#where's the talking duck and dog for the Express

[astrxlfinale]

While this is unrelated (somewhat) in my grand scope of HC creation.

To have someone like me, a Kingdom Hearts fan, also have the Clockwork ability deal with aspects similar to keyblades in terms exploring the realm within people's Hearts pleases me to know end.

I fucking love that series and the fact I get embody it with my Star rail muse too makes me do backflips.

Dive to the Heart when.

[inkskinned]

crows use tools and like to slide down snowy hills. today we saw a goose with a hurt foot who was kept safe by his flock - before taking off, they waited for him to catch up. there are colors only butterflies see. reindeer are matriarchical. cows have best friends and 4 stomachs and like jazz music. i watched a video recently of an octopus making himself a door out of a coconut shell.

i am a little soft, okay. but sometimes i can't talk either. the world is like fractal light to me, and passes through my skin in tendrils. i feel certain small things like a catapult; i skirt around the big things and somehow arrive in crisis without ever realizing i'm in pain.

in 5th grade we read The Curious Incident of the Dog In The Night-time, which is about a young autistic boy. it is how they introduced us to empathy about neurotypes, which was well-timed: around 10 years old was when i started having my life fully ruined by symptoms. people started noticing.

i wonder if birds can tell if another bird is odd. like the phrase odd duck. i have to believe that all odd ducks are still very much loved by the other normal ducks. i have to believe that, or i will cry.

i remember my 5th grade teacher holding the curious incident up, dazzled by the language written by someone who is neurotypical. my teacher said: "sometimes i want to cut open their mind to know exactly how autistics are thinking. it's just so different! they must see the world so strangely!" later, at 22, in my education classes, we were taught to say a person with autism or a person on the spectrum or neurodivergent. i actually personally kind of like person-first language - it implies the other person is trying to protect me from myself. i know they had to teach themselves that pattern of speech, is all, and it shows they're at least trying. and i was a person first, even if i wasn't good at it.

plants learn information. they must encode data somehow, but where would they store it? when you cut open a sapling, you cannot find the how they think - if they "think" at all. they learn, but do not think. i want to paint that process - i think it would be mostly purple and blue.

the book was not about me, it was about a young boy. his life was patterned into a different set of categories. he did not cry about the tag on his shirt. i remember reading it and saying to myself: i am wrong, and broken, but it isn't in this way. something else is wrong with me instead. later, in that same person-first education class, my teacher would bring up the curious incident and mention that it is now widely panned as being inaccurate and stereotypical. she frowned and said we might not know how a person with autism thinks, but it is unlikely to be expressed in that way. this book was written with the best intentions by a special-ed teacher, but there's some debate as to if somebody who was on the spectrum would be even able to write something like this.

we might not understand it, but crows and ravens have developed their own language. this is also true of whales, dolphins, and many other species. i do not know how a crow thinks, but we do know they can problem solve. (is "thinking" equal to "problem solving"? or is "thinking" data processing? data management?) i do not know how my dog thinks, either, but we "talk" all the same - i know what he is asking for, even if he only asks once.

i am not a dolphin or reindeer or a dog in the nighttime, but i am an odd duck. in the ugly duckling, she grows up and comes home and is beautiful and finds her soulmate. all that ugliness she experienced lives in downy feathers inside of her, staining everything a muted grey. she is beautiful eventually, though, so she is loved. they do not want to cut her open to see how she thinks.

a while ago i got into an argument with a classmate about that weird sia music video about autism. my classmate said she thought it was good to raise awareness. i told her they should have just hired someone else to do it. she said it's not fair to an autistic person to expect them to be able to handle that kind of a thing.

today i saw a goose, and he was limping. i want to be loved like a flock loves a wounded creature: the phrase taken under a wing. which is to say i have always known i am not normal. desperate, mewling - i want to be loved beyond words.

loved beyond thinking.

[dovesdreaming]

Text me when you’re done killing people

Summary: You text Wade pictures of his two favourite girls while he’s working. He always loves to hear from you.

Request

Masterlist

-

Wade’s phone vibrated in his pocket mid-fight, right as he finished tossing a grenade at a group of particularly unfriendly henchmen. He had a few seconds before it exploded, so, naturally, he pulled out his phone with a flourish and checked the screen.

[You]: Miss you already! ❤️

A picture followed, and Wade’s heart did a little flip under the red-and-black suit. It was you, sitting on the couch with Dogpool, the tiny mutant dog perched on your lap, both of you looking into the camera with the sweetest expressions. You were wearing one of Wade’s old hoodies, the one that was three sizes too big for you, and Dogpool had a little bandana around his neck that you’d probably put on him. Wade grinned, staring at the picture as the grenade detonated behind him with a satisfying boom. Blood and chaos erupted in the background, but he barely noticed. His phone buzzed again.

[You]: Dogpool’s missing you too! Here’s a video!

He clicked the video, ducking instinctively as a stray bullet whizzed past his head. The video was short but sweet: Dogpool, standing on the couch, wagging his tail and barking excitedly. In the background, you laughed, your voice like music to Wade’s ears, even through the muffled speaker. “Dogpool, where’s Daddy? Where’s Wade?” you asked in the video. Dogpool barked even louder, as if he knew exactly who you were talking about. Wade’s grin stretched wider under the mask.

“Ugh, my heart," Wade muttered to himself, clutching his phone dramatically to his chest. He dodged a sword swing from a very angry assassin and ducked behind a crate for a brief second to type out a response.

[Wade]: Daddy’s coming home soon, babe! Just gotta finish slaughtering these no-good villains and I’ll be back to my favorite girls 💕 PS: you look cute in my hoodie. And Dogpool's killin' it with that bandana!

He hit send just as a goon rounded the corner, gun raised. Without looking up from his phone, Wade raised his other hand and shot the guy square in the chest. He watched him collapse, then glanced back down at his phone, eagerly awaiting your next text. Another vibration. His heart did that funny thing again.

[You]: We’re waiting for you! I’ll have snacks ready when you get home. Also, Dogpool is being too cute. He’s drooling all over your side of the bed 😂

Attached was another picture of Dogpool sprawled out on the bed, tiny paws flopped over Wade’s pillow, his tongue hanging out as he slept. Wade could practically hear your laugh in his head as he stared at the picture. He barely noticed the team of henchmen coming his way until the last second. With a sigh, he pocketed his phone and pulled out his katanas, leaping into action with a series of precise, bloody strikes. “Don’t worry, boys, I’ll make this quick!” Wade called over his shoulder. “I’ve got two ladies waiting for me at home, and I’m not about to disappoint”. As the last of the enemies fell, Wade wiped off his katanas and slid them back into their sheaths. With the job done, he grabbed his phone again, a giddy thrill rushing through him at the sight of another text notification.

[You]: Come back to us soon. We miss you, Wade. I’ll always be here when you get home.

He paused, leaning against a wall as he reread the message. His heart warmed, like it always did when you sent things like that. Sometimes, it still felt unreal that someone as amazing as you would actually wait for him, love him, despite everything. Despite him. He quickly typed back:

[Wade]: I’m on my way, babe. You, me, and Dogpool = Best family ever. See you soon ❤️ PS: prepare for excessive cuddles.

And with that, Wade holstered his weapons, slung his bag over his shoulder, and took off toward home. Because no matter how many jobs he took, how much chaos and bloodshed filled his days, he always had something, someone, to come back to. And that was all that mattered.

[owlespresso]

dogged pursuit. mr dr sir veritas ratio. p4 of ? / part 1, part 2, part 3 summary: you've been appointed as the bodyguard of one doctor veritas ratio after a failed attempt on his life. he's easy to get along with, so long as you learn when to plug your ears and focus on his washboard abs. tags: mentioned violence but nothing huge

It was bound to happen at some point. You’d been hired because someone tried to put their hands on him, and it was assumed that they—or someone else silly enough to nurture a grudge against him, would try again. In hindsight, you should have seen it coming. 

“Is there nothing in that head of yours!? You could have been killed!” his voice cracks across the living room. He’s pacing back and forth in front of the chair where you’re splayed out, limbs hanging off the arm like a bendy willow’s branches.

“Awh, Doc, were you worried about me?” you drawled. You’re not sure what he’s talking about. There might be a few, smarting bruises on your ribs from the scuffle, but you’d done your job. 

There had been a yacht excursion earlier today—one he’d practically been forced to attend because someone important to his project was there. You’re not sure of the specifics of what happened yourself. They were rabble rousers dressed in IPC uniforms who sneaked aboard. The identities of the perpetrators will be sorted out by the folks in charge and handed to you later. All you know is that they’d been trying to put their hands on him. And now, some of them don’t have hands at all.

If anything, you’ve been worried that your display of excessive violence frightened him. He’s been clammed up the whole walk back. The kind of quiet that typically preludes a massive scolding—but this time was different. He hadn’t even looked at you. The  absence of that broiling glare worried you more than the glare itself ever has.

His mouth balls up, like he’s trying to keep the emotion off his face.

Though you often say you know he can take care of himself, that you know he’s a capable fighter himself—sometimes you really do forget. He moves fast, too fast for your weary eyes to track, and those big hands clap on either side of your face. He smushes your cheeks as he ducks into your space, leveling you with the meanest look you've ever seen.

“Of course I was worried! They were armed, you blithering idiot! With rudimentary weapons—but weapons nonetheless! What were you thinking, engaging them hand-to-hand!?” he seethes, and all you can do is stare at him, hapless and helpless as he continues. “When will you get it through your thick skull that I want you alive!?”

You sit up, resting your clenched hands on your thighs, spine ramrod straight as he chews you out. You’ve never had a wife, before, or a mother, but you imagine this is what it feels like to be scolded by either one. He stands above you, his arm crossed. There’s a visible tick to his brow, and a twitch to his eye that you haven’t seen since another IPC representative spilled a mojito all over his expensive silk shirt. 

“You… care about me,” you repeated, blinking slowly at him.

He huffs, looking thoroughly put out. “Did you think I wished you dead? I don't know where you got the impression that I'm such a heartless monster—but I do... care. About all forms of life. I don't think it's a very far reach to say that no one should be stabbed to death and left to bleed out. Especially while surrounded by such insufferable company. Knowing them, they would only complain about how the blood has stained their suits—"

The gears in your head churn, slow as molasses. Memories filter through your hazy headspace, watery and floating, like motes of dust in the afternoon sun. Veritas always having a cup of coffee ready for you in the morning. Veritas herding you off the couch and into the second bedroom, barking at you to get a good night’s sleep. Veritas. Veritas. Veritas.

“Doc,” you say, voice trembling. He leans in. His expression softens, his brows wrinkling with concern. “I think we have to get married.”

It’s almost comical, how quick his face flattens. His hands collapse back to his side as he turns away, heading towards the staircase in long, brisk strides. 

You cry out and fling yourself after him, fingers catching the tail ends of flowing, pearlescent robes. Pride be damned, you’re not letting him go after that admission—getting him to talk about his feelings is like prying teeth, unless it has anything to do with his mission statement. Something has shifted between the two of you, your dynamic changes irrevocably by his impassioned declaration. You want to see him make that face again—the one on the boat, when he’d watched you get hit in the gut. His eyes had gone real wide, face almost blank with surprise.

You want to see him make all sorts of faces. The days where all he shows you is that same, stony countenance far gone. 

“Wait, wait! I’ll be more careful, I promise!” you wail, clinging onto the ends of his robe.

“You—!” he fumes, pulling at the fabric. He shuffles around, his brows furrowed and lips pulled into a thin, straight line. He looks at you like that, real stern, for a few more seconds before the wind seems to wane from his sails. His shoulders slump. “Instead of a knife, it could have been a gun, or any projectile weapon that could have incapacitated you before you even reached them.” He says, combing his fingers through his hair. It’s already tousled from the wind out on the seas. He does this whenever he’s nervous, you realize, and wonder just how much there is of him to explore. “Get up. And get changed. There’s blood all over your sleeves. The leather’s already ruined.” He grouses. 

He bends over and his robes shift with the motion, providing you a glance at his other nipple, firm and rosy. Your mouth waters. Your brain feels like it’s about to melt out of your skull.

His hand wraps around your wrist, long fingers clutching you tight as he draws you to your feet. It’s almost completely unaided. Effortless. A look of the power packed within those flexing muscles. 

“Now go,” your awe-inspired reverie is cut short as he releases you. He snatches his hands back from your person and gives them a cursory look over. “This is a rental. I don’t want you staining the upholstery.”

“Psh. You just wanna see me out of this jacket, don’t ya?” you sneer, poking his calf with the tip of your boot. You oblige him anyways. The black leather crumples to the pale wooden floor in a heap. Your boots, at his insistence, are placed next to the door, right up against the wall. “That good enough? It’s pretty hot today. I could stand to lose a few more layers.” It’s not your intention to be this incorrigible. Old habits are hard to kick, especially when he always gives you such animated reactions.

He lifts his head, probably just to look down his nose at you. “Do as you please,” he says. He pauses, hesitating, before letting loose another great sigh. “But you have to sit down and rest. You may not be hurting now, but the adrenaline won’t last forever. So wash off and make yourself comfortable now, while you still can, before the pain sets in—”

He continues to rattle on. You half-listen, more than happy to bask in his attention while you watch his lips move.

[hunnysnoops]

˗ˋ𝕎𝕙𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝕋𝕖𝕖𝕥𝕙 𝕋𝕖𝕖𝕟𝕤ˊ˗

Chapter Nine: Take Me Out

Kyle Broflovski x fem reader

So if you’re lonely, you know I’m here waiting for you and if you leave here, you’ll leave me broken. Shattered I lie.

Also available on Ao3 and Wattpad!

Premise: Over the course of days and eventually weeks you grow closer with Kyle as feelings begin to shift.

Warnings: crude language and humour

MASTERLIST

.˙꩜°˖:*࿔ ☼ ࿔*:˖°��˙.

June 29

You and Kyle rush through the park, the world around you blurring as your feet pound against the pavement. The sun filters through the canopy of leaves overhead, casting dappled shadows that dance along the path. You feel the wind in your hair and the exhilaration of the run in your chest, your breaths coming fast but steady.

Recently, you had been looking forward to your runs with Kyle. You had always hated doing it with others, either too slow, stopping too often, or talking too much but there was a sweet spot with Kyle that you didn't mind in the slightest. 

There are several children playing soccer to your left, and you can hear their enthusiastic yells as they play. A couple walks their corgi to your right, the dog is so obscenely fat that his stomach almost scrapes the ground though he seems happy. 

You match his stride by the pond, where the water reflects the clear blue sky and the swarms of ducks gliding across its surface. Kyle slows down, and you equal his pace, both of you breathing heavily but smiling wide. "You're getting faster."

You laugh, the sound light and relaxed. "Maybe you're getting slower," you tease back. He rolls his eyes, but there's a twinkle in them that shows he enjoys the banter.

"Can you ever just take a compliment?"

"Uh, nope," You grin turning for the exit of the park. Your lungs burned in the perfect kind of way. 

The energy shifts instantly as you break away from the still park and enter town, the quiet rustle of leaves replaced by the hum of human life. Cars honk, people chat as they pass by, and the air is filled with the scent of food from nearby cafes and food trucks. Hanging in the air is the strong smell of liquor from a smashed bottle of tequila that crunches beneath your sneakers. 

Kyle is still ahead, his pace unwavering as he navigates through the crowd. You follow close behind, weaving through pedestrians and occasionally bumping shoulders. The buildings loom tall around you, their glass facades reflecting the afternoon sun.

As you turn a corner, something catches your eye. You come to an abrupt stop, causing Kyle to glance back, curious. There, plastered on a wall among a collage of posters and flyers, is an advertisement for an upcoming concert. The bold, colourful design grabs your attention, but it's the picture of the band that really makes you pause. The heading reads 'Suburban Wasteland' one of the hidden gems you listened to almost on a regular. They sang to your edgy little middle school self who went through an emo phase and claimed you would be that way forever. 

The lead singer stands front and center, his eyes smouldering and his messy hair perfectly tousled. He's cute, undeniably so, and you find yourself staring at the poster, your heart beating a little faster for reasons other than the run. "Oh my god," You mutter.

Kyle halts to a stop and walks to your side, staring at the poster. His eyebrows knit together as he takes in what he's seeing "What?"

You hadn't heard him, expression softening as you focused in on the tour dates. "Look!" You point at one of the dates, eyes lighting up "They're coming to South Park!" 

"You actually listen to these guys?" He looks at the four men on the poster 

"Yes!" You grab his arm and shake it, swaying his body in doing so. You were almost screaming the pure excitement that was running through you like lightning causing passersby to cast you judgmental glares. You weren't sure you had been so thrilled about something since you started high school. "They're here in July, we should go!" 

"Is he wearing eyeliner?" Kyle narrowed his eyes at the poster. At first glance, they looked like some corny screamo boyband from the early 2000s, brought to life by ripped skinny jeans and deep side parts. 

"He's so hot," You mutter, hands still gripped onto Kyle's arm without even noticing how tightly you were holding him. 

 "That's the kinda guy you're into?" He abruptly swerves his head to look at you. His eyes widen for a brief moment before they narrow in at you, his lips downturned in a slight frown. 

Your hands drip from where they rest on his arms "Yeah, I guess." Your near shaking with elation at the thought of the band you played on loop daily coming to your little bumpkin town. "Do you wanna go with me?"

He rubs the back of his neck "Don't you want to go with Red or something?"

"Red's going to Alaska at the end of July."

"Why is Red going to Alaska in July?"

"Doesn't matter," You answer "They're really cool, I think you'll actually like their songs-

"I'm sure they're fine. But I'm not really into that type of stuff?"

“What do you mean that type of stuff?"

"Like angry thrashers pushing each other around and breaking necks in a mosh pit," He says, sweat still glistening on his brow, only accentuated by the blaring sun overhead. 

"None of my friends like this thing, please?" Your eyes go wide, silently pleading with him.

He bites the inside of his cheek for a second, staring you down, his thoughts bouncing back and forth like a game of ping pong "I don't really like it either."

“I know you don’t really listen to that genre but-

“I’m not going,” He says, firm.

You give up, rolling your eyes. Your shoulders slump a little, disappointment washing over you. Taking one last longing look at the poster before resuming your pace, you resume your run, pushing aside the lingering let down "You're boring," You call back to Kyle "And slow."

.˙꩜°˖:*࿔ ☼ ࿔*:˖°꩜˙.

July 4

As you sit at the back of the dimly lit restaurant, the clatter of plates and the murmur of the last few lingering customers fade into the background. The cold, metallic touch of cutlery presses against your fingers as you roll knife after fork into napkins, your movements mechanical and practiced. 

You were nearing the end of your shift though there were still bins of cutlery left for you to roll into little place sets before you could go home. This wasn't exactly how you wanted to spend your fourth of July, especially when all your friends were out and about, living it up while you developed blisters on your feet from countless hours jetting around a restaurant.

The fourth of July seemed like a good cash grab to make good tips but you were proved wrong by the amount of rowdy tourists who talked a big game but tipped you very little if anything at all. You had ended the night with less than you came in with, the tips were so poor you had to use your own pocket money to tip out the house, bartender, and kitchen.

There was the same awful 80s playlist reverberating through the speakers. It was the same 60 songs over and over again, you knew them so well you could recite every lyric and the more you heard them, the more you hated them. You were almost tempted to take two steak knives and shove them into your ears.

Some shifts were so bad that you just needed to sit in silence, this was one of them. The fourth of July was one of your favourite holidays and your evil manager had coerced you into missing it. The worst part for you was the fact that you didn't get to see any of the fireworks, you just heard them faintly outside along with the sounds of people actually enjoying their night.

You wore your little black dress in the hopes of racking up more tips but instead, you had another server knock their customer's drinks onto you, drenching you in the smell of red wine and ceasers. There were little bits of the ceaser spice still visible on your dress while you continued rolling cutlery and biting the inside of your cheek to avoid screaming.

Outside, the sky is dark, with only a faint glow from distant fireworks that you can't quite see. You missed them again this year, the bursts of colour and the laughter of friends and family. The fourth of July has come and gone while you served tables, refilled water jugs, and plastered on a tired smile. 

You think of the sparklers you loved as a child, the barbecue smells, and the warmth of being surrounded by your family. Tonight, the warmth comes only from the overhead lights the persistent hum of the kitchen appliances and the cursing coming from the remaining staff. It didn't help this overwhelming feeling that your dad dropped you off on your way to work, meaning you didn't have your car or a ride home.

Checking your phone only made you feel worse. No new messages. The majority of your friends were at Clyde's party while you hummed along to old rock n' roll songs you've grown accustomed to hate. His party was long over, you had seen through Snapchat stories that the cops showed up. It was nearing twelve am, it was almost the fifth and you had wasted your day.

You weren't sure you could hold your tears back for another minute until your co-worker poked her head into the backroom "Your boyfriends here," Brooke says, walking in and grabbing her phone off the table that had cutlery sprawled out over top. 

"I don't have a boyfriend," You say, furrowing your eyebrows.

"I don't care," She says while tapping around on her phone "Someone's here for you."

Quickly, you tie off your last napkin roll and poke your head out of the staff room door to see Kyle awkwardly standing by the host stand. You bite back a smile, diving for your locker and snatching your bag from it. You hurriedly throw your hoodie on over your dress and spritz some body spray in an attempt to mask the smell of liquor soaked into your dress. 

"Wait, you didn't clock out," Brooke looks up from her phone, watching you as you walk out of the staff room.

"You know what really hasn't clocked out?" You ask and continue without waiting for an answer "Racism, bullying, soap brows, maybe you should get on that first."

You walk down the corridor towards the front door, tugging your skirt down and pushing hair away from your face as you approach Kyle. He looks up from his phone and spots you.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, a smile tugging at your lips despite your tiredness.

"Your dad told me he dropped you off today, I'm taking you home."

"Oh," You keep a smile on your face despite the urge to let it drop. 

As the two of you leave the restaurant and step into the dry heat, he shoves his hands into his pockets "How was work?"

"Fucking shitty," You answer, feeling no urge to sugarcoat "Just a bunch of asshole tourists who smell like cavities."

"What does a cavity smell like?"

"Like plaque build-up and sour breath," You answer, wrinkling your nose at the thought alone. "Uh, how was Clydes?"

Kyle shrugs "Fine, I guess, nothing special."

"You didn't drink?"

"Nah," He opens the door to his car, flicking the light on and waiting for you to climb into the passenger seat. "I left early, actually."

"What? Why?" You shut the door as you get in, dropping your bag to the floor of the car "I wanted to go so bad."

"Just felt like I could've been doing something better with my night," As you and Kyle settle into the car, the familiar scent of his aftershave mingles with the cool night air. The engine hums to life, and the car glides out of the parking lot, leaving behind the warm glow and the remnants of another awful shift. 

You worried if he could smell the liquor on you or the steak sauce but he gave no indication, eyes focused on the road as he drove. "Were the fireworks cool at least?"

"Yeah, they were."

The streets are mostly quiet now, a subtle contrast to the earlier hustle and bustle of Fourth of July celebrations and drunk partygoers, roaming the streets decked out in patriotic accessories from the dollar tree. Streetlights cast elongated shadows, flickering as you pass beneath them. The rhythmic click of the turn signal is a comforting sound, a steady beat that matches your slowly calming heartbeat as your eyelids begin to grow heavy.

You notice the little details as you drive: the way the trees sway gently in the wind, their leaves rustling like a whisper; the soft glow of porch lights in the distance, each one a silent witness to the night's festivities, air running through them like whispers. You pass a park where sparklers flicker in the hands of teenagers, their laughter carries through the now-hushing night.

Kyle glances at you, a smile playing on his lips as he sees you taking it all in. He doesn't rush, allowing you to soak up every moment. The radio plays softly, a nostalgic tune that seems to fit the sleepy mood perfectly. You hum along absentmindedly, despite the disappointment you were coming to terms with it all.

"Where are you going?" You ask as Kyle turns onto a narrow, gravel path leading up a small hill. The car bumps along the uneven road, and your eyebrows furrow at the sound of animals rustling mingling with the crunch of gravel under the tires. "Please don't kidnap me, I'm too tired to fist fight but I do have a corkscrew in my bag," You say, waiting a beat and then filling the silence "Fine, you got me, I stole the corkscrew from my manager." That was true. You were so angry and fed up that you went into her purse and stole the corkscrew her husband gave her for her anniversary, it even had her initials carved into it. You figured she drank enough and you were doing her a favour.

"I'm not kidnapping you, Jesus," His eyes are steady on the beaten road "Just wait." He looks at you for a second "And give that corkscrew back."

"I dunno, sounds like something a kidnapper would say," You tap your fingers on the dashboard. “And the really Kyle would never tell me to give something stolen back.”

“Yes, he would.” He pulls up to a small hill overlooking the town, yanking the keys out of the ignition. Wordlessly, Kyle gets out of the car and gestures for you to follow him. You decide against the idea of him kidnapping you and trail him to a grassy spot that overlooks the town.

Kyle looks down at his watch before looking back up at the sky. He stands beside you, close enough that you can feel his warmth. The inky black sky is punctuated by the sudden, brilliant explosions of light. Like a gigantic chrysanthemum, a flash of red blooms, each flower trailing shimmering flames as it dies. Then there's a silvery waterfall that shimmers as if it's trapped in midair. With each fireworks being more spectacular than the last, you watch, transfixed, as the colours change and intensify.

The air smells faintly of smoke and summer, it takes you right back to the last Fourth of July you spent at Bebe's house, watching the show from the roof of her house and downing Dr. Pepper. The fireworks paint the sky with vibrant hues- fiery oranges, deep blues, radiant greens- each of which leaves a brief afterimage against the night sky.

You glance at Kyle, his face illuminated by the bursts of light. His eyes are wide with wonder, and there's a content smile on his lips. The reflection of the fireworks dances in his eyes like a mirror. 

The grand finale begins, and the sky erupts in a riot of colour and sound. Rapid-fire bursts fill the air, overlapping in a dazzling display that takes your breath away. The booms are louder, the lights brighter, and for a few moments, the sky is swallowed whole with chaos and beauty.

As the last firework fades, leaving trails of smoke that slowly dissipate into the night, a peaceful silence settles over the hilltop. The minute passes over and so does the holiday, the last fireworks of the night and you had a front-row seat. The stars, previously outshone, now reclaim their place in the sky, twinkling softly. Kyle turns to face you "Worth it?"

"Could've been better," You tease, sarcasm hanging from your tone. You know for sure this is one memory you will be forever clinging to. 

.˙꩜°˖:*࿔ ☼ ࿔*:˖°꩜˙.

July 9

Both yours and Kyle's family gathered in your living room for game night, which felt long overdue. The teams were you and Kyle, Weston and Ike, Your mother and Sheila, your father and Gerald. There was hardly even competition between the four groups, you and Kyle were sweeping them. 

"Whose turn is it?" Your mom asks looking around the room. 

"Weston and Ike," You answer, pushing your brother off the couch and taking his spot, pulling your knees to your chest and yanking a throw blanket overtop.

Ike sits on the floor and leans against the armchair his brothers sitting on, watching as Weston digs around into the popcorn bowl filled with prompts. He pulls a slip of paper out and groans when he reads it "Bruh," He draws out "I don't even know this one."

"Just pick another one," Your dad tells him, he's nursing a glass of wine and standing behind the couch like a vulture.

"Dude," Weston crumples up the slip of paper and chooses a new one "I dunno this one either."

"Just try your best," Sheila tells him.

Weston holds his arms out and begins to enthusiastically flail them. "Shake?" Ike asks, face utterly perplexed as your brother lets out another groan and then begins to convulse his body. "Earthquake?" At Ike's second guess, your brother pauses, runs his hands down his face then begins to violently shake again.

"Seizure?" Your dad asks, eyebrows drawing in at the sight of his son "What is this?"

Your brother clenches his fist, taking a deep breath in then he mimes juggling, but his hands flail wildly, and it's hard to tell if he's juggling invisible balls or trying to swat away imaginary flies. His exaggerated movements have everyone squinting and guessing wildly. "Stroke?" Ike asks, mouth slightly agape while he tries to decode your brother's rapid movements. 

Weston shakes his head vigorously and switches tactics. He starts hopping in place, then drops to all fours, pretending to be an animal of some sort, but it's not clear which one. He growls, then stands up and begins doing it deep lunges back and forth, switching legs.

“Furry?" Ike asks "Gym? Exercise?" 

"Bruh, no," He then stands still and makes a grand sweeping gesture with his arms, as if presenting something spectacular.

"Circus?" Ike guesses again to which Weston shakes his head. 

Weston balls his hand up into a fist and cracks it through the air like he's whipping something. Everyone in the room awkwardly glances at one another, waiting for it to end.

"Cat woman? Batman?" Just for a moment, Ike thinks he is close and then Weston shakes his head once again. Weston starts jumping in place and moving his hands in tight circles like he's skipping rope. Your eyes shift to Kyle, both of you too confused to laugh "I give up!" Ike throws his hands up in defeat "You're awful at this."

"It's the Great Gatsby, bruh," Weston exasperated like it was obvious what he was trying to portray. 

"What was great about that?" Your mom asks, only half joking. 

"I'm gonna lie," You say "That was really good." The second the parents look away your brother sticks up his middle finger for the briefest moment before wedging himself between you and your mom on the couch. You stand up walk to the spot in front of the TV and pull out the slip.

You hold up three fingers on each hand, looking at Kyle "Six words?” He asks and you nod. You hold out one finger to symbolize the first word, Kyle's deep in focus as he watches you. You begin to draw out an infinity symbol in the air with your finger. "Infinity? Forever? Always?" His eyebrows draw in deep and you can see the gears turning in his mind "Eternal!"

Holding up a quick thumbs up, you move on to the fifth word, pretending that you're spraying the air with cleaner and wiping it off.

"Clean? Maid? Tidy? Spray? Wash? Scrub?" 

You shake your head, continuing to do the motion. After thirty more seconds of him not getting it, you move on to the sixth word and start pointing at your head, tapping it and eventually patting it with the palm of your hand.

"Brain? Head?" He stares at you trying to piece together the other clues and muttering to himself "Mind?" He asks and you nod enthusiastically. He slaps his knee, shooting to stand up "Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!"

"Yes!" You exclaim, immediately rushing over to give him a high five. "Eat it shrimps!" You shout at both of your brothers "Being illiterate isn't so funny now, is it?"

"I miss when they were screaming at each other," Weston mutters to Ike.

.˙꩜°˖:*࿔ ☼ ࿔*:˖°꩜˙.

July 13

You and Kyle hurried into the dimly lit theatre, the screen already glowing with the opening credits as you scanned for empty seats. The hushed murmurs of the audience and the faint sound of dialogue filled the air, punctuated by the occasional burst of chatter from those already settled in.

"Over there," Kyle whispered, pointing to a row near the middle of the theatre. You nodded and followed him, trying to tread lightly as you squeezed past knees and feet in the dim light. Each step felt like an intrusion into the quiet atmosphere of the theatre.

As you reached your row, you realized it was already almost full. A couple gave you a disapproving look as you attempted to slide past them, their eyes narrowing in annoyance. Kyle muttered a quick apology, but you could feel the tension in the air as you squeezed into your seats.

Trying to settle in quietly, you fumbled with your jacket and bag, the soft rustling seeming to echo loudly in the stillness. You exchanged a sheepish glance with Kyle, both of you acutely aware of the eyes on you from nearby patrons who were less than pleased with your tardy arrival.

You didn't expect to find yourself so caught up in the movie, it was an incredibly corny action film and kept finding yourself making faces at the cheesy bots which was almost the entire thing.  Kyle kept stifling sniggers whenever you would mock the movie.

"He's right behind me, isn't he?" The lead protagonist turns around to see his enemy behind him. He pulls a large rifle from his trenchcoat and the two enact in an overly acted fight scene.

"Jeez, he's dressed like someone's imaginary friend," You utter under your breath.

"Sh!" You hear from behind you. You turn to see a large man, his greasy hair tied into a ponytail and a stringy beard that made its way down his neck. You mouth a sorry and look back at the screen. 

The movie got worse the longer you watched, they had managed to pull out every single cliche and implement it into a plot with stiff dialogue and flat characters. Your boredom only grew, the only thing entertaining was a little whisper passed between you and Kyle. 

However, every time you leaned over to share a quick remark with Kyle, you felt a sharp "Shh!" from the man seated directly behind you. His voice was low but firm, cutting through the air like a disapproving whisper.

Startled, you glanced back, catching a glimpse of his stern expression and raised finger before turning back to the screen, cheeks tinged with embarrassment. Kyle stifled a chuckle beside you, clearly amused by the unexpected scolding.

During another action scene, Kyle ducks his head into his elbow and sneezes "You know, if you're sick, just stay home," The man from behind you speaks again, his jaw clenched tight in irritation. 

"You know, if you reek of body order, just stay home," You retort. 

"Excuse me?" He says.

"Yeah, excuse you."

"Calm down," Kyle puts one hand on your shoulder to steady you then looks at the man "We're sorry."

"Oh, of course. The boyfriend steps in to play peacemaker," he sneered. "Put a damn muzzle on your girlfriend," The man says to Kyle. He turns his attention back to the movie but you've already turned around, knees on the seat while you hang over the back and glare at the man. 

"Put a muzzle on yourself, that way you might not look like you ate the ham burglar." You whisper-shout. 

"Don't talk to her like that, man," Kyle adds, also turning around to face him. 

The man's face grows red "You better watch-

"Sh!" You say, watching the man look stunned. Silence stretches between the three of you and when the man opens his mouth to speak you do it again "Sh!"

"Okay-

"Shhhh," You draw out putting a finger over your mouth. "How many pubes did you have to steal from motel shower drains until you had enough to glue on your chin?" You point at his scruffy neck-beard, staring him dead in the eyes. 

"Are you done?" The man asks, huffing.

"Yeah, sure," You snap, turning back around, sinking into the chair and trying to focus on the movie despite the grimace-shaped man behind you.

"Stupid bitch," He mumbled. 

Kyle's entire demeanour changed in an instant. He turned around, his face red with anger. "What did you just say?" His body tense, muscles visibly tightened.

"Leave them alone," Another man from the row above says "They're just kids."

"Y'know what man? I'd be pissed off if I looked like that too," You seethe, eyes narrowing at the guy behind you. 

"Whore," He said in a mocking tone, a proud smile on his face as he did so.

Before Kyle could react, you reached forward to grab the drink sitting in his cupholder and hurled it at the man. The liquid splashed all over him, drenching his face and clothes. The theatre erupted in gasps and murmurs as the man sat there, stunned and dripping. Not one person was still paying attention to the movie.

"What the hell?" the man yelled, wiping his face with his sleeve. His shock quickly turned to rage, and he lunged forward, raising his hand to hit you.

Kyle was quick to grab his wrist, holding his arm midair before it could land on you. Other moviegoers scrambled out of their seats, some trying to pull the man away while others called for security. You could see the fear consume the man's face as Kyle held tightly.

Within moments, the usher returned with a security guard, their faces stern and ready to intervene. You hadn't seen them come in when you bent over the back of the chair, one hand pointed at the man accusatorily while you screamed at him. "Yeah, try to hit me, biggie!" 

The security rushed over to you, trying to put space between you and the man. When you refused to cease, he grabbed the back of your shirt to pull you away, his free hand was held out in front of Kyle, he balanced on one foot while his other was in the air in front of the man. 

"Stop," He said, trying not to lose his balance "Out, now, all of you, out!" 

A manager rushes into the scene, a blue button down and a name tag that reads Hailey. The large man lands a solid slap across your face and you retaliate by throwing a right hook. "No, no!" Hailey shouts, frantically trying to keep you all apart while the man grips your hair and pulls it with what little force he can muster, you grab hold of his wispy neck beard, pulling it until hair rips out. "Stop!" 

Tensions only continue to escalate rapidly. After the man tries to wrap his hands around your neck Kyle hits him, this time everyone freezes as the sound of Kyle's fist connecting with the man's cheekbone sounds through the theatre.

The security guard comes up behind you, grabbing you by your waist and pulling you off the chair. He continues to drag you out while you yell "You smell like a yeast infection, wash your damn rolls!" 

Kyle looks at the man and then at you, following you out of the theatre and into the lobby. The manager comes out with the man walking behind her, shamefully, he drips Diet Coke onto the floor. "Stand against the wall," Hailey says and you oblige like you're getting your mug shot taken.

She snaps a picture of each one of your faces "Banned," She says "For life!" 

"For life?" The man asks, his voice rising.

"Yes!" Hailey says, gesturing to the wall behind the concession where there were several pictures of people taped up for everyone to see, above each of their profiles was a piece of printer paper, the words 'banned 4 eva' written in red Sharpie "Or do you want me to call the police?"

"No, I'm cool with being banned," You answer first "Not sure I can speak with Jabba the Hutt though." 

Kyle's eyes never left the man's as he reluctantly stepped back, his chest still heaving with anger. "Let's go," he said, turning to you and grabbing your hand.

As Kyle trudges to the exit and you follow behind, hand in hand, you stick a middle finger up behind you as you push through the doors and into the daylight. "What a fucking asshole," His jaw was tightly clenched, the muscles visibly twitching with the effort to contain his anger.

.˙꩜°˖:*࿔ ☼ ࿔*:˖°꩜˙.

July 19

Tolkien sets up his phone on a nearby table, adjusting angles and checking lighting, while Kyle starts brainstorming ideas. You and Red find yourselves sitting by the sparkling blue waters of Tolkien's pool, feet dangling in while you watch the pair.

"What about this one?" Kyle asks, playing an audio. 

Tolkien bites his lip for a moment, deep in thought before he shakes his head "Nah, trends over."

You and Red exchange amused glances, she huffs on a blue raspberry ice vape, occasionally giving you a hit. Her hair is tied up into a ponytail, an old Mötley Crüe shirt thrown over her blue bikini. 

"Let's do this one," Kyle huddles next to Tolkien showing him a video on his phone. The audio replays several times before the two of them begin to practice, going through the motions in little segments to remember until they have it down. 

Tolkien takes the lead, attempting to mimic the choreography he just watched, his movements almost too precise. He kicks off with a series of dramatic arm waves and hip sways, trying to sync his steps with the beat of the short song. 

You lean onto Red, burying your head into her collarbone while you laugh. "That's it, boys, you've made it to the big leagues," She calls out between giggles.  

"Can we get less input from the fog machine over there?"  Tolkien turns around before walking back to his phone and restarting the video. You lift yourself off Red to watch Tolkien start from the beginning; he moves almost exactly the way he did before like it was a formula.

Tolkien dances his part and then Kyle comes into the frame and they begin a synchronized dance routine, exaggerated and goofy, their attempts at coordination often ending in laughter and playful nudges.

It was nice being friends with Kyle even though it was difficult for you to admit. You liked being able to hang out in a group with him and not trying to murder each other even though the thought still passed through your head on occasion. Both of you promised that you wouldn't tell a soul about the movie theatre fiasco and would swear up and down that your pictures weren't posted up next to crackheads. 

When Kyle starts doing his bit of the dance you can't hold back your cackling, clutching your stomach while you brace yourself on Red who herself is shaking from laughter. The boys ignore you but you keep laughing to the point you need to stand up and walk over to the side of Tolkien's house to brace yourself against the wall. 

Tolkien finally manages to nail a sequence, and Kyle lets out a triumphant cheer, their joy infectious despite the cringe you and Red felt watching them film TikTok's, they seemed unbothered. "You won't be laughing when I get famous," Tolkien says to you, Kyle's standing next to him watching the video they just finished filming.

"I'm sure it'll be super unfunny then," You say in a mocking tone.

"Yeah, whatever, nice lungs," He says, briefly looking up from his phone.

"Woah, woah, woah," you put a hand out "Where did all of this hostility come from?"

"Where do you think?"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," You get the last of your giggles out, straightening up. "Tolkien, show me how to do one of those dances," you suggested with a playful grin.

"Seriously?" Both Kyle and Tolkien say in unison. 

"Yeah," You walk over, biting your lip to stop yourself from laughing "Show me."

"Uh, okay," Tolkien says, his expression softening "Which one do you want to do?" 

"I dunno," You answer, leaning over his shoulder while he scrolls through his saved folder. 

 He began to break down the steps of a popular dance trend, his movements fluid and precise. His enthusiasm was infectious, and soon you found yourself mimicking his steps, albeit with a hint of hesitation. "Okay, so it's like this," Tolkien explained patiently, demonstrating the footwork and hand gestures slowly. "And then you add a little spin here..."

Kyle leaned casually against the poolside, a faint smile playing on his lips as he watched you. The way you focused intently on learning the steps but couldn't move without laughing- it all captivated his attention. He admired your willingness to throw yourself into the dance, your laughter mingling with Tolkien's as you both enjoyed the moment.

"You look so ridiculous right now," Red said, holding her phone up to film you and Tolkien while you danced 

"It's kinda fun!" You admit, eyes on Tolkien while you mirror his motions. 

"I told you!" Tolkien says, a bright smile on his face. You followed along, stumbling at first but gradually finding your rhythm. Tolkien's encouragement spurred you on, his gentle corrections and cheerful demeanour made the learning process enjoyable.

You were beginning to think you might've been too critical over Kyle's constant filming of TikToks, while you didn't understand how someone could make a career off it you could confess that you were enjoying yourself despite feeling more than stupid. 

"We should film one and I'll post it," He props his phone up on a lawn chair, setting up the timer.

"What?" You ask but the timers already nearing it's end and Tolkien is in his place. The music started, and you launched into the routine. He was by far more comfortable than you but you still tried your best. 

Your arms swung out to the side in unison, followed by a sharp clap above your head. The song itself was sped up and incredibly annoying, you had a feeling it would be stuck in your head in the following days and you would regret playing it on a loop while you did the choreography. You glanced over at Kyle, catching his eye with a smile.

 Just as the music reached a crescendo, Tolkien swept you off your feet, spinning you around in a dramatic flourish. Your laughter echoed across the poolside, an elated sound that filled the air as Tolkien's unexpected move took you by surprise.

The spin was exhilarating, and your laughter bubbled up uncontrollably, your legs kicking playfully in the air as you struggled to regain your balance. Tolkien caught up in the moment and the infectious joy of the scene, couldn't contain his laughter either. As he tried to set you down gently, the combination of laughter and the slick poolside caused both of you to lose footing.

While Tolkien sprawled out on the ground, you tumbled backwards into the deep end of the pool. Red was laughing even harder, the camera still trained on you, she wasn't sure if your cartoonishly dramatic fall was funnier or Tolkien's face plant.

"Are you okay?" Kyle asked, unable to bite back the smile on his face as you resurfaced. You pushed your hair away from your face and wiped chlorine water from your eyes. 

"Yeah," You laugh wading over to the edge of the pool where Kyle was standing. "Help me up," You held your hand out.

"You're gonna pull me in," he says, inching backwards just the slightest. 

 "No, I won't," You said like his accusation was incredulous "I swear," You outstretch your hand even further. 

"I don't trust you."

"Why not?" You smiled, feeling a flutter of warmth in your chest at his attention. "Just be cool," you replied, reaching out to grasp his hand.

At last, he gave in and as his fingers wrapped around yours, a jolt of electricity seemed to pass between you. The warmth of his hand was a stark contrast to the cool water, grounding you in the moment. Kyle's grip was firm and steady as he carefully pulled you up, his strength evident as he helped you find your footing.

The air grew thick with unspoken tension. Water droplets glistened on your skin, catching the last rays of sunlight, and Kyle's gaze softened as he took in the sight of you. The playful banter from earlier seemed to fade, replaced by a deeper, more intense awareness of each other.

As you stepped out of the pool, you stumbled slightly, your wet feet slipping on the smooth surface. Kyle reacted instantly, his arm wrapping around your waist to steady you. The closeness sent a shiver through you, your heart racing as you looked up into his eyes, which were now only inches away.

"Are you good?" Kyle asked, his voice low and filled with a mix of concern and something more, something that made your pulse quicken.

You nodded, unable to find your voice for a moment. The way he held you, his touch gentle, made it hard to focus on anything else. "Yup, fine," you pry yourself away from him. 

Neither of you moved immediately, the moment stretching out as the world around you seemed to blur. Kyle's eyes flickered to your lips for a brief second before meeting your gaze again, his expression hesitant.

The moment was broken by the distant sound of Tolkien and Red's laughter as they rewatched the video, reminding you both of where you were. Kyle takes a step back "I can't believe you actually didn't pull me in."

"Yeah, I would never do something like that," You say, casually walking past Kyle and shoving him into the pool as you do so. 

.˙꩜°˖:*࿔ ☼ ࿔*:˖°꩜˙.

July 25

The sun had long set, leaving the kitchen bathed in the warm, soft glow of overhead lights. Your family and Kyle's had come together for a shared meal, full of far too much wine consumption and brain-rotten jokes made by your little brothers. 

As the adults moved to the living room for more conversation and the younger kids dashed outside to play, you and Kyle volunteered to handle the dishes. You both stepped into the kitchen, where the soft light illuminated the scene of culinary aftermath: plates smeared with the last bits of sauce, glasses smudged with fingerprints and lipstick, and serving dishes still holding crumbs of the evening's feast. Even a disgusting concoction your brother had made, water mixed with white wine, rootbeer, ketchup, and relish. He had dared Ike to drink it and then drank it himself when Ike chickened out.

Kyle rolled up his sleeves with a mock-serious expression. "Good god," He mutters at the sheer amount of dishes. 

"Get to work, ginger." 

The sound of running water and the clinking of dishes filled the space, creating a rhythm as you and Kyle fell into an easy routine. He washed, you dried, and the banter flowed as naturally as the water from the faucet.

"So, how does this thing work again?" Kyle asked, holding up a sponge as if it were a foreign object.

"Just like that," you replied, mimicking his exaggerated movements with the dishtowel. "It's a highly specialized technique, you see."

Kyle chuckled, passing you a clean plate to dry. "Ah, I see. Years of training."

As you dried the dishes, you couldn't help but notice the way his muscles flexed beneath his rolled-up sleeves, his hands moving efficiently through the soapy water. There was something undeniably attractive about the way he approached even a mundane task like washing dishes.

You thought back to those massive sleepovers where all of your friends would pile into one bedroom and talk about everyone and everything. How they gushed about how cute Kyle was and you always went quiet, wrinkling your nose like the name alone was poison. 

"Achoo," Kyle feigned a sneeze, taking water from his hands and flicking it onto you. He kept his eyes down on the sink like he hadn't done anything. You retaliated by whipping the wet dish towel at Kyle a little harder than intended, there was an audible snap when you hit him and your eyes widened. "Jeez, are you trying to take me out?"

"Obviously," You deadpan "That's been the plan for the last seventeen years."

The dishes didn't seem to let up, pan after pan, utensils piling higher than mountains. While your brothers played video games and your parents laughed obnoxiously in the living room, you were still stuck on dishes until your fingers wrinkled to prunes. 

The entire time Kyle kept skittishly glancing at you and then glancing away while you pretended not to notice. He didn't know when was the right time to ask you or if you'd even want to hear him out. 

Kyle leaned casually against the counter, a hint of nervousness in his eyes. He cleared his throat, drawing your attention from the last few utensils you were drying. "Hey, I've got something for you," he said, his voice holding a note of anticipation.

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Oh? What is it?" You wiped your hands on a cloth to dry them before settling them on your hips. 

Kyle reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out an envelope, holding it out towards you. You took it, your fingers brushing against his, sending a small thrill through you. Carefully, you opened the envelope, revealing two concert tickets inside. Your heart skipped a beat as you read 'Suburban Wasteland' printed at the top above the seating and date information "I don't know if you still want to go with me. I was kinda a dick about it so you can give the other ticket to Bebe or something and I won't-

Without thinking, you let out a joyful scream and began jumping up and down, the sheer exhilaration bubbling over. Face lighting up as you looked down at the tickets, re-reading them over and over again. "Oh my fucking god!" 

He wasn't sure he had ever seen you so happy, not even when your soccer team placed first in regionals or when your parents took you on vacation. Despite his own indifference towards the band, seeing you so elated made it all worth it for him."You like it?"

"Yes!" You jumped around in a little circle, hands holding the tickets shaking as you looked back up at him "I thought you didn't want to go?"

"I listened to their stuff and I changed my mind," He said nonchalantly. That was only half true. He felt bad watching you go through the month, trying to find someone who would go with you and being turned down every single time. 

"Eeeek!" You shout again, jaw almost sore from the uncontrollable smile. Kyle thought that in seconds you would be bouncing off the walls. In a very impulsive moment for you, you throw your arms around him in a spontaneous hug. It's the first time you've ever hugged Kyle, and the warmth of your body against yours sends a shiver down his spine. 

His frame is taller and more solid than you expected, and you find yourself nestled against his collarbone, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against you.

For a split second, neither of you move. His arms hesitate before tentatively wrapping around your back, his hands lightly resting on your waist. You can sense his surprise, his body slightly tensed with uncertainty, yet there's a warmth in the way he holds you. Your own hands, holding the tickets, press against his shoulders, and you feel the firmness of his muscles beneath his shirt. 

"Stop fighting!" Your mom rushes into the kitchen at the sound of your shrieking, panic across her face which quickly turns into confusion as she sees you clinging to Kyle. 

You break away from him, clearing your throat awkwardly as you stare at your mom, trying to still yourself. You quickly gather yourself, smoothing down your clothes and clutching the concert tickets a little tighter. "Can I pay you to pretend that never happened?"

A/N: So excited for the next chapter 😽

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

the world (it burns through me)

Chapter 5

Ao3 | 3.7k Words | Darlin's POV

Dr. McDreamy is on the case. X-rays, bone fragments, and late night confessions.

TW: Medical jargon, discussion of broken bones, trauma, and abuse, Alexis Solaire (just ya know... general warning for her)

It had been two weeks since you’d made your prodigal return to the 10-19, and in that time, you’d managed to avoid having any conversation that delved past surface platitudes and small talk with David. You weren’t sure if you’d consider your conversation in the office to be an argument, but that’s what it felt like. You thought about apologizing. But then, you didn’t really think you were wrong. 

David drove you to the firehouse every day. You hung around the house while he was on shift, napped across the bunkroom and lounge, ate the seemingly endless snacks that spawned in the kitchen every day. He drove you back to his place at night. You chatted with his spouse while he cooked dinner. You watched reruns of Grey’s Anatomy and The X-Files in the living room late into the morning hours, too restless to sleep. You could see the front door from your spot on the leather sectional. You guarded the two of them while they slept. 

You bothered Sam, mostly to avoid talking to the rest of the fire crew. Asher followed you around when he wasn’t on a call, his pathetic puppy dog eyes wide and terribly effective. Milo had attempted to talk to you a few times. He would call out to you, the familiar cadence of bickering and teasing coloring his tone as he shouted down fleeting hallways; “Tanker!” Even after so many years of living in Dahlia, his heavy, North Eastern accent hadn’t settled into the more neutral, South Western tones of those around you. You supposed that you couldn’t shake Washington out of your mouth, even after being here for over a decade. 

You were faster than him, always had been, and you escaped into the relative safety of the ambulance bay. Neither of them followed you there, in Sam’s domain, where they couldn’t trap you in the context of your past with them. 

Sam was a fresh start. Sam and Vincent and their nervous probie didn’t know you, didn’t know how reckless and stupid and stubborn you were. You didn’t have to sit with the heaviness of it all, with the betrayal you’d levied against them, the abandonment. 

David needed you. They all did. And you’d left. They hated you. They had to hate you. 

Eventually, Dr. Collins (and he was a doctor, his gossiping little probie ratted him out) convinced you to accompany him to an off-the record appointment at Dahlia General late at night. 

“Your name won’t end up on any paperwork.” He assured, huddled in the back of the ambulance as he ran paperwork between calls. He looked so fucking good in his uniform shirt. Navy and fitted, the short sleeves curled around his biceps as tight as skin. You wanted him to lock his arm around your throat and squeeze. 

There was something wrong with you. 

“I don’t have any money.” You said.

“That don’t matter.” Sam shook his head, that little crease deepening in his brow. Perpetual worry. Continuous stress. Your finger twitched to reach across the miniscule space between you, him crouched over his clipboard on the ride-along bench, you sat criss-cross on the gurney he’d just disinfected. You wanted to ease the tension from the lines on his face, spread your grubby fingers across his skin until it went slack. “Officially, we’re providing medical treatment to no one, so there’s no one to charge for it.” 

“Clever thing.” You grinned. Sam didn’t strike you as the sort of man who blushed, but if he did,  you imagined it would look something like this. His head ducked, his mouth quirked into something resembling a smile. You could spend a lot of time chasing that expression on his face. 

 David didn’t ask questions as you walked to Sam’s truck instead of his that night. They must have conspired about this. Petulant frustration bubbled in your gut. You swallowed around complaints, huddled into Sam and didn’t meet David’s eyes as he called out the same thing he did every time someone he cared about got into a vehicle he wasn’t driving:

“Be careful.” 

Sam’s truck was smaller than David’s and older too. You ran your fingers across the leather seats and dashboard, shifting to better accommodate your still-sore ribs. He huffed as he plopped himself down into the driver’s seat. His keys jingled with the tremor of his right hand. You’d been watching Sam’s hands for two weeks now, too weak to watch his eyes for more than a few seconds at a time. You could map that shake like a stretch of familiar road, curving and rough and so known to you you didn’t have to think as you drove it. 

Dahlia General was a big hospital. It was Dahlia’s only Level One trauma center, so it was where the 10-19 dropped off most of its critically injured patients. You’d crossed the threshold of the ER countless times since you were a probie, often for yourself. You had the record for the most on-the-job injuries in the house’s history. Gabe had a plaque made and everything.  

Sam didn’t pull into the ER bay, but instead into a covered parking garage that led to an employee entrance. He leaned over you to pull out a red decal that he hung from the rear view mirror. His name was inscribed in white text across the surface; Dr. Samuel Collins. 

“Not a word.” He hissed as your mouth started to fit around a smart comment. You pressed your teeth into your tongue as he cut the engine. 

You passed a series of locker rooms with a handful of exhausted looking doctors in green scrubs and rumpled white coats. They seemed not to see you, but a few of them stopped their hurried paths to shout a greeting to Sam. Some of them called him by name. Some, the younger, nervous-looking ones, scurried past him without making eye contact. If they did address him, it was always with his title instead of his name. Sam’s face darkened each time, slipping into a waxy, distant mask. 

Sam dismissed the x-ray tech handily. He had no white coat, no badge with his name, no credentials, but everybody still treated him like a doctor. He stepped into the darkened room, took a deep breath, and turned to you. His face was blank and slack. 

“Right.” He nodded. “Hands and ribs.” 

Sam ran the x-ray like it was the most familiar thing in the world to him. He laid out your hands, palm down, marked them left and right, laid a heavy, protective apron over your chest before stepping behind a wall and running the machine. He had you stretch out on a cold, metal table and took images of your ribs. He led you from the x-ray room down a secluded hallway to a small exam room, the lights still off. 

“You’re a doctor.” You said into the pin-drop quiet between you. Sam sighed out through his nose. 

“That I am.” He replied. 

“If I were a doctor,” you cocked your head to the side, let the unnatural curl of your top lip pull your mouth into a vicious sort of smile, “I wouldn’t take the pay cut to be a paramedic captain.” 

“Yeah well…” Sam’s face darkened, the joke slipping past him and landing as an insult. You swallowed around the apology that beat at the back of your throat. “We aren't the same person.” 

There was a rap of knuckles against the door of your exam room. You jumped, a jolt of pain running up your ribcage and catching your breath. Sam’s bright eyes caught yours for a moment before he reached for the door handle. 

The prettiest man you’d ever seen in your life stepped through the darkened doorway, x-ray films in his thin, long hands. He was wearing the same sort of white coat that all of the interns and residents in the locker rooms were wearing, but his was stark and pressed and perfect. Underneath it he wore a set of maroon scrubs, separate, it seemed, from the rest of the hospital. His hair was so blonde it was nearly white, his skin pale and flawless, his gray eyes shining even in the darkness of your exam room. He smiled, his teeth straight and white and sharp. He extended one of those long hands to you, and his touch was cold as fuck when you met it. He looked nothing like Patrick Dempsey, but your mind supplied the moniker McDreamy anyway. 

“Hello, there,” he smirked, his voice tinged with a smarmy British accent. You flinched at the sound of it, your face curling in disgust. His eyes flicked across your features, but seemed to find no offense among them. “You must be-”

“Porter.” Sam warned from his spot in the corner. “Please, just tell ‘em what’s going on. No flirting.” Dr. McDreamy turned on the heel of his fancy shoes, held a hand up in the scout’s solute. 

“No flirting.” McDreamy repeated. “Now, if you don’t mind, Samuel, I have a patient to attend to. Don’t forget that I’m doing you a favor.” 

“Yeah,” Sam rolled his eyes and made for the door, “add it to my tab. Just come get me when y’all are done.” 

Some childish, stupid part of you wanted to ask him to stay. Part of you wanted to reach out, fold his hand in yours, and let this whole stupid appointment pass over you like water, knowing that Sam would take it all in for you. You tightened your shaking fists and swallowed down that need like bile. 

McDreamy set your x-rays in the light box and flicked it on. He studied them for a moment before casting his eyes over his shoulder to you. 

“You’re a friend of Sammy’s?” He asked. You snorted at the endearment. 

“I’m a firefighter.” You lied. Porter hummed and turned back to his images. 

“Your hands are fine,” Dr. McDreamy said after a moment, his canines glinting as he pointed out your intact knuckles, “just bruising. Your ribs…” he shook his head and clicked his tongue, one long finger trailing over the x-ray of your shattered bones before stepping towards you and lifting your shirt to examine the swelling. “You’ll need surgery.” You pressed your lips together and recoiled from his touch. 

“Nah.” You shook your head. 

McDreamy blinked up at you. You’d finally caught him off guard, thrown him off his rhythm. 

“The bone fragments-” you liked the way his posh accent curled around the word. You shivered at that particular thought. 

“I don’t care.” You managed to cross your arms. “I’ve survived plenty of bone fragments.” Dr. McDreamy held your eye for a moment longer before sighing and nodding. 

“Sam will have wandered off by now. He can’t help himself.” He made for the door, collecting your images and handing them over as he did. You folded them until you could stuff them into your back pocket. McDreamy cringed at the sight. 

He led you through the near abandoned halls of Dahlia Gen. You’d always thought that this place would have stayed as bright and loud and alive at night as it did during the day. At least, that’s what the ER was like. The emergency room was like a living creature, teeming with movement and noise. Marie Greer was the charge nurse down there, and she ran most night shifts with an iron fist. Every time you’d ended up in her care, she’d reamed you out within an inch of your life only to bring you back again with her excellent medical skills. You wondered if she was down there tonight, running her ER like a conductor before an orchestra. You wondered what she would say if she saw you. If she would be the one who could convince you to lay down, get treated, get surgery, get better. 

You wouldn’t risk it. You’d slip out the back and hope she didn’t catch sight of you. 

“You know,” McDreamy said as he led you past a door with big bold letters stating NO ENTRY BEYOND THIS POINT, “pretty face like yours… I could work out that scar tissue faster than you can say ‘please.’” You stared up at him, that smug smile on his face. 

“Go fuck yourself.” 

Porter laughed. After a moment, you joined him, ribs be damned. 

You came upon a door that was marked GALLERY. Porter swiped his keycard and opened it, poking his head in before leaning back and motioning you in. 

Sam was sat in what looked to be a stiff, uncomfortable chair, alone in a gallery space facing a glass panel. His back was bent, elbows on his knees, his posture that of intense focus. You chanced a glance down and caught sight of a vast, brightly lit operating room. A sea of doctors and nurses were moving around a patient on a table like ants. Movements were synched and smooth, flowing between each other as naturally as breathing. Standing over the patient’s left side, at the epicenter of all of the movement, was a woman draped in surgical gowns and gloves. You could see fire red curls escaping the bun and scrub cap at the base of her neck. Her face was pinched in concentration, her hands, painted red, were tying knot after every knot into the flesh of the patient’s still-beating heart. Sam’s shaking hands tried in vain to copy her movements.

“Christ,” you breathed. Sam jolted and looked up at you. His face was strange and open in a way you hadn’t seen before. Something like grief was clear across his features. 

“Yeah,” he breathed, sitting back in his chair, “that’s um…” he swallowed, “that’s Alexis Solaire. She’s a cardiothoracic surgeon. She’s the best of the best.” 

“She’s not human.” Porter chimed from the doorway. “But then, are any of us?”

Sam stood, shook out his shaking hand, and turned away from the OR. As he did, Alexis Solaire looked up from her work very suddenly. It was like she had known Sam was watching, and she knew now that he had turned away. Her work faltered for only a moment before those careful knots were continued. 

He was quiet as he walked you out, hands firmly in his pockets. He waved McDreamy off impatiently, too quiet and withdrawn now to bother with his flirting and teasing. Porter slipped away into the guts of the hospital as you and Sam slipped out of them, into the dingy, dark parking garage. 

Sam sat in the driver’s seat, both hands shaking, his face drawn and pale. He had history in that hospital. He had people there. And it was too much for him. 

“Gimme your keys,” you said. Sam’s eyes snapped to you. 

“What?” He asked softly. 

“You look like you’re gonna pass out.” You smiled. “Let me drive.” He hesitated for a moment, only a moment, before relenting. 

Halfway through the drive, your fancy new phone propped on your knee shining directions up at you through the dark, Sam’s voice rose through the silence in the passenger seat. 

“Your ex,” he said, “the one you’re afraid of-” 

“I’m not afraid of him.” You snapped. Sam was only quiet for a breath before continuing. 

“Did he do this to you?” 

It was the question that had been hanging over you for two weeks, since you’d given Sam just a glimpse of Quinn in that ambulance. You wouldn’t be surprised if Sam had told David. That’s why you couldn’t bear to talk to him about anything serious, why you couldn’t let Milo and Asher chase you down and pull the answer out of you. It felt as though everybody was staring you down all of the time, that question sitting in the back of their throats, beating at their teeth to jump out at you. 

You gnashed your teeth against the instinct to snap at him, to tell him to fuck off, to remind him exactly how little he was entitled to when it came to your history.

But then again, he’d snuck you into a hospital, his hospital, got you looked at for nothing, got one of his fancy doctor friends to see you. You owed him. 

“No.” You gritted out. You flexed your hands on the wheel. You were speeding, just a bit, and purposefully slowed down. “He… it was some friends of his. One hook up and a guy she was seeing. I was… asking her some questions. She didn’t like that.” 

“What, you faced down two grown folks on your own?” Sam huffed. “No wonder you got your ass kicked.” 

“Hey, I walked away from that fight.” You grunted. “They did not.” Sam laughed, and then seemed to realize you were serious. 

“Lord have mercy,” he breathed, “you’re gonna give me an ulcer. You won?” 

“I did.” You grinned. 

“You’re good.” 

“I’m good.” 

Sam turned on the radio, flipping to a pre-saved channel that played shitty, rock-adjacent music that old men liked. He sang along to a few songs, off-key and rasping, his voice so unsure even though he knew the words. 

Sam’s house was deep in the woods just outside of Dahlia, surrounded by tall trees and overgrown grasses. It wasn’t big, but you knew it was expensive just by the look of it. Intentionally aged wood siding on a brick foundation, windows with curtains drawn. A wrap around porch with matching rocking chairs and a string of industrial looking lights. A coffee mug still sat on the wooden planks of the porch next to the plain welcome mat, empty and dark-rimmed. Sam bent to snag it as he passed, unlocking the door with his good hand. 

It was dark inside, still and cold. Sam flicked on a lamp beside the door. A sprawling living room emerged from the dark. A large, worn leather sectional filled up most of the space. Somebody else had decorated it. You couldn’t imagine Sam carefully matching the accents in the rug to the curtains. One wall was lined with floor to ceiling bookcases, stacked haphazardly with sterile-white medical texts. Knowing the costs of textbooks, that shelf alone must have cost more than the rest of the house combined. 

Your fancy new phone buzzed in your pocket. You snagged it out, hands still numb from the cold outside. David’s name lit up on the still-generic wallpaper. 

ETA??

You shot back a quick reply. 

My hand is fine. Ribs are broken, but fine. Crashing at Sam’s. Too late to drive. 

David wouldn’t argue with the ‘too tired to drive’ excuse. 

“Do you… um…” Sam was standing too close to you when you turned. You jumped, twinging your ribs as you did. You winced and stepped back, grasping at your side. “Shit,” Sam’s hands hovered over your shoulders, as though he wanted to steady you but he was afraid to touch, “I’m sorry, Darlin’. You okay?” 

“Yeah,” you replied instinctively, “I’m fine. Jumpy. Always… I’m always just a little jumpy.” 

Sam’s dark eyes flicked over your face. His full lips quirked up at the corners in that ghost of a smile you wanted to chase. 

“Do you want my bed?” 

“Nah,” you shook your head, “unless you’re joining. I won’t kick you out on the street.” 

“Nonsense.” Sam grinned outright, straight, sharp teeth. You wanted to run your tongue along them to see if they could cut. “It’s no trouble. And you’re injured. I’m not letting you bum it on the couch.” 

“Rich boy don’t have a guest room?” The anxious shake in your chest eased a bit as the banter broke out between you. Sam shook his head and stepped forward into your space again, his hands hovered over your shirt, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. Fuck, you were a sucker for brown eyes. 

“Can I?’ He asked. You nodded once. He lifted your shirt gingerly, his hands carefully avoiding actually touching your skin. He first assessed your stab wound, poking and prodding at the gauze before sliding one cold hand up, pressing painfully into your ribs. You gasped, grabbed his shoulder to steady yourself, and threaded your fingers into the fabric of his shirt. “I know, Darlin’, I know. Just lemme…” He ran his fingers along the line of your ribcage one more time before receding. His hand fell to your hip and held on, keeping you upright as you caught your breath. 

“How much longer are you gonna be doing that, exactly?” You gasped. 

“Well, seeing as you’re not getting surgery,” his tone betrayed his disapproval, “a while longer. I wanna make sure your chest wall maintains its integrity. One bone fragment in the wrong place can lead to a collapsed lung. I’m not lookin’ to pull you back from that particular precipice.” 

“Everybody’s so worried about my bone fragments.” You grinned. 

Sam produced an oversized t-shirt bearing the name of a medical college that you didn’t recognize and a pair of fleece pajama pants. He tried again, gentleman that he was, to put himself on the couch, but you wouldn’t have it. The two of you ended up on opposite sides of Sam’s insanely large bed. His blankets were plush and worn, well loved. Sam’s things were nice, nicer than you had expected from his appearance, but it was clear he used things about as far as he could. It was a habit you saw in yourself sometimes. You didn’t think you’d find it in some richy rich doctor with a giant house. 

Sam fell asleep quickly, his quiet puffs of breath evening out. You were so tired. You laid awake, watching out of the second story window as the trees moved in silent conversation. 

“His name is Quinn,” you whispered into the quiet of the room, “and I was in love with him. Was. Maybe I still am. He um… he was rough. But I like that. I thought I did.” You turned your head against Sam’s plush pillow. “He hurt me. Did… um… all of this shit to me.” Your fingers trailed over your face. “I gave as good as I got but… I am… I am scared of him. Really scared.” 

Silence filled the room in the wake of your rasping voice, nothing but the pounding of your heart and Sam’s quiet breaths to reply to you.

[ohimsummer]

✧˖°. satoru, a fragrance fiend

— You sense that something’s off long before your eyes even open. It’s a smell, so familiar, and then it hits you: that’s the scent of your favorite perfume.

Through your drowsy state, you hurry up off the couch, by the kitchen, and shuffle down the hallway. On your way to the bedroom, Satoru wordlessly creeps by on his way to another part of the abode; his lackluster reaction to your presence is strange, though you choose not to dwell on it now. You reach the bedroom and it takes a bit of searching, which is already enough for you to know your perfume’s been tampered with, but you finally discover the small bottle on the floor of the walk-in closet. Lifting it up to the tinted light, you’re distraught to find the glass of fragrance noticeably emptier than it once was.

Your first and only thoughts are to find the dog. This is clearly their doing because Lord knows Satoru doesn’t watch them as close as he should. How they would have gotten hold of it in the first place, you’ll never know, but you want to check on them just to make sure they haven’t ingested any of the glitter that was inside this perfume.

The pup isn’t under the bed, hiding in the closet, nor the bathroom, and so your search extends to the front of the house. You make your way to the kitchen and find Satoru, where you’re surprised to find he’s not butchering another meal (yet). He’s silently studying the contents of the fridge, clad in his favorite jacket with the hood pulled over his head and fingers gently thrumming against the counter. The scent of your perfume is strong in this room, so the puppy must be somewhere in here.

“Satoru, have you seen D/N? I think they got into my spray.”

“Nope.”

His answer is short, curt. Like he doesn’t want to talk. Or like he doesn’t want your attention on him.

“Are you cold?,” you ask. Gojo’s still bumbling around in front of the fridge, hasn’t turned to face you once. This behavior coming from the man who’d live under your skin if you let him. “I can turn the heat up.”

“No, baby, it’s fine, I’m fine.”

You stop right behind him, arms crossed and tapping your foot. “Whatcha looking for?”

“Ju–just something to snack on.”

You raise an eyebrow at that. Maybe he really is cold.“It’s sure taking you a minute.”

“Yeah, I-I, uh, don’t know what I want.” Another stutter, another tell.

“Satoru, look at me.”

He gives a dramatic sigh, but you don’t miss the waver in his voice. “Babe, I’m b-“

Gojo senses your hand at the last minute, too on edge to be paying close attention to your movements. He ducks, though it’s in vain, and he knows he’s been caught.

You’re speechless. Satoru cuts his eyes over at you to study your expression, but all you can do is stare at the radiance in his hair. It’s shiny with glitter. Tiny, reflective specks littered throughout the white shine of his hair.

“Baby, I can explain.,” he starts.

Hands to your hips, and still staring at his hair, you just shake your head. Your lips purse as you fight back a smile because you’re supposed to be mad, dammit. But he’s just such a dummy, so silly-looking, what explanation could he possibly make up on the fly for this?

“I mean, I look pretty, right?”

Fuck, now you’ve done it. Satoru sees you battling the upturn of your lips, the entertainment in your eyes, and now he thinks, no, knows he’s in the clear. Scolding him is futile at this point, you’ve already lost.

You give in to your amusement, letting him lean into your embrace and cradling his cheeks at your fingertips. “Yes, Satoru. You’re so, so pretty.”

[harry-sussex]

This was, no joke, the best moment of my entire life. I have been waiting so long for this. I never thought it would happen.

I had originally planned to volunteer with the UK branch of my job today, but when I saw the announcement, I knew I had to do this instead. I decided to get dinner at the pub, Dog and Duck, last night to look inside and try it out - I got bangers and mash and some fish (sans chips) as an appetizer, and it was legitimately so good. I also tried the Timothy Taylor’s Landlord Beer – you can see William in the photos from today right behind the tap. My server’s name was Bernie, and you can see her in some photos with William and Kate today too – tiny woman, short gray hair cut into a bob.

I set earlier alarms this morning but due to the time difference / jet lag, I didn’t make it here until 10am. I popped into a Tesco Express on the way to grab some flowers at @avidroyalfan’s advice – yellow of course, the brightest bunch I could find.

I made it over to the area around the pub and there were barricades and policemen everywhere. There was also a black Range Rover parked at the far end of Frith Street – the street they mentioned in the press release yesterday. It thought it was mildly crowded when I got there, but it didn’t even begin to compare to the crowd that had gathered closer to their arrival.

I really had trouble picking where I was going to stand – I didn’t want to be behind anyone, I just wanted to be up against the barricade, but given that the crowd was so relatively sparse on Frith Street (as opposed to right across from the pub on Dean Street) when I got there, I wasn’t sure they were going to come my way. I was also praying that I’d be on Kate’s side of the road if they came by – you guys know I love William, but if I had a chance, this once in a lifetime chance, I needed Kate. I went with my gut, a little further down the road than where the crowd at the time had started to assemble, so I could be right against the barricades. From the moment I got to the barricade, I was literally shaking, and I am not exaggerating – you can see it in one of the videos.

I passed the time talking to some lovely people – some of whom planned to be there and some of whom happened to stroll by. I met a lovely woman, Cath, who took tons of photos without me even asking – she just saw how excited I was and took the photos to send to me. Another woman named Teri did the same – just out of the kindness of their own hearts. Those are most of the photos you guys are going to see – I took a bunch while Kate was walking around, but I didn’t want to put my own camera in her face if she was standing right in front of me.

I stood for more than four hours start to finish and I do not regret it in the slightest. I thought a lot about what I was going to say to her if I had the chance – I’ve thought about it so many times over the years, but what could I really say that would summarize more than 10 years of pure admiration and adoration in 30 seconds or less? What could I – an American in London all the way from New York – possibly say to the UK’s next queen to tell her how much she’s meant to me for all these years?

There was a policeman right in front of me – his name was Thompson – who was subtly dropping hints about what was going on. He couldn’t say much but he did hint at the time we could expect them to arrive – about 12:45pm. He ended up pretty close – he told me that he got randomly assigned to the event today and that he (and basically the entire police force) would also be at the coronation. He also confirmed that they would be walking down Frith Street, where I was, though he wouldn’t hint at which of them was going to be on my side of the street.

By the time they arrived, the crowd had literally quadrupled – maybe even more. People were on the rooftops and hanging out of windows. Very few of them had flowers. Businesses let people go on their steps to get a closer view. A helicopter was circling above for security. There were policemen and RPOs everywhere. I thought William and Kate were going to drive right up to the pub but instead they walked from the far end of the street – I suppose because they took the tube. Speaking of the tube, that’s the exact line I took this morning. That’s also where the (absolutely enormous) press pack was assembled.

I could tell when they arrived, even though I couldn’t see them right away, because the roar of the crowd and the sound of dozens of cameras clicking said everything I needed to know. As I was a bit further down the street, I didn’t get the greatest view, but it didn’t matter – you could see Kate from a mile away. That jacket was bright in and of itself but she literally glows. There’s just an inherent radiance about her that cannot be explained unless you see it in real life – she’s ethereal in photos, but they don’t even begin to do her justice. She’s radiant. Also, you can see that her hair is perfect no matter how far away you are. As they turned the corner to get to the pub, I was able to crane my neck a little bit to see them get closer to the door, and I saw The Hand with my own two eyes. William placed his hand on Kate’s lower back to guide her inside – we’ve seen photos millions of times, but seeing it with my own two eyes was unreal. Completely surreal.

They spent far less time inside the pub than I would’ve thought (unless time was flying because I knew they were coming), but again, you could hear them come out the door just by virtue of the roar of the crowd. Thompson the policeman then told me that Kate was coming to my side of the street. I thought I was shaking before – nope, not even remotely compared to how I was when I heard that she was coming my way. I saw William first across the street – he went through relatively quickly but I could somewhat hear him saying “nice to meet you” over and over, shaking hands, laughing, the usual. He’s huge – I always knew he was tall but he’s massive, tall and broad. You could tell from twenty feet away - he’s huge. At one point, I literally blurted out “he’s not wearing blue!” once I saw the brown coat. He was on the side of the road that had more people, and he moved along at a solid pace - it’s definitely true that Kate is a chatter, no wonder they gave her the side of the street with fewer people. She would’ve been outside for 3 hours if she was greeting the amount of people on William’s side. He’s honestly such a good sport – he was shaking hands, standing on his tip toes and craning over the barricades to greet as many people as possible. I could very clearly see the faces of the people looking directly at him – you can tell they absolutely love him. Such genuine smiles. The pure adoration and happiness in their eyes said everything one needs to know – those people absolutely love him like their own.

When Kate turned the corner from the pub towards where I was standing, I swear to god my heart jumped right into my throat and my stomach dropped. God, she’s beautiful. Like I knew this, it isn’t news, the entire world is perfectly aware that she’s one of the most beautiful women on the face of the earth…. but she still managed to stun me anyway. She’s radiant. Absolutely gorgeous.

Somewhere along the way, as she moved down the line of people in my direction, it occurred to me that I was legitimately going to meet, or at the very least greet, Her Royal Highness The Princess of Wales, after all this time, after so many years… I am not exaggerating when I say I was physically shaking. You can see it on my face in the photos even as she approached, before she came near me – I wasn’t panicking, I was just in awe. I’ve always known she was real of course, but she’s… actually real? Do you know what I mean?

She was moving so slowly compared to William – I swear he was already 75% of the way through his side of the crowd by the time Kate got to me. That’s when I really noticed that she is just so chatty – I didn’t notice her just greeting someone and then moving on quickly. She was so engaged. Every single person I could see was like entranced by her very presence - she’s literally such a vision. It’s not just me, it’s not just us – people are completely fascinated by her.

And then.

She came closer and closer – as I was on her left, I could see the ring. It’s huge – like, it’s big on camera, but the thing is enormous. I could not believe for the life of me that she was right there. I made sure to stick the flowers out enough and stand up straight and believe me when I say I didn’t have to remind myself to smile or make eye contact – I could literally feel myself beaming (right before she got to me):

When she came over, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Before I knew it, Kate was reaching to shake my hand and saying “nice to meet you” and I literally still cannot believe it. I handed over the flowers and I said to her:

“It’s nice to meet you, I just wanted to tell you that I have admired you for so long and that I also studied Italian Renaissance art history just like you did.”

When I said that I admired her, she said “oh, thank you!” as I continued to ramble about the art. She was still holding the flowers. I cannot believe that there are so many pictures of Her Royal Highness The Princess of Wales holding bright yellow flowers that I got for her while smiling ear to ear – she handed them off before she moved onto the next person, so she is definitely smiling at me in those photos.

She then asked me if I liked studying art, and I said of course – she responded “me too!” After that, she asked me if I used it in my career, and I said no (which I don’t) but my master’s was a passion project. She then asked where I flew from (the accent, I guess) and I told her that I came from New York. She said that it was such a long way to come and that she was surprised at how many people have traveled so far for the big weekend. She touched my arm so sweetly for like the quickest second; she then said that it was going to be such a big event and that she was looking forward to joining the celebrations and that it was going to be good for everyone.

The last thing I said to her was “also, I ate in the pub last night because I heard you were coming!” and she responded with “oh that’s great, how was the food?” It was legitimately fantastic – I told her so – and she said that they would have to come back and try it when there were fewer people around.

It was then time for her to get moving so I just said “it was so nice to meet you” again and she said “nice to meet you, have a nice day!” Right before she moved on and as she was saying goodbye, she handed off the flowers and went on her way.

The whole thing lasted maybe two minutes, but I will remember it for the rest of my life. Her eyes are so green and she’s just so stunning up close and I just cannot believe she was that close to me and that we were able to talk and she is everything I have ever dreamed she would be and more. Just so sweet and gorgeous and engaged in what we were talking about – she didn’t just say “hi” and “bye,” you know? She listened to what I said and responded back without generalities… everything I ever dreamed of and more. I thought I couldn’t love her more – I do now. She has made my entire day and my entire life and I will literally never forget the vision of Her Royal Highness The Princess of Wales, Catherine Elizabeth, someone I have adored for more than a decade, standing in front of me.

I am so happy I could cry. I was stunned after - literally could not believe what just happened to me. Take a look at the video below - you can see part of our conversation and then just the pure shock at the end. My hands were literally shaking.

Once the shock wore off, I did in fact cry. They say never to meet your heroes – why not? How could you go wrong meeting someone you have idolized when that someone is Kate?

[daryltwdixon]

The Promise of Us: Chapter 24

You swing your legs off the bike as Daryl cuts the engine, dust rising as you all dismount, heading toward the gates of what looks like an abandoned army base around the grocery store.

“Military came and put these fences up—made it a place for the people to go,” Daryl explains to Bob, his tone steady but a bit gruff. “Last week when we spotted this place, there was a bunch of walkers behind this chain-link.”

“They were keepin’ everyone out like a bunch of guard dogs,” you add.

“They all just left?” Bob asks, sounding doubtful. But before you can answer, Sasha steps closer.

“Give a listen,” she suggests.

In the distance, you can hear music playing from the stereo of a car, and you look at the hole in the fence, smeared with dried walker blood from where they’d pushed through.

Michonne steps up beside you, her eyes assessing. “You drew them out?”

You nod, half of a smile crossing your face. Your gaze shifts to Glenn, who stands off to the side, looking more tired than usual. There’s an unsettled look in his eyes, and you know why—he had tried to convince Maggie to stay behind, feeling like something might go wrong. The thought sends a chill up your spine, and you shift your weight, tightening your grip on your rifle.

Daryl addresses the group, his voice low but commanding. “Let’s make a sweep. Make sure it’s safe, and we’ll come back for more things with more people.”

You follow him as he ducks through the fenceline, your steps cautious but confident. The makeshift army camp is covered in green tarp tents, most ripped open, the ground littered with decaying bodies. You wrinkle your nose at the stench, even after all this time.

Reaching the main doors to the store, Daryl leans against a window, knocking behind him with his elbow. “Just give it a sec.”

You drop down beside him, throwing your legs over his lap as you wait for any sign of movement from inside. You sigh, leaning back against the large window, and catch Zack staring at Daryl with a curious expression.

“Okay, I think I got it,” Zack finally says.

“Got what?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Daryl shoots you a warning look, like he’s begging you not to engage. But Zack is persistent, sitting down on the other side of Daryl with a grin.

“I’ve been trying to guess what Daryl did before the turn,” Zack explains, glancing between the two of you.

“He’s been tryna guess for like, six weeks,” Daryl grumbles, his hand resting on your knee as you let out a quiet laugh.

“Yeah, Dare, tell us—what were you and I up to before the world went to shit?” you tease, a playful smirk tugging at your lips.

Zack’s eyes widen. “You two knew each other?”

“Grew up with this knucklehead,” Daryl mutters, but there’s an affectionate squeeze to your leg that belies his rough words.

“Yeah, ‘cause you were all sunshine and daisies,” you retort with a lopsided grin.

Zack continues, unfazed. “Well, I give myself one shot a day with my guesses.”

Daryl shrugs, giving in. “Alright. Shoot.”

He pauses dramatically, gathering himself. “Well, the way you are at the prison—you bein’ on the council, helping people… but you’re still kinda…” grimacing, he shakes his hand in the air, “surly.”

You exchange an amused look with Michonne, who’s leaning against the wall by Zack, clearly enjoying this.

“Big swing here,” he announces, “Homicide cop,”

You and Michonne nearly lose it, trying to stifle your laughter. You press your hand to your mouth to muffle the giggles, while Michonne doubles over, laughing quietly.

Daryl glances between the two of you, frowning with feigned indignation, “Wha’ so funny?” he demands.

“Nothin’,” you manage, catching your breath as you lower your hand.

“It makes perfect sense,” Michonne chimes in, her grin growing wide.

Daryl deadpans, “Actually, the man’s right—undercover.”

Zack blinks, confused. “Come on… really?”

“Yep,” Daryl quips, his face dead serious, “Don’t like to talk about it cause it’s a lotta heavy shit, ya know?” he peers back at you beneath his bangs, a smile ghosting over his features as his eyes meet yours. 

“Dude, come on, really?” Zack repeats, looking incredulous.

Daryl shoots him a look with his head tilted, a smirk across his face, and clears his throat.

Zack finally sighs, defeated. “Okay, I’ll just keep guessing, I guess.”

“Yeah, you keep doin’ that,” you chuckle, your hand squeezing Daryl’s shoulder. Suddenly, a loud pounding sounds against the glass, followed by snarls from inside. Your head turns quickly to see a few walkers pressing against the windows, their ugly decaying faces hungry once they see you. 

“Ready, Detective?” you ask with a grin, throwing your legs off him and standing.

“Let’s do it,” he chirps, and he pulls your face to his before getting up, his lips meeting yours quick and firm. 

As you all ready your weapons at the door, Sasha’s words are firm and authoritative: “We go in, stay in formation for the sweep,” she says, “After that, y’all know what you’re s’posed to be lookin’ for, any questions?” 

You nod, making your way in as Daryl stays at your heels. You hear Tyreese and her go back and forth, teasing each other as brother and sister before everyone makes their way inside to the dark grocery store. 

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥

Soon enough, the inside is walker-free, and you all start your rounds around the place for goods you’d been assigned. Pushing a grocery cart almost feels normal, a strange echo of the past as the wheels squeak against the dusty linoleum. You roll up behind Glenn, who’s eyeing a shelf of Polaroid cameras.

You pick one up, exchanging a small, tired smile with him before placing it in your cart. The store is eerily quiet as you move away from him, the only sounds being the squeaking wheels, soft footsteps, and the occasional clink of items hitting the carts. You pass by scattered kids' toys and Halloween decorations, the candy still sitting on shelves like eerie remnants of a world that turned into a real-life horror movie.

The silence shatters with the sudden crash of glass. You spin around, heart jumping, just in time to hear a shelf come crashing down, followed by someone shouting.

Daryl is already moving, and you’re right behind him, beaming your flashlight toward the commotion. Bob is on the floor, pinned beneath a fallen shelf, surrounded by shattered liquor bottles. The smell of alcohol is sharp in the air.

“You alright?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady as you flash the light over the debris. “Cut or anything?”

Bob’s wide eyes lock onto you and Daryl. “Nah, but my foot’s caught,” he mutters, grimacing as he looks down at the wood trapping his leg.

You and Daryl exchange a quick nod before calling over Tyreese and Zack to help lift the shelf.

“What happened?” Glenn shouts from the other side of the store.

“We’re good, we’re in wine and beer!” Daryl shouts back, his voice ringing unnaturally loud in the empty space. The sudden noise sets off a surge of anxiety, making your gut scream for quiet.

All four of you manage to lift the shelf off Bob, but his leg is still wedged awkwardly. Tyreese kneels beside him, assessing the situation. “You lucked out,” Tyreese says grimly. “If this thing had come down on you the wrong way…”

A strange sound from above interrupts him, almost like a soft crumbling. Your eyes snap upward just in time to see pieces of the ceiling give way. You lurch back as debris rains down, and then, to your horror, a walker dangles from the ceiling. Its stomach is torn open, intestines caught in the ceiling tiles, preventing it from dropping fully.

You gag at the sight, instinctively grabbing your rifle and loading it. The walker’s growls are guttural, and it reaches down, trying to grab anything within reach.

“We should, uh, probably go now,” Glenn says urgently from across the collapsed ceiling, Sasha right behind him.

“Bob’s still stuck,” Daryl barks, his voice sharp. “Get him outta there!”

“We’ll get the others,” Michonne says, her hand already on the hilt of her katana. But before she can move, more walkers start falling through the ceiling, each one landing with a sickening thud. Your adrenaline spikes as more of the dead rain down, some of the walkers breaking apart on impact, others snapping limbs as they hit the ground. The sound of them falling through the ceiling rings in your ears, their snarls filling the air as they take notice of all of you and make their way hungrily.

You fall back, trying to keep your distance from the chaos, but then you spot Glenn on the ground. Two walkers are on top of him, and you don’t hesitate. Dropping your rifle, you pull out your knife, slamming it into the temple of the one on his leg. Glenn manages to bash the head of the other, and you reach down, yanking him up.

“Come on!” you shout, and the two of you sprint through the store, dodging falling debris. Slivers of sunlight cut through the darkness, guiding your path. Your eyes catch Daryl’s form across the way; he’s standing on crates, firing down at the advancing walkers.

The creaking above gets louder, and your stomach drops as you glance up to see something massive above you. Your eyes widen as you realize what it is—a crashed military jet, barely supported by the weakened ceiling.

“Daryl!” you scream, panic tightening your throat.

He snaps out of his focus, spotting you and the danger above. Without hesitation, he jumps off the crates, making his way toward you. You grab his shoulder, pushing him toward the exit as more gunshots echo and people shout.

Zack is at the shelves where Bob is still trapped, stomping a walker’s skull just in time. He lifts the last piece of shelving, and you reach down to pull Bob free. He’s soaked in liquor, smelling strongly of alcohol but still alive.

“Let’s go! Now!” Daryl yells, urgency clear in his voice.

You’re moving fast, but a sudden scream makes you whip around. Zack is struggling in a walker’s grip, and before you can react, he falls. You start to surge forward, but Daryl’s hand clamps down on your arm, holding you back.

“Zack!” you scream, but he’s already being dragged down, the walker sinking its teeth into his neck. Blood sprays as it tears away flesh, and the sound is sickening. Daryl’s grip tightens as he pulls you away, his voice raw. “We gotta go!”

You stumble, tears blurring your vision, but you finally turn and follow the others. Just as you make it out of the section, the ceiling collapses completely, the fighter jet crashing down and crushing everything beneath it.

The sound of metal and concrete slamming into the ground is deafening, drowning out the last of Zack’s screams.

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥

Later on, you make your way through the darkened halls of the cell block, your hand loosely entwined with Daryl’s. Your eyes are downcast, the weight of the day’s events heavy between you. When he stops outside one of the cells, he turns to face you, gently lifting your joined hands. You’re heading over to Beth’s cell then, where you have to break the news to her about the person she refused to say goodbye to.

“I’ll do it,” he says quietly, his fingers grazing the side of your face. You look up at him, seeing the pain etched deep into his features—pain mixed with the silent acceptance of the burden he’s taken on. His duty, his responsibility.

You nod slowly, your chest tight, and lean in, pressing your forehead against his. For a long moment, the two of you just breathe, taking what comfort you can from the closeness. You feel the warmth of his breath, the subtle roughness of his skin.

Finally, you step back, letting your hand slip from his grasp. You turn and make your way toward the old warden’s office that’s become your space. As you reach the stairs, you glance back. Daryl stands in Beth’s doorway, shoulders tense, his head slightly bowed. You can hear the low murmur of his voice, words too soft to make out.

You linger for a heartbeat longer, then turn away, retreating into the solitude of your room.

[pinky27freak]

°¶_Yuu X Lilia_¶°~

~°¶_cuddles_¶°~

You know what’s the best feeling in the world? The feeling of the one you love sleeping beside you in perfect peace with their limbs tangled in your own, and their body flush with yours. That’s what Lilia Vonrouge was thinking right now, with his girlfriend all snuggled up beside him. Last night they had both stayed up late gaming, and because of that they had both fallen asleep together on the floor, blankets and pillows along with empty snack bags surrounding them and making up their strange yet cozy nest.

The fae smiled softly as he playfully but gently poked his girlfriend’s cheek where her dimple usually expressed itself when she smiled. The girl moaned and peaked open one eye.

“Oops. Did I wake you baby bat?” Lilia smiled, his raspberry red eyes shining in their usual playful Manor. Yuu's response was just a noise as she then cuddled deeper into the small fae.

“Mmm… you're warm.”

“Hehehe… you're so cute when you're half asleep like this…” He took a piece of her hair and twirled it between his fingers. “It makes me want to kiss you.” Yuu let out another sleepy noise and presented her forehead. Lilia smirked before kissing it lightly, earning a happy noise from his girl.

“Yay! I got kisses!” She softly sang, smiling widely into her boyfriend’s chest.

“If you’d present me with those lips of yours you’d get more!” Lilia smirked, still playing with her hair.

“You had your fun last night.” She said, referring to the several stolen kisses that had been taken last night.

“But your lips are so soft!” He said, grabbing her chin and running his thumb over her lips. “I could kiss them all day.” Yuu’s face turned red. Why does her boy have to be so small and cute, but sexy at the same time? Oh yeah. He’s lived for hundreds of years, that’s probably why.

“Vonrouge-“

“Yes baby bat?” He smirked, leaning in just a bit more, his playful eyes going to a more mischievous red color. Yuu narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips.

“Don’t get carried away, or I’ll have to be mean and smack you.” Lilia made small happy noises as he smiled and started to kiss his girlfriend’s face. He always started with her nose, his favorite. Yuu’s nose had a small flat spot on the tip, making it the most boopable nose ever, and Lilia's favorite place, besides her lips, to kiss her. He then moved to her cheeks and the forehead, finally ending with her full lips, kissing them the not surprisingly the longest. After he’d satisfied himself with her lips he rubbed his nose to hers. He had a huge smile on his pale face, so happy that he got her.

“I couldn’t live long enough to show you how much I love you Yuu.” His eyes stared right into hers, communicating things he couldn’t find the words for, or that words couldn’t describe.

“That’s a lot considering you could potentially live forever.” Yuu gave a small smile, before giving him a quick kiss on his thin glossy lips.

“Hey!! Stealing kisses is my job!!” Lilia whined, though he tried to kiss her back but she dogged by ducking her head into a blanket, giggling as she did so.

“Two can play at that game Vonrouge.” He could hear her smirking so plainly he rolled his eyes and ducked under the blankets too. They both then spent about thirty minutes playing hide and seek and tag in there, but in the end they decided to build a makeshift fort that they then snuggled up in. Lilia used his magic to create what appeared to be the night sky on their fort's roof, and the two just sat there, basking in each other’s presents and cuddles, occasionally talking about a great many things. School life, friends, siblings, Yuu’s home world, Lilia’s adventures in babysitting, and then finally about them as a whole.

“Lilia?”

“hm?” The boy turned towards the sweet siren voice that called him.

“Why did you choose me? Knowing full well that I’m human and can not live forever like you.” Her voice was muffled, due to the fact that she’d buried her head into his chest, but he could hear the distinctive sadness in her voice.

“Yuu look at me.” He said in a demanding yet soft and sweet tone. “I chose you because I fell in love with you. You and your quirkiness, sarcastic yet caring attitude, your beautiful hair, your intereging eyes that always show your emotions and see beauty in everything and everyone, your adorable nose,” He paused here to boop it before continuing. “Your cute ears, how your eyes light up when you hear or see something you like, your dainty slim fingers, your random noises you make, the way you walk and talk, heck I literally fell in love like a love sick school boy. I’ve been on deaths door numerous times, but the fact is I knew I was in trouble when I first heard your laugh and my heart danced to the sound and yet I didn’t fight it, nor ran away. I dived headlong into you, my sweet fluffy baby bat, my partner in crime. That’s why I chose you.”

“Lilia!! You're making me cry!!” Yuu hiccuped as she tried to hide the tears that were almost streaming down her face. Lilia chuckled as he took her face in both hands and gently wiped away the salt water with his thumbs, a smile alighted his lips as he again stared at her in the eye for the second time that day.

“Plus, I can’t help but think about how cute the kids would be!” His mischievous yet child like smile broke out as Yuu fell into a fit of laughter.

“Lilia, you already have kids, three to be exact.” Yuu said referring to Malleus, Sebek, and his literal adopted son Silver.

“Yes! I know technically, no, I did raise all three of them, but,” He paused, his smile fading, and took a breath, looking down, frowning slightly. “I want my own kids. You know? Ones that I helped bore, and that are from me, a-and hopefully…….. you.” Lilia’s face turned a slight red at this confession, not used to sharing these deep thoughts he had. It had been just him for so long after Maleanor. Saying these things aloud even in a whisper seemed to be shouting them to the whole world. No, he had just shouted it to the whole world. At least his world. Yuu blinked, then smiled as she nudged him to look up.

“I would gladly bore your children,” She quickly added. “As long as we are married, and have been for at least two years.”

“Yes, no voodoo stuff until wedding night!” He smiled, already thinking about it until she gave him a look and he immediately shooed all gutter lined thoughts out from his mind.

“Good. Now that we have that out of the way,” Yuu then flipped herself over onto her boy's chest, wrapping her arms and legs around him and cuddling her head into his chest. “Cuddles!”

“You're addicted to cuddles.” Lilia wrapped one arm around her waist and the other was free to play with her hair. Until-

WHAM!!

“Get out of bed old man, you and Mom have been cuddling long enough.” Silver’s voice echoed in their ears, Lilia frowned for a split second before then smirking let out a really long moan. Silence followed for a moment, then the door shut very quickly, Lilia still smirking.

“That ought to teach him to interrupt a couple’s alone time.” Yuu gave him a look before they both burst into laughter.

“Poor Silver, you’ve probably just scared him for life.” Yuu sighed after calming down.

“Eh, he’s a tough boy, he’ll be perfectly fine.”

“You’ll need to apologize to him and make it clear that we weren’t doing anything.”

“I’ll apologize later but for now,” He flipped them over so he was now on top and Yuu underneath him. “You are my prisoner, and I forbid you to leave.”

[knuckles-junior]

🧜‍♀️💕

Here are tonight’s highlights from tonight’s watch party! This is my very first time doing this so without further ado, here are the following highlights:

“Sea Scouts”

•I’ve never watched any of the old Donald Duck cartoons lol

•The cartoon ended with

🍑

“Something Fishy”

•this is my first darkwing duck viewing ever.

•I’m the only one that thinks that Neptunia’s design is so odd.

•Missy simping for Darkwing (I will not bother doing the thirst count).

•3 Bonks were heard.

•Neptunia loves litter lol.

•Missy: Litter killed my grandma.

WHY MISSY WHY 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

•Overall this episode was really random. I have no idea what was happening. lol. Moving on.

“The Lost Harp of Mervana!”

•THE BEST EPISODE IS NEXT.

•Me geeking out over mermaids throughout the episode.

•HUEY AND SCROOGE MOMENT 🥹🥹🥹

•Missy being a simp for Della as usual. XD

•”Arming torpedoes”

•Me: WEBBY IS SO ME RN!!!

•PART OF YOUR WORLD REFERENCE!!!

•SO. MUCH. MERDUCKS. IM IN HEAVEN.

•I quickly forgot that I made my Mervanan Scrooge AU back in 2021 💀

•Me: Scrooge made some really adorable drawings! Why reject them?

•Me: BEAKLEY IS SUS.

•EVERYONE BOW DOWN TO DONALD DUCK

•”Namaste.”

•Me: WHY IS DELLA PLAYING TIC TAC TOE ALL BY HERSELF????

•”I have no family.”

-Della Duck

•SCROOGE BEING TOO CUTE IN THIS EPISODE ISTG

“Peace and Love! Follow your bless!”

•Scrooge would be the merman ever.

•”It’s just okay.”

•I think we can all agree that Louie is the best at motivational speeches. Can we appreciate him for that?

•TIME TO DRAW MORE MERDUCKS.

•SHES FIBBING FIBBING FIBBING.

•Will: Bye! See ya in the finale!

The wonders of the deep

•We could’ve gotten the au’s during the scene where Mickey and Donald saw Minnie and Daisy as mermaids.

•Their designs are the prettiest!

“The Little Mermaid (1989)”

•This is my favorite Disney movies of all time and I’ll never get tired of watching it again and again.

•Mickey, Donald, Goofy and Kermit made a cameo in the beginning of the movie!

•Also @puffywuffy8904, I f*cking hate you for calling this a 🍆 castle.

•Missy: King Triton is kinda…

•Violet asked her to behave for me lol

•Ariel being adorable throughout the movie.

•King Triton being a bad dad.

•Iconic song incoming 🧜‍♀️✨✨ 🎵

•Max my beloved.

•Reprise time 🎵

•Stitch interrupting other Disney movies was mentioned by Will.

• @violetganache42 shared a little mermaid lorcana card every time a song came up. Starting with the reprise.

I won’t share all of that were shared due to the 10 photo limit.

•Another iconic song incoming.

•The art for the lorcana cards are incredible.

•Everyone talking about Triton being an awful dad because he IS ONE. Until the end of the movie.

•SEBASTIAN BEING A SNITCH.

•ERIC STATUE GETS THANOSED.

•Ursula’s best song incoming.

•BODY LANGUAGE. ✨✨🍑

•Ursula giving off Magica vibes.

•LA VOCE TO ME!!!

•Ariel being the most expressive character ever. ❤️

•Ariel and Eric being the cutest couple. Some we’re discussing that the remake improved on the relationship between them and I do agree with that.

•We were also talking about some of us that watched the remake really enjoy it, including myself. Halle Bailey really nailed the role for Ariel. Screw those racists. Sebastian in that version is not that great.

•ARIEL’S OUTFITS

•”Fish are friends. Not food.”

•melcat33 getting hungry for seafood.

•🎵Kiss the girl🎵 ✨✨✨

Also please listen to Ashley Tisdale’s version. It’s so good.

•Eric littered. Someone call Neptunia.

•Everyone pumped up for Vanessa before she kicked Max. Poor dog.

•The contract reminding some of us of the papyrus of binding.

•Stabby Stabby 🔪

•Triton being a good dad for once in the end.

•Sebastian slay ✨✨✨

•I love everything about this movie and the remake and I will cherish them equally.

I had a lot of fun making this highlight and I hope you enjoyed reading it as well. If you have any highlights that you’d like to share, please do for those who participated in the watch party! Special shoutout to @writebackatya for making this watch party happen and has thought of me as a mermaid fan! Thank you! And Happy Mermay! 🧜‍♀️✨✨💕💕

[fountainpenguin]

"No one lives forever~ Let's have a party; there's a full moon in the sky! It's the hour of the wolf and I don't wanna die..." (x)

---

New Dog's Life chapter today! ~ 3rd Life series fan-season

Chapter 35 - “Incendiary (BigB, Skizz, Etho, Scott)”

❤️ Read on AO3

💛 Start from Chapter 1

💚 More Pixels Imperfect fics

---

BigB visits a tipsy Scar. Skizz does paperwork. Etho sobs on the floor. Scott gets something to eat.

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

---

T-rated descriptions of BigB discussing cuddles with Ren

---

bigbst4tz2 - Moth (Ex-Illusioner)

Status: Increasingly concerned

City inspector, private investigator, and town crier

🖤  🧡  💚

This is getting intense. It's pinching at his hearts. I need a better observation post. Thank Beef for the card shop, though- and its rooftop bar. It's not exactly a night of snuggling and macaroni, but Pearl's whisper over comm gave him a good excuse to duck out. He likes Ren. But Ren's… a lot. It's charming to see him playing with the young fox hybrids. Jimmy's presence helped soak some energy too; it's easier, see, to handle Ren in small doses or with a bigger group. But it's nice to stretch. He needs time with his own thoughts now and then.

BigB lands in a fwump of wings. Not many people are up here tonight. Yeah, card games don't tend to be an instinct programmed into mob behavior. This place will be busier come new moon night. Three people sit at the barstools, talking to someone that BigB barely glanced at. They look heavily modded. No full moon pulls for them. Scar's here too. After what he glimpsed when Scar was on the floor with Scott, he'd be more surprised if he wasn't. Didn't Martyn crash through his roof? Yikes.

"Mind if I join you?" he asks over his shoulder. Scar looks up. He's drinking alone tonight. Again, don't blame him. Heavier than usual for him, isn't it? Raw binary code sparkles in his shot glass. Scar's eyes glint off-green, all dim and hazy. His soul traits haven't sprung up, though his form seems to be a little loose around the shoulders.

"Hello, BigB! No, not at all- pull up a seat if you'd like. What's the word on the streets these days?"

BigB's antennae twitch forward. He climbs on top of a short block stack at the edge of the roof- the corner spot where the fence post railing connects. Yeah, this will work. It's easier to sit on than the posts themselves and he gets a decent view of Headquarters. Scar's just two tables over, within prox chat distance. BigB gets himself situated, flapping out his wings. He cracks open the eyespots to soak in as much area as he can. "Well… Impulse and Tango got some farms approved. They're only authorized to run it for short periods of time and they're on trial to prove they can follow through with the ethics requirements, but we might get renewable iron rolling in pretty soon. Dude, that would be a game-changer."

"Oh, really?" Scar takes another sip of his drink. His vex wings flutter at his shoulders. BigB doesn't need to turn around to see that. "You know, I've always wondered why we have glowing iron golems in this dimension, but not glowing iron. It really makes you think. What a quad- quandary."

"Hmm… I guess because it's a programmed drop, not a literal part of their body."

"True!"

What a day. One of the longest ones he's experienced in a while, seeing as he had check-in work in the morning, a full two weeks of recording, and city inspection work when he went offline. BigB yawns, thrumming his wings. But Pearl asked him to keep an eye on Scott, and Scott's definitely up to something. He snuck out a window. This should be interesting.

"BigB?"

"What?"

"Do you think Grian would like me more if I was a worm?"

He rolls one of his eyespots, trying not to show expression otherwise. "I'm sure Grian likes you fine." If this is some jab at soulmates and Double Life, it's not one he's up for tonight. Though that thought does wiggle beneath his exoskeleton and bite at every heart.

I bet Ren would like me more if I were a giant world-eating worm.

Maybe he would've been into that in a way he wasn't into a soft and fluffy moth who loitered in the corners of his eyes, following instructions instead of bossing him around. And as he thinks that, he pinches his brow and rubs up and down. Ren checked every box when they were soulmates. He flirted and flounced and nuzzled while living at Box…

… but Ren's into things that BigB was never going to be able to give him, like fangs and drool and razor-sharp claws. He embraced the roleplay. Pretended there was something there. They were cuddling shirtless every night. Even carroting sometimes, foreheads pressed and mouths soft as they huffed against each other's necks. Hands sliding, fingers tracing spiracles they could both feel, even though they were only legitimate on BigB's skin. Arms wrapped around each other. Backs arched as they whispered and chased that little lip of lust and trust.

"Oh no," Scar says softly, mostly to his drink. "He might not recognize me if I'm a worm. Do you think Cub still would?" Cub loves me, Scar adds in his mind. BigB can hear that, like he can hear everything, because of the way Scar's throat constricts on individual words. It's subtle, but he can. Because BigB always listens, and he picks up everything.

He flicks an antenna, but otherwise ignores this, lost in his own thoughts and the cold hand resting on his face. It's almost not fair, you know… how everyone in Double Life got paired with someone they could learn to love. Maybe had loved in the past. And he and Ren had golden history, twirling around each other like a moth chasing flames in 3rd Life and Last Life too.

But loving Ren is a loser's game from the start, if you aren't someone like Martyn who was born with spiny wings and lashing tail and fangs and drool and claws. Ren's a performer and very good when guiding partners through a rush of carrots, but he was never going to fall in love with BigB the way BigB tried to fall in love with him.

It's not like he didn't try. He cuddled too. He responded with what felt like enthusiasm every time Ren pulled him in, licking his cheeks and running hands down his sides. Pulling him down on the bed and into his arms. Day after day, week after week, he mirrored the motions and fell in love. Even when he knew it wasn't real. When he lay his head on Ren's rising, falling chest and gazed up at his sleepy, bristle-covered face.

Ren's such a rugged and handsome man, honestly. He loves working in the dirt. Maybe it's a dog thing. Maybe he just likes plants and tiny creatures in the soil. He's got the muscles of someone who rolls huge boulders aside just to take a peek at ants and worms. Maybe a fungus.

And he's beautiful, and he loves so much, and it's all too much sometimes (because it isn't real). So with wings whispering at his back… BigB rested his cheek and curled his fingers, biting bare skin, and asked him for the truth.

"If I mod in some ears and fangs and maybe a tail, would that do something for you?"

[Full chapter on AO3 - Link at top]

[hollowhearts-and-espresso]

on an outsiders kick so heres the main gang as things me and my friends have said

Soda: Your wish is my command. Be gay forever

Steve: I'm still straight but I'd fuck you now

Soda: Not that gay

--

Darry: I dont really like you. Why are you always hanging around?

Dally: I ask myself the same thing every single day

--

Pony: I know we're supposed to be saying embarrassing things about ourselves but before we talk about me i'm really upset Two-Bit didnt mention the fact that he was in love with thomas the train

Two-Bit: i watched ONE episode when i was FIVE go fuck yourself

Pony: You have a shrine by your bed

Two-Bit: irrelevant

--

Johnny: I'm not really scared of anything, no

Johnny: but cats freak me out. and so do dogs, sometimes, but mainly cats. and especially ducks. oh, and needles, and doctors in general. also loud noises, sharp objects near me, any sort of projectile, and stoves. but like, thats not that many things

Dally: I understand so much about you now

--

Pony: I'm going to write a novel and all of you are gonna have characters based off you. Any questions about it?

Two-Bit: Am I hot?

Pony: No. Next question

Darry: Am I going to regret reading this?

Pony: For sure. Next.

Johnny: Please dont make me a crybaby

Pony: You shouldnt read this. Next

Steve: Can me and Soda date?

Pony: You already are. Next

Soda: Can me and Steve not date?

Pony: Too late. You know you love him. Next

Dally: You're going to make my character really deep, arent you?

Pony: Possibly. Havent decided yet. Anything else?

Johnny: Is Dally as hot in the book as he really is?

Pony: I'll no longer be taking questions because I'm extremely uncomfortable, but on second thought, you might really like this book

--

Two-Bit, upon walking in on Steve and Soda cuddling: I leave for FIVE minutes and i'm left out of fucking everything. all the fucking time. i hate everyone in this house

Steve: Do you want to lay with us?

Soda: Yeah, come lay with us

Two-Bit, practically dropping himself on them: I'm still mad at you

--

Dally: For some reason Ponyboy is really obsessed with the idea of me being really soft inside and just not showing it so I dont get hurt. I think he wants me to be narrative foils with our other friend too

Dally: How do i tell him i'd change the narrative doom him if i could and feel no remorse without crushing that hope in him

--

Pony: I like to think its a secret but me and everyone around me knows im writing a slowburn, hes only soft to him trope, slight enemies to lovers fanfiction about Johnny and Dally in my head

Dally: the term fanfiction implies i have fans

Johnny: i'm a fan of you

Pony, whispering: they practically write it themselves

--

Dally: Here, i stole this. dont ask questions, just take it

Darry, taking the sleeping pigeon that Dally just handed him with a mildly horrified expression: where did you get this?

Dally: i told you i'd bring back souvenirs from my field trip. no more questions

--

Johnny: Not many people like me.

Johnny: its probably because im kind of a pussy, but i like to tell myself its because i'm annoying because at least then im not calling myself a pussy

Dally: Wait, wait. Who doesnt like you?

Johnny: Huh? Why does it matter?

Dally: No reason. Just, like, give me an example

Pony, in the kitchen and hears all of this: *puts the knives in the cabinet where Dally wont look for them* I dont really want to have to bail anyone out again

--

Soda, to Darry: I think Steve is kind of in love with me, but I really dont want to have to break it to him that I dont feel the same

Steve, with Soda in his lap: *stops playing with Sodas hair* What?

Soda: Nothing, baby, you're fine

Darry: I will never understand you

--

yes, one of my friends did bring a live pigeon back from a field trip. it slept a lot, and we'd hold him all the time while he slept and he'd stay asleep when we passed him around because we had to move. i hope he wasnt sick and is doing okay

[xxmaxwellxx]

Hello! Sorry for the delay but I’ve finished my first Yandere oc fanfic! Writers block and anxiety are a pain. Anyway, this is my first fanfic and I’m a tad dyslexic so forgive me for any mistakes! Please let me know if I missed anything with the trigger warnings and sorry for the formatting issues, I wrote this on my laptop. Also please give me constructive criticism and feedback! I’d like to start a blog dedicated to my writing and fanfic so any help is appreciated!

Tw: stalking, obsession and general Yandere behavior.

Gn reader (referred to with they/them pronouns)

Today was a nightmare, we had at least fifty customers during the lunch rush and what's worse is that a guy came in and was sitting at the same table for five hours and only left 30 minutes before closing, the clattering of plates echoing behind me as I wipe down his table, my body feeling like concrete, but I'm forced to keep going. Something crinkles and falls to the ground. Picking it up, I see it's a recipe with (XXX)-XXX-XXXX ‘call me ;)’ on the bottom. I let out a sigh, wading it up and throwing it in the garbage. Of course, he would do that. The guy who refused to leave was also a creep. Just as I'm about to leave, I notice a shadowy figure lingering outside the café, their gaze fixed on me. A chill runs down my spine, but I shake it off, attributing it to the exhaustion of the day. “Hey, I'm going to head out! Could you lock up for me?” I call out to Delilah, the nice old woman in the back. I grab my stuff after she responds in the affirmative. The bell ringing as I head out. I walk to the same bus stop I take every day, the last bus picking me up so often that the bus driver knows me by name.

Sitting down on the bench, I pull out my phone, scrolling through insta. A post from a famous influencer, a post of someone's dog in a newly knit sweater, someone advertising their small business. Just what you'd expect to see, but what I didn't expect was someone sitting next to me. I glance over at them, he’s wearing a white hoodie, sweatpants and sneakers. Nothing out of the ordinary except for his face, what was up with his face? Sunglasses? Why was he wearing sunglasses at night? He turns his head and I quickly turn away and look back at my phone, but I can feel him staring at me, practically burning a hole in the side of my head. I shrink into myself a little, his gaze never leaving me. I can see him out of the corner of my eye, but I can't make out his expression, his face completely obscured by a surgical mask. Should I speak up? Why was he just staring? Was there something on my clothes? Do I offend? The bus screeches to a halt in front of me, and I jump to my feet, quickly hurrying into a seat. Jeremy, the bus driver, gives me a weird look but doesn't say anything. I see the man board the bus, and I hope that he won't sit anywhere near me. That hope is instantly shattered when he stops in front of me. He's tall and intimidating. The light shines off his long black hair, creating a shadow over his face as he looks down at me. I can feel dread knotting up my stomach, I want to cry. I didn't even notice the tears gathering in my eyes, he holds something up, but I can't see it. I blink, the tears fall and I realize he's holding up my bag, “You forgot this.” his voice is low and gravelly like he just woke up. “Oh, thanks.” I say quietly, quickly taking my bag from him.

I look away, turning my gaze out the window, suddenly finding the passing cars more interesting than whatever he was doing at the moment. “I like your apron.” I side eye him, he's staring at me again. I didn't humor him with a response, “Where did you get it?” he's not going to stop talking, is he? “My grandma made it for me.” it wasn't anything amazing, just a blue and white striped apron with a cute rubber duck on the pocket. “It's very cute.” I hum in response, trying not to engage. Trying not to give him fuel to keep going. But despite my efforts, he does.

“I like your hair.”, “Where do you work?”, “How was your day?”, “Do you like work?”, question after question. A never ending string of words. I try to ignore him, to not give him enough to keep going. But he does. The bus stops, and I stop tuning him out to jump up, remembering to grab my bag, and hurry off the bus and away from him. I speed walk to my apartment building, up the side stairs and to my door. I reach into my pocket and I don't feel anything. My heart speeds up as a cold sweat covers my body. Where's my keys? I start to hyperventilate as I check my clothes. My front pockets, back pockets, apron pocket, shirt pocket. They aren't there. They aren't anywhere. I could have sworn I took my keys out of my locker. Did I drop them on the bus? Did they fall out on the sidewalk?

I let out a scream when I feel a hand on my shoulder, whipping around I see the man from the bus and I suddenly have something much bigger to worry about. I open my mouth to scream, at him, for help, I don't know, when he holds up my keys. The fluffy blue pompom and rubber duck keychains bouncing from how fast he lifted them. “I’m sorry, but these fell out of your pocket.” our hands brush as he quickly hands me my keys and speed walks down the stairs, he makes to the bottom and I shout a “Thank you!” after him. Maybe I judged him too quickly.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

They touched me. I can't believe it, they touched me! I can't believe I've at last managed to approach them, emerging from the shadows where I've lingered for so long. Turning the corner, I slide down the wall, quietly giggling to myself because oh my god they touched me! The streetlight over head flickers as I put my hand over my mouth in an attempt to muffle the laughs that are bubbling up and out of my mouth.

I followed them out to the bus stop they sit at every day, they're so beautiful, I couldn't take my eyes off them. They left their bag by the bench, I don't know why, but they seemed freaked out and left in a hurry. Poor thing must have had a horrible day, worse than I thought, if they're that anxious. I was taught to be nice, people like it when you're nice, so I brought them their bag. They looked so cute when they looked up at me. What wasn't cute was the tears gliding down their cheeks. My stomach was in knots as I handed them their bag. I hate seeing them cry, so I did what helped me. I asked them easy questions, trying to distract them from whatever was making them cry. They must have been really sad because they were giving short answers. As the bus came to a stop in front of their apartment building, I slipped their keys out of their pocket. Maybe a happy accident would cheer them up, even if it was artificial. My voice was stuck in my throat as I followed them off the sidewalk, my heart was beating rapidly as I followed them up the stairs. They're looking for their keys. Fuck. No turning back now. I can't be a coward now, I grab their shoulder and they scream. I look so creepy, god, just say something! “I’m sorry, but these fell out of your pocket.” I sounded like I total loser, but sounding like a loser was better than them fearing me, even if for a moment. It felt heavenly when our fingers brushed against one another, their voice like an angel when they shouted thank you. If only they'd let me hold their hand, walk them home, kiss them goodnight. But this will have to do for now.

I'll see you again soon, my love.~

[supernovasilence]

Meet the Family

Written for Futuristic Four Week 2024! Today's theme was Family. (I'll also be posting these as a series over on ao3, though we'll see if I make all the days on time lmao)

Summary: Wilbur invites his friends over to meet his family. He maybe should have given a few more details on who--and what--all his family includes. Gen, humor.

“No…” Wilbur said warningly as the great, gaping maw lowered slowly toward Hiro and Violet, teeth edging toward Violet’s forcefield while one beady eye watched Wilbur to see if its owner could get away with this. “Don’t do it…”

The monster lunged. Violet shrieked and slammed more energy into her forcefield. Hiro yelled and ducked instinctively, then peeked out from behind Violet’s shoulder, bare fists raised as if that would somehow do any good.

“No!” Wilbur yelled. “Bad dinosaur!”

Hiro and Violet screamed again as the T. rex chomped down on Violet’s forcefield and began to shake it like a dog with a ball. Violet concentrated everything she had on not dropping the forcefield as Hiro crashed into her and the two teens bounced around the purple bubble. They could dimly hear Wilbur still shouting.

Suddenly they were spinning across the grass in bright sunshine.

“Wo-o-oah!”

They rolled and tumbled and somehow, finally, slowed to a stop. Hiro staggered up, swayed, and promptly fell over again, too dizzy to stand. Violet clambered to her own feet carefully, trying very hard not to lose focus on the forcefield. It looked like it was dripping drool.

“Ew…”

“At least the shield held,” Hiro wheezed. “Thanks, Vi.”

Looking out, Violet saw Wilbur, not too far away (apparently they had done more spinning than actual traveling, which explained why her head was doing cartwheels), hands on his hips, scolding the T. rex that had almost just eaten his friends, while it sat on its haunches with a shamed, hanging head.

A panicked shout for Wilbur to get out of there! hurtled up Violet’s throat, paused, and died. It was replaced by annoyance. Extreme annoyance.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” She looked at Hiro.

He’d managed to get to his feet, and was watching with a nonplussed expression.

“Seriously, Wilbur?” he yelled.

Wilbur looked over, grinning. Hiro and Violet glared.

“What?” Wilbur asked.

“‘What?’” Violet shrieked.

“When you said we should meet your family, this was not what I pictured,” Hiro complained.

“I told you I had pets!”

“You said you had dogs!” Violet said. “You said Buster was, and I quote, ‘a Kennel Club crossword champion’.”

“That is not a dog!” Hiro gestured violently at the dinosaur, which was trotting happily after Wilbur as he walked over to his friends.

“Because that’s not Buster,” Wilbur said as though Hiro and Violet were the ones being silly here. “That’s Tiny.”

A shadow fell over the bubble as Wilbur—and his scaly terrier—reached it. Violet looked up at the dinosaur. It was easily 10 or 15 feet tall.

“Of course it is,” she said.

“Bowler Hat Guy brought him from the past during that one incident I’m not really supposed to talk about,” (Wilbur ran on too fast for either of the others to point out that they already knew practically everything about ‘that incident’, because Wilbur was absolutely terrible at not talking) “and we couldn’t figure out exactly when or where from to put him back. I mean, you can’t just dump a T. rex anywhere—he’d totally mess up the local ecosystem! And then we accidentally socialized him, and you really can’t dump a tame T. rex anywhere.”

“I don’t think tame T. rexes try to eat people,” Hiro said.

“He wasn’t trying to eat you. He was playing.”

“How was that—!”

Violet’s indignant question was cut off by the jangle of Hiro’s phone. He fished it out of his pocket and looked at the screen.

“It’s Penny.” He put her on speaker. “Hey, Penny.”

“Hi, Hiro. Are you already at Wilbur’s?”

“Yeah; Violet, too.” He looked at Tiny, clearly pondering the best, snarkiest way to mention their situation.

“I wanted to tell him sorry for being late, and I’m heading over now, but he forgot his phone somewhere again.”

“I did not!” Wilbur protested. “I…put it in a secure location.”

“You lost it,” Penny laughed. “Why do you sound so muffled?”

Hiro flicked on video chat. After a moment, Penny appeared on the screen, squinting at her phone.

“Why are you in a forcefield?”

Hiro silently panned the camera over.

Penny yelped and vanished in a pinwheel of house-grass-sky-Penny-house-grass. A second later she snatched her phone off the ground again and gaped at it.

“Is that a dinosaur? …he’s not eating Wilbur.”

“He’s tame!” Wilbur threw out his hands in exasperation. “He only went after Violet and Hiro because Dad made him some extra-reinforced jumbo beach balls to play with, and he thinks the forcefield is one.”

Tiny looked up hopefully and thumped his tail at the phrase ‘beach balls’. Violet glared.

“…are you serious?” Penny said slowly.

“I—”

“You’re petting a T. rex without me?! That’s so unfair! Aw man, traffic’s terrible this time of day. It’ll take forever to get there.”

“I can get Uncle Art to give you a ride,” Wilbur said. “He left on a delivery out near you right before Hiro and Violet showed up, and his ship’s plenty fast.”

“Don’t you need your phone to call him?” Hiro asked at the same time Violet said:

“Wait, so all those times you mentioned his spaceship, you meant actual spaceship? Your cousins aren’t going to turn out to be vampires, are they?”

Wilbur glared at them both.

“That’d be great, Wilbur; thanks!” Penny called loudly over the phone, though she was clearly stifling laughter too.

“…I might need some help finding my phone, though.” Wilbur said. He looked pointedly at the forcefield.

Violet eyed Tiny skeptically.

“You sure he’s not going to eat us?”

“Hurry up and find Wilbur’s phone so I can meet the dinosaur, guys!” Penny called.

“His name’s Tiny,” Wilbur said.

“Oh, that’s so cute—”

“Seriously, Penny?” Hiro asked. “You don’t care at all that we’re about to get eaten?”

“Alright, here goes nothing,” Violet said. “But Hiro, you better keep that call going. If we’re going to get mauled by a T. rex for Penny’s curiosity, I want her as a witness.”

Five minutes later, tentatively scratching Tiny’s great bronzy side, Hiro asked:

“So, are the rest of your family this weird?”

“Oh, no,” Wilbur said with a shrug. “The frogs are all from this time period; Mom just genetically modified them for intelligence. Which reminds me, we better go in through the side door. They tried to start a protection racket with Uncle Spike and Dmitri’s lawn gnomes, and now there’s a mafia war going in the front yard.”

“…I’m going to take that as a yes.”

[that-angry-noldo]

Finrod does not like Eönwë.

It - it isn't something against the Maia. No, not at all. (Though maybe - maybe his presence is just otherworldy enough to bring Finrod in that paralyzed state, where the kind dark eyes of the Herald are replaced with malicious gold of Gorthaur.) It isn't something against his manners, either; something against his slow careful movements and the polite tilt of his head. It isn't even something against the - what does he even have going on with his parents? His father did not introduce the Maia as his lover, and yet they share touches and glances and bed, even; his mother, however, does not seem opposed to it, and, if anything, gladly takes her deal of Eönwë's head kisses and wing embraces.

It is confusing. Very confusing.

Finrod drops his head to his shoulder, knees drawn to his chest. Rodent - his golden, precious Rodent, how did he miss her! - licks his hand. Finrod smiles and pats her head, delighted by the immediate wiggle of her tail.

"At least you stay true to me," he mumbles, and Rodent woofs, scooting closer. Finrod tenses at the sound, but he makes himself relax: breath in, breath out; he smiles and bends down to Roden't snout, and she licks his nose happily. Finrod chuckles, picks her up and lies down on the couch, placing her on his chest.

She stares at him with big adoring eyes as he brings his hand to her back, fingers threading through her golden fur. "See, Rodent, that's the problem. I disappear for what - six hundred years? - and they already find themselves a third wheel, and not just any third wheel, but a Maia third wheel. And I am supposed to agree to it! Sure, sir, you can have my parents. You are taking a great care of them. I am sure your intentions are good and noble and in every way, shape and form."

Rodent woofs. Finrod sighs.

"I don't even know what he's doing here," he rants. "He just shows up, in the middle of the night, like. Hi, Finrod. I am making myself a midnight snack, Finrod. I will be out as soon as I'm done, Finrod. Alright, bye, Finrod. And I am supposed to just take it!" he sits up fast, and looks at his dog. "Why doesn't he make a midnight snack in his own house, Rodent? Rodent, he puts pickles on peanut butter. My parents are dating a monster."

Finrod stares at the ceiling for some time. Then, he scowls.

"He never even offers to share," he grudges. "That failure of a man makes himself a midnight snack and does not even leave some for me. If he's having an affair with my parents, he can at least try to get me, their only living son, on his side. Oooh, Rodent, I will get to him. I will make his every moment in this house unnecessary hard. I shall not be overlooked!"

He's startled by the sound of steps in the hall, and Rodent rises and perks her ears at the intruder. A few moments later, Eönwë appears at the door; he has to duck down not to hit his head at the doorframe, and Finrod surpresses a glee. Eönwë's eyes focus on him, and Finrod schools his face into his most gloomy expression; even Rodent manages to produce something like an irritated growl, though her tail wiggles at the sight of Hueleni, who runs circles around Eönwë's feet. Finrod glares.

"Did you want something?" he finally asks, and Eönwë cocks his head. His wings shift, and Finrod catches himself staring; he scoffs and focuses on the Maia.

Eönwë consideres him for a minute. Then, he shrugs. "I was making a dinner," he informs. "Your parents will be back soon. I thought I should ask if you wished to join me."

"In making a dinner?" Finrod asks, sceptical. Eönwë does not blink. Finrod lets out an irritated sigh. "Fine. I don't trust you with dinners anyways."

"How come?"

"A man who puts pickles on peanut butter cannot be trusted with dinners, Herald of Manwë."

"I do not get it. It is a good combination."

"See? Exactly what I'm talking about. Father should dump you, honestly. You are an embarassment to the whole Noldorin kin."

"I am not- we are not- there are so many factually incorrect things with the sentence you just utterred, son of Arafinwë."

"This comes from a man who puts pickles on peanut butter."

"Manwë, have mercy."

"Hey now, man. You brought this upon yourself. Anyways, about the dinner..."