Sweet Seals For You, Always
Discoholic 🪩
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
trying on a metaphor
Keni
Three Goblin Art
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Monterey Bay Aquarium
taylor price
One Nice Bug Per Day
sheepfilms
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Product Placement
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Today's Document
No title available
🪼
we're not kids anymore.
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@lowtieds
i’ve never been more sure of something, i see it clearly in my dreams …
#LOWTIEDS ・・・ dependent multimuse for fleelangston. babysat by axel ( they/them / est ) and featuring ⸺
⊹ JULIET MAKOA ( 25 / she/her ) ・・・ intro / pinterest
⊹ ARIN CALLISTER ( 23 / he/him ) ・・・ intro / pinterest
⊹ ALYLA KINCAID ( 24 / she/they ) ・・・ intro / pinterest
… i know i’m gonna be the one, the one who ruins everything
leona followed ayla’s gaze across the heaving dance floor, her eyes moving like a cartographer tracing coastlines she already knew by heart, charting the familiar territory of an unspoken obsession. the crowd writhed and pulsed, a living organism of sweat and sequins, but bryce stood apart. a flicker of nervous energy against the wall, shoulders hunched as if apologizing for their own existence. they looked less like a guest and more like a stagehand who’d stumbled beneath the spotlight, caught in the wrong act. adorable, in their fragile dissonance. and, in leona’s expertly curated opinion, tragically wasted on solitude. ayla’s offhand comment was a fishing line cast into uncertain waters. leona, ever the patient angler, did not bite immediately. she let the silence stretch just long enough to feel deliberate, then lifted her glass and swirled the amber liquid within. the overhead lights caught in the liquor, scattering gold across her fingertips, as though she were holding a miniature sun in her hand. “ it is strange, isn’t it? ” she mused at last, her tone feather light, almost academic, as if she were leading a seminar rather than a conversation.
“ like watching one half of a comedy duo perform without the other. the rhythm’s off. you wait for the punchline, but it never quite lands. ” she allowed the observation to linger, harmless set dressing in the theater of their exchange. then, with the elegance of a dancer shifting weight from one foot to another, she turned the dialogue not toward bryce but toward ayla herself. “ though, perhaps it’s more a testament to your influence, ” she continued, head tilting with the air of someone parsing a complex equation. “ he’s branching out, little by little. i saw him talking to genevieve from the stage crew earlier. imagine that—last semester, he’d have chewed off his own arm before attempting small talk. you’ve been good for him. loosened the hinges on that fortress door he hides behind. ” it was a masterstroke. a compliment disguised as casual commentary, but sharpened to a deliberate point. leona had sketched ayla at the center of bryce’s evolution, then, with a flick of the wrist, introduced a specter of competition. genevieve. vague enough to be harmless, but just sharp enough to nick the ego. she raised her glass again, sipping as her eyes skimmed the crowd with the studied air of boredom.
but she missed nothing. every flicker of expression on ayla’s face, every twitch of posture, was catalogued with precision. “ he trusts you, you know, ” she added, as if mentioning the weather. the words landed softly, offhand, yet their weight was undeniable. “ it’s in the way he doesn’t flinch when you reach for a script he’s holding. with most people, he recoils. but not with you. it’s. . . rather sweet. ” another sip, another seed planted with the patience of a seasoned gardener. leona was not shoving them together—oh no, she was merely reframing, repainting, recasting. setting the stage with velvet strokes and quiet implication, so that when the curtain rose, ayla might suddenly see her own story with bryce already written between the lines. all the world was a stage, and leona—ever the reluctant tragedienne in her own plot—was determined to gift her friends something lighter, brighter, softer. a comedy of intimacy rather than a tragedy of missteps. if she could not escape her own script, she would at least direct theirs into a better love story than the one she had been given.
leona isn't stupid. and on an intellectual level, if she had to put money on it, alyla would wager that she knows exactly why they're asking about bryce. as much as she likes to think that she's difficult to read — and maybe she is — you can only do so much around someone with keen enough observational skills. her eyes flick back to leo in the silence, double checking that she was heard among the background chatter and blaring music. lets out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding when leo finally answers with poetic musings rather than asking about the fixation on their classmate. “yeah… exactly, yeah.” alyla nods, turns her gaze back out to the crowd. or more specifically bryce, lingering towards the back of the room. still telling herself she's just keeping an eye on him since zodiac isn't there to do it himself. “like abbott and costello, if anyone could name any of the movies they did individually.” “i don't know if i'd say that's me.” sure, she's tried to push him out of his comfort zone, the same way she does the rest of the theatre department, but no special treatment involved. if that happens to translate outside of the auditorium, then great. “he's the one doing the work to put himself out there more. it's good for him. unfortunately, can't get by on raw talent alone.” there's a whole strategic game to it in the real world outside of school, one she had to learned how to play herself despite name and connections. as far as she knows that also gets you. alyla chuckles, like a conversation with one girl isn't as big of a deal as it really is for bryce. “genevieve is about as much of a threat as they are,” which is to say, little if any at all. though in what sense of the word is up to interpretation. “i'd hope he'd survive letting her talk his ear off for a couple minutes.” though she thinks she knows what leo means, further confirmed when she mentions trust. she sits with that for a moment. mentally cycles through possible implications before settling on fishing for context. “he doesn't with you either.” points it out like there's no difference between them
maybe devon is right. maybe he really is losing it at the ripe old age of thirty-two, unable to pin names to faces anymore. because surely, surely, he must know this guy from somewhere. surely a stranger wouldn't just stroll up to him and act this chummy right off the bat. surely. nothing about him screams approachable, default expression resting halfway between disinterest and suspicion. it's the kind of look that usually does the trick without him having to use his words at all. and yet, here this kid is. standing in his personal space, arm slung around his shoulder. "first of all, you're like - five years old." the words come out flat and deadpan, expression laden with a mixture of indignation and pure contempt as he takes a deliberate step back, reclaiming space. then, recognition pricks at him. familiar but faint, like a half-remembered fact tucked away in the far recesses of his brain. maybe he has seen this one before. some hanger-on of devon's. not the sharpest one, by the looks of it. "second, the day i need anyone to wingman me is the day i'm hanging myself in the town square and changing the trajectory of everyone's lives forever."
it's the expression that draws arin in, really. and that proclivity to bother people that even the most socially inept among us can tell very clearly want to be left alone that will one day be his downfall. that day might just be tonight, given the location and the substances almost certainly going around. but he doubts it'll be at nate's hand. probably. “okay, first of all, if i was five that would have to be a leap year birthday situation and my birthday is in november.” arin's arms cross his chest once nate steps back, offended at the notion that he looks younger than he is as if he doesn't regularly get carded. he looks him up and down, and as tempting as it is to be insulting — arin has a few merciful bones in his body. “who said you needed one? when was the last time you heard of a wingman hurting the cause?” it's happened, and he's been the direct cause before, but nate doesn't need to know that. “women like it when a guy looks like he's got friends. or guys. i don't know, i don't judge.” sure you don't, dude.
at: the rave, don't ask me for specifics pls w/: leona my beloved @collegiatesins
“it's weird seeing bryce without zodiac.” it's weird seeing them here period. and the only reason alyla hasn't taken custody of them for the night and asked what the hell they're doing here is because she's seen them with other people. doesn't mean she hasn't kept an eye on them from a distance, though. purely out of a sort of protective instinct, of course. leo would understand that. “like, obviously it'd be just as weird to bring the dog. but i'm used to them being like. a unit.” is that bad? she's not sure. or really thinking about it at all, because she's not entirely sure why she's here herself. spite, probably, towards certain people ( cough, parents, cough ) who were furious the first time she went to a ( much tamer ) college party years ago. never has been able to let anything go and not about to start now! at least they'd be happy to know all she's done all night is pull her friends aside out of the sea of people to compliment their outfits and gossip. and yes, this does count as gossip. even if it sounds like fishing for information. she's talking to leona, but alyla's focused on the crowd. keeping tabs on anyone and everyone. for further gossip, of course. “so i know the scared wet kitten look is like, his default, but does that ever go away? i would have thought they'd figure out that i'm not gonna bite his head off by now.”
at: the rave, lurking like a freak ! w/: dealer's choice ( player's choice ? i don't gamble. )
it's times like this where arin realizes he should get outside more. touch some grass, interact with other human beings without a screen involved. he won't be doing any of that anytime soon, but the self awareness has to count for something. the urge to bother someone is creeping up on him, like a miniature version of himself wearing devil horns is perched on his shoulder daring him to throw the junk in his pockets at the back of the nearest person's head and he's a pussy if he doesn't — yeah, he needs to go outside. at least he can run if he gets himself in trouble outside. he's on his way out when he spots a target and unfortunately for everybody, that devil is rather convincing. “well, well, look who the cat dragged in.” there's an audible grin in his voice in he sneaks in beside his victim, wrapping his arm around their shoulder in a way that should probably get him punched in a just world. “thank god, it's been boring as fuck here by myself. hey, you got any plans? here with someone? trying to leave with someone?” if he could wiggle his eyebrows like a sleazy cartoon character he would be. “i'll be your wingman. i got nothing better to do. mostly. for now.”
WHERE: :P
WITH: Hi @lowtieds
THE WORLD OF LANGSTON THEATRE IS MINISCULE. that's how it feels, anyway, when bryce is reminded of who all's in it … leona … themself .. zodiac, if he's generous … and ayla. she's nice. a little brash, a little pretty, a little bold, a ton bossy – that's not a dig, but he has been screamed at by her a time or fifteen. he doesn't take it heart, not like he should if he wasn't used to it by now. it could've been worse. he could've been a freshman at the height if her wrath, smaller than they feel and already in a confusing world that's only made worse by the screaming upperclassman ( bryce included ) . the past screaming - matches are half the reason he's so hesitant to approach. it's not like he's going to die, and leo would make it her personal mission to avenge her anyway. “hi,” is what he says. an opening, a greeting, a chance for him to turn and run away in typical - afraid bryce fashion. zodiac stands next to him, board and displeased with the lack of anything. “what're you doing?”
the most redeeming qualities of this mold riddled school lie in it's theatre department. what she knows of it anyway. namely leo and bryce. alyla's signs of affection can be counterintuitive and hard to read — critique, sarcasm, eye rolls… something about being her mother's daughter more than they'd ever like to admit. the two of them must have gotten the message one way or another considering they don't try to avoid her. for the most part. bryce, she's gathered, is just kind of skittish like that. alyla's grown fond of them. endeared. in no small part because she's a little impressed by how they both aren't scared of a stage and has the talent for it. the bakery in hadden reminds her a little of one she frequented in the city as a kid, so she finds herself there often. rarely getting bothered is just a bonus. “hey,” she looks up from her phone at the sound of his voice — bryce is a friend and therefore doesn't count as a bother — smiling at zodiac when he catches her eye. that's what she's telling herself, anyway. “waiting on them to finish baking more of those raspberry cookies. someone's taking their dear sweet time." eyes roll and they set their phone down on the table. “you can sit down, if you want. don't have to stand there looking scared."
she slouches between stacks of vinyl, one boot hooked over a crate, hair a tangled halo of pink and gold catching the flickering neon light from the window. the smell of old cardboard and dust mixes with the faint tang of incense someone forgot to blow out. she drags a finger across a record cover, tapping it lightly, letting the beat pulse through her fingertips. “kind of like glorified summer camp, this feels like,” she rasps, arms crossed but body coiled like a spring. “i got a bug bite near my nipple i think—” and then she’s pulling her shirt collar down further to pull out her tit, hoping the opposite can see better than she could. “think a spider leeched itself onto my skin and had fun or some shit,” she pulls her top back up and flicks a finger at a display of punk classics. “we're on tour soon, just been practicing and shit. i hope we can do an outdoor show, but think dingy dark venues are more our speed.” a part of her misses home, misses it more with everything around her in life being fucking bat-shit crazy. her finger reaches for the spot where the bug bite is, tempted to itch it. “think you could suck the poison out if need be?”
their nose scrunches a little at that — traditional outdoor summer camp never did sound appealing. bug bites, 90 degree weather, canoeing… no thank you. she should have found an excuse to wait until the fall to move back to new york. “i wouldn't know. i went to nice air conditioned dance and theatre camps.” some people are just built for cities, and alyla is one of them. that's perfectly fine, and there's nothing wrong with it. aside from the culture shock, that is. hadden might as well be the middle of nowhere, something akin to the house from courage the cowardly dog, compared to what they're used to. she looks up from the crate she was flipping through, leans in a little to look at the little red bite as if this was a completely normal public interaction. “definitely a bug bite. i got one just like that through my sock the other day. like. how and why?” they'd be tempted to invest in extra strength bug spray if they thought it would even work. she nods. dark and dingy can be worked with. “i'm buying you guys a bug zapper for it. just in case.” bonus feature: the blacklights those use would even look cool. “could i? yes. but what do i get for being poisoned?”
ALL MEN SHOULD DIE. that's it. that's the reply. and yet his bug - eyes are still staring at her and giving her the creeps, shivers down her spine like he's art the clown or whoever that pasty fuck is. “and yet somehow you're always in mine.” it gives her hives just thinking about it — even if unintentional, it comes to a point where she's about ready to tell nate or friday and have them remove him from the premises of the entire town. nate would do it if she harped on it enough. friday might do it if she showed her her tits. “okay? i have nate and friday and luca. and my mother who is clinically insane. so. check mate, twink.” she's only arguing because devon averescu was born to argue. her adoptive mother says she probably came out of the womb bitching, though maria would have no idea - she wasn't there. and, really, it's easy to do with whoever this kid is in a way devon doesn't want to think too much about. men are the easiest to rage - bait, it's like, science or something. maybe she should go to law school because she can get all up under their skin and piss them off. a talent if she'd ever heard of. “the more you open that trap, the more it sounds like you're stalking me. and not doing a very good job. i'm opening an onlyfans, so, like, just wait like three weeks. it'll be available for subscription. you can get the link from my substack or linktree if you're that desperate.” more of a dig at him than anything else — this poor kid. “do i?” she doesn't. or does she?
“can't help it if we frequent the same places,” he shrugged. one would think that a mama's boy such as himself would be good at talking to women without weirding them out. one would be incorrect in that assumption, at least in arin's case, but it shouldn't be too big of a leap to make. maybe if he'd leaned more into sports and less into computers — jocks have better social skills. and girls prefer hockey players to minecraft server owners, right? too late for that now. sorry devon. “landon's got sharp teeth and bites.” his youngest brother, all 45 pounds of him. an incredible threat to a bunch of grown adults. what are they even bickering about? arin's not good at forfeiting a point, but he's great at running his mouth. to his own detriment ( obviously ), but still. apologizing would be much easier than… whatever this is. and he wouldn't even have to mean it! “you know, i don't like the assumption that i'm just objectifying you.” says the guy who's been fighting with his own wandering eyes since she walked in the door. and as confident as he is that he's winning that fight — he's not. he might as well be bleeding out in a denny's parking lot. “i mean, i can spell it out if you want. i'm not stalking you, but if i was you wouldn't know. i'm smart enough not to get caught that easy.” sure!
WHERE: i don't know i just don't! but i'm pretty sure it's like a bar maybe.
WITH: you, ho!
he's sipping on a baja blast despite the establishment clearly marking no outside food or beverage on the door – for a kindergarten teacher, nothing can stop him if he can't read! it's called stooping the kids levels, of course. it's almost gone and atticus is certain that he can't doordash to an already existing restaurant. so instead, he becomes the same bother he always does when his vape is gone and he lost his credit card again: annoy people until they call his ex or until the bartender throws him out onto the street. whichever comes first. “you one'a them fuckin', uh — “ he's blanking on the name despite going there for three terms, not even a full year. ”langston kids? they're all back and i'm pretty sure i heard rumors that they like to stab each other." he hits his vape, despite nothing happening. call it a placebo, call it being pathetically addicted to a machine. like kids and their labubu's. “i wonder if we make ‘em get into a fight ring, if they’d do it – like wwwe. or maybe, like, i dunno. fight club. i never fuckin' saw that movie.” he downs the rest of his baja blast, pouting at the plastic he's nearly crushed in his hand. “you got twenty bucks?”
this isn't new york city, but being randomly heckled by older men definitely reminds alyla of their years in the city. she's heard far crazier ramblings coming from men who look far more put together — so what the hell, sure. she'll bite. “no, i've actually never set foot on that campus.” which, technically, that isn't a lie. she hasn't. yet, anyway. but he doesn't need to know that. “i've heard the rumors about them, though. kind of sad, all the mold poisoning really fried their brains. probably got mold colonies living in their frontal lobes now.” maybe not all of them, but there's a few they have their questions about. like the mold triggered deeper phycological problems. maybe it's contagious, it would explain the behavior of some of her fellow transfers. or some of the townspeople. “i think unsanctioned fight rings are actually illegal. i think that's why the fight club in fight club is secretive and underground." but what does she know. that's not her kind of movie. she looks around looking fir anyone who actually works here, as if they actually get paid enough to care if someone is soliciting cash from the patrons. no such luck. ”panhandling inside is kind of a new one."
zahara hadn’t been in hadden long, but she’d already figured out that concerts here weren’t the polished kind she’d grown up with. these were basement born, duct tape dreams affairs. louder, rawer, stitched together from too much feedback and not enough stage space. the air smelled like sweat, cheap beer, and the faint tang of metal from the amps. bass rattling straight through her ribcage until it felt like her body was more speaker than skin. everyone pressed in too close, shouting lyrics like prayers, laughing with the reckless ease of people who only knew each other under strobe lights. zahara was right there in the thick of it. hair damp against her forehead, eyeliner smudged, grinning like the night had chosen her specifically — when it happened. cold. sticky. a shock against overheated skin, sliding down the front of her shirt in a miserable cascade of sugar and carbonation. she froze, blinking down at the bloom of wetness spreading dark across her chest. and then, just as quickly, her smile snapped back into place. crooked, teasing, unphased. gaze fluttering up to the culprit through a neon haze, eyes catching the stage lights like glass shards, and a laugh slipped out, equal parts gasp and delight. “ oh my god, ” she breathed, brushing at herself uselessly, soda clinging like glitter at a parade. “ okay, so. either you owe me a new shirt. . . ” zee leaned in just enough to make it a challenge, grin sharpening at the edges. “ . . .or you buy me another drink and we call it even. your pick. ”
the last time he turned up to someone's hack job basement gig, arin was still coasting along with a fake id that only worked maybe a third of the time despite only being a year off his actual age. but something about being in england had given him the urge to track one down. like the grime would scrub off whatever remained of the prim and proper british atmosphere off of him and purge the knowledge that people really do eat baked beans on toast and overcooked peas on fries over there out of his brain. was it working? well. he was disoriented, anyway. must count for something. turns out mixing strobe lights, loud music, alcohol, and his pen might not be the wisest of decisions — and now he was stood zoned out in the middle of the crowd. so of course it shouldn't be a surprise that someone inevitably trips over him. but it's a surprise to arin. enough for the dvd logo in his head to hit the corner and knock a little bit of sense back into him. “huh?” still processing his surroundings, looking her up and down until it finally clicks what she means. “okay, well, i don't carry around extra clothes like a fuckin' toddler,” though maybe he should. it might serve him well. “and ‘m not giving you mine, so that’s not gonna work.”
at: idk, it's almost midnight w/: fabi :3 @petalites
“did you see the thing from the new england aquarium about how they built a little retirement home for their senior penguins?” if he has, he's about to see it again because juliet's already pulling her phone out of her pocket. pulling up the tiktok clipped news story she'd gone as far as to download to her phone expressly for this purpose — showing anyone who might be even halfway interested in listening to her yap on about animals and aquariums. “they built this special island for them with extra padding and ramps away from the younger penguins that had been picking on them. cute, right?” pauses, scrunches her nose a little and backpedals. “the special island part, not getting penguin bullied. that part is kind of sad, even though they're not trying to be mean. so i don't know if you can really call it bullying.” being careful about projecting human emotions onto the animals too much, even though that's never really been her strong suit. and it's only then, after getting her whole penguin spiel out of the way, that her polite brain kicks in enough to add, “oh, and hi.”
at: why do i include this, i never know where w/: luca, sure, why not @rhythmicals
“i kinda want to buy a pair of minecraft heelys. you remember those?” whatever happened to hi, or hello, how are you? no, we have to jump straight into some sort of nonsense rambling. “i don't know if that would ‘rizz women up’-" air quotes around that — as chronically online as arin is, he still has to pick up the hip new slang from his kid brothers. embarrassing. no time to dwell on it, or you'll get left three topics behind. “or if that would be like. woman repellant. ‘cause see, i think heelys are sick. all the convenience of a skateboard without having to carry one around? cool as hell. but i don’t know if women are into that. maybe they'd be more into the pink axolotl ones." whole lot of focus on impressing women specifically for an openly bisexual man. but that could mean nothing. besides, he already knows the kind of men he attracts would be into minecraft shoes with wheels in them.
at: don't ask me, i don't know ! w/: romy :3 @tintedswindows
if it weren't for the handful of faces more familiar than just the past few months, alyla thinks she would have gone crazy a long time ago. ( ‘a long time ago’ when she just got here, sure. ) not really sure what she had been expecting, all things considered. the people, the new place, being in new york of all places and in danger proximity to everyone she knew in high school — all one thing on their own, but in combination? she's a creature of habit, and getting thrown out of a routine puts her in … a mood, lets say. “i can't believe i'm actually starting to miss british weather.” something she's said every time she's come back to the states for the past couple years, but it rings just as true now as ever. “at least over there it isn't three hundred degrees outside every day. plus being in the woods surrounded by mosquitoes? i'm just not going outside until october. mid september at the earliest.” the dramatics, as if it's the end of the world. and a pause, before adding, “please tell me you're not about to have some kind of band thing outside in the middle of august or something.”
i am in fact NOT being very brave about it and will whine and complain until i die. As is my right
* ❪ 🍂 ❫ : 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗳𝗶𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗼𝗳 𝗮 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸𝗲𝗿, 𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝗺𝗮𝗿𝗸𝗼𝘃 𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗿𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 best not to freak the hell out of her new scaly friend, eyes taking in every movement, every exhale and inhale from a tiny chest that nearly makes a tear fall from her ducts. completely endeared by the creature that licks his own eyeball clean. barely blinking, just as she isn't, watching and waiting to see if he continues to do anything spectacular. as she believes he's been doing for the past ten minutes. she's even tucked her crown of curls behind her ears, earrings made of sea glass swinging to the tune of juliet's running presentation, facts she actually didn't know. not yet. juliet was like the library in sleeping beauty, a platter of colors and pages she hadn't had the privilege of consuming, but juliet willingly giving her the information as if she had it photographically memorized. friday, always feeling like the luckiest girl in the world in the presence of nature's most prized possessions, turns her attention to the flecks that bound around mindlessly. literally. she swears their brains are nonexistent, which means she's immediately feeling a maternal instinct toward them. a collective hive mind is what's being concluded in her own brain, wanting so badly to name them, but knowing that that's an honor only their owner had the right to. ❝ oh my god, they come with their own little cleaning supplies. i'm imagining a baby horseshoe crab with a vacuum, and like, a tiny maid outfit. i'm gonna puke. i need to sit down. ❞ nausea came with her excitement, akin to someone who suffered chronic nose bleeds from sudden trips of adrenaline. uncontrollable, but tolerable once she sits on juliet's bed, remaining tuned in with a bright smile. ❝ what are their names ? if . . . you'll name them ? i know, there's like, a bunch of them, and they'll probably look identical but there's identical humans out here too, y'know ! i think they deserve it. ❞
sometimes if you watch closely, really closely, you can watch in real time as hiccup experiences a rare, fleeting thought. it's actually quite possible that the shrimp collectively have more brainpower than the lizard, and one of the things juliet likes most about him — that he's somehow ended up in the orange cat brain cell distribution system despite being cold blooded and slightly more on the yellow end of the color spectrum. there really isn't much difference between her cold blooded little friends aside from size and species, if you observe them long enough. which is about all she's been doing since the day she returned to new york. chances are actually fairly high that friday is the first human she's talked to since picking up hiccup from his mold - free babysitter. “or like that french shrimp from finding nemo — the one that cleans nemo when he gets put in the dentists tank?” again with the fish, because of course she's seen finding nemo more times than she can count. she giggles, fully endeared by both her matched excitement and the accompanying drama. “i haven't gotten that far.” or thought about it, really. and she doesn't really have the heart to break it to friday about their lifespan. which somehow, makes the point about deserving it even more valid. “they need matching names… and a lot of them.” because she's honestly kind of lost count of how many there actually are.
