#why does your v reminds of shepard so much!!!

[memaidraws]

On Repeat Playlist Tag Game

Rules: Shuffle your repeat playlist 10 times and tag 10 people. Tagged by @flymmsy 😘

If you've ever wanted to laugh at my musical tastes, no better opportunity now, folks!

I know a lot of you guys are within the venn diagram of shared/mutual fandoms, so what I'll do for this (to make things interesting) is assign a pairing for each song and a wee rationale as to why ;)

Tagging: @defira85 @atypicalacademic @dirty-bosmer @henbased @braindancer @feykiller @vasiktomis @circlejourney @chickenparm @sweatandwoe (sorry if you've been tagged before!)

SHEPARD / GARRUS (Mass Effect) Okay, Reina's technically not 'Shepard', and this is a big cheat because Jeon Somi is her voice claim haha. Definitely a song she's released out of spite when Garrus all but disappeared to play vigilante on Omega ;)

MARTIN SEPTIM / MARINA CORVUS (TES IV: Oblivion) Listen, listen, this song is so perfectly them it actually kind of hurts a lot. To people that surrounded Martin, Emperor-to-be, Marina was exactly the kind of troublemaker they needed him to stay away from. But to Brother Martin the man made of flesh? She was everything to him uwu

GORTASH / DURGE (Baldur's Gate III) Come on now, the lyrics are PERFECT for a Durge lamenting about the big dumb crush she's got on Enver and oh my god? He likes her back? (She says, kicking her feet in the air, after a bloody massacre, much to Sceleritas Fel's dismay)

MAYOR HANCOCK / LEE (Fallout 4) UGH oh my god so I know Lee Know from Stray Kids is his faceclaim but this song is very much them. Wanting to run away, seeking freedom where they can take it? Not wanting to take shit for all the crap that's been thrown their way? Yeah <3 Maybe for a modern AU <3

GORTASH / DARK URGE (Baldur's Gate III) It's not cheating! If Kill! Kill! Kill! was from Durge's perspective, I can see this being from Gortash's perspective (the fact this is one genuine emo/alt??? perfect for Gorty's aging rockstar look). Like come on, it's in the name, the lyrics, the screamo bridge? Davey Havok knows what's up.

ONMUND / ALREK (TES V: Skyrim) Oh man. Oh man so this particular album from Bastille has been very Onmund/Alrek coded to me (for reasons I won't get into yet ;D) But this is very much like Alrek watching the world quite literally burn and the only thing he can think of is courting the cute mage and throwing all his cares into the wind. After all, when the world's ending, why does any of it matter?

CAPT DELACOURT / MC (Heart of a Sky Pirate) Hey, my otome game officially lives on an app, so this counts ;D But these more upset, shanty-esque songs definitely reminds me of Delacourt and his romance route. Throwing your cares to the wind (literally) and having a grand ol' time no matter where the adventure takes you.

F!SOLE SURVIVOR / CURIE (Fallout 4) Hear me out: I think Parker's (my sole) romance with Curie is almost highschool puppy love. And it doesn't help that they both have some pretty huge baggage that they need to work through-- so having someone to lean on and love in a way that's easy, carefree and happy? Yeah they're gonna hold onto that <3

STELLE / MARCH 7TH (Honkai: Star Rail) Forever crying that my Caelus is getting so many better pulls than my Stelle, but fwiw, I definitely think Stelle and March have a very fun, easy-going relationship. Kinda need to when you're Trailblazing across the galaxy in a giant space train (and angering gods along the way, oops!)

GALE DEKARIOS / TAV (Baldur's Gate III) Hear me out: I think these two would be so into each other in the way that they absolutely would not leave each other alone. You think Astarion/Tav is bad? These two have it worse. To be more precise, my Tav for this romance, Rae, is very much into exploring his romantic curiosities with Gale. No one else makes him feel as safe and wanted uwu

[farmnap]

Fluff Alphabet-Sapnap

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?) 

He likes your humor. He likes your beauty. He loves everything about you. Mostly, though, he loves your kindness. You are just so nice to him. You hold him, whisper sweet things to him, and make him feel like its all alright.

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?) 

He definitely wants a family, obviously not anytime soon though. He believes that he’d be a good father and that you’d be a good parent as well. He doesn’t tell you this, but sometimes he dreams about having a child, their little hands and feet. He goes through baby fever like every two months. 

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?) 

He prefers to hold you most of the time, it makes him feel like he’s protecting you. He will spoon you most nights or hold your head to his chest and wrap his other arm around your body. Sometimes tho he lets you lay on top of him and just sleep. He likes your weight on him, thin or not. 

D = Dates (What are dates with them like?)

i assume they'd be chill or more just hangouts. Like going to an arcade or an escape room. If it was a special occasion, birthday or anniversary, he’d take you to a fancy restaurant. He’d hate getting dressed up and eating food that isn’t worth the money, but he’d do it forever if it meant he got to see you happy. 

E = Everything (You are my ____ (e.g. my life, my world…))

My lifeline. You make his world turn and his heart keep beating. Everything he does is for you (In a non weird obsession way) he just wants you to be happy

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?) 

He knew he was in love when you showed up at his house to hold him after he sounded upset on a call. that's it, no questions asked, you were just there.

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?) 

He’s so gentle it’s almost infuriating to you because sometimes he wont even touch you. Like when y’all first started dating, he wouldn't hold your hand because he didn’t want to squeeze to much. He wouldn’t cuddle you because he didn’t want to suffocate you. He treats you like a doll

H = Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)

after he got over the hand holding fear stated previously, he holds your hand tightly, almost afraid to let go. He holds your hand whenever he can: in the store, in bed, on walks, in the car, on dates. He always has his hand in yours.

I = Impression (What was their first impression?)

His first impression of you was probably about your appearance. He’s only a 20 okay so he probably looked at your butt or chest first. Obviously when he actually talked to you, he would realize you were funny and nice. But yeah, purely physical at first.

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous?)

omfg yes. He gets so jealous. Sapnap’s not the kind of bf to get like toxic or rude when jealous tho. He just gets insecure and sad. 

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

You kissed him first, he was way too nervous to make the first move. He kisses you softly and with his hands on your cheeks. He loves holding you when you kiss, holding you close. Once Y’all are more comfortable with each other he may even put his hand on your neck while kissing you. It makes him all giddy.

L = Love (Who says ‘I love you’ first?)

He would say it first, on accident. probably after being intimate and having you on his chest. Too lost in his mind, it just comes out.

“I love you”

“What?”

It scared both of you at first but then you smile and cuddled closer. It didn’t matter to him if you said it back right then or not, he knew you cared for him.

M = Memory (What’s their favourite memory together?)

When you guys stayed in on your 6 month anniversary. The plan was to go out and eat at this super fancy place but you guys missed the reservation. Instead of being sad, you guys stayed home and watched a bunch if princess movies and cuddled. It was sweet and the first time y’all actually just hung out.

N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

He doesn’t spoil you too much actually. He knows you can buy your own stuff and doesn’t try to take over if you don't ask him too. BUT on special occasions you are getting everything you even look at. he once dropped about 2,000 dollars on jewelry as a gift on your birthday.

O = Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?)

Pastel yellow. Its a color of friendship and trust, which is what your relationship is built on. 

P = Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

He uses the usual babe a lot, i cant see him using darling im sorry. He also 100% uses baby and sweetheart. Honey is also used. But mostly he would use variations of your name. 

Q = Quaint (What is their favourite non-modern thing?)

He likes castles and royalty. Obviously there is still queens and stuff but he loves the whole castle fantasy. He thinks about being a knight in shining armor to save you.

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

He uses this as an excuse to stay in bed and cuddle. Like that’s all he would want to do. No food, no responsibilities, just snuggling.

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?)

When he was single he would just sleep or eat. We’ve all been there and there's nothing wrong with it. But now that he has you he would rant to you or cry. If you were upset he would listen to any and all problems you had without comment. He would just be there for what ever you needed.

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

he talks about school, his family, his friends, and a shit ton of random Minecraft. Even if you got sick of it, you stick around bc he’s cute when passionate.

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)

in the most respectful way, he likes to have sex. it makes him happy and calms him down. Obviously if you weren’t feeling it, he wouldn’t make you and would go for just kisses and cuddles, also watching Moana bc he loves that movie. 

V = Vaunt (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

he shows off his set up and shoes. He splurges on those things and will be damned if the whole world doesn't know. 

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?)

He wouldn't propose for a while and surely not until y’all are both out of college and stuff but when he does its a whole thing. He takes you to a beach saying something like, “I heard the boardwalk food is amazing” or something like that. He would probably invite dream along to record and also being there for the biggest moment of his life. Obviously, you say yes and its so cute.

X = Xylophone (What’s their song?)

(I’m sorry about this one I’m not a big music person)

"I'm Gonna Love You Through It" by Martina McBride is what i picked bc he would always be there no matter what, he just loves so much

Y = Yikes (Do they ever mess up in the relationship?)

Sapnap has made many many mistakes. He can be rude sometimes without even realizing it, he can spend more time with George than you, he can ignore you for a week for something petty. Thankfully, he comes to his senses after a while and talks to you about it. He tries to be as good as he can and communicate to you but he’s not perfect.

Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)

oml he would beg you for a dog everyday! he just wants a German Shepard named Bently is that too much to ask?

[faeratil]

A, B, G, H, M, O, R, S, T, U, V, X, Z! (Do any fandom for the fandom-specific ones, I want to make you choose between all your favs hehehe)

😂 thanks Mar

A - Ships that you currently like a lot

Viktuuri, Sasamiya, Chuntaka, Otayuri, Twiyor, Katarina x Alan, Katarina x Sora, Marichat

B - A pairing that you initially didn’t consider, but someone changed your mind

Katarina x Keith

G - Have you ever had an OTP? If so, do you remember your first one? Who was in it?

Absolutely. My first OTP I think was from the Hourglass Door Trilogy, I can’t remember liking another pairing as much before that. It was Abigail Beatrice Edmunds and Dante di Alessandro Casella. Currently, though, it’s a tie between Viktuuri and Sasamiya.

H - What is your favorite source text for fandom stuff?

Anime. It used to be video games, and before that it was books.

M - Name a character you’d like to have as a friend

Miyano. He’s a fudanshi and an otaku, so we would probably spend all day just comparing our favorite bl anime and manga 😂

O - Choose a song at random. What ship or character does it remind you of?

I put my Spotify liked songs on shuffle, and the first song was “Why Don’t You Do Right?” But specifically the version from Who Framed Roger Rabbit. Obviously the first character I think of is Jessica Rabbit, but it also reminds me of Black Canary from the new Birds of Prey movie. I think she’d absolutely kill the song.

R - Which friendship/platonic relationship is your favorite in fandom?

Miyano with Hirano and Hanzawa. They’re so protective of him and I think it’s adorable and hilarious.

S - Show us an example of your personal headcanon

So my biggest headcanon that I have is for the Mass Effect trilogy. It’s like a whole big thing that I explained to only one person ever and they stared at me like I was so weird. But basically, Shepard and Thane get together and have their romance, but just as it happens in game, Thane dies. So Shep turns to drinking and reckless fighting to cope with the pain, and since she’s saving the universe she has no shortage of enemies trying to kill her that she can take her anger out on. But then Garrus steps in and makes her sit down and talk to him and she cries in his arms for a couple hours. They’ve been friends since the very first game so it makes sense that they’d be close. But then they grow closer and closer until they fall in love, but obviously Garrus doesn’t want to overstep where Thane was, so he’s careful about how he approaches a potential relationship with Shep. And then at the end of the games when Shep is saying goodbye to everyone, he tells her how he feels and that he wants to grow old with her and adopt Krogan babies. And this time Shep SURVIVES because FUCK THE REAL ENDING, and they end up together and raise Krogan babies, and then Shep dies years later before Garrus does, and the afterlife is how Thane describes it like being across the sea, and Thane is over there waiting for her and she gets to be with him again and he’s happy for her finding a life with Garrus too, and I just think it’s a much better ending and you get to have BOTH of the good romances.

So yeah.

T - Do you have any hard and fast headcanons that you will die defending?

Viktor and Christophe had a little fling before Viktor met Yuuri. I will die on that hill.

U - Three favorite characters from three different fandoms, and why they’re your favorites

Can the whole Forger family count as one character? Otherwise Anya Forger from Spy x Family because she’s adorable and her facial expressions are amazing and she just really wants her new mom and dad to stay forever.

Eda from The Owl House. She’s exactly the level of chaotic and maternal that I aspire to be.

Miyano from Sasaki to Miyano because I just love him.

V - Which character do you relate to most?

Miyano. He’s a disaster bi otaku who loves bl.

X - A trope which you are almost certain to love in a fandom

Enemies to lovers

Z - Just ramble about something fan-related

I feel like I’ve rambled enough already, but related to my most recent hyperfixation I think that Alan or Sora should be best guy in Hamefura. I’ve only had Sora for a few episodes and I love him. I also love that Alan’s VA is also Chat Noir’s VA because it makes me laugh anytime he says something Chat would say. I think that everyone should watch Hamefura, especially if you love disaster bi characters. Also I just really want more people to love Sora and Alan as much as I do.

[clarketomylexa]

That’s What Best Friends Do

“I love you,” she tells Lexa in earnest.

Lexa cocks her head, nose scrunched and finger curled into the spine of her book, marking the page. “Why.”

Clarke is taken back. Her and Octavia have been exchanging cheesy ‘I love yous’ since the second grade and there isn’t any real reason for it other than ‘that’s just what friends do’. She shrugs and purses her lips. “I don’t know,” she says plainly,  and amends the words Octavia tells her, “that’s just what best friends do.”

read on ao3

They meet in the first grade.

Lexa is sweet and Clarke thinks she is cool in her own quirky way.

She moves in on a Sunday and she stands on the other side of the picket fence as they talk, in a green sweatshirt with tiny, little pugs on it and one leg of her denim overalls rolled an inch higher than the other, rainbow piñata socks on show underneath scuffed up sneakers. Her hair is braided into a crown around her head—a style that Clarke files away among what Octavia likes to call a ‘fishtail braid’ and how to tie her shoelaces for later—and she has a scar above her top lip that Clarke imagines she got doing something exotic.

She’s so much cooler than the kids in her grade that Clarke almost wants to yell out how unfair it is that she won’t be going to her school in the Spring.

“But Oakside is so far away,” she laments, hands fidgeting with the Barbie doll tucked beneath her arm. Most of the kids her age in their cul-de-sac go to Ridgeview. Privately Clarke thinks Octavia is the only one worth talking to though, because she has it on good authority that Miller picks his nose and Bellamy just tries too hard.

She isn’t allowed to tell people that though so she watches Lexa shrug.

“My cousin goes there.”

Abby calls her from the porch a moment later and Clarke is forced to say goodbye to her new friend to wash up for sinner. She thrusts the topless Barbie over the fence in a form of peace offering—Lexa’s eyes bulge out of her head and Clarke wonders if she’s never seen a Barbie before so she makes a mental note to invite Lexa over to play with them—and tells Lexa with the utmost importance that she will talk to her tomorrow.

“I made a new friend today,” she tells Abby and Jake from her stool by the kitchen sink as she methodically washes her hands like the chart tacked to the wall tells her to. Jake says she’s a ‘sociable child’ which Clarke thinks is adult speak for ‘will talk to anything that moves’ because once she made friends with a duck in the park that had one leg and an eye that didn’t open. But if being ‘sociable’ means she can talk to Lexa again Clarke will accept the title gladly.

When she closes her eyes she can see Lexa’s pretty braid and the way her eyes aren’t quite one colour but not two either. Like what would happen in art class when Clarke mixed turquoise and forest green together on her plastic pallet because she was using what Miss Henry called ‘artistic license’. Maybe God or whatever Bellamy’s new theory on who created the universe used their ‘artistic license’ when they were making Lexa too.

It makes an awful lot of sense when she thinks about it.

“Clarke you’re wasting water,” Abby reminds her, ferrying pasta bake and green salad from the island to the table and Clarke dries her hands obediently and tucks her stool into the scullery to claim her chair.

“Her name is Lexa,” she continues. “She has piñatas on her socks. She lives next door.”

“The Shepard house sold?” Jake asks.

Abby nods. “I met the new owners at the open house last month. She’s a lawyer,” she looks at Jake in the way Clarke has noticed her parents do when they are talking about ‘parent things’. “I don’t think he’s in the picture anymore.”

“What picture?” Clarke pipes up, distracted as she uses the spoon to scrape the cheesy, bread crumb topping from the side of the dish. She likes drawing. Her favourite is when they finish their worksheets quickly on Friday afternoons and her teacher tells them to bring a piece of paper and a book to lean on, and takes them to the playground to draw the plants and the bugs. The boys in her class spend the time throwing sticks at each other but Clarke always finds a corner to tuck herself into and a lady bug to examine.

She likes the colours.

“Your Mom means that Lexa’s Dad doesn’t live with her anymore,” Jake explains. He takes the spoon from Clarke and scoops the stuck piece of pasta bake onto her plate before topping it up with salad and ignoring the way she frowns at the limp lettuce leaves.

Thinking on it, Clarke nods without ceremony. “If Lexa’s Mom’s a lawyer,” she posits, “can she arrest Nate for stealing my gel pens?”

Nate sits across from her in art class and has a habit of stealing her stationary when he thinks she isn’t looking because he likes colouring his notebooks with sparkles. It’s annoying because she refuses to tell on him and Abby says she doesn’t want to buy her more if they are going to continue to go missing so she has to resort to using Octavia’s ones without the good smelling scents.

“I don’t think that’s how it works, honey,” Abby laughs.

“That’s prob’ly for the best,” Clarke smacks her lips in thought, “he sticks them up his nose.”

Clarke invites Lexa over two days later to play with her Barbies and Lexa sits on her lawn in a bright pink long-sleeve with patches shaped like fried eggs on the elbows and socks that have milk and cookies on them.

When she jokes that Lexa is wearing her breakfast, Lexa smiles so wide Clarke thinks the world will split in two.

She invites Lexa to the lake three months later.

It’s a five hour drive to the house that has been in Jake’s family since he was Clarke’s age but it’s one that they take every twenty-second of June when Abby has cover at the surgery. The house is big and old, with a deck and a new paint job and big windows that overlook the lake. If you squint on a clear day, you can see the proud, white facades of the houses on the other side with their boat sheds, trellises and peaked roofs.

A jetty sits in the water and a tree clings to the bank with a tire-swing Jake had fastened to the middle-most branch—against Abby’s better judgement but she never can stop her husband when he has one of his ideas—so that when you stand as far as you can up the bank and let go you can fly out far enough not to touch the bottom of the lake. It’s Clarke’s favourite thing since she learnt how to do a handstand on the side of the garage.   

Not that Clarke has to sell it really, because after three months of Barbie Dream house in the front yard Lexa is nodding as soon as she mentions it would mean spending the summer with her. She explains diligently that there is a double bed in the room Clarke usually stays in—because Abby said that sometimes people don’t like sleeping in the same bed as other people—but that they can sleep in the bunk room instead, or Jake can pull the trundle bed out.

Lexa just nods.  

She is fairly sure that is she asked Lexa to jump off a cliff, she would walk straight off it, piñata socks and all but then Clarke would miss her too much.

She stands on the Griffin’s porch on the morning of the twenty-second, in cactus socks and second-hand short-alls—the pants cut down to her size—with funky patches sewn into the bib, thumbs working their way under the straps of her backpack as her mom thanks Abby profusely.   

She’s a pretty lady, with Lexa’s smile and round glasses who looks both flustered and relieved as she sweeps a hand over her daughter’s forehead and admits in a way Clarke knows she is supposed to pretend not to listen to that Lexa is having trouble making friends. Which Clarke thinks is ridiculous because Lexa is sweet and funny. She wears her hair like a crown and has been rolling the legs of her pants up at different lengths for three months because Clarke said she thought it was cool.

Clarke’s chest aches when Lexa won’t look up from the tips of her shoes and she thinks that Lexa’s mom mustn’t know what she’s talking about.

Clarke has been doing multiplication in math.

She knows that two and two is four, and three and three is six.

And if that’s true then she thinks Lexa and summer must equal something like ‘better than good’—but not ‘bestest’ because Lexa says ‘best’ is already a superlative.

Clarke doesn’t know what a superlative is, but Lexa can define words like ‘diversification’ so she thinks Lexa must be right.

They swim until water rattles in their ears and Jake teaches them to fish off the jetty after they stand on stools to help him pull the rods down from a shelf in the boat house, carefully showing them how to thread the bait onto the hook and cast the line into the water. When Lexa can’t get her hands around the line, face contorting unhappily, Jake heaves her onto his lap and repeats the process patiently until her frumpy frown straightens out.

They go out on the boat on hot days; Jake makes the boat corkscrew so that the water froths out in a V behind them, and when Clarke begs, he flings them writhing and giggling into the water by the strap of their life-jackets and fishes them out again while Abby rolls her eyes.

It’s in the quiet moments though, when the lie on the grass in damp swim suits and sunscreen-sticky skin, that Clarke discovers two very important things.

The first: Lexa does this thing when she is happy where she scrunches her eyes and throws her head back to laugh and it’s so ‘positively lovely’—which is another thing that Lexa says a lot—that Clarke makes it her mission to make her happy every day of her life.     

The second: every time Lexa is happy, it makes Clarke feel ten feet tall. It’s a feeling that starts in her toes, ticking the soles of her feet and shooting like growing pains up her legs until her stomach is hot and her cheeks are pink and she feels stronger than before. She is pretty sure that if she were to climb the tallest tree on the bank and let go, she would fly and not fall.

She thinks about it as she sits, chin sticky with lemonade popsicle on the jetty.

Lexa lays sprawled on her back, legs akimbo and arms stretched out into the sky. Her fingers are splayed and her whole face is contorted so that she can squint up at the sky and trap the sun in the circle of her fingers. She has freckles peeking out shyly from the bridge of her nose and when she notices Clarke staring, she drops her hand and smiles. It’s lopsided—like her pant legs and her socks—but it’s whole in a way that makes Clarke’s stomach flip-flop.   

“Want to see something cool?” she pokes Lexa in the soft of her ribs with her pointer finger.

Lexa nods, pushing herself up onto her elbows, intrigued, “uh huh.”

She folds her legs and cocks her head. Clarke makes sure she is watching before she picks her way up the jetty, where the grassy verge tangles with the roots and rocks.

The tire swing is tucked over a low branch—at her mom’s request because technically Clarke isn’t supposed to use it without ‘adult supervision’ but Lexa talks like an adult sometimes with her ‘therefore’ and ‘henceforth’, so she thinks it will be okay—and stands on a rock that juts out into the water with one leg, reaching out with the other until she can feel the tire under her fingers. Grinning, she pulls it into her hands and hooks a leg over the rope, taking three steps back and launching herself off the bank.

She lets go when the tire is just about to swing back like Jake taught her and surfaces just out of the shallows, hair in her eyes and heart thumping against the cage of her chest. When her ears unclog, Lexa is whooping and the jetty bends and gives beneath her uncoordinated victory dance.

“I can go higher,” Clarke garbles, mouth full of water.

Lexa’s whole face shoots upwards in disbelief. “Cannot,” she says.

“Can to,” Clarke insists, arms flailing as she doggy-paddles inelegantly to the shore.

Their life jackets are hooked over the railing of the deck and it crosses Clarke’s mind that maybe she should go and get hers, but if she does Abby will see her through the kitchen window and she gave them instructions not to go in the water when she went in to put lunch together.

She fishes the tire swing towards her and steps back as far as the rope will go this time, rooting her toes firmly in the soggy grass. Lexa is staring at her in wide-eyed apprehension but Clarke sets her brow until it furrows above her eyes and her stomach whooshes out from under her as she kicks off the bank, mud stuck between her toes.

It dawns on her when the air is whining in her ears that maybe this isn’t such a good idea.

Her foot catches and before she understand what is happening she is careening back towards the bank, heart stuck in her mouth.

Lexa lets out a sharp yelp, as Clarke’s hand slips. She lands face down in the dirt, the air punched out of her chest, still for a moment until pain blooms across her right cheek and a cry escapes her mouth before she can recognise it as hers. She hears a shout when her ears stop ringing, and rolls with a hard gasp onto her back as Lexa’s head and shoulders swim into her vision, awful worry crunching her face. She pets Clarke’s hair as Clarke blinks up at the sky, voice trembling as she coos ‘it’s okay, Clarke’ and ‘I’m here, Clarke’ in a high, thin voice that Clarke can’t help but think is less soothing and more unsettling, until the thick goo that seems to be sitting on her lungs seeps away and she can breathe.

But then her mom appears—all grumpy line in the place of her mouth—wiping her hands on her pants as she squats on the grass and Clarke thinks she is going to puke all over again.

“Mom,” she squeaks, whining as the right side of her face throbs hotly.

Abby takes one look at her—wet swimsuit and lank hair, blood pooling beneath her eye and Lexa’s hand squeezed tightly in a balled fist—and tsks, tucking a hand under her to sit her up and Clarke sways before falling into her chest, whining ‘it hurts’ into the soft neckline of her shirt.   

The first-aid kit is found and Abby asserts that it won’t need stitches.

She gets a talking to about not doing what she’s told—which Lexa stands through too, fingers wound through Clarke’s in a way that makes it hard to focus on why ‘insubordination’ is a bad thing—and she wears a hulk band-aid on the bony jut of her cheek for a week.

Lexa traces it with a feather-light finger as the lie, side-by-side in the double bed beneath the lazy turn of the ceiling fan in the room that has been Clarke’s since she was three years old. She wears llama pyjamas and is unapologetic about not wanting to sleep on the trundle bed Jake offers to make up for her, instead, pressing herself into Clarke to feel for the bump of the scab forming under the band-aid with a frown in the way that makes warmth curl under Clarke’s ribs.

“I did it on purpose,” Clarke says, eager for anything to get rid of the crunch between Lexa’s eyebrows. She wants to reach out and touch it but her hands shake so she doesn’t.

Lexa blinks slowly, “nuh uh,” she says without heat.

“Did to,” Clarke fists her hand under her chin and nudges Lexa’s nose with her own. She smells like bubble-gum toothpaste and the Griffin’s shower-gel and the wonderful notion that Lexa is hers wafts in her mind until she can’t help but smile. “Now I match you.”

Lexa reaches up to touch the shallow half-circle above her top lip like she’s forgotten about it, fingers tapping her teeth for a minute before she shakes her head. “Yours is cooler,” she says definitively, “I got mine falling off my bike,” she explains, “you got yours flying.”

Lexa smiles her world-splitting smile and Clarke thinks that while swimming and the fireworks Jake sets off for the Fourth of July are all well and good, bedtime might be better. It’s a secret she will take to the grave along with how she only pretends not to like broccoli but the stripy wallpaper and floral sheets of the room feel impenetrable and Clarke builds them a fortress out of cotton sheets and shadows cast from soft lamp-light; a place where Lexa is hers.

She wraps her fist around the top of the sheet and pull sit over their heads until they are breathing the same hot air.

“You’re my best friend,” she says wondering why her throat gets hot and tight as she does so. The words have been sitting on her chest since the day they met—a secret locked tight like the acorns she keeps in the sticker decorated box beneath her bed that is so true she feels it in her bones every time Lexa talks.

Lexa’s eyes go big. For a horrible second, Clarke thinks that it was the wrong thing to say and her stomach flip-flops but not in the way she has come accustomed to it doing when she is around Lexa—this flip-flop feels like the warning kind that comes before Clarke has to go in search for her mom in the middle of the night because she ate too much ice-cream in one go and it winds itself into a knot so tight the only way out is up. But then, Lexa mumbles ‘best friend’ under her breath like she wants to taste it and nods, smiling so warmly Clarke wants to wrap herself up in it like a blanket and never crawl out.

“I’ve never had a best friend,” she admits, cowering behind the words like they will change Clarke’s mind. When Clarke doesn’t reply, she peers at her intently and Clarke recognises the look that she gets when she is helping Clarke with her addition and subtraction worksheets. “Is it different from just being a friend?”

Clarke thinks about it for a moment.

“Yes,” she eventually lands on, “and no.” Lexa nods. “It just means more,” Clarke whispers, “it just makes it more special.”

“Okay, then,” Lexa decides.  “You’re my best friend too.”

Lexa is soft when she sleeps. With her admission she goes limp like pasta when you put it in the pot and Clarke manoeuvres her happily, all gangly limbs and knobbly joints, until she can tangle them together like a puzzle—the kind that isn’t meant to unravel—and when Abby comes to check on them, if it weren’t for the different colours of their pyjamas, she wouldn’t know where one started and the other ended.     

They talk during the year but it isn’t the same.

Lexa gives Clarke a pair of socks for her birthday with tiny little sloths embroidered into them—Clarke knows they cost her whole allowance and for that it means the world. She presents them with as much importance as when she knighted Clarke in the woods behind the lake house with an old plank of timber they found in the shed and she hangs over the fence every day after school with her lopsided smile and embroidered overalls, telling Clarke about the books she reads and her nine-year-old cousins shenanigans until her mom calls her in.

Sometimes, when Lexa’s mom is working she stays at Clarke’s on Saturday nights and on those days, Clarke can almost pretend it’s summer. They stand on stools in the kitchen side-by-side as Jake stirs the pasta sauce and lie in Clarke’s twin bed at night, watching the glow-in-the-dark stars. But Lexa is all angles unfortunately—she looks forlorn whenever someone mentions it to her, but Abby insists that she will grow into her lankiness—and while in summer it provides places for Clarke to tuck herself into comfortably, during the year, the positions she has to contort them into to make them fit clench at her chest.

She presses sloppy kisses to Lexa’s forehead to tries and convince herself otherwise, but Clarke comes to the conclusion that Lexa isn’t hers during the year when Lexa regretfully turns down an invitation to go bowling when Jake offers to take her, Octavia and Bellamy one Friday night.

She stares at her toes when she tells Clarke that her mom said no and she looks so much like the snail that Clarke found on the back path without its shell one morning that she pester her for more information.

Two weeks later, Clarke has to say no to backyard pizza with Lexa and her mom because of Octavia’s seventh birthday party—a slumber party that ends at eight when they all inevitably fall from their sugar highs that Lexa isn’t invited to despite Clarke’s best efforts.

Octavia doesn’t like Lexa. She says she’s ‘too colourful’ with her stripy shirts and rainbow patches even after Clarke explains her theory about ‘artistic license’ and Clarke thinks it’s a horrible reason not to like someone. When she asks her mom Abby tells her that Octavia is probably feeling left out and Clarke thinks that maybe, she isn’t Lexa’s during the year either.

The thought is so distressing, she lies awake with it at night, raggedy Ann doll squeezed under her armpit as she stares at the spot where the wall meets the ceiling. She twists her finger over the woollen curls.

Summer is four months away but suddenly, it becomes the center of her universe.

Clarke is nine years old and Abby has set them loose to play in the thatch of trees beside the house.

They pick through the leaves in shorts and t-shirts while their bathing suits dry over the railing and play catch with the neighbour kids until they are flush faced and breathless. Lexa wears popcorn socks beneath her sneakers and Clarke slips a hand, fingers splayed, over her mouth to mask the sound of her heavy breathing as they crouch in a heavy crush of limbs behind a tree. They are pressed so close together Clarke can feel the rapid pat-pat of her heart and when the Monty and Jasper run past in a flurry of kicked-up leaves and pine needles, Lexa licks a wet stripe across Clarke’s cupped palm with a fierce brand of mischief in her eyes until Clarke squeals away.

They spend the rest of the afternoon as the taggers but Clarke can’t find it in herself to complain.

The next day tag becomes boring and they think of a new game.

Clarke remembers the story book that she packed in preparation for the lazy hours her and Lexa were sure to spend lounging on the grass—a thick tome her grandmother gifted her for Christmas completed with the words ‘For Clarke’ scrawled inside the front cover in her thin, looped writing that Clarke equated to the threads of the spiderwebs that hung from the beams in the shed. It contains everything from fairy tales to folklore.

She lays it on the picnic table and points to the characters illustrated in battle garb, assigning one to each of them.

Clarke is the sky princess, thrust from her cloud-top home—Olympus, Lexa corrects her quietly, pointing to the illustration of a tall, columned building gleaming atop the point of a high mountain. Her inspiration comes from a short story about a boy named Hercules that Clarke knows nothing about except for the fact that she dimly remembers watching a Disney movie about a boy who was half-god and half-human and had an angry goat instead of parents. She drapes a strip of gauzy fabric over her shoulders rummaged from the depths of the house, a dress-up left over from her aunts’ childhood summers, and threads flowers through her hair, feeling suitably wispy and ‘effervescent’, which Lexa tells her means ‘like air’.

Lexa is the warrior queen whose territory Clarke falls unwittingly into. Clarke thinks it suits her—she peers at the illustration of the woman with braids and leather armour, riding a horse with a sword in her hand and battle-paint on her skin and the slight downward turn in the corner of her lips is so similar to the way Lexa’s face contorts sometimes and she congratulates herself for putting two and two together. Ignoring the short yelps when she mistakenly tugs a stray curl, she clumsily threads Lexa’s hair into a braid the way Octavia taught her at recess. The outcome is less than good. Lexa bears more resemblance to the mangy cat that stalks the neighbourhood begging from scraps than a warrior-queen but she smudges wads of dirt over her eyes to fix it ignoring the way everything inside her goes warm and melty when she smiles—like the s’mores the make in the fire-pit at night in when Lexa is in pyjamas that smell like the Griffin’s detergent and socked feet.

Jasper and Monty grow restless, encroaching on the bubble Clarke has built for them with bored whines and Clarke thinks it’s lucky that Santa Claus never gave her a baby brother for Christmas two years ago because she got Lexa instead and Lexa smells much better than a boy. She assigns them characters anyway; the palace guards, and they search the ground for suitable ‘spears’ wielding gnarled sticks with as much menace as nine-year-olds can.

She kneels before Lexa’s throne—a fork in the twisted branches of a tree—with a circlet made from daisy chains in her hair, head bowed and launching into a wistful monologue of her harrowing journey to the ground, complete with fierce dragons, and a sea-witch who tried to barter unsuccessfully for her voice, while Monty and Jasper level their sticks at her in mock-fighting stances.

Back straight, Lexa blinks at her behind her crude war paint and Clarke thinks time stops.

Later—after they are called into lunch by Abby—they lie, sprawled out in the grass in the sticky heat of the day. Lexa has her bathing suit on beneath her shortalls instead of a t-shirt and her hair has dried in soft corkscrew curls around her hairline so that if she wasn’t peering so intently down at the book she has spread out before her, Clarke would reach out and wind one around her finger.

Instead, she feels like her body is humming with energy she doesn’t know what to do with.

Jake always likes to explain his work to her, he sits her on his lap and draws out maps of electrical circuits, explaining the mechanics of them and Clarke feels oddly similar to an overloaded circuit right now. Like she is plugged in to too many things and it’s making her unable to sit still.

Fingers splayed on the grass, she kicks up into a handstand, grinning at how Lexa looks upside down and the way she mouths the words she’s reading like it will help her remember them better. When she stands back up, the blood rushes back to her head and she peers over Lexa’s shoulder.

“What does ‘fealty’ mean?”

The word sits on the top line of the page in neat, Times New Roman font and it tastes so elegant rolling over Clarke’s tongue she can’t help but ask.

Lexa cranes her neck to look up at her, squinting one eye against the glare of the sun. A swathe of sunburn tints her cheeks red. “It’s like a promise,” she poses like a question, grappling for the right explanation, “or a vow.” Clarke cocks her head. “It’s like when you make a promise to someone,” she tries again, pushing herself up onto her knees so that from her angle, Clarke blocks the sun, “like, ‘I’ll love you ‘till the end of time’.”

Clarke has to rally herself against the sudden burst of dizziness that hits her in the chest with the force of the tee-ball bat in gym class. Lexa kneels in front of her, freckled-nose and braided hair, and if Clarke thought time had stopped before, now it ceases to exist entirely. The world has become just them; this sticky-sweet moment that has wound itself so eagerly around her chest.

Fourth grade science class has brought rudimentary explanations of the universe—how everything they touch is made up of things called ‘atoms’ and how when she looks up at the sky, she has to imagine the biggest thing she can possibly comprehend and then quadruple it and it won’t be nearly a one billionth of what is really out there. To Clarke it doesn’t make an awful lot of sense, the vastness of it all makes her head spin but the one thing she does understand is how the earth rotates around the sun because it’s similar to the way she thinks she rotates around Lexa.

“I love you,” she tells Lexa in earnest.

Lexa cocks her head, nose scrunched and finger curled into the spine of her book, marking the page. “Why.”

Clarke is taken back. Her and Octavia have been exchanging cheesy ‘I love yous’ since the second grade and there isn’t any real reason for it other than ‘that’s just what friends do’. She shrugs and purses her lips. “I don’t know,” she says plainly,  and amends the words Octavia tells her, “that’s just what best friends do.”

Lexa doesn’t come with them in the summer between sixth and seventh grade.

With help from a contact at work her mom gets her to the top of the waiting list for a sleep away camp in the Maine and Lexa pulls up the website on the Griffin’s computer in the kitchen on Saturday night, scrolling through page after page of girls in tennis whites and soffe shorts, playing field hockey and toasting marshmallows around a campfire.

“I don’t really want to go,” Lexa says quietly, nose wrinkling at Clarke’s silence. Behind them Jake dices vegetables for tacos and a bespectacled Abby checks through Clarke’s book report for spelling eras but the comforting familiarity does nothing to stop Clarke souring at the blindside. “My mom thinks it will be good for me.”

Clarke is getting tired of what Lexa’s mom thinks will be good for her.

The woman is sweet and kind. She has heard her parents talking about how she ‘does her best’ for Lexa which she knows is what adults say when they are commiserating the hardships of single-parenthood but in her worst moments Clarke wants to shake the woman until she understands that Lexa’s quirks don’t make her ‘unique’ in the way that people talk about people who are different, they make her special.

So what if Lexa likes books better than people? Clarke likes girls better than boys and nobody is up in arms about it.

Sometimes it feels like Lexa’s mom aches for her to fit in more than Lexa does.

She can’t stop Lexa from going though, and the morning before they would usually leave for the lake sees her standing on Lexa’s front porch instead, with a horribly permanent pout on her mouth that she can’t shake. Lexa stands before her in sneakers, navy shorts and a tee with her camps logo printed on the front in bold white letters, her hair in two, tight braids and she looks so startlingly un Lexa-like stripped of her embroidered socks and circle of braids that when Clarke winds her arms around her neck in a dramatic goodbye, she finds herself mouthing a silent prayer to whomever is watching to put her best-friend back together again.

Hooking her chin over Lexa’s shoulder Clarke makes her promise to write weekly, hating the tears that seem to be squeezing their way out from beneath her eye-lids, and Lexa swears a solemn vow to do so, nose tucked into the crook of Clarke’s neck.

When it’s time to let go Clarke reluctantly untangles herself and retreats back to her own front yard, pressing herself against the white fence and waving vigorously as Lexa’s mom loads her and her trunk into the car and the Sedan inches its way out of the driveway.

“You’ll see her in August,” Abby reminds her, arms tucked over her daughter’s shoulders, “we can buy some stamps and you can write to her whenever you like.”

Clarke nods dumbly, trying not to let the whole affair feel like an awful betrayal.

When they make it to the lake two days later after a near silent five hour drive, it rains for the first time in as long as Clarke can remember.

In lieu of her best-friend, Abby has extended the invitation to her sister-in-law and her kids and Clarke stares at her cousins—five-year-old twins and a nineteen-year-old who is more interested in her boyfriend who insists on calling Clarke ‘squirt’ at age twelve-and-a-half than she is in Clarke—wondering how she is supposed to bestow the honour of her summers on people who are so clearly unqualified.

She wallows in the absurdity of it all as she is relegated to the bunk-room, watching with her stomach churning and a hot, angry thing she doesn’t care to understand clawing at her ribs as her Eden is invaded by her cousin and her Air Jordan wearing boyfriend with his stupid, unbrushed mop of hair. And even though Clarke is relatively sure a five story drop onto concrete wouldn’t do any damage to the twins—they’re dim-witted at the best of times and they paw at the t shirt Lexa bought her for her birthday like it’s something they are allowed to touch—her aunt decides it’s best if Clarke takes the top bunk, despite the fact that puberty is beginning to bring her her promised growth spurt and folding herself into the top bunk is a feat worthy of a contortionist.

The bout of water-logged days mean the boat stays in the shed and the twins grow restless in the sticky-wet heat. Clarke takes it upon herself to commandeer the role of ‘moody teenager’ two years too early and sprawls out on the wooden floors near the closed glass doors and punches the buttons of her Nintendo DS until Mario stops obeying her commands as the rain beats at the window panes. She thinks it’s pathetic fallacy, or whatever her English teacher had said when she explained the way authors use the ‘external environment’ to show a characters ‘internal emotions’, because if she could peel back a layer of herself and peer into her soul, she is sure the unhappy, slate-grey of the lake is what it would look like.

She hopes it isn’t raining on Lexa too.

They cut their trip short and Clarke is sitting with her chin in her hands when Lexa returns.

Her ponytail sticks to the nape of her neck where it is secured with an elastic, remaining stubbornly in her t-shirt and shorts even though Aurora invited them around for pizza and too cool off in the Blake’s pool—even the promise of seeing their newly acquired black Labrador puppy wasn’t enough of a bribe to get her to give up her post.

Her and Lexa have been exchanging letters once a week without fail over the eight weeks of Lexa’s session, detailing each other in on the smallest things. So much so that Clarke thinks she is the one who has been rotating through six activities a day and sounded off to sleep by Taps at precisely nine-twenty but it hasn’t been nearly enough. It’s stupid, but she needs to see Lexa again with her own eyes, as if to make sure she hasn’t disappeared into thin-air like a product of her imagination.

“Clarke!”

When she looks up, Lexa is standing three feet away from her, tanned and slightly breathless. Her mom’s Sedan is still inching its way into the drive, which means Lexa took a flying jump from the passenger door while the car was still in gear to find her. She’s wearing tiny, navy running shorts and her camp tee—slightly faded from almost daily washing and eight-weeks’ worth of sun—hangs off her teenage frame, knotted at her hip so that the hem rides up to reveal a long triangle of skin that makes a hot, aching thing build in the pit of Clarke’s stomach. Instead of deciphering it, she propels herself from her crouch on the porch to fling her arms around her best-friend’s neck, instantly recognising the way Lexa seems imperceptibly broader and stronger in her arms. Her shoulder blades flex beneath the press of Clarke’s hands as she draws her desperately closer and when Clarke prods a finger at the offending strip of skin at her waistband—teasing her mercilessly about her bare midriff—gone is the softness Clarke usually finds there when she curls into her in their shared bed at night.

Instead she is long limbs and lean muscle, her cheeks are dusted with sunburn and her hair is lighter, but the worst? Her freckles are on show and this time it isn’t Clarke who has put them there, but a girl by the name of Costia who’s neatly printed name is in the center of those scrawled on the back of Lexa’s shirt in permanent marker.

They lie on the mesh of Clarke’s trampoline after Lexa has hauled her trunk up to her room—her mom gave her four hours before she had to return next door and sort out her laundry—with cans of diet coke sweating in their palms as Clarke recounts the story of walking in on her cousin and her boyfriend being more intimate than strictly necessary on a family-friendly vacation.

“I almost barfed,” she giggles heartily, “I wanted to end it all right there but my mom talked me down from the ledge.”

“Oh, the dramatics,” Lexa sighs, grinning. She takes a sip then looks at Clarke seriously. “Was it really that bad without me?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” Clarke says softly. It wasn’t bad so much as it was empty, completely void of all of the things that made summer summer and Clarke has been left with the odd feeling that she is returning to school having not had a holiday at all.

Lexa screws her nose up and nods, “if it makes you feel better camp sucked too.”

“No it didn’t,” Clarke laughs, curling onto her side, “but thank you for making me feel better.”

Lexa piques a brow. “Are you call me a liar?” she accuses, feigning a hurt look. When Clarke shrugs, she flings a leg over her hips and pins her to the taut mesh of the trampoline with her arms by her ears and Clarke tries not to gasp at the electric shocks that skitter across her skin when they touch. Instead, she collapses into laughter, tipping her head to the side as Lexa knees her beneath the ribs, demanding ‘take it back, take it back’ in a low, teasing voice.

“Fine!” Clarke gaps, writhing against the assault, “fine!” She paws at the smooth length of Lexa’s thighs where they sit nestled against her waist. “I believe you.”

Clarke has a hard time pinpointing exactly what happens next.  

Somehow she raises her head and simultaneously, Lexa goes to lower hers. The result is a cacophonous collision of foreheads and noses; Clarke opens her mouth to whine in pain and finds a mouthful of Lexa’s bottom lip instead, eyes bulging as her pulse skyrockets to a speed she thinks surely signals a cardiac arrest.

Lexa makes a noise that resembles something close to an ‘oof’ then her fingers come to Clarke’s cheek in concern. “I’m sorry,” she smiles ruefully—it’s the same lopsided, word splitting smile she has always had and it does something to quell the stagnant uneasiness that has taken root in Clarke’s spine, if not the smouldering build up of who knows what in the pit of her stomach—and runs her thumb in a practiced motion over the short, white scar beneath Clarke’s eye.  

“It’s okay,” Clarke whispers. She fiddles with the edge of the tie-dyed bandana that is wrapped and knotted around Lexa’s wrist, trying not to focus on the impending sense of doom she feels as her body betrays her.

[ramblinganthropologist]

Gift Exchange

Summary: Shit, shit, shit, what do you even get a Turian for Valentine’s Day? Does this even look like food? Alistair Shepard is at a loss for words and a crunch for time as a different type of V-Day looms. Will the object of his affection enjoy it, or is he going to be spending some floor time by the drive core? Only  time can tell. Also RIP Titus Vibrius for taking one for the team. Good job, bro. Garrus appreciates it. Word count: 1815

---

“Uncle Al, does this look right?”

“I'm going to be completely honest with you, Kelly. I have no idea.”

It looked... brown. Maybe? Hell if he knew. Alistair frowned as he stared down into the pan set in front of him, prodding it with the spoon his niece had advised him her father used the most. To him, it looked gross.

But it wasn't for him, so maybe that was good?

Down on the floor, Spectre meowed for attention and rubbed up against his leg. She was still trying to get treats, despite how many Kelly had given her upon arriving home from school. The greedy little thing was going to get fat at this rate, and she knew it. There was something in those eyes that told him so.

Right, this was why he liked space hamsters.

“The recipe says we need to cool it on the counter for twenty minutes before cutting it.” Kelly continued squinting at the translated recipe. “But... it says to triple the time if you're not on Palaven.”

Yeah, because radiation was so great for setting sweets. Turians were fucking weird.

“Better listen to the recipe then.” Alistair reached down to pat her head. “Don't  you have some homework to do?”

Her groans caused him to laugh as they left the kitchen for their treats to cool. The calendar they passed reminded them both it was February 13. The day after was circled in red and something was scribbled in. What, he hadn't paid attention, but luckily he wasn't the one babysitting for it.

He kind of had plans on his own.

“Hopefully he likes it.” Alistair frowned as he sat down on the couch. Spectre curled up next to him while her owner went off to retrieve her school books. All of this still felt so new to him that he didn't really know what to expect.

Hell, he'd never even done this for a human before. How would a Turian react to Valentine's Day candy?

“You think it'll be ok, Spec?” He nudged the mass of black fur in the side to get her attention. All he got in return was a lazy swipe of her paw, claws in for once. She had sated her fill for blood lust two days ago when he had first showed up, and the bandages on his ankles proved it. At least she hadn't gone for the face this time.

They were still making fun of him for that back on the Normandy.

Alistair sighed as he looked down at his omni-tool. An hour ago, Tali had been giving him advice that had fallen somewhat flat. Right next to her message was Mordin's concerning dietary differences. Either he had misunderstood the question, or he had gotten lost in his train of thought and hit send. Given the fact it was at least three or four pages, both were likely.

“I just needed a straight answer. All I needed. Ia that too much to ask?” He sighed again and closed his eyes. No more messages were coming and all he had left to do was wait. But he wanted to do anything but, and it was creating an uncomfortable static in the pit of his stomach that felt like his implant going haywire. Only this was all natural, all him, and all encompassing.

How did normal people even do this dating thing? Was that even what they were doing?

He would have stayed there like a bump on a log sulking – wait, not sulking, he was perfectly fine thank you very much – but the beeping from his omni-tool drew his attention. There was a new message waiting for him, and the sender made his heart skip a beat.

What did Garrus want?

Heart still fluttering, Alistair opened it and scanned through. Without realizing it, he started reading aloud. “You'll be back by the 14th, right? Pretty sure Jack and Miranda might kill each other if you stay any longer.”

His heart dropped to his shoes. Now Alistair really was sulking as he tapped out a quick response – yes, make sure they don't get anything pointy – and sent it out with a sigh. Now he was back and alone with his thoughts. If that hadn't been the proverbial kick in the teeth, he didn't know what else was.

“A-are you alright?”

A translated voice caused him to turn his head. There was a Turian standing in the doorway with a very excited elementary student attached to his legs, telling him about her day. She was keeping him from walking, so no doubt he had meant to ask for help.

“Oh, sorry, Titus. I'm fine.” Alistair didn't really mind his brother-in-law much. They didn't really interact. “Wait... shit you're a Turian!”

Titus gave him a look over Kelly's cheerful cry of “That's ten credits for the swear jar!” but at least had the grace not to be too hard on him. Instead, he managed to pry the human growth from his leg and into his arms where there was easier movement.

“I di- uh, I didn't know that. Thank you, Alistair.”

Now Alistair was blushing in embarrassment. “Sorry, I uh... I need your help.”

He gestured towards the kitchen where his creation was still cooling. “In the culinary field.”

Judging from the look he was getting, this was going to need some explanation. Alistair fought back the burgeoning headache with a reminder of who it was for. He hoped that Garrus was going to appreciate this, because it was going to take some effort.

Next time, if there was one, he was just going to buy it.

---

“I'm an idiot, Tali.”

“You're also in the middle of the floor, Shepard.”

Alistair sighed from his spot on the floor a little too near the drive core. He had only been back on the Normandy for about an hour, and already he wished he was somewhere else entirely. Since they were in the middle of space, there wasn't many options as to where else to go. Maybe he could find a nice air duct to crawl into and die.

“Why didn't I remember it was a human holiday?” He put his burning face in his hands. “I'm so stupid.”

“It's the thought that counts?” There was a question in Tali's electronic voice as she continued working away at her console. Off to the side, his two favorite engineers were clearly enjoying this pathetic display. He made a mental note to make sure they got early duty for the next week or so.“I doubt he minded getting free candy anyway.”

That still wouldn't take away the look of utter confusion that had been on Garrus' face as he had handed over the wrapped box filled with candy. It had taken three different tries – once that had given Titus a stomachache so bad that he had been in the bathroom for an hour – to get it right, and that was the result he got. The blankest look anyone had ever given him, even including all the ones from boot camp. Hurt pride wasn't even a factor, that had just been embarrassing.

Still, it wasn't like Alistair could sit in engineering all day and hide from his problems. He kind of had actual work to do. Besides, the floor was cold. Sighing, he returned to his feet and dusted himself off as best he could.

“Thanks for listening.”

“And thank you for  the leftovers.” At least someone was appreciating his hard work. That was something as he gave Tali a wave and headed towards the elevator. Maybe he added a little extra force when he punched the buttons, but could anyone blame him?

At least the day was almost over if the blinking display from his omni-tool was right – which it was, synced clocks and all that good stuff – so he could put it behind him. Or, at least Alistair thought he could as the elevator door slid open.

Problem was, it was hard to forget how Garrus had looked at him when Garrus was currently looking at him.

Fuck.

Alistair opened his mouth but nothing came out. Instead, he just closed it again as his face started to turn red. He tried to look anywhere but at who was standing in front of him like it was no big deal. So he looked towards the floor, towards his feet.

Maybe that's when he noticed Garrus had something tucked under his arm, half hidden by the elevator door. It wasn't another damned report, thank the gods or spirits or whoever the fuck was listening. Instead, it was... fluffy and had a short tail he would know from twenty paces away no matter what.

“You uh... you ran off before I could give this to you.”

Suddenly, Alistair was being nudged with a plush face. Two round eyes jabbed him right in the side. The plush hamster had to be at least ten times bigger than Saren, large enough to serve as a pillow if he wanted it to be. And it was in the hands of a certain Turian who  couldn't look at him either.

“It's for me?”

Well, wasn't he the master of dialogue?

At least it got Garrus to chuckle, which did awful things to his stomach. “Who else likes space hamsters that much? I didn't know what you're supposed to get someone but the eyes made me think of you.”

Indeed, Alistair noted the toy's eyes were blue as Garrus handed it over to him. All he could really do was hug the damn thing as he tried to figure out something to say that wasn't completely stupid. Judging on the situation, maybe it would have been allowed.

Normally, thank you would have probably been a good one. But damn if he couldn't get his tongue to work right then.

Luckily Garrus wasn't finished talking. “Happy Valentine's Day?”

There was that same uptick in tone that the translator always used to signify a question. Somehow, Alistair was really starting to like that. At least, he told himself that as he held his hamster friend close in order to figure out what to say.

“Uh... thanks... you too.” A smile crossed his face. “Guess I shouldn't have worried about giving you chocolate then?”

“Only that you apparently nearly put somebody in the hospital with it. Glad that wasn't the one you gave me.”

Both of them chuckled as they stood there, no doubt keeping the elevator from servicing other people on the Normandy. As the seconds ticked away and a new day began, Alistair found he didn't really mind that much at all.

They could deal. Half of them were ex-Alliance anyway; they could take the damn stairs.  

[justinmoviereviews]

The Class of 2019

As always, just trying to catalog what I saw this year. Let’s do this shit.

1917 - Sam Mendes

I’ve never seen a war movie like this. I’ve never seen something that was so empty, so decayed and lifeless. Usually these things are about honor or brotherhood or whatever. This one was a horror movie. Gothic. Disturbing. And credit Dunkirk for helping everyone else realize that war movies should be told in the present tense.

Uncut Gems - Bennie and Josh Safdie

Good Time was better because it’s rawness was more painful. Because it’s kineticism was more sociological. Because it physically hurt to watch it. And because Robert Pattinson is a better actor than Adam Sandler (my sincere apologies). But these guys have figured out to a science how to film desperation and visceral consumption and need; they chronicle the ugliest parts of the mind and shoot them in the ugliest parts of New York. 

Little Women - Greta Gerwig

Oh no, I’ve lost interest in writing these. Greta Gerwig is sharper than the average writer, and is going to get a lot of mileage writing interesting female characters, which will keep me occupied way longer than, for instance, JJ Abrams writing Strong Female characters so he gets to keep his third house. But look for this refrain whenever I see good movies that aren’t really made for me, my favorite character here was Timothee Chalamet, popping up sporadically to mack (suavely!) on all three sisters.

Bombshell - Jay Roach

Structurally it’s a little bit of a mess, but Megyn Kelly playing detective to an internal corporate scandal works surprisingly well.

The Two Popes - Fernando Meirelles

Some nitpicks: this movie engages with the child abuse a little bit, but it doesn’t offer any resolution--how could it? The scandal is ongoing, and has mired the legacy of Francis, the good Pope, just like it mired his predecessor’s, the bad one. And some of the dialogue is a little trite; was Benedict this much of a close-minded conservative? Was he really this bad at selling his own vision of the church? I also wonder if movies seem smaller now that we’re watching them all on our TVs. But mostly I thought this was fantastic. I love movies about ideas centered around conversation, and this one does it with so much humanism. The Pope as a role is one of the most complex, elite and fascinating people on the planet. This movie comes so much closer to showing that than I thought it would.

Marriage Story - Noah Baumbach

A cursory search of images from this movie for this post makes me realize how well it’s shot--maybe this really was meant to be his Scenes From a Marriage. It isn’t--he’s not a good enough director to ever be Bergman, he’s too burdened by the things he likes and thinks about, like hipster references and witty repartee--but this is the best movie of his I’ve ever seen. Funny, sharp, and if it isn’t a universal depiction of the disillusion of love, it’s empathetic and compassionate about two characters he likes and cares about. Adam Driver is the best actor working right now. Scarlett Johansson can’t quite keep up, but who could?

Ford v Ferrari - James Mangold

Fast cars and the manly men who build them. This could have been better--the writing is a little too beholden to a generic structure that’s beneath the A+ power of Matt Damon and Christian Bale, who are, straight up, two of our finest actors. Ideally this flick just lets these two dudes dick around for 150 minutes. But fuck man, this shit rocks.

The irishman - Martin Scorsese

This is the calm gangster movie made by a bunch of men who haven’t had to hustle in 30 years. Scorsese is a smart guy, so he probably knows that a de-aged Robert De Niro isn’t going to be as resonant as some young hotshot trying like hell to make a name for himself. It makes the movie weirdly low-stakes, and it only truly comes alive at the end, when De Niro is looking back on his life and facing his regrets, like a man in his 80s ought to be. But look, Scorsese is one of the best to ever do it, and gangster movies are where he lives. If this is mostly a retrospective on four of the best careers to ever track through Hollywood, and I sort of think it is, it’s still got ten scenes that will stand up against any of our man’s best.

The Laundromat - Steven Soderbergh

Steven Soderbergh does The Big Short. Turns out he’s also pretty good at it.

The Lighthouse - Robert Eggers

Robert Eggers is a formalist who understands that movies can be about whatever they want as long as they look good and sound good. This is a movie about, I think, madness. Just madness, just the idea of being isolated and going mad. If you’re wondering, like I was, if that’s enough of a theme to hang a whole movie on (I mean, these things are expensive), well, I think the point of this one is that it’s weird as fuck, it looks real good and it sounds real good. 

Parasite - Bong Joon Ho

This movie is at it’s best when it’s at it’s weirdest. I like Bong most when he’s using a heightened absurdity to point out the ways in which our political systems are unforgivable. 

Motherless Brooklyn - Edward Norton

I know it was in the book, but the Tourette’s syndrome of the main character seems to me like a postmodern tic, like making a straight noir in 2019 wasn’t enough for a studio that assumed audiences would need some kind of a 21st Century bent. I don’t think it adds much to the story, so I want it out there that this is just such a good fucking straight noir. I would personally finance it if they made like three of these a year. 

High Flying Bird - Steven Soderbergh

Soderbergh is gonna need to get over his love affair with the iPhone camera--someone needs to remind him that movies can look a lot better than this--but this is the kind of movie that could have been and maybe started as a play. Things happen off camera and all you see is characters talking about them after the fact. But the writing is phenomenal. Snappy and smart. Maybe my favorite script of the year.

Joker - Todd Phillips

Upon further review, I think this movie never should have been made, but I do like it. I’m not a purist, frankly I think comic book movies are for nerds, but what makes the Joker powerful is that he doesn’t have a backstory. This movie isn’t good enough to justify giving him one, but it’s so ambiguous and strange that it doesn’t ruin anything either. I spent a lot of time wondering if the events of the movie actually happened, or if they were all in the protagonist’s head. I guess the answer is that it doesn’t really matter: if it all did happen it would destroy the throughline of the Nolan movies, and if it all didn’t it would make the movie kind of lame. Ultimately it’s a story about a discarded man who learns that evil gives him a control he never had before. That’s a heavy topic to make a movie about, and a better movie would have been heavier. But  it’s still an interesting watch, and Joaquin Phoenix goes to the places the movie itself won’t.

Ad Astra - James Gray

I have nothing against pretentious movies. Some of my best friends are pretentious movies! But if you’re going to be as solemn and portentous as this one is, I think your thesis needs to be a little more insightful than that love is important. This movie looks fantastic. It’s got killer monkeys in it, and an Apocalypse Now meets 2001 pedigree. It should have been a lot better.

It Chapter Two - Andy Muschietti

Ugh, this one was not good. The writing is pretty bad, storylines open up and fizzle out without going anywhere, the structure is simple to the point of being lazy. The first one was so good, and this is just a crappy cash-in. Oh well. 

Once Upon a Time...in Hollywood - Quentin Tarantino

Look, Tarantino is probably my favorite director. Pulp Fiction is the movie that first taught me to love movies, and he’s never in his life made an artistic choice that I didn’t intuitively understand. I don’t think anyone else has justified their otherworldly self-confidence more than he has. If other directors are more artistically or technically accomplished, I’d struggle to find anyone who better put the thoughts and images in their brain onto celluloid better than him. If this had been made by some new hotshot named Chris Anderson or something, I’m buying a poster of it and telling everyone who will listen about the breakout auteur of the decade. But for the first time in my entire life, I wondered what Tarantino’s point was. Why did he make this movie? The highlight, for me, is Leonardo DiCaprio, who since Django Unchained has apparently realized that he’s at his best when he’s hamming it up and having a blast.

Midsommar - Ari Aster

Two movies in, Ari Aster has mastered tone. My man is in control of his movie from frame one, and the result is that his stuff feels smart. This one wasn’t as wild or unexpected as Hereditary--in fact the most surprising thing about it is that it really isn’t surprising at all; it’s about a sinister cult in northern Sweden, and it hits all the beats that tagline would suggest. But that’s not the same as saying it’s predictable--he still has a gift for ultraviolence, and he hovers in a space that forces you to prepare yourself for anything. My only complaint is that I wish it had been more of a mindfuck. It’s ultimately a simpler movie than you might hope for. But this guy isn’t going anywhere. He’ll be on the prestige list for as long as he wants.

The Perfection - Richard Shepard

If Allison Williams is going to make a career out of deconstructing overachieving white girls, I don’t want it to get lost that she is also insanely hot. Like, just so hot. Anyway, this is one hell of a grindhouse flick, all the way down to being a little less pleasant than you’d expect or even really want. Watch it on a Saturday afternoon and feel a little queasy afterwards.

Avengers: Endgame - Anthony and Joe Russo 

Look, I don’t know what to say to you if you take these movies seriously. You probably wouldn’t like my blog anyway. I thought this was a really good ride. If you have problems with the plot holes or the character inconsistencies, I might recommend catching something other than the final installments of global franchises that are obligated to gross two billion dollars.

Us - Jordan Peele

If Jordan Peele were a quarterback he’d be Deshaun Watson--a top level talent who’s going to be relevant for at least the next ten years. Get Out was a statement, a cheap little movie from one half of a decent sketch comedy show that blew the doors off the tavern and walked in so much smarter and better than anyone was prepared for. But right now, sitting on my couch, Us is the movie I want to watch. It was never going to be as surprising as Get Out because this time out our expectations were so much higher. But this is the kind of movie I ultimately want him to make his fortune with--funny, scary, worth talking about afterwards. A horror movie from a guy with interesting ideas who’s been given the keys to do whatever he wants.

Glass - M. Night Shyamalan

I caught this bad boy in January. At the time I figured there was no way I’d remember anything about it by the end of the year. I don’t. 

[hunterlockwood-blog1]

hey lovelys !! it’s ya girl rachel here sliding in to the game completely unorganized despite the fact i’m an admin? tbh, sounds about right !! anyway, i’m SO glad that you all decided to join our little roleplay and make our efforts worth while. now, before i get TOO sappy i’m going to proceed to introduce my two little shitbags. you know the drill, under the read more is all the infos !!

i’m gonna try to keep this short and sweet, but the likelyhood is i’m going to excessively ramble because i have a tenancy to do that.

TROIAN BELLISARIO? oh wait, that’s HUNTER LOCKWOOD from room #A110, the FEMALE TWENTY-TWO year old FLORIST. haven’t they been a resident for SIX MONTHS now? I’ve heard that they are COMPASSIONATE & INTELLIGENT, although resident whispers say they can also be NAIVE & EASILY MANIPULATED. i swear everytime i hear MEDICINE by DAUGHTER they always seem to come to mind!

TRIGGER WARNING: CAR ACCIDENT

grew up in a VERY sheltered household, her dad is a cop so she basically grew up hearing him complain about all the kids her age and all the petty little crimes or things they did and basically it made her terrified of being that kind of person bc she didn’t wanna make her dad annoyed with her like he was w/these people

she had an older sister who legit was like ?? light of her life tbh she aspired to be her so so sOoo much because she thought the literal world of her

her sister was a writer n started up a website when she was in highschool that was basically like.. different columns with different themes like ‘whats in right now’ or what events were happening in their neighborhood/school or study tips ya get?

so smol hunter was also a writer n a pretty good one like a journalist n whatever 

and so one day big sis invited her to collab and basically they ran the site together

tbh i like to think it’s was probs pretty popular bc her sister would of been outgoing asf and probably had a lot of friends

fast forward a couple of years and welp 

basically her sister got killed by a drunk driver and lmao bc i hate myself her dad is a cop aka...... he was called to the scene fuck me up why do people let me do this 

but the death kind of majorly fucked up her family a lot? like u think her dad was overprotective before?? it got ten million times worse because the last thing he was gonna do was lose another kid

but like, minus all of that like the house just became really quiet and her family weren’t as close anymore

hunter is legit such a compassionate person, so seeing her parents in pain she bottled all her own emotions up  and put them on a shelf for another day and rather than mourning she took care of her broken parents 

which is honestly the worst thing she could’ve done because she still to this day has never fully mourned the loss of someone that legit meant the world to her and it’s just ?? kinda fucked her up a lot

after it happened she pushed kinda everyone away? like she had a friendship group and a boyfriend and she just kinda shoved them out of her life because she was like nope lol 

instead she took it upon herself to try and fill the role of being the ‘star child’ like her older sister was. she has a tenancy to completely overwork herself tbh, or will literally say yes to anything? 

wHICH TBH YEAH OKAY she’s a literal doormat and while her family aren’t like super toxic her dad is kinda..... a dick? but in a way you can’t really notice it

but he pretty much uses her as a doormat and she’s completely wrapped around his little finger like he still treats her like a little kid and she’s not allowed to break his rules and she’s just very very terrified of disappointing him so she isn’t really living her life to the fullest because she’s too focused on being this pristine little good girl 

she lived at home til recently and tbh her dad highkey hates where she’s living because it’s not the nicest place and he’s always trying to get her to move and offers to pay for it if she does

her mom owns a couple of florists, which is how hunter got the job; she’s been working there for a long ass time and tbh she actually enjoys it? she’s basically head of the store she works in tbh. 

oh also she refuses to write anymore bc it reminds her of her sister

also has a long haired german shepard who is love of her life she’d die for that dog

this got so long i’m sorry i’m trying to fit everything in rip

oH I ALMOST FORGOT TO MENTION LEGIT THE REASON WHY I EVEN PICKED THIS SONG WTF

okay so, hunter is 100% a person who overthinks literally EVERYTHING and after tisby died it kind of became impossible for her to sleep? i mean tbh she’s probs lowkey an insomniac, she would go days without sleeping and just be a general zombie 

but her doctor gave her like.. sedatives?  basically a medication that would help her sleep but sleeping is so much easier than being awake when you’re legit despressed asf despite the fact you don’t show it so she kinda... got... addicted??? 

lowkey still takes them sometimes because she’s a rly bad sleeper tbh she thinks to much idk

also hates cars now and tries to avoid them like the fucking plague 

VICTORIA JUSTICE ? oh wait, that’s CARTER HASTINGS from room #A210, the TWENTY-THREE year old BAKER. haven’t they been a resident for THREE MONTHS now? I’ve heard that they are AUDACIOUS & ALLURING, although resident whispers say they can also be OBDURATE & FIERY. i swear everytime i hear WREAK HAVOC by SKYLAR GREY they always seem to come to mind!

ima try make this one considerably shorter okay

sHE IS A PIECE OF SHIT

ya’ll don’t udnerstand i almost just left it as that tbh

okay so basically homelife growing up was lit she had a mommy n daddy who loved her v much and loved eachother until one day they didnt

which by that i mean mommy dearest found daddy-o fucking her bestie in their bed and it messed her up as fuCK

things just went super downhill from there basically carter just kinda raised herself bc her mom was kinda just ?? gone in the head a lil ?? like she doped herself up so much she just wasn’t entirely herself at all anymore 

carter just got into bad crowds because she was viewed as that kind of person tbh dirtbag aesthetic asf

she’s on parole rn and has an ankle monitor on for the next like six months bc she’s a bad human and got caught up in this drug scheme that was going on and they all got caught for it 

literally tried to flirt her way out of the situation tbh like she does with everything

if she can bat her eyelashes and dirty talk her way outta something she’s sure as fuck gonna try

probs doesn’t give a shit about ur opinion of her

has a shitty temper and will literally fight anyone at any time about anything 

idk man she’s just super problematic and i hate her fucking guts

oH BUT OKAY SHE BAKES ???

i mean both herself and actual baked goods 

it just kinda happened on accident like she got hired in this place after she got put on parole bc it was part of the deal she got a good job n wahtever but it turns out?? she lowkey had an undiscovered talent

is the type to bake at 4am and will probs knock on ur door asking for flour or to use your oven or something 

makes lit pot brownies js js 

ya’ll this is a tOTAL trainwreck, but i’m too excited to just post it and get to plot with you all !! so on that note, please please lets plot? i plan on shooting everyone a message about plotting but if you wanna beat me to it be my guest tbh.

[ive-made-a-mystic-mistake]

~Adopting a puppy~

another request from my instagram @/ive_made_a_mystic_mistake 

Zen

so happy you wanna adopt a puppy

he has wanted a dog for a while 

probably wants a big dog 

probably gets a German shepard 

is really glad it isn't a cat 

wants to teach the puppy how to dance 

also wants to teach it to sing 

brags about the puppy to jumin to annoy him 

doesn't realize he has to potty train a puppy 

doesn't realize you have to train a puppy in general 

many scripts were ruined 

many zens were ruined 

you said you'd help him 

more like you'd do most of the work because the poor guy is busy plus doesn't have a clue how to train a dog 

he's really worried the dog won't like him because of this 

the pupper actually loves him 

you tend to find an exhausted zen sleeping on the couch with the puppy

Yoosung

 literally bouncing off the walls in excitement 

spews out knowledge on proper care for a puppy 

the floodgates have been opened 

will not stop talking about puppies 

is not sure what kind of puppy to get 

when you arrive at the animal shelter he mellows out 

don't let him Find out this animal shelter puts animals down to make more room 

he will get really sad and possibly very angry at the employees 

you find many puppies all are cute and then you find a puppy who is missing an ear one eye and the other eye looks like it's infected 

you see him tear up 

he spends alot of time with that puppy 

you can tell he loves this puppy and has a connection 

you tell him you will get that puppy 

his face lights up 

an employee asks you if you are sure 

they say that the puppy is pretty stupid and ugly 

you have to hold yoosung back 

you quietly tell him that if he wants the puppy he has to be nice 

he listens to you and is nice only for you 

you get the puppy and you end up having to drive 

yoosung and the puppy get along so well 

you let him name it 

turns out this puppy is the sweetest puppy ever and and cuddle bug 

this puppy is a Malamute pit bull mix

Jaehee

shes a bit unsure

so she does alot of research

next day you find her exhausted and you just facepalm

she tells you that you should get a medium sized dog with a short coat that doesn't need to eat much

your only thoughts are a basset she said she considered them but they may be too high maintenence 

you say you'll take care of the difficult things like cleaning it's ears brushing it's teeth and clipping it's claws

she gives in and says alright

honestly what helped was seeing you so excited about a dog and your puppy dog eyes

plus it's not a cat so how bad could it be 

she knew how bad it could be shes just trying to feel better

you do some research and find someone who's basset hound just had two puppies and the only one left is the runt 

you go check out the puppy

jaehee practically melted when she got to spend time with the puppy

she fell in love

it's jaehees turn for puppy eyes

you agree

she says she finally understands the obsession jumin has for Elizabeth as a joke s

he has to tell you she was joking 

you two do some shopping for the puppy

later that night you find jaehee fell asleep while doing researc about bassets with the puppy in her lap

you smile and kiss her forehead 

I love jaehee

707

 first off this boy is way to excited 

you decided to get him a puppy to help him deal with his emotions better 

aka therapy pupper 

you don't tell him though 

he wants to get a small white dog but that's where you draw the line 

no small puppers for this boi 

have you seen how he treats Elizabeth? 

you and him both easily agree on a big fluffy dog 

he really wants a saint Bernard 

"it's so big and the cheeks are so squish able and so drooly and they are so cute!" 

you agree only if he is ok with cleaning the drool 

he pauses and thinks 

decides a border collie will do 

you remind him they are very hyper dogs 

"I'm a very hyper cat" 

“ you are not a cat” 

he says he will take the dog in walks and play ball with it and have so much fun so don't worry 

you get him a border collie puppy 

you know what happens? 

let's just say you need a new couch and pillows

and shoes...

and blankets...

he promises from now on he will be a good owner 

you give him a second chance before giving the to saeran who loves the pupper

he acctually takes care of the pupper

lil cutie

Jumin Han

"what about Elizabeth" 

literally first thing he says 

it takes alot of work to convince him 

you get a small dog to help him feel better 

you refuse to get a chihuahua though 

you are hoping that the pupper and Elizabeth get along 

they aren't the best pals 

but they know that Elizabeth is queen of pets 

with this understanding they get along 

if this line is crossed then you and jumin have to break up a fight so the dog doesn't get hurt 

Elizabeth can be mean 

jumin grows to love the pupper 

has a new way to mess with zen omfg

Saeran

you decide you get him a puppy to help with his emotions 

dogs are natural empaths so they know when to distract you 

he's a bit opposed to the idea at first 

"what's so great about dogs?" 

you gasp and drag him to a pet store immediately 

ask if you can help take care of these puppies 

he complains alot till they let you care for an extremely fluffy black and white Siberian Husky 

literally stops mid sentence and pays attention to this fluffy puppy 

he's heckin baby talking to this puppy 

he realizes you have been watching and smiling 

"you didn't see any of that" 

"also you were right dogs are great i want this one" 

someone looks like they are about to complain that they were gonna get that one but he gives them the look 

you do a bit of shopping as he takes care of this puppy 

how will these two geniuses work together? 

you find it really adorable 

but you wonder why he is only super expressive and sweet to puppies 

but you get over it 

also you love huskies so it works 

you seem to have a thing for geniuses

V

 you arent able to finish saying you wanna adopt a puppy when he interupts saying the puppy will be a samoyed

he then apologizes alot for interrupting because this boy is so sweet omg

you reassure him that it's fine 

you also tell him you love samoyed puppies so it's chill

you guys are prepared

so many toys and a bed 

food, a bowl 

you are gonna be the best dog parents

when you get the puppy he has his camera ready because he wants so many photos of you and the puppy

little did he know you planned to get photos of him too 

you sadly don't have a fancy camera though

when you get to the puppy

let's just say v forgets about you and is focused on the puppy

this didn't last long though

now you are both crying over a small fluffy white puppy 

you probably look like idiots 

v starts taking photos of you 

your phone dies before you could get photos of him

this puppy steals your cuddles though ~masterlist~