#GOD THIS BOOK........OKAY OAKY OKAY

[ufonaut]

He wasn’t what I’d been expecting at all. He totally terrified me. His eyes burned into you. Everything about him, his stance, his voice-- it was so full of... of disdain. It was like he operated on some terrible, godlike level. He loathed mixing with us, working with us... because we just couldn’t imagine the things he’d had to do.

Unknown Soldier (1997) #2

(Garth Ennis, Kilian Plunkett)

#unknown soldier #the unknown soldier #unknown soldier 1997 #garth ennis #kilian plunkett #dc #dc comics #dcedit #comicedit #comicsedit #u can reblog #GOD THIS BOOK........OKAY OAKY OKAY

[iambecomeyourvillain]

frickty frack frack its yuth again and i have added if we were villains to my cart i am officially entering the book spending wormhole my guy ive accepted it pls tell me some books that r worth to buy im holding on till tmmr morning at least bc i need ur help my friend and i feel like im on crack rn not that i know how it feels but FUC

oh my God yes to if we were villains okay, okay oaky that's a lot of pressure on me yuth-

- the starless sea (haven't read it but I've heard it's so good)

- the inheritance games (it has this whole dark academia theme that i cannot wait to read @pxrisakamali will tell you more about it)

- the night circus (so good)

- sTalkinG JACK THE RIPPER

- get they both die at the end as well because oUCh. pain. why not? :)

- reminders of him. pLease try it

- i think you'll like on the come up. it's by angie thomas check it out

[kneehoming-knee]

CJ WHITE RETURN DEVIL_GOODBOY™ KINECT MINECRAFT FUCKED UGH GIVENE THAT_ OUSSY BITCH WAS ACTUALLY LISA DICK LOOKING FOR_"GOD" WOOSH_ DEVIL CARE OITLAST YES HAVE TO EXCUSE ME_ SAVED GLADE SIGNAL VIGIL OR FACTS_ BIG SWEET EYES YOU BRITISH ELDROS SISTER VING YOU CRYBABY_ KAIDE_ KINCAID'S THE NAME_ BOND ROSEWOOD FORGOT ABOUT ME™ FUCK THEM LOSERS™ HOOVERS™ RED BOOK BLUE BOOKS ARE OKAY MONOCLE PEANUT MAN RELAC BULL_ LUB_ TUB BUKL6JIMPT ME AND [GOD HELPS SPIDER OFF BABY] TUB OAKY' OAKLEY SHADES AINT YOUR SOUND_ MINE PRIVATE_ ALL WORLDS HERE1337(WETHER WEATHER-

[bird-of-eternia]

Sylvia (pt. 4) Stay

(Rose and Sylvia have a chat.)

Story inspired by Dr Hooks Greatest Hits Album

Rose sat on the hard bench waiting for the bus. She had thirty minutes now. Thirty minutes before she was on the bus and another six before she got to California.

Her stomach grumbled but she couldn't find the energy to find something to eat. There was probably gum or a granola bar in her bag.

All her anger and sadness had morphed together into a low humming numbness. She hated this place. Maybe if her parents were still alive it would have been better, she could have been better. Maybe if she hadn't saw those two girls kiss on television when she was eight. Maybe if she had gone to church more or wore different clothes, listened to different music...things would have been easier.

Maybe if Sylvia had said yes.

She cleared her throat. Silencing the parade of sobs eager to march out of her throat.

She watched the people pass by. Most of them she had never seen before, travelers on their way somewhere more important than this dumpy town.

Two blocks away Sylvia walked down the street arm and arm with Freddie. He always looked his Sunday best. He smiled at her, his blue eyes shining. He knew people had talked about her. He had heard the rumors after Rose and Sylvia had been caught hanging around each other, but he didn't care. Or at least he didn't seem to. Freddie was a good person.

In his other arm he carried her bag stuffed full with clothes and books.

"It'll be so nice Sylvie! You and me on the water! Maybe even squeeze in time to catch the end of the game tonight after dinner!"

Sylvie gave him a half hearted smile. She hoped he didn't notice the lack of enthusiasm but his eyes were on the sky.

Rose might still be at the station.

"Praise God." He squeezed her arm. "What good weather huh?" He chuckled then sighed. An honest warmth crossed his features. "I think we have a good life ahead of us. I really do." He nodded to himself. He was looking at her now, searching her face for some kind of reassurance she felt the same.

"Yeah," She nodded. "It'll be good Freddie."

His body was warm against hers, strong enough too. He was a handsome young man with a big heart. They were both only just turning twenty but she knew he would expect children right after they got married. Babies would surely bring more joy into her life, more distractions, she needed that. With Rose gone it wouldn't be long until the engagement.

Rose.

Her legs felt heavy all of the sudden. She was dragging her feet through thick sand until they just...stopped.

Freddie was yanked to a halt. "Okay Sylvie?" Concern wrinkling his forehead.

What was she doing? There was one more thing she had to do. Try.

"I have to do something," She started to pull away from him. "I'm sorry." She shook her head at him, raising her arms. "I have to go," Freddie moved to walk towards her. "No, no don't follow me."

She began walking quickly down the road, her feet no longer stuck in quick sand. This wouldn't do, she'd have to go faster, there wasn't much more time. She grabbed her skirt in her hands and ran.

"Sylvie? Sylvia?!" Freddie yelled after. "where are you going?"

.

Rose stood to stretch her aching legs. Actually, her whole body was aching. She raised her arms above her head, stretching as far as they would go. It felt good to move her muscles. She glanced up at her watch, squinting through the sun.

ten minutes now.

She was letting out a long satisfied breath when she saw a familiar flash of oaky brown hair. They were pushing through people in a hurry. The big eyes searching erratically from person to person until they landed on their target.

"Sylvie?!" Rose was dumbstruck. Her heart danced nervously in her chest. "What the hell are you doing?" She was now staring at Sylvia wide eyed as the poor girl caught her breath. Sylvia, hands on hips, attempted blowing the hair from her face. The strand of hair swirled into the air just to land back in its place. Out of habit Rose reached out and tucked it behind her ear. Sylvia blushed.

"I...I wanted..." She closed her eyes and took a steading breath. "I want to come with you."

Rose wanted to grab her and fling her around in circles, who cares who saw? She'd flip off the sky and let the big guy know what she thought of him.

"No." The word fell quickly from her lips and crashed to the ground.

"No?" Sylvia looked confused. "But..." She struggled for words.

The answer had surprised Rose as well. She loved Sylvia with everything she had. She would have done anything to keep her. If only she had come to this decision days ago, hell, even just this morning. However, Rose knew this was the right choice. Sylvia wasn't ready, and that was okay. She didn't have to uproot her life or come out just for Rose. These things took time and Rose had had hers. It was Sylvia's turn.

"You can't." She grinned apologetically at Sylvias confused disappointment.

"I can to! I just left Freddie standing in the middle of the road, Rose! I ran all the way here! I thought about it and I've changed my mind!" Sylvia's eyes burned into Rose, challenging her.

"I don't think you really do Sylvie. I think you just don't want to say goodbye." Rose lifted a hand to stop any response. "Freddie will give you a good normal life. That's what you want and that's what you deserve. You'll stay in touch with family, you'll have your own home, kids, grow old and change his diapers." She smirked. Sylvia was not smiling.

"Is this because of...because of what I called you?" It was almost a whisper. "I didn't mean it Rose. I was so nasty. I'm sorry." her voice trembled. "I'm sorry."

Rose gave in and opened her arms. Sylvia rushed in wrapping her arms around Rose. It was wonderful to hold her again. Smell the sweet peach of her perfume. It was strange, the feeling that washed over her. She felt the anger dissipate, replaced by an acceptable melancholy. The feeling was lighter than the heaviness of anger, and sweeter.

"I'll write when I can okay? We can keep in touch."

"yeah." Sylvie sniffed. She was angry and confused but she knew Rose was right. After all why did she feel so relieved? She wouldn't have to leave and she wouldn't have to deal with a new city, new people...She had just wanted, needed, to say goodbye.

#sylvias mother #sylvia #rose x sylvia #writer #storiesfromtheprophet #author #originalstory #romance #heartbreak #lgbt fiction #gaaaaaay

[disasterfandoms]

Dating Clay Spenser ~Headcanons

Anonymous requested: “ Could you do what it would be like to date clay Spenser pls?”

A/N: so this would have been out faster, but tumblr ate the draft, so now I have to start over. Regardless, I hope you enjoy it!

TW: mentions of war, mentions of injuries, mentions of deployment

-Clay would want to take you on a first date where you can have his undivided attention. Probably a hole-in-the-wall restaurant he found when he first moved to VA Beach and then a bookstore or something

- Real talk, relationships with servicemen move fast, usually bc they understand the importances of living life to the fullest bc you can die the next day

- Which is why Clay had intense feelings, so much so that he said “I love you” within the first two months of dating. He was oaky with the fact it might have been too soon for you, he understood that you didn’t have the same feeling quite yet bc it was so early on in the relationship

-But my god you would have thought you told him he won the lottery once you did tell him

- He’s 1000% a cuddly monster when he’s home. He wants to be held or holding you in some way, shape for form 

- Skype dates when he’s deployed and hearing Brock or Sonny bitching in the background about how you two talk more that Ray and Naima

-Becoming friends with Naima and helping out with the kiddos, going over there when you need reassurance that Clay’s going to be okay

-Becoming friends with Lisa due to the Sonny and Davis thing (the first time), and being pissed at the both of them for breaking up

- Clay wouldn’t be the type to give a damn about people knowing how much he loves you. PDA? The boy will grab your ass in public, have a hand on your thigh, have an arm around you at all times. 

- Listening to him tell you about his childhood and hating Ash Spenser with every cell in your being

- Make out sessions on the couch during movie nights. It always starts out innocent, he gets bored with whatever action movie he put on and starts kissing your cheek, your neck, down to your shoulder until you pay attention to him. Next thing you know the movie is over and you’re straddling him

-Going to the team’s barbeques and listening to some of the stories they tell. Clay tries to shield you from most of the dangerous things he does, though he knows you’re not an idiot or a damsel in distress, because he doesn’t want to worry you every time he’s on a mission

- Rainy days on the rare weekend he’s off where you two just cuddle up on the couch and read books, even though most of his will be in a foreign language

-Learning from Trent how to patch of his minor injuries when he comes home from being spun-up.

-learning quickly that even if he’s off the clock, if one of his brothers need him then your plans are toast. Those warriors of men are his herd and you can’t, nor will you try, to break them apart.

-Occasionally fighting because of how many days out of the year he’s unavailable to you. You know logically he can’t control it but you can’t stop how you feel, and you shouldn’t have to hide it from him either.

-wearing his favorite shirt he “accidentally” leaves when he goes on deployment, because he knows it brings you comfort

#clay spenser #seal team #clay spenser x reader #clay spenser headcanons

[gentlemancrow]

Written in the Stars Will Have to Do

OK so I saw @hey-there-hunter ‘s JMart Wedding Challenge and I pretty much fan ficced immediately??  Like it was an instantaneous plot bunny that stabbed me in the brain and would not let me free until I made it exist.  SO HERE YOU GO!  Read it here or head on over to AO3 below!  And enjoy some unapologetically aggressive fluff with weddings!  Also subtitled someday Crow will stop abusing excessive astral imagery and symbolism for extended metaphors, but today is not that day.

Read on AO3 instead!

Written in the Stars Will Have to Do

Jonathan Sims always thought of himself as a man with a deep appreciation for the great literature of the world.  A passionate turn of phrase, crystalline motes of clear imagery like snowflakes reflecting light in his mental scape, a devastating contemplation on the nature of good and evil in the hearts of all mankind, everything that could express the beauty and tragedy of the world in ways he never could.  Prose was a bright paintbrush on a ragged canvas of the universe he had known from an early age was swathed in shadow and pain and evil, and those words on those pages, for at least a moment, were another world he could hold in his hands, could cradle and protect, could mourn.  He liked the power of them as well, of the tinkling brightness of alliteration, the oaky sophistication of a well-aged metaphor, the evocativeness of the idiosyncrasy in a simple simile, laying bare truths in ways he never could have articulated for himself.

There was one thing he could not abide by in language, however, one cardinal sin liable to besmirch any piece of lush and sparkling verse or prose and taint it forever.  And that was idioms.

Jon loathed idioms and their dismally quirky cliches dressed in familiarity’s tacky clothing almost as much as he hated spiders.  Perhaps it was something about their reliance on common knowledge and repetition.  He couldn’t bear reading the same book twice, or even a book that felt too familiar, it only made sense that hearing a hackneyed phrase repeated in that awful singsong sardonic tone of someone who knows full well they’re saying something asinine that has been repeated ad nauseum for millennia would scrape at the back of his skull and down his spine.  They were too whimsical and blasé, crutch words for when one’s limited lexicon came up empty, or worse, for ill comedic effect.  They reinforced that staunchly English notion of skirting about the true depth and breadth of emotion for clipped niceties and unfeeling banalities.  Idioms to him were mere verbal window boxes, colorful and meaningless, dressings for untold disasters behind the shining windows they peacocked before.  

He hated them all with vaguely equal rancor, but there was one he could definitely single out as the one he hated the most, and that was the one about hanging the moon.  Such and such thinks you hung the moon, to me you hung the moon, and so on.  This particular rhetorical felony attracted his wrath only marginally because any moon symbolism never failed to feel outlandish and infantile, a mawkish image of love and care rampant in nursery rhymes and cheap commercialized slogans for t-shirts and wall art.  That was the least of it.  He hated the idea of hanging the moon mostly because once, another lifetime ago now it seemed, Tim Stoker had lobbed it in his face in a fit of smoldering rage and he had been completely, complacently, ignorant of its magnitude.  

Funny thing was, he couldn’t even remember what the actual fight had been about any longer.  Though he could remember exactly where he was standing, cornered next to the file cabinet for the year 1985, January through February, and the label had been peeling up on the upper left-hand corner.  He remembered he’d discovered a hole in the elbow of his jumper that morning and he had been obsessing over it all day, fussing with the dangling green thread and tugging at the knit as if it might magically close the wound.  He’d put his finger clean through it with his arms crossed haughtily over his chest without even realizing he’d been fiddling with it when something flippant about Martin came out of his mouth.  It hadn’t even been cruel, he couldn’t even remember how Martin had come up in the argument in the first place, he could only remember Tim’s mouth moving like he wanted to say something else, then him forcibly stopping himself before he snarled.

“Yeah well, god knows why, but he thinks you hung the moon, so you might try treating him at the very least like a human being once in a while.”

It was such a small thing.  Small words for a small feeling cloaked in a chintzy veneer of idiomatic dismissal.  A trembling little bird cupped in his scarred and battered hands and smothered.  Or so he thought.  Sometimes trembling little birds turn out to be phoenixes, and those who looked to someone else to hang the comfort of a wise, silvery moon in the sky already have the hammer and the picture wire at the ready.

As far as Jon was concerned, the moon only rose on their Somewhere Else because Martin deigned to pull the strings every night, not him.

It was Martin who brought him tea every morning, set it down on the breakfast table with that little flip of the tag and the deft, one-fingered turn of the handle toward him.  It was Martin who scolded him because whites are a separate load, Jon, were you raised in a barn?  Martin who talked him through every episode of the Doctor Who reruns that were the only thing their ancient aerial could pick up.  Martin who planted flowers in the garden and brought muffins from the sweet old lady at the grocers because they traded baking recipes.  Martin who still looked at him with diaphanous pools of ethereal moonlight in his eyes and his smile like he alone hung it in the sky over his head to wash him in its radiance.

Even after everything.

Even after it had been Martin who had to hold the knife buried in his chest as he lay gasping wetly for breath in an alleyway in Another Chelsea to keep the hemorrhaging at bay.  Martin who had cupped his face in his bloody hands with tears streaming down his and forced him to focus, furious love blazing in his sea mist eyes as they locked with his, screaming at him and him only, heedless of anything else.

“Look at me.  LOOK at me, Jon!  Stay with me!  Stay with me, DAMN YOU!”

Stay with me had not been a plea, it had been a command.  He had never once said please because it was never an option.  Shivering, breathing blood through his teeth, the streetlights a fading, star studded halo in Martin’s strawberry blond curls be damned, he was right.  Against every tangled thread of fate twisted deep into his flesh, or perhaps because they had been the only thing that held his torn innards together, he made it to the part where he awoke a few fractured times to nothingness, and then to fingers he knew every inch of inextricably bound up in his and a fierce whisper in his ear.

“I’m here, Jon.  I’m still here.  I’ve got you.  I’m going to fix this.  I’m going to get us out of here.  We’re going to be okay.”

It had been Martin who orchestrated their clandestine escape from the hospital the moment they both agreed he was well enough to survive under his rudimentary medical care and before the authorities got too invested in an urban ghost story of two men who didn’t exist.  Not to mention one of which should, by all medical and logical law, be dead.  It had been Martin who had stolen the necessary antibiotics, drugs, and wound care supplies, Martin who had picked enough pockets to buy passage on a midnight train to the only place they could think to go, and expressly told Jon not to ask where he learned how, even though he knew full well he would later.  Martin who had fought for everything and kept him hidden and safe while he lay in a dingy hotel room somewhere in Scotland, drifting in and out of consciousness between kisses, cold compresses, spoonfuls of whatever he could get him to swallow and keep down, and desperate ‘I love you’s.

Martin had been the one who hung the moon even on the nights Jon couldn’t see it, just so he knew it was there, that the light might finally guide him home.  Not him.  He could have never done something so selfless and simple and beautiful.  No not him.  Not The Archivist.  How could he have ever known that?  Stupid, myopic, pedantic, all-seeing and blind.  A blustering, sanctimonious Tiresias in a sweater vest and half-moon glasses.  And how important was the moon, anyway that he was expected to hang it too?  Would not night still come and the stars still shine?  The stupid, vapid saying should have been about the sun anyway.  Something that nourished and guided and warmed.  Not the moon.  Not the thing of night and hungry wolves and quiet loneliness.  Not a thing of the darkness they fought and still not won, not exactly, not in a way that mattered.  How could he have known the weight of such a thoughtless, frivolous, meaningless phrase and how far and how long Martin had borne it for him to protect he who hung his moon?  

He could see the weight of it so clearly now.  He could see it especially on the darkest days, which came, in grotesque mockery, the moment they found something like their safehouse and rest at last.  Jon had conned his way into a job at the village library with an ancient head librarian who didn’t care much for too many questions, or background or credit checks, and was more than happy to pay in cash.  With Martin’s help of course.  Martin himself had taken up stocking at the village grocers, and their life had teetered onto something so close to quaint and normal it suddenly laid bare the gravity of the depths of darkness they had escaped.

No longer did they have to run, no longer did they have to fight, they could finally lay down the chase and curl in upon each other to lick their wounds in quiet.  But without the driving, primal instinct to live, to survive, that ushered in the days where all the hurt came back to roost and brood and fester.  The days where he couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed, or the days Martin couldn’t bear the sound of his voice, or the days they shouted themselves hoarse, stormed apart for hours then came back, silent and broken, red-eyed and exhausted to hold each other and weep into the spaces between neck and shoulder where it still smelled like love and home.

He could see so painfully clearly the toll following him to the ends of the cosmos and back had etched its marks into his goodness, his body and soul, see how often he would walk down the road from their cabin, just a little ways, to stand on the heather spotted hills and gaze out into the frigid infinity of the gray sea.  Cold terror would grip him then, incite a desperate want to run after him, to throw his arms around him and bring him home, but also the fear it would only be to have him turn to mist and slip through his fingers forever.  He always had a cup of steaming tea waiting for him when he came back, just in case.

But again, and always.  It was Martin who would pick up Jon’s hands, kiss every slender, scarred finger through his tears and be the first one to utter ‘I’m sorry.’  Martin who told him with just a single scathing flash of stern blue eyes and not a single word uttered that he was certainly coming to bed and not banishing himself to the couch like an idiot.  Martin who wrapped him in his arms and warmth and boundless love and reminded him, “One way or another.  Together.  That was the deal, right?  You don’t get to back out now.  No returns, refunds, or exchanges, I’m afraid.”

And even through the deepest sobs he would find the laugh Jon didn’t think was in him.  Martin sifted through the mire and the muck and held fast to the tiny, shining things so easy to lose in the darkness.  Things Jon was certain were lost forever, only to be reignited and hung in the brightening sky of their story.  Even if they weren’t quite the moon yet.

It had also been Martin who, on a perfectly ordinary day, on a simple walk through the local farmers market, stopped to peruse one of the usual unremarkable stalls filled with crystals and oils and trinkets.  Jon had wandered off to procure the parsnips and the strawberries, unrelated recipes Martin swore, he had been tasked with finding.  When he returned he found him, a radiant monument tall among the faceless locals, rusty curls caressing his face in the salty breeze, carved of marble and rose quartz and gazing down at a pair of hematite rings on a velvet display box.  His eyes were distant, but not in the enthralled, disembodied way they were when he looked at the sea, or the broken way when they weren’t speaking, but in the contemplative, regarding of puzzle pieces way when he would look into the fire during their talks and turn his words in his mind over and over again like a rock tumbler until they were polished just right.

“Getting into crystals now, are we?” Jon had joked, “Surely I’m not so dull to be around that that’s becoming an attractive hobby.”

Martin snorted and shook his head.

“Supposed to mean healing, or grounding, or something.  Aligning your meridians, I think the lady said?  Whatever that means,” he elaborated, reaching out to touch.

They clinked weightily together, thick and glossy and the dark astral gray of a moonless night.  Martin turned over the card that went with them and read.

“’A grounding stone that belongs to the planet Mars.  It strengthens our connections to the earth and aids the warrior on their journey.  It is a stone of invincibility, but also fragility.  It balances yin and yang energies with its magnetic properties for the perfect reflection upon one’s own soul, astral, physical, and spiritual.’”

“Hematite, is it?” Jon asked, “Also more commonly called bloodstone.  You know if you scratch it, it leaves a red mark.  Like it’s bleeding.  Watch.”

He picked up one of the rings and firmly ran it down the corner of the card Martin had been reading from.  Sure enough, the black stone had left a faint, but starkly crimson mark on the yellowed paper.

“It BLEEDS?” Martin exclaimed in horror.

“It’s just a kind of iron oxide, so, rust, basically,” Jon explained with a chuckle, “Kind of weirdly romantic if you think about it?  This intimidating shiny black stone like armor, made of iron to boot, but with a bleeding heart at its core.”

“I just thought it was pretty, I didn’t know it bleeds,” Martin had laughed in that incredulous way he always did when Jon was telling him something he didn’t actually want to know, but appreciated anyway.

“I find that the strongest, prettiest things often do,” Jon had said in reply.  He remembered saying that particularly clearly, waxing poetic, feeling a swell of affection for the hugely beautiful man he leaned against and was adorably aghast at bleeding rocks.

“Yeah, I reckon they do,” Martin murmured back.

And then his cheeks had flushed bright red under his freckles and the stone steps of his shoulders crumbled a bit under the crushing ancientness and vastness of what he had originally been pondering.

“So, I mean, before you spoiled it with the blood thing.  I was thinking… Well, I was just having a browse and I saw these and I thought they were quite fetching, and then the lady told me they meant grounding and healing and a journey, like on the card.  A-And there were two of them, all by themselves, and everything else was so colorful and flashy these were just so… Um.  Maybe the blood and rusty iron thing makes it more poetic now, actually?  I don’t know.  Sorry I-  This sounded so much better in my head.”

It wasn’t his fault, Jon remembered thinking.  Martin couldn’t find the words because there weren’t any.  Not in this universe or any other.  Not for what they’d gone through, and especially not for what they meant to each other.

“I guess I was just thinking.  If… I bought one.  And wore it.  Sort of like.  Um.  You know.  Would… Would you-?” he had asked, his voice trembling.

Jon had never said yes, yes of course he would, faster or with more conviction in his life.  And there was that look again, rising from the ashes, that flooding of golden, unbound love and light, of eyes turned sky blue, of looking at the man who hung his moon in the sky come back to him.  He could still hang Martin’s moon all over again after so many nights of black clouds and darkness, even if it was only paper.  They’d paid for the rings in rumpled bills, exchanged them right then and there, and kissed each other as the crowd of oblivious people in a world they did not belong in flowed like a river around them.  Jon forgot the bag with the parsnips and strawberries.

But it didn’t matter.  It didn’t even matter that Martin’s fit nicely on his ring finger, but Jon had to wear his on his thumb, and even then sometimes on a chain around his neck for fear of losing it.  It didn’t matter that it was the closest thing they were ever going to get to a proposal and a wedding, consigned now forever to the shadows in a borrowed reality with only each other.  Because it was theirs, and they could begin to figure out how their broken pieces fit back together again.

But like most things that don’t matter, it didn’t until it did.

It began as simple things.  Seeing a wedding on some program they weren’t actually paying much attention to and Martin making a flippant, innocuous comment as he combed his fingers lovingly through Jon’s long and silvered chestnut hair in his lap about how he would have loved to have a cake that had a different flavor on every tier at their wedding.  Just so everyone could have something they liked.  And Jon woke up from his half catlike stupor and looked up at him with such aching regret as those words settled into the pit of his heart alongside ‘he thinks you hung the moon.’  

And soon they began to gather a collection of completely innocent remarks that ran the gamut from ‘would they have worn black or white?  Or one of each?  I don’t know… does it really matter?  And were these engagement rings or wedding rings?  I don’t know.  Neither?  both?  And do we say husband instead of boyfriend now?  Fiancé?  Whatever you want, Martin…’ To the heavier, cancerous weights that sank to the bottom of his gut, even below hanging the moon, like ‘I know Tim would have thrown the most amazing bachelor party for both of us, and his mum had always talked about him getting married someday like it was a farfetched pipe dream, but she would be happy for them, he thinks.’

He could never answer those questions.  There was too much at stake, too much finality and familiarity in them, a strange weightlessness in a world that weighed far too much.  The sun and moon continued their eternal dance of time, ignorant, unbothered, but Jon kept collecting those silent debts of normal life, secreting them away in a hidden singularity in his heart that only grew heavier and metastasized farther the more times Martin walked out at night, not him, beaming starlight from his eyes and his fingertips, to hang the moon again.  So soft, so full of wooly cows and pink heather and the smell of tea and sea salt and Martin’s shampoo on the pillow next to him did it become, that it was almost inevitable that one morning Jon awoke absolutely convinced none of it could be real.  

The moment he decided that, everything made so much more sense.  He could breathe again.  There was a reason he could never sit still, never just feel at ease or talk about the future like it was a real thing that could still happen.  He knew why the silence made his brain itch and why he still glanced around corners and glowered at anyone who dared let their gaze linger on his Martin too long.  Why Martin’s ring fit and his didn’t.  There was too much debt to the universe to be paid, too many broken promises, too many corpses in his wake, he had done nothing to deserve this idyllic life of love and peace and smallness and Martin.  It had to be Her doing, It’s doing, some carefully woven torture chamber that would lure them to the apex of their joy, the center of the web, where they would just be devoured over and over to empty husks and set up like chess pieces to fill with love and light just to knock down again.  He wasn’t free after all.

Jon had been halfway into his coat and halfway out the door to do, he didn’t know, something, anything, to go to the library to use their computer and research something he didn’t know he was looking for when Martin had seized his hand and whirled him around.

“Jon.  STOP.  It’s over.”

And he’d stopped.  He’d looked into those baleful blue eyes, fallen into their depths, landed on the precipice of madness, and broken.  It wasn’t over.  Not for him.  He finally understood.  It was still there.  The Eye.  It always had been.  Though not really, he understood slowly as he wept on his knees in their doorway into Martin’s chest, it had indeed closed forever on him, but it lingered as distant static, like a phantom limb, a metaphysical itch that could never be scratched.  Martin had cradled him close and listened, listened so patiently as he ripped the jagged black fear from the deepest, ugliest part of his heart, hauled it up bloody and messy from his throat and finally laid it bare for both of them to see.  And when it was done and he couldn’t cry anymore Martin had locked eyes with him in a way that made him forget any others could have ever existed outside of crystalline blue and filled with moonlight.

“Listen to me.  I know you think you have some cosmic burden to bear.  That you’re still wearing some… some fucked up crown and sitting on a throne of skulls and death and eyeballs or whatever image you want to put there, and that you have to sit and hurt and watch over everything so it doesn’t happen again, but...  Sorry, Jon, but that’s bullshit.  It’s just a scar now.  That’s all.  Just like the rest of them.  Ugly and beautiful and proof that you —Jonathan Sims— are still alive.  And you are not The Archivist anymore.  You’re just mine.  My Jon.”

He’d held his Jon’s stunned face in his hands and peppered kisses over the pock marks in his skin, over the slash on his throat, the burnt fingers that still couldn’t bend quite right, even the one on his chest, the one almost always hidden by fabric but the one he didn’t need to see to find.  His heart and fingers would always remember exactly where it was.  And he’d kept his lips there a moment, then turned his ear to his chest and wrapped his arms around his waist to listen to his heartbeat like a trembling little bird.

“If I can hear it and feel it.  So can you,” he whispered.

Unsteady fingers curled desperately into Martin’s silky locks, hematite loop cool against his scalp, “Thank you…”

Martin stayed for the kiss on top of his head he knew was coming and smiled.

“Okay, so it’s simple to fix if you think about it,” he murmured into Jon’s chest, “We just need that thing, you know?  The thing that makes you feel like you’re still doing the thing, but you’re not.  What was the word for it again?  A placeholder?  Like when you quit smoking and you hold a pencil or a straw or something that’s not actually a cigarette so you can wean yourself off the ritual?”

Jon blinked owlishly down at him as he dried his eyes.

“A… placebo?  Are you talking about a placebo?”

“Yeah!  That’s it!  We just need to find you a placebo for Knowing things!  That’s all.  Like… reality shows, or-or zoo cams or something!  We’ll figure it out together.  Alright, love?  I promise you.  It’ll be okay.”

Jon was skeptical, so very skeptical, but if Martin was determined to find a balm to soothe his jagged, ontological scars he would happily play the part of lab rat for him.  They’d tried a myriad things to replicate the feeling of Knowing and looking something deep within him still craved.  The zoo and animal livestreams were a bust, cute and entertaining as they were, but animals weren’t ever the purview of The Eye and the camera itself was barely a scrap.  Reality shows came closer, the more salacious the better, but even that temporary fix wore off when Jon’s disgust with the overall content and participants outweighed any benefit.  Martin was just happy to have finally converted him to Bake Off, at least.  They tried people watching in the square in the village, but it made Jon far too self-conscious and guilty.  He used the binoculars exactly once, and that was to look at the cows in the fields, and the choose-your-own-adventure books Martin had been certain would strike a sagacious chord wound up in the donation bin at the library.  But that was when he was struck with a bolt of genius.

Unbeknownst to Jon, which brought him no small measure of glee, Martin ordered, received, and then set up with a literal bow in their back garden the finest telescope he could afford on his meager savings.  He’d researched for days, asked on every amateur astronomer forum he could find, and had it delivered to the grocers so he could make it a proper surprise.  He’d even gone so far as to attack and blindfold a hapless Jon the moment he made it home from work on the day it was ready, and stood behind him giddily bouncing as he tore the tea towel away from his eyes.

“A… Telescope?” he’d blurted dumbly.

“Yes!  It’s perfect, right?  I asked around to find the one that had all the best features, and this one has the best overall magnification and the most lenses, but it doesn’t have the little satellite positioning thing?  I figured you wouldn’t want that anyway, you always like figuring things out and finding things on your own better.”

Martin had been positively radiant.  Jon had just stared at the gawping black tube and chewed the inside of his cheek as he processed what to say.

“I mean… thank you, Martin, really.  It was a sweet thought, but if the binoculars didn’t-“

“Screw the binoculars!  This is different!” Martin happily insisted, “You can look at so much more!  Stars and planets and galaxies and what have you, and it can maybe be sort of like you’re looking for other worlds?  Wormholes or whatever?  Or signs of The Fears and where they’ve gone?  Or even if the stars are the same here as they were back before?  Space literally has so many things to LOOK at we can’t even count them!  This has got to be it!”

Jon tried to smile and laugh and agree to try it out, at the very least, if only because Martin was beaming so sweetly with pride and hope.  Though that first night he didn’t, ushering them back in with promises of tomorrow, Martin, I promise tomorrow.  Tomorrow had been a lie.  As had been the next night.  In fact, it took Jon a full week to even remember they even had a telescope, and that was only after getting the smuggest, Cheshire grin out of Martin after casually mentioning there would be a visible, if partial, lunar eclipse that night.  He’d relented, only because he’d entrapped himself, and they’d both bundled up, looked in the manual for the best size lens to view the moon with, poured a few glasses of wine, and turned their eyes to the stars.

Martin had gone first, gripping the eyepiece and adjusting the focus all the while gasping in awe.  It was so beautiful he’d burst into poetry with a crooked grin.

“Art thou pale for weariness?  Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth, wandering companionless among the stars that have a different birth, and ever changing, like a joyless eye that finds no object worth its constancy?  Sounds a little familiar, eh?” he joked, casting a wry look over his shoulder.

Jon rolled his eyes fondly.

“Gross.  Keats again?”

“Nope, Shelley this time, and even he thinks you ought to have a look at the moon.  I think you’ll find you have a lot in common.”

Jon had sighed obligingly and shuffled to the telescope, fully expecting to look at something bright and round with a bit of a shadow on it that was distinctly unremarkable, have another glass of wine, and then go back inside to snuggle by the fire.  What he saw in that tiny pinhole of light pierced straight through the hazel brown of his eye and plunged him into another world entirely.

The sands of the moon glowed the purest white in the refracted light of the distant sun with which it waltzed.  He could see in crisp, shadowy relief the innumerable scars she bore, the depth and breadth of Ptolemaeus, the boundless lonely flatness of the maria, named for the oceans they were once thought to be, an insult to the rock plains forged a millennia ago in birth by cataclysmic fire.  Every crater remained wrought in perfect, frozen detail with no erosion or foliage to slowly heal them over, and she beamed them proudly, ostentatiously in her heavenly light.  A hulking, ancient protectorate, hung by the hands of creation at the dawn of time for a fledgling planet, hundreds of thousands of miles away, and yet so crystal clear and unafraid as he perused her millions of years of cosmic sentinel through a lens.  It was dwarfing, humbling, viscerally awe inspiring in a way he dared not voice for fear of snuffing out the fragile glow of wonder and excitement welling in his chest he had been so certain was gone forever.

Astronomy had never been something that had particularly interested Jon, back when his entire reality from the moment his childish hands had touched a single book was spent peering into shadows and watching his own back.  There was no point in wondering what lay among the stars when danger and death lurked so close behind with slavering jaws ever poised at his throat on terra firma, but now.  Now, he had been living in an alternate world, dimension, reality, somewhere, he couldn’t even say for sure.  He’d been hurled potentially through the very stars that twinkled coquettishly above, flashed through their nebulous veils and curtains under their indifferent gaseous gazes, but seen nothing.  Here was a vast expanse of complete chaotic indefiniteness inviting him in to see what few had ever seen, to guess and hypothesize and gesture wildly at secrets only the stars could keep.  To Know.

Jon had jerked back so suddenly from the telescope to survey the entirety of the astral dome above them that Martin had choked on his wine.

“Jon?  Are you quite alright?”

“Yes, I…” he’d murmured, only even half hearing that Martin had said anything at all, stars reflected in his wondering dark eyes, “I’m fine, I just… How… How much more can this see?  How deep does it go?”

Jon hadn’t seen the victorious smirk on Martin’s face as he set down his wine glass and picked up the instruction manual and lens guide.  They’d watched the rest of the eclipse, of course, marveling through the lens at the inky trickle of shadow over craggy white, but then they’d changed the lens to the strongest one, according to the guide, and spent the rest of the evening triangulating their position beneath their slice of the universe and plotting out the various stars, planets, and constellations above.  Jon had even dashed inside to grab a mostly blank notebook and had filled several pages with notes and observations and things to research later, all while Martin held back tears watching him come so alive over a project he didn’t even know he needed.  Eventually though, sleepiness and cold claimed him, and he kissed his beloved goodnight and left him, more than gladly, to ride out the intellectual flare up until it burnt both him and itself out.  

Martin had no clue what time it was when he finally returned, and it didn’t even matter.  All that mattered was at some point, a practically frozen Jon had climbed into bed, snuggled up close behind and wrapped his arms around him to kiss the back of his neck so softly like the wings of a butterfly and whisper.

“Thank you.”

Another victorious smirk and a loving murmur.

“Told you so.”

Where there had been nothing but an Eye shaped hole in him, scarred around the edges and aching in its vacuum, Jon had filled it with the names of nebulas and quasars, of the myth of Andromeda, and Orion, and Castor and Pollux, or Hercules, and why they had all been hung in the stars for eternity.  The stories were much the same as he remembered, but he’d found slight eccentricities, tiny irregularities in the sky which fascinated him even more so.  Night after night he would look at a different astral body, chart it down in his notebook, then come bounding in with starlight beaming from his eyes and his fingertips with some cry of eureka.

“Martin!  Did you know here Polaris is in the south and Sirius is in the north?”

“Martin!  Did you know the Andromeda Galaxy is actually a little closer to the Milky Way here?”

“Martin, you have to come see this!  Oh, no it’s not weird this time, it’s just I finally got Saturn in the telescope and you can actually see the rings!”

His nightly herald would always be different, but Martin would always rise from the comfort of the couch, put his slippers on, and let Jon talk as long as he needed to about his latest discovery, watching him smile again while he, too, watched the matching smile it never failed to ignite illuminate Martin’s face and they lit each other up in the fused brilliance of a binary star.

Martin no longer hung the moon for Jon, he’d finally just up and quite literally given it to him, and there was no mortal way to repay him for that.  Or so he’d thought.  It came to him, as most flashes of brilliance do, on a night he hadn’t even been thinking about it at all.  All he had been doing was sitting in a lawn chair with his telescope long after Martin had gone to bed, chewing his pencil idly, vaguely missing a cigarette and pondering notes on Vega and Lyra between watching it through his lens.  He’d been stuck for days on Vega and its potentiality for another solar system and what that could imply for their new Earth and their new sun, as well as Lyra and the tragic tale of Orpheus and his doomed love.  Even in their new reality he still turned back at the end of the story, still could not contain the roiling, effusive adoration to his own downfall.

Bitterness had risen like bile in the back of Jon’s throat as he replayed the myth again in his head, unsure why it was vexing him and rewinding in his brain so torturously.  “Stupid, stupid man, if he’d only just…” he’d thought again and again, each time giving the star-crossed musician a different decision, a different choice, urging him down another path somewhere, anywhere along his journey, but in the end, he’d always looped back around to the original.  It was the point of the story, after all.  Not so much the love itself or even the loss of it, but the power of it over one man and the creation born from his mourning and eventual destruction.  Patently Greek.  But the chorus would always begin again in Jon’s head.  If he’d kept his Eurydice, if his songs had been happy, if he hadn’t spent the rest of his life mourning so intensely he was eventually destroyed for it, would he have become the paragon of healing he was, the oracle, the lynchpin of the fate of the world he had eventually become?  Which of them was the stupider man?

Jon was only mortal now, he was no longer all-seeing oracle and dark savior, he had no authority to say, but it was a trifle easier to ponder the hubris of Orpheus instead of his own.  He couldn’t help but think, achingly, sometimes the heroes just deserved to pull their beloved from the pit of Tartarus, promise to love them for eternity, and then simply get married, ride off into the sunset, and live happily ever after.  A story wasn’t a story if it didn’t write itself upon the very bones and sinews of its heroes, that was the law of the universe, but when the story was done and the cracks and fissures in their tissues had faded to myth and legend, what became of the heroes who did not die a tragic or heroic death and were not hung in the stars?  What happened to heroes left behind?  Twisting his bloodstone ring on his thumb idly as it caught the shivering fire of those stars in its dark mirrored surface, the musical arrow of the muses pierced his heart, wide-eyed in wonder.  He’d asked the universe, but he already knew the answer.  He’d always known.  He knew, and he knew it with such clarion joy as he had never known anything before.

He could no longer be the man who hung Martin’s moon, he hadn’t been for a long time.  That much was clear to him, but he could certainly do something else.  Perhaps they had grown past the need for moon hangings in the first place.  He knew how their story ended.

It took months of saving, secreting, preparation, and then finally just simply waiting for the perfect, clear night.  The moment it came, the moment he knew it was the night, Jon struck without hesitation.  Poor Martin wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the couch, into Jon, when he returned from a late shift at the grocers, but found himself instead stuffed right back into his coat with a picnic basket in hand and hauled out into the frigid night in a flurry of Jon with little time to protest.  He bounded up the hill behind their little cottage beneath a perfect blanket of stars flaming coldly overhead, trailing Martin’s hand in his behind with his breath coming in silvery puffs of clouds, and paying no heed to the whining.

“Jon, whatever it is, does it have to be NOW?” Martin panted, “I am absolutely knackered and it’s beyond freezing and wouldn’t it be nicer just to curl up with a cuppa and fall asleep in front of Star Wars or something?  Doesn’t that have enough stars and space in it?”

Dauntless, Jon only tugged harder.

“There’s tea in the basket, and I’ve seen Star Wars.  And yes, it has to be tonight, it’s really important, I promise.”

“Look.  I love you.  So much.  You know this, and please know it is with the utmost love and deepest affection in my heart that I point out that you say that every time, and you’ve still shown me Pluto like, a hundred separate times.  While I quite like it, and I still feel sorry for it being bumped out of the solar system and all, it’s just a dot?  How many times can you look at a dot?” Martin sighed.

His words finally threw a caltrop into Jon’s warpath, and he paused, turning over his shoulder woundedly.

“What?  No, it’s not Pluto, I swear just- Please, Martin?  I’ll never ask again if you don’t want to, but just for tonight, please?” he pleaded.

Martin winced, and immediately folded under the onslaught of doleful honeyed brown eyes under a nimbus of stars.

“Oh, lord there you go with the puppy dog eyes.  Okay, okay fine, but there better be a nip of whiskey in this,” he chided lovingly with a gesture at the thermos in the basket.

The smile flared back to life brightly on Jon’s face as he turned back up the craggy little footpath to the top of the hill.

“Of course, hot toddy with tea.”

“Ooh, lovely, you do know me.”

The rest of the way was trivially short to the small, flat hilltop surrounded by heather where Jon had already set up a blanket and the telescope over a pristine vista of the dark line where the stars sank into the sea.  He ushered Martin to sit down first, then perched on his hip beside him and poured him a generous helping of tea and whiskey from the thermos before pouring his own.

“Thanks, much.  Right then, what exactly are we up here to look at that we couldn’t see from our garden?” Martin asked, accepting his cup of potent hot toddy and sipping it gratefully around the lemony steam that billowed up.

Taken aback by the sudden logic lobbed into the center of his romantic posturing, Jon looked momentarily stunned, as if someone had slapped him upside the head.

“Oh!  Oh, um, well-!  Ahah, that is to say- Uh.  There is a reason for all this.  It’s not that we couldn’t see it from our garden, we very much could have.  B-But it’s so beautiful up here, and you can kind of hear the sea?  And it’s nice and peaceful, and the heather is still blooming a bit and um…” he trailed off, cheeks burning.

“Okay…?” Martin probed, frowning a little.

“Er, actually...  It’s less about the stars than it is- W-Well it is about the stars.  Let’s get that clear.  But to be completely honest I mostly just… I-I well.  There’s something I need to tell you?”

Jon was ill-prepared for the look of abject horror on Martin’s face as he went paler than the moon overhead.

“Shit, what is it?  Did you find something?  You saw something?  There’s been a sign of The Fears?  Oh god it’s not HER is it?” he asked frantically, nearly slopping hot toddy all over his lap.

“What?  No!  No, none of that!” Jon spluttered, aghast.

Martin regained a modicum of color in his face and breathed in measuredly.

“Okay, so then what is it?  Oh god, you’re not… Jon you’re not ill, or something, are you?  Please, you can just tell me if-“

“No, I am not ill either, damn it, Martin!  If you would just listen to me!  I-!” Jon moaned exasperatedly, “I just wanted to do something… nice.  Something nice for you.  And nicer than I normally would because I am apparently much worse at crafting romantic moments than I thought and-“

“Wait…” Martin cut in, eyes gleaming with realization, “Jonathan Sims… Are you grand gesturing?”

“Well I am certainly trying but you are making it exceedingly difficult!” he retorted, red in the face and breathless.

“Oh my god, you are!  I’m so sorry!” Martin laughed brightly, “Oh god Jon you poor thing I’m so sorry, I’m awful, I’m the absolute worst!  No please!  Don’t let me spoil it.  Please go on.”

Grinding the heel of his palm into his forehead, Jon tried to summon the words again, only for Martin’s strong, warm hands to take it from him and tip his chin up to gaze into his eyes.

“Hey.  Hey, Jon.  Look at me,” he breathed, looking into his eyes idolatrously, “I’m sorry.  I love you.  You can tell me.”

Taking the steadiness from those clear blue depths he needed, Jon focused on them, on the strawberry blond curls tossing in the icy breeze, of the kiss of chilled pink under his freckles, and that eternal, sunshine smile.

“Okay,” he finally answered, smiling softly.

With a deep, shuddering breath, and a long swig of whiskey laced tea for good measure, Jon drew himself up and fished deep in his soul for the words he had waited a millennium to say.

“Okay… So here it is.  Um… I’ve um, I’ve had a lot of time alone lately with my new hobby, as it were.  So, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.  A lot of it is overly complicated and ridiculous and doesn’t deserve to live outside of my head but… a lot of it has been about you, about us.  And I know we don’t need to-to put a label on us or put us into a… a box or anything like that.  But every time I look at this ring on my finger, I can’t help but remember we never actually talked about what they meant,” he began, holding out his left hand and fidgeting with the loose band around his thumb.

“Oh Jon, don’t worry about that.  It was just me being a big sappy, sentimental dork.  And if I recall correctly, we’d had a pretty awful row a night or two before, and I just wanted to feel close to you again, I guess?  We both know what they mean to us.  It doesn’t matter,” Martin assured him sweetly.

“Except that it does!” Jon insisted passionately, “That’s the point!  You are a big sappy, sentimental dork, Martin.  I bet you were the kid that had a dream wedding all planned in a notebook with pictures cut out of magazines and everything.  I adore that about you, but big sappy sentimental dorks should have big sappy, sentimental moments like huge, expensive seaside weddings with three-flavor cakes and all your friends and family and rose petals and dove releases and whatever else your heart could dream up.”

Martin snickered and shook his head, charmed at least by the mental image of kissing Jon on a seaside cliff at sunset while doves flew in glorious formation around them and everyone they had ever known and loved cheered.

“Pfft, I don’t need a grand wedding and all that, I just need-”

“Me.  I know,” Jon finished for him with a smirk, “I knew you’d say that.  Maybe not.  But you deserve one.  And I know I don’t use that word lightly, but it’s necessary in this case.  You deserve it.  All of it.  Me on one knee with a ring in a box, you deserve us picking out flowers and tuxedos and arguing over the font on the invitations.  You deserve Tim’s awful bachelor party and laughing at me at the altar because I had to read my vows off a card and they’re still so stiff and awkward and they pale in comparison to the beautiful poem you wrote about me.  You deserve smiling so hard your cheeks hurt and crying as we exchange rings.  All of it.”

Martin weighed his words carefully on his tongue with a sip of his boozy tea to chase away ghosts of things that never even were.

“I mean, sure, not going to say I never wanted that.  And I did have that stupid wedding notebook, by the way.  But all that became a pipe dream the minute we wound up here, right?  No use being upset about something that can never be.”

“That may be so, but the crux of it is… you also contented yourself with the idea of it never coming true not because we’re here, but because you didn’t think I wanted it,” Jon answered, his unspoken truth hanging heavy in the chill night air between them, “Every time you tried to tell me you wanted to be with me forever, I brushed it off and painted it gray and tucked it away and carried on the way we always were like nothing happened and it didn’t matter.  Because it was alright, really, you were just so happy to have what we have, that I didn’t die in your arms that night, that we were still together after everything.  That I at least kept that promise after I’d broken so many.  You were so grateful just for what you were gifted after we thought we would end with nothing you didn’t dare think to ask the universe for more and I am so, so sorry it took me so long to see that, Martin.  I’m so sorry.”

His voice broke.  The breath caught in Martin’s chest as he reached out to touch his wrist comfortingly.

“Jon, I-“

“No, please.  Please let me finish I… I can’t give you any of those things.  I can’t give you our friends back, I can’t give you cake and doves and the sunset and crying through vows in front of the vicar.  I can’t even give you an elopement at the register office because we still don’t legally exist.  And I guess for a long time I resented myself for that.  For all of it.  For stealing that from you, for dragging you through literal hell only to give you a shadow of a life stuck here with me because I betrayed you.  But- no stop, don’t say anything yet I’m not done.  B-But now I finally realize.  You’re right, Martin.  You were always right.  It doesn’t matter.  Those things are all just… things.  I said to you once, a long time ago, and I’m still not even sure if you really heard me, that I didn’t want to just survive.  It was true then, and maybe it wasn’t true for a while, but it’s certainly true again.  We did not fight tooth and nail to just survive.  We fought to live, and live together.  So what I’m saying is… I know now I don’t have to give you tuxedos and white roses as long as I give you something… Something to prove to you that you are my everything, my entire world, something to show you that I love you more than I have loved anything in my entire life.  That I want forever with you.  S-So I…” he trailed off, sucking in his breath to give his gesture of undying love the ardor and grandeur it deserved, “I bought us a star.”

The proclamation rang out like the toll of a bell, its gravity sonorous and quaking.  Martin blinked.

“You… I’m sorry?” he squeaked.

Jon set his empty thermos cup aside, flailed his hands in the air and shook his head frantically

“I-I know, I know it sounds mental just hear me out!” he protested, “Technically I didn’t buy the star, if we want to get picky about it.  I mean obviously no one can own a star.  Just the rights to name it?  It’s a thing you can do online.  I was a bit gobsmacked it was real to be honest.  I just had this silly idea when I was out looking at the stars.  I was looking at Lyra and thinking about you and Orpheus, and I… W-Well I just typed it in, ‘can you name a star?’ and it came right up.  Right then and there.  It um… comes with… hold on.”

Remembrance placed a gentle bookmark down on Jon’s fluttering thoughts, and he rummaged in the picnic basket for a moment before pulling out a navy-blue manila folder covered in stars and full of the paperwork and certificates that had come with registering theirs.  He handed it to Martin, who took it in place of his own empty cup, numb, muscles quivering under his jaw, and opened it to the glittering gold typeface that proclaimed ‘Congratulations!’.

“It comes with paperwork, too!  See?  So, it’s official, at least?  The Jon-Martin star.  Not a marriage license I know, but at least our names are together on something legal?  Our real names?  I figured even if we manage the fake identity thing we’d have to get married as not us.  Not really.  So…  I-It could be like our marriage certificate?” Jon explained, chewing his lower lip.

Martin said nothing as his hand turned the pages of the documentation, his eyes distant in a way Jon had never seen before.  Not disembodied and enthralled, not broken, not even regarding puzzle pieces.

“Oh!  Um, also I-I got us a binary star.  I forgot to mention that bit,” he went on, filling the sudden void, “It’s, ah- What a binary star is- It’s technically two?  But they’re caught up in each other’s gravity and they orbit each other so tightly they look like one star together, one that just shines a little brighter.  They’re bound together forever by the most powerful cosmic force in the universe.  Just like us.”

Only silence answered, punctuated by one last crisp whisper of paper, and then the folder closing with Martin’s spread fingers atop it, bloodstone gleaming in the vivid pale light of the night.  Jon’s heart pitched frantically in his chest, and desperate, stranded tears pricked at his eyes.

“I uh… I would have rather gotten us a whole constellation.  Heh, you know?  But they don’t do that, obviously,” he tried softly, his fingers barely brushing Martin’s knuckles, “They record heroes in constellations, after all.  Great deeds, doomed romances, lovers who can be together no other way… That would have been a better way to honor us, I think.  Our story.  A-And who knows?  Maybe back on our world there are a few new stars to remember what we did, to mark the place we left it, so that everyone we left behind can look up and remember us.  They don’t know how the story really ended, and they probably never will, but we do.  We do, and I want to end it right here, right now.  With our star shining above us ‘and they lived happily ever after.’”

Martin still said nothing, but his head bowed, casting a slice of shadow over his eyes, and his shoulders quivered as a thin, bright line of wet silver trickled down his cheek.  Jon felt the very sky shatter above and begin to crumble around him.

“Please… M-Make no mistake, Martin.  P-Perhaps the gesture is silly and meaningless, but it was all I could think to do to go with everything I’ve said tonight.  Martin… Martin, don’t you see?  These are my wedding vows to you.  This is me saying ‘I do’ and also ‘Martin K. Blackwood would you do me the honor of making me the happiest man in the universe?’  All at once.  This is me saying I swear to you I will be yours, through everything, until the end of time.  M-Maybe I wasn’t before.  Maybe I was still punishing myself, but I’m telling you, I’m ready now to have my happily ever after.  With you, Martin.  If you’ll have me.  If I haven’t-“

He would never finish.  In a dizzying blur of blue folder, flashing hematite, and a wreath of golden curls, Martin kissed the words off his lips.  He kissed him so hard and so fierce, through wracking sobs with his hands woven so raptly into his long, wavy locks he thought his lips would bruise and his fragile soul would finally shatter to pieces in Martin’s arms.  Undone, all Jon could do was surrender and kiss him back with equal passion, thumbing away the hot tears as they spilled freely down his cheeks and anointed them both with their cleansing, hoary heat.  Their lips parted and they panted softly against each other in the space between, each afraid to break the sacred, pulsing silence.

“You’re crying,” Jon whispered at length, “I’ve said something wrong. Martin, darling I’m so sorry.  I never meant to-”

Martin laughed, raspy with tears, but ethereal, sparkling, like stardust floating on the breeze.

“People are allowed to cry when they’re happy you stupid, silly man,” he murmured in between kissing him again, and again.

“Oh.  Oh.”

He kissed him one last time, that idiot man who always burnt the toast and always knew the facts but never knew what to say, who finally figured it out and bought him a star, and threw his arms around him, enveloping his slight, fragile form protectively in his embrace.

“I love you.  I love you so much.”

Jon sank into that warm, familiar comfort and buried his face in his shoulder.

“I love you, too, Martin.  I want to be yours for the rest of my life.  I want to be me, I want to be us.”

“I know.  I’ve always known.  Oh god, you do know that right?  I know that you love me, it’s written in everything you do and say.  I have never, ever once doubted you love me with everything you are.  Even in the moments I was afraid that… that maybe we just weren’t meant to be together, I still knew it wouldn’t be because you didn’t love me.  Never because you didn’t love me.  Just maybe that we didn’t fit together anymore,” Martin replied in a small voice through his tears as they spilled down his cheeks.

As much as he wanted to vehemently deny there was ever a chance they might have not fit back together again after they had both been so shattered, to kiss him and tell him not in a million years would there ever have been a future where they weren’t Jon and Martin against the world, Jon knew it to be inescapably true.

“I’m so sorry you ever had to be afraid of that,” he swore, digging his fingers into Martin’s back pointedly, “After everything.  After we fought so hard to escape fear itself.  That I almost let it truly win in the end.  That I couldn’t just let go… Because… Because this was never about The Eye, was it?”

A heave of breath and its shuddering exhale shook Martin’s body free of lifetimes of grief, and fear, of ugliness carried far beyond the borders of their souls.  His fingers curled tighter in unspoken reply.

“No Jon, no it wasn’t, but I’m so very glad you finally figured that out.”

“Me, too…” he whispered.

They held each other in the quiet wake of being a moment and let the astral plane wheel calmly overhead.  An impatient star twinkled.

“Wait… you never answered me,” Jon finally said as he pulled back, sliding his elegant fingers down Martin’s strong arms.

“Huh?” Martin blurted, scrubbing under his eyes with the sleeve of his coat.

“About marrying me tonight.  You never actually said yes, so…”

A twinkle in his eye and a slight mischief to his grin, Jon dove back into the picnic basket and emerged with a velvet ring box.  Martin’s hands flew to his mouth.

“You didn’t.”

“Of course I did!  Nothing fancy, but I thought it was high time to retire the blood rings,” he explained rising from his former perch on his hip to kneel properly.

The box cracked neatly open, and inside lay a simple, white gold band with a tiny circle of milky moonstone embedded in it on a midnight-blue satin cushion, blindingly bright against the dark.  Martin sobbed joyfully all over again.

“So, uh… I suppose if it had just been us, if we’d just been together, without everything, and we’d arrived at this moment.  I would have done much the same.  I would have brought you somewhere beautiful, somewhere I could teach you some inane fact you didn’t actually care about, but liked because it came from me.  Emulsifiers in ice cream and rum raisin…” they both snickered, “And I would have tried my best to make it into some sort of romantic metaphor but completely bunged it up and you would be laughing as I got down on one knee, just like this.  And it would have just been simple.  To the point.  Just… Will you marry me?  So…”

Jon assumed the traditional position, on one knee, arms outstretched, his every slender point a star in a perfect constellation of love.

“Will you marry me?”

Their eyes met, across a thousand different realities, across a thousand different worlds, carried on celestial winds to fall hopelessly, inexorably, into each other’s orbit.

“Yes, yes I do believe I will.”

With one last farewell kiss upon it for what it had meant for them both, Jon slipped the bloodstone ring from Martin’s finger and replaced it with the delicate band made of starlight.  It took its place radiantly, and shone as Martin drew his hand back to admire it with an equally radiant grin before it dimmed with concern.

“But what about you?” he asked worriedly as he watched the old ring entombed lovingly in the box.

Jon only smirked and produced a second box from the basket, which he offered on his open palm out to Martin.

“Naturally, I got one for myself.  Couldn’t pass up a chance to get a wedding ring that actually fits, could I?  It’s just… Don’t you think you deserve to give it to me the way you would want?” he urged.

Martin took the box eagerly, biting his lower lip in thought.

“Not sure you want to give me that freedom.  I had about five different ways of asking you in my head and all of them you would have hated so, so much.  But I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t kind of the point,” he answered wryly.

Jon chortled.

“Sorry I, the unromantic one, sprung this on you, the romantic one.  But I did want to surprise you.  I-I mean you can still write me a vows poem later?  If you want to, of course.  I’d love to have it, even if I don’t actually get to hear it at our wedding.”

Martin’s face flushed immediate crimson and his eyes darted coyly away as he toyed with the wedding band box in his lap.

“Oh that?  A-Actually I… I have it memorized, i-if you really wanted to hear it.”

“You- WHAT?” gasped Jon, his cheeks flushing in tandem.

“Oh yeah, I wrote my vows poem for you ages ago and I’ve gone over it so many times I know it by heart.  It was comforting, okay?  I-I’d read it again when times were good and I thought maybe you’d actually- um… a-and when times were not so good, when you were gone, in your own head, when I was afraid we were broken for good, whenever I needed it.  I’ve read it over a thousand times and never changed a thing from the first time I penned it.  Never needed to.  I’m surprised I haven’t recited it in my sleep at this point,” Martin admitted sheepishly.

Jon’s entire body flushed with a solar heat that melted his joints and his heart into a swirling flare of adulation.

“I can think of no better way, then, to receive my ring,” he breathed, reaching out to cup Martin’s cheek in his hand, “I’ve had my turn, now it’s yours.”

In mirror ballets of love exchanges, Martin cradled Jon’s hand against his cheek as he spoke the first lines of the vows etched ever on his being softly into his palm.

“Let he who, shadow dwelling, must In paper, pen, and book be bound Shake off the chains of dark and rust And chart his own bright fate unfound.

Let he with lifelong burdens borne Cut paper wings with thread of gold And hand in hand, the sky forsworn Flit clouds and sun in laughter bold.

Let he whose blood and soldier’s ken The world did shield from dark and fear Heal fast those wounds, be whole again And sleep at last, held close and dear.

Bring him to me with spirit free With stars in eyes and music sung From lips a joyful promise be One soul conjoined, one fate’s thread strung.

Two hearts rejoice in love renowned. We lift our heads, alive, uncrowned.”

He waited until the last couplet to pull the ring from the box and slide it onto Jon’s finger where it too, fit perfectly, like it had always been there, and shone defiantly bright in the moonlight.  Jon wept.  He had been weeping since the first words of verse left his beloved’s lips, but seeing that ring like a piece of his missing soul returned to him undammed the tears effusively.

“God that was… Martin, I don’t have words.  I-It was… so beautiful.  You’re so beautiful.  Thank you,” he cried fervently, “I wish I could tell you properly how much that meant, but I just-“

“Hey… That’s alright.  I’m the words guy.  You’re the emulsifiers guy.  Making you cry is all I need to see to know how you feel,” Martin assured him warmly, reaching out to brush his tears away as he chuckled.

“Yeah… add this one to the running tally.”

“Oh, I have,” Martin snickered, “Speaking of!  Now we’ve done the crying through vows bit.  Shouldn’t we say the ‘I do’ bit, as well?”

Jon pursed his lips with a shrug as he reached out with his left hand to take Martin’s left as well, twining their fingers together

“Yes, I suppose we should.  I don’t see why not.  Well then, Martin, do you?”

“I do.  And Jon, do you?”

“I do.”

“You may now soundly snog the groom.”

“Martin…”

The emphatic drawl of his name the way Jon only called it when he was frustratingly enamored of him perished gently against Martin’s velvet lips as they caressed his.  They kissed slowly and reverently, sealing a pact ordained by the heavens long before either of them had seen the stars in the other’s eyes, lighting with white flame the torch to guide them for the first time, forward.  They broke it only to punctuate it with two more featherlight kisses and a breathless laugh, bowing their foreheads together in deference to the forces of fate and the universe.

“I know this isn’t the wedding either of us ever dreamed of, but as far as I’m concerned, it was perfect,” Jon murmured, nuzzling closer into his husband, swaddling the new, fledgling and beautiful word in his heart.

“Well, hey, what is a wedding really other than just a formal declaration that this is it?  This is us, we’re forever, no matter what.  We did it.  And you did it for me, in the STARS, Jon… Can we just remember that again?  You put us in the actual stars.  I am so writing a ballad for our constellation later, you do know this.”

“Oh lord.  Of course you are.  But really, it was the least I could do, after you’ve done so much for me, sacrificed everything for me.  Waited for me for so long.”

“And you came back to me,” Martin reminded him passionately, “And I don’t just mean back to life, here, in this world.  I mean you came back, Jon, MY Jon, the Jon I was in love with the moment I laid eyes on him.  The fidgety and obstinate Jon who can’t make a decent cup of tea to save his life, who puts on two different socks in the morning because his nose is already in the paper or a book, who teaches me about bleeding rocks and binary stars and still reacts to the simplest acts of kindness like a warm cranberry orange scone without asking for one like they’re divine miracles he is undeserving of, who looks at me like I hung the moon or something every time.  Even when I thought I was a complete and total waste of a human being, you, Jonathan Sims, the most beautiful, amazing, brilliant man to ever walk the Earth, looked at me like I hung the moon.  And that was… Still is… everything to me.”

The heavens shifted, the stars wheeled, the last piece clicked smartly, smugly into place.

“W-What did you say…?” Jon asked with such urgency, grabbing his hands so fiercely, Martin startled.

“Wh-I-I don’t-?  Which part?  The moon hanging part?” he stuttered, rolling his eyes fondly as he realized mid-sentence, “Oh, right.  Ugh, Jon are you seriously going to get after me about your weird vendetta against idioms at our wedding?  Because if you are that would be annoyingly adorable and so intensely you and kind of perfect, but also can you not on THIS particular occasion?”

The laugh that tore from Jon’s throat was half mad, half euphoric as the weight of the moon lifted from his shoulders and became naught but an indifferent sentinel disc in the sky once more.

“No no no, it’s just… It’s funny, I had more than a few things very, very wrong for a very, very long time.  That’s all.  Don’t worry about it,” he explained, leaning in and pressing a delicate kiss to Martin’s forehead, “If you’re the one who hung the moon after all, then I suppose ‘written in the stars’ will have to do for me.”

Martin lit up with literary glee.

“Oh ho!  Two space related idioms in one go?  What a rare treat!  Maybe this is your gateway drug into puns…” he teased impishly.

“Absolutely no chance in hell.”

They both laughed, laughed with the billowing icy breath that reached with victorious fingers up to the heavens.  They laughed, messily sniffing back the pesky drip of tears and cold.  They laughed with lightness of the encumbrance of hematite armor shed, its bloody protections no longer needed to cage wounded hearts and keep them safe and close.  They laughed in breath and also in the dancing points of light in their eyes as they fell into one another free from gravity.

“So uh… Do I get to see my star tonight, or don’t I?” Martin finally remembered, relishing the utterly horrified yelp from Jon.

“Oh god I completely-!  Y-Yes!  Yes of course, it’s already set up at the proper coordinates!” he had already sprung to his feet, “Oh, though, hang on, it took longer to get to the star viewing part than I anticipated, so I might need to adjust it a bit.  Oh!  And I have a little strawberries and champagne, if you like?”

“I do like, please and thank you!”

Jon set to readjusting the telescope to the proper ascension and declination while Martin poured them two glasses of crisply bubbling champagne.  They twined their arms to drink a toast from each other’s glass, ‘to us’ or ‘to happily ever afters’, or to several other messily rambled toast worthy sentiments.  They couldn’t decide and toasted to all of it.  They ate plump red strawberries and licked the juice from each other’s fingers as they looked at their star, which was, after everything, just a dot, just like Pluto, but Martin had to admit that he rather liked looking at dots after all.  And that one was their dot.  The warm intoxication of love and champagne begged for music, and someone fumbled in the cold for a wedding playlist on some app, somewhere, it didn’t matter, just as long as they could join hands, gaze into each other’s eyes and dance inelegantly, stepping on each other’s toes, under the umbrella of stars in a gentle rain of moonlight.

“I don’t see your problem with cliches, idioms and all that, really…” Martin mused at length, laying his head on Jon’s shoulder as they slowly spun to the rhythm of a longing ballad and the song of the sea, “Like this stupid, great song.  They’re familiar and cozy and everyone knows them.  They’re like… like old friends.  Always there to rely on when we can’t come up with the words ourselves, because sometimes we can’t.  And if something trite and silly sums up the way you feel, why not just let it be?  Sometimes things are said over and over again because some truths are universal, you know?  They’re just… human.”

Jon pressed a kiss into the mop of curls that tickled his nose and smelled faintly of toasted sugar and lavender and mused on all of the romantic cliches that had just passed through his mind unbidden.  Who was he to deny he was but one star in the sky, a single gear in the grand mortal mechanism of the universe.  If he had handed himself over to the humanity of it all instead of rusting, stopping, looking outside where there was never anything to see, perhaps he could have had this dance much sooner.  It didn’t matter though, until it did, because that night Martin took his breath away, made his world go round, he was head over heels for his match made in heaven, and better than heaven, they were written in the stars.

“You know what, Martin?” Jon laughed in reply, “Tonight, being what it is, I am willing to concede.  You are absolutely right.”

“I’m glad…” came the tender acceptance, followed by a distinctly puckish beat of silence, “Then does this mean I can I start saying love you to the moon and back?”

“Don’t push your luck...”

#The Magnus Archives #TMA #Magnuspod #JonMartin #JMart #jmartweddingchallenge #hey-there-hunter #Jonathan Sims #Martin Blackwood #Fan fiction

[imonthinice]

The Criminal Psychology Majors, Jason Todd x Fem!Reader Part 9/?

Word Count: 1.7k

Author’s Note: Y/N- Your Name, A/N - Any Name (Your Best Friend’s Name)

I am sorry. lmao.

Half of my links are glitched tf out fuck this shit, touched grass yesterday but that grind don’t fuckin stop babey

Warnings: Angst - Injury, Description of said injury, Mentions of Jason’s past, Swearing, Dark Themes, no beta bitch we die like Jason Todd

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17) (Part 18) (Part 19) (Part 20)

Jason clutched his right side as he gasped for a long breath of the cold, rainy air surrounding him. Everything hurt and he could barely move enough to text Dick that he was down. He would hold and add pressure to the stab wound sitting directly on his waist, but he could feel the blood seeping through the gaps in his fingers as he held it. His hands were covered by the blood and he was losing it fast.

He wasn’t going to walk this off by any means, he was going to need Dick to go get him and bring him back to the hospital wing of the Batcave because he couldn’t move and he felt his eyes drooping as he waiting and tried to keep his breathing in check, while Dick was scrambling to go get him.

There would be a few questions he would have to answer to Y/N. Not even just Y/N, to Lian, his Goddaughter, who he was planning on seeing in the morning since Y/N was going to a dance competition, or at least he thought she was.

But in that moment, so many memories flew back into his head, the hopelessness as he sat there for a few seconds, bleeding out after the explosion that Joker had set off on him. And then the minutes in the Lazarus Pit as he drowned himself back to life, the water filling his lungs as he cried and screamed. But no one came.

This time, however, Dick came.

Dick swooped his baby brother up and onto his back and he tried to run to the Batmobile as fast as he could, knowing time was of the essence for saving Jason’s life. Jason had broke off from Dick for a few seconds before this moment, and it was the only thing Dick was worried about. That Dick had said to come back to him, alive.

In the car, Dick put his hands on Jason's gaping wound, trying to press his hands into it as well to slow the bleeding, the Batmobile had the ability to drive itself, and Dick thanked whatever God was watching that it did. Jason was struggling for breath at this moment, and Dick was terrified.

“You’re going to be oaky, Jase. I swear. Please. Don’t die on me, it feels like yesterday that I got you back,” he leaned into Jason’s face, “Not again, please,” Dick begged and begged as he rushed Jason to Alfred, who was waiting to operate on Jason.

--------------------------------------------

Y/N woke up as always, this time, without a text from Jason. She thought nothing of it, thinking he was safe in his house with his loving family. She went to go get coffee to kick start her day, and A/N wasn’t in the kitchen. She, still, thought nothing of it, since A/N’s lover was over the night before and she had to turn up her music to ignore the sounds coming from the other side of the house. She sent Jason a quick text,

Good morning, Jay. I hope you slept well.

And she returned to her room, coffee in hand, to write some quick little stories about  what she had placed in her journal. Not many of the ideas in there were able to be built off of, but she still tried her best with every idea she had, to see if it could be something more.

It normally never was, but it was always something she craved. The ideas of writing a book always enticed her, but she never thought she was talented enough to do so.

She heard her roommate’s door open and then the front door as A/N waved off her lover. It was a quiet Saturday morning, and Y/N loved that as she dove further and further into her work, immersing herself in the story of two lovers who were destined to meet after one moved to the hometown of the other to pursue criminal psychology.

She couldn’t get her mind off of Jason. They hadn’t even known each other for a week but she knew he was worth her time. A few hours passed by from when she sent the first text.

---------------------------------------------

Dick held Jason’s hand as he was hooked up to many different machines, he could breathe on his own, but the IV and the blood bags were hard to keep Dick’s eyes off of. If only I had been watching a little closer, he thought.

Jason fumbled in his pain-induced sleep, moaning and groaning as he did so when he opened his eyes to find a worried, sleep-deprived and very rough-looking Dick at his bedside, to which, Dick collapsed on Jason in a hug.

“Thank God,” Dick breathed.

“What... what the fuck.... what the fuck happened?” Jason stuttered, like a blanket of sleep and drugs had limited his mobility and brain function.

“I don’t know, Jase. That’s what I was hoping you’d tell me, but then again, your blood alcohol level was suspicious.”

“I... I didn’t drink... drink that much.”

“No, you didn’t. But you did drink, who was with you?”

“I don’t... know.”

“I think you were roofied so they could get the upper hand on you. You almost died, Jase.”

“Come...c’mere,” Jason managed to say, and when Dick came to him, he moved on of his hands onto Dick’s cheek, “Big... big annoying... big little annoying brother.”

“Shhhhhh, little wing,” Dick comforted his little brother, “You weren’t supposed to grow that much taller than me,” he laughed, “Dickhead,” he laughed again, then sighed, and stepped back from Jason to pace back and forth, he was stressed, “I told Roy-”

“Will.”

“Will, sorry. I told Will that you won’t be able to see Lian today, he asked what happened, he might drop by.”

“He should... shouldn’t have to... see me this... this way,” Jason said, eyes pooling with tears, “No one... should.”

“Don’t know how we’re going to explain this to your little girlfriend.”

“Oh... Man... I like... I like her.”

“I know you do, and that’s an issue when you’re high as a kite in a hospital bed, bleeding out, Jase,” Dick tried to explain, “Especially when she doesn’t know you’re Red Hood, dumbass.”

“Oh,” he said.

“I know, Jase. If it was me and Barbara didn’t know, I wouldn’t know what to do,” he sighed, “Haven’t even met this girl,” he laughed.

“It’s... it’s only been... 5 days,” he stuttered.

“and 3 back-to-back, multiple hour, spanning days, worth of dates. You don’t do that with someone you don’t think should meet your family.”

“You’re... stubborn.”

“And you’re my brother. It doesn’t take blood to exhibit the same traits.”

“The meds... are... are wearing off.”

“Do you need more?”

“Not... yet,” he struggled with his words, “Phone?”

“I mean, yeah I can give you your phone,” Dick said as he went to go unplug and hand Jason his phone, realizing that Y/N had texted Jason he said, “Guess you have someone who wants to know where you are more than Will does.”

“Will cares,” Jason said as he took the phone and read Y/N’s text,

I guess it isn’t morning anymore, huh.

Well that’s on me for texting you at 6 in the morning after I know you’ve been working late.

And I’m going to see my Goddaughter today, so I’ve been sleeping in to preserve energy for her.

Can’t forget that she’s what, 1 year old? Girl must have a lot of energy.

Her name’s Lian, and yeah. She’s a ball of energy.

He said as Lian and her dad, Will, formerly known as Roy, walked into the hospital wing of the Batcave. The secret wasn’t hidden to the little girl yet because she couldn’t remember a lot. But, she sure did recognize her Uncle Jay when she screamed her name.

Will brought his daughter up and put her beside her Uncle, and she cuddled into him, he would hold her back.

“Hey... Will.”

“You look like shit, Jaybird.”

“I feel... feel like shit.”

“You’re also talking slow, bud.”

“Drugs... do that... Will.”

“At least you’re not dead, I have no idea how I’d cope or even explain that to Lian.”

“She... she has your... eyes.”

“She’s growing into my nose too.”

“Your nose... looks like shit... on your face.”

“Okay, dickhead. You’re bedridden but yeah, attack me like you used to, I’ll just pull the plug.”

“Lian... would hate you... you for that,” he groaned as he said it.

“Do you need more drugs? I can tell Dick,” Will asked.

“Yeah... I think-”

“Don’t worry about finishing that, Jaybird. I got you.”

------------------------------------------------------

The wet ground surrounding the house Y/N lived in was a representation of what she considered, the bad things, washing away from her life as she got to know Jason more. She wished they could talk more that day, but she did not want to take away time from him and his Goddaughter. Family matters a lot to Y/N, so a thought like that just seemed selfish for her to think when she knew that little girl needed him.

She didn’t think he got injured or anything from the Office, it was a safer place than the fuckin Wayne Manor hallways. She texted Artemis,

So, you’re Wally’s girlfriend, and Wally is Dick’s best friend? Am I hearing you right?

That’s basically the intertwine we have here, yes.

So once you’re in this family, you’re IN, huh?

Nervous?

Not a chance.

The thrill of flipping off pap hasn’t left you yet?

Does everyone know about that? And yes, it’s still massively fun to do.

Wally says Dick is the only one who doesn’t think its that funny.

Lame.

C’mon now, that’s my best friend, but yeah, that’s pretty fucking lame.

You’re the fun best friend, then. You see the fun in making a fool of the pap.

You know it.

Artemis knew of what happened on patrol between Jason and his unknown attacker. Dick had told Artemis to distract Y/N from wondering why Jason seemed drunk, if he seemed drunk. The extents they went to to hide the fact that they were the vigilantes protecting the city, they didn’t know if she was going to be able to keep the secret.

Jason would talk to her after that message,

That storm last night was terrible.

I wish that we were together when it happened. I hate lightning.

Well, you were in Cali.

Did I not tell you? My competition was cancelled because the entire country is fucked with weather.

Oh. That sucks.

Do you want to spend the night here?

---------------------------------------

Do you want to spend the night here?

Jason stared at that text for a while. He did, he wanted to spend the night with her, but he was in pain, hooked to machines, with obvious wounds and bandages. He couldn’t spend the night with her.

I can’t. I’m in Metropolis with Will and Lian. Can we reschedule?

Of course we can. As long as you make sure we actually get to spend the night together.

He asked Dick in that moment, “How... how long... long til I heal?”

“Depends. You’ll be okay-ish in 5 days, but in 7-10 we have to take out your stitches if you’ve been taking care of them,” he said.

“That... that long? Damn.”

#dceu #dcu #dc #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd fluff #jason todd angst #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x fem!reader #red hood x y/n #red hood x you #red hood fluff #red hood angst #nightwing #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth #Will harper dc #lian harper dc #wally west #artemis crock

[definitelynottony]

Grease is the Word [Ch.1 Summer Lovin’]

[Ao3] [part 2] [Song recommendations: Grease OST, 50′s era songs] [Also definitely recommend looking up a 50′s slang dictionary!]

It started out with just a visit, a holiday to see his family over in the states. Spend his summer break hangin’ out with his aunt,uncle and cousin; he only gets to see them every couple of years. The last time he saw them was for his mother’s funeral. They’re good people though, he should see them more often. Get a break away from his screwed up life back in Australia, with his sorry excuse of a father. He missed the golden coast but it was a change of pace, two months living in Hawkins Indiana would do Billy Hargrove some real good. 

And it did. It was such a simple life. Not havin’ to make sure his deadbeat dad was in bed every night; cause the only thing he was good for after his mom died was drinkin’ and givin’ Billy a real good shiner. Not havin’ to go to school and work every day just to buy his own cigs. Havin’ people that actually cared if you came home at night was pretty good too, not that the greaser would admit it. But yeah, he’s probably been smiling since he walked into the Mayfield house. 

Aunt Susan was just like havin’ his mom back, they even have the same hair color. And Max, she got even bigger since the last time Billy saw her. She was still a little shitbird though. His step uncle wasn’t too bad of a guy either, let him drive his blue ‘58 Bel Air ‘round. Was definitely a helluva a lot better than his old man, that’s fer damn sure. And yeah, Billy’s summer went by in a blink. He followed Max and some of her friends around, learnin’ where all the good spots where. It was a small town, not too hard; the diner, arcade, drive ins, and Hawkins’ Lovers Lake. 

On one hot, real hot Indiana summer day, Billy decided to take the Bel Air for a spin; he ended up at the lake. That’s when he saw him; like a fuckin’ angel. 

He had soft brown hair all shaped perfectly into a quiff. Unlike Billy’s blonde curls, if he could get his hair into a pomp it was a good day, most the time it was somewhere between the flop and a loose teddy boy. Not that it really mattered, everyone knew what he was as soon as they saw him with his leather on, a smoke in his mouth. Poor by birth, Greaser by choice. 

But this cat, this pretty boy with the brown hair, well he looked like he belonged on the telly. Billy didn’t even notice the other’s with him. Some girl, plain jane prep, definitely no Monroe; she wasn’t even in a bathing suit, wet blanket. Some hipster slick was with her reading a book, but Billy’s eyes stayed with the brunette with an angel face and Babmi eyes. The two were sittin’ over on the dock, that angel face was putterin’ in the water. Billy knew they could see him pullin’ up. Sauntering down to the lake edge. Good, Billy loved a dramatic entrance. 

As he showed up, splashin’ around in the shallows of the shoreline, he got that pretty boy’s attention. Well, couldn’t blame him; not many could pull off red trunks as short as Billy’s were. God bless the 50’s. If the brunette didn’t close his mouth pretty soon Billy was sure he’d have to save his life ‘cause he’s gonna drown like that. 

“Steve, do you know him?” the girl hushed down to the brunette--- 

“No, I don’t think so. He kinda chills ‘ya though doesn't he?”

“Not me Stevie, he’s just staring at us. Go say something!” 

“Like what?” 

“Tell’um to take a picture, it’ll last longer.” 

“Not helpful Jonathan, come on Nance why don’t you go talk ta him?” 

“Cause he looks like a bird dog.” 

“Looks like a dreamboat to me.”

“STEVE!” The girl squealed. “Go!”

“Shh! Nance, okay-oaky.”

The greaser watched with anticipation as that earth angel adorably, clumsily strolled up to him, green high ride swims on, he was a prep; Billy could deal with that---

“Hey there daddy-o what’s shakin’?”

God, even his voice was angelic. 

“You know baby, just rockin’ an rollin’.”

“Heh, you ain’t from around here huh? Names Steve.”

“Accent give it’ away?” 

“Yeah. I like it though, it’s bitchin’.” 

“Names Billy” 

“Billy? Hey, you’re Max’s cousin right?” 

“Yeah, you know the ankle biter?”

“She runs with some kids I know.”

“Small world” the blonde charmed.

“Small town” Steve laughed, and it was everything; that laugh “so you wanna come hang?”

“Thought you’d never ask cherry.”

“That mouth you got sure is drippin’ apple butter.”

“Just fer cherry’s like you doll face.”

Steve gave this smirk before turning back to his friends; a smirk that really made Billy wish the cat would drown just so he could give him mouth to mouth. He’d know what to do', Billy was a lifeguard back in 'Straya. 

“Guys, this is Billy. He’s Maxie’s cousin. Billy, this is Nancy and that’s Jonathan.” Steve introduced, Billy just nodded with a smirk. He really wasn’t that interested in a couple drips.

“It’s a pleasure, Billy, are you from around here? Just visiting? Staying long?” Nancy had that look in her eyes Steve knew all too well, and normally he hated when she did this but he wanted to know too.

“You writin’ a book sweetheart?”

“Maybe. Just curious what side of the track you’re from.”

Billy rolled his eyes “I see someone’s got her glasses on, I'm from Australia, just visiting. Leavin’ in the fall.” Yeah, she was definitely a drag, bringing the whole mood down. 

“I knew you were from Australia, that’s choice! What’s it like there?”

“Tell ‘ya all about it over a malt pretty boy.”

“...Guess he’s not a bird dog.” 

Jonathan piped up from his book. Nancy nudged his shoulder holding back a laugh or a sequel, who knows. Billy and Steve sure didn’t cause Steve was too busy dodging Billy’s splashes. They went on for a few hours like that, enjoying the summer heat, the cool water. Some point Steve got Nancy and Jonathan to play chicken with them. Billy dropped Steve on purpose, the brunette was pretty sure he tried to drown him. 

And it was weeks of days like that. Bowlin’ in the arcade, drinkin lemonade, spent hours makin’ out under the dock at lover’s lake. Stayin’ out past 10, nights at the drivin’s. Billy had a car after all and Stevie was real inta back seat bingo. And they held hands when they were alone, and their first time was cause Steve got real friendly down in the sand. God he was good, if you know what I mean. And yeah, Billy felt like it was love at first sight, but he knew it was just a summer fling, didn’t mean a thing. At least it wasn’t supposed to. 

“Goddamn pretty boy, You’re bonafide. I’m so sweet fer ya.”

“Billy, I never met someone like you before.This feels like the real deal.”

“That’s cause it is baby. It is.”

And long fingers tangled in golden curls. Sun kissed flesh wrapped around soft freckled porcelain. Lips to skin, ocean blues drowning in honey browns, teeth biting down like they’re making home there. It was the closest thing to heaven on earth. The closest the greaser was going to get, with this angel looking up at him panting his name. With his fingers wrapped up in his hair and his momma’s necklace. Rolling into him like the Pacific ocean, kissing away tears from that pretty freckled face. Stevie’s legs holding tight around him, his way of sayin’ more, harder, because that cherry mouth of his is just too good ta say it out loud. Like Billy would ever say no, Stevie didn’t know it but Billy’s been wrapped ‘round his gentle finger since he saw that smirk of his two months ago.

“Never gonna forget this Stevie, yur the best fuckin’ thing these hands have ever held.” 

It was summer lovin’ at it’s finest, and they were havin’ a blast. Until they weren’t, until there were tears, tears of pain and not the sweet tears Billy was kissing away last night on cool sand made hot from their bodies. And there were fists, but they weren't the calloused ones made gentle that caressed tony hair. Cause now they were holding porcelain ones aimed to make Billy hurt as much as they did. As much as Steve did. And Billy let him, let him pound those fist into his chest as he held the brunette close. Let him cry and curse him for ever coming to Hawkins, for ever meeting him. Only calming when Billy finally spoke---

“You, Steve Harrington, have made my life worth livin’.”

And those big doe eyes filled with diamonds were going to be permanently branded into the blonde's mind forever.

“I’ve just had the best summer of my life, and now I have ta leave, and it isn’t fuckin’ fair-”

“Billy”

“-It’s not fair.” The greaser pressed in close, so close, to memorize how it felt; how it felt to hold an angel in his hell bound arms. 

“Billy, is this the end? The end of us?”

“No, no ‘course not” Billy fainted a smile “it’s only the beginning Stevie.”

#GUYS IT'S FINALLY HERE!! #Chapter 1 #harringrove grease AU #Greaser AU #grease(r) verse #greaser!Billy Hargrove #Grease is the word verse #harringrove fanfic #harringrove #harringrove fic #billy x steve #billy x steve fanfic #Grease crossover #Billy Hargrove Greaser #Cheerleader!Steve Harrington #billy hargrove #steve harrington #mywritings

[taehyungiestummy]

Stuck -- Chapter Nine

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Word Count: 3018

           “This brings back such amazing memories,” Emily smiles as our boys begin their performance. “New York was an okay city for you, right?”

           “Even if it wasn’t, I have moved passed my meltdown and all the sadness that befell me last year,” I twist around so I’m upside down on the couch. “This is about being close to the best boys in the world, and having a great time traveling.”

           “Look at you, stronger than I have ever seen you. I’m so proud of how far you’ve come.”

           “Yes, yes, I know. I’m no longer a scared little girl,” I focus my gaze on the TV that is playing the performance. “I am sad you have to leave in a few days.”

           “Don’t worry about that now,” she shakes her head, patting my knee. “You’ll be fine anyways. Seven boys will be right with you the whole time.”

           “Yeah, and I am madly in love with one of them.”

           “It was fun to explore the city yesterday. Better than last year.”

           “I actually had fun shopping,” I smile at how much fun the boys are having on stage.

           “Oh, did you? What did you even get?”

           “Books and some video games. Tae picked out some shirts he thought I would look adorable in. I helped Yoongi and Jimin get some albums.”

           “You are such a nerd,” she chuckles.

           “Geek, “I tap her with my sock-clad foot. “That’s the word.”

           “Ah, my apologies then.”

           “What did you get while shopping?” I giggle as Taehyung pulls a silly face.

           “Mainly clothes,” Emily walks over to get a water from a container of ice. “Namjoon has amazing fashion sense. He helped me pick out some great outfits. Hoseok and Jin were fun to talk to as we walked around the mall.”

           “It’s always nice to have lunch together,” I smile as Emily places an energy bar on my stomach. “So many great places to eat in the city. Made me happy that we decided on a sandwich place.”

           “It was quite yummy,” she plops down next to me. “Are you excited for your dinner with Yoongi?”

           “Of course,” I grab my energy bar, flipping around so I’m sitting up right. “I don’t know what he wants to talk about, but I love hanging out with my brother.”

           “I’m sure some people will spread the rumor that you two are dating. Like they did very briefly last year.”

           I roll my eyes, “People will say any stupid thing to try and break apart relationships. I’ve posted multiple pictures of Taehyung and me clearly showing we are dating. Then sibling-esque pictures of Yoongi and I.”

           “Your Instagram is such a lovely account,” Emily leans into me.

           “Thank you. I spent a long time making it look professional. Lots of nice comments. Hate deleted in an instant.”

           “That’s good. Hate is just from scared people who are insecure. They want to take others happiness for no real reason.”

           “I know. The boys get it too. It makes me so angry and sad. Tae sees it directed at me, and he can’t stand it. He loves me so much, and wants everyone who calls themselves ARMY to do the same.”

           “They don’t have to love you, but if they are true supporters of the boys, they will accept their relationships. Just how it goes.”

           “I understand their reasons for it. Not saying it’s oaky, but I can get why they would feel hurt. Some of them really loved Taehyung. They wanted to get with him, but I stopped that from ever happening. I don’t feel bad that I took him from any of them. I just get why they feel hurt and the need to be hurtful. It doesn’t hurt any less, but it helps to know how they are feeling.”

           “I’m glad that I don’t have to deal with that. Even after the meet and greet, I am still hidden from most of the ARMY.”

           “I’d say lucky, but I love having my relationship public. Tae and I can go on dates without worry, and hold hands in public without rumors spreading. We can kiss in public and see the pictures later, which is actually so cool and interesting to see. It was an accident that it happened, but I am so glad it did.”

           We spend the rest of the concert in silence, watching our boys do what they love so much. Taking advantage of the drinks and snacks throughout the room.

           “That was so awesome,” I jump out of my seat as the TV goes black.

           “You’ll get sick of it eventually,” Emily chuckles. “You will see it so many times.”

           “Everyone is different though, and watching them have so much fun on stage, that will never get old.”

           “I guess I can agree with that.”            “Now come on,” I grab her wrist, pulling her towards the door. “We have some boys to go greet.”

********

           “How can you boys not be tired?” I giggle as I walk out of the hotel bathroom, looking around at Jimin, Jungkook, and Taehyung messing around.

           “Don’t worry, we will be out soon,” Jungkook flops onto the bed he has to share with Jimin.

           “Sure,” I chuckle. “I’m beat. I don’t know how you guys do it.”

           “No, jagi,” Taehyung rushes over to me, placing his hands on the back of my thighs. “We were talking, and we want you to dance what you know for ‘Fire.’ I know you can do it,” he gives me thighs a squeeze.

           “Tae,” I whine, feeling my cheeks heat up. “Always so touchy.”

           Taehyung gives me a quick kiss before heading over to settle into our shared bed. “Do you need us to sing?”

           I laugh, moving to an open area in the room. “I can do it.”

           “Singing and dancing, are you sure?” Jimin smirks.

           I roll my eyes, getting into my starting position.

           Rooming with the maknae line has been lots of fun. It’s hard not to smile with all the little games they want to play, and all the love they show for me. This is only the second night with them, but I never want us to not be traveling roommates.

           “Five, six, seven, eight,” I count off for myself, diving into the song.

           The dance moves are not too complicated, and everything flows perfectly. It’s an upbeat song, putting a smile on my face. Even if it is just me singing. My dance routine comes to an end, giving the boys their chance to clap and give compliments.

           “Your singing voice has improved so much,” Jungkook speaks up first. “And, you sung in Korean. Very adorable.”

           “You are too nice,” I fix the oversized sweatshirt of Taehyung’s that he is forcing me to wear. “I’ve ben practicing,” I nervously smile, feeling my shoulders rise to try to hide my burning cheeks. “Glad I don’t sound like a dork.”

           “Kookie is sucking up,” Jimin shoves the youngest boy.

           “Is my singing bad?” My shoulders fall, and I stick my lip out in a pout.

           “What? No!” Jimin flails his arms in a dismissive manner. “Your singing is quite lovely. Deeper than most girls, but that doesn’t make it bad.”

           I chuckle, “I was just teasing, Chim-Chim. It’s okay. Don’t worry.”

           He gives a sly smile, “You little shit. You almost gave me a heart attack. I thought you were going to cry.”

           I giggle, “Sorry. That was not the intent.”

           “You are lucky you are so cute,” he winks. “Whit those legs peaking out of the bottom of that sweatshirt. You look so cuddly.”

           “Thank you,” I shuffle around on my feet for a few seconds. “I’ve learned to love my legs, so thanks for liking them as well.”

           “Jagi, your dancing is better than mine. You’ll have to give me private lessons,” Taehyung smirks, suggestively raising his eyebrows, sending a wink my way. His tongue teasingly running over his lips a few times.

           “What?” I skip over to my boyfriend, cupping his face in my hands. “No, you’re way better than me. I’m the one who needs more lessons. Maybe, tomorrow?” I place a kiss to his nose. “God, I love your nose.”

           “I love you,” Taehyung grabs me by my hips, throwing me into the middle of the bed.

           “Tae!” I squeal, laughter pealing out of my throat.

           “My princess!” He exclaims and then begins to attack me with his fingers.

           “Tae…Tae…babe…Tae…hyung,” I manage to breath out through the laughs that wreck my body. “Ple…please, stop.”

           His fingers stop, a hearty chuckle leaving his lips. “How can you be so beautiful?” His boxy smile is what I am drawn to.

           I’m panting as I come down from the high of being tickled. Happy tears stuck to my eyelashes and cheeks. My cheeks flushed because of the quick exertion, and from the blush creeping slowly due to my position. Taehyung has my hands pinned near my head, making my only movement the wiggling of my butt. My sweatshirt has ridden up to expose my tummy, lucking not any higher as I have no bra on. The shorts I have on have fallen to low on my hips.

           “How, jagi, are you so beautiful?” Taehyung asks again, pressing his lips against mine.

           I lazily smile, knowing that my hair is a mess around my head, and the acne clear to everyone’s eyes. “I am beautiful because you say I am.”

           “It’s true,” he releases my hands.

           “Good thing Amber took her glasses off already,” Jimin speaks up. “Because they would be broken.”

           I sit up, running my hands through my tangles to fix the mess. “That’s just what we need, a fuzzy vision Amber.”

           “It’s just far away, right?” Jungkook asks.

           I nod, “Correct. Now, my turn to ask a question,” I look right at Taehyung. “Why didn’t you tell me about your glasses?”

           “Always little secrets kept between you two,” Jimin shuffles under the covers.

           “I didn’t tell you because I don’t think I look good in them,” Taehyung is resting back on his elbows. “Just like you wouldn’t show me your glasses.”

           “You look so handsome with your glasses, Tae,” I ruffle his hair. “Very smart looking too.”

           “ARMY won’t know they’re real until you tell them,” Jungkook is now under the covers.

           “I’ll help you build confidence,” I fix my clothes before climbing under the covers.

           Taehyung smiles, following my lead to get under the covers. “You are an angel.”

           “Jungkookie, can you please turn off the light?” I hum as Taehyung wraps his strong arms around my middle, pulling me back to have my back flush on his chest.

           “Sure thing,” Jungkook quickly plunges the room into darkness.

           My eyes flutter close, feeling at peace.

           “I love you, princess,” Taehyung whispers right into my ear. “I should buy you a tiara.”

           I place my hands on top of his. “I love you, Tae. Don’t get me a tiara.”

           “That’s not up for you to decide,” he kisses the top of my ear. “I’m going to spoil you so much. Don’t you worry about that.”

           “Please, don’t go overboard. I’m content with just being with you.”

           “Excuse me, couple in love,” Jimin’s voice slices through the quiet. “Can you please stop whispering so we can get to sleep?”

           I chuckle, “Sorry Jimin-oppa. We will stop talking.”

           “Good,” his smirk is clear in his tone. “Night, cutie.”

           “Goodnight everyone!” I giggle as Taehyung places open mouth kisses on my neck. “Sweet dreams.”

********

           “This was a great idea,” I smile, sipping on my milkshake. “No crazy boys, nice music playing, and a pizza coming soon.”

           Yoongi grins, “It is very nice. Calming, to say the least. No yelling, and I get to spend a few hours with my favorite girl.”

           Yoongi and I decided on a small pizzeria on the outskirts of New York City. The ratings were high, and it looked to have a nice interior from the pictures. We are seated in a back booth; the lights are turned down for the evening crowd. Music is softly playing, and it’s actually good.

           “Am I really your favorite?” I feel my cheeks heat up.

           “Of course,” he sips his water. “Have I never told you?”

           “You probably have,” I shrug. “I’m just surprised there isn’t another girl in your life.”

           “I am too deep in my work to have a girlfriend to worry about. Besides, it’s enough work worrying about you.”

           “Shut up,” I giggle. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

           “I will. For now.”

           “Even with Tae being glued to my side and dating over me.”

           “Of course. I’m your brother, so I have other things to worry about than he does. Mainly, him.”

           I pat Yoongi’s hand that is resting on the table. “He’s been good so far. He is a gentleman, Yoongi, when with me at least.”

           “I know. Still, I worry. Tae is a loyal puppy, but can get distracted. I don’t mean with other women. He seems to focus on you when together, though. Very protective.”

           “He is, and I love it. When he gets jealous though, that’s when it can get kind of annoying and out of control when it goes too far.”

           “I thought you like hot jealous Tae?” Yoongi teasingly smirks.

           “Why would you think that?” I drink my milkshake to cool my face.

           “Taehyung blurts stuff out sometimes,” he shrugs.

           “Okay y’all,” our waitress, Ashley, bounds up to our table. “Here is your extra pepperoni pizza, and garlic knots,” she set sets the food down in the middle of our table.

           “Thank you so much,” I smile, speaking to the girl in the language, she can understand.

           “Oh, you are so welcome,” Ashley gushes. “Was the milkshake as good as I said?” The southern girl is sincere, and not just faking kindness for her job.

           “It is so good,” I tap my glass with my index finger. “I’m glad you talked me into it.”

           “Well, I’ll leave you two to enjoy your dinner. Such a cute couple.”

           Yoongi perks up at the girl’s statement, but says nothing.

           “Oh, oh no,” I look between Yoongi and Ashley, stopping on Ashley after a few seconds. “We aren’t a couple.”

           “Oh,” Ashley is genuinely shocked. “So, are you friends on an experiment date?”

           “No,” I shake my head. “It’s not like that at all.”

           Yoongi tears a piece off a garlic know, but continues to stay silent.

           “Then what is it?” Ashley curiously asks.

           “Yoongi, he’s, he is my brother,” I tell the stranger something only my close friends know. My heart beat speeds up, and I feel butterflies swarm in my stomach. It makes me so happy to tell someone outside of the ones closest to mee who already know.

           “Really?” Ashley breaks me out of my thoughts. “Like, blood related? I never would have guessed.”

           “Step,” I answer, like I’ve explained it a thousand times before. “My mom married his dad some years ago. We didn’t grow up together, really, but I’ve always seen him as a brother.”

           “That’s even sweeter than you being a couple,” Ashley places a hand over her heart. “I’ll leave y’all to eat then,” she smiles before rushing off.

           “What was that all about?” Yoongi asks, snapping me back into Korean.

           “What was what?” I innocently ask, taking a slice of pizza and placing it on my plate.

           “What you just told our waitress. It’s like you’ve thought about it before. Just for that kind of situation.”

           “Maybe I have, or it just came to me. I just didn’t want her to have the wrong idea. I never want anyone to get the wrong idea.”

           “Like that one girl at the fan meet. I understand. It was cute.”

           “It made me feel good, telling someone that you are my brother,” I take a big bite of my pizza.

           “Did it?” Yoongi shoves more garlic knot into his mouth.

           It takes me a few moments before I can speak again. “Yes. Like when I tell people that I am dating Tae. I love him, and I love you so much. It’s a different love, thought. With Tae, I want to kiss him, snuggle up to him as I fall asleep, live with him, build a family, and more. So much more. With you, I want to hug you, sip coffee or hot chocolate, and talk about mental health. I want to help you with music endeavors, read you my poems, read books with chilling in your studio, and do sibling things.”

           “I’ll make sure we will,” Yoongi grabs my milkshake, take a sip.

           “Why’d you do that?” I shove more pizza into my mouth.

           “Isn’t it what siblings do?” He smirks, setting the milkshake back in front of me.

           I smugly smile, “Look at you, being a big brother.”

           “Don’t tease me.”

           “Min Yoongi loves his little sister,” I giggle.

           “Little one, you are so testy right now. I will ground you or something like that.”

           Both of us laugh at how dorky we are sounding.

           “Really, Yoongi, you are the best,” I nervously push my glasses up my nose. “You have been a blessing.”

           “I try,” he leans over to shove some garlic knot in my mouth. “I think I will teach you to play the piano.”

           “Oh, will you now,” I say through chewing the garlic knot.

           “Swallow, then talk,” Yoongi gives me a disgusted look.

           “Sorry,” I wash the food down with some milkshake.

           “You’re forgiven.”

           “So piano then?”

           “Yes, it’s a love of mine, and I want to share it.”

           “I look forward to it.”

           “How has rooming with the maknae boys been?”

           “Good, good,” I think back to the craziness of yesterday. “Tae and I danced while the others were out. Private lessons at one another. Then when Jimin and Jungkook came back, video games for hours.”

           Yoongi chuckles, “That sounds fun. I just slept and wrote music.”

           “And worried about me?” I stuff pizza into my mouth.

           “Yes, and worried about you,” he slightly shakes his head. “Just shut up and eat, you little dork.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hope you enjoyed reading! A bit shorted but a slightly big think is happening next, and I want it to start a chapter. :)

#BTS #BTS fan fiction #BTS x OC #BTS imagine #Jungkook x OC #Jungkook imagine #Taehyung x OC #Taehyung imagine #Jimin x OC #Jimin imagine #Namjoon x OC #Namjoon imagine #Hoseok x OC #Hoseok imagine #Yoongi x OC #Yoongi imagine #Seokjin x OC #Seokjin imagine #My OCs

[mishaandthebrits]

Perfect

You are the actress playing Sam and Deans younger sister and when Jared and Jensen find out you're thinking low of yourself they sing for you on a convention.

Another convention and another panel with the boys for you. Obviously you loved Jared and Jensen, who didn't? They were like real brothers to you by now, but something about panels and talking as well as answering questions in public still made you nervous. The band had just entered the stage meaning it was your time to step out into the light soon. "You ready Y/N?", Jared asked smiling down at you and you just swallowed with a nervous nod. 

"It'll go great! Just like all the times before.", Jensen backed him up. "I just hope I don't mess up.", you sighed and both boys frowned. "Have you seen one panels we didn't mess up anything in? Don't worry about that okay?", Jensen chuckled causing you to weakly nod. "I hope. I can't let you or the fans down.", you mumbled with a last breath backstage right before you stepped through the curtain following the two Js. "Hello San Diego!", Jensen shouted into his microphone making the crowd cheer while you sat down on your chair between the two immediately. "How are you today? Do you have any questions?", Jared also spoke into the device before the first question was asked. "Who of you three is closest to a real life angel?", a woman asked from beside the stage. "Y/N. Clearly.", Jensen nodded looking at Jared. "Yes, Y/N! She never fails to make me smile during a bad day or just on some random day she will bring you tiny treats to make sure you stay focused.", Jared explained making you blush. "I... I would say Misha actually. I am far from that, but he fulfills it, besides not having wings of course."

You're not trying to change me Even though I'm crazy

"Oh no Y/N! It for sure is you!", Jared laughed and smiled at you widely while you just shook your head for a second then placed a fake smile back on your lips. Jared and Jensen noticed though. They saw that sad expression. The hate. The fear of not being good enough. And they didn't understand it. Technically they did, but why you? "Y/N is the light in our work days and even outside she makes sure we always know how much we mean to her. Just last week she actually handed me a book she loved with handwritten notes and little sketches in it. One of the characters reminded her of me, so she got me a copy and added situations we shared so I would never forget them.", Jensen spoke into the microphone and grabbed behind the curtain revealing the book. "I've been reading it ever since. Currently I'm on the seconds run.", he admitted and you felt tears rise in your eyes. "Yes! You told me that! Well this week right before we headed out to San Diego Y/N organized a day off for Gen and me. She took care of all three kids while we went to a spa with massages and everything that she had already booked and paid for just to make sure we'd have a relaxing day together before being separated again. How amazing even is that? I mean she had three kids to look after that day and looked out for the elderly couple besides her on the flight here too! Additionally to Jensen and me who can be quite a pain in the ass.", Jared explained to the cheering crowd while you turned around hiding your tears. Both Jared and Jensen quickly got up and walked up to you pulling you into a tight embrace.

Wearing no make-up, think I'm beautiful And when I'm all messed up, you let me be me

"I actually agree with the two dorks.", Misha suddenly spoke into the microphone while you still were in their hug. "Just last week Y/N came to my house in the middle of the night because she had an idea for a random acts project we talked about a while back and she had planned it out and was so excited to show me that she couldn't wait for the next morning! She was literally wearing her PJs and had her hair in one of those crazy buns that make it look like a bird nest. When I told her how amazing the idea was she smiled widely basically lighting my whole living room." Jensen kissed your hair lightly and smiled at you. "You think you can listen to the others?", he asked quietly outside the range of the microphone. "Others?", you frowned looking up at the two and then at the side of the stage where Richard, Rob, both Marks, Felicia and Ruth waited smiling and with tears in their eyes. "You stay?", you asked your on screen brothers seeing them nod immediately. While Jared kept holding you close Jensen moved to his mic and waited for the crowd to calm down. "So, as you may have noticed we all love Y/N and she doesn't have a good day today. That happens from time to time and when he have one she makes sure we know how much she loves us, so we want to do the same for her now. Is that oaky for you? If others join us here on stage?", he asked and the crowed loudly yelled their yeahs and yes'. Jensen smiled and moved the chairs closer together so you would sit sandwiched between both of them before pulling you and Jared to them. You sat down slowly and Jared rubbed your cheeks to get rid of the tears. "We love you. And we're right here.", he smiled and took your hand not letting go of it. Jensen wrapped his arm around you and pulled you slightly closer just as Rob stepped on stage. "Well, as I'm god I know who the angels are. Y/N clearly is one. A few weeks back when I was on set she took me out after work to this amazing light festival! She said she saw it and basically knew I would fall in love with it, which I definitely did! She had hot chocolate for us and even some warm freshly made cupcakes she had baked in her trailer. How amazing is that? I absolutely adored that evening and I don't think she knows how much it actually meant to me.", he explained and stepped up to you kissing your forehead softly. After he stepped aside Rich appeared. "I'm actually crying already, I didn't realize Y/N did so many different things for all of us just to see us smile. What impressed me the most was that she decorated my apartment for Christmas last year. My shooting schedule was quite busy, but hers was as well and somehow she still managed to get me a Christmas tree, wrapped presents, ornaments and such beautiful lights and decoration just because she knew how much I love Christmas and heard me mention that I didn't have decoration yet. I mean who does that? Just to make me smile she stressed herself and not only got decoration but also presents and food for Christmas Eve for me and my family.", Rob spoke causing Jared and Jensen to look surprised. "She did that?", Jared gasped. "She did that.", the actor nodded. "I mean besides organizing the Christmas tree on set and getting small but amazing gifts for us all!", he added and you blushed at his words and the loving expressions on your on screen brothers faces. "For me it was amazing how she made me an Advents calendar! I don't know if that's a thing here, but apparently as her family is originally from Germany she gets a calendar with 24 little treats and she made me one and placed it in my trailer every year when I was on set in that time. The first year I was pretty new to set and was absolutely surprised by that, i had no idea who made it until the fifth day when there was a little handmade bracelet in it and everyone had it on, besides her, but we all had something connected to our characters and I'm actually still wearing that.", Mark Sheppard said and showed the bracelet to the camera. All of a sudden you felt Jared and Jensen let go of you and looked at them confused before seeing them show their wrists with the bracelets as well. "We hardly ever take them off.", Jared grinned. "I have mine as well!", Mark Pellegrini joined the stage bringing Rob and Rich along also showing their accessory. "But she did not only do that! When I had to leave set because of a role on another show she somehow got the crew to give her one of the screening rooms and set it up as a giant cinema with comfy cushions and a popcorn machine then invited the whole cast and me to a live screening of the show when it was on TV. She made me feel so supported and that was the day I knew joining the cast of supernatural was the best decision I've made. The evening was amazing and I still think back to it whenever I feel down.", he smiled softly playing with his bracelet deep in thoughts. "She even made me one of those bracelets although I'm only a guest star!", Felicia happily laughed when she stepped on stage. "But that's not all. The first day I appeared on set she had seriously made a cake for me with a beautiful decoration consisting of my previous roles and what I loved. I felt so bad for cutting it and destroying it, but she kept reassuring me that it was alright and that she could always make another one. Whenever I return some cupcakes are waiting in my trailer and I strongly guess that those are ones she made, but she never left a note or asked me how they were, just simply smiled when I said I had them and thanked the crew." "For me it was that she  regularly orders British candy and gives that to me as a surprise box and although I'm not supposed to know who they are from I know because she once wrapped it in the same paper as my birthday present. Those boxes are so surprising but so sweet! I'm always just like a little child on Christmas Eve!", Ruth spoke and by now most of the cast and crowd were not only touched, but crying. You were no exception.

General Tag List: @lokilvrr

Want to be added to the tag list? Just comment or message <3 

#perfect #cute #adorable #supernatural #spn #spn x reader #supernatural x reader #actors #jensen ackles #jared padalecki #jared #jensen #padalecki #ackles #depressed #depression

[choosingmylife]

Moving On (Drake × MC)

Just a little thing I thought of. Hope you guys like it and it may be a little sad so...prepare.

Plot: As always, it's a surprise. Just read it and you'll know ;)

Word Count: I don't count so...its pretty long though? I guess? Maybe? I get carried away.

Perma-Tag: @liam-rhys

Enjoy lovely people

Drake takes yet another sip of his whiskey as he sits in the barely lit dining room. The house is quiet. Too quiet. It seems like it's always that way, the old manor creaking every few minutes as the only noise this late at night when other, far more delightful, noises once filled the place.

But Drake can't think too much about it, he knows that. It would open a floodgate that he wasn't sure he'd be able to close again on his own. At least not without the help of his closest friend.

Drake looks down at his "friend", the oaky smell wafting up to his nose a welcomed comfort, before drinking the last little bit. His hand automatically reaches for the bottle that isn't ever too far away, but he stops.

His hand is frozen, hanging in limbo, as Drake tries to talk himself out of pouring more. He's already had three or four glasses, or was it five? Drake couldn't remember and he took that as a sign it was time to slow down or, better yet, stop all together for the night.

Sighing, he pulls his hand away from the whiskey bottle and looks forlornly at the empty glass in front of him. God, does he want another one. He needs it, needs it to forget, to get out of his own head and try not to sink into the bottomless pit he was always toeing.

Without his "friend" numbing his thoughts and his emotions, it doesn't take long for everything he worked tirelessly to keep away to come crashing in, taking his breath away as he scrambles to shut it all back up again. But he can't, as much as he wants to, he also doesn't want to.

It's like a punishment, a tortuous reminder of what he's lost. He feels like he deserves it, the pain and sorrow, the beating his mind and heart takes, the aching feeling that sets roots in his stomach and squeezes until he wants to throw up. Maybe it's the universe taking what it should have all those years ago, maybe it's Drake's guilt that cripples him, he isn't sure.

In an instant, flashes of a memory flicker in his head before he can gain the control he tries so hard to have and that he desperately needs.

The wind flows through her hair, a wide smile is on her face and her laughter is a beautiful melody. She looks so beautiful, but doesn't she always? He can't stop looking at her, he doesn't want to.

But suddenly, there's a scream, and her face morphs into one of fear and he wants to make it go away. Why's it there? She's yelling at him, what is she saying? She's pointing behind him, out of the driver's side window. He turns to look, bright lights nearly blinding him and then nothing, no sound, no light. Just darkness.

When he wakes, his eyes immediately search for her and when he finds her, he can't stop the gutwrenching scream that surges through him. No, God, no. Please, please, no. He looks down her body, maybe he can see something, a movement. Please let them be okay, please...

Drake slams a fist onto the table, the pain pulling him back to the here and now. He feels the tears pooling in his eyes and he puts the palm of his hands against them, rubbing them to force the tears back. After a moment, he reaches for the bottle of whiskey, pours himself another glass, and takes a big gulp before he realizes what he's doing.

He groans as the liquid burns his throat and he tries to keep the memory of that night from replaying over and over. He stands and begins pacing around the room, hoping to keep it out of his mind, but it's no use.

Everytime he blinks, he can see her face, bloody and bruised, and her body slumped over, looking so lifeless. He remembers how helpless he felt, how scared, how in pain he was. He couldn't move, he couldn't get her out. He couldn't do anything but wait for someone to come help them. It was all his fault and if he hadn't been so stupid, so weak then maybe-

He throws the half filled glass of whiskey across the room, watching it shatter against the wall. Disgusted with himself, he sinks into a chair, trying to calm down. His breathing is heavy and he just wants it to stop. He wants everything to stop, for the hurt and guilt and sadness to go away. He can't do this anymore. He can't-

"Daddy?" a tired voice calls out behind him and he turns to face the doorway.

He clears his throat, "Hey, baby. What are you doing up?"

She yawns and walks over to him, climbing into his lap. "I had a scary dream and I went to your room, but you weren't there," she tells him and he kisses the top of her head, wondering if she can smell the whiskey as strongly as he can. Not that she'd know anyway.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there, sweetheart. Are you okay? Do you want to talk about your dream?" he asks and she shakes her head.

"Alright, well, do you want to try to go back to sleep? I can go with you and stay for a while. I'll even read a story if it'll make you feel better," he offers.

"Can we look in the book?" she asks, staring up at him with eyes so much like her mother's. And just like with her mother, he can't tell her no when she's looking up at him that way. So he doesn't, as much as he wants to.

Unable to talk through the lump in his throat, he stands, lifting his daughter in his arms, and heads to her bedroom.

When they reach it, he takes her to her bed and lays her down, gently smoothing down her hair before he moves away and to a bookshelf.

He pulls out a scrapbook, one Hana and Maxwell had put together for her when she was first born. At the time, Drake had, unfairly, been mad at them. All he'd wanted to do was ignore everything and pretend like there was nothing wrong or missing in their lives. Now, he was glad, because of what it meant for his little girl. Just because he didn't want to remember, didn't mean she didn't have a right to know.

He walks back to her and she scoots over, closer to the wall, to make room for him on her bed. He sits down, back against the headboard, and legs stretched out. His daughter cuddles against him and he wraps an arm around her, balancing the book on his thighs and opening the glittery cover with his other hand.

His daughter points at a picture on the first page, "Tell me about that one, daddy." Drake nods and describes the day they took the picture.

It'd been a particularly cold day and, on his wife's whim, they'd gone in search of a hidden hot spring in the next town over. Drake had told her it was too cold and she'd be complaining before they even made it there, but she'd only slapped his arm and told him to stop being such a "Debby Downer", that even if she did get cold, the hot spring would warm her up. So they went, and Drake had been right. She complained the whole time and it'd been a frustrating day. While fighting, they'd gotten lost during the hike. They were angry with each other and getting colder by the minute, trying to find their way to some sort of civilization when, by sheer luck, they happened upon the very place they'd been looking for.

Sinking into the hot, steaming water helped clear their heads and they ended up laughing about how they'd both acted. Before they left, they took a picture to remember the day in all its less than pretty glory.

"Was mommy stubborn as a mule like me?" his daughter asks.

Drake looks at her, "Who told you that you were as stubborn as a mule?"

"Uncle Bertrand said I was when I told him any fork could actually be used for salad. He said it wasn't proper to use any old fork and then I said that we use any fork we want here and they work fine. That's when he told me I was as stubborn as a mule and let me use whatever fork I wanted," she answered with a bragging sort of tone, a twinkle in her eyes, and Drake can't help but chuckle.

"How could he not when you had such a strong argument?" he jokes and his daughter smiles, broadly. "But, to answer your question: Yes. Your mommy was as stubborn as could be."

She makes a "hmm" sound before reaching over and turning the page of the scrapbook.

"What's that from?" she asks, pointing out another picture.

"Our first anniversary. We had a party with all of our friends and, because of some American tradition, we had to eat a slice of our wedding cake we'd been saving. Your mom thought it would be hilarious to shove it in my face. I think Maxwell encouraged her? Anyway, I was trying to get her back and he snapped this," he explains, running a thumb over his wife's laughing face.

His daughter flips several pages, pausing briefly to look at the pictures on some of them, before stopping on the one she wants.

"What about that one?" she asks.

"That was the day we found out about you," he tells her and she looks up at him.

"Were you happy about me?"

He stares down at her in shock, "Of course we were! I was scared to death of being a dad, but not for one second was I unhappy. And your mom...she was thrilled and ready from the start."

She looks back down and studies the picture some more, before flipping to the next page, the one Drake dreaded, the one that made his heart heavy every time he saw it.

"Can you read it, daddy?" his daughter asks, soft voice in an almost whisper.

He clears his throat as he slips the paper out of its sleeve, handing it to his daughter to hold. He then closes the book and sets it on her bedside table before grabbing the paper back. His daughter settles more against him, laying her head on his stomach and wrapping an arm around him as best as she can.

"Dear Drake,

It's currently 3 in the morning and you are snoring in the bed just a few feet from me. Your mouth is hanging open and you look so peaceful. It's cute.

Yeah, yeah, I know. You're not cute, but to me you are so get over it.

Anyway, I told you I was going to write this letter as a just in case kind of thing. I know you think it's silly or unnecessary but, I think it needs to be done. I know better than most how fleeting life is and that any day could be the last. I want you to have something from me, a last goodbye, if life pulls me from you too soon. From both of you.

Oh, she just kicked, Drake! That's still such a wierd feeling. I think she's reminding me she's there, as if I could ever forget. She made me throw up enough times that it'd be impossible to do that. I can't wait to meet her and see you with her. I know you'll make a great dad, Drake, even if you think you won't. Like I've said, this'll be new for both of us, but together, I think we can do this thing.

Sorry! Getting off track. She has a tendency to do that to me. Guess I should get used to it, huh?

If you're reading this, Drake, it means that I'm gone. I don't know when you'll get this or if you even do at all, but if you do and it's a time before we're old and gray, I just want to say I'm sorry.

I know, I know. You're probably saying it's not my fault but I'm not saying sorry for what happened to me. I'm saying sorry for leaving you and our little girl alone. I made a promise to you, that it would be you and me forever, and I didn't keep that promise. I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry our daughter won't have a mother and that you'll have to step into that role for her the best you can. I'm sorry that I'm gone.

The past few years with you have been the greatest of my life. I never knew love could feel like this, that I could be so blissfully happy even this far into our marriage. You've made me a better person, a better partner, a better everything. I owe so much of who I am now to you. I've reached whatever peak I can reach because of you and, now that I'm gone, you have to do the same for our baby girl.

I know you'll want to shut down, to forget, to numb yourself, but you can't. She needs you, more than anything, more than I ever did. Be strong, my love, for me, for her, for you. If you love her even half as much as me, which I know you do, you can do this.

Since I know you so well, you're probably thinking "Not without you, Danvers, not by myself" but that's ridiculous. You won't be alone in this, Drake. Our friends would never abandon you or our daughter and, as foreign as this concept is, lean on them. Let them hold you up when you can't stand anymore. Let them help you put the pieces of your life back together and let them love on our baby girl for the rest of her life.

It won't be easy. Sitting here, I'm picturing a life without you and I want to cry my eyes out. I can't imagine if it was a reality, but I know what you'd want me to do. You'd want me to be happy, however I can get it. Thats what I want for you.

I hope you know how much I love you and our little one, even if her foot is jammed into my bladder and I have a disgusting craving for pickled eggs, two things I've never liked. I think she's doing it just to annoy me, like her daddy does.

Do you think she'll look more like you or me? I know you'll say you hope she looks like me, but I want her to have your hair and smile, maybe your chin too. I don't know and it really doesn't matter. I'll love her just the same regardless.

Off track again. I think this falls under pregnancy brain? She's already creating a mess in my life but I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy every minute of it.

She's finally resting now, and I think she's going to let me sleep. I should hurry back to bed before she starts up again and before you notice me gone. Sometimes, when I'm out of bed for too long, you mumble out my name and reach for me, with this little pout when I'm not there. I don't think you know you do it, but it's just another thing that makes you so adorable.

Anyway, the last thing I want to do is thank you. Thank you for giving me a love I never thought I could have. Thank you for giving me our little girl. Thank you for being the best daddy in the world. And thank you for being so much better than you give yourself credit for.

I love you, and our daughter, with everything that I am. Don't ever forget that.

Love,

Wren Danvers-Walker"

Drake finishes reading the letter, taking in a deep breath, before taking a glance at his daughter. She'd fallen asleep sometime while he was reading, an innocent look on her face that was such a contrast to the trouble she'd been all day.

It had been one of those days where he felt like everything he was doing was wrong, that his daughter hated him and that Wren would be so disappointed with the way he was raising her. That's what had led him to drink not long after she'd finally gone to sleep the first time around.

But looking at her now, and having his wife's words fresh in his mind, he feels stronger than he had been earlier. Hell, Wren believed in him even before their child had been born, why couldn't he believe in himself, too?

Of course, it was more than just that. The night she passed was still fresh in his mind, the memory of being so afraid of losing her and the baby making his stomach hurt.

He'd almost lost both of them in the accident. The doctors didn't think Wren's body could hang on long enough to get their daughter out, a month and a half early. But she did. Just enough time to get the baby out and then she was gone. Drake hadn't been there when their little girl was born, when his wife passed. He'd been in surgery at the time, fighting for his own life.

When he woke up, they told him what happened to Wren and he cried and cried. He asked about the baby and they wheeled her in. She was crying, too, as if she knew what they had lost and it hurt her just as much as it hurt him.

He remembers carefully touching her delicate hand and feeling so empty, so lost. He couldn't do it on his own. There was no way.

But he had, not without a few dark times, however. He couldn't stand his friend's pitying looks and the way they whispered to each other when Drake was having a rough day. So, he isolated himself, even from his oldest friend who he hasn't spoken to in over a year, and only associated with his sister and her little family. But, maybe Wren was right. Maybe he should lean on them, at least enough for his daughter to get to know the people her mother was closest to. Maybe then he won't feel so alone anymore.

Looking at the clock on the wall, Drake sees how late it is and decides that opening up and bringing his old friends back into his life could wait until the daylight hours. For now, he lays down as best he can without waking his daughter and closes his eyes.

Tomorrow, it'll be different. Tomorrow, he'll be better. Tomorrow, he will start moving on.

#choices fandom #choices fan fic #choices fanfiction #pixelberry #choices #choices fan fiction #choices fanfic #choices the royal romance #the royal romance #choices pixelberry #choices trr #choices trr 3 #choices trr3 #the royal romance 3 #choices the royal romance 3 #the royal romance 2 #choices trr 2 #choices trr2 #drake walker #trr #trr2 #trr3 #drake x mc #mc x drake #trr 2 #trr 3 #pixelberry the royal romance #choices stories you play #choices stories we play

[noblesse-extreme]

Last show of Book of Mormon Sweden

Ok, for all of you who are interested, or isn't, I don't really care I just wanna write it al down so I can remember it, because it was awesome.

I was at the last who last night of Book Of Mormon here in Sweden and here are some highlights from this amazing production and it's amazing cast.

Per Andersson (elder Cunningham) tries to climb up into their bunk beds. This went on for nearly ten minutes, and with every jump he just went "you know, when in the airport, when we were in the airport..." when he finally managed to get up he proceeded to drape himself over Linus Walhgren(Elder Price), sit in his lap, somehow crawl behind him and then falling down only to begin jumping up again.

It got to the point where Linus broke character and said: "You know we have an after party buss to catch." And at that point me, and the rest of the audience were in tears. Which got worse when Per answered in a singsong voice with: "do you knoooowww~ you're gonna miss it." I couldn't breath for a solid five minutes.

Just, everybody, they were so good, like I love this cast

Pers very good gyrating, twerking, and the worm during hasa diga eebowai

LINUS WALHGREN Like damn, he was made for this role, what a voice

Side note: To work in Swedish, in the song You and Me they sing "every sausage needs it's side dish" "I will be your mashed potatoes" love it

Linus hips and dancing in American prophet, we in the audience were hooting and whistling, hot damn

EYE CONTACT WITH LINUS I DIED

Joseph Smith giving Arnold and Kevin's butts a smack

The two who were the Nefites pulling up their robes and seductively revealing their legs

There was a football game at the time so on the Mormons game board they showed the score 2-1 to Chile

How much Linus were shaking after getting drenched in blood, felt so sorry for elder price

Elder Thomas riffing in turn It off like damn

Mormones no, yes, no, while Arnold was going to walk out after price and in the end just kept putting his foot back and forth while they all screamed.

SAMANTHA GURAH AS NABULUNGI WHAT A FUCKING VOICE

Hatimbi making his name longer and everyone just smiling

General BFN doing his dreads so they looked like a pair of Mickey Mouse ears at the end

Pers sound, kind of like an ooooaaaf EVERY time Linus tried to speak after Spooky Mormon Hell dream

Elder price hitting general BFN in the nuts and then proceeding to place his head on his shoulder

Linus Fucking voice in I Belive, died, the came back, then died again, wonderful

"Imagine that your head is made of tiny kittens Take the kitten that is gay and DROWN IT Okay?"

SAMANTHA GURAH, worth mentioning again, goosebumps every time she sang. 10/10 would have gone just to see her

The female part of the audience cheering when Arnold said that the clitoris was holy

Elder McKinley having a solo dance number in Price's nightmare

McKinley trying to kiss him after he wakes

LINUS FYCKING WALHGREN

Elder Thomas falsett in We are Africa

Elder Price coffee break down and him just going "C O F F E WHAT IS THAT?!" "Coffe?!"

Elder price breaking down even further and starting to talk to his cup of coffe in a baby voice while elder Cunningham looks on worried.

"Oh hi little friend, are you all alone? Don't worry, you are gonna meet your friends right here in my tummy"

Price noticing Arnold and doing an Per Andersson right back at him "oaaaahhhh" Per the proceeds to start to laugh Linus continues

"I think we missed the bus" "We can take a cab"

Linus H A I R during all this

the ensembles faces during the play in the play

THE PLAY

Elder mckinleys delight at the fake penises

Elder mckinley and his escimokiss with Hatimbi

And the face he made after

Yaya pulling a "what ya gonna do about it" at BFN whi startles

Linus trying to talk at the end but having to start over bc the mormons bags keep interrupting him as they bump down the stairs.

"Fuck misionspresidenten"

just, the last song man, everyone in the audience were standing and singing and clapping along.

Arnold trying to kiss price when he sang "I am by your side" and Price leaning back.

Arnold saying Samantha's name instead when "trying to remember" it is Nabulungi and her hella cute giggle at it

I had eye contact with Per andersson beforethr villagers were putting on their oaky and I just gave him this knowing look and he smirked back at me

Also I have him a thumbs up after he threw a rose and he gave me one back and a bug smile

Everyone singing "we have maggots in our scrotum"

And I nearly cried when Samantha started to cry

Linus and Per's kiss during the applause

like the whole musical. God damn so fucking wonderful

#Book of Mormon #book of Mormon Sweden #elder price #Kevin price #elder Cunningham #Arnold Cunningham #Linus Walhgren #bom #musical #elder McKinley #McPrice #Kevin x Connor #price x Mckinley

[lexacourtney]

If you told me even last year that 2020 would reignite the Twilight and The Hunger Games fandoms, I would have thought you were joking.

With the announcement of Midnight Sun (tbh I wish it had been The Host 2) and the release of The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, I got to thinking. Memories from my high school years started resurfacing. Going to midnight premiers, reading the books, fangirling with friends over the characters. I started remembering my two best friends at the time, our sleepovers, our hangouts, mid night movie premiers and all the other moments we shared for years.

It’s weird thinking back on those moments, since we’re no longer the best friends we used to be. It’s also kind of sad, and probably a reason why I wasn’t super excited when the news for Midnight Sun first dropped. It’s hard to be super excited for something that you initially shared with two important people at such a formative time in our lives.

My friends that I shared Twilight and Hunger Games with – (I’m going to call them “L” and “K” since they asked me to not use their names but gave me permission to use some photos) – were two of the first people to befriend me when I moved to the states. We grew close quickly and did everything with each other. Unfortunately, we rarely talk anymore, and have grown apart and I think it’s sad and I really wish we hadn’t. But, we’re not here to discuss how friendships can end. We’re here to reminisce about an era that define so many of us, jumpstarted the YA genre as we know it, and brought so many people together.

So, let’s start with Twilight, since that was popular before Hunger Games.

Twilight was such a formative part of my journey into reading the way I do now. But it wasn’t always. I first heard a friend talking about it in 8th grade. I think that was the first year it really started to gain traction and popularity despite being out for 2 years. I’m pretty sure we were sitting in a US history class, and she was telling me all about this vampire book she was reading, how good it was, and how I should read it.

I turned my nose up at the mention of ‘vampire’ and I’m pretty sure I told her that I wouldn’t read a stupid vampire book.

Boy did I ever eat my own words.

I don’t remember what exactly prompted me to finally pick up Twilight, but I was in 9th grade, it was a long Halloween weekend, and I binge read the entire series. I had my dad make multiple trips to Barnes and Nobles (thankfully there is one right across the street!) to buy each next book, and by the time I was back in school, I’d downed the whole series.

I don’t really remember how my two friends got into the books, I vaguely remember convincing L, and we would go to her house, put a DiGiorno Cheese Stuffed Crust Pizza in her oven, and sit on the floor of her kitchen reading. As for K, I don’t remember how she got into the series, whether it was me, or she picked it up on her own. When we were best friends, she was an avid reader, so she might’ve found it herself. But we bonded and became closer through our love (borderline obsession) with the series. I remember going over to their houses and we would just sit and read the books. We’d print off pictures of the cast from various photo shoots and tape them to our walls. Probably like most teenage girls, we quickly became obsessed. K had this puffy makeup brush that had glitter in the handle, and we’d brush that fine sparkly glitter all over ourselves. At one point, I even swapped out my shampoo for a strawberry scented one.

Then the movies started coming out. We always bought our tickets early – I still have all of mine.  L, K and I made t-shirts for the first two Twilight movies…okay my mom made them since we just used iron on paper and put pictures of the cast on the front and a quote on the back. We arrived at movie theaters, like 2 hours early to guarantee us good seats – this was before reserved seating, and before 5PM showings the day before, became the new midnight premiers.

We would have photo shoots in the movie theater halls. We would get there so early that they wouldn���t have a designated area for a line, and we were always first. We’d goof off and talk excitedly about the movie.

We were Twihards and we were about to see the movie version of our favorite books. I unfortunately only have 1 photo from the Twilight Premier due to an external hard drive accident in 2010. I’m bummed that any photos we took together were lost, but we more than made up for it at the New Moon premier.

At some point in our Twilight crazed days, K ended up with an Edward doll that would sit on her bookshelf next to a brown paper wolf. My bedroom walls were covered in posters, magazine clippings, and L’s bedroom walls had some drawings a different friend did of the cast. I showed them both HillyWood’s Twilight Parodies (if you haven’t seen them yet, you’re missing out) and we fell deeper into the franchise. Honestly, I don’t want to know wha I spent on Twilight Merch.

Where you Team Edward, or Team Jacob?

I was solidly Team Jacob – I definitely had a crush on Taylor Lautner when I was younger. Though I think I’d prefer to be a vamp if it came down to it. The movies came out each fall of High School, with the final one coming out my first semester of college. That plot twist in the final one – yeah, the whole theater erupted. We would make count downs in our agenda books for the premier. It’s been quite a few years since then, so I don’t remember as much, but my friends and I went and saw all of the premiers – or tried to. We were all at different colleges for the last one, so that made things a little difficult.

While the Twilight movies were still being released, another series gained popularity. The Hunger Games! I read THG in 2012 and fell in love with the series. It’s another one that I binge read in a weekend. I don’t remember if L and K were as into THG as I was, but I’m a massive sucker for science fiction/dystopian books. So, I devoured this trilogy and fell in love with it.

My memories for this series aren’t as engrained or easy to dig up. These books came to me right as I was finishing high school and the movies premiered while I was in college. While I definitely was swept up in the phenomena that this series created, i didn’t have the same bonding experience with it, with friends. at least not in the way I did with Twilight.

Friends went with me to the premiers – another friend, we’ll call her A, went with me. It was midnight on a school night, she had just performed in a theater production for our high school (hence the face pain in the photo). I think we left that theater around 2 and had to be at school by 7:15am the next morning. That Friday was rough. Really rough. We wore shirts that we had made to the premier – this was back in the days were I actually used puffy paint to design various shirts.

At this point my walls were void of Twilight and had been taken over by new posters. I had the Katniss and Gale posters. Katniss hung on my bedroom door, and Gale hung by my bed. Please don’t judge me lol. I had a few other posters as well. I even taught myself how to French braid, so I could learn how to Dutch braid, just to be able to do Katniss’ braid. I have a mockingjay pin and was even Katniss one year handing out candy. I very well might’ve been more obsessed with THG than Twilight. God, I wanted to be Katniss so badly.

And fun fact, the location set for District 12 in the first movie is in North Carolina – when he was a kid, my grandfather used to go there and play/hang out with friends. Some details of my recollection of his story might be off, but he knew the location that they shot at because he’d been there as a child, having grown up in North Carolina.

Where you Team Peeta or Team Gale?

I had a massive crush on Liam Hemsworth, so I was Team Gale. Now I’m solidly Team Peeta, but younger me was dumb. Peeta is obviously the superior choice, but damn if I don’t still find Liam attractive LOL.

What can I say?

I remember the excitement for each new movie – when the trailers dropped, the new movie posters. I even did portraits of Katniss, Gale and Peeta for a Senior Art Project in high school. My teacher liked it so much that she put it on display for the Senior Art Wall. I had to explain to her multiples times who the faces belonged to, but she liked the study of light and contrast.

2008-2015 was the time of YA adaptations. Between Twilight, Hunger Games, Divergent, Maze Runner, etc. book nerds had the pick of what they could be obsessed with.

With the release and upcoming release of these two books, it brought back a bunch of memories. Fond memories of good times with friends. Hell, simpler times. There was a different energy back then, everyone came together for a series of books – both were household names. You might not have read the books, but chances were you knew someone who had. I miss the energy of midnight premiers and walking into to school to gush about the series with your friends.

Oaky…maybe not so much the school part but seeing your friends every day.

We get the occasional movie adaptation, or tv show, but there really isn’t that same energy that filled everyone. There really hasn’t been this collective phenomenon since the days of YA dystopia adaptations. I think we’re high time due a resurgence. Vamps are coming back to the genre, outside of this new Twilight book, so, maybe!

I haven’t quite made up my mind if I’m going to read either of these two new releases. I’m kind of over Twilight and don’t really have any desire to revisit it. I’ll forever be grateful for what it did for the YA genre, but I kinda just want to leave my memories as they are. I don’t want to inadvertently tarnish them.

As for the new THG book, I have like zero desire to read about Snow, but people have been really enjoying it, so maybe one day in the future.

So, this post is incredibly long, and if you’ve made it this far, thank you for sticking it out. I guess I got a little lost in remembering good times. It’s funny, I started this post on Tuesday and sat down to write it. I didn’t expect it to be hard or this time consuming. I texted L and K to see if they were okay with me using photos and I actually chatted with K for the first time in a year, maybe? I’d be lying if I said I didn’t really miss them. I miss just being able to talk with them. Then, that night I had a dream that we had gotten together to reminisce about our Twilight days, and when I woke up, I was so disoriented. It felt so real, and then I was in an emotional funk for the rest of the day. But now, it’s taken me hours longer than I thought it would to do this post, due to getting lost down memory lane.

Writing this post was a lot of fun, despite some of the bumps I hit along the way. I think it’s interesting to look back and see where we were when Twilight and/or Hunger Games was a part of our lives. For the most part, it seems like it was a huge part of most readers lives. So, here’s my request to you – think of this whole post as an unofficial tag “tag”- if you feel inclined, share your memories/a memory of how either of these series were a part of your life!

Did you go to premiers? Whose Team were you on? etc.

There are no formal questions – so just write and share whatever you feel like.

I “tag” whoever wants to do this Nostalgia post – and if you do this, please let me know! I’d love to read your posts, see your memories if you include pictures. Let’s reminisce about vampires, werewolves and two tributes who would rather eat berries than be entertainment for the rich.

        Nostalgia – Twilight & The Hunger Games Unofficial Tag - what are your memories? #newpost #blogpost #bookpost #bookblog #books #blog #blogger #bloggerswanted #bloggerstribe #bloggingcommunity #bookish If you told me even last year that 2020 would reignite the Twilight and The Hunger Games fandoms, I would have thought you were joking.

#Book Blog #Book Post #Bookish #books #New Post

[ireeeneee12369]

CHAPTER ONE: WHAT HAPPENED TO ROSIE?

1328 words without this.<--> SELF-HARM AND RAPING INCLUDED.

She felt someone was looking at her as she was walking away from her house more and more. She was leaving the familiar that she had enough and she seemed pretty happy about it. So she smiled. She did it!! She did what she thought of doing for 2 years. She was proud of herself because when you have parents that are control-freaks life doesn't exist. It's been suffocated the day you were born. And mostly, you can't do anything you want - so she's proud. Her mother was always scaring her and she was off and weird since Rosie's 13th birthday. Once her mother said on the phone: ''I'm scared she'll find out..'' and even till today any of Rosies tries didn't find out what she meant. She's 15 now and anytime she asks her mother becomes cold and/or sends her away to do something.

So yeah, that's she summary of her pretty much boring life. Well I mean, it used to be boring. Until the moment she didn't stepped into the woods. All alone.. All exposed..

Rosies ankles were tickled by the huge grass that was wet from rain. It smelled oaky and birchy but Rosie liked the smell rain would leave after falling. Since she was a child she always loved to think it's her father missing her, but no one knows that because it would be weird, right?

Moon adapted to her and shined brighter trough tree canopy allowing to see much more. In the corner of her eye there was a movement that scared the living shit out of her. Was she followed? What made her heart stop beating for a second was the possibility to be raped and dead right here. Just because she wanted to be free.

Suddenly, like a maniac she laughed. -,,Come out. Kill me. It's what I want my whole shitty life.''- she said as her words echoed everywhere.

Another misterious sound came from behind her and she frowned. Shit this wasn't a joke. Nor it was an animal..

Rosie's legs cutted off. There's no adrenaline in her that she had in the beggining. -,Who.. who's there...?''- she asked trembling along with her voice. -,,Please I-I just wanna know..''- she pleaded now ready to run to save herself.

-,,Hello.''- she heard a mumble behind herself before she blacked out. Last thing she saw and felt were big, black gloves that stank like blood. -,,And goodbye bitch.''- the guy said as he dragged her fabbily body away. He walked more into the woods, now unable to see since the moon hid behind a cloud looking scared too. He didn't have enough time do take her to the cottage and do it. He should do it now because there's a big chance she'll wake up in the next 10 minutes.

-,,Don't worry sweety. It won't hurt you. I hope so.''- he said as he carresed her cheek softly smiling.

Rosie was actually panicking. No she didn't faint. She pretended. She was awake and scared. This man is gonna hurt her. It's gonna use her and leave.

Simple tear left her eye. Damn, this life.. It's all she had.. and now she'll die just like she wished. Wished before.. Until now when she realized how worthy her life was.. And how much she loved it..

-,,Don't! Who are you and what do you want?!''- she yelled trough tears, shaking her head away rom his ugly touch.

-,,It's someone so close to you that you have forgotten. But you'll remember me now.''- he said as a loud ripping noise filled Rosie's ears and her greatest nightmares.

It was happening. She was getting raped as a revenge.. She was getting what she deserved and more..

And her life? Won't be it anymore..

-,,No, please! I'll make it up just don't do this okay? We can make it up!''- she cried out loudly screaming as her hole was being streched violently.

-,,Why didn't you think of it before? Now leave me do it. You deserve it, you unholy bitch!''- Rosie's eyes filled with tears as she yelled for help.

This guy was for sure enjoying it, but for Rosie it was a total nightmare.. She was paralyzed not having any idea how to stop it..

''I wish I didn't leave the house as my mother said..''- she thought as she inhaled. -''This is what I deserve I guess..''- she said as she blacked out again..

***

She woke up in probably 5 am. Just an hour after she was raped mercilessly. She got up trembling with her eyes swollen from crying. She got a flashback of the pain and her womanhood hurt like hell. She was pretty much unable to walk but she had to. She had to come before her mother finds out and calls the police.

Her hair was wet from tears and grass. It was full of branches and leaves and pretty dirty. Her whole body was in bruises and she guessed she was punched. ''The psycho probably took his anger out on me..''- she thought to herself as she walked into the house quietly.

She firstly went into the toilet taking the pieces of her clothes she still had to examine the buises and her womanhood. The bruises were huge, purple and they hurt a lot. She whimpered making a painful expression when she touched just touched the area of her womanhood. No she didn't masturbate. She was hurting. Not just physically, but also mentally.

-,,Why me?''- she asked as her tears rolled down her cheeks again. -,Do I really deserve it?''- she asked as she went to shower to look normal.

-,,Rosie? It's 6 AM wake up!''- she heard her mother.

-,,I-I'm awake!''- she yelled with the last amount of strenght she had.

-,,See you today sweety!''- her mother left and Rosie fell apart. Loudly sobbing she wore new clothes she found.

-,,Why me?''- she asked as she walked into a huge kitchen that had a table in the middle. On her left was a living room with a TV that was turned on. Her mother spent the night awake again. She could say that by the glass of wine on the glass-table.

-,,What did I do wrong?''- she cried again sitting on the floor and covering her eyes. God it hurt so much to cry a lot. It hurt her all.. She felt so broken. Like a part of her was taken away. Like she wasn't the same anymore..

-,,Rosie!''- her friend Amelia yelled and Rosie deeply brethed in ready to opet and cry in her eyes but something stopped her. Can she trust her? Is she just messing with her? Does she really love her? With thoughts like this she just packed her books, smiled fakely and went out acting as if everything was normal. But it wasn't and it won't be. Not anymore.

***

The coldness and the looks she felt then, she felt now too even if she was safely in her house. She still felt that angry look, she could still hear his walk.. She could still remember his growling as he ripped her clothes.. And the feeling that worsens it all: she didn't feel like one. Rather like a half of herself.. And she hated it..

She screamed in pain as she broke a glass that used to be her mom's favorite. The one her mother drink the wine.

And no. She didn't feel sorry at all. Actually she got an idea.. Very bad idea..

She still sobbed as she took the sharpest part of the glass. She'll cut. She'll do it and become one of the freaks she used to judge and make fun of. But she didn't care. She understood them at this point..

-,,They must've felt really depressed and lonely and empty and not understood by others.. Just like I do right now..''- she said as she slipped the glass into her soft, pale skin. Her tears rolled down again as she did it again and again, with the blood dripping everywhere along with her tears.. ''Who cares anymore..? I'm an unholy bitch after all..''- she thought as she sobbed. No one knows how many times she has cried till now.. Nor how many times she will cry because of this..

She heard a loud knock and she jumped as her heart dropped into feet. ''What to do now..? My mother can't find out I'm a freak!''- she panicked as she had only 2 minutes left to think..

[hamelott]

Title: “Bad Coffee, Better Company”

Fandom: The Librarians (TNT series)

Notes: Okay, I know what you’re thinking, “Really Hannah, you’re stooping so low as a coffee shop au.” Now, just hear me out. These two were made for cute, stupid coffee shop au’s, and I will forever stand by this decision. 

Ezekiel Jones hated his job. It was dull and boring and hardly anything ever happened. Of course, as a poor, college dropout that was just trying to make life work, quitting wasn’t an option. Quitting wasn’t even something he could consider in a dreamland.

And it wasn’t that working at the Annex was miserable. He was just miserable. Plus, he hadn’t even wanted to apply for the job nonetheless get it. No, that had been the direct result of Jacob Stone (roommate and reluctant childhood friend who had a list of issues almost as long as Ezekiel’s) who had been unwilling to go to his interview alone. Ezekiel had been roped into it as well and, consequently, received a job he hadn’t even been looking for.

But the pay was pretty decent. And at least he didn’t work at Starbucks with their bullshit ‘secret menus’ and Unicorn Vomit drinks. That was always Jake’s argument anyways.

The worst part about it though was that the only people who came were the same damn people every single day. They were nice and all, but Ezekiel had been hoping to branch out, maybe make some connections in New York; currently, it wasn’t working. The only people he’d made ‘connections’ with were Mr. Carsen, a professor at the nearby college and probably smarter than was really necessary to teach a bunch of bored twenty-year-olds; Ms. Cillian, a doctor that worked at a nearby hospital and relied on the coffee as a lifeline; and Eve Baird, who Ezekiel was pretty sure was a navy seal or something but had yet to convince her to reveal all her secrets.

Which, of course, was why Ezekiel was slumped against the counter now, building a stick figure out of stirring straws and tape. Jake, leant against the wall next to the coffee machines, was eyeing him disdainfully, a reprimand probably on the tip of his tongue. Ezekiel really didn’t care though; again, it wasn’t like anybody special was about to walk through the door anyway.

Which, of course, was when the gods decided to play mind games with him and sent a girl stumbling through the door. She was slightly shivering with raindrops smudging her wide-framed glasses and dripping from her hair. She had a small smile on her face that only grew when she noticed the two standing at the counter.

“Hi, hello,” she said, walking up to where Ezekiel had positioned himself next to the register. Her eyes flicked up and then traveled side-to-side quickly, reading the expansive menu that was written in colorful chalk above them.

“Uh, morning,” Ezekiel said, trying to sound smooth. Instead he was pretty sure he sounded like an idiot. Who was this girl and why was she making him so flustered so quick? He tried to smother it down because if he didn’t, Jake would have a field day teasing the crap out of him.

The girl glanced at him and grinned again before looking back up at the menu. She was chewing at her bottom lip in contemplation and only let it go to say, “Can I have a tall vanilla latte, please?”

Ezekiel glanced over his shoulder to Jake and gave him a curt nod. Jake rolled his eyes but sat up to start making the drink anyway. Ezekiel, with a winning smile, turned back to the girl and said, “That’ll be $3.25. And can I get a name for that?”

She glanced around at the empty coffee shop and frowned at him, an eyebrow raising just a little bit. “Seriously?”

Ezekiel shrugged. “It’s protocol.”

“Uh, right,” the girl said, smile quickly returning. As she fished in her little, sunflower-yellow handbag, she told him, “Cindy.”

Ezekiel nodded and grabbed a nearby sharpie marker, waiting for Jake to finish the drink. When he was done, he passed it to Ezekiel with a huff of annoyance before walking back to his spot on the wall to lean back against it again. Ezekiel quickly scribbled out Cindy’s name on the cup and handed it to her as she handed him a five-dollar bill.

“Please, keep the change,” Cindy said quickly as she grabbed the drink. She glanced down, glanced up, frowned, and glanced down again. She quickly stifled a little laugh as she stared at the cup.

“Oh no,” Ezekiel grumbled. “Did I spell your name wrong?”

“Oh, no, I mean, it’s no big deal!” Cindy said quickly. She was still grinning though and staring at the cup in wonderment. “It’s just…I’ve never seen my name spelled like that.”

Ezekiel leant over the counter to inspect just how he had spelled her name. ‘Cyndi.’ That wasn’t that weird…was it?

“Really?” Ezekiel asked, falling back on his heels. “Never?”

Cindy was laughing quietly now, shaking her head. “Nope, never.”

Ezekiel raked his hand through his hair. “Oh, uh, well…sorry?”

Cindy quickly shook her head. “Oh, it’s no problem. It’s cute.” She suddenly flushed, obviously realizing what she’d just said, and ducked her head. “Um, thank you. For the coffee! Have a nice day.”

Ezekiel watched as she quickly turned on her heel and all but fled from the coffee shop. He had a small, crooked smirk on his face and a bemused look in his eyes.

Jake snorted. “Oh, you’re gonna have it so bad, buddy.”

Ezekiel scowled and glanced over his shoulder. “Shut up, Stone. There’s no guarantee I’ll ever see her again anyways.”

~~~

Except, Ezekiel did see her again. Cindy came back the next day and the next and even the one after that. She kept coming so often that soon enough she was just as constant of a presence as Flynn the eccentric professor, Cassandra the doctor who couldn’t handle caffeine, and Eve the super-secret super-spy.

Ezekiel found himself enjoying her presence if not for the fact that she now spelled her name out loud each time she ordered her coffee, a little teasing grin always on her lips. She was cool and outgoing if a little bit awkward and weird. She snorted if you got her laughing too hard, and she’d blush at anything that sounded like an innuendo. She was a struggling botanist student, and, honestly, loved flowers more than anybody Ezekiel had ever met.

After about three weeks straight of Cindy walking into the coffee shop at precisely eight am, she was late. It was eight-thirty now, and, really, Ezekiel shouldn’t be as worried as he was. Cindy was a grown person; she could take care of herself. He was worrying for nothing; he barely knew her anyways. Maybe she’d finally found a better coffee shop than this dump; good for her!

“She’ll be here,” Jake said knowingly behind him. Ezekiel glanced at him, but it was like Jake hadn’t even spoken. He had his nose in a book that Flynn had given him on ancient Greek art; Ezekiel was pretty sure Jake had a nauseating boy-crush on Flynn and the gifts only made it ten times worse. He resolutely ignored Ezekiel, refusing to acknowledge that he’d spoken at all.

Ezekiel rolled his eyes. “I’m not worried.”

Jake snorted but was kind enough (or uninterested enough) not to say anything else.

And Ezekiel wasn’t worried. Cindy was fine. He’d barely known her. It wasn’t a big deal.

All of this was, of course, forgotten when Cindy practically raced into the coffee shop. She was panting heavily and cried, “I’m sorry! I was late! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Jake, nonplussed, began making the only drink she’d ever actually ordered as Cindy walked up to the counter, still exclaiming, “Sorry, sorry, sorry. I slept in and then I nearly broke my ankle in the shower, but I’m here!”

Ezekiel couldn’t help the wide grin on his face. “No worries. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Yeah,” Cindy said, nodding and grinning too. “Me too.”

They waited patiently as Jake made the drink. When he was done, he passed to drink directly to Cindy, gruffly stated “Glad you’re not dead” and went back to his book.

When Cindy went to rummage through her handbag for the money, Ezekiel quickly said, “Hey, it’s on the house.”

She glanced up at him, confused frown on her face, and asked, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, it’s free,” Ezekiel said, shrugging. “Take it as a gift for not breaking your ankle, yeah?”

Cindy grinned. “Yeah, oaky…okay, cool. Thanks, Ezekiel.”

She was about to turn away, and Ezekiel quickly blurted, “And maybe as, like, a gift for making it here before you have to go to class, I can…take you on a date? After my shift and after your class, of course. We could go see a movie?”

Cindy glanced back at him, and her smile was so bright that Ezekiel could’ve sworn he was staring directly into the sun. “I would love to!” Her smile suddenly dimmed, and she quickly whispered, “I have a secret to confess though…”

Ezekiel raised an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah?”

She bit her lip worriedly and murmured, “Your guys’ coffee is really, really bad.”

Ezekiel barked out a laugh. “Uh, Cindy, that’s not a secret.”

She flushed and nodded. “Okay, great. Well, I’ll swing by here after class?”

Ezekiel nodded jerkily. “Yeah, yeah, great.”

And, suddenly, she leant across the counter and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. She pulled away, face red, and stammered a quick goodbye before fleeing from the coffee shop at a fast pace. Ezekiel ignored the way his own face felt like it was on fire.

“You realize that means the only reason she kept coming back here was to see you, right?” Jake said from behind him; his tone was smug.

Ezekiel ignored him, but he couldn’t help flushing deeper and the pleased little smile that wormed its way onto his face.

#librariansshipathon #shipathon17 #cizekiel week #cizekiel #the librarians #the librarians fanfiction #ezekiel jones #cindy kroger #coffee shop au #bc i'm trash #also featuring #jake stone #bc i have a problem and can never not use him in a story #and the others are there too lmao #hannah writes

[stargleeksil-blog]

Criminal Minds s02e09 The Last Word review - or more aptly named, how dare they replace Elle like that, oh shit I fell in love with Paget Brewster from the two scenes in this episode, never mind, continue, my lovelies XD

Episode 09 – The Last Word

So last episode played on every bit of emotion I had – happy, sad, fucking crying like a baby because Derek put himself in harm’s way just to comfort a victim who could be blown to smithereens like Cooke and he was completely dependent on fucking Cassie to do her job and not fuck it up. I was in emotional shambles! I swear!

So I hope this episode would be better in that it gives me some humor fodder, but I doubt it, cuz the title is very cryptic and not helpful. And the opening shot is kids running in a park and we all know by now that if you watch Criminal Minds, something fucked up is going to happen to whoever is the first shot. Fuck.

Aww! The guy ran with a Dalmatian!

Wait. They’re playing catch with their daughter like a dog? Oh my god, they’re so cute!

Oh fuck. That girl just ran into the woods on her own. Uh oh.

Hey! That guy played that fake head of S.H.I.E.L.D!

Wait, so you’re just following this guy who popped out of nowhere into the forest? Oh my god.

Oh my god, I knew this guy was gonna be awful. Shit!

Why is he seeing his mom in her bra? Come on.

And she’s blaming him for not waking her up on time?

I’m with this kid, get a fucking alarm clock. And I’m not even mad at him for being sassy.

He gave his baby brother pizza and milk? Oh my god. That mom is awful.

Aw, she’s the worst mom ever. Not bringing him pancakes when she promised.

Oh god, she’s a hooker? Oh baby.

Oh shit! He just shot that hooker! Damn!

Okay, that’s a new face. Emily Prentiss. Cute name. She’s a daughter of an ambassador. Nice. And she went to Yale? Wow! Smarty!

Oh my god, there is something we’re not getting, Hotch.

What? She’s supposed to work with the team? What? But. They haven’t gotten over Elle yet! What are you doing???? No!!!!

Wow. He just blew her off. Wow.

Wait. Someone went over Gideon and Hotch’s heads to enlist Prentiss? Uh oh.

Yup. That was is St. Louis, someone is killing hookers and moms. Yikes.

Wait. Emily is officially on the team? Okay. Welcome, Paget Brewster. I’ve seen a lot of her on the web, so she should be ok, right?

Elbert Hubbard: “If men could only know each other, they would neither idolize nor hate.” What? That made no sense. I guess I’m tired… so in order to wake up a bit, eating schnitzel with noodles.

Aww, groggy, pensive Reid is the cutest.

I’m jealous of that cup in Derek’s hand.

One of the killers wrote a letter? Oh lord, that is sick.

Oh my god, Derek talking to children is the cutest thing ever. I swear. She’s so adorable! I can’t believe Shemar is still unmarried, but it makes me beyond happy.

Oh god. She’s dead? Fuck.

Wait, the killer is still visiting her? Oh my god.

Oh god, I am totally grossed out right now. He’s actually putting lipstick on her lips, brushing her hair, and making out with a corpse. I’m sorry, but I really am trying not to judge here, but that is so disgusting to me. I know she probably is alive, but the whole acting thing is way believable.

Wow, that old lady creeps me out.

Oh, she’s the hooker’s mom. Hey! That’s no way to treat your grandkids. Oh my god, the baby is crying, do something about him.

Wow. That lady is seriously jaded.

Great. Humanizing the victims. It’s a great season, emotionally speaking.

Wait, they only have one file about the guy who killed the hooker? But three boxes on the freak who kills women, buries them up till their necks and makes out with them? Oh boy.

I like that reporter. He’s hot.

They found the mom. Thank goodness. But seriously, oh my god.

Oh shit! That taxi driver, who is apparently the Hollow Man just killed two hookers at once! Dang! He’s a quick-shooter. Fuck.

And he put the paper that glorified the Mill Creek River, ha. He was pissed.

It’s not a guessing game, dude, JJ is as much a profiler as the other guys, come on! Trust her, jackhole.

Graphology. Interesting. It’s awesome.

So he’s oppressed in his job and feels it’s draining him and he’s underappreciated and underpaid? Shit, I could be a serial killer with that profile, Reid, I’m not really feeling it.

An attention whore. Got it. That’s the Hollow Man.

The Mill Creek River is disturbed on the inside. Got it.

Another death. Fuck. The Creek Killer. Shit.

That’s him! That’s the killer! Please let them find something on him so they don’t find more bodies. But he’s too smart for that. But seriously? Hiking with no water or food supplies? That’s seriously suspicious.

So he’s familiar with the woods? Oh god.

“Now that is an awesome place to dump a person.” “Come on, Garcia.” “What? I’m just saying, angel fish … Evil knew what he was doing.” God, I love those two.

“What? Forget … No, no. I don’t want to know that. Bye-bye.” Oh sweetie, you’re so adorable, but I agree, I wish I hadn’t known what that meant either. But I do. Gross. I actually giggled over that sentence like a little girl.

They call a sniffing dog Brownie? Aww, those tough FBI agents are softies.

Well yeah. If it’s imperative that he comes to see her, he’s gonna come see her, and if they set up a trap they can catch him.

Wait. That’s the reporter guy! What the fuck?

The Hollow Man told him? What the fuck?

A news chopper? Oh no.

Oh god. He’s gonna get her on the street? Oh god.

Hey! Leave her alone, you dick! God, you are amazing, lady! So brave! And he’s such a coward.

Fuck.

I’m pretty sure the Hollow Man is an inside man. I’m suspicious he’s inside the PD.

LOVE YOU REID!

They’re talking in the personals in codes? Oh my god. The two serial killers corresponded using Catcher in the Rye names! Fuck! And dude, no offense, but every white guy/girl knows that story. Wait what, it’s a loved book of sociopaths. And Mark David Chapman quoted it after offing John Lennon? Oh lord. Wait. They know who killed him? I thought it was a random shooting. Oh lord. I have so much to learn.

“Hey, sweetness. Make me smile and tell me you got a name.” “Oh, I got scads of them, babe, but none paid for these personal ads. They went with cash, totally old school. I hate it when they’re smart. Two separate accounts in good standing.” Apart from the psychos who are outsmarting them, I love the interchange. Someone kiss someone already!

Fuck. Why pressure Reid? Damn.

Oh god, they’re using a doppelganger to bait him. Oh my god. She’s so brave. I love her. Ew.

So the Mill Creek Killer bought it. You go, Reid. Oh my god, he’s sick as fuck. Damn.

YES! They got the fucker. You go, Derek! I love watching him cuff those assholes. Thank you, Criminal Minds writers for doing it.

Oh wait, they want to give a show now? That’s impressive. They want to show the Hollow Man they caught him. And he didn’t. Ha.

I hate that guy so much. I mean, again, the character. I liked him as Mace in Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

So he’s denying it? After they found him about to apply lipstick to the poor woman’s lips?

Oh he’s good. Gideon is trying to goad him into confessing by admitting they thought they’d never catch him and by implying automatically that they know it’s him.

And he’s just trying to seem nonchalant but he’s describing himself (the serial killer) as an artist, come on.

Oh snap! He just gave himself away! He just totally implicated that he belittles the Hollow Man’s work, he think there’s no imagination there in simply shooting the hookers. He thinks he’s the artist here. Oh god.

Seriously? He’s just giving it all away. Except for confessing. Damn.

Hey! Don’t tell Gideon to shut his mouth! He’s goading you into confessing!

Ha! He just confessed. He killed them. He doesn’t want them to know about his fetish? Oh come on. Give me a break.

So they’re just separating them and completely dismissing him as a dumbass? I love them. They’re just goading him into submitting himself. I love it.

I love this show.

Shit. That’s the killer. Damn.

What?! Oh god.

He just totally knocked that security guard to the floor. Damn.

Shit! He just walked into the police station like nobody’s business with a gun pointing at the security guard. Come on, man!

Yes! They got him! You go, Morgan! I love you so much!

Bah. That was awful.

Aww, Meyers sent them an article remembering the victims. So great.

They don’t need to mention the shooter. The victims are important. The assholes are now behind bars.

Mahatma Gandhi: “Remember that all through history there have been tyrants and murderers, and for a time, they seem invincible. But in the end, they always fall. Always.” Great, that’s very wise, Gandhi. But what about the period while they are raging terror? Huh?

Hey! What is Prentiss doing waiting in Hotch’s office? Come on.

I already love her tenacity.

Okay, I just fell in love with Emily Prentiss. I love her.

 Oaky, so let’s recap. Sickos killing people, really hate that part. Introducing Paget Brewster as Emily Prentiss, of course, fell in love with her immediately, even though it’s super hard for me to get over Elle leaving. Gideon was awesome as per usual. Lovely Derek and Penelope scenes. Though they were few. And overall? Just yuck over the entire case. It was weird, but won’t go unappreciated. See you all tomorrow <3

#criminal minds #s02e09 #the last word #aaron hotchner #thomas gibson #jason gideon #mandy patinkin #derek morgan #shemar moore #jennifer jareau #aj cook #spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #penelope garcia #kirsten vangsness #emily prentiss #paget brewster