#i will admit i do not fully recall things from before i was 5. but i do have some vague memories. i KNOW Part of Your World was the...

[arolesbianism]

Despite how much I suffered making my last isat au Aris sprite redraw, I decided to do it again and once again went through hell doing it. There’s like a billion mistakes in this (such as her having the wrong arm rip) but at the end of the day I’m still happy with how it turned out :]

[lilac-melody]

Hm hm~

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Summary: Thanksgiving brings back memories of happier times, and all you want is to recreate the past. But when those plans go awry, Eddie--and Harris, of course--are there to help you look forward to the future.

Warnings: mentions of Eddie's parents, brief familial conflict, Reader's grandma has dementia, most of this chapter is fluffy tbh

WC: 6.8k

Chapter 8/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @vexed-n-hexed Divider credit to @saradika

Thanksgiving, 1975

The sound of the kitchen timer beeping draws nine-year-old Eddie Munson’s attention from the television set. The local news network had been replaying the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on a loop. It was now the third time that Eddie had watched Santa Claus make his way into Herald Square in a comically oversized sleigh, but he couldn’t get enough of it. The colorful balloons that hovered over the crowd, the marching bands playing in perfect unison, the feeling of excitement in the air—it was palpable all the way from his new home in Hawkins, Indiana. 

“Dinner’s ready,” Wayne announces, grabbing the worn mitt off of the counter and pulling two TV dinners from the oven. “‘S not much, but at least we got turkey and mashed potatoes,” he bashfully adds. 

Eddie nods, trying to walk without taking his eyes off of the screen. 

Wayne’s bushy brows pinch together as he watches his nephew. “You always get this into the parade?” he asks. 

“Never seen it before,” Eddie says softly. His parents had had a TV for a couple of years until they’d pawned it, but he doesn’t recall ever watching a parade. “Pretty cool.”

“We can keep it on while we eat, if ya want,” Wayne tells him, smiling when he sees the boy’s face light up. He places the plastic trays on the snack table and heads back to grab forks. “Ya got a favorite balloon? I’m partial to Snoopy, if y’ask me.”

Eddie nods, still transfixed on the TV. “Yeah, Snoopy’s good. I like him.” He takes the utensil from Wayne’s outstretched hand, absentmindedly dipping it in the congealed mashed potatoes. He pauses for a beat before bringing it to his lips. “Do I have to go back?”

“Hm?” Wayne mumbles, too focused on his own food to fully hear him. 

“Do I have to go back with them when they get out?” Eddie repeats, keeping his voice low and training his gaze on the floor. “‘Cause I like it better here. With you. ‘S nice and quiet.”

There’s a lurch in Wayne’s chest at Eddie’s request. “Technically, I only have ya till your folks are sprung,” he admits, scratching a nail against the table, “but I can talk to a lawyer or somethin’ about keeping you here longer. Only if you want,” he adds. 

“I wanna stay here,” Eddie confirms, spearing a pale turkey slice and popping it in his mouth without any attempt to cut it. “If it’s okay with you. I can sleep on the cot an’ you can take your bed back.”

Wayne shakes his head. “Room’s yours, Ed.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t wanna promise you that the courts will agree to it, but I’m gonna try my damndest to keep you safe.” And it’s true. He’ll work double overtime at the plant if it’ll cover legal fees. When the social worker dropped Eddie off last week, Wayne had no idea how either of them would adjust. But aside from a few growing pains—like having to shave his nephew’s head when they’d discovered he’d had lice—things seemed to be alright. 

“I, um, I wrote something at school yesterday,” Eddie pipes up, traipsing to his backpack and pulling out a sheet of paper. In his sloppy, boyish handwriting is written:

I am thankful for my Uncle Wayne because he takes care of me. He’s really nice and he works hard and he doesn’t mind that I listen to loud music. He also lets me feed my dinner scraps to the stray dogs in his trailer park. My Uncle Wayne is the best. I hope he’s thankful for me, too. 

Wayne feels his throat constrict, and he clears it before Eddie can catch on. “‘Course I’m thankful for ya, Ed,” he manages. He reaches out to put his hand on his nephew’s back, flinching when the boy jerks away nervously. Eddie’s reflex to defend himself rather than embrace touch stirs up a reserved anger Wayne didn’t know he had, and he wills himself to simmer down before his nephew can sense it, lest he think he’s angry at him.  

He slowly brings his hand to the couch cushion, careful not to make too much noise. We’ll get there, he thinks as the parade starts up for a fourth time. We’ll get there. 

Thanksgiving, 1978

Ten years old is a strange age. 

Too old to play with the little kids, but too young to hang around the teenagers or adults. You’re just kind of…there, like a piece of furniture that everyone absently walks around. This hiss of beer cans opening is barely audible over the men shouting at the football game on TV. You don’t know who’s playing, and you don’t really care, but it’s the only place you feel like you’ll be out of the way. Taking a seat on the floor, you remain there generally unnoticed until one of your uncles calls out your name.

“Couldja get me a refill?” Uncle Tim slurs, shaking his empty can of Bud Light to emphasize his request. Before you can respond, he throws a, “thanks, kid” and goes back to yelling at the football players.

It’s not like they can hear you through the screen, you snidely think, but you keep your comment to yourself as you pad into the kitchen. A collection of spices tickles your nose, the mixture of cloves and garlic and thyme and rosemary warming the room. You rummage through the refrigerator until you feel someone bump up against you.

“What are you doing in there?” Your aunt asks, disapproval carving her already sharp features. Her gaze drops to the can in your hand. “Seriously? Trying to sneak beer right in front of us?” she scoffs. 

Grandma quickly becomes aware of the commotion, and she wipes her hand on her sunny yellow apron as she assesses the situation. “Everything okay?” Her soft eyes are concerned, not accusing, and you feel your anxiety slowly dissipating.

“I caught her trying to steal some beer,” your aunt reports proudly, as though she’s caught some serial offender, and you have to fight the urge to roll your eyes. “Not even a teenager yet and already getting into this kind of trouble.” She shakes her head with a tsk. 

“No, I wasn’t,” you insist, setting your jaw in defiance. “Uncle Tim asked me to get some more for him. That’s all.”

“Tim!” Grandma calls out, tone thick with irritation. “Get over here!”

 Uncle Tim trudges out to the kitchen, head already hung low in anticipation of the tongue-lashing he’s about to receive. He may be a grown man, but his mother can easily put him in his place.

Grandma folds her arms across her chest. “Why are you having your niece fetch your drinks like a barmaid? Your legs broken or something?”

“No,” he mumbles, taking the beer from your hand and haphazardly tossing a “sorry” in your direction before returning to the game.

“C’mere,” Grandma beckons you, crooking her finger to join her at the counter. She’s got a bowl of Granny Smith apples, half of them peeled, their green skins piling on the cutting board in front of her. She hands you the peeler, picking up a sharp knife and cutting a peeled apple lengthwise and cubing each slice. “Help me out. It goes a lot faster when there’s two of us. And it’ll keep you out of trouble,” she adds with a wink.

You grab an unpeeled apple from the pile and drag the tool down its curve, repeating the motion until the inner fruit is exposed before starting on the next one. You and Grandma work in tandem; you peel and she chops in a comfortable silence. As you’re finishing up the last of the bunch, she leans over and whispers in your ear, “Don’t tell anyone, but you’re the best helper I’ve ever had.” She starts placing the cubed pieces into a pot, shaking the cinnamon container over it until she takes a satisfied step back, no measuring spoon required. “Mix it together for me?” 

You nod eagerly and pluck the wooden spoon from the canister behind the sink, dunking it into the pot and stirring until the apples are fully coated in cinnamon. “That good?” you ask, giving another stir for good measure.

“Perfect.” Grandma smiles, covering the mixture with water and setting it on an empty burner, twisting the knob until the coil turns red. “Once it softens up, you can mash it. Give these old arms a break,” she teases gently.

“You’re not old!” you protest, and she smacks a kiss to the top of your head.

“I love you, kiddo,” she murmurs, voice muffled against your scalp. “To the moon and back.”

You wrap your arms around her waist and squeeze her tight. “I love you, too. To the moon and back.”

Thanksgiving, 1996

“Daddy, look! It’s Santa!” Harris points at the TV excitedly, bouncing up and down on the couch. He kicks his feet and squeals. “He’s gonna come to our house, right? An’ bring me presents?”

Eddie chuckles as he spreads mayonnaise on white bread, layering thin turkey slices on top. Three sandwiches for three Munsons. “I dunno, Har-Bear; have you been good this year?” 

Harris scrunches up his face in contemplation. “Um, I think so,” he answers honestly. “I can’t remember.”

“Hey, Wayne?” Eddie calls out as his uncle walks out of the bathroom. “Has Harris been good this year? I feel like he’s been a bit…mischievous.”

Wayne shakes his head. “My angel of a grandson? He’s never caused mischief a day in his little life!” He sits down next to Harris, letting out a small grunt as his bottom hits the sofa cushion. 

“Yeah! I never cause mischief a day in my little life!” Harris echoes confidently. He turns to his grandfather. “Grampa, what is Santa gonna bring you for Christmas?”

“A toupée,” Eddie says from the tiny kitchen, piling their plates with potato chips. Normally, he’d make sure there was a fruit or vegetable on there, but it’s a holiday. 

Wayne has to hold his tongue in front of the impressionable young boy, though he shoots Eddie an inconspicuous middle finger when he’s setting the plates on the coffee table. 

The three Munsons tuck into their sandwiches and crunch on the chips. This is how Thanksgiving has been since Eddie moved back with Harris: watching the parade followed by an early lunch so Wayne could pick up a shift at the plant. He always insisted on it, saying that the holiday pay helps offset the cost of Christmas presents. It was quiet, but nice, and Eddie couldn’t ask for anything else.

“Y’know,” Wayne says to Harris with a mouthful of sandwich, “the first time your Daddy watched the parade was with me. And now, we got to watch it with you.” He bumps his arm against Harris’s, making the boy giggle. 

“Oh, yeah,” Eddie muses, chomping on a potato chip thoughtfully as the memories flood back in. “Forgot about that. Is Snoopy still your favorite, Old Man?” 

Wayne considers this. “Hmm. Who’s our favorite balloon this year, Har?”

“Clifford!” Harris answers without missing a beat, kicking his little legs in excitement. Eddie should’ve known; the boy was damn near obsessed with dogs.

Once we can afford a house with a yard, I’m getting you that puppy, Har-Bear, he thinks, though he doesn’t dare make the promise aloud.

“Then that’s mine, too.” Wayne brushes the crumbs off of his lap, calloused hands scratching the worn denim of his jeans. There’s a twinkle in his eye as he adds, “I wonder what Ms. Sweetheart’s favorite balloon is.” He acts like he’s speaking to Harris, but Eddie knows it was aimed at him.

Harris claps his hands together gleefully. “I know! Let’s call her!” He turns to Eddie with the sweetest puppy-dog eyes the man has ever seen, lower lip jutted out exaggeratedly in the most precious pout. “Please, Daddy? Pleasepleasepleaseplease–”

“Okay, okay,” Eddie says with a laugh, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Once you finish up lunch, we can call her.” Harris opens his mouth to protest that he wants to call right now, but Eddie cuts him off before he can start. “Ah ah; no whining, or we won’t call.”

Harris harrumphs but ultimately complies, taking another bite of his food. Wayne gives Eddie a small thumbs-up, and he preens slightly at the acknowledgment of his parenting win. They didn’t happen very often, and they rarely happened when someone was around to witness them. He takes a long gulp of water; as soon as he does, his son lifts his own cup to his lips and takes a sip. Another reminder that he’s watching, even subconsciously, wanting to be just like his dad.

For a split second, Eddie allows himself to believe that that might not be a bad thing.

“‘M done!” Harris chirps; sure enough, his plate is clean, save for the bread crusts. He squirms a bit in his seat, a gesture that Eddie has come to learn means only one thing.

“Go pee while I find her number,” Eddie tells him, purposely omitting the fact that he’s already committed those seven digits to memory. In case of an emergency, he thinks, and I don’t have the slip of paper on me.

Wayne can sense that his nephew isn’t being completely truthful; as soon as Harris closes the bathroom door behind him, he starts in with a shit-eating grin.

“Y’don’t need to find her number, do ya?”

Eddie flicks off an imaginary speck of dust on his shirts. “Knock it off, Wayne.” But he doesn’t move from his spot on the couch, further affirming his uncle’s point.

“Look, Ed,” Wayne exhales, adopting a more serious tone. “You clearly like this girl. I mean, all Harris did was say her name and you smiled–don’t give me that look,” he chastises lightly when Eddie rolls his eyes. “I know you two didn’t exactly get off on the right foot, but all that seems to be in the past now, right?”

“Guess so,” Eddie mumbles. “But not hating me doesn’t mean she’s into me. Maybe she’s only being nice to me because of Harris.”

The older Munson pauses, scratching at the stubble on his cheeks; his reflex when he’s deep in thought. “One date,” he challenges, holding up his forefinger to emphasize his point. “Ask her on one date, and see where it goes.”

“Fine,” Eddie relents, the nerves already churning in his stomach. You’d just found this good rhythm together, and he was going to risk messing it up. Again. “I’ll ask her. But on one condition.”

“Whas’ that?”

“Don’t say anything to Harris.” He crosses his arms over his chest when Wayne chuckles. “‘M serious, Wayne. I don’t want him getting his hopes up. For Chrissakes, I gave her a tape and the kid had us getting married.”

“Fair enough,” Wayne agrees, clamping his mouth shut when he sees the little boy enter the room. “You wash your hands?”

“Yep!”

“With soap?” he presses, narrowing his eyes.

Harris heaves an impatient sigh. “Yes! Can we call now?”

Both Wayne and Harris keep their eyes glued to Eddie as he punches in the numbers. When it starts ringing, he holds out the receiver to his son. “Say hi and your name when she picks up,” he reminds him, grateful for the opportunity to collect himself before asking you on a date. He takes a deep breath, shoving his hands in his pockets and gnawing on his lower lip so forcefully that he swears it might bleed.

You got this, Munson. The worst she can say is no.

But that’s not quite true, is it? The worst you can do is laugh in his face, leaving him a rejected mess. Scratch that–the worst you could do is accept the date, have him fall head over heels in love with you, then leave him in the dust to pick up the pieces while you move on with someone better. 

Maybe you won’t pick up the phone. Maybe he’ll have more time to–

“Hi, Ms. Sweetheart! It’s me, Harris!”

It was a small thing. Miniscule, even. Just your meager attempt at reclaiming part of the past that had been lost to time and disease. A simple family recipe, apples boiled and mashed into a sauce that you’d hoped even vaguely resembled the way Grandma made it. A tiny cut on your fingertip serves as a battle wound from peeling, the sweet aroma of cinnamon still lingering in the kitchen.

You try to convince yourself that it isn’t a big deal. It’s just applesauce. But the thought falls flat as you stare into the trash can. You can still see all of your work literally tossed away through the tears that blur your vision.

You’d left the room for two minutes, two goddamn minutes, and when you came back, the plastic pink bowl that held the applesauce was nowhere to be found. You could’ve sworn you left it on the counter, but maybe you’d already put it away? A quick scan of the refrigerator gave you nothing but a chill. Where the hell did it go? Were you losing your mind?

A rogue apple peel had fallen to the floor, and you scooped it up, flustered at how you could have misplaced an entire bowl of applesauce. Sure, it wasn’t as much as when you and Grandma made it for the whole family, but it was still a decent amount. Your foot presses the pedal that lifts the bin’s lid, and that’s when you see it.

“Grandma?” you choke out, looking over to where she’s sitting on the couch. She doesn’t respond, and you raise your voice a bit to grab her attention. “Grandma, why did you throw out the applesauce?”

Her empty gaze briefly flits over to where you’re standing, not even registering the burgeoning frustration and sadness coursing through your veins. “Wasn’t me,” she says flatly, scratching at the side of her nose with a jagged nail. Before dementia, her nails were always painted bright hues of red or blue; now, it was difficult enough to get her to leave the house for essential doctor’s appointments. You weren’t going to put up a fight trying to get her to the salon.

You know you should just close the lid and walk away instead of torturing yourself by continuing to look, but your feet are glued to the linoleum floor. A cold drop of something lands on your toes, and that’s when you realize that you’re crying. Crying over goddamn applesauce.

All you wanted was some semblance of normalcy, something reminiscent of life before Grandma got sick and your family still felt whole. But what you got was a thickening realization that you can’t relive the past, no matter how hard you try.

The ringing phone startles you from your wallowing. You have half a mind to ignore it, but you know that Grandma will just grumble about how she hates the sound of it, so you pick up the receiver and answer with a shaky, “H-Hello?”

“Hi, Ms. Sweetheart! It’s me, Harris!” A little voice chirps through the other end. You can hear Eddie mumbling something, though you can’t quite make out what he’s saying. “Happy Thanksgiving! What’s your favorite balloon?” There’s more hushed speaking from Eddie, and Harris huffs out, “Daddy, stop! I know what to say!” 

“My favorite balloon from the parade?” you ask, biting back a giggle. 

“Mhm! I like Clifford,” he tells you.

You’d kept the parade on in the background, catching glimpses of it every now and again. Shit, what balloons did you see? “Clifford’s a good one,” you agree, “but I think the Rocky and Bullwinkle one was my favorite.”

Harris laughs so loudly that you have to pull the phone from your ear. “The squirrel and the moose?” he guffaws. “Ms. Sweetheart, that’s so silly!” You’re about to ask him how his holiday is going when he says, “Hold on, my daddy wants to talk to you.”

Your heart skips a beat at the prospect of talking to Eddie, and you wipe the tears from your wet cheeks as though he’ll be able to see them through the phone.

“Hey, Happy Thanksgiving!” he says. Something resembling trepidation tinges his tone, though you’re not sure why. Could he still be anxious to approach you after he confided in you at the parent-teacher conference? After he’d watched you panic when Grandma locked herself in her room?

You swallow, trying to choke down the sadness rising within you. “Yeah, y-you, too.” Despite your best efforts, your voice breaks on the last word, and you hope Eddie doesn’t catch it.

But of course he does.

“You okay?” he asks with a nervous chuckle. “‘Cause it kinda sounds like you’re crying.”

“‘M fine. Just, um, chopping onions,” you lie, hoping you’ve done a convincing job.

“For the…applesauce you’re making?” Eddie sees right through you; you’d forgotten that you’d told him and Harris about your plan during your weekly post-tutoring dinner last night. “Not gonna lie, that sounds even nastier than olives on pizza.”

You manage a laugh, but it’s disfigured by the catch in your throat. “The applesauce was a bust, unfortunately,” you admit. “I left the kitchen for a second and Grandma chucked it in the trash.”

“All of it?” he asks incredulously, letting out a deep exhale when you confirm that she did, in fact, throw out the entire bowl. “Jesus H. I’m so sorry. Is that what’s got you upset?”

“Mhm. I know it’s stupid, ‘s just applesauce, but–”

“‘S not stupid,” Eddie interrupts softly, and you twist the phone cord around your pointer finger with the sudden drop of his tone. “I know you were really looking forward to it.” He pauses, and you wonder for a moment if the line’s gone dead before he says, “We’re coming over. Me and Harris. Be there in twenty; fifteen, if I don’t have to argue with him about wearing a jacket.”

Before you can protest, he really does hang up. You look down at the baggy sweats and college t-shirt you’re wearing; you weren’t expecting any guests today, let alone the Munson boys. You should probably throw on some actual pants, and a bit of mascara couldn’t hurt, either.

You find a pair of jeans that aren’t buried under a mountain of laundry and tug them over your thighs before quickly swiping some makeup on your face. It’s enough to mask your exhaustion while still looking natural.

It dawns on you that you’re not quite sure why you suddenly care so much about your appearance. Harris couldn’t care less, and Eddie…well, even if Eddie did care, why would that matter to you? He’s your tutee’s parent; a new friend at most. On more than one occasion, you’ve answered the door to Jess with a wicked case of bedhead. Why does Eddie Munson of all people make you feel the need to look halfway decent?

When the buzzer sounds, you nearly jump out of your own skin. “It’s us,” Eddie says into the speaker; the smoothness of his voice has your stomach in knots. “And we come bearing gifts. Well, one gift, I guess.”

“Fuck off,” Grandma mumbles from the couch, cranking up the TV volume to an ungodly loud level. One of the Law & Order detectives says–no, screams–something about a murder, and you quickly reach for the remote and click the power button.

“We have company,” you tell her, and she just grunts in response. Hopefully her mood will change in the minute it will take Eddie and Harris to get to your apartment. You can hear them down the hallway, so you open the door just as they’re about to knock.

Eddie takes a step back in surprise. “You psychic or somethin’?” he laughs, looking down at his son and giving him a small nudge. “Go ahead, you can give it to her.”

Your gaze drops to the curly-haired boy standing by his father’s side. He’s holding a brightly colored package of off-brand Oreos, which he brings closer to his chest, pressing it tightly against his zippered sweatshirt. “It’s s’posed to be a surprise,” he reminds Eddie, wide-eyed with genuine concern.

“Only until we got here,” Eddie says gently, soft brown eyes encouraging Harris to hand you the cookies. He brings his attention back to you. “I know it’s not the same as making applesauce with your grandma, but I’ve never been sad eating an Oreo. An oatmeal raisin cookie, maybe. But not an Oreo.”

Now it’s your turn to smile. “You may be onto something here, Munson.” You take the package from Harris and guide the two of them to the kitchen, calling out to Grandma as you pass by. “Grandma, Eddie and Harris are here, and they brought cookies, if you wanna join us.” Her non-response is familiar at this point; the sting is much easier to brush off than it was a few short months ago. But you still feel it.

Even though Grandma isn’t at the table, Harris still climbs onto his dad’s lap. “Daddy, can I have one?” he asks, resting his dimpled chin on his palms as he glances upwards.

“Gotta ask Ms. Sweetheart,” Eddie shrugs, tickling Harris’s ribs and loudly whispering, “and ask her if your poor, hungry dad can have one, too. She can’t say no to you.”

You open the package and shake your head at his antics, sliding out the flimsy tray and offering it to them. “Of course you can have one, Harris,” you say, tone saccharine sweet. His chubby fingers darting out and snatching up a cookie before you even finish your sentence. “But I don’t know about your dad. Do you think he should get one?”

“C’mon, Har,” Eddie urges him, “us men gotta stick together. All for one and one for all, right?” He flexes his bicep; it’s an attempt to emphasize the manliness that supposedly bonds him and Harris, but the gesture has your breath catching in your throat. You sputter and cough embarrassingly, excusing yourself to pour a glass of water. 

“Anyone else want?” you manage once you can speak again, holding up the ceramic pitcher. 

Eddie nods, lifting Harris from his lap and placing him on the nearest empty chair. “Here, let me help you.” He stands up and calls out over his shoulder, “Grandma, how about some water?”

You’re about to tell him not to worry about it, but to your surprise, she nods. “Ya.”

“So, four waters,” Eddie reports, taking the pitcher and refilling your glass. 

You grab another just like it from the cabinet before taking two blue disposable ones, plopping a bendy straw in each. “Grandma, um, she needs stuff that isn’t breakable,” you explain lamely. “And the other plastic one is for Harris.”

Eddie grins. “Thought it was for me. Y’know, always making a mess.”

“Ah, but only of your life,” you tease. “You’re pretty good with basic human functions.” Your face burns at what you’ve potentially implied, but Eddie isn’t fazed. 

“Y’know what? I’m gonna take my cookies back!” he pouts, crossing his arms over his chest in mock-indignance. A piece of curly hair sticks to his lower lip with his sudden movement, and you brush it away with your thumb before you can stop yourself. 

The crinkling of the fake-Oreo package draws both of your gazes, with Eddie poised to tell Harris that he’s only allowed one more. But to your surprise—and perhaps Eddie’s, too—Harris isn’t the one rifling through the tray. Grandma’s taken a seat next to the boy, handing him a cookie before taking her own. She just nibbles on it in silence, but it’s the most present she’s been in days. 

“Y’like Oreos, Grandma?” Eddie asks, pouring water into the two plastic glasses and carrying one in each ringed hand. He places them on the table, and Grandma brings the straw to her lips as she nods again. He pauses for a moment, lips tucked into his mouth as he ponders something. “What kind of music does she listen to?” he asks you. 

“She has a record collection over in the living room,” you tell him, pointing to the low bookshelf near the door, “but we haven’t played any in awhile. She’s kinda…weird with noises.”

He considers this, walking over to the records and thumbing through them until he finds one that he recognizes. “Could I put this one on?” He holds up the battered copy of Frank Sinatra’s It Might As Well Be Swing. “I’ll take it off if she gets upset. I just wanna try something.” He carefully slides the record from its sleeve, lifting the player’s needle and placing it on the space for the first track. 

There’s a soft static as the record starts to spin, and Ol’ Blue Eyes croons: 

Fly me to the moon

Let me play among the stars

Let me see what spring is like

On a-Jupiter and Mars

Eddie joins in with the next part. His voice still carries its signature rasp, but it’s noticeably smoother, warmer than the night he’d dedicated the Def Leppard song to you. 

In other words, hold my hand

In other words, baby, kiss me

His eyes remain trained on the record player, but you swear you can feel the lyrics drifting towards you. The melody wraps around you like a hug, and you momentarily lose yourself in a musical embrace. 

Another voice, low and timid, chimes in. You have to stifle a gasp when you realize that it’s Grandma, her lips curling into the smallest of smiles–the most joy she’s shown in a long while–as she half-sings the words. 

Fill my heart with song

And let me sing for ever more

You are all I long for

All I worship and adore

“Holy shit,” you breathe out, and before you can exhale the third syllable, the world shifts back to normal. Grandma goes back to mindlessly munching on her cookie as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. You turn to Eddie. “What was that?”

He shrugs, suddenly feeling shy. “I read somewhere that music can, like, bring back some memories. Not permanently or anything, but I figured it was worth a shot.”

You can’t stop yourself from flinging your arms around Eddie’s neck, nearly knocking him over in the process. He pauses before he returns the gesture, pulling you tightly into him. One hand is on the small of your back; the other gently rests on the back of your head, allowing you to rest your forehead on his chest. Your tears flow freely, leaving tiny wet spots on his shirt. He doesn’t let go until you start to pull back. 

“Thank you,” you whisper; when he pinches his brows in confusion, you elaborate. “You gave me back a little piece of who she was before…” you trail off, swiping at your cheeks messily. “Just…thank you.”

Eddie nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. His eyes are practically glued to your lips; this time, when his fingers brush against your palm, he hooks his pinky with yours. “‘Course,” he murmurs.

You’re not sure how long the two of you remain linked like this, joined hands swaying ever-so-slightly as Fly Me to the Moon fades out to I Wish You Love. It’s somewhere between ten seconds and ten years, because time seemingly slows to a halt. 

You might stay with pinkies hooked forever if Harris doesn’t bolt from his chair, hugging your waist and looking up at you with concern. 

“Ms. Sweetheart?” he asks. His wide, misty eyes indicate that he’s absorbed some of the emotion in the room, though he may not even be aware of this. “Why are you sad?” His chubby fingers grab onto the fabric of your pants.

You choke out a tearful laugh as you crouch down to meet him at his level. “I’m not sad…well, I’m sad and happy at the same time,” you try to explain, shaking your head when you realize you’re only adding to his puzzlement. “Grown-up feelings are weird sometimes, Har. But your hugs definitely help.”

With that, he squeezes you tighter, and you glance at Eddie with a full heart. He takes a step forward, scooping up Harris. You worry that you’ve crossed a line, that you’ve shown too much of your vulnerability to a four-year-old, but your fears are subdued when Eddie extends one arm and brings you back to both him and his son. Something brushes against your scalp, and you realize that he’s pressing a light kiss to the top of your head. 

Harris squirms, and when Eddie puts him down, he runs over to the TV set. “Can I watch something?” It’s clear that the moment has passed, and Eddie throws you an apologetic shrug as he waits for your response.

“Sure,” you say, trying to pepper cheerfulness into your voice. It’s easier now that the wave of loneliness has passed, taking with it some of the mourning you’d clung to earlier today. You click on the TV and flip through channels until a familiar cartoon appears on the screen. “I think we’re just in time to watch A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving!” you exclaim, and Harris mirrors your enthusiasm by flinging himself onto the couch, making his dad cringe.

“Careful, little dude,” Eddie says, clicking off the record player and gently placing the vinyl back in its sleeve. “You just got that cast off a few days ago. Don’t need you to break another bone.” Certainly don’t need another hospital bill, he thinks bitterly. He takes the spot next to Harris, silently begging you to join them. 

You turn to the kitchen table and put a hand on Grandma’s shoulder. “You wanna watch Charlie Brown with us?” But she rejects your invitation with a simple shake of her head, mumbling something about being tired and padding into her room. 

You take the empty space to Harris’s left so that the boy is sandwiched between you and his father. He’s a small kid, but it seems like there’s an entire ocean separating you and Eddie. 

“Why’s Lucy so mean?” Harris asks no one in particular. “She’s always yelling. Like Ms. Marion.” You have to stifle a giggle at that observation, and when you allow yourself a glance, you see that Eddie’s doing the same. 

The first half of the movie is filled with Harris’s constant commentary; he speaks more than all of the cartoon characters combined. But he tires out eventually, though in typical four-year-old fashion, he denies his sleepiness even as he’s yawning. He fights it pretty well, you’ve got to give him credit where it’s due, but eventually, the exhaustion takes over and he lays his head on your arm. His curls tickle your elbow, and you gingerly reposition him so he’s tucked up against your side. 

“You can move him over, if you get uncomfortable or somethin’. Kid sleeps like a rock. Except, y’know, when I need him to sleep.” Eddie snickers as Harris lets out the softest, tiniest snore. 

You return the laughter and shake your head. “Nah, I’m good,” you reassure him, smiling at the ruddy cheek pressed against you. “Don’t tell my other students, but Harris is the cutest kid ever.”

Eddie shrugs, but you can tell that the compliment tickles him. “Well, it makes sense, since his dad is a total stud.” He waggles his eyebrows before turning his attention back to Charlie and Lucy. You’re not quite sure how to respond to that; if you play it off as a joke, you risk hurting his feelings. If you tell him the truth–

“D’you like coffee?”

His sudden, seemingly arbitrary question snaps you from your indecision. “I teach four-year-olds,” you reply lightheartedly, hoping he can’t sense your mind continuing to linger on his stud comment. “I practically have coffee running through my veins. What about you?”

“I have a four-year-old, so, same.” He clears his throat, seemingly double-checking that his son is still sound asleep. His leg is bouncing up and down, and he nearly has to press on his knee to get it to stop. “Um, Harris is going to a birthday party next Saturday morning if you wanted to get some with me? Get some coffee, I mean.” He silently chastises himself, wondering if he’d ever been suave around women or if it had just been the unearned confidence of a young man in his early twenties convincing him that he had. 

“Like...like a date?” Fuck, do you sound too eager? “Because if you feel like you owe me a date after…after our night at the bar, you don’t have to. I forgave you after you gave me those M&Ms, remember?”

“Yeah…wait, no. Hold on.” Eddie holds up his pointer finger as he collects his thoughts. He could deny that it’s a date altogether and throw out some bullshit lie about it just being something between friends. But he promised Wayne, promised himself that he’d give this a shot.  “Yes, I’m asking you on a date. No, it’s not because I feel like I owe you one–although I definitely do,” he adds with a goofy grin that sends flutters to your stomach. “It’s because, fuck, I can’t stop thinking about you, and how happy you make me–and Harris, too–and how I get kinda nervous around you, which makes no sense because you’re, like, the nicest fuckin’ person ever. Oh my God, why can’t I stop talking?”

“Eddie.” The way you say his name is like a song he could replay forever. “I’d really like to get coffee with you. I just need to see if someone can watch Grandma…maybe Jess,” you surmise, biting back the fact that you’ll have to withhold your date’s name, lest she subject you to a lecture about sleeping with the enemy.

Eddie nods, swiping the tip of his tongue over his lower lip and smiling. “I can pick you up at noon? If Jess can watch Grandma, of course.”

“Noon works.” You want to kiss him right then and there; if Harris wasn’t nestled in the middle of you both, you might not hold back. “I can let you know on Wednesday when we have dinner together.”

Eddie’s not sure he can wait that long for an answer. What if you’re just buying time to get out of it? What if you’re only being nice to him because you’re afraid that he’ll get angry again and reignite the bitter feud you’d been locked in just a month ago? He swallows the insecurities, gaze flickering to your eyes.

And maybe it’s because you can sense his unease and self-doubt, or maybe it’s because you genuinely want to–Eddie doesn’t know for sure–but he feels you lace your fingers with his, resting your joined hands on his thigh. He shifts his grasp to weave them tighter together, learning back into the couch and allowing his body to relax. His shoulders let go of tension he hadn’t realized he was holding on to, and a contented sigh slips from his lips.

It’s you, him, and Harris. Sitting on the sofa and watching a holiday movie. An unconventional little family, but a family all the same. Eddie swears that he could stay like this forever, a thought that almost has him bursting out in laughter. The same man who had concocted an elaborate method to keep women around without actually committing to them was now reveling in domestic bliss. 

When the movie ends and Harris begins to rouse, Eddie begrudgingly stands with an exaggerated groan. “These old bones, y’know,” he laments with a mischievous click of his tongue. “Everything starts fallin’ apart when you turn thirty.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, lifting Harris onto his hip and rubbing his back to help him fall back to sleep. “I know.” He grabs his keys from the shelf near the door as you walk them out. And before he can wimp out, he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead in a gentle kiss, stubble scratching against your skin. His hands are trembling when he pulls away.

“You’re the best,” he repeats the same statement he’d made on parent-teacher conference night. It’s even more true now than it was then. “We’ll see you on Wednesday for pizza?” And an answer, hopefully a ‘yes.’ “Wednesday,” you echo, still processing the fact that, for the second time today, Eddie Munson’s lips have been on you.

--

@kelsiegrin @lma1986 @munsonology @stuckontheceiling @avobabe87 @eddapwinchester @peachysink @browneyes8288 @jeremyspoke-inclasstoday

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@quentinswife @eddiesguitarskills @momowhoo @jasminelafleur @mmunson86 @mcueveryday

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

Everybody loves somebody 🫀

RE6!Leon S. Kennedy x wife!reader

A/N: This is my first time writing for older Leon!! I recommend you listen to 'Everybody loves somebody' by Dean Martin as this fic is based around that song. This is a birthday present for my dear friend @vampkennedy ! Happy Birthday, Raf ❤️

~Fi 🐝

Warnings: so much fluff, it's actually disgusting, so fucking sappy, how dare they be so in love, maybe like a smidge of angst, get your tissues ready

Word count: 2.8k

Please don't copy my work! I put a lot of effort and heart into the things I write.

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The dimly lit room was filled not only with warmth, but with love. The love you held so deeply in every crevice of your heart, just for him. Your heart and soul were his entirely, there was no power that could change that. You loved him so fully, like you had never loved anyone before. No one could could compare to him, let only the love he had for you, too.

Every moment with him felt like a waltz, a graceful dance through the warmly illuminated walls of the castle that were your bound hearts. You were almost floating, his grip on you never wavering, and neither was yours. How two humans could hold each other so tightly, yet so incredibly lovingly at the same time was a mystery to you- until you met him. He opened doors you didn't know existed, holding the key in his hands.

He made your chest feel tight with the amount of affection and adoration you harbored in your heart. The gentleness he had about him, so soft it made you melt like honey, was only for you. You were the only one to see it, to hear it. To feel it. Leon was a rough man- tattered around the edges, cold and stoic, but he was nothing but warming and smooth around you. Like all of his doubts, flaws, whatever it was, just vanished the second you were in his vicinity.

There was no feeling greater than having him hold you, your head against his chest listening to his heartbeat, while you just lay there in silence. But it was never really silent. Your love was beyond words, no matter how quiet it was, words of praise and affection always lingered. His hand in yours never failed to remind you of your connected souls.

Deeply intertwined, roots tightly woven around each other like an ancient tree that would stand forever more and never falter. You lifted each other up, two forces that couldn't exist without one another. And you never, ever had to. He'd always be with you and you with him, no matter what might come or what challenges you'll face. You were his, and he was yours.

You recalled your years together, a smile sitting on your cheeks. It was your 5 year anniversary as a married couple. Marrying him was one of the best opportunities you'd ever gotten, and you would do it again in a heartbeat. It was a decision you would never second guess, how could you, when you were so lucky? You could still see it- like it had only happened yesterday.

The nervous look in his eyes, the way he fiddled with his hands. The soft and gentle, sometimes awkward, rookie you fell in love with still lingered deep within him, even if he'd never admit it. But once you made your way down the aisle, all his worries were gone. He couldn't contain the tears that cascaded down his face as the reality finally caught up to him. He would marry you. He would be your husband, your best friend, and whatever else you needed him to be.

The truth was, Leon couldn't wait to feel the coolness of your wedding ring against his stubbly cheek or the warmth of you pressed against him in the early morning hours. He couldn't wait to come home to you, his wife. God, that word made him all warm and fuzzy inside. He had actually beaten the odds and got his happy ending. You were his happy ending, and he would be grateful for you until the fates decided his time was up.

And even then, he'd play the role of Oprheus to get you, his muse, his Eurydice, back from the depths of the Underworld. He'd play the fool if he had to, all for you. Always for you.

You stood in the kitchen, the heat of the oven and stove making small droplets of sweat roll down your skin. The dinner that was boiling on the stove enveloped the room in aromatics and savory smells. It was a favorite of Leon's, a little surprise you were preparing. You used to go to fancy restaurants and other over the top anniversary activities, but ultimately this is was where you felt the most comfortable.

A nice candle lit meal in your shared home was more than enough to satisfy you heart. So you stood here, one hand on your hip, the other stirring the pot with a wooden spoon. You were humming a tune- whatever was on the radio at the moment. Still in your comfy clothes, you turned off the heat to let the dinner simmer. You'd planned to dress up a little- just because you were at home didn't mean you couldn't doll yourself up a bit.

You made your way to your shared bedroom, laying out the dress you'd picked and some jewelry. Now that you think of it, you hadn't seen Leon in a suit in a while. He always looked so good, distinguished, put together. It made a small frown creep onto your face. You rummaged through his side of the closet, seeing whether he still had that one suit that you loved.

Sadly, it was nowhere to be found. You figured he probably sold it or gave it to a friend. He never really wore it, after all. You could always buy him a new one, maybe as a christmas gift. There were definitely occasions where a well tailored suit would come in handy, and maybe you could convince him to wear it just a little more often, just for you. He'd do just about anything you asked, which you sometimes used to your advantage.

You'd give this a little more thought another day, for right now there more important things to worry about. Like would he be home in time, or would you have to spend your wedding anniversary alone? Would be hurt, and if so, how badly? You shook those thoughts away. He was careful. He always was, and you assumed he took extra caution for today. He would always come back to you.

You began getting dressed, he would be home soon, you looked at yourself in the mirror and smiled. God, 5 years. What a number. It felt like you've barely been married for more than a week, still in the honeymoon phase, and at the same time you could've sworn you've been together for a lifetime. Time does fly when you're happy. Truly happy.

You heard the jingling of keys and the click of the doorknob turning. Followed by a rustle of various unidentifiable items and heavy steps on the floor. "Honey? I'm home!" rang out his beautiful voice. It made your heart beat higher, just how domestic that phrase was. You walked towards the noise, checking on the food on your way.

You were about to say something, but when you laid eyes on him, all words left you. He stood there, in the suit you had looked for earlier, hair slightly slicked back, with a pretty tie around his neck. "I see we both had the same idea," he smiled, walking over to you and wrapping your still stunned form in a hug. "Happy 5 years, baby." Leon whispered in your ear, then placing a sweet kiss on your neck.

The stubble on his face made a shiver run up your spine when it touched your skin. "Happy anniversary, sweetheart." You replied, gently caressing his cheek. Leon captured your lips in a passionate kiss, pulling you closer by your waist while your hand was on his cheek and your other arm draped around his neck.

"God, you're gorgeous, look at you," he mumbled after pulling away, his eyes looking over you and admiring what he saw in front of him, lips lightly stained by your lipstick. You chuckled lovingly. "Thank you, love. You look so handsome in that suit. When did you have time to change?" You asked, your hand resting on his chest and slightly toying with the lapel of his jacket.

He was at work today, which usually got pretty bloody and grimey, yet he was here looking like a Hollywood star. Clean and smelling of that irresistibly cologne of his. "Well, showers do exist. Not to mention that a quick stop at a motel to get ready for my special lady is 100% worth the ass kicking I'll get tomorrow." He explained with a grin.

"You left early? Leon-" he stopped what was about to be a worried lecture with a finger to your lips. "I won't hear it, not today. Today s'just about you and me, baby." He smiled softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You returned an equally soft smile. "You're right, Honey. Dinner's ready,"

"You made dinner too? Here I was, thinking this was my anniversary present," he smirked, looking you over. Playfully rolling your eyes, you plated everything, Leon closely watching from over your shoulder. You'd set the table earlier today, nothing too extravagant, just a simple tablecloth, the fine silverware, and some candles.

"That smells and looks amazing, baby." He muttered, his arms wrapped around your waist. "S'your favorite," you smiled, awkwardly moving around in his arms to get everything ready. "You're perfect." He mumbled against your shoulder, placing soft kisses on your exposed skin. Your cheeks flushed and your heart skipped a beat. Even after all those years together, his compliments still made your heart soar.

You let out a breathy chuckle. "I don't know about perfect-" you were quickly interrupted by Leon gently turning your head and pressing a kiss to your lips. "But I know. You're perfect, end of discussion." He smirked. "Alright, alright, I'll take your word for it." You giggled, continuing with your task. He hummed in satisfaction, letting his lips graze over your hair.

He let go of you at some point, though reluctantly, he seated himself at the dining table as you served dinner. You ate and chatted, laughing and enjoying yourselves. The atmosphere that you two created drenched the room in love and affection, and a heartfelt symphony of your giggles.

"That was delicious, sweetheart," Leon sighed, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Good. I spent all day on that damned chocolate souffle!"

He laughed, taking your hand in his. "It was worth it, but..," he trailed off, making you raise an eyebrow,"I had a different dessert in mind." He grinned, stroking your knuckles. "Oh, don't worry. I'm sure your lovely wife would agree to that if you asked nicely," you smiled sweetly. He chuckled and leaned back in his chair, letting go of your hand. "I'll keep that in mind." He said in a low tone, a certain look in his eyes.

The radio was playing in the background, it was set on an oldie channel that you liked listening to while cooking. The soft tunes of Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and The Mills Brothers were echoing through the room, the candles in the middle of the table flickering. "I should get started on the dishes," you said softly, getting up from your seat. Leon immediately leaned forward, quickly grabbing your forearm across the table to stop you.

"No, no, no, sweetheart, sit back down." He ordered gently, pulling you back into your chair. "Honey, the kitchen is a mess-"

"I don't care. It's our anniversary. Relax for once, baby," he asked of you, a pleading look in his eyes, the grip he had on your arm softening. A guilty feeling washed over you. You had the habit of running around like a headless chicken sometimes, trying to get as much done as possible.

"M'sorry. I guess I just want everything to be... perfect." You muttered, avoiding his gaze. His brows pulled together, in worry or out of empathy, you didn't know. "It's more than perfect, Darling. Please just enjoy today. Enjoy us. It's been five years since I watched you walk down the aisle, can you believe that?" He chuckled softly, his thumb stroking over your skin. He couldn't even believe it. How did he get so lucky? It was a mystery to him, but god, he was so incredibly grateful.

He never thought he'd ever have this. And somedays, he was anxious, just waiting for everything to vanish, slipping from his grasp. Nothing brings him more comfort on those days than to hold you and remind himself that you're here, with him because you chose to, and that you would never leave. "God, I know. What a perfect day that was, huh?" You sighed, the corners of your mouth turning upwards. There was shimmer in his eyes, a light of pure joy, just like on that very day. Some things never change.

Leon hummed softly in response knowing that no words would do justice to how he felt back then. You sat in the comfortable silence for a while, occasionally catching each others' gaze, which was then met with a loving smile while your fingertips brushed as your hands rested on the table. The radio was still playing softly in the kitchen, the gentle tunes filling the room perfectly.

You perked up, your brows raising once you heard the fluttering melody of one of you favorites; Everybody loves somebody. In turn, Leon's brows scrunched together in confusion. You got up with a smile on your face, if his face would allow it, his brows would furrow even further as you did so silently. "Honey, what are you-" you interrupted him by pulling him out of his chair wordlessly and dragging him to the middle of your livingroom where your hands settled on his chest.

His expression softened once he realized what was happening. You wanted to dance with him. His heart swelled, to have you wanting to do something so intimate and romantic with him. It was a bit silly since you've been married for so long but you never failed to touch his heart. His hands found your waist and gently pulled you closer to him, but you were never close enough for his taste.

You started swaying to the rhythm, the hands that were previously on his chest now resting near the back of his shoulders. Leon matched your rythym, holding you tightly while moving the both of you to the melody. He looked so good. The dim light of the room hitting his features so perfectly. They way he looked at you so adoringly made your cheeks flush.

"You know, I listened to this song on my 17th birthday, wondering when my sometime and where my someplace would be...," you began softly, the gentle smile on his lips prompting you to keep going," and, well, my sometime is now. My someplace is right here, with you, in your arms. Words cannot describe how much I love you. You make my heart sing, Leon." You smiled, placing a hand on his cheek.

His eyes widened slightly and you could feel him stiffen at your confession, but he never stopped swaying you. The way his name fell from your lips in such a truly loving way made his heart beat out of his chest. A sheen of tears glistened in his baby blues, his brows pulled together and you could feel him lean into your touch.

"I love you. God, I love you so much." He sighed, a slight tremble in his usually so confident tone as he placed his forehead against yours. "I love you more." You whispered, your warm breath fanning over his lips. Your nose brushed against his before you pressed your lips to his in a searing kiss. Your lips set his heart aflame, just like they'd done so many times before.

Although searing, the kiss didn't lack passion. Leon couldn't help but groan against your lips, wrapping his arms fully around you and holding you close. You made him feel so loved, like he never had. God, if he could carve out his lovesick heart and serve it to you on a silver platter, he would. A broken sigh escaped him as he metled into you. The sound rumbled in his throat, sending vibrations through your skin.

You only pulled away when you felt a small, wet drop met your hand. You were breathless, the kiss took all the air from your lungs. Looking up at him, you saw something incredibly precious. He was crying. He loved you so much and was completely overwhelmed by your affection that he was crying. You gently wiped the tear with your thumb before caressing his stubbly cheek. "Don't cry, my love." You cooed, making him let out broken cries.

"Shhh.. I'll kiss all your tears away, I promise you that." You whispered with a small smile, pressing gentle kisses on his cheeks. You could taste the saltiness of his tears on your tongue. "I'll love you forever." He mumbled, brushing a piece of hair out of your face, a small smile tugging at his lips. "So will I." Your head fell forward against his chest, his head resting on top of yours. You closed your eyes, sighing contently. As you listened to his steady heartbeat, one thing became crystal clear to you. You've never been so sure about something.

Now was your sometime, this was your someplace and he was your someone.

This was where you belonged.

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I hope you have a lovely day, Raf!<3

[airbender-dacyon]

Benlynn Parallels & Analysis

Alright, so this is by no means an exhaustive list, just what I am able to recall right now, but here's some of the Ben & Brooklynn parallels I noticed from Season 1 of Chaos Theory, as well as a few under the cut that are speculation based on trailers and promos from Season 2 (so spoiler warning for those). And I ended up doing more analysis on this than I intended, whoops.

Apologies for the long post, but I wanted to keep any spoilers under the cut and this ended up being much longer than I planned. I also apologize because it's been a minute since I've been able to watch Camp Cretaceous in its entirety and a bit since I last watched S1 of Chaos Theory so I hope my memory is right on most of this.

Also, this is meant to just be a fun post. It is a ship post, but I also acknowledge that the parallels likely don't mean anything beyond they're friends with shared interests/similar traits (if they even mean that).

Dark Jurassic Nerds

"What about that website I showed you?" "OMG. Dark Jurassic? Yes. Amazing." "Isn't it?"

Ben, in a surprising twist to me, was the one to discover Dark Jurassic. When Camp Cretaceous ended, I wouldn't have guessed he would be the one to become invested in a social media site. I will say that it makes sense that Brooklynn, having grown up as a social media influencer, was staying away from social media more after the Nublar Six returned home and that she didn't come across Dark Jurassic sooner. Regardless, the pair are both heavily invested in the website, though Brooklynn seems to have vetted the theories more than Ben, given her interaction with Yaz:

So it seems like Ben had a habit of sending a lot of stuff he found interesting her way, but only a few things, like the Dino Immersion Therapy, Brooklynn found to be legit.

2. "Okay, at first, I was like, ugh. But this view!"

I still think it is surprising that between Ben's flashback and Kenji's flashback, Brooklynn expresses more excitement over the view of a pretty ordinary skyline from the rooftop of a college dormitory that Ben shows her during her surprise visit than she does the bioluminescent Parasaurolophus at sunset amidst cliffs and a waterfall that her boyfriend of 5+ years had planned as a big romantic gesture.

We don't know the exact date when Brooklynn visited Ben at college, so I fully admit that probably plays a big part in the difference in Brooklynn's reaction. Since this is shortly after Ben introduced Brooklynn to Dark Jurassic and we know that 1) Brooklynn visited Yaz 14 months before the start of Season 1 and 2) Kenji broke up with Brooklynn shortly before (at least a few weeks, I believe) her apparent death roughly 6 months before S1, the Benlynn flashback takes place at least 14 months before S1, probably even earlier than that. Heck, it might be 18-24 months before S1. So, obviously Brooklynn is in a much healthier headspace in Ben's flashback whereas she had become obsessed with uncovering the dinosaur trafficking conspiracy by the time of Kenji's flashback, resulting in her indirectly neglecting her relationship with him.

3. Funny Stories, Personal Questions, & Other Shared Interests?

"Uh, yeah. College is great, but sometimes I gotta get outside just to feel like I can breathe." "Weird how it can be so hard to feel normal, now that everything is so... normal." "See those Pteranodons up there?" "Uh-huh." "One of them grabbed a freshman's backpack and took off with it." "No way." "She had to tell her professor that a dinosaur ate her homework." [Brooklynn laughs] "What?" "That's really funny." "Well, not to her. She failed her assignment." [Brooklynn laughs harder] "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. No, I'm sorry, that's really sad." [Snorts] "That's sad." "The point is, I don't know if there's such a thing as normal anymore." "Yeah."

It hadn't been my intention to quote such a large chunk of the flashback, but I do find it interesting how this interaction between these two played out. Ben & Brooklynn had only a handful of scenes - more accurately, a handful of interactions - together in Camp Cretaceous. And so to see these two alone together and enjoying each other's company was refreshing to see. Again, this isn't a 'they shared a moment together, now they're going to end up together' post. The fact that there was a significant flashback that highlighted how Ben & Brooklynn get along, despite not being one of the other's closest friends within the Nublar Six, was a stellar choice. They could have easily done for Ben what they did with Sammy: a very brief, but still impactful memory/vision of Brooklynn.

But in this scene, it's neat that Ben is telling the story to reassure Brooklynn that 1) even though they've been home safe from Nublar for years now, their experiences will never go away and 2) prehistoric wildlife is out in the world, "normal" doesn't really exist and they shouldn't expect it to. Like on Nublar, they have to adapt to the new dynamic. But, intentionally or not, Ben is also telling the story in a very humorous way, which results in Brooklynn's laughter. And whether you see the moment as shippy or just friends, it was pretty adorable to see Ben making Brooklynn laugh.

The scene on the rooftop also begins in a rather interesting way, as Ben's dialogue starts by announcing the rooftop view is his favorite spot on campus, followed by why he goes there/gets outside. So, presumably, Brooklynn had asked him how college was going. And after the Pteranodon story, Ben does something unique to the flashbacks we've seen in Season 1.

He asks Brooklynn how she's been doing.

"Anyway, how's everything with you? Any cool stories you're working on? Wrongs to be righted? Buried truths to be uncovered?" [Laughs] "Trying. It is hard out there for a reformed "social media influencer turned aspiring investigative journalist."

Now again, I fully recognize this is the easiest catalyst in the flashback to introduce Brooklynn's interest/activity in Dark Jurassic. And I also fully recognize that we haven't seen Darius' flashback with Brooklynn yet and Sammy's vision/memory of Brooklynn is too short to really compare to the other three we've seen so far.

However, in Yaz's flashback, we see Brooklynn is the one helping her with the Dino Immersion Therapy and inquiring about how she's doing, why she's there instead of Sammy, etc. And in Kenji's flashback, we see that he's so excited to share the view he's discovered with Brooklynn. And when she is too distracted (presumably by her mission) to acknowledge the beauty of the moment, Kenji breaks up with her and his dialogue suggests this has been happening for a while.

The video recordings of the earlier Kenlynn date and when the Nublar Six returned home at least give us a glimpse into happier times. But with regards to the flashbacks, while Brooklynn is likely there to check up on her friend (unannounced and strangely late in the evening from the looks of it), Ben's flashback is the only one where the focus seems to be on both characters equally rather than Brooklynn acting in a supporting/secondary role in the scene.

A much smaller parallel, likely unintentional, is that Ben and Brooklynn seem to (almost) have matching outfits in the flashback.

Continuing from that, and acknowledging similar outfits is already a stretch, I guess there is a parallel with music? Kinda?

We see in Brooklynn's video call to Darius that she is wearing what looks like a band/album T-shirt and Ben has become quite the fan of rock music. Some of the concept art for Ben's dorm room also showcased several band posters, if I recall correctly.

So, while not a certainty, it seems they could have also developed a connection through similar music tastes, though this is a fair bit of speculation.

4. Boots

Another parallel that's a stretch, but Ben eating food out of a boot seemed really, really odd when it was introduced. Perhaps out of desperation, maybe he accidentally broke his last bowl or ran out of disposable ones? Who knows. An odd choice, especially with the later Ruby Ropes container conversation being weird enough on its own that the food boot seemed excessive.

But then it was shown that Brooklynn also had an unfortunate boot-related habit, though fortunately nowhere near as disgusting. Kenji trips over one of her boots and comments on it, with Darius also having suffered from the problem:

"She was always leaving these in the middle of the floor. It was so annoying. I was so afraid I was gonna-" "Break your neck?" "Did she do that when she was staying with you after we broke up?" [Chuckles] "I swear she did it just to annoy us."

Again, this one's a big stretch, but it felt like a possibility.

5. A specific set of skills

Or, rather, just one skill. I can't remember if any other members of the Nublar Six ever picked any locks throughout the shows, but Ben having a set of dedicated lock picks was an interesting development. All of the N6 have picked up new skills in the time between CC and CT, but Ben's activities - and this skill in particular - seem to mirror a lot of Brooklynn's.

6. Conspiracy Boards

Again, going back to the fact that Brooklynn was more interested in legitimate stories and credible theories, Ben's board is quite a mess while Brooklynn's is more refined. Ben's looking into all the possibilities, no matter how ridiculous they might be, whereas Brooklynn is focused on (presumably) unraveling the dinosaur trafficking conspiracy and anything else nefarious that might be going on in relation to it.

7. Season 1 Bookends (unused)

I don't want to repost the art without permission and I really want to get the post up today, so credit to Brandon Roberts in this concept art post here. It shows Ben on his laptop in his dorm room.

However, I will provide the description Brandon Roberts gave, as well as the confirmation by Scott Kreamer on the post:

This would have been an interesting parallel and way to bookend the season: opening with Ben on Dark Jurassic getting vague messages and closing out with Ronnie sending vague messages to someone on Dark Jurassic and the reveal that it's Brooklynn.

And only time will tell if there is something real between these two. Or it might all be just an illusion.

"There's definitely some pretty out-there stuff on there, but every so often there's something that seems, I don't know..." "Real?" "Real."

And aside from the spoilery speculation below, I think this might be it. There could be other parallels I'd thought of previously, but as of right now, this is all I can remember. If you made it this far, thanks for reading my inane ramblings. I hope you enjoyed!

Also, shoutouts to @p0m0u and @kitabearuwu for being the inspiration for me falling down the Benlynn rabbit hole and continued inspiration since (we'll see if I can get my Benlynn fic done by tomorrow), especially their posts here, here, here, and here. And special thanks to @p0m0u for letting me use the beautiful gifs she made in this post!

Spoilers for Season 2 Trailers & Promo material under the cut!

Starting from what I feel is the weakest parallel to the strongest:

8. Why are you holding that in your mouth?

When I saw the tweezers or tool or whatever fall from Brooklynn's mouth, I swear I'd seen Ben do something like it before in the show. I tried to scour Season 1 of CT to find it, but to no avail. I then remembered where I'd seen something similar, back in Season 4 of CC. Again, leading with the weakest parallel here, but like the boots, I find it interesting and odd that both of them have held things in their mouths - and these are things that probably shouldn't be held in their mouths - only to drop them at some point during the scene. Ben's out of relief that the BRAD is gone, Brooklynn's potentially by whoever is breaking into her location (if the clips immediately before and after are part of the same scene).

9. You're great and I like you, but...

Given that it looks like we'll have a Darius and Brooklynn flashback finally, I have to wonder, will it play out in a similar vein to the Ben & Yaz moment in S4 of CC? We know that Ben mistook Yaz's interest in getting him away from Kenji & Brooklynn so that Kenlynn could develop as romantic interest. What if we see Brooklynn realize Darius' growing affection for her and makes it clear in a similar way?

I'm not saying we'll get a "Darius, look, you're a great guy and I like you. But I just don't like like you." But possibly something similar.

10. What? You've never seen a ghost before?

We'll see if this turns out to be another 'back from the dead' moment or not, but it has that kind of vibe to me. And I have to credit @p0m0u for pointing it out to me originally. Fingers crossed, it seems like a perfect setup for Ben's line to make a comeback!

And I think that's everything for now!

[goldsbitch]

Twelve Grapes

-chapter 5 - Beautiful Eyes

"Chéri," he says almost condescendingly, "there is my dried cum in your hair and if you think I'm letting you go to see my mama like this, we need to have another serious talk."

10k words warning: mentions of oral sex, typos

There are moments in life which are a clear before and after divider. Max did not expect one of those to happen on a random Thursday morning, he also did not anticipate those moments to take place in his bed. These things were reserved for the podiums and tracks. 

Alas - not when someone like Charles Leclerc has the audacity to turn over and give him a look, which, if described as sheepish, would be doing it great injustice.

Just how does somebody manage to look so innocent, yet stern and strong? He looks at Max who, probably for the first time in his life, does not know how to cope with other person looking at him. Charles battles his lashes, as if his mesmerizing eyes needed to draw more attention to them. Like the never-ending, dirty green was not enough on its own. There is something calming about his morning gaze. Like he had just come back from a nightly meeting in heaven, a place where he must have come from in the first place, because Max was getting convinced this is beyond human. His skin somehow softer than usual, chocolate hair mercilessly defying gravity and lips parted - slightly chapped and dry. Before Charles licks them lightly, effectively signing Max’s death sentence. Unlike Max, who does not have any capacity for another type of emotion, Charles appears to be confused. Just when Max thinks he has cracked this situation, at least a little bit, he has to add another word to his current vocabulary - adorable. 

"Can you turn the thing off," he complains like a little child and returns back to his original position. Head rested on Max's chest, arms casually thrown over him, like it was the most normal thing ever. Max's notoriously loud and obnoxious alarm woke them both up too early for their liking. Mindlessly, Max reaches over to his nightstand to grab his phone and turn it off. He earns an approving puff from the other driver. Charles settles in his position even more, hugged up on Max and ready to go back to slumber. Max takes a minute to take it all in. Tries to get his heartbeat under control, because he is pretty sure Charles is about get tinnitus, with his ear being places just above his heart. But how does one do that, when you wake next to Charles, the morning light complimenting his already glorious post-waking up state? It is completely out of question for Max to return back to sleep. Stress - the good kind, the best kind actually - keeping him fully awake. He recalls the surprising shift of events from last night and wonders just how comically lame it is, that he is afraid to move. As if it wasn't clear, that they are way past the point of being shy when laying on top of each other. Putting his hand over Charles and drawing small circles on his naked back feels like the bravest thing Max has ever done. Is this what all of the people talk about when they're describing a good hook up? The fact that kicking the other person out first thing in the morning is not how you want the encounter to end? It's impossible to keep a straight face with all the images from yesterday flashing from his memory. It's only the weight of Charles's body, the obvious change of temperature in the bed when he is lying in it, that makes Max grounded enough to actually believe it was all true. Had he woken up in an empty bed, he'd probably have a hard time believing it all. Max is not a morning person, but he could make an exception for these kind of mornings. It's hard to admit, but he is very happy that Charles decided to stay over. His messy curls ticking Max's neck are worth it.

Messy curls. Oh, fuck. Charles is not the only Leclerc he is suppose see today.

Panic rushes through his veins and he reaches for the phone again, disrupting Charles's peace in doing so. Shit. He is suppose to be at his mom's salon in like fifteen minutes.

"Charles," Max says urgently, shaking him lightly.

There is a loud groan that speaks for itself. But, the ever-so-chatty man can apparently speak in his sleep as well. "Why are you awake," Charles complains without opening his eyes, snuggling closer into Max like he’s decided he’s part of the mattress. Max tries to push all the warm feelings rising in his chest back down.

"I’m supposed to be at your mom’s salon in fifteen minutes," Max says in a panic induced tone.

This information seems to get through with the Monegasque. Then he groans even louder. "Max, it’s-" he lifts his head slightly, squinting at the phone in Max's hands. He falls back on his chest, obviously not worried about potentially breaking his ribs. "It’s 8:45. Why are you like this?"

Max figures this is going to be harder than expected and he shakes Charles once again. "Come on, we gotta go."

"Whyyy," he literally whines into Max's chest.

Max can't help but chuckle. "Because I have a haircut appointment? Which I’ll miss if I don’t leave, like ten minutes ago?"

There is zero movement on Charles's part. "Cancel it. Reschedule. Tell her you’re sick. I don’t care. Just stop talking and let me sleep."

"I can’t cancel," Max protests and absentmindedly runs his hands through Charles's hair. "She’s expecting me..."

The man (strongly resembling an adorable spoiled brat right now) lying on him lifts his head up slightly. "She’s definitely not expecting you to wake up next to her son, but would you look at that, here we are," Charles states and their looks meet again.

Max is trying to calculate the combination of words that would make this man move. The last thing he wants, especially after last night, is to be late. What if his mom forms a poor opinion of him?

Charles continues fighting for his cause. "You cannot just walk into her salon after last night like nothing happened. I know you're insane, but there has to be a limit somewhere?"

"It’s a haircut, Charles, not a confession," Max says, exasperated. The only thing they're doing right now is wasting time. "She doesn’t know anything."

Charles narrows his eyes. "You don’t know my mother. She doesn’t have to know, she just...knows. She’s like a witch, Max."

Max snorts. "A witch?"

"Yes," Charles says, sitting up slightly, his hair sticking up at odd angles. "She’ll look at you, say something strange like, ‘You look tired,’ and then suddenly I’m getting interrogated about my love life during Sunday dinner."

Max bites back a laugh, trying to look serious. "Well, then maybe I should just tell her. Get ahead of the woodoo," he mocks, failing at the whole serious part of this conversation.

Charles groans again and collapses back onto the bed, throwing an arm over his face. "Out of all the people, I had to end up in your bed."

Max smirks and decides to stop fighting the urge he feels since the alarm ringing, and leans to kiss Charles on the cheek. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

"Don’t," Charles mumbles. "And don’t wake me up again unless the apartment is on fire. Or my mom is at the door. Actually, no, especially not then."

Max laughs, pulling himself out of bed. "I’ll let her know you’re busy...Sleeping through the consequences of your actions."

Charles throws a pillow at him, missing entirely, and buries himself back under the covers. "I hate you," he grumbles, his voice muted by the duvet. No, you don't.

Max has to stop and take in the sight of him. He just has to. It's impossible not to. His limbs are all tangled up in the messy bed, stains reminding him of the things they did in the dark. Sorry, not in the dark, in the dimly lit bedroom.

And it's like he feels his gaze. There is one final master groan and Charles lifts himself up. "Okay. Fine. Let's do this your way. So that you have some mistakes to learn from."

"Attaboy," Max says as he walks over to the dresser.

Charles is behind him in a fraction of a second. Hand casually placed on his back as he goes and yankes Max's head left, then right.

"What the fuck are you doing now," Max complains, once again encountered with the inexplicable behavior, so characteristic to Charles.

"I'm looking for any hickeys," he says, highlighting the importance of this topic. "I think you're fine," he concludes and brushes his finger over a red spot above Max's collarbone. Shiver runs through the whole of Max. "This can be covered by a t-shirt, that's fine."

He spins him around, as if he's a mere doll, and shamelessly studies his face. Max is not used to think kind of look and has trouble picking out an appropriate reaction.

"Okay, you're allowed to go," Charles remarks, like the most important person on the planet he is, "Hop in to the shower real quick and let's get going."

Max casually shakes his head. "No time for shower, I'll just have to use a lot of deodorant," he dismissed, but does not move.

The look Charles gives him is one he has never seen on his face. A mixture of amusement, disbelief and coldness, giving away that there is no way this is going to go in any other direction than his. Then he speaks again, after a dramatic pause he spends studying Max's face.

"Chéri," he says almost condescendingly, "there is my dried cum in your hair and if you think I'm letting you go to see my mama like this, we need to have another serious talk."

It's said as a joke, because this time Charles's confidence in his truth, is on point. Max's eyes shoot wide, horrified expression on. He does not say anything and just nods. Charles nods right back at him, but with eyebrows shot up and the corners of his lips turned.

"Be quick, she hates when people are late."

//

Max steps out of the shower, towel hanging low - two can go about playing mind games here - only to find Charles pacing the living room with his phone pressed to his ear. He is dressed what Max recognizes as one of his t-shirts, little too big for Charles, hanging off one shoulder like some kind of stupid fashion statement. Charles spots him and mutes the call.

“We’re leaving together,” Charles declares, cutting off any protests with a raised hand. Well, that is a shift of attitude over there.

“You’re coming to your mom’s salon with me?”

“No,” Charles whispers, like the idea is preposterous and follows it up with an eye roll. “I’m coming with you because I will navigate you."

Max is slightly offended. “I’ve been there six times.”

"Like that would make any difference. I know a shortcut. Get dressed, now!" he spares him one look before getting back to his phone call. "Yes, yes, that's a good tip." His speech is frantic and Max does not bother trying to figure what this drama queen is up to now. His goal is to get dressed and get going. Simple man, remember?

"Mama, what’s your stance on fresh herbs? Do they really make a difference?” echoes from the living room. Max raises an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe to observe this circus. Charles spots him, eyes narrowing into a silent don’t even think about it. Max raises his hands in surrender and mouths a silent "What are you doing?" He is met with a pair of crazy eyes. "Stalling," Charles whispers and looks at him like it's the most obvious thing ever.

Max is still not up to speed. “Stalling what?”

Charles ignores him, focused on the phone and plastering on his best innocent tone. “I mean, would it be better to make the toast in the pan? You always said buttering it first is key, but Pierre’s...What’s the word? Picky. Very picky.”

It is too early for this amount of unhinged in the morning, he thinks, as he leans back to observe Charles. Being late to his appointment seems like small price.

Charles glares at him, eyes narrowing into a warning. He mutes the phone. "I’m buying you time," he hisses. "If you show up late, she’ll know something is off."

"Why would she think that?" Max whispers back, astonished. “She has no reason to!”

"She’s my mother!" Charles retorts like that explains everything. "She doesn’t need a reason."

Max tries not to laugh as Charles un-mutes the phone yet again, turning his back like it’ll somehow help him focus. "Okay, so what about butter? Should it be room temperature?"

Max decides to just comply, dressing up as quickly as possible. He spares one look into the mirror, to check for anything suspicious while he listens to the frantic cooking questions Charles keeps throwing at his poor mother. If there is ever a reason not have children, it's because they might grow up into this kind of a lunatic.

"I'm ready to leave now, if you're done with your recipes," he says quietly, walking into the living room and looking for his keys. This earns him thumbs up from the man leaning over his kitchen counter.

Charles mutters something under his breath and then, louder, says into the phone, “Okay, mama, I have to go now. Thank you for the advice. Love you.” And hangs up before waiting for the answer. Max has so many questions. He puts them in the "WTF" drawer in his brain, along with the rest of information he has about Charles Leclerc.

//

"No, I said, take a left on the next street, not this one," Charles throws his hands in the air for what seems like the fifth time.

"Remind me never to pick you as a co-driver for anything more dangerous that a commute drive," Max comments, because Charles giving vague instructions and then getting mad when he does not do what Charles had envisioned, is starting to seriously piss Max off. He makes a big mental note not to allow Charles to ever enter the world of endurance driving.

Monaco is tiny, it takes him like seven minutes to get there. He is pretty sure they are just adding time up by choosing the small streets instead of he usual way, like a normal person would. Then again - this is Charles. Normal does not cover it. Even though Max is nearing furious, there is still something exciting and warming about this experience. He is playing along thought, driving like a maniac, passing cars easily left and right, pretty sure that his tickets are pilling up. Small price for having a little fun morning with Charles.

"No! Now go left!" he yells and were it not for the years spent driving F1 cars, they'd be crashed in some wall right now. But, this is Max Verstappen. So he drift into the left turn that Charles is so hung up on. He is rewarded by a laugh of approval as he avoids the traffic.

//

Max pulls the car into a quiet street, parallel to where Pascale's salon sits in its picturesque charm. He kills the engine and settles down, his built up heart rate going down again. He awaits instructions. This is Charles's territory.

Charles fidgets with the hem of Max’s t-shirt and glances at the street in front of them, eyeing for any witnesses. “Okay, I’ll go first,” he says. "You stay in for two minutes." He looks at him, searching for a hint of agreement. Max does nothing but nod.

He gulps, his tone serious for the first time this day. "Please don't tell my mom anything, I'm-"

Max does not want to hear the rest of the sentence. Not right now. Not when he's still in the haze of what is waking up next to Charles. He wants to keep the illusion of perfection up for just a little while.

“Charles,” Max interrupts, leaning forward slightly. His voice is softer now, grounding. “She doesn’t know anything.”

Charles bites the inside of his cheek, his eyes flickering to Max’s. “She doesn’t, yet.”

This is the moment when you give me a goodbye kiss, Max thinks and lingers. But Charles is too distracted, caught up in his own thoughts and visibly lost in them. "Good. Um, see you," he says and briskly gets out of the car.

The space Charles left behind feels heavier than it should, and Max can’t help but stare at the spot where he disappeared. He left just like he entered his apartment yesterday. Like a sudden, unexpected summer rain. He waits the two minutes. Making sure he's not watching Charles leave, because it it too hard to consume that image right now.

//

He's got to give it to Charles, his schemes, however weird and over-the-top, seem to work. Max is standing in front of the salon, waiting on Pascale, who is late.

It dawns on him the moment he sees her coming. She has the same frantic walk as her son. The lines around her eyes curling in a similar way. Her smile, calming and inviting. Max shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, his nerves bubbling over as Pascale strides toward him with the unmistakable Leclerc determination. He doesn’t even know what, but Charles’s paranoia has taken root in his brain, and now he’s convinced he’ll somehow screw this up. He should have cancelled. Oh, God. How is he going to pull this off? This is all too stressful for what is suppose to be downtime. His team thinks he's relaxing, working out and getting ready for the next races. Not that he's checking his pulse every five seconds to see if this is a heart attack, or if the Leclerc's still have more room to play with him.

Pascale Leclerc, the elegant woman she is, greets him in the usual sweet voice that keeps him coming back. Her mom energy is strong. "Hello Max! I am terribly sorry to be late - I'll make it up to you with the tea you seem to love so much!" she says as she opens the door without even looking at it.

"No worries, I am in no rush, Mrs. Leclerc," he replies, trying to come off as casual as possible.

He receives a smile. Maybe this will all work out just fine.

//

He scrolls mindlessly on his phone while he waits for her to set her gear up. His goal is to appear busy and unapproachable. Also, what else is he suppose to do with his hands? He gives her a weak smile as she comes over to him with a tea in her hand and scissors in another. She asks him few questions about his desired haircut and he gives her complete freedom. At least like this, Charles won't be able to tease him about his hair ever again. Things are calm, she tells him about the new Monaco bakery and it seems like he might just pull it all off.

"Next time you come in, you don't have to wash your hair beforehand. That's what I am here for, sweetheart," he proclaims as she examines his damp hair. His stomach turns three times, he stiffs up completely and there is unmistakable redness in his cheeks, staring at him back in the mirror. Oh, Jesus. This is all so wrong. The word shame does not cover it. He jerked her son off. Charles sucked his dick last night. He feels so incredibly dirty and somewhat guilty. And she has no idea, blissfully unaware her son's fingers left the places she is now touching barely minutes ago.

"I'm sorry..." he manages to roll out an apology from the deepest part of his soul.

She smiles, like the morning treated her well and like she slept soundly. "No worries, I'm just saying it so that you know."

Max is happy to keep her thinking he is just stupid. Rather than suspecting anything else. He did make sure to wash his hair clean, his goal being to scrub it all off any remains of last night. Oh, God. How did he get into this mess in the first place?

"I told Charles you were coming in today," she says casually, unknowingly torturing her customer. The red does not go away and Max wonders if make up is something he should be looking into from now on, because this is unbearable. "He mentioned something about a party last night? On a yacht?"

There it was. Charles warned him. He's got to prove himself. He puts on a PR smile and looks at her reflection in the mirror. "Oh, I was too tired. Didn't go and stayed home." This is safe answer, he thinks. Does not offer room for any follow up.

She frowns and continues. "You're kind of quiet today, is everything alright with you?" This woman has laser eyes.

"Yeah, all good! Everything is great, just the season is tough this year," he says, managing to sound quite convincing.

The answer seems to satisfy her and she smiles again. "You tell me, I have no idea where Charles gets his energy to party all night. Didn't even come home. Then he calls me to ask questions about how to cook a celebratory breakfast for Pierre. He's such a good friend to him, don't you think?"

Somehow, especially after knowing Charles and the fact this woman raised him, he does not buy this at all. But, this realization does not shake him. On the contrary, it adds him some flare he lacked until now.

"Pierre is a great guy to be friends with. To be honest, I don't know Charles that well, but Pierre seems to keep him in check and helps him in the world of F1." Lies. Pierre is an enabler, someone who Max will keep a closer eye on from now on.

She hums, clearly unimpressed with his vague answers, and pats the salon chair. “Sit still. Let’s see what we’re working with today.” It sounds like a threat.

Max obeys, sinking into the chair as she moves around him, strangely resembling a vulture. It's amazing how someone can oscillate between innocent mom energy and interrogation vibe. His pulse is pounding so loudly he wonders if she can hear it. Her hands move quickly and efficiently.

“Charles said you two went on some drive through the woods recently,” she asks conversationally, combing through his hair. “Something about smashing a car?”

His lip roll into a thin line. Well, wouldn't it be nice to know this beforehand, Charles. Thanks for letting me know, dumbass.

He curses Charles in his mind with every Dutch insult he's ever heard. Then goes onto German and when he runs out, ends up with English. For all the talking Charles does, he surely knows what information to leave out.

He coughs, breath stuck in his throat. He quickly apologized, blaming it on the tea. Pull it together Max, Jesus.

"Yeah. I took him to our cottage. He looked like he needed to blow some steam off," he speaks and immediately slaps himself internally for using the word blow. Pascale, do you wanna know how good your son's mouth is? He is mortified by his own thoughts. "I hope you don't mind, it was my old car and I need to get rid of it, I am never going to repair it and-" he blabbers on, and would be ready to talk for good fifteen minutes to divert the attention, but she stops him.

"Max - All good. I'm happy Charles is fitting in F1 and that he does things other than driving and sitting alone reading all the reports. He can get so lost in it sometimes and this...However strange I might find that activity, it is one day going to be a fun memory. And it's important to have those," she smiles and cuts away, like this is all just another typical session.

Max is taken back by that sentiment. He is not used to this, does not know how to absorb it without making sarcastic comments.

He swallows and replies the only thing he can think of. "Thanks."

“Oh, don’t look so worried,” she teases, patting his shoulder. “He speaks very highly of you. Said you’re… what was the word? Determined. Yes, that was it. He admires that about you. Apparently, it's a hard pill to swallow just how good your driving is sometimes."

Max’s stomach flips, again, so violently he’s sure it’s going to come out of his mouth. Swallow. Uhm. Great. Good to know there is something in in the world that Charles finds hard to swallow. Max really should have cancelled, stay in bed with Charles and bicker until the end of time. He doesn’t want to say anything, but he knows silence is worse. He has to stop this now.

"I'm sure he wouldn't like me knowing that," he fakes a laugh and digs his nail into his jeans. Thankfully, the questions stops, because she is about to turn on an electric razor. Max swears on one day becoming an ambassador for the brand. For free. Because, the safety the loud sound provides, is truly priceless. Few minutes of peace. Max is grateful. But, everything good ends eventually and soon there is silence again.

Pascale starts combing through his hair, and the rhythmic motion is almost calming. Almost. Because just when it looks like they got over the topic of her son, certain someone decides to grace the room with his presence.

The door opens, and none other that Charles enters.

"Hi, mama!" he greets his mother cheerfully. She stops her movements, gives Max one quick apologetic look and goes into hugging her son. As his own reflection burns back right at him, he wonders what bad thing had Max done in his previous life to end up in this mortifying scenario. He uses this split second of opportunity and flips his phone out.

"This is a mistake" he manages to type a text super quickly to the brown haired menace of a man, hoping he reads it asap. He doesn't. Of course. His phone most likely on silent mode. Why would the world make anything easier for Max, ever. No, Charles is busy running for the Son of the Year, apparently.

"Mama, I brought you some pastries, from the shop you love so much," he says after she releases him from her embrace. "Figured you might be hungry."

Max sees in the reflection that she smiles and it does look like an innocent family moment. But, he knows Charles. He probably has fireworks stacked in his pockets and is not afraid to use them to distract his mom. Ugh.

His mom is smitten, they exchange few more pleasantries and she returns back to her job, while her son strolls into the backside and helps himself to some tea.

"Oh, hi Max. Forgot you'd be here today. I'd have brought you something too," he says oh-so-casually.

"Hi, Charles," he retorts, appreciating the fact Charles managed to at least go home and dress into something other than Max's t-shirt. Life is a real bitch lately, he has to look for the positives somewhere. Max tenses, bracing for whatever fresh chaos Charles is about to unleash.

Charles walks back into the room with his cup of tea, exuding a breezy confidence that Max has only seen in people who’ve never accidentally dug their own graves. Max shifts in his chair, suddenly feeling like he’s under a spotlight. Pascale's attention flicks to Max, as she continues her job, her expression as composed as ever, though Max swears there’s a glimmer of something sharper in her gaze. He swallows.

“So,” Charles begins, sitting casually in one of the vacant hairdresser chairs, “the party last night? Amazing. I have so many great friends, mama.”

Max decides to focus his gaze on a random spot on the wall, desperately hoping for Charles to pick a safer topic.

“It was classic Pierre. Total chaos, but fun. Oh, and Max!” Charles laughs, pointing vaguely in his direction. “You should’ve seen him, mama. He got so drunk. I’ve never seen him like that.”

No.

It's like somebody drops a stone on his head. He risks a glance at Pascale, who is now looking at him with raised eyebrows, her smile soft but distinctly knowing. Max closes his eyes for three seconds. How does one stop this train from crashing? Just how stupid Charles is being is beyond him. To blame sleep-deprivation would be unfair to sleep-deprivation.

“Max got drunk?” Pascale says, her tone warm but laced with curiosity. “At the party?”

"Charles..." he says, trying to fit too much into this one word. Stop. Please stop talking. Look at your mother, she is getting suspicious. Max can see she that she is pretending to work on his hair, when in fact, she is merely brushing through. Like mother, like son.

“Yeah!” Charles continues enthusiastically, completely missing the tone of Max's plea. “He was dancing like...well, you’d have to see it to believe it.” He adds few obscure moves with his hands to make it "believable".

Max opens his mouth again, but no sound comes out. Pascale’s gaze is laser-focused on him now, quiet and steady. It’s not accusatory. More like she’s waiting for him to slip up.

“Hmm,” Pascale hums lightly, sipping her tea now, her expression neutral but her eyes still locked on Max.

Charles barrels on, completely oblivious. “Anyway, the chef Pierre hired? Incredible. He made this truffle thing...”

Max isn’t paying attention anymore. Pascale’s gaze hasn’t left his face, and in it, he sees everything. The quiet assessment, the sharp intuition, the undeniable knowing. It’s not about the supposed drunken party, it’s about something else entirely. Something unspoken.

Max manages to keep his face carefully blank. Pascale doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t have to. There’s a silent conversation happening between them, one Max isn’t sure he’s winning.

Charles continues his story, gesturing animatedly about the food, unaware as they come. Pascale tilts her head slightly, her lips twitching in a way that could almost be a smile.

She sips her tea again, finally breaking eye contact to look at Charles. “Sounds like quite the party,” she says simply, her tone light and amused.

Max exhales slowly, the tension in his chest easing ever so slightly. But when Pascale glances at him again, her eyes glinting with quiet amusement, he knows this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

//

After his five minute long monologue it's actually Pascale, that kindly orders Charles to leave her shop, because other customers were coming in and his speech was drawing too much attention.

And now here he is, sitting in his mother’s salon, trying not to fall apart under the weight of it all.

There is a scary silence as she does some final touch ups. "There, all done. Do you like it?" she asks, making it obvious that she has the upper hand. "It's perfect, as always," he mutters and scrapes up all of the courage left over in his bones. "I didn't want you to think I'm some sort of drunk," he adds, knowing the hole is so deep at this point that to dig a little further does not make any difference whatsoever. She smirks, nods and makes sure to let him know that she does not judge him at all. Max leaves a tip a little too big for someone who's "not hiding anything". He is not sure whether he should feel guilty. As he if he defiled the family’s honor by spending last night worshipping her son. 

//

He walks home, trying to wrap his head around what has happened in the part twelve hours. Yesterday, he woke up thinking his biggest problem would be the unanswered email from the development department, that was sitting at the top of his inbox. Now, apparently, it's Charles, his mom and by the extension anyone that has the fortune of running into Charles in Monaco, because the man is unpredictable as they possibly come.

But, in all of the stomach rolling Max experienced in the past few hours, there is also something completely, utterly soothing. In amidst of all the chaos, there are the small little moments him and Charles shared. The whole time, he can’t stop thinking about him. About the way he looked last night, the way he said Max’s name like it meant something. After walking for few minutes, he remembers that he actually drove there and forgot about his car.

As he sits in the driver seat, he can still feel the reminisce of Charles's presence. He wonders what he's up to now.

The phone in his hand absentmindedly opens up at the text chain with him. The "this is a mistake" text marked as read, ten minutes ago. He mutters few curse words under his breath. Given the time this text was seen - and not responded to - he could only imagine where Charles's wild imagination took him. Max is too tired to overthink this. Unlike Charles, he's not afraid to call him and clarify the situation, before it escalates and Charles gets the wrong idea. He dials his number immediately. It gets picked after few long dials.

"Hey," he hears on the other line. Tone neutral, flat and with no sign of emotion. Okay, damage has been done apparently. So he gets talking before it goes further.

"Hi, so...Got a nice haircut from your mom," he sighs, trying not to overthink this. Deep breath in. "Um, the last text I sent you was intended as a warning when you walked in the door." Max swallows, trying not to imagine how lame he sounds right now. He just does not want Charles to get the wrong idea. He is squeezing the hand that's not holding the phone. "It's not like....referred to anything else. Just so we're clear." He pauses, giving him some space for a reaction. His nose flinches as nothing comes for few seconds.

"Charles?" he tries, biting his cheek.

There is a light cough at the other, as if Charles was cleaning his throat. "No, yeah. I figured. That's what I thought. But, thanks for telling me," he skips one word over another and Max bites his lip, knowing that he is definitely lying. He's not going to tease him about it today. Gotta save something for a rainy day.

"Right," he concludes and another silence follows before he speaks again. Max watches people walk by, all of them beautifully unaware of what his day entailed so far. In a split second, he finds himself wishing it stays that way. For safety. So that they have some freedom to figure shit out. "Good job at your mom's. Real good story," he says sarcastically, to keep the conversation flowing.

There is a notable shift in Charles's tone, more excited and relaxed. "Right?," he says, proudly, either missing or ignoring the sarcasm. "I had to go and save you, mama is too good at this game. Distracting her is the best way to go about it." Max fights a laugh, amused by Charles's delusions. But it is so nice to hear him so sure of himself and happy. He does not want to destroy that. "Yeah, good job. It's just..."

"What?" Charles asks, suddenly worried.

Max calculates. "No, I fumbled up before you came and told her I wasn't at the party."

"Ah."

He is quick to speak before Charles has the chance. "No, but what you said was good, when you left, I told her I was embarrassed about getting so drunk," he leans against the head rest and thinks that the only thing that's embarrassing is the way he can see himself grinning in the mirror.

"Okay, okay..." Charles pauses and thinks for a moment. "That's good, makes it believable."

Maybe one day he will understand just how Charles's brain works. But for now, it's an exciting, unpredictable journey he's enjoyed so far.

"It's my mother, I know her the best. She is not suspecting a thing!" Max does not fight him on that - no point, because the damage has been done and it's probably just a matter of time before Pascale figured the truth out. He is fine with that.

"It's your family, your fight. I just..." he pauses before getting the harder part of the sentence out.

"Tell me, Max," Charles encourages.

"Please don't do this, or any other unpredictable things in front of my family. It's a bit more difficult situation with them." Hearing his biggest worry said out loud works in the exact opposite as psychology books would suggest. Saying it means it's real. And Max is not ready for that. He pushes it down as deep as possible.

"Of course," Charles reacts, his tone soft. "I totally understand." Max can only hope he does. He prays for it.

"Thank you. I hope we can keep this between ourselves...There is a lot to think about," he says pragmatically. It's all fun and games with Charles, but it could very quickly escalate to something career-ending, and for some reason, Max thinks he's the more rational one about this whole thing.

"No, that's for sure. Thank you for saying it, it's good to clear that out." Maybe, just maybe, there is a chance this all does not blow up in their faces.

"Good," Max confirms and fiddles with his t-shirt.

"Um, so, me and my little brother are gonna play some football later today...If you want to join," Charles asks carefully. Max's first instinct is to say yes. However, on second thought, meeting his brother, after the fiasco with his mother...That's a whole lot of Leclerc for one day. Max needs some time to process things. Some breath of fresh air, before they embark on racing again in few days.

"Thanks, but I got shit tone of prep to do for Singapore. But, next time, definitely."

"Of course, I'm sure the data is as much excited to see you as I am," Charles flirts and it does work on Max, maybe a little too much.

"You're insane," he says, affectionately.

"And yet, you're the one who called," Charles react with a "right back at ya" undertone.

"I'm hanging up now, Charles."

"I'm not playing this game with you," he laughs and actually hungs up.

Maybe one day, Max will be able to predict Charles's next move. One day. It's definitely not going to happen any time soon. But, for all the silent inner monologue, calling him crazy or reckless, he is glad that Charles is doing things that way. Because, if they were both like Max, they'd both be sitting home. In a calm, but lonely peace.

//

He watches from afar, cosmic energy surrounding Charles the following days. His new contract announcement breaks the news and his face is everywhere. When he finally gets a glimpse of him at the paddock, t's like someone finally painted Charles in colors, instead of the black and white ghost that roamed around this summer. Max recalls when he got pushed into the top team. How thrilling those days were. He figures this happens only once in one's life. When you finally achieve what you've dreamt of for years, decades maybe. And before you have yet to discover all the dark sides of the dream, all the things you either didn't anticipate or purposefully ignored, to keep yourself pushing. It's an ugly industry they picked. Merciless, cruel, unjust and cutthroat. Bleeds you dry and leaves you, when you need help the most. But, the highs are indescribable. He knows it, Charles knows it, they share the urge to fight, win and keep fighting. There is nothing like getting the overtake done. No comparison to finally getting the promise of a top team car after years of sacrificing. He does not want to taint those days. No matter how much he'd like to share the joy Charles must be feeling, he can't trust himself around him at the moment. He wants to talk to him, touch his body and drive around in circles around every city they end up in. The door is not fully open yet, but Max has a feeling, deep down in his bones, that it won't be just another hook up for him. It is entirely possible, that Max is using the excuse of Charles's post-signing days as an excuse. To allow himself to hang on the few moments when he is free of anyone else living in his head rent free. Entirely possible. There is no way of knowing.

Singapore is one of Max's favorite places. Not necessarily for the track, but the city hums and shines, everyone is a visitor and rarely anyone is a local. He had been on the road so much that a concept of a home, a place he's from, is sort of foreign. If you'd ask him that question, he'd probably reply that his home is his car. It is also the fact the jet-lag works somewhat to his favor, he had always liked the nights more anyway. Things roll in the same way as they always do. The familiarity is cut by the few texts him and Charles share, random updates from their day. That is entirely new. Anytime his phone dings, it's like a line of cocaine shot directly into his brain. He often thinks about their night. Explores the new world of sex Charles introduced. This is probably not the first time in history someone justifies watching gay porn as "study material".

//

It's not unusual for Max to get stuck at a some semi-official dinner. He understands the importance of it, when it's a sponsor or charity thing. But, as he finds himself sitting at another table shared with his father and Christian Horner only, he figures he needs to get better at making up excuses. Jos always put made a great deal of any opportunity he got to spend with someone like a team principle and would not back down even after the achieved the goal of getting Max signed. Max has the sentence "building connections" burned into his memory and it works almost Pavlovian. Unless there is a clear clash in his calendar, he gets up and goes to whoever his father need him to parade to. He considers it a small price for all the things he had done to help him where he is now.

One day, one day he will say no to a dinner with only him and Christian. One day.

It always goes the same. On testing days, the less prominent ones, they get a table at the nearest steak house and the two older men feast, while Max tries to find an option suitable to his diet. He is way past by using up his cheat meals with these two. He likes them, he really does. Both men have something interesting to say and he tries to learn from their conversations. Not really minding the way how he feels more like a decorative piece, than a real participant. It's when they overdo it too much with the whiskey and get onto more lenient topics when it starts to become unbearable.

Max shifts uncomfortably in his chair, his half-eaten chicken breast pushed to the side of his plate. Across from him, Christian and Jos are deep into their conversation, which feels more like series of monologues, than an actual dialogue. Max just wants to leave.

"It's not getting any easier, Jos, let me tell you. Not with all the initiative to get more women on the road," Christian mumbles, pleased with himself as he waves over for another round of drinks. "The path to hell is paved with good intentions. I'm all for equality," he says like means it, but both Verstappens know that is not the case, "But nobody has balls big enough to address the obvious effect this is going to have," he comments and looks at Jos for support.

"What happens on the road, stays on the road," Jos concurs the infamous phrase uttered usually right before marriage vows are about to get broken. "It was always like that and it's going to stay that way. People will just have to be more careful, now that everyone carries a professional camera in their pocket. Thank fuck that was not the case in my old days." The two men share knowing smiles, heavily implying they'd seen their fare share of unplanned love affairs. Max's heart sinks in. He's heard that one line countless of times. This is the part of the evening when Max usually tunes out. When he was a teenager, he would laugh with along side, finding it all exciting and a nice perk of this lifestyle. People slip up when they spend most of their days and nights away from home. And the paddock community allows that, unwritten rules making sure the families, wives, girlfriends or partners don't find out from other people. The older Max gets, the more sick this all feels. Yes, it is hard, but some people don't seem to try at all. He tries to forget the moments his dad left him alone to get his midnight fix. Still does not know if he did the right thing by covering for him, be it that from his own mother or whichever girlfriend came after her.

He's not going to sit and argue, judge his father or his team principal. After all, they'd done this far longer than him and who knows - maybe it is impossible not to at least slip up. What happens on the road, stays on the road. That sentence fills him with ever-present dread. The hopelessness and nihilism of it all rings bitterly in his ears. No, it does not stay on the road. I had to look my mother in the eyes and pretend like I don't know anything.

He thinks of Charles and imagines him saying these words to his peers. It makes it all so much worse, but this is typical Max. When he'd down, he tends to give into it and go forward to the despair. He fantasizes about Charles hiding things from him, clandestine meetings with other people and inevitably turning into the same type of person like his current dinner partners are. Misery loves company could be Max's motto.

He sits there in silence, trying not to absorb the story Christian is telling about a woman he hooked up with three races ago. It is a particularly uninteresting story, if you take the infidelity out of it. Max thinks of his wife and how sincerely she hugged him four races ago. Apparently, it only takes missing one race to get forgotten.

A text dings on his phone. Maybe it will release him from this misery. "Is your dinner over? Wanna meet up?"

He hasn't seen Charles since his stand-up at the hair salon. The memory is a total contrast to what ever he had been imagining the past few minutes.

He hovers his fingers over the screen, debating which direction to take this. It's rude to leave the dinner early. But the two men haven't even addressed him since their third glass. He would absolutely love to see Charles and run away from this all. However, he knows how he gets when he's in this mood. Silent and mercurial. Twisting his thumbs, he decides to just type. Charles does not seem to filter anything out ever, so maybe that's the way to go about it. Anything but whatever his father is doing. "Still at the dinner, I'd kill for a save out of it. But a warning. I'm feeling a bit weird. So like...I'm probably not the best company today"

He hits send before he can rethink this decision. With his lips turned down, he returns his attention to the conversation. The topic seems to be one of the female logistics manager from Williams. And her physical qualities. It's exhausting to witness this.

Max exhales, the tension in his chest making his voice sharper than he intended. “Maybe it’s not the road. Maybe it’s just you," he whispers, not sure if he want that to go noticed or not. It doesn't.

A ding. "I can handle grumpy Max. Share me your location. I'm going on a run. We can go for a walk to get you out of your head, hm?"

This is when Max is glad that his father is too lazy to pick a place further than ten minutes away from the hotel. He does as Charles asks and puts his phone away. He is utterly doomed. Smile already creeping into his face as he watches the men, who are looking uglier every minute. The idea of joking around with Charles is an addictive one. Which precisely what makes this all so much worse. It's a quick fix, that he can't imagine won't cash its price in the future. But, he can't help himself. He counts the minutes, hoping each one is the last one.

//

In the end, it's very easy to get out of the dinner. Both of them understanding that racing comes first. They don't need to know the truth (Jos' words anyway).

Rush washes over Max as he walks out and heads over an alleyway two streets away where, supposedly, Charles is waiting on him.

It feels all the best kinds of wrong, and yet pure and innocent. He keeps looking around, trying to see if anyone recognizes him, so that he could get ahead of that situation. Seems like luck is on his side this time. The dim alley feels like world apart from the lively street he left behind. Charles doesn’t move, his posture relaxed, his hood pulled low enough to cover most of his face in the shadow. Yet, Max knows it’s him. He could pick out Charles in a crowd of thousands. Max slows down, looking over his shoulder once more time. Charles stays in the dark and waits for Max to walk towards him.

“Max,” Charles says, his voice low, quiet enough that it feels like the name is meant just for him. Then he finally walks one step closer, letting the light into his face.

Charles looks like something too elegant for this setting. His lips curled up, patches of light stubble mapping his youthful features. The hoodie drowns his body, yet he can make it all work. His eyes shine and one would easily believe he is glad to see him. Max stops and smiles back at him. He is fully aware of his own insecurity about what happens next. Nobody gives you a protocol about these situations.

Charles shakes his head, biting his smile down. "Na-ah. Closer," he orders and it sounds like an invitation.

Eyes glued at him, Max does one, comically small step and grins back at him.

Without a blink, Charles repeats. "Closer."

Max also repeats his moves, stopping just shy of brushing against Charles. The distance between them is barely a breath, one arm’s length, close enough that he could touch him without even reaching. His fingers twitch at his sides, aware of how little space there is now, how easily that space could disappear. Chills running down his spine.

Charles, obviously amused, continues. "Closer," he dares him and Max is sure that even a dead person wouldn't be able to defy this command.

He kills any notion of a space between them, reaches to tangle their fingertips and painfully slowly leans over to connect their lips together. Immediately upon feeling his soft lips, butterflies fill up every possible space in Max's body. The touch is light, intoxicating in just how casual and easy it all feels. Few more brushes before Charles smiles into the kiss and pulls away, to Max's dislike.

"Slow down, lover boy," he murmurs, still staying impossibly close. "We're still in public," he reminds Max, who's rational part of brain is grateful for this.

Max nods and licks his lips, taking in any residue of Charles. He watches him, expression changing from simply flirtatious to something more serious. He looks at him, like he is a code he needs to decipher.

"Let's go, Max Emilian. There's this jelly tea thing I really want to try," he announces and gestures at him to get going the same way he came. There's something about the specific blend of accent this man has that is music to Max's ears. Also, he really likes this new way of greeting Charles.

//

Max is led by Charles through number of buzzing streets, narrow and wide and it would almost fool you into thinking this isn't the first time Charles is in the city. Just when Max is getting progressively more certain they are lost, a lively corner reveals a street full of small food stands, eclectic shops and little tables set up for those wanting to sit down for a moment.

Charles is his usual cheerful self, carefree and talkative. He asks Max if he wants to hear few crazy things from the first days of him being publicly Ferrari and only starts to blabber once Max assures him that he really wants to hear it. It seems like Charles took the text about his mood more seriously than Max would expect him to. He is careful in his actions and more aware of the surrounding world outside his own existence. Max is happy to get distracted by his stories. Many of them remind him of his early days at Red Bull, though a few highlight just how different the scarlet team’s philosophy is from his own home garage.

"We absolutely have to get you a hat," Charles interrupts his own story in the middle and seemingly abandons it completely. He jogs to the nearest shop with some obscure hats and caps on display and waves at Max, encouraging him to come over with a smile suggests there is little to no room for him to protest.

Max approaches the shop slowly, but it looks like the door for contributing to that decision has closed. Charles holds up a straw hat adorned with a blue feather, his face lighting up with a look of approval.

"Perfect. This will work," he says and puts the hat on Max. It feels like something out of a youtube challenge video.

"Why do we need this?" Max asks conversationally, having quickly accepted that this is going to happen. It's Charles. He runs on different fuel than the rest of the world and Max would do almost anything just to see him smile.

Charles has his proud face on. "We need to hide you a bit. You are too obvious." The happy show assistant accepts Charles bit tip.

"And this big hat is going to help how?" he wonders out loud as they keep walking down the street. Charles's fingers brush gently over Max's as he walks past him - and he knows that's not accidental.

He turns his head and his lips are forming a cunning smile. "Max Verstappen would never wear something like that without being forced to."

"Well, I am being forced to!"

"See? Everything I say is true."

//

Max stares at his cup skeptically. “You’re sure this isn’t just sugar water?”

“Chin chaw,” Charles educates him.

“Chin what?” Max asks, observing the contents of the drink with visible suspicion.

“Chin chaw,” Charles repeats, grinning. “Grass jelly drink. It’s refreshing. Trust me.” Max realizes that he looks utterly ridiculous with the hat already, but his concerned expression must be adding a new dimension to his look. Charles laughs, already taking a sip. “Try it. It’s good.”

Max hesitates but takes a sip. The drink is sweet, herbal, and oddly pleasant. The jelly slides through the straw with an unexpected texture that’s not entirely unpleasant.

“See? Not bad, right?” Charles beams.

Max shrugs, taking another sip. “It’s... okay.”

They find a quiet spot at the edge of the bustling street, leaning against a low wall as the crowd flows around them. Charles takes another sip, his gaze fixed on Max.

“Alright,” Charles says, breaking the silence. His tone is softer now, curious but firm. “Why are you in such a mood tonight? What happened?”

Max stiffens, his eyes darting away. It was nice to be distracted. To not think for a moment. "What mood?"

Charles keeps his gaze no matter how much Max tries to avoid it. "It's like you have this dark cloud following you. I'm not going to push you, if you don't want to tell me, but I just wonder what made you this upset."

Max sighs, running a hand through his hair, forgetting the damn hat. He takes it off and shoots Charles a semi-apologetic look. "I’m not upset."

“Okay.” Charles’s voice drops, gentler but insistent. “You are. But I'm happy to see you either way." His smile is soft and innocent.

Max doesn’t speak right away, swirling the straw in his drink as if it holds the answer. He finds it strange how Charles sees through him. He tried to so hard to push it all inside.

"It’s nothing," Max finally mutters, his tone unconvincing. "Just tired."

Charles leans closer, his shoulder brushing Max’s. "No. This is more than that. I’ve seen you tired. This is... something else."

Max exhales sharply, avoiding Charles’s gaze. The words on his mind beg to get out. He stares into the busy street. All the normal people, who don't get to race a formula 1 car mingling around, unburdened.

"Do you ever think how your life would look without racing?" he opens up and immediately feels like an idiot. Charles is still his rival, this is not something he should be hearing.

But there is no lightness in Charles's tone as he speaks. "Sometimes. It's a strange life. So far though, it seems like the right path."

He leaves space for Max to follow up. "I just...Sometimes I look at the people in the industry, especially those who had been in it for decades...And they sort of scare me," he admits for the first time. It feels strange to say it like that. But, it's the truth. "They have this weird look in their eyes, cynical and it feels like they become slaves of the lifestyle."

Charles thinks for a moment. "It's an addiction, this job and this world. Especially as drivers, we get so used to the adrenaline, the constant travel, never in one place for more than few weeks...It's why I love Monaco so much. It keeps me grounded," Charles tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing in thought as his fingers absently trace the rim of his cup. "What's the thing that scares you the most?"

"I guess the whole family and inner circle aspect. It's so hard to keep in touch with people outside of racing. And every year, or few years, you're facing the threat of getting dropped by your team and then what? The longer you're on the grid, the more your life becomes the people surrounding you. I have to say. I don't like many of them."

Charles studies him so intensely, Max has to avert his eyes to the crowds again. The Monegasque reaches for his leg with his heel and entangles then, probably instead of reaching over with his hand, for anyone to see. His movement is subtle but deliberate, his heel brushing against Max’s ankle before hooking gently around his leg. Max can't help but appreciate the nice intimate gesture. "We're so focused with this specific vision," his hands mimic the shape of a tunnel, "that I'm worried I might get lost in it. Missing out on so many other things in life."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, family celebrations, studying university, having a successful marriage." It feels extremely strange to dump this out on the guy who sucked his dick last time they saw each other. But, Max is in a mood today. "If you want to survive in this world, you have to be super focused and sacrifice everything."

There's a glint in Charles's eyes. A wondering look, the unknown. He takes his time responding.

"You really think you have to give it up all to win?" he speaks with certainty that Max finds almost odd.

The pit in Max's chest does not stop growing. "That's all I've ever heard from everyone. It’s not just a job. It’s our whole existence."

"Maybe you're listening to the wrong people," Charles says, his voice sounding like he's not sure where his response it going to end up. "It’s true, this world can eat you alive. But it doesn’t have to. There’s still room for joy, for the small things that remind you why you wanted this in the first place. I think the trick is holding onto those moments before they slip away," he wonders, sounding remarkably like his mother. "However, and you might know something about this," he teases, "The cliché thing about losing automatically when you give up trying, is nothing but true. I'm sure that many people had told you that it's impossible to get into F1. And yet, look at where you're sitting."

It does make sense, in fact it's so obvious it makes Max feel almost foolish. It's hard to convince yourself to believe in this when all you ever hear in bitter comments from those who walked this path before you. He's still not entirely convinced it's not just another delusional hope.

"So yeah. Give up before the fight. It's probably going to be easier," Charles notes and slurps on a particularly big peace of his tea jelly.

Max sighs loudly. If Charles thinks he does not know what game he's playing here, he is seriously mistaken. "I don't know what your goal is, but I know exactly what you're doing."

"Really? What do you think I'm doing," his lips curl into a sly smile, and he glances at Max from beneath his lashes.

"Provoking me into trying to prove you wrong."

"Maybe. You're like me, the best strategy to get you to do something is to challenge you or suggest you can't do it."

"Uhm." Max has an inkling this speaks more about Charles rather than himself. "So what's your goal?"

"Gotta keep you in F1."

"Why?! No offense, but it would be quite good for you if I just decide to say fuck it all and flip my entire life upside down."

Charles shakes his head, mischief written all over his face. "I have to beat you on track again."

Max scoffs. Of course.

Charles speaks loudly again, his tone more at ease. "I won't be sitting here in twenty years, listening to you bitching and saying the only reason I'm winning is because you've retired and gone off organizing some family celebrations. It's you or me."

No, Max thinks. There is only one way this is heading. And it's getting more obvious with each day. It's you and me.

Images of the dinner, his father, Christian and all those unpleasant moments spent with them flash in front of his eyes. Soon, it's going to happen all over again. He's already dreading it.

There’s something about the way Charles speaks tonight, his voice steady but gentle, his answers so sure, him leaving no room for any doubts. For a moment, Max can’t breathe. It's a whole dance of words that are being said and the undertones hidden in between. He sits there, his legs now crossed and he looks so unburdened. Steady, calm and it seems to be working on steering Max's gloom back to normal.

This isn’t just a conversation. It’s a lifeline, a reminder that there’s something more than the dread of the cynics around him. And it hits him, sharp and undeniable: it’s Charles. It’s always been Charles. He's the one who understands. Still naive and seemingly immune to the bitterness of others.

"You’re staring, Max. Should I be flattered or worried?"

You be whatever, I am terrified - he wants to say, but doesn't. "Neither. You just... We can stop saying stupid things now," he tries to undermine the conversation, because the worry that he is reading too much into this whole thing is starting to get to him.

Charles laughs, rolls his eyes, but the tone he speaks in is inviting. "Right. Stupid. Glad to see the usual Max back."

Max chuckles and inspects the strange drink that's getting warmer with every minute.

"Can we just stay here?" he pleas quietly, more to the heavens than Charles.

"What, in Singapore?" Charles turns around, as if he's searching for something that particularly catches Max's eye to make a statement like that.

He just smiles, observing him instead. "No."

Because, what if what happens on the road, stays on the road.

Charles does not reply, but he takes a hard look around the street, looking for anyone who might have recognized them and when he start looking sure of their anonymity being protected, he picks up the ugly hat. He has his cheek expression on as he shields his face from the main street, leans in and places a small, quick kiss on Max's lips.

chapter 6

------- @chezmardybum

[lunarleonardo]

Just saw art that inspired this thought for an au. I think I've seen some shippy fics floating around for it that take place outside of killing games but not for inside the killing games so idk if it's been done before.

Basically, an au where shuichi can see and hear ghosts (which canonically exist in danganronpa). He's seen ghosts for as long as he can remember and uses that ability to his advantage in investigations (and helps the ghosts move on). He pretends he doesn't think ghosts exist due to the never ending therapy and drugs his parents would try to get his "delusions" to stop as a child. So whenever the question "do you believe in ghosts?" comes up he's like "they're obviously not real, if they were we would have proof by now."

Of course he hides this from everyone in the killing game because they'd think he's insane or being deeply disrespectful to their dead classmates. He's used to getting the attention of ghosts and prompting to follow him to speak with them alone, usually by looking right at them (hard to deny eye contact) and using subtle body language. Part of the reason he wears his hat is to avoid looking at ghost strangers.

As an excuse for writing reasons, ghosts do not remember the moments leading up to their death very clearly, so Rantaro would not remember how exactly he died. Which leads to Kaede's execution happening again. Hoshi would remember the plan but not the moment of death, he would keep it from shuichi though for kirumi to succeed. Angie and Tenko would harass shuichi a lot. Miu... she'd be so mad her plan didn't work and shuichi would take the brunt of her anger, there's no she's helping him. No clue what kokichi would do, I doubt he'd know what to do either since he fully expected to be dead dead without anyone figuring out.

None of the ghosts move on until the killing game is over. Shuichi never reveals to anyone living that he sees their ghost classmates. Kokichi might catch on to something weird going on with Shuichi but Shuichi would never admit it even if he guesses correctly. Well, correctly enough, he might think shuichi believes he sees ghosts but kokichi doesn't actually believe in ghosts. "That's not funny, I don't see ghosts- I'm not delusional. Leave me alone." <- man who will see ghost kokichi during chapter 5. It would probably piss off kokichi so much to see shuichi (and probably a couple other ghosts) stare at him after they find the press and know that his plan is screwed from the start.

The ghosts hangout in shuichi's room because he has a tiny shrine + incense out to deter mean spirits. In this case, mean spirits would be the really annoying dead monocubs. The ghosts usually hang in his room or follow him, they miss the set up for killings. Shuichi never really gets a break to be alone.

Things that tether ghosts to the world are probably special items, places, and people. His classmates would probably be very uncomfortable sticking to where they died so they stick to shuichi and his room (technically the little shrine + incense) instead.

"It's so peaceful looking at the stars isn't it shuichi?" "sure is..." <- man who is currently subject to the yammering of several ghosts.

- @blorboindulgence

Ahh, ghost-seeing aus!! I wrote one of those in my oneshot docs once (⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠) This poor kid was probably forced onto so much medication he needed to be :{ that can reallly mess with your head,,. Poor guy. You cant fix something that doesnt need fixing (⁠｡⁠•́⁠︿⁠•̀⁠｡⁠)

I cant imagine what the 5th trial was like lmfao. Would Shuichi pretend not to know who was dead and who was alive the whole time for the sake of Kokichis plan? Shuichi has the power to steer the trial in the wrong direction, so if Kokichi told him the basics of it... Oh I wonder how that would go. Cant imagine how awkward that would've been xD

Oh actually!! Would Kokichi remember Maki shooting him? He might faintly recall someone coming into the hangar after Kaito attacked him, but probably not much else after that (⁠个⁠_⁠个⁠) man if I was Kokichi and that shit happened to me you would've seen me on the news. or whatever ghosts have.. probably haunted radios i dunno

[sevi007]

Tales of the abyss playthrough, part 5

Well, damn it. We are busted . Not that our disguises were any good but that’s a wooping 30 minutes of gameplay before they caught us

Interestingly enough, Jade does not seem particularly hostile towards us. It seems more like genuine intrigue to me

Yes thank you Luke. I'm honestly getting dizzy with all the exposition over here. There are so many factions within the same organisation and I still have not yet fully grasped all those score and fonon things.

So from what I gathered, the score is like a written history of everything that was, and will be. Talking to some NPCs, it also seems to server as a kind of horoscope (that's why I say it tells the future). So it's like a religion's bible in a way that they follow it's teaching, but it's also more, because it can make predicitons (or already made them).

There are two kingdoms we know of yet - Malkuth and Luke's home which's name I always forget - and they are on the brink of a war. Over what, I have not really understood yet. But despite the fact that Jade and Anise are part of Malkuth's military, they do not want any war and are on the way to help Ion (who is a neutral party not undre any kingdoms' rule) to the king for a peace treaty. Did I get most of it right? Sure hope so!

Jade, I do realize you're making fun of Luke. Bastard man XD (I'm kidding, it's funny)

Oh? See what I mean about fast-paced?! XD I was still mulling all this new info over, gimme a breather please

Yea does not look like I'm getting a breather.

Oh? Can we summon zombies now?

Is anybody on the Team already a zombie? Jade is pale like one... okay I will stop XD

Ah I see. That will explain how they nerf Jade so he can be part of the party.

Checking his stats... yeah he is on our level now. Dammit. I wanted to use him for easy farming for a bit longer. XD Curse you for seeing through my genius plan, game!

Well now, that’s interesting. I cannot recall a JRPG which actually adressed the fact that we kill the (human) enemies we face. (Disregarding Vesperia and Yuri‘s kills here, because those were outside of the battles that we as players control). I admit that I in front of the screen did not consider this either. In the back of my mind, I assumed we knock them out, rather than outright killing them

Not only is this interesting for me as the player, but also for Luke‘s character development. Remember, again, that his entire (remembered) life was a sheltered one. He barely learned how to fight- Tear points out flaws like not considering the environment, not knowing how to use arts - much less how to deal with a real battle field, or killing. Now he gets thrown into a situation where it‘s kill or be killed. How he will deal with this and what he will do from here on out might be an important milestone for him.

.....

Ah. Literally like two minutes later:

Oookay I had assumed Luke will have a bit more time to mull the whole killing thing over but alright, fast paced once more XD Poor boy.

Huh. I think I saw this guy in the opening? I‘m going by ear here, but I THINK he has the same voice actor as Luke? No don‘t tell me! I don’t want to look it up either. It’s just interesting. Jotting this down as important - especially since they are careful not to show us this man‘s face. Maybe a long-list twin? Although there‘s a lot of things that speak against that theory.

So I'm cutting this short here, this post is already long enough. I'm very intrigued so far!

@magicmetslogic

[kame-writes]

Cannibals Curse Part 5

- Questions and Answers

Alastor watched Rosie being the perfect host, pouring them both tea from an intricately designed teapot. There was a small display of finger foods on a tiered display nearby, mostly sweets, which he wasn't a fan of, but also a curious assortment of actual fingers in paper casing. 

It was so odd, to physically see cannibalism accepted and accommodated for, but he supposed since they were in Cannibal Town, it stood to reason. He vaguely remembered her chewing on a hand, but his memory of their meeting was hazy at best.

“Forgive me if this is an odd question. But I don't seem to recall much of what happened before you offered to bring me here.” He admitted, taking the offered cup and drinking some while he tried to think of how to word his questions.

“Was that just another quirk of death? Because I felt like a man possessed. I've killed people before, as I've mentioned. Same for cannibalism. But never… anything close to that.” Not that blacking out and killing hadn't happened before. But only with his first ever kill. He saw red and woke up covered in blood then too, but this was different, he wasn't himself in the most literal way. 

Rosie sighed, reaching up to remove her hat Pin and hat, placing it on the seat beside her, getting more comfortable for the potentially uncomfortable conversation. “I'm afraid it's a curse for cannibals like us. Apparently gluttony is a sin that warrants extra punishment.” She huffed, clearly not happy with the situation herself. “You'll never feel fully satisfied, I'm afraid. The hunger doesn't go away, but trust me, you'll get used to it in time. I barely even notice it anymore.”

“I'd hardly call myself gluttonous.” He scoffed, but took in the fact that this was something shared between the two of them, and probably most of the town he now found himself in. He wasn't sure if he was happy to not be alone in this, or annoyed that he was just part of a statistic down here. “So I take it, that it is something that happens to everyone? The animalistic urge. The body distortion?”

“Not everyone can distort themselves like you did. I was surprised to say the least when I saw it.” Rosie really had expected the poor sod ripped apart to the freshly fallen soul at first, before she realised what she was looking at. “Usually that's something only certain Overlords can do, or very powerful sinners at least. You already having that kind of strength isn't common.” 

“Overlords?” Alastor asked curiously. He very much needed to understand the hierarchy of this place if he was going to make a name for himself. Because he already knew that he wasn't going to just fade into the crowds and keep his head down. No, this was mearly a new hunting ground for him, a new and exciting dance. And he intended to learn all the steps before he went freestyle with it.

“Hmm? Oh! Hah, you seem so unphased by this, I keep forgetting ya only fell today.” Rosie laughed. “Overlords are people who own territory in the city. Usually you gain power by acquiring soul contracts, and defending ya territory.”

“So. You are the overlord of Cannibals, I take it?” He had an inkling that she might be some form of elected offical already, but now it was clear that she was actually some form of powerful entity aswell. Interesting. He did indeed have a talent for accidently stumbling across the right people. “I hope you aren't expecting my soul.” He added teasingly, to gauge her reaction.

“I already told you, I don't expect anything from you.” It would be wrong. Rosie didn't like to feel she manipulated people into a deal, he was too new, and still figuring things out. “Most of the souls in my possession are given willingly though. I can promise that yours is perfectly safe unless you wish to give it away.” She assured, not missing the way he was trying to see if she had ulterior motives.

“Good to know.” He put down his cup and eyed the severed fingers on display. “So, what triggers this curse? Because I doubt you'd be offering me severed body parts if eating it would cause me to become a beast.”

“It's usually the smell of blood. Which is why a lot of my people don't leave our little town unless they can control it. All our butchers drain the blood, so it's quite harmless for you to eat.” She demonstrated this by popping one for the fingers in her mouth, chewing it like it was nothing more than a normal morsal. 

“So, you keep your people close and loyal by providing them something they wouldn't get outside of your walls… That's rather clever actually.” He had to admire the system, everybody wins. Rosie got power and control, and in return, her subjects feel safe and understood in a way they wouldn't anywhere else. A perfect symbiotic community.

“Day one and you're already analyzing things. Planning how to rise in the ranks so soon? My, you don't start small, do ya handsome?” Rosie was amused watching this fresh-faced sinner already scheming. She'd have to keep a close eye on this one, he was going to cause a stir, she could already tell. “Hope you're not planning on overthrowing me as the new Cannibal Overlord?”

“Bold of you to assume we couldn't rule side by side.” Alastor said easily. He didn't flirt, he wasn't interested in that kind if thing, but he knew what people liked to hear, and he could see a potential friendship with Rosie.

Alastor pushed his hair away from his face, annoyed by the way it hung down when he leaned forwards to retrieve his cup. 

He stole a length of ribbon from his flouncy jacket, gathering his hair up behind him, before sighing and letting it fall back down. Of course it would be barely half an inch too short to prevent him from tying it back as he usually would. He guessed he was stuck with it long and loose. Lovely. Hell truly did make every little thing an inconvenience, didn't it?

“Now, I think there's a place downtown you can stay at for now, while you're finding your feet. But then we're going to have to discuss if you're staying here, and what’s going to happen.” Rosie said, in a kind, but matter of fact manner. “I like your moxie, but I won't let people take advantage of my generosity. No matter how charming they are.”

“Naturally.” Alastor supposed that was a very fair offer, he wasn't expecting a free ride of it after all. He wouldn't accept one even if it was offered, he was raised better than that. 

“Well then. To new friends?” Rosie raised her cup in a mock toast, tilted in invitation for Alastor to join in.

“To a new start in Hell.” Alastor added, bringing his own glass to hers with a clinck. Needless to say, this was not how he expected his life to turn out, but he would persevere, same as he always had; With a smile on his face, and blood in his teeth. 

Hell isn't going to know what hit it when he's through with them.

Prev -

[hand-picked-star]

It is the continuation of previous post. I am doing a countdown on the basis of the characters saying 'kal e hain,woh hain etc etc ' basis and their on-screen sleeping and waking up pattern.It's the last 6 days.

6 days to go of the completion of 6th month of their contact marriage aka 7th day from when Arnav started his quest to khushi's heart (aka 8th August)

The only partially-good thing he did that day was 'I love you, damn it.'

why it is the next day: (Arnav said last day that 'tomorrow is our suhagraat' and khushi said to di that 'in tomorrow's puja the shank will be with you' and everyone kept saying 'kal ki puja')

5 days to go to the completion of their marriage contact aka 8th day from when arnav started the countdown (aka 9th August)

why it is next day: (khushi woke up in the same attire of last night)

Arnav decided to marry khushi with full religious rituals and he got to hear 'I love you too,damn it' from khushi.

He did the deed,that he should had done days ago but couldn't , seek khushi's forgiveness.

4 days to go to the end of their contact marriage aka 9th day of the countdown (aka 10th August)

why it is next day:everyone kept saying sagun is next day.

I guess the point of this countdown is not valid anymore as we are at their Sagun ceremony.They were going to remarry soon.

Khushi admitted that she was his all along and Arnav got to know how much khushi respect his belief. So he made a concious effort to know about all the rituals of marriage for her, so that he could perform them properly for her.

3 days left of their contact marriage aka 10th day of the count down (aka 11th August)

why it is next day: ( 'coz Nk said in sagun that kal hum doka main milenge 😁)

Arnav and khushi got engaged and the fact that arnav put efforts to learn about rituals made khushi very happy.

Arnav showered khushi with kisses at the same spot where once upon a time a kiss was supposed to happen.

khushi beautifully address herself as 'singh raizada'.

he appointed a trained nurse for her father so that her mother could attend all the functions.

He chatted with her over phone before falling asleep.

2 days to to the completion of contact marriage of arnav and khushi aka 11 th day of the countdown (aka 12 August).

why it is next day: ( buaji was telling garima about the roka ceremony and then said in next day's kuldevi's puja you would be with me.I hope buaji was telling garima about the engagement ceremony that very day,not like 10 days later.)

Arnav entered the temple to accompany her to seek permission of her bestfriend for their marriage.

he said her that he loved the way she is and she didn't need to change at their date.

he also cheered her up when she messed up.

1 day to go aka 12th day of the countdown of Arnav and khushi's 6 month old contact marriage (aka 13 August)

why it is next day:( At their date the last day anjali asked shyam how would he come to the next day's function.)

Arnav sweetly recalled their mehendi moment.

He also tied her opened dori and had mehendi on his hand only for her.

He opened up to her fully about his past and shared his sorrows with her, letting her console him.

It's a little moment but its my fav, when he was flashbacking about anjali, then about shyam-khushi, he got frustrated and broke a vase,but later he was very calm and patient with khushi.

(to be continued)

My scattered thoughts (5b/?)

<previous > | <next>

[castlebyersafterdark]

Have you read this article? https://variety.com/2023/tv/features/noah-schnapp-coming-out-will-byers-gay-stranger-things-5-1235687739/amp/ it’s about Noah’s coming out, he gives insight to what it was like growing up adjacent to wills story and how they’re intertwined

If I remember correctly he said he denied Will’s sexuality to himself, until he couldn’t by season 3 esp after the rain scene and THAT line was delivered by mike. That was something I was stuck on when Noah came out, while beautiful and meaningful and important it is that Will so deeply resonates with him, he had to experience that moment right along with Will, except Noah himself was more in Mike’s place at that time and wasn’t ready to let himself accept being gay. He came a long way to feel grateful for Will’s sexuality, because he said he refused to connect with him for that fact (since he was closeted to even himself) even during s4, which shocked me reading that because that season was like the rain scene x10. And also because b4 Noah’s coming out, I speculated he was out to friends/family at that time. It’s what made me assume why Finn was so sweet and sensitive talking about this particular gay ship he was part of contrast with how he sort of treated his past gay ships, paired with maturity and passion for this arc for Mike. (Now I think it’s for many other reasons, some degree of self acceptance? his own journey in Cara’s words)

Also I remember a fan asked about Noah’s first kiss in an old q&a on his YouTube, he said it was with this girl he was talking to while shooting that 3rd season, and it happened after wrapping up and coming home. He recalls it being really awkward and was interrupted by a light falling (i swear the universe was screaming at him jk unless👀) Thinking about that now, though funny watching it back then, makes me weepy when you fit it in the timeline. He’s known since he was 14 that Will’s gay, first introduced to the possibility of his own queerness and what that even was through this character when he was even younger. Though Will is ultimately what helped him accept himself and come out, as he said he doesn’t know if he would have come out without him, I feel like acting out a reflection of himself informed his actions and struggles in the beginning as his life and this characters storyline played out. And in the public eye in that scale, while also just being a normal kid with family and friends and school, internal life, that’s really fucking tough, and still act wills story so authentically because it’s so true to him deep down. I admire him a lot he’s incredible to me, I can’t wait to see what s5 Will looks like played by our grown up evolved Noah who has finally let himself be fully and deeply connected to his character the way he’s always been inside. (Also I will not think of the possibility of Finn deeply resonating with Mike…I’m just not emotionally prepared oh god)

This is theeeeee ultimate article!! A very important one!

You hit on all the good stuff so I'll let your words stand on their own, I'll share snips of the best parts of the article.

❤️❤️❤️❤️

OK I still feel like I read a different Matt and Ross specific interview where they talked about this middle school queer friend and their childhood - but at least here's a mention where I know I'm not crazy for thinking that they definitely based Will on a childhood friend at all (which until it is completely negated, part of me takes that as code for "Matt Duffer" 🫢)

It's so interesting reading this about someone else, someone who we can also go back and observe at least a little bit of from public interview and appearances and videos online. How we look for signs and clues, because we're invested, we're curious. Sometimes it does give me pause that we do this. As well as how his mother knew he was gay that young. Before he was even ready to internally admit. As someone whose experienced a little bit of this himself, I always think about - what were we doing?? What about me made certain people know? What did you see? How did I give myself away? He ended up with support rather than sympathy (opposed to my case. Eventual support, though. It's ok now) - but how do mothers know? I know it's more personal and candid that we'll ever get or need to know, as he in reality is a stranger to us after all, but I always wonder when I hear other's stories like this, what do others really feel like when they know that people saw you before you saw or embraced yourself? I celebrate who I am now, and I know that he does, too. But it wasn't always like that. I don't know. I think about these things.

THIS IS THE PART THAT WILL HAUNT ME UNTIL SEASON 5 IS HAPPENING ON OUR SCREENS. NOAH WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?

This is a really moving way of putting it. I think the way Shawn Levy is described as taking a pause going silent says so much, holds so much weight. Because this show, this show - we have to remember this when thinking about it in the end, for better or worse. Look how it changed lives, specifically this young guy's life. I think that's why Will is so special to a lot of us - that character did this for a real person. Sappy as hell, but I find it so beautiful.

Another thing that haunts me is this secretive series he's developing...

Ending on a fun note and yet another haunting little factoid and insight from dear Noah. I know we'll never know this, but who was hitting you up!!!!? Who fully put themselves out there that was so unexpected? Haunted, haunted. He deserves the attention, though...

😊😊😊😊

[ducknotinarow]

For science, I had to do this xD, especially cause of a dumb thing on Twitter with Kezzie

What ABO type are you

"Eh I always knew I had Top dog Energy after all"

Mun kind of hates this result XD but also? it makes for to much sense when reading the descrption Raph in a way is always trying to prove himself to be an Alpha not liking to take orders, questioning authority mainly Leos XD and of course he is very protective of his friends and family. Raphael even himself soon falls into seeing that being his role and job to fill for his loved ones. Even if he often fears not being able to protect everyone. And though I say he is a switch he truly enjoys the top role.

and for fun why not the rest of my raphs, orginally done from phone why 12's is a screen shot but the rest I did at my computer after deciding I wanted to do my other raphs.

87

Alpha-Passing Omega

Congrats, you're an alpha-passing omega. Listen, we all have issues with how people perceive us. Deep down you're a soft little bitch, but you would die before admitting that to anyone who hasn't unlocked at least level 5 friendship with you. In social situations requiring someone to step up and take a leadership position, you will do so, but only if nobody else does first. Your public demeanor makes most people think that you're an alpha, but when you're around people you trust, you can admit that you need to be taken care of sometimes and be vulnerable. Just remember that it's okay to ask for help king.

"Pft whatever maybe i'm a little soft what of it?"

Considering his more laid back behavior this dose fit well. Raph when he needs to be can give of a more aggressive air when need be or when he dose get worked up. Raphael can be pretty bad about going alone on things and not often speaking up about when things upset him lole feeling he failed his detective course. That only Splinter found out he was taking. But Raphael can't even bring himself to fight a robot lool alike of his brother he's a soft bitch deep down especially when it comes to his baby girl uwu

03

True Alpha

Congrats, you're a True Alpha. Either you were actively trying to get this result to prove to your friends that you're not a little bottom bitch, or you're a true and proper Alpha. You're what most people would call a top, and you probably consider yourself a protective member of your friend group. You're the 'he asked for no pickles' kind of motherfucker, and I salute you for that. Thank you for your service to the bottom community.

"Course 'm an Alpha, why I take down anythin' 'hat thinks it can deal wit' me."

And then you recall this guy lies on his shell and spreads his legs for casey uwu but I agree he is fully alpha I mean look at how he's always quick to pick fights and prove him self better no matter his opponent loke Trax or even Leo. So yes he very much dose feel a need to prove he ain't a little bitch. Kind if why he tends to get aggressive sexually when Casey decides to call him princess. In a tad bit of sacrifice on his own end he dose sort of bite back on his pride it's honestly his biggest display of love uwu

SF

True Beta

Congratulations on getting the normal wolf xenogender. When alphas and omegas are doing their intricate horny rituals, you aren't particularly bothered. You're attuned to the feelings of those around you, but you feel like your response on the social dominant/submissive spectrum is determined per situation, not per something intrinsic to you. You'll help out an omega in need as easily as you'll follow the directive of an alpha, and that swiss-army-knife kind of mentality is what we need more of in this batshit insane world. Thank you for your service king.

"I definitely like the Swiss army knife mention."

Honestly this result? I feel fits. In the SF comic and game despite the Fact he fits in with many depictions of Raph, its never him challenging Leo out a need to prove himself better because he disagrees with thie leadership. No this raph seems to have understood something Leo hasn't. They you tend to see later in most Raph's growth. Being a team. That's the only time Raphael tends to get harsh with Leo. And fits with hiw he can go either more Dom or sub with Casey he's pretty chill and relaxed either way. And well despite that whole mess they find themselves in? Raph handled things that happened pretty well for someone with a short temper.

MM

True Alpha

Congrats, you're a True Alpha. Either you were actively trying to get this result to prove to your friends that you're not a little bottom bitch, or you're a true and proper Alpha. You're what most people would call a top, and you probably consider yourself a protective member of your friend group. You're the 'he asked for no pickles' kind of motherfucker, and I salute you for that. Thank you for your service to the bottom community.

"Fuck ya 'm! Ain't nothin' less mad dog of the team!"

The moment I saw Raphael go for protein powered for muscle build I knew this boy was be a pretty typical jock fill role xD and the fact he loves wrestling and joins the team even? Just tells me more I'm right hmjes rowdy and loud and all about violence he knows he's an alpha and everyone else gonna know it to he gotta use his rage!! I just see this boy ready to jump right into conflict needed or not because it's the best way to deal with anything clearly why he met his bestie and boyfriend uwu by kicking their ass. He's very aggressive in that he's not too hesitant about acting on his choices henjust gose for it.

[aviiarie]

YAP SESSION AHEAD. INCOMING. FULL SPEED. be WARNED....

furina's wife anon lore reveal because something literally life changing happened yesterday and i need need NEED TO TELL SOMEONE ARRGRGH!!!! ALSO ALSO SORRY I DON'T MEAN THIS TO BE VENTING AT ALL!!! JUST STORYTIME. FOR THINE ENJOYMENT. Because I do believe I can be amusing sometimes maybe I Don't Know

Imagine, if you will. 1st grade. Small quiet kid with very much undiagnosed autism. Meets the pretty popular girl who is super extroverted and talks a lot to everyone and has a lot of friends and is the most stunning person in class and perhaps the most stunning person to ever person ever.

(at least in small quiet kid's eyes)

Best of friends. WHOOO WOULD'VE THOUGHT??? My first and only real friend ever AND best friend ever and. Because the gays can never have nice things. My first crush. Whoa. (But also I was like 7 and didn't know what being gay was so I ooobviously could only be foreseeing only futures for myself where we were married in a platonic way! Speaking of actually. I feel like everybody knew I was autistic before I was and targeted specifically me but WHATEVER so the mean girls in kindergarten a year earlier thought I was doing naughty naughty stuff. As a 5 year old. When I was practicing KUNG FU???? And after I tried to explain, called me gay and refused to elaborate on what that meant when I asked????)

It got to the point where physical affection was very common y'know!! Like. Hugs. Cuddles, even. I remember it happened once in 2nd and the teacher told us we had to cut it out which STILL MAKES ME LAUGH but anyway. WAIT ACTUALLY before we move on from 2nd grade there's ONE THING THAT. OOOHH MY GOD. So Crush. Liked a boy. Of course. The popular athlete. Conventionally attractive. Of course. And the three of us sat in a circle one day. The topic somehow came to race. They both said "I'm white!" and me, a naive child with a white father and absent asian mother, replied "I'm white too!" since I hadn't seen my mom since 15 months old—and GOD forbid Father teach me anything about my culture. ANYWAY. BLAH BLAH BLAH. TELL ME WHY THIS BOY FULLY TURNS TO ME. LOOKS ME UP AND DOWN. AND SAYS, "No. You're brown." SORRY THAT'S KINDA OFF TOPIC BUT I'M BAFFLED EVERY TIME I REMEMBER THAT AND I THINK IT IS SOMEWHAT COMICAL. There's so much bullshit that kids said to me as literally the only asian kid in the school but THOSE ARE STORIES FOR OTHER NIGHTS.

ANYWHO! FAST FORWARD! 3RD GRADE! Here's where it gets WICKED. So. Girl in class. Also quiet artsy kid. Somehow starts talking to Crush. And they start hanging out more. Do note, small quiet autistic child has unresolved abandonment issues due to said mother leaving. And is also very much undiagnosed. And not having friends. In the slightest. So. I see other kid as Public Enemy #1, and take Crush's casual friend-making as "oh my god she hates me and she's leaving me oh my god she hates me oh my god"

So I became possessive over her. I don't remember quite exactly what I did, but I recall having an "argument" about it right at the end of third grade. It's honestly quite embarrassing to admit now how much I didn't want her to leave. But guess what happened when fourth started? I skipped through the gates, expecting fully and immediately to see radiant blond belting off rays of sunshine directly into my eyes.

No! That did not happen! The gays cannot be happy! Guess who moved schools!

It wasn't like she didn't warn me, either. She did. Many times during the months prior. I just wasn't ready to process it until I was eye-to-eye with a searing light instead of hers.

That was the seed of my depression. It all started from there. I was going through hell and hell was determined to force other people into it through me, too. I do feel like the anger and irritability part of depression is severely overlooked. I was mad at myself and everyone except her until it festered a little and theeen I became mad at her.

A few years ago I would've looked back and seen a jealous, controlling antagonist who cared only for herself and halting her insecurities and held no regard for other people's feelings. But when I look back now, I see a child navigating complex emotions for the first time and doing what she could with what she was given.

BLALALALA SERIOUS TIME OVER. So I was halfway through fourth when covid did its covid thing!! Very angsty child becomes locked up in house oh no!!!! POINT IS. I spent 6 years absolutely TORN TF UP over my "first lesbian breakup" BECAUSE WHAT THE FUCK THAT WAS DEVASTATING?????? MY FIRST REAL FRIEND EVER. IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE US??????? WE WERE SUPPOSED TO LIVE TOGETHER WITH OUR CATS AND HAVE WEDDING PICTURES SPLAYED OVER THE HALLWAY?¿??????????

To be fair, I did think I was over it!!! Like. When I say I thought of her every single day for 3 years straight I am not exaggerating in the slightest. It was BAD. Little kid was DOWN BAD. Buut then I grew up a little and stopped thinking about her as much and I was like "wow so I'm finally free!"

May 20somethingeth of this year. Prozac. DOOO YOU KNOW WHAT A COMMON SIDE EFFECT OF PROZAC IS .... vivid dreams. I thought, "oh wow it can't possibly be that bad lol what would I even have dreams about!!!!"

For the past month. I would wake with tears in my eyes after VERY MUCH HAVING A DREAM ABOUT HER. AFTER 6 YEARS????? AND NOT THINKING ABOUT HER THAT MUCH SINCE. A FEW YEARS AGO????????? anywho! So it got me thinking about her a lot recently (against my will!) and it culminated into YESTERDAY.

Yesterday. I was listening to "once more to see you" by mitski because of course I was listening to "once more to see you" by mitski and it did indeed come after "good luck babe" and "casual" BECAUSE OF COURSE IT CAME AFTER. So I found myself getting a little emo and depresspress. And I don't even know how we got from point A to point B but I dusted off my crusty old Instagram for the first time in ever and typed in Crush's name.

DO YOU KNOW WHO POPS UP. 6 YEARS. 6 YEARS. AND I FIND A PRIVATE ACCOUNT UNDER CRUSH'S NAME. WHO'S IN THE PROFILE PICTURE????? Long blond hair. The angle was set at 0.5x but to me it looked like she'd never changed at all.

One of my old friends from the area was following her too so I was like. Yeah. Yeah that's her. Buuut just to make sure because I'm a sigma or whatever I texted her like. "Is that her?" But in a very convoluted way because I'm me and I'm different!! (I just added very specific details that. Would only pertain to Crush) AND OLD FRIEND SAYS YES. I START FREAKING THE FUCK OUT BECAUSE. 6 YEARS. I HAVE BEEN LOSING MY MIND FOR 6 YEARS. 6 YEARS OF ANGUISH AND PUNISHING MYSELF BECAUSE I THOUGHT I SINGLEHANDEDLY FUCKED UP THE ONLY REAL FRIENDSHIP I'D EVER HAVE BECAUSE I WAS JUST THE WORST HUMAN TO EVER HUMAN EVER. Hehe anyway! OLD FRIEND SAYS THAT CRUSH IS ADDING ME ON SNAP. I START SHAKING. QUIVERING. TREMBLING IN MY BOOTS. MY SHIVERS WERE TIMBERED.

So. A few things happened on snap. IT'S ALMOST OVER I SWEAR THANK YOU FOR STICKING WITH ME 🙏🙏🙏 SO. First thing that should've maybe put me off a little. Crush says "how do I know you?" Which. Okay. I aaaam genderfluid and go by a different name than I used to BUT with the other stuff that transpired It's Heavily Suspicious. So I type our elementary school name because I DON'T WILLINGLY SAY MY DEADNAME 🤬🤬🤬🤬 DUH 🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬 anyway. AND SHE SAYS "ohhh i think i know where this is going" LMAO and i say "YEAH...." and give a lil description of me and she's like yup that's you. Definitely.

(little side note. When I told her she LITERALLY SAID "my mom totally called it lmao" AS IN HER MOM CALLED ME BEING A GENDER SWITCHER??? GIRL.)

I wonder how much aura I lost from this conversation actually. Here's how it went.

Crush: how do you still remember all of that?

Me (sigma chad): i could never forget

Crush: what

THAT'S GENUINELY . WHAT HAPPENED. THAT'S WHAT I SAID. AND THAT WAS HER RESPONSE. that should've been STRIKE NUMBER TWO. SO THEN. I'M JUST LIKE. "there's so much I want to tell you y'know, first I want to apologize" AND SHE SAYS "apologize for what?" OR SOMETHING ALONG THOSE LINES.

Let me sum this up. I spent 6 years in Lesbian Limbo because kiddo me fucked up a little. I find Crush to get closure. SHE DOESN'T EVEN REMEMBER MOST OF WHAT HAPPENED????? 6 YEARS. I CANNOT GET OVER THIS. 6 YEARS I SPENT. AND SHE DOESN'T REMEMBER MOST OF IT.

So now here we are. It is a little freeing to know that she didn't think of it the way I did, but I can't help but be a little upset that all of that time was wasted over something. That. UGH. THIS KEEPS HAPPENING I SWEAR I'M CURSED. I KEEP GIVING PEOPLE WHO DON'T WANT ME ALL OF MY TIME AND ALL OF MY MIND AND ALL OF MY HEART AND AAAARRRGRHRHRRGGHHH

But it's okay because now. After the lesbiban falling for straight bestie arc. And heartbreak arc. And depresspress arc. I AM GOING TO HAVE MY MOVING ON ARC!!!!! LIVING A HAPPY LIFE ARC!!!!!!!!! YES!!!¡!!!!!!!! (I'm still processing but I think we're getting there :])

Tea Time Over! Thank You For Listening! If this is scattered umm GELP PLEASE SPARE ME I have triple A supreme whammy package combo of amnesia autism adhd (we are Twinning!) I HOPE YOU ARE DOING WELL. And that this wasn't too much of a pain to read holy shit

SIGNED!!! FURINA'S WIFE!!!! WITH LOVE!!!!!! FURINA'S WIFE OUT!!!!!!

ANON. HELLO. HI. GOOD EVENING.

this ask was a wild ride from start to finish HAHAHAHA okay, okay. for starters, i can understand where kid-you was coming from. i mean, that kind of jealous 'no one can be friends with them but me!' attitude is one that some kids just go through when they're dealing with hard emotions for the first time, and learning how to think about others and take their feelings into consideration. it's not good, but i think the way you responded to it is pretty normal for your age. it's good that you can look back on it and see how you've matured since then, and see how much better you can handle your own emotions now. that shows growth!

(side note, but i know what you mean?? with the whole having a puppy crush on your best friend because she's so perfect and amazing and fun to be around... little me was making heart eyes at my friends before i even knew what the word gay meant AHAHA... though, i do think at least half of my crushes were closer to friend-crushes because i was a baby aro-spec(??) and didn't know how to tell friendship from romantic love--but i digress!)

ALSO THE STORY ABOUT THE 'i'm white!' IS WILD?????? kids are so out of pocket sometimes oml

but okay moving on HELLO??????? the vivid dreams.... and FINDING HER ON INSTA????? okay, okay. that is... wow. there are some childhood friends i have that i am so curious about what they're up to now, but i never had the courage to search their names.

(side note 2, HER MUM CALLING IT ON YOU BEING GENDERFLUID IS SO FUNNY HAHAHAHA)

the conversation though..... i got second hand embarrassment IM SORRY. but augh. six years, and then nothing. that is even more painful than the childhood friend i reunited with, spoke one sentence to, and then never talked to again. to be clear we were CLOSE. best friends. and now we see each other every so often, we just.... dont talk. and younger me would be crying if they knew that.

i know it must hurt a lot knowing she doesn't remember you, but in the end, it's good that you could some closure, as bittersweet as it may be. i hope you can move on from it now, because letting someone consume that much of your life isn't healthy. there are people who will be there for you with the same time and energy you're there for them! but putting all of yourself into another person, letting your life revolve around them is not!!! good!!!!!

i mean, i think a life-altering, emotionally damaging, unrequited crush on their best friend is like. a lesbian canon event, but you can move forward! in time, this will be just an experience you look back on with nostalgia, rather than pain.

AAAHHHH this was. a lot. i'm wishing you luck in the moving on arc, and hoping you move into the LIVING A HAPPY LIFE arc very soon!

[dahliawolfe]

Rush

An ER fanfic

“Greene, to the nurses’ desk,” comes the announcement over the intercom. Bird sighs and pushes a curl off of her forehead.

“Damn it,” she hisses, finally getting the IV needle in. “There ya go, Grace.” The doctor stands, snapping her gloves off and tossing them in the trash on her way out of the curtained off room.

Brigid (Bird) Greene is an ER attending at Chicago County General, and she is on her third 12 hour shift of the week. “Dammit, Tanner, what the hell is wrong with the AC?” she growls as she makes her way to the lobby. The clerk, Tanner looks at her and frowns.

“The WIFI is down,” he answers simply.

“What the fuck does that have to do with the AC?”

“AC is WIFI controlled.” Bird rolls her eyes as she finally rounds the corner to the nurses’ desk. “Fuck,” she breathes when she sees her sister, Rachel waiting for her. “Rach? What’s up?” Rachel Greene Ernshaw looks up from her phone with a scowl. Rachel and Bird had never been close. Rachel was raised by her mother, Jen, while Bird was raised by her own mother, Elizabeth, following the death of their father, Mark.

“Brigid, hi. I left messages…”

“Right, sorry, it’s been a hell of a week.”

“Mm. I came by to remind you that Markie’s 8th birthday is this weekend. We’re having a party for him Saturday at 2.”

“Saturday?” Bird scratches the back of her neck. “I might be working Saturday.”

Rachel sighs and rolls her eyes. “Brigid, you can’t isolate us forever. You haven’t seen Markie and Jenna since Christmas. They hardly know you.” It was all true. Rachel was pretty judgy at times, and she tended to think Bird’s life choices were not as good as her own. And Bird honestly couldn’t stand those kids. Rachel spoiled them to no end, and they were terribly behaved.

“I uhh… yeah. I’ll try and stop by. 2, right?” Rachel snatches up her purse and glares.

“Brigid, you’re my sister, but I really don’t understand you sometimes.” With that, Rachel storms off, heels clicking on the worn linoleum on the way out.

“Uggggh,” Bird groans, laying her head down on the admit desk.

“Bird, Honey, will you just tell her she’s a bitch already?” Chuny jokes. “Mark is rolling in his grave. Jen raising her was not good for that girl.”

…

The tepid water in the women’s locker room at County felt delicious against Bird’s tired skin. The opening of the door and the blast of sluggish air that fills the room causes Bird to raise her head. A tall, blonde woman is standing in bloody scrubs. Bird recalls that a new trauma surgeon fellow came to County that day, and she assumes that must be her.

“Hey, it’s Greene, right?” the woman asks, beginning to strip.

“Uhh, yeah. Look, there’s only one shower. I’ll be out in 5.”

“You mind if I join you? I’m in a bit of a hurry. We’re both doctors, right? We know all there is to see.”

Bird is a little stunned. “I uhhh… ok.” This is awkward but honestly, saying no seems even more awkward, since it means more of the other woman standing half naked staring at her fully nude.

“Fuck yeah. Thank you!” she shucks her clothes, tossing them in the biohazard bin and steps in the water. “Your physique is glorious, by the way.”

“Umm…thank you.”

“Don’t suppose I could borrow some soap?” Bird wordlessly passes her a bottle of body wash, because she was not sharing her bar soap. “I’m Rhea, by the way.”

“Bird.” Trying to finish as quickly as possible, she vigorously scrubs her skin.

“Want me to wash your back?”

“No. Thanks. I’m done, actually. It’s all yours.” Bird packs away her things and wraps her towel around her before stepping out into the locker room area. Chuny gives her a wolfish smile.

“She’s hot, huh? The new trauma surgeon?”

“Not a word, Chuny,” Bird warns, making her way to her locker, just as a bare Rhea steps into the room.

“Whew, I feel better. Hell of a first shift, huh?” the blonde beams.

…

Bird plops down into the booth across from her mother, Dr. Elizabeth Corday. “Hi, Mum,” she greets.

“Hello, Darling. Rough day?”

“Just your typical day at County, ya know?” Elizabeth smiles.

“I remember. Are we still on for the gala tomorrow?”

“Shit. I forgot. Yeah. I’ll pick up a dress on my way home today.”

“Language, Brigid,” Elizabeth chides. “You need my card?”

“No, Mum, I have enough for a dress. Thank you.”

“I remember how much, or should I say, how little, County pays.”

Bird knew from a young age that she wanted to be a doctor. Her father had died when she was young, but she remembered him as a kind man, and she looked up to him. Elizabeth had stayed in Chicago for a few years before moving back to England, but that hadn’t lasted long, and she moved them to New York when Bird was 10.

Bird has always been the top of her class. She works the hardest. She proves herself the most. And she gives what ever she is doing everything she has. And she would like to think that her dad would be proud of her.

…

Bird steps out of her flat to wait by the curb for the car that her mother called to pick her up. She smooths her hands down her black dress and tousles her curls a little.

“Bird.” Comes the greeting from behind her. The accent is thick, and Bird closes her eyes and lets it wash over her. She knows who it is immediately.

“Luka,” she breathes.

∞

[minas-linkverse]

Linkverse Update: A Message to deliver

Words: 1320 + 5 illustrations

Characters: Sky, Twilight, Grandma and Aryll

Description: Link ends up having a difficult conversation with Sailor’s grandma.

The smell of the ocean wasn't new to Link. He'd met it on the waves of the Lanayru sand sea after all. This one was quite a bit less dusty however, which was a far more pleasant sensory experience.

What was different here, on this island their magical journey had taken them, was the lively people of outset.

It had taken Fangs a little while to lower his guard, but he'd ended up a real island sweetheart in no time. Sure he still seemed unsure of most of the people, but when Aryll was asked to help with pigs within Fang's earshot, he couldn't resist.

A day of work and now Aryll and Fangs were running around the island doing anything and all that popped into Aryll's head.

Link smiled, watching from the porch of Sailor's home as the two worked on a sand castle. Fangs trying his best to tell about the castle of his time at Aryll's insistence.

Next to him sat Sailor's grandma. She and him had spent the day working on chores as the other two ran about. Sweeping, cooking, looking through old pictographs, and talking.

She was a wonderful woman, Link had come to find. Gentle beyond words and truly sweet, perhaps to a fault. Something he found more relatable than he'd like to admit.

Then a wave washed across the beach, soaking Fangs and their castle, but leaving Aryll untouched as she knew to rush out of the way. This event was followed by uproarious laughter from Aryll, and although Fangs sulked, he didn't seem mad.

"I think Aryll needed this." Grandma spoke up, breaking the comfortable silence.

"She does seem energetic." He signed back, making sure grandma saw his smile.

"That she is." Grandma replied, returning the smile, before they both turned forwards again.

However, instead of continuing their silence, Grandma continued voicing her thoughts, old fingers intertwining on her lap. "Just a moment ago she was only a little girl." She recalled. "Yet before my eyes she's grown too big for this island."

"Too big?" Link asked in response. "You all don't seem to be low on resources…"

"Ah, no, that's not what I mean." Grandma clarified, humoured by the misunderstanding. "...I think, after being rescued by her brother and Miss Tetra's crew, something must've changed. She'd seen what was beyond these shores and hasn't been able to forget…"

"...Oh." link felt a familiar feeling then, "Zelda is like that, I think. I can't help but to admire that."

"The world needs excitable spirits." Grandma nodded. "They let the rest of us take it easy…!"

That'd been funny, Link admitted. "If I'd gotten to decide perhaps I'd still be napping back on Skyloft. I'm glad though, I've been able to see such amazing things."

Grandma seemed happy to listen, but her smile turned to a frown a little bit after.

Link looked at her with worry, his eyebrow raised.

She sighed, and shook her head. "It's nothing you have to worry about, dear."

"I'd love to listen, ma'am." Link insisted.

She seemed hesitant, but after twiddling with her thumbs for some time, grandma made her decision.

"Recently… letters from our Link came." Grandma started. "He explained his new settlement has really taken shape… that me and Aryll could fit right in, and be comfortable."

"Oh!"

"I think it's exactly what Aryll needs. She'd be a welcome hurricane there, I'm sure."

"Sailor said something similar." Link grinned. "He misses you both greatly."

"...That is the issue…" Grandma sighed, placing a hand on her cheek for comfort. "It's perfect for Aryll… yet…"

Link bit his lip, suspecting a few directions this could go, none which seemed pleasant.

"...I don't want to go." Grandma admitted.

"Wh-why not? –If I may ask?" Link felt his heart sink, fingers feeling stiff as he signed. "Sure the trip sounds far, but you're clearly a strong woman."

"Link would make sure I'd be fully comfortable…" She nodded, but remained firm in her stance. "But… This island is my home."

As she spoke, grandma reached her hand out as if to grab the evening wind. It remained there for but a moment, and then she pulled  her now closed fist to her heart.

"I was born here, and I want to be buried here."

Link sat in silence, unable not to stare in his shocked state. Images of Sailor's devastated face flooded his mind, followed by late night talks with Zelda about her father, images of when he was smallest on skyloft and trying to understand why the nice man from the bazaar was being lowered into the graveyard…

...Fi...

"You're… You've still got more life to live. It's never too late."

Grandma smiled at him, but her brows told another story. "That's not an issue. I've raised two generations and kept the people of this island from all sorts of fights. My soup is famous on the other side of the world…"

"I know the grains of sand on these beaches, every turn of the path in the woods, I've watched those trees grow up. I'm a part of this island like the stone at its centre...”

Grandma paused, before placing a hand on Link's. "I am more than satisfied. This is the life I wanted to have."

"...You shouldn't speak like that."

Grandma's smile wavered, and she took her hand back. "...Perhaps it's not for the young to understand."

Link's lip quivered, shoulders tense. He wanted to call her selfish, to tell her this would break Sailor's heart, that he could never stand by such fatalism…

...Yet he couldn't.

After his journey he himself had given up the sword, how truly he wanted to rest– Needed to rest. Sleep for a few years maybe… But he wouldn't let himself.

Everyone, especially Zelda and Groose, could see how resisting what he needed was breaking him. The two nearly had to force him to stop helping…

Sailor wouldn't want his grandma to lie, to come to that new land and sit in sorrow as she missed her true home.

"I am sorry for telling you." Grandma spoke again, then. "You don't have to be involved…"

Breath hitched, Link closed his eyes and sighed. What a truly difficult situation, he thought as he pushed hair from his eyes.

Neither of these people should have to worry about such difficult things. Sailor and his grandma both had such hearts of gold.

He'd have to- He'd have to do something.

"I… I could tell him." Link offered out of the blue.

Grandma looked at him with great surprise.

"Let me." He insisted. "I… I might not truly understand, but I can see it's important. I can see why it's important."

Grandma didn't seem to fully believe him, but she pulled a sealed letter from her pocket. It was a little crinkled, but otherwise clearly newly written.

"...I've not found the courage to send it yet. My response…"

"I'll likely see him again soon. I can warn him and deliver it in person."

"...Son, you truly do not have to."

"I want to." He refused to be swayed. Link would deliver the terrible news, he'd take the fall of Sailor's reaction.

Grandma seemed hesitant, but gave him the letter. "You can toss it out if you change your mind."

"I wont." He signed, before gently taking the paper. Somehow, it felt rather heavy…

"...Thank you." Grandma spoke, eyes teary. It was like her world had grown ever so lighter.

That's it, Link thought, and offered a hug to her. She gladly accepted, and held onto him for a good while. "Just a moment ago they were both so small…"

Yet everyone had to grow old one day…

…

...At least this time there was no toilet ghost to worry about.

[uptoolateart]

Adrien's Fight for Self-Control - Pt 1

So, you’ll know by now that I have an Adrien obsession, because my inner child just relates to him so hard. I’ve wanted to talk about his fight for self-control for so long, and Season 5 is pushing the issue further – so here goes!

I’ve posted this in 3 parts for easy reading :)

Childhood Programming

Let’s get the basics out of the way. Adrien was home schooled for years, enabling his parents to select his friends for him - Chloe and Felix. The first decision Adrien makes on his own is to go to school. Plagg calls him strange for it, but it isn’t about school – it’s about those precious hours out of the house, without being watched, and being able to choose his own friends.

All his talents were chosen for him – fencing, piano, Chinese, etc. His career in modelling was forced on him. Even when he admits to Plagg that he wants to quit, he attends an expo looking for food booths, trying to find an identity through his kwami.

We see in ‘Wishmaker’ that he only ever wanted to be was what his parents wanted him to be. This implicates Emilie, too. Adrien didn’t just learn how to do all these things overnight, and he wasn’t home schooled only since she died. At the very least, Emilie allowed Gabriel to dictate their son’s life. One way or another, she had a hand in Adrien’s oppression.

Imprisonment

I’ve pointed out before that Adrien’s bedroom windows are covered in bars, and as Cat Noir he’s often shown using his cataclysm to break through bars. Keeping him at home all those years and moulding him into someone he’s not is another form of imprisonment – but so is the state of grief.

He doesn’t know it, but his home is a mausoleum, with Emilie’s body in the basement and statues in the garden. He’s trapped by the memories of his mother, and his father’s inability to move on. Adrien can’t live, can’t breathe. And for the longest time, I think he’s been trapped inside himself, struggling to get out of the shell that is the brand Adrien Agreste or even the character he made for himself as Cat Noir.

The Twin Rings

This is not to speak of the rings, which give literal control over Adrien in episodes like ‘Ephemeral’ and ‘Risk’. And let’s recall that Emilie had one of these, which again implicates her. I noted in Season 5 that Nathalie still wears the ring Gabriel passed to her in ‘Risk’. Chekov’s gun tells us that is definitely coming back. If she wanted, just what could she do to him?

Felix stole one of these rings, which was him trying to take back control of himself. Getting the peacock miraculous furthered this, and it waits to be seen what he’ll use it for. It’s clearly more than just self-protection. Adrien isn’t even there yet, but we know he will eventually surpass his cousin – because Adrien is not out for vengeance and hurt. I fully expect him to have a dark moment, but he will overcome it, because kindness is one of his greatest innate strengths.

Adrien’s Friendship Group

Moving outside the Agreste Mansion, let’s look at Adrien’s friendship group. How many times do they make decisions for him, or push him to do things he feels uncomfortable about? Even though we all know Nino means the best for him, in ‘The Bubbler’ he pressures Adrien into the birthday party that goes wildly wrong, and in ‘Party Crasher’ he leads all the boys to pressure Adrien into a secret shindig at the mansion.

All of this comes from the heart, of course – but these aren’t Adrien’s decisions. They’re Adrien being bossed around, just by people who mean better than his father.

Ladybug

We all know Ladybug bosses him around all the time, too. Worse than this, she repeatedly uses him, for instance as a weapon, and he sacrifices himself over and over again. We’re seeing this change in S5, the crucial moment being in ‘Reunion’ when Pharoah throws Cat down and Ladybug expresses concern that he got hurt. I’m pretty sure this is the first time she ever stopped to consider that he wasn’t invulnerable and might actually appreciate some care for his wellbeing. It was a long time coming, and ultimately it came about through Cat getting some self-respect and showing her that he was worth caring about. As long as he allowed her to boss him around, she was never going to stop. I don’t think it was done out of cruelty – she just had to learn.

Kagami

Kagami has never been shy and retiring. In ‘Frozer’ she tells Marinette that you have to be decisive and go after what you want. The way she talks about Adrien as her ‘target’ implies that she doesn’t really see him for him. He’s just an object of conquest, because this is how Ms Tsurugi has trained Kagami to think.

Kagami forces herself on Adrien, pushing a kiss on him that leaves him flustered, and he tells her he wasn’t ready. He dates her because she basically tells him to and he doesn’t know how to tell anyone no, at that point. In ‘Lies’ she pushes him against a wall and tells him that the silly side to him isn’t who he really is – ‘this is who you are’ (an intimidated mess totally cornered with no room to breathe or even stand up straight). He goes as far as asking, ‘Do you really think…?’ as if she might know who he is better than he does. But he ducks out of the situation and escapes, which is a key moment of development for him.

Even so, he doesn’t have the nerve to end things. Kagami is the one who dumps him. She calls all the shots. By the end of the season, in ‘Risk’ she calls him and tells him off for letting Felix literally take his place to stand up to his father, to enable Adrien to hide from his personal responsibilities. After barely seeing her through most of the season, she finally acknowledges that she pushed him around when they dated, and he let her and it was wrong. We can assume she spent the season self-reflecting on how badly she acted…but she’s right that it was half his fault. He enabled the behaviour, because that’s what he’s groomed for.

Ironically, the only reason he rushes back to the mansion to take back his identity after Felix stole it, and stand up to his father, is because Kagami told him to. I’m relieved Adrien didn’t get the chance to confront his father in that episode, because it would not have come from him. We’ll get back to this later.

Read Pt 2 here