#marshmallow coast

[balleralbumcovers]

EPIC ALBUM COVER #46

Marshmallow Coast - Seniors and Juniors

Released: 1999 (Kindercore, Pickled Egg)

Bedroom pop, twee pop, indie folk

[ohc-and-the-music-tapes-archive]

Article about Marshmallow Coast and interview with Andy Gonzales in Flagpole, 14 April 2004  

[source]

transcript:

The Reluctance of being earnest Marshmallow Coast's Andy Gonzales moves towards a sharper picture of himself Andy Gonzales is looking to define himself, and he's been doing it for a while. To be more specific, he's looking to have his Marshmallow Coast identity and music exist outside the realm of his more acclaimed association. In fact, when I call to ask him about the recording of his recent album Antistar, he brings up Of Montreal right off the bat and without any prompting. 

"We recorded [Antistar] with Jason NeSmith at Bel Air Studios," says Gonzales, "and it basically... well. I felt like I needed to record an album completely disassociated from Of Montreal. All the [Of Montreal] reviews would mention Kevin [Barnes, Of Montreal's primary songwriter and frontman] and not mention me.

That was pretty much my only thing to consider in the recording of this album, so I didn't want to include any of those people. That just got under my skin after a while—not that it created hard feelings, of course, but it was time to really be on my own."

Don't let Gonzales come across as bitter— he's not. But he does carry the air of someone frustrated with being overshadowed. Antistar, however, should aid in further separating Marshmallow Coast from Of Montreal's quirky pop preciousness. The album is Gonzales' fourth as Marshmallow Coast, a name he's used since his early teenage years in Denver. It's also his most distinct album to date. Marshmallow Coast's 1999 debut album Seniors and Juniors came across like an off-key and lo- fi love letter to Music Tapes' Julian Koster (also of Neutral Milk Hotel), and 2000's Marshmailow Coasting carried a strong Of Montreal sound— not surprising, since the majority of that band showed up to back Gonzales.

But with 2002's Ride the Lightning, which marked the jump from Kindercore Records to Misra Records, Gonzales started to gain his own foothold. Of the label switch, Gonzales says: "Kindercore was totally changing, and I kinda had a weird inkling that I needed to leave, but it wasn't anything other than I needed to be on a different label than Of Montreal, because that was the height of the comparison."

Antistar finds Gonzales exploring his troubadour side, turning away the more psychedelic whimsy experiments of earlier albums, instead relying on tunes more in line with the steady output of standards coming from Burt Bacharach and Elvis Costello, albeit with a Sean Lennon voice and a Jonathan Richman sense of humor. Love songs—romantic love songs populate Antistar. Says Gonzales: "Everybody feels love, and I just... more than being lovey-dovey, I try to make my songs about weirdoes who find love mysteriously. I think it's more classy to write about love, and I definitely don't have anything political to say." The album was recorded primarily in the solo setting, and Marshmallow Coast's live performance reflects that; it's Gonzales and wife Sara Kirkpatrick, who married recently in Dekalb County, accompanied by a CD for all the backing tracks and drums.

"My songwriting process has kind of evolved," says Gonzales. "It used to be that I'd just wait for inspiration, but eventually I'd just work on little bits and pieces and see how they fit together over time. Now I'm at the point where I can get my brain into writing mode when I'm in the studio recording—I might go in with just six songs, and that's not enough for a full album, so I'll write some out of sheer necessity. Some of those songs have become some of my favorites, because I'm not super-prolific like some other people are. If I tell myself I've got something to accomplish and I'm not wasting somebody's time, I can get things done. But it can be difficult."

Again, Gonzales slips comfortably into self-doubt an apologetic tone for even existing in the first place. He seems uncomfortable with his own place in the creation of music. To wit:

Andy Gonzales: By this point I just [write songs] and we don't really feel like we'll change the world or anything. Flagpole: No? AG: Not really. Sometimes I don't know why I do it. I think about all the other hundreds of bands who recorded their CDs and spent all that money in the studio and... I dunno. I guess there is a reason. FP: What is that reason? AG: Because I like doing music, and there are some people who seem to like it I mean, I totally love making music, but I've given up the romantic notion I held as a teenager that we're gonna be big or something. But there's somebody willing to put the record out, so I'll definitely have the songs ready, I guess... I mean, I would love for us to get recognition as a unique or different band, but I am happy with the recognition we've got so far.

But again, it seems to be the constant scrutiny and comparison to his musical elders that's led to Gonzales' reticence and his reluctance to take a strong stand on his own music. "The weird thing is," he says, "I've had the luxury to turn into something while people were able to watch and scrutinize. Most people might not put out their first album until they're my age now, until they've really developed as an artist and are ready to be out there. I've kind of been developing in the public eye."

Is that ever an uncomfortable situation? "I think it was in the beginning," says Gonzales, "because I'm not a very good singer, but now I think... I don't know how much consideration I give it anymore. I just want to make something really, um, pretty? Y'know, just music that's nice. I feel that if I evolve in any other way I'll try to get somebody else to sing because that's where I run into the most criticism." 

But does Gonzales like his own voice? "Yeah. Sometimes? I don't know." It seems that Gonzales' strength, then, is to let the songs speak for themselves as well as for him. Despite his self-questioning, Antistar takes a strong stand towards romance and pushes Gonzales further towards definition.

Chris Hassiotis

[arcticfoxfacts]

GIANT DAY - “Psychedelic pop duo of Derek Almstead (The Olivia Tremor Control, Elf Power, The Glands, of Montreal) and Emily Growden (Faster Circuits, Marshmallow Coast)”

New Elephant 6 release, being the first in years to release on the E6 label!

[zengardenphotos]

Meet the photographer

Cromberg, CA

[crizzgrammy]

MIX 1. Flapjack Links : 

www.instagram.com/crizzvaldes/ www.instagram.com/pantonecolis… www.instagram.com/crizzmusic/

[scoupsakakitty]

Caught in the Firelight | idol!Dino x Reader | angst, fluff

The air was warm and heavy with the scent of saltwater, the sun dipping below the horizon in hues of orange and purple. The villa rented by Seventeen and their close friends was the perfect escape after months of non-stop touring. Nestled in a secluded area near the coast, it promised relaxation, laughter, and a chance to let go of responsibilities, if only for a little while.

Chan leaned against the edge of the balcony, looking down at the group gathered near the pool. They were all scattered around, either lounging or laughing in small clusters. His gaze naturally landed on you, who was sitting at a table with Vernon and Seungkwan, laughing at something Vernon had said.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, his stomach churned when Vernon grabbed a bottle of sunscreen from the table.

“Your shoulders are getting red,” Vernon said, holding up the bottle. “Here, let me help.”

You hesitated for a moment before shrugging. “Thanks. I didn’t even notice.”

Chan’s grip on the balcony tightened as Vernon stepped behind you, squeezing sunscreen into his hands and rubbing it into your shoulders with practiced ease. You tilted your head slightly to the side, allowing him better access, and the sight made something flare hot and angry in Chan’s chest.

He couldn’t hear what you were saying, but the way you smiled at Vernon, so open and easy, only made it worse.

Jeonghan’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Still brooding?”

Chan tore his gaze away from the scene below, turning to see Jeonghan leaning casually against the doorframe, a knowing smirk on his face.

“Not brooding,” Chan muttered, looking away.

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow. “Right. Because glaring at Vernon like he’s stealing your girlfriend isn’t brooding.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Chan said defensively, the words tasting bitter.

Jeonghan chuckled, stepping out onto the balcony. “Could’ve fooled me. What’s going on, Chan? You’ve been acting weird ever since we got here.”

“Nothing’s going on,” Chan replied too quickly, his jaw tightening.

Jeonghan gave him a pointed look. “Is this about Y/N?”

Chan stiffened but didn’t answer.

“Look, if you still like her—”

“I never said I didn’t,” Chan interrupted, his voice quiet but firm.

Jeonghan studied him for a moment before sighing. “Then stop being a coward and do something about it. Because if you keep standing here doing nothing, you’re going to lose her. And from where I’m standing, Vernon looks more than happy to take your place.”

Chan didn’t respond, his gaze drifting back to the pool, where Vernon had just finished applying the sunscreen. He handed you your drink with a smile, and you laughed, saying something Chan couldn’t make out.

The knot in his chest tightened.

———————————————————————————-

The bonfire crackled warmly against the night, the rhythmic murmur of waves providing a serene backdrop to the lively chatter. Everyone was settled into a comfortable rhythm laughing, teasing, and occasionally burning marshmallows over the flames.

Chan sat at the edge of the circle, his posture tense as his gaze lingered on Vernon and the girl sitting next to him. The sunscreen incident earlier in the day replayed in his mind like a stuck tape, fueling the low simmer of jealousy that had been building since morning. Now, as Vernon leaned closer to make her laugh, Chan’s chest tightened.

Joshua, sitting nearby, nudged Chan lightly. “Seriously, what’s up with you tonight?”

Chan snapped out of his trance. “Huh?”

“You’ve been sulking all day,” Joshua pointed out, tilting his head. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Chan muttered, forcing a tight smile. “I’m fine.”

Joshua didn’t look convinced but dropped the topic, turning his attention back to the group. Chan, however, couldn’t pull his focus from Vernon.

The way she smiled at Vernon was the same smile she used to give Chan back when things between them were easier before he’d let hesitation and fear ruin everything. Now it felt like that smile belonged to someone else, and the thought ate at him.

When the breeze off the water picked up, Chan noticed her shiver slightly. He was already shifting to grab his jacket when Vernon beat him to it, shrugging off his hoodie and draping it over her shoulders.

“Here,” Vernon said. “You’ll freeze otherwise.”

She looked up at him, clearly surprised but grateful. “Thanks, Vernon.”

Chan’s stomach churned as irritation flared. His voice cut through the easy conversation around the fire.

“You’re going to catch a cold if you keep giving away your clothes,” Chan said sharply, his eyes narrowing.

Vernon blinked, taken aback. “I’ll be fine. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is if you’re the one who ends up sick,” Chan shot back.

She frowned at Chan’s tone, glancing between the two boys. “It’s really not that serious, Chan.”

“Not serious?” Chan muttered under his breath, shaking his head as the group fell into an awkward silence.

Seungkwan, sensing the shift, quickly changed the topic, steering the group back into lighthearted conversation. Still, Chan’s irritation simmered, threatening to bubble over again at any moment.

Later, when she stood up to leave, Chan’s eyes snapped to her.

“I’m going to head up to the villa for a bit,” she announced, brushing sand off her hands.

“It’s late,” Vernon said, standing as well. “I’ll walk you there.”

Chan was on his feet before Vernon could take another step.

“No. I’ll go,” Chan said firmly, his voice brooking no argument.

She blinked, surprised by the sudden intensity in his voice. “It’s fine, I can—”

“It’s not safe,” Chan interrupted, his tone resolute. “I need to grab something from the villa anyway.”

Vernon frowned, clearly sensing there was more going on than Chan was letting on. “I can go. It’s really no trouble—”

“Vernon,” Chan said, cutting him off with a sharp look. “I said I’ll go.”

The tension between the two boys was palpable, and for a moment, it seemed Vernon might push further. But after a moment’s hesitation, Vernon sat back down, sighing.

She sighed as well, exasperated. “Fine. Let’s go,” she said, walking ahead.

———————————————————————————-

The villa was quiet when they entered, their footsteps echoing faintly against the polished floors. She headed toward the living room, flipping on a light. Chan followed closely behind, the air around him still charged with unspoken frustration.

She finally turned to him, her arms crossing over her chest. “Alright, what’s your problem?”

Chan blinked, caught off guard by her directness. “What?”

“You’ve been acting weird all day,” she said, her tone sharp. “At the pool, at dinner, and now this. What’s going on with you?”

He stared at her, jaw tightening as he struggled to find the right words. “You really don’t know?”

“No, Chan,” she said, exasperated. “So why don’t you just tell me?”

Her words hung in the air like a challenge, and after a long pause, Chan finally spoke. “I don’t like seeing you with Vernon.”

The statement hit like a thunderclap, leaving her stunned.

“What?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t like seeing you with him,” Chan repeated, his voice rising slightly.

“What does that even mean?”

“It means,” Chan said, stepping closer to her, “it doesn’t look like you’re just friends.”

She stared at him, frustration and confusion written all over her face. “And even if we weren’t, why would that matter to you? You’re the one who said you didn’t want a relationship, Chan. So why do you care?”

Her words struck a nerve, but Chan didn’t back down. “I didn’t say I didn’t care. I said I wasn’t ready.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “What’s the difference? You rejected me, Chan. You don’t get to act like this now.”

“I wasn’t rejecting you,” he said, his voice softening. “I was scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Of what it would mean,” Chan admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Of messing it up. Of not being enough for you.”

Her expression softened as his vulnerability broke through her frustration. “Chan…”

“But seeing you with Vernon tonight,” he continued, his voice thick with emotion, “it made me realize how stupid I’ve been. I don’t want to lose you.”

For a moment, silence settled over the room. Then he took a tentative step closer, his gaze meeting hers.

“I like you,” he said finally. “I’ve liked you for a long time. And I know I don’t deserve it, but if there’s even a small chance you still feel the same—”

“Of course I do,” she interrupted, her voice trembling.

Relief washed over Chan’s face, and he let out a shaky laugh. “I’m sorry it took me so long to figure it out.”

She smiled, her frustration melting away. “Better late than never.”

For a moment, neither of them moved, the weight of unspoken feelings heavy in the air. Slowly, Chan reached out, his hand brushing hers, his touch warm and steady.

“Can I…?” he began, his voice hesitant, almost afraid to hope.

Before he could finish, she stepped closer, wrapping her arms around him without hesitation. He pulled her tightly against his chest, his face burying into her hair as the tension between them dissolved.

When she finally pulled back, his gaze searched hers, silently asking for permission. Then, without another word, he leaned in and kissed her soft and tentative at first, then deeper as the weight of everything unsaid melted away.

Chan pulled back slightly, his forehead still close to hers, his breathing uneven as he tried to steady himself. His eyes lingered on her face, taking in every detail like he was afraid it would all disappear. But as his gaze dropped, landing on the hoodie she was still wearing, a new wave of irritation flared up inside him.

“Take it off,” he said abruptly, his tone more commanding than he intended.

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“The hoodie,” he clarified, nodding toward the oversized garment. “Take it off.”

Her brows furrowed. “Why? It’s not a big deal—”

“It is to me,” he interrupted, his voice firm but quiet. Without waiting for her response, he shrugged off his own jacket and held it out to her. “Here. Wear this instead.”

She stared at him, trying to decipher the sudden shift in his mood. “Chan—”

“I mean it,” he said, his tone softening slightly but still resolute. “Please. I don’t want you wearing his hoodie.”

There was something vulnerable in his voice now, something that made her stop arguing. With a small sigh, she slipped out of Vernon’s hoodie and handed it to Chan, who quickly draped his own jacket over her shoulders.

“There,” he said, the tension in his jaw relaxing as he adjusted the collar to make sure she was fully covered. “That’s better.”

She tilted her head, a small, amused smile tugging at her lips. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

He looked back at her, his expression softening into something warmer, almost sheepish. “Yeah, but you still like me anyway.”

Her laugh was quiet but genuine as she pulled his jacket tighter around herself. “I guess I do.”

———————————————————————————-

When they returned to the bonfire, still holding hands, Vernon looked up from his spot by the fire. His eyes flicked to Y/N, now wearing Chan’s jacket, and then back to Chan. A grin spread across his face, and he let out a short laugh.

“Well, it’s about time,” Vernon said, leaning back on his hands.

Chan’s brows knitted together, his earlier frustration flaring back up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Vernon smirked, completely unbothered by Chan’s glare. “It means I was wondering how long it would take you to finally grow a pair and tell her how you feel.”

Chan froze, caught off guard by the bluntness of Vernon’s words. “Wait… what?”

Vernon shrugged, his grin widening. “You’re welcome, by the way. All that sunscreen, the hoodie, sitting close I was just giving you a little push. You were taking forever.”

Chan blinked, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief. “You did that on purpose?”

“Obviously,” Vernon replied. “Someone had to get you to stop sulking and do something.”

The rest of the group burst into laughter, Seungkwan clapping his hands. “I told you it would work!”

Chan turned back to Y/N, who looked just as surprised as he felt, though there was a small, amused smile on her lips.

“You knew about this?” Chan asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

She shook her head quickly. “I had no idea. But… it worked, didn’t it?”

Chan sighed, running a hand through his hair as his frustration slowly gave way to a reluctant smile. “You’re all insane.”

“Maybe,” Vernon said with a grin. “But hey, you finally got the girl, didn’t you?”

Chan didn’t respond, but the way his hand tightened around Y/N’s said everything.

———————————————————————————-

[moonstruckme]

Hi lovely! Me again but with an actual request this time 😭😭 would you be able to write poly!marauders with reader who just got their wisdom teeth out and they’re all taking her home and taking care of her while she’s all loopy and hyped up on pain meds. I think it’d be so silly and cute. Only if you want to though! Much love and thanks!

-🍓

Thanks for requesting lovely!

cw: mention of blood, effects of anesthesia

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

Sirius had offered to be the one to drive you, but no one had let him because of how upset you all knew he’d get. As soon as you come through the door, Remus knows they’d made the right decision. 

“I know, darling,” James' voice is low, sympathetic, and a bit panicked, “but I promise you can have them in a couple of days, alright?”

Sirius leaves the dishwater to get cold, beelining for the front door. Remus is hot on his tail. They find James kneeling in front of you, untying your shoes while tears dribble off your chin and into his hair.

“I can make you a smoothie, or mashed potatoes, or any non-solid your heart desires.” He turns his head, mouthing help. 

Your face only crumples miserably, and James looks nearly like he might cry too but Sirius comes to his rescue. 

“Hey, sweet girl.” He palms the back of your head, careful of your face as he tilts it up towards him. “What’s got you so wound up, huh?” 

“He won’t let me have marshmallows,” you cry, words all garbled by the gauze in your mouth. 

“So mean,” Sirius commiserates. “I’ll do you one better and make you a chocolate milk, how’s that sound?” 

Your tears dry instantly. James lifts your ankle to take off your shoe, and you grip Sirius’ arms, beaming up at him. Or beaming as best you can, with your mouth all numb and full of cotton. 

“That sounds amazing,” you sigh, blissful. 

Sirius grins right back at you, his hand coasting down your neck and back up again. Remus can tell he’s dying to touch your face the way he normally would, but he restrains himself. “You’ve got a deal,” he says as James pries off your other shoe. “Come watch me work.” 

He steers you toward the kitchen, Remus passing a hand over your head as you go by. You give him a sweet, lovelorn look in return. 

“Can she have her gauze out soon?” he asks James once you’re in the kitchen. 

He sets your shoes by the door. “Yeah, it should be fine by now. They said a half hour.” James leans against the couch and passes a hand over his face. He looks so worn out Remus can’t help but cross the room to him, taking his hand and kissing it lightly.

“Was she very upset the whole time?” he asks.

“No, she’s been all over the place. Far worse than you, though.” 

Remus feels heat rise to his face at the memory. He’d had his wisdom teeth out last summer and reportedly spent the rest of the day clinging to whoever was nearest, grousing about how tired he was but never actually going to sleep. 

“Oh, uh…” James digs in his pocket. A few receipts and a dime come out, then a small bottle of pills. “They said she should start on these once she got home, but I can’t get them open. Can you try?” 

“Mhm.”

“Thanks.” James’ eyes widen, and he rushes off to the kitchen, saying something to Sirius about how they can’t let you use a straw. Remus follows a few steps behind, reading the label of the pill bottle before twisting the top off. It was childproofed, bless him. 

When he enters the kitchen, Sirius has you sat up on the counter and is poking around in your mouth. He takes out the gauze carefully, one piece at a time, and sets it on the counter. Remus makes a mental note to deep-clean that later. Your eyes follow Sirius’ movements, slowly widening. 

“Is all that blood from me?” Your voice carries a slight quiver. 

“That?” Sirius says swiftly. “No, that’s old blood. You’re good as new now.” 

“Oh,” you breathe, deflating a bit in relief. Remus chuckles, and your eyes fly to him, lighting. “Rem!” 

You open your arms wide. He steps into them, raising his eyebrows at James as you grip his shoulders tightly. 

“Told you,” James stage-whispers. “All over the place.” 

“I can hear you,” you say, words muffled into Remus’ sweater. He pets the back of your head pacifyingly. 

“How are you, sweetheart?” 

You take some time to mull this over. “M’okay,” you decide. “I’m a little sad they had to take my tongue, but it could be worse I guess.” 

“They didn’t take your tongue,” James says, like it’s not the first time he’s had to tell you this, “you just had some teeth removed.” 

“They’re dismantling me,” you say morosely. It’s clear you’ve accepted your fate. 

Remus strokes your hair again, leaning away slightly so you’ll look up at him. You do, and even with your glassed-over eyes and puffy cheeks you’re the cutest thing he’s ever seen. 

“I’m glad you’re not hurting too badly,” he hums, cupping the side of your head. You smile dopily and lean into the touch. “I’ve got a pill that’ll help make sure you don’t hurt later, too.” 

Sirius passes you your chocolate milk so you can take it, and James clucks about how you need to take slow, careful sips all the way until you’ve drained the glass. As soon as it’s out of your grasp you’ve replaced it with Remus’ hand, your fingers tracing the lines of his palm with idle fascination. 

“Feel like watching a film?” he asks you softly. 

You hum. “That sounds nice. Can I have the fuzzy pillow because they’re taking me apart?” 

Remus huffs a laugh, and James groans. “Nobody’s taking you apart, darling,” he reasons. “The dentist only took the unimportant bits.” 

“Bit by bit,” you sigh. 

James looks in distress, so Remus takes the crook of his elbow in hand, squeezing lightly as Sirius eases you off the counter and into his hold. Remus thinks you’ll be lucky if he releases you before tomorrow. 

“You can have all the pillows if you want them,” Sirius promises you. “My poor girl, being taken apart bit by bit. You can have whatever you want.”

[ckret2]

Chapter 74 of that fic about human Bill but he's not in this chapter so forget about him: Ford and Dipper go cryptid hunting!

This is pretty much a standalone chapter so if somehow you stumbled on this without seeing the rest of the fic, u can just, read it by itself as a standalone Dipper and Ford adventure. It's funny. Promise.

####

The camera turned on to reveal Dipper, illuminated sunset orange and cast in heavy shadows, holding the camera out at arm's length. "Welcome back to Dipper's Guide to the Unexplained, anomaly #175: the Fremont Nightwigglers!" He held up a paper title card in his free hand. "I'm Dipper Pines, and today I'm honored to introduce our special guest star—" he turned the camera around to focus on Ford from behind, "—the one and only Dr. Stanford Pines, PhD times twelve—"

Ford laughed self-consciously. "Dipper, nobody's going to recognize my name outside of a few highly specialized academic fields—"

"—the scientist who developed the Theory of Weirdness—"

"That paper isn't even ready for peer review yet, and I can't take all the credit—"

"—and the coolest dimension-hopping monster-fighting mystery-investigating great uncle in the world!"

Ford paused thoughtfully. "Okay, I'll take that one."

"Tonight, we're on the trail of the Fremont Nightwigglers." The recording cut to CCTV footage from a much higher-budget cryptid-hunting show (which Dipper had recorded by aiming the camera at the TV). The footage showed two marshmallow-like creatures that seemed to consist solely of heads, long legs, and feet—smooth, ghostly white, and featureless except for black eyes. They wore denim jeans that covered their bodies from ankles to waists, and their legs seemed to bend jointlessly, like an octopus's arms or an elephant's trunk. "These weird armless creatures have been seen up and down the west coast states, leaving behind a wave of jeans thefts at clothing stores; but by the time local law enforcement has ruled out any human suspects, the true culprits are always long gone."

The recording cut back to Dipper, who'd taken the lead so he could turn around the camera and aim it at both himself and Ford. "Based on investigative research done by Dr. Pines in the 80s, we believe the Nightwigglers have a migratory route several years long that passes through California, Oregon, Washington, and Canada. More research is needed to find out if they travel as far as Alaska or Mexico. Locals believe each Nightwiggler creates an individual burrow around a communal gathering spot to hide in during the day, and at night they assemble in the communal spot to travel or forage in nearby towns."

Ford threw in, "Based on what the townspeople told me about their habits, they've been in Gravity Falls much longer than usual. It typically takes them a week or two to pass through the area, but this year there have been sightings for more than a month. Perhaps we'll find out why."

"And thanks to a hot tip from an in-the-know local"—the recording cut to a few seconds of footage of Wendy proving she could do a handstand on the split-rail fence around the Mystery Shack—"we know which assembly spot they're currently camping around! Tonight, we're trying to get the first deliberate footage of a Nightwiggler..." Dipper lowered the camera and turned toward Ford, "Hey, what'll we call a group of them? A flock? Herd? Meeting? If we're the first investigators to officially document the species, we get to come up with the name , right?"

Ford considered the question. "What about a wobble of Nightwigglers? Since their legs are so... wobbly."

"Sure, that works."

"Is this really your 175th episode?" Ford asked. "I've missed quite a few."

"Ye—well..." Dipper lowered the camera. It recorded his shoes as he walked. "So far I've got a list of 175 anomalies I want to do an episode on, but I've only recorded and posted thirty-something. I think you've seen them all except the two I've done this summer." He sighed. "I'm... kinda disappointed by it, honestly."

"Why? You should be proud of your work so far! You're the only person in the world who's caught footage of the Hide Behind."

"By accident."

"Because you learned how to identify its call, chased it through half the forest, and were prepared with the right equipment to record it. That wasn't luck, Dipper—that was your hard work."

"I guess," Dipper said grudgingly. "I just... wanted to have a lot more produced by now."

"Wh—You started these last June? That's about one every two weeks. That's a very impressive output."

"I made most of them last summer, I hardly did any over the last school year or this summer."

"You've been focusing on your studies, that's good."

"Yeah, but what about this summer? All I've done so far is borrow some of Robbie's music video footage to make an episode about zombies and record some footage I haven't edited yet about Pacifica's alpaca thief. I didn't even get any footage of the haunted doll crane game before it disappeared. Most of the time I've been just... hiding in Soos's room playing Bloodcraft: Overdeath"—(under his breath Ford muttered "Blood-craft over death?")—"or hanging out with Wendy and her friends, or helping Soos with the Mystery Shack, or just trying to avoid..." He trailed off, suddenly conscious of the camera still aimed at the ground. It had started recording footprints drying in the mud after the recent rain: soft indents like the pads of paws, but with no distinct toes, about the size and length of human feet. Dipper lifted the camera to better record the trail they were walking down.

"Well... there's nothing wrong with taking a break during the summer," Ford said. "Especially considering that your last summer was... quite a bit more exciting than most kids'—"

"That's just it!" Dipper said. "Last summer I did so much! I investigated your disappearance, I filled half of your third journal, I helped stop the apocalypse, I wrote a book with Mabel about solving mysteries and doing fun stuff, I recorded like twenty Guides to the Unknown... Compared to that, this summer I feel like I'm—falling behind."

"Falling behind what?"

"I don't know. But—I just—I... feel like..." He trailed off with a frustrated sigh. "I don't know."

Ford offered, "Maybe, like you're not living up to your own potential?"

"Yes! That's it," Dipper said. "I'm not trying to grow up too fast, I'm just worried I'll grow up before I've done all the stuff I'm supposed to do now. Like I'm already running out of time."

"Hmm..." Ford let out a long, thoughtful sigh. "Dipper, I'm probably the wrong person to be giving this advice, considering that I'm not exactly... the paragon of moderation when it comes to pursuing professional ambitions. But—remember that you're only thirteen. Right now, you don't need to be worried about graduating valedictorian and starting up an anomaly-hunting show and doing groundbreaking research into previously-unknown strange and wondrous creatures," Ford said. "You just need to focus on graduating valedictorian first. That's all I did with my high school years, and after that I still managed to rack up multiple PhDs before age 30. You've got plenty of time!" He said this with the confidence of a man who didn't realize having his life derailed by a manipulative alien villain was the only reason he didn't burn out hard by 1984. "Outside of that, just... worry about being a kid."

"Yeah. I guess you're right. Thanks, Grunkle Ford," Dipper said. "I keep worrying, though. I keep thinking, what if I'm wasting all my time on stuff that... just... doesn't matter? What if nothing I'm doing is actually important?"

Ford was silent a moment. "That's... a very existential question for your age. How long have you been worrying—"

Dipper hissed, "Grunkle Ford!" He jerked his camera up. "Is that fire?!" There was a faint orange glow in the distance between the trees.

"I think it is!"

Dipper whispered, "That's where I found the Nightwigglers' abanadoned campsite last time!"

"Did you see any signs that they knew how to start fires? Remains of a campfire?"

"I didn't notice anything."

"It could be a Scampfire..."

As quietly as they could, Dipper and Ford edged through the trees, Dipper all the while pointing the camera toward the light, until they found a narrow gap between two trees from which they could peer into the clearing.

There were three or four dozen Nightwigglers milling about in little clusters. Several had lit torches—sturdy sticks with the ends wrapped in fabric—which they carried by sticking the ends of the torches into their jeans' pockets.

"Dipper, look at the tops of their torches," Ford hissed. "Is that shredded denim?"

The camera zoomed in on the nearest torchbearing Nightwiggler. "I think so."

"We already knew they wore clothing—but they can make tools, too? How advanced are they..."

Ford trailed off as the clustered Nightwigglers separated, spreading out evenly into several rings. As the camera recorded, they began emitting a synchronized muffled humming; and then they began dancing, kicking their legs and turning in circles together. "Whoa," Dipper whispered. "Is this some kind of ritual?"

"What's its purpose?" Ford whispered back. "Recreation? Religion? Some sort of cultural event—?"

"Hold on. I think I recognize the song."

Ford and Dipper fell silent, watching in silence as the dance repeated a couple of times.

The Nightwigglers were doing the Hokey Pokey.

"Fascinating." The camera lurched sideways, and then turned toward Ford. Ford had stolen Dipper's journal from out of his vest pocket and was hastily taking notes on a blank page. "I had no idea Nightwiggler culture was so influenced by human culture. An hour ago, we didn't even know Nightwigglers have a culture. When could they have observed and learned the Hokey Pokey? It's not exactly a nighttime dance—do they spy on humans during the day?"

Dipper said, "What if we learned the dance from Nightwigglers?"

Ford stopped writing, looked up, and stared at Dipper, mind blown.

Dipper jerked the camera back toward the Nightwigglers as they filed out of the clearing. "Hey! Where are they going now?"

Dipper and Ford waited until the last Nightwiggler had left; and then they quietly followed.

####

After several minutes of silence except for the sound of footsteps, Ford said, "Are we headed toward Mabel's Fault?"

Dipper groaned. "I got enough of this place last week."

"Agreed." 

"Hey, you know Bill said we should rename it 'Bill's Fault'?"

Ford huffed. "Did he really? I don't believe it."

"Yeah. He tried to play it off like, 'oOOoh, I just want creEDit—'"

"That sounds like him—"

They came to a stop as the camera spied the Nightwigglers standing in the clearing around the fault, then they quickly moved off the path into the brush and crept closer. "What are they doing?" Dipper asked as they inched up to the tree line.

"I don't know—they're packed too tightly together for me to see."

"I've got an idea. Hold this." The camera bounced as Dipper passed it to Ford, who watched as Dipper climbed up one of the pine trees around the clearing. 

"Careful! There aren't a lot of low branches that can hold your weight."

"It's okay, Wendy showed me how to do this." Dipper held out his hand for the camera.

Ford passed it up to him. "What do you see?"

The camera foused on Mabel's Fault. "The Nightwigglers closest to the fault are taking off their jeans, ripping them into two separate legs, and... tossing them in the fault? Have you ever heard of this?"

"Never."

"Like a dozen have done it so far."

"Perhaps that's why they have to steal so many pairs of pants? But why..."

Dipper gasped. Tiny Nightwigglers had begun squirming out of the fault, each wearing a single denim pant leg, crawling around like inchworms with half the pant leg trailing behind them. The bigger Nightwigglers picked up the little ones with their feet and swaddled them in the excess fabric. "They're—I think they're baby Nightwigglers! Coming out of the fault!"

"Amazing! Is this how they reproduce?" Ford asked. "Is that why they travel the west coast—are they following the San Andreas Fault and the volcanoes in the Pacific Northwest?"

"Maybe that's why they've been in town so long," Dipper said. "Mabel's Fault wasn't here the last time they passed through."

"We'll have to find out what other towns they stay in the longest. How far is Fremont from the fault line—?"

"Hey," Dipper said, "A bunch more Nightwigglers took their jeans off. They're tying them in a circle." One of the torchbearer Nightwigglers knelt down and bowed forward, setting the jeans ring on fire; and it was tossed into the fault. The Nightwigglers that weren't carrying infants formed a circle and began Hokey Pokeying toward the fault.

"That definitely looks like a ritual," Ford said, "but why? To celebrate the births...?"

The ground rumbled. Dipper gasped and slipped several feet down the tree before he caught himself. When he refocused the camera, Mabel's Fault was several feet wider, and a fiery glow was rising up from within.

An enormous Nightwiggler, fifteen feet tall, climbed out of the fault. It wore a crown of flaming denim and tattered pants formed by stitching together many pairs of decades-old jeans. The Nightwigglers bowed down.

"Good lord," Ford breathed. "What is that? Did they summon it, or—or was it always down there?"

The giant Nightwiggler watched regally as its subjects danced around it. As they spun around and completed another repetition of the Hokey Pokey—that's what it's all a-BOUT—the giant punctuated the end of the dance with a ground-shaking stomp.

Dipper lost his grip on the tree. He and the camera crashed to the ground with a yelp. 

"Dipper! Are you alright?!"

"Ow... fine, probably just bruised."

The camera caught Ford kneeling to help Dipper sit up, and then Dipper grabbed the camera again as he stood. He pointed it back at the clearing.

Every single Nightwiggler, babies and giant included, was staring at them with wide black eyes.

Ford said, "Uh oh."

The giant let out a bellow like a muffled hunting horn.

The Nightwigglers charged.

Dipper and Ford ran away through the brush, screaming.

####

Dipper pointed the camera at his face. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat and his cheeks and arms were covered in small branch scrapes. "Still works," he reported to Ford.

"Great," Ford said. "That thing's hardy."

The camera jerked as Dipper tried to set it on a tree stump.

"Well, we got away with our lives," he said. "But... not without some losses."

He got the camera settled and backed up. He was wearing his vest zipped up around his hips like a skirt. Ford's trench coat was conspicuously buttoned up, and his legs were bare between his coat and boots. They both looked sheepish.

Ford said, "We've acquired some invaluable anthropological data, though."

"I'm calling this investigation a triumph," Dipper said.

Ford offered a hand. "High six!"

In the background, a skinny-legged Nightwiggler wearing Dipper's shorts darted through the trees.

####

(It's about time Dipper get a little personal attention. Hope you enjoyed and I look forward to hearing y'all's thoughts!)

[eeksburner]

Sweet Sunshine

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Wife!Reader

(Note: I am yearning for summer. I miss California, my sweet home state.)

Tw: OOC Simon not wearing his mask when he normally would, not lore accurate

Not proofread

Simon bought a summer vacation home in California just for you, right near the coast

It's nothing crazy, a small cottage with a decent backyard that's only a few minutes away from anything a person could want

You guys rent it out whenever you aren't there, asking friends to check in on it to make sure it's not wrecked after people stay. It basically pays for itself, so you guys got lucky

When your plane lands, you can't wait to feel the sea water in the air and the sweet sunshine on your skin

Simon will opt for a tank top or T-shirt and shorts, no mask since he's so far away from anyone that would potentially identify him. The crowds of people at the beach and essentially everywhere else also give him a good sense of anonymity

He gets to be such a beautiful tan color by the end of your vacation, it's arguably the most attractive he is out of the whole year. The tan is good at highlighting all of his muscles and adding a few cute freckles here and there that you kiss away and are gone by fall

You wear sweet summer dresses that make Simon feel nothing but pure adoration, your hair done in cute waves or braids, cheeks kissed by the sun

Neither of you is complaining when you get to see the other in your bathing suits, ready to run into the cold Pacific water

Some afternoons are spent in the hammock in the backyard, lying lazily in the dappled sunlight, little bugs and birds flitting by, creating a beautiful ambiance

You insist on going to the best local grocery store that carries locally grown lemons, strawberries, and avocados. You make the best lemonades, desserts, and guacamole, just for Simon

On the days you get up early enough to see the sun rise, you bundle up in layers, the marine fog still lingering in some parts, and sit on the patio swing. Simon makes the two of you coffee, and you watch as the sky swims with shades of orange, pink, yellow, and blue, the stars fading away as the sun starts to shine

Some nights, you choose to stay out late, Simon loads up with firewood, and takes you to a secluded spot where you can have a private bonfire on the shore. You bring stuff to make s'mores and giggle when Simon drops his third marshmallow in the fire

Reading is a common pastime for you and Simon on vacation, setting out a large blanket on the grass in your backyard, watching as the blades sway and glisten with the wind and sun. Sometimes he reads to you, sometimes you to him. Most of the time, you read your own books, bodies touching in one way or another, until it gets too warm and you have to wipe your sweat off onto the blanket

Simon may not like roughhousing with his sweet little wife most of the time, but in the water, he's a whole different beast. You can try to run as fast as you can on the hot sand, but he'll catch up to you. You can kick and squeal as you watch him bring you closer and closer to the water, but nothing will stop him from jumping into the cold waves with you

Simon will take you shopping for a summer wardrobe weeks before you leave, giving you time to scope out any new designs or pieces you want to stock up on before you leave (Yes, he will wear matching swim shorts to your bathing suit)

Simon doesn't get his hair cut while on vacation, so his normally short hair will grow out just enough to make him have a boyish charm that he doesn't normally have, with streaks of naturally sun-bleached highlights

You guys shower together. Simon made sure he got a place that had a shower big enough for both of you. After a long day in the sun, it's nice to wash each other clean of the salt water and the sand, ending with a tired cuddle session in bed

Simon will get you any souvenir you want. Go to any event you want. Visit any beach you want. Go on any hike you want. His only request is that you're happy.

You, being the doting wife you are, make sure that Simon is wearing his sunscreen no matter what. He got burned one time when he insisted that walking around at the farmer's market wouldn't be enough to burn him. He was wrong. He flinches away when the cold sunscreen hits his warm back, but he doesn't complain. Sometimes you'll do it before he's expecting it, just to see the way his back bows away from the cold feeling and the little gasp he gives

It's a tradition to visit the Monterey Bay Aquarium. You take a few days to hang out in the surrounding towns and spend a full day there. Simon's favorite exhibit is the one that shows all of the bioluminescent creatures. He thinks they're cool. His second favorite thing to see is you and how entranced you get at seeing all of the glorious life California's ocean has to offer.

You make sure to take a lot of pictures of your gorgeous husband, and he does the same for you. Your phone camera, a professional camera, and a Polaroid camera, barely enough to encapsulate the beauty and love you both feel while being swallowed whole by the sun, stars, and sea that lie within the confines of California, and only California.

[prythiansprincess]

CHAPTER TWO

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🤍 pairing: theodore nott x reader.

🤍 song inspiration: somewhere only we know by rhianne.

🤍 author’s note: losing my mind because i'm in dire need of a theo nott italian summer.

Step 2 of Pansy Parkinson’s Perfect Plan of Plotting

Forced Proximity — : A circumstance or situation that forces the two main characters to spend time together (whether they want to or not).

After watching a horrendous amount of muggle romantic comedies — thanks Granger — I have come to the conclusion that the best way to squeeze a confession out of two lovestruck idiots is by forcing them to share the same space for an extended period of time, like say, the honeymoon suite in a romantic villa by the Italian coast. Never mind that I had to bribe stupid Malfoy with fancy imported French cologne to achieve it. It was worth every galleon to shove Theo and Y/N into a space designed for newlywed couples, complete with a heart shaped tub, champagne on ice, and a balcony that overlooks the stars at night. There’s a reason why forced proximity is such a popular trope. It’s effective as all hell, plain and simple. 

Second Year, The Black Lake

A misty fog cloaked the Scottish Highlands, bringing a dark and dreary atmosphere to Hogwarts and its surroundings. Back at the castle, your friends huddled around the hearth in the common room, drinking Zabini’s fancy imported hot chocolate and catapulting marshmallows at each other across the velveteen couch. On any other day, you would have welcomed the warmth and comfort on a rainy Sunday, but today you were needed elsewhere. 

As you trudged through the black sand, the coins in your raincoat pocket clinked together. You brushed your thumb over the raised surface and willed your heart to stop beating so erratically. There was no reason to be nervous. Yet here you were, dragging your feet as a familiar figure came to view.

On the shore of the Black Lake, Theo hugged his knees and stared out into the water. The raindrops gathered on his lashes and drenched his hair, bringing out the waves he stubbornly gelled back every morning. 

“I like your hair better this way,” you said softly, smiling down at your best friend. 

Theo smiled shyly as he brushed his hair back. “I look like a drowned rat.”

“Just a little,” you teased, pinching his cheek. “In any case, you make a cuter rodent than Malfoy.” 

“It’s about time someone knocked him off his high horse,” Theo retorted before tugging you down next to him. 

The sand shifted beneath you as you settled in. Theo pulled the hood of your jacket up, frowning when he noticed that the rain had still soaked your hair. “What are you doing out in the rain, anyways? You’re going to catch a cold, fragolina.” 

“Says the boy who’s soaked through the bone,” you replied with an eye roll. “You really shouldn’t be out in this weather, you know. Godric forbid you come down with something. Nonna would be furious.” 

“Good thing she’ll never find out,” Theo said, nudging your shoulder. “Because I have a best friend who’s great at keeping secrets.” 

“For now. Though I’m not opposed to selling you out for the right price.” 

“Fair enough.” 

A comfortable silence settled as the two of you gazed at the murky waters. As Theo contemplated the cloudy horizon, you rubbed the coins in your pocket. For good luck or comfort, you weren’t sure. 

“You didn’t have to come out here,” Theo whispered. His hands shook as he reached out for yours. “But I’m glad you did.” 

A heavy weight settled in your chest, but you forced yourself to smile softly as you squeezed his hand in reassurance. “I didn’t want you to be alone.” 

The look that Theo gave you was heartbreaking. His gaze was full of pain, those familiar watercolour eyes lined with unshed tears. “I never am when I’m with you, Y/N.” 

Tears pricked behind your eyes, but you tampered it down and allowed Theo to lean against your shoulder. 

“Do the others know?” 

You shook your head. “No, I didn’t think you wanted them to. Not yet, at least.” 

“I’ll tell them one day,” Theo said. “When it doesn’t hurt as much. But for now, it’s enough that you know. I think she would have liked it that way.”

“Just me and you against the world,” you chuckled. “The way it’s always been.”

“The way it’ll always be.” 

“I miss her,” you confessed. Speaking the words felt like bringing heartache to life, but you knew that it was important to keep her memory alive. The anniversary of Evangeline’s death was full of sorrow, but there was also joy if you looked past the pain. Your mum always reminded you of that. “The other day, I saw a patch of daffodils out by the forest. They were bright and sunny, impossible to miss in all this dreariness. It felt like an act of rebellion. It reminded me of her.” 

Theo released a choked laugh. “She would’ve loved that.” 

“Mum thought so too,” you said in agreement. “I wrote to her the other day. She knitted you another pair of socks, by the way. Before you ask, yes, I have matching ones as well.” 

Your best friend snickered. While you adored your mother, knitting was definitely not her strong suit. You didn’t have the heart to tell her that though. 

“It’s a bit ironic that the head of the Department of Mysteries can’t solve the mystery of knitting, isn’t it?” 

You stifled a laugh. “I’ll be sure to mention that to mum in my next letter.” Theo chuckled as you crossed your legs underneath you. “She told me something interesting though.” 

“Yeah?” 

The coin seared into your skin as you gripped it tightly. You could hardly get the words out because you were so choked with emotion. “The last time she went to Fiera with Auntie Eva, they visited this temple. The Temple of Cupid.” 

Theo nodded, enraptured. “Mum told me about that too. There’s a legend about a fountain in that temple. La Fontana Dell’amore.”

“The fountain of love,” you continued. “It’s said that if you toss a coin into it, Cupid will grant you a wish. The two of them both threw their coins in there when they visited.” 

“I think I remember this story. Mum said that they both wished for true love. Your parents met on that same trip, right?” You nodded in confirmation. “I’m happy for your mum. Especially since Zio Alistair is my only ally against all you crazy women.” 

In response, you smacked him on the arm. Theo protested, biting back a smile. Your best friend blinked at the horizon, deep in thought. “Mum’s wish didn't come true, though. I don’t think anyone would ever call my father her true love.” 

“That’s the thing, Teddy,” you said softly. “Auntie Eva was already married to your dad when she made that wish.”

Theo turned towards you. His nose crinkled in confusion. The trait was so uniquely Theo that it softened something within you. “Then why did she toss the coin?” 

You brushed a wet strand of hair out of his eyes and smiled. “Because she was wishing for you.” Theo took a sharp breath as he gazed up at you. You felt your heart shatter into a million pieces as the first tear fell down his cheek. “Mum said Auntie Eva’s wish came true the day you were born. You are, and always will be, her true love.” 

All the sarcasm and smirks — the armor that Theo had built around himself cracked. Suddenly he was sobbing, launching into your arms and clinging onto you for support. You bore the weight of his grief, so dense and tangible that you could feel it permeating the air. It wasn’t fair that your best friend was already acquainted with this earth-shattering pain at such a young age. If you could, you would bottle up his sadness and pour it into yourself just so Theo would be spared from ever feeling it again. 

“I miss her so much,” Theo whispered. 

“I know, Teddy,” you replied, rubbing soothing circles onto his back while you rocked him. “Just let it out. I’m here for you.” 

Theo pulled back, sniffling. “I’m here for you too,” he rasped. “I know you’re being strong for me like a good best friend, but you lost her too.”

The words unlocked a fresh wave of grief within you. All this time, you tried your best to keep it together. You wanted to be there for Theo. You couldn’t afford to fall apart. It wasn’t something that he’d ever asked of you, but you thought it was the right thing to do. 

“You’re allowed to mourn just as much as I am.” 

A deep, wracking sob rattled through your chest. You missed your Auntie Eva. You missed the way she braided flowers into your hair. You missed the way she snuck you gelato before dinner, knowing that your mum would have a fit if she found the two of you scarfing straciatella down in the kitchen pantry like criminals. You missed the way she told you and Theo about the stars, pointing out the different constellations as you lay on the roof of Nott Manor. 

You slumped into Theo’s arms, burying your face in the crook of his neck as the two of you clung to each other like a lifeline. It was you and Teddy against the world. The way it always was and the way it’ll always be. 

Day Two, The Temple of Cupid

The sunshine was blinding as you blinked yourself awake. Across the terrace, Enzo and Mattheo were cuddled up underneath a blanket while Draco and Blaise curled up on opposite sides of the sofa, clutching the ends of their shared knit throw in a power struggle. Thanks to the sangria, the lot of you had fallen asleep drinking and gossiping the night away. 

Beside you, Theo stirred and snuggled closer, his arm draped around your waist possessively. Sometime in the middle of the night, you had seemingly pulled the bottom half of the blanket over to your side, leaving his long legs exposed. Theo always complained that you were a notorious blanket hog, which you vehemently denied. Given the proof, you doubted that you could refuse it now. 

As you adjusted to the light, the double doors flew open, revealing a fresh-faced and well-rested Pansy. You had no idea how she managed to look so pulled together when you could barely see through your sangria induced headache. Her lips curled into a satisfied smirk when she spotted you and Theo tangled together. Out of instinct, you flipped off the smug looking witch. 

“Is that any way to treat your savior?” Pansy asked as she set down a tray full of sparkling vials. She clapped her hands, the loud smack echoing through the terrace. The boys startled, groaning about their hangovers. “Good morning, heathens. As always, I brewed a special batch of anti-hangover potions mixed with a little hint of pepperup to get you lot going. Drink up, we’ve got a long day ahead of us.” 

In true Pansy Parkinson fashion, the witch managed to wrangle everyone out of the villa and into a private yacht with minimum complaints. The potion was certainly doing a lot of heavy lifting, but even without the aid, it was hard to be annoyed when you were too busy marveling at the charming coastline. 

Vallara was a wonder. The hills rolled over the horizon, kissed by the bright sunshine. The colorful tiled villas dotted the sky with cotton candy hues, which grew smaller and smaller the further you ventured out into the water. The sea was calm this morning and the cerulean blue waters sparkled as the yacht cut through the waves like butter. 

At the bow, Enzo and Mattheo peered over the railing, giving you a pang of anxiety. You already warned them to stick close to the deck, but it fell on deaf ears. You yelped as Mattheo dangled Enzo backwards off the rails. Blaise and Draco shook their heads as they each claimed a spot by the sun deck. Just as you scolded the boys again, Pansy and Theo came back up from the bottom deck carrying trays of food. 

“Enz! Matt! Food is ready,” you shouted, heaving a sigh when the two of them finally stepped back from the rail. 

“Were they doing Titanic again?” Pansy asked with an eye roll. 

“Worse, they were trying to dangle each other over the water,” you responded as you handed each boy their breakfast trays. 

“We were trying to look for sharks,” Mattheo countered with a pout. “Until you started yelling at us.”

“Yes, so sorry for stopping your extremely idiotic behavior. I suppose I should’ve just let you throw yourselves overboard.” 

Enzo grinned like a little kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He took the breakfast plate from your hands and kissed your cheek. “Sorry, Y/N. We just got too excited.” 

You sighed and ruffled his hair. “One of these days those puppy dog eyes will stop working on me, Berkshire.” 

The brunette beamed brightly. “Not today, though.” 

“You spoil him, you know,” Theo said as he handed you a glass of orange juice. 

“I can’t help it. He’s like the little brother I never had.” 

“More like a pet you never wanted.” 

“Hey!” Enzo protested as he waved a piece of bacon in the air. “I heard that, you twat.” 

“See?” Theo said with a sigh. “Your beloved Lorenzo is not as innocent as he pretends to be.” 

You chuckled, watching Mattheo and Enzo wrestle over the last waffle before Pansy stepped in to straighten them out.  

Scooting into the seat next to Theo, you took a sip of the orange juice and balked at the taste. The bubbles were enough to make you want to spit it back out. The drink was more champagne than juice. After the sangria, you weren’t prepared for alcohol so early in the morning. Theo snickered as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Keep up, bella. Where’s the Y/N that used to double fist firewhiskeys at the common room parties?” 

“She’s still asleep, Theodore. For Merlin’s sake, it’s not even noon.” 

“Fun waits for no one,” Theo said before snatching the glass out of your hand and downing the entire thing in one gulp. 

“Oh, you’re going to regret that. I don’t want to hear about your tummy ache ten minutes from now.” 

Theo stuck his tongue out and continued scarfing down his breakfast. You finished yours slowly before joining Blaise and Draco out on the sun deck. According to Pansy, it would be an hour or so before you reached your destination, which gave you plenty of time to tan. Stepping out of your cotton dress, you adjusted your bikini and laid out on the beach chair. 

“Pans, will you put suncream on me?” Mattheo whined from the next seat over. 

Pansy twisted her nose up in disgust before sighing in defeat. It was easier to get it over with than argue. The two of you learned that the hard way over the years. She lathered the suncream on Mattheo’s back, half-heartedly patting it on. When she saw Theo step out into the deck, you saw the gears turning in her head. 

“Theo, will you put suncream on Y/N?” Pansy asked with feigned innocence as she handed the bottle over to him. 

You flushed as Theo looked over at you, his gaze sweeping over your tiny scarlet polka dot bikini. The tips of his ears turned just as red as he swallowed. 

“Um, I don’t know if that’s — “ 

“Pans, it’s really not necessary. I’m fine.” 

“Nonsense.” The witch shook her head, dismissing your statement. She leveled Theo a calculated gaze. “You wouldn’t want her to burn, would you?” 

“Of course not. I just —” Theo tripped over his words as he turned to you. “Is that okay with you?” 

“I’d be more than willing to rub you all over if Theo isn’t up for the challenge,” Mattheo said slyly. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Theo snapped. 

Mattheo and Pansy smirked at each other, watching as Theo carefully approached you. Clearly, they were both rather pleased at baiting Theo into reacting. Your best friend perched on the edge of your lounge chair, looking bashful. 

“May I?” 

Without a word, you nodded shyly. You didn’t trust yourself to speak. Not when he was this close. His hands hovered over your back, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours. Theo gently applied the suncream on your shoulders, massaging the product in with care. He averted his gaze while he worked, the tips of his ears burning the longer he touched you. 

You felt just as flushed as you forced yourself to sit perfectly still. This was ridiculous. It wasn’t like you and Theo rarely touched. In fact, you were quite affectionate, as every single one of your friends loved to point out, but it was different when you were practically half-naked. Squirming in your seat, you waited until Theo finished massaging the cream all over your back. 

“I think that’s good,” Theo said softly. 

You nodded, placing your hands in your lap. Mattheo cocked his head, a smirk forming on his face. “Do you want Y/N to do you next?” 

Theo looked panicked. “What?”

“The suncream, mate,” Riddle replied with a shit-eating grin. 

Fortunately, the captain announced your arrival before Mattheo could insinuate any more innuendos. As the ship docked, you peered at your gorgeous destination. The island was straight out of a storybook. The lush green jungle surrounded the base of a volcano, which spilled out to the white sands and turquoise shore. Instantly, Pansy called the group to order and announced the itinerary. The plan for the day involved dolphin watching, cave exploring, and a picnic by the beach. She ordered the boys to set up in the private cabana she rented, which they did so begrudgingly. 

Theo began to follow them, but Pansy stopped him short. “Not so fast. I booked something else for you and Y/N. You can join us afterwards.” 

Without further explanation, Pansy handed Theo a map, a blanket, and a picnic basket. You began to protest, but your friend merely waved off your argument. “Trust me, it’s worth the trek. You’ll thank me later.” 

As Pansy walked off, you and Theo were left to stare after her. You grabbed the map from his hands and squinted, gauging how far this little side quest was going to take you. 

“It doesn’t seem too bad,” you mused. “Just a little bit over the hill and we should find whatever it is Pansy has in store for us.” 

Theo nodded. “You know I never back down from an adventure.” 

“Not true,” you corrected. “You refused to go to the Forbidden Forest with me in third year.” 

“That’s not fair, bella. First of all, Sirius had just escaped Azkaban and sure, we found out that he wasn’t a psychopathic murderer later on, but how was I supposed to know that at the time? Second of all, he was hardly the biggest threat out there. Need I remind you of the spiders? They’re horrid little beasts.” 

“All I’m hearing is that Theodore Perseus Nott is a chicken.” 

“You take that back, Y/N.” 

You stuck your tongue out before breaking off into a sprint. Slowed down by the blanket and basket, it took Theo a few seconds to catch up with you. Alongside the hill, you followed the winding staircase that you assumed led to the peak. Theo shouted after you, promising to tickle you to death as punishment. 

“You’ll have to actually catch me first.” 

The taunt was short-lived as you reached the final step, turning around to gloat only to lose balance. Out of instinct, Theo dropped everything and reached out to break your fall. His strong arms wound around your waist, holding onto you for dear life. You clutched onto his shirt, the very breath leaving your lungs as you looked up. Theo stared down at you, his expression full of worry as he scanned over you. He released a sigh of relief when he determined that you weren’t hurt or injured. 

“Dio mio,” Theo exclaimed. “Don’t scare me like that, bella.” 

“Sorry Teddy,” you murmured, shakily regaining your balance. Theo brushed your lower back as he helped steady you, sending shivers down your spine. “I got a bit distracted.” 

His short-cropped waves tickled your cheek as he held you a beat longer than necessary, his blue eyes imploring. There was something alluring about them, like hearing a siren’s song after years and years of being lost at sea. Up close, you could map the constellations of freckles on his nose, brought forth by the Italian sun. Growing up, Theo detested them, often deeming them girly, but you always thought that they were cute. 

Your gaze fell to his lips, which you now realized were moving. Presumably asking you a question. “Hm?” you responded absentmindedly.

“Stick close to me, yeah?” 

You nodded as Theo guided you by the small of your back, leading you up the halfway point. From your vantage point, you could see the yacht docked on the shore. The boys were running around and playing in the water while Pansy lounged under the cabana. 

Up ahead, the path grew more narrow, forcing you and Theo to press up against each other. The summer heat beamed down on you, its warmth heightened by the boy leaning over your shoulder. Theo squinted at the map, his breath cool on your neck while you shifted your weight from one leg to the other. 

“This place looks familiar.” 

“I was just about to say that.” 

As you examined the map, Theo stalled to a halt. “I think I know why,” he said as he gestured to the entrance up ahead. “We’re here.” 

Atop the hill sat a beautiful garden, flanked on four sides by trimmed hedges that led into a labyrinth. The front gates shimmered golden in the sunlight, the curlicue letters spelling out a familiar name — Tempio de Cupido. You scanned the map in your hands, astonished that you hadn’t realized where you were until this moment. 

This was Fiera island. The same exact place that your mum and aunt Evangeline visited all those years ago. No wonder Pansy wanted the two of you to go alone. Theo picked the blanket and basket back up, staring at the entrance in awe. You reached for his hand and squeezed. 

“Shall we?” 

Theo swallowed thickly, his gaze heavy with emotion as he followed your lead. Together, the two of you made your way through the labyrinth, marveling at the sweet smelling flowers weaved into the lush walls. The path underneath you was white marble, surprisingly untouched by the dirt and grime. Vines crawled on either side, the green ivy moving on its own accord as if to guide you to the center. 

The temple stood proud and tall, its pillars looming overhead like a marble sentry. Inside was a statue of Cupid, his wings draped behind him as he held his bow taut. Heart shaped arrows littered his feet, flowing right into the fountain that took up the middle of the temple. 

Theo’s eyes widened as he turned to you. “Is that what I think it is?” 

You nodded in confirmation. “La fontana dell’amore,” you murmured softly, tracing the plaque beside it. “We have to make an offering.” 

“But we didn’t bring any coins.” 

The map in your hands glowed, revealing a secret message. Shake me. You followed the instructions and shook the paper, finding two golden coins sitting ready in the palm of your hands. 

“Leave it to Pansy to think of everything.” 

With a grin, you handed Theo a coin. He held your hand tightly and watched as you brought the coin up to your lips, kissing the edge of it like your mum told you she did during her last visit. Theo did the same, his eyes glassy and far away as though he were thinking of his mum too. 

“Make a wish, bella.” 

You closed your eyes and spoke your wish into the silence before tossing the coin into the fountain. The coins clinked together before hitting the water, shimmering iridescent as it sank down to the bottom. Theo gripped your hand tighter, a reminder of what this moment meant to the two of you. You squeezed back in reassurance, not needing any words to communicate the charged emotions surging through you. 

After a moment, you looked up at him and smiled. “What did you wish for, Teddy?” 

He grinned slyly. “If I tell you, then it won’t come true.” 

“Fair enough.” 

Beyond the fountain, depictions of the lore of Cupid were carved into the marble walls. The great love stories of mythology filled the labyrinth. Orpheus and Eurydice. Tristan and Isolde. Achilles and Patroclus. Finally, Cupid’s own story with Psyche. Each couple was in their own way, a tragedy. 

“Isn’t it strange that the god of love fell in love with the woman he was meant to curse?” 

“Ordered by none other than his mother, no less. Mythology does love its convoluted tragedies.” 

The irony of Cupid’s mother Venus commanding her son to strike Psyche with one of his infamous arrows so that she’d fall in love with a hideous beast only for the god to then fall for the young princess himself wasn’t entirely lost on you. Despite the trials and tribulations they faced, the dreamer in you admired their story.

“Still, Psyche persevered through the trials Venus put her through and became a goddess. In the end, her and Cupid reunited and solidified their union. It’s the story of immortal love.” 

As you spoke, you traced over the ancient script craved underneath the depictions of the couple. 

“Love wounds and inflames the heart.”

“I disagree,” Theo said. “Love isn’t supposed to hurt. It heals, it stitches your wounds back together, it mends the pieces of your broken heart until it’s whole again.”  

In that, you found no argument. You could feel Theo’s gaze landing on you. Those watercolor eyes that you knew better than your own. Those freckles that you traced over and over again until you committed them to memory. Those lips that spoke soothing words in your ear after a nightmare. 

The gods and goddesses may have their ballads and tragedies, but you had something far greater. 

With a smile, you nodded. “Love feels like home.” 

After exploring the temple grounds a bit more, you found the perfect spot for a picnic. One of the acolytes pointed you to a massive lemon tree, encouraging you to use the shade for an afternoon snack. 

You thanked the young woman for all her help. “Grazie mille.” 

She clasped your hands and smiled. “Mi scalda il cuore vedere l'amore giovane abbellire questo tempio. Possa Cupido benedire la vostra unione.”

As she walked away, you asked Theo for a translation. You understood a bit of Italian, but it required close concentration and the acolyte had spoken far too quickly for comprehension. 

“She said you’re welcome.” 

“Seems like she said a bit more than that.” 

Theo shrugged nonchalantly as you narrowed your eyes in suspicion. He rounded the lemon tree and spread the blanket underneath its shade. In turn, you began unpacking the food that Pansy had so graciously prepared for you. Theo sat cross-legged beside you while you prepared him a plate of bruschetta. Thanks to magic, everything stayed perfectly fresh. 

The two of you ate under the shade of the lemon tree, the citrus breeze ruffling the flowers before you. You wondered if your mum and aunt sat here in this very spot, admiring this very same view. 

“It’s strange, isn’t it? Being here, I mean. I almost feel like we’re seeing a glimpse of the past.”

Theo nodded, taking a sip of his limoncello before handing it over to you. “Maybe they saw a glimpse of our future. You think they knew that we’d make our way down here someday?” 

You took a generous gulp, indulging the tanginess of the drink. The view was picturesque with the temple standing tall above the peak of the hill while the sun rose high and bright over the labyrinth. Beside you, your best friend leaned back on his elbows and drank in the sight. 

“I think so,” you murmured softly. “Though I wasn’t quite prepared for how beautiful it all is.” 

Theo glanced over at you, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah. It really is beautiful, isn’t it?” His voice was thick with emotion as he intertwined his fingers with yours. “I’m glad that I’m here with you. I think mum would’ve been, too.” 

“Me too, Teddy. I feel her here. Watching over us.” 

You could’ve sworn that the sun shimmered a little brighter and the flowers bloomed beautifully, confirming Evangeline’s presence. This seemed exactly like the kind of place that she’d love. Out of the two of them, your mum always said Eva was the more adventurous one. You always thought that it was because she was a little bit like magic herself. 

“I feel her everywhere, but especially in this place. It’s like fate brought us here.” 

The words brought a smile to your face. In your friendship, Theo tended to lean on logic. His pragmatism was the balance to your constant daydreaming, but in this place, it was impossible not to believe in things like fate. 

“Don’t tell Pansy that, she already has enough of a god complex as it is.” 

Theo chuckled. “I don’t think she was alone in orchestrating this. I’d bet a billion galleons that nonna helped plan this.” 

“Wow, a whole month’s worth of your inheritance? How generous of you.” You giggled as Theo dug his fingers into your side, viciously tickling you. Gasping for air, you swatted his hands away. “Plot or not, I’m glad they schemed to make this happen.” 

A comfortable silence fell as the two of you passed the limoncello back and forth. Down in the gardens, the acolytes tended to the flowers, pruning each one to perfection. Their sheer pink gowns shimmered in the sunlight and on each of their chest was an embroidered scarlet heart, surrounded by golden arrows that signified their patron. 

“Teddy,” you whispered softly. “Do you truly believe in fate?” 

A soft breeze ruffled the lemon tree as Theo shifted beside you, sending his waves to flop right over his eyes. “Yes, but I haven’t always.” 

“What changed your mind?” 

“Second year,” he replied matter-of-factly. “That day at the Black Lake. Do you remember?” 

You nodded. It was the first anniversary of Evangeline’s passing. One of the toughest days in your young life. “Of course, Theo. How could I forget?” 

“Before you came, I asked my mum for a sign. Something to tell me that she was watching over me somehow.” Your eyes welled up with tears as he smiled to himself. “Then you came and found me. You told me that story and I knew.” 

“You knew what?” 

“I don’t know if it was fate or my mum or the universe, but someone sent you to me.” Theo’s eyes shone with emotion as he tucked you close. “I think they knew how much I needed someone like you in my life. Whoever or whatever it is, I’m thankful. You held me together that day. If it weren’t for you, I don’t think I would’ve made it this far. Thank you, bella.”

You sniffled, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. “Me and you against the world, right?” 

“The way it’s always been and the way it’ll always be.” 

After soaking up the sun a little while longer, it was finally time to head back. You offered to help Theo carry the supplies, but he wasn’t having any of it. Instead, he tucked the blanket into the handle of the picnic basket and held out his hand. 

“I don’t want you to fall again, bella.” 

With a shy grin, you intertwined your fingers together. Theo led the way, making sure to carefully guide you through the winding path. He toyed with the emerald ring on your finger as the two of you walked, his own rings clicking against yours. 

When you joined the others, your friends were back aboard the yacht. Pansy explained that you would be going to the other side of the island to sightsee the dolphins. After helping her herd the boys, the two of you finally had some peace and quiet as you settled on the lower deck. Pansy pushed her sunglasses down and raised a brow at you. 

“So, how was it?” 

“It was beautiful,” you said, already missing the temple. “Thank you for setting it up. It really meant a lot to Theo. To both of us.” 

“Anything interesting happen while you two were at the temple of love?” 

“I know what you’re getting at, Pans,” you said as you shook your head. “But Theo and I just talked about our mums. How great it was to do something that they did together all those years ago. It was special, you know? I’ve never felt closer to Aunt Eva.” 

“Good, it was meant to be a bonding experience. Nonna said it would bring you closer together.” 

“It has.” You side-eyed your friend. “So you did plot with nonna to make this happen?”

Pansy didn’t even try to deny it. “Mhm, she says she doesn’t have long on this earth and that you two needed a push. She’d like to meet her great-grandchildren while she still has her strength.” 

You flushed deeply. “Pans! You can’t just meddle in our business like this.” 

“Of course I can.”

“How many times do we have to tell you? Theo and I are just —”

“Friends?” Pansy finished with a scoff. She nodded towards Theo, who was looking up at you with a huge smile. He flushed when you met his gaze, shielding his eyes from the sun but refusing to look away. “Yes, because friends sneak pining glances at each other all the time.” 

“We’ve known each other since we were children.” 

“And?” 

“What if it messes up our friendship?” 

“You never know if you never try.” 

“Yes, but —”

“What did you wish for in that fountain, Y/N?” 

At that, you fell silent. Pansy crossed her arms, a satisfied grin tugging at the corner of her lips. Fortunately, you were saved from further interrogation when the boys squealed at something up ahead. 

“Fragolina,” Theo called from below. He waved excitedly, nearly tossing his binoculars over the railing. “I found one for you, come look!” 

Pansy shot you a knowing look, which you pointedly ignored. She followed after you as you joined the rest of your friends. On the lower deck, Theo beckoned you over to him. You allowed him to position you behind the railing, holding the binoculars for you as he pointed out into the horizon. 

To your delight, you saw a dolphin breaching the water. It flipped gracefully into the air before diving down into the depths again. Theo talked your ear off and you listened to every word, mesmerized by the random facts that he was spouting. 

From the corner of your eye, you saw Pansy shaking her head at you before she mouthed exactly what she thought about the sight of the two of you getting lost in your own little world once again. 

Just friends my arse.

The waves crashed against the craggy rocks as the boys headed for the caves. The stalagmites jutted up from the earth like daggers, dotting their path with its sharp edges. Inside, a magical ball of light guided their way. Mattheo led the pack while Draco grumbled at the thought of getting his brand new boat shoes dirty. 

Theo rolled his eyes. “Who buys three hundred galleon shoes just to go cave exploring?” 

Mattheo snickered. “You know how Malfoy is. He’s a fussy little git through and through.” 

His friend climbed the slippery rock, dangling overhead. Theo followed suit, never one to be outdone by his best mate. Like clockwork, his idiotic stunt hadn’t gone unnoticed. Somewhere behind them, Theo heard your voice echo through the cave. 

“Teddy, don’t climb on there. You’re gonna slip and get hurt.” 

“I’m a grown man, fragolina. I’m fine!” 

Beside him, Mattheo dangled towards another rock and swayed towards Theo. “Soooo,” he said in a sing-songy voice. “You two were gone for a while. Have you finally manned up and made a move?” 

“No, you prick. We visited this temple that both our mums went to years ago. It was actually really nice.” 

“Oh yeah,” Mattheo drawled. “Pansy told me all about that. The Temple of Cupid, right? You’re telling me that you and Y/N went to the temple of the literal god of love and nothing happened?” 

“It’s not like that between us.” 

“But you want it to be.” 

Theo remained silent as he climbed higher to catch up with Mattheo. In the distance, he heard the sound of rushing water. He followed it, catching a glimpse of the blue lagoon that twisted all along the cave network.

“For fuck’s sake, mate. We’re in Italy. This shit is romantic as fuck. What the hell is holding you back?” 

“I don’t know. We just graduated and there’s a lot of things going on.” 

“That’s the same excuse you’ve given since I’ve known you,” Mattheo said with a frown of disapproval. “You know she’s not going to wait forever. Even when we were back at school, there were already plenty of blokes interested in her.” 

“Like who?” Theo asked in a dead serious tone. 

Mattheo shrugged, purposely staying silent to annoy Theo. He hauled himself over to the next rock over and crouched. “Weasley, Diggory, Pucey. Hell, I had a crush on her at one point.” 

“What?!” Theo exclaimed. 

At his outrage, he missed his step and slipped. Theo hissed when his back scraped against the rock. Even through his shirt, the rough, jagged edges stung against his skin. 

Mattheo chuckled. “You’re too easy, Nott. I was just fucking with you. Of course I never had a crush on Y/N. She’s like my sister. The others, though. Them you need to worry about.” 

Theo fought the urge to smack his friend as Mattheo hoisted him up. He debated tripping him over to see how he liked it, but the others had already caught up with them. Too many witnesses. 

You bounded up to him, concern marring your expression. “What did I say?” 

Despite the scolding that Theo knew you were dying to give him, you gently lifted his shirt up and examined the scrape carefully. “You’ll be fine,” you murmured. “I’ve got some healing cream we can apply when we get back and you’ll be good as new, okay?” 

Theo pouted. “Okay.” 

Finally, you sighed and relented. Theo grinned as you leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Just be more careful next time, okay, Teddy?” 

He nodded and smiled. “Okay.” 

Behind you, Mattheo smirked and made kissy faces. What an immature twat. 

Theo responded by giving him the middle finger. 

Later that night, Theo returned to the villa feeling weary yet glad. While he certainly had fun dolphin watching and cave exploring, nothing topped visiting the temple. Theo wished you could’ve stayed underneath that lemon tree forever. It was a memory he’d cherish for the rest of his life. 

As he washed away the remnants of the day, Theo found himself thinking of you. The way you looked at him underneath that lemon tree. Today was special for the both of you. A turning point in your friendship that was impossible to ignore. Even the acolyte commented on the obvious connection between you, cooing over young love. She wished Cupid’s blessing over the two of you, but Theo knew that you didn’t need it. He had known it for some time now. 

With a smile, he dried off and slipped into his pajamas. “Y/N? I’m ready for your expert healing now.” 

As he walked out into the suite, he found you curled up on the love seat with an open book in your lap and the healing cream curled around your fingers. You must’ve fallen asleep while waiting for him to finish showering. His heart softened at the sight. The day had been long and eventful, no doubt tiring you out. 

Wordlessly, Theo put away the book and carefully carried you to the bed. Earlier, you insisted on sleeping there instead of the bed, which Theo vehemently opposed. There was no way he was letting you sleep on the bloody sofa. You stirred in his arms, burying your face in his neck. Theo smiled softly to himself before he set you down. Instantly, you curled up against the pillow. Theo tucked you in and pulled the covers over you as gently as possible. 

Leaning down, he kissed your forehead and smiled. “I wished for you, bella.”

[scealaiscoite]

.☽༊˚ three hundred one-word prompts

¹⁾ balcony

²⁾ sunlight

³⁾ voicemail

⁴⁾ hillside

⁵⁾ tent

⁶⁾ lavender

⁷⁾ candle

⁸⁾ hipbone

⁹⁾ bandaid

¹⁰⁾ wrinkle

¹¹⁾ scar

¹²⁾ curtains

¹³⁾ armory

¹⁴⁾ shell

¹⁵⁾ bouquet

¹⁶⁾ necklace

¹⁷⁾ shotgun

¹⁸⁾ apricot

¹⁹⁾ cheek

²⁰⁾ floorboards

²¹⁾ jacket

²²⁾ bruise

²³⁾ flight

²⁴⁾ streetlight

²⁵⁾ carafe

²⁶⁾ lipstick

²⁷⁾ scars

²⁸⁾ poolside

²⁹⁾ cockpit

³⁰⁾ petals

³¹⁾ mirror

³²⁾ lawyer

³³⁾ cloudy

³⁴⁾ butcher

³⁶⁾ bleach

³⁷⁾ sawdust

³⁸⁾ crib

³⁹⁾ ribbon

⁴⁰⁾ wallet

⁴¹⁾ pearls

⁴²⁾ steam

⁴³⁾ chain

⁴⁴⁾ deckhand

⁴⁵⁾ whiskey

⁴⁶⁾ frost

⁴⁷⁾ lace

⁴⁸⁾ camping

⁴⁹⁾ bakery

⁵⁰⁾ traitor

⁵¹⁾ cherries

⁵²⁾ lightning

⁵³⁾ hide

⁵⁴⁾ tattoo

⁵⁵��� bonfire

⁵⁶⁾ reverse

⁵⁷⁾ passenger

⁵⁸⁾ speedboat

⁵⁹⁾ bare

⁶⁰⁾ concrete

⁶¹⁾ lieutenant

⁶²⁾ chili

⁶³⁾ tiptoe

⁶⁴⁾ office

⁶⁵⁾ skull

⁶⁶⁾ bikini

⁶⁷⁾ cabinet

⁶⁸⁾ lumber

⁶⁹⁾ laboratory

⁷⁰⁾ paint

⁷¹⁾ arch

⁷²⁾ bitter

⁷³⁾ staircase

⁷⁴⁾ priority

⁷⁵⁾ cell

⁷⁶⁾ subordinate

⁷⁷⁾ tapes

⁷⁸⁾ mangoss

⁷⁹⁾ bralette

⁸⁰⁾ whiplash

⁸¹⁾ syringe

⁸²⁾ cinnamon

⁸³⁾ tequila

⁸⁴⁾ garden

⁸⁵⁾ cigarette

⁸⁶⁾ sofa

⁸⁷⁾ rain

⁸⁸⁾ teammate

⁸⁹⁾ oleander

⁹⁰⁾ boss

⁹¹⁾ pillar

⁹²⁾ amethyst

⁹³⁾ footpath

⁹⁴⁾ driver

⁹⁵⁾ massage

⁹⁶⁾ stitches

⁹⁷⁾ jeans

⁹⁸⁾ brand

⁹⁹⁾ blackout

¹⁰⁰⁾ sunglasses

¹⁰¹⁾ lunar

¹⁰²⁾ velvet

¹⁰³⁾ captain

¹⁰⁴⁾ afternoon

¹⁰⁵⁾ ivy

¹⁰⁶⁾ salty

¹⁰⁷⁾ portrait

¹⁰⁸⁾ strawberries

¹⁰⁹⁾ torn

¹¹⁰⁾ cocktails

¹¹¹⁾ roommate

¹¹²⁾ bridge

¹¹³⁾ table

¹¹⁴⁾ hotel

¹¹⁵⁾ jasmine

¹¹⁶⁾ armchair

¹¹⁷⁾ satin

¹¹⁸⁾ bedsheet

¹¹⁹⁾ hedgerow

¹²⁰⁾ thigh

¹²¹⁾ cliff

¹²²⁾ gravel

¹²³⁾ apartment

¹²⁴⁾ keycard

¹²⁵⁾ coffee

¹²⁶⁾ babysitter

¹²⁷⁾ fire

¹²⁸⁾ chalk

¹²⁹⁾ hurricane

¹³⁰⁾ crickets

¹³¹⁾ amber

¹³²⁾ sherriff

¹³³⁾ lamplight

¹³⁴⁾ flag

¹³⁵⁾ airport

¹³⁶⁾ gasoline

¹³⁷⁾ cherub

¹³⁸⁾ clementine

¹³⁹⁾ scalpel

¹⁴⁰⁾ motel

¹⁴¹⁾ parish

¹⁴²⁾ lighter

¹⁴³⁾ highrise

¹⁴⁴⁾ crowbar

¹⁴⁵⁾ sundress

¹⁴⁶⁾ newspaper

¹⁴⁷⁾ screws

¹⁴⁸⁾ uniform

¹⁴⁹⁾ gold

¹⁵⁰⁾ buckshots

¹⁵¹⁾ coast

¹⁵²⁾ handcuffs

¹⁵³⁾ gunpowder

¹⁵⁴⁾ badge

¹⁵⁵⁾ orchids

¹⁵⁶⁾ chef

¹⁵⁷⁾ levee

¹⁵⁸⁾ tea

¹⁵⁹⁾ helicopter

¹⁶⁰⁾ cemetery

¹⁶¹⁾ ice

¹⁶²⁾ heirloom

¹⁶³⁾ tarpaulin

¹⁶⁴⁾ rural

¹⁶⁵⁾ sergeant

¹⁶⁶⁾ tsunami

¹⁶⁷⁾ lemon

¹⁶⁸⁾ debt

¹⁶⁹⁾ skyscraper

¹⁷⁰⁾ caramel

¹⁷¹⁾ hottub

¹⁷²⁾ rum

¹⁷³⁾ pet

¹⁷⁴⁾ tradition

¹⁷⁵⁾ perfume

¹⁷⁶⁾ bracelet

¹⁷⁷⁾ secretary

¹⁷⁸⁾ degree

¹⁷⁹⁾ braids

¹⁸⁰⁾ prescription

¹⁸¹⁾ invitation

¹⁸²⁾ cocoa

¹⁸³⁾ ransom

¹⁸⁴⁾ boxers

¹⁸⁵⁾ theatre

¹⁸⁶⁾ mascara

¹⁸⁷⁾ sand

¹⁸⁸⁾ collar

¹⁸⁹⁾ shoulder

¹⁹⁰⁾ lipgloss

¹⁹¹⁾ membership

¹⁹²⁾ heatwave

¹⁹³⁾ disco

¹⁹⁴⁾ cabin

¹⁹⁵⁾ popcorn

¹⁹⁶⁾ altar

¹⁹⁷⁾ radio

¹⁹⁸⁾ bayou

¹⁹⁹⁾ bodyguard

²⁰⁰⁾ glitter

²⁰¹⁾ mustache

²⁰²⁾ protector

²⁰³⁾ contacts

²⁰⁴⁾ bullets

²⁰⁵⁾ groceries

²⁰⁶⁾ raspberry

²⁰⁷⁾ microphone

²⁰⁸⁾ coconut

²⁰⁹⁾ villain

²¹⁰⁾ earlobe

²¹¹⁾ purse

²¹²⁾ flood

²¹³⁾ shot

²¹⁴⁾ windbreaker

²¹⁵⁾ granite

²¹⁶⁾ highway

²¹⁷⁾ eggshells

²¹⁸⁾ hoarse

²¹⁹⁾ chocolates

²²⁰⁾ trembling

²²¹⁾ buttercream

²²²⁾ rings

²²³⁾ holster

²²⁴⁾ briefcase

²²⁵⁾ wrist

²²⁶⁾ piercings

²²⁷⁾ cowboy

²²⁸⁾ ashes

²²⁹⁾ ankle

²³⁰⁾ neroli

²³¹⁾ orchard

²³²⁾ tires

²³³⁾ salmon

²³⁴⁾ peaches

²³⁵⁾ rooftop

²³⁶⁾ toast

²³⁷⁾ gala

²³⁸⁾ sage

²³⁹⁾ graduation

²⁴⁰⁾ reporter

²⁴¹⁾ belt

²⁴²⁾ antidote

²⁴³⁾ ship

²⁴⁴⁾ officer

²⁴⁵⁾ wine

²⁴⁶⁾ corridor

²⁴⁷⁾ cold

²⁴⁸⁾ hangover

²⁴⁹⁾ fingertip

²⁵⁰⁾ vintage

²⁵¹⁾ cupcake

²⁵²⁾ saviour

²⁵³⁾ gentleman

²⁵⁴⁾ loan

²⁵⁵⁾ hostage

²⁵⁶⁾ evergreen

²⁵⁷⁾ denial

²⁵⁸⁾ housewife

²⁵⁹⁾ riverbank

²⁶⁰⁾ marshmallows

²⁶¹⁾ books

²⁶²⁾ hockey

²⁶³⁾ lizard

²⁶⁴⁾ silver

²⁶⁵⁾ dinner

²⁶⁶⁾ pear

²⁶⁷⁾ bound

²⁶⁸⁾ waiter

²⁶⁹⁾ tender

²⁷⁰⁾ fallen

²⁷¹⁾ banquet

²⁷²⁾ announcement

²⁷³⁾ roast

²⁷⁴⁾ sneer

²⁷⁵⁾ exes

²⁷⁶⁾ stovetop

²⁷⁷⁾ brass

²⁷⁸⁾ clay

²⁷⁹⁾ valet

²⁸⁰⁾ schoolbus

²⁸¹⁾ exhausted

²⁸²⁾ field

²⁸³⁾ hoodie

²⁸⁴⁾ sugar

²⁸⁵⁾ palmtree

²⁸⁶⁾ burnt

²⁸⁷⁾ diner

²⁸⁸⁾ snake

²⁸⁹⁾ fever

²⁹⁰⁾ domestic

²⁹¹⁾ plaid

²⁹²⁾ wreck

²⁹³⁾ courtyard

²⁹⁴⁾ dozen

²⁹⁵⁾ earphones

²⁹⁶⁾ blueberry

²⁹⁷⁾ anklet

²⁹⁸⁾ shower

²⁹⁹⁾ venom

³⁰⁰⁾ lover

[suzukiblu]

Day seventeen of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“You heckle your own guys?” Kon demands, still laughing. “The hell for?” 

“Because Chris Campbell is literally the worst professional quarterback on the East Coast and a total pill, that’s why,” Tim says witheringly, also mostly on reflex. Not that he really watches all that much in the way of sports, just his dad semi-regularly watches football and hockey and sometimes baseball, so sports are usually a safe topic to talk about without having to handle awkward questions like what'd you do last night or how’d you get that bruise? or anything equally inconvenient to answer. 

Though really anybody in Gotham who was not a literal shut-in with no internet access or cable would know how freakin’ bad Chris Campbell’s arm sucks, but he digresses. 

“Also Robin is an urban legend, because I want to go about my daily life completely unnoticed by anyone who might care about people thinking he wasn’t,” he amends belatedly, and Kon laughs harder. 

“Well, he’s an urban legend who can totally pull, for the record,” Kon says matter-of-factly before taking another bite of grilled cheese monstrosity. Tim almost walks into a lamppost. Or a mailbox. Or–something. There was something he almost walked into. 

“I cannot even be in the same state as this conversation,” he says maybe a little too feelingly. 

“Yeah Batman would definitely be a fucking dick about it,” Kon says agreeably, still snickering a little. Tim decides that is a great excuse and exactly what he’s gonna go with, and then gets distracted by Kon making a show of fluttering his eyelashes at him with a flirty smirk and adding, “And like, obviously you, daddy.” 

“I–why would I be a dick about that?” Tim asks, instinctively wary about if he let something slip about Robin and what Kon–

“Oh my god, I mean you’re on my ‘surrounded by hotties’ list, you nerd!” Kon cackles, smacking his back. “Obviously.”

Tim cannot even begin to imagine what Kon thought was “obvious” about that, but okay. If Kon has awful taste, that’s his prerogative. And if he thinks Robin is hot, theoretically he would also think Tim Drake was, except for how Robin and Tim Drake are two totally different people and also Kon resents Robin and is constantly being a total dick about both listening to him and letting him just run the damn team and has to get the last word in even in active combat situations and Tim Drake is just–Tim Drake is just a nerd, exactly like Kon just said. He’s a photography nerd and a nerd-nerd and he’s not all that interesting or attractive, and he has weird taste in video games and only likes the role-playing games that literally nobody actually plays, and he isn’t even that good at skateboarding! What about either of them could Kon possibly find actually, like–actually consider– 

“It’s cute you didn’t realize, though,” Kon adds, and leans over to kiss his cheek with greasy grilled cheese lips. Tim, unfortunately, feels like a squishy melted marshmallow about it. And also greasy and gross. But mostly it’s the marshmallow thing, yeah. “Hey, are you gonna finish those, babe?” 

“All yours,” Tim says, and hands over the remaining grilled cheese, deciding to just . . . not do the math on how many of those Kon actually just ate. And also to take him to a buffet next date, maybe. Like–several buffets. Multiple buffects. They could just rotate through a few, maybe Kon’ll be likelier to actually eat ‘til he’s full at an “all you can eat”-style setup if he’s still worried about him overspending on him, Tim figures, which he clearly has not been given how many grilled cheese sandwiches he has put away so far, even if he doesn’t finish the last–

Yeah, Kon definitely hasn’t been eating ‘til he was full, Tim notes as he watches Kon demolish every single remaining sandwich all down to the last bite and then lick his fingers clean. 

Alright then. Buffet tour date it is. And also way more snacks and candy in Kon’s future gift bags and maybe, like, he could also just open an Uber Eats account for him and fill it up with as much Uber Cash as they’ll let him and also sign up for the premium or whatever so Kon won’t have to pay delivery fees, assuming he can even get Uber Eats to deliver to Cadmus, but honestly he’s heard about people doing weirder in the gig economy, and also Robin is going to just–Robin is going to goddamn pack the Justice Cave with nonperishable snacks, Tim swears to god. Enough for Bart to need to take a few days to get through, even. And like–Suzie doesn’t need to eat, no, but that doesn’t mean she shouldn’t have the option, and frankly now he’s going to have to be checking everyone’s living situations out a little more thoroughly, so until then–well, he’s just gonna frontload his success, he guesses. Be prepared. 

Bruce absolutely cannot complain about him being prepared, he lies to himself, and offers Kon the napkins. Kon grins at him and then wipes his mouth and hands off and misses some crumbs éon his lip, which Tim is very unimpressed with himself for finding cute even more unimpressed with himself for wanting to brush them away for him like they’re in some dumb weird cliché romcom or something. Which they are not, definitely. 

“Did I get it all?” Kon asks him. 

Tim despairs, but also is only in possession of so much self-control, okay? Reeling back on the supervillain plan is already taking up about seventy percent of his processing power and not jumping Kon outright is at least another twenty-five, so he doesn’t have very much to work with here, okay? 

“One sec,” he says, and reaches up to brush away the last couple of crumbs on Kon’s lower lip with the pad of his thumb. Kon immediately turns bright pink, then grins at him way too smugly. Tim decides to just not analyze whatever his own facial expression feels like it’s being right now, for obvious reasons. 

Mostly “self-defense”. Mostly “self-defense” is the reason. 

Kon ducks in and kisses him again, the gesture all sweet and warm and still a little unfortunately but endearingly greasy. The kissing does not help with Tim’s self-control in any way whatsoever, but definitely does distract him from analyzing anything else that’s going on right now. 

“You really know how to skate?” Kon asks him after he leans back from the kiss, back to grinning at him. Tim suddenly understands literally everything Victor Fries has ever done in his life and frankly is surprised he hasn’t done worse. If anyone ever lays a hand on Kon again, he is gonna do so much worse than just go supervillain; he is gonna go Darkseid and he will not be sorry.

[dessarchive]

FIRST WEEK, ENHYPEN DR ౨ৎ MY LAST WEEK IN BRISBANE

a week so bittersweet :,) filled with bike rides along the beach, treating uno like it’s life or death, playing mini-golf at 3am, going bowling and eating so much pizza, shopping sprees that end in so much food bought for new recipes, karaoke until 4am, dressing up to go to brunch, playing twister and almost breaking a few bones, lots and lots of swimming, water gun fights, lego building, going to the beach at night, almost having the jenga blocks crush our toes, walks to the beach after an amazing breakfast, mcdonald’s at 2am, gas station snacks for movie marathons, just dance, going back to the fair just for fair food, laughing too loud in the restaurant, photo-booths, night swims, more karaoke, baking, color wars, going to the arcade, trampoline parks, go-cart rides, skating, froyo, sidewalks covered in chalk, bonfires and roasting marshmallows, collages, celebrating gemma’s birthday early, packing my bags, blaring frank ocean and taylor swift in my jeep, and crying as i ride to the airport realizing nothing will be the same when i return.

more songs,

the spins by mac miller, the thrill by wiz khalifa, tumblr girls by g-eazy, new romantics by taylor swift, our last summer by abba, oath by cher lloyd, champagne coast by blood orange, best friend by conan gray, monopoly by ariana grande & victoria monét, super rich kids by frank ocean, the night is still young by nicki minaj, young dumb & broke by khalid, tongue tied by grouplove, where’d all the time go by dr. dog, in my life by the beatles, long live by taylor swift, meet me at our spot by the anxiety & willow, lady killers ll by g-eazy, seven by taylor swift, don’t dream it’s over by crowded house, pink + white by frank ocean, leave before you love me by marshmello & jonas brothers, vacation by g.r.l., boom clap by charli xcx, otw by khalid

[allforthegaymes]

Neil loves everything about Andrew.

He doesnt care when Allison teases him about it, saying thats what everyone says when theyre in a relationship.

He loves when theyre kissing and Andrew always pauses to smile against his lips. When he snorts at Neil when he dives back in to continue.

He loves the glimpse of Andrews chipped canine tooth from a snow sledding accident. Nicky had been driving the Maserati, Andrew dragging behind it on a sled as they coasted through the parking lot, slick with ice. Before the sled hit a curb hidden by the snow and he’d gotten tossed into a tree.

He loves the way Andrew glares, half pouting, drunkenly at him when he stands in the Columbia kitchen cutting marshmallows up to try and mimic the mini marshmallows Andrew insists on having in his cocoa.

He loves the way Andrew stands in some supermarkets clothing department trying to decide if paying $20 is worth having the pack of spiderman boxers. He loves the way Andrew washes them the second they get home and groans as he rips at least two seams on them after they shrink outrageously small after the wash. He loves the way Andrew stubbornly refuses to stop wearing them anyways.

Neil loves how Andrew leans over the counter in the bathroom, dragging beard dye over his eyebrows to tint them a shade so they can actually be seen. He loves the way Andrews head tilts back with an annoyed groan when they come out too dark and Aaron takes at least 20 pictures of him with dark bushy eyebrows. He loves the way Andrew lets him drag him to the girls dorm so Allison can give him an evil grin and fix them.

He loves the way Andrew refuses to let him light his own cigarettes. The first few times he’d lit his own Andrew would snag it from his mouth for himself, and light Neil a new one himself. Usually he just presses the tips of their cigarettes together, the lit cherry of his own lighting Neils. Or Neil will just pass his lighter over to Andrew, leaning forward with the cig held between his lips, wobbling slightly from the way hes trying to squash a smile.

He loves the way Andrew has no opinions when it comes to which video game they all play on tuesday and thursday game nights, but is the loudest at insisting which movie plays on friday movie night, arguing with everyone that they have to do the hat method for picking one and insists everyone else is teaming up on him when his doesnt get picked. He loves the way Andrew refuses to let Neil copy his movie choice onto his own piece of paper, even if itd give his choice better odds of being picked out of the hat.

He loves the way Andrew groans and grumbles when theres a heat wave and tells Neil he runs like a furnace, but stays firmly wrapped around Neils back anyways as the fan points directly at them in bed. The connected skin between them slick with sweat that makes Kevin complain about the smell in the room until Andrew points at Kevins stinky gym bag in the corner.

He loves the way Andrew asks him ‘yes or no’ whenever theyre about to do something new. Loves the way ‘yes or no’ slowly evolves into different situations. Texted to him from across a sports gala once theyre pro to ask Neil if he wants to ditch it with him early. Mumbled against his neck when he shows Neil the transfer request to move back onto the same pro team together.

He loves the way Andrew understands when Neil says no, that he wants to finish up talking to a few more coaches around the gala first. When Andrew asks him if he wants to try a new steakhouse and Neil would rather get Thai from down the road and sit in the Mas instead.

[bittersweet-jack-of-no-trades]

Bill was gone, but he took something with him

It seemed, at first, that Stan was just the same: the same fun grunkle, the same shifty salesman, the same brother. Whatever happened inside his brain, however the memory gun worked, it had spared Stan the worst of it. Ford was suspicious; even as Fiddleford's memories came back, too, and the others stricken by the Society of the Blind Eye began to recall what had been taken from them, Ford observed his brother closely, concerned.

It started with pancakes. Stan made excellent pancakes, and he made a smiley face with marshmallows, chocolate chips, and edible glitter for Mabel just like she liked. Dipper's had an amount of butter and syrup that could not be good for his young arteries, and Ford's were plain, with just a light coating of butter, syrup on the side for dipping--- how they each preferred. Stan's, though, was the same as Ford's. There was nothing wrong with that--- except for the fact that Stan hated plain pancakes. He liked his absolutely drowning in flavored syrup, like Dipper. Ford convinced himself Stan was just trying something new, or maybe was finally growing up and acting like an adult.

But the trend continued- they went clothes shopping, because many of their possessions were destroyed when they turned the Mystery Shack into a Mystery Mech; Stan hovered over the cargo shorts, jeans, and Hawaiian shirts, but turned eventually to a sweater and straight-leg pants, the same kind Ford wore. When they watched a movie together, he always let Ford choose, at first; when Ford insisted Stan make a decision, he chose an old sci-fi movie, or a documentary, instead of the rom-coms, mysteries, and action thrillers Ford knew Stan preferred.

Ford shook the bad feeling off, at first: they'd hadn't seen each other in thirty years, and before that, had been separated for nearly a decade and a half. Surely, Stan's tastes had just changed--- matured, evolved, whatever. But it just didn't seem right; Stan's choices seemed at odds with the personality he still displayed. It made for a disjointed view of his character; he seemed conflicted whenever he had to make a decision, no matter how big or small.

It was a year after Bill's defeat, eight months after construction of the Stan o' War II was completed and they set sail around the world, that everything came to a head. All Ford wanted was for Stan to pick the restaurant after they had docked up in a marina somewhere on the east coast of Florida. And Stan--- well, he was picking restaurants, sure, but they were all ones that Ford would choose. And Ford kept pressing Stan to no, pick one Stan would like, and Stan would pick another that just felt uncharacteristic, and they went in circles about this for a while, until it jumbled into an argument. And just like any pair of siblings, they shouted about a lot of things, shit from last week and last month and fifty years ago, just for the hell of it, and finally Ford had snapped and cried---

"I don't think I even know who you are, anymore!"

And Stan, faced screwed up in anger, had shouted back, "and you think I do?"

And that just shut that argument down, didn't it? Cause Ford felt, in an instant, no anger, just grief.

Because, really, they both realized at that moment, when had Stan been allowed to be, well, Stan? For thirty years, habits of grifting maintained or not, Stanley was dead and it was Stanford doing the grifting. And before that, it was a host of fake identities, each further removed from the truth than the last, as Stan desperately fled across the country, running from himself. And before that, his teenage years were filled with just trying to be half as good as Ford, and so when was there ever time for Stan to be, wholeheartedly and without judgement, himself? What did he like? What did he want? Who was he? And it was just the cherry on top, he had to admit, when not even Bill, evil genius extraordinaire, couldn't tell his beautiful Artist apart from his failure of a twin brother.

His only worth, as far as he was concerned, was defeating Bill. That was done, and then what was supposed to be his ultimate sacrifice, that thing that would set him apart from his brother, ending up being, well, pretty OK in the end, if one didn't count how hard Mabel and Dipper cried.

So with Bill's defeat any idea of his identity also dissolved, that damned triangle cracking open a flood of insecurity. Bill had cackled, those final moments of breaking into a million atoms of forgotten nothingness, and Stan hadn't realized at first why he would be so happy. But while Bill couldn't grasp anything physical in his evil little paws, he was a trickster of the mind until the end.

Bill whispered it, as he died: what do you have left to do? And he was right: Ford was back, the kids were safe, Soos was running the Mystery Shack, and that left Stan to---

Well, he didn't quite know.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Epilogue: It’s Not Over ‘Til You’re Underground]

A/N: We've finally reached the end of the Oregon Trail, besties!!! Enjoy this one last treat to celebrate the conclusion of Martyrs 🥰

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes.

Both the series title and epilogue title are lyrics from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Word count: 4.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Autumn is the harvest, ripping up roots, preparing for the starving time of winter, and so you step through the threshold of your new life as the world is ending again.

“I knew the chances,” Sophie says when you tell her what happened; but she can’t look at you, because of course she wishes it was Rio who made it to Odessa instead, and you don’t blame her. She breaks down and leaves the house, and you sit there—silent, sorry, self-loathing—for a long time with Rio’s weeping parents and Aegon’s arm draped across the back of your chair. But then Sophie comes back inside, and through tears she says it’s nice to meet you in person at last, and then she asks if you’d like to hold Rio’s son.

Here it is commonplace to see M16s and AR-15s, marijuana growing in gardens, a myriad of flags flying from homes—Don’t Tread On Me, Trump 2024, American flags, rainbow flags, porcupines of the Libertarian Party—and order is maintained by an elected council of longtime Odessa residents. For anyone to be allowed into the community, somebody already here must take responsibility for them, and so the seven of you—eight, counting Ice—spend the first few months sleeping on Rio’s parents’ living room floor and eating meals out of their cellar, enough self-stable food to last for years. You join the construction crew and help build houses, Cregan cuts down trees and fishes and hunts, Helaena shows Aegon how to garden and Sophie teaches Luke to bake bread. There are no doctors here, but there are several unlicensed midwives and a veterinarian named Ian Whitted. Rhaena studies under him—attending every appointment and taking copious notes in the spider notebook Helaena gifts her, sharing what she learned from Aemond—and before long her sutures are quicker and cleaner than Ian’s. Daeron, considered too young and inexperienced for the most dangerous work, is posted with his compound bow inside the village to serve as a guard. He resents this until he realizes there are far more women to flirt with here than out in the forest where wolves and bears prowl and the dead rove with incurable hunger.

You work from dawn to sunset; you work so you have no time to think. The baby doesn’t feel real, and neither does Aemond being gone, and the future is so unimaginable you’d rather not try to imagine it at all. Because you’re a good shot, they want you for patrols and raids of nearby towns to search for supplies, and you take every shift you’re offered until Rhaena says you have to stop. She tells you that each time you leave, Aegon watches the door until you walk through it again, that it’s not good for him, that it’s not good for you either. She says you can’t keep running from what’s happened.

“I’m not trying to run away,” you tell her where she’s cornered you by one of the wells, lilac twilight sky and glimmers of stars, hoots of owls and children laughing as they roast marshmallows over crackling fires. “I’m trying to find my way through.”

“Fine,” Rhaena replies firmly, no room for argument. “But you’re going to do that in here where it’s safe.”

The new houses have wooden walls and kitchen fireplaces made of stones, beds with feather mattresses, plots for gardens and pens for ducks, chickens, pigs, sheep, goats, turkeys, cattle. Helaena and Cregan move into one cabin, Rhaena and Luke share another, and you have the last to yourself, the first time you’ve ever lived alone. Aegon and Daeron float around between the houses, more often than not ending up in yours as the sun is dipping below the tree line into the west, Daeron carving wooden cutlery with a hunting knife, Aegon cuddling with Ice on the deerskin rug, luring you into disastrous baking attempts and games of Uno and telling stories about Washington D.C., Djibouti, Key West, Corpus Christi, Chinhae, Diego Garcia, Saratoga Springs before the dead began to walk.

Thanksgiving dinner is at Rio’s parents’ house, Sophie’s baby sound asleep in his blue sling, candles flickering and Ice lying beneath the table to gulp down scraps that fall to the floor: roasted turkey, hazelnut stuffing, buttered carrots, mashed potatoes, pickled beets, salad with homemade ranch dressing, pumpkin pie for dessert.

“God, I miss chilidogs,” Aegon mutters beside you, and you laugh—a real laugh, loud and helpless, a lightness flooding into your arteries and the marrow of your bones—for the first time since Aemond died.

“You have to try this,” Sophie says, pouring you a small glass of moonshine distilled with apples and cherries and cinnamon. Everybody else has already had a taste except Aegon. He doesn’t drink anymore, doesn’t smoke the weed people grow here, only keeps a few tobacco plants in your garden to enjoy on rare occasions.

“I can’t,” you tell Sophie, staring at the amber-colored moonshine. You are over three months along and will be showing soon. It materializes all at once, shifts from a hazy apparition to something in full focus: next Thanksgiving you will have a fatherless infant of your own.

Sophie is puzzled. The glass of moonshine waits untouched on the table. “Why not?”

“Because I’m pregnant,” you say.

Aegon chokes on his pumpkin pie. “You’re what?!”

And everyone except Helaena drops their forks and leaps up to engulf you: How long have you known? How far along are you? Why didn’t you tell us? How can we help?

You stop lifting heavy things and stay off of ladders. Helaena brings you kale and mushrooms, Sophie knits you baby clothes, Rio’s mom makes you candles infused with essential oils, lavender, chamomile, ginger, and you lie and say they make a difference. Aegon helps you build a crib; you don’t need his help, but still, he insists. Smiling to himself, he etches two words into the headboard: Mini Chips. Wheat is planted in the fields to the north of the village. Scrap metal is scavenged for the blacksmiths to melt down to make nails and bullets. You learn to sweeten desserts with honey instead of sugar and to hold your hand flat when you feed the baby goats so they won’t nibble your fingers. You wait for winter to thaw and summer to come back around again.

It is what people would call a bad birth: hemorrhaging and lots of stitches, Rhaena squinting in the glow of the flashlights trying to piece you back together, rain outside and no lidocaine. You can’t stop crying. You feel like you’re going to die, and you’re shaking too badly to hold your own child, and you want Aemond. He would know what to do, he would know how to make the world go quiet. And the truth that he will never meet his daughter hits you over and over again like cold lethal waves, like bullets that pierce the heart.

Aegon is here instead, and you want to cling to him but you can’t; if all the others could die, so can he. But even when you look away from him to stare at the wall he stays, his hand clutching yours and never complaining even when you squeeze it hard enough to leave bruises that paint him maroon and indigo, tilting glasses filled with fresh pomegranate juice against your lips, asking Rhaena and Ian what you will need from him as you recover. Slowly the house empties and everyone goes home, but Aegon stays through the night and never leaves again.

Harmony cries a lot, as if she already knows she’s lost someone. She has trouble nursing and only sleeps for a few hours at a time. People are always coming in and out of the house: Sophie with handknit clothes and blankets for the baby, Helaena with flowers and fruit and vegetables, Rhaena with loaves of Luke’s fresh-baked bread, Cregan with firewood. At first Aegon is better with Harmony than you are. You love her, of course, and you mourn for the life you cannot give her; but you can’t shake the feeling that someone left her on your doorstep, this fragile bewildering creature you are so unequipped to soothe. Yet Aegon picks her up and she stops crying. He carries her around the house and murmurs nonsense—rules of golf, sailing knots—and she gazes up at him mesmerized; and in the peace that grows from him like weeds, wild and inevitable, you can heal.

Aegon helps you walk for the first week after the birth. He brings you meals, overflowing plates you can never finish. He respectfully averts his eyes when you nurse the baby and when he passes the bedroom as you’re changing clothes, slowly and inelegantly, every muscle feeling shredded. He falls exhausted into bed beside you with his arms crossed over his chest so he won’t reach for you in his sleep. You keep waiting for him to start craving marijuana and moonshine, to meet someone who makes him wayward again while you are left here alone, morose and unglamorous and bleeding. You care about Aegon—entirely, violently—but you are convinced you’ll never love a man again. Perhaps love is something that is always doomed to be broken, ruinous, poisoned.

When Harmony is about four months old, you begin to see Aegon differently. You can’t stop staring at the way his hair shags over his eyes when he’s bent low in the garden, you hide behind walls and listen each time you catch him singing to himself, you feel a dark desperate sense of loss when other women flirt with him, though Aegon is never more than polite in return. You find excuses to touch him, and he always acquiesces: Let me bandage the cuts on your hands, let me dab honey on your sunburn.

One night you wake to find Aegon with Harmony in the kitchen, humming and rocking her in his arms as he paces back and forth across the wood floor in his bare feet, the full moon radiant through the window, the fireplace crackling. He glances over when he notices you standing in the doorway and says: “I think this is the only thing I’ve ever been good at.”

“Aegon?”

“Yeah, Chips.”

“I’m in love with you.”

At first he is startled, and then he smiles in the firelight, a slow mischievous curve of the lips that puts stars in his eyes and shows his teeth. “Took you long enough.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Nearly ten years ago, you were learning how to be a builder at Class A Technical School in Gulfport, Mississippi, salt and sun and sweet tea and humidity that lies heavy like a second skin you can’t shed. Today you are hammering nails into boards that will be a wall of the new meeting house, twice the square footage of the old one. The community here keeps growing.

“Watch out for your fingers, Zack Attack.”

 Zack looks over at you. He’s a kid, nineteen, and he’s only been here a week. He left Beaumont, Texas with a group of thirty people, one of them the cousin of a council member here. Twelve were left when they arrived. “Huh?”

“You’re holding the nail too close to the bottom,” you say. “If you swing the hammer and miss—and you will miss, everyone does sometimes, even me—you’ll crush your fingers against the wood. But if you hold the nail up near the top, the hammer will kind of knock them out of the way as it comes down, and you won’t have to worry about Rhaena or Ian popping your bones back into place.”

“Oh, cool! Thanks!” Zack readjusts his hands. “Where’d you learn to do all this?”

“The Navy.”

“Right. That makes sense.” He gives you a crooked, conspiratorial grin. “I heard you’re a good shot.”

“I am, I guess.” You don’t do patrols anymore, but you’re on the list of people to call when there’s a security breach, and you go because you have to. If Odessa is ever overrun, that will be the end of the life you’ve made here. The last scare was two months ago, a hoard that wandered up from the south, probably out of Klamath Falls. Someone knocked and you answered, leaving Aegon standing in the doorway with troubled eyes, Noah in his arms asking: Where Mama go? And Aegon had told him She’ll be back soon, buddy, but of course no one had known if that was true.

Now Zack says admiringly: “A real killer.”

You smile and give him a slap on the shoulder as you start climbing down the ladder. “I’d rather be a builder.”

“You heading out?”

“Yeah, my kids probably miss me.”

“See ya tomorrow. Bring more of Aegon’s raspberry crumb muffins.”

You laugh. “If there are any left.”

Down on the ground, bumblebees orbit tufts of wildflowers and cats prowl for mice. Sitting cross-legged on the grass are kids rubbing nails against bars of goat milk soap; it makes them go into the wood easier. They play the same way you did as a child: in the dirt, in the wild, tracking animals and building dams in the creek. They wave as you pass by. Everyone knows each other here. Everyone knows what you can do with the Beretta M9 in your holster.

Beside one of the wells, Daeron is helping a flock of tittering, blushing women pull up their buckets and plucking stray blades of grass and pine needles out of their hair. He is easily the most eligible bachelor in Odessa, and in no hurry to take himself off the market. By the schoolhouse, two teenagers are petting Ice as they listen to Aegon’s pink Sony Walkman and rap along to Gold Digger: “You will see him on tv, any given Sunday, win the Super Bowl and drive off in a Hyundai…”

But at Sophie’s house, the song you hear is Darius Rucker’s Wagon Wheel, drifting from a battery-powered boombox containing one of Rio’s dad’s cassette tapes. Aegon is already here and dusted with earth, your children clamoring around his legs as he chats with Sophie at the edge of the garden: zucchini, snap peas, tomatoes, strawberries, spinach, potatoes, cucumbers, carrots, kale. When Aegon sees you, he lights up and says to the kids: “Look! Look who’s here!” And you crouch down and open your arms so you can catch all three of them as they barrel into you on small, wobbly legs.

The second birth was much easier, the third only lasted an afternoon. Opal, three years old, is named after a gemstone that Sophie told you symbolizes hope and clarity; Noah, two and with unruly blonde hair like Aegon’s, shares a name with the man who started over when the world flooded and all the generations before were lost. You pick him up before he can trip over his own feet.

“Mama, come see!” Harmony shouts, grabbing your free hand and dragging you to a hutch full of fluffy, multicolored rabbits. Aegon is walking over to join you, his hands in his pockets and a soft smile on his lips, long blonde hair and stubbled cheeks.

“Are these the new meat rabbits?” you say without thinking, and Aegon widens his eyes at you.

Harmony peers up with a worried frown. She’s getting too smart to be shielded from such harsh realities. “Why did you call them meat rabbits?”

Aegon swoops Harmony off the ground to distract her. “Because they’re so excited to meet you!” he says as she giggles and kicks through open air.

“What are their names?” you ask to change the subject.

“Arrax,” Opal says in her toddler lisp, pointing to a grey one. And then, indicating a rabbit with long, reddish-tan fur: “Morning.”

“Those are such nice names!” you gush, a bit perplexed. Children have a certain mystery to them, one foot still in the Great Beyond, wherever souls wait to be born and reunited.

“And this one is Sunfyre,” Harmony announces proudly, reaching through the wire to scratch its straw-colored coat.

“Sunfyre?!” Aegon says. “Well now you’re just making shit up.” A pause. “Stuff. You’re making stuff up.”

“And Sunfyre is married to Dreamfyre.”

“Cute,” Aegon says. “Incestuous, but cute.”

“The post-apocalypse dating pool is limited,” you remind him.

“Have you met the Texas people yet?” Sophie asks you as she wanders over to the hutch in a handknit yellow dress, wearing elephant earrings that Rio once mailed home to her from Djibouti.

“Yeah, some of them are working on the meeting house. They seem really nice. And apparently they know how to barbeque, so that’s exciting. New recipes!”

Sophie smirks. “When they dropped by to introduce themselves, I had to have the whole conversation again.”

“Well…you did name your kid Otter.”

“Wait, wait, hold on,” Sophie says, chuckling, showing her palms. “I did not name him Otter.”

“You named him Bryan Otter Osorio. And you call him Otter.”

“Because he’s a little kid and it’s a perfectly fine nickname for now! And then when he’s older…you know…he can decide who he wants to be.”

You smile. “Sure.”

“I think it’s great, personally,” Aegon says. “I’m hoping I’ll get to name my next one Softshell Turtle.”

“Absolutely,” you deadpan. “And what if it’s a girl?”

“Softshell Turtle is obviously unisex.”

Sophie is laughing and shaking her head. “I hate you guys.”

Helaena and Cregan arrive to pick up their children, two sets of twins, all named after species of butterflies: Skipper, Adonis, Tiger, Sara. Rio’s parents bring them outside to the garden to be collected. They and Sophie like to keep the house full of children, especially now that Otter is getting older. And when they need meat or firewood or their roof patched, they know who to ask.

“I’m so sorry,” Sophie tells Helaena and Cregan as they wrangle their brood. “I’m mortified. Adonis ate Harmony’s oatmeal raisin cookie and made her cry, so Otter smacked him in the head with his golf club.” Aegon has carved miniature, lightweight clubs out of pine wood for each of the children; they zip around putting acorns and walnuts. “Adonis was freaked out but I think he’s fine now. I couldn’t find a bruise or anything. Again, I’m so, so, so sorry.”

“You okay, buckaroo?” Cregan asks, and his oldest son—brunette man bun, already pestering his dad to take him hunting—nods adamantly.

“Duh. It didn’t even hurt.”

Cregan guffaws and turns back to Sophie. “See? No harm done.”

Otter trots out of the house, rubbing his eyes like he just woke up from a nap. Harmony immediately runs over to hug him. He’s already six inches taller than her and is always giving her gifts that end up on the fireplace mantle at your house: flecks of quartz, pinecones, bracelets woven from buttercups.

Sophie asks Otter: “Did you think about what you did earlier?”

“Yeah,” he replies cavalierly.

“Would you do it again?”

“Probably.”

“Oh dear,” Sophie exhales, exasperated.

You beam down at Otter. “He’s exactly like Rio.”

“Yeah,” Sophie says wistfully, combing her fingers through his dark curly hair. “He really is.”

Rhaena and Luke happen to be strolling by and stop to say hello. Luke teaches English classes at the schoolhouse, founded the Cultural Preservation Committee, and writes and directs a new play each month. When he is in the lull between original ideas, he draws from pre-zombie pop culture. The June production is Free Britney.

“Hi!” Rhaena says, waving. “Are we still on for dinner tonight?” All the adults offer greetings and confirm they’ll swing by her and Luke’s cabin in a few hours. Then Rhaena shields her eyes from the sun as she sighs incredulously. “Do you realize there are ten women due in the next two weeks? I spend all day rushing around because they’re panicking about Braxton Hicks contractions. If I get one full night’s sleep between now and mid-July, it’ll be a miracle. Am I the only human alive who knows how to use the rhythm method? I explain it! I give lessons!”

You laugh and say: “I think people just really want babies, Rhaena.”

“They’re so sweet,” Helaena coos as she snuggles Sara against her chest.

“Gotta repopulate the planet,” Cregan adds.

Rhaena is disturbed. “I don’t feel ready for that.”

“Totally cool,” you assure her. “Helaena and I are keeping the average up.”

That night, logs pop and hiss in the fireplace and wind howls outside through the forest. On the walls are photographs of Aemond and Helaena and Daeron, drawings that the children have scribbled of you and Aegon. Propped in one corner of the living room is Aegon’s acoustic guitar; Harmony’s current favorite song for him to play is Big Girls Don’t Cry, though a slightly censored version of Fergalicious is a close second. Tomorrow is Aegon’s birthday. You have a cake hidden in one of the kitchen cabinets—cinnamon, honey, buttercream frosting—that you baked this morning before leaving for the construction site, along with 35 small homemade candles dyed green with chamomile. Every year he assumes you’ve forgotten, but you never do. You’re so thankful he was born. You are eternally finding new ways to convince him of this.

All five of you cuddle up in the big bed for story time. You begin as you always do, struggling to capture the kids’ attention as they crawl around giggling and rolling on top of each other: “Hey, hey, everyone look at me. You remember what we say.” Harmony knows this part my heart, Opal has the words mostly right, Noah gives it a solid effort as he mauls on a teddy bear Sophie knitted for him. “You’re beautiful. I love you. You’re doing the right thing.”

“What story should Mama tell tonight, huh?” Aegon asks as you open the book of fairytales borrowed from the makeshift community library, another one of Luke’s projects. “The Little Mermaid, Goldilocks and the Three Bears, Beauty and the Beast…oh wait, I think I might be in that one…”

Harmony says to you: “Tell the story about how Aemond saved us from the tower.”

Children understand death here. People get infections, people succumb to cancer or heart attacks or strokes or diabetes, people go out on raids or patrols and never come back, one man contracted rabies from a bat bite and was—at his request—euthanized via gunshot. Harmony is aware she had a father before Aegon, but that he had to go to heaven early, and so Aegon is her father now and loves her completely. She knows Aemond’s face from the photographs Helaena took from the beach house on the Pacific Ocean. She knows the kind of person he was from the stories she’s been told. Harmony envisions a fantastical castle keep instead of a stark metal transmission tower draped in dead wires, and she’s a bit unclear on the chronology of when she entered the picture, but she has heard about the journey to Odessa. Aegon’s map, annotated with glittery green gel pen ink, hangs on the kitchen wall.

You close the book, looking at Harmony: your hair, Aemond’s eyes. “Okay. I can tell that one.”

“Mama…” Her little forehead crinkles, questions she is at last getting old enough to start asking. “Why do some people have to go to heaven before they’re old?”

You hesitate, trying to decide how to explain; and now embers are glowing hot and scarring in your throat. It’s a fire that cools and rekindles but never burns out. Aegon speaks instead. “Because they’re heroes, Mini Chips,” he says gently. “They go to heaven so other people get to stay here longer. Aemond went to heaven so you and your mom could live here in Odessa with me.”

“So Otter’s daddy was a hero too?”

Aegon leans down to kiss the top of her head, his eyes shining. “Yeah. Exactly.”

Not just a hero, you think. A martyr. Someone who dies for a cause.

Harmony is patting your arm with her tiny outstretched hand. “The tower, Mama. Tell us about the tower.”

Now you are there again with Rio: sixty feet off the ground and clinging to metal beams hot enough to put blisters on your palms, cascading June sunlight and wild emerald fields, blood and madness behind you, the mirage of Oregon ahead, believing without reason that someone out there will save you.

And they will; they will.