Andreil meet when they get dragged into a bar fight and somehow end up in jail together 😇
When it comes to fight or flight, Neil has spent almost all of his life picking the latter. Except on an exy court, but even there, if he can get away from someone without getting hit, that is definitely the option he’s going with.
Which is why when he finds himself getting dragged away from a brawl, cuffed, tossed in the back of a police car, and driven to jail, it feels a little bit surreal.
He doesn’t even drink. He was at the club in the first place because Matt turned twenty-six at midnight and wanted to celebrate at a night out with all his friends. Most of them were drunk. Neil was not.
So he doesn’t have that as an excuse.
Still: his causes were noble, even if his actions weren’t. And his personal moral philosophy has always been strictly on the side of “ends justify the means,” especially if the ends are keeping his drunk best friend from getting robbed on the floor of a nightclub by a couple of guys twice Neil’s size.
Matt is pretty good in a fight most of the time, but drunk and concussed, he’s not much help. Neil took on all three of the guys on his own anyway—his job being, after all, at least partially just fighting people—and was about to lose very badly when a stranger joined in.
Neil didn’t expect the stranger to be on his side. The stranger was.
And now they’re in the back of a cop car together.
-clothes fresh out of the dryer
-singing in the rain
-a perfectly popped bag of popcorn
-a good hair day
-waking up before the alarm goes off
-birds chirping for the first time since winter
-dancing when nobody’s watching
-waking up early & falling back asleep
-watching the sun rise/set
-starbucks spelling your name correctly
-finding money in your pocket
-listening to a favorite song on repeat
-puppies & kittens
-being outside when the weather is /just right/
-the smell of rain on pavement
-popping bubble wrap
-raindrops on roses, whiskers on kittens
-scribbling out words when you mess up
-writing in pen
-the perfect drinking temperature for tea
-wearing cute little mittens
-getting into bed with fresh sheets
-singing along to the radio
-the first day of spring & not having to wear a jacket
-watching the snow fall
-walking on pavement
-your favorite t-shirt
-a cold shower on a hot day
-apple cinnamon candles
-chipped nail polish
-on sale items
-city lights on the street after the rain
-roasting marshmallows over an open fire
-the calming pitter-patter of the rain
-not being able to put a book down
-getting a text from an old friend
-the feeling you get after a workout
-that certain bookstore smell
-the smell of old books
-buying school supplies
-sunlight shining through the trees
-genuinely feeling happy
-planning a party
-getting enough sleep
-the feeling of sand between your toes
-waves crashing on the shore
-the sweet smell of the ocean
-proving yourself wrong
-proving others wrong
-big, warm hugs that make you feel loved
-letting go of the past
-the word “serendipity”
-learning another language
-the window seat
-rereading your favorite book
-deep red lipstick
-glitter & sparkles
-cute lil antique shops
-poetry, tea, & over-the-knee socks
-random acts of kindness
-freshly baked cookies
-freshly cut grass
-catching up with an old friend
-seeing someone light up when they talk about their favorite thing
-sitting by a lake
-looking at the stars
-getting a pair of new shoes
-jumping on a trampoline
-when a cat sneezes
-toaster waffles topped with fresh fruit
-the smell of lavender
-coffee ice cream
-walking in the woods during the summer
-squinting when the sun is too bright
-crossing things off your list
-deep city lights
-being sleepy & having messy hair
-aqua, light green, & purple
-mint green tea
-iced tea with honey
-long necklaces and gold rings
-quoting your favorite movie
-hot cocoa, fuzzy pajamas, & a roaring fire in the winter
-having a ton of pillows
-going out to eat
what she means:
I am deeply worried that season 3 of miss fisher´s mysteries is gonna be the last and if that happens my heart will be consumed by grief. life a dusty meadow. I´ll take refuge in the darkness, staring at the vast emptiness of my surroundings. my earthly flesh cage and burning brain will ache to know if/how jack came after phryne; if the rusty plane made it. and what about jane and dottie and hugh and mr. b and cec and burt and...?!?!!??
what we know the ominous firefly scene would’ve been Thorin talking about
growing up in Erebor, and the responsibilities (and burdens) of growing up as
the prince, with fireflies on the roof being one of his memories.
But … I
recently noticed that Bilbo is also connected to fireflies: Gandalf says he
remembers a young hobbit coming home after dark, “trailing mud and twigs and
Just as Thorin’s youth is (or: would have been, if we would have the scene in
the movies) connected to fireflies, so is Bilbo’s …
i made the huge, huge mistake of listening to fourth of july by sufjan stevens again. outcome: tears.
You have been sitting there for a long time. I saw you walk in the door, and once you looked at me lying here you pulled up the hard little chair from the corner, right up to my side, and you haven’t moved since.
Are you comfortable there? The couch might be nicer, especially if you’re waiting. Are you? Are you waiting?
“Hello,” I say. “Who are you?” But I know you already. You’re the boy with the firefly eyes.
“Hello,” you say. “My name is Yato.”
I love your name. I feel…proprietary, towards it. It is mine. Yato is mine.
“I’ll carry you somewhere, if you like,” you say. The bed is a good place, but I know there are better places out there.
You lift me into your arms, and I am small next to you; the dove bones shift under my skin.
“You’re a nice young man,” I say, patting your cheek.
Was it a dream I had, that we knew each other before this bedroom? Dreams and reality flirt with each other’s borders these days.
I know there is a long black shape lurking behind me. That is always the same—dream or not.
“Where should we go?” you ask.
“The best place to go is up,” I say. Isn’t that true? The dove bones that shift and slip against each other in my skeleton tell me they would like to go up. And I am a slave to my bones.
We go up to the roof of the hospital. You hold me close to you, away from the sobbing wind.
Who do you miss?
You look down at me. A shard of the sky has fallen off and landed in your eyes. Does it hurt? Is that why you’re crying?
“Do you remember?” you ask. “Do you remember how we’ve done this every day?”
It’s all right, little boy god.
“You’re a nice young man,” I say.
Your skin shudders under my fingertips. Your angles are my angles: a couple of paper cranes, hung against the sunset. Do you have someone else to take care of?
“Can I follow you?”
You ask this with dry lips and sore eyes. I ache for your emptiness. My hand is on your cheek again. You have ageless skin. I love touching it.
“You’ll come too, someday.” Except I know you can’t. You are a god of the unfinished, a priest to the needy, a mender of broken things. As long as there are people to fix, you’ll be here to fix them.
Your ageless skin smells like a garden in the heaviness of the rain. It smells like the bitter, too-early cherries after a warm winter. It smells like the childhood I must have had. You belong to the youth I must have had.
My moon in the sky. I’ll miss you so much in the dark.
But as long as I’m still breaking, I need you here.
“How long have you known me?”
Your chin trembles. A peculiar quiver finds its way over your lips. And then you kiss my cheek. I love you, I love you, I love you, and I’ve remembered your firefly eyes.