finnikinz wake

mom? my boyfrined is biting me

im ADRESSFSDSDSDF AFRAID

you taste like orange colon three

yawm

sen[pai nyaaaaaaaaaaaa fufu 

mm mm mmmmm the flavors are melting on my tongue :p

one summer's evening in the pale moonlight, webkin lay in wait. 

the tertiary beams of light refracting across their mirror, webkin paid attention only to the ceiling, though it felt as if in recent years the house was perpetually on fire--not the sort of fire which burns quick and bright, but a lugubrious and ugly fire, dim, the fire of years tacked onto years and a marriage disintegrating with every footstep and every frail thought tossed aside every which way. 

it was time-- there was no doubt-- it had been a long five years of a dissatisfied yearning on the part of one spouse, knowing in their heart they had not married for any sort of love, but out of devotion to a religious mother set on having a biblically conducive wedding.

and then the other spouse, the quiet one, quiet as in the ways of old (forefathers stacked upon forefathers stacked upon forefathers, a matryoshka (nesting doll) at the heart of the urals), a serene sort of way that spoke not so much to contempt as it did simple, unspoken discontent, a discontent nevertheless brimming beneath the surface of every daily task and interaction, some sort of burning kierkegaardian angst, a simple and dreadful thing. 

this other spouse was on their way back, driving through a deep and heavy rain, flowers on the passenger seat, still under the impression that their partner felt as deeply as they did. however, whilst they though their beautiful wedding was cultivated from years of dating and joy, they had no idea webkin had been out last night taking a body shot off the stomach of a twenty-five year old wildcard of a man interested in the experimentation of post-college life.

a voicemail, short, left by cody on the iphone 5s belonging to webkin (who despised what they called "mobile-phone-upgrade-culture" absolutely) instructing (instructing, yes, not asking, this was their way) webkin to await the surprise was weighing on cody's conscience. had it been too much, too forward? 

webkin, having received the message, was feeling immense amounts of guilt at the fact that they were waiting for a surpise from cody, an obvious romantic and hopelessly devoted to their uniquely beautiful spouse, whilst their sweat-stained clothes from last night lay in the laundry pile. it was disgustingly awful from an outside perspective-- the loving spouse throwing in the remnants of their partner's hookup into their washing machine.

cody had a knowledge of the backroads. they were going almost ten over and positively demolishing every turn, every crest of every uneven and strange hill, moving at what felt like the sound barrier. beads of sweat tumbled down their forehead and the thoughts tumbled after: something was wrong, what could it be? why had they been so inclined to make a move, the voicemail, this out-of-character? they wondered why, an hour ago, they were so intent on buying the flowers and leaving the message for webkin. something this morning had felt off, and it was typical of cody to react in this way. typical cody, nervous, submissive, breedable. (fan service)

this detection on cody's behalf that something wasn't right was altogether intuitive and based on the few things webkin had done this morning which created a feeling of unease; one-- how last night they showered far past midnight, something out of character for them seeing as they showered only in the mornings (of course, unless cody and webkin were taking a shower together, but those experiences had become fewer and farther between); two-- the clothes they hid in the laundry, smelling of beer and an unfamiliar perfume; and three-- the faded concealer just behind their ear. deep down, cody probably knew on some unconscious level their partner was cheating, but their mind was still in protective denial, encouraging them that maybe it was just an odd set of circumstances. maybe it was all an odd coincidence. maybe if cody brought home a bouquet and laid next to them in bed, this whole problem would fade and be blocked from memory.

webkin paced back and forth in the foyer, made small circles around the hat rack and came every few seconds to face the kitchen. all these thoughts. guilt and the more complex feelings, everything, guilt and the feeling beyond guilt of having enjoyed it, just a little bit, and the more meta sort of guilt that came about after feeling this post-guilt, and it compounds and builds upon itself like a geode you see in the natural history museum, concentric and rhythmic circles of perfectly reflective amethyst, and what would they say, how would they even begin saying, all these questions, and they did not even see (facing the kitchen at the exact moment) cody coming into the house through the front door, soaking wet during the biggest drought the valley had seen since '86 and looking like a lost dog clutching a bouquet in their hands. 

"hey."