I’LL BE GOOD | open + #gaymoms

[BASTILLEPAW]

[div style="background-color: white; width: 100%; font-family: Georgia; color: #576a6e; text-align: center; margin: auto"]BASTILLEPAW AURELIUS  ✧
the ascendants — kuiper corporal — tags

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Never let it be said that Bastille wasn’t an intuitive person. Earlier that morning Suite had just kept staring at him, and after a few blank stares in response she’d escalated to more... blunt approaches. At some point he’d walked past her as she loudly declared that they had lovely weather for this Mother’s Day, and then looked at him very pointedly. Needless to say, Bast had gotten the point. (Gods, she reminded him so acutely of Frenchpaw in that moment — he could practically see his mother giving him a disfainful look, chin raised high, as she emphasized that a real proper boy would not need to be reminded of important holidays and would have woken her up with nothing less than flowers and breakfast. He could almost swear that for a brief moment, seal point fur replaced pale white, which was... Pollie’s thing, not his. Fuck off, Pollie.)

He probably could have pointed out that Suite and Margy weren’t his parents, but it seemed like a loss cause, frankly. So he had simply continued to look back at her blankly, and eventually slipped away to figure out just what exactly she expected him to do. At a loss, he eventually gave up and resorted to the only thing he could think of: trying to fix what he had broken. Which, hypothetically, shouldn’t be that hard.

Key word: hypothetically.

As it turned out, his powers were less cooperative than he would have hoped, which... should have been expected, honestly. They had been too kind to him lately, which obviously meant they would stop obeying the moment he actually needed him. So, the bengal spent far too much time just sitting in front of Margy’s garden, glaring at the charred dirt as he willed it to bend to his will. After fifteen minutes, all he’d managed to accomplish was accidentally summoning a small rain cloud over the garden and himself, which was decidedly unhelpful. Fifteen minutes later yielded fresh dirt, the earth finally responding to him a little bit and turning itself over to produce ground that was actually habitable for flowers. Which was great and all, but at this rate, it was going to take him ages to actually coax out the roses he wanted.

As it turned out, it only took him another 45 minutes or so. He managed to prompt the roses to sprout and bud in small batches, finding that it was much easier to wrangle them to his will if he focused on little bits at a time as opposed to the whole garden. He had one accidental earthquake (a baby earthquake at least), and two more surprise rain clouds, but thankfully no signs of fire. He saved the lilies — he knew Suite had some charred remains of some — for last, and after eyeing the cluster of flowers for a moment decided that it would do. His flowers weren't exactly as neatly lain or lovely as Margy’s (perhaps the forced growth lacked her touch, or perhaps he just didn’t have the proper eye for growing roses), but... well. It was the best he could do, alright?

An NPC arrived a few minutes after Bastille finished, and made a joke about making sure Bast didn’t burn the garden again. The corporal gave him a withering look and sent him to find Margy and Suite before he caught him on fire. Predictably, the observer inches away and then headed off for the Observatory. ”That’s what I thought,” he muttered. 

[Margaery]

[color=#b14767] ❁  ❁  ❁

Mother's Day was a bit of a sore subject for Margaery.

She didn't feel like a mother - not anymore- and though she had many children, the sands of time and the remorseless claws of death had all but claimed them. The only one that seemed to remain was Lilyspoise and she... she hated Margaery. There would be no celebrations for her successes as a mother with that knowledge so freshly dispensed upon the chocolate point.

Or so she thought.

When an NPC found her and insisted she head to her gardens per Bastillepaw's request, she didn't know what to think. She cared deeply for Bast and, try as she might to not get too attached to someone again, had indirectly begun thinking of him as a sort of son. The garden incident still hurt her and she still bore the obvious wounds from the flames, but she had resolved into extending him her forgiveness. He hadn't meant it... he would never willingly hurt her like that.

And so, with a curious (and overwhelmingly tired) expression, Margaery picked her way to the remains of her garden. She hadn't been expecting much- maybe a small rose planted as a symbol of peace, as a symbol that they would move past this. When she saw the bushes and flowers she couldn't have been more pleasantly surprised.

[color=#b14767]"Bast... Bast what's all this?" She inquired softly, suddenly fighting off the urge to cry. Had he... had he actually done this for her? She could hardly believe it.

[Suiteheart]

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[div style=" background-color: transparent; border: 0px solid black; width: 530px; min-height: 9px; font-family:; line-height: 110%; text-align: justify; padding: 20px"]The first and last time Suiteheart had been able to celebrate Mother's Day was two years ago. That had been a very special day, and she held the memory so tightly in her heart. Back then, her eldest daughter had drawn her a portrait of their little family. It had warmed her heart the first time she looked upon the artwork, and it did the same now. Of the few possessions she had been able to keep throughout her travels, this picture was one. It currently sat framed in her room - a gentle reminder of the good times now past.

Throughout the day, she had been joking with Bastillepaw. She often thought of the boy as her son, but she would not go so far as to call him that aloud, for she was apprehensive. She had lost so many children already. She certainly didn't want to add to the list. But even so, Suite had continued to make comments about it being Mother's Day whenever he was in earshot. And she kept shooting him funny looks. His reactions were amusing to say the least. That being said, when an npc approached her for Bastille, she wondered if he had actually done something.

Following the npc's instructions, the polar bear hurried for Bastille. It didn't take the Starstruck Guardian long to reach Margaery's garden, and the scene before her made her jaw drop slightly. The garden was not as she had last seen it. No, it had been completely transformed. It looked as good as new almost.

A smile bloomed on her lips as she fell in beside Margaery. "Holy shit! Bast! This - this is fucking incredible!" Dark eyes followed the lines of flowers, and when they landed on the lilies, she too had to fight back tears. He'd remembered. Her heart soared. "Thank you. So much." The large creature stepped forward, aiming to hug him: a small token of her thanks and affection.

She felt pure happiness. Damn, Bastillepaw was good.

[BASTILLEPAW]

[div style="background-color: white; width: 100%; font-family: Georgia; color: #576a6e; text-align: center; margin: auto"]BASTILLEPAW AURELIUS  ✧
the ascendants — kuiper corporal — tags

[div style="line-height: 110%; word-wrap: break-word; text-align: justify; color: black; padding-top: 10px; font-family: Georgia; text-size: 6pt"]
The downfall to this plan was that Bastille actually had to navigate the exceedingly awkward task of showing and/or receiving affection. The boy was downright apathetic in most situations, but one only had to pick out his lack of social cues and general socialization to see his casual regard weaken. Make societal expectations and the necessity to be nice to joiners salient to him? He'd start to falter a bit, losing his usual easy delivery and starting to stumble as he focused too hard on being kind. Show any form of appreciation or "too much" kindness towards him? A disaster (Imperia's level of intensity had made him feel like he was trapped in front of a row of judges who could pick out every single one of his social failures). Somehow trigger guilt? Watch him struggle in nearly every interaction with you (Hazel) until he eventually felt like he'd made up for it. Long story short, Bastille did do emotions, per se.

Which was going to make this... interesting.

"Uh," he supplied, eloquently, as he peered back at Margy. He was at a bit of a loss, not quite sure what "all this" was, frankly. An apology? A forced mother's day gift at Suite's prompting? A token of friendship? A thank you? Putting any of these explanations into words seemed horrible, but after a beat he settled on what he'd been meaning to do for a while: apologize. "Well, in part, I still needed to apologize for fucking up your garden," he ended up with, cringing inwardly. Okay, not exactly as heartfelt as he could have gone for, but... Good enough?

Thankfully (or maybe not), Suite was there to rescue him from his botched apology. Sure, she was a welcome distraction, but that also meant he had to deal with her attention, too. Could someone kill him? Please someone kill him. He was vaguely flustered at her open happiness (why was Suite always so vocal about her appreciation for things?), and even more at a loss about what to do in response to her hug. (It seemed increasingly that the only person who had actually hugged him was Suite, aside from his mother's friends when they'd discovered who he was and heard of her demise. He didn't really count them, seeing how he felt that they were hugging the memory of Frenchie, not her scrap of a son.)

"I, uh..." he started, scowled, and then tried, "You're kids aren't here, you know, for mother's day, so I figured..." Nope. That was about as far as he was going to admit to anything, and he finished lamely, [b]"Y'know, until you find them, I'd thank you for them."

[Suiteheart]

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Suite often forgot how awkward poor Bastille could be in social situations. She supposed that was due in part to her own fluidity in these instances. Suite prided herself on being able to communicate. It was one of the few things she liked about her self enough to experience true boastful feelings. She was more or less a social butterfly too, enjoying the company of others.

Bastille was vastly different, and that is one reason she cared so much for him. He was unlike any she had ever met before; he was different in the best way. And so what if he fell flat in times of social occurrences? She loved him anyway.

After noting his stiff, awkward movements at her embrace, she let him out of the bear hug (haha, get it?). She did maintain her smile, even if it made the boy sheepish. Even if he didn't like praise, he deserved it. He was a good guy, and he needed to let himself believe that. [color=#73B1B7][b]"You're like a little piece of home, kiddo. And I know I've said it but thank you. Really."
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[color=#73B1B7][b]

[★ HAZEL]

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★  WHEN MY HEART IS MADE FROM GOLD AND FORGIVENESS SEEMS TOO BOLD

Hazel hadn’t been there for Bastille’s fire that had burned through Margy’s garden, but the news and acrid smell of smoke had caught up with her anyway. It wasn’t hard to catch the NPC whispers and non-subtle glances at the charred garden remains, or the oddly sudden separation between Bast and Margaery and the tension that lay thick between them. After that, it wasn’t hard to piece together the puzzle.

Bastille had seemed so ashamed and frustrated with himself after the incident; it was strange, because it was different from what Hazel was growing used to seeing. It was more self inflicted, as if the concept of him hurting someone important to him was more of a burden than the daily destruction he caused. Which was understandable, Hazel supposed, considering that Bastille seemed like a loyal-for-life sort of personality.

Upon approaching the newly patched garden, Hazel smiled - a private thing, kept mostly to herself as she took in Margaery and Suite’s reactions, as well as Bastille’s flustered pride swelling ever so slightly. Hazel had to admit, he’d made good on the promise to fix it. One minor thing betrayed his colossal effort: a spatter of raindrops against the ground. But there was no sign of another fire, and for that, Hazel wanted to applaud him.

“This is beautiful,” She purred, not wanting to shift the attention from them to her. “You did a really nice job.” Hazel glanced at Suiteheart and Margaery, catching on to the buzzing happiness flowing off the couple. Suite looked just about ready to burst, and it lifted Hazel’s heart. Good. It was about time they deserved something like this.

★ — hazel — "speech" — seven months — the ascendants — tags — ★
c) miithers