#THE FAMILY MONTAGE CLIPS I-

[wroetolando]

𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚈𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 | 𝙻𝙽𝟺

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: lando norris x fem!reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: the one where lando surprises y/n with a video montage of their best moments together

𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗰: one more i love you - alex warren

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: none!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

The reception hall was alive with warmth and laughter, the golden glow of chandeliers reflecting off polished glasses and the soft fabric of elegantly set tables. It smelled of fresh flowers, champagne, and a hint of vanilla from the wedding cake waiting to be cut. Y/N sat at the head table, her fingers intertwined with Lando’s, her wedding dress cascading like a river of silk.

His thumb traced slow circles over her skin, a silent promise, a habit he’d had since they were teenagers. Every so often, he glanced at her—not just as a groom admiring his bride, but as a man who had loved her in every stage of life, in every version of themselves.

Y/N smiled softly, squeezing his hand. “You’re staring.”

“Can you blame me?” he murmured, his voice just for her.

Before she could respond, the gentle hum of conversation died down as Lando stood, tapping the side of his champagne flute with a fork. The soft chime rang through the room, and all eyes turned toward him.

“Alright, alright,” he began, grinning as a hush settled over the guests. “I had this whole speech planned—something sentimental, heartfelt, maybe even a little sappy—but let’s be honest, I talk enough as it is.”

A ripple of laughter spread through the room, and Y/N rolled her eyes fondly.

“But,” Lando continued, his voice taking on a more serious tone, “I wanted to do something different. Something that means a lot to me—and, I hope, to us.”

He turned toward Y/N, his expression soft before he gestured to the large screen at the front of the room. The lights dimmed slightly, and the screen flickered to life.

The first clip was old, slightly grainy—a shaky video of a much younger Y/N, no older than fifteen, sitting cross-legged on the floor of her bedroom, a book in her lap and an unimpressed expression on her face.

“Come on, Y/N, smile!”

“Lando, put the camera down,” she huffed, barely looking up.

“Not until you admit you love me.”

“I tolerate you at best,” she shot back, but the ghost of a smile tugged at her lips.

Laughter filled the reception hall as the video cut to a new scene—Y/N, now sixteen, wearing one of Lando’s oversized hoodies, curled up on a couch in the Norris family home. She was half-asleep, her head resting against his shoulder as the TV played some random film in the background.

“She does this thing where she pretends she’s not tired,” Lando’s voice narrated. “But then she knocks out in, like, five minutes.”

Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Oh my god.”

“You were cute,” Lando teased, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

The montage continued, each clip a new piece of their story.

There was a video of Y/N standing in the paddock when Lando got his first Formula 1 contract, her hands clasped over her mouth as she watched him sign.

“She’s trying not to cry,” past-Lando whispered. “But she’s failing miserably.”

Sure enough, the moment he turned to her, Y/N launched herself at him, hugging him so tightly it looked like she might never let go.

The next clip was a chaotic one—Lando attempting to teach Y/N how to kart. The camera wobbled as someone, likely Max or Carlos, filmed from the sidelines.

“Okay, so you just ease into the throttle—”

The sound of an engine revving too hard cut him off, and the camera caught Y/N spinning out almost immediately.

“Or you can do that,” Lando’s voice deadpanned.

The guests burst into laughter, and Y/N covered her face, shaking her head. “I swear, I got better!”

Lando leaned in. “Debatable.”

The montage softened after that—clips of stolen moments, quiet confessions.

A video of them in a bookstore, Y/N completely in her element, talking animatedly about a novel while Lando watched her with nothing but adoration.

A clip of them on a rainy day, Y/N sitting on the windowsill of their Monaco apartment, watching the storm while wrapped in a blanket.

“I don’t think she knows I’m filming,” Lando’s voice whispered over the video. “But I just… I don’t ever want to forget this. She’s my home.”

Y/N felt her breath hitch, her grip on Lando’s hand tightening. He turned to her slightly, brushing his thumb over her knuckles.

The next set of videos followed their life together—traveling, late-night drives, lazy Sunday mornings tangled in blankets, laughing over burnt pancakes. The small, intimate moments that made them them.

Then came their engagement.

Amsterdam at night. The fairy lights twinkled softly, and Y/N stood at the center of a bridge, completely oblivious as Lando fidgeted behind her.

When she turned around, her breath hitched.

The video was shaky, clearly filmed by one of their friends, but it captured everything—the way Lando’s hands trembled slightly as he held the ring box, the way Y/N’s hands flew to her mouth, the way she nodded before he even finished speaking.

“I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember,” Lando’s voice narrated over the moment. “And I’ll keep loving you for the rest of my life.”

As the final frame faded to black, the room erupted in applause. Y/N barely heard it.

Her eyes were locked on Lando’s, emotion making her throat tighten.

“You’re such an idiot,” she whispered, voice thick.

Lando grinned, his eyes just as glassy as hers. “But I’m your idiot.”

A choked laugh escaped her before she pulled him in, pressing her lips to his. The sound of cheers and clinking glasses faded into the background, the whole world narrowing to just them.

Through the years, through everything—Lando and Y/N.

And for the rest of their lives.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

masterlist

[synity]

hii can u write dk & woozi's sis who's a soloist + producer ? snippets of their life + carats making edits of them (were seen tgt in the green room & dk looks at them like they hung the stars) and cute interviews abt them

STARGAZER

(Lee Seokmin x FemReader ft.Lee Jihoon)

*Romance, Slice of Life, Rom-Com, Fluff, Idolverse AU, RPF (Real Person Fiction)*

[Green Room, Music Bank – 3:42 PM]

Seokmin sits in the green room, nervously adjusting his mic. He’s half-listening to his members when Y/N walks in, holding a tray of iced drinks with a shy smile.

Y/N: “Oppa told me you like peach oolong. Here.”

Seokmin lights up, eyes practically sparkling like he just won the lottery.

DK: “You’re the best… like actually. I mean—wow, thank you, angel.”

His voice cracks slightly and the staff behind the camera stifle giggles. Jihoon, who had been sitting next to them, raises an eyebrow.

Woozi: “I’m still here, just so you both remember.”

DK: “And I appreciate you too, hyung! Great genetics in the family!”

The interaction goes viral on X (Twitter), with CARATs captioning it:

“DK looking at Y/N like they hung the stars 😭✨ #SEOKYNDY #YNDK”

[Interview with Jihoon – Radio Appearance]

DJ: “So, Jihoon-ssi, we heard a cute rumor that your younger sibling is dating SEVENTEEN’s DK?”

Jihoon smirks, shaking his head.

Woozi: “They’re… loud together.”

laughter

Woozi: “But I trust Seokmin. He’s one of the kindest people I know. If it weren’t him, I might be in jail by now.”

[A CARAT-Made Edit: “He’s So Whipped 💘”]

🎞️ Soft music plays over a montage:

DK walking behind Y/N with a hand on her back protectively.

Y/N giving him a forehead kiss before a stage.

DK’s literal heart-eyes when she walks into a rehearsal room.

A fancam clip where he mouths “I love you” during “Fallin’ Flower” directly at her.

Caption: “This man looks at her like she’s his whole galaxy 🥹🪐🌟”

[YouTube Interview: “What’s the most romantic thing you’ve done?”]

DK: “I once wrote a song just using her laugh. I recorded it secretly.”

Host: “That’s… wow.”

DK: “She has this laugh that sounds like wind chimes. Jihoon hyung helped me mix it into the bridge.”

[Text From Y/N’s Private IG Story (Leaked by DK 😂)]

📸 Photo of DK in pajamas holding a cat plushie.

Caption:

“He showed up at my door like this after practice just to say goodnight.” 😭❤️

[Woozi’s Vlive Clip]

Woozi: “I was mixing a track and Seokmin kept smiling at his phone.”

Chat goes: [DK & YN texting?]

Woozi: “Turns out she sent him a video of their dog sleeping. He watched it on loop for 10 minutes.”

[MCountdown Ending Fairy]

Y/N is backstage cheering. DK glances over as he finishes the final pose and breaks into the softest smile.

Camera zooms in.

“That smile wasn’t for the fans this time… 😭🫶 #SeokYNDyForever”

One Quiet Afternoon — DK x Y/N ft. Woozi

The Pledis lounge was unusually quiet that day. Rain trickled down the windows, soft and steady, a rhythm almost matching the calm inside.

Y/N sat curled up on the new gray couch, laptop on her knees, frowning slightly as she scrolled through color palettes for a stage outfit she was designing. Her glasses kept slipping down, and she kept pushing them up with the back of her hand.

DK walked in with two mugs one slightly chipped, filled with hot cocoa, and the other with tea. He placed the cocoa on the small table next to her and plopped down beside her with a little bounce.

"Your eyebrows are doing that thing again," he said.

Y/N glanced at him. "What thing?"

"Like…" He leaned closer, gently smoothing her brow with his thumb. "Like you’re trying to win a frowning contest with yourself."

She huffed a quiet laugh, eyes returning to her screen. "I just can’t pick between this navy or the darker blue. Jihoon’s stage lighting might wash it out."

DK leaned his chin on her shoulder, studying the swatches. "That one," he pointed lazily, “darker blue. He always uses warm-toned lights anyway.”

Y/N blinked. "Since when do you know lighting setups?"

DK grinned. "Since I fell for a genius and started paying attention."

Y/N blushed and looked away.

Suddenly, a quiet voice cut through the peace.

"Can you both shut up?" Woozi muttered from the corner, sprawled out on a beanbag with his AirPods in. "Some of us are actually working."

DK grinned wider. "Some of us are trying to have a cute moment, hyung."

"Try quieter," Woozi grumbled, but didn’t get up. Didn’t even look mad, really.

DK gently took Y/N’s laptop and set it aside, replacing it with the warm mug.

“You work too hard,” he said softly, nudging her head to rest on his shoulder. “Let me do the frowning today.”

She didn’t reply just smiled into her cocoa, sipping in silence while the rain tapped against the windows and Woozi mumbled about deadlines in the background.

Want me to write a version where fans somehow witness this moment from afar? Or a similar one from DK’s point of view?

One Quiet Afternoon

The cocoa warmed Y/N’s hands. DK’s shoulder was warm too solid, familiar. She let her head rest there a little longer.

“You smell like vanilla,” she mumbled.

Dokyeom huckled. “That’s my body wash. I bought it because the name reminded me of you.”

She turned her head slightly. “So I’m… a body wash now?”

He beamed. “No, you’re vanilla cloud comfort essence, obviously.”

Y/N groaned. “Seokmin, you’re impossible.”

“Impossibly cute?”

“Impossibly dramatic.”

Mingyu groaned louder from his beanbag, still not moving. “I beg you. I’m not even trying to third-wheel. You’re just making it impossible to exist in peace.”

Y/N giggled quietly while DK leaned closer to her ear and whispered, “He’s just mad I’m cuter than him.”

“I heard that,” Joshua muttered without opening his eyes.

Dokyeom looked over at both Joshua and Woozi with a sly grin, then back to Y/N. “Wanna sneak out and get tteokbokki before practice? the Hyung won’t even notice.”

“we're literally in the room,” Woozi said flatly.

Dokyeom grinned wider. “But you’re emotionally absent.”

Y/N nearly snorted her cocoa.

They didn’t leave right away. They just sat there for a bit longer DK quietly humming something under his breath, Y/N sketching lazy lines on her screen with her finger, Joshua reading a mazine and Woozi pretending to ignore them all while secretly smiling behind his AirPods.

The rain kept falling, soft and steady.

Outside, a few CARATs lingered by the entrance under umbrellas. One of them spotted the trio through the slightly open blinds Dokyeom's head tilted toward Y/N, her laugh caught mid-motion, and Woozi glaring like a fed-up cat.

The photo would surface on Twitter later with the caption:

"Dokyeom looking at Y/N like she’s his entire sky and Woozi silently regretting introducing them 😭💙☔ #Seokmin #Woozi #Y/N #caratlife"

But inside that lounge?

It was just a quiet afternoon.

No lights. No fans. No edits. Just them. Normal. Soft. Home.

[charlesollielandooscararthur]

Dating my best friend?

summary: Where the internet thinks y/n and arthur are dating

It started as a joke. At least, I thought it was a joke.

But then it spiraled into something else entirely.

One random morning, I woke up to my phone buzzing non-stop. I groggily reached for it, squinting at the brightness of my screen.

And then I saw the notifications.

Twitter: @F1Edits posted a video of you! Twitter: @F1FanPage mentioned you in a tweet! Twitter: Your name is trending!

My stomach dropped. That was never a good sign.

I clicked on the first notification and was immediately met with an edit—a full-blown, cinematic edit—of me and Arthur, backed by some ridiculously romantic music.

My jaw dropped.

The video was a compilation of every moment Arthur and I had ever been caught on camera together—hugging, laughing, him slinging an arm around my shoulder, me fixing his hair, him carrying me on his back at the paddock once, the way we always leaned into each other during interviews.

And the caption?

"How are they not in love?"

I sat up so fast I nearly fell out of bed.

"What the—"

I scrolled through the comments.

"No, because I refuse to believe they're not together." "They HAVE to be dating. No way they're just 'best friends.'" "The way Arthur looks at her. Please." "If they ever say they're just friends, I'm calling them liars." "Charles, blink twice if you're third-wheeling."

I groaned, rubbing my temples.

This had to be a joke. Right?

Wrong.

Because as I kept scrolling, I realized it wasn't just one edit. It was everywhere.

Fan accounts were obsessed with the idea that Arthur and I were secretly in love.

There were threads analyzing our "body language." Slow-motion videos of us laughing together with captions like "soulmates." A clip of us playfully arguing with the caption "they act like a married couple." Even a damn photo collage comparing our hugs to the way couples in movies held each other.

I felt my soul leave my body.

Just when I thought it couldn't get worse, my phone buzzed again.

Arthur: DUDE WHAT IS TWITTER RN LMAO

I groaned and immediately FaceTimed him.

The second he answered, he was grinning. "y/n," he said dramatically. "It's time to tell Charles the truth."

I glared at him. "Arthur, shut up."

He cackled. "No, because I am living for this. People really think we're dating."

"Yes, and it's a problem!" I huffed. "You know Charles is gonna see this, right?"

Arthur smirked. "You think he's jealous?"

I groaned. "Arthur, I swear—"

Just then, another call popped up on my screen.

Charles.

I stared at it. Arthur saw it too and immediately lost it.

"Ohhh, you're in trouble," he teased.

I sighed. "I hate you."

I switched to Charles' call, bracing myself.

The second he picked up, he wasted no time. "Why is the internet trying to marry you and Arthur?"

I groaned. "Charles, I have no idea."

He was quiet for a second. "...I don't like it."

A smile tugged at my lips. "Are you jealous?"

He scoffed. "No."

I raised an eyebrow.

"...Okay, maybe a little," he admitted.

I laughed, shaking my head. "Well, don't worry. Arthur is definitely not my type."

Charles hummed. "Good."

Before I could say anything else, Arthur texted me again.

Arthur: so when's the wedding or what??

I sighed.

This was never going away.

The entire Leclerc family and y/n was gathered at Pascale's house for dinner when the Twitter chaos reached its peak.

I was sitting between Arthur and Charles at the dining table, trying desperately to act normal. But it was hard when Arthur kept snickering under his breath every time our phones buzzed with another notification.

Lorenzo, who had been scrolling through his phone, suddenly furrowed his brows. "Uh... y/n?"

I froze mid-bite. "...Yes?"

He turned his phone around, showing me the worst possible thing he could have found.

An edit. Again.

But this time, it was a full two-minute montage of Arthur and me, with dramatic transitions, soft slow-motion clips, and—oh my God, was that a wedding scene from a movie edited to make it look like us?!

Arthur lost it.

He nearly fell out of his chair, laughing so hard that he had to clutch his stomach.

Pascale, confused, looked between us. "What's so funny?"

Charles, who had been quietly suffering this whole time, groaned and buried his face in his hands. "Maman, don't ask."

Lorenzo, still trying to understand, read the comments under the edit out loud.

"They are literally endgame." "I don't care what they say, they're in love." "The chemistry is insane. They can deny it all they want, but we see it."

Pascale blinked. "Wait... they think Arthur and y/n are together?"

Arthur wheezed. "YES."

I groaned, dropping my head onto the table. "I hate the internet."

Charles, still visibly annoyed, muttered, "Me too."

Lorenzo raised an eyebrow. "How did this even start?"

Arthur grinned. "Oh, you know, just years of being the best-looking duo in F1 history."

Charles shot him a glare. "Arthur."

Arthur held up his hands. "Hey, don't blame me. I told you guys to go public sooner, but noooo, you wanted to keep it a secret." He smirked at Charles. "Look where that got you."

Pascale, clearly trying not to laugh, patted Charles' arm. "Mon chéri, I don't think you have anything to worry about."

Charles sighed dramatically, crossing his arms. "I know that. But it's annoying."

Arthur smirked, nudging me. "So, babe, when are we making it official?"

Charles kicked him under the table.

Arthur yelped, rubbing his shin. "Merde! Okay, okay, I'll stop."

Lorenzo, shaking his head, muttered, "I can't believe this is what the internet is talking about."

Pascale, still amused, looked at me. "y/n, maybe you should post something to clear it up?"

I sighed. "Yeah, I probably should."

Arthur leaned over my shoulder. "Make sure to say that you're heartbroken that I rejected you."

Charles kicked him again.

And for the rest of the night, Arthur milked the situation for all it was worth, much to Charles' growing frustration.

Arthur was thriving.

The entire dinner, he kept finding new ways to bring up the Twitter chaos, fully enjoying Charles' irritation.

At one point, he turned to Pascale and, with the most serious expression ever, said, "Maman, I think it's time we start planning the wedding."

Charles snapped his head up so fast I thought he might get whiplash. "Arthur."

Arthur smirked. "What? The people have spoken. y/n and I have undeniable chemistry."

I groaned. "Arthur, I swear—"

He ignored me completely, turning to Lorenzo. "You'll be my best man, right?"

Lorenzo played along, nodding thoughtfully. "Of course. Someone has to keep Charles from throwing a tantrum during the vows."

Charles scowled. "This is not funny."

Pascale, now full-on laughing, patted his hand. "Oh, mon chéri, it's a little funny."

Arthur grinned. "See? Even Maman thinks so." He turned back to me. "So, y/n, first dance song? I'm thinking something dramatic."

Charles shoved Arthur so hard he nearly fell out of his chair.

I buried my face in my hands. "I hate you both."

Arthur, still laughing, sat up straight again. "Oh, don't worry, y/n. I promise I'll let you down easy."

Charles shot him the deadliest glare I'd ever seen. "Arthur, I swear to God—"

Arthur just winked.

Pascale shook her head, still smiling. "y/n, ma chérie, I do think you should post something to clear it up. Or else this will never end."

I groaned. "You're right."

Arthur leaned over again, grinning. "Make sure to write that I'm the love of your life."

Charles grabbed his fork and pointed it at him. "I will stab you."

Lorenzo sighed, sipping his wine. "This is the most entertaining dinner we've had in a while."

I pulled out my phone and quickly typed out a tweet:

"As much as I love Arthur, he is unfortunately my best friend and NOT my boyfriend. Please stop making wedding edits before Charles actually murders him."

I hit send, sighing in relief. "There. Cleared up."

Arthur pouted. "You could've been nicer about it."

Charles smirked. "Oh no, I think it was perfect."

Arthur dramatically crossed his arms. "Fine. But when I do get a girlfriend, I expect the same level of effort from the internet."

Lorenzo chuckled. "I don't think they'll care as much."

Arthur gasped. "How dare you?"

Pascale laughed softly. "I love all of you, but I think I need some wine before this conversation gets even worse."

And just like that, the teasing finally started to die down.

Well, at least for that night.

Because the next morning, I woke up to another tweet from Arthur.

"Heartbroken. Betrayed. Stabbed in the back. I was ready to give y/n the world, but alas... Charles won. Stay strong, my fellow shippers. 💔"

I nearly threw my phone at the wall.

Charles, reading over my shoulder, groaned. "I'm going to kill him."

Arthur, standing in the doorway, just smirked. "If I can't have her, no one can."

I launched a pillow at his head.

The internet lost its mind.

After my tweet officially clearing things up, people didn't just accept it and move on. Oh, no. Instead, they shifted their focus entirely—to me and Charles.

Within minutes, our names were trending, and fans were freaking out.

"WAIT, WAIT, WAIT. If she's NOT dating Arthur... THEN WHO IS SHE DATING??"

"Guys. GUYS. WHAT IF IT'S CHARLES???"

"Now I need to know who y/n's real boyfriend is. I'm INVESTED."

Then someone, some cursed individual, dug up old photos of me and Charles—us standing just a little too close, smiling at each other when we thought no one was looking, him pulling me aside in the paddock, moments that definitely looked suspicious when taken out of context.

And suddenly, a new theory was born:

"What if y/n was dating Charles this entire time and that's why Arthur was so comfortable joking about it??"

I groaned so loudly Charles turned to look at me from the other side of the couch. "Now what?"

I just wordlessly turned my phone to show him the absolute chaos online. His eyes scanned the tweets, his expression shifting from confusion to realization to pure horror.

He muttered, "Merde."

I sighed. "Yeah. Merde."

And then Arthur made things so much worse.

He retweeted one of the tweets theorizing that I was secretly dating Charles and captioned it:

"Who's to say?" 👀

CHARLES NEARLY THREW HIS PHONE.

"ARTHUR!" he shouted, already reaching for his own phone to yell at him.

I buried my face in my hands. "I hate him so much."

Arthur, from his own apartment, immediately FaceTimed us, laughing his ass off.

The second Charles answered, Arthur gasped dramatically. "WAIT. Are you guys together right now? Oh, this just gets better and better!"

Charles glared. "Arthur, why did you do that?"

Arthur was still grinning. "Because it's funny. You should see Twitter right now."

We both checked.

It was a disaster.

"WHY WOULD ARTHUR RETWEET THIS IF IT WASN'T TRUE???" "Guys, we were looking at the wrong Leclerc this whole time." "This man just soft launched his brother's relationship, and I respect that."

Charles let out a long, long sigh, rubbing his temples. "This is not how I wanted this to happen."

I groaned. "Do we just... confirm it now?"

Arthur perked up. "Oh, do it in the cutest way possible. I need something to make up for the heartbreak of losing you."

Charles and I both shot him a glare.

Arthur just smirked. "Too soon?"

Charles sighed. "I hate you."

Arthur grinned. "No, you don't. You love me. Almost as much as you love y/n."

And because Charles was already done with the whole situation, he just... ended the call.

I stared at him. "Wow."

He exhaled. "I refuse to let him make this worse."

But it was already worse.

Because Arthur, the menace, was already tweeting again.

"Can't believe I lost my best friend AND my sister-in-law on the same day. Stay strong, warriors. 💔"

Charles threw his phone onto the couch. "I give up."

I sighed, shaking my head. "Arthur is never going to let us live this down."

Charles groaned, rubbing his face. "I know."

And sure enough, the next morning, Arthur had another tweet waiting for us.

"Seeing y/n and Charles together is so hard for me. But if they're happy, I guess I'll cope." 😔💔

He was having the time of his life.

Charles and I? Not so much.

By the next day, our relationship was basically confirmed—not because we said anything, but because Arthur wouldn't stop talking about it.

At this point, he had taken his self-assigned role as Heartbroken Brother and Former Love Interest way too seriously.

His tweets were out of control:

Arthur Leclerc (@Arthur_Leclerc): "Can't believe I was just a placeholder. 😔💔"

Arthur Leclerc (@Arthur_Leclerc): "Somewhere in another universe, it's me and y/n against the world. Not in this one, though. In this one, I am merely a side character."

Arthur Leclerc (@Arthur_Leclerc): "Wishing my ex-best friend and ex-fake-girlfriend all the best. Even though this betrayal will haunt me forever."

The comments were insane.

"THIS MAN IS SO DRAMATIC I CAN'T." "Arthur, PLEASE, they're literally just dating." "You are acting like Charles stole your childhood sweetheart." "Arthur is the biggest shipper of Charles and y/n and the biggest hater at the same time."

And then, just when I thought Arthur had finally run out of ways to be annoying, he took it to Instagram.

I was sitting with Charles in his apartment when I got the notification. I opened it and immediately groaned.

"No way."

Charles looked over. "What now?"

I turned my phone around.

Arthur had posted a black-and-white photo of us. It was an old picture of me fixing his hair before a karting race, and underneath it, he had captioned it:

"Once upon a time. 💔"

Charles let out a long, suffering sigh. "I hate him."

Arthur, who somehow knew we were both looking at the post, called us immediately.

The second I picked up, he sighed dramatically. "I just needed a moment to grieve."

Charles scowled. "Arthur—"

But Arthur wasn't done.

"Do you know how hard this is for me?" he continued. "I mean, I was the one who had to sit back and watch while my fake soulmate fell for my own brother."

I rolled my eyes. "Arthur—"

"I was the one who had to suffer in silence while you two snuck around, living your secret romance while I was out here looking like a fool."

Charles, completely done, said, "I'm hanging up."

Arthur gasped. "CHARLES, HOW DARE YOU. I am pouring my heart out, and you—"

Click.

Charles ended the call.

I stared at him. "Wow."

Charles groaned, falling back onto the couch. "He deserved it."

I checked my phone again and sighed. "You do realize he's never going to stop, right?"

Charles covered his face with his hands. "I know."

And, of course, Arthur did not stop.

By the next morning, he had posted a TikTok of himself sitting alone at a café, sad music playing in the background, with the caption:

"POV: You lost your fake girlfriend and your brother won."

I nearly died laughing.

Charles? He just groaned and muttered, "I need a break from the internet."

[angelpuns]

50au part 26

When Leo woke, it was with a throbbing pain in his leg ( big shocker ) and a faint memory of the nightmare he'd had. 

He sat up as quickly as his aching muscle would allow it, glancing around the room.for evidence that it had been real. Because it had felt so, so real. 

His leg ached, sure, but it wasn't concrete enough. His room was dark, but everything seemed to be in place. His TV was still on his desk, where he'd moved it on a whim a few days ago. His bed was still halfway made and there were no green, shadowy mutants in the corner of his room. Even the step stool was gone. 

The camera! Leo squinted at the corner of the room, but there was nothing. Just darkness. 

“Holy shit I'm losing it…” He muttered, dragging a hand down his face. The TV flickered on a moment later, Leo only jumping a little bit. 

It was dark for a moment before a hand pulled away and a mutant - a turtle mutant - in bright orange grinned into the camera. 

“ Good Morning, Leo! You probably don't know who I am, but don't panic! First of all, there's water and medicine on your nightstand for your pain,” The turtle said cheerily. Leo glanced at his nightstand. Sure enough, there was two pills and a glass of water. 

Leo didn't like this, but he fought back the panic. Something was happening here, clearly, but his nightmare had been just that. A nightmare. Because there wasn't a shred of physical evidence it had actually happened, save for the weird TV shit happening and the water and meds. Which was still scary and weird, but not nearly as bad as the camera. 

“ don't panic, okay? I'll explain everything!” The turtle grinned. He seemed to be a bit nervous. That bothered Leo, but he kept watching. Because hopefully whatever this guy said would make sense and would clue him into what the hell was going on. 

“ So, like 4 or 5 days ago you were cursed, by a witch! Specifically a witch from witch town? And we all totally thought it was a dud, but it turns out that she actually curse you to forget all your memories of your family - that's us!” the turtle rambled on, “its kind of like 50 First dates, and you’re Drew Barrymore. I know that makes more sense then my explanation, except its not really a brain thing, its more like a mystical thing. Anyway, today we're going to help you get your memory back, by washing away the curse!”

The turtle leaned off screen for a moment, seemingly murmuring to someone else. 

“ oh, yes, and if we have to put you to sleep or something, we will. But we really don't want to, so please, please cooperate, okay?” 

The turtle gave him a wink and started to turn the camera off, before a voice off screen muttered something and he suddenly stepped back, “ oh, right!” 

“ I'm Mikey, and Raph and Donnie are here too! And we're your brothers! And we love you so much and-”

“Okay, Mikey, that's enough, he gets the point” someone off screen said, and Mikey chuckled. 

“Okay, here's a montage and a message from Donnie! Love you lots!” he added, before the video shut off and was replaced with a montage of pictures and video clips of- of Leo. Leo and some.other turtle mutants he’d never seen before. 

And the most shocking and horrific thing was that the purple turtle mutant from his dream was there too. He swallowed down the panic that made him feel. Because that was a lot of evidence that his nightmare had been real. And that these guys were evil and going to something to him and- 

The montage ended and the purple turtle appeared on the screen. He looked tired. But he didn't look as menacing as he had in Leo's dream, and  he didn't even look injured. From what Leo remembered, he'd punched this guy hard enough to break something. But he looked fine.

So it- it had to be a dream, right? 

“ ‘Nardo, I’m sure you're really confused and scared and- and you can't possibly believe us, but I promise you we're not going to hurt you,” He started, sighing deeply, “ I am not going to hurt you. We just want to get rid of this curse and- and if for some reason we can't and you're stuck like this…then we’ll figure something else out. But we are not going to hurt you, I promise. So please cooperate and let us help you, okay?” 

The video flickered off, and Leo was left alone in his dark, silent room. 

He let out a shaky breath. He knew they were probably waiting on him out there. Maybe with weapons or some kind of evil plan. 

Or maybe they were just waiting to see if he was going to hear them out. 

He honestly didn't know if he believed it. Any of it. Because the dream had seemed so real, and he knew his own memories. He trusted his memories. But…

Leo looked down at his hands. He really didn't have a choice but to trust them.

---

My back still hurts and I wrote this one last night as well so I don't have much to say bout it. Hope y'all enjoy tho <3333

part 1 | part 25 | Part 27

[cobbbvanth]

okay my one (1) wish for the finale is that the characters get a moment to reflect on how their family has changed since we saw them at the beginning of the show. I'd love for them to watch parts of the documentary (like we got to see in the office) but really ANY recognition of how their relationships have developed in that time would suffice. colin seeing a clip of laszlo with him as a baby. the vampires seeing the way guillermo has protected them without their knowledge over the years. the editors finally including that nandor caring about guillermo montage he was waiting for at the beginning of last season. I fear they like to use the documentary format as gag but don't care for its narrative purpose and paul simms hates seeing any forward development but come on man it's YOUR LAST CHANCE

[cryingpariah]

Hatchetverse headcanons (my brain won’t shut up!! The rot is in full effect!!)

- I don’t like how Ruth is left out of the CCRP family headcanoning as so therefore and henceforth she is Charlotte's niece. Charlotte is her dorky but well-meaning number once supporter in her theatre dreams!

- Pete likes tabletop games, Richie likes video games, and Ruth likes word based guessing games. When Stephanie joins the crew she introduces them to card games which is one of the few things Solomon taught that she listened to and enjoyed.

- Richie tries to get Steph ‘cultured’ by watching some starter anime with her. Death Note reminds her too much of Solomon so she’s less interested but she fucks heavy with FMAB.

- Grace gets taken on a DCOM-eqse shopping montage/spree except no one forces her to change her style and they just help her pick out more butterfly clips and sweater vests. She does end up picking out a jean skirt anyway though.

- Max's fear of things like ghost and skele-uns comes from a love of Goosebumps books. He still a nice collection in a labelled box somewhere.

- Bryce and Kim's unnamed nerd characters from HSIKM and Literal Monster (and are tragically never seen again) are dating.

- Wilbur is the one feeding the Sniggles after they come back from Blinky (it's mostly apples or apple based dishes).

- Wilbur's father was a Navy man and is the reason he was in the military to begin with.

- Curt's Sniggles's name is Snigglelex and is best friends with Snigglelots (James's Sniggle) since they work a lot of shifts together.

- The Sniggles are asexually reproduced and can come in up to 3 colors (Pokey canonically doesn’t care for them and I feel like Tinky only cares for the bastards in his box).

- Becky Barnes has dressed like a candy striper nurse on a couple of Halloweens when she was younger.

- Becky and Tom pretended to be sick so they could binge the entirety of ‘Santa Claus is Going To High School: The Series!’ (SCGHSTS if you’re a diehard which they are.)

- On days when the bullying is especially bad (or when he feels like they just need it) Tom will let people eat lunch in the woodshop room. It’s mostly the Fosters + Ethan and the Nerdy Prude gang.

- Given the change from Holloway to Holiday in Killer Track, there’s a non-zero percent chance that Missy is Holloway's first name.

[hunzzzzz]

Save me (Bsf!Rafe x Thornton OFC): part 6

TW: mentions of sexual assault, drug use, cocaine, guns, blood, violence, non consensual drugging, dark themes, suicidal thoughts.

Masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

Topper pulled into their driveway, turning off the engine. They sat in silence, both staring out the windshield at their house, the familiar sight now tinged with a sense of unease.

Topper finally turned to Sam, letting out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice laced with regret.

“I’m sorry,” Sam echoed, her voice barely a whisper. They exchanged confused glances, a flicker of awkwardness passing between them.

“What?” Topper asked, his brow furrowed.

“I’m sorry about Sarah,” Sam said, taking a deep breath, trying to push past the knot of guilt in her throat. “I had no idea about Sarah and John B. You should’ve told me.”

“How could I?” Topper’s lips twisted into a sad, almost bitter smile. “You were never around to even tell you. You practically despise me, so tell me, how could I even talk to you, let alone tell you what’s going on in my life?”

Sam felt a wave of guilt wash over her, a raw, painful ache in her stomach. “I’m sorry, Top. I really am.”

“Nah, it’s okay,” he dismissed her apology, though his eyes betrayed the hurt he felt.

“How did this happen? When?” Sam asked, her voice trembling slightly.

“At Midsummers,” Topper replied, his gaze drifting back to the house.

Sam wracked her brain, trying to remember that night, but like most of her memories from that summer, it was all a haze, a fragmented montage of blurry faces and distorted sounds. The guilt intensified.

“Sam,” Topper shut his eyes, “I love you, you’re my sister. You’re my only sister and I can’t lose you, we’ve already lost too much. And if you love me, then you’ll get some help.” 

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

July 5th, 2019: Midsummers

“Mom, I don’t want to go,” Sam said, her voice flat, tossing the delicate flower crown onto her bed with a careless flick of her wrist.

“This isn’t a discussion, Samantha. Ward is being awarded tonight, and we will be going. That’s final,” Cynthia ordered, her voice clipped, devoid of any warmth. She picked up the discarded flower crown, placing it back on Sam’s head with a forced, almost painful neatness.

“But Mom—” Sam began, her protest cut short.

“That’s enough, Samantha. If your father were here, he would want you to go,” Cynthia said, her eyes sharp, her words laced with a subtle cruelty.

Her mother always did this, weaponizing her father’s memory, twisting his love into a tool of emotional manipulation. What would your father say? What would your father think? It was a constant, insidious dig, a reminder of Sam’s perceived failings, her guilt over not visiting him enough when he was sick. It was her mother’s preferred method of punishment, a subtle form of mental warfare, designed to chip away at Sam’s already fragile sense of self.

After her mother left the room, the scent of her expensive perfume lingering in the air, Sam opened her jewelry box. Hidden beneath a tangle of necklaces and earrings was a small, plastic baggie. She pulled it out, her fingers trembling slightly, and took a few bumps of the white powder. She needed something, anything, to dull the sharp edges of her anxiety, to create a buffer between herself and the world. She slipped the baggie into her clutch, knowing she wouldn’t be able to make it through the night without it.

*

She slipped into the Midsummer’s celebration, the air thick with the forced gaiety of the event. The first thing she saw was the Cameron family, posed for a picture-perfect portrait. She instinctively ducked behind a cluster of potted palms, hiding behind the crowd, hoping to remain unseen. She didn’t want to talk to anyone tonight. She especially didn’t want to run into Rafe, to see the familiar coolness in his eyes, the subtle avoidance that had become his default setting.

Trying to navigate the crowded space without being noticed, she bumped into someone, her shoulder colliding with theirs.

“Hey, watch it–” the olive-skinned brunette grumbled, her drink sloshing precariously in her glass. She started to unleash a string of curses, but her voice trailed off when she recognized Sam. “Oh, Sam, hey,” Kiara said, her expression softening into a sympathetic smile.

“I’m so sorry,” Sam apologized. “I’m just trying to lay low.” 

She glanced over her shoulder, Rafe was there, engaged in a seemingly animated conversation with someone, his back partially turned. Then, as if sensing her gaze, he turned his head, his eyes locking with hers. The world seemed to narrow, the noise of the party fading into a dull hum. They held each other’s gaze, neither willing to look away first, a silent, unspoken conversation passing between them. The moment stretched out until finally, Rafe broke the connection, turning back to his conversation, his face impassive.

“Yeah, you can join me in my quiet corner,” Kiara offered, picking up a drink from a passing waiter and handing it to Sam.

“Thanks,” Sam said, giving her an appreciative smile. She took a sip of the drink, her face wrinkling in distaste. “Ugh, what is this, fruit punch?”

“I know,” Kiara laughed. “If my friends were here, they would have had their flasks spiking our drinks.”

“I wish,” Sam nodded, leaning back against the wooden deck behind them. “I’m surprised you’re even here. You hate these things.”

“I do,” Kiara confirmed. “But my mom forced me.”

“What are mothers for, other than emotionally blackmailing their daughters?” Sam said, a hint of bitterness creeping into her voice.

“To our moms,” Kiara said, lifting her glass in a silent toast. They both laughed, a brief moment of shared understanding in the midst of the forced gaiety.

Kiara and Sam weren’t exactly friends. They were acquaintances, at best. They’d been in the same school for a year, and there had been a brief period of friendship. But the fallout between Kiara and Sarah had left a bitter taste in everyone’s mouth. Sam, loyal to Sarah, had been caught in the crossfire. Despite the tension, they’d never completely cut each other off. They still exchanged pleasantries when they saw each other, maintaining a fragile truce despite the bad blood between Kiara and Sarah.

Their conversation was interrupted when Kiara spotted Pope across the crowd. Sam, seizing the opportunity, excused herself, claiming she needed to find a bathroom. In reality, she was searching for a quiet corner, a place where she could discreetly top up her supply, seeking the fleeting oblivion the white powder offered.

She was about to slip inside when Sarah grabbed her arm, her grip tight. “What was all that about?” she demanded, her eyes narrowed, gesturing towards where Sam and Kiara had been laughing moments before.

Sam sighed, the tension in her shoulders tightening. She didn’t want to deal with Sarah’s petty jealousy, didn’t want to be dragged into another pointless argument. “It was nothing, we were just talking.”

“So you’ll talk to her? But not me?” Sarah’s voice was laced with hurt, a raw, wounded edge. After everything Kiara had done to her, after weeks of Sam pushing her away, she was choosing to talk to Kiara.

“Don’t make this into such a big deal, Sarah. Please,” Sam said, rolling her eyes, her frustration mounting. She desperately needed another hit, and Sarah was standing in her way.

“No, but it is a big deal!” Sarah crossed her arms, her lips pressed into a thin line, hurt flashing across her face. “Sam, you’re not talking to me. You’re never home. You’re pushing me away. We’re all worried about you.”

“Yeah?” Sam scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Who’s ‘we’?”

“Me, Topper, your mom, my dad,” Sarah listed, her voice trembling slightly. But there was no mention of Rafe. The omission hit Sam like a physical blow, a sharp, cold reminder of the distance that had grown between them.

“At your next meeting, you can let everyone know that I’m fine,” Sam spat, her voice laced with bitterness.

“This isn’t the way to deal with this, Sam,” Sarah said tentatively, her voice softer now, laced with concern. “I know you’re hurting. I know that. And I know what you’re going through—”

“You know what I’m going through?” Sam laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. “You have no idea what I’m going through, Sarah. This isn’t one of your breakups where you just move on to the next guy, okay? This is different. I only had one dad—I don’t get to just find another. So please, just don’t—just don’t.” Sam pushed past her, her shoulder brushing roughly against Sarah’s, and disappeared inside.

*

Sammy stepped back into the outdoor space, the buzz from bumps making her feel at ease. She grabbed a drink from a passing waiter, and thankfully, this one had a definite kick to it. She leaned against a pillar in a quiet corner, watching the crowd sway and dance to the music, a detached observer.

“I’ve been told you need some medical attention,” a familiar voice drawled. Sammy turned to see JJ Maybank standing next to her, his blonde hair falling into his eyes, his makeshift waiter’s uniform slightly askew.

“Medical attention?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. She caught Kiara’s eye in the distance, and Kiara gave her a conspiratorial wave.

“Some of my special ‘forget all the bullshit’ medicine,” JJ said, pulling back his waistcoat to reveal a dented flask.

Sammy’s eyes lit up. They turned their backs to the crowd, and JJ took her glass, pouring in a generous amount of the contents. He took a sip from her straw, then grimaced. “Just what the doctor ordered,” he said, handing the glass back to her.

“What is in this?” Sammy asked, taking a cautious sip and nearly gagging.

“Uhhh, let me think… some whiskey, some tequila, some vodka? Maybe? I don’t know, just whatever was left in the cabinet,” JJ shrugged, taking another swig from his flask.

“Doctors are supposed to save lives. This drink alone might kill me,” Sammy said, her eyes watering slightly.

“Yet you keep drinking it?” JJ smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

She bumped his shoulder playfully. “What are you even doing here? How did you land this gig?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m on a secret mission,” JJ said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Oooh, Mr. 007?” she asked sarcastically.

“Nah, Bond is shit. I’m Ethan Hunt, and this is my Mission: Impossible. Infiltrating a Kook party. A dangerous and almost deadly mission. I’m deep in enemy territory,” he said dramatically, his eyes scanning the crowd.

Sammy laughed, a genuine, unburdened laugh, a sound she hadn’t heard from herself in weeks. JJ pretended to adjust an imaginary earpiece, speaking in a hushed tone, fully immersed in his ridiculous act. “Alpha team, I’ve located the target. They’re serving… fruit punch. Repeat, fruit punch. Requesting immediate extraction.”

“You can be my sidekick,” he winked at her. “You can be the distraction while I go for the gold.”

“A distraction? Please, I’m so much more than that. I’m the brains,” Sammy rolled her eyes, playing along.

“Yeah, maybe you got some useful stuff in that head of yours. I could use some of that,” JJ agreed, tapping his temple thoughtfully. He checked his imaginary wristwatch. “Oop, I gotta go. Duty calls. Remember, Sammy, if you don’t hear from me, tell my friends I love them and that I died a hero, trying to save the world from… well, fruit punch.” He gave her a mock salute. Sammy laughed, feeling lighter than she had in weeks.

Just as JJ turned to leave, Rafe materialized, standing there like a storm cloud, his jaw clenched, his eyes blazing with a dark intensity.

“Woah, man, in a rush?” Rafes said, his manic grin faltering slightly as he squared up to Jj, grabbing him by the collar, pulling him close.

“Rafe, stop it,” Sam hissed, her voice a hushed plea, not wanting to create a scene.

“You know last I remember, the exterminators got rid of all the rats in the country club,” Rafe said, shaking JJ roughly. “They must've missed one.”

“Look, man, I’m just doing my job, trying to make a quick buck,” JJ chuckled nervously, his eyes darting around the room.

People were starting to stare, whispers rippling through the crowd. “Rafe, let go of him,” Sam tried to wedge herself between them, but Rafe didn’t budge, didn’t even glance in her direction. “Stop embarrassing me!” she hissed.

“If I see you near her again, I promise you, you won’t be able to fucking pee without a catheter,” Rafe spat through gritted teeth, shoving JJ back, almost making him stumble into Sam, nearly knocking them both over.

“Rafe—” Sam began, her voice laced with a warning.

“Woah, you jealous or something, man? ‘Cause that’s pretty fucking embarrassing, even for you,” JJ’s smirk widened, clearly enjoying Rafe’s reaction. “She can talk to whoever she wants, and if she wants to talk to me, she can. So you can go back to your corner and watch us.”

Rafe lunged forward, his fist clenched, but Sam quickly stepped in front of him, placing her hands on his chest, pushing him back. “Rafe, for once in your life, realize that this is not about you. Your dad is being celebrated tonight. Read the fucking room.”

But Rafe didn’t even look at her. His gaze was fixed on JJ, a burning hatred in his eyes. He gave one last venomous look before pushing Sam’s hands away, his movements rough, and stalking off into the crowd, his anger radiating off him in waves.

*

“Samantha, stand up straight. Stop slouching,” her mother scolded, her voice sharp and disapproving.

Sam stood rigidly beside her family, her shoulders tense, as Ward approached, beaming, his face flushed with pride. Her mother launched into a stream of praise, congratulating him on his outstanding achievement. Sam stood silently, nodding along, her smile forced and empty, a mere mask concealing the turmoil within.

Ward, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension, ushered them all together for a family photo. He wrapped a heavy arm around Sam’s shoulders, and she stiffened involuntarily at the sudden contact, the warmth of his touch feeling almost oppressive. The flash of the camera momentarily blinded her.

She thought the ordeal was over, but then Ward decided to capture a photo of all the children together, calling over Rafe and Sarah to join Sam and Topper.

The atmosphere immediately thickened, the air crackling with unspoken resentments and fractured relationships. No one was happy to pose for the photo. There was a palpable tension between Sarah and Topper, a lingering animosity between Sarah and Sam, and a cold, impenetrable wall between Sam and Rafe. Sam found herself sandwiched between the Cameron siblings, Topper standing stiffly beside Sarah. They were all standing miles apart, even though they were physically close.

“Guys, come on, give us a smile,” Ward chuckled, completely missing the strained expressions and forced smiles. “Topper, I won’t hit you if you wrap an arm around my daughter!”

Topper begrudgingly draped an arm around Sarah’s shoulder, offering a tight, insincere smile for the camera.

“Rafe, son, move in closer. Sam won’t bite you,” Ward said, his voice laced with forced joviality.

Rafe moved closer, his movements stiff and reluctant, and placed an arm around Sam’s waist. His touch felt searing, almost burning her skin. Her entire body tensed, her breath catching in her throat. She couldn’t even manage a semblance of a smile; her face was frozen in a mask of discomfort, her expression strained and unnatural.

The flash clicked, capturing a moment of forced unity, a snapshot of fractured relationships. Rafe immediately pulled away, his arm dropping to his side, and disappeared into the crowd without a word.

Sarah and Topper were engaged in a hushed, tense conversation, their voices barely audible. Sam, seizing the opportunity to escape, slipped away. She contacted her dealer and went directly to his place.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

Sam packed her stuff up, the final bell ringing through the halls like a liberating symphony. Finally, she was free from the shackles of school. Lately, she’d been a ghost in the classroom, headphones clamped over her ears, mindlessly doodling in her notepad. Her teachers had all tried to reach her, to pull her back from the edge, but their words were lost on her. She’d given up on her studies, abandoned the ‘academic weapon’ persona she’d once cultivated. Now, she simply aimed to make it through the day without skipping class, a small victory in itself.

Topper was waiting in the car, always there to collect her. “How was school?” he asked.

“Ugh, don’t even get me started,” she groaned, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, I’m surprised you made it a full day without us getting a call that you’re missing,” Topper said, a proud smile spreading across his face.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Sam retorted, but there was a lightness in her voice, a flicker of her old self. “Topper?” she asked, a sudden softness in her tone.

“Yeah?” he replied, glancing away from the road momentarily.

“You know you’re the best brother in the world, and I love you.” 

Topper’s eyes widened, his mouth agape, before he narrowed his eyes, recognizing the familiar, saccharine sweetness in her tone. “You want something, don’t you?”

“I just want a little sweet treat, please? A cinnamon apple pie from the bakery, please. It would make me so happy,” she batted her eyelashes, giving him her best puppy-dog eyes.

Ever since their father’s passing, Topper had felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility. He was now the man of the house, the protector, the one who had to take care of his sister and mother, no matter what. And if getting his sister a damn apple pie would bring back the light he hadn’t seen in her eyes for months, he’d gladly buy out the entire bakery.

“Fine,” Topper agreed, shaking his head with a fond smile. “But you owe me.”

“Anything,” Sam’s smile widened. She was feeling… better. More like herself.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

“Only get one. We’ve got dinner at the Camerons’ in the evening,” Topper reminded her as she gazed longingly at the array of pastries and tarts displayed behind the glass.

“I don’t want to go.”

“Why not?” Topper asked, his voice patient. Unlike their mother, he rarely forced Sam to do anything. He always wanted to understand, to get to the root of the problem first.

“I just don’t want to socialize. I spent the entire day at school with people practically chewing my ear off. My social battery is dead,” Sam explained, her voice weary.

“Sam, they need us right now,” Topper placed a hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him. “Sarah is gone. Dad is gone. They’re the only family we have left. We need to stick together, okay?”

“I know that, but—” Sam began, her protest trailing off.

“Rafe needs us right now. He needs you .”

“He doesn’t need me,” Sam shook her head, her gaze drifting back to the pastries. She pointed to her apple pie.

“He’s your best friend, Sam.” 

Sam didn’t respond, her silence heavy with unspoken emotions. Topper sighed, pulling out his card to pay. “Are you two fighting or something?” he asked, his voice casual, but his eyes searching hers.

“What?” Sam asked, her brow furrowed.

Now Topper wanted to hear Sam’s side of the story. He’d already interrogated Rafe and come up empty-handed. “Sam, you used to practically live at Tanny Hill. I had to come pick you up and force you to come home. It was always you and Rafe. And me and Sarah. I know what happened between me and Sarah. But I don’t know what’s going on with you and Rafe.”

“People grow apart. It’s just a part of life,” Sam shrugged, trying to sound indifferent, but her voice betrayed her unease.

She didn’t know where she and Rafe stood anymore. They’d gone from best friends, to strangers, to… this. Whatever “this” was. Rafe had been there for her, had found her in the graveyard, had brought her home, had helped her through her panic attack, had stayed with her when she had a nightmare. But she still couldn’t bring herself to message him, to reach out. Things would never go back to how they used to be. 

“Hey! Top! What up?” That voice, the voice that haunted her nightmares, cut through the air like a jagged shard of glass. Kelce, grinning, patted Topper on the back, pulling him into a forced, jovial hug.

The blood drained from Sam’s face, leaving her skin clammy and cold. Her legs began to tremble, threatening to buckle beneath her. A high-pitched ringing filled her ears, drowning out the sounds of the bustling bakery. Kelce’s eyes met hers, and the air seemed to vanish from her lungs, her breath catching in her throat. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t stay.

She bolted, fleeing the bakery, stumbling back towards the car. She leaned against the cool metal, her body trembling uncontrollably, feeling like she was going to collapse, like her legs could no longer bear her weight.

She’d been feeling better. She’d finally started to feel like herself again, the weight of her trauma momentarily lifted. And now, in an instant, it was all shattered, the fragile peace she’d found ripped apart by the sight of one person. One horrific night.

Topper emerged from the bakery a few minutes later, his brow furrowed with concern. “Sam? What’s wrong?” he questioned, his voice laced with worry, placing a reassuring hand on her back.

“Nothing,” she blurted out, her voice tight, pushing him away. “I want to go. Let’s go. Now!”

Topper scanned her face, his eyes searching hers, trying to decipher the cause of her sudden distress. He unlocked the car, and she scrambled inside, slamming the door shut behind her, the sound echoing in the quiet street.

The drive home was silent, the previous lightness in the air replaced by a heavy, oppressive tension. Her earlier good mood was gone, replaced by a cold, gnawing fear.

“You gonna eat that?” Topper inquired, pointing towards the untouched apple pie she’d so eagerly requested.

“I’m not hungry,” she mumbled, her voice barely audible, her eyes fixed on the passing scenery, the marina a blur of colors.

“But you wanted a sweet treat,” Topper pressed, his brow furrowed, trying to understand her rapid shift in mood.

Sam just shrugged, offering no explanation. Inside, she was fighting a desperate battle to keep herself together, to hold back the tears that threatened to spill, to prevent her fragile composure from shattering completely. The rusty bolts and screws holding her together were creaking, threatening to give way.

“You can have it,” she whispered, handing him the apple pie, her hands shaking slightly.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

Rose greeted them at the door,  offering hugs to everyone. Sam slipped inside as Rose embraced Topper, subtly avoiding her own turn.

She drifted into the kitchen, where Ward was pouring glasses of wine. “Sammy,” he murmured, his arms opening wide. Sam felt a wave of panic wash over her, a desperate urge to flee. She wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

She couldn’t handle this right now. She couldn’t tolerate anyone in her personal space. She’d been making progress, slowly allowing herself to feel comfortable again, to trust in the safety of touch. But all that progress had been shattered, ripped away the moment she saw Kelce.

Sam pulled her cardigan tighter around herself, hugging her body protectively. Ward’s arms closed around her, his hands rubbing soothingly down her back in a fatherly hug. But the contact felt like hot, molten lava searing her skin, each touch a painful reminder of the violation she’d endured.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Ward murmured, pulling back slightly, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. His eyes were filled with an almost desperate tenderness, a longing. “How are you holding up?”

Sammy cleared her throat, swallowing the lump that was constricting her words. “I’m fine,” she managed, “How—how are you?” She quickly stepped away from him, earning a concerned look.

“Coping,” he acknowledged, nodding slowly. He pinched her cheek. Her mere presence was a reminder of Sarah, a tangible connection to the daughter he’d lost. He pulled her into another hug, holding her tightly. This was the direction his grief was taking him, latching onto Sam, clinging to her as a substitute for Sarah. At least she was still here. Eventually, he released her, allowing Sam to breathe again. 

“Dinner will be ready soon. Sam, will you go get them?” Rose requested, and Sam nodded, grateful for the escape.

Sam decided to check on Wheezie first, knocking softly on her door. A faint, “come in,” drifted from within.

She pushed the door open a crack, offering a tentative wave. Wheezie, who usually greeted her with an enthusiastic hug, was perched on her bay window, her small frame silhouetted against the fading light, her gaze fixed on the water.

“Wheezie,” Sam murmured, sliding onto the window seat beside her. “Hey.”

“She’s not coming back, is she?” Wheezie asked, her voice quiet, her eyes filled with a heartbreakingly mature understanding. For a thirteen-year-old, she was remarkably composed, as if she’d already accepted the inevitable.

Sam bit her lip, struggling to maintain her composure. She looked up at the ceiling for a moment, then back at Wheezie. “I don’t know, Wheez,” she admitted, her voice soft. “I really don’t.” She couldn’t offer false hope. She’d learned the hard way how devastating that could be, remembering the empty promises of her father’s cancer treatment. She was giving Wheezie the honesty she wished she’d received.

“But it’s gonna be okay,” Sam reassured her, knowing she had to project strength for Wheezie’s sake. “It’s okay, because you still have me. You’re my little sister too.”

“You never come over anymore,” Wheezie pointed out, her voice tinged with a quiet accusation. “It’s like you don’t even like me anymore.”

“It’s nothing to do with you, I promise you that,” Sam insisted, shaking her head, tears welling in her eyes. “I love you, Wheez, but it’s just… complicated.”

“Complicated how?” Wheezie pressed, her brow furrowed with innocent curiosity.

Sam shook her head, unable to articulate the tangled mess of her relationship with Rafe, their bitter fallout, the wreckage they’d left behind. How could she explain to a thirteen-year-old the complexities of love, loss, and betrayal? How could she explain the way her own trauma had built walls she couldn’t seem to tear down? The words caught in her throat, a lump of unspoken grief and guilt.

“It’s because of Rafe, isn’t it?” Wheezie scoffed, rolling her eyes. 

“Why do you think that?” Sam chuckled, surprised by Wheezie’s bluntness. Wheezie was always sharp, observant. There was no hiding anything from her.

“Because I don’t hear you sneaking around with him anymore,” she stated matter-of-factly, a smug smile spreading across her face.

“A lot of stuff happened between me and your brother, but it’s not what you think. It’s nothing like that,” Sam said, shaking her head. There was no point in lying to Wheezie. Plus, she knew Wheezie wouldn’t tell anyone. It felt safe to confide in her.

“So you two didn’t go skinny dipping together?” Wheezie asked, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Sam covered her mouth in shock. “Wheezie!”

“I saw you two!” she laughed. “If you wanted to keep it a secret, you should’ve gone down further in the lake.”

“We thought the engine of the boat would be too loud!” Sam’s cheeks burned crimson. “But it wasn’t like that. We were just friends, really good friends.”

“But he’s in love with you,” Wheezie said casually, as if discussing the weather. She met Sam’s wide-eyed stare and shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Don’t act surprised.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Sam sighed, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“Oh….. you don’t feel the same way?” Wheezie nodded, understanding dawning on her, her mind quickly filling in the gaps.

Sam groaned, not wanting to dredge up old memories. She was so tired of it all, so tired of having to hate him, so tired of everyone asking what happened between them, forcing her to confront her own tangled feelings. Frankly, she had no interest in going down that rabbit hole. 

“It’s not that simple. We both did stuff that hurt each other. He hurt me, and I hurt him. He hates me, and I can’t forgive him. So it doesn’t matter how he feels, or how I feel. Because—because it won’t change anything.”

“That’s a shame,” Wheezie muttered, rolling her eyes with an air of teenage exasperation. She got up and walked towards the door.

“What?” 

“It’s a shame that you’re both throwing away everything when you could just grow up and fix things,” Wheezie stated bluntly, her hand resting on the doorknob.

“He hasn’t asked for forgiveness,” Sam defended herself, her voice laced with a hint of bitterness. 

Wheezie didn’t know the full story; nobody did.

“Does he even know what you’re upset about?” And finally, her words hit Sam like a physical blow.

Rafe didn’t know anything. And that was the problem. Sam hadn’t been able to bring herself to tell him, to tell anyone , what happened with Kelce. The words lodged in her throat, a heavy, suffocating weight. She couldn’t voice the truth: that Kelce had sexually assaulted her in the back of his car. That night. The bonfire night. The night she’d called Rafe twenty-nine times. After managing to unlock the car door, after jumping out, after running into the pitch-black woods, her clothes torn and dangling, she’d used every last ounce of her energy to keep running, directionless, terrified that Kelce would find her and drag her back to his car. The memory was a raw, gaping wound, a constant source of pain and shame. Her face contorted with suppressed agony, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

By the time Sam and Wheezie reached the dining room, Rafe was already there.

Ward occupied the head of the table, his posture rigid. Rose sat to his right, followed by Cynthia, then Wheezie. This left Sam to take the seat opposite Wheezie, placing her beside Rafe. Topper sat next to Rafe, completing the circle back to Ward.

“Before we start, can I just say…” Ward began, rising to his feet, his wine glass trembling slightly in his hand. “It’s good to be with family.” His gaze swept across the table, lingering on each face, his expression a mixture of grief and gratitude. “We’ve lost Craig, and Sarah. And there’s no replacing them. There’s nothing that can fill that void. But we have each other. And for that, I’m grateful.” His voice, thick with emotion, resonated through the room. “To family,” he concluded, raising his glass in a silent toast.

Everyone raised their glasses, the word “family” a fragile echo in the strained silence. Sam stared at the laden table, the sight of the food a nauseating wave crashing over her. She’d been trying to curb her cocaine use, a shaky attempt at self-preservation. The last time, her heart had pounded so violently, she’d been convinced she was having an arrhythmia. And she couldn’t bear the thought of Topper finding her in a drug overdosed state, another casualty of her self-destructive habits. She couldn’t inflict that kind of pain on him.

But the encounter with Kelce, the sudden, brutal reawakening of her trauma, had left her craving the numbing oblivion of a line. She resisted the urge, knowing she couldn’t indulge at this small, intimate family dinner. The forced sobriety, however, amplified her anxiety, the edges of her nerves frayed and raw. Her appetite was virtually non-existent, a casualty of the constant, gnawing anxiety that had become her default state. She lived on a diet of Red Bulls and gum, the caffeine and sugar a poor substitute for real sustenance, her meals conveniently “eaten” at the cafeteria or with friends.

She listened to the conversation swirling around her, but her mind remained detached, adrift in a sea of fragmented thoughts. Ward was ranting about some vandalism, the usual scapegoat being the Pogues, their fence apparently the latest target. Rose, ever the staunch defender of law and order, insisted they press charges, her voice laced with righteous indignation. Topper, his voice tight with frustration, launched into a tirade against Sheriff Shoupe, decrying his incompetence and uselessness. He spoke of Peterkin, her strong, unwavering hand, and the need to seek justice for her death,

She pushed the Brussels sprouts around her plate, trying to force herself to eat. Each bite tasted like cardboard, dry and flavorless. The mere thought of swallowing another one made her gag reflex kick in, her stomach clenching in protest. She could barely manage to swallow the bile that rose in her throat.

“Samantha?” Her mother’s shrill voice cut through the strained silence, making Sam snap her head up from her plate. The table was unnervingly quiet, all eyes fixed on her.

“Hmm?” she murmured, her mind still lost in a haze of disconnected thoughts.

“Rose asked what your plans are for college,” Topper reiterated, his voice gentle, trying to bridge the awkward silence.

“Oh, college. Yeah.” College was a distant, almost forgotten dream, a future that felt increasingly unattainable. “I’m not sure, actually,” she admitted, her voice flat.

“That’s okay. You have your whole life to figure that out,” Rose offered her a smile sympathetic.

“I don’t know what happened to her,” Cynthia muttered lowly to Rose, her voice laced with thinly veiled disapproval, making no attempt to conceal her words. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with her.”

“Cynthia, come on, she’s had a tough year,” Rose countered softly.

Sam tried to ignore the stinging words, but the familiar sting of her mother’s disapproval was a constant, gnawing ache. Her mother was a master of hypocrisy. Sometimes, Sam thought her mother was the root of all her problems, the catalyst for every bad thing that had happened.

Her mother’s affair, a cheap, tawdry secret, so poorly hidden it felt like a deliberate insult. The casual betrayal that had ripped their family apart, leaving jagged, bleeding edges. Sam’s guilt, a self-inflicted wound, had festered into a toxic rot, keeping her from her father’s bedside as he withered away. Her mother’s insistence that she go find topper at the bonfire, a calculated push towards a night that became a living nightmare.

If she hadn’t been so consumed by the gnawing, self-loathing guilt her mother had so expertly cultivated, she wouldn’t have sought oblivion in a bottle that night. She wouldn’t have been goaded into a fight with Rafe, their friendship shattered with a casual cruelty that mirrored her mother’s own. They’d still be best friends. She wouldn’t have been so vulnerable, so easily manipulated, so utterly violated by Kelce. She wouldn’t be trapped in this suffocating cage of trauma, haunted by the ghost of what could have been. She could have had a normal life, a life where she wasn't constantly paying for her mother's sins. A life where she wasn't a broken doll, played with and discarded.

Her knuckles whitened, the skin stretched taut over her clenched fists, as she desperately battled the rising tide of rage. The words, the casual cruelty of her mother’s dismissal, were a lit fuse, igniting the simmering resentment within her. She felt a fleeting brush against her hand, a feather-light touch, barely there. She looked up, her gaze drawn to Rafe. He was engaged in conversation with Topper, his head turned away, his expression seemingly focused on his brother. Yet, there was a subtle shift in his posture, a barely perceptible tension in his fingers, a silent offering of comfort. It was as if he could sense her inner turmoil, the silent scream trapped in her throat, the burning fury that threatened to consume her. Even in his detachment, he was there, a ghost of the connection they once shared.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

Sam helped Rose clear the table, a task that she used to do with Sarah. She was surprised, however, when Rafe joined them, carrying a dish piled high with leftover broccoli.

Rose, equally taken aback, accepted the dish with a bewildered expression. “Thank you.” She muttered.

“Yeah, whatever,” he muttered, his gaze fixed on Sam. “You go chill out. Me and Sammy will clear it up.”

Rose, feeling as if she were witnessing a surreal hallucination, nodded slowly, clutching her wine glass like a lifeline. She retreated to the living room down the hall, joining the others, leaving Sam and Rafe alone in the kitchen.

Sam busied herself loading the dishwasher, her movements quick and efficient, avoiding eye contact. Rafe began packing the leftovers into containers, placing the empty dishes into the sink with a quiet clatter.

“You good?” he asked, his voice low, leaning against the counter, facing her.

“Yeah,” she replied, her voice clipped, her eyes fixed on the soapy water.

“You barely touched your food all night,” he observed, his eyes scanning her face, searching for any sign of distress.

“Didn’t know you’re keeping track of my calories,” she retorted, her tone laced with sarcasm, attempting to deflect his concern with a flippant remark.

“It’s just not like you. You love lasagna.” He knew her too well, knew the subtle nuances of her behavior, the things she tried to hide.

“I wasn’t hungry tonight. Got a bit too big backed at the bakery earlier.” she lied, her voice strained, her eyes darting away.

Of course, he knew she was lying. Topper had undoubtedly filled him in on the earlier panic attack she had.

“The bakery, huh?” Rafe drawled, his eyes narrowed, his voice laced with skepticism. “What’d you get?”

Sam paused, her hands stilling over a stack of plates. “An apple pie,” she began, “and some banana bread. Oh, and a chocolate muffin.”

Rafe’s eyebrows shot up. “Banana bread?” he echoed, his voice incredulous. “You’re allergic to bananas, Sammy,” he pointed out. “Like, hives-and-throat-closing allergic.”

She fumbled for an excuse, her mind racing. “Right, yeah, I… I got it for Topper,” she stammered, “He likes banana bread.”

“Sam,” he sighed, shaking his head with a bitter chuckle, “you keep forgetting that I know you. I know you sleep on the left side of your bed, not just because it’s farther from the door, but because you always face the window, even if it’s just a sliver of moonlight, you need to see it to sleep. I know you always wear your grandmother's earrings before your volleyball matches, not just for luck, but because you rub the tiny pearl on the left one between your fingers when you're nervous. You don’t wear silver because your skin gets irritated, and you always scratch the back of your neck when you’re trying to hide the rash. You only use the CeraVe gentle cleanser for oily skin, which I know because you left it here and I use it now, and my skin has never been softer. I know you always hum the same three notes of that old lullaby your dad used to sing when you're trying to concentrate, even when you think you're being quiet. I know you always fold the corner of a page instead of using a bookmark. I know you always tap your foot three times before you answer a question when you're unsure, and you always bite the inside of your cheek when you're trying to hold back tears. I know how your nostrils flare when you're lying, how you look away from me, how you flip the question back. So, I know when you’re lying. I know you, Sam. I know you.”

Sam, for a moment, was awestruck by how much he still remembered, the intricate details of her habits, her quirks. But she quickly pushed the sentiment down, replacing it with a defensive edge. “What is this? Prep for a biography you’re writing about me?” She picked up the last dish from the sink, but Rafe snatched it away, holding it just out of her reach. She glared up at him.

“Rafe,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, “I don’t know what you want me to say right now. Yes, you used to know everything about my life, but then you left, okay? You left me, and now you’ve come back expecting things to be the same again? Like I’m just supposed to trust you again? Things aren’t the same. We’re not who we used to be.”

“I’m still the same me,” he countered, his eyes softening, a flash of hurt crossing his face. He grabbed her forearm, pulling her closer, taking her wet, soapy hand and placing it over his heart. “I’m still the same person.”

“But I’m not,” she whispered, tears welling in her eyes, pulling her hand away, leaving a wet handprint on his shirt. “I can’t—”

“Why?” he pressed, his eyes desperately searching hers. “Why are you so afraid? What happened that changed you, made you into this, that you can’t even bear the thought of letting me hold your hand?”

“Rafe, please,” she pleaded, shutting her eyes, trying to block out the images that flashed through her mind, the raw, visceral memories of her trauma.

“What? Sam? What? What is it, Sam? What?” he demanded, his voice laced with urgency, his grip tightening slightly on her arm.

And she took a deep breath, the words bubbling up, desperate to escape. She was drowning in them, suffocating under the weight of her unspoken truth. “Rafe, I—”

They heard someone clear their throat, and Sam instinctively took a few steps back, creating distance between them. She quickly wiped her eyes, trying to regain her composure.

Topper stood in the doorway, his gaze shifting between Sam and Rafe, a silent question hanging in the air. “You ready to go home?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

“I’ll drop her later,” Rafe answered, his eyes never leaving Sam’s. A silent conversation passed between the two. Topper, despite his confusion, understood that something significant was unfolding. He also knew, deep down, that Rafe had a way of reaching Sam, of helping her in a way that he couldn’t. He nodded slowly, a silent acknowledgment, and left without another word, trusting Rafe to take care of his sister.

“Let’s go out to the boat,” Rafe suggested.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Btw I am just calling it regarding her Father’s Day post. I think she will post from the celebration. They will make some nasty cake and hovering over it or something.

Sorry, not this time! Here's the SMM so you don't give her any views:

Spoiler Alert: it's a montage of clips with Harry and the kids. You see the kids' faces a bit (but mostly Archie's). There is a partial profile view of Lili's face.

I guess the gossip was right - Kate's video with the fun family moments from last summer really struck a nerve.

Anyway, nice to see all the Sussexes spending time together.

[fivelasanctum]

Dark Fivela *Five Edition*

Update on the nightmare sequence. Apparently they filmed it with five which hits hard in the feels. He could be holding on to his own sanity but it's precarious at best. Would be romantic but also depressing if Lila and Five had the same nightmares of losing the other to insanity. Lila has been called 'Crazy Lady' but it's five who has danced with madness multiple times in his life. Some outwardly, some from his past and emotions/feelings underneath the surface. Ironic given the from the montage, he seemed like he was her rock. Which makes sense since this is Lila's first rodeo with dealing with it to this degree. Five here, doesn't look as unhinged as Lila but might be worse. He stares listlessly at her. No emotion. The opposite of love isn't always hate but apathy. He surrenders to the impulse to give up. Foreshadowing of his suicidal, broken hearted mindset at the end of the season. If he doesn't have her, he rather let the world burn. Go back to their purgatory alone to be lost physically and in the mind or worse...end himself. He saw himself when he was on that course but in the end...death would happen. Just about how one dies. (Least they had a chance to communicate with their eyes and hold each other) He slowly backs away from her. Abandoning lila to it all. Going into the light of the cracked open subway. Symbolically it's beautiful. Where as they cursed the subway often for their predicament; it was their safe haven from the horrors they could face outside of the time stops. A place for them to laugh, share stories...where they truly sat down to know each other. In this case, can represent the mind. Given how five was going towards the broken opening of it. It's ambiguous given the short clip but if you look between the lines, Lila's own fears were manifesting. Yes being alone like Five suffered for 45 years but something more there with him walking away. Not having warmth in his eyes. Not caring (loving) her anymore and shutting down. Leaving everything behind. This was early in their subway travels so could show that she did already love him but was hidden under denial and how it would look like. Perhaps, scared if she did reveal her feelings too early...the judgements from Five since one would think he would be more loyal to his family over someone who cares for him (at this point she could have been unsure) The fear of losing him by misreading the emotions but also the domino effect of the entire family closing her out if it wasn't reciprocated. Their is her complications with kids and still being married and all ^^; Or this was a sobering moment in the nightmare, causing her to realize how much she had grown to care for him (outside of reliance for survival) if she lost him completely to insanity. Much to ponder with these clips. This song came to my mind with this whole concept. If we had more darker fivela scenes I could imagine all the edits with the song. Missed opportunities... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qn862pSFe_M

[chefkids]

Did you notice at the end of s3 ep9 carmy ia getting ready for Ever's funeral service and the last shot it's just a scrunchie and Mike's Jesús pastor image?? Idk what that means but that shot is stuck in my brain

The Scrunchie Does Not Fit In, but Carmy is Saving it for Later

Carmy finds a funeral card from Mikey's funeral in his suit jacket and puts it on top of a book next to the scrunchie and some bobby pins.

The book is I DON’T FIT IN – My Wild Ride Through The Punk and Power Pop Trenches with The NERVES and THE BEAT, which is a memoir about the lead singer from the band The Beat, but not the british one that wrote Save it For Later.

There are actually two bands called The Beat, an English one and an American one. The two bands came up around the same time and were often confused with each other, so the English one went by The English Beat and the American one went by Paul Collins' Beat. They actually ended up touring together. So why have a book about the Paul Collins' Beat when the recurring song this season is written by The English Beat?

Save it for Later has a few versions of it throughout the season. The first version we hear is from the American singer Eddie Vedder of Pearl Jam when Sydney is on her way to The Bear after the incident and there is montage of classic Chicago spots. And if you listen closely to the full song, at the very end you can hear in the backing vocals "can't find a better man" from Better Man by Pearl Jam. We know Carmy is a big fan of Pearl Jam. Come Back by Pearl Jam was the song playing in the table scene with Sydney and we know the music in the show is supposed to represent their inner thoughts and feelings, so at this point Sydney is still thinking about Carmy.

Then an instrumental version of Save it for Later plays when Richie is talking to Jess on the phone about the Ever funeral. When Sydney is talking to Shapiro and he makes her the offer, the original Save it for Later by The English Beat plays.

They are setting up the American vs British confusion. Sydney is going to be torn between Carmy and Luca (and Shapiro by de facto), the same way Carmy is torn between Sydney and Claire. The song is instrumental, neither british or american, with Richie because he is the puppet master in this whole british vs american ordeal that is going to happen between them.

So much of this season and the previous have been about confusing people or projecting them on to the other, like with Claire and Sydney in Season 2, and then again in Season 3 with the polka dot dish freezer incident. This all ties back to the plotlines of Vertigo and A Midsummer Night's Dream that are referenced in Season 3 where the love interests are frequently confused with each other, sometimes on purpose and sometimes on accident.

The bobby pins seems more like a Claire item that she probably left behind, but when Claire's hair is tied up it is always with a plain black hair tie. The hair clip at the beginning of Tomorrow is probably Claire's, but a girly floral pink scrunchie? That is so Sydney.

The Bear had pink floral dinner plates back in Season 2 before Carmy switched to natural earthenware in Season 3, which also when he basically erased Sydney from The Bear. The scrunchie is a remnant of Season 2.

Sydney has been seen in pink and florals, whereas Claire never has. Sydney also loves patterns. From her bandanas to her shirts and jackets.

She actually has a whole book about them sitting in her locker. She was probably the one who picked the tropical wallpaper in The Bear's bathroom.

Claire is really never seen wearing patterns or prints aside from Friends & Family night (aka ClaireCarmy's relationship funeral) when she wears a black floral shrug, which is the last time Carmy saw Claire. The funeral card is notably Mikey's, not Marcus' mom, which has also always been tied back to Sydney and the Let it rip note. He texted Sydney before opening the note and then had Richie give it to her in a frame to put on her expo.

It's easy to see why he might confuse the scrunchie with Claire's things and put them together when the don't fit actually fit in, the same way The Beat's get confused. And probably the same way Sydney is going to feel confused about Luca vs Carmy in season 4. Is Carmy going to realize the scrunchie is Sydney's and not Claires? It's in his bedroom so I doubt it was Sydney herself that put it there. Seems like he is once again using Claire to project his feelings for Syd, by missing her instead of Sydney.

[urloversdreamgrl]

Characters I Would've Liked to See More than the Faks in S3

I learned too fak'ing much about that family in S3. I loved the Faks in S2. Their increased screentime felt like an over-compensation. Much of the comedy that I loved in S1 came from the staff interactions. The feeling of an ensemble was truly missed for me.

But without further ado and in no particular order-

1. Marcus

Marcus Brooks, I am so sorry that the writers didn't give your story the necessary space it truly needed. You were the only child of a single mother, and you watched her die. I wish we could've seen more of your grief. The little glimpses we saw - your eulogy speech, the way you were inspired to make a dish to honor her, and your thinking about legacy - were so beautiful, but it felt like it had no place to breathe.

The glossing over this tragic loss, the fumbling of showcasing Black Catholic influences (sidenote: did you know that Chicago is home to the biggest African American Catholic population), and the diminishing of his grief were some lows of the season. I would've loved to see more of Marcus dealing with the loss of a parent because no matter how "prepared" you are, that shit will knock you off your feet.

2. Sweeps

If we needed a break from the melancholy of the main plot, I would've loved to see Mr. Gary “Sweeps” Woods go to wine school. It could've been in clips, similar to Tina going to culinary school in S2. Some comedic slip-ups, or maybe somebody else recognized him from his baseball days, or maybe he messed around and got too drunk. Better yet: he and some fellow sommelier get drunk. We've seen this character for three seasons, and we barely see him.

I did enjoy his monologue in Legacy and thought it was very fitting.

3. Manny and Angel

I remember seeing them for a split second in the 30-minute montage S3 E3 "Doors." They are truly the unsung heroes, and it would be good to see them for some comic relief. Maybe they're pranksters? Maybe they could've been the reason the teaspoons and forks were missing. Or maybe they could've been tasked with counting how many come through.

What's their dynamic? What are their personalities? Three seasons, and they feel like cameos.

4. Thee Adamus

One of the things that I wanted from S3 was some more Sydney's mom, and while I was delighted to see she has her mom as her lock screen, I wanted more. I love Syd's dynamic with her Dad whose unyielding support can come off a little worrisome to his baby girl. But Dreamer! Daughter x Practical! Father hits close to home for me. And the Adamus have a healthier relationship with loss and grief, and I want to know more about that process.

When I say more of the Adamus, I mean I want to see why and how Sydney became Sydney. I wanted to see their family dynamics. Why does Syd like to cook? Why is Syd avoidant?

Plus, this was a season about mothers, goshdarnit. More mother content, please.

5. Ebra

Ebra is so funny to me. Like I'm begging on my knees for more Ebra content. He's so cryptic and genuine in a way that only older Black men sharing snapshots of their trauma are. In S1, he's very attentive when it comes to the younger staff members, like when he was sensitive to Marcus gaining confidence in his skills and when he read Sydney's review for the whole kitchen to see.

One of my critiques of S2 was that they just let Ebra fall by the waistside. They didn't fully commit to his journey to accepting change as an older professional. This season, we barely got him at all. I would've had him at least show up to Syd's party. Maybe even via Facetime with the camera all up his nose because he doesn't understand the mechanics just yet.

[gleefullypolin]

Whiplash Opinion on the last 5 mins...

Thankfully talking out my feelings I think I understand why I'm numb. I've been so angry at myself trying to figure out why I'm just like...what's wrong with me? All day. Because I loved this season. Like seriously I enjoyed Season 3. I am not one of those people who hated it or am wanting to complain about it.

But I think my issue is simply the ending. The last 4 episodes were jam packed with feeling. And not easy feelings. They were angsty. There was anger, sadness, jealousy, fear, loneliness...and then love, devotion, loyalty, bravery, empowerment. All of that in 4 hours is a lot to work through. And we went through it all.

And then suddenly, its resolved and so very quickly they wrapped it up. With very little transition. We literally went from a wedding, to Colin sleeping on the couch and avoiding any intimacy with his wife, to resolving the main story, to a 10 second sex clip in bed to BOOM here's a baby THE END.

I think the edits they did right before release hurt them. Removing the montage hurt that piece of intimacy for Polin that would have helped ease feelings back into where they were pre-revelation. it would have eased the audience into family Polin even if it was simply easing us into that bedroom scene. I'll be honest that scene came on like a jump scare.

Mind you I love seeing it but I was like WTF is happening. I would have loved to have seen them entering the room together or laying in bed first together. Something that wasn't as abrupt. They lost the intimacy right at the end and it sort of hurt the ending.

And it left me feeling a bit numb and I think that's what I'm trying to recover from.

Again, I loved the season and I'm happy with Season 3, I still think its the best season of the 3 we have. But it was a pretty big case of whiplash in those last 5 minutes and that's all post editing. They messed that piece up. That's just my two cents.

[bukatra]

The last episode, instead of giving Sam a mystery wife and a kid named Dean Junior, i wish they had made Sam be like a Bobby for hunters and have him mentor 2 or 3 young hunters and have those be his surrogate family. They should have done a montage where they juxtaposed clips of bright lively daytime memories of leading the American Hunters and training these teens with night clips of Sam alone and depressed, wandering the halls of the Bunker looking for Dean only to remember he isnt there. Maybe one of the surrogate 'children having their own sleepless nights mourning their own lost loved ones.

Busy and living life but empty and lost without his brother. Maybe him holding his 'grandchild' - the child of one of his surrogate kids, family because Sam is all they have despite him being very broken and not always present emotionally or mentally due to all the trauma.

His life is good and bad and he made a difference despite everything. No shitty faceless wife. No son who's clearly just a stand-in for Dean. Instead family that felt loved despite knowing they are only getting half of Sam because The other part died in a barn with Dean. But thats ok because all of them feel equally broken and they all are missing parts of themselves when the people they loved died. He makes a home and it isn't happy but it isn't nothing

[mariacallous]

Considering Donald Trump’s many outrages, his theatrically hostile reception of Cyril Ramaphosa, the President of South Africa, in the Oval Office on Wednesday may soon be forgotten. Or perhaps it will live on as a dim memory, an inappropriate act, to be sure, but of a piece with all of Trump’s other crazy stunts in a week that saw the President picking fights with Bruce Springsteen and Taylor Swift and dissing European leaders during talks over the war in Ukraine (“You cannot insult our nations, Donald,” the French President, Emmanuel Macron, reportedly responded.) When the Trump Administration threatens in the space of a few days to prosecute everyone from Andrew Cuomo and Oprah Winfrey to James Comey and the former leaders of the Kennedy Center, it’s hard to recall the details of any one mini-drama. What was that Comey thing about, anyway—something related to an Instagram post featuring seashells that supposedly constituted a threat to Trump’s life? On Thursday night, Trump was set to appear at a black-tie dinner at his Trump-branded Virginia golf club with two hundred and twenty investors who purchased more than a hundred million dollars’ worth of a $TRUMP meme coin that will benefit Trump and his family—a monetizing of access to the Presidency without any precedent.

More substantively, the past few days were among the most politically consequential of Trump’s second term so far, with the President going up to Capitol Hill to personally strong-arm wavering Republican House members to approve his tax-cuts-for-the-rich, Medicaid-cuts-for-the-poor bill, a huge omnibus package that contains more or less his entire domestic agenda for the year. The measure, which passed the House on a 215–214 vote early Thursday morning, will now go to the Senate, where it’s likely to undergo substantial changes. Nonetheless, Trump celebrated the House vote as a triumph for “the most significant piece of Legislation that will ever be signed in the History of Our Country!” For Trump, bigness is the bill’s main selling point—the measure’s official title is the One, Big, Beautiful Bill Act, a nod to a President for whom “big” is the ultimate compliment. Expect debate about the measure to dominate next year’s midterm elections; as currently written, it would add trillions of dollars to the national debt, cause an estimated ten million Americans to become uninsured, slash food-stamp benefits for millions more, repeal clean-energy credits, and cut rates for the wealthiest ten per cent of taxpayers. The House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries, perhaps optimistically, said that Thursday “may very well turn out to be the day that House Republicans lost control of the United States.”

Against such a backdrop, maybe it’s pointless to insist on not forgetting the scene of Trump’s encounter with Ramaphosa, which can only be described as a mugging. That this was a premeditated attack is not in dispute.

With television cameras rolling, Trump responded to a question about his repeated false claims of a “white genocide” in South Africa by calling on an aide to dim the lights and play a video montage purporting to show that white farmers were having their land expropriated and then being killed. The video—swiftly debunked by fact checkers—was followed by Trump whipping out a sheaf of printed news clippings that, he said, proved his case. He narrated as he flipped through them: “Death, death, death, horrible death, death, I don’t know.” Who died, or where, or when, was left unsaid. Still, he added, “White South Africans are fleeing because of the violence and racist laws.” Silently watching from behind one of the Oval Office couches was Elon Musk, a white South African immigrant to the U.S. who, probably more than anyone else, has promoted the misinformation about the mistreatment of whites in his homeland that fuelled Trump’s outburst.

When Ramaphosa tried to get a word in to deny targeted killings; when he tried to bring the subject back to the matter he had come to address, trade; when he urged Trump to visit South Africa, it all sounded like a plaintive echo of Volodymyr Zelensky, who, a couple of months back, was trapped in a similar Oval Office situation, begging Trump not to accept Russian propaganda about its war in Ukraine but to come to Kyiv and get the facts on the ground for himself. In both cases, the shock was the point for Trump; he’s turned his Oval Office into a kind of geopolitical WrestleMania, complete with orchestrated sucker punches designed to make him seem like the strongman that he longs to be. Ramaphosa’s denials did not stop Trump any more than Zelensky’s had, nor did an effort to correct Trump by one of the white South African golfers whom Ramaphosa had brought along with him in an effort to smooth the meeting with the golf-obsessed American President.

In the midst of this embarrassment, Peter Alexander, an NBC News journalist, asked Trump about the Pentagon’s acceptance of a four-hundred-million-dollar airplane from Qatar to serve as the new Air Force One. Trump called the reporter a “jerk,” an “idiot,” and “fake news.” He seemed most angry not that the plane had been mentioned but that the question had interrupted his pre-planned attack on the visiting South African.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have a plane to give you,” Ramaphosa, who had brought the President a far more modest book about South Africa’s golf courses, said.

“I wish you did,” Trump replied. “I would take it.”

The whole exchange could not have better captured the state of Washington a hundred and twenty-one days into Trump’s second term: a manufactured scene of outrage about a nonexistent “white genocide,” featuring Trump beating up on the first African leader to visit the White House in his second term. At the same moment that the Administration has cancelled the refugee status of tens of thousands of actual refugees fleeing war and persecution across the globe, Trump staged the showdown to justify his policy of granting asylum to a handful of white Afrikaners whose cause has been taken up by Musk.

I could hardly bear to watch the “highly choreographed onslaught,” as the BBC somewhat delicately put it, but the scene did have one benefit—as a reminder of how explicitly Trump has, in his second term, defined the goal of his Presidency as a sort of racial-justice quest for white people. In that sense, Wednesday’s spectacle is not so much an embarrassing outlier as it is an example of the racially charged template for Trump 2.0.

Bashing the only Black foreign leader to visit Trump’s White House could not be more in keeping with a President who has terminated affirmative-action decrees that have been in place for the federal government since the nineteen-sixties, unleashed a wave of arrests and deportations aimed at illegal migrants of color, gutted federal civil-rights-enforcement offices, and blamed D.E.I. for just about every evil at home and abroad. Only this week, Trump officials moved to dismiss federal consent decrees meant to curb police brutality against Black people in Louisville and Minneapolis—at the same time, they opened a civil-rights investigation of Chicago, because its Black mayor spoke favorably of the number of Black officials appointed to senior roles in his government. Is it a coincidence that Trump is very upset about what he has called the “Massive Human Rights VIOLATION” against South Africa’s white minority?

A few days before this farce, Trump was in the Middle East, meeting with the wealthy monarchs of the Gulf who refuse their people basic democratic freedoms, while promising them no pesky lectures about human rights. Wednesday’s show in the Oval Office was the asterisk hiding at the end of the text: Donald Trump does have a few human-rights lectures in him, but only on behalf of those with the right color skin.

[sunflowerdigs]

I can't decide whether this would be totally cheesy or not, but, imagine that Buck returns to the loft after Maddie and Chim have helped him put a name to his feelings for Eddie. He's walking around, kind of dazed, and unsure of what to think or feel, because this is such an earth-shattering revelation for him. What does it mean for his identity? His friendship with Eddie? His connection to Chris? Do Maddie and Chim really know what they're talking about? Maybe they're just projecting because they're about to get married - they're seeing love everywhere, even where it isn't.

And while he's wandering around the apartment, looking for something to ground him, he finds a picture of Eddie and Chris that he keeps on his refrigerator or a side table or wherever. He picks it up and looks it over, subconsciously searching for an answer. And as he does so, a montage plays of all of the moments that he and Eddie and Chris have shared outside of work, and of the ones that only he and Eddie have shared on the job. All of the pain, the sadness, the fear, and the laughter. And in between clips, we see Buck's face shift from confusion, to enlightenment, and then finally, to a soft, slow-spreading, and all-encompassing joy because yes, yes, Chim and Maddie were right. This is it, this is exactly what he has been searching for all of these years. In love with Eddie sounded so strange when Maddie said it but it's not weird at all because Eddie and Chris are his home, are his family, and that's what it means to say that he is in love with Eddie Diaz. That he's coming home, finally, at last.

[thedyingwriter]

somethings that i needed to get out regarding today's episode:

9-1-1 live airs in the US around 7 am Friday in my country and i get to watch it at 10:30 am on disney hotstar.

I couldn't wait so i was awake all night and was literally on twt since 6:30 am to get some clips.

that's where i find out that bucktommy break up.

i have been devastated all day. i have cried multiple times and i have literally lost count atp. it hurts like an actual breakup and i have absolutely no one irl to share this grief with.

the Abby being the ex-fiance wasn't even a major issue. i have been seen it done so well in so many fics.

Josh's speech was so beautiful and important but then to pull a breakup like that makes no fucking sense.

after what we saw in 8x5 breaking them made absolutely zero sense.

i was too overwhelmed so i tried to sleep and actually watched the entire episode around 11 am. I wanted to keep and open mind and analyse the episode.

twt is literally so toxic rn. I'm not even opening it.

after watching the entire episode i was even more confused as the breakup made zero sense.

we have had 8 seasons of character growth for buck, if they end up making him go back to casual relationships it just feels a complete wastage of 8 seasons of growth.

and from what we've seen in the past episodes the breakup was completely uncharacteristic to both buck and tommy.

it made no sense. why would tommy put so much effort if he knew it wouldn't last.

him constantly showing up for evan and talking about family just made zero sense for him to break up like that.

also it kinda felt weird to bring moving in together before saying i love yous.

and the way he said "the parking spot was too good to be true". this breakup doesn't feel good at all. he was obviously in pain and so was buck. this isn't doing any of them any good.

utter bullshit.

plus the "I'll see you around buck" broke me. like why the fuck would you do that to me and to buck.

it felt like someone put fucking alcohol all over a stab wound and then rubbed salt all over it.

LOW BLOW.

now coming to the post ep interviews which btw made it worse.

i was still under the impression that the way the breakup happened there was still hope for reconciliation because remember even tarlos went through breakups.

but then lou confirmed he might not be back and that this is it. specially that buck line. UGH.

and that #letbuckfuck interview with oliver really triggered me. I'm a bisexual woman and the reason i really loved buck's discovery of his sexuality was bcs Oliver was very determined in Givin a good bi rep.

but this doesn't feel that way. he could have said that he wants to see buck explore his sexuality more with both men and woman but the whole "girl, girl, guy. guy, girl, guy" montage was a very disturbing image.

it feels very stereotypical and biphobic.

it just hurts me so much. idk why i expected so much from a network tv show who has been queerbating for years.

i am gonna be watching this season just to see how they salvage buck's relationship and sexuality. it feels incomplete.

but if it goes in the buck 1.0 direction that's it for me.

i watch 911 as an escape from reality and if it goes so bad i am not continuing with the show.

it has already tested my limits and mental health enough.

also i need to point out that there are a lot of people who enjoy watching sports a lot more than they enjoy playing it. buck is a watcher. he would have loved seeing the Lakers match. just bcs he doesn't like to play doesn't mean he hates basketball.

a little extra side notes-

really excited for another buckley han kid. hope they don't ruin it. want to see how they deal with ppd this time.

also happy for eddie and really hoping he gets chris back soon.

ya'll need to understand how platonic friendship buddie is also so important rn then them getting together bcs eddie is def not ready to date.

if he starts dating he'll feel super guilty for putting his desire above chris all over again.

ALSO FOR PEOPLE IN THE BACK- EDMUNDO DIAZ IS CANON STRAIGHT.