#i was living under my rock blissfully unaware

[goldfades]

meeting hayes. | JOE BURROW⁹ [008]

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MASTERLIST

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 1.5k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | your first couple of days with your little bundle of joy.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | sweet, domestic!joe, fluffy as a little pancake, mentions of pregnancy, babies (yaya!), joe being the sweetest, best dad husband ever, idk what else

APRIL 2022

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐓 𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐍𝐎𝐖. It wasn’t just the faint, powdery scent of baby lotion lingering in the air or the tiny clothes folded in drawers that made it so. It was quieter but also fuller—like the walls themselves were adjusting to the weight of this new chapter, reshaping to cradle this fragile little life.

You stood in the kitchen, the morning sunlight streaming through the windows in golden beams, and shifted your son higher on your shoulder. His soft breaths puffed against your neck, his tiny fingers curled into the fabric of your sweatshirt. He’d fallen asleep after his morning feeding, milk drunk and blissfully unaware of the exhaustion etched into every inch of your body.

Joe was sitting at the kitchen table, one hand cradling a mug of coffee and the other absentmindedly running through his hair, which still stuck up wildly from sleep. He was watching you with that soft, faraway look he’d developed since you came home from the hospital, the kind that made your heart clench because it was too much and not enough all at once.

“You know,” he said, his voice low and warm in the quiet kitchen, “he’s got my ears. Poor kid’s doomed.”

You laughed softly, the sound carried on a yawn. “I think he’s perfect.”

“Yeah, well, I think you’re biased.” Joe stood, stretching in that lazy, unbothered way of his that made even mundane movements look effortless. He walked over, leaning down to press a kiss to your son’s head and then to your temple, lingering for just a second. “You need to sit. You’ve been up all night with him. Let me take him for a bit.”

“No, it’s okay—”

“Y/N.” He gave you a look, one eyebrow raised in that teasing but firm way that always made you cave. “Go sit. Or better yet, nap.”

Reluctantly, you handed over the baby, watching as Joe adjusted him with a level of care that never failed to amaze you. For someone who spent his Sundays being tackled by grown men, he handled your son like he was made of glass, his big hands cradling the baby’s tiny body with infinite gentleness.

You sank into the couch in the living room, intending to just sit for a moment, but the pull of sleep was too strong. The last thing you saw before your eyes closed was Joe pacing slowly around the room, swaying slightly as he hummed a low, tuneless melody to the baby.

When you woke, the house was quiet except for the distant hum of the washing machine. You stretched, groaning slightly at the ache in your back, and wandered into the nursery, where you found Joe sitting in the rocking chair with the baby cradled against his chest. Both of them were asleep, the baby’s head tucked under Joe’s chin, his tiny hand fisted in Joe’s t-shirt.

For a moment, you just stood there, taking it all in. The sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting soft shadows across the room. The crib sat untouched—Joe always claimed he’d put the baby down, but more often than not, you found them like this, tangled together in peaceful sleep.

You didn’t want to wake them, but the sight was too sweet to resist. Quietly, you crept into the room and placed a kiss on Joe’s forehead, whispering, “I love you.”

Later that day, you all ventured outside for the first time since coming home. Spring had arrived in full force, the backyard bursting with new blooms and the soft buzz of bees flitting lazily between flowers. Joe spread a blanket on the grass, and you sat with the baby nestled in your lap, his tiny hat slightly askew on his head.

Joe stretched out beside you, propping himself up on one elbow as he watched the baby with a soft smile. “Do you think he’ll like football?”

You snorted. “I think he’ll like whatever doesn’t involve being tackled.”

Joe laughed, reaching out to adjust the baby’s hat. “Fair enough. But if he doesn’t, Maisie’s going to have a meltdown. She’s already planning his college career.”

The thought made you laugh, but it was also comforting in a way. You couldn’t imagine a future where Maisie wasn’t involved, where she wasn’t there to be the chaotic aunt who spoiled your son rotten.

The afternoon passed in a haze of soft laughter and easy conversation, the kind of day that felt like a balm to your soul. Joe dozed off in the grass, his arm draped protectively over you and the baby, and for a moment, everything felt perfect.

This was your season, a time of blooming and growing, of finding joy in the simple, quiet moments. It wasn’t always easy—there were still sleepless nights and overwhelming days—but as you sat there, your little family wrapped in the warmth of spring, you couldn’t help but feel like you’d found your place in the world.

The day melted into evening, the golden hues of sunset fading into the deep indigo of night. The baby had been bathed and fed, his tiny body swaddled snugly in a soft blanket. You and Joe found yourselves in the living room, the baby nestled in your arms while Joe sat beside you, his long legs stretched out on the coffee table.

The glow of the TV provided a muted light, though neither of you were really paying attention to the movie playing. It was just background noise, something to fill the silence while you both lingered in the haze of new parenthood.

“He’s out like a light,” Joe said softly, his voice low and warm as he leaned in to brush a kiss against the baby’s downy head.

You smiled, glancing down at your son’s peaceful face. His tiny lips were slightly parted, and his delicate lashes cast soft shadows against his cheeks. “He’s probably the only one sleeping in this house right now,” you teased, your voice equally quiet.

Joe chuckled. “Not my fault he inherited your sleep schedule.”

“You’re hilarious.”

For a while, the two of you sat in comfortable silence. The weight of the baby in your arms and the steady presence of Joe beside you felt grounding, like the world had shrunk to just this room, just this moment.

“We still don’t have a name,” Joe said after a while, breaking the quiet with a small sigh. He leaned back against the couch, his head resting on the cushion as he stared up at the ceiling. “We’ve got to pick something, babe. He’s going to start thinking his name is Little Man.”

You laughed softly, the sound light and tired. “I don’t know, Joe. Nothing feels right.”

“You don’t think Maisie’s suggestion of ‘Captain Joe Jr.’ has a nice ring to it?” he teased, grinning at you.

“Mm, tempting,” you joked, “but I think I’ll pass.”

The conversation fizzled out again, the two of you content to just sit in the quiet, letting the baby’s soft breaths fill the space.

Then, something small and unexpected happened.

A soft breeze stirred through the room, coming from the cracked window that let in the cool spring air. It carried with it the faint scent of freshly mown grass and the distant, earthy aroma of the fields beyond your backyard. The curtains shifted, and in the moonlight streaming through the window, the faintest shimmer of something caught your eye.

You turned your head, craning to see. There, just outside, the moonlight illuminated the grass in silvery hues, creating a soft, glowing haze over the backyard.

“It looks like a painting,” you murmured, your voice tinged with awe.

Joe leaned forward, his eyes following your gaze. “Yeah, it does,” he said, his voice just as soft. “Like one of those fields we used to drive past at night, back home in Athens.”

You blinked, smiling at the memory. The rolling hills, the mist that settled over them in the evenings, the way the moonlight would transform the fields into something almost magical.

“Haze,” you said absentmindedly, the word falling from your lips as if it had been sitting there all along.

Joe turned to you, his brow furrowing slightly. “What?”

“Haze,” you repeated, this time with more intention. “Like the mist, the way the light makes everything soft and dreamy.”

He tilted his head, considering it. “Haze… that’s kind of nice.”

A pause. Then, as if by unspoken agreement, you both looked down at the baby. He shifted slightly in his sleep, his little hand poking out of the blanket to rest on your chest, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Hayes,” Joe said, testing it aloud. His voice was quiet, reverent, like he was speaking something sacred into existence. “With a Y. Hayes.”

You glanced up at him, your heart skipping a beat at the softness in his expression. “Hayes,” you echoed, and the name felt like a breath of fresh air, like the final piece of a puzzle sliding into place.

Joe leaned in, brushing his knuckles gently over the baby’s cheek. “Hey, Little Man,” he murmured, his voice full of quiet affection. “Looks like you’ve got a name now.”

And just like that, under the soft glow of moonlight and the warmth of shared memories, your son became Hayes—a name born not from deliberation or debate, but from the quiet magic of a simple moment shared between the three of you.

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[arfisrar]

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[charlotte-zophie]

With one step, Thorin closed the distance between them and gently placed his right hand on Bilbo's cheek, letting out a soft sigh of relief as he finally felt the hobbit's soft skin under his fingers.

Bilbo looked at him with wide eyes.

"Thorin? What are you doing? Why...? I mean... I thought you couldn't feel anything for me and that's why you left?"

A tear made its way from the corner of Bilbo's eye to Thorin's fingers.

Thorin tenderly wiped it away and leant forward, whispering in Bilbo's ear in a low, slightly raspy voice, " You mean everything to me Amrâlimê. And turning my back on you was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. And i regret every single second that i wasn't near you. Even if i don't deserve it, I hope that you will give me the chance to prove myself worthy of you and that one day you can forgive me for my unspeakable behavior." He let out a deep shuddering sigh, "I thought it would be safest for you if I disappeared from your life. But now i know it was the worst decision I've ever made in my life! Please, forgive me."

With a sob, Bilbo pressed himself violently angainst Thorin and wrapped his arms around his neck while burying his hands in Thorin's thick black hair.

"You incorrigible, terribly thickheaded, stubborn, loveable stonehead!" Bilbo sobbed into the crook of Thorin's neck, "Of course I forgive you my heart! For if I did not, I would die!"

An incredulous an infinitely relieved smile split Thorin's face and he wrapped his strong arms around his hobbit's waist as he took a few steps back until his legs hit a rock, on which he sat down and pulled Bilbo onto his lap.

He looked at him with watery eyes and a beaming smile and marvelled at this incredible creature with the infinitely wide heart that he loved more than anything else in this world.

"I love you." he breathed and Bilbo's eyes shone as he approached his face ever so slowly and whispered delicately on his lips, " And I love you for as long as I live."

And whit that, he closed the last barely noticeable distance between them and finally, after what felt like eons, their lips joined in a sparking kiss that made everything around them go blissfully unaware and they realised for the first time in both their lives that they were whole.

[witheredoffherwitch]

“Stay out of our politics…..”

This will be my final say on the matter. I am genuinely flabbergasted by the amount of ignorance displayed by some of these responses. It's truly sad that anyone over the age of 22 could lack such a global perspective, unless they've been living under a rock in their own town. Your politics affect the entire world, and it's not a joke - it's a sad reality!

I made a simple observation about the state of American politics and suddenly my inbox was flooded with jingoists clutching their pearls. Every country has its share of opposition, but it's the majority representation that defines a nation. So why should the US be any different? It’s amazing how we, outsiders, have to school ourselves on your convoluted election process and the fuckass Electoral College while the average American remains blissfully unaware of their own country's military incursions. And yet, somehow you all get the privilege to play "oops, my bad" after two decades of destruction and disregard for human rights in the Global South. How convenient.

Pride for your country is all well and good, but don't come into someone else's space and call them "ignorant" for pointing out this bs. I will reiterate once again: America is nothing more than a failed experiment on the brink of uncovering itself as the worst political mishmash of the 21st century. Despite all its riches and opportunities, America has consistently delivered disaster and only managed to exacerbate global politics in the last two decades. So forgive folks if they have little empathy left atp. When trouble comes knocking at others doors, all they get are fuckass prayers and thoughts while you all get years to fix your “mistakes”. So no thank you!

[magnuswuff]

A Crime of Passion. TW violence and gore

Hate filled my heart. What they had done was unforgivable. Taken the hopes of a young, lovesick fool, and raised them, only to dash them upon the rocks of falsehood. With the hate they planted in my heart, I will strike out. They think me still under their control. Yet I have seen through the illusion that holds me back, and the vile creature that they are. I stride towards them, conscious of the fact that the anger is controlling me, and choosing to let it. They have brought my fury upon themselves. They are blissfully unaware of the hate, the spite, the fury, the raw violence just under the surface. I hide these things well. My hand is a fist as I walk closer. I keep it at my side. With the speed and force only allowed by holding nothing back, my fist flies from my side, up, into their smug face. I feel their skin and bone under my knuckles. It hurts, though not as much as it hurt them. A second jab slams into their belly. I could shout their sins for them as I unleash my rage. I could ask them how they could do such a horrid thing. Yet I am silent. I will not grant them even the knowledge of why they have my judgement cast upon them. They don't deserve it. My second jab folded them over, in an attempt to protect their belly. Not that it will help. My fist smashes into the back of their head, I feel their blood on my hand as they fall. I briefly consider leaving them like this. But no, my rage has not yet been quenched. My foot stamps into their side, hard. I had missed their ribs, so there was no crack of bone, only a yell of pain. I care not. They forced my hand. They have done this to themselves, I was merely the agent which brought them to their punishment. I plant a kick into their shoulder, sending them rolling. They try to rise, and get halfway before I get to them, with a knee to the belly, and fists to the head. My hands are splattered with blood. They plead and beg, yet my anger does not abate. Their crime is too great. Another swift jab breaks their nose. Another, and another begins to wreck the bones in their face, turning them into the ugly nightmare they have always been. Eventually their pleas and cries of pain begin to quiet, and they fall to the floor, just trying to breathe. My hate wants me to continue, to leave them a splattered mess on the floor. I almost give in. Yet, I stop myself. "Go, and do good for the rest of your days, or I will return. And I will not stop until you're a puddle on the floor." I grip their shirt, and tear a part that is not yet soaked in their gore, letting them have a moment of fear that I, like them, was a liar. I savored it for a few seconds, before wiping the blood off my hands, and discarding the scrap of cloth, and walking out... The night air is cold, yet I do not feel it. The adreniline in my system will keep me warm until I find somewhere to stay. I do not take long to do this, as the city has warm spaces everywhere. I know not whether my choice to let the one who aroused my hate to live will return to haunt me. But if it does, I shall face it like I have everything else: head on, and violently.

[draiochteve]

I have put a line break here like 8 times idk why it isn't working on my end

I am having a chaotic last two weeks. And I am tired. I am exhausted from crying. I am ready to sleep for a month while at the same time I want to get away from it all and see things to make me happy. Before anyone worries, my married life is fine. The issue is everyone else. I knew some shit was stirring during the wedding in my partner and I's friend group. Thankfully, I had been blissfully unaware all the way through it until it all exploded a few days after when everyone went home. The short of it is a lot of people were simply unable to behave and tried to start shit. People are no longer talking to others. And truly, it was a long time coming for some of this. A handful of the people causing the issues I didn't want to invite for this reason because I knew it could be a problem. It was. My phone blew up every few minutes to the point it was cheaper for me to finally pay for an unlimited plan instead of sticking to prepaid. I was going to swap soon anyways now being able to afford it, but the fact months of rollover time and text are now just gone in a few days will never not be annoying. As that eased, family shit started. My grandfather is dying. I'm not bothered. He is very old, suffering under dementia, is barely living. I have wanted him to pass peacefully in his sleep for months now. But as he is my maternal grandfather, my mother has been struggling immensely which is to be expected. I was handling all of this fine. I was managing, I have been thriving elsewhere...I'm writing so much. I've been happy despite it all and despite the tears. Until last night. My father had a heart attack last night. It was small and only just a little stronger than how a panic attack feels for him, so it's understandable why we all weren't as concerned. I get them too. I thought the stress of the wedding finally hit him. The doctors were convinced too. Scans showed up fine, heart was fine. Then the blood test. He had a heart attack for sure. So they thought it was a minor blockage. It isn't. It's 3 blocked arteries at 90%. He's also now diabetic and likely has been for a couple months now. He isn't doing well. Surgery starts tomorrow for a triple bypass. I have an odd relationship with my parents. I have terrible mixed feelings. They abused me, they mistreated me, but they are all I ever knew and I know they do love me. I've been my mother's rock all this time. She is struggling to function. Helping her is making it hard for me to function even at a distance. Dad is scared. My brothers are scared. I am teetering the line between numb and broken. I don't know what to think. I don't know what to do. I feel guilty planning on hiding away at the local cafe all day and just trying to distract myself. Maybe get lost writing so I'm not watching the clock waiting for everything to be over regardless of the outcome. My partner is going through enough. He's helping me all he can, but his job is shit and demanding and he's not doing well either. Just fuck everything, dude.

[redorich]

for the hermit canyon, i humbly request:

Etho messing with Karl and maybe like, Lazarbeam or Fundy, by pretending he’s moth man.

Quackity stalks through the woods, blissfully unaware of its other inhabitants-- not that he would care, if he knew. No, tonight, under the full moon (because it's romantic) he makes his move.

The Hermit, as Quackity is completely sure of, is a beautiful young woman with long flowing hair as white as snow. Because she is a creature of untold power and beauty, fairy tale logic obviously applies. Therefore, if Quackity can steal her clothes, she will have no choice but to marry him and they will live happily ever after as big booty bitches in love.

Nodding to himself, Quackity feels assured in his logic. He's wearing his favorite assless chaps, his best pair of knockoff Yeezys, and no shirt. He is ready for what is to come.

---

Karl lurks deep in the forest, illuminated only by the moon. He leans against a tree, taking care not to disturb his outfit-- he is camouflaged as a bush. Dangling strips of green and brown fabric cover his body, and his limbs are completely hidden in the costume so long as he stands still. It's a daunting task, standing still in the dark, dangerous woods at night. Nevertheless, Karl knows that this is what he must do.

"Triclops Mothman, my beloved," he whispers into the night. He will find Mothman, and he will marry Mothman. There is no alternative.

---

Far away from both Karl and Quackity, though still in the same spruce forest, Sapnap angrily prowls. Well, he'd describe it as a prowl. Truthfully, it's more of a pouty stomp. He knows that this forest has had multiple "Hermit sightings", and Sapnap wants-- no, needs what he's after.

"Hermit!" he screams into the night. "Come out and fight me, you little bitch! Man on man!"

To emphasize his point, he bangs a pot and a pan against each other several times. Sapnap is getting his revenge for that little ravager prank, one way or another.

---

Deep within the canyon walls, the Hermit complex looks like an overturned anthill with all its activity. It's Halloween night come early.

"I'm not wearing a dress," Etho insists.

Grian whines, "But Etho, I made it just for you! It matches Stress's outfit."

Stress, upon hearing her name, looks up from her book and waves. Cleo is currently fiddling with the thick mane of synthetic white hair Stress is wearing, styling the wig into a princess-y type braid.

"I'll say it again," Cleo says, looking very intently into Etho's eyes, "I could take your place."

"No," Etho sighs. "If what Puffy said about these guys is true, you'd probably bite someone's face off by the end of the night."

"You're no fun," Cleo huffs, but acquiesces.

"At least put on the wig," Grian demands.

Grian and Etho have a staring contest for a solid ninety seconds before Etho snaps his fingers in front of Grian's face, causing him to flinch and blink. "You cheater--!"

"I'll wear the wig," Etho interrupts Grian. Instantaneously, Grian loses his outraged moue.

Cleo sighs. "They're the same wig, right? Do I have to braid Etho's hair, too?"

"I think I'll be fine with my new flowing, luscious locks," Etho says with a humorous crinkle to his eyes.

They all laugh as Etho dramatically flips his fake hair, whipping himself in the face with it in the process. He also receives a thumbs up from Joe, who is in the process of searching for his contact lenses because "Herobrine doesn't wear glasses", according to Bdubs.

Night falls, and the Hermits are prepared. They hope their victims aren't.

---

Quackity catches a glimpse of silver-white after so long searching in the woods. With a little gasp, he eagerly pursues it. His beautiful maiden, ethereal and distant like the moon, darts between trees and leaps across creeks like she is flying, like her feet barely touch the ground.

He follows her to a clearing, but when he bursts through the brush into the open space, she is nowhere to be found.

“Mi rey!” he wails, “Fantasma hermosa! Come to papi!”

Etho, hiding in a tree about five feet away, has no clue what any of those words mean. He affects a terrible falsetto and throws his voice. “Hello, Quackity.”

Quackity jumps, looking around wildly for his beautiful girlboss queen. “Hermit?! You know my name?”

“Of course, Quackity,” Etho says, hefting a large rock in his hand. “Come closer, I have a cask of Amontillado we can share.”

Quackity turns toward Etho's voice just fast enough to catch a glimpse of the Hermit's mask, his (fake) long white hair, his decidedly not female appearance. Quackity looks the Hermit up and down. Etho has never felt more Perceived.

"What's a place like you doing in a guy like this?" Quackity says, flirtatiousness dripping from his voice.

Etho eyes the man's assless chaps with distaste from his crouched perch in a tree. Quick as lightning, he chucks the heavy rock in his hand at Quackity's head, knocking him out instantly.

Etho jumps down from his tree with a huffed sigh. "Well," he says, grabbing Quackity by the ankle and dragging him, "time to get to work."

---

"Pspspsps," Karl whispers, "heeeere Mothman..."

The sound of a twig snapping to his right makes Karl freeze, then turn ever so slowly. There's no one there. Karl holds his breath for what feels like an eternity, but is eventually forced to admit that the noise was probably just an animal. Surely, a creature of Mothman's size would make more noise when he walks, given the weight of his strong legs.

"Mothman," Karl says. "I wrote you a poem!"

Joe, who was up until this point hiding behind trees and ominously snapping twigs, feels a twinge of morbid curiosity. As a poet, he absolutely has to know what Karl considers an adequate love poem for Mothman.

With red cheeks, Karl professes his love:

"Your feelers make me feel so sweet

Your hindwings set my heart aflame

Fern-like antennae make me melt

And Mothman, you're to blame."

Despite himself, Joe is a little bit impressed. It almost makes him feel bad about what he's about to do-- almost.

A soft eerie glow seeps into the forest, catching Karl's eye. He investigates, creeping forward until he turns around a tree and sees glowing white eyes. He screams, but there is no sound, and the forest has disappeared. Only those eyes remain, and they too flicker out of existence.

There is a dim corridor ahead of him, narrow and lit by redstone torches. At the end, there is an iron door. He runs to the exit, but as soon as his hand touches the door it disappears and he is engulfed by swirling purple-- like a Nether portal, but so much more terrifying.

The purple is gone and he can just barely make out the menacing image of a man with glowing white eyes T-posing in the blackness. Karl opens his eyes and wakes up on the forest floor, prone and sore.

"Right," he mutters breathlessly to himself, "Mothman is not interested."

---

"--YOU BITCH ASS PUNK, I'M GONNA RIP YOUR LEGS OFF AND STICK 'EM ON YOUR HEAD!" Sapnap screams, banging the only pot he owns against a non-stick frying pan he stole from George.

"Well, that's not very nice, innit?" says a feminine voice. Sapnap looks left, right, behind him, up in the trees... then down.

Big brown eyes peer up at him through white bangs. A displeased pout set into a moon-pale face attached to an equally moon-pale woman chastises him without words.

"...You're the Hermit?" Sapnap says disbelievingly. He has his doubts that someone as small and pretty as this woman could wrangle a ravager onto his front lawn.

"You wanted a fight," she huffs. "And for the record, you totally had it coming, with Pamela's Revenge-- remember, the rava--"

"Yes, I know the ravager was named Pamela's Revenge! There were like eight hundred million death messages in chat about it, you jackass!" Sapnap snaps, trying to cover up his unease. It's not that he's hesitant to hit her because she's a girl; he would deck the shit out of Niki or Puffy with absolutely no provocation whatsoever. It's just that... she looks soft. Like a non-combatant. It would be too easy, too cruel--

Stress punches Sapnap in the jaw with a wicked right hook. "Stealing is wrong," she says.

While Sapnap is dazed and quite possibly mildly concussed, Stress follows up with a brutal kick to the shin. Sapnap makes a genuine effort to fight back, and he’s no slouch, but he’s been taken so thoroughly off guard that the best he can do with his head spinning as it is is to swing with a wild haymaker and hope it hits.

His fist makes contact with something soft and squishy. He hears a grunt, but Stress shoves him over onto the ground and dumps a bucket of glitter over his head. It burns his eyes, but more importantly it burns his pride. He doesn’t remember at what point he dropped his pot and pan (he must have at some point, because he punched the Hermit with an empty fist), but he’s angry enough to open his watery eyes through the magenta glitter and snatch George’s frying pan up off the forest floor, hurling it at the Hermit with devastating accuracy. She yelps, blocking with her forearm at the last moment.

“Knew I shoulda let Etho...” Sapnap hears the Hermit mutter. What’s an Etho?

Stress irritably bonks Sapnap on the head with the pan he threw at her. He goes limp like a ragdoll, and Stress sets about maneuvering his body into a sitting position leaned against a tree so she can do his makeup while he sleeps.

“Hope I don’t poke his eye out!” she says. “Ah well, he’s got two anyway. Now, should I go for a cute, summery look, or a dark evening look?”

---

In Atrium 1 of the Hermit Canyon complex, Puffy laughs loud and clear, clutching her paper cup tightly so she doesn’t spill her fruit punch. "No,” she chokes out, “he didn’t.”

Cub, holding a similar paper cup, waves his hand in a vague gesture. “Yep. That’s Etho for you. You know, one time he got Doc to run around with a snowman head on, eating spider eyes?”

“Oh man,” Puffy sighs, wiping a tear of laughter from the corner of her eye. “I’m so glad I snitched on Karl, Quackity, and Sapnap. I can’t wait to see their reactions!”

Cub grins evilly. “Stress got pictures before she left.”

Puffy gasps, stars in her eyes. “I’ll bake you a whole cake if you get me a copy.”

“I’ll bake Cub a whole cake if he gives them to me instead,” Grian interjects from across the room. “I don’t need them, I just want to take them from you.”

“Nooooo!” Puffy wails melodramatically. “Grian, please spare me!”

“Five diamond blocks,” Grian makes his demand.

Puffy continues to fake-sob, pretending not to notice Scar sneaking up on Grian until Scar drops an anvil on Grian’s head, like a Looney Tunes episode but slightly to the left. While Grian is distracted, Cub slips the pictures to Puffy, who puts them in her inventory without looking.

Etho walks into the Atrium, now dressed as his normal self, including his natural hair, which looks like an angry wet cat perched atop his head, just the way he likes it. Everyone cheers.

“So, how’d it go with Quackity?” Puffy asks with a smirk.

“Well...” Etho says.

---

Quackity wakes up with the sun in his eyes. In front of him is the public Nether portal, and standing right in front of it is a wide-eyed Sam, staring directly at him. Quackity looks down.

He’s naked, covered in half-dried honey, and tied to a pole like the world’s sexiest flag. And he’s got the world’s worst hangover-- it feels like he’s been hit in the head with a large rock.

“Not again,” he groans.

“...This happens often?” Sam asks.

“If I had a nickel for every time something like this has happened,” Quackity says, wiggling his way out of the ropes tying him to the pole, “I’d have enough money to go buy myself a pair of pants.”

Sam averts his eyes to the sky, abruptly aware of exactly why Quackity would feel the need to buy a pair of pants.

“Damn it,” Quackity says. “Those were my favorite pair of assless chaps.”

“Were they now,” Sam says numbly. The sky is quite blue today, it’s rather beautiful.

Quackity huffs in aggravation, finally having freed himself from his binds. “Yeah, they just don’t make ‘em like they used to, you know?”

“Not really, no,” Sam says slowly. “I wouldn’t know much about-- assless chaps.”

The naked man shrugs. Haltingly, Sam unclasps his cape, pulling it off his shoulders and offering it to Quackity.

“Nah,” Quackity says, “I’ll just streak.”

“Please don’t,” Sam says with pain in his eyes.

[luimagines]

LMFAO READER KEEPS UNDRESSING WITH WOLFIE IN THE ROOM it's become a habit at this point with Twi completely dying on the inside each and every time--

And why not, right? It's a time of complete vulnerability, better do it with the one companion that will probably not mind and even protect you if something were to happen. Reader thinks this. Wolfie is vehemently hoping this is not the case. He is wrong. Please help this very dumb man.

Like Twi tries REALLY HARD to keep both lives separate (for the sake of his secret) but my god, if he was awful hiding it from the start, now it's even worse.

He has to pretend that nothing really happened with him and reader, since YEA TECHNICALLY NOTHING HAS, but everytime they're paired together or just in front of eachother Twi kind of gets immediate flashbacks to the incident (TM) as his eyes seem to drift... UNTIL THEY DON'T-- IF ANYONE SAW THAT NO THEY DIDN'T. (Unluckily for Twilight, Wild's penchant for somehow always knowing when he will be an idiot is a thing and now he has blackmail material on his very crafty slate.)

My boy keeps remembering that time he stupidly oogled at Telma's... THINGS, (TWICE) and how he got the back of his head slapped for being a complete idiot right after by Midna, which fair, and he really doesn't want a repeat of that, especially with someone he may or may not be crushing on. Not really a crush, though. It's debatable, really (nice save, Twi).

Like he can count the amount of times he's wanted to out his secret to them on both his hands now, just so they can understand the kind of position they're putting this poor boy in.

Obviously it's none their fault, it's just a misunderstanding they both can't really change until one of them just cuts it for the sake of both's pride but Twi feels like the awkwardness between the two will worsen if he ever fesses up (and it will), so he's kind of between a rock and a hard place.

Everything came to a head that one time Wolfie was looking for running water so they can all fill their bottles again, and in a good moment he faintly hears a waterfall. Cool. Awesome. He tunes his hearing and gears toward the origin of the sound, and as luck will have it, this picturesque waterfall with a long river at its tail was right there near camp. End of story right? He gets near it to check if it's okay (paranoia will do that to you, foreign land foreign ecosystem, etc), and as he reaches the edge of the water, for some ungodly reason Reader pops out of it, shirt completely vanished thrown somewhere only the Goddesses know. As if reader were a magician, they unknowingly made Twi's wits disappear and reappear somewhere completely not here.

Oh no.

"Wolfie! Perfect timing!" They say, blissfully unaware Wolfie just saw a good portion of everything (dear god help him), and it gets even worse as Reader playfully yoinks Wolfie with them into the water.

He doesn't really care he's now completely soaked (he can make a half assed excuse to the rest of the chain later), also water temples kind of desensitizes you and whatnot, but what he does care about is the fact his back is completely against reader's front and he can feel everything .

If Wolfie could scream right now by the Goddesses all of Hyrule would have heard him.

By this point this event completely busted his internal circuits (and, like, one braincell), and Wolfie is struck completely stupid as Reader happily cleans his fur. The following hour or so is a complete blank he doesn't remember a goddamn thing (mentally checked out for the rest of that disaster). Overall he just KNOWS he lost. Lost the metaphorical game of chicken he unwillingly was playing with reader, or an actual part of him??? Who knows, but he just feels for certain like he just lost.

Way after that whole mess he's completely unwilling to acknowledge, Twi returns to camp, and he completely tunes out Wild's remarks about him being completely soaked top to bottom (something, something "and you say I'm the resident crazy, look at you!") But the cook kind of leaves him be after witnessing the rancher's completely dead eyed face, as said dead eyed rancher unceremoniously throws himself into his bedroll with a huge "WHOMP."

His soul??? Out the godamn window, that thing went into the Twilight realm and will never return again. So did his imagination, he will get that devious thing under lock and key, absolutely thrown into the dark crevices of his mind and pray to the Goddesses that it never surfaces ever again (which doesn't work lmfao).

Literally his neck automatically snaps in the opposite direction the moment he sees reader for like the next following weeks. He has to physically fight the urge to not throw himself off a cliff just to avoid Reader.

It gets to the point Reader kind of whispers to Wild a "Did I do something wrong?", To which the very helpful (not) cook just replies coolly with "Don't worry about it, he's kind of an idiot.", as he cackles to himself while looking at his slate's pictures. It's a mess for everyone involved (soon to be in Reader's case), but Twi just got hit with most of the damage. Kind of funny though overall if you're Wild.

I can't believe that Vai clothes prompt sent both this and the other one.

I'm posting this one first because the other is way more suggestive.

So there's that.

I've calmed down a lot from when I read this. So if my reaction seems subdued is because I read it when I first woke up and it's already been like five hours.

[cronchevans]

Sweet daddy Curtis, having a shit life in the tail end, either he takes you from the front somehow, maybe during the revolt, or maybe during a failed revolt, but he gets you to himself. No one in the front gave two shits about you, but he does, you never fear him, he's always insane sweet and soft to you, gives you attention like no one ever has, he's soft with you and only you, is insane protective of you and will kill for you if need be. You're his soft baby and he loves you more then anything

i’m trying to get back into writing, so @autumnrose40 was kind enough to give me a starter prompt. i’ll make another post elaborating on what i wanna write and y’all can feel free to send prompts or asks based on that! anyway, here’s a snowpiercer au because we felt like curtis would be such a soft daddy after everything he’s been through. sorry if there’s mistakes.

-

when you heard the rumble coming from the back of the train, you knew the revolt was upon you. everyone else seemed blissfully unaware as they drank and indulged, but you could feel the vibrations, hear the gunshots. you couldn’t understand why they wanted to get to the front so badly, it’s not like life was perfect here. you’d been taken as a pet, kept chained and silenced for the amusement of the front passengers. you were fed scraps in a bowl and infantilized, wearing nothing more than a skimpy piece of silk and a diaper, for when you inevitably couldn’t hold it anymore. the people in the front spoke down to you, mocking and sneering, as they pulled your hair and called you a baby when you cried. you couldn’t even speak in full sentences anymore and no one cared. you weren’t there to talk, you were there for pleasure and to look pretty.

as the rumbling came closer, the others did start to take notice then. all around you people were fleeing to the next car, hoping the onslaught would stop here. you lowered your head and cowered against the wall, whimpering and tugging on your chain lightly, hoping someone would take pity on you. but no one did. you were a decoration, not a living, breathing thing. you curled in further on yourself and hoped it would be over soon, hoped that the people from the back would show you a merciful end to this tiresome life. 

the door burst open and you yelped with fear. at first, all you could see was smoke and silhouettes. then, out of the chaos emerged a tall, dark figure, blood spattered and wearing a terrifying grimace. you watched with interest first as he scanned the room, his presence filling the space. you blinked at him wit wide eyed curiosity until his steel blue eyes met yours from across the room, and suddenly you were scared all over again. with another small whimper, you curled into the fetal position on the cold metal floor and shut your eyes tightly. you could hear his boots stomp heavily towards you, feel the vibrations running up your spine. silently, you prayed over and over for a painless release from this suffering. you were so frantic that you hardly heard the words spoken above you.

“hey, little one,” a deep voice rumbled. you didn’t dare look. “it’s alright now, we’re not gonna hurt you…”

a hand reached out, gently brushing against your bare skin, and you cried out as if you’d been burned. quickly, the hand recoiled and you dared to open your eyes to find the same pair of piercing blue eyes looking down at you, not steeled like they were before, but soft and kind.

“it’s okay,” the man repeated again, holding out his hands in a placating gesture, as though trying to calm a spooked animal. you shook your head, eyes wide with fear as you tried to move away, but there was nowhere to go. you were trapped between the traitorss from the back and the unforgiving wall behind.

you opened your mouth, to say what exactly, you were unsure, but words had been taken from you a long time ago. instead you fussed and whimpered, balling your hands up in little fists and waving them anxiously in front of you, not to defend yourself, but in a desperate attempt to communicate. the man’s eyes softened further and he cooed lowly at you.

“they just left you here, all alone little one?” he asked and he sounded so sad as he looked up towards his other companions. you weren’t used to being spoken to directly, but knew damn well the consequences if you didn’t answer. frightfully, you nodded and made a small affirming sound. the man sighed, sounding angry this time, which made you cry out and curl into yourself tighter. immediately, his expression softened as he hushed you gently, saying, “no, no honey, don’t be afraid. i’m not mad at you. i’m mad at the people who left you like this, you poor little thing. you can’t even take care of yourself, can you?”

you made another small, sad noise and blinked away your tears rapidly; they didn’t like it when you cried. the man huffed and stood up fully and you though to yourself, this is it, this is how it ends. you shut your eyes for the inevitable blow, perhaps the one that would knock you out for good. you tried not to be afraid in your last moments, but you’d spent so much time scared and alone, you didn’t know how to be anything else anymore. you waited and waited, but still nothing happened. until suddenly, you felt a sharp tug and heard a loud clang. the chain keeping you attached to the wall loosened and clattered to the floor, freeing you for the first time in years. your eyes shot open and you blinked up at the man in confusion. he knelt back down to be closer to eye level with you as he spoke in low, gentle tones.

“i’m curtis,” he said, gesturing to himself. you peeked up at him and a pang in your heart made you wish you remembered your own name. he smiled just barely, so you mirrored his gesture. this only made the smile grow wider, more fond. “can i touch you, little one?”

that was an odd question, you can’t recall the last time someone had asked to touch you, never mind looked at you with such tenderness. you wanted to cling to him, to make him smile more, to make him happy. shyly, you nodded, and the man - curtis - wrapped a large hand around your little waist and pulled you in against his warm, solid chest.

“there you are, honey,” he cooed as he stroked your back and nuzzled your hair. “daddy’s got you.” you all but melted into his embrace, making happy baby noises and gripping his blood stained jacket tighter.

curtis shifted you in his arms, and for a fear filled moment, you were afraid he was going to toss you away because you’d done the wrong thing. but instead, he picked you up and held you tightly to his chest, your legs nearly atrophied from being unable to stand on your own free will. he looked down at you and his eyes were so soft, your breathing hitched and you couldn’t stop the tears from flowing down your face. you hiccuped and sobbed your way through it, curtis holding you and whispering reassurances.

“don’t cry, little one, please don’t cry. daddy’s here.”

you cried for what seemed like hours until you slowly calmed down and what were heaving sobs turned into little breaths and whimpers. curtis rocked you through it, humming lightly under his breath. you whined to get his attention, knocking your little fists into his chest. he smiled down at you warmly as he said, “all better now, little one?” shyly, you nodded yes, before hiding your face in his shirt. you liked the way it felt when he breathed, his solid chest a comfort beneath you. “you’re gonna come with us now, okay?” your eyes flashed up in fear, but curtis hushed you gently, cupping your little face with his big hand. “don’t fuss, baby. daddy will always take care of you and keep you safe, i promise.”

still gripped with fear, but for the first time in ages, words tumbled past your lips, barely even a whisper. “y-you…you is my dada now…?” you blinked up at him and waited with bated breath. “keep safies?”

curtis beamed, and you thought that a smile like that could light up even the darkest corners of this cold, decrepit earth. “yes, baby,” he said before pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “i’m your daddy now.”

[dragonindigo245]

Official post for my orange side theory

AND NO IT IS NOT WRATH OR ANGER

WARNING: Spoilers for Working Through Intrusive Thoughts. I'm not gonna bother adding the spoiler tag to this post because all the spoilers are going to be under the read more.

Also this post is long so be warned.

Back in early August of 2020 I came up with an orange side theory I have stuck with for a long time. I always found the orange side theory of wrath/anger to be odd, seeing as anger is an emotion not a personality trait, and therefore made an effort to try and discover what I can see the orange side being. In light of the fandoms response to the latest asides saying that orange being wrath is "now canon", I figured it was time to bring it back, along with new points and explanations.

What is the orange side exactly? The answer is simple. He might not be this exactly, but orange is naivety, irrationality, or the inability to see logic clearly.

This started when I made the connection to the dark sides being complete opposites to one another. For example, Janus and Patton are opposite ends of the moral spectrum, Roman and Remus are opposite ends of the creative spectrum, and Logan himself is on the functionality/rationality spectrum. The opposite end would be something like naivety or irrationality.

After that post, I made another a couple of months ago with 3 main points, the first being the opposite ends point. The other two points are just as important.

Point 2: It ties into the 3 monkeys theory

The recent episode confirmed the 3 monkeys theory, further solidifying this point. In case you live under a rock or are new to the Sanders Sides theories, the 3 monkeys theory is based on the whole "See no evil, hear no evil, and speak no evil" thing. The dark sides all have powers relating to each of these.

Janus has the ability to mute the sides (speak no evil), Remus has the ability to muffle the sides (hear no evil), and Orange has the ability to... make... their eyes pretty? I'm sure that we will get an actual explanation on how he influenced Logan in the future lol. Regardless, orange is definitely see no evil.

Now you may be asking, Indigo, how does this tie into irrationality?

Do you know what irrationality is? The inability to SEE the world clearly or to SEE reason or logic. Irrationality blinds you to reason itself. It makes sense, seeing as emotions are illogical and orange clearly did something to push Logan to an outburst. When orange provided his influence, Logan's eyes glowed orange, indicating he lost the ability to see purely logically. While, yes, orange did this with anger as a vessel, irrationality takes many forms.

Point 3: Color symbolism

Something that is frequently overlooked when fanders make theories about the sides is that each side ties into their color scheme in some way. Roman being red ties into him functioning as Thomas' romantic side, Patton's light blue tying into his gentle nature and trustworthiness, etc.

Orange is a color that is tied to joy and youth. Being naïve to the world around you crumbling down will often make you happier. While some naivety is great and can make you happy, in large doses it is a threat to your well being.

Point 3.5: How is this connection accurate?

A great deal of the plot in this episode, especially the endcard, showcases this irrational blindness to all of the issues the sides are having with each other. Throughout the episode, Logan keeps having to sacrifice his plan to help Thomas and then once Nico calls Thomas, Thomas doesn't know how hard it hurts Logan to once again be brushed off. In the endcard, Patton and Roman tell Logan that this is more important, not realizing how rejected Logan feels.

This isn't just happening with Logan either. Patton and Virgil have had some rising tension as of late as well. This is showcased the most clearly in this video when Virgil snaps at Patton and says "Oh thank goodness. You're giving him permission." sarcastically. Patton takes this as "I didn't know you would give him permission" whereas Virgil was meaning "He doesn't need your permission to feel good about this". Furthermore, each of the light sides have argued with each other individually in different episodes except for Virgil and Patton.

With Janus recently being more accepted, Remus appearing and hurting everyone, and the tension each of the main sides have... it's all going to fall apart. Nobody but the dark sides seem to notice this tension, not even Thomas. Why? Because they are being naïve. The orange side is either keeping them blissfully unaware or the very fact they are unaware is giving the orange side power.

What is the new point you mentioned?

This video with the orange side really got my gears turning. I began making connections that otherwise I didn't have the ability to make, or never happened to think of. The fact my theory has managed to hold up in a heavy orange side lore video only solidifies my confidence in this.

Point 4: The dark sides revolve around the truth

This theory is a little more of a stretch but if I'm right, then this is all the evidence I really need to confirm that orange is irrationality.

Janus is essentially the ring leader of the dark sides. He keeps them hidden until Thomas wants to be aware of them, with the potential exception of Virgil who we don't know when he was revealed to Thomas. However, each dark side has something in common besides witty remarks. They all center around the truth.

Janus and Remus are easier to figure out, seeing as Janus is literally the embodiment of lies and Remus has multiple times where it is obvious he provides the unfortunate truth. Remus being the bringer of truth is showcased multiple times, which I will only bullet point because this post is more-so about orange than him.

His line of "I would never hide anything from you."

Janus bit in Forbidden Fruit that goes "No longer will you deceive yourself about the ugliness within you."

Logan admitting Remus can help Thomas in his own way

Virgil on the other hand is harder. Unlike the other two, Virgil represents a completely different angle of this "truth theme". Virgil represents the fear of both the truth and the unknown. Why would Janus even need to even repress the dark sides in the first place if Thomas wasn't afraid of the truth that they were apart of him? Why would Thomas had admitted he didn't want there to be more dark sides after he asks if there were more of them if it were not fear he had more unwanted parts of him and fear of not knowing what they were?

Virgil knows Thomas' fears. This would have made admitting he was a dark side such a hard feat. If he felt Thomas was chill with the dark sides, Virgil could have instantly told Thomas he was in fact one of them. In a way, this makes Virgil the perfect bridge between the light and dark sides. The dark sides provide Thomas with the truth he needs or wants, and the light sides figure out how to handle it.

Point 4.5: What does this have to do with orange?

Orange would keep Thomas from the truth. While, yes, this is the exact same thing Janus does, Orange would do it another way. Janus makes Thomas unaware of the truth he KNOWS. Unconsciously, Thomas still knows what Janus hides. This makes it entirely different from how naivety works. Naivety would keep him from ever learning the information in the first place.

Furthermore, we saw that orange is potentially connected to Janus in some way. The very last thing we see in Working Through Intrusive Thoughts is the flash from Janus' eyes, to oranges eyes. This could be a slight hint at Janus and Oranges functions not being so far apart.

Or the writers just thought it would look neat. That too.

Is Logan the orange side?

I can say with almost 100% certainty the answer is no. We saw before each sides introduction, they manifested themselves in the other sides.

Janus silenced Roman in Accepting Anxiety Part 2, Remus manifested in Roman by giving him random unwanted outbursts (like the naked Aunt Patty line that Roman said he didn't know where it came from in the Christmas episode), and therefore it follows orange is manifesting in his own way.

Furthermore, Logan is not the type of character to turn evil. He has outbursts and is being beaten down but he would never snap for good. If anything, we have seen from Putting Others First that he would only appear as needed if he felt ignored.

Logan is not one to let his emotions make irrational decisions for long, and he almost always goes to make up for his mistakes the moment they happen. He always has Thomas' best interests at heart and has witnessed Virgil realizing force is not the way to go about it.

It makes no sense for his character and there is no reason for it to happen narratively.

Please note that this post is simply a theory and I do not wish to start arguments about if I am right or not. If you are going to provide counterclaims, please do so respectfully and do not clog my notes with your own essay. Thank you!

[lottiebagley]

Have you ever been in love? - Cedric Diggory

The Diggory family had lived next door to her family since she moved house when she was only 4. He had been in his garden on a kids broom, his parents sat on the patio in front of the grass watching him play, when the new next door neighbours had burst into their garden.

It was like life itself injected into the small and quiet village. Twin boys, maybe 7 or 8 with loud laughs and boisterous attitudes. A young girl who had a desperation to keep up with her brothers running out after them.

The parents had talked over the fence and Amos invited the family over for dinner, insisting that after the stress of the move they shouldn't be cooking.

The daughter ended up being only 2 months younger than Cedric and immediately they were joint at the hip.

They grew up together. Swimming in the lake in hot summers, cuddled up under blankets whilst drinking hot chocolate at Christmas. They made promises of a lifelong friendship in the small village and neither had any intent to break it.

The boy was the epitome of kindness. He was caring and sweet. Always patient with her when she got into stupid situations and loyal as they come.

She was just different enough it worked. With two older brothers who she always wanted to impress she was brave, some would say to the point it was stupid. She could be reckless but she was also passionate. If she cared she would do anything for someone and she really, really, cared about her best friend.

It was no shock that they were placed in different houses. It was also no shock to anyone that knew them that they stayed best friends. Joint at the hip.

He grounded her and cared when she felt like no one else would.

She stood right by his side through anything.

It was natural. The love that blossomed in her heart. He had grown up to be an attractive boy. With perfectly tousled hair and a tall stature. Milky skin with bright eyes and a sharp jaw. But he was more than that to her.

He was warm smiles and easy laughs. He was her rock. The one thing she could always rely on. Of course she fell for him. Fell  hard. It was only ever natural.

"Ced!" Her voice sounds through the hall, she leaves the Weasley twins' side, they were her closest friends in her own house.

He can't help the wide smile on his face when he turns to see her jogging down the corridor to catch up to him. His dorm mates rolling their eyes and calling him whipped jokingly before continuing on their way to breakfast. Leaving him to be with his best friend.

"Morning love," he grins down at her when she reaches his side, his arms wrapping around her. She can't help the blush on her cheeks at the pet name. "You sleep well?" He asks, his arm stays tightly wrapped around her as they walk to the hall.

"I slept okay. Angelina has a cold so she was snoring which kept me up a bit," the girl admits. Rolling her eyes when she sees the worry over taking her best friends features.

"You should have just come and slept in with me," he reprimands gently

"Oh yes Mr. Prefect, let me just break those school rules with you," she teases

"Since when did you care for the school rules?"

"I don't want to bring you down with me,"

"Ah. But you're the only one I would let drag me down," he laughs

"Seems like your reputation will stay crystal clean then,"

"You're a pretty bad bad influence," he chuckles giving her a tight squeeze "I mean it though. I never mind you staying in my bed," he smiles lightly.

"Thanks Ced," she grins. They arrive at the hall and she drags him to eat breakfast with her at the Gryffindor table. He pretends to protest, knowing she will never let him actually not come. The love-struck grin on his face lets everyone near the pair know that he could never say no. Even if he wanted too.

The pair talk easily over their breakfast, playing footsie under the table like it's a thing all friends do. He makes sure she's eating a balanced breakfast and she laughs calling him a mother hen. Both of them mistake the love in the others eyes to be platonic.

"Sorry love birds but y/n we have to get going. We have Herbology," George smiles down at the girl waiting patiently for her. Trying not laugh at the bright flush overtaking both their features at the name.

"I'll see you in divination?" She asks the Hufflepuff in front of her.

"See you there love," he grins. She smiles pressing a kiss to his cheek over the table. Before flouncing out of the hall with George.

If she had looked back she would have seen the smile he can't wipe off his face. The way his hand subconsciously touches his cheek. The way he laughs at himself quietly. You got it bad Diggory. He can't get the thought out of his house as he watches her laughing figure turn round the corner.

**

"You're playing with fire you know," George mutters to the girl as they stand working on a mandrake in a  tucked away corner.

"What on earth are you talking about Georgie? You must have inhaled some fumes," she jokes

"Flirting with Pretty boy Diggory. You're only going to get yourself hurt if you are with him all the time and don't tell him you feel," he states "I mean you're clearly in love," he adds on the end, laughing when her face turns beat red.

*

Y/n sits with Cedric in the library. It's late, the library will close within the hour,  and a  Friday night. Most students are having a night off and relaxing but the girl had vowed to finish all her homework by midday on Saturday, freeing up all day Sunday to spend with Cedric.

He had asked in divination if she would like to sneak into the Hufflepuff common room, something not uncommon for her, and join him and some of his friends in a games night. She had politely declined, too embarrassed to say the reason she wanted to get all her work done tonight, instead telling her friend she was behind.

Ever the good friend, he had decided to join her in the library. With their OWLs being at the end of the academic year their was always work he could be doing. He would rather be studying with her than having fun without her in any case.

He's noticed she's been distracted ever since breakfast. Arriving in their shared second lesson and slipping into a seat next to him, in some form of trance, lost in her own thoughts. He wishes he knew what it was making his best friend so stressed. Wished he could help.

"Ced?" She questions into the silent room. Looking up to see her friend peer at her from behind the book he's copying notes from.

"Yeah?" He replies, placing his quill down and smiling gently to her.

"Have you ever been in love?" She asks.

See it wasn't the idea of it being dangerous to be close to the boy she was crushing on. She knew that. Knew she was setting herself up for a heart break. It was the word love. Was she in love?

"Yes," he answers without a doubt. No question in his mind. He was in love with the scared looking girl in front of him. He had never seen her look scared before.

"Really?" She questions mouth agape. She tries so hard to ignore the ache in her chest. The feeling of her heart splintering. The way her whole world crashes down. "How did it feel?"

He is worried. Who did she think she might be in love with? The pair are practically inseparable. What boy had captured her heart whilst he had sat next to her blissfully unaware she was being snatched from him?

"It feels nice. Like home," he starts. He's nothing if he's not honest. He prides himself on that. He will help his friend through what she's feeling, he would always help her. "She's the only girl I ever want to see. Only person I ever want to see. I wake up and she's my first thought. If she's okay? If she slept well? When I'll see her?" He admits.

She nods. That fits. He is always her first thought.

"I don't stop thinking about her all day. She just occupies my head without even trying. Anytime I hear a joke I think of her laugh. When something upsets me if vision her hugging me to cheer up. When I'm in the same room as her I can't pull my eyes away," he continues.

That fits. Doesn't she always turn to see if he's laughing at a joke? Always relies on him no matter what.

"She's the first person I tell when anything happens in my life,"

That one hurts a bit. That there's some girl out there finding out the ins and outs of Cedric before she does.

"I would do anything for her. Break any rule. I'd move earth if she asked. All I have to do is vision that smile and I'm putty in her hands," he finishes.

It all fits. And it hits her like a ton of bricks. She's in love with Cedric.

"Have you?" He asks. Trying so hard to swallow his jealousy. Maybe it one of the twins. He could come to accept that. They're good to her. They would be worthy of being her first love, stealing the title he has been dreaming of since they were 11 and she broke into the hospital wing in the middle of the night to check on him.

"I think I might be," she admits. Not looking at him. It's even harder to hear than he had imagined.

"Really? Who?" He asks. God why is he torturing himself? He feels helpless. The last thing he wants is to hear and yet he just has to know.

"I don't want to tell you. It's silly," she whispers.

"If there's a boy on this planet who could have you and would choose not to then he is stupid. If he's stupid you don't want him in the first place," he's never been so sincere. What boy could ever say no to her?

"He's not. He's beautiful. And he's kind. And he's smart. I know he loves me. I just-well- I think it's platonic," she admits. There's something about how she says it. About how she's looking at him that makes hope spark in his chest. He squishes it down. This is painful enough without letting himself think it could ever be him.

He doesn't say anything. Doesn't know how to form words. Doesn't know what he can say that won't let her know she's just broken his heart.

She doesn't say anything. She is so certain he knows she's talking about him, that she'd made it so clear. And kind, sweet Cedric is trying to think of a nice way to reject her.

"We don't have to do this. You don't have to say anything," she whispers. Gathering her books grabbing her bag. "Night Ced," she tries so hard to smile but there's tears pooling in her eyes as she slips out of the door.

His heart snaps. Grabbing his own bag and leaving the book on the table chasing her through the quiet corridors.

"Love, just wait, hold up. Just-" he calls out for her. She stops in her tracks. She can never bring herself to walk away from him.

She blinks rapidly before turning around, the moon shining through the window the only thing lighting the pair. He can't help but think how ethereal she looks, the moon illuminating her.

"What's going on?" He asks, hands holding her arms, rubbing gently with his thumb in an attempt to comfort her. Heart breaking at the tear dripping down her cheek.

"Look Ced, you don't have to. Yknow- say it. We will be fine. Just- I need a bit of space. Not for long- just- just for a bit," she steps out of his hands. She can't let him comfort her right now. Not when she's so in love and only just realised. Not when he's breaking her heart.

He is confused now. Why they would need space. Why she doesn't want him to say anything. It all falls into place and he struggles to say it. Maybe it's true. Maybe it's his desperation causing him to see things that aren't there.

"Who are you in love with?" He whispers. Scared to talk any louder.

"Are you really going to make me say it?" She questions, trying to bite back the sob "I just- if you're going to force me to hear you reject me you don't have to make me say it," she whispers. Refusing to look at him.

His heart explodes. He's in front of her in two steps. One arm wrapping around her form keeping her there. The other hand cupping her cheek, the thumb reaching out to dry a tear.

"I've been practicing asking you out in my mirror since I was 13," he admits. Her eyes widen in shock before he presses his lips to hers. Kissing her with so much passion and desire that there's no doubt in her mind. He feels the same.

She's desperate for more. Kissing back with as much fervour. Grabbing at his school shirt to pull him closer, impossibly close. She can feel him everywhere as her hands squeeze the fabric. His arms hugging her whilst he kisses. They pull apart panting.

"Can I take you on a date?" He smiles "I wanna do this properly," he admits, if it was anyone else he would feel shy. Not with her.

"Sunday?" She asks, she couldn't be more glad she had cleared the day. He nods a beam on his face.

"I know you want to this properly and I do too. But please tell me we get to kiss again before the first date," she smiles, he chuckles

"Whatever you want love," he grins, his lips pressing a gentle kiss on hers now.

"Love?" She whispers against his lips. He's called her it forever but it means something so different now.

"I love you," he states. No one can ever question it, not when he says it with that much confidence,

"I love you," she repeats. "Merlin, we really have done this in the wrong order," she laughs

"Whoever said proper had to be what everyone else does," he smiles back.

He's right of course. It was just right. It was them.

**

Masterlist

[starks-hero]

Music and Mischief

Can I get some Loki x Reader headcanons where Loki catches the reader singing to themselves?

I was wondering, how do you think he would react to a reader with a musical talent, specifically the flute?

Summary: aka the kind of music Loki listens to and the role it plays in your relationship.

One of the many perks of living in Avengers tower was the soundproof walls.

They were very useful in a lot of different ways. (If you catch my drift.)

They also provided the perfect amount of privacy when you wanted some time to yourself.

It was already a quiet day, all the other members of the team were out running their own errands or enjoying the day off since there were no new missions to worry about. But you'd decided you'd enjoy a day in to yourself.

Your headphones were in and turned up to near full volume. Your eyes were closed as you danced around your room singing as loudly as you pleased.

It's not like there was anyone around to judge you.

Or that they'd be able to hear through the soundproof walls of your room for that matter.

However, amidst your performance, you failed to notice that you hadn't shut the bedroom door.

Which wouldn't have really been an issue since nobody else was in the tower.

Expect you'd forgotten about a certain introverted god.

In his defence, Loki hadn't meant to intrude. He was walking down the corridor and just happened to hear your voice.

And as always, curiosity got the best of him.

When he rounded the corner and stumbled upon the scene, he couldn't help the smile that pulled at his lips.

Because first things first. Loki is absolutely smitten with you.

Everything and anything you do will have him fawning over you like a love-struck teen.

You are one of the few the only one that can genuinely make Loki smile and laugh. And after everything he's been through you really had become the light of his life.

So seeing you blissfully unaware of anyone else’s presence, unapologetically dancing around your room and singing at the top of your lungs really just reminded Loki of every single reason he'd fallen so hard for you to begin with.

He'd stand in the doorway, arms crossed and watching with a fond smile.

He loves seeing you being yourself in your truest form. Being the you that comes out when you think nobody else is watching.

Not to mention he adores your voice.

Whether you can actually sing or not doesn't really come into play. Loki adores your voice either way.

You can sing like an opera singer? Great, Loki absolutely loves it. You're not exactly Celine Dion? No problem, your voice is still music to Loki’s ears.

Loki honestly thinks the whole thing is the most endearing thing he's ever seen.

But he eventually realizes that he should probably announce himself because it's coming up on the five minute mark and you still hadn't noticed him and he'd concluded that the staring started getting creepy around three minutes ago.

He'd clear his throat loudly and readjust his stance to make it look like he'd just arrived and hadn't been staring at you like a love-struck fool for the past far too many minutes.

He'd then proceed to laugh his ass off when you practically jump out of your skin and immediately start asking how long he's been there.

He'd playfully tease you at first, smirking at your embarrassment.

But then, after a comforting kiss, he'd urge you not to stop on his account.

And (once the embarrassment subsided) you didn’t.

Now that Loki had heard you sing, his interest in music signifcantly increased.

Since Loki wasn't accustomed (previously couldn't have cared less) about midguardian music, you show him all your favourite songs along with songs you think he'd generally enjoy.

Loki takes a huge interest in what kind of music you're into. Rock, pop, classical, if you like it, he wants to hear it.

Having heard your own singing voice, Loki's confidence increases a little and he won't shy away from singing around you.

Whether it's singing along with you in the car or simply singing under his breath in the kitchen.

And he can sing. His velvety voice is so soft and relaxing to listen to.

Music just suddenly becomes a part of your love language.

And gets intertwined into the more intimate parts of your relationship. It's suddenly a huge part of your intimacy.

Overall, Loki finds your voice incredibly soothing. And on nights when the nightmares come back and the bad is just too much for him to handle, he'll ask you to sing to him.

It comforts him beyond belief, reminding him of when he was a child and his mother would sing him to sleep.

He'd let you hold him, his head on your shoulder and your fingers running through his hair as you gently sing to him in a voice just above a whisper.

Just please sing to Loki and he'll love you forever.

Because he really really loves your voice.

You've caught him a countless amount of times turning down the radio when you're singing so he can hear your voice better.

If you sing in the shower he'll sit outside, back against the wall and just listen. (And sometimes he'll join you ;)

Have I mentioned duets? Loki would definitely enjoy songs from musicals.

He will sing them with you unapologetically.

Even though Loki doesn't necessarily enjoy being in huge crowds of people, he will go to festivals and concerts. He just loves sharing the experience with you.

When you're both just lounging around or relaxing together you'll share headphones (he'll wear one and you'll wear the other.)

Loki never had a voice boisterous enough for Asgardian folk songs, but he really wanted to share Asgardian music with you.

So he'd quietly hum Asgardian songs to you instead.

Loki will also sing to you in Old Norse. Sometimes he'll tell you the translation of the song but on other occasions when the song is an incredibly intimate and heartbreaking love confession he'll keep the true meaning to himself.

And if you can play a musical instrument, Loki will be completely and utterly infatuated with it.

He'll always ask you to play for him and he admires your skill and talent.

Loki was never the most musical of people (his mother forced him to take a few harp lessons as a child but that was the extent of his musical experience.)

But he largely values knowledge and loves learning new things.

So if you can play a musical instrument, Loki will definitely ask you to teach him.

He isn't exactly a natural at it, but he's a fast learner.

Loki just loves the intimacy of it really. Your hands helping to guide his fingers to sound the next note, your encouraging words and proud smile when you see how much he's progressed.

He just enjoys sharing in your interests.

Your new hobby also comes in surprisingly useful.

During game night™ at Avengers tower, the team decided to have a round of karaoke.

It was an...eventful night to say the least. But let's just say everyone was shocked when you and Loki knocked it out of the park and stole first place. But to be fair, you’d had a lot of practice and you both may have been a little completely drunk.

Having delved a little further into the world of midgardian music, Loki finds that (besides indie, alternative rock and genres along those lines) he also really enjoys older music.

Mostly because they're perfect to slow dance to.

Because the one thing Loki likes better than singing with you is dancing with you.

Loki also has a playlist on his phone named after you that contains all the songs that he thinks best explain the way you make him feel. (Because he's a sweetheart and a hopeless romantic.)

Loki really likes the song ‘Unconditionally’ by Katy Perry, (not that he plans on admitting that to any living being other than you) because he feels like it really sums up how you feel about him.

You love him unconditionally and that's something Loki is endlessly grateful for.

Tag list: @miraclesoflove​ @bakerstreethound​ @doozywoozy​ @kealohilani-tepise

[harryhandstan]

This is my contribution to @meetmeinfleetwood​‘s “to lovers” fic challenge! I chose the trope roommates to lovers and the prompt “I think I’m in love with you and I don’t know what to do.” This was fun to write thank you for allowing me to participate!

Thank you to my beta readers @tbslenthusiast​, @witch-harry​, and @sunflowers-styles​! Y’all are the best!!

no warnings that I can think of other than alcohol tw // bc of the wine they share!

word count: 2.3k

writing tag | masterlist

It’s 5:45 p.m. when you finally leave work for the day. You should’ve just said to hell with it and went home at 5:30 like you were supposed to, but you were nice enough not to. Too nice you’d been told in the past, but it’s a flaw you’re willing to accept if it gets you a promotion to the position you ultimately dreamed of working when you started there 3 years ago.

After a quick stop to grab a bottle of wine (or two), your car can’t get you home fast enough. It’s Friday and you’re looking forward to spending time doing absolutely nothing for the next two days but curling up in a blanket and watching Christmas movies in the apartment you will essentially be alone in. Your roommate Harry shared the space with you, but kept to himself for the most part. Aside from dinners and movie nights on rare occasions when your schedule lined up, allowing you to spend the evening together.

As if your thoughts summoned him, your phone dinged, indicating a new message. Your eyes dart down to where it sits in the passenger seat, careful to keep your eyes on the car in front of you, waiting patiently for the light to turn red so you can grab your phone to respond.

It’s one simple word, “Home?” so you know he’s either still working or on his own drive home. 

Your reply is just as direct, “Not yet. On my way! Movie night?” 

The light’s green again so you tuck your phone back into your purse, ignoring the next ding until you arrive home. You’re through the door of your apartment and down the hall before you read his message, “Sure. Chinese or pizza?” 

“Chinese! I’ll pick the movie and you pay for dinner?”

“That doesn’t sound fair :(”

“Alright fine, you get home before I’m out of the shower and in my pajamas you can pick the movie..deal?”

“Deal!”

The race is on then, both of you competitive and determined to win. You have a movie in mind that you’ve been dying to watch all day and you don’t want to have to rock-paper-scissors to break the tie like you usually do when the two of you don’t agree on who wins  these little games. 

You’d already shed most of your layers of clothing easily as you moved through the apartment; your boots kicked off by the door, jacket gone and thrown over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, cardigan pulled from your body and tossed on the bed by the time you made it to your bedroom. It doesn’t take long to strip the rest away and to gather a set of pajamas from your well organized drawer before darting across the hall to the shared bathroom.

You know you have at minimum 45 minutes to be done, an hour if he goes to the better Chinese place a little further across town, which he most likely would. You’d been dreaming of ending your week with a bubble bath, but you don’t take the chance now, just hop under the hot spray of the shower, hoping it will have the same relaxing effect. Your eyes are closed as you tilt your head back to wet your hair while one hand fumbles over the bottles to find your shampoo. 

Eyes still closed, you tip the bottle to add a bit to your hand, but you freeze when you open your eyes temporarily to close the bottle and put it back on the shelf. It’s Harry’s shampoo you’ve grabbed instead and for a moment you don’t know what to do. You don’t know how many times you’ve teased him about how expensive his products are. But he would never let you hear the end of it if he came home and you smelled like him. Ultimately you would’ve felt too guilty to waste it, so you work it through and hope he never finds out. Pray that the act washes away just like the suds do when you rinse them from your hair. 

By your hopeful calculations, you still have about 10 minutes left before he arrives by the time you're done in the shower. You decide to give him a fair advantage, venturing into the kitchen to decide which bottle of wine would pair best with dinner. When you make your selection, you pour yourself a glass, settling into a comfy spot on the couch. The black remote taunts you from the small wooden coffee, and you grab it. No harm in getting the movie ready while you wait, right?

You’re 2 glasses deep and 20 minutes into the movie when he arrives, a smirk on his face at the sight of you. Your eyes go wide when you see him. You’re not sure why, there had been many nights he’d found you in the same position, but tonight feels different. You gulp down the sip of wine, too tipsy and unaware that you’re staring. Had his dimples always been that prominent when he smiled? Even without your glasses you could spot that grin that stretched a mile wide across his face.

“Haroldddd..you’re home!”

He hated that nickname, had always despised when other people called him that, but falling from your lips it sounds like a prayer and he would gladly change his name to that if he thought it would make you the least bit happy.

“S’pose I lost, huh? Got the food pretty quickly but stopped to get this,” He holds up a bottle of wine, ironically the very same kind that you’re drinking now, “Shoulda known y’would already have some!”

“Oh good, you got some for yourself..this one’s almost empty..”

“M’not that late, am I?” He chuckles as he makes his way to the counter, looking between you and the bottle.

“Hey..it’s a small bottle! This is only my third glass and I’ve barely even touched it.”

“Rough day?” He’s pulling plates down now and retrieving a glass for himself from the cabinet.

“Rough week. Rough few weeks, really.” You take a few more sips as you watch him prepare a plate of food. You figure he’s just making his own, and you wait patiently for him to finish so you won’t be in the way. But when he makes his way around the counter, he’s holding two plates in his hand and wow you want to jump from your spot and kiss him. You restrain yourself, as hard as it may be, and try to focus on the question he’s asking you.

He holds the plates towards the table and then towards where you sit on the couch, silently wanting to know where you’d prefer to enjoy your meal. You pat the spot next to you, inviting him to move closer, knowing how much effort it would take to lift yourself from your warm, comfy spot to go eat at the table.

“Emily still on vacation?” 

“Yes! And she expects us to do double the work while she’s gone! It’s her 3rd vacation this year. I know she’s the boss but..”

“Doesn’t mean she has to be a bitch to you.” He finishes your sentence for you, brow furrowed, upset at even the idea of someone mistreating you in the slightest. 

“Right! Thank you!” 

You hold your hand out to accept the plate he’s made for you, “Got our usual, hope that’s alright.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I was just joking earlier about you paying for all of it. I’ll pay you back for my half.”

He’s already shaking his head no, stuffing a bite of food in his mouth, “It was my turn anyway, r‘member? You paid for those tacos we had last week.”

“Right, I did. Forgot about that.”

You watch him devour a few more bites, your eyes darting from your plate to his, “Yours looks better.”

“Huh?”

Maybe it’s the wine making you more bold, you’d normally never complain, “Your plate it just..looks better than mine. Switch with me.”

“It’s literally the same thing..and I’ve already eaten half the noodles off mine.” He looks mildly annoyed at even the suggestion.

“Don’t care..it looks better. Switch.” You realized just how bratty you sound, so you add a quick, “Please?”

He huffs dramatically, switching the plates and giving you a sarcastic smile, “Happy?”

You return his smile, blissfully unaware of his annoyance in your tipsy state, “Very, thank you.”

You both turn your attention to the tv you realize now you had forgotten to pause, so the movie had progressed further, about 30 minutes in now.

His irritation has already faded when he asks, “What are y’making me watch?”

You start to explain the plot but stop mid-bite of your food, “Wait..have you never seen this movie?”

He shrugs, “Doesn’t look familiar.”

“Oh we’re definitely starting it over then!” 

“No, ya don’t hafta..”

It’s too late, you’ve already discarded your now mostly empty plate of food, nearly knocking your glass of wine over in your excitement of making him watch one of your favorite movies.

Almost an hour in, you don’t notice that Harry’s eyes have drifted to you. In fact, they’d mostly stayed on you since you’d restarted the movie. Your facial expressions were better to him than any movie; the way your eyes softened at the more heartwarming parts, or when your mouth formed a soft ‘o’ and gasped at parts he was certain you had probably seen at least a dozen times before.

You clasp your hand over your heart dramatically and he doesn’t even flinch, just listens intently when you say, “I love this part..this is the moment.”

His eyes temporarily flash back to the tv then, “The moment?”

“Yeah, you know, the moment. Where the guy looks at the girl and realizes he’s in love.” You sigh deeply, “I always wanted someone to look at me like that.”

Oh, you mean like what’s happening now between us? God he hopes for just a glance from you, a chance to show you that you’re living your own moment now if you’d just look at him. 

It’s tumbling out of his mouth quicker than he can stop it, his mouth working faster than his brain, but it’s a low enough whisper he thinks maybe you won’t hear.

“I think I’m in love with you and I don’t know what to do.”

You do hear him, though you don’t believe it at first. Your hand is still resting over your heart, searching his face for any sign of teasing or dishonesty.

“H..did you just..?”

He’s looking down at his hands, fingers fiddling with one of the rings adorning his fingers, nodding before replying, “I did.” 

“How long?”

“Um..since the first week we’ve lived together? That first night we made dinner together and it was a disaster. Thought you were gonna catch the place on fire.” A giggle escapes him at the memory of you, rushing around the kitchen that night, face flushed red and hair a mess.

“That’s my moment? Almost burning our apartment down?”

“That and now, yeah. Just been strugglin’ with the best way to tell you. S’pose the wine’s making me a lil’ more fearless,'' He takes a deep breath, still not able to look at you in case he finds even a hint of rejection on your face, “But I understand if you don’t feel the same..”

“I do.”

His head snaps to look at you then, eyes widening for a second before he composes himself, “Really?”

You can’t stop the smile that blooms across your face at the sight of the thrill in his eyes. There’s a new buzz of elation in the air, but neither of you make a move at first. A pleasant tension fills the space between the two of you.

You break the silence, “So..what do we do now?”

“S’all up to you how fast and how far we take this. M’all in though, ready when you are, love. A cuddle might be nice while we finish the movie, if you’re up f’that.”

“I think I could handle that. I want something else first though.”

He’s trying to read your mind, thinks he knows exactly what it is, but he wants to hear you say it. Wants to hear the words he’s been waiting to hear for what feels like a lifetime now.

“Kiss me, Harry.”

You’ve already turned your body towards him; the movie, the food and the wine all long forgotten. He clears the space between the two of you easily, a hand on the side of your neck to add just enough pressure to pull you towards him.

Your lips crash against his, noses bumping at first but it doesn’t stop you, it only makes you crave him deeper and closer. You press your knees into his thighs, pushing yourself up so that you hover over him, your hair falling around his face. It’s still slightly damp from the shower, and his hand comes to rest on the back of your head now. 

There’s a smug look on his face when he pulls away, a hand still placed on your hip to hold you steady. He’s still breathless when he asks, “Did you use my shampoo?”

When you wake up in his bed the next morning, you question if last night was a mistake. You don’t regret it, not for a second, just wonder if maybe things will be different in the morning light. 

So when you barely touch the plate of eggs and toast he’s made for you for breakfast, he worries you’re having second thoughts about him, that he’s ruined any friendship you’ve already built by rushing into a relationship. 

So when you say, “Did you really mean what you said last night..about loving me?” He visibly relaxes, dropping his shoulders and beaming at you from across his own breakfast plate.

“Oh, darlin’,” He plucks a piece of uneaten toast from your plate, winking at you as he does, “You don’t know the half of it.” 

[bump1nthen1ght]

Deep Blue Sea (Shark Merman x Reader) Chapter 3

Pairing: Gender Neutral!Reader/Shark Merman

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Soulmate AU

Warnings: Slight mention of scars

Word Count: 3122 words

Summary: You and Cruz go for a morning swim in the reef

*Cross-posted to ao3*

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

That Friday, you stay up late, not drinking or binging a new Netflix special, but fruitlessly trying to decide between your athletic shorts are your more revealing swim bottoms. In a stroke of genius the only ever occurs to a person late at night, you wear the shorts over your swimsuit, topped off with a swim shirt.

With your water-proof swim bag, you sit at the tidepool and furtively lather your legs in sunscreen, waiting for Cruz.

Cruz swims up to the edge of the tidepool, pulling himself up and over the rocks before motioning you over.

“Okay, the cool stuff is just less than half of a klick away, I’ll be carrying you on my back the whole way, but some of it’s underwater. Would you-” Cruz stammers, “Would you mind if I took you down with me, to see it?”

You feel that involuntary smile creep up on you.

“I would love that.”

--------

It’s an odd sensation, sitting on Cruz’s back. You had worried yourself and all your gear would be too heavy, but Cruz barely seems to notice the extra weight. You're placed on the bottom of his torso, right before it connects into tail, but you can still feel it’s movements as he swims through the water. It feels almost like a python, muscles pulling and contracting, his arms reaching out occasionally for a large stroke to gain a temporary boost of speed. He’s not moving so fast that the wind or splashes of water hit your skin, but you can still feel the waves pushing over your feet and thighs. The view is breathtaking and you have a nice time looking at Cruz’s ripped back as well.

When you see some small rock outcroppings by the shore that Cruz stops and raises his head out of the water, adjusting you on his back like one would carry someone in a piggyback ride. The tips of his claws brush against your thighs. You are for sure blushing.

“We’re here. Do you remember the signals?”

You nod, responding with the Okay hand signal.

Apparently Cruz had self-taught himself scuba-diving signals, although he initially had thought they were limited to human “ocean-spies” trying to steal precious fish from the pod (“That’s what the older kids in my pod told me! Stop laughing!”). You yourself were a certified scuba diver, and had gone many times with your mother during college.

With a nod and a hand motion, you two submerge, a bloom of color all around you.

Your arms lang loosely around Cruz’s shoulders, chest pressed against his backside and legs hiked up around his hips to give him maximum mobility. A particular bright hydrocoral catches your eye amidst the rainbow, your heart leaping at the sight. You point urgently in it's direction, unintentionally clenching your legs in excitement. Cruz’s chest rumbles with a giggle, bubbles popping  through his mouth and gills. He shrugs his shoulder to bring your body closer to it.

The purple stretches across the rocks in circular bunches, with the occasional starfish interspersed in between. With a good look, you can see the tiny spines and tiny perforations on it’s surfaces. You tap Cruz’s shoulder and throw your thumb up.

Once out of water and properly breathing, you fingers tap eagerly against Cruz’s shoulder blades.

“Cool, right?”

“Yeah! I’ve never seen that kind of hydrocoral up close before. I’ve heard the California corals were beautiful but wow, those were gorgeous. And that patch was so big, it must be- I don’t even know how old! They grow extremely slow, you see, and because of excess-”” Your eyes glance over your shaky fingers, fidgeting and dancing across Cruz’s as the words fall out of your mouth. You forcibly still them. You gulp. “They don’t have those where I’m from. Sorry, I talk too much.” You force out a giggle.

You peel your fingertips away from Cruz, picking at your fingernails as your neck tints red. The heat makes you pull your arms into yourself and away from Cruz’s slick skin. Your thighs lock tight around his waist to stay on.

“Does it have a name?”

“They just call it California Purple Hydrocoral, since it’s so localized. Nothing too fancy, even though it’s so unique.” Typically, to calm yourself down, you fiddle with your clothing or whatever you have your hand on. With Cruz’s body so close by, your first compulsion is to trace shape alongside his back, map the muscle and bone’s topography. But just the idea of such intimacy sends your head in a swirl.”

“What makes them so unique? Just where they live?” Cruz playfully scoffs, “Because I’ve lived in one area for years and you don’t see me getting any trophies.” You chuckle, Cruz arching his neck to smirk at you.

“Well not not only are they super old, but most corals lose their color when they die and California Purple Hydrocorals don’t. The pigment is so deeply embedded in their skeleton, it remains even after they’re gone.” You float your eyes downwards towards the sea, in the direction where you get merely a glimpse of the bright purple mass. “It’s kind of their legacy, hence the name. That color is so intrinsic to what they are, not even death or time could take it from them.”

The water is cool and the sun is hot, beating down at the exposed skin on your neck and back while your feet mindlessly kick back and forth. Cruz’s muscles shift as he  turns his head farther back towards you. Your eyes are lost at sea, caught in the coral possibilities. There’s an absentminded smile on your face. It brings one to his.

“You’re really fun to talk to, ____.”

You’re snapped back into reality, eyes yanked out of the water and back to Cruz’s own. The inky black stares back, serious and focused.

“Wow, thank you. That’s very sweet of you to say Cruz.”

You avert your eyes in a polite gesture, rubbing the back of your neck. Cruz keeps staring. You can feel it tingling across your cheeks.

“I mean it. You’re really smart.”

“Oh, well, I just study a lot-”

“And-and you shouldn’t have to apologize when you get, y’know, into it.”

Cruz looks away, jaw clenched. “Not to anybody. Not to me, especially not to me, because you’re so-so….” He struggles with his words, chin shaking with unreleased energy, “You love it so much and that’s-you should be able to talk about it whenever. Because it makes you happy and any assholes out there shouldn’t ruin that for you, and I-” His chest heaves as he stutters, blue flushing his skin, “I-I like it, when you’re happy, I mean.” Cruz’s breaths are short and quick, his cerulean blush painting the back of his neck and crawling up to his ears. “Does that make sense?”

Words escape you at this moment, like Cruz sucked up all the energy in the moment. In a good way, he’s pulled the rug out from under you. Your eyes wander, brain turning over his words.

But Cruz can’t hear your inner thoughts, he can only feel your still muscles and the lull in the conversation.

“I-Shit, I didn’t mean-”

Your body jerks back to life as you lean over Cruz’s shoulder with a quick motion, eyes squinting in the middle distance. Cruz jerks.

“Cruz, submerge real quick!”

“What?”

You jerk your thumb down and shakily put on your goggles and snorkel with one hand. “Quick! It’s going to notice us!”

Cruz, befuddled, tightens his grip on your thighs and submerges. His head swivels back and forth, looking for what has gotten you so fussy. You extend both of your arms, pointing about 10 feet away, to the side of a bunch of coral. You then close your hands horizontally, interlocking your fingers into your signal.

Turtle!

Besides the small rock is a large Leatherback Turtle, blissfully unaware of the two creatures not too far from it, taking a leisurely swim. Your right arm wraps around Cruz’s clavicle as you lean over to get a better look, enchanted by her beautiful shell. Amidst the reef, she looks like a dolled up grandma, wrinkled and taking an afternoon continental in the garden.

Cruz ducks behind another rock as she swims closer, trying not to scare the turtle away. Your arm tightens around his shoulder, eyes never tearing from her.

You don’t notice, but Cruz feels himself falling deeper when he looks at the wonder in your gaze. Never before has he ever felt so jealous of a turtle.

She cruises along, Cruz dodging just out of her sight but close enough to give you a good view, all while giving you a spare breath whenever you gesture. As she swims back towards the open ocean, Cruz takes you both up and out of the water.

You whip off your goggles and snorkel, taking a long breathe in.

“That was- wow, that was incredible.”

“She was so pretty I didn’t think about eating her for like, forty percent of that time.”

You smack Cruz on the shoulder, but it’s light, half-joking, and an unflattering snort leaves you. Cruz shoots you a toothful smirk.

A light sea breeze rolls over you two, abating the hot sun, although just a bit. The water has thoroughly sunk into your swimsuit bottoms, pulling down with extra weight on your lower half, but you’ve never felt lighter.

In the tranquility, you rest your front on Cruz’s back, head now tucked into the nook of  his shoulder. The smell of salt and a slight tang of fish immediately washes your nostrils. Cruz’s shoulders and deltoids stiffen for a millisecond and slowly relax in another.

“Hey, Cruz?” You whisper, almost mumble into his skin.

“Y-yeah?”

“Thanks.”

----------

Your muscles slightly ache from the long swim this morning, and  boardwalk food is the perfect level of unhealthy to abade it for a bit.

As you walk back to the tidepool, arms cluttered with overpriced boardwalk food, Cruz’s eyes light up. You struggle to sit down easily, but manage to crouch down to Cruz’s level, motoning for him to grab the hotdog from the crook of your elbow.

He does, but Cruz’s eyes are locked on the two Cotton Candies which you hold in a tight grip; The water laps at your ankles and you don’t want the $7 you spent to go to waste.

“Trust me, this will be best after a full meal. Don’t want you getting nauseous.” Cruz lets out a facetious, over-dramatic sigh, but with one bite of a hot dog, his eyes alight once more. He devours the thing quickly, almost with one gulp, whipping his head around to the cotton candy. He wiggles his eyebrows and you sigh, motioning for him to come closer.

Cruz seats himself up on the rock next you, pupils sparkling as you hand him the cotton candy stick. He takes a large bite and is immediately overwhelmed by the sweetness and how quickly the sugar melts in his mouth.

“Is that supposed to happen?”

You chuckle, taking a much tinier bite out of your own cotton candy.

“Yes, it is. It dissolves in liquid, hence the ‘no water’ thing.” Cruz nods, spun sugar strings stuck to his lips as he attacks the cotton candy like a toddler. You smile, taking another bite.

The two of you continue to snack in silence. The end of Cruz’s tail flicks back and forth, stirring tiny ripples in the pool, extremely cute and reminiscent of an excited dog. After licking away the rest of your cotton candy, you lean over to the trash bag to drop off your paper stick. It’s then do you see them.

With your face up close to Cruz’s tail, you notice lines of discoloration, streaks of white, which pepper Cruz’s tail. Your eye catches one, then another, and another. By the time you pull back, you notice quite a few all near his pelvic fins, the tip of a larger one stretching to the bottom side of his tail.

Holy shit. How did I not notice those?

On the side of his tail, three marks stand out to you. Their pink, freshly healed, and rake along his skin for 2 inches.

“Uh, Cruz?”

“Yemf?” He asks, amidst another big bite of cotton candy.

“Did you accidentally cut yourself on some coral?”

About 20 pieces of coral, technically?

Cruz hesitates mid bite, sweet spun sugar and some sort of excuse on the tip of his tongue.

“What do you mean?” Cruz’s voice, same octave, is somehow quieter, devoid of emotion.

“It’s just, you have all these marks on your tail and…” You pull back and turn your back to him. Cruz averts his gaze, but the look he gives his tail is frustrated and simmering. “I got worried, that’s all.”

“They’re nothing, it’s nothing. You wouldn’t understand.” His intonation, like his furrowed brow, bristles with a hostile energy. You turn your whole body towards him, now a bit peeved yourself.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I said it’s not a big deal. I just did something stupid, went somewhere I shouldn’t have. That’s it.” Cruz still refuses to meet your gaze, knuckles clenched white around the cotton candy stick. Your eyes dart back to the littered scars.

Who did this to him? Was it those mermaids I saw?

“Does that happen often? Wouldn’t your pod-”

“Can we just fucking drop it? It doesn’t matter anyway.” Cruz bites back, almost a yell but not quite. Your eyebrows furrow.

“Well it matters to me. If you’re getting hurt then-”

“Then what? Why the fuck does it matter if I get a few scrapes now and again, why do you even care, huh?” Cruz’s glare burrows into your skin, you can feel your eyes go wide. Something deep, something heated and bitter, stirs in your gut.“You don’t have to do anything. Just because we’re soulmates doesn’t mean you have to pretend shit. I’m not so pathetic that you have to force yourself to-”

“Can you stop putting words in my mouth for one fucking minute!” This time, you actually do scream, which echoes off the water and the rocks. Cruz’s eyes widened, stopped in the middle of his tirade. Whatever burns inside boils over, released in hot breathes and the steam under your skin.

“Is it so hard to believe that I might care about you?” Your voice cracks with lost breath and the fast pounding of your heart. You pinch the bridge of your nose and with a deep inhale and exhale, you continue.

“My whole life, people have expected this one thing of me, and I spent so long doing everything I could to be the exact opposite. But I want-” You gesture your hands to yourself and Cruz, “-this. I want to get to know you, I want to hang out and eat expensive seafood and talk about bullshit! But I can’t do that if you won’t talk to me.” You take a deep breath, Cruz not even taking the moment to jump in. “And I get that it’s hard, that we don’t know each other yet. But I want to trust you. I want you to trust me.”

A wave breaks against a rock, the noises drowned out  in the chasm of Cruz’s gaze and the beating of your heart. You can’t read the emotions on his face, what with a thousand thoughts flitting across it and the emotion welling in your eyes. The smell of brine seeps into your skin. You tuck your hands into your elbows, hoping that will stop their shaking.

“I just-”

“I-”

You both pause, caught in the middle of your thoughts. Cruz sputters.

“Sorry, I interrupted you, you can go.”

“No, no you can go.”

There’s another pause, each of you waiting for the other to go. Cruz finally steps up.

“I’m sorry for accusing you. I was making assumptions and-, and that’s not fair to you.” He expounds in one quick breathem sucking another in before continuing. “Since we met I’ve  been….going through some stuff and I think I wanted to let it out. But I shouldn’t-I shouldn’t have, not on you, not for shit that’s not even remotely your fault, damn it.”  Cruz laments, pressing his face into his hands. He takes a deep breath in, then out, and pulls his hands away. “I’m sorry.” He sighs again, scratching nervously behind his ears.

You let the sentence hang in the air a bit, trying to consolidate your mind and think hard about what to say. It’s far from easy, trying to find the words and express them properly. But it feels good. It feels right, cathartic almost.

“Thank you. And you don’t have to tell me everything if you don’t want to. We can take our time with all….this.” You untuck your hands and wave towards the air. Cruz laughs and this time, it actually settles the butterflies in your stomach. “I just want you to know that I’m here for you, whether to talk it out or even distract for a bit.”

Cruz hums in agreement, rubbing his fingers over his knuckles.

“Thanks, for that. And I-I’ll be here for you too, i-if you need it. I mean, you know where to find me.” You giggle, a bubble of exhaustion popping out of your mouth as Cruz joins you. You feel infinitely lighter. A wave brushes against your ankle, the ocean slowly eroding the thick stress in the air.

Cruz and you stand about 1 foot apart from each other, your leftovers discarded in the plastic bag by your side. Cruz fidgets with his fingers some more, eyes glancing back and forth between you and the rocks.

“Can I….Can I hold your hand?” Cruz murmurs.

You don’t respond, just nodding and lifting out your hand. Cruz slips his in.

His skin is damp, slightly cold, and he relishes in the heat of your palm. His fingers dwarf yours as they intertwine, his long claws just barely grazing your skin, careful not to actually cut the back of your hand. You brush your thumb over his knuckles and up his palm. His hands are soft, although his palms are dotted by small calluses. Cruz scoots closer to you, both of you looking out at the ocean. With a full belly and your muscles still quite sore, you rest your head on Cruz’s shoulder. You feel his muscles tense to jerk away, but they forcibly relax as he grips your palm tight. You rub his knuckles once more.

It may not be much, but it’s a start. And you think you quite like where it is heading.

[poodlejoonas]

Dad!BC AU - before and after

Because I’m feeling so soft tonight, I wanna share my thoughts on the guys before and after they become dads. Everyone knows that kids change people, but sometimes the change is nice and wholesome. 

I blame Joel and his sentimental edgy ass for that post on Instagram earlier.

(Under the read-more for length)

As the first dad of the group, Joonas was terrified of what the change would bring for him and Kirsten. He knew he would make his mistakes and he dreaded the day they would come. He was afraid that he was too immature to be a father - he read the comments online about him as a punk, about his Danish girlfriend who could barely read the hate comments written about her, and about their baby and how so many people “wished the poor girl luck” in dealing with a childish father like him. On top of that, Kirsten’s parents were begging her to leave Finland and him so they could help raise Sohvi because they thought they could do a better job than him. He was motivated to become the best dad he could be to prove them all wrong, but also to give his daughter the best life she deserved. He admits to his mistakes in the early days of fatherhood - he knows he should have been kinder to Kirsten when she was struggling mentally as a new mom.

Years later, with their third child on the way, the first two are a little bit older and they adore the hell out of their dad. Sohvi loves music like him and unapologetically stands her ground on the things she believes in. Lukas is a cannonball of a personality who loves the ice and playing hockey as much as his cousin Enkka. And the youngest of the Porkos, Jakob (aka “Jaska”) grows up to enjoy the softer things in life - reading, baking, knitting, and cuddling on a lazy day. Even through his busy schedule, he makes time to make memories with each of them in a way that matters to them - jamming out with Sohvi, skating with Lukas, and reading bedtime stories to Jaska. They all take his punk attitude, the very thing that many people used to discount his abilities to raise one child, let alone three. His family is perfect, and he realizes now that he had nothing to fear when he held his daughter for the first time.

--

Joel had never given the thought of a family of his own much consideration. He was too busy being a rock star and conquering the world, and he was afraid of what the change after having a kid would look like for him. He wanted to be happy for Joonas when he told the group in Rotterdam that he was going to be a dad, but he was afraid of losing his best friend to an uncertain future. He grew to love his niece, after some time and a little bit of effort on his part, but he still thought they just weren’t for him.

When he went out on a blind date with Emilia Peltonen months later, he wasn’t expecting it to go anywhere from there. But she gave him a second chance, and a third, and so on, until they were finally living together. Milli finally asked him what he thought of the idea of having kids, and he thought he needed “some time” to think on it. It took him all of about 12 hours to make up his mind, but they waited almost a full year before they were finally successful. In that time, he asked her to marry him, regardless of whether a baby would even come along. Still, he had his doubts about his own abilities to give his son a happy life - he was impatient and snappy, his mental health would fall apart some days, he was never the most affectionate person. And yet, none of that matters to little Viktor; Joel is his idol and, in his mind, he’s the coolest guy on Earth and he wants to be just like him someday. He teaches Enkka to skate and fosters his love for hockey and music. When Enkka needs a hug, either when he’s sleepy or he just woke up from a bad dream, he knows his dad will be there to catch him. So many people love to see that he went from being a dark edgelord online with a pessimistic sense of humor, to being the best dad and husband of their group whose public presence is covered with the signs of his pride in his family. Joel’s transformation surprised so many people, but the change was a welcome sight.

--

(TW: mention of miscarriage)

Niko wanted to be a dad from the beginning. When he dated Jenna in high school, the hopeless romantic in him dreamed of their little family and the future they would build together. He was devastated when they went their separate ways, thanks to their very different paths in life. He gave up on his dream of their little ones, until they crossed paths again. He knew he would be a fool to give up his second chance. He was overjoyed to learn that Jenna was pregnant with their first child; unlike the first two dads, he had no fears in the back of his mind that he would be a good one. As soon as he stepped into his house, he turned off the rock star Niko the world sees, and became Leevi’s dad and Jenna’s husband with every ounce of his being.

They made a promise to each other: when Leevi says his first word, it’s time for baby number two. Blissfully unaware of his parents’ plan to give him a sibling, Leevi watched Rommi walk by and blurted out his first word: kissa! Within two months, they were expecting their daughter to round out their little family. Lahja Rose was born the next February, two weeks past her original due date. Her father was a little heartbroken - she was supposed to be born on his birthday, hence the name Lahja (“gift”). But he was happy to finally have his little Rose to pay tribute to his favorite film (even if people made their fair share of jokes about it). They hit their first real snag as a family when, between 6 and 11 months, Lahja lived with on/off inner ear infections. Her parents did everything they could to help relieve her pain, eventually opting for surgery to fix it. Niko was a wreck for the full five months, refusing to leave his family’s side and being more than willing to fight anyone who disrespected his decision to have privacy with his family. Niko helped Jenna through the painful process of losing what would have been their third child. They mourned, they healed, and they decided that they were at peace just having their two.

--

Olli wanted to be a dad, but he was terrified when he learned he had two on the way. Kaarina wanted to laugh at his adorkable response to the news - “count them again” - but she knew his fears were valid. She’d known this man since they were children, and his response to the news was typical of him as an anxious mess under his cool and seemingly collected personality. Her fears were the same; after all, she had no idea what changes were to come for her health. But both girls had a hold on his heart long before they were even born. Olli was willing to do anything to make Riina and the twins feel comfortable until their arrival a week before Christmas. The moment Elina was placed in his arms and he saw the way Elisabet fit in Riina’s, he wondered where those fears even belonged now.

Well... just a little more than three months later, when he was convinced he’d gotten his wife pregnant again, Olli was rightfully scared shitless. He loved his girls, but he couldn’t have three kids before the first two even celebrated their first birthday. Having narrowly dodged that nightmare, he took all the next steps to ensure that it never happened again. He was happy with his two, and so was Riina. The Matelas spend their summers at their beach home, the twins developing as much of a love for the ocean as him. They wear the best coordinated outfits - but not matching though, Olli and Riina want them to maintain their own personality outside of being twins. He’s more than happy to let them put a tiara on him and invite him to their “garden tea party” in their shared room. It was tough at first, but he soon became a master of carrying one in each arm while they felt tall and safe with him. But he can be a bit strict with them sometimes; he loves them, but he doesn’t want them to follow in his footsteps as a rock star. He knows it can be difficult and fun, but he doesn’t want his daughters to fall victim to the lifestyle. And yet, Elisabet was determined to forge her own path in music, while Elina took to the ice like Lukas and Enkka as a figure skater. There was no use in trying to stifle their dreams. Olli’s proud of his girls, and he’s always wanted them to be happy.

--

Tommi’s family came pre-started. He was introduced to Marja Oksanen, a single mom to a young son who escaped a dangerous relationship with the father of her child. She was afraid that learning about her son would drive him away, that he wouldn’t bother with a single mom if she couldn’t put their relationship first. But Tommi loved this woman already, and someday he was sure he would love her son. He had his reasons to be wary around the boy since he’d never had a father figure in his life (outside of his Uncle Niko for the year or so that Marja and Miikka lived with him and Jenna). He let Miikka accept him first, and he waited for his cue before he grew into his role as his step-dad.

He readily agreed when Marja asked him if he wanted a baby with her (or “another cub” to fit the bear theme they adopted for their family). Tommi would have been happy to have several cubs with her. But when her pregnancy with Anna left her on constant bed rest and their daughter was born a month earlier than she should have, he couldn’t put her through that stress again. Marja’s health mattered more than the thought of a large family. Besides, he was more than happy with “Baby Bear” (Miikka) and “Cub” (Anna), because despite the fact that Miikka was not his son by birth, he was his son by love. And he was willing to defend that from anyone who dares to insult their family dynamic. Tommi is a master of being a dad; his energy calms both kids down when they’re stressed or in need of some love and understanding. It’s not an uncommon sight to see him with one on either side of him as the three of them relax in his recliner. So many people know Tommi as a man with a tough exterior, who doesn’t let his emotions show, doesn’t talk much, and doesn’t garner much attention in a room. But Tommi with his children is a different person altogether. He shares a side of him that belongs to his family.

--

As the last to become a dad, Aleksi had a wealth of experience to rely on when he needed help with his son. He made the difficult decision to voluntarily become a single dad when his ex-girlfriend Laila expressed zero desire to become a mother. He endured so much stress and heartache in the process, from Laila dragging him in the media over his decision to announce the pregnancy to being banned from Noah’s birth altogether. He first laid eyes on Noah when he was just under an hour old, having only been held by the nurses who prepared him to meet his father. He spared no expense in spending two nights in the hospital with him in a suite, even when Laila had long checked out and left without saying goodbye to either of them.

He felt a twinge of shame when he accepted help from Joonas in taking care of his son. He wanted to do it by himself and prove that he could be a good dad alone. But having a village of friends behind him helped ease him into everything that fatherhood would throw at him. When Noah is diagnosed on the autism spectrum when he’s three, Aleksi immediately learns everything he can to understand his son better. He becomes his biggest defender when people try to push him out of his comfort zone, telling him that they can respect his decision to wear his noise-cancelling headphones when he needs them or they can leave both of them alone. He learns sign language to communicate with Noah whenever he goes mute and he shows solidarity when Noah stims in public. He stays out of the dating scene for years to stop a revolving door of strangers from coming around his son who is shy around new people and lives with separation anxiety from losing his mother at a young age. But Hanna Laaksonen was the perfect exception, as a child psychologist with a Master’s degree in early childhood development. The rest of his friends watched as Aleksi fell in love with her and as Noah began to call her Mom. Still, Aleksi always put Noah first, the same as he always had, and Hanna respected that fact.

[arcadianambivalence]

My (Exhaustive) Thoughts on the 2021 West Side Story Adaptation - 3/3

Here is the third and final part to my exhaustive thoughts (part review, part analysis) on the new adaptation of the classic 1957 musical.  If you haven’t yet, please read part one and part two.

I have placed the review under a cut for anyone who hasn’t seen any version of the musical and doesn’t want to be spoiled.

[spoilers ahead]

On the other side of town, Maria is blissfully unaware that her brother is dead by her boyfriend’s hand.  Around her, her coworkers are discussing what they’ll do when their apartment building is knocked down to make room for gentrified housing.  It’s a continuation of the concepts brought up in “America” and yet another reminder of the future of this community.

Head in the clouds, Maria breaks into “I Feel Pretty,” which gives the audience some relief from the doom and gloom of the rest of the movie, but it is still as uncomfortably ironic as it is in the original stage show.  

Then Chino arrives with the news, and any hopes he had of Maria commiserating with him in grief are shattered when she asks about what happened to Tony.  

Exit Chino, enter Act Three antagonist.

(I jest.)

A Word on Chino

The changes made to Chino were very well done, despite the fact that he is has such limited screen time.  

He is introduced as a self-conscious man trying to further his education and build a career for himself, then in the gym scene he gains confidence from his friendship with Bernardo and possible romance with Maria only for that to fly out the window when Maria is clearly interested in someone else.  

When he shows up at the fight, he expects to be able to help Bernardo, but instead he feels responsible for letting Bernardo’s murderer into the warehouse.  During the fight, he doesn’t even hurt anyone, just rocks Bernardo’s lifeless body and looks around in horror, which is a humane response, but one that doesn’t fit the idea of who he wants to be.  Only when he sees the gun does Chino believe he has the means to do something for his community, for Bernardo’s memory, and for himself.  

Then Maria learns of the rumble and first asks about Tony.  So not only is Chino’s best friend dead, not only does he feel responsible, not only is a future with Maria out of the question, but no one that he encounters for the rest of the film grieves Bernardo the way he does, and that’s the last straw.

Forgiveness?

Maria arrives home to see Tony climbing through the window and rushes at him and hits him uselessly until she collapses in tears.  (What other reaction can there be?  No, really, the ballet music has already been used!)  

Again, I’ve seen some criticism—generally from first-time viewers—that she forgives Tony very quickly.  Pay attention to the passage of time, though.  She’s gone the entire train ride home knowing that Tony killed Bernardo.  She’s going from the initial shock (“Chino, liar!”) to sadness and finally to anger when she returns to the apartment only to see Tony in her window.  He says he just had to see her one more time before he goes to the police.  

Now let’s break her situation down: she is an eighteen year old young woman who has somewhat recently arrived to the U.S. from Puerto Rico.  At some point in her childhood, her older brother left to live in America, and she took on a role of responsibility for her father (“I’ve looked out for Papi since I was six”).  Later, she leaves her home (her father is dead, presumably) to live with her brother and his significant other, but her brother is much changed.  He tries to control her life, which he thinks will protect her, but after her childhood without him, this feels like an insult to Maria.  Anita and Bernardo are both pushing Chino at Maria, and Maria is not interested—but she does love Tony, though the only way for her to be with him is in secret.  Despite knowing his past experience with gang life, she pushes Tony to meet up with his former gang to stop the fight.  After her night shift, she’s supposed to spend the night with Tony (and likely have sex), but instead Chino says that Tony killed Bernardo.  This is not only the devastating loss of her seemingly invincible brother.  Now for the immediate practicalities: Anita and Maria will lose their apartment the moment they can’t turn two incomes into three, so they won’t have a place to live.  Then the urban renewal project will take away the apartment building and divide up Maria’s remaining friend group—if they’ll have her after this.  And now the guy she loves, the guy she had hoped ever so briefly to spend the rest of her life with (she even kneeled down before God and said her wedding vows with him), is going to jail for the rest of his life.  Because (in her mind) she made him go.

She’s about to lose two of most important people in her life in one day.  Of course Maria begs him to stay and not turn himself in.  But she doesn’t forgive him, not immediately.

I’ve also seen people express surprise that Tony and Maria sleep together, claiming it doesn’t happen in the 1961 movie.  

Honey, they sleep together in all versions of this story.

Somewhere

Across the neighborhood, Valentina learns that Tony, whom she looks after like her own child, has descended back into the gang world they had tried so hard to get him out of.  Alone in the shop, she looks at the picture of her with her deceased husband (the Tony and Maria before Tony and Maria) and sings a plaintive version of “Somewhere.”  It’s sad and lonely and...

...I don’t like this directorial decision.  

Sorry.  

Sorry.  

Sorry.  I have this complaint about the stage version, too.  This song is about Tony and Maria—and Tony and Maria should be the ones singing it.  The third act of this movie (roughly translating to act two of the musical) is so devoid of singing, as if song represents hope, that only Tony and Maria should be allowed to sing, because they’re the only ones with some hope.  It would also mean that Maria has the line “we’ll find a way of forgiving,” thus acknowledging Tony’s murder of Bernardo.  This makes their faltering attempt to sing together again in the finale more poignant.  

And while we’re on the subject, the song they sing at the end has to be “Somewhere,” not “Tonight.”  “Somewhere,” because there is nowhere for them—and for that reprise to work, they have to be the ones to sing the original song.

But I digress.

A Boy Like That

The lovers are woken by the sound of police sirens and Anita’s return.  Before Tony can escape unseen, Anita enters the room (because there are no locks on the bedroom doors, and up until now, there has been little concern for Maria’s privacy).  Recognizing Tony, Anita slaps Maria across the face and storms into “A Boy Like That.”  (There’s quite a lot of slapping in this movie, come to think of it.)  Maria retaliates with “I Have a Love,” a song that soars from anger to understanding.

(I’d like to think that this scene is what got them each a Golden Globe)

This film makes great use of its scale and sets, from the kicked up dust in the ramshackle building in “Cool” to the hand-holding through the balcony rails in “Tonight,” and this scene is no exception.  As the argument continues, the women move through the various sheets and fabric hanging around the apartment, ripping away all their defenses until they reach the bedroom that Bernardo and Anita shared.  Surrounded by the reminders of her love for Bernardo, Anita recognizes how deeply Maria feels for Tony.  

MARIA: Can you ever forgive him?

ANITA: You can never ask me that.

MARIA: Can you ever forgive me?

This new exchange is important, not just because it shows how Anita and Maria are feeling in that moment, but also because Anita doesn’t explicitly forgive Tony (or Maria, for that matter).

Then Schrank Arrives

But before the two can part on somewhat friendly terms, Schrank shows up to question Maria.  This scene is fantastically suspenseful.  Maria tries to play clueless, but each half-truth she gives only leads to Schrank asking even more specific questions.  He also rankles whenever the women speak Spanish, responding with the familiar “Speak English!” refrain and reacting with suspicion when Maria speaks English fluently.

Meanwhile, Schrank circles the apartment like he owns the place and peaks into Maria’s bedroom.  Why is this so alarming?  It’s not just the invasion of privacy.  When Tony left the apartment before “A Boy Like That,” he didn’t take his jacket with him.  That jacket must still be in the room.

When it comes out that Chino has a gun, Anita turns on the sewing machine and starts frantically working, drawing Schrank’s attention away from Maria so she can process this new information.  

Adding to the palpable tension in this scene, Schrank reveals that he knows enough Spanish to understand Maria when she tells Anita to go to Doc’s Drug Store in her stead, feigning period cramps.

Schrank dismisses Anita with “You’re not Bernardo’s widow or anything, so I’m done with you.”  Ouch.  In an earlier scene, Anita makes a comment that she won’t marry Bernardo until he leaves the Sharks, implying that he has proposed at least once in the five years they’ve been together.  

Five years, and she’s not even given the respect of a grieving widow.

Schrank still has his blind spots, though.  When he tries to get Maria to corroborate the other testimonies, he refers to Chino as someone who “goes by the street name Chino.”  Unfortunately for everyone, he is partially correct.

That Scene

When Anita goes to Doc’s Drug Store in Maria’s stead, she is confronted with hostile Jets who harass her.  The insults start off basic, like “This is America.  Speak English!”

(This comment is another example of why there shouldn’t be English subtitles for the Spanish.  This is what I think Spielberg was getting at when he said subtitles would give English power over the Spanish.)

Then the insults become overtly racist and sexual.  Even Graziella, Riff’s girlfriend (and Tony’s implied ex-something) switches gears here.  Graziella tries to stand up for Anita, but the Jets shove her aside and lock her out of the building along with the rest of the Jet girls.  (For the rest of the scene, Graziella and two other Jet girls can be seen through the front door).  

This is one of a few moments unique to this movie that show how the characters are able to see past cultural and racial divisions.  The Jet girls try to protect Anita because they also identify as women and understand where the scene is going.  There’s an earlier moment before the rumble where Tony gets stuck outside the salt warehouse until he’s helped by Chino, of all people, because only together can they lift the weight.  Tony and Maria aren’t be the only characters to connect, but they are the only young characters who make the continued effort to value what unites them over what separates them.

The attack on Anita is mercifully interrupted by Valentina’s arrival.  Shaken, Anita announces that Chino shot Maria, and she wants Valentina, Tony’s employer and protector (who has up until now served as a bridge between the two communities), to be the one to tell Tony.  Anita denounces Valentina as a traitor and takes up Bernardo’s stance as a proud Puerto Rican.

The decision to put Rita Moreno in Doc’s role deepens the themes of personal identity versus community in this movie, and it’s the inclusion of bits of dialogue like this that prove that.  Tony and Maria are far from the only characters wanting a different life, one free from the hatred espoused by the Jets and Sharks, and they’re far from the only ones whose lives are ruined by it.  This isn’t simply a musical about two lovers, it’s a musical about communities destroyed by poverty, prejudice, gentrification, and a lack of protection from the societal structures that are most capable of giving it.

It’s the tragedy of a community.

Finale

Downstairs, Tony is packing his bags.  With his brown jacket missing (hello, continuity!), he dons the black jacket he wore to the dance.  He excitedly babbles his gratitude to Valentina (“we’ll name all our girls after you!”) and asks if she can spot him for the bus fare out of town (he wasn’t kidding when he told Maria he was poor).  

He also says something interesting.  I don’t remember the exact words here, but they’re along the lines of how life and love are the same thing, even if it lasts no time at all.  Tony recognizes that this relationship is moving very fast, that maybe Maria won’t be with him forever once they get out of the city.  Tony and Maria could be together two days or two lifetimes—it doesn’t make one love less meaningful than the other for those who experience it.

Then Valentina breaks the news to Tony, and he is distraught.  Like during the rumble, his impetuous nature comes out, and no words from Valentina are enough to keep him there.  He tears through the empty and demolished streets, calling for Chino to kill him.  

There are so many great little details that go into making this moment so powerful, at least to me.  For one, there’s no music, so all you hear is the pounding of Tony’s feet on the pavement and the way his voice shakes when he yells “Come and get me too, Chino!”  Next, there’s a creepy blue cast to the deserted street.  Finally, Anybodys shows up to try to hide Tony…and Anybodys is supposed to be following Chino, so that tells us Chino is near before we even see him emerge from the rubble of a building.

Then Tony’s expression changes as we hear a new set of footsteps on the street.  It’s Maria, grinning and lugging a suitcase as fast as she can.  She’s wearing blue, a Jet color, because she’s siding with him.  Before the two can embrace, though, Chino shoots Tony twice.  His white shirt blooms red.

He only has time to collapse in Maria’s arms, the smile of relief still on his face, before he dies.  Maria holds her hand out for the gun, which a stunned Chino willingly gives, and makes a move to shoot him and everyone else, “And still have one bullet left for me.”  

But the chamber is empty, and she has failed—failed to get out, failed to stop the fighting, and failed to stay above hatred herself.  There is nothing left to do but wait to be parted from Tony’s body.  

The Jets and Sharks intermingle to carry Tony’s body like that of a war hero out of the street, giving him the honors they couldn’t give Riff and Bernardo.  Maria follows like a widow.

Finally, there’s just Valentina and Chino—Chino, who had started off with perhaps the best chance of anyone to get away from all this.  Valentina holds the gun and walks Chino to the approaching police, the last tragedy in a series of tragedies. 

Conclusion

And that’s it.  That’s West Side Story.  All the feel-good moments at the beginning, then one emotional gut-punch after another by the end.  It’s Romeo and Juliet with only a tinge of catharsis.  

The two gangs don’t resolve their conflict and decide to dedicate the rest of their lives to bringing unity to the neighborhood—sooner or later, there won’t be a neighborhood.  In fact, only a few of the Jets and Sharks are there.  Do the other Jets take Valentina’s words to heart and turn their lives around?  Or do they continue to get worse?  What about the Sharks, who had once been protectors from violence, but now have a part in continuing the cycle?  The future is as large and desolate as the rest of the condemned neighborhood.

Starting in the late 1950s, San Juan Hill was emptied and demolished to make space for the Lincoln Center, a development for the arts not accessible to the working class families who once lived there.  It’s an old story of displacement and gentrification that continues today.

One of the hurdles this movie faced at the box office was the ability for an audience to access the film.  Movie tickets are expensive, and the typical movie-goer for musicals like this falls in a demographic vulnerable to the coronavirus.  Broadway shows have reopened and shut down again.  Cinemas have struggled to ride the waves of variants and crowds.  Most of us are disillusioned and uneasy about a future that seems as bleak as the past years.  

In times of change and the unfamiliar, people can get entrenched in their differences.  What was originally a late 1940′s tale of tensions between Catholic and Jewish families in the East Side became the classic musical of gang violence and prejudice in the late 1950′s.  Several decades later, the same prejudices and inequalities persist.  Little wonder that this musical was chosen for a new adaptation.  If anything, it seemed the perfect moment for a reminder of how fear and hate destroy the most vulnerable in society.  

Then 2020 and 2021 happened, and the expected demographic for musicals, dramas, and historical movies like this one tightened their belts and closed their wallets to non-essential excursions to the movies.  Why watch another reminder of how much people suck and have always sucked, anyway?  Why risk getting sick for a movie when the 1961 version is a click away?

So it hasn’t made back its budget in the box office, despite largely positive reviews and multiple awards and nominations.  But when it’s time for this movie to be available on streaming or DVD, who knows?  Maybe it will reach a larger audience, one who needs to see it as much as I did last December when I masked up and saved up and saw it in theaters.  

Seeing one of my favorite musicals based on one of my favorite Shakespeare plays on the big screen brought back memories of when I was a kid wearing out my CD of the Broadway cast recording and VHS, and later DVD, of the 1961 adaptation.  Only, I didn’t watch it and relate to Maria’s hope and Tony’s expectation that something’s coming, something good.  Instead, I related to Valentina.  I saw the kids and young adults destroyed and abandoned by larger, apathetic or antagonistic forces.  I saw them grow up and grow mean, and looking around at the world today, I see the same thing, which is why I hope that this movie’s audience grows.  

There’s a time for West Side Story.  That time is now.