, this is a fun one! Honestly, my answers are super basic, but eh. For Hunter, it's red, mainly because he's the squad leader and one of the main colors of the squad is red so automatically he gets that. While he does look good in teal, I think red's his color. For Echo it's a deep blue, mainly because of his time spent with the 501st but also because it's a calming color and Echo is just someone you'd want to be around to feel calm and safe. For Wrecker it's yellow; the color I associate with any positive/bubbly character for obvious reasons, but also it's my sister's favorite color and she's the sweetest person ever so I think it's a fitting color. It's a warm color and I'm sure he gives warm hugs <3 For Tech it's oranges/browns. Typically I tend to associate purple with 'smart' characters because of Donatello from TMNT, but orange/brown is just a more fitting color for Tech and I can't really describe why. Maybe it's the s2 armor? For Crosshair it's green because of his Imperial armor and I guess also because it symbolizes growth? In a sense? Also it's not one of my favorite colors, lol. For Omega, I associate her with teal colors. Something like the ones on her outfit from S1 but also because I love her so much and teal is my favorite color as well.

Here is the ask list if ya'll want to send me more asks ^^

[thethistlegirlwrites]

Unwanted

“We’ve got a victim sample that needs testing,” Shay says, passing a vial of blood over the counter to Dina. 

“A living one?” Dina asks, already turning around to the trays in the massive fridges behind her. There’s two of them, one with a heartbeat inside a red heart stenciled on the glass, the other with a black skull. A bit graphic, but a good reminder which one samples from the living and samples from the dead go into. 

“Yeah.”

Shay doesn’t spend a lot of time in the labs, but he’s starting to pick up on the rhythms. Living samples get priority aside from dead that have upcoming burial dates, especially when family has requested answers needing to know if they ought to pursue cremation instead. 

The two orange trays on the bottom of the dead fridge are new. 

“Starting a new system, Di?”

“Oh, just improving on the current one. These are the ones that come over from county morgues and the prisons. Unclaimed bodies with suspected venom infection. We have a ten-day window to test them unless someone makes a claim, so aside from special cases, we can leave them a little longer.” She sighs. “I hate having to triage like this at all, but…”

“You’re doing the best you can. Everyone in here is.” Shay starts to leave, then stops. “Wait, you said ten day cooling off period for unclaimed bodies?”

“Yeah. Not sure why that’s the rule, but oddly enough it doesn’t affect the fledglings. They still turn like they were at the moment of death. I watched an autopsy and two days later saw the guy walking around downtown with his shirt flung open and not a single scar on him.”

That’s a weird story and if he was in a different mood Shay would have a lot of questions about it, but right now, he has a more pertinent one.

“I was buried a lot sooner.”

Di stops with her hand on the fridge handle.

She’s got that look on her face that she has when someone who’s come in for testing gets their results back positive. 

“If whoever can claim the body waives the right to, the authorities can decide what to do as soon as they get that refusal.”

It’s worse than he thought. He wasn’t just unclaimed, just a forgotten footnote to his family.

For things to happen the way they did…he was outright rejected.

“I’m sorry.” Di’s voice is the soft consolation he didn’t ever expect to be directed at him. After all, it wasn’t like he could get worse news than ‘you are literally already a vampire’. 

Apparently, ‘you are a vampire no one wanted’ is in fact worse.

He makes it through reports and picking Sierra up from the infirmary (again) in a haze. All he wants to do is go home and go to sleep and hope he doesn’t feel this awful when he gets up. His body may not have been left to decompose for ten days, and it wouldn’t really have mattered if it had, but he feels pretty zombie-movie-rotten right now.

Rotten enough he forgot they were planning to meet Joey and Nico for drinks this morning. Sierra’s insisting on going, chucking her arm sling in the back seat the second they get to the car. “I’m not missing celebrating Joey’s promotion for a little glass cut.”

“Little glass cut that needed fourteen stitches,” Shay reminds her, but as usual, she ignores him.

She’s excited, and riding adrenaline and painkillers and the success story of the mentor program (say what she will about not being a good fit for it herself, she takes a lot of pride in what their team has done to promote it), and he figures that’s why she doesn’t notice he’s being so quiet.

Then again, maybe she’s worried he’s thinking about the college kid that sample he dropped off came from, and trying to keep him from sinking into a broody little heap of depression if it turns out the kid is in for the same hell he went through.

If that’s the case, he appreciates the effort. But he doesn’t really want to talk to anyone tonight.

Still, for Joey, he’ll make the effort. She’s doing really well; her family is an excellent motivator and given she was already existing on the fringes of society, transitioning into the new kind of life she has to lead now seems to be a little less jarring than it is for some people. 

She and Nico, along with Pete and Saanvi (neither of them had actual physical injuries and finish their reports inhumanly fast) are already waiting at a corner table at the Luna when Sierra and Shay walk in. Wren’s not there, but Emma gets a little touchy about fae and their magic in her bar, so she rarely makes an appearance here. Shay can’t blame her. She’s no fire fae, but one mini-tornado is enough. 

He makes a mental note to tell Emma her new bouncer didn’t do a thorough enough job checking for their entry marks. He let Sierra in with Shay on blind faith that she was with him and therefore trustworthy.

He’s still subbing shifts when he can, but more and more of his nights are taken up on the task force.

Joey jumps up to wave them over, still wearing her blue “Nico’s Custodial” t-shirt that stands out like a neon sign under the lights. He can see why she hasn’t changed, the logo on her chest now has the words “Team Manager” underneath it. She’s got to be proud. He is.

If he could just forget about the whole rejection thing, tonight would be amazing.

They’re a couple rounds in (and one hilarious - for everyone but Pete - mixup of shot glasses) when Joey stops answering questions about her job and starts asking everyone else how their day was. 

Sierra gives a wildly inaccurate version of how she got her injury, Pete and Saanvi tag-team explanations of whatever accounting-savvy thing it was they did to get the address of the place, and Joey even elbows Nico until he tells her about spending three hours on the phone with a supply vendor trying to find out how they were sent seven boxes of window cleaner spray bottles instead of ten jugs of bathroom sanitizer.

“What? I’m not going to work with you every day anymore,” she says when he protests that they literally work at the same company. 

And Shay knows he’s not getting out of this one with his secret intact.

“How about you? You look like you got sucker-punched,” Joey says. “I mean, not like I saw that happen too often…” 

Sierra chuckles, but it dies off as soon as she looks at him. 

“She’s right. I didn’t scare you that bad, did I?” She looks at Joey. “I was totally embellishing that story for dramatic effect. I only fell down two flights of stairs.”

He sighs. He’s going to have to tell someone at some point, because the way this is going, it’s going to eat at him like the poison that ran in his veins.

“Long story but…uh…I found out in a roundabout way from Di that my family had to have rejected any claim on my body for me to get buried when I did.”

“What the fuck?” Nico asks. He’s the only one able to get a word out.

“There’s a ten day waiting period on unclaimed bodies unless whoever is contacted about picking them up refuses to.” He looked it up while he was working on his report. The legalese was hard to read, but the gist was right. “I was buried after three.”

Sierra’s hand is wrapped white-knuckled around the handle of her knife. “Give me names.”

“No.” Honestly she probably wouldn’t have a hard time tracking his parents down, and he doesn’t think she’d actually commit a murder over something like this, but… “Sorry about that. I just totally killed the good mood.”

“No, we’re sorry. That you got stuck with such a terrible excuse for blood family,” Pete says.

Shay catches Sierra and Nico looking at each other and kicks Sierra’s foot under the table. “No one is going on any vigilante vengeance sprees. It’s over and done with. A long time ago.”

“Not if it’s still hurting you like this, it’s not.” 

Joey has a point. 

He’d like to bury this six feet deep, like whoever was in charge of dead prisoners did with him, but you can’t bury pain. There’s no getting this out of his head. It’s a permanent piece of who he is, just like being a vampire. Unwanted, rejected, refused.

He’d known his family didn’t approve of any of what his life became, and honestly he wouldn’t expect anyone’s to. But they didn’t even want his body when it was all over. 

“Screw blood family. We're a ‘blood’ family,” Sierra says. “I think it ought to mean something that you’ve drunk my blood and Pete’s.” She stops. “Wait. I just made our thing really weird, didn’t I. Shit.”

“I can’t decide if this is better or worse than the stain collection thing,” Pete groans. “Great job, Van Helsing.”

And once again, the table is laughing. 

Sierra may have royally weirded out everyone, but Shay has to admit, she’s kind of right. If Joey can get her citizenship based on where she turned, where her home earth is, then maybe waking up undead is a kind of rebirth. Maybe you get a new family. If that’s the case, then Sierra and Pete are pretty much the first people he interacted with in a real way afterward. Which does sort of make them one very messy, complicated, sometimes dysfunctional family. Somewhere along the way, they’ve added Saanvi, and Wren, and he’s pulled in Joey and with her, Nico (even if sometimes their abrasive banter makes it sound like they want to kill each other).

He can live with that. Or…you know…not.

(You can read this story and others from this universe on my WorldAnvil here!)

@catwingsathena @nade2308 @the-one-and-only-valkyrie @telltaleclerk @ettawritesnstudies  @writeouswriter @whump-place @the-lovely-wren

[richincolor]

Group Discussion: The Quince Project

With summer finally here we thought a fun beach read would be a good idea for our summer discussion and The Quince Project, a sophomore novel by Jessica Parra, seemed like the perfect fit. 

Publisher’s Summary: Castillo Torres, Student Body Association event chair and serial planner, could use a fairy godmother. After a disastrous mishap at her sister’s quinceañera, all of Cas’s plans are crumbling. So when a local lifestyle-guru-slash-party-planner opens up applications for the internship of her dreams, Cas sees it as the perfect opportunity to learn every trick in the book so that things never go wrong again.

The only catch is that she needs more party planning experience before she can apply. When she books a quinceañera for a teen Disneyland vlogger, Cas thinks her plan is taking off…until she finds that real life is more complicated than a fairy tale. Cas soon discovers that the party is just a publicity stunt, and she catches feelings for the chambelán. It’s clear that her agenda is about to go way off-script.

But maybe Happily Ever Afters aren’t just for the movies. Can Cas go from planner to participant in her own life? Or will this would-be princess turn into a pumpkin at the end of the ball?

Warning! Spoilers Ahead!

Let’s start off with some fun questions. Since this book is based in the OC (Orange County) the home of Disneyland, there are numerous Disney references all throughout the story. If you’re a Disney “head,” did it work for you, or if you’re not, did some of the references get lost with you?

K. Imani: I’m a total Disney head (fun fact…I actually went to the park one day while reading the novel and got a “I’m Celebrating” pin) so I enjoyed it and was able to catch all the references. I will say that at some point in the story I did feel all the Disney and Star Wars references were a bit overwhelming, but I really did love the way Cas used Star Wars as inspiration for Paulina’s “unquince”. 

Crystal: The Disney aspect was really fun for me. That’s super cool that you got to visit Disney while reading. Most of my elementary school years were spent in Orange County, so it’s a place of nostalgia for me. The last time I went to Disney was quite a while ago so the Star Wars references were actually sort of unexpected. I appreciated them though since I am also a Star Wars fan. I enjoy seeing characters or folks in real life being inspired by the things they love. It made me want to go for a visit. 

Audrey: I’ve never been to Disneyland and have no particular desire to go. The Disney and Star Wars references that I understood were fun, cute, or thematically relevant, though I will fully admit I know I missed out on references to the more recent movies. It was fine—context provided enough information that I didn’t get totally lost. Both Disney and Star Wars have significant presences in the book, so if you actively dislike those companies/franchises, this might not be the book for you.

Jessica: I’ve only been to Disneyland once and I’m not a huge Disney person – the only Disney movie I watched as a kid was Mulan – so I did miss a few references, but overall, I thought it was a fun touch! Now that we’re talking about it, I do really want to go to an amusement park now…  

Cas’s sister Po has a ton of malapropsisms with her sayings. Which one was your favorite?

K. Imani: I giggled so much at Po’s malapropisms, but my absolute favorite that I think I’d love to include in my life and share with my students is “Believing is Seeing.” Her saying became Cas’s mantra but I think it’s a good saying to use to help bolster self-esteem and to become what we imagine ourselves to be. It’s very freeing in a way. 

Crystal: I too appreciated the reworking of sayings. One that on the surface looks negative is, “If it’s broke, don’t fix it.” Sometimes we are so caught up in fixing that we don’t see the opportunities of other things around us. 

Audrey: Hurricane Po was a delight, and it’s hard to pick just one! I think what I enjoyed most was the times Po got her various quotes right—Cas was quick to pick up on the timing of correct quotes versus when Po didn’t quote perfectly.

Jessica: I’m going to have to choose “believing is seeing” as well. It’s manifesting! I love it. So much fun. Honestly, there were so many great lines. 

We must talk about the romance! I don’t think I’ve ever read a book where the main love interest is so forward. How did the romance come across to you?

K. Imani: I actually found the way the romance was written to be very refreshing. Usually the “will they/won’t they” creates good tension between the characters and builds the romance, but this time, with Javi being so intentional about his interest, that it took some “pressure”, if you will, off Cas. She wasn’t focusing on him at all because she was so focused on being the perfect party planner. He was a nice boost to her ego when she really needed it and I found their relationship truly realistic because of that. 

Crystal: I too enjoyed that the main focus wasn’t on if they were going to get together. He is that open book for her and I loved that for them. Their story is sweet. His openness was definitely a contrast to her secret keeping so the tension was more a matter of worrying about when everything would all fall to pieces and whether or not they had built something strong enough to withstand the impact. 

Audrey: Agreed, Javi’s honesty was refreshingly straightforward, and I liked that he wasn’t pushy about it. He made his interest in Cas known, and Cas was interested right back, so it didn’t take long for them to start dating. Same thing with Po and Paulina! And as Crystal pointed out, the romantic tension didn’t need to be “will they/won’t they” for this book’s structure—the higher stakes would be to have Cas’s lies revealed while they were already dating. It made complete sense to have them, and Po and Paulina, start their relationships before everything exploded.  Jessica: I thought it was a really interesting twist on the usual YA conventions, and I enjoyed it! It made space for a different aspect of Cas’s journey. I think writing what comes after “will they/won’t they” can often be incredibly challenging, so I was duly impressed by the departure from convention.

The major theme of this book is grief and the different ways we handle trauma. Cas handled her mother’s death differently from her sister and from her father, with each of them not talking to each other. How did you feel about the various depictions of grief?

Crystal: Having grief within both families was something that helped Javi and Cas bond, but it also showed that families and individuals most certainly have different ways of coping with or living with grief. Both families had times when they didn’t talk about the loved one. Javi and his mom would just veg with dramas or telenovelas which is one of my preferred methods, but they also had times when they would talk. Cas’s dad was doing the avoidance 24/7 and Cas was too in her own way. 

Audrey: Grief is messy, complicated, and nonlinear, and the nuanced way the author handled various people’s coping mechanisms in regards to their losses was something I appreciated. The anger Cas had at times toward her sister, and most notably her father, was especially impactful. I totally understood Cas’s warring desires not to upset her father but also being desperate for him to be a father and support his grieving daughters better than he had been.  

Jessica: I agree – I really appreciated the different approaches that the author took to depict how people handle grief. And the contrast between Cas and her father, versus Javi and his mother, as you pointed out Crystal, really highlighted that. Just depicting that was so powerful. 

K. Imani: I agree with all of you. In fact, it made the story more real to me as there is no “right” way of expressing grief. I found it heartbreaking how Cas’s father expressed his grief and how he didn’t realize he was hurting his children more by it.  And when Cas finally told him, it woke him up and I loved that it started both of them towards healing because Cas snapping at her father also made her realize that her actions were a part of her grief as well. 

The “Parental Past Tense”, the term Cas created in her discussion with Javi, really hit me, but I do think it was an interesting way of expressing grief. What do you think of Cas creating the term “Parental Past Tense”? 

Crystal: That phrase definitely sums up that awkward and painful moment of having to basically reveal that your parent is no longer alive. It’s a situation that often happens out of the blue and there’s always a moment when you can decide to omit using the past tense or just breeze past it. There are layers there because it’s about how the words impact the listeners as well as the person sharing their loss. Again there was contrast with Javi as he has gotten more comfortable with this past tense over time and Cas is just beginning the journey.

Audrey: The “Parental Past Tense” was a hard-hitting turn of phrase. It captures so much in just three words, and I really appreciated it from a language-learning standpoint. It’s something new, something that requires practice, and something that will take time to master.

Jessica: It really was a hard-hitting turn of phrase. Cas coming up with “Parental Past Tense” really says it all about how Cas and Javi approach grief, and Cas’s own struggles. 

K. Imani: The phrase hit my heart as well. It made me think of my students who have lost a parent and how they deal with their grief. I feel like the phrase really encompasses what it means to lose a parent and how you move forward. 

Lastly, what books are on your summer reading list?

K. Imani: I’m catching up on a lot of reading I was unable to do during the school year for reasons, but I am really looking forward to reading Children of Anguish and Anarchy, the conclusion of the Children of Blood and Bone series. I’ve been looking forward to this book for so long. 

Crystal: I have London on My Mind by Clara Alves on hold and am waiting for Where Wolves Don’t Die by Anton Treuer. I’m also excited to get to The Worst Ronin by Maggie Tokuda-Hall. As a teacher, summer is prime reading time so I hope to get to those and many more. And though it doesn’t come out until the first week in August, I am really anxious to read Hayley Dennings’ debut This Ravenous Fate.

Audrey: I have a road trip this summer, so I’m hoping to cross off a lot of books on my list. I’m especially looking forward to Asking for a Friend by Kara H.L. Chen. There are also several horror anthologies out this summer that have caught my attention, including We Mostly Come Out At Night edited by Rob Costello, The White Guy Dies First edited by Terry J. Benton-Walker, and The House Where Death Lives edited by Alex Brown, and I’m hoping to get my hands on some (or all) of them.  Jessica: I have Dear Wendy by Ann Zhao and Bunt! by Ngozi Ukazu at the very top of a huge stack of books on my desk and they are staring me in the face right now! I’m also interested in reading Asking for a Friend by Kara H.L. Chen and The Worst Ronin by Maggie Tokuda-Hall. And thank you for the reminder about the next Children of Blood and Bone book! I need to go put that on hold. So much to read!!

[paladin-of-nerd-fandom65]

Wow that was quick lol

1: what’s their favorite mortal kombat character?

2: whats a normal day for the starburst duo?

3: what’s their first day as a superhero like?

4: what’s the very first movie they saw in theaters?

5: what’s Chris relationship like with Jon & Kon?

6: same for Jake with his uncles?

1. For Chris, his main for the longest time has been Sub Zero. That guy’s color scheme, ice based techniques and combos, and Fatalities have struck something of a chord for him, if not in relatability then at least fit the sheer spectacle and awe inspiring prowess that Sun Zero can pull off with a simple button combo or two plus he finds the story of the Lin Kuei-Shira Ryu Clan Feud between Sun Zero and Scorpion all too fascinating

Then there’s Jake; he likes Johnny Cage plain and simple. He thinks that one is just cool and charismatic to the core. Nothing more or less

2. Since both Hamilton County (or Smallville) Junior High and Bludhaven Academy have similar opening times for classes, Chris and Jon get up at 5:45 AM to help Clark out with small errands around the farm before their Dad speedily makes breakfast for the whole family before Lois takes them to school around 8:45 AM.

Conversely, Jake usually peacefully sleeps in his bed with the blankets draped over him save for the crown of his hair and his two feet poking out, only things that can awake him in these cases being either the small of breakfast Dick makes or Mar’i sneakily scribbling said feet then outright doing a small roughhouse to get up literally laughing awake. It works nearly every time. After all preparations are made and having breakfast, the kids are taken either by Dick or Kory to their classes by 8:45 AM

Both schools also end classes for the day at 3:30 PM. It’s from here the Duo meet up with each other at their secret base, the Fortress of Fortitude (though Jake still calls it the StarCave instead), strap in their super suits and either patrol their respective cities or if their monitor picks up in distress signals unable to be unanswered by the JLA, Titans, Young Just Us not even their own contemporaries, answer said signals and save the day best as they can.

After the mission is done, they spend additional hours either on further patrols or helping each other with homework back at their base, in addition to some training spars with each other, taking their dogs (Krypto and Haley respectively) for walks, basketball practice, and maybe even kicking back from some episodes of their favorite shows.

It’s around 7:45 PM, the Duo start heading back to their respective homes, giving each other their secret signature handshake-hug, and promise to let each other know if they can meet up again tomorrow. From there, Chris has the rest of the night either hanging out with Jon or to himself before going to bed by 11:25 PM (unless of course Clark might need some super help) while Jake just meets up with Dick, Kory and Mar’i (sometimes along with the other Titans) on a little more patrol at Bludhaven itself before they all return to their apartment later that night, Jake finally going to bed by either 12:45 AM or even a bit later up to 2:15 AM.

3. Chris was about 10 years old when he first truly began taking superhero classes from Dick, on a particular cool summer day when after much reading about needle work and research from the Fortress of Solitude about the mythical Nightwing, Chris finally arrived to the usual rooftop of an abandoned apartment building to meet with Dick in his band new blue and burnt orange suit. He was very nervous about how it looks and Dick’s opinions in it but before further words can be said, Plasmus breaks loose and goes on a sewer drinking rampage on the city streets, having the two Nightwing’s work side by side with Chris doing what Dick had taught him beforehand to take down the gooey monster. Dick is impressed all around after this battle and after some pondering, he gives his approval for Chris’ new costume. They can both be Nightwings, just of different sorts that’s all

4. When Chris was 7 and Jake was 5, I’d say maybe Pixar’s Coco or Captain Underpants: The First Epic Movie. They’re family friendly and farming in many ways, the former being a Pixar film so of course they’d like them

5. He adores his brothers and they adore him in turn. Conner and Chris are a sort of leader and sidekick ish type of dynamic when the older clone teaches the younger adoptive sibling his superhero methods and street smarts, the latter especially handy as Chris is about one and a half year away from entering high school to which Conner can relate to. Plus the more laidback, introverted Chris is less likely to tease and getting into sibling snark with Conner unlike the more passionate, headstrong and brash Jon.

6. All of the Robins in their own unique attempt or another to win the title of ‘Jake’s Favorite Uncle’, usually via allowing him doing some naughty and mischievous stuff that Dick would usually have double takes over….we’ll accept for the bearer of that Favorite Uncle Title, Tim(my) Drake. Mainly because, Tim is essentially still a big kid himself who can really relate to Jake and especially so in another way where they both respect and try living up to the legacy of the Robin mantle in a way not even Dick himself can realize.

Plus Tim(my) can ask Jake (along with Mar’i) about all the dating and lovey dovey shenanigans of their parents to which his nephew is all too happy to share and Tim(my) can utilize for teasing ammunition during his own patrols with Dick.

But regardless, Jake loves all of his uncles and Auntie Cass without any shred of doubt.

Sorry for the wait @gothicghost2000 , But I get it was worth it, not to brag though lol

[elscaptive]

**I would like to properly introduce myself to you ladies and gents

> I go by el as you can see...

> I luv bands (that's what my blog is all about tbh)

Here are some of my fav bands/artist right now that I casually listen to. Can't say I'm like a superfan of some of them, but i do enjoy and listen to their tunes --(ps. kinda random?...so bear with me \˚ㄥ˚\ )

Guns N' Roses - This my main one since day 1 lol. I luvv this band sooo muchh (╥﹏╥)

**My fav songs from them:

Think About You [:AFD]

My Michelle [:AFD]

Rocket Queen [:AFD]

(or basically the Appetite for destruction album (○ﾟεﾟ○) )

Dust N' Bones [:UYI 1]

Perfect Crime [:UYI 1]

Don't Cry (Original) [:UYI 1]

Estranged [:UYI 2]

Get in the ring [:UYI 2]

You could me mine [:UYI 2]

Hair of the dog [:TSI]

Better [:CD]

Whooo... That was really hard.

Mötley Crüe - luv these dudes a lotttt (＊￣︶￣＊)

Metallica - yeah

Ozzy Osbourne - dude's just cool ya'know?

Bring Me The Horizon - thanks to AmEN i became a fan of them (๑¯ω¯๑)

Falling in Reverse - tdimiy &lt;3

My Chemical Romance - no explanation. just them

Nirvana - their mtv unplugged just made me fall in luv with the band more

David Bowie - all i have is luv 4 this man I've never met. luv ur music dave

Queen - ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh—oh

The Beatles - obladioblada (luv me sum british folks)

AC/DC - they shook me all night long

Led Zeppelin - started listening to their music more when I started using their song for a chapter i was writing

Foo Fighters - i luv My Hero so much

Post Malone - he's just a chill guy and also, he's cool

Tyler The Creator - can be goofy but creates good music

Childish Gambino - im obsessed with Bonfire

The 1975 - _(:з」∠)_ don't ask

The Neighborhood - when i wanna feel diff lol

Rex Orange County - my fav artist from 2022

5sos - luv this band a lottt. kinda had a small phase in 2022

Daniel Caesar - his songs just don't miss GOSHHH

Black Veil Brides - first emo band that i heard as a kid

Justin Bieber - im not a believer. i always hear his songs when i was a kid. and i gotta say, they're awesome. always go back to his old stuff when i wanna feel nostalgic (lol, yeah "nostalgic")

There are more, definitely. But i can't fit them all, can I?

Honorable Mentions

[bands/artist i don't listen too much or don't listen to at all but like a lot]

Dave Mustaine - he's just ginger that's it. a bit grumpy but whatevs

Mick Jagger - M A J E S T I C

Tom Keifer/Cinderalla - gorgeous dude. i luv nobody's fool sm

Aerosmith - &lt;3

Small facts about me...

I like to write random stories. Most of them are inspired by the songs I was listening when I wrote them. Could be from the title, the lyrics or the feel from the song.

Also write songs. Most are unfinished. I'm trying to write with an accompaniment of a guitar, but I'm still learning, hoping to shred soon lol (i got a long way)

I like Axl. I think we all have an inner axl rose inside of us. We all get pissed by little things, could be cause by past experiences or trauma. So, kinda relate to him just a tiny bit.

Wannabe rockstar.. gosh it's kinda sad. Idek if it's possible in this time.

.

.

.

You reached the end. Thanks for reading all that. Bit boring? Meh. That's all you really need to know

If you have any questions or interested about some stuff. You can ask me on my ask box. (don't ask weird stuff tho... you'll be blocked)