#and fievel is like ‘you’re right if they were looking for me they would have found me already!’

[dadvans]

Buck in a fire lookout staring at the mountains, tap tap tapping a pen against his mouth. He picked up the GREETINGS FROM LOS ANGELES postcard on his way out of the city.

He writes:

Dear Maddie: it turns out firefighting’s for me but teamwork isn’t. I got a new gig manning fire lookouts! Maybe I was always meant to fly solo, and maybe you always knew that, but you knew I would be okay too. It can get a little lonely sometimes but you should see the view.

The hotshots thing in the press release for S8 has me thinking about types of firefighters and now I'm thinking about a fire watcher au. Buck who fully isolated himself after the injury and decided fuck this fuck them fuck it all imma go sit on a mountaintop and watch for smoke. Fully alone in the still deserted parts of the world, just watching the horizon for signs of fire to radio back in and let people know he's spotted something. So distant from not only his friends and family but the very thing he considers the REASON he had them in the first place. And instead of going towards the fire, when Buck spots a fire now it usually means he's about to get evacuated out.

[mostlyanything19]

Somewhere Out There

(Read it on the AO3)

"Abed, take it from a former prom king. Real friends help me with things. Not vice versa."

"I would face my fears to help you."

"Exactly! 'Cause you're my friend."

"Am I?"

*

Abed runs out of the room singing, and Troy laughs at Pierce's jab and falls, full of relief, into his chair. Dodged that bullet.

Five minutes later, he feels bad. And not because of the rat, as Abed keeps insisting they should. They're never going to find the damn rat. Troy doesn't want to find it; good riddance, as far as he's concerned. Maybe if they don't have a test subject anymore they can just do a theoretical presentation or something and call it a day.

But Abed's gotten so attached to it. And ... Troy's been kind of an ass. He doesn't need the look that Shirley and Annie throw him after Abed leaves to get that, okay. It's just... dammit.

I would face my fears to help you, Abed had said, and Troy had just laughed and said of course he would but sorry, no luck. But the longer he sits here the less he can help but think that Abed might have actually really meant that.

Like, really really. And expected it back.

Abed once sat in a room for twenty-six hours because Annie had told him they were friends and then it wasn't even a question for him. No way would Troy ever have done that for anyone. The laws of friendship, in Troy's understanding, are governed mostly by peer group sway and social clout, and consist of favors granted to the popular and promises easily broken.

Only ...

Only maybe he's been understanding it wrong.

Somewhere out there...

Dammit.

They're never gonna find the stupid rat. But Troy is starting to think he should go and find Abed.

Are you coming?" Annie stops on her way out the door, Britta with her. "We don't want to miss Green Day."

"No," says Troy distractedly. "No, I think I gotta ... I'm gonna --"

He runs off.

Pierce shakes his head. "This is just getting out of hand."

It's really quiet in the hallways. Everyone is either at the concert or some class, and Troy wonders if Abed is even still here.

But then he hears him singing; really quietly, really carefully. Right around the corner.

"Somewhere out there, beneath the pale moonlight..."

Which can only mean the rat has turned up.

Which means, in turn, that it is now on Troy to lean up against the wall and close his eyes, take a deep, deep, bracing breath, and not run away screaming.  

"Someone's thinking of me, and loving me tonight..."

And despite his fear, right then? It isn't even a question. Troy rounds the corner and joins in, right on cue, perfect moment. Abed could've told him what scene from which movie this reminds him of, but Abed is busy singing, busy beckoning Fievel in, busy smiling at Troy so brightly he just about forgets he's actually terrified right now.  

"Somewhere out there, if love can see us through..."

Love sees them through. Love sees Fievel right up into the leg of Troy's pants, and when he's finished screaming, finished nearly fainting, finished getting some of his breath back, Abed says "Thank you" very quietly right next to his elbow.

"Sure", Troy pants shakily into his crossed arms. "Course. No problem. Anytime." He sags further onto the lab table and then starts to giggle hysterically. There. Done.

Abed can shut up about the rat now. (And Troy can shut up about some other things.)

[bounward]

DAW | 1,623 words - but still not enough [re: everyone]

Dawson… was ready. He (thought) he knew what would come next, and he was prepared for it. Or, rather, as prepared as a man could be, before ultimately facing death.

Then death walked through the doors, alive as ever.

The folklorist stared, his head reeling as he tried to make sense of the situation. Listened, as his peers spoke - voices somehow more real than ever before, when they had been mere ghosts of themselves. Waited, for the questions about his crime, for O'Malley to pull away, for the escape via punishment that… seemed like it would not come. Not yet.

Shaking and miserable, Dawson was not. A man wrestling with his convictions… perhaps that was more apt.

His heart ached, seeing Dola again. Lucita again. Chirin again. Vixen and Chuck again. Basil again. He’d had no way of knowing that they’d be returning, somehow, some way. If he had, would he have held back? Dawson felt the familiar sting of loneliness, of loss - now more than ever, seeing them here, in the flesh. It was right that the people he longed to reach out to most sat furthest from him, out of reach. (Not that they would consider reaching back, at this point.) He watched their emotional reunions, aching for one of his own. Dawson withdraws his hand from O'Malley’s entirely, and places it in his lap.

Well, he’d made his bed. He could lay in it later - for now, answers.

“Ah, I suppose any questions I have can come later, hm?” he asks, green eyes slowly drifting from person to person. “You want to know the how, and I assume Prix’s not going to give us much time for the remainder of our discussion, so… Allow me lay it out plain, then. No point in hiding it, and no time to waste hashing it out.”

After inhaling deeply, he begins speaking, and does not pause for questions or sidelong glances. Dawson keeps his eyes trained to the table in front of him, as if looking anyone else in the eye might cause him to falter.

Even as he spoke, their words flooded his mind.

“This wasn’t as methodically planned as you probably assume. I didn’t sit and stew over wanting to kill [Basil] for weeks, plotting out my plan of attack. You saw the hasty cover-up - death hadn’t been my intention. Not at first.”

“I spoke to Basil a few weeks ago, about… more or less the same topic. The Wardens, whether our association with them might be able to lend itself to some use in understanding the tapes. I’ve been mulling those things over, since I realized they existed. How do they work? Why do they work? What combination of technology and magic allows these artifacts to function, and could we glean some sort of information from them? I’d hoped Basil would be able to assist.”

“… The conversation didn’t go anywhere, and I felt as though he’d been hiding things. Understandably, in hindsight, considering his feelings toward the Wardens - ah, and towards me.” You’re a real fuckin’ dick now. “Both of which I have been oblivious to, it seems. And since I seem to be rather skilled at drawing the ire of my peers around the topic of the tapes, I took it to the living members of my crew.” You cooooooooouldn’t wait until I was cold in the ground before pissing me off again. "Dola and Lucita were gone, but this was something we might be able to do. The three of us talked it over, decided to try and question Basil further. I asked [O'Malley] to stay behind, knowing that I didn’t want to put him into the middle of my own theories - and knowing his closeness to Pan. However, we decided Fievel would tag along, just in case anything did go awry - and to be a second set of ears to hear what Basil might have to say.“

"The plan was to question him, then bring the information back to the rest of the group to discuss and figure out how we’d handle it from there, together." …But you have never listened to me anyway. "Fievel and I went to the theme park to test out his abilities in a larger body of water. If anything went wrong, we wanted to be able to stun Basil - not kill him. You saw the results of those tests - the People Mover was drained of power, the fish in the lagoon had been killed. Not exactly a thorough means of training, but good enough to know how much or how little charge to use in the moment.”

“… I met with Basil that night, in the lobby of the Modern building. We were headed toward the Old Time Bar via the Oasis, and I stopped to discuss things there, where Fievel had hidden himself. I brought the tranquilizer gun with me, tucked into a pocket, just in case. The conversation… didn’t go anywhere, again. Ah, it got a little heated.” Yo-ou gave him no escape, forced him to dig up terrible memories for your own satisfaction, to satisfy your own theory crafting–! “I pushed Basil into the pool, and yelled out to Fievel. I think what happened next is obvious. We quickly retrieved Basil from the water, and restrained him with the bedsheets I’d cut earlier, preparing for an interrogation once he woke up. I’d tossed most of them into a bucket of bleach, not anticipating needing them all… but ended up using them, anyway. I’m not a master of tying knots.”

“Which is clear, since Basil broke free from his restraints upon waking up, after Fievel had already left to recharge. I pulled out the gun, but didn’t shoot. Basil started to use his powers - light radiated from his hands. It was bright, I dropped the gun, I, ah… I panicked.”

Beneath the table, Dawson knits his hands together. He wouldn’t force O'Malley to comfort him through this. He could hardly look to Smee for support, now that Dola was back with them. He’d put enough on Tanya, after killing her close friend. His quadmates couldn’t be expected to carry him anymore.

But still, the image of the light… It seared through his memory, like a seven-year-old boy, back in the forest amidst a thunderstorm. His heart beat faster with every clap of thunder, until he saw that flash of light, and everything went dark. His mind turned to static, and his body moved on its own. Dawson squeezed his hands together, knuckles draining white.

“I rushed Basil. He was still weak from the shock. I thought his reaction to my questions was proof enough that he might have had something to do with the tapes as a whole. The traitors. And… I figured that the only way our group would be able to make an actionable decision would be here, in the boardroom, with a vote.” If you don’t want what happened to [Chuck] to happen to Fievel or Dawson, vote for me. "Even if it meant facing my own death in exchange for murdering an old colleague, I… wanted to bring us back here.“

Finally, he pauses for longer than a breath between paragraphs. It’s a lot to take in. It’s a lot to put out. There’s no catharsis, no release of the weight from his shoulders. They droop, as if holding more weight - as if each explanation only adds to it, rather than allowing it to lift.

”… I’m not going to re-hash all the details about trying to cover it up. Most of you saw it, anyway. And I’m not going to excuse my actions, either. Ah… What was it I said, last time we were here? ‘Every single one of us has something that can justify the crimes we might commit, or the crimes we might overlook.’“ You didn’t get it none. Guess, guess you do now. ”I suppose in that moment, I felt that the ends justified the means, despite being unforgiveable.“

His eyes pan to Knuckles, next to him. A gaze that reads, I understand now, affixed to an expression that laments, I don’t want to.

After a few moments of this, he turns his face to meet the eyes of those who had asked him questions. To Campion, to Chirin, to Dola - a pause, however brief - to Tanya, to Chuck, to… as many faces as he could, before returning back to the table.

"I think the connection of the case to the traitors is clear, isn’t it? I wanted to question [Basil] based on my assumption that he could have done something to help explain - or at least more effectively look into - the tapes, and how they worked, perhaps lead us to a connection to the traitors. I killed him because of his reaction; I assumed he was one of the traitors, and wanted to bring us back here to discuss and vote on it. If I was going to kill anyone, at least it would have been…”

He trails off. Easier? Better? One fewer person to have to kill later?

“… one out of the two traitors. I know that so many of us were content to living here for however much longer - but why would we trust Prix on her word, or lack thereof? And none of us knew that we’d be reunited at all, let alone so soon.”

“I would not have done what I did, had I known everyone would return. That we might have been able to get this chance without the need for such drastic action. But I can’t undo my mistakes, so ah, perhaps all I can say now is…”

The regret permeates throughout his body as Dawson finally allows his eyes to settle on Basil.

“Welcome back.”

[borisbubbles]

ESC2019: Preshow #26

26. LITHUANIA Jurij Veklenko - “Run with the lions” SemiFinal 2, #12

Come on, come on, get those feelers out. 😈

Entry Analysis

In a bizarre fluke of fate, Lithuania has become my favourite countries of the Baltics for three years in a row O__O. I can hardly believe myself! In this year it’s mostly because Latvia and Estonia sort of suck, and not because of Lithuania’s own merits though. 🤐

Actually, the thing I like most about the entry is the Artist Formerly Known As Jurijus: Jurij Veklenko. He is BY FAR the hottest guy in the year for me (😍) and appears to have an irritating, but well-meaning and humorous personality (😍😍), who is also a notable Gay-curious Icon (😍😍😍) and voiced Lolita Zero’s ‘Get Frighten’ (😍😍😍😍) and who is an obnoxious insta whore on top of that, posting covers of other ESC entries, in all of which he is ‘miraculously’ shirtless (😍😍😍😍😍)  I’m mean, I’m bloody sold? Shut up and take my unmentionables!!

The song however... eh. It doesn’t nearly set my world on fire in the same way Jurij ~as a human~ does.  It’s okay. Some parts are *really* good imo. It has cool verses, I enjoy the empowering message (especially because it’s an implied LGBT Support Anthem: ‘We got a love that can’t be caged’, mhm)

However, “Run with the lions” is let down by one of the most weaksauce choruses in this year. I know people complain about “Roi” and “Wake Up” but... “Run with the lions” unravels at the first chorus, and never recovers. As MUCH as I would a love which can’t be caged, I must let my feelings out and state that I’m only lukewarm to this entry as a whole 😭

NF Corner

I didn’t exactly follow Eurovizijos Atranka this year, but I did not need to! I’ve heard good things about it but there was ~ONE~ entry that gave me my fix w/r/t Lithuanian cravings. 

I am of course... not talking about Monika Marija 🤭🤭🤭 Honeys, this is year three of my tumblr blog, you should know my taste by now and she ain’t it. 🤭 I will give “Light On” credit for tackling the unusual topic of PHYSICAL HEALTH problems, aka whichever medical condition Monika almost DIED under O__O. Bonus points for creativity and for looking like Fievel Mousekewitz I guess.

No, my favourite was ALEN MOTHERFUCKING CHICCO, D’UH!! A cosmic entity so radioactively homosexual he farts rainbows. During the three times this genderfluid fairy blessed us with his gaiety, he cosplayed as a paralysis-curing elf (complete with wheelchair prop lmfao), HIM from the powerpuff girls and a diamond-studded folk hero, 😍 😍 😍 😍 😍

I WILL SAVE YOU

IT’S MY FORTUNE

I WILL ALWAYS LOOOVE YOOOO

NOW IT’S YOUR TURN

DON’T LIVE IN A BLUUUUUUR

DARE TO LOVE

AND I’LL BE YOUR CURE

Don’t be afraid of healing, this feeling is REAL!!! (DAYUM)!! Needless to say, we would be discussing THIS song at a much, MUCH later date had it actually WON ATRANKA but the world isn’t ready to be cured just yet 😭. 

Qualification Odds: Borderline (Disadvantaged)

Lol I have to remember I’m discussing Jurijus here, but okay, back on track. My assessment for Lithuania’s chances is a bit all over the place: First off, this semifinal should be an easy qualification on paper: Jurijus is a cute guy who sings well, and all of Lithuania’s Allies (Latvia, Azerbaijan) and diasporia havens (UK, Ireland, Norway) are present, with only Poland and Estonia being stranded in the other semifinal. 

However, this is where “Run with the lions” and its weak chorus come to gnaw at Lithuania’s qualification odds: Lithuania find themselves hopelessly outclassed by better songs in their half of the semifinal which target the same demograph. Russia have a better coming out anthem. Romania have a better dark poprock song. Their draw, which pits they right between Malta (a dark horse) and Russia (a possible Semi winner) is very, VERY unfortunate as well. If you’re between two strong songs, you need at least keep pace with the level of quality and Lithuania does not. Q. So, tl;dr: while Lithuania should theoretically be able to gather enough points for qualification, the only vote they really have are the built-in diasporia votes and that may not prove enough. If this were another country, this would be considered an easy NQ  (or at least BL in case of Sweden or Russia). Jurijus needs to hope that one of the other BL countries, specifically Albania and Malta bomb out. Sadly for him, Jonida Maliqi doesn’t do mediocre. Sorry JuriPoo. 😭

Projected placement: 9th-12th in the semifinal. If he qualifies, 20th-25th in the Grant Final. 

Link to the masterpost

[beautifulrare4leafclover]

So, here’s the first ever story I’ve shared with the public like this. Hope you enjoy it. It’s a big part of my real life but with the addition of some fantasy wishing. I did write it as “you” the reader with Chris. Enjoy!! Pictures are to help visualize the story ... snow globe really is the one I made for door decoration. #randomcevans @randomcevans @theycallmebecca @nomadicpixel @mycapt-ohcapt

December to Imagine

I Want to be Your +1

(Chris Evans x Reader)

The phone rang with the familiar ringtone of “Somewhere Out There” sung by Susan Boyle and Michael Boyle to let you know the one and only person it could be calling.

“Hey babe, you’re calling earlier than usual,” you answered.

“Yeah, I have a question for you,” came the voice of your boyfriend, Chris, “but, first how was your day?”

“I just got home a little bit ago and now I’m washing my lizard,“ you stated matter-of-factly.

Chris burst out laughing so loudly you could picture him slapping his hand over his left boob as he was well known for doing. “I’m sorry, what!?” he explained breathless from the laughter.

“It’s almost winter break so I brought home the bearded dragon from school today,” you filled in your odd comment.

*************

Chris and you had met two years earlier and kept your relationship out of the public eye. You lived in a super small town two hours outside Chicago, so it was a place that celebrities didn’t stand out because it was completely an unexpected place they would be.

You were a teacher’s assistant at a therapeutic day school who had gone on a trip with some girls to a Comic Con in Arizona. Never did you think you’d pass out in front of Chris Evans and Sebastian Stan while in line for a photo op and cut your head wide open. Of course, everyone who has ever met you knows you’re a bit of a klutz but passing out from nerves and not eating are not your typical tactics to meet celebrities. How embarrassing, but also what a way to stand out!

You had been taken to a medical room to be checked and then taken to the local ER to get stitches. Your friends hadn’t been able to go with in the ambulance and you insisted anyhow that they stay and enjoy the rest of the Con. However, after hearing he was who you had come to see the most, Chris had come to the hospital to check on you. He offered to take you back to your hotel and your friends since you didn’t have a car in Arizona. Turned out it was the same hotel.

Chris had insisted that you eat something with him, so he knew you were really alright. You sat in the hotel’s outdoor seating area well beyond the lobby bar’s actual open hours and talked with Chris for hours as if you were old friends catching up. You told him all about yourself, which was something you didn’t do so easily with most people. You explained your job in the day school for troubled youth as well as that you sometimes worked respite for disabled individuals so that their families could work or have a break. You felt a bit self-conscious that you were talking too much about yourself, but Chris thanked you for not asking him a thousand questions like you were interviewing him. He appreciated that you seemed to feel relaxed around him and made him feel like you wanted to talk to him not about him. You had to laugh about the “feeling relaxed” part because you were so nervous from the moment he showed up in the hospital until about a half hour into finally eating something. You were grateful he had insisted that you eat and that he had gotten the hotel staff to tuck you into a spot that was private enough for you both to forget you were even at a hotel. The night air was crisp and the moon was full. It made you think of the movie, An American Tail, where Fievel and his sister, Tanya, sing the song, “Somewhere Out There”. You mentioned it to Chris and he agreed.

You hadn’t believed him when he said he’d call you the next week to check how you were doing but gave him your phone to add his number into and watched him send himself a text message to have your number too. A week later, as you entered work, your phone rang with an unexpected ringtone but one that triggered a memory. You looked at your phone to see the caller was identified as “CRE” calling. You still didn’t believe it would actually be Chris on the other end. Your heart skipped a beat as you answered as you truly expected to hear an assistant saying he or she was calling on behalf of Mr. Evans as promised. When the voice that came back after your greeting was the very recognizable one from all the movies of his that you love, you were indeed impressed that Christopher Robert Evans (CRE) had followed up on his promise to check on you.

After that call, Chris started by calling every week and quickly began to call you every day saying he enjoyed being able to hear about someone else’s day. Your friendship blossomed into more quickly, but the separation of his schedule kept it as a slow progression at the same time. You were forced to really get to know each other via conversations over the phone and video chatting as the relationship grew which made you feel like he was able to really know that you weren’t being fake because of who he was to the public. Chris was always doing everything possible to spend time together but made sure to at least talk daily. He had invited you to visit him at his homes in Los Angeles and in Boston during your three- or four-day weekends making sure to work around your year-round school schedule. He’d even come to your home to visit on a few occasions. He had brought you to New York over spring break to see Lobby Hero and stay with him for the week. You had met up with him at the Chicago Ace Comic Con recently too. But you never visited him on a Marvel set, despite how exciting you felt that would be. You had insisted that it was too risky for him to have you on set and potentially be photographed together. You had to admit that it was always fun to sit in the audience somewhere and hear how much people adored him with the secret that you were now dating him and no one else knew.

*************

“Okay, so my question is, what are you doing this weekend? I don’t have much time right now, so I’ll call later, but do you have plans?” he asked.

“Well, the work party on Friday after the last day of school. I told you that. But nothing else.”

“No respite this weekend?” he checked knowing the holiday season was a busier time for that.

“No, not until New Year’s Eve possibly. That’s not confirmed yet though,” you answer while putting the lizard into his aquarium. “Why?”

“Knives Out is about to wrap so I’m trying to figure out if i can get a couple days in Chicago to see you before we enter into 2019.”

“Well after Friday evening I’m open so even if it’s during the week I’d love to see you,” you could feel the excitement building in you that you might get even a day with him before December ended. Those butterflies he created in your belly never left but fluttered more with the possibility to see him.

“So, two more days of work and then two weeks off, right?” he double checked.

“Yep, you got it.”

“Okay, let me check my schedule and we’ll talk later at our usual time.”

“Sounds good. Love you!”

“I love you too, y/n.”

You and Chris hung up and you continued buzzing around your house preparing for the last two days of work. An hour later, while taking clothes out of the dryer, there was a knock on your front door. Unsure who would be at your door, you peeked out the window. Nothing. So, you carefully opened the door expecting to see a package from Amazon on the doorstep. Again nothing.

As you stepped out your door to double, triple check, Chris stepped around the side of the house. “So, I was thinking I could be your +1 at your work party,” he was able to say before you could jump off the front step to hug him tightly.

“Oh my God, Chris!!! How did you get here?”. You held him tightly and took in his scent and his warmth and disappeared into his massive chest.

He returned the hug as his chin rested on your head as you fit perfectly into him. “Well, you see, there are these machines called planes and cars …”

You backed up to look at him still clean shaven and beautiful from filming Knives Out.

“I’d think a teacher would know of such inventions,” he finished before kissing you deeply.

Chris spent the next two days at your house while you went to work. You struggled to hide your excitement, but luckily it was almost Christmas break, so everyone just figured you were in the holiday spirit. No one at work knew that you knew let alone that you were dating Chris. They knew you adored him. They knew you’d gone to New York to see him in his first Broadway play, Lobby Hero. They knew you collected memorabilia for Captain America, including a shield, as well as were trying to find and own every single movie he’d ever been in. They listened when you talked about him endlessly (sometimes referring to him as Christopher in a fashion that they had called you out on as sounding far more personal than it should for just a fan). You figured they probably found you to be silly and a dreamer and maybe even a little like a teenager with a crush (despite being long past your teenage years). You didn’t care. You loved him before you met him and now that you knew him for real you love him even more. It had been a dream and it had come true. You just hoped they would understand why all the secrecy all this time. You hoped they wouldn’t feel like you’d lied all this time.

As Friday began you asked Chris repeatedly if he was sure he wanted to show up at your work party. You told him you’d understand if he changed his mind. Keeping your relationship private and out of the public eye had been stressful at times, but also allowed for your true selves to grow to love each other. You didn’t want him to provide for and take care of you as a celebrity. You wanted to find and be with your twin flame; the one person who mirrors your soul and is the soul that your own soul recognizes instantly even if your heart and/or mind try to convince you otherwise.

“Are you afraid of me showing up or not showing up?” he finally asked as he poured himself some coffee at the kitchen counter.

“I’m nervous either way because either way it’s a big decision. You come, and my coworkers know plus you could be recognized by others since it’s not a private event. You don’t come then we’re still secret and we still just have each other, but we still must be safe. I don’t like feeling like I’m lying to some of my friends. I like being secret and having our own private little world, but it can weigh on us both. It’s 6am and I feel like I need to vomit from this. It’s going to be a long day,” you finished honestly answering what you were feeling all at once.

“You’ve met my friends. I just want to meet yours. But if you feel I shouldn’t show up then just call me and tell me that.” he bent slightly to kiss your forehead with a bit of sadness in his eyes.

“What do you want? You’re the one taking the risk. It’s your life that will be affected more than mine if, … no, … when we go public,” you sighed touching his face which now had a couple of days’ stubble growth.

“I want to be your +1 tonight and to meet your friends, the people who get to spend most of their days with you,” he sappily stated.

“Okay, then show up at about 6pm. It starts earlier but the first part will be the food and prizes.” You relaxed a bit that Chris is so adamant that he wants to attend. “The place offers bowling, video games, laser tag, and a bar so maybe everyone else not with my work will be to busy to realize who you are. Heck, maybe some of my coworkers will be too.” You giggled a little still nervous for the reaction everyone would have to him arriving and knowing you.

You left for work and got distracted by the events of the final day. You honestly momentarily forgot about the party and about Chris attending. Your door decoration theme this year was snow globes and your class had agreed to doing “A Few of Our Favorite Things” by making 2 small snow gloves per student and staff in the room to represent each individual person’s favorite things. You had ordered clear ornaments that split in half and each person in the room got a whole ornament to make 2 snow globes. You had picked Captain America as all the staff and students knew of your love for Cap as well as the actor who plays him. You were proud of this year’s door and honored your class won 2nd place for it. The 8 students had all worked hard to represent themselves and every one of them had participated in the creation of the final project.

As the student’s left at the end of the day you wished them a safe break and reminded them that they’d be in your thoughts as you knew 2 weeks off was great and needed for you and your fellow staff members, but not necessarily welcomed the same for the students. Some of them might spend the next 2 weeks not knowing if they’d get a decent meal let alone presents for Christmas. It was the sad reality of your job. It was also the reason you wanted to be there to make a difference when school was in session.

When you got in your car to drive to the event, you paused with a tiny bit of fear and nerves but decide to trust Chris with the decision since it was your friends and coworkers in small town Illinois that you would be with when he would be coming to meet you and have a fun evening with. You arrived a bit early and found that your phone was drained. It hadn’t charged while driving from work to the event location.

“Well,” you thought to yourself, “guess that’s one way to make me not focus on missing his call or text. Or calling him to cancel.”

Inside you borrowed a charger from a friend and left your phone tucked in your coat pocket to charge at the table in the dinner room while you went to the bar with friends. You were nervous, so you drank more than usual and faster too. Thank goodness for dinner to fill you and absorb the 3 drinks you had drank in the first 40 minutes there. You hung with the group in the room until it was time to get your bowling shoes and join a lane with seven others to start the fun games. You asked a male coworker to buy a fish bowl drink for “the girls” and sucked down a good amount in anticipation of Chris’ arrival. You knew he wouldn’t change his mind and you hadn’t cancelled.

Four frames into bowling, you realized it had gotten exceptionally quiet near you for being surrounded by 3 other lanes of your coworkers. As you turned from rolling the ball down the lane and getting a strike, there was Chris on one knee with all your coworkers including your supervisors and bosses watching. They knew who he was, but no one had known you knew him. Now here he was on one knee holding up a small black velvety box up to you.

“Y/N, the last 2 years I have come to realize that you are the kindred spirit I’ve been searching for. You don’t treat me any different than anyone else. Everyone is special to you and you treat everyone as so. You don’t let me get away with shit just because I could abuse my status in life and you even knock me off my pedestal if I even try to put myself up there. You remind me to be kind and to remember that everyone has their struggles in life. You repeat time and time again that we never know what another person is carrying with them, but we can always share love and compassion to possibly provide a spark of light in a person’s day. You bring that to the table in every moment you are with others – kindness, compassion, understanding, and basic love for other human beings. You make me want to be a better person every moment too. I want to know, y/n, if you will let me be your +1 now and forever by becoming my wife. Will you marry me?”

You were crying the moment you turned around and saw him there with some of your most cherished friends behind him. Now you looked at 5 of your best work friends standing in the front who looked back at you like they were about to jump out of their skin while nodding excitedly. They were the ones you had feared would be the most wounded by you basically lying to them all this time. You knew that they understood and even had a bit of clarity in how at times you sounded almost like a crazy stalker fan the way you would talk about Chris.

“Yes! Of course, YES!!!!” you answered looking back down at him.

As Chris stood and kissed you, all your friends cheered and made a big scene as he slipped the ring onto your finger. You looked down at the ring and smiled at the simple silver titanium band with a mahogany wooden center that had a forest pattern engraved into it. He had paid attention when you said you never wanted a stone because you could hurt kids accidentally. You kissed him again quick before everyone rushed into hug you.

Your friends hugged you and hugged or shook hands with Chris. To you, they said things like, “congratulations”, “you have a story to tell, we better get together over break,” and “two years!”. To Chris, they introduced themselves and made comments to him about how they thought you “are great with the kids”, “are great to work with”, and how you have “a special way to know what each kid needs to help them calm down”. They told him about your patience and calm approach and how sometimes it could be frustrating to them, but they always respected in the end the way you would wait out on even the most aggressive students. They told Chris how lucky he was and that they understood what he saw in you and why it worked with his busy schedule that you were the one for him.

Chris and you stayed at the party for hours. You both bowled, played video games, and drank with your friends. Chris fit in like just another significant other and your friends had a blast trying to embarrass you out of fun. They shared tons and tons of stories about you from work as well as outside of work. They shared funny things kids had said that still stuck. They shared the one time you lost your shit while out drinking with a group and how you were crying because you just couldn’t “hate anyone” despite some struggles with personalities of some coworkers. They listened to Chris tell how you’d met and tell the story even you didn’t know of how he had leaned over to Sebastian having seen you in line for your photo op and told him to goof around to keep you in there with them for as long as possible. He told your friends that he had felt an instant connection having only seen you in line and had insisted that they let him go to the hospital as soon as all his photos were done. He’d even rearranged an interview with someone to leave for the hospital. He told them that he wasn’t sure how he was going to convince you to stay and hang out with him once he got you to your hotel but when it was the same hotel, he felt like there as a higher power working on your connection, so he just let it play out.

As you drove home, Chris sighed, “I was so unbelievably nervous about that! That’s been planned for months,” he winked and held your right hand in both his hands as you drove, “I adore your 2 bosses. They okayed it that I could come crash the party and propose to you like 3 weeks ago.” He paused as you looked over at him with a questioning face. “Only those 2 knew and I never fully revealed who I was to them. I just told them I was your boyfriend, I travel a lot, and that I wanted to make the proposal super special.” Chris squeezed your hand, “And I told them that I do not want you to leave your job because I know how much you love it.”

“Okay my +1, now, once we get home you need to help me figure out how to explain this to my students,” you say raising your left hand to him. “I’ve been single all this time, so they will notice a ring and since you perfectly listened to what I said about not wearing jewelry that could hurt them I have some explaining to do.”

♥️💋♥️💋♥️

Merry “Chris”mas Everyone. Wishing you a Happy 2019!

[ewritesthangs]

Smooth

Marvelanimelover asked for:

28. “Did you just… shit, that was smooth.”

38. “I always joke around because it makes you smile and I love seeing you smile.”

You were having an off day. You had almost gotten hit by a car while talking to Leonard on the phone, your coffee spilled onto your blouse which caused you to burn, you lost half of your work to the wind, the day was just not a great day. You walked into your apartment, not expecting to see what you saw. Leonard had set up a little fort for you. He was trudging around in sweats and a t-shirt.

“Hello my love. I know you’re having a bad day, so I thought I would try to brighten it up!” He said, turning around with a plate of cookies in hand. “I tried to bake some but we know how that worked out.” You smelled the burnt residue from the ones that were slaughtered by the oven. This caused you to giggle a bit.

“Ah there is that smile. No, don’t be a puss. Smile for me.” You had frowned when he said smile. He frowned at you then walked over to where you stood. “Lets go get you changed. You are in fancy clothes, too fancy for our little cuddle puddle.”

“Cuddle puddle? Is Mick here too?”

“No, just you and me and your rats.”

“Don’t hate on Ratticus and Finnegan.”

“I’m not I’m not!” He threw his hands in the air. You stick your tongue out and begin to walk away. Leonard slapped your butt, causing you to yelp in surprise. You shoot him a look and he just smirks. That smirk. You loved and hated it. You walked up to your room and see he had his clothes on the bed, for you. Your favorite sweats and shirt. He knew how to make you feel better. You walked down after getting changed to see Leonard holding Finnegan, he was your albino. (I actually have an albino named Fievel, fun fact you guys.)

“You’re cute. You have red eyes.” He was actually talking to him. “Your human needs us. She had a bad day today. Give her some love with me. But not too much I need love too from you guys.” You cleared your throat.

“I knew you had a soft spot for the boys.”

“I prefer the girls.” He smirks, referring to your breasts.

“Pervert.”

“It made you smile.”

“Shut it.” You pouted.

“Oh come on baby.” He puts Finnegan in his cage and walks to you, wrapping you in his embrace. You snuggled right up to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. “How are they? After the whole hot coffee incident.” He asked with a snicker.

“I’m fine Leonard, thanks for asking.” You say sarcastically and annoyed.

“I always joke around because it makes you smile and I love seeing you smile.” He said to you as if to explain his last statement.

“I know you joke. I’m sorry. I am just super moody. And hungry.”

“Oh the hangry stage of hunger. Shall I give you a cookie?” He smirks and wiggles his eyebrows.

“I’ll have more than one. I am eating for two.” You say with a smirk.

“You and your inner bitch? I thought she liked chicken nuggets and tacos.” He said with a chuckle as he walked over to the plate of cookies.

“Not what I was referring to babe.” You placed your hand on your belly.

“Then what did you- Did you just… shit, that was smooth. YOU’RE PREGNANT!?” He turns around and drops the plate, surprised.

“Hey! I wanted those cookies!” You pouted. “Yes Lenny. I am pregnant. We’re gonna be parents. To a human baby.” You smiled wide. He ran over to you and embraced you in a hug. He wanted to have kids with you, he never let anyone know though. Not yet. You were his one true love. Him and now your baby.

“I can’t believe it. Our family is growing.” He placed a hand on your stomach.

[bxcketbarnes]

Insecurities - Part Two

Pairing: Dylan x Reader

Author: @ninja-stiles

Words: 1928

Author’s Note: So, some people wanted a part two to this and if you know me, I’m a sucker for happy endings. Thank you to the lovely @celestial-writing for proofreading and giving me feedback, love youuuu. Enjoy babes! Also, requests are open!

Y/N’s POV

 As I walk into Holland’s house, I find her and her dog in the kitchen, in the process of making dinner. Fievel notices me taking my shoes off and begins to bark, jumping up on my leg. I chuckle, picking her up and she begins to give me kisses all over my face. I walk into the kitchen, the aroma of food filling my nose.

“Hey, Holl. Whatever you’re making smells absolutely delicious.” I smile, placing Fievel on the floor, grabbing a water out of the fridge.

“Yeah, I’m making chicken alfredo, your favorite.” She says, giving me a smile.

“Oh, crap. Holl, I forgot to mention to you the other day, but I actually have a date tonight.” I bite my lip as she turns to me, a shocked expression on her face.

“What? You do? I thought you and Dylan were still together?” She asks, her eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

“I-I mean, yeah? Maybe? I’m not even sure. H-He hasn’t contacted me in a few weeks.” I frown, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear, wondering how he’s doing.

“You still love him don’t you?” She gives me a sad smile as I nod my head. “Is that why you’ve been working your ass off at the gym?” I give another nod, sniffling slightly.

“I-I thought maybe, if I lost quite a bit of weight, he might want me back.” I confess, wiping the tears from under my eyes.

“Babe, I know you might not believe this, but he absolutely loved the way you were and I can’t explain why he said what he did, but you saw how distraught he was after he said it. All I can tell you is that he really regrets it. When he comes to set, he’s not his usual bubbly self and I honestly think that’s because he lost the love of his life. Now, I’m not telling him that you should forgive him or cancel this date but just think about it and always, always follow your heart, okay?” She rubs my arm as I nod in response. She pulls me into a hug, squeezing the life out of me. When she pulls away, she claps her hands together.

“So, what do you plan on wearing?” She asks, excitedly.

“Honestly, I have no idea. Would you be my Lydia Martin and help me out?” I chuckle as she gives me a playful glare before nodding.

“Of course. Oh, should you know, Holland has good taste as well!” She yells while running up the stairs, Fievel hot on her tail. I follow her upstairs, seeing some of her dresses laid out on her bed.

“Oh, Holl. I-I don’t think I’d look good in any of those dresses.” I tell her, becoming slightly nervous.

“Of course they will, sweetie. Just try this one on.” She hands me a cute black evening dress. I head into the bathroom, pulling off the clothes I’m wearing, putting the black dress on. I look at myself in the mirror, my lips parting in awe. Oh my god. A knock on the door shakes me from my thoughts.

“Y/N? Everything okay in there?” She asks. I step out of the bathroom, a smile prominent on my face.

“I-I look amazing.” I laugh, tears pooling. Holland smiles, bringing me into a hug as a few tears stream down my face.

“You look great, babe.” She laughs, petting the back of my head. “Do you want me to do your hair?”

“Yes, please.” I smile, sitting on the bed as she plugs in the hair curler.

“So, who’s the lucky guy?” She asked, beginning to curl my hair.

“I met him at a bar, his name is Nate.” I explain, chewing on my bottom lip.

“Ooo, so what are your plans?”

“Um, well, I’m supposed to meet him at the Italian restaurant that’s near the set.” I tell her. She puts the curling iron away, spraying some hairspray in my hair, so it holds.

“Well, you have fun okay? Remember what I told you.” She tells me as I place my heels on, before nodding at her, heading out the door. The uber I called is parked outside, I get into the vehicle, telling the driver where to go. We arrive at the place and I hand him the money and a ten dollar tip before getting out of the car. I check my phone once I’m outside of the restaurant, not seeing Nate here. 7:08. I sigh, leaning against the wall, watching people walk and drive down the street.

 About an hour later…

 I start to shiver, still waiting for my date to show up. I sigh, once more, realizing that he’s not going to show up. God, this was so stupid. I sniff a little, wiping the tears of my face. I begin to walk down the street, towards Holland’s place when I bump into somebody.

“O-Oh, I’m so sorry.” I apologize, looking up. My body becomes stiff as I realize it’s Dylan.

“Y-Y/N?” Dylan stutters, wiping his eyes, looking at me again. “Y-You’re actually in front of me.”

“Y-Yeah, I am. Um, w-what are you doing here?” I ask, picking at my fingers.

“I-I was grabbing dinner that I ordered. What about you?” Dylan asks, his eyes roaming down my body. “W-Wow you, uh, you look great.” He stutters, blushing slightly.

“I, um, well I had a date, but he didn’t show up.” I mutter, looking at the ground.

“Oh.” Dylan says, his voice laced with heartbreak. “Well, he’s an idiot for not showing up. Maybe, you’d wanna have dinner with me?” His hand rubs the back of his neck, looking down at me.

“Dyl, I don’t think-” I begin to say but Dylan cuts me off.

“Please? I promise it’ll be fun. Just like old times.” He smiles softly, laying a hand on my arm, sparks spreading throughout my body. I think about it, remembering what Holland told me. Just follow your heart.

“Y-Yeah, that’d be nice.” I smile, linking my arm with his. A grin forms on his lips, walking us into the restaurant.

“To go order for O’Brien.” Dylan tells the hostess as she nods, going to receive the order. I feel his hand move across my lower back, giving me goosebumps. I look up at him, seeing him looking down at me already. I blush, giving him a small smile before looking at the girl bringing Dylan his food. Dylan takes the bag, thanking her and we walk out of the restaurant. We begin walking towards his car, in silence, the sound of cars whirling by on the busy streets.

“S-So, how have you been?” I ask, looking up at him as we walk.

“Uh, well, pretty bad to be honest. This is actually my first real meal I’ve had in the past few weeks. Um, I really missed you.” He says, running a hand through his hair.

“H-How come you didn’t call me?” I ask, biting my lip.

“I-I thought you wanted space, so I gave it to you. Trust me, I wanted to call you, I wanted you to come back. I’d do anything to fix what I did.” He mutters, unlinking our arms as we arrived at his car. He opens my door for me, giving him a small smile as I get into the passenger seat, putting my seatbelt on. Dylan sits in the driver's seat, the food in the back as he begins to drive us towards our house. During the drive, I see Dylan’s hand reaching towards mine a few times. I smile, thinking of all the time he held my hand when we were driving somewhere. I reach over, intertwining our fingers, missing the feeling of his hand around mine. Dylan looks over at me, his lips parted in surprise before smiling to himself. He pulls up into the driveway, turning the car off, unbuckling his seatbelt, getting out of the car quickly. I furrow my eyebrows in confusion, before realizing he wants to open the door for me. My cheeks redden as I unbuckle, getting out of the car, Dylan closing the door behind me.

“Head inside, I’ll grab the food. Also, um, don’t mind the mess. I haven’t really done much since you left.” He confesses, giving me a sad smile. I bite my lip, nodding as I head into the house, my eyes widening seeing the living room’s state. Clothes and water bottles everywhere.

“Y-Yeah, sorry about this.” Dylan says from behind me, making me jump.

“It-It’s okay. Maybe you can help me clean up?” I ask, biting my lip, hoping he’ll want me to stay longer than just dinner.

“Y-Yeah, that’d be great. You can, um, stay the night if you want.” He mentions, a blush appearing on his cheeks. I smile at him, grabbing his hand, walking into the kitchen. Dylan takes the food out of the bag, knowing he’d have more than he needed. He’s over ordered for as long as I’ve known him. I giggle as he looks up at me, giving me a large grin.

“What? You know I like food.” He chuckles, getting two plates out of the cupboard, two forks, and two wine glasses. “I bought some of your favorite wine, in case you were coming home.”

“Aw, Dyl. You were always so sweet.” I tell him, walking up to him, wrapping my arms around his neck. Dylan places the glasses on the table, wrapping his arms around my lower back, smiling at me. I notice bags underneath his eyes and I frown, raising my hands up to his face, my fingers stroking the bags softly.

“Have you been sleeping?” I ask quietly. Dylan shakes his head, rubbing his hand up my back as I give him a sad look.

“I’m so sorry for what I did. It was so uncalled for and I’d do anything to take it back, honestly. These past few weeks without you have been terrible, I haven’t been able to eat right and I can barely get to sleep, knowing that you aren’t next to me. I’m not asking you to forgive me yet, but, could you at least come home?” He asks, a few tears falling down his face. I wipe away his tears, my heart breaking to see him like this. I place my hand against his cheek, his hand covering mine as I look up at him before pulling him down, placing a kiss to his lips. He lets out a moan, his hands moving to my hips, pressing his lips against mine in need. I slip my fingers into his hair, feeling his tongue lick my bottom lip and I open my mouth, our tongues colliding against each others, reminiscing the love we have towards each other. I pull away before things get to heated, his forehead leaning against mine.

“I forgive you, Dyl. I just, I can’t live without you. These few weeks have been absolute shit and Holland can only cheer me up so much. Most nights I’d spend crying, looking at photos of us.” I confess, playing with the small hairs on his neck.

“I love you, so much, Y/N.” Dylan smiles, pressing a chaste kiss to my lips.

“I love you too Dyl, now why don’t we just head upstairs and you can show me just how much you missed me.” I smirk and Dylan licks his lips, nodding his head, picking me up bridal style, rushing upstairs to our bedroom.

[rottenappleheart]

I want to tell y’all about my mom a little. Nothing sad or bad. I’m just doing that thing where I try and lance some of the hurt by writing out memories. (That, and I saw her tagged in someone’s photo on FB and she looks so old now and I’m upset and afraid.)

I’ve mentioned that growing up, Sundays were for family movie nights, and she would make two pizzas from scratch on the same warped, blackened cookie sheets: one mushroom-and-olive for her and Dad, one pepperoni for my sister and I.

I probably mentioned that we would always try and steal pinches of pizza dough because it was delicious. 

I don’t think I mentioned that pizza-making time was reserved for her weekly phone call to her own mom, my grandmother. Her greeting cry—“Mumsley!”—was so full of delight, every time. Like me, she was her mother’s youngest daughter. 

She played the guitar. Not super well, I think, but she could strum chords, which is all that you need if you’re going to hippie college in California and then holding Bible studies in your home as a young wife and mother.

She sang, also not super well, but well enough for the aforementioned situations, and well enough to sing to me if I asked very, very nicely. Her songs for me were “Somewhere Out There” from Fievel Goes West and “Ah, Wouldn’t It Be Loverly” from My Fair Lady. She sang less and less as I got older and she got more self-conscious, so I would stockpile all the times I didn’t ask for a song until I was sick enough/sad enough/she was nostalgic enough that I  thought I could get away with it.

A special treat she made for me, up to the end, were “Mickeys” – round pancakes with little ears, and a smiling face made out of chocolate chips.

She had a big latchhook piece of the Swedish Chef hanging on the back of the pantry door. We kids loved it, and she taught us how to do latchhooking as well (not like it’s super hard, but.) That became a tradition on vacations: we would pick out a latchhook design and pass it back and forth between us while Dad read whatever the book of the trip was.

She was a real person. She made mistakes, and she admitted it when she did, and that made her very special to me among grown-ups.  

When my hated grandfather died, after tormenting my family for years, I felt so angry (and guilty) that his funeral superceded a long-awaited trip I had planned with friends, our last chance to hang out before graduation scattered us to the winds—as if he had timed his death to screw us over one last time. I confessed this to my mom in private, and she started crying, saying that she had had the same thought as soon as she heard, but knew she shouldn’t, and that she had to be supportive of Dad’s loss. But she, too, was angry. 

In college, she once violated my privacy in a major way. After we talked it out, she sent flowers to my dorm room, with a  card  that said “To my beloved Gunga Din”—a reference she knew I’d know. You are a better man than I am. That meant a lot to me. 

We traded a lot of books back and forth.

She had a secret love of fantasy that she couldn’t indulge for the longest time because of my dad. He was of the “imaginary worlds are an affront to God’s creation” mold, with the usual exceptions for Lewis and Tolkien, and a very specific bylaw that dragons were always evil and anything that portrayed otherwise was deliberately leading souls into danger. Over time, I guess he gave up that particular battle and just hoped we weren’t turning into witches behind his back. 

Books I sent my mom which she loved: The Thief & The Queen of Attolia, the Temeraire series, The Curse of Chalion. She already loved Redwall. The first book of that series I ever picked up—Mariel—was her copy, I think.

She drank powdered instant coffee—Café Vienna by International Foods—and liked her eggs dry and made the most appalling homemade pesto which, in retrospect, might have been good if I had had more developed taste buds.

She picked out a new pair of slippers for herself once a year and put them under the Christmas tree. She looked forward to them immensely.

She had an old quilted robe that she would don on cold winter mornings. She would pull a chair right over the floor heater, arrange the robe so that the heat billowed up inside it in a column, and sit there for hours, thawing out. 

Parents aren’t “supposed” to love one child more than another. The way my parents handled everything made it very, very clear that my sister is more important than I am, that her well-being is more of a priority. But I still know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was the one my mother liked best.

[bounward]

mm2.1 // fievel // director’s cut

Normally this degree of speculation and postulation was something that Fievel had heard on a podcast or something. Usually that was an hour or two where… Fievel wasn’t doing all that much, cleaning equipment, organizing something at the lighting director’s behest, imagining different scenarios painted by the light– Ah… but this was a little different since his life hung in the balance. And yet, here he was feeling with the ‘movie’ so close to the metaphorical end roll. No one had that *zinger* that needed to wrap it all up and bring it to the clean, concise conclusion.  Zinger it might not have been, but with Tanya’s name being tossed out with such frequency, it caused Fievel to be a bit more alert. I mean… you would too, really, if your childhood best friend had a horde of zombies bunch of would-be dead people coming after you. But then again, you’re also ~a zombie not alive so what’s the— ah. The movie potential of the whole scene was too good to ignore.  Focus Fievel, *focus*.

“Maybe at this point,” he begins. “I’m way too used to the fact that we’re, well, in this weird state of limbo. Might as well have been dead from the start. To be honest, even before Dola’s big reveal of ‘the truth’, I suspected that erhm… might’ve? Been the case?”

He scratches at the bandage on his nose. Ah… bad habit. The lights were coming back around in his direction, weren’t they?

“It’s uh… obviously not something I wanted to take to heart. I also can’t… have my story end here, the same way I was prepared to defend myself during the last epis– trial,” he sweats a bit.

But they WERE episodic! They occurred at a frequency that was regular enough to be like a series, Fievel would argue!

“That said, we can’t just throw away the vote. Even if it’s until the last second we’ve got to just try to find the truth,” he seemed to plead.

There’s a light gesture towards Chirin, then.

“I agree with her. Finding the ‘traitors’,” he does air quotations with his fingers. “Might lead to an actual dialogue where we could get the inside scoop – like the director’s cut on a DVD or BluRay – where we can find out about how we can turn the tide!”

His words are, well, very characteristically him. He sounds sure, confident, and even the face of doom, grasping for some hope at the end of it all. He looks about to anyone who’d make eye contact, trying to imbibe them with a familiar feeling. (Should you make eye contact with him during this time, you could swear you’d let just a bit more perked up than you were previously…)

“Besides, if we’re already dead, like Woe said, dead-dead is a double negative so we’re ‘basically’ coming back to life – kidding,” he remembers that joking is not his strong suit.

He has a small coughing fit in that moment – *man* the lights were bright in this place. He had to have a talk with the lighting technician of this place sometime. Geez.

“There’s one thing I have to ask you guys to think about and that’ll ultimately be how you can place your vote: do you trust Prix more, or do you trust Sugar more? Is the devil we know truly better than devil we don’t?”

He removes his hat again and scratches his hair a little bit before returning and adjusting it back atop his head. His expression shifts from something light to something a bit somber, serious.

“Someone who’s subjected all of us to the pain of loss so frequently like this… I can’t… or rather, I don’t want to trust someone like that. So my vote isn’t to condemn the traitors – they’ve gotta people who’ve still been with us this the entire time. People who’ve cried and laughed with us, too,” he says quietly.

Man he hopes he’s right now and if he’s not then…

He can hear people from the void calling him a ‘traitor sympathizer’ and he waves his arms around.

“Yeah yeah, I’m a traitor sympathizer, sue me why don’t you! But if there’s one thing I know for certain is that I do not like Prix’s little Banksy-esque fUn WorLd and I know these two people don’t either. You can think what you like but – I’m gonna go with this.”

He places his votes with a small sigh, the smallest of smiles on his face.

“Time’s tell who’s right and who’s wrong, but – I don’t blame the traitors for not just saying, voila! I’m the traitor! But I wanna let them know that – that it’s alright. I still support you guys, too.”

He might’ve been dead – but his hope was not.

[bounward]

post mm | chirin | if u could change ur fate... woodja...

Chirin’s constant headache steadily grows. It’s bad enough that universes kept cropping up -- something she politely nodded along to at her best, usually -- but for calls to action to happen?  She’s content to grow slack after she votes, but they start piling up -- for Dola, even -- and that headache spreads from the base of her horns to her temples, her eye sockets, her forehead.

She watches everything unfurl as she usually does, not looking away even when it would be kinder to.

She gives a little wave to Sugar once she’s not preoccupied with saving Tanya and Fievel or going back and forth with Prix, and then slips all of her rings back on and pushes herself out of her chair.  It’s no surprise where she ends up; Dola will feel Chirin’s hand curling around her arm, the other going to her shoulder.  It isn’t much and she’s not willing to interrupt Fievel and Tanya to push it further, but she hopes being there is enough.

Her mind swims as they try explaining, nothing coming together right as if she’s trying to pitch a tent in a windtunnel.  So many people had tried to explain this concept to her over the course of her life -- great minds, she heard later, and people with some claim to the knowledge alike -- and, well, this isn’t that magical click! of understanding she wishes it were.  Even Chuck’s gloating -- and his explanation that yes, of course she remembers from before -- doesn’t make it all come together neatly.

But a particular hair-raising word (...literally!  With so much electricity hanging around, Chirin’s hair is starting to frizz) clears the film from her eyes.  She gives Dola a squeeze and presses closer before she lets go, shuffling to rudely sandwich between her and Smee…

...well, truthfully it could be ruder.  She sidesteps in, crabwalking so her horns don’t smack into either of them, and covers the points of her horns with her hands so no accidents happen.  She turns to hoist herself on the table with a hup of exertion, sighing once she’s sitting again.  The toll of standing for a couple of minutes….

Her hooves dangle idly for a moment, but she then tucks her chin over her shoulder to look at Prix directly, breaking the ice by saying:

“...You offerin’ for anyone who wants one?”

And holds out the hand not supporting herself expectantly, swirling an imaginary drink.  She laughs -- inappropriately -- before it dies when she blows the rest of the air out of her mouth, collecting her thoughts.  Her eyes don’t quite make it to Tanya and Fievel, but there’s a sharpness in her expression that feels like eye contact.

“...Look.  I get it.  Think plenty of folks’d do the same.”

But…

“Forgive me for askin’ right.  But.  Plenty of folks love throwin’ the word around, so.  Gotta be sure.  You’re only teasin’ when you said ‘fate,’ yeah?  ‘Cause there’s a world of a difference between fate and Fate, y’know.”

She says the latter with the weight she’s always given that word, with importance but not reverence.  Like a reformed grammar snob that has bitten their tongue at every wrong you’re, every pendantic instead of pedantic, and every swapped affect and effect, the simple comment may as well have been a plea to edit a paper.  Unbidden, Chirin goes on.

“If we were Fated to die in our universes or whatever, well.  Sorry.  Sucks to be us, then.  If Fate wants somethin’, it happens.  No amount of fancy plan’s ever gonna outsmart it.”

(The circles on the board under her C must be because she’s missing something, because she doesn’t understand it all the way.  That’s all.  That’s what it has to be.)

“But.  If… some of us... just died like normal, no Fate involved, then that’s a different story.”  A beat as she starts picking at one of the leaves on her leg.  “...Like.  Maybe your idea wasn’t doomed from the start.  So.  Which is it, then.  Just usin’ the word all casual, surely?”