No way you can deny, you feel the most alive when you are terrified
There is a brief moment where he considers that he may have fucked up. When her gaze narrows in that way, when her fingers scrabble for purchase on his arms, as her curls sweep in over her face as she is unceremoniously plucked up by a smattering of dish towels and the essence of summer, he considers this may have been a grave mistake. That dissolves immediately into complete satisfaction the moment she hits the water in an impressive wave and her outcry is swallowed up into nothing more than her magnificent splash.
He'd propped himself up on one arm to properly watch his revenge, mouth ajar in a mixture of delight and shock at the image of his wife sailing to perfect retribution. While he meant to use this time to get up, he's held hostage by laughter once more. In some variant of the downward dog, one palm slaps the pavement while victory and glee double him over with a bellowing, relentless, shaking fit of laughter that soon enough goes silent and rolls out as tears at the corner of his eyes. It only amplifies the moment she breaks the surface, sputtering with threats that ought to chill him to his core because he knows she means them, but he can barely even remember the word composure at this point.
Weakly, he manages to get to his feet, tumsea floatie in each hand, sides on fire. Instead of the clear shot he could have had, she's already swamp-monster lurching back out of the pool by the time he's giggling his way back towards the house. "This has been the best winter surprise!" he tosses to her with all the attempt of distracting a guard dog with a treat just after it's eaten its fill. The brightness to the remark is not put on though, meaning it quite thoroughly, for all the good it'll do him now. "Kitchen sledding?" he offers like a truce, one of the tumseas thrown her way while he's calculating if he could dip past her quick enough to make it inside.
He'd propped himself up on one arm to properly watch his revenge, mouth ajar in a mixture of delight and shock at the image of his wife sailing to perfect retribution. While he meant to use this time to get up, he's held hostage by laughter once more. In some variant of the downward dog, one palm slaps the pavement while victory and glee double him over with a bellowing, relentless, shaking fit of laughter that soon enough goes silent and rolls out as tears at the corner of his eyes. It only amplifies the moment she breaks the surface, sputtering with threats that ought to chill him to his core because he knows she means them, but he can barely even remember the word composure at this point.
Weakly, he manages to get to his feet, tumsea floatie in each hand, sides on fire. Instead of the clear shot he could have had, she's already swamp-monster lurching back out of the pool by the time he's giggling his way back towards the house. "This has been the best winter surprise!" he tosses to her with all the attempt of distracting a guard dog with a treat just after it's eaten its fill. The brightness to the remark is not put on though, meaning it quite thoroughly, for all the good it'll do him now. "Kitchen sledding?" he offers like a truce, one of the tumseas thrown her way while he's calculating if he could dip past her quick enough to make it inside.
Kaisel
I'm a daredevil on the highway to hell
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
