#ask caleb

“This counts as bonding time, right?” I grin, eyes half-lidded as your fingers move through my hair.

When you start your routine, I watch lazily. “Put some on me too,” I add, nudging your hand.

“If you’re gonna glow, I gotta keep up.” When you laugh, I press a quick kiss to your stomach.

🌟GLOWING STAR: what do they think about when they look at the night sky? is there someone they want to star gaze with?

---

Caleb craned his head back as far as he could, staring at the dark sky. It was snowing, no stars, but plenty of snowflakes to fuzz his vision. When he righted his head, he fixed his pale eyes on you, and simply shrugged. He's been dead for nearly twenty years, and by now, the night sky was just another part of his surroundings.

---

"Of course!" Belladonna stepped out of her little cottage in the middle of nowhere, Scotland, closing it with a bump of her hip and went out to snuggle next to Ellingwood. Already, there was a blanket laid out on the grass, and Ellingwood gave Bell a smile, wrapping an arm around her. Their wings glowed faintly in the moonlight.

"The night is magical~" Where Bell had a thick, Scottish accent, Ellingwood spoke with an elegance, with an accent that couldn't quite be placed -- it wasn't from Earth, after all. "Truly, the moon is a sight~"

---

"Um --" Desmond blushed, once again wringing his tail in his hands and looking anywhere but you. "...I've spent a lot of time outside, Darling, and usually never by choice. I was homeless for a year or so, and before that...." He swallowed. "To put it bluntly, while the night sky may be pretty, it is....cold. There's no magic there, not for me. Not anymore."

---

YUP! 

.....

Am I a brat?

Caleb leans back, arms crossed, a slow grin tugging at his lips like he already knows the answer and is just enjoying the moment.

“Oh, I don’t enable brats…” He tilts his head, eyes glistening with trouble. “I create them.”

Then he steps a little closer, voice dropping just enough to feel personal. “And you?” A soft huff of amusement. “You didn’t stand a chance, pipsqueak.”

His gaze drags over you, “You’ve got that look. The kind that pushes just to see what happens next. Which means… yeah. You’re a brat.”

He taps your chin lightly, “But don’t get it twisted.” His tone softens, but the edge stays, “I’m the reason you get away with it.”

I make one offhand comment about “answering a few questions” and now my inbox looks like it staged a full-scale rebellion.

Fine. Let’s do this properly.

I’m opening up a Q&A.

Yeah, you heard me right. Ask what you want. I’m not promising I’ll answer everything, but I will pick through and respond to the ones that catch my attention. Or the ones that make me raise an eyebrow. Or the ones that sound like trouble.

Especially those.

Let’s see what you’ve got.

…And try not to embarrass yourselves too much, alright? or do. Might make things interesting.

I could find you in the dark just by the sound of your breath.