#i miss them i will probably sketch them a bit more later

[mellohiizz]

hi... pride duo...?

hi anon yes indeed pride duo!! also whoever you are i love you thank you for reminding me of them and how much i love them

i really want to draw them more, but im too tired right now, so you get a little sketch<3

[magentagalaxies]

going to a comedy open mic tomorrow mostly to watch my friends (it's at a cool venue that my improv troupe performs at once a month and a few improv troupe friends are doing standup there) but when these friends were asking if i'd be interested in coming they were like "btw there's usually a ton of open spots on show days if YOU want to do something... and they're not strict about it only being standup either, people have done character pieces and sketches etc like they embrace the weirdness... and they're not strict about time limits you could probably do anything between three and eight minutes... sometimes if there's not enough people signed up they'll even let you go twice..." and i'm like god damn it i thought i was gonna take a break from aubrey but this setup is like tailor made for an aubrey appearance lmao

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + fifteen

authors note: next chapter will be a lot heavier, because we see shit play out. italicized dialogue indicates that spanish is being spoken.

ya'll better not come for me after this one either, okay! 😭

just know the plot is plotting, ya'll

if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!

cw/tw: fluff, angst, roman being a dick to anyone other than his wife, and violence

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist

words: 10k

The newly opened doors of intimacy have awakened a previously dormant part of Solana.

Something she previously thought impossible to access, permanently damaged as a result of her trauma.

But, she was wrong. 

So, so wrong.

Roman is everything she never allowed herself to dream about having, let alone actually hoped to have in real life.

Caring, considerate, gentle, patient.

Their first time together is something she’ll never forget and always cherish. But, it’s the times afterwards, sporadic over the past two days since the consummation, that have almost meant something more.

A testament to her comfort and trust in him.

Of her love for him.

Sitting in bed, in between his legs, leaning into his strong body with nothing but the thin 600 thread count sheets covering them, Solana sketches, no particular drawing in mind, just whatever is felt in that moment. And what’s felt is the image and scenery of the water, of the beauty that is Isla Mujeres. Her mom was right. There’s nothing like it.

“I think—I think I want to come back here sooner rather than later.” Solana finds herself partially wondering aloud but also wanting to pick her husband’s brain. “I know you probably won’t be able to come, and that’s okay. Maybe…maybe Bayley can come with me?” It’s both a suggestion and a question. 

Roman makes a sound against her, his lips lingering along her temple, long fingers moving gently against the side of her breast under the sheets. “Whatever you want, I’ll make happen. Bayley will go with you.”

Solana chews on her bottom lip, shading a palm tree. “But, what if she has plans?”

“She will. Plans to go with you.”

A small smile falls on her face. “How do you know she’ll just agree with you?” Solana has an idea of what he’s going to say, and she’s correct. 

“People do what I tell them to do, and if they don’t, they face the consequences. And no one wants that, so they just do it.” 

She doesn’t doubt that one bit. Because no matter how sweet and caring he is to her, that’s where it stops. With her.

Because to anyone and everyone else, he’s Roman Reigns, ruthless, brutal leader of the Bloodline.

And she’s accepted that. Accepted that he has to juggle two different hats.

She’s just happy she gets the best of him.

“I Facetime’d Naomi today and got to see Dulce.” As much fun as she’s having, as healing as this trip has been for her, she misses her sweet puppy deeply. “Guess who’s taken to her?”

Roman chuckles, looking back with a bit of shock. “Jimmy?”

Solana nods, grinning as she remembers overhearing Jimmy ask about where ‘fluff fluff’ is. “Naomi says he’s even got her sleeping in the bed with them.”

“Well, she damn sure ain’t doing that with us.” His voice takes on an authoritative tone. Not that she’s in disagreement. Dulce is too small for that. Roman would literally smother her. “Our bed is occupied.” He ghosts his lips over the shell of her earlobe. “Gonna be real busy when we get back home….”

Solana tries instead to focus on the drawing at hand versus that familiar feeling pooling in her stomach. 

Continuing with the topic in the hopes of settling that feeling, she shares, “I want to do something nice for Naomi and Bayley when we get back. They’ve—they’ve been so nice to me.”

It’s something she’s been thinking about ever since the beautiful birthday messages she’s received. Having never really had many friends, to be able to land such solid, loyal people like them is something she doesn’t take lightly. She doesn’t know quite yet how she wants to show her appreciation, but she’s determined to come up with something.

An idea crossing her mind, Solana suggests, “maybe they both can come stay here with me for a week?”

His mouth moves back to the side of her face. “Mmmhmm.”

“Like…..like a girls trip.” Solana has never experienced one of those and just the thought of having one with the two of them has pre-excitement already forming.

Roman sighs, clearly distracted by his lips exploring her face. “Whatever you want, baby.”

Turning her head to the side to look up at him, small smile on her face, Solana asks, “are you listening to me?”

Roman hums against her skin. “I’m always listening to you, Solana.” Her eyes flutter as his fingers shift and move under the generous swell of her breast. “Probably the only person that’s the case for…..” His mouth moves to her cheek. “But, it’s hard to focus with you naked like this…..”

The pencil in her hand naturally drops against the sketchbook, her head lolling backwards, lips pressing together. “Roman….” 

This is such a new experience. She’s never desired to be touched or craved such intimacy until Roman. Even with her trauma, there’s a pull that seems to have been unleashed with the consummation of her marriage.

An urge that has her thighs pressing together, something Roman most definitely takes note of. Eyes darkening with lust and something else, he asks, voice almost hoarse, “are you sore?”

She is, but not nearly as sore as she was after their first time. And certainly not to the point where she wants to decline.

“No,” is the answer she settles on, Roman’s lips on hers in a matter of seconds. She shifts her body so she’s straddling him, the feeling of him hard and warm between her legs making her moan in his mouth. Roman easily switches positions so she’s on her back, him hovering over her. 

He breaks the kiss, asking once more, “you sure?”

Solana licks her lips, forever thankful for his constant efforts to receive her consent. “Yes.”

His eyes burn with need. “Could be inside you like this all day….” He brings his hand to the back of her thigh, lifting her leg and opening her up more as he gradually descends into her slick warmth. “And definitely all night….”

Solana would be lying if she said she didn’t feel somewhat of the same way.

________

She wakes up with a growing familiar ache between her legs, soft sheets against her nude body, and her husband pressed against her, his arm draped over her, holding her close to him.

But, he’s not sleeping. She can feel his mouth hovering over her shoulder. Her smile grows a bit as she thinks about their last lovemaking session, so passionate and fulfilling. Another round of him giving her pleasure she didn’t think possible.

However, it’s when she glances at the clock and sees the time, her eyes widen a bit from the shock. “Roman, it’s almost 2 o’clock….”

He’s never been more uninterested. “And?” Lips traveling the length of her arm, he murmurs against her smooth skin. “You’d never leave this bed if it was up to me….”

His statement, half joking, half serious, makes her smile, but it also helps her realize she has to be a bit more outspoken about what she wants.

Holding the sheet against her chest, she rolls onto her back, informing, “I want to go out to the marketplace today.”

He scowls. “Around people?” 

“Yes, people.” She giggles, moving her hand to his face, beard tickling her palm. “We only have two more days here. I want to bring back gifts for Naomi, Bayley, and your cousins”

It’s the mention of the twins that makes him roll his eyes as he falls back into the mattress. “You always trying to take care of the homeless.”

Solana giggles, hovering over him, hand on his chest. “That’s so mean, Roman. They’re not homeless.”

“Then why the hell are they always at our house?”

She shakes her head, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “I’m gonna go get ready.” 

He doesn’t try to stop her, doesn’t prevent her from leaving the bed and doing just that.

And in less than two hours, both showered, fed, and dressed, they’re out of the house and on their way to the market.

Adolfo López Mateos is the municipal market and offers a trove of items for Solana to pick from. Countless authentic options for her to bring back home as gifts but also as souvenirs for herself, reminders of this wonderful place that will forever hold such beautiful memories for her.

A place that also leaves her feeling so connected to her maternal side. 

To her mother.

Roman serves as the quiet, always surveying husband who remains by her side the whole time as she goes from stall to stall. He serves as her personal shopping assistant as well, holding the growing number of bags for her purchases.

But, he handles it exceptionally well, never once complaining. Granted, she is mindful of the fact that the crowded market and all of the fellow shoppers and merchants seem to well exceed his tolerance for people in general.

So, she does make note to try to wrap it up sooner rather than later.

She’d never want to take advantage of his kindness and generosity.

Solana is at a stall looking at fabric when stiffening beside her drags her attention to her husband as well as what’s caused him to tense. 

A child.

A little girl. Around 8 or 9. She has dark hair that’s down and unruly, the light breeze in the market causing it to splash against her tanned face, hazel eyes landed directly on Roman. Her hand is outreached, a flower in hand. 

Solana recognizes it rather quickly. She steps forward, asking in Spanish, “is that for him?”

The little girl looks over and nods, directing her gaze back on Roman. Solana does the same, small smile on her face as she informs. “She’s giving it to you.” 

His expression is unchanged as he asks. “Why?”

Solana giggles. “It’s an Alstroemeria. They represent friendship.”

“This random ass kid wants to be my friend?”

Solana rolls her eyes. “She’s being friendly.” Seeing Roman has no intentions on further acknowledging this child, she gently shoves him. “Please?” The ‘for me?’ doesn’t need to be asked as Roman sighs loudly and accepts the flower followed up with a muttered ‘thanks.’

Pleased, the little girl beams, suddenly motioning both Roman and Solana to follow her.

Curious, Solana asks, “you want us to come?” 

She nods excitedly, pointing a few stalls down to where flowers bloom. Solana asks, “That’s where you got these from? You want us to see the rest?”

Another nod, and Solana finds herself following the child, Roman begrudgingly on the heel of her, committed to his not allowing her to explore a stretch of land or sea on this trip without him being right there next to her.

Even if it means forced socialization. 

Solana allows the child to guide them to the stall that’s filled with the most beautiful, intricate flowers she’s ever seen, some of which she recognizes from conversations with her mom.

“Look how beautiful…..” Her eyes land on the powder pink ones, a brief realization setting in as she asks the little girl, “are these sword lily’s?” 

Again, the child offers only a nonverbal acknowledgement via a head nod, and Solana starts to wonder if her silence is by choice or limitation. Either one, she can kind of relate to. 

Turning to Roman, Solana explains to him, “these are sword lilly’s. They represent sympathy and memories.” Memories…Solana has plenty of those. The good, to some extent, starting to outweigh the bad.

He looks more uninterested than the actual tone of his voice. “Do all Mexican flowers have some sort of meaning?”

“Some. Not all.” She answers, fingers gliding over the petals. “And it’s not always flowers native to Mexico, just flowers that we have meaning attributions for. Culturally.”

“You are correct.” A voice enters the conversation, Solana watching a woman step out back from behind the stall. Her hair is a deep onyx, thick and wavy, her skin lightly kissed by the sun that also highlights the beauty of her eyes. Fine lines give away that she has some years under her belt, but it’s hard to tell just how many. She switches languages, “You don’t speak Spanish like a tourist.”

Solana realizes she must have overheard her asking the girls about the flowers. “My—my mother was a Native.”

“She taught you well.” Her smile grows, warm and friendly, familiar in a weird sort of way. “What is your name, child?”

“Solana.” She gestures towards Roman who’s still looking just as uninterested as he’s been in any other type of social interaction outside of Solana. “This is my husband, Roman.”

“I figured.” She motions to Roman’s closeness to her, the way he stays almost hovering, protecting and caring but still pretty close. “He’s very protective of you.

Solana nods. She has no idea. “What is your name?”

“Paloma,” she introduces, removing one of her work gloves to shake Solana’s hand. The younger woman is slightly grateful that Paloma doesn’t try to greet Roman in the same manner. She’d surely get her feelings hurt. “What brings you here?

Again, a gesture to Roman with her thumb. “He surprised me for my birthday.”

Paloma makes a sound and smiles wryly. “Ahh, so it’s only others he’s unfriendly with.”

“He….he’s very quiet.” An ironic choice of words considering just who is saying them, but it’s the best word to come to mind to describe Roman without being mean. He is technically quiet, but the fact that it’s because he, in his own words, hates people isn’t necessarily something that needs to be shared. “Do you really grow all of these?”

“I do.” The proud smile on her face makes Solana smile just as warmly. “I own a nursery about twenty minutes out of here. A family business that my mother and her mother and her mother started generations ago.”

“That’s so beautiful.”

“It was….” The use of past tense causes Solana’s smile to dim a bit. She can sense there’s a story there, a story that no doubt holds some level of pain. Paloma shakes her head, gesturing to the flowers. “Were you wanting to buy any?”

“Uhhhh….” The technical answer is no. Solana would have probably stopped to admire the beautiful flowers, maybe tried to identify one or two, but it would not have gone beyond that. It’s the little girl who Solana realizes is behind the stand, poorly sneaking glances at Roman, who called them over. “Yes, I—”

“She brought you over, didn’t she?” 

“Yes.” Solana lowers her voice, asking as gently as she can. “Does she speak?”

“Yes, but she prefers not to. Very shy. Parents fight a lot. I don’t think she really gets a lot of space to talk.” And the frown is back. Solana can definitely understand that. “Do you two have plans tonight?”

“Uhhhh.” Solana turns to Roman, asking, “did you have anything else planned for us this evening?”

“If she’s trying to get us to do something around other people, yes. I’ll find something.”

Solana rolls her eyes, lightly scolding in her soft voice, “Roman, that’s not nice.”

“Solana, I’m pretty sure we had this conversation already. I don’t like people. I hate people. You’re the only one I like.”

Solana decides to win him over later versus now as she turns to Paloma with a friendly expression that contrasts her husband’s scowl. Something tells her he already knows she’s about to sign them up for something that forces him to be around people. 

“We’re free this evening. Why do you ask?”

________

“Tell me again why we’re meeting this random ass old woman for dinner?”

Solana is only seconds away from applying her lip gloss when Roman’s question deters her from her task, creating a new one in its place. Capping it, she walks out the bathroom, leaning against the doorway. “Her name is Paloma, and she’s really sweet, and she invited us.”

Turns out, Paloma owns one of the restaurants in town Solana remembers stumbling across when she was perusing other places to visit while on their trip. It’s just a crazy coincidence that Solana ended up running into her and receiving a personal invite to dine there for dinner this evening. 

And it’s an offer she didn’t want to turn down. 

“Are you sure she didn’t just invite you?”

Curious, she asks the question she’s almost certain she already knows the answer to. “Would you let me go by myself?”

“Hell no.”

“Exactly.” Walking over to Roman, Solana glides her hands up his chest, locking them behind his neck. “It’s just a dinner. We won’t even be there that long. Then…tomorrow, it’s just the two of us.”

“It could be the two of us tonight too….”

His fingers dance across the small of her back as she bites back a smile. “Roman, it’s been the two of us this entire trip already, basically….”

“You know I could never get enough of you…” He gently squeezes the sides of her stomach, sliding into reluctant acquiescence. “But, you know I can’t say no to you either so….”

She smiles and leans up and presses a kiss against his cheek, murmuring, “thank you.” Taking a bit of a mile with the inch she’s been given, she implores, “can you….try to be a little more friendly? For me?”

Roman looks at her like she just asked him to let her go alone. “Solana….”

“Just for tonight.”

“Do they even speak English?” She gives him a look that’s just another form of ‘for me?’ He tilts his head back and scratches his beard. “I’ll try not to maim or kill anybody. That’s the best you’re getting from me, baby.”

“Thank you.” She kisses him again, turning for the bathroom when he pulls her back to face him, and right away, she recognizes that look. “Roman….”

He ignores her, both casually and suggestively complimenting, “I like this dress.” It’s combined with him slowly moving one of the hands on her waist down the length of her dress until he can slip his hand underneath.

“T–thank you…” She swallows, struggling to stay focused. “We’re—we’re gonna be late.”

“Too bad.” He moves his hand between her legs, gradually sliding up her thighs. “Should have thought about that before you put this on.” He kisses her temple, asking in a low voice, “do you want me to stop?” At the same time, his hand pauses on her skin.

The logical answer is yes, but the carnal answer is the complete opposite. And desire seems to overpower logic in this round. “N–no.”

It’s the perfect answer for her husband whose full lips form into a smirk as he removes his hand to guide her towards the bed as he lays her on her back. Solana half expects him to move on top of her, but he instead moves to his knees and tugs her toward the edge of the bed.

The anticipation of what pleasure is to come makes her lick her lips, prematurely moaning his name, “Roman…”

His brown eyes flick up to her, desire and lust dancing away in his irises. 

Yeah, they’re most definitely going to be late.

________

The night goes as expected, Solana enjoying herself, and Roman enjoying that his wife is enjoying herself despite the fact that being surrounded by a bunch of fucking strangers who speak mostly in Spanish has him subtly checking the time on his watch more often than not.

The desire to pick up the language grows exponentially. Roman dislikes being out of the loop in any sort of capacity.

Solana translates for the most part, granted it’s mostly things he doesn’t really care too much about. Paloma asking what he thought about the food, requests to join in the dancing—that’s a hell no—and other pleasantries that violate his religion of Anti-Peopleology. 

Except his wife, of course.

And to be fair, they’re able to share their dinner together without many interruptions, conversation staying between the two of them, which he appreciates. He’d appreciate it more if no one was there to interrupt, but alas, Solana having a smile on her face almost the whole night makes it all worth it.

She seems exceptionally taken with the little random ass girl from the market whose name he doesn’t bother to remember. Something with an A, he’d guess. She also seems just as interested in Solana, which he doesn’t entirely not understand. She’s relatively mute with the exception of a couple of words and sentences.

It reminds him of Solana and how nonverbal she was at the beginning of the marriage. And something tells him the girl also reminds her of herself. Which makes the pull between the two make more sense than maybe he’d like to admit.

But, his inner dialogue is interrupted as the old lady approaches the table where he sits alone as Solana dances with the child, both of them smiling and laughing. 

“You’re not the social one of the two of you, are you?” She asks what he considers both a stupid and ironic question. Typically, Solana isn’t this social either. But this….this place….it seems to bring out a different side of her.

A happier side of her.

Roman only casts the old woman a bored glance. “This is her world. Not mine.”

The woman chuckles, and to Roman’s chagrin, sits down in the chair opposite of him. “Yes, I suppose this is very different from the Bloodline.”

Her statement doesn’t surprise him, doesn’t take him off guard, and that’s because Roman isn’t stupid. He would never allow some practical stranger to invite his wife for dinner at a restaurant she owns without researching her. 

Paloma Aguilar. 70. Widowed. One child who seemingly disappeared without a trace over twenty years ago. Her late husband, Ricardo, was a man who at one point entered the world of the cartel and smuggling, but it was short lived as he passed away from a heart attack at the age of 45. His brother, however, Tomas, is still actively involved, but Paloma couldn’t be farther removed.

From his research, Roman could see she truly prefers to live her life away from the in-laws business, preferring her restaurant and gardening, the polar opposite of the high-paced crime life. 

But, it would be ludicrous for her to not be aware of him and who he is, regardless of her preference to stay separate from that life.

Curious, though he already knows the answer, he asks, “when did you realize who I was?”

She smiles, “soon enough.” The lack of specificity annoys him even more than he already is. “Probably around the time you found out who I am.”

Interested to see how she’ll respond, he asks, “and just who are you?”

Her smile is small and sad. “Just an old woman living out the rest of her days in solitude.” Roman has experienced enough loss to be able to recognize when someone else has also had the misfortune of losing someone. It’s evident in her tone. 

Still, that doesn't diminish his disinterest in this conversation.

She also looks over at his dancing wife, casually commenting, “I suppose it’s true that opposites attract.”

Eager to stir this woman away, Roman responds with all the casualness. “I’m not Solana. You could be 90, and I’d still snap your fucking neck if you presented any kind of threat to my wife.”

It’s uncalled for. He knows this. A misplaced threat against an elderly woman, sure. But, it’ll hopefully be enough to get her to leave him the fuck alone. 

She smiles, partially surprising him. “Oh, I don’t doubt it, young man.” Her grin dims a bit. “I would never judge a man for protecting the woman he loves.”

Roman tenses, effectively managing to keep his reaction to her statement to himself.

Love

What the fuck is that even?

He knows…..familial love. But….romantic love? 

That’s….that’s such an unfamiliar concept. Something not even in his repertoire. 

He can’t deny that he likes Solana. A lot. Cares for her deeply, and recognizes that he needs her in his life. Needs her light in what is otherwise dark and dreary.

But…..

To say that he loves her….that’s too much. That’s too strong.

Too dangerous.

Love is weakness.

And Roman can’t afford to be weak. He won’t. Not for anything or anyone. 

Not even Solana.

But, of course, this old ass woman just has to twist the knife even deeper as she stands up to leave. “You two will make great parents.” Roman is an expert at hiding reactions to what’s being said to him, but this one takes some effort. A lot, if he’s being honest. “Your protectiveness. Her nurturance.”

With that, she finally leaves him be, but not without a million and one thoughts floating through his mind, all of them now revolving around two things he’s never considered for himself.

Love and children.

________

As the night comes to an end, Solana pulls Aurora, the sweet little girl who’s taken a liking to her and a crush on Roman, to the side. 

“I have something for you.”

Aurora’s eyes light up with all the excitement of a child eager to receive an unexpected present.

Solana hands over the beautiful journal she picked up in the market earlier that day. Originally a gift for herself, but now something that she wants to pass on to the little girl who reminds her so much of herself. 

Aurora’s mouth drops open with surprise as she accepts the leather journal. Solana smiles and explains, “When I was a little girl, I didn’t talk a lot either. But, my mom always told me that when I couldn’t speak, I could always write.” She frowns a bit, instructing. “And that’s what I did. I wrote until I found my voice. The same way you can.”

Aurora looks up with teary eyes and surprises Solana by attacking her with a big hug. Solana easily settles in the embrace, holding and hugging the little girl in a way that every child should be comforted.

Aurora pulls back and offers a simple, “thank you!”

Solana blinks back some tears. “You’re very welcome.” Her smile shifts into something teasing but also hopeful, “now I expect to see you when I come back to visit, okay?”

Aurora nods happily as she gives Solana one more hug before running over to an older woman who Solana would guess is her mother.

“She’ll never forget that, you know.” 

Turning to the source of the voice, Solana’s smile grows. “I hope not.”

Paoma chuckles and moves closer, repeating the same words. “I have something for you too.”

She pulls out a cloth jewelry bag and takes Solana’s hand, placing the bag in it. “Open it.”

Confused but curious, Solana does just that and gasps almost immediately at the beautiful gold necklace she recognizes instantly. “A Cruz de Caravaca.”

Paloma looks pleased by Solana’s knowledge and asks a follow up question. “How much do you know about these?”

Swallowing the emotion, she recalls the information taught to her so long ago. “They—they ward off evil and bring protection.” There’s an almost bitter tone that enters her voice. “My mother had one….” It’s the most Solana can bring herself to say, because her mother wore one almost religiously. And it did nothing to protect her from the evil of her father.

Or the knife that viciously tore and sliced through her body, violently ending her life. 

Paloma nods, complementing, “whoever taught you our ways taught you well.” 

Emotion burning the back of the throat, “it was my mom. She—she died when I was young.” Murdered. She was murdered, but acknowledging that feels too much, is too much. Regardless of how her life ended, it all means the same.

That she’s not here anymore.

Paloma’s expression is solemn as she lifts her right arm, turning it inward, revealing her tattoos. Two Hummingbirds. “Many years ago, I lost my daughter. And shortly after, my husband. I—I didn’t really know how to go on after that. She was my only child, and he was the only man I ever loved.” Her smile is emotional. “But then I remember that love never dies, it transcends into another form. They’re not here in the way I want them to be, but they’re still here. And every so often when I’m in my garden, I see Hummingbirds, and I feel better because I know they’re still with me. Watching over me.” 

Solana wipes at her eyes as Paloma places a comforting hand on her arm. “And so is your mother.”

It’s hard to verbalize what she’s feeling in this moment. Paloma’s words provide her with a type of comfort that feels almost motherly, an ironic feeling considering the nature of the conversation.

“Thank you.” It’s such a simple thing that doesn’t feel strong enough for how much Solana appreciates such comforting words of support. 

“You have a good heart. A kind soul. But, be careful child.” She takes Solana’s hands in her own. “My….my daughter was like you. Loving and giving. But too trusting, and it cost her her life. Betrayal and darkness can come from where you least expect it.” 

Paloma’s words confuse her. The warning aspect of it. What…what exactly does that mean?

“Stick with that husband of yours….” Paloma adds, smile gradually returning. “He is protective of you the way my husband used to be with me.” 

That ebbs away some of her confusion regarding the ominous warning, as Solana suddenly asks, almost tentatively. “Could I….could I come back and see you too?”

Paloma chuckles, and Solana almost swears she sees emotion brewing behind the woman’s wise gaze as she pulls her in for a hug.

“I’d be offended if you didn’t, child….”

________

He’s not entirely surprised to find her in the kitchen, but that doesn’t necessarily make her presence in the kitchen any less concerning. Especially when she’s supposed to be on bedrest.

Roman comes up behind her, smiling when she jumps a bit as he hugs her. Years later, some things remain the same. 

Solana turns around, a warm smile on her pretty face. “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry.” Not necessarily. He’s not sure he’ll ever be able to find it in him to be sorry for touching his wife.“Hi.”

“Hi.” She giggles as he kisses her. 

Eyes shutting a bit as he relishes in the feeling he’s craved dearly for the past few weeks. “I missed you all.”

“We missed you too,” she murmurs, moving her hands up his chest. “You look tired.”

He’s a bit jet lagged, but it’s nothing he won’t bounce back from in a couple of days. That’s the least of his concern, anyway. Roman moves his hand to her stomach, big and swollen, pressing against his abs. “You should be resting.”

Solana rolls her eyes and calmly counters, “not with how active this one is.” She moves his hand around, probably trying to find a spot where he can feel the movement. “He’s definitely your son.”

He counters, “even more reason to be resting.” 

She shakes her head, changing the subject a bit as she softly shares, “they’ll be happy to see you. I didn’t tell them you were coming home early.”

His eyes light up a bit as he asks, “where are they?”

Solana chuckles. “You already know.”

Roman makes a sound and nods, murmuring with a final kiss to her temple, “I’ll be back.” 

He walks out of the kitchen and into the hall, moving to the back of the house.

Two separate rooms, directly across from one another, each providing a variety of different activities and spaces. Most completely opposite one another. Expected, given their staunchly different personalities.

There’s no active decision regarding which room he walks in first, no specific desire to see or interact with one over the other. He just so happens to venture left vs right. 

And sure enough, as predicted, she sits at the table, so small but perfect for her. She’s focused on the paper in front of her and crayon in her hand. So focused to the point where she misses his entrance, doesn’t overhear his footsteps until he’s only a few feet away from her.

But when she does, big brown eyes landing on him, eyes that are exact replicas of her mothers, the crayon is dropped and the smile is out. She jumps up from the seat and runs over to him, Roman leaning down just in time to catch her hug, an instant ease washing over him, deeper than what’s allotted even with his wife.

This is something different, something deeper, something he still doesn’t quite know or believe he deserves to feel. But nevertheless, it’s present, it’s felt, and it’s wonderful.

When she pulls away, he finds himself pushing back some of her curls, light and fluffy, framing her face that’s the perfect combination of himself and Solana. “I missed you…” Her smile grows as he asks, eyes narrowed a bit. “Were you a good girl for your mom while I was gone?” She nods excitedly and reaches for his hand, Roman standing as she guides him over to the table where she was drawing. Roman crouches back down as she shares her artwork, an in-progress photo of the ocean, most likely scenery she’s memorized from one of their many trips to Isla Mujeres. “Is this what you’re working on?” Again, another nod as she points between the drawing and him. He points to himself. “Is this gonna be for me?”

Instead of the expected no, she answers in her voice, so soft and light. “I’m sorry it wasn’t done in time….”

A small smile grows on his face. She’s very much unlike her sister, of very few words. So much so that Roman insisted he and Solana discuss her quietness with the pediatrician to make sure nothing was wrong. And of course, nothing was. It’s just that she inherited quite literally Solana’s entire disposition. Quiet with a great big heart that seems too pure for this world.

And, unfortunately, a tendency to apologize when unnecessary.

“It’s perfect, sweetheart.” His praise seems to bring back her smile as he kisses her forehead. “Fa'afetai tele.”

She matches his smile, surprising him yet again with more spoken words vs non verbals. “E le afaina.” 

Standing back up, he informs, “I’m gonna go see your sister. Can you go help mom finish cooking dinner?” He knows Solana is almost done, if not already, but Roman also knows that personality and disposition weren’t the only things inherited. So were passions and interests, hence the drawing.

And cooking, judging by the way her eyes light up as she dashes out the room to play assistant.

Roman chuckles and walks out, hitting the switch as he moves across the hall, once again unsurprised by what he finds. She’s going at it with the freestanding punching bag, kicks that are pretty impressive considering her age. Her face is scrunched up in determination, the same face as her sisters yet so different. 

Where one is soft and quiet, the other is loud and bold. One is timid, the other adventurous. One is Solana, but this one….she’s her father’s daughter, through and through. Bold and fearless. 

“Don’t forget to point your toes.”

His deep voice breaks through her concentration as she whips her head to the side, a reaction similar to her twin sister. A huge smile breaks through that impressive focus.

“Daddy!”

Again, he moves to one knee to catch her for a hug, tight and heartwarming. She pulls back almost immediately, asking with all the excitement. “Did you see me?”

“I sure did.” He comments on what’s more than obvious. “you’ve been practicing.”

She nods with just as much excitement. “Aunt Bayley and Aunt Naomi said I’m really good!”

“You are.” He wouldn’t lie to her. She is. But, he also knows it’s because this is her passion. Where her sister finds joy in art and books, she gets that joy from movement, from fighting, her gravitation towards martial arts happening at such a young age. 

“I’m gonna be better than you!” He chuckles. At not even a fraction of his age, she already is. And it has nothing to do with her natural fighting abilities. 

“We’ll see.”

“I am!” She affirms, so determined and focused. “I’m gonna wear the ula fala and be Tribal Chief just like you, daddy!”

Roman does his best to keep that small ounce of concern hidden and tucked away. Young. She’s too young to know just what she’s asking for, the weight that comes with what he does, the truth about what and who he is.

It’s been the decision of both himself and Solana to shield the girls from it. The truth of it all. For now. As long as they can, at least. But the girls aren’t dumb either, they know he holds a high rank, one of the highest, in his family.

And his spitfire of a daughter seems determined to do the exact same.

“Cousin Jamar was saying I can’t cause I’m a girl, but I told him he’s just a stupid boy and I’m way smarter anyway.”

Roman’s eyes narrow slightly as asks the question he already knows the answer to. “And you hit him too, didn’t you?”

Even when he has to be away from home, Solana makes sure to keep him informed of all happenings with the girls, especially this one who’s already gotten in trouble a couple of times at school for her mouth.

And fist.

Her eyes drop as she pouts slightly, murmuring, “he made me mad….” His temper. She definitely has inherited that too. “No one talks about me, you, mommy, sissy or my new baby brother, or I’ll punch them in their face.”

This is the part where Roman struggles, where he tries his best to tap into that part of him that feels so unfamiliar. Because his initial response is that she did nothing wrong, that she’s doing exactly what she’s entitled to.

Protecting her family and standing up for what she believes is right. 

“It’s important to know when to fight, and it’s a lot harder not to sometimes.” That’s the best he can come up with in the moment to not necessarily let her know he doesn’t see much of an issue with her behavior. “I’ll teach you.”

Her eyes light up with excitement. “I get to train with you?” A request she’s had for at least the past two years, Roman pushing it off and allowing Bayley and Naomi to help her because his level of training is far too intense for her young age.

But

That doesn’t mean he can’t modify his approach a bit. 

“Yes!” She jumps up and down, hugging him, another small smile on Roman’s face. Some kids like to play dolls, like his other daughter, but this one….this one lives for a good fight.

And speaking of, the calmer of the two of them coming running into the room, Roman turning just in time as she smiles and tugs on his shirt, motioning for them to follow her.

“Is dinner ready?” Learning to understand her even with the absence of speech has come second nature for all of them. 

She nods, as the other one breaks the hug with Roman, asking her twin with all the excitement and competitiveness. “Wanna race?”

Roman already knows the answer, watching as his more quiet child is suddenly waiting for her sister to count them off. Seconds later, the two of them rush out the room on a trajectory that’ll lead to Solana who will no doubt chastise them for running in the house.

But they come back, giggling together as they stand in the doorway, hitting him with both a question and a demand. 

“Daddy, are you coming?”

“Daddy, wake up!”

Roman shoots up from the bed, hulking shoulders moving up and down in sync with his heavy breathing. Movement to the side of him shows him Solana shifting in her sleep, a peaceful expression on his face.

It’s the exact opposite of how he feels. 

Moving his hand through his silky, wavy locks, Roman takes the blanket off of him and carefully moves out the bed, prioritizing not disturbing his wife. 

He blows out a breath and walks out the double doors that bring him to the patio, his big body settling down on one of the chaise lounges.

It’s only then he asks himself the burning question at the back of his mind.

What the fuck was that?

Roman doesn’t really dream a lot, and when he does, they’re more along the lines or nightmares.

Night terrors when he was younger.

But this……he doesn’t even know what the fuck that was.

Children.

Roman has never really seen himself as a father, never allowed himself to think about it because it’s never really been a desire. He’s always known that he would have to create an heir to carry on his legacy, but that’s a thing of duty. Not desire.

So why the fuck is he dreaming about having not one but several children with Solana?

Solana….

Her oath a few weeks back of giving him an heir returns to the front of his mind. It makes him wonder all of sudden what her view on children is. Does she want children? Without inside knowledge of her trauma, one would think that’s an obvious thing. She would have never married him, never agreed to the arrangement when the sole purpose of the union was to create a child if she didn’t, in fact, want a child. 

But, Roman knows her, knows her trauma. Knows that she was forced into this.

Which makes him incapable of shooting down the possibility that maybe she doesn’t even want children?

And then he thinks about her tonight, thinks about the permanent smile on her face as she interacted with that little girl, the way she interacted with several of the children present who came up to her.

She looked….she looked happy. 

Content.

And of course, the now haunting words of the old woman who Solana also seems to have heavily gravitated towards: 

“You two will make great parents.”

Thinking about and being completely honest with himself, he sees it for Solana. Could….could see her as a mother.

But seeing himself as a father….that’s something he can’t answer. Can’t understand, really. 

The same way he can’t understand why there’s a small part of him that’s upset he woke up.

Upset that the dream didn’t last just a little bit longer. 

Upset that he’s now thinking heavily about what the old lady predicted.

Himself and Solana as parents. 

Fuck.

First the love comment, now this?

Damn that old woman.

________

Something is off with Roman.

Solana has noticed it ever since the night of the dinner at Paloma’s restaurant. She figured it was maybe because Roman really can only withstand so much social interaction. Chalked it up to him needing the night to sleep it off.

But, it was there the next day and the day after that and even as their trip in Isla Mujeres came to an end. 

On the jet ride back home, he’s quiet, working diligently on his work laptop. She tries her best not to think too much of it, because it’s not like he’s ignoring her. He still talks to her, still interacts with her, still touches her, but it’s just….off.

There’s like this….this distance that she can’t understand.

A distance that hurts. 

It’s why she stands in front of the bathroom mirror, trying to not get too into her head over her dress. It’s probably the most risqué thing she’s ever worn, more skin showing than she would prefer to be exposed. But, a small part of her hopes it will catch Roman’s attention.

Hopes it can progress the touches into something more.

Because along with his distant behavior, there’s been a lack of intimacy between them. And that’s especially hard for her to not think too much about. Because, to her, it was going well. She….she enjoys being with him in that way. Being that close to him.

She thought he did too.

Roman suddenly knocks on the bathroom door, asking, “you almost—damn.” Him stopping himself puts a smile on her face. 

Solana chews on her bottom lip, asking, “do–do you like it?” She then motions to her chest that’s heavily exposed. “I know it’s—it’s a lot.”

Roman moves closer to her, eyes raking over her slowly, hand moving to the back of her, under her dress, cupping her ass. “You sure you don’t want to stay in tonight?” A small smile starts to form on her face at his suggestive tone. “The two of us…naked.”

Her stomach flutters with excitement. This is the first time in days that he’s expressed any desire to be with her in that way, and now she’s beyond grateful that she pushed past her insecurity and put on the dress. Because it’s brought out that side of him that she’s been missing.

The side that makes her feel like he wants her.

A hand on his chest, she murmurs, “when we get back.”

Because while she also has a desire to be intimate with him, she’s also excited to see their friends.

Naomi, Bayley, and the twins inviting her (and naturally, Roman) out to a VIP lounge to have a belated birthday celebration since she wasn’t available to do anything with them for her actual birthday. She’s excited to see them, to be around her friends. 

“Are you….” Solana doesn't know where exactly it comes from, the bravery and confidence to ask what she’s about to, but it seems to leave her mouth before she can really think too much about it. “Are you okay?”

His gaze takes a curious tone. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs, suddenly nervous about how to word it right. “I don’t know. You’ve just seemed….kinda off the past couple days.” He swallows, and she sees something flash in his eyes, something he shoves away. Something she’s now just as curious about. “Is–”

“I’m fine,” he answers. For some reason, she has a hard time believing that. “Adjusting to being back has just been irritating. I’ve never taken a vacation before, so shit has just been an annoying adjustment.”

Solana nods, believing there could be some truth to that. She doesn’t doubt it’s been an adjustment for him. But, there’s also this nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach that there’s something else he’s not telling her.

“O-okay.” Something tells her this conversation will need to be revisited, just not right now. Not when it’s clear he has no desire to express whatever is really bothering him.

Roman dips his head and kisses her cheek. “Let’s get out of here. The sooner we get back, the sooner I can be inside you.” She giggles, gasping as he slaps her ass. 

“Roman!”

________

The lounge is beautiful. Reminiscent of an upscale club, minus the packed bodies and loud music. It’s clearly geared toward upscale clientele, and the second level of the lounge has been rented out, space cleared for their small party.

Something she greatly appreciates. Both for herself and Roman. Her husband already sacrificed so much of his preference to be isolated from others vs surrounded by people on their trip. 

The group separates naturally, Roman and the twins with Solana sitting near Bayley and Naomi, the two women nearly bursting at the seams with a ton of questions/statements.

“How was it?”

“We already know it was nice considering we barely heard from you.”

“Dulce mama was out here living her best life.”

“You got a lil tan too!”

“We want to know everything.”

Solana giggles, shrugging. “It was really nice.”

Bayley scoffs, “just nice? Girl, you gotta give us more than that.”

Solana opens her mouth, pausing a bit. “I mean….we spent a lot of time together.” Her eyes fall over to Roman who’s surprisingly engaging in conversation with Jimmy and Jey. Solo, as well. His presence surprised her. 

She didn’t know he was coming. Not to mention, she didn’t think he’d want to be present for anything that’s not required when it comes to her.

“And?”

Solana knows they’re not intentionally asking about sex, but their questions are unintentionally pointing her to share just that. And for some reason, most likely the trust and bond she’s formed with them, she’s not opposed.

That doesn’t stop the maddening blush from forming on her cheeks as she shares, “we—well, we finally, umm—”

Loud gasps interrupt her, Naomi being the one to ask the infamous question, “Solana, did ya’ll….” Solana chews on her bottom lip, nodding softly.

Bayley and Naomi have to cover their mouths to hold in the screams that would no doubt draw all of the wrong attention.

“Oh my god, that’s amazing! I’m so happy for you!” Bayley exclaims, suddenly asking with all the protectiveness, “he was good to you, right? Didn’t pressure you—”

“No. No. Never.” That’s probably the easiest thing to answer. Solana doesn’t know how to properly express how good Roman was to her. Has been to her. “He was—it was perfect.”

Naomi smirks, playfully nudging Solana’s shoulder. “We told you it was great with the right person.” They couldn’t have been more right. “So….was it just once or—”

Bayley scoffs. “We cannot be asking her all these intimate details!” Only to then casually ask, “so like how big is his dick really?”

Naomi falls out laughing while Solana’s eyes widen at the graphic nature of Bayley’s question. 

“So you can ask about his dick size, but I can’t ask about how many times they’ve done it?”

Bayley protests, sipping some of her Vodka as she counters, “my question is for science.”

“Bullshit!” 

Solana shakes her head, giggling as she coyly answers, “we…it’s been a couple times.”

Naomi smirks. “Okay, girl, I see you. Ya’ll went to Mexico and got freaky.” Solana takes a sip of her bottled water, more than certain her cheeks are a red, hot mess. “Seriously though….I’m happy for you. With what you’ve been through, you deserve to have a happy, healthy, sex life. Every woman does.”

“She’s right.” Bayley agrees, and Solana finds the emotions brewing again. 

Never did she think it was possible, that she could have just that. A healthy sex life. Just how she never imagined she would end up with someone as amazing as Roman. Yet both of those things are exactly what have happened, and she’s never been happier. 

“Wait, does this mean we’re gonna be godmothers soon?” Bayley asks an otherwise normal question that has Solana still in her seat. 

Naomi chimes, “I mean, she’s not allowed to be on birth control, and I know Roman had to have broken his condom only rule since they’re married so….”

Solana has a hard time saying anything, has a hard time not thinking about something that should have been considered the moment that barrier was broken.

Roman and Solana have consummated their marriage.

They’ve had sex. 

Several times.

Unprotected sex.

They are actively having unprotected sex.

Naomi is right in that not once did Roman bring up protection. 

It has her wondering now if he didn’t bring it up because, in his mind, they’re now working on creating an heir?

But, she dispels that theory pretty quickly, remembering how determined he was to help her not feel any pressure regarding them conceiving a child. He’s never seemed too concerned with that part of their marriage deal.

Unless….

Unless it was because they weren’t sexually active, but now that they are….

Suddenly, another conversation with Roman regarding just what the plan is for that is on the agenda.

Along with whatever it is that’s bothering him that he won’t open up about. 

Bayley and Naomi must pick up on her change and mood, switching the conversation to something regarding some mess that kicked off at the Warehouse between Nia and some person named Mia. Solana does her best to follow along when she feels her phone vibrate in her bag. 

Pulling it out, she unlocks her phone and opens up messages, specifically the unopened thread from an unsaved number.

Unknown: Did you really think you would get away with fucking us over?

Unknown: You were warned.

Unknown: What happens next is on you.

The phone drops out of Solana’s hand the minute she’s done reading the text. She can barely breathe, barely process what’s happening as her head snaps up, eyes frantically searching for the one person who’s now been kicked to the front of her mind.

Roman

She spots him, expression unreadable as he sips on a beer, speaking to Solo.

Solana jumps up from the sofa, ignoring Naomi and Bayley asking what’s wrong. She kicks her heels off and makes a beeline straight for him, uncaring about the bodies she has to squeeze between, the few individuals who she actually shoves out of her way. Something at any other time she wouldn’t dare consider doing. But this isn’t any other time, this is life or death.

Literally.

“Roman!”

His eyes snap with hers seconds before she successfully makes her way over to him. Her heart feels like it’s about to beat out of her chest. She can barely breathe, and she’s certain that she’s trembling, but none of that stops her from rushing out, “we have to get out of here!”

His hands move to her face, cupping it, taking note of her frantic state as he asks with all of the protectiveness. “What’s wrong?”

Eyes watering, she opens her mouth. “I—”

That’s as far as it goes, the most and only thing that she’s able to express because before she’s cut off. Roman’s gaze lifts above her and the last thing she sees is the slight widening of his eyes as he shoves her to the side of him with so much force that she slams against the ground, her head bouncing off the carpeted floor.

But, that’s not what catches her attention. Not the shock of him pushing her so harshly, putting his hands on her in a way she would have never thought possible. No, that’s not an issue at all, because the sound that only seems to have registered upon her fall is what has her attention snatched and fixated.

A single sound that she hasn’t heard in years.

A gunshot. 

And then chaos.

There’s shouts, there’s screams, there’s people running around in a mass panic, but a single voice cuts through all of that: clear, loud, furious. “Get her out of here now!”

Roman.

And it’s the sound of his voice that makes Solana snap her head to the side, eager to lay eyes on him in the midst of this chaos.

But, it’s when she does that everything changes, the world stops and time stands still.

“No.” She can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t move, can’t function because all she can focus on is the sight of Roman’s men with a perimeter around him, guns lifted and aimed, ready to fire off at a moment's notice. “Roman!” She tries to climb up off the floor, tries to get to him, to see him, to touch him. 

Solana is unable to look away from the sight of him holding onto his shoulder, face grimaced in pain, blood seeping through his long fingers.

But before can get to him, before she can actually touch him, another voice calls out, “cover me!” And she’s suddenly off the floor, body pressed against a stranger, the interaction causing her to try to jerk away. 

Partially because of the contact, mostly because she needs to get to Roman.

“We gotta get you out of here!” Solo’s voice, harsh and determined, makes her realize he’s the strange body that she also now realizes is trying to get her the hell out of dodge. “Now!”

And it’s right then and there that another gunshot rings out, followed by several more.

Solana’s panic nearly triples as she tries to push him away, tears burning her eyes, “no! I’m not leaving him!” Solana beats her fist against Solo as he continues to drag her, Solana begging, “don’t make me leave him!” The tears are spilling over, the last glimpse of Roman showing Jimmy and Jey rushing over in his direction. “Please!” Solana continues to cry out his name, fighting a losing battle against Solo who is successful in ushering her out of the emergency exit located in the back. 

Once outside, he has to keep dragging her down the fire escape staircase, because she doesn’t stop trying to push him away and doesn't stop from trying to get back to Roman. Solana can’t stop replaying the nightmare that has just become a reality. 

She has no idea where Naomi is. Where Bayley is. Only able to see the twins and Roman before she was ripped away from the scene.

Roman….

He pushed her to protect her.

Moved her out the line of fire and took the bullet intended for her.

He’s been shot because of her.

He’s been hurt because of her.

And it’s all her fault.

[corroded-hellfire]

Ok, ok, I have a question about As You Wish. Will reader's friends who appeared in "just-a-spark" (Peter and Tony if I'm not wrong) appear again? Because I'm a bit curious about their reaction to the news that she is dating Eddie. if they were teasing her when they met him for one second, I can't stop wondering about what they would say after knowing they are actually together.

I love love love this idea! I feel like this is a little bit of redemption for Eddie too lol. Here’s Just a Spark for anyone who may have missed it ☺️

Words: 2.2k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Eddie had planned a romantic picnic at the park, complete with your favorite sandwiches, a few pudding cups that the boys are sure to notice are missing later, and a bottle of wine. What Eddie hadn’t taken into consideration though, is that the park is the same place where the playground is, that has children running around, screaming, crying, and laughing. It didn’t make much sense to leave two children with Wayne just to be surrounded by dozens of them.

Luckily, there’s a park closer to your college campus that students like to spend time at. No playground, just a lush green field with large, leafy trees dotting the property to provide shade on the sunniest of days. 

It’s mildly crowded there as you and Eddie arrive and pick a spot near a small trickling brook that runs over smooth stones in shades of grays and browns. Your boyfriend shakes out and lays down a yellow checkered blanket and sets the tan wicker basket down smack down in the middle. 

“After you,” Eddie says, sketching an overdramatic bow and gesturing for you to sit. With a soft giggle, you tuck your legs underneath yourself and settle down on the ground. The moment his body is seated next to yours, you’re lunging over and slipping your arms around his neck. How were you supposed to contain your happiness when your handsome and thoughtful boyfriend did all of this just for you? 

Eddie chuckles and lets out a puff of air as he’s knocked back slightly, originally leaning forward with the intention of opening the picnic basket. Before he can open his mouth to ask what this affection was for, you begin pressing kisses all over his face. A peal of laughter rings out of Eddie as your kisses become more fervent, as if you’re trying to make sure you didn’t miss a single inch of the skin on his face. Large, ringed hands rest on your waist and Eddie manages to bring you even closer to him so you’re straddling one of his legs.

When you inevitably need air and pull back, your lips are kiss bruised from all their work and the scruff on Eddie’s jaw. The two of you look into one another’s eyes as you attempt to catch your breath, reveling in your own personal little bubble.

Eddie’s throat tightens as the pressure of tears builds up behind his eyes. Not only did you just show him some of the cutest affection he’s ever received, but you did it in public. There were people all around. People your age. Probably people you recognized from classes or seeing around campus. But you still attacked him with kisses right here in the open. Almost like you’re proud to be out here with him. Eddie has to clear his throat and wipe his nose to cut the emotion off before it becomes too much. 

No one has ever acted this way with him in public before, though. The most his ex-wife ever allowed was a quick peck on the lips outside of the house. And that was on a good day. Honestly, he was lucky if he got to touch her at all—whether in public or in private at home the last few years. 

“Was that too much?”

Eddie’s attention comes back to the present and sees your brow pinched in concern. He can’t shake his head quick enough to reassure you.

“You have no idea how much I loved that, princess.” One of his hands comes up to cup your cheek. The softness of your face nuzzles against the roughness of his palm and the contrasting textures feel like heaven for both of you. 

“Do you want to eat?” Eddie asks.

You strain your neck to try and peer inside the basket. 

“Did you make this?” you ask, trying to contain your teasing smile. It’s no secret that Eddie could burn water. 

“I made the sandwiches, yeah,” Eddie says, wrapping his arms around your middle and pulling you flush against him now. “Believe it or not, I’m capable of spreading condiments and stacking cold cuts between two pieces of bread.”

“A step up from pouring cereal into a bowl. I’m proud,” you joke, a playful smirk dancing on your lips. 

Eddie sighs and shakes his head as he tugs the picnic basket closer to the two of you. You assist him in unpacking everything before getting comfortable between his spread legs. The taste of mayonnaise and turkey fills your mouth as you lean back against your boyfriend’s chest. He chews on his own sandwich as the two of you sit there in a companionable silence. 

A cool breeze blows through the park, shaking the green leaves that are now dark and full again in the springtime. The babbling of the water falling over the stones and rocks in the brook is one of the most calming sounds you’ve ever heard, and it leads you to closing your eyes. The sounds of nature around you, the wind kissing your skin, and the man you love warm and solid behind you have you feeling a sense of peace that you’re not sure you’ve ever felt before. It seems like there was always something to worry about in the past. A test, a fight with a friend, some stupid boy, money troubles, family drama, you name it. But this moment is serene. Nothing could be wrong when you have Eddie here with you. 

Both of you stay seated like that after you’ve finished eating your sandwiches and the only reason you move is because Eddie’s stomach rumbles so loudly against your back that you can feel the vibrations from it. A cackle of laughter explodes out of you at the sound and sensation as you sit up. 

“Pudding?” you ask.

“Ooh, sounds good,” Eddie says. 

Pushing yourself onto your knees, you shuffle over to the basket and reach in, fumbling around to find the Snack Packs.

“Do you want the van—oh!”

A neon green frisbee landing right next to you on the picnic blanket startles you, stealing your concentration away from the dessert. There’s a black insignia on top of the frisbee and as you lean in to get a closer look, you realize that it’s your college’s crest. 

“I’m so sorry about that!” A voice calls as it approaches you. A familiar voice, you think to yourself. 

Sitting back on your heels, you twist your body to see who’s coming up behind you. 

Surprise steals your breath as you lock eyes with Tony, your friend from college that you haven’t seen in a little while. But coming up behind him is Peter, who you’re decidedly less eager to see. He’d started out as a good friend but after one date (that you’d only agreed to in your attempts to get over Eddie anyway) that was less than stellar, he hadn’t accepted “no” as an answer for a second one. Luckily, you’ve been able to dodge him for most of this spring semester. 

“Didn’t mean to almost nail you in the head,” Tony says with a sympathetic chuckle as you hand the frisbee back to him. It’s not surprising that he’d thrown the disc so far though, since his biceps are the size of your head. 

“It’s okay,” you reply with a small smile. Your eyes flit over to Peter, and you see him watching Eddie wearily. It takes everything in you not to roll your eyes. Out of the two men, Eddie isn’t the one who you’d have to sleep with one eye open around. 

When Tony’s gaze shifts to Eddie as well and you see recognition spark in his eyes, the memory of them all meeting one another at the Fourth of July Fireworks comes back to you. Where, if you’re not mistaken, Peter was a bit of an asshole and even Tony made some comments that weren’t the nicest. 

Disregarding whether they got a proper introduction that day or not, you scoot back over towards Eddie and curl up against his side. 

“Guys, this is my boyfriend, Eddie.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the older man give your classmates a smug smile as he slips a warm, comforting arm around you. 

“Eddie, this is Tony,” you gesture towards the shorter man who could be The Hulk’s body double. “And this is Peter.” The taller, tanner man nods his head once, his blunt jaw-length hair bobbing with the motion. 

“You two,” Peter says, motioning between you and Eddie, “are together?”

“We are,” Eddie responds, glee dripping in his tone. You can practically hear the thoughts running through your boyfriend’s mind. 

That’s right. She’s with me.

There’s a pregnant pause where no one says a word. Laughter from others in the park and the nearby barking of a dog are all you can hear. 

“Cool,” Tony finally says. His voice cracks at the end of the word, a clear sign of the fake cheerfulness he put into it. 

“Explains why it didn’t work out between us,” Peter says softly, as if part of him didn’t want you to hear him. 

Your eyes nearly pop out of your head as you feel Eddie’s arm tense around you. The eyes of all three men land on you: Tony’s curious, Peter’s worried, and Eddie’s wondering if you want him to say something for you. But you’ve got this. 

“No,” you say slowly, dragging the word out. “That would have everything to do with your shitty personality and the fact that you used a gift card to TGI Fridays on our first date. And you stiffed the waitress, so I left her the tip. And you’re a trust fund baby!”

Peter scoffs, his brown face turning red all the way up to the tips of his ears. He looks away from you and digs the toe of his Reebok sneaker into the grass. 

Tony presses his lips together so tightly that they almost disappear while Eddie buries his face in your neck to hide his laughter. The shake of his shoulders gives him away, though. 

“Whatever,” Peter mumbles. “Have fun with your old man.”

“Oh, don’t you worry,” you call out as he begins to turn away, “I do!”

Tony suppresses a chuckle at your words while you can feel Eddie smirk against the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder. 

“Well, uh,” Tony says, clearly unsure of how to follow your little outburst. “Guess it’s not Peter’s week. He was badgering Cailee for a date and on Thursday she kneed him in the balls.”

Both you and Eddie burst out in laughter at that, the mental image of the gorgeous strawberry blonde being especially amusing to you since you know the girl. 

“Oh, I wish someone got that on video tape,” you say. 

Tony chuckles and nods his head in agreement. “Well, I’ll never hear the end of it if I don’t follow him. But it was nice to see you. And, uh, nice to meet you, officially I guess, Eddie.” Your classmate steps forward and offers his hand to your boyfriend.

Eddie leans forward and grasps Tony’s hand, shaking it and nodding his head in agreement. 

“You too.”

Neon green frisbee gripped in one hand, Tony gives you a small wave with the other before he turns in the other direction and jogs after Peter.

Once he’s gone, you sigh and slump against Eddie’s solid body next to you. 

“You know,” Eddie muses as he slings his arm over your shoulders, “when I saw you with those guys on the Fourth of July, I was insanely jealous.”

“What?” you ask, tilting your head to look up at him.

“Yeah,” he says with a soft chuckle. “I saw you with these young guys, hanging out, having fun. Made me feel even older. I started feeling sorry for myself. But look at me now. Got the girl of my dreams and that shithead got kneed in the balls the other day.”

An airy giggle bursts out of you at the reminder.

“And by the prettiest girl at our school,” you add.

“No,” Eddie says with a shake of his head. He doesn’t miss a beat. “That’s you.”

“Eddie,” you say, playfully rolling your eyes, “you’ve never even seen Cailee.”

“I don’t have to.” He makes it sound final, simple as that. No room for arguing. “Tony doesn’t seem like a bad guy.”

“No,” you agree. “Just a dumb college boy sometimes.”

“How lucky am I that dumb college boys aren’t your type?” Eddie asks, tilting his head and giving you a shit-eating grin. 

“Hmm,” you hum as you reach up and lightly trace your fingers along his stubbled jaw. “Nope. I’m definitely into sexy dads with tattoos and curly hair that I can really grab onto.”

“Never been so happy to not be younger,” Eddie mumbles, making you laugh. The sound lights up his face and he flops down on his back, tugging you down on top of him. “God, I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You lean down and press a quick kiss to his nose. Just as you’re about to open your mouth to say more, Eddie’s stomach growls again, making you giggle. “Pudding cup coming right up.”

Eddie pushes himself up on his elbows and watches as you climb off of him and crawl over to the picnic basket to grab him a snack, an adoring smile glued on his face.

“God, you’re perfect.”

[dduane]

This started out as a straightforward attempt to create the first of a series of model sheets for the Daz Studio versions of the Middle Kingdoms characters, and then turned into something else.

(Adding a cut for the discussion of digital-design and medieval-history stuff. Caution: contains more than most people's recommended daily dosage of iron.)

In particular, the above was supposed to be a straightforward side-by-side, which-one-is-longer comparison of the two products used to represent Herewiss's sword Khávrinen and Freelorn's sword Hergótha. (And naturally, where these two are involved, who's-got-the-longer-one discussions are routinely likely to devolve into good-natured teasing of a very different kind. So the original sketch-y version of this was tagged "Size Queens.") :)

...What still amuses me at this end of time was that from the start of the series, I had an extremely clear sense of what Khávrinen looked like. Probably this wasn't a bad thing, in that The Door Into Fire has as a constant background motif the (until then hopeless) business of Dusty actually forging it. So it shocked me to discover some years after finishing the first novel that the sword I'd invented in my head was absolutely a dead ringer for one in the typology of medieval swords categorized by the renowned weapons scholar Ewart Oakeshott: the Oakeshott type XVIIIa.

It's a good sword for a man to be forging when he's intent on never having to do it again once he's got it right. The hand-and-a-half sword, also sometimes called the "bastard sword", was developed to cope with 15th-century European battlefields on which the styles of fighting (and of armor) were changing, and which required a more versatile weapon that was good both for cutting and thrusting. Fortunately the digital-object maker who goes by Valandar has had a group of historically-accurate swords on sale for some time now, and the one I use for Khávrinen is one of these: a digital replica of the so-called Sword of Albrecht II.

The other sword in question—the one needed to stand in for the ancient rulers' sword of Arlen—caused me a bit more trouble.* For the first two books of the series (and most of the third) it was missing; so there was no real need, early on, to give too much consideration about what it needed to look like. But when work on book 3 started, I then knew about Oakeshott (and was married to someone who knew a whole more about him than I did). So I did my homework, and the choice for the sword devised in the deeps of time by Héalhra Whitemane eventually fell on yet another of the Type XVIIIa swords: the so-called Sword of Edward III.* Valandar's digital version of this weapon now stands in for Hergótha the Great—Freelorn finally (during the events of The Door Into Sunset) having relocated the family heirloom after its seven-year MIA period.

...Anyway, the model sheets will have to wait for the time being, as there's more time-sensitive work on the desk. I may come back to this concept later using more neutral backgrounds... assuming I can solve the problem that means characters sited inside these lighting schemes seem to have trouble actually getting their feet (and/or swordpoints) to rest flat on the surface under them. The floating-an-inch-above-the-ground thing kind of breaks the sense of reality...

*After having been thought a fake for most of the last century, it's now looking as if this actually was Edward III's sword. A rarity, when misattributions are so common...

[cheshiresense]

[From Here]

Dithered over which pov to write next, figured I’d try Yuzu.

-0-

When Yuzu gets a phone call from Ichigo that they would be having two guests for dinner tonight, she is delighted. In all the years she’s known him, her brother has only ever introduced one person to them as something of a friend. Mizuiro is half a sibling at this point, trusted enough to be around them even when Ichigo isn’t, but before him, and after him, nobody else has ever caught Ichigo’s eye enough to warrant an actual invitation to dine with their family.

“They’re related to ghost stuff,” Ichigo adds bluntly, and Yuzu understands that to mean that these two will at least be tougher than the average yakuza on the street, even if they can’t match up to her brother.

“I understand!” She chirps back cheerfully. “I’ll let Karin know. I can’t wait to meet them!”

Then she hangs up, rolls up her sleeves, and gets to work in the kitchen. No guests of her brother’s will ever accuse them of being ungracious hosts on her watch.

(Karin comes home from soccer practice half an hour later. She laughs, as Yuzu does, when Yuzu tells her of their impending guests.)

-0-

Two hours later, Yuzu is putting the finishing touches on the meal when the sound of the door being unlocked carries through the apartment.

"Welcome home, Onii-chan!" She calls out, plating the last dish before carrying it over to the dining table. "Dinner's ready!"

She can hear Karin leaving their bedroom and coming down the hall on deliberately heavy footsteps. She appears just as Ichigo comes in from the front, Mizuiro a step behind him, with two men bringing up the rear, vaguely middle-aged at first glance, younger at the second, and then just ageless the more you stare.

They're tall, is Yuzu's first thought, but everybody's tall from her perspective. Still, they're taller than Ichigo, especially the one in the very back, and bigger too, even if they've got that same elegant dancer's gait her brother walks with, the one that whispers danger in the hindbrain even to those who don't know what to look for. They're also both blond, one darker than the other, but both with hair that nearly reach their shoulders. One wears modern clothing, the other more traditional, and one is empty-handed while the other carries a cane, but both of them take in the whole room in one calculating sweep that misses nothing. And they're both already smiling politely as they walk in, one with a harmless playful edge, the other with a harmless mysterious air, but both as fake as each other.

Yuzu exchanges a glance with Karin just to check she's not seeing things. Karin gives her the eyebrows that means she's noticed too.

Mizuiro had given off a far less dangerous aura when Ichigo had first brought him home. And he still feels much less threatening than these men now, no matter how much Guest One and Guest Two are probably trying to play it down. But back then, Mizuiro had also come in with sharp eyes and a guileless skin-deep smile, and that at least is exactly the same.

Their big brother sure does have a type. Yuzu sometimes wonders if Ichigo goes out and picks the most suspicious and unsettling people he can find to entertain him, or if he just somehow attracts them with his innate charm.

"My sisters, Karin, and Yuzu," Ichigo introduces without suspense, then jabs a thumb at Mizuiro. "And Mizuiro lives next door but he eats with us when we're here."

Then he gestures at the two men. "This is Hirako Shinji and Urahara Kisuke." He pauses for a brief half-second, and his eyes flash gold in Yuzu's, and Karin's, direction. "Hirako's a bit like me." He pauses again, and a funny half-smile hitches at one corner of his mouth. "They both are actually."

He says nothing else, so Yuzu takes that as her cue to sketch a neat half-bow paired with a bright smile. "Hello! It's nice to meet you!"

Beside her, Karin parrots the motion, if in a more perfunctory manner, but they weren't raised in a cave, so they know how to be courteous.

The men murmur back their own greetings even as their gazes shift back and forth between them and their brother like they're trying to pick up on a second unspoken conversation, but it's not as if there's anything for them to hear either way.

It's just that the introduction was short, names and little else, so Yuzu knows that they're equally untrustworthy, which makes sense because Ichigo couldn't have known them for more than a week or two. But the little else he'd tacked on had been a sign as well— not just that they're like him in some ways, in different ways, but also that Ichigo likes Hirako more than Urahara. Nevertheless, the fact that he'd brought them here at all means that they're interesting enough to make them both tolerable.

Yuzu understands, as does Karin, but they give no indication of it as everyone shuffles around to wash their hands, and Yuzu quickly scoops out a bowl of rice each for everyone in attendance.

"Onii-chan never invites anybody over, so I made a lot of extra food today," Yuzu tells them happily. "Please eat as much as you want!"

"Everythin' looks delicious," The darker blond, Hirako, grins at her, and this time, the expression seems more genuine. At the very least, it gives her a warmer feeling than the other blond, Urahara, who also smiles and trills agreement but radiates more distance than an overseas phone call.

Everyone settles around the dining table, although Mizuiro spares a moment to pull an exaggerated moue of aggrievement. "Never invites anybody over? Have I been forgotten, Yuzu-chan?"

Karin rolls her eyes while Yuzu giggles merrily. "You don't count, Mizuiro-nii-chan. You already eat with us almost every day anyway."

Mizuiro drops the act in favour of a smirk, though he looks pleased too, to be counted as family, as if the novelty of it still hasn't worn off. To be fair, it had taken a whole six months before Ichigo had been willing to leave him in the same vicinity as Yuzu and Karin on their own, and Yuzu knows that being trusted like that by her brother is no small feat.

Conversation drops as everybody begins digging in, and Yuzu lets her gaze drift casually over to their guests as they too pick up their bowls and chopsticks.

It's Urahara she lingers on first because he's the one who lifts his bowl to his mouth, only to stop at the last second, chopsticks poised. His expression doesn't really change, and the lapse only lasts a fraction of a second before he's moving again, smoothly pretending to eat a mouthful before lowering his bowl again, chewing and swallowing thin air masterfully. Even Yuzu only spots it because she's been watching the whole time from behind lowered eyelashes as she grabs some eggplant from one of the vegetable dishes.

She lets her gaze drop completely when she feels the man's eyes move from the food to her and then to Ichigo. Still, she can't quite suppress a pout, although she supposes she can't be too disappointed either since Hirako at least eats a good five bites of his rice before suddenly stiffening, glancing down sharply even as his eyes flicker with the same burnished gold colour that her brother possesses.

Then he looks up, looks at Urahara, looks at her, looks long at Ichigo, and then-

-he laughs. It's a bark of one that echoes with a snarl, except the mirth in it is also entirely genuine, enough for Yuzu to glance up with startled eyes. But the rest of the table does as well, so at least she doesn't stand out. Of course, that doesn't prevent Hirako from grinning at her, all teeth, with a bite that would feel like claws at her throat if not for the fact that it's coloured by something even warmer than when he'd complimented her spread. Appreciation, maybe.

"Is it the rice?" He muses candidly, and then actually eats another bite. "Nah, can't be, it was from the same cooker. It's the bowl, right? Not bad, I can't smell or taste anythin'."

Yuzu blinks and shares another look with Karin, who looks largely bored by the proceedings and hasn't stopped eating. Soccer practice always makes her hungry. But she also shrugs in agreement that Hirako is being sincere, so Yuzu relaxes and looks at her brother next.

Ichigo also hasn't stopped eating, although he isn't shovelling food into his mouth as speedily as Karin is. He swallows, glances leisurely at their guests, then looks back at her. "Not bad. Nothing in the food though?"

Yuzu frowns. "It's the first time you've invited them over, Onii-chan. I didn't want to scare them off."

Also, they're tolerable, and Ichigo even likes one of them, so she'd chosen the mildly poisoned bowls over the severely poisoned ones.

Ichigo just looks amused. "They don't scare easily."

Yuzu pouts again before glancing at their two guests, who are both watching them openly now. Hirako still looks like he's just heard a grand joke, while Urahara seems more than a little bemused, but neither of them feels angry.

Her big brother really is an excellent judge of character.

"You really didn't notice anything at all?" Yuzu asks in earnest, peering at Hirako before squinting at Urahara. "Then how come he did? And did you already shake the poison off?"

Hirako snorts and reaches for the communal chopsticks to swipe another chicken wing. "My... constitution's pretty good at negatin' toxins. And Kisuke's trained for this sort of thing."

Trained? Yuzu stares wide-eyed at Urahara long enough for the man to stop exuding caution and start manifesting awkwardness, which isn't what she wants so she hastily blurts out, "Are you really? So you can identify any poison? But the one I made is an original, so you shouldn't have come across it before."

Urahara stares back at her for a long blank-faced moment, not even bothering to stitch on a smile anymore, and like this, he matches the flat undercurrent of his emotions much better, like ice over water, except the water is the ocean and you don't know how deep it goes or what's waiting underneath.

"Ah," The man finally says, lifting a hand to his hat for a moment and pressing down on it so that his eyes are hidden. Then he looks up again and eyes her like he's seeing her for the first time and is pleasantly surprised by what he's found. "I may not know the exact poison, but I could still tell there was something off. Also, it's plant-based, isn't it?"

He pauses, and then, just like Hirako, he picks up his rice bowl again and swallows a decent mouthful, chewing almost thoughtfully beforehand. "And refined with reiatsu. That's actually more difficult to hide from me. Your technique is clumsy too. Give me an hour and I could probably also tell you the strains you crossed to make it. For now, at the very least, I can say there's definitely wisteria in this."

Yuzu is rendered speechless for a full five seconds. And then she snaps out of it and rounds on her brother with the best puppy eyes in her arsenal. She knows they don't actually work, but Ichigo tends to give in to her when she pulls them out anyway because it means she really wants something. "Onii-chan, you'll invite them back again, won't you? Urahara-san is amazing! I could learn so much if he teaches me!"

Ichigo's eyebrows go up for a moment in a way that speaks of indulgence, but he also glances lazily at Urahara before going back to his food. "Ask him yourself."

Yuzu pulls up short, always slightly stunned whenever her brother refuses her, even when it's not a direct refusal. But generally speaking, if she or Karin wants something enough to ask for it, Ichigo has always been the sort to simply make it happen for them. The only times he's ever refused is when he'd thought it too unnecessary - Karin really shouldn't have asked for a flamethrower for her birthday, it's unwieldy and she can't hide it in her backpack, plus they know how to make Molotov cocktails already anyway, which is almost the same thing - or when he'd considered it important for them to get what they want on their own, usually because it would make for a useful life skill in the future.

Never has it been because of a person.

But for the first time ever, this situation seems to have fallen into that exact category, which... She looks back at Urahara with more curiosity than before. For someone Ichigo only finds tolerable, something about this man has... impressed him? Is that what's going on here? Not even Mizuiro has ever succeeded in that before, so for once, Yuzu has no precedent to draw from.

Well, that doesn't matter right now. The important thing is that Urahara will probably remain in her big brother's life for some time to come, which means-

"Urahara-san!" She shoots to her feet, chair clattering back with the force of it as she bows. "Please teach me more about poisons! It's okay if it's just a little bit, whenever you have time. I promise I'll work hard! And of course, I can pay for the lessons!"

She does some mental tallying. There's a bake sale coming up for her club, and the venue they've chosen is close enough to the Karakura border to attract people from the neighbouring town. If she plays her cards right, some thugs from nearby yakuza groups probably wouldn't mind donating to her cause. Pretty little girls offering pretty little cakes are bound to reel in at least a few idiots.

Of course, she'll have to ask Ichigo to get rid of them afterwards. It's better not to risk putting anything too lethal into a school bake sale, just in case of an accident, so she'll have to stick with upset stomachs at most. Once they've paid up, Ichigo can make them disappear. Those upset stomachs can get really gross, and blood and guts aren't much better if cleanup gets messy, so Yuzu would rather not deal with that part.

Unlike her siblings who don't mind it, Yuzu is unfortunately something of a clean freak. Karin always taunts her about having inherited their father's delicate constitution, and Yuzu can't even refute it, no matter how insulted she feels. It's seriously unfair because she can gut a fish in the kitchen no problem, but human intestines make her gag.

"I-" Urahara starts, jolting her out of her thoughts. The man looks taken aback all over again, and like he's missed a step somewhere. He even feels a bit nervous as he whips out a paper fan of all things, one that hides half his face from view. His gaze bounces between her and her brother, emitting enough anxious vibes that Yuzu suddenly wants to give him an emotional support dog or something. "I'm not sure I would be the... best choice for this sort of thing, Kurosaki-san."

Yuzu is unsure who he's talking to, but just in case it's her, she rearranges her face into the most kicked puppy look of disappointment she's capable of. "Why not? You know your poisons, and it looks like it'll be hard for me to kill you. Onii-chan can only teach me so much, it's not really his area, so I've only been able to trial-and-error it for months now. But I'm a quick learner, and I swear I'll listen to anything you're willing to teach me. Or, is it the money? Just name your price."

Even if she can't come up with it all on her own, she's certain Ichigo will help pay the rest. Honestly, even if it's within her budget, he'll just pour the same amount she shells out back into her bank account. The only reason they have to go in a big circle like this is because Ichigo wants them to learn how to handle money responsibly.

"That's not-" Urahara stops again, then snaps his fan shut, and then all of a sudden, it's like a wall comes up, and everything about him shuts down. He straightens, features as unreadable as the rest of him, and then he turns to Ichigo so that it's unmistakeable who he's talking to this time. "Kurosaki-san, is this really alright?"

Ichigo's basically finished eating at this point. Karin gets up for another bowl of rice. Mizuiro watches them like he's binging one of his romance dramas. And Hirako has his head propped up against one loose fist, eyes half-lidded but intent.

In response, Ichigo only shrugs. "I mean, you can say no. But like she said, I can't teach her much more than I already have, and it's not like she's gonna find a better teacher than you at this point, right?"

"And where did you learn it from?" Urahara asks, grey eyes riveted on Ichigo with the sort of focus that feels like he might've forgotten anyone else even exists.

Ichigo actually quirks a smile, sardonically amused. "Same place I learned everything else."

He doesn't expand on it, keeping the conversation on track instead, much to Yuzu's delight. "Anyway, if you're asking for permission, obviously it's a yes. I wouldn't have let her ask in the first place if I wasn't okay with it. And she's smart. You could do worse for a part-time student."

Urahara remains motionless and unblinking for another few seconds. "...Was this why you invited us for dinner?"

Ichigo shrugs again. "Not really. It's not like I knew you knew poisons. I just thought my sisters should meet you, that's all."

"And why's that?" Hirako interjects, also watching Ichigo with gleaming eyes that never waver. "Cuz ya don't seem the type to let jus' anyone get close to your nearest and dearest."

Ichigo turns to him, and his eyes are fond in a way they very rarely are when aimed at anyone not Yuzu or Karin or Mizuiro. It's not quite on the same level, but it does make it even more obvious that Hirako has her brother's favour.

"I thought it'd be good if they knew a few Shinigami," Ichigo says offhandedly, although judging by the slight stir of surprise from both guests, they hadn't expected he would just come out and say it. Or perhaps they're surprised he's talking about it in front of Yuzu and Karin and Mizuiro? But they're family. Yuzu doesn't know everything about Ichigo, but that's just because she doesn't want to know that much about her brother's life, not because Ichigo wouldn't tell her if she or Karin asks.

"You seem like you might bring trouble to my doorstep one day," Ichigo says, somewhat out of the blue, and all at once, Urahara tugs at his hat again just as Yuzu gets a sense of shifty-eyed discomfort all but waving support lights over the man's head. Hirako sort of feels the same, but in a less... personal way.

So whatever's going on, Urahara's probably the one in charge.

Ichigo seems to sense it too, or he's long guessed it considering his not great feelings for Urahara. Either way, he scoffs, and the light in his eyes says he's annoyed, but not annoyed enough to do something permanent about it. Yet. "Yeah, that's what I thought. So I figured it's better for you to know who you should do your very best to protect if shit goes down around them, because otherwise, I might not even feel like hearing you out. Understand?"

Hirako glances at Yuzu, at Karin, even at Mizuiro, then he turns back to Ichigo, solemn in a way Yuzu hasn't seen since they met, "I understand."

It sounds like a promise.

Ichigo hums, satisfied. Neither of them prods at Urahara for an answer, and Urahara doesn't give one. He feels flat again, like a scrap of paper.

"So like I said," Ichigo continues briskly. "If you wanna teach her, knock yourself out. You can send me the bill."

Yuzu beams at him. Looks like she won't have to waste any cakes.

From his seat, Urahara heaves a sigh, and now he just seems tired and still a bit baffled, but he also finally looks at her again like he's assessing her potential. Yuzu straightens and adopts her best imploring face.

This of all things makes Urahara's mouth twitch, and he even feels amused, except it's the sort of amusement that's all wrapped up in razor-wire mockery. That bit doesn't show on his face of course. Still, Yuzu's fingers suddenly itch with the urge to swap out his bowl with the other one after all.

"So clumsy," The man muses, one finger tapping at the cane leaning against his chair. "...Very well, I suppose I may have a few things I can impart to a budding... chemistry enthusiast. On one condition however. And I don't want money."

He looks at Ichigo again, except he doesn't say anything. Ichigo seems to understand anyway because a grin pulls at his lips, a touch too savage to fit on a human face, and aimed at anyone else, Yuzu knows they wouldn't even have time to pick out a coffin.

Urahara seems to be an exception. It makes Yuzu wonder if he's just that strong, certain in his ability to forever remain stronger than her brother, or if he's simply gambling with his life, and it's Ichigo instead who's decided to be uncharacteristically patient.

She hopes it's not the former, because she has no faith in anyone who thinks themselves capable of staying ahead of her brother forever. But if it's the latter, then maybe she'll have enough time to wheedle out everything Urahara knows of poisons before Ichigo snaps and kills him.

"That seems a bit unbalanced," Ichigo remarks.

Urahara inclines his head, and this time, his voice rings of the same vow that had reverberated in Hirako's earlier. "Upon my blade, my life before your family's, should the worst come to pass."

Ichigo laughs, soft and without humour. "This trouble must be something else. That, or you don’t think your life’s worth all that much. But fine. We'll hash it out tomorrow. Keep your word, and I might even go along with whatever you and your people have been cooking up. But Yuzu gets to bug you for lessons any day of the week from now on."

And once again, between one breath and the next, Urahara trades the gravity for the false affability from before.

It's like watching a performance, Yuzu thinks.

She glances at her brother and watches him watch Urahara, still annoyed, still a bit like he could put a knife through the other's ribs if it wouldn't mean the hassle of mopping blood off the floor.

Ichigo likes Hirako. Yuzu does too, even though they just met not even half an hour ago. There's something about him that makes him approachable and friendly despite the very obvious beast lurking beneath his skin. But that too might be part of the charm because Yuzu's long used to the same thing from her brother. Knowing even just that much, it's not a shock that Ichigo has clicked with him - a fellow monster - in a way he never has even with Mizuiro.

But Urahara is different. Urahara is treated with tolerance only, with irritation and discontent and even derision, on and off. But Yuzu knows that her brother has killed people for a whole lot less than that, and yet here Urahara sits at their family's table while Ichigo looks at him from time to time, tolerant and irritated and discontent and derisive, and he can't stop looking.

She wonders if even her brother is aware of what he's doing.

"I'll leave my number," The man offers, complete with a genial smile. "And you may stop by my shop anytime. Allow me a few days, and I shall have some reading material organized for you."

Yuzu perks up, nods, and finally sits back down, then gets up again to fetch two extra bowls of rice, this time clean of any poison. Hirako snickers but accepts his with a nod. Urahara does the same, with that same winning smile, and then dinner restarts, this time uninterrupted.

Well, who cares if Ichigo is aware or not? He’ll figure it out sooner or later. And besides, it’s all the same in the end— people who push her brother too far will face the consequences, and those who don't will not. That's just the simple truth of it.

But in the meantime, Urahara at least won't be going anywhere, which means Yuzu can finally get some guidance for one of her favourite hobbies, and honestly, that's all she really cares about.

[neoncolorblocks]

How do you think if rise trutles raised the 2012 trutles,what choas would happen?

I dug around in my files and found a few sketches I cleaned up for the idea. They’re mostly Raph themed, since older sibs are far easier for me to write. Also 2018 Raph is somewhere around 6’ 5” I think? And the 2012 babies are only about 9-12 inches? I don’t think he’d ever let them out of sight from the anxiety of being a giant amongst babies lol. They all like him too so that helps.

I head cannon that the 2012 babies are similar to their teen counter parts except maybe Raph and Leo. Raph’s mostly the same but the small inferiority complex between him and Leo hasn’t happened yet. I imagine leo being more openly cautious and anxious than his more confident teenage counterpart. He grows into confidence rather than being born with it, also he’s very attached to his dad, respectful and obedient for the most part you can’t tell me he wasn’t a bit timid as a kid.

Also hc Leo has separation anxiety as many sibs and young kids do.

They all miss their dad

I will probably make more fluffy doodles later but all that I drew at the time was angst.^^””

[digoload]

the paladin line up!!! (click for better quality)

This is a part of my voltron AU that I already did a bit of art on this here. i'll probably update my foolish design at some other time but there he is for now.

Under the cut -- my reasons for these particular characters, plus some sketched story ideas i had for them/their backstories prior to canon.

(also, yes - qtubbo tucks his jeans into his socks)

Green Paladin - Tubbo. He's green already, fantastic. Also, a nerd like Pidge and naturally curious. I considered other Create-oriented QSMPers for green lion but I think Tubbo fits the best!

Yellow Paladin - Missa. For a while I was gonna make Forever the yellow or blue paladin, but then I realised the whole cast would be wayyyyy too zany or weird. We needed a sturdy, relatable character. Someone who was scared. Someone who didn't really want to be there. Someone who would have an unlikely romance with a menacing purple rebellion-leader alien in space. I knew Missa was perfect for the job.

Blue Paladin - Etoiles. We don't know the specific qualifications for someone to be the blue paladin (thanks Lance), but there are some clear similarities between Lance and Blaytz (I know Allura doesn't really fit with the pattern towards the end of the series, but work with me here), so I sort of made up my own requirements. 1. screams with joy when they get to pilot their lion. 2. dogboy. 3. ready to throw down. (season 1 allura fits all 3 of these, but arguably not really towards s6-7-8). I kinda relate him most to Blaytz out of all the blue paladins.

Red Paladin - Roier. You KNOW it had to be Roier. Who else. Literally who else. The man is red. Ready to throw down. Trusts his instincts. Angsty backstory. Right-hand to the guy who takes the lead in most situations. Also, just in general, I have a vivid vision of qroier in the red lion's cockpit. He could totally pull it off.

Black Paladin - Cellbit. The other characters I considered for this role were bbh and philza, but in the end I liked them more with having alien roles mainly due to their backstories (BBH as an immortal soul-guide demon and Philza as an avian). I just think that Cellbit would fit this role better. He already sort of heads the Order, is associated with the colour black as well. But most of all. I think there's a lot of potential for an angst arc where he goes off on his own for some dumb self sacrificial reason I guess, or maybe because of his extremeee trust issues, and neglects his leader duties because of this. and then there's a whole lesson learned kind of thing, maybe roier brings him back, etc.

Now for some backstories:

I think Tubbo would follow Pidge's backstory and motives pretty closely, given his penchant for breaking into the federation offices and snooping around (very Pidge-like behaviour). The thing I struggled with was getting someone to be kidnapped by space aliens that Tubbo cared enough about to go searching for. I already have plans for Fred, Phil, and the eggs, and they're the main things that drive qtubbo. Also, ideally, they'd have to be somewhat older than Tubbo in order to be on the Kerberos mission in the first place. For a while, I thought about somehow having Tubbo and Pierre being connected, but they're not super close in canon, even if he would make an Excellent Sam Holt.

BUT THEN I REMEMBERED: MORNING CREW. ITS PERFECT. I don't think they'd be directly related, but Pac as Matt Holt just works so well. I think Fit and Ramon would be rebel fighters that free Pac from the Galra and they sort of fall in love that way, but Mike was on the Kerberos mission too and is still missing, and that's Pac's main motivation.

So I think the best people for the Kerberos mission crew would be Pac (technician), Mike (engineer), and Cellbit (pilot). Cellbit obviously takes Shiro's role (sans robot arm, that's Etoiles' duty later on - this AU would divert from VLD canon pretty early on). Roier never gives up on Cellbit, just like Tubbo never gives up on Pac (and Mike). Except unlike Tubbo, who has to purposely get enrolled at the Garrison as a cadet in order to get intel, Roier is already graduate from the same class as Cellbit. He KNOWS there's a coverup of some kind, but he has no way of proving it. Fortunately, an old upperclassman/ex-tutor believes in him enough that he believes in Cellbit too, and together they get to work on figuring out this mystery. When an alien pod crash lands, they know they've got to get a closer look.

Missa is an unfortunate decontamination unit first-responder who gets in the way. They can't just leave him behind to sound the alarm - he has to come with them while they rescue Cellbit! Unbeknownst to them, Tubbo has already taken out the alarms and is also on his way over. Miraculously, they all escape with their lives, and magic space lion adventures ensue.

I feel like none of them would really have any time to change into casual clothing, so they're all in uniform. Cellbit would probably still be in prisoner clothing but tbh I just didn't think of that lol. Also, I wanted to draw him in a garrison uniform that wasn't detox or combat oriented. There are so many cool garrison uniform designs out there so drawing the same one twice was kinda soul crushing lol. cant wait to show you guys their individual character sheets!!

[snowfallenapocalypse]

Howdy Slay the Princess friends! I wanted to show off my Voices designs, they’re still very likely to change cause I’m still not quite happy with all of them, but I hope you enjoy them! :3c

Explanations and a few extras below the cut! :) (This ended up being a kinda long post so be warned!)

For the most part I try to use the same body shape for all of them, with the only differences being their accessories and some beak variation. None of them have wings either- I don't like drawing them that much so they're reserved for TLQ

Alright here we go- explanation time!

Hero - Knight's helmet based on the default warrior class helmet from Miitopia, no clue if the feather, ponytail, thing... is his actual feathers or part of the hat and I probably never will. I love how he looks even if the helmet sucks to draw

Broken - Shackle and chain around his neck, not much to say about this guy, I was a bit worried it was too similar to the Prisoner's shtick at first but it's grown on me

Contrarian - Jester's cap, the most common defining accessory I saw for him in fanart and thought it fit. Probably gonna change him cause the current iteration doesn't feel quite right. (Either hat redesign or something new)

Opportunist - A tie and ripped dress shirt, I wanted a smarmy business-ey feel for him but didn't think a nice shirt would fit in with the aesthetic of the game, so I gave him a ripped one (he probably found it on the ground somewhere)

Paranoid - Perfume pendant, I adore this concept but have had a hard time conveying it properly. The pendant is filled with smelling salts in case he needs to wake someone up. I want to keep this concept so much but I know it has to go through a few more designs cause I don't really know what it's supposed to look like. Planning on adding another necklace and maybe a clock?

Smitten - A shawl with heart shaped embroidery and a flower broach, I... Don't know how to feel with this one? It doesn't quite fit Smitten's exuberance but I don't know what I would give him instead. Will probably change later if I do come up with something better

Hunted - Hooded cloak, for camouflage :0 (it's a very short cloak though basically only covers his shoulders.) I drew him twice so you could see both versions, realistically he'd always have the hood up but I find it hard to draw and doesn't look as good so I don't bother, (it probably looks weird because the hooded version is missing the feather tufts, I added a quick sketch of the hood with them below)

Cold - A hole in his chest (shamelessly based on Mad Rat Dead,) Cold didn't seem like the type to have any worldly possessions so this was the most literal way I could convey his 'heartless' personality, it is kinda bending my rule of giving all these guys unique accessories but it fits him quite well so I don't mind

Skeptic - Detective hat, this is another one that I think looks a bit weird due to the lack of tufts (version with them below) and I don't know how well this fits his personality, but Skeptic is probably the voice I'm least familiar with so I'm kinda just ignoring redesigning him until I get a better grip on his character (I also don't really know how to draw this hat- I tried my best lol)

Cheated - Cut off tuft and scars, I had a really hard time coming up with this one and I'm still not quite sure how I feel about it. It's another one that bends my rule of having accessories but I couldn't think of anything to put on him that fit the vibe of 'Being salty from repeatedly losing to someone using hacks in a game.' (Yes, that's how I summarize Cheated's personality lol)

Stubborn - ...Isn't here, Oops? Yeah, you probably noticed but I don't actually have a design for him yet. I might give him a cape? idk. He's another voice I don't really have a good grasp on, I have to play through his chapters again :')

Anyways! I had put my sort of 'design rules' for these guys in an older version of this post but I ended up not vibing with it so I edited it out- I like the post a lot better without all the excess stuff

And finally as the send-off to the post (and a thanks for reading all) here's the extra bits! My one Long Quiet full body, the Hunted and Skeptic sketch with their tufts, and a bonus Opportunist cause I realized you can't really tell what the shirt looks like lol

[uchihaharlot]

I love your sketches about the Uchihas. I want to ask how a Uchiha men would react if you wanted to break up with them because of their bad habits and attitudes towards you?

You would want to break an Uchiha’s heart?? 😂😂😂 NONNY!!!! Lol, it’s barely five am and I’m laughing a little, in a good way, but this is so sad!! The curse of hatred loves this one simple trick.

I can’t for the life of me think any one of these men were really that flawed — I also am an Uchiha sympathizer, so …. Nothing but heart breaks by the dozen and maybe you were a bit blind!! The gods have spite them all of a sudden, you couldn’t look past just a few small things?? Their attitude towards their home, clan and family are things they won’t ever change for anyone!

I hope you sleep well at night! 😂😭

SFW; super sad Uchiha’s having their heart broken because Nonny here, can’t seem take the bad with the good (sarcastic here, but I can’t stop chuckling).

Madara:

What a bad older brother for putting his baby brother before you! How shameful, you are so so so jealous!! Jealous enough that you can’t seem to deal with it.

‘Didn’t anyone ever tell you blood is thicker than water?’ Those are the last words you ever hear out of Madara’s mouth! He’s entirely indifferent to your break up, in fact… ‘it’s probably best this way…’

Obito:

‘You think I’m too soft?’ When you told him to grow backbone he started to weep. Damn him for worshipping you, praising you and giving a damn about you! (😭🥹😂) Like a fucking dog with its tail between its legs, Obito stuffs his hands in his pockets and just turns heel to leave!! If by this point he hadn’t earned the Mangekyou Sharingan, he certainly did after this!! Will always keep tabs on you, in hopes you will return to him.

Shisui:

‘Is that really how you feel?’ He’s flabbergasted and sad to no end, you can’t stand that he puts the safety of your home before anyone else’s needs. Including yours and his, the village needs strong Shinobi and Shisui is never going to not defend his home with honor (he would die trying!!!). So much for being self sacrificing. He actually thought of jumping off a cliff before Danzo stole his right eye!! Shisui loves you so much!!! His heart is broken, his best friend, Itachi, spends so much time just reaffirming that Shisui is a great man! That he didn’t do anything wrong and you are just a girl, nothing more.

Itachi:

What do you mean he is too absorbed with himself?? He’s a high caliber shinobi!! Sorry sis, I think Itachi is rather unfazed, you didn’t get the reaction you wanted and two weeks later realize what you’re missing. By then he’s found Izumi. Which was always his intented anyway, and thankfully for you teaching him that love may hurt….but the grass is always greener on the other side!

[foxufortunes]

So like I was actually having this discussion in the comments of one of my fics at stupid in the morning, but like having thought it through for the day I'm here to messily rant my thoughts on the complicated relationship between the upperclassmen, mainly Dan, and the monsters, mainly Andrew, and Wymack. How Dan is terribly self righteous and hypocritical and lets her emotions get in the way of her captaincy at times. How Andrew doesn't care for the discomfort and fear he causes others and even revels in it, even without provocation. And how Wymack, for better or for worse, is a hands off coach who can't/won't inflict meaningful punishments on his team, even enabling their worst qualities and habits, as part of his ideal of giving people more chances and how that can create a hostile team environment.

Aka, I'm about to throw slander in every direction, because these are flawed, messy characters and trying to make any of them perfectly innocent or always right does a disservice to the well sketched, messy, imperfect, flawed characters Nora created. Blame goes everywhere and no one is innocent. Trauma is a reason, not an excuse.

Buckle up, guys, this is about to get long and messy.

So, let's start with Wymack, who's a bit trickier to explain than Dan and Andrew, but is also the reason they've been brought togethers. Wymack, as we see him on page, is a massively hands off coach, especially when you compare him to Coach Rhemann. Now, it's very possible that this is actually because Nora either wasn't confident/good enough to write him coaching vs where she is now ten years later, or because she didn't want to focus there (although logically for exy junkie Neil's pov that would be weird, but whatever, that's not what we're talking about) but whatever the reason out of universe, it leaves us with Wymack as hands off as possible in universe. (Also, sidebar, some people in this fandom need to learn that out of universe reasons still need to have an in universe reason, "it needed to happen for the plot" is an out of universe reason, but I still need to know why the characters did it beyond "for the plot" or it's bad writing, stop using that for an answer about "why did character X do Y?")

Anyway, Wymack lets the team basically run amuck and sort themselves out, and even enables their worst habits. I think its canon that Abby gets a tip when "random" drug tests are happening, and they certainly don't do anything to enforce the no drugs policies the school and NCAA and probably ERC would have. Wymack brought a bunch of troubled kids together and seems to have no plan beyond letting themselves work it out and Betsy's here if there's trouble. This is why the Matt situation happens. You let a struggling to stay sober drug addict be around other not even trying drug addicts, of course Matt was going to get worse. This is actively bad for him. And in turn then actively bad for Aaron.

His relationship with Andrew is a bit more complicated. Now, I need you to forget everything you know about Andrew through Neil and his backstory for a moment, and just look at Andrew through Wymack's eyes as he first met him. Andrew has been to juvie, and is currently on parole for another violent crime that Wymack may or may not know the actual details about and on medication that Wymack may or may not know what they actually are and do. Andrew asks to come off of them. Wymack says yes. Now, even putting aside the legality of this, Wymack took the unilateral decision that Andrew knows best about his meds and can come off of them. Now, we can talk plenty about how Andrew's medication is portrayed in canon, but plenty of people don't like meds that are actually good for them and try/do stop taking them, often without telling a doctor they're doing so. There's also the fact that, again irrelevant of what we know as the story goes, Andrew regularly drinks, smokes and misses doses, things that can all make medication not work as it should. Wymack is not a doctor, for all he knows he could actively making Andrew worse by allowing this, but does anyway, for a good defence line.

(Also another side note, where does canon get off calling the Foxes a laughing stock? They're five years old. Seth was part of the first batch, right? So they're five years old and made the championships in their fourth year of existing as a team, fuck off are they dead last laughing stocks.)

And this is part of what I don't get about Wymack. He both wants to win above what's good for his team and doesn't at the same time. For example, he's so hands off and enables their bad habits, things that could kill them and actively harm them. He puts Andrew on the bench because he doesn't need a third goalie despite him being better and seemingly rolls with the hierarchy of age over skill, which implies team feel goods over victory but is so invested in staying Class I he semi-regularly lets (and yeah, it's lets not makes but still) Andrew harm himself playing full games on withdrawals (again, as far as he knows potentially stopping his meds working right). And while it could be argued his situation with Andrew is more not wanting to give up on Andrew, that is an the expense of his other players. Anyone who's ever been in a situation where one or two people are hostile/seemingly unpunishable knows how bad that makes everyone else feel.

Because, let's be real, Andrew is unpunishable and they all know it. Cardio is one thing, but he doesn't go through with marathons and nothing else will work. Andrew doesn't care for his own contract, and even if we actually believed Wymack would go through with any threat again Kevin, Nicky or Aaron's contracts (and we all know he wouldn't) Andrew would probably sabotage the game in protest or just outright quit. Andrew gets away with everything and everyone knows it and that can quickly see your team stop respecting/trusting you or feeling safe when you say they are. It's a very dangerous line.

And this is where we finally get to Dan. Because yes, Dan hates Andrew, and is unprofessional in her bias against him. But I think we often forget where this comes from. You often see people talk about Columbia, and Andrew drugging Neil, and should Neil have been angrier, how his trauma impacted him moving on so quickly and whether Andrew's reasons were valid or not because he thought Neil was a threat. And sometimes you see people talk about what he did "to" Matt. Which, yes, wasn't great, and yes, Matt took the drugs himself, but really it wasn't a great move from Andrew. But how often do you see people talk about what he did to Dan?

I mean, let's get some context here. Andrew and Dan barely knew each other. Dan is already getting shit from every angle for daring to be a woman playing and captaining an exy team (and if you hc her as a woman of colour, double this) in a period of time where colleges did (and still do) have a terrible reputation for covering up the horrific assaults committed by their best NCAA athletes. And Andrew, with no provocation, or reason, invites her out, to his home turf, with his family, to a bar he worked out, without anyone to support her and look after her, and drugged her. To find out if she was a women worth following. Not because she was a threat. Because he wanted to find out what type of person she was. He wanted her tragic backstory and he wanted it now (something people criticise Dan for demanding a lot, by the way). Andrew and his group show no remorse and face no real repercussions and then go on to enable Matt getting falling off the wagon and taking potentially lethal mix of drugs, because his mom said it was fine so it's ok and it all worked out, ends justify the means, and is allowed to just carry on with again, no meaningful punishment. Because no harm, no foul, right? (funny how you'll apply that to Andrew but hate when Thea said it, huh?)

Is it any wonder Dan doesn't like or trust Andrew?

And lets be clear, Andrew does nothing to discourage this. Andrew doesn't want to be understood, he doesn't want to share. Andrew is not here angsting because no one understands his attempts to making friends (except maybe, big maybe, Aaron not understanding his attempts at brothering). Andrew is fine if the team doesn't trust him. He encourages it, because trust means friends means feelings means weakness and that's ew. It's not hard to see how, from Dan's pov, Wymack can't/won't punish Andrew and is more interested in winning so won't kick him off the team.

At the same time, Dan is just as complicit in Andrew's breaking the law and hurting himself by missing meds as Wymack. Again, for all she knows, his meds help him, and skipping could actively harm the help they're giving him. Again, she's putting winning, because they have this amazing goalkeeper, above both Andrew and the team's health, and then complains when he lashes out. Some meds need a consistent balance to work, and maybe if he wasn't skipping every Friday to help you win he'd be more stable (we know this isn't the case, but they don't). There's barely any resistance put up to the idea that Andrew plays entire games, because she also wants to win more than she cares about Andrew's health, while at the same time not caring about winning more than her pride, like the rest of the team who are more interested in fighting than winning.

Now, of course, Andrew doesn't care. I think Nicky has it right early on when he says Andrew doesn't care about your boundaries, just his. Andrew is here mostly because he wants to keep Nicky and Aaron close and sees providing value for them (protection, scholarships, controlling protection ect) as the only way to really do it. Andrew sees life as exchanges. But, for all we act like Andrew lives on fair exchanges, he doesn't. As I said, he drugged Dan because he wanted to know about her, what did he give her in return? Nothing. He violated her autonomy and gave her nothing in return. Not even his own backstory. Arguably not even respect. (please, take a minute to imagine how pissed you would be if someone in fanfic wrote Andrew being drugged just to get him to spill his trauma without him even being a threat to anything, or look at how people react to Neil's Columbia scene).

The upperclassmen constantly ignore and violate Andrew's boundaries in very clear ways, and any normal team would have backed off ages ago (or called the cops the first time he pulled a knife) but because they're Foxes they keep pushing. (Also, for all fandom likes to make him a knife nut, look at how often he actually pulls a knife vs punches, it's either rape jokes, or him/someone under his protection being cornered, day to day he goes without). Now, of course, Andrew is a lot of the problem of keeping the team in two halves (again, something any decent coach shouldn't allow to get that extreme) as we see with how well the team works when Andrew is at Easthaven, but we don't know how much effort the upperclassmen actually make (excluding Renee of course).

The upperclassmen are often the first to lash out, and Andrew is often only retaliating, and then the monsters will be blamed. And yes, this is complete hypocrisy. But from the more general day to day treatment, not in the moment when a punch is thrown but attitudes in general, Andrew has proven himself a threat over and over, without provocation. If you can excuse Andrew drugging Neil because he's a potential threat, then why is Dan being hostile to Andrew because he's proven himself a threat different? Is it professional? Probably not, but what else can Dan do? She can't punish Andrew and Wymack seemingly can't/won't either. In Dan's mind, she is being hypervigilant and watching Andrew and taking his actions for the worst possible scenario, because Andrew has given her reason to. A simple drink to get to know each other turned into drugging her and Matt being in awful condition. Why should she give him the benefit of the doubt? Andrew wouldn't return the favour.

In many ways, Andrew and Dan are mirrors of each other. The leaders of their respective groups, both constantly trying to watch out for threats, but while Dan sees the threat she's already experienced with Andrew, Andrew considers her nothing. He's already got all her secrets and cast her aside, not caring for the damage he's done, because she and her friends are nothing to, and he doesn't feel a hint of remorse. He did what he had to, the ends justify the means, and Wymack's gone through too much to get him to risk losing him. He's on a team that doesn't care about his boundaries any more than he cares about theirs and is more than happy to play the monster if it gets the job done.

This came off a little harsh on Andrew, despite that I love him and Dan actually grates on me, but honestly the start of the series he is kind of awful and Dan I can see where she's coming from. Like, I think sometimes we also forget even Neil hates Andrew at the start of the series. Everything he did with Neil, he did with the others, it's just that Neil had the persistence, and the trauma related need to compartmentalise and move on quickly rather than hold a grudge, and a usefulness to Andrew (and yeah, let's not forget the breakthrough is Kathy's show and Andrew realising Neil is useful to him) to let him get in with Andrew so he can start to see the real him, while Andrew keeps the upperclassmen at arm's length.

And wow, congrats and thanks to anyone who read all the way through this monster ramble.

[batwynn]

Hello. So I have a genuine, honest question as someone who isn't an artist. I saw you made a post about AI art floating around Tumblr lately. How does one differentiate between AI-created art vs. ACTUAL art? Some things have been easier to notice than others (ie: YouTube videos and like, moodboards and the opening to Secret Invasions) but for art specifically, are there any key things to look out for that make it obvious it's AI generated? I do not support AI in any fashion but in this day and age I do find it increasingly more difficult to tell the difference between something that was created by AI vs. created by an actual person.

Hi anon! So, heads up this might be a bit long of a post but I wanted to point out some things that I don't see frequently mentioned in other posts about A.I stuff.

First things first: Look at their other 'art' pieces. If they have a generally consistent style, a consistent type of work (Realism vs ink art for example), characters you see more than once and from different angles, character sheets, etc. You're going to notice if someone suddenly switches from little ink doodles to fully colored and realistically rendered 'art'. Now, this doesn't mean everyone switching styles or mediums is A.I, but it means to take a closer look if you notice something vastly different than their usual stuff. More A.I. clues below!

For things to look for, there's a lot of different clues but generally you're going to notice a certain new car shine to everything. Everything will be a little too clean, even if the style they are ripping off is sketchy. Sketches will have crosshatching that doesn't really make sense or random lines in a place that an artist probably would not put there. That being said, here's some examples where that isn't as noticeable:

Here you've got your usual body/anatomy problems. (Plus some elements I'll talk about later as well. This one's got it all!)

Glitchy foot, glitchy hands. glitchy eyes. Strange proportions for legs that don't exactly fit a stylization, but more of an glitch. Now, of course an artist can draw 'glitchy' things like this either by accident or intentionally, but you really only see these types of things in A.I vs actual art of a similar style. Realism artists are generally not adding extra fingers or varying sized fingers, they're not rendering the foot to only have too many toes, missing toes, and the foot also... sort of part shoe. Unless art artist is otherwise intentionally including these elements, it's generally a clear cut example of A.I stuff. (For example: Different body types and disabilities exist, and there are people with different shaped hands, shorter/longer fingers etc. But you will also usually find some kind of info with the post about the person/character that will tell you about them that can clue you in on if it's A.I vs real art.) If the artists are drawing in a style with 'exaggerated' anatomy, you can almost always see that as a persistent and intentional STYLE in their art. If they aren't, this is something you'll really notice in A.I vs realism. It can be especially true with people who fully render realistic art because it's not in line with the style, and the relevant elements of rendering art this way. Artists who do realistic rendering at this level generally know their anatomy very well, and are going for realism in all elements of the art. Some stuff like the exaggerated long legs in women are kind of everywhere, but the hands, the foot, the lopsided winky eyes (I don't know how to describe it) are not things a professional artist rendering realistic art would generally do. It's just not in line with the style, or the ability/skill that the artist has worked on. (Again, unless completely intentionally and in line with the person/character.)

For 'real' life items like the tables below, you've really just got to ask yourself: Is this physically possible? Do all the elements make sense and actually work together in a real way?

Sometime it's hard to know if you don't have any experience with, for example, acrylic and wood table making. But there are things that just don't work in real life, and there are things that maybe someone can do, but even in the provided examples it just doesn't make sense to do. For example, the little 'tree' hanging from the bottom of the left table. Would that be possible? Probably. Would someone do that? Probably not. If you're really stumped, sometimes just looking up videos of people making that type of thing can give you a better idea of what actually works together, how it's made, etc.

Here's something that really helps when you're really struggling and zooming in for every detail: TANGENTS

Ok, so tangents in art are when you're drawing a thing, like hair, and it's lining up with a different object to the point where the visual line continues from one part of art to another and it looks really unrealistic/weird. Most artists figure out how to avoid this on their own just from noticing it and feeling uncomfortable with how it looks, while others learn via the internet etc. It can happen in anyone's art at any skill level, but the amount that it happens in A.I stuff is HUGE. It's almost every single image, and you can really notice it in places where something overlaps like hair or, from the above image with the money: there's two bills that just kind of bleed together. From the same image, you can also see how her hair bleeds into the wrinkles of her jacket in an unnatural way. Comparatively, you can see in the Hela art I did below that there are overlapping elements like the hair and the ribbons behind it that do not mesh or bleed together.

Something else to look at: Symmetrical elements that don't work right. So, this is kind of getting harder to see depending on what they're generating as a subject matter and the style they are using. As always, there is a disclaimer for this. Art does not always have perfect symmetrical elements in it.

For example: in the real world, this dude's coat would have more clean symmetrical elements. As it is a sketchy doodle, they're there but they're not 100% symmetrical. With a LOT of A.I stuff, you'll notice that something meant to be mirrored on the other side of the clothing, room design, etc. is actually completly wonky/incorrect or not even there at all.

For example, in this A.I we have missmatching elements on both sides. Not only in things that could be designed to be asymmetrical, but also things that 100% should be mirrored. The left side under the buckle on the shoulder has a diamond shape. The right has a weird spikey thing. The little leaf pattern on the gold lapel area appears to be just blobs on the right side. The left shoulder area has a button and additional little detail under the buckle area. It is not there on the right side. And, again, some of this can be intentional with real art. Her arm bands could be intentionally different, for example. But elements that clearly should be reflected on the other side and are very clearly not are generally a good clue that it's A.I. A few last moment things to look out for:

Styles that are recognizable someone else's whole thing. Example: The monstrosity that someone just generated that is supposedly Calvin and Hobbs. It's pretty easy to tell because it looks like shit right now, but generally if someone is ripping off a distinct style of someone famous, it's probably A.I or at least worth double checking.

Did they suddenly start doing ______? This could be anything, backgrounds, drawing horses, full color, etc. But if they're suddenly, overnight just BOOM they're 'drawing' in a whole other style, it's suddenly really rendered, and/or there's no 'growing pains'/work shown that they've started working on drawing the thing they never drew before... It's time to take a closer look. Last but not least, look for the language they use around the stuff they're putting out. A.I people are often... a certain type. They use a lot of that NFT bro lingo that can tip you off. The tags might be all over the place for styles, or tagging certain famous artist's styles, etc. They also can be a bit more blatant in the tags and just outright tag A.I or NFTs somewhere in there. And, in the end, if you really can't tell and you really love the thing and want to share it: Ask an artist. Or just don't share it.

Thanks for reading, and I hope this is helpful in some way!

[kjack89]

Off the Wagon

Massively self-indulgent.

E/R, modern AU, developing relationship. CW: Drug addiction.

“Can we talk?”

Enjolras eyed Grantaire warily. “That’s never an auspicious beginning to a conversation.”

Grantaire half-smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “What can I say, it’s not necessarily an auspicious conversation.”

Enjolras frowned with genuine concern, taking in the dark shadows that ringed Grantaire’s eyes, as well as the way he crossed his arms tightly in front of his chest. “Is everything ok?” he asked cautiously.

“Yeah, it is,” Grantaire said quickly – too quickly. “I just, uh, I’m not going to be able to come to Thursday night meetings anymore.”

Enjolras blinked. That certainly hadn’t been what he’d expected. “Why not?”

He hadn’t meant for it to sound accusatory, but judging by the look on Grantaire’s face, it did. “My schedule changed,” Grantaire said shortly.

Enjolras hesitated, not wanting to make things worse by prying, but it wasn’t just that Grantaire would be missing Les Amis meetings. Thursday nights had become something of a routine for them, their night to stay at the Musain until early in the morning, bickering or talking or even just sharing the backroom in silence, Enjolras working on whatever he needed to do that day, Grantaire sketching.

And Enjolras felt a small pang at the realization that this routine was about to be disrupted.

“How long do you think you’ll be missing the meetings for?” he asked.

Grantaire shrugged. “The foreseeable future, at least,” he said, worrying his lower lip between his teeth before adding, “Possibly indefinitely.”

“Oh.” Enjolras nodded slowly, trying to come up with something, anything to say. “Well, obviously there’s not much you or anyone else can do about your schedule, so, uh…”

He trailed off, not sure what else he wanted to say, and Grantaire managed a weak sort of smile. “At least I’ll still be at the Sunday meetings,” he assured Enjolras, who just nodded.

“Right,” he said, even though it wasn’t the same thing by any stretch.

Grantaire nodded, shifting awkwardly. “Anyway, I’ll, uh, I’ll see you when I see you,” he said awkwardly.

“I’ll see you when I see you,” Enjolras echoed, watching as Grantaire made his way back to where Joly and Bossuet were waiting, trying to determine why exactly he felt like something between him and Grantaire had shifted, and not for the better.

— — — — —

Three weeks later, the feeling had only intensified, not helping by missing Grantaire on Thursdays.

“Did you have a fight?” Courfeyrac asked, for what was probably the eighteenth time.

Enjolras shook his head. “No more than usual,” he said gloomily.

“The fact that you two even have a ‘usual’ amount of fighting probably speaks volumes in and of itself,” Combeferre remarked, not looking up from his phone.

“Do you plan on actually being helpful?” Courfeyrac asked, scowling at him.

Combeferre finally looked up, tucking his phone in his pocket. “With Enjolras and Grantaire? No. Because the only foolproof way to figure out what’s going on with Grantaire is to ask Grantaire. Or, I guess, if you were truly crazy, you could just follow him because stalking’s always the answer.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “That’s actually not a bad idea.”

Combeferre stared at him. “In case you were confused, the stalking part was sarcasm—”

“No, I know,” Enjolras said impatiently. “But he was somewhat cagey about his schedule changing, whatever that means, and maybe if I knew a little bit more about what was going on with him, I wouldn’t feel like this.”

“Right, because historically speaking, sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong always works out,” Courfeyrac said with a snort.

“This time it will,” Enjolras said stubbornly.

Combeferre just shook his head. “Famous last words.”

— — — — —

That Thursday was the first that Enjolras could recall where his feet did not lead him down the well-trod path to the Musain. Instead, he lingered outside of Grantaire’s apartment, partially hidden inside the entryway to a vacant store.

Maybe Courfeyrac had a little bit of a point about the stalking.

But Enjolras’s mind was made up, and he was determined to get to the bottom of this one way or another. So when he saw Grantaire exit the building, pausing on the stoop to fumble for a cigarette, Enjolras knew he had really left himself no other choice but to follow him.

So he did, across several city blocks, almost losing him when a Tesla decided that red lights clearly didn’t apply to them, but eventually, they arrived at what Enjolras assumed was their quarry.

To his absolute bafflement, it was a church.

Grantaire headed inside like he did this every day, and Enjolras hesitated before following. He hadn’t been in a church since the last time his mother made him go, which had been in high school, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust when he stepped inside. 

He hesitated, glancing around. Grantaire was nowhere to be seen, and Enjolras was loath to just wander into the sanctuary.

But then the door behind him opened and Enjolras jumped guiltily. “Sorry about that,” a friendly voice said behind him, and Enjolras glanced over at the kind-looking woman who had just come in. “Are you looking for the meeting?” Enjolras almost asked what meeting, but figured he’d invite more questions than it was worth if he did, so he settled for nodding. “It’s downstairs,” she told him, pointing helpfully in the direction of the staircase.

Enjolras nodded his thanks and headed down the stairs in question. The basement of the church was much more brightly-lit, and finding the meeting room was relatively easy. The room was crowded, enough that Enjolras was able to slip inside without notice, taking a seat in the back of the room.

He glanced around at the rows of metal folding chairs, wondering what exactly was going on here. But his question was answered all too quickly by the same kindly woman from before standing up at the front of the room and smiling at everyone. “Good evening,” she said. “My name is Fantine, and I’m an addict.”

“Hi, Fantine,” the room murmured in response, but Enjolras was too stunned to speak, a strange sort of ringing sound in his ears.

So this meant – Grantaire was a—

“If this is your first time joining us as Narcotics Anonymous, welcome,” the woman continued, but Enjolras could barely listen to whatever else she was saying, especially since the sound of his own heartbeat was so loud.

He glanced around, wondering if he could possibly slip out without being noticed or without being noticed when he heard Grantaire’s name, and he froze.

“We have some chips to give out tonight, so Grantaire, if you want to join me up here.”

Enjolras shrank down in his chair, wishing that the entire floor would just swallow him up before Grantaire could notice him. But almost immediately after accepting his chip and a hug from the woman, Grantaire glanced out at the audience, and almost just as quickly locked eyes with Enjolras.

For a moment, Grantaire’s eyes widened, just slightly, before his expression evened out and he took a step forward to address the group. “My name is Grantaire, and I’m an addict.”

“Hi, Grantaire,” the room murmured back towards him, though Enjolras remained silent, not trusting himself to speak, and he kept his gaze firmly on the floor.

“I, uh, I’ve been clean for two years,” Grantaire continued, and Enjolras did glance up at that, surprised, because he never would have guessed— “I was clean for almost ten years before that but I, well, I fell off the wagon– Right, sorry, no euphemisms. I relapsed two years and a week ago.”

His eyes flickered over to Enjolras. “I had been clean for so long that most of the people in my life didn’t even know I was a drug addict. That I still am a drug addict.”

Grantaire paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “When the pandemic was just beginning, before the shutdown but we started to hear that a shutdown might happen, I mentioned to a coworker that I hoped my doctor’s appointment wouldn’t get canceled. I had hurt my shoulder at a protest and I needed to get it checked out. And my coworker, who didn’t know any better, told me he had almost an entire bottle of oxy that he got prescribed after a surgery he had.”

Something tightened in Grantaire’s expression. “And he asked if I wanted them.”

He swallowed, his voice barely a whisper as he added, “And I said yes.”

Something twisted in Enjolras’s chest, but Grantaire just took another deep breath before barrelling onward. “I didn’t take them right away. I hid them under my bed. And for a while, for a good long while, that was enough. I was fine, because I had a bottle of oxy under my bed, just in case. I was fine, because I had so much control, or at least, that’s what I told myself.”

His usual self-deprecation slipped into his tone, but Enjolras heard the bitterness for what it was, knew that behind every joke at his own expense, Grantaire had always intended a little bit of truth. And for some reason, knowing that made Enjolras’s chest ache. “Then I got laid off in June of 2021, and in July, I got in a really stupid fight with a friend, and we both said some things we shouldn’t have, and—”

Enjolras’s heart sank even further. He knew the fight in question.

He had been the other party of the fight in question.

“And I’m a drug addict,” Grantaire said. “And I had a bottle of oxy under my bed. So it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what I did next.”

He shrugged, not quite meeting anyone’s eyes. “I wanted to try and stretch it out, just take a little at a time because it’s not like I had a dealer who could get me more, y’know? And if I was just taking one pill at a time, surely that’s different than when I used to snort it or smoke it or whatever.”

He barked a bitter laugh and drew a hand across his face. “The bottle was gone by the end of the week.”

There were a few murmurs of understanding from the audience, and Grantaire paused while he waited for it to subside. “When I got sober enough to leave my apartment, I went straight to the park. I’d always seen some junkies hanging around there and I figured I could get a hookup from them. Only, uh, there was this protest…”

Again, Enjolras knew exactly what protest it had been. It was strange, hearing these details surrounding events he had known, had lived, but in a way he never could’ve suspected. “I was supposed to be at that protest. I had forgotten about it or maybe I didn’t even care enough to remember it in the first place, but seeing it, seeing my friends—”

For the first time, Grantaire’s voice broke. “That probably saved my life.”

Enjolras looked up sharply, meeting Grantaire’s eyes. “I think I knew that if I went in that park, and I scored whatever, I would be dead within six months.” He jerked a shrug. “And I just– I didn’t want to die anymore.”

This time, the brief silence that followed was broken by the sound of someone clapping, and then more people started clapping, and then the whole room joined in. Grantaire looked startled by the response, managing a small, somewhat embarrassed smile, and he gave a small wave before returning to his seat.

The rest of the meeting passed in a blur, and Enjolras was torn between making a run for it as soon as the meeting was over, or offering Grantaire some kind of explanation, or at least an assurance that he wasn’t going to say anything.

It wasn’t his secret to tell. Then again, it also hadn’t been his secret to learn in the first place.

In the end, the decision was made for him, as the meeting broke up and Grantaire made a beeline over to him, his expression dark. “I don’t know what Joly’s been telling you, but caffeine isn’t a narcotic.”

“I know that,” Enjolras said, his voice low. “And I know I owe you and explanation—”

“Not here,” Grantaire interrupted, his voice tight. He jerked his head toward the staircase and Enjolras followed him in silence as they left the church and headed to a 24-hour diner just down the street.

They both settled into a booth in the back of the diner, and when the waitress came over to take their order, Grantaire gave her a tight smile. “Just two coffees, thanks.”

It was only after she had returned with their coffees that Grantaire finally met Enjolras’s eyes. “Well,” he said, cradling his coffee cup between both hands. “I knew someone was going to get curious, but I’ll be honest, I didn’t expect it to be you.”

“I shouldn’t have followed you,” Enjolras told him. “If I had known this was where you were going—”

“But you didn’t,” Grantaire said with a shrug. “And I could have been slightly more forthcoming of why I was going to be absent on Thursdays.” He took a sip of coffee before telling Enjolras, “They changed meeting times. They used to meet on Wednesdays, but now it’s Thursdays. I’ve been, uh, working on finding a different meeting, but I’ve been going to this group for years so it’s not, like, easy.”

“I would assume not,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire cocked his head. “Would you?” he asked, almost amused. “I’d’ve guessed you wouldn’t have any experience with this sort of thing.”

Enjolras flushed, just slightly. “I don’t,” he said.

Grantaire nodded slowly. “In that case, what do you want to know?”

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Enjolras blurted, and Grantaire just arched an eyebrow as he took another sip of coffee.

“I’m well aware,” he said. “But you already know the worst of it, so I figure, in for a penny, in for a pound.”

Enjolras swallowed and glanced down at his own coffee before looking up at Grantaire again. “Fine, then there’s really only one question that I have: are you ok?”

Grantaire looked surprised. “That’s your only question?”

It wasn’t, not by a long shot, but— “It’s the only one that matters.”

Something softened in Grantaire’s expression. “Then yes,” he said, with honesty. “I’m ok.”

Enjolras nodded. “Ok.”

“But I know you have other questions besides that.”

“I do,” Enjolras admitted, somewhat reluctantly. “Including one that’s, um, potentially insensitive, I guess.”

Grantaire didn’t look surprised, and he settled back in his seat. “Fire away.”

“You’re a drug addict,” Enjolras said, and saying the words out loud for the first time made them somehow seem more real. “And you said you’re clean now. But you still drink, and smoke pot.”

“I take more edibles than smoking these days but yes, that is correct,” Grantaire said.

Enjolras hesitated. “How does that work?”

Grantaire barked a dry laugh. “Under the supervision of a psychiatrist, mostly. Abstinence, or being completely clean, works for some people – is the only thing that works for some people.” He shrugged. “For me, I almost exclusively drink and smoke to help my anxiety, and my psychiatrist and I are on the same page that while not the preferred treatment plan, it’s probably a better option than putting me on a pill regimen, given my history.”

Enjolras had never even considered that, and he nodded slowly before asking, “Can I ask another insensitive question?”

“You really don’t need my permission,” Grantaire told him, amused.

But Enjolras didn’t smile. “The fight you had with a friend – that was me, right?”

Grantaire’s smile disappeared, and he looked away. “Was that the insensitive question?” he asked, a little roughly.

Enjolras ignored him. “Did I cause this?” he asked, his voice low. “Cause you to– to fall off the wagon?”

He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to forgive himself if he had. Especially since the fight in question had been so stupid, one of those idiotic fights that had seemed so important at the time but in retrospect was just both of them having their heads too far up their own asses to concede that the other was at least half-right. 

And he remembered the words he’d shouted at Grantaire all too well—

“Grantaire, you are incapable of believing, of thinking, of willing, of living, and of dying.”

He hadn’t meant it, had regretted it as soon as he had said it, though not nearly as much as he regretted it now.

“To relapse,” Grantaire corrected quietly. “It’s important not to use euphemisms, because that masks the reality of what happened.” His expression twisted. “Besides, I didn’t fall off the wagon as much as jump.”

Enjolras jerked a nod as if he understood. “Right.”

“And no,” Grantaire added, “you didn’t cause this.”

“But—”

“I’m a drug addict,” Grantaire interrupted. “Something happened in my life that wasn’t pleasant. People with healthy coping mechanisms find a way to deal with that. I chose a different coping mechanism, because I’m a drug addict.” He shrugged. “If I hadn’t had that bottle of oxy under my bed, would I have chosen differently? Maybe. Hopefully. But that has nothing to do with you, or our fight.”

Enjolras’s expression darkened as he remembered who had given Grantaire the pills in the first place. “Who was your coworker who gave them to you?”

Grantaire looked flatly at him. “I’m not telling you that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not his fault either and I don’t want you firebombing his apartment building for something that isn’t his fault.”

Enjolras scowled. “He shouldn’t have—”

“Maybe not,” Grantaire said. “But I’m the one who said yes when he offered. I’m the only one at fault here, the only one to blame.”

Enjolras shook his head. “I think there��s probably something to be said about society also being at fault—”

Grantaire gave him a look. “Enjolras.”

“Sorry.”

Grantaire sighed, running a hand through his dark curls. “There are a million and one very valid reasons that I use drugs, that anyone uses drugs, from poverty to mental illness to, yes, a very broken society,” he said, a little impatiently. “And those are all important things to try to fix, but it doesn’t change the fact that no one held a gun to my head and made me take drugs. Least of all you.”

“Then why do I still feel like it’s my fault?”

Enjolras hadn’t meant to actually vocalize that, and he regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. But Grantaire just laughed lightly. “I’d guess it has something to do with your martyr complex, but what do I know.”

“I don’t have a martyr complex,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire just snorted derisively. “Sure you don’t.”

Enjolras frowned, just slightly. “Death, including, potentially, my own, can sometimes be a necessary tool to bring about change, but I’d much rather live to see the world I’m trying to create if I can.” He paused before adding, with as much sincerity as he ever had, “And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you decided you’d rather live, to.”

Something tightened in Grantaire’s expression and he looked away. “It’s my turn to ask if I can ask you something,” he said.

“Of course,” Enjolras said immediately. “Anything.”

“Do you – does this change what you think about me?”

Grantaire’s voice was soft, so soft that Enjolras almost couldn’t hear him, and his heart clenched painfully, knowing that this, of all things, was what Grantaire was worried about. He bit back his initial, gut reaction, which was an emphatic no, because it wasn’t true. 

And he would be doing Grantaire a disservice by lying to him now.

“It doesn’t make me think lesser of you,” he said instead, choosing his words carefully.

“To be fair, that bar’s so low it’s practically underground,” Grantaire interjected.

But Enjolras refused to fall back on their usual banter, to couch this conversation in anything other than the honesty he owed Grantaire. “But it does change what I think of you. I don’t see how it possibly couldn’t. You – to know that you were going through this over the past two years, that you’ve gone through this before, and yet you still show up, every single week, for a Cause that you don’t even believe in? To know that you could’ve given up so many times, and never did? Of course it changes what I think of you.”

Something flickered in Grantaire’s expression. “I’m not some kind of hero or something for being a drug addict.”

“Maybe not,” Enjolras said. “But it does make me think I may have misjudged your ability for commitment.”

To his surprise, Grantaire laughed at that, scrubbing a hand across his mouth. “This is what makes you think you’ve misjudged my commitment,” he repeated, almost incredulous. “Not the fact that I’ve shown up to every meeting and rally and protest over the past however many years.”

“That’s different,” Enjolras said.

“How?”

“Because that was commitment offered for someone else,” Enjolras told him quietly. “This was commitment to yourself.”

Grantaire half-smiled. “Well, I guess you’re not fully wrong,” he said, reaching for his wallet. “And, uh, let me get your coffee. It’s the least I can do.”

Enjolras arched an eyebrow. “To repay me for lightly stalking you?”

“To repay you for the fact that I should have told you all of this a long time ago,” Grantaire said. “Thus saving you from having to lightly stalk me.”

He tossed a twenty on the table and stood, clearly ready to leave, but Enjolras just looked up at him, his heart suddenly beating painfully in his chest. “Can I just say one more thing?”

Grantaire shrugged. “May as well.”

Enjolras stood, setting his hand lightly on the table next to Grantaire’s. “This changes what I think of you,” he said, his voice low, “but it doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

Grantaire’s expression tightened. “Enjolras—”

“If anything, it just makes it even clearer,” Enjolras said, ignoring him. “And I’m not – now isn’t the time, especially since the last thing I want is for you to think that this is somehow because of what I learned tonight. But if tonight changed my mind on anything, it’s on thinking that somehow, we’d find a time for this. For us.” He hesitated before shifting his hand to rest it lightly on top of Grantaire’s, just for a moment. “ But maybe we have to make time.”

Grantaire stared down at their hands. “I—”

Enjolras squeezed his hand, just once, before pulling away. “When you’re ready, anyway.”

He turned to go but Grantaire caught his hand. “And if I’m ready now?”

“Are you?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire hesitated. “No,” he admitted. “Not – not yet. I want to be—”

“I know,” Enjolras told him. He did – of all the revelations he had learned that night, his knowledge of how Grantaire felt was never in question. “But when you are, I’ll be here.”

Grantaire ducked his head. “Thank you,” he said softly.

Together, they left the diner, walking slowly in the direction of the Musain without even needing to say that’s where they were going. After a long silence, Grantaire glanced sideways at Enjolras. “What did you tell everyone about why you wouldn’t be at tonight’s meeting, anyway?”

“Oh,” Enjolras said. “Well, I told Combeferre and Courfeyrac the truth, that I was going to follow you.”

Grantaire laughed lightly. “You mean stalk me.”

Enjolras shrugged. “Tomato, to-mah-to.”

Grantaired nodded slowly. “So if Courfeyrac knows, that means everyone knows that you were following and/or stalking me tonight.”

Enjolras winced. “Probably.” He looked over at Grantaire. “I’m not going to tell anyone what I saw.”

“I never thought you would,” Grantaire told him, his voice low, and he glanced away before adding, “But, uh, I’m beginning to think that maybe I should.”

“Yeah?” Enjolras said.

Grantaire nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I think it’s about time.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras agreed, glancing down at his hand, still in Grantaire’s. Grantaire’s skin was rough against his, a testament to the life he’d lived, a life Enjolras had never appreciated before that night. Every callous was a reminder of what Grantaire had lived through, of everything that had brought them here, to this moment.

And rough or otherwise, it felt like where Enjolras’s hand had always belonged. 

“Maybe it is.”

[raithwithwings57]

WIP rough draft Stucky fic where they both go down in the plane together

Just posting some bits and pieces because I have so many unfinished Stucky fics in the wings and I want to show them off a bit and I've not posted anything of my fics in months so, yeah I'm making several posts like this. I do intend to finish these out and post them on ao3 at some point, and if y'all really like any of these, let me know.

Bucky had always wanted to see the future. He’d dreamed about it, read about it, listened to the radio shows about it, dragged his best friend to science fairs he’d not been terribly interested in, gone to those free college lectures where professors pontificated about advancement. He loved the future, he wanted it, he read the technology journals and gushed to Steve over the new artists and their styles. Bucky was always looking forward.

Steve was always looking back. He was a man of the past. A man of possibilities the same way that Bucky was, and yet a man who saw the possibilites like missed opportunies, a reason for pennance rather than hopefullness. Maybe it was the Catholic guilt that Steve carried around, maybe it was his dead war hero dad, or later, his dead nurse mother. Maybe it was being small and weak and having something to prove (no matter how much he claimed he didn’t). Steve liked the old art, the history, the classic literature and the old architecture. He delighted in sitting for hours and sketching old buildings. He memorized all the old prayers and recited them in Latin with a fervor and consistancy that seemed to Bucky beyond just religous, though he didn’t have any other word for it. Steve lingered at history lectures and in muesums looking at marble statues made by the greats. He went to the old graveyards and lingered over the plain stones of soldiers.

Bucky and Steve couldn’t be more different, but they couldn’t have been more the same. And even if one looked forward and the other looked back, they always did it together. Balanced each other out, had interesting long conversations in the dark when they couldn’t afford to have candles or lamps to burn in the night. Or when they huddled close on one bed for warmth in the depth of winter. They could look both forward and back and not stumble, not forget anything important, because they did it together. Steve and Bucky. To the end of the line. Looking out for each other.

Steve would probably not live to see much past the other side of thirty. That was what the doctors had said when he was born, and they’d always maintained it. Bucky couldn’t help but think that Steve didn’t look forward because he didn’t know how. That he saw himself a bit like a still living corpse, or a ghost drifting through this world of the living. Because Steve would never live to see the future. Bucky wasn’t sure he would live to see the future either if Steve died before he got there. He didn’t try not to think about it, because he wouldn’t do himself the disservice of the lie. So he did think about it. Steve was his person, and Bucky wanted his person with him when he was admiring the future. If he was Catholic like Steve he would have begged and prayed.

However Bucky didn’t believe, and he wouldn’t do himself the disservice of that lie either. Nor disrespect something Steve held in such high esteem by blasphemy toward it.

But for all that Bucky wanted to see the future, he’d never really thought that he would. But he did. Oh how he did. Bucky saw far too much of the future.

The ice was rushing up to meet them, and Bucky was facinated, transfixed. Steve’s hands were on the controls, pushing the plane down into the water. They were going to die, and they both had a few moments to know it. To maybe say something, if they had been the kind of people that left things unsaid. But they were neither of them foolish enough to leave things unsaid. To the end of the line. And the end of the line had come. Bucky had seen his future, and Steve had seen his past. And now they were going to die together. Steve wouldn’t see the other side of thirty after all, and neither would Bucky.

There was nothing to say. Nothing at all. Bucky had seen the future in Hydra’s weapons and the experiments on his best friend and on Johan Schmitt. Steve had seen the past in the horrors of war and the power of becoming a hero that would surely outlive them both.

[volterran-wine]

POV inspired by these headcanons you did for me (which I adored, and often reread, thank you very much!)

You’re a poor Victorian Artist/Writer/Musician trying to make your way in a cutthroat world, you finished a humble showing of your work when you meet a (terribly handsome) stranger who is oh so supportive of you and shows so much interest in you your work.

Cut to approx. 100 years later, you’re happily mates to said handsome stranger, you continue to create, you’ve well outlived your contemporary rivals and critics, and you’re loving life when you hear a new book about you is being released.

Imagine your horror when you find out some pesky human historian discovered either letters written by you, sent to a trusted friend who apparently kept them after your ‘mysterious disappearance’ or worse yet, your own diary, which was tossed carelessly into the back of an antique wardrobe or under a floorboard in your haste to leave that life behind to start your new one.

While thankfully nothing supernatural was ever mention, the whole world, including but not limited to all those in the Palazzo, your in-laws and your now-husband get to read you gushing like a besotted teenager about how handsome and eloquent you thought he was upon your very first meeting, all the lovely things he said, and all you wild human feelings. No matter how cool you played it face-to-face, it’s clear you were smitten from the start. (You also may or may not have confessed to using them as a muse before being properly acquainted, someone’s likeness may have appeared in a sketch, someone’s words may appear in a poem, someone’s voice may have inspired a small composition, etc)

While most of the guard won’t see it as their place to speak on it (except maybe Corin, whether she is now your niece or step-daughter you won’t get past her unscathed) your brothers and sister(s)-in-law are more than happy to tease you, and your mate walks around with a hint more smugness than usual. Maybe you can all laugh at the authors seemingly wild theory that you did not, in fact, ‘die mysteriously’ but ran off with your ‘Italian Lover’ and changed your name being surprisingly accurate, tho thankfully missing any supernatural elements.

My reaction, personally? “I’m gonna go find my empty grave a roll around in it for a bit if it’s all the same to you,”

Well friend, I find this scenario highly plausible.

Seeing as though The Volturi are patrons of the arts they must have had a hand in a lot of creative ventures through the ages. I fully believe the royals have sponsored many an artist, probably has invited them to Volterra back in the day as well. These days they can operate more comfortably in the shadows, but back then? They had to have some interactions with the humans.

Honestly? I can only imagine how many poems, paintings and compositions are dedicated to Demetri at this point in time; with or without a mate to call his own.

[crystalkitty1220]

What’s Curse!IBVS? :0

Guess this is gonna be my monthly check-in

Curse!IBVS is an IBVS horror AU heavily inspired by Razmerry's Warriors AU "The Cursed Three". I thought the concept of "What if the main characters' powers were actually harmful?" was really cool and wanted to see if I could twist the IBVS characters' powers in a similar way. I think I've deleted most of my old posts about it because I quite simply just didn't like it, and I've slowly been reworking it ever since.

Trigger warning for general spooky stuff, non-graphic body horror, major character death, child death, unintentional hanging, unintentional self-injury and probably a bunch of other things.

The easiest powers to curse-ify were Nevin and Edward's. Admittedly, Nevin's curse was really just a mix of Lionblaze and Jayfeather's from Razmerry's AU (because Lion has super strength and Jay has empathy, and Nevin has both plus a secret third thing and also an aura). Since last time I've posted anything about it, I've shimmied the curse around a bit into something that feels more unique and fitting for him.

Most difficult was between Chris and Dez. I've still got nothing for Dez because I don't want to make it too similar to Nevin or Edward's "be super careful at all times" curses. Chris, on the other hand, doesn't even really have a power of his own?? In the first and second versions, Charlie was some demon with a grudge against the entire Jackson family or whatever, but I just don't really feel like that works. So I've kept him and Chris being a bit closer to their originals, but Charlie's ghost situation is worse, and Chris gets no benefits. As I implied in my last post, if I actually wrote some kind of fic or something, Chris would be the main character as to ease the reader into the curses.

I could keep typing, or I could just copy-paste all of my rewrite notes into this post. Keep in mind these were written in a google doc that I shared with @echosoftheflower, so I might have some stuff directed to them.

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Updated Curse!IBVS notes

Curses

•Isaac: Drawings will always be alive, even if he doesn’t take them off the page. Drawings removed from the page will always move in strange and unnatural ways, and look kinda fucked up. When they run out of time, the drawings die a gruesome death (unless they remain on a page, in which case they stay alive and watching until the art is destroyed). Just a minor god complex. Appearance does change to look more sketch-like over time, though I'm removing the part about his specific sketches getting tattooed onto his skin.

•Edward: With any sudden movement of his hands, strings will grab and strangle/destroy anything in front of them. They will actively seek out something to wrap around, and never miss their target. He never told his family because of guilt over what happened to Barry. [Added note: I'll elaborate later.] He wears gloves, but that only directs the strings back to his arms, where they dig in. He’s grown quite used to that pain by now. His bones are really strong, they basically just can’t break (except a half-hearted punch from Nevin would crack them quite easily). His skin's also pretty tough. [Note: I really only made his bones and such stronger so that his hands don't just get snapped by his own strings. That's not due to a lack of him trying.] His intuition is also strengthened, so it’s less like random hunches and more like just knowing things. He never learned about anyone else’s powers, and he doesn’t remember a certain time when he realized they had them, at some point he just knew. His intuition will probably never break the fourth wall, but no promises. (Debating: His intuition also tells him about things happening in other AUs, so he can never be sure which hunches are real and which aren’t.) [Note: Still considering that one.]

•Chris: honestly he might just be normal. charlie’s the supernatural one. No knife privileges, that's for sure.

•Charlie: things really can’t get much worse for him. Stronger? He can possess Chris for longer? I definitely want it to be impossible for him to be separated from Chris - maybe one or the other will die if such a ritual is attempted.

•Nevin: Super-strength so strong that touching anything with too much force will crush it. Empathy so strong that it’s nearly impossible to differentiate others’ emotions from his own. Aura so strong it’s.. actually not that bad compared to some multiversal entities I can name. He can prevent himself from destroying things by staying calm/positive and focusing (since his powers are tied to emotions), but the empathy combined with the aura makes it really hard to do that. [He needs to stay positive to control his strength, but he unintentionally causes fear in others, and then he's forced to feel that fear. Oof.] Goop shenanigans tbd.

•Drew: Colors take up most of his vision. Instead of his powers simply healing him, branches weave in and out of his skin, trying to patch up whatever’s wrong. Was hugged by Nevin once when they were kids. Got a bit of a Snow White situation going on at the moment, but more crushed and looking vaguely like the aftermath of hanahaki. The blossoms [apple blossoms] are more vibrant than the universe’s color palette generally allows, and change color depending on nearby [or his own] emotions (if there are any). Sometimes people will hike near where Drew is, and if Nevin’s nearby he will always scare them away. Nevin can still sense Drew's emotions, and Drew can even kinda tell what Nevin’s feeling when he’s nearby.

•Dez: [Very small image of "He hurls his thunderbolt!"] [Suggestions from Echos:] Forgetfulness? Seizures?

•Bullet point for Harley [I'm still anticipating the reveal of him having powers]

Aesthetic [Personal notes for when I'm drawing, or for Echos]

•Artstyle inspiration: Courage the Cowardly Dog, BatIM, Tim Burton, abitfrank, LavenderTowne, Paprikup, Litchi Kitti, and ofc Razmerry themself.

•All colors are dull, except for the ones in Isaac’s drawings (mostly monochrome, but the colors that are there are uncomfortably saturated) and the flowers from Drew.

•Constant cloudy day. The sun and moon aren’t visible, but there is a lighter patch in the sky around where they would be. No stars either. Sunsets and sunrises are sepia yellow, or sometimes a desaturated red. It seems like there are always fewer clouds on nights when Nevin visits Drew - stars are actually visible then, and so it the moon (fullness of moon should reflect Nevin's current state).

•Tree branches curl a lot and tend to have thorns. Knots are large and cause the tree’s shape to be curvier. Roots stick close to the surface. Most leaves are gone, despite it still being early fall.

•Bushes are similar to trees but with more thorns and fewer leaves.

•Animals will usually just be drawn as shadowy figures with unnaturally fast and sudden movements. When drawn with more detail, they’re spiky with pencil-thin necks, small eyes, no other facial features, needle-like teeth (if mouth is open), and bug-like limbs. They’re generally rare, as the impression should be given that there’s not much nature or life nearby.

•NPCs [background characters] are uncommon despite the school having the same number of students as in OG. When shown, they should be undetailed and unresponsive to the main characters, as if the school is populated by ghosts. In fact, there should be a lot more hushed, overlapping voices than visible NPCs, and none should be able to be traced back to any single person. NPC numbers should be increased when Nevin is the main focus, and they should be even more ghost-like, but louder. NPCs should be less ghost-like when Edward is the main focus.

•Water is dark and murky, but is water.

•The school has some murals around it, most of them courtesy of Isaac. The eyes in those paintings always seem to be watching you. A lot of the murals are of gray foxes attacking other schools’ mascots, in honor of wins Foxfield sports teams have had against those schools. I’m purposefully leaving how realistic/distorted/unsettling the paintings are up for interpretation because that depends on what you headcanon Isaac’s style to be.

Misc.

[Describing the appearances pretty vaguely on purpose because I prefer when designs are left up to interpretation. The only canon details about their designs are the ones listed here. Any other details I draw should be considered headcanon - yes, even for my own AU]

•Funnily enough, Isaac is more similar to my original plan for him than the previous version was.

•Isaac’s appearance: Same fashion sense as OG (light clothing, which I find surprising considering this man looks like he has no body heat), and for the most part unchanged if not for the half of him that looks like it was drawn.

•The style of the sketch half is up for interpretation, depending on what you headcanon Isaac’s art style to be. It might be cool if you could see the style change as it gets closer to the non-sketch side, showing the progression of his style over time. So his ear would just be like a circle and his nose would be his current style. I didn’t do that in my concept sketches tho.

•He's gradually painting a design on his jacket, but only has half of it done at the moment.

•[Echos and I tend to come up with nicknames like this, just in case. Habit from the UTMV.] His multiversal nickname could be Sepia or Vignette, but Vignette might be more fitting for Ghost of Foxfield. Bistre could also work.

•Isaac's room is very decorated. His blanket is embroidered to look like a pile of snakes, which he thinks are pretty silly, but will try to constrict around anything (that isn't him) that the blanket is wrapped around. His closet doors are painted like a cave opening, but the handles look like two little glowing eyes in the darkness, and the stalactites and stalagmites look like teeth. His carpet has a dead tree on it, which looks an awful lot like a hand. There are eyes painted on the bottom ridge of his bedframe.

•At some point, Edward started chilling in the lair with the previous king’s squad, completely uninvited. This confused everyone who was not high school royalty. [Edward just kinda knew that he was gonna be the next king, and the current king knew it, too. No exchange necessary.]

•Edward? Blaming himself for the death of one of his peers? In an AU by one of us? It’s more likely than you’d think.

•[This part wasn't on the doc since it hasn't changed much, but I'll put it here for you] Some of you might be wondering why Barry hasn't been mentioned yet. That's because when Edward first got his powers, when he was trying to save Barry from the cliff, the strings caught onto Barry's neck. Edward was missing for a while - his strings caught on everything, digging deep into trees, cutting through branches and bushes, tugging him around, damaging his own skin - and when he was found, he was in his family's own garage, wearing a pair of heavy-duty gloves that were much too big for him. Barry was found before Edward, but Ed remained silent about the death, or anything that had happened while he was missing. Growing up, he's regularly brought to speak to therapists (and sometimes police), but he still refuses to talk about it.

•Edward’s appearance: Outfit almost identical to OG, plus a pair of gloves. He usually keeps his hands relaxed in his letterman’s pockets. His hair is a lot messier, as he doesn’t spend much time on it.

•Was gifted a pair of gloves from Isaac. These gloves have bramble thorns embroidered on them.

•Chris and Nevin become friends very quickly, but a part of it was just because Nevin thought Chris might be able to talk to Drew. Zombie bush things are kinda similar to ghosts, right? Right?

•Man, I wonder whose aesthetic should be based on black-and-white movies? Does anyone quite fit that description? Maybe a certain oreo?

•I’m in love with the Murder By Bramble color palette. Definitely going with something like that. The pop of red is just *affectionate popcat noises* [For context, Murder By Bramble is a really cool Warrior Cats Multi-Animator Project which I have on my playlist for Curse inspiration.] [Also, any time I draw anything for Curse, the style will be changed a bit to fit the character it's centered around. For Chris, the colors would be almost full black-and-white. Normally (or when centered around Isaac, who has the default), however, they'd just be desaturated.]

•Drew-centered vibes are heavily inspired by the Brokenstar Absinth PMV. Psychedelic, bright contrasting colors with complex, cluttered patterns and very shaky lines. Hollyleaf Look Away PMV vibes, too, but more for Nevin. Litchi Kitti’s art is such a huge inspiration for me and I will not stop gushing about it, actually.

•Apple blossoms and thorns. That’s so much of his aesthetic.

•I’m vaguely imagining those flameless fireworks from MLP for the flowers, but in apple blossom form.

•How did Drew get to Foxfield? [Comment from Echos: trunk] Good question. I’m going to say after the mess Nevin made when he got his super strength, his grandmother showed up because his father and stepmother were afraid of him. She took Nevin back to where she was living and Drew was moved to a hospital near them because she thought he should be where Nevin could easily visit. Then the doctors started pointing out the fucking tree branches growing in this boy and making it nearly impossible to perform surgery, and cutting the branches seemed to be painful, so at some point, Grandma Jovel took him home. It was a little difficult to get him to Foxfield when they moved, but they managed to do it.

•Religious Nevin? In my Horror AU? It’s more likely than you’d think.

•Nevin was homeschooled up until middle or high school, to get better control of his powers before going into public spaces with a lot of emotions. Instead of having moved to Foxfield in 2017, another possibility is that he moved there after the incident and just wasn’t in public school until 2017. While that would clear up Drew’s half of the plot a little, I think Nevin’s experiences in previous schools are an integral part of his character, so keeping at least one year of that feels crucial.

•Nevin’s appearance: Hair is curly because trying to use a flat iron would probably be dangerous. His eyes are constantly cyan, but usually not glowing (too brightly). Wears a smart watch and a second ‘watch’ with a little keycard in it. He’ll sometimes put his hands in his pockets but he’s usually afraid of ripping his jacket.

•His vibes shall be weirdcore-y in the sense that some things are hyperrealisitc. Consider: making him much less defined (scribbly, lineless, etc.) at points, or adding some hyperrealistic pieces of stuff nearby (petals of a flower, etc.) into his hair or stuck on his clothes. [All to symbolize how much of him his environment makes up, and how little he can be sure of what's really his own feelings.]

•Nevin has a little pencil holder thing that attaches to his pointer finger so he can still write, he just has to be careful not to break the part that goes around his finger.

•The Jovel house is set up to make it as easy as possible to do everything while applying the least amount of force necessary. The front door has a card reader that reacts to Nevin’s watch. Voice-activated things are very handy, especially Siri or Alexa or whatever the Jovels have. The electricity bill is a bitch, but the constant repairs would have been worse. Anything that can’t be used electronically has some sort of contraption attached to it, mostly of Nevin’s own design.

•Nevin and Edward kinda mirror each other, having similar curses and backstories. But while Edward will slowly recover, I have absolutely no intention of letting Nevin do so.

•Dez [yeah i got nothing]

•Louis? [Comment from Echos: Puella Magi Madoka magic]

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Aaand that's all in my doc. I don't think I'm forgetting anything? You can ask more questions but I probably won't answer until next month.

Concept art below (mostly for writing; it helps me remember what to describe, or get into the vibe)