#i don’t need people to match my enthusiasm but the least you can do is be polite yknow

[beauzos]

It’s always wild when you try to talk to customers and you just get stonewalled. Some lady was buying Night of the Living Rez and I was like “oh I love native lit! I really wanna read this one!” and she basically ignored me. Also ignored me when I asked if she reads Native lit a lot. Sorry for being interested in the book you bought lol

[ki11cupib0]

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙 [part 1]

𝗲𝗱𝗱𝗶𝗲 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

𝗰𝗼𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗴𝗲!𝗲𝗱𝗱𝗶𝗲 𝗳𝗹𝘂𝗳𝗳

~part 2~

691 wrds

｡･:*:･ﾟ★, ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★, ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★, ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★, ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

｡･:*:･ﾟ★, ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★, ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★, ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★, ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

He was everything you wanted…

The way he smiled had the power to brighten anyone's day.

Eddie Munson was undeniably handsome. Wherever he went, he seemed to make the room come alive, or at least that's how it felt to you. From a distance, he warmed your heart. Though you were part of the same friend group, you didn't interact much. It wasn't shyness that kept you apart but rather a sense of unease about being your true self.

Growing up as an outcast wasn't easy. There were always expectations of what you should be—“normal.” But you weren't. You were simply yourself.

That doesn't mean you’ve fully embraced it.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★, ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★, ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★, ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Eddie sauntered over to the picnic table where the group was lounging and took a seat with his usual ease. “What’s the plan for today?” he asked, flashing his signature grin, his dimples making an appearance. That grin.

“Besides band practice? Nothing much,” Ryan replied. He was a trumpet enthusiast who enjoyed going out, though the others usually scattered to do their own things.

Brit and Kyle were caught up in their affectionate bubble, while Ryan and Garret were huddled over Calculus homework. I was sprawled out on the grass by the tree, indulging in my favorite pastime: people-watching.

Eddie’s gaze landed on me, and I cringed internally. I’ve never been good with eye contact. “How about we… go to a party?” he suggested, still looking my way. I was the only one who seemed to be paying attention. I shrugged, and Eddie turned his attention to Ryan and Garret, slapping his hand down to gather their focus.

Ryan and Garret exchanged glances, and Ryan’s smile widened. “I think you’re onto something,” he said, his enthusiasm evident. He had a knack for embracing the most outrageous ideas if it meant escaping from schoolwork.

Garret rolled his eyes. “You’re fai—” Ryan cut him off with a hand over his mouth. “Shhh, my sweet angel… The man is speaking,” Ryan said, his wicked grin matching Eddie’s.

Eddie’s eyes shifted back to me. Oh no. “What about you, princess? Are you in?” he asked, his gaze fixed on me. Anything for you… Wait, PRINCESS?! His pet names made me want to roll my eyes.

“I don’t kn—” I started, but Ryan interrupted. “Come on, you need to party more. We’re in college, and you haven’t been to a single party!” he said dramatically.

Caught between their insistence, I relented quickly (they wouldn’t stop until I agreed). “Fine… but what should I wear?”

“Something sexy~,” Ryan chimed in, wiggling his eyebrows before Eddie could respond. Eddie’s eyes remained on me, making my stomach flutter.

He held my gaze a moment longer. Trying to avoid reacting to either Ryan or Eddie, I glanced over to see Brit lifting her head from Kyle’s shoulder. “Do you know who’s going?” she asked.

“Nope, but it doesn’t really matter if we all go together. It’ll be fun, I promise,” Eddie replied. Brit took a moment to consider before speaking. She liked to think things through, unlike the boys, except for Garrett, who was always practical.

“Y/n, you have to come! We can get ready together at my place!” Brit said suddenly excited, her smile bright. Kyle squeezed her affectionately, clearly enjoying her enthusiasm. They were the epitome of couple goals, and it made me sigh.

“Okay, Brit. Should we meet up around five or six?” I asked, checking the time and noting it was just an hour until five. The thought of having to look good and let loose made me anxious, but the idea of spending time with my friends—and seeing Eddie in those cropped shirts—made it worth it.

“Yes! I’ll text you with the details and pick you up. Let’s get going, babe,” Brit said, gathering her things as Kyle did the same. They both bid their goodbyes and headed out. I followed suit shortly after, the boys saying their farewells. As Ryan made another “sexy~” joke, Eddie playfully smacked him on the head. I shook my head with a smile and left.

[vodika-vibes]

hi again!! i figured since your follower event is almost over i’d request one more thing from you! i was thinking topaz with wrecker please during the early morning like breakfast time if that makes sense?

the reader is kinda like the opposite personality to wrecker (not like totally mean but like they’re quiet and can come off as intimidating to most people), but wrecker is the only one who can make the reader smile and laugh and stuff like that. and can you please make the reader gender neutral?

Syrupy Kisses

Summary: You’re not much of a breakfast person, the most you do is have some caf as you start your day, but Wrecker is.

Pairing: TBB Wrecker x GN!Reader

Word Count: 616

Prompt: Topaz - Affectionate Love

Warnings: One suggestive comment

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: Thank you for your request! I hope this is close to what you wanted. I personally don't like eating breakfast, something I learned from my mom, so the reader is the same way.

“Morning, Mesh’la!” Wrecker says from where he’s digging around the cabinets as you enter the kitchen. “I didn’t wake ya, did I?”

You shake your head, and then, realizing that he can’t see you, you add, “No, you didn’t. No need to worry, Wreck.”

He turns and beams at you over his shoulder, “Good! I’m making breakfast. Want some?”

“Just some caf, Wrecker. There’s no need to go through all that trouble for me.” You reply as you step around the table and slide your arms around his waist.

“It’s no trouble. I’m happy to do it.” He carefully turns in your arms and rests his strong arms on your shoulders, “I’m making waffles,” He tempts, “With chocolate chips.”

“Mm, tempting, but I’ll stick with the caf.”

His hands drop to your waist, and he effortlessly lifts you to sit you on the counter next to where he’s working, “You’re gonna waste away, mesh’la.”

“With as much as you feed me, I highly doubt that.” You lean against the wall and watch him pour you a mug of caf, and prepare it like you prefer, and then he presses it into your hands.

“One caf,”

You gratefully take the mug and set it next to you, before you reach out and lightly press your hand against his cheek, “You’re too sweet to me, Wrecker.”

He leans his hip against the counter, and leans into your touch, “Well now, I’m sure that’s not possible.” Wrecker replies in a quiet rumble. 

You laugh softly, “I got a comm from my sister last night, after you fell asleep.”

“Oh? What’d she say?” He asks as he taps the inside of your knee to make space for him between your legs.

“That it’s not nice of me to intimidate someone as kind as you into dating me.” You reply blandly.

Wrecker laughs, his forehead falling to rest on your shoulder, “Intimidating? Oh, mesh’la, you’re quiet sure. But not intimidating in the least.” He pulls back and presses a kiss to the tip of your nose, “Omega is more intimidating than you.”

Your lips curl up into a smile as you press your free hand against his chest, “I’m not sure how I feel about being deemed less intimidating than a thirteen year old girl, but-”

He laughs again, and this time leans in to kiss you properly. 

Like everything else in his life, Wrecker kisses with an enthusiasm that would be overwhelming if you weren’t able to match it. “I think your sister just doesn’t know you well, mesh’la.”

“She’s always thought I was a bit scary.” You admit.

“Quiet. Not scary.” Wrecker kisses you again and again. “I don’t think you’re scary in the slightest. I think you’re perfect. My perfect mesh’la.”

Your face heats, and Wrecker grins at you. “I’m hardly-”

“Mm, the most perfect. When you kiss me. When you cuddle with me. When you do that thing with your tongue that I really like-”

You press your hand over his mouth, your face burning a little hotter, “I thought this was breakfast hours, not praise me until I can’t function hours.” You say.

He kisses the palm of  your hand, “I can do both. I’m a very talented man. And you deserve all of the praise.”

“Please don’t.”

He chuckles and kisses you one more time, “I’ll stop, but only because I love you and because you said please.”

“I love you too,” You whisper, “And, thank you.”

He winks at you and kisses you one more time, before he finally pulls back to start making breakfast properly. And you can’t help but think that you want this forever. Or as long as he’ll have you.

[withonly-sweetheart]

tempo! - your hero au

a/n: band concert today... kinda cooked i fear but whatever got pissed because people kept speeding up wtv

i would tag fam but... yeah... no. @held-in-my-heart NEXT TIME PLEASE COME PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE I WANT U TO SEE ME PLAYYYYY

wc: 1065

There’s a further persona, a version of him that you can’t identify as well between his charming, funny superhuman self, and the soft spoken boy that tutors you. It’s the part of him he hides from you, ashamed of the hours he spends up late at night, long past the moon starts to dance across the inky sky, past the stars twinkle in their greetings to the sun.

But you see it, don’t miss a beat, careful to watch his steady stumbles to the kitchen table, hands slipping around a warm mug of tea you’ve left for him. It’s become your ritual; get back from your last class, finish up homework while the honeyed water warms up.

And he arrives long after it goes cold, bridges of your heart bristling at every sullen movement he makes, the enthusiasm he displays at all other ungodly hours of the day folding itself into the tea bag he tosses into the trash can.

You stare longingly at the side of his face, now, perched on the railing, teetering over the edge, eyes sharpened in focus, like if he blinks too long he might just fall, rendering him useless to not only himself, but now you.

“I’m not your responsibility,” you insist, lacing your tongue with bitterness. “Do I look like a little girl to you?”

“You’re my sweet girl,” he says, dragging the words out for a moment longer than he should. “I can never let anything happen to you.”

“But what’s happening to you?” you whisper after him, just as he swings his way through the alley, the one where you first had your suspicions of his double life, now wondering if his life would be simpler if you had turned a blind eye to it all.

If his life would be easier without you.

“Bullshit.”

You crease your eyebrows, narrowing your eyes. “What?”

Claire tugs her jacket off, red leather wrinkling at the edges where it crumples to the floor, wearing nothing but a black tank and matching shorts. “I’m calling bullshit.”

“But-”

“If you seriously think he doesn’t love you, that he would be better off without you, then there’s something wrong with you.” Her eyes sparkle with an intensity you’ve never seen displayed in her before. “Leon loves fast, and he falls even harder. That man would die for his responsibilities.”

“I think he needs to take his mind off of everything,” you mumble. “Wouldn’t us taking a break do just that?”

“Hm,” she ponders for a moment, before shaking her head. “No.”

“What?” you blanch. “Why not?”

“Because he’d be too caught up in missing you, thinking about how he can get you back and all the things he did wrong. Where would that leave him?”

You entertain her point, unwilling to relent to her advice. “Okay, so then what else am I meant to do?” Slumping in your chair, you toss her a pleading look.

“Join a club,” she says with a shrug. “You’re asking me like I’m the one who marches around campus doing this here and that there.”

Marching… “Why not join the marching band?” you blurt out.

Claire looks… unconvinced, to say the least. “You? Band? You won’t last a day with those kids. Sure, they might look stupid, but the band keeps them focused and balanced with their day-to-day lives. Those are the kids who got here on scholarships.”

“Perfect,” you say with a grin.

“Wait… you think… Leon?” Your friend sighs.

“Why not?” you whine, somehow irritating yourself in the process. “You said it yourself, it balances their lives!”

“Lives that aren’t total catastrophes,” she snaps, then softens her expression at your startled one. “Look, he can try out. If he makes it in, great. Just know if the pressure gets to be too much…”

“He’ll be alright,” you say, languidly, already seeing the vision in your head. The cheering girlfriend and her marching band boyfriend, maybe saxophone? No, a trumpet would look better with him. You stretch your head back onto your hands, extending your feet to the opposing chair.

“I’ll be there to watch it crash and burn,” Claire calls out after you, heading to her next class. You grin, entirely prepared to prove her wrong.

It turns out she’s the one proving you wrong, and you’re not prepared at all to see Leon standing atop a ladder, no instrument in hand, gazing down at the band like a mother bird to her chicks. 

You had expected the university’s colors flashing back at you, red and black dragons swirling up and down his body, flames licking up the sides of his uniform. Yet he looks as drab as ever, ivory and clouds clashing against one another as he nervously drums his hands on the railing.

His eyes start sweeping the crowd, stopping just a few people to your left, perhaps recognizing the age group. They swerve right and lock onto you, and he fixes you with a fond, confident look.

The football players flash across the field, stars sparkling from the night sky and where the horizon meets the bleachers of screaming people, there’s a sense of tranquility that not only comes with the steady drumming of percussion, yet the sway of Leon’s hands.

“Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all,” Claire remarks after the game is over, when the stands are empty and concessions are being passed out to the few stragglers struggling to rise from their seats, where the crowd trampled over them.

“What’d I say?” You can’t help but grin.

“Two months and it’s already this good,” Leon says airily, voice resonating low with the scratch of his throat from screaming at the winning team. “Can’t wait for our next game.”

“You’ve learned a lot,” you say, bumping his shoulder with yours. “Life isn’t too stressful now, is it?”

His smile envelops his face. “Nah. Like you said, I learned a lot about how to manage time right. You know, there’s actually a word for the set time a song has.”

“Really?” You quirk an eyebrow. “What is it?”

And for the first time in a long time, you see that facade of his fade, that version of him you were trying to grasp flitting from your grip, gone within a matter of moments. You aren’t sad to see it go; you’ve been preying on its demise.

“It’s called tempo.”

[sotwk]

Hi! :) it’s the anon that hasn’t given up on dating yet, I noticed I tend to want to rush relationships, even stressing myself out in the process, like I’m 25yo and I know I should know better lol

I wanted to ask for some advice this time, do you have any advice on taking things slow while dating someone? Or in like just trusting the process without putting pressure on myself? Because I don’t have this problem of being almost abrasive with friendships, it just happens with romantic relationships but maybe it’s because I just started dating people this year so I’m extremely rough around the edges in a romantic sense

Also this is just a quick vent, but a guy came off super strong at first and was taking things pretty fast but when I finally matched his vibe, suddenly things were going too fast for him and he wasn’t ready for a relationship and dipped even though he knew from the start that I was looking for a relationship lol

I'm so sorry it took me so long to respond; I usually try to respond to advice-seeking Asks right away, but August was a bit of a struggle for me!

I'm glad to hear that you haven't given up on dating, and I hope you never do! I'm sure you've gotten sick of hearing this, but 25 is so young! Your 20s are very much the time to figure out what you want and value most in life. I genuinely hope girls don't give in to the pressure to marry right away in their 20s, because a lifelong commitment to a human being is the last thing to be rushed.

Regarding my "advice on taking things slow while dating", my one golden dating tip sounds lame but is straightforward and irrefutable: BE YOURSELF. From everything you have told me in this Ask and in previous Asks, your goal in dating is to find a husband to start a family with. Present your genuine self as much as possible from the start, and expect the same from the guy you are dating. (Unless your intention is to casually date, then much of my advice need not apply; I've personally never been one for casual dating, but it's always sounded like the Wild West.)

It's common and understandable to worry about coming on too strong or too "abrasive" as you said, especially in the "get to know you" stages. But I don't think tamping down your genuine excitement by "playing it cool" ever really works. You're essentially lying about your feelings and important aspects of your personality. What good will that do?

If you're afraid of scaring the guy away, here's the thing: the Right Guy for you will not scare easily. I promise. The Right Guy is the one who will grow only more interested and eager the more he learns about you, which is why you should present him with only truthful things.

How fast or slowly should you share stuff about yourself? However you feel like! If you're honestly comfortable enough with a person to be vulnerable and open up to them right away, then go ahead! Whether a guy can or cannot handle your candor, your passion, or your desire to connect, is something you're better off knowing sooner than later.

Sadly, in this day and age when dating is so difficult and confusing and human connection has deteriorated, guys tend to scare more easily, and I can't say I blame them. However, I repeat: the Right Guy for you will not scare easily. He would be the one matching your pace and enthusiasm for the relationship, if not surpassing it. That experience you spoke of means that guy was just not the Right One, plain and simple. You didn't do anything wrong.

Keep doing as you do. Be Yourself and trust in what you feel when engaging with new acquaintances. I hope I've been helpful or at least encouraging in some way. I wish you lots of luck, fun, and pleasant experiences in this stage of your life. <3

Bonus: If this movie isn't too old for you and assuming you haven't seen it yet, I recommend watching "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days"! It's a fun and sweet rom-com, that doesn't take itself too seriously but definitely teaches lessons along the lines of my advice. ;)

[nitefise-art]

Companion fic to my Zero comic, Part 5/?  

--

Clavell was floating.  

Someone, somewhere, was calling his name.  

Who was it?  What did they want?  Couldn’t they tell that he was tired, that he had a lot of work to do, that this wasn’t a good time?  All this data wasn’t just going to sit there and analyse itself.  

And yet still the voice called.  

Who was it?  

If only he could turn around, if he just turned around, away from his computer screen, he would see.  See who had put that hand on his shoulder, a hand he immediately swatted away.  But there it was again, the hand on his shoulder.  On his neck.  Under his arms.  Reaching, searching, feeling.  Why couldn’t they leave him to enter those last digits in peace?  He just had to enter those last digits—what were they? 6 – 0 – 1 – 5— what was the last digit?

“Clavell!”

Why it was Turo!  Now, what did he need at such a late hour?

“Clavell, look, it’s done!  We were right!”

Were they?  Well, now, that was most exciting.

“All 18 types, observed at least once in every species, including the ones we introduced.”

Really?  Why, that was truly remarkable.

“Isn’t it?”

Truly.  What a remarkable table.  Just splendid.  He had better remember to clean his glasses later on, once the microwave stopped beeping.

“I mean, just think of the implications! Any Pokemon could be free of the shackles with which it’s born and be at liberty to unleash exactly the power its heart desires!”

Why, of course.  Turo was right.  Think of the things the League could achieve.  Think of the strides in wider education.  And all the children could terastallise their Pokemon—oh, what a marvellous sight to behold.

“If only it weren’t confined down here to this crater, the whole world could see the brilliance of this phenomenon.”

But of course, there was still one more step. They had been focusing so long on the effects, perhaps, now, after all that effort, it was time to find the cause? Were they ready, Turo asked, but Clavell knew—of course he knew.  The answer was right there, staring them in the face, and Turo would find it, he was sure he would.  No one in Paldea had been more ready for this moment than Turo was now.  All he needed was a little encouragement.

Now, why couldn’t he find his glasses?

Clavell was sure he put them somewhere here. Perhaps on the shelf?  Under the pillow?  Or had he left them in the room back there?  Golly, it was really getting harder to breathe now; he hoped he could find those glasses soon.  Then he could at least see Turo better.  There he was, wasn’t he?  Just there in the distance.  Perhaps if he called out to him, he would turn around and—

“Clavell!”

He congratulated Turo on the excellent interview. Yes, it was really quite well done, although he did not expect anything less from his star intern—only now he was an intern no longer.

“Clavell, it’s so great to see you!”

He shook Turo’s hand, although he could not feel it, so joyous was the feeling of being greeted with such enthusiasm by someone who looked up to him.  What had he done to deserve such reverence?  

“I didn’t know you were coming!  Why didn’t you tell me you were in the area?  If I’d known, I would’ve asked them to—”

Oh, gracious, no that won’t do.  Just the thought of all those eyes made him nervous—no, he couldn’t stand that sort of publicity, and Turo knew that.  The real question was, what were his plans after this? Surely, after all this work, a holiday was in order?  Heaven knew, Turo of all people deserved it.  But of course, that was not what he had planned.  They walked together, against the starlight.

“This is actually still confidential, Clavell, but… I don’t mind sharing it with you…”

What had he done to deserve such trust?

“I’ve actually just heard that my funding’s come through.”

Clavell picked up his pace, to match Turo’s.

“You know, from that corporate outfit we discussed before.”

Why, that was fantastic!

“Yes, I’m… I’m thinking I might set up a new lab. One where I can raise a family.”

Now, there was a thought.  He was jogging now.

“There’s one more thing…”

Oh?

“I’d like you to be there as well, Clavell.”

The optimistic look on Turo’s face was almost nostalgic, if Clavell were not too far behind to see.

“This is just the beginning of our Area Zero research.  Once the new lab is done, we can head back down there…”

It was a most inconvenient time to notice how difficult it was to breathe.  It was difficult just hearing Turo’s words.  Back to Area Zero?  Shifting between labs?  More time spent under the light of those crystals?  He begged Turo to wait, to pause, to stop, to think about what he was saying—what else was he hoping to find down there?  Wasn’t terastallisation enough for him?  But no—terastallisation was just the surface, Turo maintained; just imagine what else we could achieve with it!  There’s a far bigger secret down there, and Clavell knew it, so he was told, because Professor Heath’s Violet Book said—

Clavell didn’t like where this was going.  They had been through this so many times; always the same conversation: the Violet Book said—but no, you couldn’t just believe everything the Violet Book said—but Clavell you were there, you saw the plaque—yes, he had seen the plaque—and the crystals—yes, and the crystals—

And every time the conversation would end in the same way, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how blunt he was about the dangers of pursuing such fantastical nonsense, because as far as Turo concerned, it wasn’t nonsense, it was a dream, it was his future.  And who was Clavell to stop a man from pursuing his future?  

Clavell watched as Turo’s back began to fade into the darkness, and in that moment, the answer seemed so clear to him.  It was so simple.  Why did he have to fight it?  It didn’t have to end the same way—all he needed to was to say yes.  To follow him, down into the depths.  And by god Clavell wanted to follow him, for in that moment, it also dawned on him just what a splendid thing that eternal sleep would be.  No more slings; no more arrows.  Just the natural weight of the water as they sank, slowly, slowly.

All he needed to do was reach out with his hand, and not let go.

As fate would have it, however, Clavell was never given the chance.  Suddenly, there were fingers—other fingers—entangled with his own.  And as he was struggling to catch one final glimpse of his friend, so too was the current tugging, pushing him back, until finally, he emerged from the waves, gasping for air.

Far, far away, someone was weeping.

[zenoiredottore]

Hoyofam at award shows. [the mobile game awards.]

[all are headcannons] [check previous posts if you’re confused]

A couple months ago, HSR got nominated for mobile game of the year at the mobile game awards 2024. Along with the people’s choice and best storytelling categories. His sponsor and nominator; Genshin was helping him with his victory speech, and just overall helping him.

“UGH, why do I have to practice my speech…? I don’t even know if I’m going to win!” Hsr said, slumping on the table.

“And if you do win, you’re going to look foolish if you don’t know what to say in front of all those people. We don’t want a repeat of last year when you won the game award for best mobile game… Not to mention the other award you weren’t able to claim on stage because you were hiding in the bathroom…” Genshin said, reminding him how difficult it was to get him out of the bathroom that Genshin had to sedate him in order to get him home.

HSR could only groan, burying his head in shame.

Days later, the evening of the event arrived. The entire hoyofam was invited as hoyoverse got nominated for best developer.

The fam were getting ready, dressing up in pretty dresses and fine suits…except for the one person that’s supposed to be receiving most of the rewards…

HSR was ripping off the suit that they had just recently tailored for him. It was too itchy, he claimed. Too tight and suffocating.

“Why do I even try with you, anymore…” Genshin said, as he bought one of his own suits to lend HSR.

HSR disliked wearing new suits, and opted for just wearing the ones that Genshin has, since they’re usually worn down, with him using them so many times.

Genshin thought it was ridiculous, and that he would someday mature and grow into liking suits more… but alas seems his baby bro is too much of a man child…

Good thing Zen was being great, and actually wearing a suit to his first time attending an award show. Though… he might get blinded by all the flashing lights. But it should be fine.

Once it was time to go, the fam hop into the limo and drive off to the venue. At the entrance, paparazzi were getting ready to snap pictures of the fam, flashing lights everywhere. Genshin was the first to get out, then Honkai, Themis, Zen, and finally… Star. The lights were flashing sm that Zen had to hide his eyes to shield away from all the glare. Which will make hilarious and cute pictures of him to be posted online.

At their table, they were seated in the front row, sharing a table with kurofam. [Pgr and wuwa]

Pgr was sponsoring wuwa for game of the year.

“Raven.” Genshin said, greeting the gal. “Is that really wuwa…? He’s gotten… taller.” He pats wuwa’s head, surprised at how much the boy he used to babysit had grown up.

“I go by W, now. Just you wait… there’ll be a time where I’m taller, handsomer, and more successful than you!” W said, being cocky. Though it earns him a chop to the head by Raven.

“Sorry, he can’t help it, he was programmed to hate you.”

“It’s fine. I’m actually glad he’s doing better than all the other ones that were meant to ‘kill’ me.” He pinches W’s cheeks. “Good job, buddy. I really can learn a lot from you.”

W only yells at him, pushing his hand away.

“Gege… why do you put up with this pretentious brat…?” Zen asked, staring daggers at W.

“Well… if it isn’t snoozefest. Are you really part of hoyofam??? You’re a tad too boring aren’t ya?” W said, tryna pick a fight.

“At least I don’t need to attach my name to being an already successful games’ ‘Killer’.”

“You’re only famous because of your famil-“ Raven shuts him, by covering his mouth.

“I apologize… this is really just how he’s wired…”

“No need, I apologize for him as well.” Genshin said, looking at Zen, motioning him to apologize for his words.

He does so, and bows his head. Although reluctant and lacking in enthusiasm.

The event starts, and they all take their seats. Though SR should be grateful for the opportunity, he can’t help but feel a lil degraded, being matched up with an angry tween.

“So, you’re my opponent, huh?” W asked, but SR only ignores him. “My victory will be even sweeter once I know I’ve defeated Genshin’s brother.

Ah, there it is again… being referred to as ‘genshin’s brother’, again.

“You’re so going down.”

“I wanna go home…”

[results on aug 20]

[veronicaleighauthor]

In Defense of Fanny Price

“I was quiet, but I was not blind.”

Back in April, I wrote a post called “Which Austen Heroine Am I?” and I explored which of Austen’s heroines I was most like. I always viewed myself as an Elinor Dashwood from “Sense and Sensibility.” I did one of those Myer-Brigg’s tests and came out as an INFJ-T and according to a friend’s blog, my closest Austen match was Fanny Price, who was an INFP. I was surprised and in a little bit of denial. Fanny Price is generally everyone’s least favorite Austen heroine. She’s not a bad character, or badly written, nor is there anything really objectionable about her. In comparison to Austen’s other livelier heroines, she is meek, she cries a lot, she’s really religious, and she loves a pedantic, unlikable doofus, who throughout most of the book is chasing after someone else. Often in adaptations, her personality and motives are completely altered to make her more interesting to modern audiences. Many, including myself for the longest time, couldn’t understand why Fanny refused accept the charming Henry Crawford’s marriage proposals.

 I recently re-read “Mansfield Park” and paid close attention to Fanny. Her disposition, her beliefs, her entire history. Oh my, oh my, oh my. It was like meeting a 19th century version of my teenage self…well, except for her history. My history is completely different; I had a very normal, loving, and supportive family, but you understand what I mean. Like Fanny I was shy/meek, I cried A LOT, and I was really religious. Thankfully I never fell in love with someone who chased after another. I’m not sure how I could have missed it, but I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m a Fanny Price and upon closer inspection, I believe she is one of Austen’s strongest and bravest heroines. She may be meek, but she is not weak.

 Early on in the novel, Fanny is taken from her impoverished family – who don’t seem to care that she leaves – and brought to live with her aunt and uncle Bertram, and her cousins at the grand estate of Mansfield Park. Though she is brought up alongside her cousins, she is continually reminded by everyone that she is not on their level, and that she is lucky to be there, and to never forget her place. From Austen’s descriptions and Fanny’s words and demeanor, we can see she is beaten down by life and her relatives, others fight her battles for her, and from her nervousness, it’s debated if she has an anxiety disorder – another thing I have in common with her. At least, from 21st standards, it appears she might. In other scenes, her health doesn’t seem strong. She is not a walker; her only form of exercise is horse riding; the heat overwhelms her; physically she is limited. She becomes a companion of sorts to Lady Bertram, and though her aunt cannot do without Fanny’s devotion, love is not exactly extended. Fanny has her own place of refuge in the attic, away from the rest of her family, where she can read, reflect, and pray.

Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram are not bad people, but they are not great parents. They give their children everything they need except for sound moral instruction. Only the younger son Edmund finds the right path, chooses to become a clergyman when he is older, and he is the only one to show Fanny true kindness and friendship throughout the whole of the book. Fanny falls in love with Edmund…who in turn falls in love with the fashionable, witty, and morally bankrupt Mary Crawford. Mary and her brother Henry come to live in the neighborhood and everyone likes, respects, and adores them. Except for Fanny. Quiet, meek, submissive Fanny isn’t fooled by their niceties or their behavior. She knows they’re bad news and while Sir Thomas Bertram is away in Antigua, the Crawford siblings turn Mansfield Park upside down with their enthusiasm for participating in a questionable play. Henry Crawford shockingly flirts with the Bertram ladies, including the newly engaged Maria Bertram.

 Everything is set to rights when Sir Thomas Bertram returns to Mansfield Park. Maria is married off to a wealthy but foolish man…and Henry sets his sights on Fanny. Originally, he plans to make a small hole in Fanny Price’s heart, but soon believes himself in love with her. Despite her rejections, he is determined to marry her, going as far as to enlist his sister, Edmund, and Sir Thomas Bertram’s assistance. Mary Crawford hopes that Fanny will “fix” Henry; reform him; be his moral center. The Bertram’s believe marriage to Henry will be a step up socially for Fanny. Henry helped her brother William; he could help her other siblings and parents, taking the burden off of the Bertram’s. Henry’s former bad boy behavior /flirtation with Maria is forgotten – he is that well-liked. And you know what, as a reader, it can be easy to be taken in by Henry Crawford. There is a part of me that hopes he will turn his life around and become a better man, and be worthy of Fanny. It is believed that Jane Austen’s sister Cassandra wanted this too, that she wanted Fanny to end up with Henry and reform him. But Jane Austen was adamant and way more astute than I am at times. I’m sure she encountered her share of Henry Crawfords in life, enough so to accurately portray such a charming man on the page.

As I mentioned above, Fanny is criticized for not only refusing Henry Crawford. Henry is likeable, charming, thoughtful, and wealthy. He notices Fanny’s self-worth when others overlook it, he helps promote her brother William advance in the navy, he claims he is willing to change for her and become a better man. How could she not like or love, or be willing to marry him after all he did for her? Fanny tells her uncle, “I—I cannot like him, sir, well enough to marry him.” This line struck a chord with me. I’ve lost count the number of times people have tried to set me and I’ve refused. Why? He’s nice, he's good looking, he’s kind, he’s a Christian…Why won’t you go out with him? Like Fanny, people think because I’m nice, polite, and a Christian means I should be willing and perhaps grateful to go out with So-and-So. It’s harder when So-and-So has perhaps done something nice for you. Just because Henry Crawford (So-and-So) did something nice for Fanny (me) or treated her with kindness, doesn’t mean she (I) owe him marriage (a date). Obviously, I’m projecting my own struggles onto this 19th century heroine/situation, but I get it. Fanny doesn’t like Henry, she doesn’t trust him, she doesn’t love him, she doesn’t want to marry him, she doesn’t owe him herself no matter how charming or kind he is. She shouldn’t be condemned for telling a man “no.” If we applaud Elizabeth Bennet of “Pride and Prejudice” for telling Mr. Collins – a man she doesn’t like, respect, or love - no, then we must applaud Fanny Price too.

Something I noticed in my re-reading of “Mansfield Park” – Henry Crawford does help William Price, for Fanny’s sake. He was being thoughtful and generous, however he did so to be able to publicly show off how kind he was being and to make Fanny feel obliged to him. He told everyone and their brother what he did for William. Contrast that with Mr. Darcy in “Pride and Prejudice” – when Darcy discovers Lydia in London and arranges it for her to be married to Wickham, then pays off Wickham’s numerous debts and gives Wickham 10,000lbs to marry Lydia, it is done with no strings attached. Darcy has no plans to ever tell Elizabeth or the Bennet family what he did. He did it simply because he loved Elizabeth and he wanted to spare her and her family from suffering. It is also disturbing that Henry Crawford does not take Fanny’s no for an answer. “No” does not mean “I must persevere and change her mind” – no means no.

 To remind her of where she came from, and perhaps reconsider Henry Crawford’s proposal, Fanny is sent to her parents’ home in Portsmouth. She is astonished by how the Price’s live, and though she attempts to help, and guide her younger sister Susan onto a better path, she yearns for Mansfield Park. However, even when he visits at one point, she doesn’t regret turning down Henry’s marriage proposal. Despite all opposition and all arguments, the meek and mild Fanny stands firm. No one supports her decision, she has no friends outside of her family or their social circle that try to understand her position, and even the man she loves tries to cajole her into marrying Henry. Fanny is alone yet determined to follow her conscience. Which is why I consider her one of Austen’s strongest heroines.

 Through a newspaper, Fanny and her parents learn that her married cousin Maria leaves her husband and runs off with Henry Crawford. Fanny, with Susan in tow, returns to Mansfield Park. Edmund finally sees Mary Crawford for what she really is and in a very short and unfulfilling romance (which is like a paragraph long), he and Fanny marry.

 I will never understand why, or how, Fanny could love Edmund Bertram and it’s not because of them being cousins (still ewww). Edmund, though kind to Fanny, loves and pursues Mary Crawford for most of the book and at the end, we’re left with the impression he “settles” for Fanny. Fanny and Edmund’s romance is never shown, we just know it happens. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons generations of readers find “Mansfield Park” unsatisfying. We think Fanny deserves better – she deserves someone who adores her. Then again, I suppose we can’t help who we fall in love with. Fanny loved Edmund and in the end after years of struggle and pain, she got her happy ending.

So, I have come away with a new appreciation for Fanny Price. She’s still not my favorite Austen heroine, but I can respect her and can accept the similarities of our personalities.

 Thanks for reading my rambling defense of Fanny Price.

 Until next time!

[blackink-onpaper]

The Descend and the Resurface

Damian Hart (Beyblade) x OC

Summary: OC comes from a complex background, and in the midst of trying to save it all and help her family she enters a strange arrangement, which will change her life forever.

Masterlist 🖤

Tags: Beyblade, Beyblade Metal Masters, Damian Hart, Julian Konzern, Gingka Hagane, Jack, OC

A/N: (ambience suggestion) this chapter and the next few will go along with the canon storyline, for this chapter watch Beyblade Metal Masters episode 89 if you like, it’s available on youtube!

Chapter 2

At the airport, I was reliving the events of that night over and over again. I did not feel particularly sad about the breakup, but I was full of mixed and contradicting feeling made worse by my parents. My mother encouraged me to reconcile with Julian, saying he was just putting too much pressure on himself and that I should be more understanding and supportive. Although I do agree and understand her point completely, I truly believe I gave it my all: all my time, all my energy, my support, and I don’t know how much more I could actually give.

In an attempt to see if we are truly meant to be together, I bought a ticket for Excalibur’s match against the US team; after Julian satisfies his fixation on winning he will be more open for talking. As I was boarding my plane, completely and solemly lost in my thoughts and complex feelings, I was even considering if all I’m missing him for is the stable life I got used to, or if I’m even doing this for us as a couple at all.

“Wear something classy for the match” my mom instructed over speaker on my phone, I called her from my hotel room to have someone to talk to while I unpack:

“Yes mom..” I yawned “I’ll wear something light, they said it will be very warm tomorrow” Staring blankly out of the window while my mom gave me a full report on what the Italian side of my family did, I couldn’t help but wonder where I’m going with this plan. If Julian decides he wants us to get back together, I will simply re-install myself into my previous life of arrangements, but at least everyone will be happy, and if he doesn’t I am going back home to my parents lecturing me on how I shouldn’t have let such an opportunity go. Sometimes I wondered if Julian and I would’ve been better of as just friends, or one of those “could’ve been but never was” relationships. Either way, I needed to get to sleep, because tomorrow was going to be an eventful day no matter the outcome.

In front of the stadium, seemingly hundreds if not thousands of people gathered happily blowing whistles, baloons, telling each other who they think is going to win today’s battle. The American fans were particularly loud with enthusiasm, but I really can’t defend some weird statements I overheard from the European fans. Because it was a very warm and sunny day, I wore a linen jumpsuit with an attached belt at the waist, black leather bag and a black leather jacket just in case a cold gust of wind changed the feeling within the arena. Entering the stadium went much more smoothly than I’d expected, judging from the bets and proclaimations going on in front, and I was sitting on my seat in no time. It was hard to estimate what Excalibur’s warplan was for today: perhaps Julian was going to open strong for the team, scare the opponents and lower their confidence for the following two matches so Sophie, Wales and Klaus can take on, or if it would be the other way around. Or maybe they were going to change their plan according to the Americans. Come to think of it, I had never seen or heard of the American team playing. In my time with Julian, I’d been to countless matches but they were usually among European countries, and occasionally with opponents from Asia, the Middle East, Australia and South Africa.

My train of thought was broken because in the row in front of mine a boy with red hair and an unignorable high pitch voice began explaining to his two friends - a girl with brown hair and a pink vest, and two boys: one in a green top with black hair, and another with green hair - how a particular seat is his and not hers. They were an interesting bunch, as I saw them earlier discussing specifications of some Beys that are currently circulating in the championship. But then the boy with the red hair sat right in the seat right in front of mine, almost spilling his drink on my white jumpsuit:

“Wooah! Sorry about that, miss!”

I am an unbelievable idiot! How did I not recognise him immediately: “Gingka Hagane! Is that you?”

He seemed startled that someone had recognised him: “yes yes, please keep it down I don’t want to attract too much attention, heh” he smiled awkwardly.

But from his tone and facial expression, I’d relised he forgot that one time I met him while accompanying Julian to a match: “Gingka do you not remember me?”

A vibrant flush of red, separated by a single tone from the hue of his hair, covered his face: “I’m so sorry, we’ve met before? When?”

But just as I was going to answer, the loud duo of presenters started their announcements of today’s match, with an interlude of what’s happened in the last matches. Gingka gave me a sign that we will talk after the battles, and I gave him a reassuring smile completely unaware that my every move since he spoke to me had been thoroughly watched.

“This is the second stage of the final round! The first blader for Excalibur is the axe of destruction - Klaus!” The presenter announced as Excalibur made their way out of the backstage tunnel and into the view of the cheering crowd. They all looked so fit and strong, yet I could see the tension around them: a need to succeed I was so often a witness to.

“And his opponent from Starbreaker is… whatsup here?!” The presenter protested as the crowd gasped - Starbreaker showed up with only two members. Honestly, I haven’t even Googled them before coming to the match because I thought it unimportant as Julian and Excalibur would crush them either way. But they were definitely not what I’d expected. One of the two that emerged from the dark tunnel was quite tall, with long pink hair and makeup. He looked very unique and flamboyant, but then he began talking in a strange way. Something about the stadium being a canvas? I was impressed to see Excalibur members completely composed, perhaps they were tipped in advance.

Just after the pink hair blader’s metaphorical announcements, the presenter announced him as Klaus’ opponent, apparently his name was Jack. “Well, that should be easy” I thought to myself. I couldn’t stop staring at Julian while Klaus and Jack approached the dome-shaped floor stadium. I wondered if he was okay. My attention was again disrupted by the bladers commencing their battle, which drew my attention to the other American: he was shorter than Jack, blue hair and a fair complexion complimented by a white and gold outfit. Strange how different these two members are from each other. Excalibur at least honoured European heritage by having their tailor make their outfits cohesive in colours, historical references, etc., but these guys look like… As if they were put together by someone else.

[the-void-writes]

It's Christmas Season 🥺

~ mistletoe kisses

I thought I had a plan for this, but then Rio gave me soft ideas 💖 I loved this prompt so much, thank you!

Freaks of Preston - Mistletoe

Rio grimaced as Avery walked around the party with his goofy little mistletoe headband. Some people bought into it— mostly the ladies in the medical department who thought he was just too precious. As annoying as it may have been, it was kind of nice to see the young man so happy.

Julie and Cierra kissed Avery’s cheeks for a photo, both women dressed in matching red and green sweaters that blinked in alternating white and red lights. The enthusiasm and music was starting to get unbearable, so Rio headed back to his apartment, opening the window to let in the fresh air. It was nice and cold, much more pleasant than the smell of metal and dull mint that emanated from Ves Corp’s walls.

Rio sat on the windowsill and quietly drank from his flask, trying to drown out the music that poured from every speaker in the hallway, along with the painful memories of his family that bubbled in his mind. Then, like a light in the harbor, he was pulled from his thoughts by Jason’s voice as he closed the door behind him.

“Tapping out early?” he asked.

Rio shrugged. “Christmas isn’t really my thing.”

“Right.” Jason walked over and squeezed his hand. “I can only imagine how tough it’s been.”

“Well, at least the stupid dresses are gone.” He took another drink. “Now, it’s just the crappy leftover feelings.”

He stared out at the distant lights of Preston just beyond the trees. Jason kissed his cheek delicately, soft enough for Rio to ache for more.

“Then let’s replace those feelings.”

Rio pressed their foreheads together. “What do you have in mind?”

“We can stay here, make dinner, and watch some cheesy holiday movies.”

“Now that sounds like a party.”

He closed the window and headed for the kitchen. While dinner cooked and the movie played, Jason wrapped his arms around Rio’s chest.

“I know it’s not your thing, but would you indulge me in one small Christmas tradition?”

“Well, when you ask like that, of course.”

Jason reached into his pocket and pulled out a small clump of mistletoe, waving it over his head with a coy smile. Rio pulled him close to his chest, cupping his neck and brushing his soft, ruby red hair.

“You don’t need the plant for that.”

“Was it cute, at least?”

Rio chuckled. “Very.”

He kissed him over and over, drinking in the softness of Jason’s lips. Dinner came and went, and the movie was pretty much forgotten as the duo laid across the couch, lost in a myriad of kisses and touches. A quiet world, a soft snowfall, and a night with the love of his life… Rio believed that he would actually enjoy the holidays that year.

[timeguardiansarchive]

Friendly Wagers

@avictimofthejazz​ continued from X

                          Drew’s countenance boasts a jovial, gloating grin. Some people were naturally sore losers. “Can you prove it?” The strawberry blonde cheekily challenges. “As a cop, I believe you need to proof beyond a reasonable doubt that there was foul play. Proof, I’ll wager you don’t have. At least, not in this instance.” Nancy hadn’t even deigned to consider cheating in the first place. Mentally, she makes note that the parameters of honest play may be bent in the future to yield favorable results. 

“Besides, you’re the one who furnished and inspected the coin. Did you not?” She prods, knowing that she indeed spoke true. 

Luca, who had eagerly invited himself to witness the occasion, beams broadly from his perch as he observed his brother’s loss to a girl. In that moment, he swears Miss Drew is a chip off her old man Carson. He supposed one couldn’t live with a world renowned lawyer and not pick up a few tricks. “She’s got you there, Street.” Snapping his fingers, he jests. “I should have put money on this match while the going was good.” He’d do just about anything to make an extra dollar. After all, how much fun was going through life dead-broke?

Luca’s enthusiasm only fuels Nancy’s own. Buoyantly she bounces at Street’s begrudging acceptance of her tagging along. “Alright. Deal.” Her slender porcelain hand is eagerly extended towards him. Yadda this, yadda that is essentially what she hears when he outlines the parameters of her inclusion. “You act like I just started investigating yesterday,” she murmurs in complaint. “Don’t you think I know it is dangerous? I’ve done a million other things that could have gotten me killed. I’m still here. I’m tougher than I look.” Nancy actively insists.

The younger officer’s eyes keenly focus in on Street. “And just how do you care to explain this one to Hondo?” Clearly, he is already enjoying Jims predicament a little too much. 

From over the cradled cup of coffee, a blonde pipes up. “He’s going to want to make her sign a waver.” McCabe’s azure orbs float over her before returning to the sports page of a newspaper splayed out before him. “I’d get her compliance in writing. Lawyers are always saying not to do anything without a contract.”

Nancy nails McCabe with a look of disdain. “I gave you my word. I’m good for it.” Her gaze swivels towards Luca and Street. “Come on, you have to believe me.” Street’s threat causes Drew to recoil slightly. “I think I can remember that---” If only for the colorful image it painted in her head.

 “When can we go?” She prods quite eagerly. 

[radiowallet]

Affection in Row 16

Summary: On your flight to Spain you have a run-in with an adorable stranger.

WC: 2.5K

Pairing: Javi G. x GN!Reader

Warnings: Cuteness overload, fluffy fluff, and sugary sweet fitting the day. A little bit of cursing. Drinking. A plane ride?

Notes: Another moment where my brain got away from me. I was on a plane and thought 'hey what would Javi G. be like in coach?' This is what popped out. First time writing him. Please be gentle.

He looks lost. A true achievement considering the two feet wide walkway between the rows of seats that seems to have the man in front of you completely flummoxed, One glance at him- designer sunglasses resting atop luscious waves of brown all the way down to his perfectly pressed sport coat to the Gucci loafers on his feet- and you know this is not a man who normally flies coach.

If ever.

He’s standing in the aisle, staring at his ticket like he’s waiting for it to tell him where to sit, and you can physically feel the anger of the line of people growing steadily behind you. You want to be one of those people too but his broad shoulders and tan skin have sapped any and all fire from your veins, sending that feeling closer towards something like affection. You distinctly hear the word “jackass” and decide it’s best to step in now before someone with more piss in their veins than you takes aim at the sweet, but confused looking man.

“Sir,” you call out, gently tapping at his elbow. He turns with a start looking around wildly before coffee brown eyes finally land on you. His lips are parted around an apology but you smile, cutting him off before he can get the words out.

“Do you need some help?”

He visibly deflates, matching your smile, and oh, his whole face lights up with it. A dimple carves out a perfect little spot on his cheek and you have to physically stop yourself from reaching out for the curve of his face.

“Please,” he asks, a wonderful accent to the timber of his voice. You take his offered ticket and point him to his seat, internally thrilling when you see his row matches your own. You guide him to the right row, only a few more back from where you started, and point him to his seat, the one in the middle.

“I take it you don’t fly coach a whole lot?”

He laughs, deep and sweet, a caramel coated sound that you’re instantly addicted too as he settles in, tucking his leather bag safely down by his feet. You take your time stowing your small duffle bag in the overhead bin, willing your heart rate to slow and the heat in your cheeks to dissipate. You’re about to be on a flight next to this man for hours and you don’t even know his name. A crush is not on the agenda for today.

“This is obvious, yes?”

“Only a little,” you can’t help but tease, liking the way the pink spreads across his features. Bag safely tucked away, you shift back and forth on your feet awkwardly, eyeing his large frame, his knees bumping right into the seat in front of him. You definitely don’t picture how warm that thigh would feel beneath-

“There is a problem?”

His confusion saves you from your traitorous thoughts. You point to the seat between him and the window.

“I need to get by.”

The confusion returns to his features, an endearing little crease forming between his brows before realization dawns across his face.

“Lo siento, siento! Please!” He stands, a comical burst of enthusiasm shooting out of him that has him bumping his head into the roof of the plane, his sunglasses flying towards the floor, an embarrassed groan falling from his lips. You clamp a hand over your mouth, a pathetic attempt to capture your laughter and the handsome stranger doesn’t miss a single beat of it.

“It seems I am destined to, how do you say, make an ass of myself, no?”

Feeling suddenly emboldened, you let your tongue run away from you, pinching at the man’s cheek as you shuffle past him, your fronts pressed perfectly together in the too tight space.

“At least you look cute doing it.”

Another blush blooms bright across his cheeks that thrills you all the way down to your toes, pleased to know you aren’t the only one feeling some sort of silly sort of affection in the middle of row 16. He twists and turns in a dramatic fashion until he spots his sunglasses, this time opting to slide them into the breast pocket of his baby blue jacket. Finally both settled into your seats, you turn and officially introduce yourself.

“A beautiful name for my angel in disguise. I am Javi.”

“Javi,” you repeat back, enjoying the way the two syllables feel on your tongue. “So do I get the whole story now? Or do I have to wait for the peanuts first?”

He laughs again, and it’s just as lovely the second time around.

“I am just desperate to get home. I was here for work but now my flight keeps getting pushed and pushed. This was the only seat available and I am just so tired.” He says the last word with another flare of dramatics, his head falling forward into his hands.

He is too cute for his own good.

“Wait! Spain is your home?”

He smiles as he lifts his head and nods before launching into a sprawling description of his house, the endless number of rooms, the crystal blue waters that surround his master suite, the pool where he spends his mornings, and the personal theater where he spends his nights. By the time he finishes, the flight attendants are going through their pre-flight instructions and you both turn your attention to the front of the plane.

Take-off is bumpy, the windy day making the plane bounce around in a way that has you clinging to your armrests. If Javi notices, he’s kind enough not to draw attention to it. When the plane evens out in clear air and the seat belt sign blinks off, he turns back to you with another enthusiastic grin.

“What are your plans in Spain, angel?”

You feel your cheeks heat up again when it becomes clear the nickname is going to stick, but you breeze past it and focus on keeping the waver out of your voice.

“I’ve just always wanted to see it. I’ve been saving for years and I finally just decided it was time.” You leave out the part about losing your job and your boyfriend all in one week, determined to focus on the positives. You reach into your bookbag and pull out your guidebook to show him all that you have planned. With zero hesitation he plucks the book from your hands and flips through the pages you have carefully marked with bright pink post-it notes. He tuts softly to himself, muttering in soft Spanish that you only half understand, and you start to worry that maybe you should have spent more time with that babel subscription your mom got you.

“No, no, this simply will not do. My angel, you are missing all the best restaurants, the best sites, none of which are even in this little book of yours. I cannot allow this.”

Again, without prompting, he pulls a pen from the same pocket he had stashed his sunglasses in, and flips to the back cover of your book and starts writing in a curved and hurried print. At the next jolt the airplane gives, his eyes drift to the iron-grip you have on the armrest, brows furrowing slightly, but still he says nothing, pen poised over your guide book.

“I will make you a new list,” he announces, tongue caught between his teeth, concentrating on the task at hand. He’s still writing feverishly as the flight attendants finally make their way to you, an offer of drinks and the in-flight menu.

“Just a water for me,” you ask politely, hands gripping tight again just as the plane gives a small jump.

“Something stronger will help calm the nerves,” Javi teases, eyes still pointed down at his growing list.

“Yeah but 12 bucks for a cup of boxed wine hardly feels worth it.”

The sound of Javi’s pen scratching pauses as he looks over at you, confusion returning ten-fold.

“It is not on the house?”

“Not in coach,” you remind him, teeth gritting as the plane lurches one more time.

This fact seems to personally affront him in more ways than one. He shakes his head in earnest, muttering again in Spanish before turning to the flight attendant and ordering two glasses of champagne, pulling out his wallet to pay even as you protest loudly.

“It is a long flight,” he argues back, a finality in his voice that clearly demonstrates how often he listens to the word no, passing you a plastic cup filled with the bubbly beverage. You can tell he wants to scoff at the cheap cup holding the even cheaper champagne but he holds back, instead tapping his own against yours with another flash of pearly white teeth.

“Salud! To new friends!”

You swear there’s something special about the way Javi let’s his lips linger on the word friend. It sends a tingle down your spine that you gladly chase with a sip of bubbly.

The drink does it’s job, helping to settle the panic that had made itself a home in your chest with each bump of turbulence and helping to loosen your lips even more as you turn your body towards Javi’s, the two of you going through his list of recommendations eagerly. You had almost forgotten completely that you were in the air, your knees kissing gently as Javi tells you about the menus of each restaurant, making sure to write down which entrees and desserts are a must. It’s as if you had known each other your whole lives and not for the length of a plane ride, and you are already dreading the moment the pilot announces your arrival, despite the fact that you’ve dreamt of this moment since you could find Spain on a map.

Javi somehow talks you into one more cup of champagne, his zest for living in the moment more than infectious. Your book eventually gets shoved away and the conversation slows, topics shifting in turpentine curves, an easy meander from one thing to the next. He hums in a pleased sort of way when you practice your clunky Spanish on him, not a hint of cynicism to be found when he gently corrects your pronunciation, the pads of his fingers warm where they tap at your thigh, demonstrating which syllable to emphasize between your lips.

After dinner, Javi takes the lead on the topics, sharing some of greatest passions with you. Your limbs are loose, a warm buzz settled at the base of your spine as you lean back in your seat, listening to his soothing baritone go through his favorite movies by genre. At first you were worried he was just trying to distract you from the fact that the seatbelt sign had blinked back on but when you blink your eyes slowly in the direction of his own, you’re certain that this is the topic he could talk about forever.

When you admit you had never seen Face Off, he grabs a hold of your hand, his features twisting to adorably frantic.

“My angel, please! It is the best action movie possibly ever. People will joke at its expense, but I promise you will not have a better time watching it.”

You laugh but the noise chokes as the plane jolts violently, your fingers tightening around Javi’s. You mumble an apology, pulling your hand away but his grip chases after it, capturing your smaller one between both of his, the warmth settling your fears better than 10 glasses of champagne ever could. You want to feel embarrassed or silly, the overwhelming affection you’re feeling for a man you just met, something you only hear about in one of Javi’s movies, but his palms are warm and you can smell the citrus of his cologne, so you simply can’t find it in your heart to care.

Javi doesn’t miss a single beat.

“Please tell me you have at least seen Con-Air?”

When you cringe and shake your head no, he groans with too much drama to be deemed insincere, and dives a rant about how it is one of Nicholas Cage’s most dramatic turns and deserves more than just the stamp of an action film.

He doesn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the flight.

When you walk out of the terminal and into the bright white of the airport, you’re mad at yourself for not being more excited. A few feet away is the country you’ve dreamt of for years, but your hand feels empty, missing the warmth of thick fingers and an enthusiastic smile. Javi had been one of the first off, holding up his phone as an apology, saying he had forgotten to let his driver know when his plane had been arriving.

Of course.

He had a driver. He wore Gucci loafers and splurged on champagne for a stranger.

A tourist pinching pennies as they make their way across the country is not a suitable match for him, friend or otherwise. You swallow back the wave of disappointment, reminding yourself why you’re here, refusing to start your trip off on a sour note. You reach into your bag, determined to get started right away, intent on finding one of the whole-in-the-wall places from Javi’s list, but are immediately panicked. Your guidebook is gone, missing from the pocket you were certain you shoved it in. Shame and frustration threaten to swallow you whole when you realize it must still be on the plane. You’re already turning back frantically to wave down airport staff when a familiar hand wraps around your wrist.

“Angel, thank goodness I didn’t miss you. You will need this.”

Your mouth falls open where you stand, staring at Javi where he waits in front of you, somehow seeming broader in the wide open space of the airport, holding out your guidebook. You take it back quietly, unable to hide your frown when his hand falls away from you.

“Thank you for your kindness, and your company,” he offers again, giving a slight bow in your direction. You can’t help but smile, just a little, mimicking the gesture before offering your own thanks.

“Maybe we’ll see each other again?” You say with a small wave, doing your best not to let hope color your words. The smile he gives you is shy, eyelids fluttering as he turns his cheeks to the ground below. When he looks back at you fully, there’s a promise there you aren’t sure what to make of.

“I certainly hope so, angel.”

And then he’s gone.

You watch his retreating back until it’s out of sight, baby blue mixing in with a crowd of gray. Even if he was just being polite, you can help but swell with joy at his own use of the word hope, letting the sweet turn of his dimpled smile play on a loop inside your head.

After a few minutes, where you tell yourself again and again that he isn’t coming back, you open your guidebook intent on getting something to eat before finding your hotel. When you do, a bright pink post-it note flutters to the ground. You scoop it up quickly, noticing the scrawl across it is not your own, but Javi’s, an address written out followed by a quick note.

Movie night tonight

There was no question mark at the end of the sentence.

After all, Javi hardly ever listens to the word no.

-----------

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[dourpeep]

The men of Genshin as romance types:

This just kind popped up in my head after thinking about Xiao's characterization! I might add to this in the future, but for now it's just a small list of headcanons + a short blurb :>

Contains: Lots of fluff, lightly suggestive

Features: Albedo, Venti, Kaeya, Xiao, Zhongli, Childe, and Diluc

Note: you can be soft and still top btw, this is only for how they'd be romantically

Sweet:

Albedo

Albedo is also shown canonically to do little gestures like give people the sketch he did of them to see them smile, this man might seem kinda standoffish at first, but he's not cold

From his voicelines and story, we also know that Albedo is the type of person to think pretty deeply about everything around him

His brain goes 100 miles an hour with all the possibilities and scenarios he can think of

So with his s/o, the best thing that could happen is that he'll take the time to really slow down and unwind

Being a busy, busy man in pursuit of knowledge beyond anyone's comprehension, Albedo rarely gets time off (his sketches are considered research, in a way, no?)

So once he's finally at home, there will be lots of little shows of affection

Passing behind you, perhaps a light touch on your back or shoulder to let you know he's there

On a particularly rough day, he'll sit facing you with his forehead resting on your chest and just--take your hands and put them in his hair

Not really the type to pamper, but there's no doubt of his love

Probably the type of guy to like sitting close in silence

Maybe on the nights you cook, he'll come and wrap his arms around your waist, head leaning on your shoulder as he watches you work

Quietly, you lay on the couch tangled up in his arms, the soft sound of breathing and the light warmth you feel lulling you to sleep. It seems that, even though Albedo is left half asleep from a long day of research, he still continues to trace mindless little patterns on the back of your hand with his thumb. You shift, and he hums, pulling you closer.

Venti

The man’s been through so much, honestly

He's lost his closest friend, helped a rebellion usurp a tyrant, been through a war that lasted centuries, watched as another friend he'd known since birth fall to corruption (but ultimately was saved)

Point being, he's tired and just wants to have his fun

True to his nature, he likes to tease and poke at his s/o, but nothing that can't be undone (after all, a prank isn't funny if it's permanent)

Hand holding, is a must! Venti is a very affectionate person who isn't afraid to express his feelings when it comes to his s/o

Lots of smooches too! (Please smooch him back)

Speaking of hands and smooches, he's the type to bring your hand to his lips and give each your fingertips a little kiss. They've done so much for you and allow him the joy of holding them, so it's the least he can do!

His type of love is free and sweeter than the scent of cecelias, soft as the wind that kisses your skin

Really, he wants to be able to treasure you as much as he can in the time you have together

Today was a picnic date kind of day. A basket filled with fresh, ripe sunsettias and a few dishes you both worked together to make (mostly you, after what happened with Venti's apple cake) sat on top of a sturdy blanket laid on the grass. Head laid in your lap, the wandering bard strummed idly on his lyre, adding a lovely backdrop to an already perfect day.

Romantic:

Kaeya

Of course, the suave Captain doesn't stop with honeyed words

Mysterious as he is, he takes what he does in stride

If he could spend all his life entwined with you, he'd die a happy man

Kaeya is the type of partner to romance with candlelight and nighttime strolls on the beach

A little cheesy, yes, but all the more to sweep you off your feet

Flirty, he likes to take his time with his love and while he similarly treasures his s/o, it's in the way the fairytales are written

Perhaps a little cliche at times

Nevertheless, he's the type of partner to sweep you into a dance despite there being no music and dip you low (whether you both lose balance and fall is up to gravity)

He'll show his affection physically, whether through a quick kiss when you stop by the Favonious Knight's HQ, or pulling you close when you walk through a crowd on a market day

Teasing is also a big thing, if he can make you blush, his mission is accomplished

In privacy, expect his treatment to be the same--it wouldn't do any good if he leaves his dear s/o confused about how he feels

Once again, you take his hand and he sweeps you into a lively waltz, sweeping across the living room floor. Not once do his eyes leave yours. All he ever needs is the feel of you close and the rush of his heart in his chest that bubbles into something fonder when your laugh reaches his ears.

Xiao

Not the best with words, Xiao shows his love through his actions

Little gifts, helping now and then with commissions and clearing the road, he'll do it all with no expectation of thanks (should you thank him, he'll be extremely grateful for the recognition but also perhaps unsure how to react)

He doesn't tend towards physically showing affection to his s/o, so when he does, expect them to show his utter devotion

Often, Xiao questions what it is that he did to deserve such a love, but as soon as you appear in his view, it no longer matters because as long as you believe him to be worthy, why wouldn't he be?

His love is based deeply in trust. The heart is a fragile thing and to someone who's suffered so much in his lifetime, he guards it fiercely to protect himself

When he finally does allow himself the comfort of a relationship, he'll soak it up entirely

Nights spent stargazing on the top of Wangshu Inn, pinkies intertwined, or bodies held together tightly with the sweet exchange of breath

Every touch that he offers is gentle, reverent, and serves to remind him that what he's experiencing is real

He tried, really, for the thing on the plate to turn out the way that you usually make it. It's a far cry from what he remembers, but you set it down and bring your hands to his face. The sight of your beaming smile warms him deeply and he pulls you in close for a kiss.

Zhongli

Be still, my beating heart-

Just as he's full of information from the flowers of Liyue to the deepest cracks in the soil, he loves fully and unapologetically

He's lived through many eras and seen so much that it's hard to not want to express how he feels as he feels it

Deeply appreciative of whatever his s/o does and does for him

He indulges in every word, touch, feeling, and look- He's not a greedy man, but when it comes to love? There's a deep desire to feel it all

There are many ways that Zhongli expresses that love, a few being through your daily strolls through Liyue Harbor and the daily and nightly rituals the two of you have settled down into

His favorite is probably the mornings

There's something about waking up wrapped up in your lover's arms, head resting on their chest as the sun's warm beams shine through the windows that's utterly satisfying

Zhongli indulges in these little moments, favoring them over all else

Once in a while, he'll take you back to where your first date was to reminisce, perhaps even (jokingly) mention little embarrassing things either of you did

Zhongli watches as you sip at your drink and admires the way the sun compliments your eyes. You're preoccupied by the falling leaves, it seems, mentioning how they're just as brilliant gold as his. Though the feeling he feels is far from the excitement of butterflies, it has settled into a comforting sort of warmth that hopes you feel as well.

Passionate:

Childe

This man's love is wild like his personality

Loud, fun, and never quite predictable, he loves like a whirlwind and with an enthusiasm to match no other

Lots of teasing going on here, to make you blush or to mess with you, you'll never know

But it's his unapologetic fire that drew you to him to begin with

When he's not occupied with work, he'll drag you to go sight seeing

Every experience is a new experience, no matter if it's something that seems so everyday or not

His affection is in the form of tightly held hands (he doesn't want to lose you with how quickly he weaves through the crowd), well-placed winks, and kisses to steal your breath away

He also loves in a way that's fiercely protective. His job is a dangerous one and, with the way he's open with your relationship, his affection serves to protect you

But don't forget that despite his passion, he's a man who deeply treasures those close to him and, as his s/o, you'll be showered with only the best he can give you

It was only a quick break in your day, he'd assured, but it quickly became another round of seeing Liyue through his eyes. In the span of only an hour, you've already spotted an untouched patch of glaze lilies, sampled rich Li-style cuisine and fresh Yue-style cuisine, helped a young girl fetch her kite from atop a tree, and now are working your way (or rather, Childe is working your way for you) to a little area behind the busy streets to show you a pack of dogs he'd befriended. Fondly, you smile and watch as he beckons them out of hiding.

Diluc

Diluc lives for the way that his s/o brings the best out of him and, in return, he does the same back

He exudes the air of a gentleman with the way he shows his affection, but, whether intentionally or not, in an utterly enticing way

Being busy during the day with running the tavern and the winery as well as at night as the Darknight Hero (he insists you stop calling him that as well, but you don't miss the light flush of pride each time), the time he dedicates to you is left in the early morning long before you leave for the day and the evening as he settles just before he sets off

During morning time, he's often fond of running his hands over you, feeling each dip and curve, memorizing the way your hair falls and the way your lips curve when you smile

It's a quiet sort of passion

His love is expressed in the fond murmurs against your shoulder and head, sharing those moments of deep intimacy both physical and not

In the evenings, you both settle in front of the fireplace, sharing a drink or two

There's sometimes a certain look in his eye that sets your heart aflame in the dimly lit room, and sometimes he sets off a little later that night in lieu of a few more stolen moments with you

Diluc slides into your shared bed in the early hours of the morning, a bit later than usual. The shift stirs you just enough to wake up to two arms pulling you to his chest and a deep breath with his nose buried in your hair. He's no doubt exhausted. Eyes bleary, you turn until you're facing him and loosely wrap an arm around his waist. In the moments you're still half-awake, you hear a low murmur of 'love you' and you smile against his skin.

[paradisecas]

my mother told me i should go and get some therapy

@midamoulweek day 7: resilience and/or storytelling irdk

Adam arrives at her door ten minutes late, panting but grinning. “Sorry,” he says. “I got Michael to whip something up for us so we didn’t have to meet here but then he made this house which defeats the whole purpose—“ He’s flapping his hands about, a move Kate rarely saw on him when she was alive. “So I had to deal with all that.”

It should be nice to see him so animated, but knowing the source of his excitement dulls the moment for her.

Michael. Once upon a time, he was just an archangel that Kate’s mom made her pray to at Sunday service. He was nothing but a sculpture outside a church or a warrior in a painting or a character in a story.

Now he’s her son’s boyfriend. The boyfriend that got him stuck in hell for a thousand goddamn years.

“Why would he make my house?” Kate asks.

Adam is leaning in the doorway, catching his breath. “It’s familiar to all of us,” he explains. “It’s where he and I hung out the most in—and Ghoul obviously—you know.”

And there’s the other problem.

Kate doesn’t remember dying that well. It was quick for her, in the end. Sure, she remembers being hunted in her own house; remembers the scratching in the walls and the thumping from the vents; remembers something grabbing at her ankle and pulling from under her bed. But after that, it’s pretty much nothingness. For her, being eaten alive was quick and messy. According at Adam, at least; he never saw the crime scene, he says, but he does have a first person account from the thing that ate her. Because he’s dating that thing too.

Ghoul didn’t give Adam the same courtesy of a quick death; his was long and violent, because he was John’s blood and not just a one night stand from almost twenty years before. And yet somehow, somehow, Adam doesn’t hold the hours of screaming and bleeding against him.

Is it her fault? Did she neglect him so much during his childhood that he resorted to latching on to monsters who hurt him? If she spends more time with him now, can she get him to see that he doesn’t need to be with them just because they have some sort of twisted connection?

Does she even have the right to speak against them, now that Adam is older than her by hundreds of years?

Who knows. All Kate knows is that she, for some reason, agreed to meet them. To have dinner with them.

She’s probably going to regret this.

“I got him to make our house. Like, on earth. So you can see what life is like for us!” Adam beams at her, and it’s hard to pretend to match his enthusiasm.

“I’m excited to see your house, baby,” she tells him, only sort of lying.

“Michael and Ghoul are super excited to meet you too.”

“Are they?”

Adam laughs. “Not really. They’re nervous I think. I mean, Ghoul didn’t get to know his dad until recently so he’s pretty sure he’s gonna mess this up, and you know Michael’s dad killed him so. Parents are weird for him.”

Ah, yes. The Ghoul that John killed is also in Heaven. And Michael’s dad is God. Like, The God. Well, not anymore. These days, The God is the devil’s kid. Apparently.

“Well,” she says. “We’ll see how they do.”

“Don’t get your hopes up.”

Oh, she won’t. Her hopes are all the way in hell at this point.

Because this is Heaven and spatial physics are nothing to literal angels like the one Adam is dating, Adam only has to lead her a few paces down the driveway before she spots a house across the road that wasn’t there before. It’s small, smaller than her house, but it seems—homey, at least.

“We live in Maryland for my school,” Adam says as they cross the road. “Michael actually created this house for us there too ‘cause we wanted something kinda further from town. Ghoul and I had an apartment in Minnesota while Michael was dead but it wasn’t big enough for three people anyway.”

He says it so casually. While Michael was dead. Like it’s normal to come back from the dead.

But after everything he’s told her about his life, maybe it is normal. He’s done it twice, so what does Kate know?

At the door, Adam stops. Turns. Shuffles his feet.

“What is it?” Kate asks immediately. Is he having doubts about dinner? Is he having doubts about his relationship?

“Michael and Ghoul are really important to me,” he starts.

Damn.

“I’m honestly not expecting this to go well at all because neither of them make a good first impression but... maybe keep an open mind?”

“My mind is already wide open, Adam,” Kate deadpans.

“That’s fair.” He huffs a laugh. “Okay, yeah. We should probably—if I take too long Michael will think I’ve run off with Gabriel again.”

Gabriel, also an archangel. Because Adam is friends with other angels, too.

The inside of Adam’s house—or its heaven recreation—is nothing like she’d expect from him. They weren’t minimalists when Kate was alive by any means, but there are a lot of trinkets and paintings and little things scattered about. None of the walls have any clear space, the couch in the living room is little more than a heap of blankets and pillows, and beside a window decorated with hanging bits of stained glass in the shape of a butterfly is whole bookshelf filled with everything except books.  

One shelf is just little angel figurines, which maybe they think is funny? One is just rocks in shapes and colors she’s never seen on earth or in Heaven before which actually checks out with what Adam told her about Michael’s proclivity for showing off the planets he helped create. One shelf has a dozen framed photographs crammed together so tightly that she can’t even see them all, but the ones she can all feature at least one Adam.

On the other side of the window, there’s also a bookshelf being used for its intended purpose and overflowing with books, some small and some massive and very few that Kate recognizes. Those on the top shelf all have thick, weathered spines gilded in gold lettering that maybe isn’t actually lettering. Since she died, Adam’s become quite the linguist; he says he’s fluent in the language of angels now. Which is not something she’d ever expected for him, or anyone really.

It’s the house of a well traveled family, which makes her happy, but then she sees two real-life Adams who are not her son and the happiness fades.

“Hey guys,” Adam says. He stays by Kate’s side instead of joining either of them, for which she’s grateful. “This is my mom. Mom, this is Michael—“ He points to one with a flat sort of frown. “—and Ghoul.” The other one is grinning in a way that perfectly mirrors Adam’s, which Kate does not like.

They’re all wearing different clothes, but Kate immediately forgets who is who. “How do you tell them apart?” she asks, before cringing at the realization that she sounds like she’s talking about two cats that look the same instead of two potentially very dangerous beings.

“Everyone always asks that,” Adam laughs. “I know we have the same face, but I really think we look nothing alike.”

Kate thinks if Adam and—Ghoul?—swapped places enough times she wouldn’t know who was her son and who was the creature. They really are all identical.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Milligan,” the one she thinks is Michael says. “Was the journey okay?”

Kate blinks. It was like, five feet from her front door. Of course the journey was okay.

“It was like, five feet from her front door.” Adam says, exasperated but smiling. “Of course it was okay.”

“I’m just trying to be polite,” Michael grumbles. “You’re the one who told me not to be rude.”

“And I really appreciate it,” Adam says. At that, Michael’s frown melts into a little smile that takes a decade or maybe an eternity off his face; he looks young in a way a primordial being should not.

“You can call me Kate,” she tells him, because she can be polite too. And there’s something not right about an archangel calling her Miss anything.

“Kate,” Michael echoes. He turns the soft smile onto her and she doesn’t know how Adam handles it. There’s too much in his eyes.

Then the other one steps forward. “Great to see you again Kate,” Ghoul says. “Big fan of your work. Sorry about the—“ He mimes grabbing and pulling and biting. “You know how revenge is.”

Actually, she doesn’t, but she might soon.

“If it’s any consolation, your liver was exquisite. Best I’ve ever had; you really took care of your body!”

Adam rolls his eyes fondly—fondly!—and says, “I told you not to bring that up.”

Ghoul shrugs. “Just thought I’d mention the elephant in the room before it got any bigger.”

Kate can’t do much but try to smile back awkwardly. This is weird. Too weird. She almost wants to pinch herself to make sure it’s not some weird fever dream, but what is Heaven if not the biggest fever dream? Anyway, she’s already pinched herself plenty of times since Adam first broached the subject of his love life. It’s all too real.

“Should we eat?” she suggests. The sooner they eat, the sooner she can leave.

As Adam leads them all into the kitchen, Kate catches sight of a—a few bones and a skull? just sitting on a small table at the end of the hallway. They vanish a split second after she sees them, and when she turns her gaze it’s to the sight of Michael averting his.

It turns out that Adam made baked ziti, the one real meal she’d taught him when he was a teenager. It warms her up a little to think of him sharing her recipe with his family.

Except Michael doesn’t take a plate because “angels don’t eat,” which he explains almost sheepishly, and Ghoul has his own bowl of—something. Something that Kate does not want to look at too closely.

So it’s horribly awkward as they eat. Adam compliments his own cooking, because of course he does, and Kate also compliments his cooking, because of course she does. Michael at least comments that it looks good, and Ghoul holds his (full!) mouth open until Adam feeds him a bite.

“It’s fine,” he says, chewing thoughtfully, “but my stuff is better.”

Kate shoves a massive forkful into her mouth to stop herself from asking about what his stuff really is.

Conversation doesn’t really flow either, which is maybe due in part to the fact that Kate never has an empty mouth for more than a few seconds at a time, but what is she supposed to say?


With Kristin, they’d talked about college and careers and school stuff. Little things that Kate could relate to. How can she relate to anything about the lives of two monsters?

There are customs for meeting your kid’s partners, right? The shovel talk, or whatever. She never had to give Kristin the shovel talk because Kristin was kind and funny and like, sixteen years old.

Something in Kate’s gut tells her it’s maybe not a good idea to threaten an archangel and a thing that already killed her, plus the whole ‘hurt him and I’ll hurt you’ thing is a moot point by now, so she avoids that conversation. But she can still ask, “What are your intentions with my son?” so she swallows her mouthful and does just that.

With lightning fast reflexes, Adam reaches out to clamp a hand over Ghoul’s mouth that was just beginning to open.

Kate does not want to know.

“My intentions?” Michael asks, the picture of grave seriousness. “All I want is to love and cherish him as I have done for many centuries now. Your son saved me, Kate, so I will do everything within my abilities to make him happy.”

Cute sentiment, really, and Kate does enjoy the way Adam’s face burns a bright red, but Michael kinda ruined it by bringing up the centuries and the saving. Her baby shouldn’t have to save anyone except in a hospital setting. And he definitely shouldn’t have been alive for centuries. A century, maybe, but that’s it. 
“And how do you plan on doing that?” she asks.

“I will do whatever he asks of me,” Michael answers. “I even let him keep the Ghoul.”

Kate opens her mouth to say something along the lines of, “I don’t think that’s a good thing,” but Adam cuts her off.

“Michael helped with all my paperwork,” he says, wrenching his hand off of Ghoul’s mouth and wiping it on his pants. The motion leaves behind a smear of blood, but his skin is unbroken. Kate tries even harder to avoid eye contact with Ghoul’s bowl. “We were both declared missing and then I missed a decade, so he’s the reason I even got into school again.”

It’s like he can’t even hear himself. “And why were we missing, Adam?” she asks, unable to help it. “Why did you miss a decade?”

Everyone shifts uncomfortably.

“I mean—“ Adam starts, but he doesn’t finish his thought. It’s his turn to take a too-big bite of ziti.

“I assure you, I will spend the rest of my life making up for what I did to him,” Michael says.

“Right.” Kate wipes her mouth. “What about you, Ghoul? You never got to answer my question.”

“My intentions?” Ghoul giggles, strained and high pitched. “Um, same as Michael. Love and cherish him or whatever. Make up for killing him. Rock his—“

“Okay!” Adam interrupts. “See, mom? They feel bad. So. We’re all good here.”

Sure. They feel bad.

“And don’t you think they’re cute?” Adam continues, which.

Yeah, they are cute, but only surface-level cute and only because Adam is cute.

“Wait, I know how to win her over,” Ghoul smirks. “Remember when you were a kid and got her to buy you candy?”

And then he pulls the exact same face—puppy-dog eyes and all. It is incredibly cute, but again, less so with the knowledge that he only knows how to do that because he has Adam’s memories. Which he got from eating him.

But Adam laughs at Ghoul, and even Michael twitches with an amused smile.

“He still makes that face,” Michael tells Kate hesitantly. “As if he needs to beg for anything.”

“No, come on, you can be stubborn!” Adam’s grinning again. “Just the other day I wanted to stop at that diner and you said no!”

“Because you should eat better,” Michael says. He sounds like he’s scolding Adam, and Kate doesn’t know what to think of that. “You’re going to be a doctor, you know. You really should eat a vegetable sometimes.”

“He took us anyway,” Adam whispers, winking at Kate. “I guess the face does come in handy.”

Ghoul chimes in after that with his own rowdy anecdote of a time when they had to beg Michael for something. In this story, it’s taking them back in time to see a certain concert. Apparently, Michael didn’t want to upset Jack—the devil’s son, now God, also his nephew—but still caved.

Kate lets them tell their little stories. The smile doesn’t fall from Adam’s face for the rest of the dinner.

She has to hand it to him; her son knows how to move on. When John first entered their lives and did not act the way a father should, she’d seen it in Adam—the inability to forgive. And as the years went by, she saw that inability grow into resentment and then into something like hate.

The hate is still there, even, especially when he talks about Sam and Dean, John’s other kids that Kate knew nothing about until she was dead.

For human slights, like with John, it seems that Adam has no interest in forgiving. Sam and Dean did more than just skip the holidays with him, she knows that, but even Adam’s hatred for them is something very human. It’s why his relationship still has her so perplexed; he can’t forgive blood, but he can choose these two guys?

But the way he laughs. The way he lights up.

Kate can’t forgive Michael or Ghoul. Most likely, she’ll never get over what they did to her baby.

Adam is stronger than her. She’ll let him have his happiness as long as possible, and when it crumbles—because there’s no way it can’t, like when a kid thinks a feral cat can be his friend but it still ends up swiping at him—she’ll be there to pick up the pieces. Just as she disinfected the scratches and pressed superhero band-aids and kisses over his wounds back then, she’ll keep him safe as he pulls himself back together for what will likely be the hundredth time.

Until then, though—he can play happy.

Once the food is gone and plates are cleared, the three of them seem to just fall into each other. Ghoul leans against Adam who leans against Michael and they’re all a bit hesitant, still, but it’s obvious they’re just going off of muscle memory and Kate can’t stick around and keep watching. She can’t.

“What did you think?” Adam asks as he walks her home.

Instead of answering with words, Kate offers a grimacing little smile that he seems to understand.

“Okay, yeah, I thought so.” The enthusiasm he exuded for a minute there has faded into resignation. “You’ll just have to come see us more,” he says, more confidently. “We can keep the house up.”

“You’re sure these are the guys for you? I’ve met some very nice men and women here and I’m sure there are plenty more who are still alive—“

“Mom.”

“This just isn’t what I wanted for you,” she sighs. “It’s not normal, baby. They hurt you. They killed you. I don’t understand how…”

“They also love me.” His voice softens. “And I love them, and they’re right for me. You’ll get it someday.”

Probably not. Probably, she won’t even try, because someone has to see reason.

“Maybe,” she says, and they both know she’s lying.

Her house is dark. It’s never seemed so empty; Heaven brings life to even the lifeless. But now there’s no Adam making her breakfast in the mid-afternoon morning and all the pictures are a thousand years old for him and—something she’s never considered before—they’re probably weird to him, knowing that it’s only ever him.

They bid each other goodnight, Kate holding on to Adam maybe too tightly and for too long as they hug, and then he’s off into the night, heading back to the monsters she has no way to protect him from. 

Kate has to step into her dark, empty house all alone.

[thewritetofreespeech]

MC + Cursed Toddler-fied Boys

prompt: All the boys suffer the same fate as Satan by reading ‘The Forbidden Book of Toddlerization’

Lucifer

You have to wonder why they kept so many cursed books around, just out like this. You would think, like any normal person, with this continuing to happen, that they would keep them locked up or something. But no. They just leave them out for anyone to find….

“I’m going to the meeting!” Lucifer yelled, stamping his foot. His face twist in a petulant frown. It would be rather adorable, if you hadn’t been arguing with him for the past 20 minutes

“Lucifer, we talked about this. You can’t go to the meeting. You need to stay here.”

“No! I wanna go to the meeting! It’s very important and everyone is counting on me!” His arms are wailing now as he stamped his foot more.

Of course, you couldn’t let him go to the first of the month meeting like this. His pride would be wounded beyond compare if anyone else saw him like this. But reasoning with him wasn’t working. You had to resort to more, unsavory tactic to win. “But the meeting was cancelled. Lord Diavolo called earlier to let me know.”

Lucifer stopped stamping his feet and waving his arms to look at you with a vacant expression you didn’t know he could muster. “Really?”

Gods help you. “Yes, really.”

He seemed to think about this for a moment before he beamed, “ok!” His mood instantly brightening. “I believe you, because [Y/N] would never lie to me.” ‘Forgive me Lucifer’ You think to yourself. “What are we gonna do instead then?”

“Why don’t we play a game instead to pass the time? Would you like that?”

“I know chess!” He exclaimed loudly. “Let’s play that.”

Of course, knowing and being good at it were two different things. In this state you were actually able to beat Lucifer several times. When he retuned to normal the day was ‘conveniently’ put away for sometime after.

Mammon

“Mammon. Please. I’ll just be gone for a minute.”

“Nooooooo!” Mammon wailed when you tried to get up again. Clinging to your waist tightly to keep you on the couch. “Onii-chan said you had to stay with me! Stay with me! Stay with me!”

After reading The Forbidden Book of Toddlerization, Mammon had, of course, reverted to the personality of a small child. His brother made fun of him, say ‘what’s the difference’, but Lucifer knew that this could be a disaster if he was set to wander free in this state across the Devildom. So he sat you to babysit him.

“Mammon, I promise I’ll be right back. I’m just going to get us some snacks for our movie.”

“Then let me come with you!” He whined, still clinging to you. In this state it seemed he had also taken on the personality of a baby duck. Imprinting on you and following you around everywhere you went in his room. He hadn’t left you alone for 5 seconds since he got this way. “I promise I’ll be good!”

“It’s not a question of you being good or bad Mammon-chan.” He liked to be called Mammon-chan right now. “It’s that you need to stay here. If someone sees you like this well…they could use it to tease you.”

“No…I don’t want to be teased anymore….” His voice was low, and sad. His bright eyes looking on the verge of tears, like kids do when they’re said, before he buried his face into your side. “Mammon-chan doesn’t want to be made fun of anymore. Mammon-chan also doesn’t want to be alone anymore.”

You sigh. Unable to argue with him when he was like this. Your hand lifted to pet his head, which he seemed to appreciate, before you text Satan to bring you some snacks. He was always reliable and would do it for you.

Once the affects of the book had worn off, Mammon denied any of this happening. The mere mention would cause his face to turn red and yell about how, “that didn’t happen!” You almost wish you had taken a video of it to show him. Guess you would just have to keep Mammon-chan forever in your heart.

Levi

You went to Levi’s room after class to check on him in his….condition.

Since he did remote learning a lot of the time, being an otaku, it was pretty easy to keep him away from people so they did see him in the current state he was in. Apparently as a toddler he didn’t like being around people either.

So, you had set him up comfortably in his room before heading to class. Promising to come back that afternoon to be with him.

“Levi! I’m back! How are you—what are you doing?!?!”

“Playing with my toys.” Levi replied, with an obvious expression, as a sea of toys stretch out in front of him where he laid on his belly on the floor.

Your brain stopped. Completely at a loss for words. Levi was going to kill you when he returned to normal, because toddler-Levi, left unattended, had unboxed nearly all of his figurines from their packaging. Some of which were incredibly rare, and unable to get anymore.

“I just…I mean…Why?? Why would you do this??”

“They’re my toys.” Levi replied with a pout. Sitting up. “I can do what I want with them. What’s the point in having neat toys if you aren’t going to play with them??”

He did have a point there. But adult-Levi was going to be so mad!

“Do you want to play with me?” The demon asked with a hopeful expression. “You can even be blue Ruri-chan.” The limited edition, color swap Ruri-chan from 1999. He was gonna blow a gasket!

“Yeah. Ok.” But then again, when were you ever going to be able to touch them again.

As expected, Levi totally lost it when he came to his senses. Of course, there was no one to blame but himself, in the end, so he just had to be upset and mope alone. Thankfully, none of them were broken or beyond just out of their originally packaging. He bought them all clear showcase boxes for his ‘ruined’ figurines. Some of them he could rebuy to replace; which seemed to make him happy to have two.

Satan

It had been hours since the affects of the book had taken ahold of Satan. You were starting to wonder if they would ever wear off.

Lucifer had left in search of another book, one that might help speed the process along, and left his younger brother in your care. Of course you were happy to help, but you were getting nervous you would never see the old Satan again.

“[Y/N]-chan?” You look up from your phone, waiting for Lucifer to text you back, to see the blonde demon looking timidly at you from around the corner. 

“What is it Satan?”

“Would you….read to me?” His hands holding out the small children’s book he had some how found in the piles of books covering his room.

You smile softly at him. Your heart warmed by his request. “Of course,” you tell him, and the demon scampered over to sit on the bed beside you. His long legs and body tucked neatly into you as he waited for you to tell him the story of a little lost chicken and it’s journey back home. “[Y/N] tells the best stories!”

After 3 stories, he had fallen asleep. When he woke up, Satan was back to normal. He doesn’t answer your questions on where the children’s books had come from, but you spot the red & gold spines on his book shelves sometimes.

Asmo

There was no denying that Asmo was fascinated by art and all things beautiful. He went on and on about it any chance he got. So you shouldn’t have really been surprised when his toddlerfied self just wanted to draw all day.

“Look, look [Y/N]-chan! I finished another one!”

“That’s great Asmo.” You praise. Just like you had done with all the other ones he had handed to you. “Wow! This is really great! Is that a….chicken?”

“No, silly! That’s the white horse for our carriage when we get married!” The demon beamed, then shuffled over on his knees to instruct you on his picture properly. “That’s you, and that’s me. That’s the princess carriage that’s going to ride us off into the sunset. That’s Solomon and Simeon throwing flowers at us. That’s my brothers crying because I got to marry [Y/N]-chan and they didn’t.”

“You certainly seem to have all the parts here.” You praise. Giggling at his enthusiasm and picture.

“I want to have a perfect picture of when we get married. Because I love [Y/N]-chan! And we’re gonna get married and live happily ever after.” He replied, with certainty, with a smile.

“Well, I’ll be glad for that. Why don’t you draw me our perfect house for after we get married?” Asmo scampered off and did just that.

When Asmo came to, and back to his normal self, he took all the pictures he had drawn and framed them. Forcing his brothers and Solomon to take a tour of his mini-art gallery. The piece ‘Marriage of Two Bonded Souls’ was met with some controversy.

Beel

Beel, in his younger days, seemed to have boundless energy. Or you at least had to assume he did, because ever since he had read that stupid book he had been running around.

Lucifer had told you to take him outside. Irritated at hearing his large feet clump around the house, but trying not to show it since it wasn’t his fault. He even let you both take Cerberus outside to help run Beel out. It would be good for the pup too. Get some exercise, he said.

That had been sometime ago, and it seemed baby-Beel and Cerberus were an even match in energy. They had been running around, chasing each other, and play fighting in the back yard all afternoon. You were tired just watching them.

“Beel! Do you want to come in? I think it’s time for a break.”

Both Beel and Cerberus pop their heads up, in a comical and adorable unison head tilt, before jogging over to you. “Break time means snack time right?!”

You chuckle a little. Somethings never changed. “I brought some apple slices & peanut butter for you, for now. We can get you something bigger when we go inside.”

Beel grinned and sat in the grass with the container. “I like apple slices!”

“You do hn?” You don’t think you’ve seen Beel eat an actual fruit on its own. It was usually attached to, baked in, or covered in something, to get him to eat it.

“Yep! They’re crunchy and sweet. Just like you! Though, I guess you aren’t crunchy. Do you want one of my apple slices [Y/N]?”

You blush a little at Beel’s bright, unwavering expression. How could he look so innocent while still looking like that?

He finished his apple slices, minus one, before asking if he could go play again. You let him, but then all of a sudden he spotted playing with Cerberus and stood straight up. Seeming confused on how he got out here and what was going on. “Did I eat an apple? I haven’t had one since….do you think we have more in the kitchen?”

Belphie

It was honestly hard to tell if Belphie was under the spell of the forbidden book or not. He’d been asleep for most of the time; which was not uncommon for him. Then he would wake up and whine a little about something; again, not uncommon for him. Then he would take another nap.

You had figure out that he was still under it’s spell by the requests he was making when he woke up. Juice boxes. More plushies. His ‘blankie’. Eventually it would run its course though, and Belphie would be back to his own sleepy eyed, grown up self. “[Y/N]?”

You walk over to the bed when the demon called your name. The boy half sitting up, but still tucked under his covers. “What is it Belphie?”

“I can’t sleep.” He stated. Which seemed ridiculous since he had been sleeping most of the day. “I miss Lilli. And Be-be. Can you sleep with me?”

You blink at little at the request. You supposed it made since. Kids often wanted someone to sleep with them, so they didn’t have bad dreams or could keep them safe. Maybe that’s why he had been sleeping so much. Because he hadn’t been sleeping well, just sleep.

“Sure Belphie. I’ll lay down with you.” The demon smiled softly, sleepy, before he scooted over to give you some space to lay next to him.

He slept for a while this last time. Clinging onto you in his sleep, with a soft smile on his face. When he woke up, it seemed he was back to normal. “Gosh [Y/N]. If you wanted to sleep with me, all you had to do was ask. You didn’t have to trick me with that lame book.”

[tfwlawyers]

Not me singlehandedly going through your entire parent trap au I’m so invested even though like half of the posts are from 2015 💀

THESE THINGS HAPPEN I get such a kick out of knowing this au is still making its rounds though 😭😭

and yk what just because I know I’m never going to do anything else with this, have a 3.5k attempted scramble of fic for this au I tried writing back also in 2015. i was even less of a writer back then than I am now so it’s absolutely terrible but have at thee

“Oh, wait...” Trucy winced and tapped her earring. Apollo’s eyes widened in realization. “Looks like we have one more thing to do tonight - it’ll be super quick, I promise.”

“Oh no,” Apollo said, visibly paling, “there’s no way you’re doing that to me-”

“Then cutting my hair was a total waste,” Trucy huffed, tugging at a newly shorn lock, “because there’s no way I can go to camp with pierced ears and come home without. Come on, Polly, where’s your sense of adventure? It’s just one little pinch!”

“Just one?” he asked hesitantly, eyes now trained on the sharp needle laying on the table.

Trucy paused. “Well... I guess it’s technically two. I really only wear the one earring, but both my ears are pierced.”

Apollo sighed. “Great.”

“Nah, I got this,” Trucy said, grinning toothily. “I went with Aunt Maya when she wanted to get hers pierced, even though she chickened out at the last second.” She picked up the needle and a book of matches from the table, eyes glinting. “I had to get mine repierced because of infection the first time too. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

-

“Put that apple slice back,” Apollo said, narrowing his eyes at the piece of fruit in Trucy’s hands. “They’re acidic, I don’t need that anywhere near me and oh God you’re really going to shove a piece of metal into my ear, aren’t you-”

-

“You sure I look okay?” he asked, patting down the skirt. He squinted down at the stark white boots he’d thankfully fit into. “I’m terrified to walk in these, they look like death traps -”

“Which is why we’re practicing,” Trucy said primly, wiping her hands on a gel-stained rag. She still didn’t quite have a grasp on the correct ratio of product to actual hair, but she was much better than when they had started five weeks ago. “Now, walk towards me.”

-

“One last thing, I guess,” Apollo said, removing his bracelet and handing it to Trucy, watching as she carefully slid it on. He rubbed his now bare wrist absentmindedly, feeling strangely naked without it.

“So... this is really it. We’re really doing this.”

“We’re really doing this,” Trucy confirmed, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. For all her apparent enthusiasm, she looked as nervous as he felt. The studs in her ears reflected the morning light.

“Give papa a hug for me,” he said, smiling weakly.

“Give daddy one for me too,” she said.

They hesitated a moment more before Trucy threw her arms around her brother’s shoulders. Apollo’s arms immediately snaked around her waist, drawing her in tight. They clung to each other, silently willing and praying this was somehow going to all work out - that they wouldn’t just to get to meet their other parent, that they wouldn’t only get a few short weeks with the other father they hadn’t even known had existed, but that they could find some way to reconcile the two, that they wouldn’t have to lose anyone across the wide expanse of the Atlantic ever again.

-

“You’ve had your ears pierced,” he said almost absently, cradling her head between his hands and gently turning her neck back and forth to better view the studs. He clicked his tongue. Trucy felt her heart sink.

“Do you... hate them?” she asked tentatively.

Edgeworth’s eyes snapped to hers. They were the same soft gray color as the paint Daddy always kept too much of around the house. “On the contrary - I find they suit you incredibly well. Please tell me you didn’t get an infection.”

Her face split into a wide smile.

-

Apollo thumbed through a stack of canvases that had been shoved into a corner. There was a thin layer of dust of them; if he had to guess, he’d say they hadn’t been disturbed for at least three months - not a particularly long stretch of time, all things considered. They were clearly less polished works, lacking the technical skill and attention to detail that made Phoenix Wright a name to be reckoned with in the art community, but they were still beautiful in their own way. Paintings of vineyards and what looked like London, towering skyscrapers and calm seas and -

His father.

Apollo blinked.

The portrait of Miles Edgeworth drawn in rich oils did not blink back. Nor did the three that followed.

-

“There were a lot of paintings of the same person in daddy’s works. Some guy with grey hair,” Apollo said, struggling for nonchalance.

Maya’s grip on the mixing bowl faltered. “Is that so,” she said carefully.

“Was he one of daddy’s favorite models or something he just never told me about?”

Maya pursed her lips and continued stirring with a newfound vigor. “You could say that.”

-

“You’re not Apollo?” he asked, voice thick. “You’re Trucy?”

She smiled weakly. “That would be correct.” One strand of hair fell lank across her forehead - how did I not notice, Apollo hasn’t used nearly that much gel in years - and he absentmindedly tucked it behind her ear. He felt her press into the warmth of his hand, as if she were afraid he might suddenly vanish across the Atlantic again.

“I hope you don’t - I hope you don’t hate me,” she said, voice beginning to waver, “it’s just that Polly and I met at the camp and the whole thing sort of just spilled out. I’ve wanted to see you for so long, and Polly felt exactly the same way about Daddy, so we sort of just - just switched lives and hoped it wouldn’t take you so soon to notice. I really hope you don’t hate me, because I’ve wanted to meet you basically my whole life and I hope that maybe one day you can love me for me and not Polly and -” (this is ALL from movie tho so mix this up)

Edgeworth’s left hand came to cradle the rest of Trucy’s face, cutting her off mid-sentence. “Oh, my dear,” he said, cautiously tugging her forward. She came willingly, all but sprawling across his chest, tucking her head underneath his chin and wrapping her arms around his middle. “I’ve loved you since the day you came to me,” he whispered into her hair, blinking away the beginnings of tears he felt gathering at the corner of his eyes. He felt her tighten her hold and he did the same.

-

He poured himself a thumbnail of scotch, perfectly content to pretend he didn’t have tickets to a plane back to a state he had vowed never to set foot in again departing in less than four hours. “He was rather handsome,” he found himself admitting, absentmindedly swirling the glass and taking a sip. He paused, staring at nothing and mumbling to himself, “...had the most crooked smile. Always made me weak at the knees.”

“What was that, sir?”

Edgeworth snapped his attention back to the other man; he’d nearly forgotten Gumshoe was even in the room. “Nothing, nothing, never mind, have you seen the tickets?”

Gumshoe shrugged. That was Trucy’s cue.

“Almost ready, papa?” she asked, stepping smoothly into the room from her hiding place behind the thick wooden door. Edgeworth looked just as wild-eyed as she’d been hoping.

“Yes, of course, I’m almost finished packing -”

She didn’t even have to look at his still mostly bare suitcase to know he was lying.

“ -and you did tell your father we were coming, didn’t you?” he finished, placing his drink on a nearby dresser and running his fingers shakily through his hair.

“Absolutely,” Trucy promised.

“Ah,” Edgeworth said, fiddling with his waistcoat buttons. They looked like they’d been polished recently.

“Liar,” Gumshoe leaned down to whisper. She shushed him.

-

“Might I suggest we continue this little gathering inside,” Maya said, already beginning to shepherd the twins - the twins, she was going to need another vacation just to process the fact that they were together again - into the room. She twisted back around to look at Edgeworth, still shoving Apollo (that was Apollo, right?) forward. “Hi,” she began again, offering a free hand, “you probably don’t remember me -”

“Maya!” he interrupted, smiling warmly and bending to kiss her chastely on the cheek. His breath was sour with vodka and his glasses clunked awkwardly against her face. As he turned and stepped fully into the room, Maya’s cheeks(rp) began to hurt from smiling so fiercely.

“I knew I always liked him,” she said to no one as she closed the door.

-

This was ridiculous. This resort was full of entirely too many people who favored the same sort of eccentric clothing that man had even fourteen years ago, a disproportionate amount of them with the same slate grey hair. He almost would have written that (awkward*) expression seen from across Dahlia’s shoulder/a hotel lobby as a figment of his overtaxed imagination had it not been so much realer than the stacks of canvases in his studio. Which meant Miles was here, but he’d swept the first level of the hotel twice already after begging Dahlia to take to her room for a bit, the pool area was as depressingly empty as the inside was, and -

There he was.

Across the pool, descending the steps carefully from the inside lounge area and walking on the balls of his feet like he always did when he’d had a bit too much to drink (and why did he still remember that) was, without a doubt, Miles Edgeworth.

Phoenix suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

Edgeworth was halfway down the opposite path before Phoenix realized he should probably do something.

“Excuse me,” he said, shouldering his way through the crowd. It would be rude and more than a little intrusive to just call out his ex-husband’s name in the middle of a resort, right? Perhaps not as rude as nearly shoving the poor bellboy into the shrubbery, but, well, desperate times called for desperate measures.

He didn’t immediately notice the odd assortment of friends and family and a lumbering man in striped green swimming trunks perched on pool chairs as he stepped past, but they certainly noticed him.

“Daddy, are you okay?” Trucy asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said vaguely, refusing to take his eyes off Edgeworth. He was abruptly terrified he might vanish again if he did.

He

“Nick, watch out -”

“Hey, pal -”

“Daddy -”

With that, Phoenix collided into a passing service boy, arms pinwheeling wildly as he fell directly into the pool behind him.

-

“Hello Miles,” he said, smiling sheepishly and wringing out his tie. He fought the urge to rub the back of his neck and settled for clenching his hands into tight fists instead. “Or do you people call you Edgeworth now?”

“Miles is - Miles is fine,” Edgeworth said weakly, trying to look anywhere but Phoenix, as if this was a perfectly normal conversation they should be having for the first time after fifteen years. “My father still calls me Miles.”

-

Something warm coiled in his chest. It felt infinitely more dangerous than it had fifteen years ago.

“You always had a smart mouth,” he murmured, rubbing a swathe of cleaning ointment along the cut on Phoenix’s forehead. Phoenix hissed.

“So glad you remembered,” he bit through gritted teeth.

“Hush.”

Phoenix hmmed but stayed silent for a few more seconds, staring at Edgeworth as he dug back into the first aid kit. Edgeworth tried not to flush under the scrutiny.

-

Phoenix held his wrist in a loose grip. He should have felt clammy from the pool and the rapidly descending night, but he blazed oddly hot against Edgeworth’s skin.

“Miles, I-”

“Feenie? Who is this?”

“Dollie!” Phoenix said, shooting upright and wincing at the sudden dizziness.

-

Edgeworth’s burgundy coat was hung carefully over his arm, too thick for the warm California night. The buttons on his waistcoat glinted from a nearby streetlamp’s glow.

Phoenix swallowed.

-

“Do you have any idea where they’re taking us?” Edgeworth asked, leaning in slightly. Phoenix’s (nose twitched? something about scent memory?) and he refused to let himself acknowledge that Miles’s choice of aftershave hadn’t changed since the day they’d met. He abruptly remembered the taste of cheap wine and overly sweet cake on his tongue, felt the ghost weight of a ring fifteen years gone.

He hastily turned away.

“No idea.”

-

“Grandfather chipped in a bit -”

“Apollo,” Edgeworth warned.

“Alright, so Grandfather chipped in a lot, whatever, we’re poor teenagers, the point is,” he said, emphasizing the final word by pulling the ship’s impressive doors open with a firm tug, “it’s ours for the night.”

Phoenix whistled shrilly in appreciation, instinctively reaching out to ruffle Apollo’s hair. It was a testament to how important the night was that Apollo merely batted Phoenix’s hand away. “Seriously, dad,” he mumbled. His scowl was clearly forced, however; he felt oddly warm that he was able to finally use that word at all.

-

“Subtle,” Phoenix remarked.

“Mm,” Edgeworth agreed. “I don’t suppose we should let their efforts, however misguided they may be, go to waste, should we?”

“You just want to know who else they roped into this ridiculous scheme of theirs.”

“Oh, because you don’t.”

“I,” Phoenix said, moving to the chilled champagne propped by the windowsill and popping its cork, “have a perfectly healthy level of curiosity. It does not involve wondering what’s going on in my kid’s head. Trucy is a teenager. That’s terrifying.” He carefully poured the sparkling drink into two glasses and offered one to Edgeworth.

“I find that somewhat difficult to believe,” Edgeworth said, striding forward and taking the  proffered glass. He made certain their fingers did not brush. “Thank you.”

-

They waited until she had hastily bowed out of the room before turning their focus back to each other. “Miles, that’s why we came up with this arrangement in the first place,” Phoenix continued, nonplussed.

“Really?” Edgeworth carefully picked up his glass flute, trying to ignore the tremor he felt running through his hands. “I thought it was because we’d agreed to never see each other again.”

Phoenix’s heart clenched. “Not ‘we’, Miles,” he said slowly, spreading his hands on the tablecloth and feeling like if he missed a step here, he would risk something he couldn’t afford to lose again.

Edgeworth took a shaky draw of wine. “You know,” he said slowly, seemingly forcing himself to meet Phoenix’s eyes, “that part is unclear to me as well.”

“Oh, you don’t remember the day you packed?” Phoenix asked.

“No, I remember that day perfectly. Did I hurt you when I threw that - oh God, what was it -”

“It was Kamisar’s Modern Criminal Procedure. It left a dent in the wall from where it rebounded off my head.”

“Oh,” Edgeworth said, at least having the grace to look properly abashed. “Right. Sorry.”

Phoenix shrugged. “It’s not like I was making it that easy on you.

-

And....” Edgeworth trailed off, twisting a napkin between his fingers. “You didn’t chase after me.”

Phoenix felt (something) shift. “I didn’t know that you wanted me to.”

-

“A toast to -”

“Our children,” Edgeworth cut in. He ignored the tightening in his chest at the our.

“Our children,” Phoenix repeated slowly, as if the words didn’t quite match with what his mouth had wanted to say.

“We both got where we actually wanted to go.”

Phoenix’s eyes never wavered from his. “We did,” he said, voice strange.

They toasted again and finished their meal in silence.

-

“Apollo, what are you doing in those clothes? We’ve got a plane to catch.”

“We’re getting totally ripped off,” maybe-Trucy said. “Daddy said we’d get our camping trip and we want to go.”

“Wait, hang on,” Phoenix interrupted, “what camping trip?”

“The one Aunt Maya and I make you take us on every year before school starts,” almost-definitely-Trucy said. Phoenix began to lift his finger in triumph, sure he’d found his kid -

“ -the one behind the house that runs all the way up to Gourd Lake, remember when you fell in that one year,” I’m-not-too-sure-if-this-one-is-still-in-fact-Apollo finished.

Phoenix’s arm fell listlessly to his side. Edgeworth snorted.

Phoenix shot Edgeworth a look. Thanks for helping, one of these is yours. “This is entirely unfunny, you’re going to make your father miss his flight,” he said, shifting his attention back to the twins. Honestly, he was an Ivy University graduate and Miles was a world renowned defense attorney, how were they being duped by their own kids -

“Apollo -” Edgeworth began.

“Yes?” they both said in unison.

Edgeworth groaned. “They get this from you, I’m sure,” he said.

“It’s not my fault you’ve apparently been raising a devilishly deceptive teenager,” Phoenix quipped back, never taking his eyes off the twins. He could feel the beginnings of a migraine pound at the base of his neck. “He’s probably rubbed off on Trucy.”

The twins grinned.

Phoenix rubbed a hand over his eyes before stooping to their height once again. He stared hard at each of them, looking back and forth between their faces. “This one’s Trucy,” he said slowly, pointing a finger to the sibling in orange. “I’m positive.”

“You know, I hope you’re right, Daddy. You wouldn’t want to send the wrong kid all the way back to Germany - ”

“ - would you?”

How was any of this fair?

“Here’s our proposition. We go back to Daddy’s house, pack our stuff, and the four of us leave on the camping trip.”

“The four of us?” Edgeworth interjected. They ignored him.

“And when you bring us back,” maybe-Trucy-maybe-Apollo continued, “we’ll tell you who’s Trucy and who’s Apollo.”

“Or,” Edgeworth said, carefully stepping around and in front of Phoenix and crossing his arms firmly across his chest, tapping his finger rhythmically against his arm, “new plan. I take one of you back to Germany with me whether you like it or not.”

Two identical sets of eyes twinkled back at him.

(He felt a migraine beginning to pound in his left temple.)

-

“You can cook now?” Edgeworth asked.

“Oh yeah,” Phoenix said. “I can make pasta. And pasta. Probably more pasta, if you ask really nicely.”

“Hm,” Edgeworth said, eyebrows scrunched in mock thought, “pasta sounds good.”

Phoenix grinned, bumping Edgeworth’s shoulder. He was warm through the cotton. “Pasta it is.”

-

Edgeworth looked across the seat at Apollo. His glassy eyes reflected the flickering street lamps as the taxi sped down the empty street.

“Apollo, I -” he began, deflating as Apollo turned further away. It’s entirely justified, he thought despondently. I’d hate myself as well.

-

“Grandfather?” Apollo called, shrugging out of his heavy jacket and hanging it on the coat rack. The house was silent.

“I’ll check the study,” Edgeworth said, tugging his jabot loose. Apollo nodded and headed towards the direction of the kitchen, toeing off his shoes on the way. Pushing open the wide doors that led to the study, Edgeworth saw someone reading a paper at the desk. He cocked his hip against the door and crossed his arms. “Hello, father. We’re back.”

The newspaper lowered. It wasn’t Gregory.

“Hiya, papa,” Trucy said. The corners of her mouth were quirked despite her obvious attempts to reign in her expression. “Did you know the Concord gets you here in half the time?”

Edgeworth slipped against the doorframe. He felt the knob dig into his hip. “I - yes, I’ve heard that.”

(Edgeworth was acutely aware of the doorknob digging into his hip from when he pressed against it. “I - yes, I’ve heard that.”)

Apollo walked into the room, drawn to the sound of voices. When he saw Trucy his face split into a blinding grin. “What are you doing here?”

Trucy neatly folded the newspaper on the desk and clasped her hands in front of her. “It took us about thirty seconds after you left that we decided we didn’t want to lose you two again,” she said, eyes crinkling.

Edgeworth swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. “We?” he said, voice cracking.

“We,” a new voice agreed.

From the corner of his eye, Edgeworth noted Trucy moving to stand by the far wall of the study, giving the vaguest attempt of privacy. It didn’t matter. His eyes were trained on Phoenix, tracking his movement as he crossed the room.

-

Phoenix peppered his face in light kisses, smiling into the curve of his throat and pressing his lips to the thrumming heartbeat beneath his skin.

They eventually pulled back, desperate for air. Phoenix’s eyes crinkled - crow’s feet, Edgeworth thought wildly through his haze, he’s got crow’s feet now, I haven’t seen him this close up since - and he rested his forehead against Edgeworth’s.

“God, I’m never letting you go again,” he whispered, hands snaking around the other man’s back to pull him even closer.

-

“You want to toast with this? I’d have thought you might want to upgrade to something with a little more class.”

Phoenix smiled sloppily, pressing a chaste kiss to his temple. “You’re the only one I said I’d drink it with, remember?”

Edgeworth smiled back. He took the proffered bottle warmed by the weather and tugged his husband into a proper kiss, matching rings glinting in the dying sunlight.