#our cat walter

[n3ongold3n]

Happy new year from the blanket prince 💛

May your 2025 be filled with comfort and love even if you are a bitey little chaoscreature

[n3ongold3n]

Walter adds his holiday greetings

However you spend your day today (and tomorrow), kawi wishes you a good one 🐾♥️

[foone]

A world of friends

In the late 2030s, a research lab discovers how to travel to alternate earths. And what's even better, they've figured out how to best monetize it too: tourism.

See it turns out there's not a lot of variation. There's a nearly infinite number of earths, but it's not like you're traveling to an alien planet or Narnia. They're all pretty... Earthy.

And they turn that into a positive: all earths are similar, but the small differences are what counts. And they're always searching for worlds with interesting divergences from our own, as potential destinations.

Spend a weekend with Netflix on the world where Walter Disney became a little-known architect, and the face of children's media is completely different. Visit the world where the US Revolution failed, and most of the Americas remains part of the commonwealth.

Safari through the world where humans died out or never evolved, see the megafauna we weren't around to extinct.

The world where the planet's population is 97% Christian but they're also nudists because they associate nudity with the innocence of the Garden of Eden.

And if you're looking for a challenge, visit the world's where climate change has already melted the ice caps, the world's where the cold war went hot, the world where the first world war is also the last one, and it's still ongoing.

There's just one minor problem with their plan of setting up an industry to portal people to other worlds:

Someone else is already using it.

Their interdimensional tech relies on creating wormholes using a complex arrangement of superconducting magnets and there's a characteristic burst of neutrinos when the event horizon forms.

They have to monitor them to properly "aim" the wormhole, but their early work is thrown off by seeing spurious emissions coming from outside their facility, which they later realize are exactly matching their technology.

They're just seeing the wormholes from the other end.

They partner with a government agency, explaining their discovery, and express worry that the country (and the world!) may be getting infiltrated by an off world power.

They build sensors in major cities, and triangulate where the off-worlders are appearing, and follow them.

They seem harmless enough. Often skittish, taking lots of pictures, asking odd questions... These aren't security agents or an invading force.

They're just tourists. They're from another world's interdimensional tourism business. One that set up before ours.

But why are they here? What's so odd about our world among the trillions they have access to that makes them come here with cameras fully loaded with film and memory cards?

The security agents pour over surveillance tapes of them wandering around random cities, and finally spot (no pun intended) why they're here.

It's dogs.

The tourists are skittish around seeing people walking their dogs, they're taking pictures of corgis and greyhounds, they're visiting petstores and ignoring the cats and iguanas and tropical fish to go look at the most boring mutts, eyes full of wonder and fear and excitement...

One of the tourists is picked up by the security services, but hits their panic button and vanishes before they can be questioned. They leave behind a Daguerre Inc 2090 DSLR camera full of slightly blurry photos of dogs, and a pamphlet that fell out of their bag in the scuffle

The pamphlet is for this interdimensional vacation, and describes the weirdness of our world: The strange universe where humans somehow befriended wild wolves and let them into their homes and lives.

The pamphlet plays up the scariness of canines, showing Tibetan mastiffs and angry pitbulls biting into meat. Police dogs with titanium teeth replacements. There's very few pictures of chihuahuas and corgis and poodles.

So the next time you're at an animal rescue or a petting zoo, and you see someone looking on in fear and wonder at the amazing sight of a golden retriever puppy, their camera shutter clicking away...

Maybe ask them who the president is. And what year we landed on the moon.

And don't be too surprised if they answer "You mean the Prime Minister? It's still Thiers, right? I haven't been reading the papers much recently. And 1956, unless you're one of those pedantics who say it only counts if it was successful, in which case 1958"

(reposted from a twitter thread from 2022)

[luff-gore]

(excerpts under the cut)

[...] The 1st. Lieutenant of the Erebus [Graham Gore] has got a dog if therefore you have not sent off Cæsar [the Goodsirs' family dog?] yet it is just as well to keep him at home poor brute as he is rather old for the voyage altho not so advanced in years as the one we are taking. [...]

- Harry Goodsir to John Goodsir (Woolwich Dockyards, May 6, 1845)

[...] Lady [Jane] Franklin has given us, among other presents, a capital monkey [Jacko], which with old Neptune & a Newfoundland dog which is coming & one cat will be all the pets allowed. [...]

- James Walter Fairholme to George Fairholme (Greenhithe, May 17, 1845)

[...] In our mess we have the following whom I shall probably from time to time give you descriptions of – First Lieutenant Gore – and his black labrador dog [...]

- James Fitzjames to Elizabeth Coningham, née Meyrick (HMS Erebus, June 5-25, 1845)

Source

Potter, Russel et al. (ed., 2022): May We Be Spared to Meet on Earth. Letters of the Lost Franklin Arctic Expedition. London et al. (Thanks to @lup-garou!)

[hotvintagepoll]

Danny Kaye (The Court Jester, The Inspector General)—Danny Kaye, idol of my childhood, maker of the weirdest faces! This man SETS HIMSELF ON FIRE and then puts himself out in a bucket in a movie based on a Gogol short story. In the same movie (Inspector General), he flirts by playing a carrot as a musical instrument. In Wonder Man, he's brilliant but struggles with things like riding buses. I have been envious of his fake Italian/French/German/Spanish monologues in The Court Jester for the past three decades. As Walter Mitty, he is SUPREMELY SILLY yet also somehow manages to be a comic foil for none other than Boris Karloff. All this is to say nothing of The William Tell Song (TV, thus not linked, but great.) I adore him.

Robert Helpmann (The Red Shoes, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang)—an extremely enticing combination of graceful and balletic and scrungly weirdo who looks kind of like if you put fred astaire and young boris karloff circa the black cat into the splicer machine from the fly. a literal actual ballet dancer, choreographer, shakespeare actor, and theater director, who left a mark on the psyches of many children as the terrifying child catcher in chitty chitty bang bang. undeniably scrungly but elegant and spidery in his scrungliness. in powell and pressburger's opera film tales of hoffmann he can be seen playing four different characters!

This is round 3 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you’re confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Danny Kaye:

He's so stupid. I love him.

Robert Helpmann:

In the interests of honesty i will say that I have only seen Robert Helpmann in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang , but honestly does it get weirder, scrunglier or more delightfully creepy than the Child Catcher? REALLY. He is so gracefully off-putting (and thereby utterly captivating). One of my very favourite aspects in one of my favorite chilhood movies. And ASIDE from the child catcher, just LOOK AT HIM!!!

I know we all know him from our childhood traumas from Chitty, but he was also an extremely talented dancer. you can see him here in the red shoes (he is the one who plays her lover).

[finleyforevermore]

Discussions of death, suicide, overdose, transphobia, facism, and politics under the cut. Do not read if those are upsetting or triggering topics for you. Thank you.

A year ago, on this day, Nex Benedict passed away.

Nex was a Two-Spirit non-binary sophomore who attended Owasso High School. The day before his death, he was attacked by students who were making rude comments about him and his friend. When Nex retaliated by pouring water on them, the students physically assaulted him, beating Nex until they lost consciousness. Nex had scrapes and bruises following the fight and went to sleep that night with a sore head.

The next day, Nex collapsed in their living room, with their eyes rolled back and struggling to breathe.

Nex's death was declared a suicide by an overdose on Prozac and Benadryl, in spite of the fact that taking those medications rarely ever lead to death.

The actual cause of Nex's death remains up in the air; some people believe it was really suicide, others believe it was from the injuries sustained from the fight the day before.

And may i say; if it was a suicide, it was committed DUE to the bullying he suffered. Blood remains on the school's hands for doing nothing.

Their death remains nothing short of a tragedy, regardless of the cause. Nex was only 16 years old. He loved reading, nature, drawing, Minecraft, and their cat Zeus. They were a strong and tough person who hid behind those walls to earn respect, but deep down, he was a truly compassionate, sweet, and thoughtful person. They'd cook pancakes and chicken wings with mixed-up spice for their friend/ex-partner. Nex was deeply brave and extremely intelligent; lit up a room just from entering.

So much potential for an incredible life. Such a beautiful, deeply incredible and wonderful person. Someone who reminds me so much of so many of my friends.

And now he's gone.

He should have turned 17 on January 12th this year.

Their death has been mocked by people online, the Oklahoma superintendent himself, Ryan Walters, even went as far to insult and misgender Nex.

The Oklahoma governor even stated the following: "We are a Republican state - supermajority - in the House and Senate. I represent a constituency that doesn't want that filth in Oklahoma." What a monster.

But in spite of how deeply gut-wrenching and horrible this all is, we must continue to move forward and stay strong. With a racist, facist, sexist idiot currently in the oval office, and a Nazi essentially acting as right-hand man, now more than ever, queer people and queer allies must fight back. Let themselves be known. Not feel an ounce of regret or embarrassment for who they are. As hackneyed and trite of a statement it is, be yourself. Don't let any person stop you from being the beautiful individual you are.

It seems hopeless but that's what they WANT. They WANT you to give up hope and conform. But millions of our queer ancestors did not fight like hell for our rights, just so we could throw in the towel. They fought and they conquered. So can we.

Be brave. Be intelligent. Be a fighter. Be a conqueror. Be you. Nex was. So can you.

I love you, Nex.

I love you all.

So for me, and for him, say his name. And say it proud.

And say it LOUD.

NEX BENEDICT!

[eobe]

Captain Rex 💙

The one and only 🙌 I'm getting more and more into focussing on eyes and emotions in my art and I'm not gonna do something against that 👀 I love to stare in eyes, I love the feeling of it, I want to do more and I want to share. 🎶 Follow me down 🎶 🫠

This wasn't planned like so many of my current artworks. And actions. And thoughts. I’m feeling like out of the world at the moment – maybe because of all the portals the life gives me to decide if I should dare to go through 🚪💫

Haha 😂 From television to conscience ramble in under one parsec! 🪐 But this is legit, because what is it, letting us stay and drown in tales? Our own growth, the desire to process and progress is natural, so our nature attracts what our mind and soul needs to do so. Finding pictures, comparisons and related feelings to carry on in life. That’s the magic in a nutshell, isn’t it 😌 

Marni said „DO IT DO IT“ (in exactement those capital letters, thank you so much for the dopamine 🤩) and so here’s Captain Rex 🤷‍♀️ Somehow out of my wrist into Procreate before I could even gasp and again I have to see, there are moments where I’m only a pen on a surface bifrœsting art into this world 🖊️🌈

Is the Captain embarrassed? He is. Here (<-) you can see why. Not my fault, I was just staring, enjoying the show 😁🙌 But it's more. There is also some weight in here. He's on duty, he doesn't know if he's allowed to let go even for one second. Ah, my heart 💔

So, Rex came out of the beautiful art and inspiration CHAOS (I love chaos, it’s creativity soil) started by @ghostymarni, @lonewolflupe and @jetii and I saw it, felt it and I surrendered blissfully and hands up the incoming ORM ✨ (do you know what orm is? It’s basically a link to the ultimate creativity force from Walter Moers’ Zamonia universe, especially ‚The City of Dreaming Books‘) and I didn’t had any choice I just had to do this. golden. glance. in a slightly blushing face full of contradictory emotions and drowned in my own art the second time yesterday 😱 

Enjoy a closer look into golden embarrassment Oh Captain my Captain 👀:

Before Rex invited himself I was actually already done from another unplanned uninvited clone 🙈 What is the whole brainrot doing to me and I love it

My little drawing Padawan self already owling (flying, fluting, screeching, being artist crazy inspiration orm drunken 100% getting on my husband's and my cats' nerves) 🦉 in the woods because of him (<-) ignoring my yesterday's initial drawing plans with his whole intimidating attitude!

And this was so much more intense, because I accidentally listened to this song and now I set it on continuous loop to savor and drown in the energy surrounding me in these days ✨ For me and my current cinematic mood quite fitting for both artworks.

My personal ALT text mission (1 additional ALT-Text for a previous artwork with each new art posting!): 

Another clone Captain. Absolutely not insecure 😏

Taglist: @eclec-tech @bixlasagna @returnofthepineapple @sunshinesdaydream @covert1ntrovert @general-ida-raven @vrycurious @dystopicjumpsuit @chaicilatte

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XII. “exceptionally qualified, equally eager”

read on AO3 🦇

parts: previous / next

plot: you receive both celebratory and sobering news which leaves you reeling; back in Gotham, Bruce Wayne solidifies his entrance into society.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, bad health news, cancer, chemo, grief, doctor’s office, shock

words: 2.5k

You woke up the next morning remembering the conversation with your friends, replaying in your mind. You kept thinking about how you told them you'd fucked Bruce. You wished you hadn't. It was wrong. But you were never gonna see him again, and they were never going to tell. It would be too embarrassing for them that they weren't the ones to fuck him, and would never let themselves be outdone. They'd let the world continue to believe he was a virgin before admitting you'd managed to sleep with a billionaire. Outshining them wasn't a possibility.

You swung your legs off the bed and rubbed your eyes before walking out into the hallway. It was suspiciously quiet, with the usual hum of the TV absent. You started when you turned into the kitchen to your parents holding a gift. It was a thick envelope with your name in sloping cursive, and your parents had hardly looked happier... besides when the anonymous benefactor, likely Bruce (you cringed hard at his name) has somehow managed to pay off the family's medical debt. "Here honey," your mother hurried toward you and you took the envelope. Walter ran in between your dad's legs and hopped up on the bed. You laughed and started opening it. "Even he seems excited."

Your fingers nearly cut on the thick cardstock. You pulled out a card in the shape of a graduation hat, and out fell a small slip. It twirled down and made Walter pounce, and you had a game of cat and mouse for a minute before you read the stub. Delta Airlines: SEA—GCA. You looked up but they just urged you to read the card. "Congratulations Y/N! Excited to see you walk at graduation. Love, Mom and Dad." What?? I get to walk? But how?

The next fifteen minutes indulged them explaining that they'd bought tickets last night and went to the store on the way home from their friend's barbecue. "After all the money we saved we could finally afford it. And your father picked out a beautiful hotel for us right next to the airport." The rush of positive feelings left as quickly as they came, lasting not a second longer than your parents shutting the door on their way out. A murkiness settled in your stomach. You didn't plan on ever returning to Gotham. Your parents had never been there either. You hoped you'd never have to deal with its hustle and bustle again. But you were their only child, and you were at least happy that they were happy.

Bruce sat in his wool overcoat in a small, stuffy office on a hard, narrow chair. His thighs were threatening to burst it, and the arms were cutting into his abdomen. He forced a smile to the school secretary as he waited for the university president to arrive. His eyes trailed to the cobwebs in the corner, the dusty books by the window, and eventually the stained carpeting. Our tax dollars pay for this? Alfred needs to know about this so he can get in touch with—no. He stopped himself. Those were his duties now, gone were the days of offloading all public contact to his butler while he kept to his sanctuary. Thankfully, GU's president burst through the doors at that very moment.

"Mr. Wayne! My God! Never in a million years did I think to see you in these halls." The woman was beaming, and Bruce stood up to shake her hand. Even her vigor didn't help the smile he plastered on be any less forced.

"Pleasure is all mine, Ms...?"

"Janay Vry, former journalism department head." Her gray bob brushed along the tips of her shoulders. A thought sprinted across his mind. Journalism. Y/N. To bring it up or to not? "I heard you met with one of my students, Ms. Y/L/N."

She beat him to it. "Yes, I apologize. I was unreasonably busy that day. I hope she found another suitor." Y/L/N. Y/L/N. Didn’t quite fit you. It repeated in his mind like a mantra, and reminded him of combing through the commencement… She opened her mouth to speak, and his eyes snagged on an owl pin on her lapel. He'd never seen that before, and it stalled his train of thought.

"So, Mr. Wayne." Ms. Vry sat in the secretary's chair as she shuffled out, looking a bit nervous. He forced his face to remain pleasant as his mind began to investigate. Why was he drawn to that? What energy was it bringing? Did it symbolize anything? "What brings you here today?"

He sat up a bit in his chair, feeling the early stages of bruising as the wood tore at his sides. The right arm was snagging on a particularly thick scar. "Well," He never thought he would say these words, but he needed a platform. An entrance. "I know how late minute this is, so I understand if this is no possibility. I was wondering if I could be a commencement speaker for this year's ceremony." The shaky grin he mustered made him want to slam into a wall. This is so forced. Can she tell?

Ms. Vry had a visible, startled reaction to his question. "Mr. Wayne, wow," she shook her head in disbelief. "Of course, of course." Her smile could've reached her ears, and she started listing off the date, time, and gathering space for the speakers to arrive at prior to the event. "And of course we will amp up security. Yes, I'll get started on that this evening."

Bruce left the halls of GCU with a few pamphlets and a worn jaw. Smiling shouldn't hurt that much. He wondered how long he could keep this act up, and if this was all one big mistake he'd have to forever run away from. It felt like it, as his disheveled self jogged down the concrete steps to a fishbowl of citizens shouting and taking photos. Of course they found me. Christ.

He stared forward at the car, pretending no one was there. He needed this event as a more natural entrance into society. Announcing the Wayne's direct involvement in the city once again. He could imagine the headlines now and imagined how proud his parents might be of him. That was all that mattered. Continuing the Wayne legacy. Doing what my parents never could. He was doing the right thing, and he was utilizing the tools at his disposal. There were areas of society Bruce Wayne could reach that Batman could never, and vice versa. Why didn't I consider this sooner? As he sidled into the driver's seat and relaxed into the tinted windows, he remembered why. He loathed being on display.

The next few days you spent spending time with your family and journaling about losing your entire friend group. It hurt you, more than you even wanted to admit to yourself. Sure, they weren't very good friends, but it was scary staring down the barrel at your only social contacts being your parents. You scrolled around on Bumble for a few hours every day until you ended up hitting a week of being home and days of the most boring conversations you'd ever endured. Your dad had ordered another celebratory pizza, but it felt less fun to not have anyone to text about it.

You still didn't have many answers about your mother's cancer. Later that day was her second chemo appointment since you'd come back, and you offered to drive your mother and take her in yourself. Your dad declined, and said the three of you could all go as a family. It was nice he wanted to stay with her, but it also meant this was more serious. He likely wanted to spend as much time with her as possible. You tried not to think about why.

Pulling up to the clinic, you told your dad to head into the room with your mom. "I'm gonna talk to the doctor for a minute." You went to the receptionist and requested Dr. Righan.

The receptionist directed you to a room just down the hall. "He'll meet you in consultation."

You waited anxiously to hear how bad it was while simultaneously indulging your last moments of ignorance. Her weight loss is unrelated. Her walker and wheelchair use is unrelated. Just aging stuff. Maybe she has a bad back like grandma. Yeah, that's it. She's just doing another round of chemo for good measure.

You blinked and it was over. As you came back into your body you saw the door swinging shut behind the doctor who had just come in and delivered the news: it was worse than you thought. Your mother was starting chemo to try and buy her some time before seeing if she got accepted into this clinical trial. "Your mother is exceptionally qualified, and equally eager," the graying man in the white coat had said. "Unfortunately, everyone else is too."

The drive home had you in a haze. Your parents were in the front seats still gushing over how they didn't have to pay at the end of the session, but you couldn't pay attention. The clinical trial roulette was a month from today; in the world's most desperate game of Bingo, random names would be drawn. Half would be assigned a control, half would be assigned the medicine. You couldn't bear the thought of her getting a placebo, but you couldn't bear the thought of her not getting in at all. The doctor had tried to taper her excitement, letting her know most people were not going to be picked. It stung, and left you in a haze for the rest of the night.

At about nine in the evening your dad went for a quick stop at the grocery store. He peeked his head in your room where you sat at your desk, furiously journaling, and asked if you wanted anything. Saying no, he left with an announcement he wouldn't be more than 15 minutes. Finally alone in the house with your mother practically since her initial diagnosis, you wandered to the living room where she sat in a large rocking chair, tucked into an enormous throw blanket. She smiled when you sunk into the couch beside her. "Are you excited to go to graduation?"

No. I'm not excited about anything. I want you to not be sick. "Yeah! It's really exciting, it'll be fun to be back." Your smile was fake as plastic. What if this was the last family trip? The last time on an airplane together? You wanted to go to Fiji, with the white sand and warm water for her to sink into. Paradise, not Gotham.

She was genuinely excited however. "Oh I can't wait for you to walk across that stage. Your father is going to cry buckets. Buckets!"

That night you sat at your desk and scribbled more in your journal, now on your twentieth page. Why does she have to be sick. Why does it have to be so bad? Why do I have to go back to Gotham? Gotham. Bruce. I hope he doesn't find me. Maybe he will. He seems to get out more now, more likelihood to see him... ugh. Not the time. And the money thing. How do I bring that up? I don't even know if it was him. Maybe it was Alfred. I don't know. Ugh. How am I even gonna walk in my heels? I don't really want to wear sneakers. Maybe I should? Maybe I should just be myself, and stop trying to fit in? Who cares what I wear to my own graduation? Shouldn't I only care about my own opinion? My head is swirling. Graduation is so soon. You decided to stop writing, since it was getting nowhere. Just jotting down the myriad of thoughts clanking around your skull, and it was keeping you up. The next few days were job hunting, and you needed to look adequately rested... even if it was the last thing you were truly feeling.

No. No. And more no. Every business within a thirty mile radius hadn't even accepted a resume. It hadn't been this way before you left for Gotham a few years back. Your parents were all happy little birds back at home, basking in the glory of having their medical debt paid. "You don't have to worry about getting a job right now hun," your dad had said a few days prior. "Let yourself relax." But you couldn't. Having the money burden gone was a massive relief, sure, but it was a material thing, and you were grappling with potentially having to lose someone. A parent. A mother. There was hardly space for rejoicing.

The morning of graduation you'd forgotten all about it, being woken at four in the morning to head to the airport. The time difference, shit. Your mother's friend from church was dropping you all off, babbling on and on about the local gossip. "And oh my stars, you just wouldn't believe the old Scott girl. Baby number two. With TWO fathers!" You attempted to drown her out via some self-soothing humming, which only drew the attention to you. "And you missy! Why, you're not twenty-six without a ring on your finger! Meet anyone in..." she paused and visibly shuddered, spitting out the word Gotham to finish her pestering. You suppressed an eyeroll. Gotham would eat her alive.

You successfully dodged succeeding questions and found yourself at arrivals. Your parents had a fast-pass through TSA, making boarding surprisingly pleasant. You sat between your mom and dad, trying not to think about landing in a city you thought you'd left far behind.

"Good afternoon passengers, this is your pilot speaking. We are pulling into the terminal in approximately three minutes, so please prepare for landing. Weather is partly-cloudy, with a high of sixty degrees. It is 3pm local time. Thank you for flying with Delta Airlines."

Your dad awoke with a strong snore, your mom rustling in her light sleep. "Oh my, already?" She yawned, rolling up her knit blanket into her carry on. "Honey, do they have the wheelchair ready?"

Wheelchair? You still weren't used to it. Wheelchairs aren't bad, you reminded. They're accessible. They help. It doesn't mean she's gonna drop dead tomorrow. Soon enough your dad was helping her into a cab while you wrestled with her chair and the luggage in the backseat of the accessible Uber. The smell stung your nostrils, the familiar taste of copper. The streets were mostly dry, as dry as they could ever get in the city. As you climbed into the passenger seat you briefly thought of the taut leather binding trimming Bruce's car's interior. Stop it. He doesn't exist.

[ninjaturtlecosmo]

Movie intros be like;

Narrator:*gives a dark, dramatic monologue or backstory about the events leading up to the story that set the mood for what everyone is in for*

Meanwhile, Brody at the beginning of Mallrats: My cousin Walter had a cat stuck up his ass. True story. He bought it at our local mall, so the whole fiasco ended up on the news. It was embarrassing for my relatives and all, but the next week, he did it again. Different cat, same results, complete with another trip to the emergency room. So I run into him a week later at the mall and he's buying another cat. And I says to him "Jesus Walt, what are you doing? You know you're gonna get this cat stuck in your ass too, why don't you knock it off?" And he says "Brody? How else am I gonna get the gerbil out?"..... My cousin was a weird guy.

[graciebrams]

𓇢𓆸 get to know me

hi I'm ema you can call me em or ems <3 my pronouns are she/her, desi 𐙚˙⋆.˚ 🎐🌟💌

✧ i ١٥٧٤ : rose gold, silver jewellery, coffee, books, ribbons, hoop earrings, lipgloss, handwritten letters, choclate, colours pink, brown and sage green, bracelets, cats, ballet flats, sundresses, mary janes, rings, sunsets, dried out flower petals, collecting old movie tickets, etc ᱖　⠀˙⠀　｡

ꪆৎ fav artists : gracie abrams, taylor swift, sabrina carpenter, lexi jayde, eileen alister, alessi rose, alix page, maise peters, birdy, the nbhd, chase atlantics, the weeknd, johnny orlando, harry styles, lizzy mcalpine, beabadoobee, girl in red, olivia rodrigo, evanescance, ROLEMODLE, phoebe bridgers, 1D, billie eilish, finneas, lexi caroll, clairo, conan gray, cate, CAS, gracen reign, madison beer, mazzy stars, MARINA, lyn lapid ᱖　⠀˙⠀　｡

✧ fav shows: gilmore girls, anne with an e, lockwood and co., two broke girls, derry girls, b99, my mad fat diary, opposite sex, YOU, insatiable, the office, the good doctor, dash and lily, the irregulars, my life with the walter boys, the summer i turned pretty, friends, breaking bad, girl meets world, my lady jane, maxton hall, ted lasso, supernatural, gossip girl, the oc, bridgerton, OBX. ᱖　⠀˙⠀　｡

ꪆৎ fav youtubers: carys rachel, ceri jones, heather wotherspoon, ur internet mom ash, luna montana, audrey mika, basicgorl, just sharon, naomi victoria, anna lenks, niki and gabi, layze, sarah betts, emma chamberlain, ahaspoofy, tia gabriella, caitlyn marie, nailea, sadie aldis, grace's room, sturniolo triplets, tara yummy, benoftheweek, larray, madeline argy, sab quesada, cam and fam, kalogera sisters, quen blackwell, alana lintao, sam and colby, melieya, kailpeery, nick wilkins. ᱖　⠀˙⠀　｡

✧ other favs: sophia birlem, sadie sink, cailey spainey, lola tung, chris briney, daisy edgar jones, amybeth mcnulty, lily collins, rowan blanchard, nicola coughlan, emma stone, sarah carpenter, cory foeglmanis, diana silvers, nicholas hoult, caitlyn dever, lauren graham, sarosie ronan, anne hathway, tom holland, zendaya, andrew garfield, laura marano, florence pugh, jenna ortega, cooper koch, harrison osterfield, harry holland, sam holland, paddy holland, tuwaine barett. ᱖　⠀˙⠀　｡

ꪆৎ fav movies: little women (1994 and 2019), the princess diaries (1 and 2), anne of green gables, carrie 1976, roman holiday, sabrina (1954), qala, freaky friday, legally blonde, 13 going on 30, to all the boys, kissing booth, adventures in babysitting, 16 wishes, 16 candles, how to build a better boy, priscilla 2023, the fault in our stars, dirty dancing, love rosie, stuck in love, tolkien, the devil all the time, all spiderman and marvel movies, uncharted,

prev urls : sparksssflytv -> graciebrams

• divider by @issysh3ll

[n3ongold3n]

When you know your brother Is Near somewhere

[oculusxcaro]

Khare never buys sugar since she has no need of it at home. When Rorschach started dropping by, she brought back a box of sugar cubes from the diner and left them in the kitchen for him to help himself to whenever he visited. Since then a box of Froot Loops and various other foodstuffs in packets and boxes has appeared for him to try. She's desperate for you to eat more than just beans and sugar cubes, Rorschach. You're like a malnourished raccoon that's stubbornly fixated on eating just one type of food for fuck's sake.

One night when Khare was out at work, you just KNOW Rorschach was absolutely in the apartment when the landlord came snooping around. Instead of finding stuff to steal, the landlord got the absolute SHIT beaten out of him. To this day, the landlord doesn't remember what happened - only that he woke up from a medically-induced coma after 'taking a nasty tumble' down his own poorly-constructed stairs. What's that? Foul play? No, Rorschach totally wasn't waiting for him to show up. Accidents happen. 😇

When Khare gets a little more comfortable about his antihero life, you can bet she's helping Rorschach out however best she can. Feeding back information she's overheard from the GCPD? Writing down interesting information she's picked up from suspicious customers? Walter may stand out but hardly anybody pays attention to waitresses meaning Rorschach has more than one pair of ears around the city. Very handy finding who's in who's pockets and deducing facts about crimes he's investigating.

Sometimes Rorschach likes to send Khare cryptic messages (or jokes) to make sure she's alert and paying attention. No, he's not being a bully but it is a little funny seeing her reactions. It's also a good way for him to test her cognitive functions to, you know, make sure they're not deteriorating.

👫?

Send a 👫 and I’ll write four headcanons I have about our muse’s relationship

Contrary to Walter, it's Rorschach that took Khare some getting used to? She met him before without the mask but his brusque manner of speech soon made her more at ease around him just like she does around Walter. She also finds his mask fascinating, how the patterns shift and morph in tones of perfect black and white. She soon picks up on Rorschach's mood, not by asking him what's wrong but by observing his mask, how rapidly it changes and which patterns make themselves present.

Absolutely does little things for each other! Whenever Walter trudges into the diner with nasty cuts or broken fingers, Khare will offer antiseptic and bandages if only to keep infection at bay. In return, Walter checks out the routes she uses going to and from home to ensure nobody's waiting to pounce on unsuspecting passerbys. He's gotten rid of at least one serial attacker whose body was later found floating in the sewers by Killer Croc. Khare doesn't know about this and Walter is perfectly content to keep it that way.

Knows each others secrets yet keeps their lips sealed. Walter found out about Khare's condition at precisely the same time Khare found out he was Rorschach, the hero jumping in to prevent her getting bundled into a car by a group of thugs. Rorschach fought them off but sustained a head injury during the incident while Khare received minimal injuries during the struggle. She hid his hat, mask and coat from the GCPD, claiming it was Walter who had stopped her from getting kidnapped by the group. He noticed the eyes glinting in the darkness, his suspicions confirmed upon noticing her injuries were long gone when he came to retrieve his belongings later that day.

Do these two talk shit about the government? You better believe they do. I bet these two could talk about conspiracies all day long, a sentiment which is not helped when Khare tells Walter what she knows about Prometheus and her experiences at their hands. Rorschach somehow becomes even more violent towards kidnappers. Khare might even help him out, holding them down with a smile while he brutally extracts important information.

[sissylittlefeather]

Introducing...

A Very Quiet Life

A/N: this is an AU in which Elvis is your next door neighbor in the suburbs in the mid-late '60s. I have three parts completed and more in the works, so hang on for some chapters!

I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: The reader is a widow. That's about it. It's pretty fluffy, but don't worry. The smut is coming 😈

Song inspo:

Gif inspo (this is how I picture him in this one)

The little house is perfect for your family of 3. You stand and look at it from where you've just gotten out of your car. The white siding and blue shutters are exactly what you wanted. You'll have to get a lawnmower, though, because the yard is already a little wild.

"Mama, can we get out and see?" Your 7-year-old daughter, Jane, calls from her place on the backseat. Your 5-year-old son, Michael, is knocking on the window. The sound of the kids pulls you out of your daydream about how many wonderful memories you'll make there together. You turn around and let them both out of the car. They run up to the front door and you decide to unload the car later. The movers have already gotten all the furniture and big boxes into the house. When you open the front door, you have a soft pang in your heart as you think of how your husband had carried you across the threshold at your old apartment. Now that he's gone, you'll have to carry yourself. You walk in and go to the kitchen to start unpacking. You're excited to make this into a home. This little house is your pride and joy. Between your husband's army death benefits and your part time job typing in an office, you were finally able to save up for the house. Now it's yours and you can't wait to live here and have a real future. Since your husband died, you feel like you've been in a holding pattern. However, it's been almost 4 years, and you're ready to live again.

As you unpack glasses into the cabinet, something catches your eye out the window over the sink. The window looks into your neighbor's front yard. It's beautifully manicured and you can see why. There's a man out there cutting the grass. A very attractive man, you think to yourself. His dark hair is wet with sweat and his white t-shirt sticks to his broad chest, revealing a manly and strong physique. When he pushes the mower, his muscles flex and the veins in his forearm are visible. His skin is tanned from working outside, probably on the lawn. You don't even notice you're biting your lower lip until he looks up in the direction of your window. You gasp and drop the glass you were holding in the sink.

Can he see you?

Thankfully, the glass doesn't break and you're able to pick it up quickly and go back to what you were doing. When you take a chance and look back out the window, you see that he's shaking his head and smiling, looking down at the mower. His smile almost takes your breath away. You wonder if he's smiling because he saw you or because of something else. Deciding it must be something else, you turn and go back to unpacking boxes in the kitchen. Your neighbor is a lucky woman.

******

You smooth Michael's hair and brush some crumbs off of his front. Then, you straighten Jane's hair ribbon.

"Now, remember to smile. We want our neighbors to like us." You coo to the children just before you knock on the front door of your neighbor's house. You've been in your new home for three days, so it seems like the right time to get to know the people around you. On your right is Mrs. Pottsboro, an older lady with several cats. She was very kind and appreciative of the cookies you brought. She also volunteered to watch the children if you need her to, which is an offer you won't forget. Directly across the street are the Walters, a family of five with kids around the same ages as yours. You enjoyed a nice conversation with them while the kids munched on cookies and ran around the yard. Now, you are at the house to your left. As you knock, you briefly remember the man you saw mowing the lawn. You've seen him a couple of times since then, getting the paper and watering the grass. You really need to meet his wife and put a stop to the things you've been thinking about him.

The door opens and it feels like a ton of bricks has landed in your stomach. It's him. After a few seconds of standing there smiling like an idiot, him trying to suppress a smirk, you clear your throat and speak.

"Hi! I'm y/f/n y/l/n and this is Jane and Michael." You touch the kids on their heads as you say their names. "We just moved in next door, so we wanted to stop by and say hello and give you these." You hold out a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

"Thank you. Why don't you all come on in?" His voice is warm and the southern accent makes it sound honey-smooth. You start to sweat a little, standing on the porch. He takes the plate of cookies and gestures for you all to come in. When you pass him, you catch a wave of his scent and it's warm and masculine, like his body seems to be. A part of you longs to smell it closer, but then reality slams into you like a freight train when his wife rounds the corner.

"Oh, hello!" She's petite and blonde, with her hair twisted into a tight bun.

"Beth, our new neighbors are here. They brought us cookies." He smiles warmly at you and holds the cookies up for her to see.

"That's so sweet! Unfortunately, we don't eat sugar." She grabs the plate and tries to hand it back to you. He intercepts it.

"She doesn't eat sugar. I do." She makes a tight-lipped smile, her eyes overly bright.

"Right. Well, thank you." She walks out of the room, leaving you and your kids with him. He bends down to be face-level with your kids.

"You guys want to help me eat these?" They both smile and nod their heads, taking a cookie from the plate that he holds out to them. He seems to be enlivened by their presence, asking them questions about the new house and their new school. They respond to him easily, comfortable with him instantly.

"Does your daddy like the new house?" He asks innocently, looking up at you.

"Oh--" you try to cut in, but Jane beats you to it.

"--our daddy is gone. He died a while back. It's just us now." His face changes to a look of deep sympathy.

"I'm so sorry to hear that, Jane." He looks up at you but keeps talking like he's talking to her. "If you or your mama ever need a man to do anything around the house, you just let me know. I'm right next door." Michael jumps in.

"Mister, I'm the man of the house now. I can take care of mama and Jane."

"Of course!" He smiles. "I bet you do a great job, too. If you ever need a bigger man, you come get me, okay?" He does a little fake punch on Michael's chin. Michael nods in agreement.

"Yes sir, Mr...?"

"Presley. Elvis Presley. Pleased to meet you." He shakes Michael's hand and kisses Jane's lightly. You have to shake yourself a bit to remember that you should leave.

"Alright, kiddos, we've bothered Mr. Presley long enough. Let's go back home." You try to usher the kids toward the door. As you walk out, he turns to you.

"It's really no problem at all, ma'am. I like kids. And I'm serious, if you need anything, let me know." He winks and you almost melt into a puddle on his front porch.

"Thank you, Mr. Presley."

"Elvis, please."

"Thank you, Elvis." It feels strange to call him by his first name, but since he insists, you oblige. He closes the door behind you and you take the hands of both kids and walk back to your own house.

******

You're doing dishes a few days later, looking out at your crazy yard compared to your neighbors' perfect one. For a second, you consider asking Mr. Presley to come mow it for you. But you don't want to inconvenience him. He was so kind to you and the children when you were there. His wife wasn't much to smile at, being almost cold in her refusal to talk to them. To be honest, you've thought of inviting him over several times. You've even considered breaking something just to have him come fix it, but you also know how bizarre and wrong that would be. You finish the dishes, get the kids ready for school and head to your job at the office.

******

After work, you drive up to the house, excited for the hour of free time you have before you have to pick up the kids. To your surprise, most of the yard is mowed. You're trying to figure out how that happened when you spot him. It's Elvis. He's out there mowing your yard without even being asked. As you walk up to the door, he turns and waves to you. You mouth "thank you" and walk inside the front door. You need to do something to show him that you're thankful for what he's doing. In the kitchen, you whip up some sweet tea and pour two glasses. By the time you get them on a tray and to the front porch, he's finished mowing the lawn. He's sweating again, T-shirt tight on his shoulders.

"Would you like some tea?" You ask shyly.

"I would, ma'am, thank you." He walks up on the porch and takes the glass from the tray.

"You don't have to call me ma'am. You can call me y/n."

"Oh, well, thank you y/n." He smiles and you feel yourself tense up. He's standing close enough to you that you catch the earthy smell of his sweat mixed with deodorant or aftershave or something manly. It's intoxicating. He's intoxicating. He takes a deep swig of his tea and then looks at you.

"Do you mind if I use your bathroom?" It seems like a strange request, since his house is so close, but you don't seem to be capable of telling him no. You lead him into the house to the small guest bath. When he comes out, he walks over to where you're standing in the kitchen, trying not to be too obvious about waiting for him.

"You didn't have to do that." You gesture to the yard.

"I know. But I wanted to. I was serious about you letting me know if you need any help." He smiles warmly.

"Kids still at school?" He looks around the house, seeming almost disappointed that they aren't there.

"Yes. I'll pick them up soon. I just come home a bit early to have an hour of quiet before I go get them." He nods and you suddenly realize that you're alone with him in your house. Your mind goes wild with daydreams of him laying you down on the couch and having his way with you.

"Well, thank you for the tea. I should be getting back." You nod and head for the door.

Before you can get there though, you feel a hand on your wrist. You look up into his face for half a second before he presses his lips against yours. You should pull away. You should stop him. But you don't. Instead you go limp and let him wrap his arms around your waist. The kiss is a sweet one, with no tongue or anything. He just holds you there with his mouth pushed into yours. When he finally pulls back, you feel like a rag doll in his arms. You desperately want him to keep kissing you, but he doesn't. Instead, he unravels his arms from around you and heads for the door. He mumbles a quick apology and disappears before you can say anything else.

You haven't felt this alive in years.

******

Chapter 2 coming soon!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Taglist: @itlover8000 @deniseinmn @elvisalltheway101

Want to be added to the Taglist? Let me know!

[webanglikethat]

Thalassophile, do you remember our crestfallen hearts?

— prompt: cooking together & unrequited love.

📝: word count: 2500.

🎹: [and is this not treason? / my soul belongs far more to you than it does to me.]

or: Vyxaria's evening at Walter’s apartment begins with a cooking lesson, but it's their feelings that end up stirred.

Had Vyxaria been true to herself, she would have never agreed to this in the first place. 

Truly, what role did she have to play in Walter’s kitchen at 5pm? If he wanted to so desperately invite her out to eat, a fancy restaurant should’ve and would’ve been the obvious route to take. With tall buildings and luxurious cars being driven by sinful humans she could’ve gotten as desserts … truly, what a missed opportunity for a delicacy worthy of her presence. Instead, here she stood, in the dim xanthous light of the kitchen, watching as the merman’s shadows danced on the walls, portraying the stage of his life; and she, the avid watcher. his hands carefully took the ingredients out of the fridge and laid them on the counter like an army to direct. Had she known the nature of his plans beforehand, she would’ve rejected them outrightly and spent the evening scrolling on Lamazon, buried under those expensive sheets she’d bought using Elliot’s card, adding niche and frankly weird decorations for her house – truly, who needed a flag that spelled out ‘beware of sarcasm’? Lamazon apparently thought she did – and enticing lingerie to her shopping cart. But alas, there she was now, spending the first Friday night of the month in the presence of a man’s gastronomic epicurean fantasies and his wandering cat.

It was better than staying in her own place, she told herself. 

It filled the silence that slowly spread the perforation on her body from where her wound still spelled out the shape of her name.

It was better than thinking about Xantheia. Her Xantheia.

It was better than lowering her hand and still feeling the treacherous laceration burning, melting away her fingertips and creeping onto her lungs.

It was better than replaying the scene over and over, hitting repeat on her encephalon and watching herself stumble; first from joy and bewilderment, then from despair and moribund.

So she rolled up her sleeves, swept away her thoughts in a corner, and took a curious look at Walter’s phone, where a cooking tutorial for Cuscuz Paulista was playing. He had already started cooking before she entered his apartment; to give her an easier time, he had declared with a smile, as if cooking was a challenge to her (it was; why would one need to get their hands dirty when all she needed to do was touch a few buttons on her phone and have everything delivered to her? If she couldn’t own this city, she could still be treated like royalty!). 

Well, it wasn’t a private chef’s entourage, but she would have to accept it for tonight.

Walter stirred the cornmeal and vegetable broth together in a large bowl, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, brows furrowed in concentration as if his being there and doing this was a task to present to royalty, and he couldn’t mess it up — as if stumbling over any step could lead to the demise of this evening. “It has to sit for a bit,” he murmured in reply to her silent stare, and then turned to the skillet, already pre-heating the olive oil. In this light, he looked ethereal, the blonde of his hair contrasting with the blue of his eyes; the sweetest querencia.

Her fingers drummed against the counter, watching as his smile didn’t falter even when confronted with her firm expression. “You could’ve just ordered takeout,” she said, sitting down on the counter, pulling the bowl closer to her, “could’ve saved you the mess of having to clean all of this up.”

He let out a soft laugh, chopping an onion with effortless precision. Was that a skill merfolk performed well in? “Maybe. But I thought you might enjoy this.”

She nearly scoffed. Enjoy? What was there to enjoy? Standing in a too-warm kitchen, his cat’s movements echoing in the apartment, dimmed lights flashing their shadows and watching Walter soften onions and garlic, as if it was all a movie premiere? Perhaps they had different definitions of enjoyment. Hers included flashy cards and expensive wines; and all Walter needed instead was the quiet of his same old walls and the familiarity of his surroundings. Bold of him to invite her then, she thought as she stole a slice of tomato off the counter to eat. If he was water, then she was fire; how long would it take for their encounter to dissipate? 

But she bit back the argument and simply hummed in response. Despite all of her elevated parapets, she could see it in his eyes — the silent question that had lingered, trapped in between his fidgeting hands and the tip of his tongue. She could sense the true meaning behind this evening, concealed behind the innocuous invitation. 

     Just a few nights ago she had finally told Walter about what had happened that fateful night, when Xantheia’s embrace had turned into a cage, and her joy had bleached into pain to exploit. Just thinking about it brought back all the emotions; at first, it was anger that knocked at her chest — anger for trusting, for allowing the vessel of her soul to actually feel, for forgetting that she was a demon who wasn’t supposed to partake in such humanly frivolousness. Then, it was fear that brought its luggages, sitting down on her sternum, blocking the alleyways of her breathing. Somewhere in this city Xantheia lingered, breathing the same air as her and walking past the same faces glued to their phones; but she didn’t show herself to Vyxaria. What they once had — what they weren’t supposed to have in the first place – had dissipated, wilted and withered, till all the life had been siphoned by the bloodshed, and she wasn’t sure the ashes could ever bring back was once stood so legendarily. And at last, it was grief that slithered its way down onto her heart, knocking down her arteries and bumping into the edges of her chambers – it was loss for the bond she thought she had, the rarest of luxuries she’d ever had the opportunity to hold; it was also loss for the person she’d been before that night and the person she could never be again. She could’ve lived in the shadows of her death if needed, but knowing Xantheia, her Xantheia, was alive and was probably hunting her … she didn’t know how to accept that fact. She had faced many deaths, met countless sphacelated bodies on her trail, but what was one meant to do when it was your twin flame that decided to put an expiration date on your being? How was one meant to retire from the shadows of loss when it perforated your every beat? She’d been hurt before; arrows digging their way into her body, unstitching her limbs till the ground beamed with scarlet maroon, but this, this was a tenebrosity and hurt she could have never imagined. That in itself was against her nature; she should’ve known, she should’ve expected it. How could she have given so much of herself, only to watch it crumble?

     Lost in thoughts, she recounted the night her and Xantheia had laid on the grass, admiring the dark canvas of the night’s cloak. It had been a break from the hunt, though the details of it were blurry. Her eyes had wandered over to Xantheia, taking in all of her features. Even when darkness veiled half of her face, she still was the most beautiful being to her, the only sight to quench her desires. Xantheia, ever the wise, had told her stories about how some beings connected the flecks of light in the sky to constellations, giving them their own stories. Vyxaria had wondered how the personages to come would then remember her and Xantheia. She imagined her face in the sky, those brown eyes that warmed her, her own apricity in the dark to seek each night. 

     And perhaps, that night had been a warning, a cassandran scream that Xantheia was just a fleeting star, never meant to be caught in the orbit of her life. Constellations after all are just made up lines, and their bond turned out to be perpendicularly shaped; walking on the same trail, meeting once, and leaving everything bereft in their meeting in the wake of their affair. 

  Ah, there it was. Another soft knocking against her door, another key being entered, valises in the corner and boarded windows open at last. Vyxaria had lied to herself; it wasn’t just anger, fear and grief that lingered – her love overstayed its stay too. She could pretend it wasn’t there and paint over its presence, but it knocked and knocked, till it squandered everything in its wake. Broken planks and azul rain were left in the destruction, and even then, Vyxaria could not distinguish the red of anger from the redness of love.

The knife in Walter’s hands paused midair as he caught the change in her expression, his eyes squinting slightly, as if weighing whether to illuminate the conversations she so desperately had run from, the one that had led her to his apartment. Even in her silent hours, he could read her too well. She hated it. It was mortifying to be known this deeply; it had never brought something good, clearly. Be it the silent nubes gathering in her shaky hands or the thunderous fury that swarmed out of her lips; he knew her too well. So before he could say or do anything — anything that could threaten the floods to open – she came closer and grabbed the knife from his hands. He looked confused, but let her take it. “Well, then. I might as well partake in this, right?” She took the onion and garlic and started working on chopping them. Surely it couldn’t be that hard. Not harder than trying to outrun the flaming ghosts of your life, she added mentally while pulling up her hair. The blade was long, pointed, and slightly curved, and the knife danced across the cutting board, its sharp edge slicing clean through the onion’s translucent layers with a satisfying noise. Vyxaria wasn’t a stranger to knives, though her preferred weapon was herself. She could master this with ease. She could do anything! With each cut, a crisp snap echoed through the kitchen, followed by the sting of its aroma creeping into the air. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and Walter remarked with a chuckle, “You’re chopping like you’re trying to murder it’’. Vyxaria scoffed, glancing down at the poor onion under her blade. “It deserves it.” He simply laughed, shaking his head in amusement. He watched as the garlic became her next enemy, yielding under the pressure of her hands, releasing a pungent, almost sweet scent as it was crushed beneath the side of the knife and finely minced into a fragrant paste.

 “You’re better at this than I thought’’, he remarked. 

She rolled her eyes, “I might just start believing you’re finally impressed by me. Well, at least you are.’’ 

The sentence should’ve been laced by a satirical tone, but as soon as the words were evicted, she could tell they felt anything but. Walter’s eyes worryingly looked at her, and before she could say anything, he passed her the sea salt. ‘‘What?’’, she asked, confusion draped on her expression. ‘‘Add chopped black olives, parsley, scallions, sea salt, and black pepper — that’s what the recipe says’’. She nodded confused and did as he asked. Meanwhile, Walter just silently stood there, watching her every move. He didn’t pry, didn’t ask, didn’t try to ungrave the thoughts bathing in Vyxaria’s face. He could read her like a passage whispered in the dark, like a prayer passed through folklore, and it was through that act of knowing her better than his own limbs that he decided to stay silent. He didn’t want her to feel attacked, pried open, laid on a table for all to see. But he also didn’t want her to feel alone, washed away on a shore on her own. So he simply added the vegetables to the bowl and asked her to stir it with the cornmeal mixture. He could see the evergreen confusion in her eyes, but he wanted her to be distracted, to be able to outrun at least for a few minutes the disquietudes that scourged her. He didn’t mind being silent with her if it meant her barricades’ troop could rest. To be voiceless was a game token, and her melioration his sweet shore. It didn’t matter that he knew that her heart didn’t reach for his own. He could sense it in the way she spoke of Xantheia, in the way her tone changed when her name was mentioned; softer, calmer, unlike what she presented to him. Her gaze would drift, recalling memories she’d locked inside a vault, as if reciting chronicles of a life that he could never reach; both in time and in closeness. It was almost venerated, as if keeping a star in the tips of her fingers, only for her to see. She was never like that with him, no matter how hard he tried. 

    He watched her grip the cutting board a little too tight, the way she had held onto him when tears had fallen while recounting the truth. It had been spread through soft whispers, as if speaking of it in itself was a sin, a reopening of the wound. He had held her tight that night — perhaps tighter than needed in his selfish desires — and let her spill the ink of her pain onto him, which he’d absorbed like his own. Perhaps it was selfish of him, but he wanted to be that for her. He wanted to be the sponge that enthralled her ache, the hunter that kept away tingles and bruises. If he couldn’t be more, at least he could be a shield. As long as he was hers.

Her voice shook him out of his thoughts as she asked him for help; she had steamed the cuscuz and almost messed up and dropped the mixture because Seaweed had unexpectedly decided to deign them of his presence. With a smile, he helped her finish gathering everything while simultaneously petting the cat. ‘‘To you, the honour’’, he said, almost curtsying while holding the steamer basket; the last step of the recipe. She rolled her eyes, a laughter escaping her almost unthinkingly. God, that laugh, he thought as his heart picked up its beat, if he could never let its light shine on him, could it be enough to just bask it from afar? Would it ever be enough to just witness it in different orbs, like a supernova’s descending light years away? 

And when she spoke again, lining the steamer basket with a damp cloth and trying to spoon the mixture into it, she muttered, ‘‘I don’t know why I keep expecting this to get easier.’’ 

Walter could only nod.

He really didn’t know why.

[hearts4hughes]

congrats on 500! could you please do an insta edit with quinn about becoming dog parents? ty!!

dog parents | quinn hughes

quinn hughes x fem! reader

nora’s 500 celly !!

-

y/n.official

liked by _quinnhughes, jackhughes, and others

y/n.official meet walter!

view all comments

_quinnhughes we’re dog parents 😟

y/n.official i’m his favorite parent

_quinnhughes that was mean. he loves me just as much

y/nofficial he might like you, but you’ll never be me🫶

_quinnhughes rude.

lhughes_06 he kinda looks like the cuter version of quinn

y/n.official i think quinn resembles a wet cat, but to each their own!

lhughes_06 ouch

_quinnhughes y/n.official i thought you loved me😔

y/n.official _quinnhughes ofc i do stinky😚

jackhughes i can babysit him whenever

y/n.official i do not trust you with my baby

jackhughes a lot of people consider me a fantastic dogsitter, so your loss🤷‍♂️

trevorzegras y/n.official i can watch him instead 😁

y/n.official trevorzegras id rather let an infant watch walter over you…

trevorzegras y/n.official ☹️

user129 so adorable!

fan15 even their dog is perfect😭😭

user43 y/n and quinn arguing like a married couple is killing me

_quinnhughes

liked by y/n.official, canucks, and others

_quinnhughes my son👨‍👦

view all comments

y/n.official our son*

_quinn hughes no, he’s just mine.

y/n.official 😨

canucks newest member! brb ordering him a canucks jersey

liked by _quinnhughes

jackhughes he’s going to grow up an amazing devils fan

_quinnhughes over my dead body.

y/n.official _quinnhughes idk he does look good in red…

_eliaspettersson our top d-man

_quinnhughes just like his father😎

lhughes_06 someone’s got a big ego…

fan792 perfect dog for the perfect player<3

user07 if you need another dog i can bark!!!!

-

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Walter Einenkel at Daily Kos:

Anti-immigrant lies and rhetoric spewed by Donald Trump and his party have caused real and terrifying results. On Thursday, several city, county, and school buildings in Springfield, Ohio, were targeted by a bomb threat. On Friday, a Springfield middle school was closed and two elementary schools were evacuated. ABC News originally reported that there was no direct connection made between the threats and the GOP's repeated racist lies about Haitian immigrants abducting and eating pets. Additionally, ABC reported it was not “immediately clear if Friday's evacuations were from a new threat or linked to bomb threats sent via email Thursday morning.” But in an interview with The Washington Post, Springfield Mayor Rob Rue said that Thursday’s bomb threat “used hateful language towards immigrants and Haitians in our community.”

During Tuesday night’s presidential debate, Trump erroneously claimed, “In Springfield, they're eating the dogs. The people that came in. They're eating the cats. They're eating—they're eating the pets of the people that live there.” This lie has also been pushed by his running mate Sen. JD Vance a number of times. And Trump continued to perpetuate the lie, adding geese this time, in a campaign rally Thursday in Arizona.

The Haitian Times reported that some of Springfield’s Haitian community has felt so threatened during this barrage of right-wing hate-propaganda that they chose to keep their children home from school following the debate. “We’re all victims this morning,” one woman, who asked to remain anonymous for fear of reprisals, told the outlet. “They’re attacking us in every way.”  The same kind of racist rhetoric has also besieged Venezuelan immigrants in Colorado. Trump has repeatedly pushed bullshit crime numbers (which he did once again during the debate), targeting Venezuelan communities in the Centennial State as filled with “gangs,” and saying they were “taking over” Colorado cities. 

[...] This is sadly par for the course during a time of fascistic and hateful rhetoric. We saw it with Asian hate crimes rising during COVID-19 pandemic, when Trump and others would frequently use derogatory terms for the coronavirus such as “Kung Flu,” and the “Chinese Virus.” We've seen it in the rise of antisemitism connected to the rise of MAGA extremist rhetoric and conspiracy theory as well as the Palestinian/Israeli conflict. The consequences of the Republican Party’s need to target, isolate, and divide various groups of people, are that innocent, hardworking people suffer. At the same time, without any meaningful policies, the fear and economic uncertainty that the GOP repeats remains the same.  Trump said Tuesday during the debate that the Haitian immigrants in Springfield were “destroying” the residents’ “entire way of life.” That divisiveness, despite the fact that these Haitian Americans are part of that community, is the Trump way. And in a country made up almost entirely of immigrants, there’s always someone to blame.

Aurora, CO and Springfield, OH are two communities in the news recently as a result of right-wing hate mobs targeting the cities to push their anti-immigrant BS.