#sol: you’re right maybe i should

[vigilskeep]

not grabbed by any of the companions i’ve picked up so far for romance, not with sol in particular, but i’m increasingly aware of how funny sol/davrin or sol/emmrich would be. like with both of those i DO want to see where my loser jock assassin is going with this

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝓁𝒾𝓅𝓈𝓉𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

· ───────⋆⋅♤⋅⋆─────── · 

I drew inspiration from the TikTok lipstick challenge, which, to be honest, left me feeling incredibly lonely. The whole experience stirred something in me, prompting me to write about it.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

Additionally, I was influenced by @fraternum-momentum and their OC, Sol, which added another layer to the idea. As for whether this should be marked NSFW or SWF, I'm torn—it's really more of a playful game involving lipstick, with a soft, romantic vibe and a lot of playful banter and chemistry between the characters. 

It's meant to be lighthearted and playful, with a bit of flirtation thrown in, but definitely nothing explicit! Also, I think I might've missed the birthday of a certain character in the game… I wonder who that could be?

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

The student council room was eerily quiet after hours, lit only by the warm glow of a desk lamp on the far end. The usual hustle and bustle of meetings, debates, and planning sessions had faded, leaving the space unusually still. 

Except for him.  

Crowe was seated at the large oak table, his posture impeccable as he reviewed a stack of neatly organized papers. His sleeves rolled up neatly to his elbows. His black bottom-up shirt was loosened but still perfectly modest, and his purple vest hung from the back of his chair. He looked, as always, impossibly put-together.

And that’s exactly why you’d decided to stop by tonight, coming from a late night studying at the library, you could help to pay him a visit, after all, you have the key. He was too perfect, too composed. It was high time someone tested just how unshakeable Crowe’s gentlemanly façade was.

You leaned against the doorframe, watching him briefly before clearing your throat. "Burning the midnight oil, are we?"

Crowe glanced up, his brows lifting in surprise at first, but his expression quickly softened into a familiar, warm smile. “You have a habit of sneaking up on people, you know that?”

“It’s one of my better skills,” you replied, stepping inside and letting the door click shut behind you. “What are you doing here so late, anyway? Don’t tell me it’s another mountain of paperwork.”

“Would you believe me if I said it was?” he asked, motioning to the neatly stacked papers in front of him. “Someone has to make sure this place doesn’t fall apart.”

“Ever the responsible one,” you teased, crossing the room toward him. “But don’t you ever get tired of being so... predictable?”

Crowe raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly in his chair. “Predictable? That’s a new one. Care to elaborate?”

You grinned, circling the table to stand behind his chair. “You’re always so composed, so polite, so... gentlemanly. Doesn’t it get boring playing the role of the perfect man?”

“Not particularly,” he replied smoothly, though his shoulders tensed ever so slightly. “Someone has to keep things in order.”

“Mm, but what if someone didn’t?” you murmured, leaning down until your lips were close to his ear. “What if someone decided to mess with that perfect little image of yours?”

Crowe turned his head slightly, his deep blue eyes meeting yours with a mix of amusement and curiosity. “Is that what you’re here to do?”

“Maybe,” you said innocently, stepping around to face him. Without giving him a chance to respond, you perched yourself on the edge of the table, just close enough to be in his space without overstepping.

Crowe tilted his head slightly, his deep blue eyes fixed on you with a spark of intrigue. “And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”  

You didn’t answer right away. 

Instead, a sly smirk played on your lips as you slid off the table in one smooth, deliberate motion, closing the small distance between you and him. Without hesitation, you eased yourself into his lap, one knee on either side of his thighs.  

Crowe stiffened immediately, his posture going rigid as his hands hovered uncertainly in the air, unsure where to land. His usually composed demeanor faltered, and the faintest trace of a blush began creeping up his neck. It was subtle, but on his warm, light brown skin, it was enough for you to notice—and grin.  

“Well,” you started, looping your arms lazily around his neck, your fingers toying with the ends of his braided brown hair. “I thought I’d start by seeing how much it takes to make you blush.”  

Crowe’s breath hitched as you leaned in, your lips brushing his cheek in a featherlight kiss. “That’s one,” you murmured, your tone playful, your lips curling into a mischievous smile.  

His jaw tensed, but his eyes betrayed his amusement. “Are you keeping score?” he asked, his voice steady but tinged with a nervous edge.  

“Maybe,” you teased, planting a second kiss on his other cheek. “Two.”  

Your hand moved to the back of his neck, your fingers threading through his single braid as you tilted his head slightly to the side. The motion exposed the line of his jaw, and you didn’t hesitate, pressing soft kisses along the sharp angles, your lips tracing the warm expanse of his skin.  

“Three, four…” you counted softly, letting your lips linger just a moment longer with each touch.  

Crowe swallowed hard, the tension in his body melting just enough for his hands to find a place—tentatively settling on your waist. His grip was light as if he were still unsure if this was something he should allow himself to enjoy. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, though the corners of his mouth twitched into a faint smile. “Playing such a dangerous game.”  

“Am I?” you asked, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers still idly twirling single braid. Your voice took on a mockingly innocent tone. “Or are you just afraid I might win?”  

He looked up at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before he smiled faintly. "I suppose that depends on what you’re trying to win."

You smirked, reaching into your bag and pulling out a tube of lipstick. Crowe’s brow furrowed in confusion as you uncapped it, applying the deep crimson shade with practiced ease. 

"And what’s this for?" he asked, his voice carrying the slightest hint of wariness.

You leaned in closer, your breath ghosting over his skin, lips hovering near his cheek. “Call it an experiment,” you murmured, your voice soft and teasing. Without waiting for a reply, you pressed a deliberate kiss just below his cheekbone.

The faint scent of your perfume lingered in the air as you pulled back, a perfect lipstick mark standing out against his warm, light brown skin. You tilted your head slightly, inspecting your handwork with a mischievous smile. “Not bad,” you said lightly, as if critiquing a painting.

Crowe blinked, visibly stunned, his deep blue eyes locking onto yours. He didn’t move, his breath caught as if trying to process what just happened.

But you weren’t finished.

Tilting his chin slightly with a gentle finger, you leaned in again, this time brushing your lips along the edge of his jawline. His skin was warm beneath your touch, the tension in his shoulders betraying his carefully composed demeanor. Another kiss followed, slower this time, leaving a bold imprint just below his jaw.

Crowe’s lips parted, his breathing uneven now, though he still didn’t stop you.

“Hmm,” you mused, leaning back slightly, only to trail your gaze down to the column of his neck. “This feels incomplete.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but the words caught in his throat when your lips found the curve of his neck. A soft gasp escaped him as you pressed another kiss there, then another, just above his collarbone. His hand twitched as though he might reach for you, but he held back, his restraint only making the moment more electric.

When you finally leaned back, Crowe’s usual polished, gentlemanly demeanor was in tatters. His skin was a masterpiece of faint crimson marks—his cheeks, jawline, and neck all kissed and claimed. He reached up hesitantly, brushing his fingers over one of the marks on his jaw, his touch lingering there as if he were trying to memorize the feeling of your lips.

“You—” he started, his voice rough, but you cut him off with a soft laugh.

“Speechless?” you teased, recapping your lipstick and slipping it back into your bag with an air of nonchalance. “I must’ve done something right.”

Crowe’s jaw worked, his lips pressing together as he struggled to find his composure. His usual confidence had been thoroughly dismantled, leaving him looking uncharacteristically vulnerable yet… yearning. The once-pristine picture of composure—the meticulous student apart of the council—now looked delightfully disheveled, his face, jawline, and even his neck adorned with vivid, unmistakable stains.

“There,” you said, stepping back and tilting your head as if you were admiring a masterpiece. “Not so perfect now, are you?”  

“You’ve officially ruined my ‘gentlemanly’ image,” he muttered, his voice quieter now. His fingers hesitantly brushed over the fresh stain near his jawline, his expression equal parts baffled and amused. “I can’t believe you just did that.”  

“Oh, believe it,” you teased, crossing your arms and giving him a satisfied grin. “Honestly, I think it suits you. Adds a little color. You’re welcome.”  

Crowe let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable. How am I supposed to explain this?”  

“Explain it?” you said, feigning shock. “You mean you’re not just going to own it? What happened to that legendary confidence of yours?”  

He opened his mouth to retort, but you cut him off by leaning in again, adding a quick kiss to his forehead. “Now you’ve got the full set,” you said with a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Face, neck, and...” You trailed off meaningfully, letting the pause hang in the air.  

Crowe raised an eyebrow, his composure slipping as he caught the implication. “You wouldn’t—”  

You didn’t let him finish. Before he could say another word, you planted a deliberate kiss at the corner of his mouth, then slowly worked your way to the center, leaving faint marks in your wake.  

When you pulled back, your face was the picture of triumph. “Now you’re officially branded. Guess that gentleman thing has its limits, huh?”  

Crowe’s deep blue eyes narrowed slightly, though the hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”  

“Absolutely,” you replied without hesitation. “And admit it—you are too.”  

He exhaled, his hands resting lightly on your waist as if he wasn’t sure whether to steady you or himself. “You like testing me,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, tinged with both amusement and something deeper.  

“And you like failing,” you shot back, leaning in so your faces were barely an inch apart. “Don’t worry, though—I think you wear it well. Lipstick suits you.”  

Crowe’s lips quirked into a smirk, his usually poised demeanor finally cracking under your relentless teasing. “You’re not making this easy,” he murmured, his voice low but laced with a playful challenge.  

“And why should I?” you quipped, settling more comfortably on his lap and letting your arms drape lazily around his neck. You leaned back just enough to take in your handiwork. The soft smudges of lipstick painted a trail of your victory across his cheeks, jaw, and now his neck. A particularly bold kiss near his collarbone had left a bright red mark against his brown skin.  

Crowe raised an eyebrow at you, his deep blue eyes flickering between exasperation and amusement. “I look like I lost a fight with a makeup counter.”  

“Correction: you lost to me,” you replied with a smug grin, leaning in to brush your lips against his ear. Your voice dropped to a teasing whisper. “And you didn’t exactly stop me.”  

Crowe huffed out a quiet laugh, the sound warm and rich despite the predicament. “Oh, I’m fully aware,” he said, his tone dry but edged with amusement. “Do you make a habit of ambushing people with lipstick, or am I just special?”  

“You’re special,” you teased, drawing the word out in a sing-song tone as your eyes narrowed, fingers slowly unbutton his shirt. “But don’t get too excited—I just thought someone as put-together as you needed a little... color.”  Your eyes looks up at him with a playful charm.

His breath hitched, and for the briefest moment, his usual restraint faltered. His hands slid up to your waist, his fingers curling slightly as if to anchor himself. “And here I thought you were here to apologize for interrupting my work,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, his eyes darker as they locked onto yours.  

“Apologize?” you repeated, feigning innocence. “For what? For making you look even more pretty? For proving you’re not as unshakeable as you pretend to be?”  

Crowe chuckled under his breath, shaking his head slightly. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.  

“Impossible?” you echoed, shifting slightly in his lap, your fingers lightly tracing upper chest. You leaned in closer, your nose just brushing against his, and your voice dropped to a low, teasing whisper. “That’s funny, coming from someone who’s supposed to be a gentleman. Aren’t you supposed to be, I don’t know... stopping me? Resisting temptation?”  

Crowe’s breath hitched for a fraction of a second, but he recovered quickly, though not quickly enough to mask the flicker of uncertainty that crossed his face. His gaze dropped, lingering on your lips for a heartbeat too long before meeting your eyes again. His hand tightened ever so slightly on your waist, his grip firm but still careful, as though he were holding himself back.  

“And why,” he murmured, his voice lower now, the usual steadiness giving way to something rougher, more deliberate, “would I want to stop you?”  

Your smirk widened, victory already bubbling in your chest. “That’s a good question,” you mused, leaning in until your lips brushed his, the contact feather-light and achingly slow. His breath caught, and you could feel the tension in his frame, the way he held himself still, like he was caught between giving in and holding on.  

“Good answer,” you whispered against his lips before pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes, usually so composed and guarded, were darker now, his composure visibly slipping. You caught the faint flush rising along his neck, creeping just beneath his jawline, and you couldn’t help but grin.  

Crowe exhaled sharply, breaking the silence as he leaned his head back against the chair, a wry, unsteady chuckle slipping past his lips. “You’re trouble,” he said, though his voice betrayed him—uneven and laced with something softer.  

“And yet,” you replied, hopping off his lap with a triumphant flourish, smoothing the hem of your clothing as if nothing had happened, “you haven’t asked me to leave.”  

Crowe tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as that familiar glint of mischief returned to his expression. He looked at you now with the kind of calm that was just daring you to keep pushing. “Maybe,” he said slowly, his voice steadying again, “I like a little trouble.”  

You laughed softly, stepping back to admire your handiwork. His shirt was slightly wrinkled from where your hands had rested, and his face was a mess of lipstick smudges—on his cheeks, along his jaw, and the faintest stain at the corner of his lips.  

“Good,” you said with a mischievous grin, nodding toward the streak of lipstick on his neck. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Crowe’s eyebrow arched, his lips curling into a small, amused smile as he leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady and teasing. “Then I’ll be sure to prepare myself,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

“Oh, you’d better be,” you shot back, taking a step back from his lap with deliberate slowness, your eyes lingering on him for just a moment longer. “Because next time, I might not be so... gentle.”

Turning on your heel, you strode to the door, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the quiet room. Just before you left, you glanced over your shoulder, your grin still firmly in place. “Try not to miss me too much.”

The door clicked shut behind you, leaving Crowe alone in the dim light of the student council room. He let out a quiet breath, his fingers absentmindedly brushing the mark you’d left on his neck. 

A faint chuckle escaped him as he leaned back in his chair, staring at the closed door with a small shake of his head. “You really are something else,” he muttered to himself, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. 

Trouble, yes—but perhaps the kind of trouble he wouldn’t mind getting used to.

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

The living room was a cozy chaos, with warm fairy lights casting a golden glow over the dark walls and mismatched furniture. The lights draped lazily over the curtain rods, twinkling faintly as if encouraging the quiet mischief brewing within. The couch—a beloved relic, its cushions sagging in all the right ways—sat at the center of it all, surrounded by a battlefield of cosmetics.  

The coffee table groaned under the weight of lipstick tubes in every shade imaginable, from muted nudes to shocking neons. Tissue papers lay crumpled beside an array of smudged hand mirrors, and the faint scent of vanilla and wax lingered in the air. The room was comfortably warm, the heater humming faintly in the corner, adding to the intimate atmosphere.  

You perched on the couch's edge, your legs tucked beneath you, wearing an oversized hoodie that dwarfed your frame but left your enthusiasm unrestrained. A wicked grin played on your lips as you reached for the next weapon in your arsenal—a vibrant crimson lipstick labeled Scarlet Desire.

Sol sat beside you, a reluctant participant in your glamorous experiment. His dark, disheveled hair framed his pale face, strands occasionally falling into his reddish-orange eyes that seemed to glow like dying embers in the dim light. He slouched dramatically, his arms crossed as if that might shield him from the barrage of attention you had planned.  

"All right, Sol," you announced with mock seriousness, brandishing the tube like a wand. "You’ve been chosen as tonight’s test dummy. Congratulations on your moment of fame."  

Sol let out a groan that was half dramatic and half genuine, tipping his head back against the couch and staring at the ceiling as if it might offer an escape. "Why do I feel like I’m about to star in a weird beauty guru horror story?"  

"Because you are," you replied with a smirk, twisting the lipstick open to reveal its bold crimson shade. The color gleamed under the fairy lights, a promise of chaos to come. "Now, sit still and quit whining. Let’s see if ‘Scarlet Desire’ lives up to its name."  

Before he could muster another complaint, you leaned in, one hand gently cupping his jaw to steady him. His breath hitched, his body freezing under the unexpected closeness. The faint scent of your perfume—something floral and sweet—floated between you, making his pulse quicken.  

You applied the lipstick to your lips with precision, pausing briefly to inspect the smoothness in the hand mirror. Satisfied, you leaned closer again, your face just inches from his.  

"Ready?" you teased, your voice dipping into a conspiratorial whisper, your grin turning impish.  

Sol’s eyes widened slightly, their reddish hue glinting with a mix of trepidation and something else he couldn’t quite place. "Do I have a choice?" he muttered, his voice quieter than usual.  

"Not at all," you replied cheerfully, brushing aside his weak protests.  

Without hesitation, you pressed your lips to his cheek, the cool touch of lipstick contrasting with the warmth of his skin. The kiss was quick but deliberate, leaving behind a perfectly shaped crimson stain against his pale complexion.  

Sol blinked, his mouth parting slightly as he tried to process what had just happened. His usual indifferent mask cracked the faintest hint of pink creeping up his ears. The lipstick stain on his cheek seemed to burn hotter than the room’s heater, a brand he couldn’t ignore.  

You leaned back, tilting the hand mirror to inspect your handiwork. "Still intact," you mused, tapping your lips thoughtfully. "That’s a point for ‘Scarlet Desire.’"  

Sol finally found his voice, though it came out uneven. “Is… is this going to take all night?”  

“Probably,” you replied, lips curling into a mischievous smile as you reached for another tube. You held it up to the light, inspecting the label. “‘Forbidden Plum.’ Sounds dramatic enough, don’t you think?”  

The deep purple shade gleamed as you twisted the tube, the realization dawning on Sol that this was far from over. He groaned again, though the faint flush creeping up his neck betrayed the fact that he wasn’t entirely upset about the situation.  

“Relax,” you teased, leaning in close, your warm breath brushing his ear. “I’ll be gentle.”  

Before he could respond, your lips pressed softly to his jawline, leaving a perfect, dark imprint just below the curve of his cheekbone. You lingered for a moment, letting the heat of the kiss sink in before pulling back to inspect the mark.  

“Not bad,” you murmured, tilting your head and running your thumb over the stain as if appraising your work. “But I think this color needs a little more flair.”  

Without waiting for his approval, you leaned in again, this time brushing your lips against his neck. The touch was softer, teasing, and you felt the slight hitch in his breathing as your lipstick left another vivid mark just above his collarbone.  

Sol swallowed hard, his face now a canvas of warmth and embarrassment. This wasn’t just a lipstick test anymore—it was a battle to maintain his composure against your relentless, flirtatious charm.  

“Hm,” you mused again, holding up the mirror to check your lips, then twisting open another tube. “Alright, next contender: ‘Midnight Rose.’ Let’s see if it’s as dramatic as it sounds.”  

His reddish orange eyes tracked your every move, flickering between the lipstick in your hand and the playful glint in your eyes. As you leaned in to kiss his other cheek, the cool press of your lips sent a jolt down his spine, and his fingers curled tightly around the edge of the couch cushion.  

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” he muttered, voice low and unsteady.  

“You say that like you’re not,” you shot back, your tone as playful as the smile that followed.  

This time, you kissed along his jawline again, dragging your lips lightly over his skin before pulling back with a smirk. The fairy lights cast a warm glow over the room, adding to the intimacy of the moment as your laughter filled the space.  

By the fourth or seventh kiss, Sol was no longer slouched but sitting ramrod straight, his breath uneven, and his lips parted in a dazed expression. The air between you felt charged, and every teasing glance you shot his way only added to his visible fluster.  

“Now how… how many more of these are there?” he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper.  

You tilted your head, pretending to count the remaining tubes. “Oh, only about five or six. Maybe seven. You’re handling this so well, Sol, I might just have to make you my permanent lipstick tester.”  

He groaned, a hand flying to his forehead in mock defeat, but his reddish-orange eyes lingered on you longer than they should have.  

“You must be getting bored with this experiment by now,” he mumbled, though his tone lacked conviction.  

“Bored? Not a chance,” you quipped, leaning in one more time, this time planting a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. “Though I think you might be getting dazed from all the attention.”  

Sol’s breath caught, and his cheeks flamed brighter than before. He could only sit there, speechless and utterly smitten, as you reached for yet another lipstick tube.  

“This one’s called ‘Velvet Sin,’” you announced, holding it up with a playful wink. “Let’s see if it’s worth the hype.”  

For a moment, he thought about protesting, but then he realized—what was the point?

He was already lost in the haze of your laughter, your teasing touches, and the warm, lingering impressions of your kisses. The pink, purple, and red smudges peppered across Sol's pale skin. He sat stiffly, his black and green streaks bangs veiling his burning cheeks as he avoided your amused gaze.  

You held up the mirror again, turning your head to inspect your lips carefully. "Still nothing, maybe I should just stick to clear gloss,” you said, a triumphant edge in your tone. "It’s like these lipsticks were forged in a lab to smudge. Great…."  

Then you turned the mirror toward Sol, revealing his reflection. His reddish-orange eyes widened as he stared, dumbfounded, at the chaotic array of lipstick marks scattered across his face—his jaw, cheeks, and even a faint smear near his collarbone from when you leaned in a little too close earlier.  

You burst out laughing, breaking the silence. "You look like a really sad art project," you teased, clutching the mirror with one hand and your stomach with the other as you doubled over in laughter.  

He huffed, clearly trying to mask his growing embarrassment, but the corner of his lips twitched upward in a sheepish smile. "You’re enjoying this way too much."  

Sol, typically composed in his aloofness, looked anything but indifferent as you leaned in, armed with yet another lipstick in your collection. His usual mask of stoicism had cracked, replaced by a look of pure, unguarded vulnerability.

“And you’re taking it way too seriously,” you teased, your voice low and dripping with mischief.

Before Sol could respond, you closed the gap between you, planting a kiss squarely on the tip of his nose. The kiss was playful, a soft smooch that left behind a faint, heart-shaped lipstick mark. The vibrant maroon stood out against his pale skin, and you pulled back, your lips curving into a satisfied smirk.

"Perfect," you murmured, tilting your head to inspect the tiny flourish you’d left behind.

Sol sat there, motionless, his lips slightly parted as if he’d forgotten how to form words. His reddish orange eyes were wide, darting to your lips and then back to your eyes. He looked completely out of his depth, his usual brooding demeanor utterly replaced by something unsteady and raw.

You didn’t stop. You leaned in again, closer this time, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders. Sol’s breath hitched audibly as your lips ghosted over his cheek.

“Let’s try something more daring,” you whispered, the heat of your breath brushing against his skin before you pressed a deliberate kiss just beside the corner of his mouth.

His entire body stiffened, his hand gripping the edge of the couch like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. The lipstick left a bold mark just shy of his lips, teasingly close. You pulled back ever so slightly, your gaze lingering on the way his chest rose and fell in uneven breaths.

“Hmm, maybe I should try it here next,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper, your fingers gently brushing his chin to tilt his face toward you.

Sol’s eyes widened, his lips trembling slightly as you leaned in further. This time, you kissed him squarely on the mouth, a soft, deliberate press of your lips against his. The kiss was slow, your lips brushing his with just enough pressure to leave a faint imprint of the maroon shade.

When you pulled away, his lips glistened faintly, the color smudged ever so slightly. His cheeks were burning red now, the flush spreading up to the tips of his ears. Sol’s expression was a mix of stunned disbelief and something else—something heavier, like a quiet yearning he couldn’t contain.

"Oops," you said with a playful grin, holding up the mirror to show him the faint but unmistakable lipstick mark lingering on his lips. "Looks like you’re officially part of the experiment now."

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. His gaze dropped to your lips again, lingering there a moment too long before darting back to your eyes. "You... you’re really not holding back," he mumbled, his voice cracking slightly.

"Should I?" you asked, raising an eyebrow as you reached for another lipstick. "I think you’re holding up pretty well, Sol. You’re a surprisingly good test dummy."

Sol didn’t respond. He just stared, his lips still tingling from the kiss, his mind racing in directions he wasn’t ready to admit. His hand twitched as if he wanted to reach out but didn’t dare. You reached for the next tube—deep plum, almost black, its sleek metallic casing glinting under the dim fairy lights.  

"All right, final test," you declared, twisting the lipstick open with a satisfying click. The color was rich and bold, a shade that dared anyone to look away. You leaned in, closer than before, your breath brushing against Sol’s cheek.  

He stiffened, his head tilting slightly as though torn between leaning away and leaning in. "You’re relentless, you know that?" he muttered, his voice low and strained.  

"Let’s see how kiss-proof this one really is," you whispered, your lips curling into a playful grin.  

Before he could protest, you kissed him, deliberately slower this time. The plush warmth of your lips pressed deeper against his lips, lingering longer than any of the others. Sol’s breath hitched audibly, and you could feel the heat radiating off him as his tension melted into something softer. When you pulled back, you admired your work: a perfect, bold imprint on his pale red lips, perfect and center.  

You shifted slightly, cupping his chin with your hand to turn his face toward you. His eyes were half-lidded, his dark lashes casting shadows against his flushed cheeks. He looked wrecked in the most endearing way.  

"Don’t tell me you’re getting tired already," you teased, your thumb brushing the edge of his jaw.  

Sol didn’t answer. He seemed dazed, his lips slightly parted as though the words had escaped him entirely. Undeterred, you leaned in again, pressing a kiss to his temple this time, your lips lingering against the curve of his hairline.  

"Still intact," you murmured, half to yourself as you pulled back and inspected your own lips in the mirror.  

Sol blinked, his lips twitching like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite manage it. The next kiss landed on the bridge of his nose, soft and playful, and the one after that trailed down to the corner of his mouth.  

"Okay, this one’s holding up really well," you remarked, leaning back to evaluate the results. You laughed softly at the kaleidoscope of lipstick stains that now adorned his face—a collection of reds, pinks, and purples, each mark a testament to your experiment.  

"Sol?" you prompted, tilting your head as you noticed his unusually quiet demeanor.  

He blinked again, his gaze focused on you but far away.  

"Hello? Earth to Sol—" You waved a hand in front of his face, but before you could finish the thought, his hand shot up, gently catching yours mid-wave.  

You froze, startled by the suddenness of the movement and the look in his eyes—smoldering and uncharacteristically intense.  

"Huh…" you trailed off as he guided your hand down, his fingers curling over yours in a firm but careful grip.  

"Enough," Sol murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine.  

Before you could process the shift, he moved. In one smooth, almost predatory motion, he pressed you back into the couch, his weight pinning you against the cushions. Your back hit the fabric with a soft thud, and his hands found your wrists, holding them gently but securely above your head.  

"Sol—"  

"You're impossible," he said softly, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His dark hair fell messily into his eyes, and his gaze burned with something raw, something that made your chest tighten.  

You stared up at him, your breath coming in short, uneven bursts as he leaned closer, the warmth of his body enveloping you. The space between you felt impossibly small, the room charged with a quiet intensity that neither of you dared to break.  

"All those kisses," he murmured, his breath ghosting over your cheek as his lips curved into a teasing smirk. "And you still act like you’re in control."  

Your heart raced, the world outside the living room forgotten entirely. "Sol, I—"  

But his expression softened, his grip on your wrists loosening slightly. "I think," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "it’s my turn to test your limits, pumpkin."  

Oh shit.

✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜

It’s one of those crisp afternoons, the air just cool enough to send a slight shiver down your spine as you sit on a bench by the archery range. The college campus is quiet, with students scattered here and there, but your attention is entirely on him—Geo. 

The archery field is his domain. He doesn’t know it yet, but you’ve got a plan that will catch him off guard.

Geo stands tall at the center of the field, adjusting his posture with precision, his focus entirely on the target in front of him. The sun casts a soft, golden light across his pale skin, making his aquamarine eyes seem even sharper. He’s dressed in a simple, black, form-fitting athletic shirt, paired with tight-fitting cargo pants that hug his long legs. 

His boots are rugged, the kind that make him look even more intimidating as he stands tall and composed. His hair, dark bluish-purple, is tied back neatly in a low ponytail, the bowl cut framing his face in a way that makes his expression appear even more brooding.

Despite his best efforts to look aloof, there’s something about him that calls for attention. His movements are deliberate, almost as if he knows he’s being watched. You lean back slightly, pretending to be absorbed in the scene but really just observing him, thinking about the plan you’ve hatched.

Geo pulls his bowstring back with precision, his aquamarine eyes narrowing as he takes aim. Everything about him is calculated, a display of discipline honed through years of practice. You bite your lip in anticipation, then grab the lipstick from your bag, uncapping it with a soft click. The color is a deep red, the kind that will stand out against his pale skin. You’ve decided: it’s time to throw him off just a little.

You stand up quietly, making your way to where Geo is, and as you approach, your heart beats a little faster. The air around you feels charged with the quiet energy he exudes. Geo is too focused on the target, his fingers inching toward the release. You take a deep breath, then step forward just as he releases the arrow.

Before he can even blink, you lean forward and plant a bold, quick kiss to his cheek, the lipstick leaving a bright red mark against his pale skin. The sound of the arrow shooting through the air fills the silence as you pull back, watching the surprise flash across his face.

Geo’s eyes widen for the briefest moment. He freezes for a split second, just enough for you to see his cheeks flush under his usual stoic exterior, the pale hue quickly warming to something deeper. The arrow he released flies off course, landing just beside the target rather than hitting the bullseye as it usually does.

He’s caught off guard.

You step back slightly, a mischievous grin on your face. “Missed it,” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

Geo’s gaze shifts to you, his expression darkening. His lips part, and for a moment, it’s like the weight of the world shifts. "What the hell?" His voice is low, his tone not entirely angry, but certainly perplexed.

For someone who’s always so controlled, so composed, you’ve definitely managed to make him lose that edge. He quickly recovers, wiping his cheek with his sleeve, and for a second, you wonder if you pushed him too far. But then you see the slightest tug of a smirk on his lips.

“Don’t do that again,” he warns, but there’s no heat in his words—just that familiar sharpness that seems to be his natural state. It’s clear he’s still processing, but you can tell this little moment has left its mark on him.

You smile back, not backing down. "I thought I’d get your attention. Looks like I did."

Geo shakes his head, his smirk growing as he nocks another arrow. "You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into," he mutters under his breath, but you can hear the playful challenge behind it.

Despite his usual brooding demeanor, you can’t help but notice the slight curve of his lips as he prepares to take another shot. It seems that, for once, he’s not quite as untouchable as he wants everyone to think. You can feel the tension in the air as Geo reaches for another arrow, but you’re already plotting your next move. The excitement bubbling inside you is hard to contain—this is more fun than you thought it would be.

Geo draws his bow back again, taking aim with the kind of precision only someone like him could master. But before he can release it, you lean forward just enough to interrupt his concentration, tapping his shoulder lightly with a teasing smile. 

“What now?” he asks, his voice as gruff as always, though you can detect a hint of amusement hiding in his eyes. “You want me to miss again?”

You shrug innocently. "Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted to see if I could make you blush again." You let the words hang in the air, watching as his expression shifts. His gaze flickers to your lips, then back to your eyes, and for a moment, you're convinced he’s actually considering the idea of doing something more than just shooting arrows.

Geo takes a deep breath, clearly trying to regain his focus, but before he can, you lean in—this time, a little bolder. You press another quick kiss to his neck line, leaving a fresh red mark on his pale skin. And just like last time, he freezes—eyes wide, jaw slightly ajar.

The arrow that should’ve been heading for the bullseye instead veers wildly off course, missing the target completely and burying itself in the grass.

You burst out laughing. "Not so precise anymore, huh?"

Geo whips his head toward you, eyes narrowed in something between surprise and irritation. “Are you trying to sabotage me?” he growls, though you can see the amusement hiding behind his scowl.

You’re still laughing, clearly enjoying yourself far too much, and that’s when Geo decides to do something about it.

With a swift motion, he reaches out and grabs your wrist before you can step back, his fingers tightening around it just enough to stop you from making any more cheeky moves. You stare at him, caught off guard for a moment—he’s not known for being touchy, but here he is, holding you in place.

"Alright, enough of this," he says, his voice suddenly less gruff and more playful, though his eyes still carry that glint of challenge. "If you think you can distract me with kisses, you’re mistaken."

You grin up at him, unfazed by his grip on your wrist. "Oh? Then you should’ve seen what happened when you missed your shot," you tease. “I think the whole campus heard your arrow crash into the grass.”

Geo rolls his eyes, but the faintest smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Don’t think this is over,” he warns, his grip on your wrist tightening a little more, though it’s more playful than threatening. "You’re gonna regret this, trust me."

“You sure about that?” you quip back, your voice filled with playful defiance.

Geo raises an eyebrow at your defiant tone, clearly weighing his options. For a second, you swear there’s a flicker of something almost... fond? It vanishes just as quickly, replaced by his usual broody persona. “I could have you running laps around this field by the end of the day,” he threatens, though his eyes are twinkling with the unmistakable sign of a challenge.

“Make me,” you shoot back, tugging your wrist free from his grasp just enough to push your luck a little further. 

Geo chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief. "You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?"

“Yeah, all for you~” you tease, throwing him a wink.

Geo doesn’t acknowledge the comment, but the corner of his mouth lifts just a little higher this time. It’s subtle, but it’s there. Despite the gruff exterior, you’ve managed to ruffle his feathers just enough to see a side of him that’s not all business. 

And honestly? 

You kind of like it.

As you step away, pretending to give him space, you can feel his eyes on you. You’re not sure if he’s still trying to figure out what the hell just happened or if he’s plotting his revenge. 

Either way, you’re all in for whatever comes next.

Geo steadies himself, the bow string pulled taut as he lines up another shot. But the second you lean in, it’s like the world goes into slow motion. You can see his shoulders tense, his jaw clenching slightly as you get closer. He knows exactly what you're doing. His grip tightens on the bow, and for a split second, you think he might just let the arrow fly—into the target this time.

But before he can fully focus, you press a soft, teasing kiss to his bottom jaw again, the lipstick leaving a fresh red print. 

Geo’s eyes snap wide open in surprise, his finger twitching against the bowstring. “You—” He cuts himself off, trying to maintain his composure, but the blush on his cheeks betrays him, his pale skin turning a shade darker. The arrow in his hand nearly slips from his grasp as he blinks in confusion. 

You pull back just enough to see his expression, a mix of shock and that brooding intensity you’re so used to. His lips twitch, a barely-there smirk playing at the corners, more like disbelief?

However there’s something else in his eyes now—something... tempting.

"Alright," he growls lowly, but there’s a teasing lilt to his voice now, "You want to play that game, huh?"

Before you can even react, he’s closing the space between you, his hands gripping your wrists with surprising tenderness, pulling you in with a quick, deliberate motion. His lips find yours in a kiss that’s more intense than anything you expected. The rush of warmth from his lips against yours sends a little shock of electricity through you, and your breath catches.

Geo’s kiss isn’t soft or tentative. No, it’s like he’s trying to make a statement—daring you to say something, to break the moment. You feel the pressure of his lips, firm and demanding, and you can tell he’s not just kissing you for fun anymore. There’s something deeper in it now. The playfulness has shifted into something a little more heated.

You’re breathless when he pulls away just enough to speak, his voice husky, dark with amusement. “Now you’ve really done it.”

You blink up at him—his lips now stained from the lipstick, looking down at you with irritating expression—dazed from the sudden shift in his demeanor. “I didn’t think you’d actually kiss me back, especially on the lips” you tease, a smile tugging at your lips despite the heat crawling up your neck.

Geo doesn’t smile—he just stares at you, eyes dark with the challenge of it all. His hands still rest lightly on your wrists, but now they feel heavier, almost like he’s holding you in place. “You should’ve known better.”

Before you can reply, he gently lets go of your wrists, his gaze lingering just a little longer than you’d like. The air between you two is thick now—charged with the energy of the moment, and there’s a sense that things are about to get even more complicated. You’ve managed to crack his icy exterior, but you’re not entirely sure what that means for either of you.

Geo turns back to the target without another word, grabbing another arrow. His focus is entirely back on the bullseye, but there’s an undeniable smirk on his lips now. And the way his fingers curl around the bow, steady and sure, tells you that this game is far from over. 

“You missed plenty of shots earlier,” you say playfully, “Think you’ll actually hit the target this time?”

Geo shoots you a look over his shoulder, a glint in his aquamarine eyes. "Watch me," he mutters, before losing the arrow. 

It’s a perfect shot—dead center. He doesn’t even flinch as the arrow hits the target. Quick and easy.

“Well, damn,” you say, impressed. “I guess I’ll just have to distract you more often.”

Geo doesn't respond at first, but a tiny smirk that pulls at his lips says it all. "Keep trying me, and you’ll see," he murmurs a warning, almost to himself before brushing the lipstick stain across his lips. 

And just like that, you realize—he enjoys this more than he lets on.

· ───────⋆⋅♤⋅⋆─────── · 

[girlgenius1111]

wise beyond her years

sol meets someone, and it's doomed from the start. everyone can see it, except her. ingrid tries to balance being supportive and being... a parent?

based [ish] on the manuscript by taylor swift... mostly the lyrics "afterwards she only ate kids cereal and couldn't sleep unless it was in her mother's bed"

------

You met her at one of Ingrid’s games. Mapi had gone down to the locker room at halftime, and you’d been content to sit in your seat and scroll through your phone until the team made their way back out. That was, until she slid into the seat next to you and introduced herself. 

Camila. She was a bit taller than you, the epitome of Spanish beauty. She spoke English with an adorable accent, and when you looked into her eyes for the first time, you were almost speechless. She looked to be a bit older than you. Maybe around Ingrid’s age. 

You should have known better. You should have thought about how odd it was that she’d been sitting a few rows up and only came to talk to you when you were alone. How those first few dates she took you on always ended with her getting you to invite her to the next Barça game. 

It was so easy for her. You were… healing. That didn't mean that you were healed. Freud would have rolled in his grave at how oblivious you were. Dating an older woman. Only a month or so after a huge fallout with your mother. Letting her talk you into things you weren’t quite sure about. Let her talk her way into your heart, making promises and declarations of love that came much too soon. 

She said that she loved you. And it wasn’t that you believed her, not really. You just thought that if you tried hard enough to be perfect, one day she would love you.

------

Ingrid had made her displeasure with Camila known to you from the beginning. She knew exactly what the woman was up to, it was obvious to everyone but you. She was using you because you were an easy target, and you were vulnerable and young and excited that someone was paying attention to you. 

You wouldn’t listen to Ingrid, though. Not when she warned you nicely about Camila, or when she warned you much more seriously. You ignored her words completely, dismissed them. And Ingrid didn’t want to fight with you, but she couldn’t hold back her feelings about this woman that had slipped into your life, so poor Mapi bore the brunt of the Norwegian’s rants about how Camila was not good enough for her Solstråle. 

This was the case today. You were off with Camila, and Ingrid was going crazy back home. It had been weeks, and this was still going on. The worry and concern your sister had for you was at a high, it was all she could think about. Mapi felt similarly, but she tried to keep her cool because she knew very well that telling you not to date the woman would only make you want to date her more. 

“She’s going to get hurt.” Ingrid said. 

“She might. That’s how she learns, though, mi amor. We have to let her make her own mistakes.” 

“Did you read that in your parenting book?” Ingrid asked with a slight smirk. 

Mapi flushed red, avoiding her girlfriend’s gaze. “It is not a parenting book. It is a… helping sad teens book.” She argued. 

Ingrid softened. “María, don’t be embarrassed. Getting a book to learn how to help Solstråle better… that is sweet and thoughtful. Just like you.” 

Now, Mapi was blushing again, but this time a small smile adorned her features, though worry was still clouding her eyes. “Are you sure it’s okay? I know she’s your sister, and I do not want to overstep.” 

Ingrid just shook her head. “No, you are not overstepping. I couldn’t do this without you, María, and I mean that. You balance me out. I was worried, for a while, about being too much like my mother. You’d never let that happen, though, and it’s like a safety net. I don’t need to worry as much about making a mistake because you’re always there to tell me when I’m not doing the right thing. And you don’t have to be, but you are. I don’t thank you enough for that, my love. I don’t tell you enough, how incredible you are,  for being so full of love, and so happy to share it with everyone you meet.” 

“I love you.” María whispered back. “I love you, and I love mi sol, and I tolerate her dog, but I love our family. Sol is a special kid and… I don’t know. I just want you both to be happy. I want you both to feel loved and worthy of love because you are.” 

Ingrid isn’t quite sure how this conversation about your ‘girlfriend’ had led to this incredibly mushy conversation, but she pulled Mapi into her and squeezed tightly. “ Don’t make me cry, Solstråle will be home soon and she’ll make fun of me.”

Mapi laughed loudly, quickly wiping a tear off Ingrid’s cheek as the front door opened, announcing your arrival home. When you walked into the living room, it was to see Mapi and Ingrid curled up together on the couch, which wasn’t an unusual sight. Nor was the way they were looking at each other unusual, either. Like seeing the other person smile could sustain the other for days. Ingrid and Mapi loved each other so deeply, and so easily, it was clear for anyone to see. 

You wanted that, you really did. And you thought you had it where you definitely didn’t. You’d have it one day, though. Something told you that. 

-------

You weren’t sitting with Mapi at the match today. Camila had wanted it to be a real date, and not be supervised by your sister’s girlfriend, though she still wanted to attend the match. You’d been excited about it, even though you’d spent most of your free time with her in the past couple weeks. Well, excited until she’d disappeared right before kick off to get you both waters, and had been gone for 20 minutes. 

You were really just worried that something had happened to slow her down, so you got up when an opposing player went down and headed off in search of her. 

You found her pretty easily, leaning against a wall by the bathroom, talking to a girl. A girl that looked to be about your age, that looked just like you in fact. You tried not to jump to conclusions as you froze, watching carefully from a few meters away. It was obvious, though, what was going on. Even more obvious when Camila reached out and tucked a piece of the girl’s hair behind her ear.

 It wasn’t immediately clear to you what to do. You knew you should be angry, but really all you felt was hurt. Before Camila could spot you, you headed back to your seat, and when Camila returned a few minutes later, you did what you were used to. You shut down. You answered her questions with shrugs or nods, even when she started to get annoyed that you weren’t speaking. 

You wanted to talk to Frido. Not Ingrid or Mapi, because they’d freak out. Mapi would get all weirdly protective and huffy, and Ingrid would just be furious that you hadn’t listened to her. Frido would listen to you, and tell you what to do. You couldn’t get to the Swede, though, not without seeing your sister and her girlfriend. And by the time the final whistle blew, Camila’s anger was simmering under the surface, and she practically dragged you from the stadium. You quickly texted Mapi, telling her you were leaving with Camila, before your girlfriend pushed you into the car and all but slammed the door. You winced at the sound, knowing that you shouldn’t feel guilty for how you were acting. Camila should be the one feeling bad, but you couldn’t help the nagging feeling to just apologize and let it go. 

It was like the old version of you and the newer version were fighting. Was this how you deserved to be treated? Had Camila really done anything wrong? Your brain was a mess, and as Camila pulled the car out of the parking spot, and began to drive, you decided that you just needed some space to think. 

“Can you take me home?” You asked quietly, looking at your girlfriend out of the corner of your eye. She seemed to relax a bit, now that you’d spoken. Camila didn’t look as angry anymore. Just worried. 

“Is everything okay? You’ve gone silent on me.” Camila asked gently. Or, at least, it sounded gentle. She was giving you a kind, concerned smile but there was a look in her eyes that made you kind of uneasy. You ignored it, focusing on the softness, letting yourself be lulled into a false sense of security. You told yourself to be honest, that it was probably just a misunderstanding. That Camila would make you feel better about it, explain it all away. And everything would go back to normal. 

“I just… I saw you talking to that girl by the bathroom. It looked kind of cozy.” You said cautiously. The car came upon an intersection, a red light, and Camila came to a stop before she looked over at you. The concern was gone from her face. The softness nowhere to be found. She just looked furious at you. 

“Did you follow me to the bathroom for a reason?” She asked venomously. 

You shook your head, surprised at the turn this conversation had taken. “No, no, you were gone for a while, and I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

Camila rolled her eyes as the light turned green, looking away from you and at the road. “Sure. I was just saying hi to an old friend. There’s no need to get all jealous.” 

“I’m not jealous.” You replied, sitting up straighter in your seat, a bit of anger flaring in you. Anger you hadn’t felt in a while, but a feeling that still filled your veins with fire. “I just wanted to know why you were flirting with someone while we were on a date.” 

Camila scoffed. “I was not flirting. I told you it was an old friend. I barely talked to her, what are you being so dramatic about?” 

“I really don’t think I’m being dramatic. I just asked you a question.” You said, trying to remain calm even as your girlfriend got angrier and angrier next to you. 

“No, you acted like a child. Going completely silent and ruining our date? I know you’re young, but I expected you to act like an adult and be more mature than that. It’s honestly embarrassing.” 

You felt your cheeks burn, and you chewed on your lip for a minute, trying not to say anything you’d regret. “I asked you a question, and you just keep deflecting. I don’t think I am being the childish one.” 

“Is this the mommy issues or something?” Camila asked, a cruel smile playing on her lips. You sat silent for a moment, not completely sure you’d heard her correctly. 

“Excuse me?” 

“The jealousy, the insecurity? I know your mom fucked you up, but this is ridiculous. We’ve only been together for a few weeks, why are you being so clingy? It’s fucking annoying, and I’ll tell you right now, no one on earth is going to want to put up with this. Especially not from you, it’s not worth it.” 

You blinked, completely shocked. You hadn’t expected her to get so angry when you’d been honest about your insecurity and worry. And you hadn’t expected her to throw things that you’d told her in a moment of vulnerability in your face either. “Are you serious?” You asked, voice cracking slightly. 

Camila let out a humorless laugh, parking the car in front of the cafe you were supposed to be going to. “Are you going to cry now?” She asked mockingly. “Christ, you really are too young. I don’t want to date someone this immature.”

You stared at her, feeling like you had whiplash from the turn this conversation had taken. It seemed like she was breaking up with you. Which was probably for the best, if this was how she reacted to you bringing up an issue with her. Still, it was like you were seeing a side of her you’d never seen before. Cold. Cruel. She looked completely unbothered as she unlocked the car doors and gave you a pointed look, one that clearly told you that this conversation was over. 

She looked unbothered, and you felt  your heart shatter as your biggest fear was coming true. You were too much. It had only taken Camila weeks to get tired of you. Hot tears fell down your cheeks, ones you desperately tried to hide. You were sad and embarrassed, but most of all. You just felt so hopeless. 

As you got out of the car, without another word said to your now ex-girlfriend, you wondered how you could have been so naive to think that someone would want you. Camila was right. You were too screwed up for anyone to choose you. 

You walked right into the cafe, making a beeline for the bathroom. Locking and shutting the door behind you, the last of your resolve broke, and you worked hard to quiet the broken sobs falling from your lips. 

Stupid. You’d been so stupid. It wasn’t the first time someone had broken your trust, or said something awful to you. But it was the first time since… things had changed. And somehow, you’d forgotten how much it hurt, feeling unwanted. You had been used to it, before, numb to it. Now, though, it burned sharp in your chest. Shame and sadness and anger and frustration. And still. That persistent feeling of hopelessness. How was anyone ever supposed to want you?

-------

Mapi had a weird feeling when you called. Your text after the match had sounded odd, and you were supposed to be getting coffee with Camila. She didn’t really have any other reason to be worried, but for some reason, she was. 

“Maps?” You greeted quietly. You called Mapi on purpose. She worried less than Ingrid, and while she disapproved of Camila, she had been pretending that she didn’t. Mapi was more likely to be willing to come and get you. Ingrid, on the other hand, you assumed would be too angry that you hadn’t listened to her. Too vindicated, and too caught up in being right to comfort you. 

“Hey, nena. What’s up?” Mapi asked. 

“Can you come get me?” You mumbled, the embarrassment of the situation really hitting you full force. 

“Send me your location, I’m on my way.” Mapi replied instantly, and you really appreciated that she didn’t try to get any details out of you, was just focused on getting to you as fast as possible. 

“Can you bring Scout?” You asked after a moment’s hesitation, knowing how Mapi felt about bringing the dog in the car with her. The simple question sent another wave of worry through the Spaniard’s body, knowing you really only asked for something you needed when… you really needed it. 

“Of course. Do you want to stay on the phone with me?” Mapi asked, rushing to grab her keys, ignoring the questioning look Ingrid was giving her from the couch, having woken up from a nap. 

“No, it’s okay. I’ll see you soon.” 

“Okay, mi sol. I love you.” 

“Love you too.” You whispered, choking back a sob as you hung up. 

“What is it? Where is she? Is she okay? Did something happen?” Ingrid asked rapidly, moving to get up from the couch. 

“Scout! Ven aqui!” Mapi called, rolling her eyes when the dog appeared instantly, as if he knew the reason for being summoned. “I don’t know, she just asked me to come get her. Don’t get up. Stay here, rest. I’ll get pequeña.” 

“But-” 

“No buts, princesa. Stay here. I’ve got this covered, we’ll be back soon. Don’t move from this couch, I mean it.” Mapi insisted, never one to take Ingrid’s recovery casually. 

Ingrid frowned but sat back down on the couch, watching as her girlfriend and your dog disappeared out the front door, both of them moving like they were on a mission. If there was one thing Mapi could agree with Scout on, it was that you were very important.

-------

When Mapi pulled up in front of the cafe, she saw you sitting with a to-go cup of coffee at a little table, staring at the ground. She parked quickly, finding a spot just around the corner,  before she got out to walk over to you, bringing Scout with her. Scout pulled harshly on his leash, and for once, Mapi didn’t mind. 

“Solstråle?” Mapi called when she got close enough, seeing your head whip up to look in the direction of your name. In a flash, you were abandoning your coffee and all but launching yourself towards Mapi. The Spaniard didn’t say anything, not quite sure what had happened but able to infer that it wasn’t good. 

“Thanks for coming so fast.” You said quietly, feeling just marginally better now that Mapi had pulled you into a tight hug. Scout nudged your leg with his nose rather insistently, until you pulled away from the hug and crouched down to pet him. 

“Of course, mi sol. I’ll always come for you. Did something happen?” Mapi asked, never not amazed by the way Scout instantly brought a small smile to your face, even if your eyes were still slightly wet with tears. 

“We broke up.” You said simply, though your voice cracked over the last word. 

“Oh, nena. I’m so sorry.” Mapi sighed. “Let's get you home, yeah?” 

“Okay.” You agreed, although you really weren’t looking forward to it. You wanted to go home, curl up into a ball and cry, by yourself. At the same time, you desperately wanted a hug from your sister. You were just completely convinced that she wouldn’t be willing to do that. 

-------

You walked into the house just behind Mapi, trying to take deep, steadying breaths. You were close to breaking down, and you didn’t really need to hear all the reasons that Ingrid had known this would happen. You didn’t need an ‘I told you so.’ 

Your sister was waiting for you in the entrance hall, pacing nervously, when you walked in. 

“Solstråle! What happened? Are you okay?” Ingrid asked as soon as you were through the door, ignoring Mapi’s look that was clearly telling her to be cool. 

“It’s fine, I’m fine. I want to be alone.” You said, pushing past her to head for the stairs. You heard Ingrid begin to go after you, but Mapi stopped her, telling her to give you a minute. 

-------

You collapsed onto your bed, Scout jumping up next to you like he thought it was a game. You just wished it would just swallow you up. It was only a few minutes later that you heard footsteps approaching your door, like you knew they would. A soft knock on your door interrupted your crying, and you hastily wiped at your eyes. “Yeah?”

Ingrid peaked her head in. “I know you said you want to be alone, but I just wanted to check…” she said, trailing off when she saw you valiantly fighting your tears. 

“I’m okay.” You mumbled, focusing on petting Scout, as opposed to looking at your sister. 

“Honey, you aren’t.” Ingrid sighed, moving in closer to take a seat on the edge of your bed. “You’re upset, that’s okay. You don’t need to be embarrassed.” 

“Well, I am. You were right. Is that what you wanted to hear?” You asked bitingly, not really intending to snap so harshly at your sister, but not quite sure you felt like you could trust her at the moment. 

“No, sweetheart, that is not what I wanted to hear. I wanted to be wrong about her, solstråle, more than anything. I am so sorry things didn’t end well.” 

“You aren’t glad that you’re right?” You asked, astonished. It didn't really make sense to you; all of this could have been avoided if you’d just listened to your sister. How could she be sorry for you when you’d blatantly ignored her advice? 

Ingrid shook her head, her face painfully full of pity and sympathy. “No, not if it means that you’re hurting.” 

“Oh.” You weren’t quite sure what to do with that. You’d been prepared to deal with this yourself. To be completely honest, you didn’t really feel like you deserved Ingrid’s support. You’d been so stupid not to listen to her. This was all your fault, really, and Ingrid shouldn’t have to deal with implications of something that was ultimately your mistake. “I’m sorry, I should have listened.” You said quietly, looking down, refusing to make eye contact with your sister. 

“Don’t be sorry, solstråle.” Ingrid sighed. You looked so distraught, but you were leaning slightly away from your sister, like you were afraid to accept any comfort from her. Like suddenly, you weren’t sure you trusted her anymore. And though that hurt, Ingrid really couldn’t blame you. Not when the universe seemed so dead set on making you miserable. “What can I do?” 

“I just want to be alone.” You mumbled, wrapping your arms around yourself, completely invalidating your statement. 

“No, you don’t. Look at me.” Ingrid instructed, waiting until you raised your head to look at her, very cautiously. “You’re allowed to be sad about this. No matter what happened, no matter what I said about her before. I never want to see you hurting. You don’t have to deal with this alone just because you made a mistake. Okay?” 

You held your sister’s gaze for a few moments, before you slowly nodded your head. “I really liked her.” You whispered after a minute, leaning almost imperceptibly towards your sister. 

“I know. Come here, honey,” Ingrid said, opening her arms for you to all but collapse into them. It was familiar, at this point, being held tightly in Ingrid’s arms. It never failed to make you feel better. And while Ingrid wished that things would just be easier for you, a very critical part of herself settled when you relaxed against her. The brunette was never quite sure she was doing a good enough job with you, but when you went to her when you were upset, allowed her to help you, even if it was rather hesitantly, it felt reassuring to her. It wasn’t full trust, but you were getting there. She must be doing something right if you were making progress. 

“What would make you feel better?” Ingrid asked after a minute, smiling to herself at how Scout had settled himself with half his upper body draped across your legs. 

“Nothing.” You replied pathetically. It wasn’t the first relationship you’d had, but it felt so much more significant than any of the others had. In just a few weeks, Camila had made herself one of the most important things in your life. You weren’t really sure how she managed it, but somehow, she’d gotten you to confess things you’d told very few people, learned more about you than many people did. And as soon as things had started to not go her way, she’d used all those things against you. It was the first time in a while that you’d really let yourself be fully vulnerable with someone, and it had backfired so horrifically. You were hurt, and you were embarrassed, but most of all, you were just sad. 

You thought this was going to be a turning point for you, but you didn’t realize you’d given Camila all of the ammunition she’d needed to make sure it was the biggest setback you’d face. Not until you were lying in your bed, wanting nothing more than to disappear. You’d been nothing to her. That was a familiar feeling, something that made every cell in your body squirm with anxiety. It was happening again. 

“What are you thinking?” Ingrid asked, interrupting your rapid stream of thoughts. 

“Is it me? Do I just… make people want to treat me badly?” You asked. It wasn’t the first time you’d considered it, but that particular fear had been dormant since everything had happened in the last few weeks. Since Ingrid and Mapi had made it clear that they wanted you here with them. It was confusing and completely contradictory, your brain couldn’t really make sense of it. Your sister and her girlfriend must just be the exception. 

“No.” Ingrid said firmly. “No. It isn’t you. You just have… bad luck. You make me and Mapi want to be better, Solstråle. Better for you, so that we can take care of you in the way that you deserve. You are good, Solstråle, and you deserve good, even when you don’t feel like it.” 

For some reason, Ingrid’s words brought tears to your eyes. Good tears. “Well, I can’t have all bad luck. I get to be here with you two, and I don’t know if I would still be…” you trailed off, trying to figure out what you wanted to say. “You both saved my life, I think. The two of you wanting me here, and taking me in, that’s good luck.” You managed, sitting up and shifting so you were facing your sister, who looked one word away from bursting into tears herself. 

“It’s not good luck, mi sol. It’s what you deserve. It’s what you should have had this whole time.” Mapi chimed in from the doorway, looking fondly at the two of you. Ingrid smiled at her in thanks, humming quietly in agreement with her girlfriend’s statement. The Spaniard wandered in closer, flopping onto the free space on your bed, causing a disgruntled Scout to shift, kicking Mapi lightly in the side. “That girl did not deserve you. And you’ll find someone who wants to treat you the way you deserve. You just can’t rush stuff like that, sí? It will come to you when it does.” 

It was potentially the most frustrating advice to receive, but it made you feel better nonetheless. 

“And she was kind of ugly.” Mapi said as an afterthought. 

“Mapi!” You laughed, smiling a real smile. Both girls’ faces lit up at the sight of the smile on your face, and both of them were desperate for you to keep smiling, for your face not to fall into the sad frown it had been in for the past hour. The conversation lulled, and Ingrid’s mind raced, trying to think of what people liked to do after breakups. She’d been with Mapi for so long, she wasn’t sure she remembered. 

“Do you want to lay in bed alone for the rest of your night, or do you want to watch a movie? Or we could go get ice cream. Or we could go shopping. Or on a run. Or-” Ingrid listed, only stopping when you cut her off. 

“Sister movie night sounds good.” You said softly, unable to express in that moment how much you appreciated how hard she was trying. You knew ingrid probably wanted to talk, to hear everything that had happened, but she was learning to respect that you really only liked to talk when you felt like it. Which wasn’t often. 

“Sister movie night, cool.” Ingrid said, trying to act like she wasn’t thrilled that you’d decided to be with her instead of requesting to be alone. “Go pick a movie, I’ll make popcorn.” 

You all dragged yourselves off your soft comforter, having grown rather comfortable, and headed for your bedroom door. 

“I’ll be in the garage.” Mapi said, smiling at both of you as she tried to wordlessly communicate that she knew you both wanted sister time, and it was okay that it didn’t include her. Both you and Ingrid froze, though, turning slightly to stare at her like she’d said something absurd. 

“Don’t be stupid.” You said, rolling your eyes. “‘Sister movie night’ obviously means ‘sister and her live-in girlfriend’ movie night.” 

Mapi looked a bit surprised, though she shouldn’t have been. There were very few times that you just wanted to be with Ingrid, and those times were becoming less and less frequent as you began to depend on Mapi more and more. “You want me to watch with you?” 

“Sí.” You said, almost exasperated. “Why wouldn’t I want you to hangout with us?”

“I just thought it was Engen sister time…” Mapi trailed off, looking uncharacteristically insecure.  

“Engen León family time.” Ingrid amended, looking at you for approval. You nodded. 

“Who else is going to talk the entire length of the film?” You asked, smirking and sprinting off down the stairs when Mapi gave you an offended look, Scout hot on your heels. 

------

The movie had been a good distraction, not that Mapi or Ingrid really paid much attention to it. Instead, they kept glancing over at where you were curled up on the couch. Scout had taken his place next to you, one of his legs stretching out every now and then to kick in Mapi’s direction. 

The conversation with them had obviously made you feel better, but they were still rather uneasy. You were acting completely normally, all of a sudden. And they didn’t buy it, not for a second. They weren’t sure what had happened, because you hadn’t said, but they knew that it wasn’t good. You’d been infatuated with Camila, and now you were reluctant to speak her name. Whatever had gone on had hurt you, deeply, but in the span of a few hours, you were acting like you were completely fine. 

To you, it just felt like there was no use in thinking about it anymore. Crying over what happened, being sad or angry with Camila wouldn’t help you. It wouldn’t make you feel better. You’d very logically taken stock of your emotions, before deciding that they were completely useless. You were fine. 

Well, maybe not, but you would be fine. Especially if you acted like nothing was wrong. Like you weren’t questioning every choice you’d made with Camila. Like you didn’t hate yourself. Emotions only had power if you gave it to them, you decided. Before, you might have been angry. Now, though, you just… forced it all off, far away. No feeling anything until it hurt less to think about what had happened. 

It seemed like a good plan to you, and you stuck to it. Even when you couldn’t fall asleep that night, your mind swirling with horrible thoughts as you tried to push them away. Eventually, you gave up, putting on a show and forcing yourself to focus on that, instead. 

It was obvious that you hadn’t slept the next morning, walking down to the kitchen like a zombie. Ingrid and Mapi were hoping you’d be a little more forthcoming with what had occurred today, but all hopes of that went out the window when you avoided eye contact with them, a hood pulled over your head, dark bags under your eyes. At least you there was no school, as you had the day off, but they had training, training they couldn’t miss. Neither of them felt very good about leaving you home alone, with no idea what was going on in your head. 

You were blankly shoveling cereal into your mouth when Ingrid got your attention. 

“Solstråle!” She said rather loudly. You jumped slightly, looking across the table at her in confusion. “I said your name 5 times. Did you not hear me?” 

Ingrid didn’t sound mad, just worried, and you felt your throat tighten. 

No. No. No tears. No sadness. That wouldn’t help. Self pity wouldn’t help. The only thing to do was to move forward. 

“Sorry. I’m just tired. Had coffee too late yesterday, couldn't sleep.” You mumbled, turning your attention back to the ceramic bowl in front of you. Your thoughts wandered, briefly, to the fact that since you’d moved in, there hadn’t been a single day where there wasn’t a box of your favorite cereal in the pantry. You really must have been feeling the complete lack of sleep, because that thought alone almost had you tearing up. 

“Come to training today. María is out on the grass, again, you can watch.” Ingrid suggested softly. 

You shook your head though, swallowing the lump in your throat. You didn’t want to be far from them, but you also knew that if they kept being so nice to you, you weren’t going to be able to keep it together. 

“I’m really tired, I just want to stay here.” You replied.  Ingrid looked like she wanted to argue, but Mapi nodded from where she stood at the fridge, filling her water.

“That’s okay. Stay here, have a chill day. We’ll be back after lunch.” She walked over to you, squeezing your shoulder kindly. The Spaniard said goodbye, before exiting the kitchen. Ingrid hung back, not really caring at all that she might make them late. 

Your sister stood from her spot at the table, and you mumbled a quiet goodbye, only looking up when she came to stand right next to you. Her hand pulled your hood down, her fingers tilting your chin up to look at her. Her face was pinched with concern, and you felt a pang of guilt that you were doing this again. Making them worry about you. 

“Try to sleep or something? You looked exhausted, sweetheart. No runs or hikes or climbs, please. Just stay here?” Ingrid asked, making sure to frame her request as a question, and not a command. 

“Okay.” You agreed, far too tired to even think about any of those things. You knew Ingrid just wanted you to stay where she knew you were, which was fine. You were honestly just surprised she hadn’t dragged you to training with her. 

She lightly patted your cheek, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Be good. I love you.” 

“Love you too. Play safe.” 

You were wide awake, completely wired. Even as everything inside of you told you that you should be tired, you felt like you might never sleep again. You kept your promise to your sister, though, collapsing onto the couch and putting a show on. Scout came to lay with you, falling asleep easily in your lap. You were jealous of your dog, you realized. It was an amusing thought, but all you felt was… Empty. Nothing. Because if you let yourself laugh, you were sure it would turn into sobs, and you couldn’t do that. 

You just had to be strong.

-------

You got into bed early that night, hoping that the added time laying down would help you fall asleep. You were so exhausted, truly, but as you laid in bed at 8pm, you knew instinctively that you wouldn’t be able to sleep again. Everytime you drifted off, your thoughts drifted too, and you’d jerk awake, struck with a reminder of what Camila had said. Her words were haunting you. Everytime you closed your eyes, you could see the sneer on her face as she spoke, and hear the cruel words she’d spoken. 

You were beginning to think she was right about you. How were you so screwed up after a relationship ended that had only lasted a few weeks to begin with? You thought you loved her, yes, but you were being dramatic. You shouldn’t be this devastated, and in your head, this only reinforced that idea that Camila had been right. You were too immature. You were too messed up. No one was ever going to want to deal with you. 

A soft knock on your door dragged you out of your thoughts, thankfully. 

“Come in,” you called. Mapi pushed the door open, taking in the rather unnaturally clean room around her. You’d gone crazy cleaning the night before, putting away all the clothes strewn across the floor. It was neat and clutter free in there now, and Mapi’s heart melted at the sight of the framed photo on your nightstand. It was of the three of you, a candid that Frido had taken after a match. It was little things like this that made Mapi deeply happy, and deeply sad all at once. For six months you’d lived here, and they’d given you the space they thought you needed. It was so far from what you actually needed, though, and Mapi couldn’t help the guilt that filled her at the thought. All she and Ingrid could do now, though, was do better. 

So, she entered your room, holding out a mug towards you. It was the one she’d picked out at Ikea, the one with the map and the sun. You knew for a fact that you’d used it this morning for your coffee, which meant Mapi must have pulled it out of the dishwasher and hand washed it herself, so she could bring it up to you. 

“I made you tea.” She said, taking a seat on the edge of your bed as you grabbed the mug from her. 

“Did you think caffeine would help me sleep?” You asked skeptically. 

She rolled her eyes. “No, idiota, it is sleepytime tea. There’s no caffeine.” 

You took a cautious sip, smiling a bit when you liked the taste. 

“My mami always made it for me when I couldn’t sleep.” Mapi said quietly. “Thought it might help tonight since you decided to become nocturnal yesterday.” 

Ingrid and Mapi really toed the line of parent vs. sister / guardian. It was often a sisterly relationship, you thought, with both of them. When you would tease each other, or argue about borrowing their clothes. Other times, it felt completely parent-y. When they’d make you go to bed early, or annoy you about studying for a test. 

This situation definitely fell into the latter category, and you found that you minded it less and less. 

“It’s good.” You told her, taking another sip. “And I didn’t decide to become nocturnal. It just kind of happened.”

Mapi hummed, looking around the room again. You just had the string lights above your bed on, the room lit also by the soft glow of the TV, as your favorite sitcom played. You’d lit a candle, and you were bundled up under the covers of your bed, clearly trying hard to be comfortable. Clearly trying very hard to sleep. 

You looked so tired, it made her heart ache, and she knew Ingrid felt the same. Ingrid, who Mapi was absolutely sure was hovering outside the door, not wanting to overwhelm you. You seemed… fragile. Like you were one step away from breaking at any given moment, and neither of them wanted that to happen before you were ready. Ingrid was just as worried about you, though, and she’d only agreed not to go in if Mapi promised to make you promise something. 

“Can you promise to wake us up tonight if you can’t sleep?” Mapi said finally, looking intently at you. 

With a sigh, you shrugged. “What good would that do?”

“You wouldn’t have to be alone.” Mapi said simply, watching as a flicker of emotion flashed across your face. You didn’t have to be alone anymore. Sometimes you forgot. “If you don’t promise, Ingrid is probably going to come in here every hour or something and check on you.” 

With a roll of your eyes, and a big sigh that you didn’t really mean, you nodded. “Fine.” 

“Good.” Mapi grinned. “Goodnight, mi sol. Te quiero.” 

“Goodnight.” You replied. “Tell Ingrid in the hall goodnight too.” 

The Spaniard chuckled. “I will. Sleep tight.”

With that, she leaned down, pressing a kiss onto your forehead, before she slipped out of the room. Hushed whispers came from the hall and you smiled to yourself, just a bit. Ingrid was such a weirdo sometimes. 

-------

It was around 2am when you broke. You’d tried everything you could think of to fall asleep, and nothing had worked. Worse, the lack of sleep was really getting to you and you were feeling ridiculously emotional. When you promised Mapi you’d wake them up if you couldn’t sleep again, you hadn’t meant it. Now, though, as you lay awake in your bed, tears threatening to fall, you really didn’t want to be alone. You weren’t sure how they could help, or even if you wanted help, but you knew that the indisputably healthy choice to make here would be to go to them. And you were trying to be better for yourself. 

Even as Camila’s words rattled around in your head, and you were half convinced you were an awful person, about to become even worse by waking Ingrid and Mapi up, you got up from your bed, and walked down the hall. 

There were a lot of notable moments in your time in Spain. A lot of them consisted of long, emotional talks with Ingrid and Mapi. And you knew that this was likely what you were headed for. It was naive to think you could hold everything that had happened in, keep it all to yourself. Especially when you’d kind of gotten used to sharing things with them, as horrifying as that thought was. You weren’t nervous, like usual, though. You just wanted them to tell you that everything she’d said was wrong. 

Scout followed you down the hall, slightly annoyed that you’d woken him up when you got up. He liked to sleep with some part of him touching you, so it was inevitable that when you woke, Scout did too. Your sister’s bedroom door was open, and you peeked in, half second guessing yourself. Both of them were asleep. It was a cool night, by Barcelona’s standards, which was obvious by Mapi’s sweatshirt and sweatpants that she’d worn to bed, as well as the extra blanket pulled over her. Ingrid, on the other hand, had kicked the comforter off of her, sleeping in just a tshirt and shorts. They were laying facing each other, their hands tangled together, like they’d fallen asleep talking. 

They were sleeping. They’d had a long week. They had training the following day. You shouldn’t wake them. They looked comfortable and peaceful, and you shouldn’t ruin that. You turned to go back to your room, biting your lip to stop yourself from crying at how utterly alone you suddenly felt. 

You were sure you hadn’t made any noise, but still, a whispered voice stopped you in your tracks. 

“Solstråle?” Ingrid asked quietly, sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, go back to sleep.” You said, trying to keep your voice steady. It evidently didn’t work, because not a second later, Ingrid was flicking the lamp on, looking at you with a sympathetic expression on her face. Next to your sister, her girlfriend huffed in annoyance, still practically asleep, pulling the covers up and over her head. Ingrid rolled her eyes, before fixing her attention back on you.

“Come here.” Ingrid instructed, gesturing you closer to the bed. You walked over, feeling ridiculously like a small child waking their parents up after a bad dream. “You can’t sleep?”

“No.” You said miserably, roughly wiping away a stray tear. 

“How can I help? Do you want to talk?” She asked worriedly, brutally kicking Mapi in the shin as she did so, thinking that her girlfriend would be somewhat helpful in this situation, even if she was half asleep. The Spaniard grumbled unhappily, but emerged from under the covers just as you responded. 

“I don’t know, I just can’t stop thinking about her.” You whispered, truly not confident that anything could make you feel better in that moment. 

Mapi sat up, patting the middle of the bed invitingly. It was a king, and there was plenty of room, but you looked between her and Ingrid skeptically. 

“I’m not a child.” You said a bit harshly, thinking of Camila calling you immature. If only she could see you now. 

“We know. You just broke up with your girlfriend, though, and you haven’t slept in over a day. You are sad and exhausted, and it isn’t childish to need help.” Mapi said kindly, very dramatically scooching over so there was more room for you. 

You floundered for a minute, not quite sure what to do. You were an adult. An adult. And Ingrid and Mapi were not your parents. The appeal was there, though, to climb into the bed and tell them everything. To let yourself break when you knew they’d keep track of all the pieces, and put you back together. “Can I have more tea?” You blurted out, looking at Mapi. You weren’t really sure where that came from, but she nodded enthusiastically, rising from the bed, practically taking off for the kitchen in a sprint. 

“I’ll go make some!” 

You turned back to Ingrid, chewing aggressively on your lip. She rolled her eyes at you, teasingly, before she pointendly looked between you and the bed. 

“Get in the damn bed.” Ingrid sighed. It was easier, when she was telling you exactly what to do, because you didn’t have to worry about picking the wrong answer. You settled on the bed, right in the middle, and Ingrid threw an arm around your shoulders, pulling you to lean your head on her shoulder. 

“Ingrid?” You said after a minute, so quietly, your sister almost missed it. 

“Hmm?” 

“Do you think I’m immature?” You asked. 

Ingrid thought for a moment. “No. I think you’ve had to grow up really fast, and you’ve had to make a lot of big adjustments. You are more mature because of all of that. Why?”

You knew she would hate what you were going to say. “Camila said I was.” 

Ingrid grew tense next to you. “That’s because she was a 26 year old woman dating an 18 year old. What was she fucking expecting?” Ingrid said venomously. 

Mapi walked back into the room, taking care to be quiet, as it looked like you were deep in thought. She placed the mug of tea on her nightstand before she sat on the bed next to you, turning so she could see your face.

“Did she say anything else?” Ingrid asked cautiously. 

You opened your mouth to tell her that, no, Camila hadn’t said anything else. Instead, words flowed out of your mouth that you hadn’t decided to say, but you were unable to contain them. “She called me jealous and immature. She said the ‘mommy issues’ were really obvious, that I was insecure and clingy, and that I wasn’t worth it. That no one would want to put up with me.” 

You said it so forlornly, so resigned to what this awful woman had told you, Ingrid felt an anger she’d never experienced before rise within her. Neither she nor Mapi knew what to say right away, collecting their thoughts. You broke the silence again, though, after only a few seconds. 

“I think she’s right.” You said, your voice breaking clearly. You pressed your hands to your face, body shaking with silent sobs. 

“No, mi sol, no,” Mapi said softly, scooting closer to rest a hand on your knee. 

Ingrid took a breath, trying to swallow her anger, rubbing your arm with her hand comfortingly. “Solstråle, you are none of those things. That awful woman has no idea who you are, not really. You are not immature, you are 18. There is a huge difference. And you are so much more than what happened with mom. You are so many good things despite mom, sweetheart, and Camila doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She just wanted to hurt you, none of that is true.” Ingrid said insistently. 

“Why would she want to hurt me? I thought she liked me. I don’t understand.” You replied, still keeping your face hidden away in your hands. 

“Because she isn’t a good person, and she doesn’t deserve you. And you don’t understand because you are good, mi sol. So good.” 

“Then why do such horrible things keep happening?” You asked, voice raised slightly in frustration. You pulled your hands away from your face, looking between your sister and her girlfriend with a tearstained, bewildered face. “I’m trying to be good, I’m trying so hard, why is this so hard?”

Both girls felt their hearts break a little at your words. Ingrid wrapped both her arms around you, pulling you into her chest as you cried. “I know, Solstråle, it’s not fair. It’s going to get better. I promise you, it is.”

“I’m tired of everything being so hard.” You cried, shutting your eyes tightly as you spoke. You felt a soft hand brushing your hair away from your forehead, felt Ingrid leave a kiss on your forehead. “I’m tired.”

You meant it figuratively, and literally, and Mapi and Ingrid knew that very well. The best thing they could do for you now, would be to get you calm enough to sleep. It was happening without them trying very hard, honestly. You could barely keep your eyes open, even as soft sobs fell from your mouth. 

“It’s not going to be hard forever. I promise you, mi sol.” Mapi said, looking intently at you, though you didn’t look back at her. 

“I’m so tired.” You repeated, barely making sense. You were almost delirious with exhaustion, your emotional outburst only making it worse. 

“Sleep, solstråle. We are right here. Everything will feel better in the morning. You aren’t going to feel like this forever. Just relax, and sleep. We love you so much.” 

And even as you nodded, all the fight and worry of being too much for them flooding from your body, you wondered if they were right. If everything would feel better. 

If anyone would ever really want you. 

You drifted off ridiculously easily, curled up next to your sister, your brain going quiet for the first time in days. Once Ingrid was sure you were asleep, she turned to her girlfriend, who was tucking the blankets around you nice and tight. 

“I am going to kill that girl.” Ingrid murmured, feeling absurdly protective over you. 

“I will kill her first.” Mapi vowed. 

“She isn’t allowed to date again until she’s 50.” Ingrid said, a frown etched on her face. 

Mapi cracked a smile. “Good luck with that, mi amor.” 

Ingrid shook her head. “I can’t stand to see her like this.” 

The Spaniard turned serious again, nodding her agreement. “It’s gonna get better, Ingrid. It’s not going to be perfect, but she’s already better. She just needs time.” 

“I wish I could take it from her, so she could just be happy all the time.” Ingrid admitted, flicking the lamp off, her voice barely more than a whisper. 

“I do too.” Mapi whispered back. She and Ingrid looked at each other over your slumbering form, each seeing their exact feelings reflected in the other’s face, even with their features obscured by darkness. They just wanted things to be better for you. Easier and lighter and happier. They’d do anything, get you the moon if you wanted it. They didn’t consider if they were giving you all they could, that maybe you needed something else. They just promised themselves that they wouldn’t rest until you were happier, whatever it took. Whatever it took for you, because you were their sol, and nothing on earth was more important to them than your happiness. 

-------

my name is girlgenius1111 and i like to make my fictional kid suffer give me all your thoughts on this installment of sol ☀️

[warframe1999]

Sooo…

The protoframes, huh?

i wanted to go a bit into what each member of the Hex (yay, new syndicate!!) had to say when you got into proximity of them in the relay. there’s honestly a lot here to set the scene not only for 1999 itself, but introducing each protoframe as well as sort of hinting at their interpersonal relationships, and how they interact with one another! some of my favorite kinda of lore is specifically character development and personality-focused dynamics like this so here!!!! i walked back and forth for an hour for YOU! here is all proximity dialogue for each character in the Höllvania Mall relay:

ARTHUR:

“Question. Could I take Quincy down if he turned on me?”

“We’ll find you, Doctor. That’s a promise.”

“Stop sniffing around my head, Eleanor. If I want to talk, I’ll talk.”

“We need to keep Lettie on her feet. If she goes we all go.”

“Dunno why we even bothered with that cleaning rota.”

“Yeah, we can hold this place.”

“One day, Aoi. No more roadblocks and checkpoints. Just you and me and the bikes, open road for miles, all this bullshit far away. I swear to Sol.”

“Still too open. We need more chokepoints.”

“Bottled water. Like sodding gold dust.”

“Well Amir’s still alive. That’s a win.”

LETICIA:

“I got nothin’ to prove to you, Quincy! Go play your little games, niño.”

“¿Qué onda? The Lady Eleanor ain’t no more freaky than the last time you checked in. ‘Less you know different?”

“Yo, Aoi. Chill, hermana. Do something for yourself, for once. Arthur ain’t going to blow away if you blink.”

“The boss says care for his sister I care for his sister. As long as you still are his sister… and as long as I feel like listening to him.”

“Being loved and being hurt? Yeah, I make no distinction. I knew someone, once, wired the same way. Kept me sane. And what of it? Te crees muy acá ¿no? Get outta my head, Eleanor.”

“Never signed up for this. I’ll be home Mamá. Your little girl doesn’t end here. No te preocupes.”

“Man, I’ve been awake so long that even the spiders in my head have all gone to sleep.”

“Wacha: unless you’re pissing blood right this second, whatever it is can wait.”

“I swear, should lock Aoi and Amir in a cuna. Didn’t sign up for no babysitting gig.”

AOI:

“I don’t wanna go on patrol. I wanna take stuff apart.”

“Nearly time for the On-lyne boys.”

“Metal, metal, metal, what do you want to be?”

“Yep. I can live like this.”

“Arthur needs to keep some fuel in the tank for himself. Goddamn savior complex that man has…”

“I oughta get some headphones. Then I wouldn’t have to hear Quincy work off all that surplus testosterone!”

“If they take Entrati out, who’s going to look after that mutant jaguar of his? Poor thing won’t last five minutes in the wild.”

“Amir! Remember to hydrate!”

“Dear past self: we finally got those super powers we always wanted. Whaddayaknow.”

“GodDAMN. Lettie would you keep your frickin’ rats OUT of my SPACE?”

QUINCY:

“Don’t look up, Doctor.”

“Arthur needs to leave the Major to me, innit. Respect my methods.”

“Don’t mind the waiting. Plenty to be thinking about.”

“You don’t know me. Never see what darkens your rooftops. Inevitable, like the rain. Handing out consolations in a transient connection. Boom. Smoke. And ghost.”

“You wiv me, Eleanor? How deep in you go? See anythin’ you fancy, girl?”

“Amir is a weak, weak boy. Like Aunty said, ‘duppy know who fi frighten.’”

“Thassit… nice and steady.”

“How many man have the opps got? Not enough t’be takin’ me. Never.”

“Oi, Lettie! Grab y’ strap and let’s go. Best a five buys the drinks?”

ELEANOR:

“Don’t expect me to tell you what I’ve seen in Amir’s head. He’s not a beautiful, broken marionette, and he’s nobody’s project. He’s one of us.”

“Quincy thinks he’s going to wake up one night to me chewing the flesh from his ribs. Maybe he’s right.”

“I know you’re there. I can feel you. It’s okay, I won’t tell the others.”

“Aoi? She’s lovely and kind and strong, and… I kind of hate her a little bit. Because it should have been her spreading her happiness into everyone’s heads, and me throwing cars and trucks around.”

“I thought there were going to be two of you! Where’s the other one?”

“Blood. There’s gonna be a fight. Something… bursting. Crossed swords. Arthur!”

“What on earth is a ‘Mara Lohk’?”

“Oh, you’re going to make such a difference this time around.”

“I don’t think Doctor Entrati expected me to survive. I had a lot more than just a cough. But… survive I did. And Lettie has not forgiven me for it.

“Oh. OH. She’s wonderful! Triple-faced goddess! But there’s a shadow on her, isn’t there?”

AMIR:

“A little zap, and… infinite credit! No more ‘insert coin’! Not that we could insert coin. We have no coin. Once we had coin, but now Aoi has smooshed all the coin. Coinnnn.”

“Why did they never make a console port?”

“BAD MOVE, SPACE CAA-DET.”

“But the one thought none of them spoke out loud was - could Lettie reattach a head?”

“Hey, Arthur! Arthur! Arthur! Arthur! Arthur! Dahh, you missed it.”

“Eleanor? Are you there? Can you - can you give my brain a hug please? Thank you.”

“We’re getting a little too excited, let’s step it down, step it down before we get the blue cracklies. In one two out one two.”

“Oi’m Quincy. Oi’m gonna blow out yer kneecaps. Mashup in yer chip shop alright.”

“Ungh! This violent video game is influencing my emotions! Societal norms… eroding! Morality… subsumed! I MUST KILL!”

“This place used to smell so good. Coffee. Cookies. Fresh clean socks. Now it’s just rust, pain, and old socks.”

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + thirty three

authors note: last chapter before shit starts to hit the fan....

cw/tw: fluff and angst

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

cast+ masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 16k (diabolical)

“Baby!” The sound of Solana’s voice somehow travels through the space of their massive home and reaches the ears of Roman right as he’s finished yet another bench press. “I’m home!”

Naturally, Dulce, who’d been calmly laying on the padded mat watching him workout, lifts her head. Her ears perk up and her tail wags at hearing the voice of her favorite person in the whole world.

Roman chuckles, taking the towel to wipe off the sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Mom’s home.”

Dulce barks in celebration and runs out said room before turning back around, standing in the doorway, clearly waiting for him. She barks again as he wraps the towel around the back of his neck. He’s obviously taking too long. “I’m coming,” is his response. Roman allows his pet to guide him through the turns and hallways of their palatial home until they reach the living room where Solana is walking in while holding a grocery bag.

Naturally, Roman rushes over to her, relieving her of the bag. “I told you I don’t want you lifting on things, Sol.” He places the bag that only has a pack of napkins in it on the counter, seeing security carrying in the rest of the bags. 

“It’s just one bag, Ro,” she defends, crouching down to pet Dulce. Smiling, Solana stands up and walks over to him, leaning up and kissing his cheek. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he responds, hand on her hip. Prepared to ask how she’s feeling, Roman is momentarily distracted in realizing security is still bringing in groceries, their counters and island filled with brown paper bags. “Sol….how much food did you get?”

She looks around and then back at him. “The usual.”

His bushy brow lifts. “This is the usual?” He knows it’s not, solely because he usually goes grocery shopping with her these days and only didn’t today because she’d snuck out their bed early in the morning to do so on her own.

She shrugs. “Okay, maybe….maybe a little more than the usual.” He’d argue it’s a lot more than that. “But, baby, you eat a lot.” One suggestive look, and she’s blushing, slapping his chest. “Stop it.” He chuckles and kisses her temple. She’s so easily flustered sometimes. “I just—I had to get more, because I’m gonna cook you up some meals for while I’m gone.”

Roman sighs. “Sol….”

“I got you some of your favorite snacks, too,” she shares, walking away to start emptying bags. He moves to stand beside her, assisting as she shows him all of his guilty pleasures, the things that make him have to spend a little extra time in the gym. All worth it though.

Solana is loading up the drawer in the fridge with his favorite yogurts she’d also purchased when he pulls something from the bag he was emptying. “Sol….” She turns to look at him, to see the item in his hand. “What is this?”

She gasps, almost happily. “Your new vitamins.”

Naturally, he’s scowling. “Vitamins?” Roman briefly reads the writing on the bottle. One-A-Day for Men. “I don’t take vitamins.”

“Well, you’re gonna start.” She answers so matter-of-factly, closing the fridge door, arms crossed. “I was talking to Dr. Michaels—”

“Since when do you talk to him?”

“We do weekly check-ins,” she shares casually, explaining, “I let him know how you’re doing and if you’re taking your meds, and he lets me know if you’re attending appointments and getting your blood work checked like you should.”

Roman is partially surprised, but he shouldn't be. He shouldn’t be, because he freely sighed an ROI for his wife to communicate with Michaels regarding his care. Something that felt only right in the name of wanting to be more open with her, but right now, it’s seeming like it’s biting him in the ass just a bit.

“And he told me that he’s been trying to get you to take vitamins for years.

“He has.” Roman won’t deny that. It’s the truth. “And for years, I’ve been ignoring his ass.”

Solana frowns. “Well, not anymore.” She announces, walking over to him and pointing to the benefits listed on the packaging. “Dr. Michaels said this is the best brand for you, and it’s only once a day, so you can take it when you take your blood pressure medication.”

Roman scratches his beard, reminding calmly, “Solana, you know I don’t like taking pills.”

“Yes, but I also know that you need to,” she counters, crossing her arms. “Lots of people take vitamins. I take them. Well, now I take my prenatals, but before that, I took a daily supplement.”

“That’s different, Sol.”

“How?” She presses, scowling a bit. “How is it different?”

“You’re pregnant. You have to take that shit,” he answers, placing the bottle back in the bag. “I don’t have to take anything.”

Roman prepares to move to another bag when Solana reaches past him and pulls the bottle right back out. “Roman, you are taking these pills.”

He’s taken back by both the conviction in her voice and the determination written all over her face. “Solana, I don’t want—”

“Roman Tamasa Reigns, I don’t care what you want,” she cuts him off, the Tribal Chief’s eyes widening ever so softly as she uses his full name for the first time ever as well as the quick, rushed, wordy rant she goes on in Spanish before closing her eyes. Solana takes a deep breath, switching back to English and handing him the bottle. “You are taking these vitamins, okay?”

It’s a strange thing. Roman has experienced many sides of his wife. Anxious Solana. Scared Solana. Depressed Solana. 

Suicidal Solana.

But, he can’t say he’s ever seen an angry Solana, and she’s most definitely angry.

It’s why he wordlessly accepts the bottle, not wanting to say anything to further upset her. He just places it on the counter and goes back to emptying bags when he hears it. 

A sniffle.

Turning back to her, Roman is once again taken back. 

Why the fuck is she crying? Wasn’t she just angry with him? What the fuck is even happening right now?

“Baby–” He goes to reach for her to comfort her, though he’s not quite sure just what he’s comforting her for, cause again, why is she even crying right now? “I’m sor—”

“I went to the grocery store, and I got all these—these groceries for you—” She hiccups, motioning around their big kitchen. “And you can’t even do this one thing for me.” She breaks down crying into her hands, and God forgive him, but Roman’s first reaction isn’t to tuck her into him and console her.

His first instinct is what the fuck because she was literally just upset with him, and now she’s crying over some damn vitamins?

The fuck?

Regardless of being confused as all the outdoors, Roman welcomes her into his chest, apologizing, “I’m sorry. Please don’t cry.”

“You don’t care,” she cries into him.

“I do care, Solana,” he tries to save face, though not sure just how she became so upset so quickly. “I’m sorry, I just—”

“I’m just trying to help you,” she cries heavier, and as awful as Roman feels about it, he’s having a hard time taking her serious. Roman has held his wife as she cried into him, sobbed into him so violently that her body jolted from the intensity. 

This….this feels different.

It is different.

An overreaction, but that’s uncharacteristic for her personality. Something that doesn’t define her, but it’s absolutely what’s happening right now. Regardless, her crying, overreaction or not, is something he doesn’t like, so he has to make it right.

“I know you are, Sol, and I’m sorry.” She sniffles, coming down a bit. It’s then he offers, “I’ll—I’ll take the vitamins, okay?” Anything to just get her to stop. “Alright?”

She looks up at him, pouting almost. “You promise?”

No. “Yes.” 

More sniffling as he wipes away her tears. “Okay.” More sniffling as she hiccups, “I think—I think I’m gonna go lay down.”

“Yes,” he says it much too quickly, way too eager for her to just go…..calm down or something. “Go take a nap. I’ll finish putting everything away.”

“Okay.” She nods, walking over and picking up Dulce who Roman swears looks just as confused as he feels. “Come on, baby.”

Roman waits until Solana is out of the kitchen and up the stairs before leaning back against the kitchen counter, lost as fuck over what just happened. 

—------

“And then she just started crying.” Roman’s retelling is borderline dramatic as he sits forward on the sofa, legs spread, hand gestures included with his storytelling.

Lita lifts a brow. “Crying?”

“Yes.”

She makes a sound, asking, “so what’d you do?”

“I told her I would take the vitamins, and it seemed to calm her down, then she went for a nap.” Roman slaps his hands on his thighs, leaning back. “But, then I went upstairs a little while later, and she wanted to have sex.”

“Did you?”

“Of course.” An easy answer that’s always the same. “But, I don’t understand how she went from being upset with me, to being sad and crying, to being horny and wanting to fuck.” Roman crosses his arms, a thought crossing his mind. “Maybe it’s her medication. She might need an adjustment.” He looks at Lita, asking, “you think I should talk to Stratus?”

Lita takes a breath, trying to figure out how to word her response for what’s inarguably been her most challenging yet interesting client ever. “Roman, how much do you know about pregnancy? About pregnant women?”

“I know a couple things.” There’s an almost insulting tone to his voice, like he’s confused as to why she would even ask him such a thing. “Why?”

Lita sucks her teeth. “Cause I think it’s time you read up on what pregnancy does to women in all areas. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally.” She shrugs, sharing, “what you’re describing is pretty typical for pregnant women sometimes. The hormonal changes that occur often result in mood swings. That’s what that was. She was having a mood swing.”

At that, the Tribal Chief sits forward once more. “You’re telling me that shit was normal?”

Lita chuckles. “Pretty much.”

Roman looks off, like his whole world has been turned upside down. Like he was expecting any other answer than what he’s been given. “Well, when does it stop?”

“When is she due?”

“May,” he answers, a small sense of pride laid underneath his tone. 

Lita senses it but tucks it away for a later time. “Then, May.”

Once more, his eyes are widening. “You mean she’s going to be this way until she gives birth?”

Lita has to hold back her laughter as she takes some more notes while explaining, “nine times out of ten, the mood swings will eventually subside, but I think you’re better served learning how to effectively communicate with her and respond to her when she gets that way versus waiting around for her hormones to level out.” 

“What do you mean?”

Lita sighs. “It’s obvious that you were bothered by the abrupt changes in her mood.”

The sneer on his face is accompanied by a harsh rebuff. “I wasn’t bothered.”

“Then why are we discussing it right now?” Silence. Lita also sits forward, deciding to share some of the man tidbits she’s noticed about Roman in their time working together. “I’ve noticed you are very against saying anything that could be perceived as remotely negative or, God forbid, someone else saying anything remotely negative about your wife.” Lita has a good guess Roman’s response would be physical in the event of that second one. “And I know, a lot of that comes from how protective you are of her. Some of that codependency as well. But, two truths can exist in the same universe where she’s allowed to say or do something that upsets or bothers you and you can bring it to her attention. It doesn’t make you a bad husband.” 

Roman’s gaze and focus is on the wall to the side of him instead of the woman in front of him. “I don’t want to argue with her. She has….trauma with that.”

“And, I understand that, but you also have trauma. Whether you want to admit it or not is fine, I’ll respect that. Wholly. But, part of your struggle is opening up about your feelings with people, which again, I know is not for good reason, though it’s painfully obvious that your wife is a safe person for you, so if you were to open up to someone, it would be her.” More silence. “And discussion doesn’t have to equate an argument.”

When he still says nothing, Lita continues, “and yes, know that you have problems controlling your temper, but I also know that if there’s one person you’d control it with, it’s your wife.”

She'd bet her life on that.

“I don’t want to be put in that position,” Roman finally speaks, voice even but also filled with something almost heavy. “They last time we argued…..” he trails off, a memory returning. “It just wasn’t good. She doesn’t need that stress with her pregnancy.”

Lita looks at him, makes note of his nonverbals, sees that this wall will take a little longer to chip away at. 

“How are you doing with that anyway?” He looks at her, prompting her to clarify. “The pregnancy. You haven’t really touched on it in our past two sessions.”

Roman thinks about her question, considers how he wants to answer and how honest he wants to be. “I think….I think it’s getting….better.”

“Better, how?”

Again, more thinking. “I don’t….I don’t feel as unsure about it.” 

Lita nods slowly, tentatively questioning, “what do you feel?” To cut some of the tension, she gestures with her thumb. “You want the feeling wheel?”

Roman instantly scowls. “I’m not using that damn thing.” Lita chuckles, and though he won’t admit it, he appreciates it. Appreciates her trying to make this a little less uncomfortable. “I don’t….I don’t want to say excited.” And maybe he does, but something holds him back, prevents him from owning that. “But, something….something like that.”

Lita adjusts in her seat, paraphrasing. “The idea of being a father is becoming less abstract and more concrete.” She shrugs, offering, “it’s starting to feel more real, because it is real.”

Lita’s right. Roman won’t verbally acknowledge it, but she’s correct. Every appointment he attends with Solana, every time he opens up the app to see where she is, where the girls are, developmentally speaking, makes it all the more real. 

And while there’s a part of that that’s terrifying as fuck, because he’s still lost on so many things and has so much to learn, there’s still that part of him that doesn’t feel as unsure, like he said. He feels a form of excitement. 

He is excited.

“Yeah,” is all he offers, though something tells him Lita has a good mind where his head is, because despite her being annoying as fuck sometimes with her probing questions that end up landing him right where she wants him, she’s effective. And, they work well together. 

She meets him where he is, and he’s grateful for that.

Doesn’t mean he’s just gonna spill his heart out to her. No. Fuck that. He’ll share as and when he pleases.

“She’s three months, right?”

“Yeah,” Roman answers and starts to leave it at that, but some small part of him, a part he doesn’t quite understand, offers. “Twins….twin girls.”

At that, Lita’s eyes widen. “Well, shit, double trouble? And girls, too?” She scoffs, grabbing her Stanley to take a sip. “Yeah, buddy, you might want to start reading up now.”

Roman scowls. “What do you mean?”

“You’re struggling as it is with your wife’s mood swings while pregnant, just wait till those girls hit puberty and wifey is either pregnant again, so you’re getting it from all ends.”

That sounds like something out of a nightmare, but there’s something else about her wording that he’s focused on.

Almost suspicious, Roman inquires, “did she tell you about all these kids she wants?”

“Wait, what?” Lita’s visible confusion at his question looks and feels authentic, Roman not getting a sense that she’s playing dumb. “You know my policy, I don’t talk to anyone unless you authorize it. Even wifey.” He does recall her saying that, but he also knows he signed an ROI so she could share information with Solana, and since his wife seems to be in cahoots with his doctor, why not the therapist as well? “She wants more kids after this?”

Roman nods, crossing his arms once more. “Three more.”

Lita’s eyes widen. “She wants how many more?”

Roman pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s what I fucking said.”

Lita nods to herself, shrugging, “well….that woman clearly loves you.” She then asks, “what about you?”

“What about me?”

Without skipping a beat, she asks directly, “do you want more kids after this?”

A fair thing to be asked, but something Roman, in true Roman fashion, answers almost indirectly. Sort of. “I think we should be focusing on this pregnancy before talking about more kids.”

“You know that’s not what I asked you, right?” Yes, he absolutely does. If only he cared. “Look….it’s okay for you to not have an answer, but based on what you’ve shared with me in the past regarding your thoughts and feelings on kids, if I had to take a guess, I’d say you’re sca—”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Roman’s interruption cuts deep, his entire disposition almost doing a 180. Like whatever almost lighthearted tone that was there before is gone now. Replaced with something almost cold. “Change the subject. Now.”

And Lita sees this, sees the shifts, knows why said shift happens, but she respects it. Respects him. Respects that he’s not ready to go there just yet. “Okay.” And she does change the subject, asking, “any plans for while the wife is away?”

—-------

“Okay, I labeled everything for you. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, snack, and dessert,” Solana’s explanation is accompanied by her holding the refrigerator door open as she points to the generous amount of clear containers. She pulls one out that, sure enough, reads breakfast. “You just have to see which one you want.” She gasps, bumping the door closed as she moves over to the other side of the kitchen. “I should have labeled what each meal is.”

“Solana, it’s fine. I don’t need all that.”

She’s not listening, too busy using the sharpie she grabbed out of the pen holder on the counter to label the container in her hand. “I’ll do it before we leave. I don’t want you accidentally picking something thinking it’s something else.”

“Sol—”

“I also picked up your blood pressure medicine from the pharmacy this morning, cause you were running low, so you should be good with your meds.” She looks up, adding firmly, “and your vitamins.” Roman pushes back his scowl. Those damn vitamins. “And if for some reason, you get through all the meals in the fridge, I have some in the freezer as well.”

“Solana—”

“Dulce should be good with her food, too, but I did pick her up some of those treats she likes, so maybe give her one with her dinner once or twice?” The question is more informative than anything as Solana moves back over to the fridge to grab another container that she doesn’t need to label. “Oh my gosh,” she stops, slapping her forehead. “I forgot to do that last load of laundry for you.” She shakes her head, placing the bowl and pen on the counter. “Let me just go do that right—”

Roman moves quickly, using his arm to block her path, forcing her to finally look at and listen to him. “Solana.” Her attention on him, he doesn’t waste this opportunity to point out the real reason behind her almost frantic-like behavior. “I’ll be fine.”

He sees it. The concern that flashes in her gaze and how her shoulders drop. “I just…..I just want to make sure you’re okay while I’m gone.” Her hands on his chest, the truth continues to make itself known. “I haven’t been away from you since….” She doesn’t say it, but she doesn’t need to.

Since Fetu passed.

Solana has been with him, by his side, supporting and loving him x10 since Fetu passed. 

“I know,” he mutters, reaching up to push some of her hair back, eyes briefly focused on her tattoo. “But, I’ll be fine, Sol. I can take care of myself. I’ve done it for a long time.”

“But, you don’t have to anymore,” she counters, softly. “You have me. I—I can take care of you. I can make sure you’re good.”

“And, I am, Sol. Largely because of you.” He kisses her forehead, reminding, “but you also have to take care of yourself. That’s why I’m letting you go.”

Letting her doesn’t feel like the right word, but in the moment, it’s the best he has. Because he would never want her to feel like she needs his permission to do anything in life. She’s had enough of that shit from men to last her a lifetime, but there is some say he has with her comings and goings due to her being pregnant with their children.

For safety reasons, he has to have a say.

“I know,” she murmurs, moving to hug him. “I’ll only be gone a couple days.”

Roman doesn’t say anything, but a part of him, the selfless part of him hopes it’s longer than that. Solely because of the other plan she has for while she’s in Mexico on her “girls trip.”

Paloma.

She plans to tell Paloma who she really is.

And from that, Roman hopes she gets to spend time with the closest living, remaining connection she has to her mother.

Solana deserves that. 

Especially…..especially if she ends up having to go and/or stay even longer for a different reason.

A very different reason.

“I know.” He’ll play along. Go with what’s needed to make her feel most comfortable. Roman wraps his arms around her, reiterating, “we’ll be fine.” He looks over at Dulce who lays in her bed in the living room—she must have one in every damn room at this point—sleeping peacefully. “She’ll probably sleep the whole damn time anyway.”

Solana giggles into him and slaps his arm. “Stop it.” 

Roman holds her for a couple more minutes before realizing time is not on their side, and they need to get moving. “Come on.” He lightly slaps and squeezes her ass, invoking another giggle. It makes him smile a little. “We gotta be out of here soon.”

At that, she steps away, frowning. “Why do we have to leave again so early? I told the girls to be at the airport around 2”

Roman’s answer is right away, even if it’s something he comes up with on the spot. “I’m not trying to be around your annoying ass friends, Solana.” 

As expected, she rolls her eyes, protesting lightly, “Roman, my friends aren’t annoying, and Bayley, even Melina, are technically family.”

“Don’t remind me,” he mutters, following her as she leads them upstairs.

Solana being Solana absolutely makes sure to start up that last load of laundry. She also goes through at least two more lists of unnecessary things she did for him to “help” him out while she’s gone. And while Roman does consider it unnecessary, he’s appreciative. 

Appreciative of her and all she does for him, all that she is for him. 

“What about this?” Solana asks him as they sit in the back of the SUV, on the way to the airport. It’s a design option for kitchen counters. A beautiful, unique granite.

“It’s nice,” he responds. “But, Sol, you already know I don’t care what goes in the kitchen. It’s whatever you want.”

She looks up at him. “I know, but this house is for us, so your input matters, too, Ro.”

He doesn’t disagree, though there’s certain parts about said house they plan to build that he wouldn’t mind being for just her. Like the kitchen, cause Lord knows he’ll never be in there cooking and baking like she does. “The kitchen is your space though. Now our bedroom, yeah, I want some say.”

A crafty smile forms on her pretty face. “So, you don’t want to paint it pink?”

“Solana, don’t fucking play with me like that,” he mutters, eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose. She giggles and leans further back into him, clearly finding humor in his distress. “It’s bad enough you keep talking about all these damn kids you want.”

“That I’m going to have,” she corrects, like that shit is supposed to make sense. Like he’s supposed to be okay with this plan she has to be pregnant every year or something. 

“Solana.” He has to talk some sense into this girl. Is this another pregnancy thing? He makes a note to ask Lita about it in their next session. “I need you to be serious with me. Do you know how stressful it would be to have five children?”

Massively, insanely stressful, for maybe more reasons than he's willing to currently acknowledge...

She pouts and responds so casually. “It wouldn’t always be stressful.” She turns more to look at him, hand resting comfortably on his abs. “And, if we’re going to have this massive house, we need to fill it up….”

“With furniture,” he supplies. “We can fill it up with furniture. Not a bunch of kids.”

That’s clearly not the answer she wants, as evidenced by the scowl on her face. “I want more kids, Roman.”

“And, I told you we can have one more after the girls, but anything beyond that, Solana—”

“I’m getting my kids, Ro, and that’s final.” Solana not only cutting him off, but doing so with attitude is something the Tribal Chief could have and would never bet on, but that’s exactly what’s happened. His sassy ass wife redirects her attention back to her scrolling on that red app she likes that has a lot of pictures and proceeds like she didn’t just cop an attitude. 

“Solana,” he finds himself saying, sitting up a bit. “You—”

“We’ll talk about it later.” Another interruption. Less sassy. Still an interruption, nonetheless. 

There’s a revolving door of emotions in that moment. At first, he’s annoyed, which is significantly tamer than what he’d feel if this was anyone else speaking to him this way. Roman’s killed for lesser offenses.

Then there’s slight amusement, because his 5’0 wife hitting him with the attitude of someone his height and stature is the last thing anyone would expect. 

Followed up with a slight tightening in his pants, because there’s something undeniably attractive about Solana being assertive. About standing on business. He might not agree with what she’s standing on, but he damn sure respects it. 

And then finally, he arrives at the largest and most lasting emotion. Proud. Roman feels proud of his wife. 

It’s still hard for him to grasp the fact that this is the woman he met all those months ago who could barely withstand more than 30 seconds of eye contact. Who was terrified of him. Terrified of the world that had only been unkind to her.

Now, she sits before him, openly going against him without any sign of anxiety or fear. And while he now knows her pregnancy hormones are playing a large role in the oscillation of her emotions, it doesn’t negate the fact that even before becoming pregnant, the Solana he knew then is not the same Solana he knows now. 

Stronger in every way. A tremendous and beautiful growth. 

Roman finds himself dipping his head to kiss her temple. “I’m proud of you,” he murmurs, finger moving up and down her upper arm. “Extremely fucking proud of you.”

And even that seems not enough to adequately describe it. 

However, the small smile on Roman’s face is wiped away when she looks up at him and asks with a mischievous smile. “Enough to have three more kids?”

“Solana.”

She laughs once more, finding delight in his misery. Roman sighs loudly as his wife leans up and strokes his beard, kissing his cheek, “thank you, mi amor.”

Roman still hasn’t really picked up much of Spanish outside a couple words, but there’s something universal about her statement. 

Love. 

The rest of the drive is relatively quiet, Solana showing Roman a few more photos of ideas she has for the kitchen when they arrive at the airport. Naturally, Roman slides his expensive sunglasses over his eyes and exits the car first so he can open Solana’s door for her.

He holds her hand as she steps out and tugs up those tight ass pants that have him forcing to ignore the recoil of her fat ass with said adjustment. The transition is aided by her confused countenance at the jet that is not the one they took last time. She turns to him with a frown. “You got a new jet?”

“I did,” he confirms, lifting his sunglasses up, setting them atop his head. “But not for me.” Solana’s eyes start to widen as he shares, “it’s for you.” 

Hands planted over her mouth, she looks in shock between himself and the private jet with pink lining, pink steps descended to reveal a glimpse of the interior that also has shades of pink. “Roman, no.”

“I don’t really like the idea of your dumbass friends in my space,” he shares, moving toward her, hands on her waist. “Plus, if I’m away on work, and you decide to fly down to Mexico, you need transportation.”

She scoffs, offering so innocently, “But, I could just book a flight, Ro.”

“That’s not fucking happening.” It’ll be a cold day in hell when Roman ever allows his wife to fly commercial. Absolutely not. 

Solana is still very much in a state of disbelief, but her smile grows wider as she exclaims with all of the shock. “I can’t believe you got me a whole private jet.” Giggles erupt from her as she suddenly throws herself into him, arms wrapped around his neck. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

It’s hard for Roman to not smile, feeling her immense love and appreciation for something that seems so simple to him. Maybe not in price, not that that’s a factor, but just how overtly grateful she is for anything he does for her. 

Her spirit is so pure. 

“You’re welcome,” he mutters, kissing her temple and lightly slapping her ass. Solana is back on the ground, looking up at him with undeniable excitement, when he asks, “you wanna see it?” Light laughter at how she nods rapidly and takes his hand, guiding him toward the jet. 

Roman feels a bit silly feeling relieved almost at how Solana “ooohs” and “awwws” at the interior of her private jet, predominantly pink and white, amenities based upon her and what he knows about her. Roman is good at a lot of things, including reading people in terms of their likes and dislikes. But, there’s always a small part of him that’s unsure of himself when it comes to doing and getting things for his wife. 

A fear of letting her down.

Of disappointing her.

Something he hasn’t felt or worried about in a long time. 

“I love it so much, Roman,” she says after they finish the tour. She’s got her arms back around his neck, that beautiful smile dimming just a bit. “Are you sure you’re gonna be okay while I’m gone?”

Roman chuckles. “I’m sure. You need to do this, Sol.”

“I know,” she sighs. Roman soothingly moves his hands up and down her sides. “I just….you know I don’t like being away from you.”

He knows. The same way he doesn’t like being apart from her either, but that’s neither here nor there.

“Your life can’t revolve around me, Solana.” A gentle reminder. Necessary, too, perhaps. 

“But, you’re such a big part of my life,” she replies, voice soft, eyes focused on his shirt as she lightly pulls at the material. “Not being around you feels…..weird….wrong.” 

Roman knows Solana is codependent when it comes to him. The same way he realizes he’s codependent with her as well. But, he’s been reminded of it even more in the past few weeks with how involved she wants him in all the things, which is fine and normal, especially as it pertains to the pregnancy. But, it’s the not knowing what she would do without him that’s starting to have him concerned. 

Especially if the situation arises where she doesn’t have a choice.

He’d mentioned it to Gail, asked her to work with Solana on that, but so much has happened between now and then that he wouldn’t be surprised if they haven’t even gotten to it yet.

A disservice. Understandable, but a disservice, nonetheless. 

“Everything will be fine, Solana.” He kisses her forehead, reminding, “you already know if you need me, just call me, and I’ll be there.”

And there’s the hard part. There are times, like this, where he sees how independent and capable she’s become that he thinks she’ll be okay. Where he thinks she’ll be able to handle a separation, if necessary. But, it’s not consistent, not reliable, and that’s where his biggest issue comes to play.

Then there’s also the role he plays. Roman knows he makes himself always available to her, and in some ways, that’s also his comfort. It…..bothers him to not be available for her if she needs something. 

And if he’s being honest with himself, that largely stems from that night. The night she tried to take her own life. 

The night he wasn’t there, and she needed him.

He won’t risk that again. 

He’s terrified to risk that again.

—---------

It’s a fun time from the minute the ladies all board the jet, to the conversations that transpire, but most definitely when they all arrive to Roman and Solana’s home in Isla Mujeres. Solana considered asking Roman if they could rent something instead, as she knows how much he values their space being their space, but he shocked her by recommending they just stay at the home he purchased for them.

Her guess would be it’s because it’s not their main home, the space only being used every so often. Only once, really, since Solana’s birthday trip back in July.

“This is so nice!” Mickie shouts from the top of the stairs as she and Cameron claim a room. “I love being friends with rich people!”

Solana smiles as Afia shakes her head. “That one is interesting, for sure.”

“Very,” she giggles. One thing Solana was a bit nervous about was inviting Afia, not because she didn’t want her to attend. Hardly. What she was most nervous about was Afia not meshing well with the rest of the ladies who had already met before and vibed well enough. However, that concern was quickly squashed as Solana realized her sister-in-law’s former career of seamlessly blending in just about anywhere is a skill that’s stuck with her.

It didn’t take Afia long to join in with the rest of the gang. So much so that she’ll be sharing a room with Melina. Bayley and Naomi will be rooming together. 

Apparently, no one wanted to share a bed with Solana because, “girl, we know Roman be turning you every way but loose in that bed. We’re good.”

And while her face burned with all of the embarrassment, she couldn’t deny it. That same bed is the same bed her shackles were broken in the most beautiful, memorable manner, and in some ways, she would prefer to keep her space with her husband a space for just them. 

After everyone gets settled into their rooms, there’s almost a universal agreement that the first stop needs to be by the beach. Solana shouldn’t be surprised that arriving at said beach with her friends, via the private entrance from their house, that her husband made arrangements similar to last time to where it’s almost “reserved” just for them.

Something she understands a little bit better this time around. While Roman is not present for this trip, Bautista is, as well as her upped security detail, her husband has obviously setting up parameters to ensure her safety during her stay. For her and for their babies.

Solana feels the most grateful to have such a wonderful, protective man to call her husband.

It’s why she not only has Mickie take some photos of her adorned in her bathing suit, but she also takes some selfies of herself at the beach. Photos that she nervously shares with him, only to receive the most validating and steamy response that makes most sense for her husband. 

Roman: Fuck. 

Roman: You’re making me regret letting your fine ass leave, baby.

Solana: 🙈🙈🙈

Solana: I’ll be home before you know it, papa bear. 🥰

Roman: Not soon enough.

Roman: Send me more photos while you’re there. 

Roman: Can use them for….purposes.

Solana: Roman! 😭

Despite Solana feeling completely flustered at her husband’s dirty intentions for her photos, she absolutely makes a mental note to share any selfies taken during this trip.

And something tells her there’s going to be a fair share. 

“Oh my goodness, are you texting Roman?” Bayley asks, walking over, standing in front of the blanket that Solana is laid on top of. “Tell him to get a fucking life. You’re busy.”

Solana frowns, locking her phone and placing it beside her. “Bayley, be nice.”

She rolls her eyes. “I said I’d try. Shit takes time.”

“Leave her alone,” Mickie pouts, her and Cameron waiting for their sunscreen to set in before entering the beautiful, blue waters. “At least she has a man.”

“I thought you were talking to—”

“Fuck him!” Mickie interrupts Melina, lifting up her middle finger for dramatic effect. “That’s what I get for messing around with someone named Kevin who has a pot belly.”

“Mickie!” Cameron scolds, shaking her head. “That’s not nice. He seemed like a good guy.” 

“Yeah, I thought you liked him,” Solana chimes, remembering their conversations via group chats and group facetimes where Mickie practically raved about the guy she’s been seeing. 

“He was. Too good.” Mickie shrugs, picking at her fingers. “He wanted to settle down eventually.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Afia’s question is posed with pure curiosity versus judgment. A sort of judgment Solana only detects on the face of Naomi who’s been abnormally quiet for the whole conversation. 

Has been quiet since meeting at the airport, now that she thinks about it. 

Mickie leans back on the palm of her hands, answering with a simple, “that’s not what I’m looking for.”

“What are you looking for?” Bayley inquires, coming to sit beside Solana, tiring of standing, the sun beaming down on her back.

“I don’t know.” It’s an honest answer, something almost indecipherable flashing in Mickie’s eyes that Solana is almost sure only she, Cameron, and Melina notice. Treatment. It’s a similar look that Mickie would get when they were in treatment. When she was thinking back on something else. 

Something much darker. 

Solana clears her throat, drawing attention to herself as she suggests, “we should all take a picture together.”

“Hell yeah!” Bayley is standing up yet again, as the rest of the women also express some level of excitement for the photo.

“I’ll take em’,” Naomi offers, standing and brushing some sand off the back of her legs.

Solana frowns. “No, you have to be in them.” Solana is more than ready to ask one of the security guards to come snap photos of them to avoid anyone being left out when Naomi reiterates her offer.

“Naw, it’s fine. I’ll catch some other photos.” She shrugs, her face giving away indifference that doesn’t match who Solana has always known her to be. This doesn’t feel like the Naomi Solana has grown to know, love, and view as a sister.

Stepping forward, voice lowered, she asks, “is everything al—”

“Oh my gosh!” Mickie’s excited voice prevents Solana from penning her question, as the attention of all is redirected to the water where Mickie is pointing. “Was that—was that a dolphin?”

Her own question is answered when a dolphin can, in fact, be seen in the distance leaping in and out of the water. It draws the awes and a set of cell phones as to capture the sight before them, but it’s the way Naomi stands off to the side, texting on her phone instead of photographing, that has Solana wondering. 

What’s going on with her?

—--------

“And that was the last time I ever fucked three men in one week,” Mickie finishes, downing the rest of her beer while chuckling. “That yeast infection afterwards was not worth it.”

A round of groans, Melina being the one to express, “Mickie, literally no one needed to hear that.”

“I second that,” Bayley lifts her beer, still halfway full. “Though we appreciate the…..lesson?”

Afia nods, gracefully drinking some of her mimosa. “Yes, lesson seems like an appropriate euphemism.” 

Mickie blinks exactly three times. “Yeah, I’m too buzzed to even try to figure out what that means.”

Afia laughs a little. “Fair.”

Cameron directs her attention to Solana, lifting up the bottle of wine as she pours herself another glass. “Are you sure you don’t want some, Sol?”

“I’m good,” Solana answers, hoping and praying the change in her tone doesn’t give anything away. For good measure, she offers a true, hopefully believable excuse. “The last time I drank wasn’t…..it wasn’t a good time.”

And, while it’s not a total lie, there’s a part of Solana that’s appreciative of that night. The night that seemed to be a turning point for her relationship with Roman. She still doesn’t recall everything that was shared, on either end, but one thing she knows is that next day was the first time she truly felt like they could make this work.

Make their relationship into a real marriage, and not only have they succeeded with that, they’ve taken it a step further by moving to the next step. 

Children. 

Their love has now resulted into the creation of two beautiful lives. 

Solana has to stop herself from placing her hand on her stomach. It’s something Afia seems to notice as she intentionally draws attention to herself. “It’s probably best we don’t let her drink. You all know how that lovely husband of hers is.” 

A sound of agreement, Bayley muttering, “lovely is one way to put it.”

“Bayley…”

She lifts her hands in a defensive manner. “What? I didn’t even say anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” Melina says in a sing-song voice. “Granted, I mean, it’s not like you’re entirely wrong.” As Solana gives her the same look she was giving Bayley, defends, “Solana, come on, I met that man months ago, and he still calls me Mandy.”

“He’s not good with names,” Solana murmurs.

“I don’t think he calls me anything,” Afia wonders aloud only to shrug. “Not that I care but still.” 

“Pretty sure he just calls me bitch.” Bayley shares so nonchalantly.

“I don’t think he even knows our names.” Cameron gestures between herself and Mickie. 

“Okay,” Solana cuts in, sitting up on the sofa. “I know….I know Roman can be a little….rough around the edges, but he does mean well.”

Though Solana can’t deny that she agrees with Cameron. Roman really doesn't know their names. But, that’s neither here nor there. 

“No, he doesn’t.” It’s the introduction of a new voice. Naomi. From where she sits on the love chair, almost separate from the other women who are spread among the living room. “Roman is an asshole. A selfish asshole.” 

There’s a shift in the atmosphere. Something that’s clearly palpable given the shared, almost uncomfortable expressions amongst the group of women. 

Except Naomi.

“Roman isn’t an easy person. I get that,” Solana starts, choosing her words carefully. Mindful of the fact that there’s an audience. “But, he’s still my husband.”

Something flashes across Naomi’s face. “Why can’t he be both?”

Building. There’s something that’s been building ever since the group arrived in Isla Mujeres on yesterday afternoon. Something Solana sensed when they were on the beach, as the went shopping in the markets earlier in the day, as they shared dinner at a local, popular restaurant in the evening. And, it’s reaching a head as they all sit in this space, Naomi growing restless and clearly sitting on something she needs to share.

Something Solana is eager to hear.

“Hey!” Mickie cuts in. She seems to be good at that. “You know what we should do?” Eyes focus on her, clearly eager to de-escalate the tension that’s built up and consumed the room. “That TikTok challenge I was telling ya’ll about.”

At that, Melina scoffs. “Mickie, we’re all too old for that.” 

“Speak for yourself,” she rebuffs. “I’m 25 and will keep turning 25 until I decide I’m ready to be 26.” As she hops off the sofa and starts moving the coffee table, Cameron assisting her, Solana looks back over to see Naomi has gotten up and headed out back by the pool. 

Bayley stands and makes eye contact with her cousin, mouthing, “let me talk to her.”

As she leaves out, Solana finds herself appreciative but also something else.

Annoyed. 

She feels annoyed with Naomi. Not only because of her sour attitude on this trip thus far but her comments about Roman. As she stated, Solana knows Roman is not an easy person to deal with. He can be mean, and he can be an asshole at times. These are all things Naomi and even Bayley have said, joked about in the past, but there was something different about this time.

This time, Solana felt an almost sense of anger coming from the other woman.

Personal. 

It felt personal, and she doesn’t like that. 

She doesn’t like it at all. 

A warm hand on her lap pulls Solana’s focus to Afia. Her sister-in-law motions to the phone beside Solana.

Naturally, she grabs it, unsurprised to see an unread text. 

Afia: Can I offer a bit of advice?

Solana: yes. of course. 

Afia: Be careful with that one. Her energy is…..off. Has been since she stepped foot on the jet. 

Afia: Remember, Solana. Not everyone you call a ‘friend’ is actually your friend.

Solana doesn't reply after that, too busy sitting on Afia’s sage wisdom as well as what just transpired. It’s not something Solana didn't already know. That not everyone who claims to be a friend is actually a friend. 

But, what does one do when it’s a sister?

—-------

“I thought that Mona girl was A.” It’s a frustrated acknowledgement followed by a deep scowl as Roman turns to look at Dulce who sits on the sofa beside him. “Who the fuck is Cece?” A rhetorical question to the Pomeranian who lays her head back down and continues to stare at the screen.

Thoroughly disgusted, Roman scoops more of the popcorn in the bowl in his mouth. He grumbles, “I don’t know how your mom watches this shit.”

Roman doesn’t know just why he’s watching this shit, either. Maybe, in some weird way, it makes him feel close to Solana. Helps distract him from her lack of presence. It’s certainly not because he’s interested in this show where the parents have to be the dumbest people alive and these teenage girls sleep with grown men like shit is normal while some psychotic bitch, or bitches, make their lives a living hell. 

And yet, he’s on his second episode after finding himself needing a break from work and something mind-numbing to dull his stress levels.

This certainly does it, Roman thinks to himself.

Uninterested in yet another person who’s supposedly this ‘A,’ Roman grabs his phone, hitting the lock button on the side. And just like that, his irritation is almost instantly melted away. His lock screen photo snagging his attention and filling him with an almost warm feeling. It’s from one of Solana’s OB-GYN appointments. Dr. Sharmell moving the transducer around Solana's stomach, the doctor and his wife's heads turned, focused on the screens where he can make out two figures. Babies.

His babies.

It’s one of his favorite photos. 

Unlocking his phone, Roman navigates to his camera roll where the most recent photos are made up of his wife. Photos and videos she’s shared with him from her trip. A trip she seems to be enjoying the hell out of based on the smile on her pretty face and the joyful laughter that leaves her in most of the videos. 

Roman’s happy. Happy to know that despite her reservations about leaving, she’s having a good time. She deserves that. She deserves the world. 

He’s about to send her a quick text, just to check in on her when the doorbell ringing pulls his focus.

Roman is instantly scowling. He glances at the time in the corner of the screen. Who the fuck is at his house at damn near 6pm?

Dulce is also intrigued, lifting her head and jumping off the sofa. Little body moving towards the door, she stops and turns around to bark at him.

“Coming,” he grunts, sitting up and grabbing the remote to hit pause. Not that it matters. The show is a shitshow anyway. 

Big body carrying him to the front door, Roman doesn’t bother using the peephole, already knowing his security protocol is to only allow Bloodline members through the gate. 

But, it’s when he opens the door that his frown deepens. 

“What the hell are ya’ll doing here?”

Roman doesn’t receive an answer. He instead receives his cousin Ava, walking past him, in his house, uninvited. “Dulce!”

Dulce barks and excitedly wags her tail as Ava picks her up and starts cuddling her. “You are just the cutest lil thing, oh yes you are.”

Roman doesn’t even have time to process his traitorous dog not barking at these damn intruders, because Dwayne is also walking in, slapping him on his back, lifting the six pack of beers in his other hand.

“Don’t worry, we didn’t come empty handed, brotha.”

However, Roman couldn’t give two shits about that. “I’m trying to figure out why ya’ll are here at all.”

Once more, he is deprived of an answer as Dwayne and Ava descend deeper into the house when another entrant arrives. More than one.

Roman’s eyes widen slightly, as he’s forced to look all the way down to two tiny, almost identical humans looking up at him with almost the same surprised, almost familiar expressions. Like he’s seen them before, but where? 

He turns, thankful to see Dwayne is still in the vicinity. Pointing down, Roman asks, needing answers, “what are these?”

But, it’s not Dwayne who answers. “These are my sons, Roman.” The Tribal Chief turns to see yet another uninvited person standing in his doorway. But, Matteo isn’t alone. He’s holding a little girl who shares the same complexion and eyes as her brother, an almost intense gaze set on him. Matteo kisses the little girl’s temple. “And this is my daughter.”

Matteo suddenly reminds, “I suppose I didn’t get a chance to properly introduce you to them at the restaurant that night.”

It’s only when Matteo says as such that Roman remembers he most definitely has seen and, somewhat, met these children before. 

His biological nephews and niece. 

He won’t say it, would never admit it aloud, but there is a sense of shame that fills him at not remembering, because it feels like something he should have remembered.

Right?

Still trying to process the fact that all these people are at and in his house, along with this possibly problematic forgetting, Roman is only partially paying attention when Matteo transitions to name offering. “That’s Giovanni. We call him Gio. And Nino. He likes being called Nio.” A small smile appears on his face as he looks at the still staring little girl. “And this is Hassana, but we call her Sana.” Way too much information for Roman to process. “Kids, this is your cousin, Roman.” Matteo switches to Italian as both boys, almost in synchronization, offer quiet “hello’s.”

Unsure of just what to do and feeling almost pressured to respond, Roman mutters a low, “hi” and redirects his focus to the man in front of him. “What are you all doing here?”

Because, for the life of him, Roman cannot see any good, valid reason why Dwayne, Ava, Matteo and his three children have randomly popped up at his house this evening.

Matteo frowns. “Solana didn’t tell you?”

At that, Roman’s interest is intensely piqued. “Tell me what?”

“This is nice!”

And just like that, this evening has gone from strange to annoying to what the fuck.

Dulce running towards the door draws the attention of the boys whose eyes light up. “Puppy!”

Except, instead of running in terror like she did when confronted with Jey’s children, Dulce seems to bask in the gentle petting and belly rubs received by the boys. Hassana’s attention is also drawn, as she points to the dog, prompting Matteo to walk them over.

His departure paves the way for the appearance of two more faces.

“Hi there, Tribal Chief.” Sami offers a small, little wave. “Sorry to just pop up uninvited.”

“So, why did you?” Roman’s voice is significantly harsher. His technical, biological family being there is one thing, but it’s another for fucking Sami to be standing at his door. “Why are ya’ll here?”

R-Truth’s eyes widen a bit as he answers honestly, “I just came for the ride.”

Sami chuckles nervously, lifting a container of food. “I had some leftover Kibbeh, and Solana mentioned always wanting to try some, so I figured—”

“She’s not here,” Roman interrupts, going to snatch the container. “I’ll make sure she gets it.”

“Is that a puppy?” R-Truth’s voice is almost childlike as he looks past Roman to see the children still playing with Dulce. “Look at lil Toto!”

“Her name is Dulce,” Roman corrects, but it’s wasted breath, because Truth welcomes himself in Roman’s house, just like everyone else it seems, petting Dulce, asking something about Dorothy.

Whoever the fuck that is.

“Truth, come on, dude,” Sami says, the only one still respecting the Chief’s boundaries by remaining in the doorway. “We’ve gotta—”

“Sami!” Dwayne’s voice is heard again as he walks over, beer in one hand. “What’s up, man? You joining us?”

“No,” Roman answers, quickly. Cause again, what the fuck is going on. “Joining what?”

“The get-together Solana planned.”

Dwayne’s answer aligns with Matteo’s comment about Solana, prompting Roman to pull out his phone, as his older cousin welcomes Sami into the home.

Roman: Solana….what did you do?

Solana: i take it they’ve started arriving 🤭

Roman: Why the fuck are all these people in our house right now, Sol?

Solana: don’t get upset, baby, but i may have arranged a little get-together for you while i’m gone….

Roman: You did WHAT?

Solana: i didn’t want you to be alone the entire time i’m gone, ro! 😭 it’s just one night, baby, and it’s literally only ava, dwayne, and matteo. well, the kids, too, but they’re so sweet and well behaved!

Roman: Solana…

Solana: it’s one night, baby. you can handle one night, ro.

Roman: 20 minutes. They can stay for 20 minutes.

Solana: 😑

Roman: What?

Solana: at least give them an hour, roman, please.

Roman: No.

Solana: roman, please. 😭 for me? Please?

Roman: Fine. An hour.

Solana: thank you, baby. 🥰

Roman: Whatever.

Solana: 😘❤️

—--------

“Roman, baby, calm down. Just take some deep breaths.”

“I am calm.” He is most definitely not calm. Not in the slightest. “Who the fuck do they think they are? I’ll kill all of them!”

“Roman.” Solana sighs, rubbing her temples. Half an hour. It’s been almost a half hour since her husband blew up her phone for the second time tonight, causing her anxiety to spike. She thought something bad had happened at his get-together. That wasn’t the case.

Just not according to him.

The first incident was arguably the most ridiculous thing. Roman was upset, borderline petulant as he ranted about this nice local performer named Joe Hendry who the group of women laughed and interacted with as he performed at the restaurant they were chose for the evening. It was nothing but innocent singing and dancing, some of which was caught on camera. The footage shared by Bayley and Afia, prompting Roman to start texting Solana wanting to know the name of "the fucker" who was "all up" on her.

Joe was, in fact, not on her but rather interacting with the group as a whole. Not that that made a difference to her husband.

So, she had to deescalate that.

And then, there was the second round. The one she's in the middle of now.

Mickie and Bayley, unbeknownst to Solana, uploaded a video of one of the dance challenges she’d done with the girls the other night to Solana's Instagram page. The Tapout challenge, she thinks it’s called. Regardless of the name, it was the dancing, the twerking and throwing of ass she was doing that was shared to her page that has her husband on the brink of a stroke. “You can’t kill people just because they liked my video.”

“The fuck I can’t,” he protests, running his hands through his hair. “This is why I hate this social media shit.”

Right about now, Solana feels the same. “Baby, I made the video private. No one can see it anymore."

“But, they did see it, Solana, and they were liking and….commenting on it with those weird little ass picture things.”

“Emojis, Ro.” Solana closes her eyes. “They’re called emojis, honey.”

He’s dismissive, too wound up and focused on an issue that isn’t even a big issue. “Whatever they’re called, there were hearts and shit. And someone even had the fucking audacity to put a tongue. What the fuck does that even mean?”

Solana has a guess, but she’s not going to give him that supposition. He’s already upset enough. 

She decides to try to redirect the subject. “How was the get-together?”

He shoots her a look that’s more telling than any answer he could give. “The worse fucking night of my life.” Solana rolls her eyes. Her husband can be so dramatic. “All those damn people.”

“Roman, it was literally your family.”

“And?” She shakes her head. While Solana knew he wouldn’t be thrilled, she was hoping he’d get something out of it.

“You mean to tell me the entire night was awful?” And, it’s in posing that question, Solana sees it. Sees something flash in his eyes. “Did—did something happen?”

More hesitation, before he almost reluctantly answers, “I had a….talk with Matteo.”

Solana’s eyes widen. She definitely wasn’t expecting that. “Oh?” Solana shifts on the bed, wanting to give him her full, undivided attention. “How….how was that?”

Roman looks off in the distance, the difficulty he’s having in verbalizing himself evident and visible to his wife. “Wasn’t what I was expecting.” His answer is vague, borderline dismissive, and Solana is prepared to drop it, to tell him he doesn’t have to tell her anything more, when he continues in an almost low voice. “I’ll—I’ll tell you about it when you get home.”

An unexpected offer. One she’s extremely appreciative of. Not even because it’s important for her to know what happened in and with this conversation, but because it means a lot to her that her husband is willing to share that with her. She knows how hard vulnerability is for Roman, so any opportunity she has to provide that safe space for him, she’ll do it. Every single time.

“Okay,” is the answer she settles on, followed by a gentle, “you know I’m always here for you, Ro…..whatever you need.”

“I know.” A simple response and acknowledgment. 

More than enough. 

They talk for another half hour, Solana checking in on him, making sure he’s eating well, sleeping well, taking his meds. The usual. He asks about how her trip has been, any unpleasant pregnancy symptoms, ensuring she doesn’t need him for anything. Again, the usual for them.

Always looking out for each other.

And when their FaceTime call finally ends, Solana feels inclined to send him a text, reminding him once more that she’s available if he needs to talk. About anything. 

But, a soft knock at the door pulls Solana from her mid-typing. She lifts her head to see Afia standing in the doorway, wearing a soft smile, something black folded over her forearm. “Busy?”

She shakes her head, waving her head. “Not at all. Come in.”

Afia does so, closing the previously cracked door behind her. She walks over and sits on the edge of the bed. “Everything alright?”

Solana nods, a small smile on her face. “He’s fine. Just being Roman.” Looking her over, she has to ask, “are the kids okay?”

It’s always a wonderful thing to see how Afia’s face lights up whenever Solana mentions or asks about her children. “Yes. They miss me, of course, but they love their dad, so they’re managing just fine.”

Solana believes that. Believes that just as Afia is a wonderful, attentive, caring mother, Matteo is just the same as a father. She saw how the kids flocked to him at the party, boys roughhousing with their dad, while Sana laid her little head against his chest when she became tired. It’s obvious what a wonderful, close-knit family they are.

“I hope Roman and I can have what you have with your kids,” she confesses, quietly. Because, she does. Because what Solana wants more than anything for her children is for them to be happy. To give them the childhood she and Roman never got to have.

“You will,” Afia affirms. “It’ll be even better than what we have.” The reassurance ignites a warm, appreciative smile on Solana’s face when her sister-in-law hands her the black item. “Which is why I had to get this for you.” Slightly confused, Solana accepts the item. “Or maybe I should say Roman.”

Eager for clarification, Solana lifts and opens up what she realizes is a shirt. A gasp. “Afia!” Solana is instantly laughing, scoffing in disbelief. “You didn’t.”

The Nigerian woman chuckles. “I did. I saw your face light up when you saw it.” Solana continues to look at the large black shirt that reads “Real Men Make Twins” in Spanish. A shirt she’d seen when the group went out shopping earlier. “It was obvious you wanted it, but I know you couldn’t get it without drawing suspicion. Thankfully, I didn’t have to worry about that.”

Solana brings the shirt to her chest, hugging it, imagining Roman wearing said shirt. Wearing the shirt while holding their twin daughters. “Thank you, Afia.”

Solana reaches and hugs the other woman who murmurs into her ear, “you’re welcome.” As the two separate and Solana once again finds herself in awe over the thoughtful gesture, Afia inquires, “everything still going good?”

Nodding, the mother-to-be offers, “yes. According to my doctor, it’s only a matter of time before I start showing.” Not soon enough though, to Solana. She knows she’s pregnant, but there’s something about being able to physically see that she’s pregnant is what she’s looking forward to the most.

Afia chuckles. “You’re three months, right?” Solana nods, and Afia chuckles. “Oh, yes. Twins, too? Yes. you’ll wake up one morning and find a whole ass baby bump.”

Curious, Solana questions, “is that how it was for you?”

Afia nods. “For both my pregnancies. On a Monday, I woke up with abs. By Wednesday morning, I was showing.”

While there’s a bit of faux irritation in her voice in describing her experience, Solana finds excitement growing within her. 

She can’t wait to experience that for herself.

And with Roman, too.

Eager to pry Afia’s brain for something Solana has been thinking about the past couple weeks, as well as knowing a conversation happened between their husbands tonight, she shifts on the bed. “Hey, can I ask—”

A knock on the door interrupts the asking of said question as Solana quickly hides the shirt behind her pillow before calling out. “Come in.”

Afia turns just in time to see Naomi turn the knob and open the door. Solana is watching the whole time, so she sees the way Naomi’s small smile drops into a straight line.

Clearing her throat, Solana maintains her smile. “Hey.” She moves over on the bed and pats the spot next to her. “Come join us.”

Naomi shakes her head, that same almost negative energy that’s surrounded her the whole trip so far, permeating the atmosphere. “That’s alright.”

Afia moves to get up. “I can leave, if you’d prefer—”

“I said, that’s alright,” Naomi cuts her off, both Afia and Solana wearing partially shocked expressions by her abruptness. “Just forget it.”

As she turns to leave, there’s another turn that happens. Not literally, like Naomi’s departure from the room, but something abstract and almost metaphorical.

The knob that exists within Solana regarding her emotions. The dial between patience and impatience, and right now, Solana is leaning much toward the latter than the former.

Untangling her legs from the bed, she mutters to Afia, “I’ll be right back.”

Afia says something, but Solana isn’t listening, too focused, too frustrated, too pissed.

Moving down the hall, she’s grateful to find Naomi’s door cracked and the room void of Bayley, who’s clearly still out back by the pool with Cameron and Mickie.

Closing it behind her to secure privacy, Solana gets right to it. “Okay, what is your problem?” As Naomi stands on the opposite side of the room, arms crossed, pacing almost, Solana continues. “You’ve been off this entire trip. Distant as heck, and I’m trying to figure out why.”

Distant is a nice way to put what Solana really wants to say, the not so nice word that comes to mind remaining in the safe confines of her mind.

Naomi, however, shakes her head. “This isn’t the place.”

Solana couldn’t disagree more. “I think this is exactly the place.” Crossing her arms, she asks again, tone a bit softer. “Naomi, please….talk to me.”

That, however, seems to be the wrong thing to say. “Talk to you?” She smiles, but there’s nothing happy or comical about it. “You want me to talk to you? Why? Why should I when you’ve been damn MIA for months now?”

Solana finds herself frowning. “What–what are you talking about?”

Her head tilts back, as she moves to pinch her nose. “Solana, for months now, you’ve been acting weird. One minute, we’re hearing from you, the next, I can’t even get a text back. One minute, we’re training a couple times a week. Now, I don’t know the last time I saw you at the Warehouse. Unanswered texts then a random ass invite to dinner where all you can talk about is Roman and how you’ve been trying to help him, while also putting me in an uncomfortable position by asking me to keep secrets from Jimmy.”

“Naomi, I didn’t—”

“And then after scheduling and canceling this girls trip 5011 times, you finally have it, and you’re acting like everything’s fine and dandy when it’s not. Things are a mess right now, Solana, and in every version I’ve heard of what happened, you are the nucleus of every story.”

Solana knew something was going on with Naomi, but she could have never anticipated what she’s hearing would come out of the woman’s mouth. “What—what are you talking about?”

Another wrong thing to say. “You seriously don’t know?” Solana doesn’t have to answer, because Naomi is already onto explanations. “Roman kicked Rikishi, Jey, and Solo out of his inner circle. Demoted them all.” 

Eyes widening, Solana only has one word oscillating in her mind, a word that escapes. “What?”

“Yes,” Naomi scoffs, crossing her arms. “Whatever happened with you and Rikishi a couple months ago is something Roman clearly isn’t over, or maybe his pride is wounded—”

“Do you know what happened?” Solana finds herself asking, interrupting, irritation starting to bubble again. She doesn’t like Naomi’s almost accusatory tone. “What he tried to do?”

Naomi shakes her head and presses her fingers to her temple.  “Solana, I love you. I promise I do, but right now, I don’t care what happened, because whatever it was has spiraled into this big mess.” She blows out a breath, laying it all out. “Jey is pissed with Roman, and I have to hear about it every day since Roman has him helping me train new recruits. Jimmy hears it the most though. He’s so torn with this whole thing. Being put in a position where he feels like he has to pick between his actual brothers and the man he always viewed as a brother. He’s been so stressed out, and it’s affecting our marriage, Solana.” 

Each sentence is like a slice into Solana’s heart, because underneath Naomi’s frustration, she sees it, she feels it. The hurt.

Naomi is hurt behind it all. 

“And don’t get me wrong, Jey was wrong for that scene he pulled at the restaurant and even at your welcome home party, but Roman is wrong for taking this all so personal and responding the way he has.”

That. 

That, however, is the comment that makes Solana’s compassion dwindle just a bit.

“I didn’t know Roman had demoted them, Naomi. I—I didn’t.” She truly didn’t, and while a part of her wishes her husband had told her about this, she can understand why he didn’t. The same reason she’s prepared to point out to Naomi. “But, his hands are tied. Jey—Jey has been out of control lately. What was Roman supposed to do? He had to make a call, and he made it.”

Naomi cuts her eyes to the ceiling. “He made the wrong call though, Solana.”

“According to who?” 

“Roman is the Tribal Chief,” Solana defends, uncrossing her arms. “He did what he did because it was best for the Bloodline—”

“Roman did what was best for you, Solana!” Naomi cuts her off, voice raised, borderline a shout. Solana is quiet, still trying to process just what’s transpiring. “He felt like you were disrespected, and he couldn’t have that, so he made it about you.”

A heavy, loaded pause followed by an almost whispered question. “You–you think all this is my fault?”

It’s clear that Naomi is heedful with her answer, each word carefully chosen. “I think a lot of Roman’s decision making has been based upon what’s best for you and him, not what’s good for the Bloodline, and if you can’t see that, then I don’t know what to tell you.”

But regardless of the methodical wording, it’s painfully obvious that it could all be summarized to one, telling word.

Yes.

Yes, she does think this is Solana’s fault.

Similarly, the younger woman is also careful in her wording. Finding that balance between assertive and validating. “You’re upset, and I get that. You’re allowed to be upset. It’s not fair. And, I really am so sorry that what’s happening is not only happening but affecting you and Jimmy.” All of that is just as true as the next portion of her thought-out response. “But, I will not allow you to put this on me. You know better than most people how much I struggled with blaming myself for things, so I am not going to let you bring me back to that headspace.” Tears brim in Solana's eyes for a variety of reasons, because of the small ways that she already has been taken to that space.

Glimpses of all the times blame was laid toward her. Largely from Xavier and Wesley. From the most mundane things, like breakfast not being ready on time, all the way up to being told it was her fault she was raped because she didn't "fight hard enough."

She was blamed for all the things no one should be blamed for.

Never again.

Never will she allow that to be the case.

Not even with someone she considers a sister. 

Guilt and a sense of sadness gleams in Naomi’s soft brown eyes. “Solana, I didn’t mean—”

“You should leave.”

A pregnant pause. “What?”

Solana swallows, doing her best to keep the tears at bay. “It’s obvious you feel some type of way about me right now, about Roman, and I–I have to respect that. I will, but you have to respect that I can’t have that kind of energy around me right now. It’s not fair to me or any of the other girls.”

It isn’t. Naomi’s attitude has been a thing noticed and commented on not only by herself but Afia, Mickie, and even Cameron, who normally doesn’t like to comment on things like that. And, it’s clear that said attitude isn’t going away anytime soon, because there’s a lot that needs to be discussed and worked through. None of which Solana is interested in doing right now or at any point on this trip. 

She’s got enough on her plate. 

“I’ll have Bautista make arrangements for you to use the jet to fly back in the morning—”

“Seriously, Solana?” Naomi scoffs, her face a mixture of several emotions. “You’re really doing this?”

“I don’t want to do this, Naomi.” She really doesn’t. This is the last outcome she expected when walking into this room. “But—but I can’t deal with this right now. I don’t want to.” She wipes at a tear that’s managed to escape, gliding down her cheek. “When I get back home, you and I can talk one on one, because you do deserve clarity and answers. I just….I don’t want to do it right now.”

Naomi just looks at her. “Wow.” There’s a tension and heaviness that travels through the room, settling on the walls, making itself at home, dwelling in the roots of discord that have been planted. “After everything we’ve been through, the friendship, the sisterhood we have, this is how you’re treating me?”

“Naomi.” Solana closes her eyes. It seems like this somehow becomes more and more complicated, twisted, and messy with every second that passes. “I want to figure this out with you, make things right, because you mean so much to me. You are my sister. My best friend, but I—I just need you to understand that mentally, I can’t do this right now.” Repeating of the same thing, just with elaboration and vulnerability. A certain amount of it, because what Solana really wants to say is stress is something she can’t have due to her pregnancy.

A pregnancy Naomi still doesn’t know about. 

A pregnancy, as much as it pains her to think it, Solana is somewhat happy Naomi doesn’t know about.

Because with what’s been said, the distance and tension that exists between them, Solana doesn’t know if the woman she considered, still considers to be a sister, would be happy for her. 

And, that hurts.

It hurts like hell. 

—---------

Solana feels sick, and for the first time in months, it has nothing to do with the children growing inside of her and everything to do with the past, present, and future.

She has no idea how long she’s been in the shower. Long enough for her fingers to prune and sweat to form on her forehead from the steam of the borderline scorching water. A small smile forms on her face recalling a shower she took with her husband before leaving for her trip, Roman’s scowl as he stepped in the water and cursed almost immediately from the temperature.

“Solana, what the hell? Are you trying to fucking burn us?”

It’s a memory that makes her laugh. For someone so serious, her husband might be one of the funniest people she knows.

But just as quickly as her smile was there, it’s wiped away as she’s reminded once more that that was then, and this is now. Roman isn’t here. Because she told him she didn’t need him. Told him she could do this on her own, and she can, but she can’t. A wicked dichotomy that’s resulted in nothing but overthinking and ruminating over the past few hours.

Catastrophizing, as Gail would call it. Playing out the worst case scenario, and both believing and accepting it as true. It’s exactly what she’s done. What she’s been doing. 

And to her credit, Solana does her best to utilize the techniques she’s learned in therapy when situations like this arrive, but this particular occurrence is a more challenging one, because all Solana wants to do is climb back in bed and forget about the whole thing.

And, she could. Solana knows that no one can make her do this. Roman would especially encourage her to do what feels most right to her. What she’s comfortable with. But, the reality is that what’s comfortable isn’t what’s always right. She needs to do this. Solana knows she needs to do this, but damn, is she terrified.

That’s the future concern. Then, there’s the past.

The conversation, borderline argument, with Naomi that had Solana so messed up, Bayley happened to walk by and overheard her crying in her room, prompting her cousin to come see what was wrong. Solana didn’t provide specifics, didn’t want to make Bayley feel like she was in the middle of things, but she did share that they’d had a disagreement and Naomi was leaving in the morning.

To say that situation didn’t fuck with her mentally would be a lie.

Naomi means so much to Solana. She’s a best friend and a sister, one of the first Solana has had in her entire life. It guts her to know Naomi feels the way she does and is going through what she is. That the mess with the Bloodline is now impacting her marriage with Jimmy.

Solana especially hates that. They’ve always had such a strong union, a wonderful dynamic. To know that’s not the case anymore, at least right now, is rough. 

And, then there’s the whole Bloodline dynamic. Solana had no idea Roman had dismissed and demoted the three men. He didn’t tell her, and she knows why he didn’t, doesn’t blame him, per se. But, damn, once again, something else on her husband’s plate he’s been dealing with alone. 

She hates that.

Hates that she didn’t know, even if she gets why he probably didn’t keep her in the loop.

But, still.

Eventually, after recognizing it’s only a matter of time until someone comes looking for her, Solana actually completes her shower and steps out, wrapping the towel around her body. She uses another smaller towel to clear a chunk of the mirror from the accumulated condensation, granting her a view of herself. Eyes falling to the counter where her toiletries are spread, a blush climbs up to her cheeks as she’s hit with another memory. 

Propped up on the counter, her husband’s face buried in between her legs before he carried her to their bedroom and made love to her. Her birthday trip. The days after when they’d been intimate for the first time, a door opening that Solana never intends to allow anyone to ever force her to have shut anymore.

But, as was the case with the shower memory, the recollection of a steamier encounter is no match for her anxiety, because she’s right back to overthinking. Overthinking the conversation with Naomi but especially the conversation she’s supposed to have in a matter of hours.

Right back to picturing the worst case ever when it comes to something she initially believed could go okay. And, there’s a part of her that knows this. Knows that the most realistic outcome will be okay.

So, why can’t she just focus on that instead of visions and flashes of being called a liar, screamed at, sent away, rejected?

Solana swallows the lump in the back of her throat and proceeds to carry on with her routine. Dental hygiene, styling her hair, applying deodorant and her body oils and creams. No makeup. She’s certain tears will be shed for one reason or another, and having black streaks down her face doesn’t sound like a fun time.

None of it does, but that’s a small thing that’ll only exacerbate things. 

Solana sprays her Delina perfume, a gift from Roman, on her pulse points and lightly taps her wrists together before reaching for her bra, underwear, and gray dress she’d picked. A pick she’s also now questioning, because what if it’s too revealing? Truth be told, with her large chest, anything she wears could fall into the “revealing” category, especially as she’s noticed some slight changes in her body in the past few weeks. Breast slightly bigger, hips a little wider. All symptoms of her pregnancy, certainly, but still noticeable, nonetheless.

Granted, Isla Mujeres is hot as hell, so too much clothing will certainly attract too much heat and make her sweat. Her dress is most appropriate given the weather, just maybe not the occasion. 

Frustrated with yet another issue her brain has made an issue, Solana dresses herself, unable to keep the tears at bay. Droplets sliding down her face, she rubs them away with all of the frustration growing inside of her. Try as hard as she does to push it back, Solana can’t deny the growing difficulty she’s having in not at least texting or calling her husband. 

She doesn’t need him here, per se, so she thinks, but hearing his voice, or even his reassuring messages could make a huge difference. 

But, he’s busy. She knows he’s busy, especially after what she learned last night. Roman is always busy, and yet, he always makes time for her. He’s done it a tremendous amount of times ever since learning of the pregnancy, so much so that she feels bad putting this on him as well. 

She just needs to deal with this on her own, even though she’s not alone. She’s surrounded by friends who would love and support her. But, there’s just something different about her husband. His support hits harder, feels stronger. It’s truly the balm she needs in most situations. 

Just not in this one. 

She’ll have to deal.

It’s a realization Solana begrudgingly comes to accept when she grabs her phone off the counter and opens the door to head back into her room. Except, the minute she does, that same phone she just picked up is now on the plush carpet of the master bedroom, and the tears brewing are pushed over the edge.

Solana opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Words aren’t what she wants right now. What she wants is to be in her husband’s warm embrace, and that’s exactly what she does.

Her feet quickly carry her across the room where she flings herself into Roman’s waiting arms from where he sits on the edge of their bed. The force of the collision forces him back on the bed, but she doesn’t care. She prefers it. Prefers lying atop him, his big, strong arms wrapped protectively around her as she nuzzles her face into his neck.

This was the last thing Solana expected. For Roman to be here, to surprise her by popping up in Mexico. 

She doesn’t know why he’s here or how he even knew to come, but she doesn’t question it. Doesn’t question it at all.

Because it’s exactly what she needed.

Solana feels his warm lips pressed against her temple, the way one hand soothes along the length of her back and the other palms her ass. Placement that’s calming in a way only he can achieve. She’s clutching him, basking in the relief he brings when his deep voice rumbles in her ear. “What’s wrong, pretty girl?”

A lot. There’s a lot Solana could bring up to him right now, namely the Bloodline situation, but that’s less of a pressing issue than the one she has to face in a few hours.

One thing at a time.

A sad smile against him followed by a quiet confession. “I don’t think I can do this, Ro.” 

He sighs. “Sol…”

Solana also sighs and reluctantly shifts so she’s no longer hugging him but propped up on one elbow, other hand on his chest as she looks down at him. “What if she doesn’t believe me? Or—or rejects me?” Roman reaches his hand to brush away some of her tears. “I just….I don’t think I can handle that.”

“Solana, why would she reject you?” His question is posed with all the consideration and care. “She already likes you. Hell, she probably already loves you.”

“But, Roman….” And it’s only then, the deeply buried fear, the core belief that drives so much of Solana’s doubt and fear is revealed. “Her daughter’s dead because….because of me.” She closes her eyes, biting down on her bottom lip to try to contain the second set of tears. “What….what if she blames me?”

It’s a scary but true thing to admit aloud, to verbally express something she herself struggled with for years. Blaming herself for her mother’s murder, and while Solana is still trying to work through, largely with therapy, her now confusing feelings toward her mother, the fact of what happened and how it’s impacted her remains unchanged.

It’s still and will probably always be something she has a bit of self-blame about. 

A sort of blame she fears she’ll receive from Paloma.

“Solana…” Roman sits up and adjusts them, tugging her onto his lap so she’s straddling him, hands on her hips. “You were a child. Do you honestly think she will blame you for what happened?” He doesn’t offer time for her to answer, transitioning to his next set of questions. “That she’d be upset to find out that she has a granddaughter? That she has some living, remaining connection to her daughter?” One of Roman’s hands shifts to Solana’s stomach, moving in small circles. “That she’s going to be angry at finding out you’re going to make her a great-grandmother?” 

As always, his words and nonverbal gestures are comforting and soothing, dwindling down her anxiety. “She already loves you. This isn’t going to change that. If anything, it might make it stronger.” 

The explanation is effective, chipping away and dismantling her fears, replacing it with something similar to confidence. Most logical outcome trumping worst case scanrios. 

“You’re right,” she murmurs after a few minutes of mulling over all of his counterpoints. Solana closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “I—I can do this.”

“Of course, you can,” he encourages, lifting her chin to bring her gaze onto him. “Do you want me to go with you?”

A part of her wants to say yes, another part wants to say no. One overpowers the other. “Yes.”

He doesn’t have to come inside, doesn’t even have to leave the car. Just having his presence right before will be enough.

Solana leans forward and hugs him, eyes shutting. “Thank you.”

His response is a kiss to her cheek and the reiteration of his mantra when it comes to her. Always. “I’ve got you.”

—---------

There's brief discussion who should accompany Solana to go see Paloma. Initially, it was going to be Bayley, but with Roman now present, as well as not wanting to give anything away before Solana can explain, it's settled that it'll just be Solana and Roman.

And, she's grateful for him. Holds his hand the entire drive there and basks in the comforting way he kisses her after helping her out of the SUV.

She's even grateful for the little nod Bautista gives her, before she moves down the stone path to the front door. He obviously doesn't know the specifics, but he knows enough to know she's about to do something important.

Something potentially life-changing and terrifying. All of which overwhelms her and slams her in the face as she nervously knocks on the door.

But, it's the minute that the door opens, Solana is immediately engulfed by a burst of warm, loving energy.

“Solana.” Paloma’s smile is wide and welcoming as she claps her hands on the apron around her waist before stepping over the mantle and welcoming her into a tight embrace. Initially, there’s discomfort on Solana’s end, not from the physical gesture but from the fact that it’s here. That she’s finally here. “It’s so good to see you, child.”

The second introductory statement pushes down some of the anxiety, Solana able to lean into the embrace, accepting it, allowing the energy to transfer over to her.

Paloma squeezes her once more before stepping back, surveying her almost. “Look at your hair.” She reaches for the ends, complimenting, “you look good, Solana.”

“Thank you,” is Solana’s quiet response, as Paloma looks over her shoulder.

“Is he….”

Solana does the same, seeing Roman leaning back against the SUV, dark shades covering his eyes, muscled arms crossed. Waiting. He’s waiting for her signal. A sign that she’s okay.

And, she gives him that, gives him that nod of approval. Roman gives her a small nod as well, moving to talk to Bautista who stands a few feet away and will remain with her, patrolling the outside premises with her security detail.

“No,” Solana finally answers, turning back to Paloma. “Not—not this time.”

Because, if this doesn’t go horribly wrong, Solana is hoping for more interaction between her husband and the woman who is her biological grandmother.

Even if Paloma doesn’t know it just yet.

Being inside of Paloma’s home is….it’s an experience. It’s an experience, because judging by the wear and tear on some of the walls, the almost dated styling of the hacienda home, Solana would guess that she’s lived here for some time. 

Long enough to raise a family. 

Or at the very least, a child. 

A child who grew up to be a woman. A woman who had her own children, Solana being one of those children.

“Tea?” Paloma holds up the teapot from where she stands by the stove in her kitchen. Small, warm tones, floral designs and a welcoming atmosphere. Much like the rest of her home.

Solana offers a polite decline. “No thank you.” She starts to ask what the tea is but ultimately decides against it, not wanting to risk anything. “Thank—thank you for having me.”

Paloma gives her a look. “Child, please. I’ve been waiting for this.” Paloma prepares her own cup of tea, adding just a bit of honey and a pinch of spices. “I’ve been worried about you.”

An expected thing. Solana knows her contact with Paloma has been abysmal since their initial meeting a few months back, and though not without good reason, it’s still something she feels bad about.

As Paloma sits down across from her, stirring her tea, she asks, gaze assessing. “How have you been?”

Such a simple question with a loaded, heavy answer. It’s not something Solana hasn’t thought about, twisted and turned in bed over, trying to settle on just how much she wanted to share of what’s transpired.

“It….it’s been a lot,” she finally answers after a minute or two of silence. “After…after I left here and went back home, some….some things happened, and I—my mental health got really bad.” Solana’s gaze falls to her lap as she pulls at the material of her dress, needing a distraction from the fluttering in her chest. Anxiety. “I—I was in the hospital and a treatment facility for a while.”

“Solana….”

“I’m better now,” she answers, eyes closing, reminding herself that where she was is far from where she is now. And, she’s never going back to that dark place. “I’m…significantly better.”

Paloma’s mug sits on the table, mostly untouched. She reaches over, placing a hand on top of Solana’s. “I’m so sorry.” Her warm eyes twinkle with concern. “I had a feeling something was going on with you. I’ve been praying for you. Praying for peace.”

“Thank you,” Solana murmurs. She’s not sure anyone’s ever said anything of the sort to her before. “I—I appreciate that. It….it means a lot to me.”

“Of course.” The older woman squeezes her hand, asking almost urgently.  “Is there anything you need? Anything I can do for you?”

And, there it is. The moment that Solana has both dreaded and waited for for some time now. A door being opened and paving way for her to fulfill a task that she’d give anything to push off for as long as she can, even if, deep down, she knows it’s not the right thing to do. She can’t keeping avoiding the inevitable.

It’s time.

“I—” Solana takes a deep breath. I can do this. “I—I have something I need to talk to you about. Something….something I need to tell you.” Solana swallows, doing her best to remain as open and vulnerable as she can. It’s more than needed in a situation as heavy and layered as this. “And the truth….the truth is that I’m terrified about how you’re going to respond.”

Paloma gaze shifts into something almost unreadable. “Solana, whatever it is, I’m sure it’s fine, child. Please. Just tell me.”

So much easier said than done. Solana looks away, blowing out a deep breath. “I—I never knew a lot about my mother’s side of the family. She never….she never really spoke about them.” And now that Solana knows the full backstory, she can’t be upset with her mother for it. Other things, yes, but not that. “I—I always wondered though.” Trembling hands reach into the purse that sits in the seat next to her, pulling out two items. An envelope and a polaroid photo turned downward. “When I was—I was going through and reorganizing some of my mom’s old journals, I found a letter she wrote me….before she passed.” Her voice dips with all the emotion that still accompanies that moment when she not only found the letter but read said letter. “And, it shared a lot. So much information that I didn’t know but now know, and it’s been hard for me finding out what I did.” A lot of her sessions with Gail since then revolving around Solana processing and working through all of the information. “But, the most important thing I gained from the letter was finding out more about her, her family….my family. And….” It’s been some time since Solana has felt this anxious, the only comparison that feels most equivalent being the night Roman found out about her pregnancy and Fetu’s letter. “If….if you’d like to read the letter—”

“No,” Paloma interrupts, her voice somehow both firm and gentle. “That—that’s too personal, Solana. Your mother most likely intended it to be for your eyes only. I could never…” She trails off, caught off guard by how Solana carefully stands from her seat and moves over to her knees in front of her. “Solana, what are you—”

“Please believe me when I say I had no idea who you were when we met. I didn’t—I didn’t know the truth then, and I’m sorry for—”

“Solana.” Gentle hands move to cup her face, Solana just now realizing that she’s crying and on the verge of an anxiety attack. “What is it?”

Solana closes her eyes. It’s time.

Licking her lips, ignoring the massive weight that feels like it’s settled upon her chest, she lifts her hand, sliding the envelope and polaroid across the table in front of Paloma. Verbal directions are unnecessary as the still very confused and very concerned older woman lowers her hands from Solana’s face to take the items she’s been handed.

Solana expects her to go for the envelope first.

She doesn’t.

She lifts up the polaroid first.

And, the minute she does, a loud, almost violent gasp leaves her. One hand over her mouth, her eyes are glued to the photo, her shoulders almost trembling. Nothing is said, and the seconds that pass are filled with every bit of anxiety and tension that Solana also feels coursing through her entire body.

“Where…..” Paloma’s voice is shaky, her eyes now watering as she looks over at Solana. “Where did you get this photo?”

“I’ve always had it,” Solana is also trembling, her voice wavering. “It’s one of my favorite photos….” No greater fear has filled Solana than waiting for whatever follows the next statement that leaves her mouth. “Of my mother.”

The gasp that emits from Paloma’s mouth this time is louder, heavier, and significantly more emotional. She drops the picture onto the table, moving her hands to look at Solana, to really look at her.

Like she’s doing so for the first time.

And, in many ways, she is.

“I always thought you looked like my Alma,” Paloma cries. “But, I didn’t say anything, because after she disappeared, I almost lost my mind, and I—I saw her in every young woman, and I just thought….” She closes her eyes, crying harder. “I can’t believe after all these years…..” Another gasp, hiccupped almost request. “Please….I must know…what happened to my daughter? What did he do to her?”

And in everything Solana feared about this moment, this is the part that frightened her the most. The moment she fears will change everything in the most awful of ways.

But, the truth is something that frees, liberates, and deserves to be voiced. 

Paloma deserves to know what happened. 

“When....when I was still a child, she came up with....with a plan....” Speaking is such a trepidatious thing to to do, but somehow, someway, Solana powers through it. “She was trying….she was trying to get us out of there, to….to escape my father.” Solana will never again consider Xavier her father, but thinking back to the letter, how her mother shared he lied about his identity, she knows using the name Xavier will only be confusing. Bring about more questions. And, she will answer them. But, right now, answering the question at hand is the most important thing. “But, he—he found out—” Solana sniffles, unable to settle her tears or any of the heavy emotions that accompany this weighty moment. “And, he sent—he sent men to kill us.”

Paloma’s eyes shut. “Oh my God….”

“She died protecting me,” Solana shares, the memory of her mother’s dead body atop of her returning to the front of her mind, bringing about a fresh new set of tears. “She’s—she’s dead because of me, and I’m so sorry—” She's unable to finish her sentence, too wrecked by her sobs, head falling as she covers her face. Overwhelmed with the guilt that she feels will always lie within, dormant at times, active at others.

Never to fully go away.

Paloma moves her hands to Solana’s wrist, carefully lowering her hands as she once again cups her face. “No, child.” She shakes her head, affirming with all the conviction. “What happened was not your fault.” Words that Solana heard for the first time, in a long time, for her husband. That, in many ways, changed her life. Now being repeated again by her grandmother in yet another life changing moment. “Solana….” Her smile is sad, her soul clearly heavy, but her determination unwavering. “There exists no greater act of love for a mother than to lay down her life in order to save her child.” She wipes away Solana’s tears. “And that’s exactly what my Alma did.” Solana closes her eyes, hand falling to her stomach. “She died just as she lived.” Her voice catches. “With love.”

Love.

The emotion that’s most dominant in this moment, settling over and overpowering any trace of fear and doubt and any other negative feeling Solana expected to encounter. The rejection she expected to receive in the face of the truth.

She couldn’t have been more wrong.

Head falling into Paloma’s lap, Solana sobs. She sobs from the loss of her mother, from the reunification of her family, from the everything that this moment of truth has brought her, and from the love that overwhelms her. 

“My granddaughter.” Paloma leans over, crying and kissing the back of Solana’s head, holding her, cradling her with an unrelenting grip. Like she won’t let go. Like she’ll never let go. “My beautiful, beautiful, nieta….”

--------

translation:

nieta = granddaughter

[neptunes-sol-angel]

Can they match your freak? 👀 Think of a person that you're interested in, then pick the picture that you feel drawn to the most to find the corresponding message about how the sexual chemistry would be like between you guys.

Paid Readings | Botanica | Tip Jar

Pile One

The person on your mind comes across as formal, polite, but not interested in being in everyone’s face or being the center of attention. They could be considered a bit odd, maybe the timeline in which their beliefs, speech, and hobbies are not common in their age group. They could be assumed as a nerd because of how serious they take most things, like if you were to joke with them or use sarcasm, they’ll turn what’s not supposed to be literal into something pragmatic which is kind of cute in an innocent way. But they’re not rude or dismissive, because if you stick with them long enough they’ll eventually catch up with your sense of humor, even if the jokes don’t land, the fact that they’re trying makes it hilarious. They’re great at guiding people and teaching someone without looking down on others. They could come from a big family and are actually really nurturing and considerate which leaves them feeling more selective with who they choose to be their friend or romantic partner, and are content with spending a lot of time alone. They’re really “slow moving”, they don’t like to be rushed in anything, and for a good reason. They don’t like to compromise their stability, and love to have a work-life balance, even if they are an overachiever.

When it comes to doing the deed, it feels like intimacy is heightened because it feels as if you’re with a whole different person. Their sexual energy feels electric and eccentric. I feel like they’re a music junkie. They’re a lover of all genres, but pay attention mostly to the artists and bands that don’t get a lot of appreciation. I keep picking up on music theory, which could of course hint more about what they like to learn about, but I see this more as them effortlessly knowing the right note, the right rhythm, and the right scale to successfully lead their partners into an orgasm. They’re absolutely magical with their fingers, but feral with their stamina. They’re competitive when it comes to showing their partner who can go round for round, and they’re determined to make sure they’re at the top. Speaking of top, they love to be dominant in the bedroom. Their sex talks chains and whips! Just kidding, but it’s an art for them to see the many ways in how pain brings their partner pleasure. They’re down for almost anything in sex, as long as it’s consensual. Outdoor sex could be a favorite of theirs. Should you have sex with them? I feel that sex with them will be better than anything if you’ve had with anyone else, which can be addictive. Make sure that the relationship is something solid with this person, if it’s a situationship, it can be problematic, especially around issues with possessiveness, unhealthy attachments, and a lack of boundaries.

Pile Two

Sol cherubs…I’m sorry but I’m going to have to roast this person. I feel like they’re the kind to wine and dine a person. Dinner dates are nice, yes, but this person is very cheap, and likes to do the bare minimum while thinking that the other party should give them something back in return. They talk themselves up a lot, and could even get carried away with dirty talk in the bed because THEY think they’re doing something. Like this person could think that they’re a total freak, but their sex talks vanilla…They do basic positions, they’re repetitive, which is not the problem, the problem is that it’s not doing anything for the other person, and the only thing freaky about them is their gross personality. They’re self-serving, it’s not to say that you can’t experience pleasure with this person in sex, but if you expect for them to care about making sure that you finish too, don’t. They’re cheap with their wallet and in the bedroom. DO NOT have sex with this person, you won’t feel satisfied, and their energy in general is creepy and the epitome of what a loser looks like. If they’re a man, they have a toxic patriarchal mindset, weak in reality, but prowls for individuals who they think that they can control. They’re an energy vampire. Sex is an ego booster for them. It excites them more when they come across a person who’s strong in personality, or harbors a lot of potential to be a star, so that they can seduce them in order to feel better about themselves.

Sex should be an equal thing, where both parties are respected, having fun, and feeling good. You should both feel empowered rather than seeing it as taking power from another person. I’m also getting the feeling that this could be a past person for certain individuals. The message is also for you guys to know that sex isn’t supposed to be a shameful thing either if you’re still in regret about giving it to the wrong individual or even individuals. You’re not less of a person because you had sex so don’t let anyone try to punish you for it, and that includes yourself. Heal the negative beliefs you have about sex within yourself by not seeing yourself as a body count, limiting yourself to people who don’t satisfy you, and to trust in yourself to keep your stance in not doing something if you don’t want to just because someone gave you something and speaking up about what you want and how you want to be treated.

Pile Three

The person on your mind is spontaneous. You could play hard to get with them on the outside, but on the inside they’re very alluring to you, and lowkey they know this. Your chemistry in general with this person is breathtaking, if you aren’t a couple, people wonder why you aren’t one yet because of how close you guys are with each other and how obvious your attraction towards one another is. There’s heavy sexual tension here, partly because of how racy things get when you guys flirt with each other or how compatible you guys are to the point where you feel comfortable just yapping about almost anything, and the other part being the elephant in the room, which is something just feels forbidden about this relationship. Maybe this is a coworker which I understand why it wouldn’t be appropriate. You could consider this person a goofball, someone you always have fun with, or can count on to put a smile on your face, but the friendship between you guys is strong. Y’all get each other emotionally and are generally supportive, I would be shocked if you guys weren’t best friends. I’m not even picking up their individual sexual energy, my intuition just keeps pointing to how it would be if you guys were to ever have an encounter. I just keep getting “yes, yes!, YES!” go for it with this person, because it doesn’t feel at all like something you would regret. Ya’ll complete each other in so many ways that it just feels right. The sexual chemistry would be stable, you wouldn’t get bored of each other because it brings you guys closer rather than apart. This won’t be for everyone, but some people in the pile might have a theme of knowing right then and there that this is the person that they would want to spend the rest of their life with. Be wary though if you aren’t in the position of wanting to have kids or having enough to support a child, because you guys are going to be on each other like rabbits.

[storiesforallfandoms]

one of the guys ~ jimmy smith jr;8 mile

word count: 3481

request?: no

description: she’s always been viewed as just “one of the guys” despite having feelings for one of her friends, and now it’s looking likely that she’s going to lose him to the wannabe model

pairing: jimmy smith jr. x female!reader

warnings: swearing, pining

masterlist (one, two, three)

I had known Jimmy and Future since we were a bunch of snot nosed kids causing trouble on the playground in elementary school. Cheddar Bob was next, having followed us around like a lost puppy until we finally adopted him. Iz and Sol joined our little group in high school, and then we were complete.

For as long as I had known the guys, they considered me to be...well, one of the guys. Even after I went through puberty and actually started looking like a girl, I was still just one of the guys. It didn’t bother me for the most part. When you’re a kid, it doesn’t really matter if you’re a boy or a girl. We all played the same, caused trouble the same. But when we hit puberty, I found myself not liking being considered “one of the guys” anymore.

Especially when I realized I had feelings for Jimmy.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved being a part of the friend group and I couldn’t ask for a better set of friends. What I definitely could ask for, though, was for those friends to recognize I was a woman and treat me as such. Namely, I wished Jimmy would realize that.

One Friday evening, just like every Friday evening, I had just pulled into my driveway and was walking up to my front door when I heard another car pulling up behind me. I didn’t have to turn around to know it was Future.

“Get your ass changed, we’re going out!” he called.

“Future, I just got home,” I said.

“So?”

“So maybe I don’t want to go out with you chuckle fucks after I just worked an eight hour shift.”

“We both know that’s not the truth.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t stop the smile on my face. He was right, I did want to go out. We went out every Friday night. It was a group tradition at this point. If I was seriously turning it down, there’d have to be something wrong with me.

“Give me 10 minutes,” I told Future before slipping into my house to change.

I was in and out in less time than I told him. I just changed out of my work clothes and into jeans and a t-shirt, and was ready to go again. I got into the passenger seat of Future’s car and he didn’t even wait for me to buckle myself in before he was backing out of my driveway and driving off to get the others.

“I fear for my life every time I get in the car with you,” I joked as I managed to buckle my seatbelt.

“Well, lucky for you, Jimmy agreed to drive tonight. His car can hold more people anyways.”

“Who else is going with us?”

“Just the usual.”

I looked over at Future in confusion. His tone definitely made me think there was someone else coming along for the night, but it seemed he wasn’t going to tell me. I couldn’t figure out who could possibly be joining us that Future wouldn’t want to tell me about beforehand.

We pulled into the trailer park and parked next to Jimmy’s car. Jimmy was exiting his trailer before we were even out of the car, as usual. Jimmy was usually waiting for us to show up and would be itching to leave his mom’s place as soon as he could. Jimmy gave Future one of their high five hugs, and patted me on the shoulder. It was just a step up from me also getting a high five hug, but not by much.

We got into Jimmy’s car, all three of us in the front. We started for Iz and Sol first, then Cheddar Bob. Once the car was full it was nothing but noise as each of the guys was talking over one another with Jimmy’s radio blaring as extra noise.

“How was work, by the way?” Jimmy asked me over the current argument between Future and Sol.

“Same bullshit as always,” I responded.

“I guess we should be lucky you even agreed to come out with us after working all day, meanwhile all we do is sit on our asses like a bunch of bums.”

I playfully nudged his shoulder. “Hey, you work, too.”

“I wouldn’t consider the Stamping work.”

I chuckled. I noticed then that we weren’t headed for the club. “Where are we going?”

“To pick up Alex.”

I felt my heart drop to my stomach. I looked over at Future. I couldn’t tell if he was actually deep in conversation with Iz or if he was just ignoring me. So this was who was joining us that he didn’t want to tell me about.

Alex.

She was a girl Jimmy had met at his work. She was a model apparently, or was trying to be one. Jimmy didn’t talk about her much, but the other guys didn’t waste a single moment in teasing him about her. It didn’t take a genius to realize he liked her.

Alex was waiting as Jimmy pulled up. She was wearing her usual mini skirt so short that you could basically see everything whenever she moved. It made me feel very self conscious about my choice in jeans.

Future opened the door and got out.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I asked. I already knew the answer and hoped he’d see the look of begging on my face.

“I’ll get in the back with the idiots,” he said. “I’d assume Alex will be more comfortable pressed up against you instead of Sol.”

“Yo, fuck you!” Sol snapped.

I hoped my clenched jaw would go unnoticed as Alex slid into the seat next to me. Her eyes immediately went to Jimmy and they shared a smile that made me wish I could throw myself from the moving car.

We got to the club and piled into our usual table while Future got the first round of shots. Cheddar Bob and Iz were sat on one end, I was in the middle, Jimmy and Alex were sat next to me, and Sol had pulled up a chair. When Future returned, he slid in next to Cheddar Bob. The table chorused with cheers as we held up our shots then shot them back.

I tried to play it cool, but having to sit next to Alex and Jimmy while they were flirting up a storm was making me more tense by the minute. When Sol offered to get the next round of drinks, I jumped to give him the money to buy me two of the strongest drinks he could for me. I downed the first one quickly, but took my time with the second. It didn’t take long for the shot and the first drink to kick in. My head was spinning and I felt care free and light as air.

At some point, when the drinks had hit me hard enough, I shoved against Iz’s shoulder and said (or rather slurred), “Hey, can you guys move? I gotta pee.”

“Yo, go the other way,” Future said. “There’s three of us here and only two on your other side.”

“You’re gonna break the dam this early in the night?” Sol asked. “You may as well sit on the end when you come out. You’ll be back and forth for the next few hours.”

“Look, I don’t care who moves and I don’t care where I sit when I come back, I just have to pee now.”

“Here, we’ll move,” Jimmy said.

He and Alex moved out of the booth and allowed me to get out. When I stood, I realized just how drunk I already was as I almost immediately lost my balance. I felt someone grab hold of me as the rest of the table chorused in laughter at my drunkenness. When I looked up, it was Jimmy that had taken hold of me. I smiled at him and he smiled back.

“I’m getting you water when you come back,” he said. “And you gotta pace yourself.”

“You’re always looking out for me,” I said. “You’re such a good friend.”

I put emphasis on the friend for my own benefit, but there was also some level of petty in the word. A reminder for both of us that that was the only way he saw me: as a friend. One of the guys that he went out drinking with every weekend, that he smoked with in the basement of someone’s house, that he ran around Detroit with causing mayhem since we were tykes.

I saw a look flash across his face that I couldn’t quite decipher, but I assumed I was just seeing things in my drunken haze.

I managed to make it to the bathroom on my own without incident. Once I was safely inside of a stall, I was able to sit down again. I almost didn’t want to get up and go back out to the table. Sitting was safe. The world didn’t spin when I was sat down. But I also couldn’t be sat on the toilet in a club bathroom all night either. I knew Sol was right about me going back and forth to the bathroom now that I had broken the dam, but if I put enough time between this bathroom visit and the next, maybe the spinning wouldn’t be as bad by then.

When I stepped out of the stall to wash my hands, I jumped to see that someone was waiting there.

Alex.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said.

I waved away her apology. “It’s fine. I just didn’t hear anyone else come in.”

I stepped around her to wash my hands. She turned to face me as I did. “Listen, I need to talk to you about something.”

I looked up at her and raised an eyebrow. “Okay?”

“Is there anything going on between you and Jimmy?”

The question took me by surprise. Why would she think there was anything between us? In all the time that Jimmy had known Alex, I had only met her once before after the lot of us had run into her at a house party. I remembered Jimmy only having eyes for her that night, too. There was no reason I could even fathom that she would believe Jimmy and I had a thing going on when he was so clearly into her.

“No,” I said. “He’s my best friend. Has been since we were kids.”

“And that’s it? Just friendship?”

“Yeah. What’s this about?”

She sighed. “I really like Jimmy, and I thought he liked me, too. But he’s never really asked me out or anything yet. I didn’t know if maybe you two had a thing going on and I read the whole situation wrong. I’ve known far too many guys who claim to be just friends with a girl and turns out they’re actually fucking around.”

Trust me, I wish that’s what was going on here.

Against my better judgement, I put my hands on Alex’s shoulders and said, “If you really like Jimmy and you want things to be more serious, maybe you should make the first move.”

She looked as though she had never even considered that option. “You think so? That won’t seem too...direct?”

“Who gives a shit? Why do men always have to be the ones to make the first move? Most of them are fucking idiots anyways and wouldn’t know if a girl liked them even if she was telling him to his face.” Alex chuckled. “If you want him, go get him.”

She nodded. I was taken by surprise when she suddenly pulled me into a hug. I reluctantly patted her on the back and tried to put the best smile I could muster on my face.

“You’re the best,” she said. “I think we’re going to be great friends.”

I bit my tongue as she hurried out the bathroom door.

That interaction was enough to sober me up more than I wanted. I could feel myself tearing up, but tried to fight it back. I turned to lean against the sink and looked up at myself in the mirror. I couldn’t help but notice everything that Alex had that I didn’t: gorgeous face, sexy voice, body of a model. I couldn’t even dream of leaving the house in a skirt as short as hers without feeling completely embarrassed and exposed. Of course Jimmy would like her, and of course he was going to say yes when she asked him to go out with her.

I hung my head as the tears slipped from my eyes and ran down my face into the sink. I prayed no one would come into the bathroom and find me here crying, and luckily someone was looking out for me because no one did. Once I felt like I had cried myself dry, I quickly splashed my face with cold water and tried to pretend everything was alright. I figured everyone was going to question where I had been for so long, but I didn’t feel like coming up with a fake answer to tell them. If I told them to fuck off, they wouldn’t pry.

My steps faltered a little when I exited the bathroom and saw that Alex and Jimmy were missing from the table. I was tempted to go right to the bar and get another drink, but I pushed through and went back to my group of friends.

“Hey, you good?” Future asked as I sat down in the booth.

“Yeah, just sobered up a little,” I responded. “Where did Jimmy and Alex go?”

“Alex asked to talk to him in private,” Cheddar Bob responded. “But that was a while ago, so who knows where they are now.”

I noticed both Future and Iz elbow him, causing him to spill some of his drink on himself. I didn’t care to imagine where Jimmy had taken Alex after she asked him out. I didn’t need to have that image burned in my mind for the rest of the night.

Everyone went back to their conversations, but I found myself not paying any attention to them. I kept glancing around the club, expecting to see Jimmy and Alex tucked away in a private corner, sucking face as if they were trying to blend into one person. Or maybe they’d be on the dance floor, practically dry humping in front of everyone. I didn’t think Jimmy was one to dance, but Alex had enough allure that she could’ve probably convinced him. But I didn’t see them, and that almost made it all worse.

Eventually I stood from the table suddenly, bringing everyone’s attention to me. “I need some air.”

“Do you want one of us to come with you?” Cheddar Bob asked.

“No, I’ll be fine,” I said. I turned and quickly made for the exit.

Once I was outside, I breathed in the cool night air. It filled my lungs, but it didn’t seem to help soothe me at all.

“You alright?”

“Jesus!” I hissed as I turned towards the voice. It was Jimmy, leaning up against the club. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

“Free country,” he said with a shrug. “Are you good?”

“Just needed air. It felt very stuffy inside.”

I walked over to stand next to him. The rough brick wall dug into my back through my t-shirt. It was cool out, but not enough to make me feel like I needed a jacket or anything. I was standing so close to Jimmy that I could feel the heat coming from his body anyways.

“Where’s Alex?” I asked. “The guys said you two went off to talk in private.”

“She left,” he responded.

I looked at him in shock. “What? And went where?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Home, I guess?”

“Don’t you think you should’ve driven her? It’s not exactly the safest for her to be walking alone at night.”

“I offered, but she turned it down. Said she didn’t wanna see me ever again.”

I’ve definitely missed a lot of things here. “What happened?”

Jimmy sighed. “Well, she got up and went to the bathroom after you, said something about wanting to make sure you were okay where you were so drunk. Then when she came back she asked me if we could talk in private. She brought me outside and told me how she had been waiting for me to ask her out properly since we first met and she was tired of waiting, so she made the first move to ask me if I wanted to go on an official date with her.”

“And you said...”

He looked at me for a second before responding, “No. Obviously.”

Well, yeah, it was obvious that he said no. But what wasn’t obvious was why he had said no.

“I thought you were into her,” I said.

He laughed. “Who told you that?”

I shrugged. “The guys seemed convinced you were.”

“The guys don’t know shit about shit. They just like talking a big game and making fun of each other.” I just looked at him, waiting to see if there was any more he had to say. He looked at me then away again. “No, I’m not into her. She’s beautiful, yes, but I don’t see her that way.”

“Wait, so if you don’t see her like that, then why did you invite her tonight?”

“I didn’t. She was at the Stamping today and asked if she could come along. I guess this was her plan.”

Well, it wasn’t her plan until I told her to go after Jimmy, but I wasn’t about to tell him that.

I felt like everything had just been flipped upside down. I was so sure that Jimmy had been reciprocating Alex’s feelings. It seemed like that anyways. Or maybe it seemed like that because I was making it seem that way. I was projecting something onto the two of them that wasn’t really there, I guess because of my jealousy?

“Sucks that she didn’t handle the rejection well,” I said.

“It wasn’t the rejection, it was the reason I rejected her.”

My brows furrowed together. “The reason being...you didn’t like her like that?”

“No. Well...yes. Kind of.”

“You know, for a man who can freestyle, you’re god awful with your words right now.”

He laughed and lightly nudged me with his shoulder. “It was the reason I said I don’t have feelings for her. I told her that I don’t like her because I like someone else and she didn’t handle that very well.”

I could feel my stomach turning to knots again. “Oh? Didn’t like the competition?”

“No, she said something along the lines of she should’ve trusted her gut, and that all guys who hang out with girls end up fucking them in the end.”

It took a second for what he said to register in my brain. When it did, I thought back to Alex talking to me in the bathroom and asking me if there was anything going on between Jimmy and I because she knew of too many guys who were friends with girls who they were actually fucking. Then, I put the pieces together in my head.

When I turned to look at Jimmy again, he was already watching me, waiting for me to come to the conclusion. “Me?!”

“Jesus, that took you long enough.”

“What do you mean that took me long enough?! Why the fuck haven’t you told me?!”

“Because you’re my best friend! We’ve known each other since kindergarten. If I told you I liked you and you didn’t like me back, that would fuck everything up between us and within the friend group. I would rather feel this way in silence than risk losing you as a friend.”

“If you had told me I would’ve told your dumbass that I like you, too, and I have since high school.”

“Wait...for real?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, for real!”

We both stood in silence. We shared a look, and then a smile broke out on Jimmy’s face. I couldn’t help but mirror it, and soon we were both laughing. With the absurdity of the situation, we couldn’t not laugh.

“We’re both dumbasses,” I said between fits of laughter.

“I guess so,” Jimmy agreed. “That brings up the question, though, of where do we go from here?”

“Well, I think we try a date, just the two of us and not those other idiots in there, and we see how things progress from there.”

He smiled. “Okay, I like that idea.”

“And we promise that if things don’t work out, we stay friends.”

“And we don’t tell the guys about any of this.”

I laughed. “Okay deal.”

[matchalovertrait]

We must stay focused, sisters.

Note: The build is the Edificio Bilbao by casmar (TSR)

Start from the beginning (Gen 2)

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Transcript

[The Law Offices; Del Sol Valley, California]

Daniela: Okay now remember, Tony can seem unapproachable but he means well.

Dulce: Wait, Tony??? THE Tony is the attorney you work with?

Daniela: Well, he prefers “Antonio” but Yoltic always calls him “Tony.” It stuck with me.

{FLASHBACK #1} Yoltic: The stars are aligning! One of my clients canceled on me.. wait, why did he? [Taps on phone aggressively]. Okay, Tony... paperwork, blah, blah, blah- whatever. Alright Dulce, are you still up for it?

{FLASHBACK #2} Daniela: Say hi to Tony for me.

{FLASHBACK #2} Yoltic: The bastard looks extra moody today, hm.

Dulce: Yikes. He sounds like a grumpy workaholic, but don’t worry. He and I will become besties.

Daniela: Um, maybe you should just focus on the legal consultation? That’s what you’re for.

Dulce: No, no. I got this. I can become friends with anybody.

Dulce: Even my biggest enemies like Hilary, Caruso, and my high school principal.

Daniela: If you say so! Alright, you’re going to be late. Good luck.

Dulce: You’re right. Thanks again, by the way.

[Dulce knocks on the door.]

Antonio: Come in.

Dulce: Oh. Hello.

Antonio: Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Alegría. I’m Attorney Antonio Romero.

[cross-d-a]

I wonder if one of the major purposes of The Acolyte is to show that the dark side is everywhere and it is in everything and it is in everyone. It is a constant battle, a constant fight. A consistent echo of “choose the right thing choose the right thing choose the right thing this time.” Bc it feels like the show is leading up to the big Reveal of whatever Sol has done. Sol, who is kind and gentle and fatherly. Sol who seems to encompass the epitome of the Jedi. We’ve really only seen him through the eyes of his friends/comrades and the eyes of a lonely, traumatized child.

The overarching “unreliable narrative” of the show is Fascinating. As the audience, we view the story through so many opposing viewpoints and are forced to work mostly with both the characters’ and our own interpretations of events. We have multiple Jedi viewpoints of course, who largely view themselves as a benevolent entity. And then of course we have the Sith who view the Jedi as oppressive but also perhaps naive as they force themselves to work within their own self-governed rules. And we have the people, who so far have seen the Jedi as friends, strange neighbors, hands of the Senate and nuisances. And then. THEN we have Osha and Mae who have inside perspectives of these opposing viewpoints but are also Other, both by nature of their existence and their experiences.

We can choose to make the wrong decision, or the right one. But who determines what’s wrong or right? And how do you navigate that choice when you don’t have the full story? How can you trust that your decision is the right one, when it may be right for you but wrong for someone else?

There are so many layers to it and it really feels like The Acolyte is trying to explore that. Because the Dark Side is wrong to the Jedi, but it’s right to the Sith. And what do you do when you think you’re a good person but make the wrong noice? How do you navigate that? How do you recover? How do you right your wrongs? And should you even do so?

This got away from me a bit but I think The Acolyte boils down to this. Nobody is inherently Good or Bad. There are decisions and how you deal with the consequences. Not to say you can’t consistently purposefully make choices that hurt others, but I think The Acolyte is trying to show that the Jedi are just- people. They’re people who have this amazing power and live within a complicated religious organization with a complicated relationship with the rest of the Galaxy. And the Jedi may have power but they’re just people, too. And they have good in them, and they have bad in them. And what makes a Jedi a Jedi is that they’re constantly fighting against the dark in them, and maybe sometimes, they make mistakes, because after all they’re just people, too. And sometimes, they just give in, for any number of reasons, but maybe most of all because they think they’re doing what’s right. (But who gets to decide what is right and what is wrong?)

[honeyjars-sims]

3.37 Soulmates

Today I’m spending some time with Pops. While I was camping, he found out that the LGBT center where he’s been working forever will be closing in just a couple weeks and he’ll be out of a job. It wasn’t unexpected–they’ve been having funding issues for a while–but it still sucks. Unfortunately, Dad is in San My for a gig this weekend, so I figure Pops could use some company.

“I’m really sorry about your job,” I tell him as he finishes washing the dishes. “Are you guys gonna be okay?”

“We have a good amount in savings, and I’ve already been in contact with someone at the LGBT center in Del Sol. They’ve all but offered me a position there that pays more and has more flexibility.”

“Wow, that’s great! So I guess you won’t have much of a reason to stay in Evergreen Harbor, then.”

“Not really. We could probably find a smaller place closer to the LGBT center.”

I know what that means. There’s no reason my parents should have to pay for another 3 bedroom house when their kids are grown. “I guess it’s time for me to find a place, too.”

“I’m sorry to spring it on you like this, but I think you’re ready for it.”

“Yeah, I am. I really appreciate you guys taking me in for as long as you did.”

“You’ve come a long way, Johnny. You’ll be just fine.”

“What about you? You’ll be all alone when Dad is traveling.”

“That’s the good thing about this job. I’ll be able to work remotely some, so I can travel with Dad sometimes.”

“Oh, that’s good then. I know it’s not easy for you two to be away from each other.” I pause. There’s something that’s been on my mind since I came back from my camping trip, and Pops seems like the perfect person to help me figure it out. “Do you think you and Dad are soulmates?”

“Soulmates? Hmm.” He stops for a moment to consider. “No, I don’t think we are,” he finishes.

“Really? Why not?” I'm taken aback by his answer. What does he mean, they're not soulmates?

“Well, you remember how Dad and I met, right?”

“Yeah, you saw each other at a protest and sparks flew or something cheesy like that.”

“Mm-hmm. But I don’t think I’ve ever told you the full story of what happened that night. Before I ended up at the protest, I was at your mom’s apartment–she told me she needed to talk to me about something. Instead, I told her I was gay and couldn’t be in a relationship with her anymore, and I left–without finding out that she was pregnant.”

“Oh. She was going to tell you that night?”

“Yes, until she decided that I wasn’t the kind of man that should raise children. If things had been different–if she had told me she was pregnant before I came out to her–I would have stayed.”

“You would’ve kept pretending to be straight?” I can't imagine what his life would have been like but it sounds pretty terrible. And to think he would have chosen that because of me and Chantal?

“For a while at least. And who knows, maybe eventually I would have found someone else to love and I’d still be happy. But I wouldn’t have met your dad that night.”

“Ok, but that didn’t happen. What does that have to do with being soulmates?”

“Because, Johnny, if I’d stayed with her a little longer then the things that happened to you and Chantal at your mom’s house wouldn’t have happened. I would have been there to keep you safe and well cared for. I just can’t believe that your Dad and I were meant to be together when the circumstances that led to us meeting were also the circumstances that led to my children being hurt and neglected.”

“Well, maybe it’s fate and you would’ve met a different way.” I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around what Pops is saying. A world where he and Dad aren't together just doesn't make sense.

“Maybe. But I don’t think any of these hypotheticals really matter. Like you said, that’s not what happened. What matters is that today, in the here and now, I can’t imagine my life without him. Any reason in particular why you’re thinking about soulmates?” He raises his eyebrows knowingly.

“I guess it’s more that I’m wondering how you know if someone is the right person for you, but it kind of sounds like it’s not that simple.”

“Well, a sign isn’t going to drop down from the heavens that says ‘This person is the one,’ but it doesn’t have to be complicated. Find the person you can’t imagine your life without. I don’t know if that’s what you were wanting to hear, but I hope it answers your question.”

Find the person you can’t live without. Maybe there aren’t signs falling from the sky, but those words are about as close as I’ll get. “It does," I tell him. "It may not be the answer I was expecting, but I think it cleared something up for me.”

“I see. Do you want to talk about it?"

Normally I would jump at the chance to get some input, but now I don't feel like I need it. I shake my head. “No, I think I can handle it from here.” The thought makes me nervous, but I can’t avoid this. I need to talk to Lacey.

Previous | Beginning of story | Beginning of chapter | Next

[vigilskeep]

as a fellow rook de riva player i’m really curious how sol took the whole… house egrativi being founded with the specific intention of taking in orphaned kids to become crows. final nail in the coffin moment for my rook personally

this plot thread was the first and easiest target of my mental rewrites because it just... doesn’t make sense, to me? functionally, regardless of thematically. like, i think it suffers the most obviously from the writers not really getting into how the crow power structure works. crow houses are business ventures that require money and manpower. you can’t just start one with a name and a dream while everyone smiles approvingly. also, you can’t just not have belonged to one in the first place! i spent all game trying to figure out if he belonged to the de rivas or the cantoris or the dellamortes or someone else, and when he started his own house at the end of his arc (again, ???) it was very apparent to me that this is just a misinterpretation that there is a general force of crows and the houses are simply nobility among them. no, somebody paid for your training and they want back on that investment so they own you. also, taking in orphans being your grand new venture for the crows is both insane and doesn’t make sense because the crows already do that as one of their main recruiting strategies. teia cantori is standing right in front of you as the evidence!

my provisional rewrite which i think works fairly smoothly without losing too much is that jacobus & his cousin are the sole surviving heirs of one of the three houses whose talons were killed in the antaam plot in tevinter nights: balazar, valisti, and arainai. (my self-indulgent vote is balazar, because the tevinter nights context of the dynamic with teia and viago is juicy. there’s no real reason for it to be arainai and bringing in that name for no reason would be cruel, but you could definitely cook with it if you really wanted to go for it.) naturally, these kids already have a grudge against the antaam, one that teia and viago are struggling to corral while having to treat them like crow hierarchy equals (iirc a balazar or valisti would actually technically outrank them both), and the elder cousin goes and gets himself killed trying. we’re now forced to operate with one of the four houses present in treviso being led by an even younger grieving child who is obviously a liability. this should be good for paralleling lucanis’ immediate future and highlighting what the crows do to their younger generations. in my most ideal of worlds where the crows are truly crow-ish on screen, maybe you’d have a plot choice with no good answers like...

a) teia would present this option. you decide to take a risk on this kid and believe in him and let him stand on his own two feet, and this actually pays off with sudden help in your fight against the governor like it does in the game. he chooses this idealistic, childish direction for his house where they’re taking in kids who have lost their families like him and it will all be one big family again! and he says some suddenly very nervewracking things about how they’ll understand it’s the best place to be eventually and one of the kids got hurt in the governor’s estate but heir has promised they’ll take care of it and train them all so hard they’ll never lose anyone again. he’s going to make sure of it. you’ll see! they’ll take the best contracts until they’re godslayers just like you! there’s a final shot of him standing very small and very alone. and that’s on you

b) viago would present this option. you decide this kid is too much of a risk to count on while you’re trying to save the city and the world, and maybe you care that he’s also a danger to himself. you back house de riva to forcibly seize jacobus’ house and all its assets to get the job done with, while jacobus himself is locked up out of harm’s way until the fight is over. this route also helps in your fight against the governor, there’s no sudden chaotic helping hand but everything goes smoother and cleaner, and hey, there are no children in the fight, if that kind of thing matters to you. however, all the ferocity of jacobus’ grudges turns on you and viago. he hates you. and letting him loose afterwards and giving back his house would be viago, the most paranoid man in thedas, handing a knife back to someone who wants to kill him. (which is, i suppose, the utmost charitable interpretation of viago’s main reasoning to keep hold of a bunch of assets, but no less true.) so they’re just keeping hold of jacobus... indefinitely. and that’s on you

but that’s me being self-indulgent and making it a bigger choice lmao. in answer to your actual question about my rook rather than this massive tangent, yes it was dizzying to stand there as another child was given full crow status and already planning to train other children. the cycles are cyclinggg

[nepotisticlandgraab]

Solaria’s Story Part 6 - The Invite

The phone rang in the distance. An unsaved number flashed across the screen. Solaria hesitated for a moment before answering, her curiosity outweighing her caution.

Solaria: Hello?

Ingie: Didn’t see you last night. Were you asleep?

She didn’t recognize the number, but the deep, raspy voice was unmistakable. Solaria sighed inwardly—of course, it was Ingie. It had been a couple of weeks since the incident at the sky bar, so she was curious what he wanted.

Solaria: Well, that’s what most people do in the middle of the night. But no, I was working.

Ingie: A woman after my own heart. That’s sexy, you know.

His voice carried a flirtatious undertone, and she could tell he’d been drinking. It was barely 7 a.m., and yet he sounded like he hadn’t stopped partying. Still, she went along with the conversation, hoping for a bit of amusing.

Solaria: What do you mean? You just said you were clubbing all night.

Ingie: That’s where you’re confused. The club is my job—I own it. Well, technically, it’s owned by my family, but it’s my responsibility.

Solaria: Wow, pretty and with daddy’s money.

Ingie: Didn’t peg you for a sexist, Sol. My mother gets all the credit for this.

Solaria: Oh, so it’s mommy’s money. That’s even cuter.

Solaria smirked, twirling a loose strand of hair around her finger as she wandered aimlessly around her small studio apartment. The conversation was proving to be more entertaining than she’d expected.

Ingie: Careful, you’re starting to sound jealous.

Solaria: Jealous? Please. I can handle myself just fine without a trust fund.

Ingie: Good, then you’ll fit right in at the party I’m throwing this weekend.

She paused, leaning against the window frame and glancing out at the sleepy street below. The idea of a party felt both absurd and strangely tempting.

Solaria: Party? Should I be honored, or is this your way of showing off your “responsibility” skills again?

Ingie: Depends. Will you show up just to roast me the entire night?

Solaria: If I come, it’ll be strictly for the free food and entertainment.

Ingie: So that’s a yes?

Solaria: Maybe. What’s the dress code? Let me guess—gold chains and designer shades indoors?

Ingie: Close enough. Just bring that attitude and I’ll be entertained for hours.

Solaria: Fine. But if I catch you pretending to “work” at your own party, I’m leaving.

Ingie: Deal. See you Saturday, Sol.

Read Solaria's Story Part 7 (x)

Read Solaria's Story Part 1 (x)

[bihansthot]

Hello 👋 😃

May I ask for a request for Smoke?

Drunk fem!reader tells Smoke that she has a huge crush on him.

How would he react?

You giggle and reach for your drink, your cheeks feel hot and you can’t tell if it’s because of the alcohol or because of your company. You’re out with your crush and his older brothers, you had known the three of them since childhood and often saw them when they came to your father’s store for supplies. You couldn’t begin to remember how long you had had a crush on the silver-haired hunk, easily since you were 7 maybe 8 but you never had the courage to confess to him. You feel brave tonight, you have your girls with you and the alcohol you’ve been consuming all night seems to make this doable finally. Your bestie gives you an encouraging smile and nudges you not so subtly before whispering loudly, “tell him.”

“Tell who, what?” Bi-Han antagonistically chuckles, easily reading your body language, he knew you had a crush on his brother, he’d known for years. Hell everyone knew but Tomas himself, Tomas remained blissfully unaware.

“Brother don’t tease, if she’s not ready to say she’s not ready it’s not your place to say,” Kuai Liang chastises his older brother before draining his drink.

“T-Tomas, can I, can I talk to you for a minute,” you reply, ignoring Bi-Han’s childish teasing, “alone,” you add eyeing the balcony outside Madam Bo’s Tea House.

“Of course y/n,” Tomas replies, his cheeks colored with a hint of a blush as he stands up and accompanies you outside.

“10 bucks says she chickens out again,” Bi-Han turns to his table mates pressing the bill onto the table.

“I’ll take that,” one of your friends replies giggling wildly.

Thankfully the two of you are well out of earshot and you have no clue what they’re up to, you turn to the tall, well-built Czech and take a deep breath. “Tomas, I, I don’t know how to say this, I’ve tried so many times but I just never get the words right,” you hesitate, dancing around the proverbial elephant in the room.

“Let me guess, you have a crush on Bi-Han and want my help getting him to ask you out, right?” Tomas replies rather dejectedly, his shoulders slumping with the familiarity of the situation.

“Wha-what?! No!! Not at all! It’s you I have a crush on! It’s always been you, ever since I was a little girl I’ve been crazy about you!” You blurt everything out in a rush as you panic to try and get him to believe you.

His beautiful silver eyes light up and blink rapidly, “wait? Did you say it’s me you have a crush on? Not Bi-Han? Not Kuai Liang, it’s me you want? Me?” Tomas repeats over and over as if in complete disbelief.

“Yes! It’s you! I’m crazy for you! I just, well you never seem to notice me so I’ve been so afraid to tell you,” you look down at the floor, suddenly feeling small and self-conscious.

“Y/n this is the best! I’m crazy about you too, I just never said anything because I thought you liked Bi-Han!” He laughs and pulls you into a hug, it’s soft and warm and almost overwhelming.

You make a face, “Bi-Han? No way! He’s soooo arrogant, I can’t stand guys like him, besides Sol is in love with him, I only have eyes for you.” You tentatively wrap your arms around Smoke’s well-muscled body feeling light-headed and giddy.

Tomas tips your head up as he leans down and closes the distance between your lips. His lips are soft and gentle as he softly pries your mouth open and slips his tongue inside. Smoke’s hesitant tongue brushes against yours before curling pleasurably around yours.

You shake with a mixture of adrenaline and arousal as you finally share your first kiss with your longtime crush. You’re unsure what to do so you let him take the lead as he coaxes your head to the side so he can deepen the kiss. When he finally pulls away you’re left breathless and elated, “wow, I, wow, talk about a first kiss.”

“First of many I hope,” Tomas replies, cheeks flushed deeply.

“I’d like that,” you whisper shyly, still clinging to his flawless body.

“We should get back, they’ll be talking about us for sure,” Tomas starts as he reluctantly lets you go in favor of holding your hand.

“Yeah,” you reply too happy to care about your friends, you had finally confessed and he felt the same way, things couldn’t get better.

“You owe me $10 Bi-Han!” Sol shouts triumphantly as you and Smoke make your way back to the table hand in hand.

“Irritating little brat,” Bi-Han growls before reluctantly paying up, deep down though he’s happy for the two of you.

“Congratulations to the happy couple,” Kuai Liang chimes in raising his glass as you all take a shot of your baijiu.

The rest of the night is kind of a blur but you couldn’t care less, you finally got the man of your dreams.

[colonelpancakes]

Watching The Dragon Prince Season Six Part Seven: The Red Wedding. The title of this episode makes me so nervous nothing bad better happen to Amaya and Janai at their wedding.

Okay, first of all, that is NOT Rayla narrating I don’t know what the subtitles are on about, I’m 99.9% sure that’s Ezran.

Skjfklsa I love Rayla, she has absolutely no intentions of getting up, she is way too comfy.

Aww Sneezles.

Also “There’ll be more kisses later” I love how the second they officially get together, Callum and Rayla resume their status as world’s sappiest, most clingy couple.

UHHH. Wait a second. Is Kosmo just. not telling them about the Pearl before they leave?

...That seems like a really bad idea. They’re going to find out eventually and it's a huge potential risk to, you know, have Aaravos’s magic prison in the castle basement and not know it?? Kosmo, telling Callum before the star-truth ritual was a bad idea but you gotta tell him EVENTUALLY. KOSMO!!

I love themmmm 🥹.

Also, yeah, Kosmo just did not tell them. Um. That may become a bit of a problem later.

Hello bitch. Nice to see you again.

Do some of them not know the plan? They seem very surprised to see Sol Regem. Did no one tell them??

Wait, shit, who the fuck is Pharos? I do not remember, I really should have rewatched season five before starting season six. Oh well, hopefully I’ll figure it out...?

Karim, man, that seems like the type of thing you should NOT be staring directly into. That cannot be good for your eyes.

Oh Dang. That was way more powerful than I thought it was going to be

ON HER WEDDING DAY???? YOU HAVE TO DO THIS ON YOUR SISTER’S WEDDING DAY? You cant have a single modicum of politeness and at the bare minimum choose a day that your sister’s NOT getting married on? KARIM.

I also love the continuity of Corvus playing the cello from Breathtaking

Aanya!! I’ve missed her!!

God, I wanna try Sunfire wedding cake too. I want to know what fire tastes like. Also, I think Aanya’s voice has gotten deeper since her last appearance and I really love it. It’s just really melodic and nice to listen too.

Amaya!!! Janai!! They look so good!!

Sjalskfjl I love them.

“Two very special people helped us bridge our differences and understand one another before we learned to do it on our own.” I love them giving Gren and Kazi parts in the wedding so much and how they’re doing both a traditional human wedding ceremony and a traditional Sunfire wedding ceremony.

Also, I know Kazi was confirmed to be nonbinary by the creators but I think this is the first time their pronouns are actually used in the show! Yay!

BAIT! NOOOOO! The wedding food!! I really hope that didn’t include the Sunfire wedding cake

“So, how are affairs in Katolis?” “Oh. Affairs are well, fair.”

This is the royalty equivalent of when someone asks you how it’s going and your life is on fire but you can’t say that so you just reply with “it’s going.” This is an SOS call, someone get Ezran a hug and like. Some cold apple juice. And maybe a therapist. Definitely a therapist.

Aww, Aanya and Ezran’s friendship is so precious. I’m glad that they each have someone who understands what it’s like being a child ruler. They’re so cute.

I love seeing the Sunfire wedding custom and I love Kazi so much.

Zym stomping his little feet so that he can clap!!!

Aww Grennnn. He’s so sweet I love him.

COME ON! Really Karim?? In the middle of their WEDDING?? Let my girls have a nice wedding ceremony! Let them get married and not have to worry about the safety of their nation! Please!

Poor Janai and Amaya but especially poor Janai. Imagine finally deciding to get married after putting off scheduling your wedding because Something is always happening in your kingdom, only to have your fuckass brother decide to take a sixth of your army and invade your fucking kingdom ON YOUR WEDDING DAY right as you’re about to start the vows. I deeply admire the composure of these women, I would have lit something on fire by now.

Karim, shut the fuck up. You are one of the least righteous people out there. You have done nothing but be wrong for this entire arc.

Okay, so I guess that guy is Pharos. I remember absolutely nothing about him I forgot he was a recurring character until right now skjfalskj

OH WAIT, FUCK, What happened there???? I cannot remember for the life of me who this guy is gosh dangit. Curse my stupid gosh dang memory

(It should be noted that, although I haven’t mentioned it thus far, I am watching this season with my family. My brother says that he thinks maybe the guy got bitten by the dark-magic zombies at the great bookery in season five? That sounds like it could be right so I’m gonna go with that for now. I’ll check when I’m done with the episode.)

Ough… My heart. I love the character growth Amaya has gone through so much.

Okay, go, but maybe take Aanya and Zym with you. Just for safety. Also, nooo, this means Ezran doesn’t get to see his aunt get married. Give my boy a break! Please, just let him have a good time where nothing goes horribly wrong 😭

Oh, Corvus and Aanya works too! I love Ezran so much. He’s hopeful and kindhearted but he’s not naive. He goes to negotiate with Karim using words rather than violence, but he takes Corvus and Aanya for backup in case things escalate.

Continued in reblogs!

[tightjeansjavi]

Catfish | Chapter 2

🫧 Estrella Del Mar🫧

A/N: ahoy there you minnows! Who’s ready for some more fisherman!frankie? He’s going to reel you all in after he casts his line. Won’t you hop aboard his vessel? 😉

~word count: 2.2k~

Summary: Frankie asks you to hop aboard his vessel and spend the day fishing with him.

Pairing | fisherman!Frankie Morales x bartender f!reader

Warnings: slowish burn, enemies to lovers, language, light Spanish, Frankie is a flirt and a bit of an ass, mean!frankie, grumpy!frankie,pining, banter, sexual innuendos, fish innuendos, pet names: Starfish, cariño, brief mention of Frankie’s past in the army, no age gap, reader has no physical descriptions, +18 minors dni!

¡Joder! Cómo ciega el sol - fuck! The sun is blinding

Estrella Del Mar - Starfish

“Buenos días, Starfish.” He was in a chipper mood this morning. Not that you were paying any close attention to his mood. After the shit he pulled a few nights back? You were beginning to believe that maybe Juniper was right about Frankie after all.

You ignored him willfully as he made himself comfortable on his usual bartop stool.

You looked over the brim of his hat when the side door to his vessel opened, and yet another tourist came stumbling out. This one however wasn’t dressed in her clothes from the night before. This one had an early morning booty call written all over her face.

“Is there ever a moment in your day when you’re not getting your dick wet, Catfish?”

His sunglasses tipped below the bridge of his nose as he rolled his shoulders forwards. He scoffed under his breath, ignoring your question. Meanwhile, his eyes traveled across the flushed look on the woman's face while she did her best to walk down the dock without making it too obvious that her legs were as wobbly as jello. So what if Frankie had fucked her less than 20 minutes ago..why should you care?

“Dunno what you're talking about, cariño.” He bluffed. “We were just playing an early morning game of scrabble. And what did I tell you about calling me Catfish, hm?” He raised his brow in your direction.

Yeah, scrabble..with my tongue.

“An early morning game of scrabble? Really, Fish Filet? Right, cause that’s why she’s having trouble walking..because you beat her in scrabble. Uh huh.” You weren’t convinced in the slightest. Your eyes met his in a challenging stare. “You’re annoying me, Frankie. That's why I called you Catfish.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d start to think that you’re feeling jealous, Starfish. Since when are you so concerned over who, and what I’m doing in my personal life? If you’re looking for—”

You cut him off coldly with half the intention to reach over the bartop and slap him across the face with your towel, but you refrained. “Is there something I can help you with, Frankie? I’m on the clock. I don’t have time to chit-chat.”

He brushed off your sudden coldness with a shrug of his shoulders as he leaned forward and crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, you can help me, Starfish. I’d like a coffee, black, like your soul.” The corners of his lips curved upwards in a small grin.

The look you gave him was nothing short of disapproving, and deeply unimpressed. “Get it yourself, Frankie.” You turned your back towards him, muttering under your breath about how it was too goddamn early to be dealing with him and his shenanigans.

“The fuck took a shit in your cheerios this morning?” He uncrossed his arms and reached over the bartop for a mug and the coffee pot. “Y’know, I am your customer and you really should—”

“Do you sleep on that thing?” You faced him once more after deciding that slapping him with the towel would not be worth it.

He took a sip of the steaming liquid as he leaned back against the barstool. “Pardon?”

“Your boat.” You clarified. “Do you sleep on it?”

“Depends. Sometimes I do, and sometimes I don’t.” He shrugged. “Why do you ask, Starfish?” He was intrigued, and it was written all over his smug, scruffy face.

“No reason.” Now you were the one bluffing.

“Oh, c’mon, cariño. There is always a reason to ask something. Even if it’s just out of curiosity.” He took another slurping sip from the mug and your eye twitched from the sound.

He’s doing that on purpose.

“If I tell you that I asked because I was curious, will you drop the subject, Fish Filet?”

“Sure. As long as you’re telling me the truth, Starfish.” He nodded.

“Okay. I was asking because I’m curious, and that is the truth, Frankie.”

He wasn’t convinced by your answer, and you didn’t like the way that he was studying your face rather intently. His head cocked to the side as a warm sea breeze brushed through the soft curls at the back of his neck.

“Do you want to see it?” He asked suddenly, catching you off guard.

“See what?”

He stifled a chuckle at your response as he set his mug down along the bartop counter and leaned forward. “My vessel, cariño. Do you want to see it?”

“Can you maybe..not call it a vessel? Just call it a fucking boat, Frankie. And no, I do not want to see it. And even if I did, I’m on the clock. So, go ask one of your tourist friends that you’re so acquainted with. I’m sure they’d love to see your vessel.”

He rolled his lips into his teeth to hide his growing smirk from showing because here he was crawling under your skin like a goddamn worm wriggling about.

“Can’t Juniper cover your shift this morning? All I ever see you do is work, Starfish. Don’t you ever get out there and live a little? It would only be for a couple hours, and it’s going to be such a beautiful day...” he trailed off with an almost disappointed sigh slipping past his lips.

“Oh, I think you and I both know that is a lie, Frankie. Are you forgetting about that certain beach party? Has it slipped your mind already?” You questioned with your arms crossed against your chest as you leaned back against the counter. The tips of his ears began to turn beet red. No, he had not forgotten about the night that you skinny dipped, and he stole a peek at your bare skin and got caught while doing so.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Look, I’m gonna finish off my coffee here and then I’ll be on my way. I was just going to ask you if you wanted to come out fishing with me. Offer still stands if you change your mind, cariño.” He was thankful that his sunglasses provided him with a bit of cover so that you couldn’t see the redness flush to the highest points of his cheeks either.

“Fishing—? With you?” You questioned unsurely.

“Yeah. Like I said, it’s going to be a beautiful day out there, but if you wanna be stuck on shore all day...be my guest.” His usual banter was gone, and it was replaced with an emotion that you didn’t think Frankie was capable of showing; disappointment.

How bad could it really be?

He could throw you overboard

Feed you to the sharks

Or even worse! You might actually have a good time?

“I’ll..think about it.” You finally responded. He finished off his coffee, downing what was left and pulled out a few bills from his pocket and slapped them down on the countertop. “Sure.” He muttered.

Juniper had shown up shortly after Frankie sauntered back to his boat with that feeling of disappointment churning deep within his gut.

Maybe I should just ask one of those tourists that I’ve gotten acquainted with. I’m sure they’d love to see me cast a line and reel a big one in.

She did say she’d think about it.

Bullshit. ‘I’ll think about it’ really means fuck off, Frankie.

“Hey, June? Do you think you could cover the morning shift for me today?” You asked while fiddling with the end of your shirt.

“Does this have anything to do with Frankie looking like a lost puppy when I showed up a few minutes ago, Starfish?” Juniper knew the answer, and so did you.

“Now you’re calling me Starfish too?” You laughed and gently punched her in the shoulder before rubbing your hands down your face with a sigh. “June, before you get upset with me, he asked me if I wanted to go fishing with him. He seemed disappointed when I didn’t immediately say yes.”

“Well, what can I say? The nickname stuck.” She winked. “He asked you to go fishing with him? Like actually fishing? No funny business?”

“It didn’t sound like he was inferring any ‘funny business’ taking place. He really was just asking me if I’d like to go fishing and enjoy the beautiful day? Or, he’s luring me in just so he can throw me overboard to the sharks.”

You both laughed at this.

“I mean, if he’s really just asking you to go fishing with him, then I say there’s no harm? I’ll cover your shift, but don’t go with him just because you feel like you have to, okay?” She placed her hands on your shoulders giving them a gentle reassuring squeeze.

You weighed out your options for a moment because June was right, there really was no harm in going fishing with Frankie Morales. Maybe he was just being friendly. Maybe this was his way to show you that he’s sorry for being an ass. Maybe you were overthinking it for what it really meant.

“I’ll be back in time for the evening rush, okay? Feel free to call me if the afternoon rush becomes too much, and I’ll come right back, okay?” You were already grabbing your purse and the belongings and slinging the strap over your shoulder.

“Babe, you’re gonna be out in the middle of the ocean. I don't think you're going to have any service out there. Just go and have a good time, alright? I doubt the afternoon shift will get that crazy.” She reassured you.

“Shit. You’re right. I didn’t even think about that!” You laughed and gave her a quick hug and kiss on the cheek. “Have a good day, June!”

“Just stay away from those fish fingers!” She jokingly said, and you flipped her off playfully as you slipped past her behind the bartop. There was an undeniable pep in your step as you made your way down the dock to Frankie’s awaiting boat.

Estrella Del Mar (Starfish) was painted on the starboard side of the ship.The letters were beginning to fade, and desperately needed a fresh coat of paint. Well, his entire boat desperately needed some sprucing up. Frankie would disagree.

Speaking of the Catfish himself, Frankie hadn’t heard you approaching as he was too focused on pulling in the lines that held his boat docked in the harbor. He was shirtless, with a cigarette pursed between his lips. A nasty habit that he had picked up during his days in the army. It was a piece of his past that he kept quiet, under the wraps and hidden. At a time in his life he was proud to serve his country, but he carried scars. The kind that weren’t visible to the naked eye.

You could faintly hear the radio playing some catchy pop song in Spanish that lifted through the growing humidity. His bare muscles flexed and grew taut as he pulled in the lines and tossed them over the side of the deck without dropping the cigarette from between his lips.

“Need a hand with that, fish boy?” You were well within earshot with a grin plastered on your pretty face and hands on your hips as you looked up at him from the dock.

Frankie nearly dropped his cigarette when he saw you standing on the dock and looking up at him. His heart skipped a pathetic beat in his chest, and he wasted no time to toss the lines down to the side before he was hopping down onto the deck. He made it look way too easy, and your own heart skipped a beat.

“Who you calling a fish boy?” He asked teasingly. Frankie couldn't hide his apparent grin if he tried. And even though the sunlight was blinding, you could see the faint residue of sunscreen on the bridge of his nose. You watched as he took one last drag from his cigarette before tossing the butt off to the side.

“Uh..I am? I think?” You looked around the dock before your gaze settled back on him. “Surprised to see me, Frankie? That makes two of us.”

“I’m very surprised to see you here, cariño. You had me wondering if ‘I’ll think about it’ was your way of saying ‘fuck off, Frankie.’” He said with a chuckle and crossed his bare arms against his chest.

“Oh, it did. Well, at first. But I’m here now! So, are you gonna help me onto your vessel or do I have to do that myself?” You mirrored his actions.

“My what?” He blinked and swore that the blazing sun was already getting to his head.

¡Joder! Cómo ciega el sol.

“Francisco, your boat. Are you going to invite me on board?” You bit down on your lower lip to hide your grin when you saw his cheeks flush a bright red. He totally thought that you were referring to—his other vessel

“Oh! Right. Yes. My boat! Right.” He cleared his throat and brought one of his hands to rub at the back of his neck. He took a deep breath as he gathered his senses to clear his head. “Right this way, Starfish.” He offered you his elbow to show you that he could in fact act as a gentleman.

You placed your palm along the crook of his elbow feeling the bit of muscle there as he led you onboard.

“Welcome aboard Estrella Del Mar, cariño.”

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[changingplumbob]

Foster Household: Chapter 9, Part 9

CW: Mental Health Struggles - Guide to content warnings

Even Sulani was not immune from rain. Carson got out of bed at the cry of his alarm and headed to his bathroom. He liked that there was more space, and it had a nice view even with the downpour, but it didn’t make having to shave before school any easier. When he was clean and dressed and finished breakfast he decided to call his older sister, just to check about sharks.

Carson: I know it’s early but can you please tell me if sharks can break through my floor

Marta: Hola Carson, Keira is in the shower

Carson: Oh, sorry, I didn't even think about you answering her phone

Marta: It’s bueno. She told me on honeymoon sharks are pretty safe. Most attacks are from thinking a human is a fish. They will not break through your floor

Carson: Are you sure

Marta: Si, I promise. She said from underneath surfboards look like seals *laughs* isn’t that cute? But your house will not look like a big seal

Kayleigh had the day off and spent it doing what she loved most, painting! After finishing a particularly excellent painting she got a call from her regular gallery. News around the town was that Kayleigh Foster was now a global superstar! They hoped she would remember them in her future works and they had recommended her for a star of fame in Del Sol Valley! Once she got a call from the council she couldn’t contain her excitement and called around her family to let them know.

Charlie: You’re really going to get a star?

Kayleigh: That’s the rumor. You’ll all come right? I couldn’t have done it without my family. And after maybe everyone can stay for a couple of days, this house has enough room

Charlie: Of course but don’t you want to celebrate like... without your kids

Kayleigh: Your dad suggested a dinner party for my friends tonight which will be nice. He’s going to ring around on his afternoon break

When Carson got home he congratulated his mum and sat down to do his homework where he could talk to her and his eldest sister.

Carson: So everyone will be invited to stay? Even Reece?

Kayleigh: *sighs* You’ll be at school a lot of the time, don’t worry about Reece

Charlie: Besides, he’s less snarky with you when Samir is around. It’s like he tries to be well behaved or something

Carson: Charlie you know he tried convincing me Samir is a werewolf! As if I'd fall for that

Kayleigh: Actually that is true

Charlie: Mum... have you been inhaling the paint fumes for to long?

Kayleigh: No! Samir told me. Your dad and I have discussed it at length. It’s strange but true

Charlie: When were you going to tell us?

Kayleigh: I wasn’t but clearly Reece doesn’t mind you knowing

Carson: Great, another thing he can make fun of me for not knowing

Kayleigh: I know you two fight but he loves you really

Charlie: Have you told him about the OCD yet

Carson: No. Do you think I should?

Kayleigh: It’s always your choice darling

Carson: Maybe. I’ll think about it since he’s willing to open up about Samir

Kayleigh: Do you want to invite some friends over? Me and your dad will be out here with our guests so the living room will be empty

Carson: Yeah I’ll see if the guys and Onyx are free, thanks Mum

Charlie: Mum that picture is gorgeous, is that Ariel? Can I have it? Please please please

Kayleigh: *laughs* Okay firstborn, it’s yours

Charlie: YES

Harvey greeted the guests as they arrived to celebrate his wife. Most of them were from back when they lived in Willow Creek but Kayleigh had also asked him to invite two he’d never met before, Suzanna and Adam Kightstone.

Harvey: Nice to meet you. I’m glad you could make the trip from Chestnut Ridge

Suzanna: Of course! She deserves a celebration

Adam: Oh wow, look at all her art! This is so much more than the gallery pieces

Harvey: Yes if she paints masterpieces she likes to keep them at home

Kayleigh: Food everyone! We’ve made a gorgeous salad for starters

Suzanna: Now remember we’re here for my friend, not to fly off the handle if the food isn’t right

Adam: Alexander is the food critic, I just do art

Suzanna: Adam I’m serious. She’s never judged us for being aliens, it’s important

Adam: Don’t worry starlight, I can keep a level head for a night for you. Let’s go see what humans choose to put in their salads, how many fruits do you think we'll find?

Bob: You must be proud

Harvey: Oh I am! How a fisherman like me managed to catch her I’ve no idea. Anyway we’ll be celebrating your success soon. Bob is a chef see

Adam: Oh yes I’ve read the reviews, everyone seems to love your food. Any plans of opening your own place?

Bob: Eventually but I know Eliza would like me to have a stable well paying job for a while first, especially now we have Tiana. She’s our youngest, we adopted her

Suzanna: I would have loved a girl but we have two boys

Bob: Well just wait until they grow up, Onyx surprised me, and Aaron's Artemisia. You may have a daughter under your roof and just not know it yet

Calista: If Emisia ever crosses a line just tell us and we’ll talk to her about her manners

Kayleigh: From what I can tell Carson isn’t too bothered by her. He was a bit stressed after prom but I think he has girl on the brain for now

Aaron: It’s a relief there’s some kids that are unbothered

Eliza: Fergus is also unbothered worse luck

Aaron: I know you think Emisia is a bad influence but-

Eliza: Oh they have always been thick as thieves. I don’t think I could pry their friendship apart with a crowbar. It helps that she has a lawyer for a dad though, hopefully that'll stop them getting up to anything illegal

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