#just kind of happened and they're rolling with it

[orlaunderrated]

The Edges of Us: Chapter 22

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Will Lenney x fem reader; George Clarke x fem reader

Summary: Y/N has always been close to George—but everything changes when she catches feelings for his sharp-tongued, infuriatingly charming friend, Will. Torn between loyalty and desire, Y/N finds herself caught in a messy tangle of friendship, secrets, and unexpected love.

Word Count: 3.6k+

Note: Okay for some reason half of the chapter was missing??? so heres it fixed

xxx

Light leaks through the slats of George’s blinds, streaking pale gold across his bedroom floor. I blink awake, slowly, like I’m surfacing from the deepest sleep I’ve had in months. My limbs feel soft and heavy, wrapped in warmth and the quiet hum of morning.

George is still asleep beside me, his back turned, breathing slow and steady. His duvet is tangled between us, and the air smells like his laundry detergent and the leftover scent of last night—white wine, candle wax, a whisper of something more electric.

I smile to myself.

Everything is still. Not the brittle kind of stillness that comes with uncertainty—but the soft kind, like the pause after laughter, or the weightless hush before a song begins.

Ruth has called five times. There’s a string of texts too, all chaotic concern and thinly veiled I-told-you-so energy. She knows where I am. Of course she does.

Two messages from Will sit beneath hers. His name lights up my screen like a bad omen. That slow-rolling unease hits my stomach, coiling tighter with each unread word.

I don’t open them, but I read the notifications:

I know your actual birthday was on Wednesday but happy birthday.

I hope you had a belter.

Something in me twists. In the dread way. In the don’t text me way.

I lock my phone.

Because today, none of that gets in.

Today, nothing can ruin this strange, impossible morning.

I woke up next to George Clarke.

Not after a messy uni night, where we’d crash on a mate’s single bed and pretend not to notice how cramped it was. Not after pub drinks and shared cabs and a laugh that turned into a maybe.

No. This was different.

This was quiet. Intentional. The kind of closeness you don’t stumble into — you step toward it, cautiously, breath held, like it might vanish if you look at it too hard.

His breathing is steady. His hair is a disaster. My pillowcase is creased beneath his cheek, and there’s a faint mark from my mascara on his shoulder that makes me want to burst into song or tears, or both.

I pull the blanket up around me and smile, quietly.

Because against all odds  I’m here.

I slide out from under the duvet and put on one of his t-shirts. It swallows me, but I don’t care. I tiptoe into the kitchen, heart lighter than it’s been in months. The floor’s cold under my feet, but I barely notice. The flat is silent. Arthur must still be out, Chris too. It’s just me, and George, and the echo of last night still blooming in my chest.

I start making tea.

It feels easy now—being here, like this. Like I’ve finally found the thread of something real. Like maybe I didn’t ruin everything when I kissed him all those months ago. Maybe this was just how it was always meant to happen.

I glance out the window while the kettle boils. The sky is a soft grey, the kind that makes the city feel quieter. September has settled in—cooler mornings, slower light, a gentle reminder that change is coming.

Moving back to London was worth it.

I was so scared, terrified that I’d feel as hollow here as I did back in Brisbane. But standing here now, in George’s kitchen, barefoot and sleepy, surrounded by silence that doesn’t feel lonely anymore—I feel full.

I make two mugs, one how I like it, one how George does (Way too much milk). Maybe we’ll go for a walk later. Maybe we’ll make fun of someone from uni's latest MLM they're apart of or spend the afternoon on the sofa watching some terrible Netflix show.

This is the start of something.

I carry the mugs back toward the bedroom, careful not to spill, and nudge the door open with my elbow.

He’s sitting up now, scrolling through his phone, duvet pooled at his waist. Warm golden light spills across his bare chest, making his skin glow. He looks up at me and smiles — that slow, easy smile — but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

I ignore it. He's probably just tired. I can’t help thinking he looks gooooood.

I hand him his tea , grin, and sit on the edge of the bed like I’ve done it a hundred times before.

“I made you the proper stuff,” I say with a smile. “None of Arthur’s floor-sweepings.”

George laughs. It's quiet, tired. “Thanks.”

I sip my tea, watching him, memorizing this moment. Everything finally feels okay. Maybe even good.

I watch him sip it, eyes half-lidded, his hair all flattened on one side. There’s something vulnerable about George in the morning. Less quick, less defended. Just soft. Real.

“I was thinking,” I start, testing the waters, “maybe we could go get breakfast? That place on the corner with the sourdough and the good eggs?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at me for a moment too long. Then, instead of speaking, he sets the mug down on the bedside table and reaches for me, gently pulling me back into him.

I let him.

His arms are warm around my waist, my back pressed to his chest. It’s quiet in the flat, in the room, in my head. The world outside can wait a little longer. I rest my hand on his.

Still silent, he leans down, brushing a soft kiss to my forehead — slow, deliberate — then trails one along the curve of my neck, warm and featherlight.

I close my eyes, heart skipping.

It feels unreal — this quiet closeness, these small, tender moments — like I’m dreaming but wide awake.

Neither one of us says anything.

It’s the kind of quiet that feels like safety. Like maybe this is what I’ve been reaching for since I got back. Like this is where I’m supposed to land.

His breath is slow against the back of my neck.

I savour it, holding on to this perfect stillness.

Maybe breakfast can wait.

xxx

We end up at breakfast, finally.

Technically lunch, but I’m still calling it breakfast. The kind that’s earned — slow, late, after a morning tangled in sheets and limbs and something almost like love.

It was different this time.

Slower. Tentative. Like the hunger of last night had softened into something sweeter. Fulfilment, maybe. Or relief.

He held me after. No words, just skin against skin, the quiet rhythm of his breath against my shoulder. I wanted to ask him what he was thinking. I didn’t.

Now we’re sat by the window of a café two streets over, one of those too-cool places with mismatched mugs and menus on brown paper. My eggs are perfect. His toast is burnt. He eats it anyway.

There’s sunlight catching in his hair. His fringe is still damp from the shower.

I’m smiling too much. I know it. I don’t care.

“I missed this,” I say, half without thinking. “Us. Like this.”

George looks up, halfway through buttering a second slice.

“Yeah,” he says. A beat. “It’s nice.”

Nice.

I keep talking. About the new flat — how I still can’t find the box with my chargers. And he talks about how Arthur’s latest PR package has basically exploded across the living room like an influencer-themed grenade. As much as my own space is fantastic, I do miss the chaos that comes with Arthur and Chris.

I laugh. A proper, soft, snorty laugh that crinkles the corners of his eyes. I feel it in my chest — blooming, warm.

“Honestly, I don’t know how we live like this,” he says, sipping his coffee. “It was like a walking brand deal detonated.”

I grin. “You’re just jealous he got sent that oat milk you like.”

He rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

That easy, soft, mouth-closed-but-eyes-crinkled kind of smile. The didn’t-even-bother-to-fight-it smile.

The one I used to catch from across lecture halls or tube platforms or pub tables and feel like I’d won something just by being the reason for it.

I feel it in my chest. Blooming, warm.

And for a while, it feels genuinely easy — like this has always been us. Like we’re just slotting back into place, into something we never had to force. Something that’s been waiting for us to notice it.

We talk about the next episode of his podcast, a new bit Will did that apparently made Chris cry with laughter. I don’t ask about Will. I don’t mention his birthday text. I don’t care about it.

But his name hangs between us like a third cup on the table.

I push my plate aside, appetite gone.

“You think we should tell people?” I ask, suddenly. “About… this?”

I gesture between us — vague, hesitant — like saying it too clearly might crack it open. Might make it too real, too defined, too fragile.

In my heart, I know that’s where it all unraveled with Will.

The not-saying.

The sneaking around that made everything feel heavier.

The constant skirting around the what are we conversation like it was a trap we were both too proud to fall into.

As much as I want to blame him — for going quiet, for backing away without warning — I know it wasn’t just him.

It was me too. Not asking. Not letting myself want more, out loud.

But this is different.

It has to be.

George hesitates. Just for a second. Just long enough.

“I mean… we could,” he says, shrugging. “If you want.”

Not we should. Not I want to. Just we could.

It’s small, but it lands hard.

I nod too quickly. “Yeah. Just an idea.”

He changes the subject. Something about a Sidemen Shoot. I let him.

Outside, the sky’s gone from silver to grey. A drizzle starts to paint the windows, soft and insistent. Such typical London weather.

I watch the raindrops race each other down the glass.

Maybe I’m reading too much into it.

'

This is just how George is. Maybe it’s too early to call it anything. I mean, we have known each other for like, what, eight years. But I guess this new version of us is still in development.

But as he reaches for the bill without asking, eyes skimming past mine, something in my stomach flutters.

Because if I’ve learned anything — it’s that happiness, the real kind, never arrives loudly. It creeps in quiet. Like this.

Like us.

xxx

The days stretch out in a warm blur. It’s like the city softens around me, bends itself into something kinder.

George and I fall into an easy rhythm—waking up slow, sharing tea in bed, shoulders bumping in the kitchen as we argue about the best kind of jam. We go for breakfast sometimes, or order in and eat on the floor of the living room while the others drift in and out. It feels... real. Solid.

I keep catching myself smiling at nothing.

Everything is tinged with that just-bloomed feeling, like the start of a song I already love. When I walk through the streets, my hands jammed in my coat pockets, I feel like I belong. Like I’ve earned this little pocket of peace.

Sometimes George puts his arm around me on the sofa. Sometimes I catch him watching me while I talk.

And even though something in his eyes seems far away, some small flicker just out of reach, I tell myself he’s tired. Or hungover. Or distracted. He always did get like this when uni stressed him out.

He still pulls me into his side. He still lets me trace circles on the inside of his wrist when we’re lying in bed. That has to mean something. Right?

I don’t push. I don’t want to ruin it.

I text my sister back in Brisbane and tell her things are good—really good. I tell her I’m happy. That London finally feels like home.

I see Will’s notifications from my birthday still cluttering my screen, like unwanted ghosts showing up uninvited. I swipe them away with a flick of my thumb, irritated that he even tried. Like, doesn’t he get the message? I don’t want to think about him. Not now. Not ever again.

Because the last week has been fantastic.

I didn’t even know I could find this kind of ease, but here it is, and I’m floating on it, like I’ve never truly touched the ground.

There’s the way George and I cook dinner together — the half-arguments over what to make, the accidental bumps of our hips in the cramped kitchen. The way the air fills with the background hum of some bad Spotify ad, and yet it’s... good. Like it’s just a part of this. Like it’s enough.

George, munching straight out of the pan, grinning at me, and I smack his hand away in mock outrage. He doesn’t even flinch. Just dips back in. I roll my eyes, but when he pulls me close and kisses the back of my neck like it’s no big deal, like this is the routine.

I feel something; the way he chooses me in these little moments, in ways that don't even register as choices for him. And somehow, I still feel chosen.

And when we walk home from a night out— it’s late, and we’re tipsy from too many drinks, too much bad conversation, too many half-baked jokes. London’s quiet, but for once, it’s not uncomfortable. It feels like the city belongs to us in that moment.

George drapes his jacket over my shoulders, pulls it tighter around me like I’m supposed to stay warm under his arm. I should feel ridiculous, but instead, I feel... safe. I catch myself looking at him as the streetlights hit his face, a little too bright, a little too warm. And I think, Maybe I’ve been in love with him the whole time. I don’t say it, though. I don’t think I need to.

The nights are quieter, too. Like the one where we’re curled up together on the couch, and he’s editing a video, and I’m trying to act like I don’t care. I’m just sitting behind him, my chin tucked onto his shoulder, watching him work, pretending I’m not the tiniest bit invested in the chaos of his YouTube world. He asks for my opinion on a cut, and I give him some half-formed answer about pacing, something I don’t really care about, but my heart flips when he listens.

When he says, “You’ve got a good eye,” I know he probably says it to everyone. But it feels different when it’s me. Maybe because I’m here. Maybe because I’m finally starting to belong in this world he moves through so easily. But the truth is, I only want to be part of it if it means more of him. If it means I get more of those quiet moments, the smiles just for me, the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention.

And then there’s the flat. It’s become a second home again, and I’m not sure when that happened. I find myself there more and more, even when George isn’t. I’ve started going over before he gets back from wherever he’s been, letting myself in with my key .

Arthur’s usually already there, sprawled on the couch, doing something totally unrelated to whatever he’s supposed to be doing. He’s never bothered to hide it, which makes me like him more.

“Why did you spend three hours on a meeting, but you don’t know how to make a cup of coffee?” I’ll ask him, and he’ll look up from his laptop, totally unbothered.

“I’m more of a make tea at 3 PM, get through the day in one piece kind of guy,” he’ll say, and I’ll snort because same. But really, it's just the way he gets me to open up about stuff I don’t talk about with anyone else.

Arthur might not understand the specifics of my job or even who Ruth is, but somehow, it doesn’t matter. He’s easy, which is what I need right now. The world feels simpler when I’m with him — and when Chris drops by with his wild, disjointed energy, it’s even better.

“Mate, you’re still stuck on that bug? Thought we told you it wasn’t that complicated,” Chris teases me once, and I shake my head, half-laughing, half-flustered, because it’s true. It’s always true with Chris — he just has this way of getting me out of my head.

I’m loving it. The randomness of it all. The teasing, the easy jokes, the way we just fall into sync, without really trying.

And every time George comes home to the sound of us rambling away, talking shit like old friends, I catch that little smile — the one he thinks I don’t notice, but I do.

It feels like we’ve all been doing this forever. Like I’m not just some random girl in his life who happens to be here. I belong here. I belong with them.

I'm their friend too.

And I’m not ready to admit it to anyone yet — least of all myself. But I feel it. Every time I’m with George, every time I’m with them.

Maybe I’ve found home.

And then there’s bed. The low murmur of his voice as we lie there in the dark, the sheets tangled between us, the weight of the night pressing in. He says, “You’re easy to be around,” and I tuck that away like it’s a secret treasure, something only I can keep. I tell him about something from my childhood — some odd memory, some little detail that’s only ever made sense to me — and he listens. Really listens.

When I look at him, there’s that smile. It’s soft and quiet, just for me, and my heart does something else, something dangerous.

And then, almost as an afterthought, he says, “I’m glad you came back to me.”

It’s a quiet admission, a call back to all the times I wasn’t here — a way of saying, I’m glad you’re mine now. But he doesn’t make a big deal out of it. He just lets it hang there between us, like it’s nothing.

Because I want it to mean more. More than the smile, more than the words. More than the casual touches or the way he lets me stay. But I don’t say that either. Because the truth is, it’s been nearly 10 years. Almost a decade of us orbiting each other, of missed moments and almosts, of pretending we were something we weren’t when all along, this was how it was supposed to be.

It’s all slotting into place now — finally — and maybe it doesn’t need to be defined. Maybe it’s just… this. Maybe that’s enough.

But right now, with him next to me, with the world fading out at the edges, I don’t care. Right now, it’s fantastic. And maybe that's enough.

I focus on the now.

On George’s fingers brushing mine when we pass each other in the hallway.

On how he sometimes smiles like he’s trying not to.

On how my heart still stumbles when he says my name softly, like a secret.

This is something.

It has to be.

xxx

What surprises me — truly, deeply surprises me — is that George never talks about Will.

Not really. Not with me.

It’s like there’s a name-shaped gap in our conversations, carved clean and deliberate. One we both step around so often, it’s practically routine.

He’ll talk about the lads. The shoots. The nights out.

But not Will.

Never Will.

And yet, they’re clearly still good mates.

That much is obvious.

I see them together all the time — on camera, off-camera, in thumbnails and stories and those half-second glimpses I wish I didn’t catch.

The ease of it. The rhythm. The jokes.

Like nothing ever happened. Like I was a temporary glitch they got over.

There’s no tension between them. No cold shoulders. No weird silences.

They’re fine. Normal.

Still friends.

And it gives me this… uneasy feeling. One I can’t quite name. Like a bruise I didn’t know I had until something pressed on it.

George was so weird about Will. For months.

There were days I wanted to shake him and just ask why.

Why the comments. Why the looks. Why the cold edge to his voice every time Will’s name came up.

But now that Will barely speaks to me (or when he does, it’s a polite nothing of a conversation like I’ve started a coffee brand, hope you had a good birthday) suddenly George is cool with him again.

Still mates. Still laughing. Still shoulder to shoulder in every frame.

And I don’t know what to do with that.

I don’t know what it means.

Or what it says about either of them.

I don’t know how to bring it up with George — the Will thing.

Not the thing thing. Not the hooking up, or the lack of fallout, or the silence that’s followed.

Just that… I miss him.

As a friend. Obviously.

That’s been the worst part, especially now.

I was so cranky at him. But I miss him. I do. I reminisce on us before the summer.

That easy rhythm we used to have. The pints after shoots, the dumb in-jokes about video titles, the way I could text him a half-baked idea at 1AM and he’d actually use it, even if we were pretending we didn’t get along.

Now we can barely get through a conversation without leaning on small talk like a crutch.

“Hope things are good.”

“Are you and George out tonight?”

“Happy birthday.”

I try to bring it up to George sometimes, when he talks about his friends. But the words never form.

I don’t know how to tell him.

How do you admit to someone that you miss their best mate?

Their best mate — the one you’ve shared nights and secrets with, the one you’ve seen naked in their flat?

It feels impossible.

xxx

TagList: @meglouise00 @migilini @thankyoulovely @mosviqu @formulaal @jonnybernthalslover @tiredqzl @mrswillne @ravenaz @luvnarthur @capnjosh

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

Hmmm Stan twins were born with wings? And only them tho, they're the only humans who has wings, Ford of course has owl wings and Stan... Maybe eagle? Idk. Anyway what will change? I think Stan in this doesn't have a fear of heights cause duh he love flying with his twin brother all the time! (Poor Shermie tho, he's the only son who didn't get wings lol) don't know if Mabel and Dipper will be born with wings just like Ford and Stan. Their fight where the portal opens, i just pictured it in my head and oh my god, they're fighting like two angry birds lol. Like their wings flapping crazy, feathers flying around. Maybe cause now they have wings Stan can fly to Ford and save him from being thrown into the portal, and they reconcile! After yelling of course.

(Sorry if this got too long)

Not long at all! I get way longer all the time lol.

Hmm. I can only see this as a horror show on their end at first. If they're born with wings, and no one else is? Fully functioning wings? If the government doesn't kidnap them, then they're spending their childhood hiding them from everyone, wings shoved under layers and only being able to spread them out and stretch when they're at home or in very secluded sections of the beach. Even more isolated and codependent than in canon, because they have no one else they can trust or relate to but each other.

They learn how to take care of their wings with each other, learn how to fly as teenagers, and spend hours in the air, before Ford gets focused on his scientific pursuits and Stan's left by himself more and more. The Stan o War isn't just an escape here, its their chance to finally be themselves without worry, spreading their literal wings.

Then the science fair happens, and Ford's been hiding himself his whole life, why not do it for a few more years? An education like this is a once in a lifetime opportunity after all!

Once that Stan accidentally ruins, a feather left behind and all Ford needs to pin the blame at his feet and feel the sting of betrayal.

Fords life is mostly the same, except he gets a freind in Fiddleford who learns his roommate has bird wings, then moving to gravity falls and finally gets to spread his wings out without worry. He's nowhere near the weirdest thing here after all! He can fly and stretch and not worry about gawkers! Sure its lonely flying, but there's other flying anomalies, and owls aren't social, so this is actually how it was supposed to be! (Ford is not an owl of course, but whatever he needs to tell himself to shove the ache of Stan's loss!)

Stan's life is even worse. Sleeping in a car with giant wings is awful, having giant wings in a world with none is a horror show. Any time he gets found out he's running again, so many people are after him, because who wouldn't want to control a guy with giant wings? Not even for the perks, just to put in a cage and marvel at. Also the government, who'd love to study him. He's even more wrecked then canon, can't maintain any kind of criminal career long term, can't get a normal job, wings aching from always being squished. Hasn't flown except for frantic escapes, feathers constantly crumpled and a mess from lack of grooming.

Then the post card, and man wouldn't it be fun if Stan got his wings clipped right before? He managed to get away, but his flight feathers haven't grown back, he's grounded and vulnerable, no idea how Ford even managed to find his location (~magic mailbox~ (that thing needs a theme like Perry the platypus)), but its Ford. Ford needs him, and Stan will go, even if two of his limbs are useless.

Rolls up, and there's Ford, wings on full display and looking terrible, missing chunks of feathers (you know Bill was ripping them out by the handful), streaked with blood, twitchy and paranoid. Everything goes the same, except Ford keeps giving him funky looks (Wondering why Stan's hiding his wings, why he looks so closed off and guarded, Stan should have been flying high after all, free in the wind. They'd never hidden their wings when they were alone together. Maybe Stan really has moved on from him).

Get to the basement, and Ford shoves the book in Stan's heartbroken arms, telling him to fly away over the sea (maybe albatross Stan? For more heartbreak and envy on Fords part, or seagull? Anyway), to the ends of the earth!

They fight, Ford flaring his wings and using them as giant weapons, Stan's still trapped under his coat, rollign around and spreading blood and owl feathers everywhere, when the brand happens. Except its not on Stan's shoulder, its on his wing. The hole in his coat makes it easier for his wings to finally burst through, and Ford gets to see Stan's own raggedy, clipped wings.

From here it could go to ways, it follows canon and Stan pretends to be Ford, hiding his wings from everyone and no longer able to fly (makes being an albatross even more tragic) due to infection and wing not healing right.

Other way i can see it happening is Stan still pushing Ford, but Ford using his own wings to fight the pull and misses the portal or manages to fly out of the gravity's pull. Slams into the ground, shuts it down, then is standing there, breathing raggidly while Stan's heart is still pounding and his shoulder hurts and oh god, he almost shoved his brother through a weird glowing portal.

Also his wing really, really hurts, he's hungry, he's tired, he was just in an emotionally charged fight. He's gonna pass out now. Ford watches his bro crumple into a heap of feathers, panics, and rushes to make sure he didn't kill his brother. Stan's too heavy to drag anywhere, especially with Ford living off of coffee and no sleep, so he's just gonna. work on the floor. rushes to get the first aid kit and as many blankets he can, makes a nest around Stan and spreads his wings out, heart clenching at the sight of Stan's clipped feathers and the brand on his wing.

His brother looks so small, wings nowhere as large and full like this, tired face already breaking out in a sweat and brand still putting off heat. Time for Ford to flex his nonexistent medical degree! He's gonna make sure Stan's nice and comfy in this blanket nest on the floor of his basement and just! Figure out Bill! Stan can't fly, he's grounded, and Ford tried to shove him out the door. He can't imagine never flying, can't imagine someone cutting his feathers off and oh god. Bill could, and will now that he's seen Stan's own. He needs to get Bill out of his head before he wakes up with no flight feathers.

Speed running Bill proofing the house. Maybe says 'fuck pure of heart, whats a horse gonna do to a bird with a goal' and just swoops down on a unicorn like a bird of prey.

Once the house is Bill proof and Ford can sleep he'd drag evrything down into the basement to stick next to Stan and keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn't wake up and try anything like 'moving wing' or 'leaving'. Fords gonna make sure no one comes near Stan's wings again.

Also, picturing a scene where Stan's passed out, wings spread wide over a giant pile of blankets over books and boxes so that Ford could look at the brand and uncramp them, and Ford fixing up Stan's wings. Runs his hands through them, straitening feathers and removing loose ones, making them the neatest and cleanest they've been in years. Starts with the brand, removing damaged and burnt feathers and just. Keeps going. Stan wakes up feeling awful and weirdly relaxed, only to find his wings looking the best they have since he'd gotten kicked, even with the giant burn and clipped feathers.

[brittle-doughie]

Hi I hope you're having a good day. I just have some questions about some of the brittle au characters. 

In Salsa relationship quotes (i think that's what they're called) Salsa Says she'll make Red Velvet pay for crumbling him. Who is him? and what kind of History does she have with Red Velvet? 

(If you've answered this in a previous post then my bad)

Dumpling mentions how the cupcake Kingdom seems desperate in one of her relationship quotes. What does she mean by that?

Does Crowned Cupcake have a dad, another mother or a second parent? Since you've stated all members of The cupcake family have yandere tendencies Including cupcake's mother. I find it hard to believe that White Chocolate Raspberry Cupcake hasn't found at least one person to be obsessed with. Perhaps the yandere tendencies led to the indirect death of Crowned Cupcake and her siblings other parent. 

In the short story about Salted Breadsticks first day. At the end Salted Breadsticks said Y/N sounds better than my sovereign. I don't know if it's just me the way she said it sounded ominous. Is she secretly a yandere too?

Last thing will Camembert get his own short story. I find the idea of among all these eccentric women theirs just Camembert. Some normal dude just trying to do his job and being terrified of these girls to be very funny.

Red Velvet Cookie had crumbled her father, Guacamole Cookie. She saw it with her own eyes and promised to herself that Red Velvet will be going down.

Dumpling Cookie is aware that Crowned was thrown around to suitors at galas, but they all failed since they were not The One to Crowned. So seeing this same tactic happen to Y/N Cookie was not surprising to her, but it worked out for Crowned.

WCR had potential partners, they just got out after seeing a glimpse of how crazy she could get. She can hide that side of her pretty well.

Nah, Y/N Cookie just rolls off the tongue better than just Sovereign.

Camembert will be having his own drabble, but I guess it comes down to whether @/desperatelittledemon is all good with it.

[bropunzeling]

I keep rereading laundry and taxes because it’s so good and now I have to ask—what happens with Leon’s Matthew when AU!Matthew shows up? Is he still doing his thing down in Florida? Has he traveled to visit AU!Leon? What would that even look like? Anyway thank you for writing; I had a BLAST reading it!

Matthew wakes up, and someone's in bed next to him.

For a second, Matthew stays very, very still. Playing dead. Kind of like what you're supposed to do if you come across a bear on a hike. Or is that make yourself bigger? He doesn't remember. He doesn't remember inviting anyone home with him either. He hasn't done that in a long fucking time, not in St. Louis, not anywhere else.

One second. Two. On the other side of the bed, whoever it is keeps breathing, the slow, shallow rhythm of someone fast asleep.

As carefully as he can, Matthew rolls over to squint at whoever's next to him. Maybe his memory will come back to him.

Whoever it is -- well they're a guy, for one thing, so that answers that -- doesn't stir. Some of his hair is fanning out on the pillow, a brownish blondish color that's hard to make out in the pre-dawn light. He's fit as hell, obvious just from the well-built shoulders peeking out from under the covers. Good job, last night Matthew.

Except last night Matthew's pretty fucking sure he didn't go out at all. He'd had dinner with his family, and gone home, and went to bed by himself. He would remember picking up someone like this.

A rustle of sheets. The man rolls over, twisting under the sheets, and as his face comes into view the alarm bells start ringing in Matthew's head. The warnings only get louder when eyes squint themselves open, when a much too familiar face creases with a sleepy expression.

"It's too early," Leon -- Leon Draisaitl, whom Matthew knows for a fact he hasn't seen since the fucking joke of a handshake in the middle of Amerant, whom Matthew hasn't been in bed with for weeks -- says with unmistakable fondness. Even as Matthew lies there, frozen, Leon slings a heavy arm around Matthew's waist. The shock of the contact, hot and electric and comfortable with Matthew's body in a way that Matthew has no memory of, makes Matthew gasp. When Leon pulls, Matthew finds himself going with it, until they're flush together, Leon's furnace-hot body pressed all along Matthew's back, thick chest and skinny calves and -- yes, morning wood against Matthew's ass.

That's not the strangest part. The strangest part is when Leon drops a kiss to the back of his shoulder, once, twice. Casually affectionate; unlike anything he's ever really done before. Matthew's surprised by how immediately and intensely he likes it.

"Go back to sleep," Leon rumbles against his back. The vibrations go through Matthew, an earthquake with Leon's open mouth against his shoulder as the epicenter.

Maybe he's right. Maybe Matthew should go back to sleep. Maybe this is all a fucked-up dream, a vision Matthew's brain cooked up for him to taunt him. He's gotten everything he could ever want, except for Leon to still want him. Now that's the only thing left to dream about.

As he drifts off, lulled by Leon's thumb rubbing his waist, Leon's lips against his skin, Matthew squints at the nightstand. There's a framed picture there, one Matthew has to focus on to understand. Two people with their arms around each other, grinning dizzily for the camera. Tiny Matthew is holding a glass of something fizzy.

Tiny Leon has his open palm against Tiny Matthew's chest. If Matthew squints hard enough, he can just make out a faint dark line cutting across one of his fingers.

Matthew tenses, then rolls forward and pushes himself up on one elbow, despite the soft grumble and the arm going tight around his waist. He has to look closer. He has to understand. But even as he drags the picture closer, there's only one way to understand it, a way that doesn't make sense at all.

"What the fuck," Matthew says, staring at him, at them, rings on their fingers, champagne flute in hand, bizarrely, intensely happy smiles on their faces. "What the fuck."

[mutopians]

re: my last post + my reread of fmab, here are some of my favorite panels ive seen tonight. featuring envy's many fun little faces because GOD do i love imagining good!envy making those same kind of expressions

i need to have good!homunculi au envy pull faces like these. for REASONS. truly the character of all time

also need to have gluttony go rolling into him to recreate this hilarious moment. it just hits different when they're not trying to murder the main cast. and he would STILL pull those expressions in my au

lowkey terrified for the moment in this au where ling realizes greed is immortal because dear GOD is that a terrifying expression. i think it's worse than greed's was when he figured out al was hollow

that panel on the left absolutely happened when roy first met havoc's gf i can't see it otherwise. also havoc tries and fails to light a cigarette with a lighter from his ex-gf and you can't tell me it WASNT lust that he was talking about there

speaking of lust. and havoc's taste in women. dear GOD jean i see it. i so see it. the POSE when she gets shot??? the LICKING OF THE BLOOD LIKE. this is EXACTLY why people have the headcanon she's also bloodlust because i genuinely can't unsee it with that last panel.

[fear-less]

hiiii! i love your writing!

i was wondering if i could request a harry potter x reader, where they remind everyone of james and lily. just times where they're together and maybe the professors see them and start talking about how they're just like james and lily.

thank you!

🎐𓍼ֶָ֢⊹ ࣪ ˖ we would have been timeless I ⌗ pairing: harry potter x f!reader

ᝰ.ᐟ summary: everyone at Hogwarts saw it coming when you and Harry started dating. To most, you were just another sweet couple. but to the professors, you were a reminder of two people they had lost. In your smiles, your arguments, and the way you looked at each other, they saw echoes of James and Lily. not a repeat of the past, but a new beginning filled with hope.

⤑ warnings: super fluffy, mention of death (james and lily), tiny tiny bit of angst, and  snape being mean

It was no secret that you and Harry had been close since first year. From the moment you met on the train, there was a quiet, effortless understanding between the two of you. Something unspoken, but deeply rooted. So when word spread through Hogwarts that the two of you were officially dating, no one was surprised. If anything, most people just rolled their eyes and said, “Finally.”

To your classmates, you and Harry were just another lovey-dovey couple. Always sitting together in the common room, walking side by side to lessons, sharing inside jokes during meals. You laughed at each other’s bad moods, argued over homework, and looked at one another like there was nowhere else you’d rather be. To them, it was sweet. Predictable, even.

But to the professors, it was something different.

They saw ghosts.

It wasn’t that you and Harry were exactly like James and Lily. You weren’t. But there were echoes. Little moments that tugged at the past. Familiar smiles. The way Harry’s eyes lit up when you entered a room. The way you challenged him without hesitation, unafraid to meet his stubbornness with your own. You had Lily’s sharp wit, and Harry carried James’s quiet mischief, the kind that never quite faded, no matter how much war had aged him.

Once, during Transfiguration, when you leaned in to whisper something to Harry, McGonagall paused mid-lecture. Her eyes flicked to the two of you before she turned back to the board. Her expression had softened, just for a moment.

“They remind me so much of them,” she murmured to Professor Flitwick over tea in the staffroom. “It’s strange. Like watching history breathe.”

Flitwick nodded, his voice quiet and warm. “Only this time, they have a fighting chance.”

Sometimes it was the way you defended Harry without hesitation, stepping between him and Malfoy in the corridor, wand already raised, your voice sharp with fury. Other times, it was the way Harry looked at you after a Quidditch match, hair plastered to his forehead, cheeks flushed with adrenaline, grinning like you were the only person in the world who mattered.

And then there were the times Sirius watched you both from the shadows of Grimmauld Place, arms folded, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He would not say much at first. He would simply take another sip of firewhisky and stare into the fireplace. But if he was in a talkative mood, or if Remus happened to be there to coax it out of him, he would let the words slip.

“He looks at her the way James looked at Lily, near the end. When he finally figured it out. That it wasn’t about impressing her or chasing her or showing off. He just loved her. All of her. Even when she was furious with him.”

Sirius would pause then, running a hand through his tangled hair.

“And she’s got Lily’s spine too. Merlin help anyone who crosses Harry with her around.”

Once, when you and Harry were finally back at Grimmauld Place after a few weeks apart, Sirius caught you alone in the kitchen. You were making tea, humming a Muggle tune under your breath as the kettle whistled softly.

“He’s different with you,” Sirius said casually, though his voice carried something heavier beneath it. “Happier. Lighter.”

You turned to look at him, tilting your head.

“I try to make him laugh,” you replied.

Sirius smiled faintly, eyes shadowed with memory. “So did Lily.”

Not everyone found the resemblance endearing.

Snape, for example, did not find it charming.

In fact, he despised it.

He never said so directly, but there was a bitterness in the way he looked at the two of you, like he was watching something unfold all over again. Something that still made his stomach twist after all these years. He would cut Harry off mid-sentence in class, ignore your raised hand even when you were the only one who knew the answer, and dock points for reasons that barely made sense.

Once, in a particularly tense Potions lesson, Snape stopped behind your cauldron and sneered.

“Impressive work, Miss Y/L/N. Though I suppose when one’s only ambition is to follow Potter around like a lovesick puppy, one must find ways to stay relevant.”

Harry’s chair scraped back before he could stop himself.

“Don’t talk to her like that.”

Snape turned slowly, robes sweeping behind him, his gaze sharp and cold.

“Ten points from Gryffindor for backtalk. And another five for your delusion that the rules apply differently to you because of who your father was.”

You reached for Harry’s hand under the desk. He didn’t look away from Snape, but he calmed slightly when your fingers laced through his.

You didn’t know most of this, not really. You didn’t see the way McGonagall lingered at the window when you and Harry laughed on the lawn between classes. Or how Remus sometimes smiled sadly to himself when he saw the two of you curled up on the Gryffindor common room couch, your head resting on Harry’s shoulder while he gently played with your fingers.

But maybe, deep down, you felt it.

Because sometimes, when Harry looked at you, there was something in his eyes. Something soft and stunned and grateful, like he still couldn’t believe you were real.

Once, late at night in the common room, when the fire had burned low and the castle had gone quiet, he asked you softly, “Do you think they’d like you?”

You looked up at him, brushing the hair from his forehead.

“I think they’d love me,” you whispered. “Especially your mum.”

He let out a quiet laugh, tired and fond, and pulled you closer.

Maybe, in that moment, the past didn’t hurt so much.

It was still there, lingering in quiet glances and old wounds that had never quite healed. It clung to the edges of the story, in the professors who had seen too much, in Sirius and Lupin, and even in Snape, buried deep within the coldest corners of his heart.

But there was something else now.

You. Him. A future.

And for the first time in a long time, that future looked like hope.

[divinekangaroo]

What Tommy secretly likes about Lizzie in bed you reckon?

The Alfie shaped dildo killed me XD

Which brings me to the question - are you still planning to write their Paris honeymoon fic?

XD my writing strength/pleasure is taking the most crack seeming premise and making it heartbreaking because let me tell you, wow, did i want that to be an absolute tearjerker

*

Honeymoon fic - it's still on the timeline list as one of three bits of interest for me between S4 and S5, and I've more than half outlined it, but I've been hit with an Absolute Plague of Anxiety lately really crimping recreational activity. The kind that makes opening a partial doc which made perfect sense when I wrote it and read it previously, suddenly seem like a pile of gibberish stacked on top of itself.

So I'm slowing down to try to sort out what's going on, get back into myself again a little. Mostly, I think the anxiety it's the ominous impending cascade of Demands with work, daycare, parental aging needs, legal stuff, financial stuff all lining up, plus ongoing baby-led minor sleep deprivation. Putting sentences together in coherent ways starts to feel like another Demand that my instinctive self is noping out of; but I've been through this before and just have to work through it somehow...

*

Ooh, is that a headcanon!Tommy or a canon!Tommy question? Headcanon sex stuff is easy, I've a long slippery line of these leveraging from (extrapolating? diverging? offshooting from?) very random canon fragments, such as writing his softness/fondness of looking at Lizzie's bare feet actually triggered by my personal OMG NO when Diana stepped on Tommy's boat with her stockinged feet, rather than anything he's ever done with Lizzie's feet. I could go on if this is what you mean?

But canon interpolation feels quite difficult because of how they play the sex scenes - with exception of Tatiana and That Act, which is reused repeatedly throughout the series, the fact he's having sex and/or who with (and the conversations before/after the sex) seems dominant, so there's not a lot of internal sexual interpolation available. He just kind of...has sex. (This is one reason why I was fascinated with the show, TBH: dude has lots of sex and fits a certain stereotype because of that but actually seems kind of...put out by it? performs but doesn't really get into it? is often clearly into the person he's having sex with, but the sex, while enjoyable, is just what's now necessary and he's not particularly for or against it in any personal way?)

If anything, I'd say it's probably Lizzie's facial expressions particularly S5 onwards as intimacy increases: unlike the other sex scenes which are filmed full body, lots of nudity, touching etc, the Lizzie scenes by contrast have Tommy paying a lot of attention to her face more than anything else (albeit that in itself is a consequence of needing to be filmed, and possibly Natasha O'Keeffe has a no-nudity preference they needed to respect? Their scenes are notably different anyway). Even in S2/over the desk, there is a certain kind of Complicated Look he wears when he takes in her face and her sadness, in the aftermath. And if you look at the whole head-cradling, face-smooshing, nose bumping, nuzzling kind of stuff he does to show his connection with others, I imagine a not-too-far stretch is that he likes looking at her very closely throughout. So my bet is on him getting a full secret kick of feeling when he inadvertently makes her smile before/during/after, big and broad and unexpected, like, that’s for me no one else but me I did that, especially because she so hardly ever smiles like that.

[aq2003]

Just saw that DT is going to participate in The Assembly Michael Sheen did last year, and I'm kinda terrified lol. And surprised. Michael must be one hell of a storyteller to convince DT to go for it.

Like, it seems like soooo much something he wouldn't really enjoy. (I'm aware I don't actually know him but bear with me) like it wouldn't be fun even in the 'it was super hard but worth it in the end, I've grown as a person' kind of way. I'm actually gonna be real glad to be proven wrong if he's really gonna thrive on this. But so far, from what I've seen of him during interviews and panels, he's really good at deflecting awkward questions, not at answering them. And here this won't do the trick, you gotta be honest here, not to deflect - it defeats the purpose otherwise. But from all I've seen he, like, shrivels when he's made to share things he doesn't want to share, and not in a fun way...

Michael Sheen is much more of a sharing kind in this aspect, they're like the opposite in this, so I can see how Michael would find this experience fulfilling and rewarding. But ok, we'll see and I'll be happy to be proven not as knowledgeable in the inner workings of DT's psyche department as I thought I was...

i read the synopsis for the show (and the announcement for it) and it seems like it was pretty positive and like i cant imagine it'll be too terrible ?? there's also the case of like, he could sort of deflect from answering the question by answering it in a broader way. like that time when he was asked about his own personal gender expression at a con and he talked more about supporting trans people as an ally

[ladyaster]

After Isa's redemption in KH3, I'll never find it not funny as a huge fan of FFVIII that the fanon consensus is that the new "nemesis" of the Seasalt Trio or at least Roxas and Xion is Seifer.

I dunno how much of the KH fandom has played FFVIII, and in-universe it makes sense given Seifer is the "neighborhood bully" of Twilight Town. However, given what VIII players know about him, it's hilarious and cathartic to see these two kids either bonk him with copied claymores in response to him trying to intimidate them into giving him their ice cream money, curbstomp him at Struggle right after calling them "lamers" or "chicken wusses", or accidentally drop half-eaten popsicles on his face when, in his universe of origin, Seifer was a major war criminal who, among other things, dropped all sorts of horrible endgame monsters including actual malboros onto a hugely populated city (which like any VIII fan can tell you, malboros are already nope on a stick in general, but in VIII in particular they're excessively brutal).

Roxas and Xion are just delivering Seifer some belated karma from 1999 is all and I'm loving every second of it.

[sysig]

VUXPet (Patreon)

[faedotexe]

So i'm working on a tiny roll & write about being a giant dragonness and conquering the land and burninating the countryside and uh I'm kind of trying to make """"""art""""" for it lmao

chat is this cringe

[cappucosmico]

since god's worst weed adventure my brain just feels Worse at processing things. which is unfortunate, bc my brain has notoriously already been bad at processing things

[chase-solidago]

So you found a dead body in the woods

The worst thing you've worried about, going on hikes, happens. This happens often, in the grand scheme of things. It's always joggers and dogwalkers and hikers. My unlucky day came on October 24, 2022.

So what do you do when you find a dead body?

Look in the other direction and take a breath. Panic wont help you or them.

If you are comfortable, approach them and try to help. If not, it's okay. I was unwilling to approach (they looked real dead) and my 911 operator was 100% totally supportive and okay with that.

Walk a little ways away. There is no reason why you need to keep staring at them. It's okay. Seeing a dead person is really wack!

When you've caught your breath, call 911. My first thought was "Oh god, I don't want to talk to cops." and, good news, it's not cops! 911 responders are different people. They are trained to talk to you, to reassure you, and to help you. They are there for you. They understand you are freaking out. They are kind and patient.

Your new buddy, the 911 person, will help you figure out where you are, exactly. They have access to your location via cell-tower and GPS, but if, like me, you were off-trail (oops), they might need your help navigating to you. I offered to also send a photo, and he provided an email, which he received immediately. I deleted the photo I took right away.

Hang out on the phone with your dispatch friend. They're going to want to keep in touch with you as the paramedics approach. Are you freaking out by chattering too much? Are you freaking out by being dead silent? Both are okay! Apparently, my panic response is to become Super Midwestern Chatty. I was able to make him laugh, which I count as a win.

Holler to the paramedics. My paramedics came deep into the ravine-filled woods, about six men, steering a rolling bed thing. We shouted at each other until they made it to the body. It would have been funny, watching them fumble along, if it wasn't so serious.

Get out of there! The paramedics don't need anything from you. They're busy doing their job. They shooed me back to the trail and to the parking lot. I didn't have to go anywhere near the body.

Meet cops in the parking lot. In my situation, the cops didn't want anything from me. They were just picking their noses in the parking lot while the paramedics did the real work. The cops said thanks for helping, while covering their bodycams, because they're pigs.

Go eat donuts. Christ, that was a lot. Let yourself comedown and get some sugar to kickstart your system.

Feel good that you gave a family closure. Yeah, that sucked. Yeah, your therapist is going to hear about this. Yeah, next time you come to this location, you're going to need a friend with you. But you did the right thing. You'll never know their family, but know that you gave them closure.

[inkskinned]

i. there's this video of a guy dancing on his tiptoes. i will begrudgingly admit the song is kind of catchy actually. i don't think it's the worst song i've ever heard. he seems passionate about it. but it is embarrassing, how he's dancing.

ii. you know where this story is going, unfortunately, and so do i.

iii. three weeks ago i had to drag half a dead rabbit out of my dog's mouth. i was just recently discussing how cruel things feel lately. that the way the world is shifting feels mean. three days ago, a random woman rolled down her window to snap at me because she missed her turn. this is now routine.

iv. 11 years ago in october, i made a post about how we shouldn't make fun of people for doing brave, vulnerable things. it has over 400k notes. people - at the time - seemed to generally agree with me. we have all felt shy and insecure when we share an intimate part of ourselves. we have heard someone at a concert say "that's fucking embarrassing" and said to ourselves - oh, this person is unsafe to be vulnerable in front of. we have said i can't act like that in public. we have left our art and passion in the dark. i think there will never be enough graveyard space for the art we have killed because what if others shame me for it.

v. the thing i was bullied for in high school was because i was a "predatory lesbian." a popular girl i'd literally never spoken to just decided she didn't like me and announced i was "stalking" her. to this day i have no idea what motivated this - i think i was just shy and poor and awkward and ugly. the perfect target. what they don't really ever show in movies is how quickly it moves, how suddenly strange people in the hallways are attacking you about it. they also don't show you that the bullies get this strange ... glee out of it. like, it's fun for them. it's enrichment. everyone else is in on the joke. suck it up, kid.

vi. so far, from what i have seen, creators that stand up for the musician all seem to have the same story: when i asked why we're bullying a random guy, people actually got mad that i asked. i've had similar things happen to me when i ask for us to be less comfortable with our anonymous cruelty. when an internet stranger says "be kind, it saves lives" - people find it funny to say fuck you i hope everyone kills themselves. pages and pages of people saying the same bullshit. sitting in their little caves, eating their own humor. it's just genuinely exhausting. the natural endpoint of "cringe culture" is that even kindness is cringe-worthy.

vii. loneliness is an epidemic. but where are you going to make your community? call your representative. go back to bed about it.

viii. due to how i was raised, i am always confused by cruelty. i understand the american isolationist belief "i can do whatever i want" - sure. but why wouldn't you want to be kind? i have lived too many bad things. i cannot be the epicenter of someone else's bad dream.

ix. it's just that if we were going to bully someone relentlessly, why is it never the healthcare CEOs. why isn't it the fascists. why isn't it, like, someone who you could at least argue "deserves" it. why is it always just some guy in socks singing a pretty mid song? or a person that doesn't look like you, just, like existing.

x. it's just that i think people enjoy doing it. they want to do it because they get some kind of masturbatory release from it - like a shrug or a splinter, they all seem to say the same thing - come on, it's funny.

xi. the world is sometimes beautiful, and sometimes you make something. the world is sometimes terrible, and you are worried they won't accept what your hands can wring. you open the instagram comments and they're still saying all sorts of shit to just - like - a normal guy. and some part of you thinks: if that was me. good lord. if that was me i'd -

xii. somewhere there is a graveyard. someone is already burying their hopes and dreams.

[kaijutegu]

Alligator Body Language and You, or: How To Know When An Alligator On Social Media is Being Stressed for Views

Alligators are wild animals. Despite the idiotic claims of animal abusers like Jay Brewer, they cannot be domesticated, which means they are always going to react on the same natural instincts they've had for millions of years. Habituated, yes. Tamed, yes. Trained, definitely. Crocodilians can form bonds with people- they're social and quite intelligent. They can solve problems, use tools, and they're actually quite playful. Alligators are also really good at communicating how they're feeling, but to somebody who doesn't spend much time around them, their body language can be a bit mystifying. And it doesn't help when social media influencers are saying shit like this:

That is not what a happy gator looks like.

That's a terrified, furious gator who isn't attacking because the ogre handling her has her in a chokehold. She's doing everything she can to express her displeasure, and he's lying about it because he knows his audience doesn't even know how to think critically about what he's doing. He knows that because his audience doesn't know anything about these animals, he can get away with it. This I think is why I hate him so much- he deliberately miseducates his audience. He knows what he's doing is factually inaccurate, he just doesn't care because attention means more to him than anything else in the world.

Let's change that! Here are two really important lessons for understanding alligator body language on social media.

Lesson 1: Alligators Don't Smile (in fact, most animals don't)

So what's going on in this video? Jay Brewer is aggressively choking his white alligator Coconut while scrubbing algae off of her with a toothbrush. And make no mistake, he is digging into the creature's throat while she is visibly distressed. He claims she's happy- but she's not. He is willfully misrepresenting what this animal is feeling. That's a problem, because people... well, we actually kind of suck at reading other species' body language. The reason for this is that we tend to overlay our own responses on their physical cues, and that's a problem. For example, let's look at an animal with a really similar face to ours, the chimpanzee. Check out Ama's toothy grin!

Wait, no. That's not a happy smile. That's a threat display. When a chimpanzee "smiles," it's either terrified and doing a fear grimace, or it's showing you its teeth because it intends on using them in your face.

How about a dog? Look at my smiling, happy puppy!

Oh wait no, this is a picture of Ryder when he was super overwhelmed by noise and people during a holiday party. He'd hopped up in my sister's lap to get away from stuff that was happening on the floor and was panting quite heavily. See the tension in the corners of his mouth and his eyes? A lot of the time when a dog "smiles," the smile isn't happy. It's stress! Why Animals Do The Thing has a nice writeup about that, but the point is, our body language is not the same as other species. And for reptiles, body language is wildly different.

For instance, look at these two alligators. Pretty cute, right? Look at 'em, they're posing for a Christmas card or something! How do you think they're feeling?

Well, I'll tell you how the normal one is feeling. He's annoyed! Why is he annoyed? Because the albino just rolled up, pushed another gator off the platform, and is trying to push this guy, too. I know this because I actually saw it happen. It was pretty funny, not gonna lie. He's not gaping all the way, but he was hissing- you can actually see him getting annoyed in the sequence I took right before this shot. Look at him in this first shot here- he's just relaxing, and you can see he isn't gaping even a little bit.

By the end, he's expressing displeasure, but not enough to actually do anything about it. He's annoyed, but he's comfy and that's where one of the best basking areas is, so he'll put up with it.

Reptiles open their mouths wide for a lot of reasons, but never because they are actively enjoying a sensation. Unless they're eating. No reptile smiles- they can't. They don't even have moveable lips. If a reptile is gaping, it's doing so because:

It is doing a threat display.

It is making certain vocalizations, all of which are threats. Alligators are one of the rare reptiles that do regularly vocalize, but most of their calls aren't made with a wide open mouth.

It is about to bite something delicious or somebody stupid. Check out this video- virtually all of the gaping here is anticipatory because these trained gators know darn well that the bowl is full of delicious snacks. (I have some issues with Florida's Wildest, but the man knows how to train a gator AND he is honest about explaining what they're doing and why, and all of his animals are healthy and well-cared for, and he doesn't put the public or his staff at risk- just himself.)

It's too hot and it has opened its mouth to vent some of that heat and thermoregulate. This is the main reason why alligators will often have their mouths part of the way open, but sometimes they'll open all the way for thermoregulation. This is what a thermoregulatory gape looks like- usually it's not all the way open, kinda more like < rather than V, but you can't say that 100% of the time. Additionally, a thermoregulatory gape... typically happens when it's hot out. If they're inside, maybe they've been under their basking light for too long. Heat's the dominant factor, is what I'm getting at.

There is another reason that a captive crocodilian might be gaping, and that's because it's doing so on command. Some places have their gators trained to gape on cue, like St. Augustine Alligator Farm and other good zoos. They have the animals do this in presentations that are genuinely educational. They ask the animals to open their mouths so that they can show off their teeth and demonstrate how their tongues seal off the back of their mouth. They'll also do it as part of routine healthcare, because looking at their teeth is important.

In this case, the animals aren't gaping because they're stressed, they're gaping because they know they're gonna get a piece of chicken or fish if they do it. And what's more, they're doing it on cue. They have a specific command or signal that tells them to open wide. It's not an instinctive response to a situation. It's trained. If the animal provides the behavior after a cue, the situation is much less likely to be negatively impactful.

It's also important to remember that there's a difference between a partially open mouth and a gape! As discussed above, alligators will often have their mouths a little bit open just to maintain temperature homeostasis. It helps them stay comfy, temperature-wise. These guys are all doing thermoregulatory open-mouthed behavior- that slight open and relaxed body posture is a dead giveaway. (That and it's the hottest spot in the enclosure.)

Lesson 2: A Happy Gator Is A Chill Gator

So if alligators don't smile or have facial expressions other than the :V that typically signifies distress, how else can you tell how they're feeling? One way is stillness. See, alligators subscribe to the philosophy of if it sucks... hit da bricks.

Basically, if they hate it, they'll leave. Unless, y'know, somebody has their meaty claws digging into their throat or is otherwise restraining them. (Restraint isn't always bad, btw. Sometimes the animal is going through a medical thing or needs to be restrained for their safety- which a responsible educator will explain.)

Let's look at a very similar scenario, in which a captive alligator is getting his back scrubbed.

As you can see, it's quite different. First, he's not being restrained at all. Second, look at how relaxed he is! He's just chilling there vibing! He could simply get up and leave if he wanted to, because he's not being held. Towards the end of the video, as he lifts his head, you can see that his respiratory rate is very even as his throat flutters a bit. I'm not sure what this facility is, so I can't comment on care/general ethics, but like. In this specific case, this is an alligator enjoying being scrubbed! And you can tell because he's not doing anything. A happy gator is content to be doing what they're doing.

Why Should I Listen To You?

Now, you should ask yourself, why should you listen to me? Why should you trust me, who does not own an alligator, versus Jay Brewer, who owns several?

Well, first off, there's no profit for me in telling you that what you're seeing on social media is in fact not what you're being told you're seeing. I'm not getting paid to do this. That's the thing with people who make social media content. The big names aren't doing it just for fun. They're doing it for money. Whether that's profit through partnerships or sponsorships, or getting more people to visit their facilities, or ad revenue, you can't ignore the factor of money. And this is NOT a bad thing, because it allows educators to do what they're passionate about! People deserve to be paid for the work that they do!

But the problem starts when you chase the algorithm instead of actually educating. A "smiling" alligator gets the views, and if people don't know enough to know better, it keeps getting the views. People love unconventional animal stories and they want those animals to be happy- but the inability to even know where to start with critically evaluating these posts really hinders the ability to spread real information. Like, this post will probably get a couple hundred notes, but that video of Coconut being scrubbed had almost 400,000 likes when I took that screenshot. Think about how many eyeballs that's reached by now. What I'm saying here is that it's just... really important to think critically about who you're getting your information from. What do dissenters say in the comments? What do other professionals say? You won't find a single herpetologist that has anything good to say about Prehistoric Pets, I can tell you that right now.

Another reason you can trust me is that my sources are not "just trust me bro," or "years of experience pretending my pet shop where animals come to die is a real zoo." Instead, here are my primary sources for my information on alligator behavior:

Dragon Songs: Love and Adventure among Crocodiles, Alligators, and Other Dinosaur Relations- Vladimir Dinets

The Secret Social Lives of Reptiles- J. Sean Doody, Vladimir Dinets, Gordon M. Burghardt

Social Behavior Deficiencies in Captive American Alligators (Alligator mississippiensis)- Z Walsh, H Olson, M Clendening, A Rycyk

Social Displays of the American Alligator (Alligator mississippiensis)- Kent Vliet

Social Signals and Behaviors of Adult Alligators and Crocodiles- Leslie Garrick, Jeffery Lang

Never smile at a crocodile: Gaping behaviour in the Nile crocodile at Ndumo Game Reserve, South Africa- Cormac Price, Mohamed Ezat, Céline Hanzen, Colleen Downs (this one's Nile crocs, not American alligators, but it's really useful for modeling an understanding of gape behaviors and proximity)

Thermoregulatory Behavior of Captive American Alligators (Alligator mississippiensis)- Cheryl S. Asa, Gary D. London, Ronald R. Goellner, Norman Haskell, Glenn Roberts, Crispen Wilson

Unprovoked Mouth Gaping Behavior in Extant Crocodylia- Noah J. Carl, Heather A. Stewart, Jenny S. Paul

Thank you for reading! Here's a very happy wild alligator from Sanibel for your trouble.