Warning: This story hints heavily at a Star/Raven pairing. If you've read the first part, you know that it's not super kissy-kissy or full of gal-on-gal action. Granted, this second part is a bit more suggestive than the first, but I don't think it's that bad. If you don't like this sort of thing, the solution is simple—read no more from this point. I'm not trying to bash other pairings with what I've written here; in fact, there's quite a possibility I like other pairings as much as I like this one. To find out, you might ask—I don't bite. I say again: this story hints heavily at a Star/Raven pairing. If you don't like that, read no more.
Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Titans. I just write about them, because I am a rabid fangirl and I can. So there. Nyeh!
Notes Before You Read: Raven's room as I've described it in this fic might not be accurate to the series. That's all right—who's looking that closely? Raven can redecorate. Also, in the episode Nevermore, Raven is depicted as having various color-cloaked versions of herself inside her mind, each of which represents a different part of her personality. I use those color-cloaked gals here, and I call them Sentiments for lack of a better expression. I hope you enjoy the fic!
Midnight Encounters: Upon Waking
I can feel the world turning beneath me, thought Raven. She knew she was stirring from sleep, and it was a ritual for her to feel out her surroundings as she did so. Every morning, she documented the process as her consciousness rose to the fore to greet and embrace the ambience of the waking world, a kind of meditation for the earliest of the early hours. It helped her smooth her soul over for the coming day, a glass ocean beneath a pale white sky, buried under even the lowest layers of her most primitive instincts.
I can feel my nightgown clinging to my legs. It's tangled again. She shifted slightly, scrubbing her cheek over her pillow without opening her eyes. I can feel my heartbeat echoing in the air around me, she continued methodically. I can feel my hair touching my face. I can feel my mirror glowing in the coldness of the morning—it's moved. She allowed herself an internal frown. Perhaps I nudged it last night without realizing… She paused, extending her senses curiously to run invisible fingers over the mirror, and her heart skipped half a beat in relief: it was still covered.
I can feel the whispers of the words in my books, she resumed. I can feel the shelves beneath the books sighing as the day begins. I can feel the sunlight on my face. I… wait. I can what?
Raven did not only feel the gears in her brain grind to a halt, oh no—she heard them squeak and scream and cry out in sudden protest, and the hot stench of burning rubber rolled about in her upper nasal cavities. She tasted copper, a sure sign that she'd pulled a mental muscle; she swallowed in reflex before she drew in a calming breath and tried to relax, tried to ignore the fact that she could feel dawn, sunlight, warmth on her cheeks, nose—filtering between her eyelashes like tiny questing fingers, caressing her lips and jaw and chin. She tried to ignore the fact that she could feel the sunrise bidding her welcome when there was no window in her room.
Her rising ritual forgotten for the moment, Raven drew in her power and promptly sent it out again, tendrils of imperceptible sensory. She ran loving phantom hands along her bookcase, noting with satisfaction that nothing was out of order there; she grazed unseen fingertips over the spines of the volumes upon volumes on the shelves, allowing herself time to trace the occasional favored title, author, seam. She paused before the touchpad on the door and allowed herself another inner frown, this one darker than the former—something was wrong with it. The hum behind the gears wasn't the same as before, oh no. They weren't running smoothly. They were grinding, fretting, worrying against one another, and Raven checked the locking mechanism, brow furrowing in puzzlement when she realized that the door, despite having been tampered with, was still perfectly closed and sealed.
Someone tried to get into my room and screwed up the touchpad, she concluded, and stifled a sigh of mixed exasperation and fury. Wonderful. Doesn't anyone understand the concept of knocking?
She combed her room to the edge of her bed with an intangible touch made to waver by the warmth and comfort of the early morning, achieving reassurance when she came to understand that nothing was out of place or amiss. Scrubbing her cheek again over her pillow, Raven permitted herself the tiniest of yawns into the cloth and inhaled to follow, satisfied—no one would dare to enter her room at night.
The lingering stink of burning rubber in Raven's nostrils was replaced by more familiar smells: her shampoo and conditioner, faint vanilla incense—a present from Beast Boy; she'd only burned it once, and ever since she'd been unable to get the scent out of her things—and the zealous, amiable cinnamon aroma of Starfire. Raven froze, breath held tensely in her lungs, before she inhaled again. Oh yes, there it was: the fragrance of lightly simmering vapors, of the holidays and warmth and friendship and candy and sweet things, so encompassing, so gentle, so… so close.
Starfire's in my room, Raven thought, and amended milliseconds later, no. I already checked everything else. Starfire's in my bed.
A blush clawed its way vigorously into Raven's cheeks, and the Titan bit her lips from the inside, trying to sort through the sudden rush of emotions to grasp those with which she was more accustomed. She found anger easily, and frustration, but stalled upon confronting confusion, disbelief, acceptance, enjoyment—what on Azarath was going on? Starfire's presence wasn't normally so unsettling!
Then again, Starfire's presence wasn't normally so near either. Not this early in the morning—not in her bed.
Settling for a combo of anger and disbelief, Raven opened her eyes and mouth, fully intending to confront Starfire about the entire thing. She was ready to cut out the Tamaranian's heart with words, and she knew it, tasted it, hated it and loved it all the same—she was ready to tell Starfire just how she felt about nightly intruders, and she clenched her jaw resolutely as red-cloaked Fury seethed and boiled and frisked about behind her eyes.
Raven found herself staring out at her room. The edge of her vision, occupied by something pink—She brought a blanket or something, Raven surmised distractedly—fuzzed and prickled as she focused on the curve of her arm, pressed to her cheek and thrust forward. Her fingers were curled around her pillow which, she noticed, was feeling oddly solid this morning. Making a sound of aggravation low in her throat, Raven lifted her head and looked down, and blushed so hard that the paint on her walls, strict gray all around, began to shrivel and crack and peel.
Her pillow was Starfire.
Oh God, how embarrassing, sniffed red-cloaked Fury, cheeks fast becoming the same shade as her choice of clothing, and turned with a disgusted shudder to flee to the dark, dangerous corners of Raven's mind, intent on lounging with the more vicious instincts while Raven herself had her shocked, sugary moment. With her angry motivation gone, Raven floundered in the sea of other emotions as she gazed down at Starfire's lap, her eyes wide and her words—oh, and she'd had so many!—fleeing in tandem behind her rationality. Her cheeks were reservoirs for blood—that was their only functional purpose. Why had she never known before?
Raven swallowed hard and tipped her head up, her eyes following the line of Starfire's hip—and heaven help her, she was clinging to it!—to her side, to her ribs, outlined beneath the pale pink nightgown. She stalled upon sighting the lace hem at the collar of Starfire's garment, resisting the urge to cringe, before she found the other Titan's face, chin pillowed on chest, normally cheery features lax under the comforting film of sleep. Her hair was scattered in shifting crimson curls over her forehead, obscuring the small reddish dots that served as the girl's eyebrows; Raven could see Starfire's eyes shifting jerkily beneath their lids, her lashes quivering in sleep. Though her mouth hung open slightly, the Tamaranian had managed to keep from drooling or shaming herself otherwise.
Placing her free hand on the mattress between Starfire's knees, Raven slowly began to ease herself away from her fellow Titan, hissing softly as a conquering feeling of pins and needles evolved in her torso from breast to bicep to navel. She tensed the dangerously wobbling limb, thinking that it would be shameful to end up plunging back to Starfire's lap so ungracefully, but grouched aloud nevertheless as her elbow gave a treacherous, complaining crack, "Ouch!"
She immediately regretted the unconscious decision to vocalize the ailment, feeling and hearing through empathy the slumber bubble around Starfire pop. Raven jerked her head up, hissing in horror as Starfire emitted a sound like a croon, brought her jaws together, and pursed her lips, the skin at the corners of her eyes crinkling into tanned crow's feet. The dark-headed Titan, still sprawled over her lap, was unable to tear her gaze from Starfire's face; even red-cloaked Fury, sulking about beneath Raven's subconscious, tipped each of her glowing eyes to the fore, curious to see just how vulnerable the Tamaranian girl looked first thing in the morning.
Oh, no need for a window—the light's in her eyes, came the murmur from behind the strongest Sentiment. Fury pricked an ear. Yellow-garbed Intelligence, emerging from between the instincts of Fight and Flight, took a seat next to Fury and adjusted her glasses with a minute twitch of her fingertips. Her gaze, just as brilliant as the clothes in which she moved, affectionately combed over the picture of the waking Starfire in Raven's mind's eye; her smirk was knowing, certain, cocky, and waving her hand, she summoned a bowl of popcorn, digging in happily.
Fury looked over, all four eyes disapproving. I'll ream you from throat to crotch, she snarled softly, if you get any of that on my couch.
Intelligence crossed her legs and boldly settled the bowl of popcorn in the divot of the cushions between them, turning her head to smile gently at her slightly more vicious counterpart. Surely you would, she agreed, and reached to take another liberal fistful of the buttered kernels. And you would be without a mind. Imagine, no more rationality!
Fury snorted and grinned a malicious grin, though her slanted gaze dropped to focus on the bowl of popcorn. Anger is not, she scoffed, supposed to be rational.
Yes, well, give Raven a lobotomy from the inside out and see how well she expresses any emotion. Even you, her most favorite of favorites. Intelligence's voice mixed tenderness and sarcasm, and she twitched her glasses again as Fury lifted her head to look at her companion Sentiment.
Are you mocking me, Intelligence?
Not you, per se. Your claims of violence upon my person, yes. You'd never hurt me—would you, Fury? Intelligence fluttered her eyelashes behind her thin lenses, muffling a laugh as Fury blanched and reached for the popcorn, refusing to offer further comment.
Raven, completely aware of but unable to do anything about the soft war between her emotions, gazed up into Starfire's face and tried to remember to breathe. The Tamaranian was looking at her, looking into Raven's eyes and soul and heart, her lips parted the tiniest bit and her head tipped to the side in the manner of all things curious. Starfire was awake and perfectly aware of Raven's agonizing indecision and God, why couldn't Raven be mad at her? Biting her lips from the inside until she tasted copper once more, the dark-headed Titan tried to find within herself the usual seething mass of violent, volatile emotions—and she succeeded. They roiled beneath the surface of her soul, waiting to be tapped and used and manipulated—waiting to tear, destroy, to rend flesh from bone and to rip happiness from any smile. Waiting for another instance, another situation, another hour, day, week, month. Raven could not unearth, in any fold of her being, the desire to harm or to say a harsh word to Starfire, not now, not gazing up into the emerald sunrise of the Tamaranian's eyes. Not when she could see all the world's hope gleaming within each viridian orb.
You're a big softie, you know that? Intelligence teased Fury. She leaned over to poke the other Sentiment in the ribs, her smile growing softer by the second. I thought for sure that you'd spur Raven to yell at her, at least.
Fury gave Intelligence a withering look, quite an easy task for one with four perpetually slanted eyes, before she shrugged and lobbed a piece of popcorn into her mouth. Chewing, she offered in a thoughtful, somewhat grouchily defensive rumble, It's not like I'm giving her a break or anything. She just doesn't want to be angry at Starfire—I can't govern her actions when she doesn't want me to do so on some subconscious level. Raven's angry at the world, and therefore I might be able to goad her into destroying it at one point or another—she's angry at herself for being angry at the world, and therefore I can inflict damage here, too. Fury smiled warningly at Intelligence: a smile of daggers, poison, jagged lightning. The expression faded quickly, however, to one suggesting puzzlement.
Intelligence smiled back. Reaching over, she took Fury's cold hand and enclosed it in both of her own, giving it a quick squeeze. Softly she murmured, Raven's not angry at Starfire, though, so you can't make her do anything to the girl. The yellow-cloaked Sentiment released the captured hand, and Fury jerked it back, hiding it beneath her garments suspiciously and grinding her fangs when Intelligence continued, How's it feel to be out of your league?
Fury snarled. All four of her eyes gleamed with rage, and the bowl of popcorn went flying in fragments as she slammed a curled fist down into the midst of the buttered confection, whirling to face Intelligence. I am NOT out of my league! Who do you think you are—my mother? You can't tell me where I am and where I'm not!
I think, Intelligence said, trying to pacify her aggravated counterpart, that I'm in the same boat as you. After all, Raven's not really being rational right now, is she?
Raven agreed that she was being everything but rational. Swallowing hard, she stiffened as Starfire smiled down at her and lifted a hand to cup the back of her head, her fingers soft against the dark, silken locks.
"Good morning, friend Raven," she murmured, pitching her voice low as though to avoid startling Raven. Raven saw concern in her eyes, following closely by a fleeting fear—Starfire knew she wasn't supposed to be here, and that made Raven feel a little better, at least. Shifting her hand slightly, the Tamaranian tipped her head and voiced next, worry creeping into her soft voice, "You are all right now, yes?"
"All right?" Raven's brow synched in puzzlement and faint indignation. "Of course I'm all right, Star," she affirmed, feeling out of the loop and very much like she'd missed something rather important. "Are you?" And then, as cross as she could possibly sound, given that she really didn't feel angry at Starfire in the least, "Why are you here? In my bed?"
"I am most pleasant," said Starfire, and smiled a relieved smile that was fading fast. She took a soft breath. "I worried for you, Raven. I heard something in the night, and it ran through my ears like… like the nails of the chalkboard," she proclaimed, and looked pleased with herself for having used an Earth idiom. Encouraged by the consistency of Raven's blank stare, she continued, "I searched the tower and found the sound coming from your room. I, ah… I am sorry, Raven, but I believe I have caused your door great injury."
Raven felt her cheeks, which had just begun to cool off again, flare red with embarrassment and horror. She remembered Starfire's mention of a certain noise some odd days before at breakfast, and she'd had a suspicion then that was being confirmed now in ways she'd never thought possible.
"You were crying, I think because of a horrible shlorvak," persisted Starfire, and ran her thumb over Raven's knuckles, hoping to comfort the other girl. She only succeeded in nourishing Raven's blush with the motion. "I sought to proceed with the ritual of the giving of comfort, and I sat near you, my friend, and you… uhm. You… embraced me."
Starfire floundered in a sea of useless, half-formed explanations, her gaze locked on Raven's, and the less vocal Titan thought for a moment that Starfire looked very much as though she were drowning. Taking her time to choose what she was to say next very carefully from an assortment of other things that had come to mind, the redhead licked her lips and informed Raven in a quiet, diffident tone, "I did not want to leave you, Raven. You seemed to be in need of me."
Raven stared.
Aside from her occasional skirmish with the rowdy Beast Boy, Raven tended to get on well with her friends in Titans Tower. She and Robin appreciated one another, and Cyborg was the gentlemanly giant in terms of friendship, a protective and friendly big brother and perhaps more if she ever sought to look down that road. She and Beast Boy argued because the changeling, while offering Raven his respect, overstepped the boundaries and tested the limits with which the half-human Titan surrounded her person, preferences, and territory. He rose to the challenge of making her crack a smile, or utter even the faintest of giggles, and he took joy in the rare circumstance when his attempts to get through her thick shell were successful. He also usually understood that most of his attempts were doomed to failure from the start, and that Raven's anger on his part was more to be expected than something about which to be upset.
Starfire did not share this perception. If there was anyone who ever made Raven feel the bite of the guilt imp, it was the redhead. Starfire's spirits wasted away under even the most mild of Raven's glares: her confidence dissolved, her warmth evaporated as steam in the air on a cold January morning, and her words died on her lips, all evidence of her strong spirit draining into the frigid depths of a suddenly unhappy soul. Raven knew her frosty shield disheartened Starfire, a member of a race that functioned by sensing, interpreting, and acting on the emotions of those around them. As such, the most reserved of the Titans made an effort, when she and Starfire were alone or in close quarters, to be as warm to the Tamaranian as her emotions allowed. She enjoyed their shopping trips, their joint meditations (though Starfire usually fell asleep during these, unable to keep her mind occupied with an activity so neutral and silent), and their journeys down the condiments aisle in the local supermarket, where Raven introduced Starfire to the many varieties of mustard, horseradish, and other strong toppings in something like amusement.
There were also times, however, when Starfire's warm and affectionate nature flickered too close to her shield, threatening to melt it, threatening to unleash the flurry of emotions beneath the protective coating. Starfire's smiles, giggles, embraces methodically chiseled away at the buffer Raven kept in place to shelter herself from the world's cruel gaze—and more so, to shelter the world from her own volatile eyes, flickering forebodingly from the shadows beneath the hood of her cloak. Starfire was most often the individual who interrupted one of her many sessions of daily meditation; the Tamaranian's inherent clumsiness, something Raven felt sure she would eventually grow out of, made her every footstep voluble, thunderous, deafening. Her hands were heavy and strong and awkward, and when Starfire tried to hug Raven to celebrate this holiday or that custom, the dark-headed Titan left the encounters wheezing and bruised.
For this reason, Raven had hinted to her friend in the past that she preferred the Tamaranian's company when Starfire's limbs were far from solid surfaces—when Starfire was flying, hovering, drifting in the air. Hands off. No touching.
Within Raven, Fury seethed. I don't need anyone! she hissed, predictably enraged, and rose in a flurry of crimson robes and lashing shadows.
One of the writhing shadows, proving to be semi-solid, caught Intelligence's glasses and sent them flying. The frail frames landed some odd feet away and shattered on the insubstantial floor; thousands of pseudo-glass fragments sank immediately into the void of Raven's mind, and the frames followed suit. Intelligence, lips thin, folded her hand in the crook of Fury's arm and gave her a jerk. Cutting her somewhat unfocused eyes at the other Sentiment as Fury wobbled, yanked off-balance, she ordered, Sit your ass down! You're making me mad—and you're ruining the show.
Bristling and grumbling, Fury sank back to the couch. She folded her arms beneath her breasts, shifting only the slightest bit as her cloak readjusted to fit her slender frame; glancing to the side, she sighed and snapped her fingers, summoning a new pair of spectacles for the squinting Sentiment.
Here, she muttered through clenched teeth. Since you want to see the "show"—and she quirked the fingers of her free hand in the typical motion of bunny ears— so damn much.
Intelligence accepted and polished the frames on her cloak, offering the smallest smile of thanks in turn.
Tamaranians, Raven thought in a dawning instant of vicious recollection, are reputed for two things in this galaxy: incredible fertility, and incredible, almost psychic empathy. She heard parts of me crying—she saw what the mirror's supposed to conceal. And if she could hear it—if she could see it… I might've killed her in my sleep. Raven closed her eyes and exhaled shakily, furious with herself, guilt spreading up from the pit of her stomach in nauseating ripples. Damnit! I should've known better than to start skipping meditation before bed! She ground her teeth, clenching her fingers so tightly and suddenly that Starfire winced at the prick of nails at her hip, reaching to curve her own tanned, slender digits through her fellow Titan's.
"I am very sorry, Raven," she said in a rush, "but you were so cold…"
"I could've hurt you, Star," Raven replied dully, turning her head from the girl as the guilt, the self-hatred, the reproachful queasiness became a throb between her temples. She felt numb all over otherwise, and she reached into herself for the comfort of the stoic mask she usually wore, seeking to smother the rise of roiling emotion that made the metallic taste of bile well in the back of her throat. She found instead her imagination, so often suppressed—it clamped over her senses with all the ferocity of a beartrap, and Raven recoiled in horror as mental images of slaughter coursed through the passages behind her eyes.
Starfire, lying in a nest of crinkled and crumpled sheets on Raven's bed, her eyes blank and her head tipped back, dark blood seeping from the corner of her mouth. Starfire, torn from collarbones to pelvis, hanging halfway through a shattered mirror. Starfire, crushed beneath the bookcase, fingers stretched out helplessly, pleadingly, pale and still and lifeless and—
"Raven! You must stop!"
Warmth, pressing along her cheeks her jaw her ears her throat, fanning webs of pleasurable heat. Raven, who had squeezed her eyes shut and begun to curl into herself, jerked her head toward the source of comfort, eyes snapping open once more. Starfire was caressing the dark-haired Titan's cheeks with gentle palms, her fingers splayed along Raven's jawline and sliding downward, thumbs curving beneath the elegant, slate-toned chin.
"Star?" Raven breathed, and found herself, against all other instincts, easing forward against the Tamaranian's hands, the images of death and carnage behind her eyes ebbing into brief, strained flickers.
She jerked softly as Starfire slid one hand down along her shoulder, cupped the blade for a moment, and continued, resting the edge of her palm in the small of Raven's back. Splaying her fingers, she supported the other girl effortlessly and turned her, easing her upright to wrap her arm around Raven's slender waist. She drew Raven back into her lap and, after giving the opposing cheek a final caress with a thumb made rough by grasping energy bolts, curled both arms around her friend, tucking her chin without fear or hesitation into the notch of Raven's throat and shoulder.
"You are thinking thoughts of horror and death and bleeding things," said Starfire matter-of-factly. "You are breaking your heart because you think you will cause these things to happen, friend Raven, and it is not so." Raven could feel Starfire's lips moving against her skin, faint but searing; she could feel the breath behind every word, and her stomach lurched, quivered, ached with the sensation. Noticing this, Starfire splayed her hands over Raven's abdomen and continued, her voice slightly vicious, not at all intent on giving up, "It is not so! I will not let you proceed with the thinking of these thoughts. They are damaging you—they are making you cry inside, and they are making you cold. I will not let you be cold, Raven!"
Raven felt Starfire breathing, the other Titan's chest pressing against her side and back as she drew in each lungful after soft lungful of air. She felt the press of fingers against her stomach, featherlight and calming and numbering ten, each pad broad and warm and gingerly circling. She felt and heard the Tamaranian's heartbeat, a flutter through flesh and bone and cartilage and two nightgowns—and Raven felt her heart beating back, just as fearful, just as uncertain, knocking against the back door of ribs now in desperate glee because there was, at last, an answering call.
"Azarath…" Starfire began in a low, hopeful murmur after a few moments, shifting her hand to cup Raven's hip encouragingly.
"…Metrion… Zenthos…" Raven adjoined, letting their voices harmonize in the dim light of the room, in the emerald sunrise of Starfire's glowing eyes. The mantra slid in the heat between them, echoing and reverberating in their mouths, against the walls, against the door, sifted through sheets and nightgowns and emotions, smoothing and sanding rough edges into comprehensible surfaces—into comprehensible thoughts. Starfire and Raven stopped as one, letting the final Zenthos fade and soak into the shadows at the corners of the room.
They sat together for a while in silence. Within Raven, Fury and Intelligence did the same—and the bowl of popcorn between them was empty save for a few lonely seeds.
"Thanks, Star," Raven murmured at length. Her voice sounded as it was supposed to sound—dry, soft, and almost emotionless. She didn't realize she'd twined fingers with the other girl again until Starfire gave her hand a squeeze, and it was with something like loathing that she pulled away, fingers and body and all, rising to stand at the edge of her bed. The blanket slithered after her, pooling on the floor at her feet, and Starfire moved to stand as well, stretching long, tanned limbs with a soft, kittenish yawn.
When she was finished, she turned to face Raven and placed warm hands on the other Titan's shoulders. "I am glad to be of service, my friend," she murmured. Leaning down, she pressed her lips to the center of Raven's forehead just beneath the crimson jewel, drawing back with an encouraging, tender smile to finish, "May the rest of the day bring you joy."
Raven offered Starfire a noncommittal response, a sound something between a squeak and a rumble, her violet eyes enormous in her pale gray face. She watched her friend withdraw, turn, and slip to the door, giving the touchpad a soft shock to make the barricade schlup out of her way. The Tamaranian called another departure to Raven before she disappeared from sight and the door slid closed again, leaving the dark-headed Titan to stand in the darkness of her own room, fingers rising to quiveringly cup glowing red cheeks, lips parted in a stunned, beautiful silence.
She kissed me, thought Raven, and before she could stifle it, a smile crept onto her lips, secretive and quiet and sincere. It was gone just as quickly, a camera flash, a shooting star, disappearing over the velvet-dark rim of the world in a flourish of glimmering silver.
She dressed and prepared for the day at a moderate pace, documenting her activities as usual and trying in vain to ignore the increased beat of her heart when she detected the fiery scent of cinnamon mixed in with her sleek lavender locks. She left her room and felt the world waking up—felt the other Titans stirring from dreams, shifting in sheets and groaning in pillows and savagely attacking alarm clocks. Mostly, however, she felt Starfire—she felt the echoing heartbeat in the girl who was, at the moment, searching the rather bare refrigerator of Titans Tower for a bottle of mustard.
Not at all minding Starfire's noises this once, Raven sucked in a soft breath and slowly, slowly stepped to look out over the bay toward the glittering spires and skyscrapers of Jump City, watching the sunlight catch and hold and dazzle every pane of glass on the waterfront—watching the reflection of the redhead in the window, far more beautiful than any sunrise she'd ever seen.
—End
I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you for the suggestions, the comments, the critiques, and the fluffy hats! I'm always on the lookout for more, and as I fully intend to write more Star/Raven fics in the future, every bit of feedback is welcome. Cheers, and happy holidays!
—Bainaku