#because she KNOWS this wakes me up

[pangur-and-grim]

my two beautiful girls who compress my lungs and do not let me sleep

[skywerse]

the eepening

[heartorbit]

a wahoo girl in a wahoo world

[corsairspade]

Halenthir scenario where they get married for tax benefits (in a platonic good friends sort of way) and fall in love long distance via sending each other letters with ideas on how to best leverage their marriage for tax evasion.

[puppyeared]

man

[softinvasions]

Hornet at Herrah's Altar • Dec. 2023

[feroluce]

For reasons to be expanded upon at a later date (because I love the little bits about Boothill and possible paranoia/betrayal canon gives us so very dearly HNGH) I think Boothill like... He won't let himself fall into disrepair or anything of course, but he reeeeeeeeeeally does not like letting other people poke around at his body. It's a necessary evil to him. He does whatever maintenance and repairs he can himself. He started out with a massive knowledge deficit, simply because he didn't really have any exposure to that kind of technology until he left Aeragan-Epharshal, but he's taught himself a lot since then, he worked really hard at it!

Anyway, the point being, Boothill generally isn't super trusting of people.

But I think he would come to make an exception for Himeko, since he trusts Dan Heng a lot, and Himeko is one of Dan Heng's once-in-a-lifetime dearly beloved companions.

Himeko is so unflappable, I don't think she would even bat an eye about anything he throws at her, either. Like she enters the Parlor Car one morning (she's always the first one up) and Boothill is already there, waiting for her.

"Mornin', Madam Navigator."

"Good morning, Mr. Boothill."

And despite the fact that he blatantly broke into the Express (Pom-Pom is NOT happy about this JDKSAJDSKL), Boothill tips his hat, greets her politely, and is nothing but respectful when he says he has a favor to ask of her. Except it won't stay a favor long, of course- he has every intention of paying it back.

Himeko never agrees to things blindly, but she does bring up that all the knowledge Boothill contributed during the Charmony Festival was essential to preventing the universe from being pulled into Ena's Dream. And they were able to hold onto the Jade Abacus because Boothill used Tiernan's burial relic to summon the Galaxy Rangers instead. The Astral Express owes him a debt of gratitude, and besides, he's a friend of Dan Heng's. Of course she'll try to help him.

Boothill fidgets a bit, quickly brushes off the thanks, and tells Himeko he's having a problem with error codes. He keeps getting the same one, seemingly at random times, but the darn thing has no obvious cause. Dan Heng mentioned Himeko had been the one to rebuild the Astral Express. He knows it ain't the same, but it's not like he's askin' for any major repairs or nothin'. He was wonderin' if she could just take a look, maybe offer him some insight, since she seems to be somethin' of a mechanical wonder.

So Himeko walks him back to a another car, where she goes to tinker with machines without them crowding her bedroom. It's all neatly laid out and organized, and it only takes a second for Himeko to locate some specific device with a long cord. Instead of plugging it in herself, she holds the end of it out to him, like an offer rather than a demand, and Boothill visibly relaxes a bit. He still eyes it just a little warily for a second, but he accepts and plugs it into the port on his side.

Himeko pulls up the list of all recent errors, and they really are all the same. Boothill has had multiple temperature alarms over the past couple of weeks since the Charmony Festival, and they know it's not the environment, because Penacony is mostly dreamscape and kept mild year-round. The long-forgotten natural deserts are too far away.

Boothill is staring from the corner of his one good eye, so Himeko turns the hologram to let him see what she's doing easier. They don't appear to be false alarms. His internal temperature spikes and then slowly lowers again, high enough that if it lasted it would eventually cause damage.

One option is for her to start rooting through personal data, figuring out what he was doing at the time of each code, and tracing cause and correlation.

Instead, Himeko reads out the timestamps, and asks Boothill if he minds sharing what was happening around him when it occured.

Two weeks ago: He and Dan Heng went to explore Dreamflux Reef and found a bar- nice place, good atmosphere. Woman runnin’ it was a doll. Boothill left fer not even two minutes to get them drinks (Dan Heng knows like nothin’ about liquor, Madam Navigator, can you believe this guy) and when he came back, someone had already stolen his seat and was hittin’ on Dan Heng! Dan Heng didn't even care, just shooed ‘em off. Boothill laughed and said not to let him get in his way if he wanted to meet someone. Dan Heng looked at him like he'd grown a second head. Why would he want to leave with someone else, when he came here to be with Boothill?

Twelve days ago: While laying low- er, just rustlin’ up some grub- in the Moment of Blue, Boothill passed Dan Heng with March and Caelus playin’ on the beach, buildin’ sandcastles and the like. When he passed by again almost two hours later, they were still out there, with Dan Heng pullin’ March through the water on her inner tube and Caelus hangin’ off the back of it. He swam so fast! You'd think he was part water snake or somethin’. He looked happier ‘n a cat in a sunbeam… He has a nice smile, doesn't he?

Eleven days ago: Boothill was killin’ time in Dreamflux Reef when he turned the corner down a shady alley and saw Dan Heng, surrounded by three men demandin’ “protection money.” None of ‘em stood a chance, they were all on the ground before Boothill even blinked! So cool! Boothill wants to see that spear of his closeup- Anyway, Dan Heng stepped on one of ‘em on his way out, hahaha! Boothill stepped on the same guy a second time as he hurried to catch up.

Eight days ago: Here on the Express, actually. Boothill had mentioned bein’ curious about the archives, and Dan Heng personally invited him.

(“I remember that day, I saw you in the hall.” “Was there any problem with the heating that day?” “No, none. I don't think the temperature has anything to do with these error codes. I have a different theory, keep going.” “If ya say so.”)

Boothill was fascinated by an entry on aeons, and from a single question he asked about Lan, the two of ‘em ended up talkin’ fer hours. About aeons and Paths and Emanators, Acheron and Self-Annihilators, the Sea of Nihility, Tiernan, the Nameless and the Galaxy Rangers, their burial relics and their customs. Dan Heng finally just started writin’ and editin’ the entries in real time, with Boothill pointin’ things out and tellin’ him what to add in. They were at it so late that Boothill ended up sleepin' on a couch in one of the cars.

He'd figured there had to be something to make Dan Heng chatty- he'd caught just a glimpse of it that first night they met, sittin’ at the bar in the Reverie together. He'll have to ask about the archives more often, if it gets him all revved up like that.

One week ago: After that night of energetic discussion, Dan Heng was apparently hyped up, because after he'd downed some of Himeko's coffee (“You had some too, right? What did you think of it?” “It was great, even better'n chewin’ bullets!” "Thank you! That was my newest brew, I can't wait for everyone else to try it.") he actually asked Boothill to go hunting with him. Boothill asked who their target was, and was surprised when Dan Heng pulled out photos that looked like they were from March's camera, of all things, instead of a bounty or wanted poster.

And as he sat there, studying these pictures, Dan Heng explained that he wanted to hunt down these specific memory zone memes to record them into the archives. Planets with so much memoria are a rarity, especially with the Stellaron's activity thrown into the mix, which has surely affected the local “wildlife.” He might not get another opportunity like this for a long time. And Boothill had talked last night about his extensive expertise in tracking and hunting, so he should have plenty to offer here, Dan Heng would like to learn from his experience and see how he does things!

And oh, Madam Navigator, by the time Dan Heng was done speakin', his eyes were practically sparklin'! Just lit up like the sun! Boothill could scarcely believe it! The two of them couldn't even wait another day, they set out that very morning. It had been a long, long while since Boothill had tracked someone- er, somethin’- without the intent to capture or kill. It was…actually really nice. Nostalgic, but in a good way. It might even have been his favorite day on Penacony…so…far…

Boothill trails off as a couple of realizations crash into him. All the temperature alarms he's spoken about thus far- they've all happened in the company of Dan Heng. And now that he's thinking about it, he's pretty sure even the ones he hasn't yet talked about were with him, too. Dan Heng has been responsible for all of his error codes, every. single. one.

The screen in front of Himeko suddenly refreshes to the top of the list, displaying a new notification for the current time. Alert! Core temperature above normal range.

Himeko's knowing smile is sly as a snake.

Wwwwwelp, would ya look at the time, Boothill has some errands to meet, people to run, y’know how it is, he should really get goin'-

“Oh, Mr. Boothill? About that favor.” And Boothill jolts to a stop in the doorway because fudge, he can't just leave without hearing her out. He'd given his word. He has no problem running out on someone he thinks deserves it, but Himeko really had been kind to him to try and help him out. Her voice is just as knowing as her smile, Boothill can't turn around to look at her, or else he knows he won't be able to disguise the sound of his cooling fans kicking on.

“Don't make Dan Heng wait too long, ok~?”

“Y-Yes, ma'am.”

[softerhaze]

idk if it was the venus retrograde or what, but july 2023 was quite literally the worst month i've ever experienced in my life like.....every single day? awful? worse than the last? it's more likely than u think

[quietwingsinthesky]

do u guys think jack ever let members of the torchwood team fall asleep on him in the backseat. because i do.

[chirpsythismorning]

Watching Wayward Pines for potential ST5 inspo bc the Duffers wrote a couple episodes in s1, and when I got to their second (last) episode and their name crossed the screen, I noticed a visual parallel that might already exist on the show…

Recognize it??

It instantly reminded me of that last shot for the opening of s3, with the landscape peaking out behind the Russian base. But when I went back and actually compared the two, holy shit it’s near identical, and not just the landscape.

I didn’t even remember the helicopter being there on the left, not to mention the pillar-esaue contraption at the center. Like… they’re the same picture.!

With them being credited right at that moment, it’s obvious this was an intentional nod to their previous work.

I just thought it was cool so I wanted to share, but in terms of my watch overall, there is a LOT going on that they could pull from. I’m only halfway through s1, though I’ve heard the show goes downhill in s2 so we’ll see how that goes 😂

[sciderman]

How do you feel about the increase in really weird NSFW ads on here (advertising panels that look like sexual encounters, and AI art apps that pride themselves on porn) but will take down NSFW posts from their users, even if it isn't technically sexual.

i hate all social media and it's consistent prioritising the advertisers over the users and the internet simply was a better place before capitalism sunk its hooks into it

[softquietsteadylove]

Hii love, how are you? I have a little request if thats ok.

Gilgamesh has the most horrific nightmare ever, Thena dying in his arms, there is blood and she is in pain and when she closes her eyes one last time Gil finally wakes up, only to find Thena missing from their bed, he searchs for her like a mad man, only to find her in the kitchen drinking water, he picks her up and refuses to let her go for the rest of the day.

Gilgamesh shoots up out of bed. He's gasping for breath, sweat on his brow. He presses his palm to his chest and flexes his fingers. He looks over at Thena's side of the bed, frantic for her presence.

She isn't there.

It's still warm, though. He can see where the weight of her body wrinkles the bed sheets and he can smell the scent of her fondness for the garden. His hand slides over to it, feeling the latent warmth of her presence.

He throws back the covers, desperate to see her with his own eyes. He can still feel the weight of her body in his arms--the dead weight. What it was like to look at her face, still and motionless and cold. He can vividly recall the feeling of carrying his wife to her funeral pyre and watching her body be consumed by flame.

"Thena?!"

He runs out of their bedroom, ripping the door off its hinges--weak things in comparison to his unchecked strength. He looks around their home frantically. His heart is searching for her, the Cosmic Energy in his veins screaming for her.

She's here--he can feel her presence! It exists, she's close, and even if she weren't, her existence would tether his and pull, like ends of the same string.

"Thena!" he calls out again, moving into the kitchen. He can see everything the way they left it last night. Their chairs are pushed in lazily, his apron is thrown over the edge of the sink after she told him to hang it up where it belongs yet again. He turns, ready to break this door open too.

Then she walks in. She's unaware of the nightmare that nearly sent him into hysterics. She walks in, barefoot as always, her long white dress dancing around her legs. The sun streams in behind her, lighting her bright blonde hair like an angel's halo.

"What are you yelling about?" she asks as if he's been shouting at the tv again. "I could hear you all the way from the water tower. I just looked over the garden, although th-!"

She stumbles, although any creature from this planet would have been plowed through the far wall from sheer force. But she corrects her footing, letting him latch onto her and hold her for all the eternal life in him.

He whimpers, burying his face against her shoulder. He inhales the scent of her breath, absorbs the warmth of her through her cotton dress, hears the beat of her heart as his own syncs to it.

"Gilgamesh?" she asks without asking. She runs her fingers through his hair, but he remains cloistered around her. Her face turns to kiss his temple, "what ever could be so wrong?"

She has no idea. He nuzzles the side of her neck, "don't move."

She sighs for the sake of sighing, but she does as he asks. Her fingers run through the hair on top of his head lightly and soothingly. Her other hand rubs his back. He, the Strongest Eternal, truly dwarfs her lithe frame in size. But she lets him lean on her like a tree losing its strength.

Eventually his nervous system puts out its own fire. The fear in his mind settles enough for him to open his eyes. He stays close, pressing his nose against her skin as he drags it up her neck and her jaw until he holds her cheeks to look at her--really look at her.

Thena blinks at him, her marvelously green eyes gone wide and adorable. They close as he leans in for a kiss. When they part, her lips are pulled into a smile. "Will you tell me now?"

"No," he denies, and kisses her again. He gives many more kisses, receiving her return with each. He does that until he feels strong enough to take even half a step away from her. He sighs, letting his shoulders drop, tilting his head as he gazes upon his beautiful wife.

"Gil," she prompts him more gently. Her eyelashes flutter, and her concern for him travels through her palm as she slides it up his chest and then to his cheek as well. They have been married several hundred years, and she will get an answer out of him sooner than later.

He sighs again, wrapping his arms around her and moving her to the sink, where she pours water for them. "Just a bad dream."

"Hm." It's obviously more than just a bad dream. But she leaves it at that, because their days now are full of small battles, not large ones. She raises the glass to his lips for him, as if they were wearied after the Trojan War again.

He remains wrapped around her. He can't let her go. The fear that lived in his mind during that dream hasn't left yet. It's still there, watching him despite the light of day.

Thena takes a sip for herself. "Sit?"

He makes a small sound of agreement. She moves towards the table but he prevents her from separating from him again. "Couch."

He can imagine her rolling her eyes, although it's only for the humour of it. She moves past the kitchen table and towards their more comfortable space. She seats herself and lets him seat himself around her, cradling her against him preciously. "The door?"

He grunts; he'll fix it later.

Once reclined on their couch, he breathes a little easier. This is more familiar and gentle. This is where they've spent sunny afternoons together. Sometimes they read together, sometimes he reads and she sleeps on him the way a cat would. She never liked those creatures.

He would run his fingers through her hair and sometimes she would idly rub his back. They would spend evenings here reminiscing about their thousands upon thousands of years together. Sometimes they would go out to their hammock and watch the stars.

Thena settles herself in his arms. She turns over, letting her head tuck itself under his chin, her hand over his heart with his arms wrapped around her. "Better?"

He nods. They speak the other's language--a way of understanding that only they two have. Usually it's she who has few words to offer but even now, with him being reticent, she understands it.

They sit like this for a long time. He watches the shadows rise and stretch and fall in the other direction. When it's in the windows and on them he moves his hands, only to shield her from the direct touch of its rays.

That privilege is for him and him alone. By the second time he does this she turns over again. He's not entirely certain if she's truly gone to sleep or not. But holding her, feeling the rise and fall of her chest, the way she feels comfortable with him; he feels eased.

Thena senses this. She sneaks one of her arms around his back and against the couch. The other she toys with the opening at the neck of his shirt. Her pale, pearly nail taps against his skin. "Now?"

The Warrior Eternal is not a patient woman.

Although, she has expended more patience than he has seen from her in quite a long time. For beings with all the time in the world, she is not the best at watching it go by. At least not with the menial. When they were first raising chickens, he could swear she would observe the eggs every quarter hour.

"Bad dream," he repeats from earlier. He already knows she knows this, and he already knows she knows how bad it is to have him this paranoid. He squeezes her shoulder. "Terrible, really."

"Hm," she encourages him, moving her hand from his shirt to his neck, cupping his jaw from below. She strokes it, pulling the words from him with her gentle touch.

"You..." he pauses. He doesn't want to lie to her, even if it's by omitting the truth. "I killed you."

"Impossible."

It's not, and they're well aware of it. But Thena speaks of it lightly, and he likes to think it's because she knows that he would take the utmost care of her, even in a nightmare.

"Felt possible," he argues, pursing his lips as he tries to get the image of her still and unblinking face out of his head. His face gets moved, tilted down to look at her lying on him. It's upside down, but this image of her is much better. He smiles.

Thena smiles too, leaning up to kiss him, letting their lips stretch no matter how far to do so. Hers are always so plump and luscious, like berries. He wants to grow berries here for her, but the ground is simply too dry.

She runs her fingers through his hair again, letting her palm press against his forehead. "It's gone now."

It's such a simple statement, but she's right. As soon as a dream happens, it's already a thing of the past. And maybe he will remember it for a long time to come. Maybe pieces of it will always be with him. But it's not in front of him now, she is.

Thena laughs as he stands suddenly, spinning them around with her hands around his neck. "What has gotten into you?"

He just gazes at her, lucky enough to have his own version of a star to brighten and dazzle and illuminate his every moment on this green and blue spec of cosmos. "Do you remember coming home like this?"

He's carried her like this plenty of times. But she knows what he means; he means the first time he carried her inside like this, as his wife. She nods, stroking his cheek again.

"Y'know, I hear humans can get married again sometimes," he grins, refusing to let the dream colour any more of the beautiful present with his beautiful wife. "They call it renewing your vows."

"We didn't make vows."

Ah, his wife, ever the romantic. He chuckles, touching the tip of his nose to hers. "We can make some this time."

"Construct some poetry for the benefit of a strange human to witness?" she scoffs at the utter absurdity.

"You would write me poetry?" he asks and receives another bubbly laugh.

"I would consider it," she appeals as he spins them one more time and sits with her again. She remains in his hold, on his lap, curled against him. "But for your eyes only. A mortal mind could never wrap its mind around what we have been through together."

That is true. Their love isn't for a mortal to comprehend. He is immortal, and sometimes he's left in awe of it. He stares at his wife, wondering if he should learn to weave so he can make a glorious tapestry devoted to every second - every minute, every hour - he's had with her.

He has all the time in the world.

[romance-rambles]

modern clarence | true love's kiss

The one where you kiss the merman awake, and in return, he wipes away your tears. Meanwhile, William is both oblivious and confused.

2.3k, alternate scene in clarence's azure island route, angst + humor, reader is mc, series: none

WAITING IS A TERRIFYING GAME.

You take Clarence's hand in yours, desperately trying to think of anything but the half-coherent fears buzzing around in your ear. They whisper the same thing over and over again, deliberately circumventing the semi-comforting words of the young medic who had teased you earlier.

He is fine now, but what if.

What if, what if, what if—

Amidst the constant chanting, you make a note to throttle your boyfriend. Honest and deliberate communication can come afterwards, once he's realized how much he worried you. It's a good thing you've developed a habit of listening to your instincts—what if you hadn't been waiting for him on the beach? What if something far worse had happened to him?

Gnawing at your bottom lip, you curse his usual tendencies—so very Clarence that they remind you that this is the man you fell in love with.

"Wake up, or I'll go date William instead," you threaten, in a hushed whisper.

Your voice cracks early on, though it's not as though its trembling quality could lend itself to a threat anyways. Leaning over, you brush his wet bangs out of his face lovingly. Then, your hand slides down with a gentle carress and cups his cheek, wiping away the water dripping from his hair.

With color slowly returning to his lips, you can allow yourself to appreciate his handsome face in an effort to pass the time. Now, you can almost imagine he's asleep, much like the princess in Sleeping Beauty—quietly awaiting the true love's kiss that'll wake him up.

CPR, that is, you correct yourself.

Due to your mistake, your cheeks take to burning, as though the shame flooding through your system will temper your own tendencies. You dare not accept the reminder of the medic's words that your brain helpfully offers you. Instead, you barrel onwards, as if it never existed.

"Ten seconds," you murmur. It sounds like a promise. "I'll kiss the merman—ahem, perform CPR in ten seconds."

A bit too faithfully, unfortunately.

With a grimace, you squeeze Clarence's hand gently. The humor behind your blunder had briefly calmed you down, but as your countdown begins, you find yourself back at square one. You really will throttle him.

In lieu of reaching for his neck, you pull at his cheek gently, just enough that it soothes your worry. Not once does he stir—and perhaps that's what emboldens you. Slowly, the distance between the two of you shrinks, and you are so preoccupied by the almost hypnotic hold your repetition has on you that you don't notice.

But when you do—

I can count his lashes, you realize, blinking away the familiar burning sensation in your eyes.

By now, you've lost track of where you were—both in terms of the countdown and your surroundings. There are people on the beach, but, perhaps, having sensed your volatile emotions, they do not dare cross over to the little spot on the beach you have to yourselves. You start counting again, expertly dodging the temptation of kissing your beloved.

10, 9, 8...

When you reach the final number—zero, not one—you reluctantly let go of his hand. And, mirroring your other hand, the newly-freed one comes to rest on his cheek. The mole underneath his eye disappears under your trembling thumb.

When you hit zero, you finally allow yourself to kiss the merman.

SOMEONE IS KISSING HIM.

This, Clarence surmises even without opening his eyes. They're touching his face too, as if even the rarest of treasures are incomparable to him, even as they tremble against him. He knows, instantly, that it is you.

Who else would touch him so lovingly? And who else has touched him so lovingly?

When he opens his eyes, Clarence is rewarded for his guess by the sight of you leaning over him.

Your eyes are closed; unshed tears cling to your delicate lashes, quietly asking him to do something about them. There's little time to be flustered. Yet, paradoxically, it is the best time to be flustered. Your lips are soft and they taste of your favorite chapstick—the one you obsessively put on when you're stressed.

Somehow, though he doubts the formula changes every other day, it tastes sweeter each time he rediscovers it.

For a moment, he closes his eyes, lifting his hand up in the air, just above your arm. His cheeks are still warm, and his ears even warmer, when he rethinks his move and finally fulfills the request.

You open his eyes, startled by his gesture.

"Clarence?" you sputter out weakly, once you've established some distance between them both.

He has half a mind to point out the irony of the moment, before you go ahead and wipe your tears away. His gaze fixes itself upon your hands, clad in the same protective gear as his own. The warmth he felt from your touch would've had him believing otherwise, if he did not have his sight to fall back upon.

Hoping to find something to occupy himself with, he reaches for his glasses. They are, of course, not there—he'd replaced them for contacts before he went diving.

Thankfully, you seem oblivious to his blunder as you wring your hands, desperately looking for an excuse.

"That's, um—"

The black diving suit you're wearing contrasts sharply against the gold and orange of the evening sky. It was early in the afternoon when he dove into the waters, and then—the gears begin to turn in his head, reminding him of how he'd collapsed into your arms. Some leniency, he thinks, is deserved.

"CPR," Clarence says slowly, feeling a sharp twinge of pain in his head as he sits up. "Is that not what you were doing?"

You look at him, clearly bewildered. Soon, as scarlet blooms across your cheeks, you're diving into the crook of his neck with a groan. There's some kind of inside joke he's missing, but he can't find it in himself to worry about it too much.

"Don't," you say fiercely, "ever do that again."

As you adjust yourself against him, your body now pressed up against his, your grip on his diving suit tightens. Coherency leaves him that same moment—all he knows to do is wrap his arms around your trembling form and softly call out your name.

At some point, he'll tell you all that he's learned. About your mother. About the strange python he'd encountered, the one that seemingly shared his voice. But for now, it is just you and him, bathed in the rosy hue cast out by the sun, and—

"Thank you for waking up."

WHEN YOUR SNIFFLING SUBSIDES, CLARENCE begins to delve into the series of events that led him to stumble into your arms. You listen intently, only ever interrupting him to offer your own conclusions.

That is, until he admits he'd like to face anything and everything in his path with you.

Your sentiments are well-practiced; your only argument, compelling. It's true—you are his lover, and you do occupy an entirely different tier within his heart. There is no one else he'd trust more to watch his back. You cannot do that if you're not by his side.

You offer him your pinky and he links his own with it.

"Okay," he says softly. "I promise, my lover."

Your eyes narrow fondly at him. Slipping your pinky out of his grip, you throw your hands around him. It seems you're still shaken up by the experience, and Clarence—having already put himself in your shoes and concluded that he'd act no differently—can understand why.

"Okay," you repeat. You've both changed out of your diving suits, having exchanged them for your usual summerwear somewhere in between the two events. "I'm going to hold you to it."

"Alright."

His assumption that his agreement marks the end of their conversation soon turns out to be false. You hug him tighter, leaving your soft hair with more opportunities to tickle his cheek. After a momemt, you sheepishly admit:

"It, um, wasn't CPR."

Clarence can feel his cheeks warm up again. You're faring no better, though it'd be easy to miss with the way you're hiding your face. It's hardly the first time you've kissed each other—though the heightened emotions make for what is perhaps one of the most unforgettable ones yet.

"I know," he admits.

"Okay," you say, clearing your throat. The words come out rushed and awkward. He thinks back to when you rendered him speechless in the Student Council's clubroom and wonders how he could pull off the same thing. "Glad we had this talk."

When he can't think of anything witty to add to the conversation, Clarence simply admits the truth.

"I liked it," he says. You inhale sharply, and he thinks he might've pulled his objective off through sheer, disarming honesty. "Though, next time, I'd like to do it when we're both happy. I...know it's my fault, but—I dislike seeing you cry."

You call out his name, and next time comes faster than he was expecting.

PERHAPS IT'S DUE TO THE recent revelation you bestowed upon him that William can't help but take note of the distance between the two of you. Your hands are still intertwined, though, proving the truth behind what you'd said to him earlier.

He has—

He has a lot of questions. Like, actually, a lot. As in, actually, he'd spent the entire time preparing a quiz worthy of the Student Council President.

Because if it's true, then he's calling dibs on being the best man at the wedding. And William sure hopes it is because he's already made plans to become Uncle William to any of your future children, whether they're of the human or cat variety. The ship has sailed for yours and Clarence's current, combined brood of cats, but he'll try hard regardless.

His progress with Beanie was looking quite promising when he'd visited you before the trip, after all. He's tentatively excited about the play date he's scheduled for himself after the trip.

The only problem is, he can't really wrap his head around it. How? And why? Is Clarence even capable of seduction?

As he plops down onto the sand, now much cooler than it had been in the morning, William makes a show of scolding Clarence. The scary dark mage of the Student Council doesn't need to know that he almost burned a misshapened circle through the rug in his room. Besides, how often does he get the upperhand?

Never.

He nods decisively. Right, never.

Thanks to the setting sun, your faces have taken on a reddish hue. And while the fear of potentially losing Clarence—one he can relate to—has rendered you unable to speak without introducing a shrilly note to your voice, the guilt of leading you to that point has left Clarence unable to go a sentence without coughing politely into his clenched hand.

It must've been bad.

You must've been downplaying it when you texted him. It'd been a short message, straight to the point. For a moment, William almost convinced himself it was Clarence before he remembered that the president does not text without proper punctuation.

(And for a small, small fee, William thinks he could be persuaded to remember that scene a bit more clearly—so long as news of it does not reach Clarence's ears.)

"Alright," he says, temporarily putting his plans for a pop quiz on hold, "I think it's time we went back to the hotel. I'm exhausted, Clarence. Do you know hard it was to stare at my phone for so long?"

To William's surprise, his fellow Student Council member smiles faintly. It's a bit strange looking at him without glasses on, as if something is just undeniably wrong with the very fabric of time and space itself.

"Thank you, William," Clarence says, and the pink-haired boy is left to blink confusedly. Something really is wrong. "I'm sorry to have worried you."

"Worried?" he sputters out, his own cheeks growing warm. "I—okay, maybe I was a little worried."

"A little," you echo. Your intentions are hardly as sincere as your boyfriend's—and gah, that's still weird. "Just enough to want to go looking out for him in my stead, right?"

As the couple begins to smile, now looking eerily similar to each other, William hurriedly stands up. The colors of the setting sun don't cling to their faces nearly as much as they once did. Whatever awkwardness was between them seems to have vanished, almost instantaneously.

He can't help but think that his upper hand is no longer his.

"Anyway, I'm starving!" he says, pointing in the direction of a nearby restaurant. The two of you have already changed out of your diving suits, so he figures it won't take too long to get served. "Since this is all Clarence's fault, I think he should pay!"

The man in question chuckles and easily agrees to William's request. Then, as another reminder of his new relationship status, Clarence looks over at you, and William swears he can see hearts in his eyes.

Squinting, he wonders, Should I have been worried about you instead?

Clearly, something spooky had happened when his fellow student council member went to look at the totems. That means—and the pink-haired student shudders at the thought—there's clearly some truth to the legends. And if magic is real, then—

Maybe the dark mage of the Student Council is not Clarence, but you.

"Are you coming?" you call out, cutting through his thoughts. You and your boyfriend are both standing, with an expectant look in your gazes. "I thought you were starving."

He squints at you for a moment. At your kind smile and much gentler countenance, compared to the guy you've decided to date. So what if you tease him sometimes? It just means you feel close to him.

Yup, that sounds right. Having made his decision, he nods to himself and says:

"There's no way!"

When he finally joins his waiting friends and they ask him what he was mumbling about, he only assures them they have nothing to worry about.

[nina-ya]

HELP 😭😭 a patient just asked me how long she would take to wake up after anesthesia and I told her typically 20-40 minutes but it can be more or less depending on the person and she god MAD at me and started yelling because she wanted an exact time so she knew when to schedule the Uber for like sorry ma’am I don’t know your bodies exact response to anesthesia

and she got even MORE mad at me when I had to gently explain to her that we don’t allow post anesthesia patients to go home in Ubers

[tiffaluvr]

hch mid-season finale how we feeling?

I wanna know if u guys still have theories and headcanons and anything else that u haven't seen yet in the story: plss drop them in the reblogs or replies!!! we need smth to fill these weeks of wait :3

[gayofthefae]

Here's the thing about season 3. Nothing was a secret. There was no lining or buildup. They cleared up the miscommunication in episode 4 and she stood by breaking up with him anyways.

From there, just like I say about Will's feelings being unreciprocated, the problem is unactionable, so there's no lesson and nothing for us to root for.

Mike wants to get back together with El. She knows that. Nothing happens.

The L bomb was dropped as a false sense of momentum, because there actually wasn't any because him not saying it wasn't the problem so it shouldn't be the solution. Usually you have pining. Think the full season breakup story they did the following season:

There was pining. There was investment from US. Because there was setup for confession. Because something was withheld to be revealed. "You know I really like you but you don't know I love you" does not count. Lucas didn't know Max wanted to get back together. They had been broken up long enough and Lucas was respectful enough that Max couldn't be sure either. That setup investment for the notes passing scene. That set up his NERVES in it. That set up me being excited when I saw their first kiss in her 4x04 happy memories sequence. And satisfied to have predicted the Snow Ball as her happiest memory. If Max had known he definitely wanted to get back together as soon as she was ready again and wasn't going to move on at all, there would be no stakes.

Mike wanted to be with El. Then she didn't want to be with him. She can't have the nerves of confessing to him she wants to get back together because she already knows he does. He can't have the nerves of confessing he wants to because he already has. And they didn't establish them as friends solidly or for long enough like they did by establishing that Lucas and Max had ALREADY broken up as opposed to a 6 day breakup arc to make it so that they became unsure of what they once knew to me true of getting back together. Severity of wording changed and El loves romantic tropes in movies so it had influence but really:

Mike had no information to add that El didn't already have. El had nothing stopping her giving Mike information as soon as she had it. There were no stakes. So I didn't care. Whatever happened, cute. That was my thought process. But I had no real investment anymore, unlike when they were building to confession or fighting to get back to each other, because I knew as soon as she wanted to get back together they just automatically would be. So if you, like you were meant to, believed that Mike loved El and knew that she knew that, that scene where she said it back was cute. But not satisfying.

There is nothing to be resolved. We're watching events take place sequentially. Because when there are no stakes, there's no real goal either. Mike invented one for himself because he was uncomfortable with the idea of how comfortable he was broken up.

Tldr: Mike and El's relationship had no secrets and therefore no stakes or opportunity for confession in season 3. El telling Mike she loved him was cute, but not a "confession". Because, just like Mike telling her he loves her in 4x09, if we (think we) know how the other person is feeling and will react, we can't at all invest in the feelings of nervousness or satisfaction that the confessor is feeling.

Season 3 and 4 uninvested us by feigning plots in which they gave us no new information. And bored us. If you know exactly how a scene will play out all but exact wording, you will space out because you can. A writer never wants you to be able to space out and miss nothing. (Until they don't want you to miss what's happening when they take it away)