#I can’t trust you to choose photos for my funeral

[poppy5991]

Dabi: *staring at his missing poster*

Dabi: They chose the ugliest photo of me in existence. And I can’t even yell at them for it because I’m supposed to be dead.

#family will choose the worst photo of you and go no it’s cute! #you’re blinded by your love for me #I can’t trust you to choose photos for my funeral #mha #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha memes #mha incorrect quotes #dabi #Todofam

[saints-who-never-existed]

numbers 1,3,7,8,12,24 for the choose violence ask game

1. the character everyone gets wrong

I answered this one in the previous post by, of course, waxing lyrical about dear sweet Ned.

I don't think everyone gets him wrong necessarily, just that the fandom's view of him is often quite limited and there's not always enough understanding or appreciation of his whole character arc.

3. screenshot or description of the worst take you've seen on tumblr

I’ll not point to any one instance of it but I really hate the take I’ve seen several times on here that can essentially be summed up as “Hur dur isn’t it just so hilarious and fitting that these white colonialist men got their just desserts and died gruesome terrifying deaths? Karma lol” As if – real-life or fictionalised – they don’t deserve sympathy or even the tiniest bit of kindness.

Obviously they aren’t martyrs who should be lionised and obviously colonialism is fucking horrible. No one is saying otherwise, even the show itself isn’t saying otherwise.

But they were real people at the end of the day. Real human beings with rich inner lives, with people who loved them and with a job to do. They weren’t walking up the gangplank rubbing their hands together like supervillains thinking “Fuck yeah lads, can’t wait to snatch up some land and do violence to native peoples!”

I dunno, I just find there’s a really disturbing lack of humanity and compassion in those kinds of takes.

7. what character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because how how the fandom acts about them?

There aren’t any characters that I actually hate but there are quite a few that I think are often done a disservice by the fandom (just insofar as I’ve seen, obviously everybody is somebody’s special little guy).

I was thinking about Des Voeux the other day, for example, who's an incredibly interesting character whatever way you slice it.

In real life, the dude was like 19, was one of the few who signed the Victory Point note and had the responsibility of commanding men double his age – one has to imagine that he was something pretty special in order to do all that.

In the book, he’s a solid presence from what I remember and is one of the last loyal men standing in the end.

And in the show, he’s pragmatic and ruthless right from the get-go, not to mention that he speaks quite frequently of violence, and yet is trusted specifically by command (namely Fitzjames) right up until Terror Camp. Dude definitely knew how to play the game, at least in some ways.

And yet, all I ever seem to see is him referenced as a horrible little gremlin man with a piss-kink… I’m not saying he can’t also be that but I am saying that he isn’t only that

8. common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

I have a confession to make… I’ve never had any bother telling the different characters apart…!

So yeah, my silly answer is any time people are just wildly incorrect in their white-man-in-navy-uniform identification game. Like in that BTS photo of Dundy throwing down shapes at Fitzjames’ funeral where everyone seems to think it’s Little being miserable beside him where it could not more obviously be Jopson.

12. the unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them

I am very intrigued by Dr Stanley and I think more people should be.

I know this will be unpopular, but I honestly don’t think he’s going out of his way to be a dick on purpose. I just think he’s a deeply damaged, unhappy man who began shutting himself down long before we ever even got to meet him.

And it breaks my heart, not least because there’s still a person in there!

We see just a few wee glimpses of it. I for one love the way he’s just that tiny bit impressed when Goodsir finally back-sasses him, and that’s to say nothing of his scene with Collins. I mean, it’s just about the only time we get to see him attempt a smile! I honestly don’t think Stanley’s unwilling to help in that scene, I just think he’s so far gone himself that he literally lacks the ability to.

Anyway, people shouldn’t necessarily like him but they should have more feelings about him.

24. topic that brings up the most rancid discourse

See, I don’t really have an answer for this one as I don’t think I’ve been involved in much discourse beyond my own ramblings…?

That said, the first thing I thought of was a truly outstanding post I saw a while ago but can now no longer find that involved a chart denoting which characters have milk and how likely they’d be to let you suckle at it because, lemme tell you, that post re-terraformed my brain and slapped me straight in the tits.

Not a day goes by that I don’t think of it and find myself disputing character placement and lactation capabilities…

#Ask Game

[chainofclovers]

Ted Lasso 2x10 thoughts

GOOD GOD.

“No Weddings and a Funeral” is like being hungover but also coming out of a hangover. Having a terrible cold but also feeling better and appreciating every breath that comes through your nose. Embarking on an organizational project and accidentally falling into a photo album and crying about the pictures and organizing almost nothing tangible but making a few things more clear in your brain.

So much of this episode is about the AWFUL POINTLESSNESS OF DECORUM. How loud is too loud when you’re drinking stolen wine and shrieking about sex in a church right before your father’s funeral? How should you feel--thirty years later, as an accommodating, anger-averse person--about having been too angry to attend the funeral for your father who killed himself? What expression should you make when you show up really late to a different funeral? Why must you wear uncomfortable shoes just because someone died? What happens in your mind between standing up to give a eulogy for a man you’re still angry with and choosing to Rick Roll your mom and everyone else as an act of complicated love, humiliatingly incomplete until someone else starts to sing? Should you worry about your therapist seeing your normally tidy flat in a full-on state of depression mess? Is it okay to be offended that your boyfriend is so uncomfortable about death that he can’t stop making morbid jokes? Should you care about other people caring that you’re crunching an apple in church or squealing with joy to be reunited with a friend you’ve not seen in awhile? Are you obligated to explain your behavior if your kid doesn’t understand how you could stay with someone unfaithful? How far behind the counter should you sink when your [undefined relationship person]’s mother has just let you know she can see your dick through your underwear? Is a funeral reception an okay place to find a hookup? Is a funeral reception a decent spot for a break-up? Is a funeral reception a good time for a love confession when you know the person you’re confessing to is happy with someone else? And who do you make eye contact with when you can’t look directly at the person asking you if you’re okay when there’s so, so much about you she doesn’t know yet? Even if--for this tiny little moment within a vast swath of many okay and not-okay moments--you’re honest when you tell her that you are?

I fucking adored this episode because it answers all these questions very simply: Show up. Show up for yourself. Show up for your friends. Try not to harm yourself. Try not to harm your friends.

I love that this episode is about the messiness of adulthood and the things we bring with us from childhood and that it takes place partially in Rebecca’s childhood bedroom, and in Ted’s childhood memories. Dwelling in those places (whether physically or mentally) isn’t an automatic recipe for regression, but it does get everyone closer to the things that made them who they are, to the unresolved and half-buried parts of them that still make them tick today.

Forever obsessed with every single detail about Rebecca’s childhood bedroom.

Forever obsessed with Deborah’s decision to Rick Roll herself every single morning of her life.

Forever obsessed with Rebecca’s decision to Rick Roll her father’s funeral as a way to not have to make up a single word about her father and to do something very vulnerable and kind for herself and her mother and everyone.

Forever obsessed with Ted’s decision to Rick Roll Rebecca Rick Rolling her father’s funeral.

Forever obsessed with an entire found family backing it up.

I love that it is Isaac’s leadership that ensures every single member of the team attends the service for Paul.

I am very, very interested in Jamie’s love confession to Keeley because I do think it will spark some reflection in Keeley but I do not think it’ll go the cliched love triangle route.

Each scene with Rebecca and Sam struck (for me, a human being sharing a subjective perspective on the internet) the tender-awkward-beautiful-stressful chord I was hoping it would. I think it’s wonderful that Sam is honest with Rebecca about how difficult it is to keep their relationship a secret, and I love that Rebecca has a million mostly-unarticulated reasons for why she’d much prefer the secret to continue. I like that Sassy, Keeley, and Nora respond to the revelation as friends; they might be tempering their judgments in part because they’ve all gathered to bury Rebecca’s dad, but I don’t think their reactions would’ve been that different even on a happier occasion.

While there are a million and one different reasons why a continued relationship between Rebecca and Sam could cause serious ethical problems, I really love that when people share big news on this show, the people who care about them generally react by trying to see why the person is doing what they’re doing. Doesn’t mean they shouldn’t also hold each other accountable, but in my book it’s OK that Keeley’s first reaction was to feel happy that her friend is having some fun.

Also everyone has been making weird judgment calls this season, and this episode felt like a moment of real breakthroughs in terms of people telling the truth about things that happened to them and leaving themselves open to honest responses from others.

September 13, 1991. It’s so tenderly, beautifully, overwhelmingly meaningful that there’s still so much Ted and Rebecca don’t know about the things they have in common in these parallel lives they’re leading. The scene between Sarah Niles and Jason Sudeikis is so beautifully acted, and so is the scene between Hannah Waddingham and Harriet Walter. The way they intertwine to communicate that Ted and Rebecca basically lost the ability to trust their fathers simultaneously, from an ocean away? In the hands of lesser storytellers, it would feel too perfect a mirroring, but here it feels heartbreakingly imperfect. All the things they still don’t know. All the questions they try to ask each other. All the things they don’t dare ask yet. And then the storytellers are holding a candle up to all of it and letting the audience bask in the glow of this connection even if Ted and Rebecca can’t fully understand it yet.

I am so proud that Rebecca and Deborah were able to embark on the beginnings of a conversation about the ways Deborah and Paul’s relationship might have resembled or not resembled Rebecca and Rupert’s. It feels possible that they could get to a point where Rebecca truly internalizes her mother’s pride that she broke a cycle by leaving Rupert, and could maybe even understand why her mother made the choices she made. I love that in the final scene, they’re still relying on their old mother-daughter conversational patterns—the frustrations, the snippy shorthand, the passive-aggression. Mothers and daughters!

I am also proud that Ted—albeit via a joke about Sharon charging him for the house call—indicates that he understands the value of Sharon’s work. He’s changed a lot, all in realistic ways for someone who loves learning and really does want to meet people where they are and appreciate them. I’m very moved that instead of putting himself in a real harmful situation by showing up to the funeral on time at any cost, he did what he needed to do to take care of himself and accept care from someone else. And then Sharon’s suggestion that he think about things he loved about his father? And the way he’s able to share a positive memory of Rebecca’s own father at a time when she really needed it? Gosh.

Awkward, undecorous transition from 1991 to present-day incoming...but SASSY! She’s just, like, a whirling dervish of loyal friendship and not giving a fuck and penis size discussions and being casually, delightfully cruel to Rupert, who so deserves it. Rebecca was going on a real face journey when Sassy goes off with Ted at the end, and I’m sort of *eyes emoji* about all of that, but I continue to feel like Sassy is the most imperfectly wonderful friend-from-the-past kind of person and I love everything she and Nora get to do in this episode.

Keeley saying “That baby is whack” might be my favorite line in the episode? Maybe the whole show? Not really but really.

FUCK YOU, RUPERT. Bex and Diane, y’all are fine. And I truly feel for Nate...whatever scheme he’s getting suckered into. Whatever insecurity Rupert is preying on. I want Nate to go to therapy, too.

I feel like it was an unpopular opinion at the time, but I loved Rebecca’s 2x1 revelation about vulnerability and fear of getting hurt and needing to let someone love her. Sassy doesn’t always word things in the most nuanced way, but I think there’s a real possibility that she did ask Rebecca to really consider what it means to feel either safe or unsafe with a person but to know that in either circumstance, that person could end up causing her pain. Standing in that closet with Sam, managing to make it clear that she’s not asking for a break because she knows he will hurt her but because she has to figure out how to be with a wonderful person who could cause her pain...the growth, man. Makes me emotional.

I emerged from this episode feeling, of course, stunned by all the amazing parallels and revelations and beautiful acting and Rick Rolls and just, everything. I also emerged feeling sad/raw/tender because messiness and decorum and growth and coping mechanisms and death and dramatic irony and not knowing things about people and not knowing what you don’t know...it’s a sad, raw, tender place to be.

To quote a guy who got a whole sitcom (lol) named after him, life is real hard.

#ted lasso #ted lasso s2 spoilers #meta by me #ted lasso 2x10 #a lesbian watches ted lasso #lotta feelings in here y'all #cw suicide

[pharawee]

bl/gl tag game

I was tagged by @aejeonghae​. Thank you so much! 😊

your all time favourite bl character and why.

I’m totally doing this w 5 characters as well bc I can’t ever choose (plot twist: not even 5 characters are enough, I need an alphabetised list).

Teh (ITSAY + IPYTM) // I know, not technically a BL, but he just resonated with me so much. 🥺

Ae (Love by Chance) // So actually Saint is my fave Thai actor but Ae as a character is just so amazing. He’s just so grounded and matter-of-fact about everything (until Pete leaves but we do not talk about this).

Meen (Fish upon the Sky) // Meen is naive and annoying entirely by choice and doesn’t want anyone to change him. I love that about him because I too am naive and annoying.

Pharawee (Gen Y) //  Okay listen, hear me out. Technically Gen Y is, uhm, not a very good show and Pha as a whole is not a very good character. BUT THE POTENTIAL. The power this character wielded through all of season 1 without being shown on screen until the very end. And the way they could have used all of this for some seriously good storytelling if they hadn’t completely thrown him under the bus. Starhunter, you owe me a show w Big Thanakorn as the main protagonist. I’m waiting.

Toh (SCOY) // The way Toh started out thinking he could never ever measure up to Nuea and so he resorted to collecting things and photos because that’s the only way he could be somewhat close to him... yeah, the way he went about this is not okay in rl but this is a show that’s deliberately way over the top. Anyway, Toh deserves everything and the way Seng portrays him is 👌😩

what’s your one character from a bl you wanted to punt into the stratosphere (you only get one so choose wisely).

Aey from Lovely Writer but only because he needs a timeout and I love him very much.

the best music moment from a bl

I’m not really into Cutie Pie but when Kuea sang that cover of Tilly Birds’ Just Being Friendly? Those synths, that voice...

Also, Bbomb in Nitiman singing พร้อมเคียง (there was a link here but tumblr didn’t like that so: “youtu.be/Nr7EpXqs1i8″) for Jin up on stage. Still one of my fave songs (but you all know that by now bc I never shut up about it). 

what’s a popular heterosexual text that you would like to see adapted into a bl/gl?

Uh idk, nothing comes to mind except for tropes and genres? Like, a psychological thriller would be nice. Or horror.

a scene from a bl that always makes you laugh?

Kit & Mark’s first meeting (Gen Y).

The trust fall gone wrong with Sean and Black (Not Me).

Mix & Match’s reaction to Ryu’s cooking (My Mate Match). Coincidentally, they used the same trope with Mon + friends in Our Days and it was just as hilarious.

Porsche. Just Porsche (Kinnporsche).

biggest disappointment?

That one time Starhunter not only straight up killed off my fave char, no, they had to do it in the most ridiculous way possible w him potentially dying of rejection and his parents leaving the room BEFORE he breathed his last and then not showing up for his very strange funeral in a one-person-graveyard with the most ridiculous fake gravestone ever.

Thanks, Starhunter.

But also, the way The Tuxedo is such a weirdly-paced mess. Green and Chap deserve better than this and I was so looking forward to seeing them as mains in a show together. 😔

what two random bl/gl characters would make hilarious exes?

Okay listen, I want Nuea (SCOY) and Nubsib (Lovely Writer) in a room together. Not because they’re ridiculously good-looking but lmao the super possessive energy these two emit might destroy us all.

who would be the funniest person to watch a bl in its entirety and which one would you make them watch.

I have made @cytharat​ watch the Gen Y recap with me. I don’t want to brag but that’s how much she loves me lmao. I have also made her watch TonhonChonlatee (and Fish Upon the Sky). A lot of inside jokes were born that day.

best wardrobe moment/or character wardrobe from a bl.

Khai in Theory of Love & Oh-Aew in IPYTM have an amazing sense of fashion. They might have inspired some purchases. 🤡

Daisy in SCOY. No, seriously, has someone sourced Daisy’s wardrobe? I need to acquire all of it.

P much everyone in Don’t Say No has impeccable taste imo but Fiat’s red suit really stood out for me. Apparently in reality it’s not exactly that shade of warm red which was somewhat disappointing.

Also, not a BL character but Mile Phakphum (and Bas Suradej, too?) is really selling those flared 70s trousers. I wasn’t ready for them to make a comeback but he singlehandedly convinced me otherwise.

Also also, for the record, I really liked Tong’s hair in Gen Y 2. Fight me!

tagging: @cytharat​ @snimeat​ @heureum​ @icouldhyperfixatehim​ @absolutebl​​ and anyone else who wants to do this. 😊

#jane watches stuff #memes #this is so long i'm sorry lmao #do i even watch anything but thai bls at this point? #i should change my tumblr bio lol #and yes i really like fashion #i'm somewhat of a fashion victim myself 🥴 #ugh yeah great apparently offsite links and tumblr mentions don't mix well so uhm welcome to this old post lol

[ghostbustermelanieking]

i'd like to hear some headcanons for your "georgie can see dead people" au! :0

oh thank you so much!! this is probably going to be a little messy, since i haven't actually started the fic, but!! here is something!! :) (also i am so sorry for all the sixth sense references. the actual fic will undoubtedly be worse.)

1. So the basic premise of this AU is that the end result of Georgie's encounter with the End is that, instead of losing her ability to feel fear, she gains the ability to see the dead. Everything goes the same otherwise: the protest, Alex, the dead woman, Georgie waking up days later at home, the months of strangeness and unfeeling. The difference is that when Georgie wakes up, she can see the dead woman, too. Never too close—only in corners, behind doors, in the window. And never always, but only in the moments that feel crucial. The moments where she's searching for something of herself. Her mother hugs her and she sees the dead woman over her mother's shoulder. 

Georgie sees Alex, too, sometimes. Closer and more head on; she is always looking back. But she never speaks, and neither does the dead woman from the room. It isn't until she begins to see other ghosts that she realizes they can talk, if they want to. If they choose. 

(Six months later is when Georgie figures out how to lock the dead woman out. She stops seeing Alex shortly after, except on occasion. Sometimes she'll see a flash of those familiar eyes in the mirror, over her shoulder, and they always seem to be apologetic. But Alex still never says anything. Georgie gets good at pretending that this doesn't hurt nearly as much as losing her.)

2. Jon is the first one that Georgie almost tells. Almost. They're honest with each other in a way that Georgie usually isn't, when they first meet, and she almost thinks he'd believe her. They talk about ghost stories all the time. 

She mostly thinks about it when she sees Jon's ghosts. It isn't often but she sees them. He'll talk about what little he remembers of his parents, or pull out some old, faded pictures, and she'll see the faces reflected in the kitchen, the bathroom mirror, Jon's bedroom. He never talks about the apparition of a strange teenager that appears, once, when they both wake up sweaty from frantic nightmares and he refuses to explain, and Georgie doesn't press. He doesn't tell her about Mr. Spider and she doesn't tell him about the ghosts. Much as they love each other, they do still have secrets. 

Georgie goes to his grandmother's funeral years later, even though they're barely talking at this point, and almost tells him then. Seeing him stand mostly alone at the grave, looking monumentally alone, and then a flicker of his grandmother behind him—she almost does. But still she doesn't. She's never told anyone before, and she and Jon aren't really in touch, so she just hugs him and tells him she's so sorry, and doesn't meet the eyes of the woman watching behind the fresh grave. 

3. Melanie is another person Georgie almost tells. They still meet through their connections—Ghost Hunt UK, What the Ghost, and Georgie's power is (probably unsurprisingly) very useful for the paranormal podcast business. (All her episodes aren't pulled from real life, from her own experiences—that would be irresponsible, and there's more clout in retelling familiar stories. But sometimes when Georgie runs out of episode ideas, she'll visit a spooky place, write down what she sees, do a deep dive on the history, and fill in the gaps by attributing her sightings to "unnamed" witnesses.) She's met a lot of people in the ghost hunting business, but Melanie stands out, because they hit it off so immediately. Start hanging out outside of work drinks, at parties or pubs or research stints. Melanie starts inviting Georgie to consult on the show, or to collaborate, and Georgie uses what she sees to point Melanie and her team towards real sightings. Why not? Might as well have the horrible power be useful for something. Haley Joel Osment solved his problem by helping people, and this isn't the same at all (and that's a movie, anyways), but it is something. 

So she and Melanie become fast friends, faster than Georgie is used to, and Georgie genuinely thinks about telling her. She trusts her, and she doesn't think Melanie would laugh, or call her a liar. (Melanie's got stories about not being believed, too; it's common in the paranormal business.) She thinks Melanie might be the right person, maybe. Just maybe. 

(She doesn't end up doing it. She's still a coward when it comes to that. But it isn't because she isn't tempted.)

(The idea to tell Melanie comes before she starts seeing Melanie's father. But that fact doesn't help her decision, either. In quiet moments with Melanie, Georgie starts seeing the man in Melanie's framed photos in the shadows, looking at Melanie with sad eyes, calling her little moth. But Melanie can still barely talk about her dad, and the accident, and it feels even more wrong after he starts showing up, to tell her. Georgie worries Melanie might think she's making fun, or making something up to make her feel better, and she doesn't see this going well.

Instead she says, sometimes, I know your dad loved you a lot. Melanie says, Yeah, I know, too. Georgie says, And I bet he misses you, even though it isn't a bet; she knows. But she can't tell Melanie, and that's as far as it can go.) 

4. The most significant time Georgie wants to tell Melanie, but doesn't, is the one she'll end up regretting the most in the end. When Melanie gets out of the hospital, first, and then when she comes back from India; when Georgie is basically the only friend Melanie has left from her old life, and therefore is probably the person Melanie goes to the most. The person Melanie confides in. 

So Georgie is there to see it all. She'll be sitting across from Melanie in a pub, or beside her on the couch; she'll brush Melanie's hand with hers, or their knees will knock together, and Georgie will see flashes of blood, violence. Hear screaming. She'll see haunted faces out of the corner of her eyes: soldiers, doctors. Muzzles of guns. Once, a stained hand gripping Melanie around the leg. 

She'll regret it, later, but Georgie doesn't say anything; she doesn't know what to say. She's never seen anything like this, even with over a decade of seeing ghosts. How is she supposed to explain it? She doesn't really know what it means. Melanie talks about war ghosts, and Georgie listens, and she rationalizes that Melanie will have to be okay. (She was okay, when it was her, and if—if this is something serious, something worse, than… then Georgie will be there. Melanie will have someone who understands.) 

5. One night in February of 2018, Jon shows up back in Georgie's life, looking shell-shocked on her doorstep. He stands in the hall looking mildly terrified, when Georgie opens the door, and behind him stands a dead woman, looking desperate and furious all at once. 

"Georgie," Jon says weakly. "I-I know it's been a while, but…" 

"Jon! Christ, what happened to you? Are you all right?" Georgie says, trying to take in Jon and the dead woman all at once. (She is new—Jon must have had someone else close to him die.) She focuses on Jon, puts a hand on his shoulder. "Are you hurt?"

"I… I'm fine." Jon's hands twist in front of him. "I… didn't know where else to go."

Georgie swallows hard and says, "Are you in trouble?" The dead woman is looking right at her. Georgie keeps looking at Jon. 

"I… yes." Jon chews on his lower lip. "If… I know it's a lot to ask, b-but I… could I… possibly stay here for a little while?"

Georgie swallows hard. She has a dozen questions—what's happened, why he needs somewhere to stay, why he looks like this—he looks like he's been through emotional turmoil, through hell—and worse, why a dead woman has followed him here. But she doesn't know how to ask these questions. And she can't just turn him away. Jon helped her heal during one of the worst periods of her life, even if he doesn't know it. And she can do the same. 

"Yeah," Georgie says, and leans forward to pull Jon into a hug—tentative at first, and then stronger, when Jon latches on like he needs it. "Y-yeah, Jon, of course."

Jon rambles out a frantic thank you, layered in with apologies and copious promises to pay rent, but it becomes harder to listen. Right over Jon's shoulder, the dead woman is staring right at her, her mouth hanging open. She's got long hair and glasses, and she looks exhausted, and it isn't immediately obvious how she has died, which is unusual. And she's looking right at Georgie. She says, suddenly, "Can you—can you see me?"

It isn't the first time a ghost has spoken to her, but it's a rare enough occasion to be shocking. Her throat is thick with surprise, and she can't say anything in front of Jon, so she just sort of imperceptibly nods. Holds the dead woman's gaze for a moment. 

"Fuck," says the dead woman. "Thank—thank god, thank Christ, I…" She pauses and looks at Jon, then back at Georgie, still numbly hugging Jon there in the hall. "My name is Sasha," she says, and Georgie thinks of the scene in The Sixth Sense where the sick little girl under the blanket asks for help. "Can you… can you help me?"

(send me an au and i'll give you 5+ headcanons)

#*pushes my Sasha and Georgie becomes friends agenda* yeah.... (so this is like the concrete plot points from this au lol. i havent decided #on an ending) #wtgfs #tma fic #sorta #tma au #jon & georgie #i wrote this #georgie barker sees dead people

[teacupfulofstarshine]

sunshine on my sunday best

summary: janus and remus get ready for a party, featuring fancy clothes and soft gays. (OR: my entry for dukeceit week 2021 day 4, free day)

a/n: i got seized by the inspiration bug, so i churned out some sappy gays for day 4 (free day) of @dukeceitweek

CW: brief, nonspecific mentions of funerals and corpses in a professional context (remus is a mortician), swearing

wordcount: ~1.3k

read it on ao3!!

“Darling, are you nearly done in there?” Janus calls, opening a polished wooden box and examining the gloves laid out within it. He plucks out a pair of golden-yellow gloves that he reserves for the most special of occasions and lays them on his vanity. “Remus?” Remus clatters around in the bathroom, doors locked, and Janus sighs. “May I take that as a yes?” 

“I’m trying not to stab my eye out with my mascara!” 

“A simple yes would have sufficed,” Janus says, rolling his eyes. He steps to the door of their bedroom, pulls it open, and calls down the hallway to their children.

“Are you two getting dressed for your cousin’s graduation party?”

“Yes, Papa!” they respond. Janus steps back into his room, opening his jewelry box, and tilts his head, considering. He selects a pair of golden cufflinks with “JS” engraved on them, a brooch shaped like a coiled golden snake with gleaming emerald eyes, and a golden tie pin. 

“Are you dressing up fancy?” 

“Of course I am! It’s not every day that our nephew graduates with a master’s degree at twenty-two. I assume you’ll be wearing something fancier than a crop-top hoodie and booty shorts?” 

“But I like the booty shorts!” Remus whines. 

“I put on good makeup for this,” Janus says. “I broke out the lace gloves for this. It is a nice dinner at a nice place.” 

“Chill out, Jan, I promise I dress up nice. Besides, I think Roman would kill me if I didn’t look nice for his son’s fancy party, and that’s not the way I plan to go.” 

Janus glances over to the framed photo on his vanity. It shows a younger Remus, only one white streak in his hair instead of his current salt-and-pepper gray, wearing a deep green wedding gown accented with silvery ocean patterns. Janus stands opposite him, in a gleaming golden tuxedo decorated with snake scale patterns and a motif of coiled snakes on the back. They are holding hands and staring into each other’s eyes, framed by an arch of golden-orange sunset roses. Janus smiles, drags one finger along the shining frame, and adjusts his wedding ring. 

“I know, my love. And you know that despite my . . . fondness for fancy dress, I will love you no matter what you choose to wear?” 

“I know, Jannie. It’s one of the things I love about you.”

“Only one?” 

“Oh, trust me. There’s far more, but if I get started on that I’ll wax poetic for days and we will almost certainly miss the dinner, and I think that’ll upset you.” 

“You know me so well, my love. You’re so sweet to me, and only me.”

“Only you!” Remus laughs. Janus hums, pinning his brooch to his lapel and clipping his tie. He looks in the mirror, admiring his face - glittering eye makeup, eyeliner sharp enough to cut a bitch, highlighter like diamonds, and a full, blood-red lip. For a finishing touch, he picks up a diamond lip gloss and swipes it across his lips. 

The bathroom door opens, and Janus turns to Remus to examine his outfit and promptly freezes. Remus has silvery eyeliner with curled eyelashes, no eye makeup to cover the laugh lines around the corners of his eyes that Janus adores so much. His face is contoured, bringing out his cheekbones, and he’s wearing pale green lipstick that matches his green gloves and four-inch green heels and emerald necklace. He wears a long, sleek black dress that hugs him in all the right ways, and Janus cannot stop staring.

“Janus?” Remus says, reaching over to set a hand on Janus’s shoulder. “Babe, you’ve been staring at me for like, five minutes. Is everything okay?” Janus blinks, clearing his eyes, and his husband’s concerned face comes back into focus. 

“Yes,” he says softly. “Yes, I - I’m sorry, my love. I lost track of my thought when I was looking into your eyes.” Remus flushes slightly, leaning down to press his forehead to Janus’s. 

“You can’t keep flustering me like that, Jan, not when I don’t have the time to throw you upon the bed and ravish you properly.” Janus lets out a very undignified giggle (one that he will absolutely deny if Remus tries to call him out about it later) as Remus sweeps him off his feet and spins him around. 

“Remus, please!” Janus gasps. “I’ll mess up my makeup! And you’ll mess up yours! And we have to leave, soon!”  

“Fine,” Remus pouts, setting Janus down and using the advantage his heels give him to lean down and press a little kiss to Janus’s hair. Janus shivers happily, leaning in to gently press his nose to Remus’s neck, before leaning back. 

“Fix your lipstick, dearest,” Janus says, primly smoothing Remus’s dress. “I’ll go check on the boys.” Remus grins, adjusting Janus’s tie clip before sending him off into the hall.

Janus sweeps down the hallway and knocks on the bedroom door, admiring the pale blue and dark purple origami butterflies adorning it. “May I open the door to check on you?”

“Yes,” Virgil calls. Janus opens the door and sees one of his children standing in front of the floor-length mirror. Xe’re adjusting xir purple and black suit, playing with the iridescent bow tie and frowning at xir sleeve. “Do I look alright, Papa?” 

“You look wonderful, dear,” Janus says. “Let me fix the cuff of your jacket, hmmm? It looks like you’re having trouble.” 

“Yes please,” Virgil exhales. Janus steps forward and fixes the cuff in one swift motion. He carefully readjusts the crescent-shaped silver hair ornament keeping Virgil’s bangs pinned out of xir eyes and makes sure that xir makeup isn’t smudged. “Thank you, Papa.”

“Of course. Is your brother nearly ready?” 

“I’ll meet you downstairs!” Patton calls from the attached bathroom. “Go on ahead without me, I’m just putting on the finishing touches. Won’t be more than a minute or two, I promise!”

“Very well, Patton. The car will be here shortly.” Janus heads for the long, spiralling staircase that leads to their foyer, with Virgil close behind him. Remus is waiting for them, draped in an elegant green lace shawl that Janus and Virgil wove for his birthday last year. Janus walks over to him and takes his arm, smiling at his husband. Virgil gags at them sarcastically as xe approaches, and Janus takes a minute to gaze over his family’s outfits, huffing out a laugh.

“What’s so funny, Jan?” Remus asks. 

“We certainly make an . . . interesting bunch all together, don’t we?” Janus says

“We look like we’re going to a funeral,” Virgil says, rolling xir eyes. 

“Oooh, I hope it’s open-casket! I want to roast the other morticians who don’t know how to to apply makeup to a corpse correctly. They never ever do it right, I’m the only one who does, and it pisses me off!” 

Remus continues to infodump about proper mortuary preparations for nearly four minutes. Janus glances at the grandfather clock near the staircase. “We should be leaving now . . . where is Patton?” 

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” 

Patton hurries down the stairs, and Janus gazes at his oldest child. He’s wearing a sky-blue dress with a pleated a-line skirt, patterned with cherry blossoms along the hem, and a pale pink cardigan sides around his shoulders. His purse is shaped like a pink kitty head, matching his pink tights and sky-blue kitten heels, and the clip in his hair is three crystal cherry blossoms. If it weren’t for his dark hair and abnormally silver-grey eyes, he wouldn’t look anything like the rest of his family. 

“The golden retriever arrives,” Remus says fondly, reaching over to ruffle Patton’s hair. Patton laughs, sliding his phone into his purse. “That makes all of us, then. Ready to go?” Virgil and Patton nod, and Janus snaps his fingers twice. 

“I’ll summon the driver.” 

#starshinewrites #dukeceit week 2021 #dukeceit #remus sanders #janus sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #nonbinary virgil sanders

[colesmemes]

▸  KILLING EVE  SENTENCES

             assorted  quotes  &  prompts  from  iconic  tv  show  ; mature  content  and  language  may  be  used,  feel  free  to  adjust  as  necessary.

❝  i am going to find the thing you care about most, and i am going to kill it.  ❞

❝  you should never tell a psychopath that they are a psychopath, it upsets them.  ❞

❝  it’s amazing how efficient things are when you’re a dick to people.  ❞

❝  you should really ask before you touch a person.  ❞

❝  it’s going to be hard to trust me again, but i will prove myself to you. i promise.  ❞

❝  i’m going to kill you nicely, but then i’m going to make a mess of your body afterwards so it looks worse than it is.  ❞

❝  letting yourself into my apartment and drinking from a tiny cup doesn’t make you intimidating, by the way. it’s just rude.  ❞

❝  i just can’t bring myself to book a good hotel. i rather like the grubby ones.  ❞

❝  i think about you all the time.  ❞

❝  i think about what you’re wearing and what you’re doing and who you’re doing it with. i think about what friends you have.  ❞

❝  i think about your eyes and your mouth and what you feel when you kill somebody.  ❞

❝  i masturbate about you a lot.  ❞

❝  can we get one thing clear before we go on with this ? is that a sweater attached to a shirt ? is two separate pieces ? how does it work ?   ❞ 

❝  she’s outsmarting the smartest of us, and for that, she deserves to do or kill whoever the hell she wants.   ❞

❝  if she’s not killing me, then frankly, it’s not my job to care anymore.  ❞

❝  it is disappointing that the mole is the one who looks most like a rodent.  ❞  

❝  are you running or are you crying ?   ❞ 

❝  no matter what i do, i just feel nothing.  ❞

❝  sometimes when you love someone, you do crazy things. ❞

❝  i have lost two jobs, a husband, and a best friend because of you. ❞

❝  but you got some really nice clothes out of it, so. ❞

❝  god, you’re an asshole.  ❞

❝  you’re getting off on sniffing out a psycho.  ❞

❝  i’m spontaneously violent.  ❞

❝  i mean, they all die in the end anyway.  ❞

❝  i don’t want to hear what your version of the right reason is.  ❞

❝  we’re not after blood, we’re after information.  ❞

❝  it was always the ones i liked the last that i loved the most.  ❞

❝  how much of the day do you spend thinking about her ? ❞  

❝  i bet your kids are ugly. ❞

❝  why do rich people talk like children ?  ❞

❝  smell ya later.  ❞

❝  don’t speak to me like that. i like you, but not that much.  ❞

❝  don’t forget, the only thing that makes you interesting is me.  ❞

❝  i just want to have dinner with you !  ❞ 

❝  you’ll feel better soon, i’ll look after you.  ❞

❝  for my funeral, make sure they choose a flattering photo.  ❞

❝  you want me to be a mess, you want me to be scared, but i’m like you now.  ❞

❝  i’m not afraid of anything.  ❞

❝  you look like someone stuck a mustache on some fudge.  ❞

❝  i just want someone to play with.  ❞

❝  i thought you were special.  ❞

❝  i hope you like missionary !  ❞

❝  you should let yourself go once in awhile. i can help you.  ❞

❝  i feel things when i’m with you.  ❞

❝  you’re not family.  ❞

❝  it’s okay if you feel weird. you just killed someone for the first time.  ❞

❝  we have to stop running into each other like that. it’s not good for us.  ❞

❝  when i try and think of my future, i just see your face over and over again.  ❞

❝  i guess we both killed them. isn’t that romantic ?  ❞

❝  i’ve killed so many people.  ❞

#rp sentence meme #rp sentence starters #sentence memes #rp prompts #rph

[wolfhowlingdragonflyingsirensong]

spoilers

Since I recently played Life is Strange, which whoah, is totally an experience that I recommend to everyone, I’ve come to appreciate how well the game handles choices. It’s interesting how choices can seem meaningless good acts, like helping Alyssa avoid being hit, translates to her trusting Max enough for Max to save her. But, the game also points out how we can’t control consequences, since good deeds are done with nothing but good intentions can have fatal consequences, such as warning Victoria (and her believing you) leads to her murder, or the biggest good deed of them all, saving Chloe, leads to a storm that (can) kill lots of people. And ultimately, what’s cool is that every choice is canon, since Max it’s not a blank slate, meaning every choice the player makes is something Max considered. What do I mean with Max not being a blank slate? I mean regardless of your choices, Max likes waffles AND bacon and eggs. This is a minor example, but it serves for many things. Max can comfort Victoria or not, and later when they talk at the party regardless of your choice, Max at first is pretty angry, so she’s completely capable of standing up for herself and others. Max loves Chloe regardless of the player's feelings towards her. Max can be pretty uncaring or a literal angel, by Kate. And all of this is canon because even nice people contemplate not being nice all the time, even if it’s only a thought. This brings me to the ships topics. First of all, I’m glad that this game has non-ambiguous, non-sexualized, soft wlw romance (actually two counting BTS!) without the canon protagonist being turned evil or something, and I think that’s incredibly important. If the game had only Chloe as a love interest, I would totally get it and have no problem,  because the game is pretty much focused on their bond. Not that it matters to those who do, I personally don't ship it because I self-project (and I totally recognize it) on friendships I had in my youth that were a bit like Chloe and Max's friendship in the first episodes, and they were toxic. Don't get me wrong, I loved my friends and they were (are) good people. I like Chloe a lot, and there's no denying that there are strong feelings on Max's part for Chloe that are romantic, and it's up to the player to determine if Max is going to pursue Chloe. Denying it means that is both not reading Max's diary and erasing her sexuality. I write this because I don't want to seem like I don't ship them because I like Grahamfield, it's not that, I could very well be into both, and I think Chloe develops so much at the end of episode 5 that, while before I thought she was only in love with Rachel, at that point is totally understandable for me. If you ship Pricefield then that's awesome! You have all the canon content to back you up and a beautiful story of love with the childhood friends-to-lovers trope, can't get much better. Plus, the whole game is about their bond. It's incredibly well developed at the end mostly when you see Chloe growing out of her initial angry phase, and maturing in a beautiful way. So, shipping Grahamfield in this fandom sometimes feels like hey, you are a giant dick. I don't like hate on any ship or character (especially dunking on Chloe, because she's a representation of how trauma is not nice while actually being cool and kind, as well as being one of the few wlw canon protagonists), because both choices are completely canon, it's entirely up to the player. Again, if Chloe was the only canon love interest then that would be totally cool. Buuuut Max can choose to go on a date with Warren, write on his slate that he is cute, raise his grade (which can be done as a friendship thing only), help him in his experiment, kiss him, and if she does, she writes in his diary "I wanted one kiss from a boy I cared about", that to me, reads as having a canon interest in him too. And since Max is bisexual from what I understand, erasing that part doesn't sit well with me. Both Chloe and Warren have flaws, which hey is what happens with characters. Can you imagine having perfect characters? That would be so boring. He is a realistic 16-year-old boy to Max's 18 and Chloe's 19 years. He is extremely awkward, dorky, a little cringy, a boy with a harmless boy with a crush and that's normal at that age. He's helpful almost to a fault, and while some argue that's because he feels entitled, let me tell you, no niceGuy I've ever met has been so helpful if you don't give in, they don't back out after someone lets them down nicely, and he states his interest in Max clearly, and niceGuys don't tend to do that because they like to pine away and be angry that a girl didn't read his mind and magically fell in love with him. He believes Max from the get-go and helps her all the time, regardless of his feelings, which is like, basic decency, so if you want to call him a piece of shit I think that's going a little too far. If you want to take the words of others, Kate says he's a smart and silly cutie-pie with a good heart, suggests they take him with them to their tea-shop tour of Portland after everything and supports their date (besides them being friends, he brings her homework and is shown worried about her). I don't remember that part well, but I think Alyssa and Dana also support Grahamfield (and Brooke is very jealous!) so I think if he was an asshole they wouldn't be so supportive and Brooke wouldn't be into him, or Stella in another reality. My only point is that hey if you don't like him that's fine, but to call him a pervert or entitled or assholery is kinda uncalled for, to be honest, and using the nightmare sequence, in which EVERYONE is out of character (except Jeffershit) and shown being assholes, as a canon that he is bad seems to me like going out of your way. It's a nightmare for a reason, do you really think Kate would have said those things to Max if you save her? She's incredibly grateful. Or do you think Chloe would have done those things??? She would NEVER. Then why is Warren being treated as someone who would do those things for a nightmare? I don't get it. There are two myths regarding him: that he spies on Max and that he photoshopped a photo with them. First one, you can verify with mods that he can't see SHIT, he is merely waiting for her outside. Second, the photo is developed, not photoshopped, Max doesn't say hey we never took that photo, she merely is surprised he kept it. Now, he's a bit pushy when it comes to the drive-in (he acknowledges he's a pain in the booty), says like a stupid joke (a 16-year-old making stupid jokes, what a crime), and has that photo, which for some is crossing boundaries, and hey, that's fine. I, personally, just think a 16-year-old having a photo with his friend and crush is not creepy or bad. So, now that I'm over the ship discourse, which I hate but had to write to explain, I'm so glad this game brought so many interesting characters. My only complaint is that it felt a little too short when it came to other characters, I guess it's because the literal theme of the game is about abandoning youth and growing up as well, so that's because it's very focused on Chloe and Max's relationship, besides the romance. I adore Kate! I’m so happy we were able to save her, it was seriously one of the best moments I’ve ever seen in a game, I would have liked to see her future children’s book with Max’s photos, their tea sessions, and her coming back to school. I would love to have seen more of Stella, (a POC I think) that according to her words, faced an abusive home and poverty to end up studying in a prestigious school like Blackwell, busting her ass to work and yet being super cool and kind! I would have loved to see more of Daniel, how he faced bullying, how his home life is, his budding romance with Brooke, his future drawings. I would have loved to see more of Dana! How she dealt with abortion, a heavy topic, and yet she's super happy, nice, and in a loving relationship apparently. I would have liked to see more of Juliet's reporting skills, I feel like she could have been more important to the plot, or at least more exposés on bullying and the Prescotts. I would have loved to see more of Alyssa, what she likes, her relationships, etc. I would have loved to see more of Taylor! How her mom was doing, what steps was she going to take in not falling with the Vortex Club bullshit, her love for fashion, like Courtney. We didn't get to know Courtney at all I feel and I would have liked to! I would have liked to see more of Victoria, her insecurities, her relationship with her parents, her inner thoughts (she's totally bi too I bet), even her friendship with Nathan seemed deeper. I would have liked to see more of cool hipster Evan, or good skater boy Luke. In short, I would have LOVED to have them all hanging more with Max. The ending, oh man, what an ending. It's incredibly hard, and I hate that saving Arcadia Bay seems to go into "bury your gays" trope, because if there was a way to save them both I would. The writing is very powerful, ending the way it began. This leads me to my initial topic, choices. I love that the game gives us choices, and considering there are other alternative realities, maybe both choices are canon in different universes. If I was in Chloe's shoes I couldn't choose to sacrifice my mom, and Joyce dies if Chloe is saved, as well as many other innocents, so I can't choose that ending, I just can't (and I understand that's totally personal for everyone). A really tough choice, at least for me, and hey, if it wasn't specified that practically everyone died, I would have saved Chloe no questions asked. I do love, however, how Chloe matures so much in the course of 5 days and her bond with Max. She sacrifices for Arcadia Bay, and a lot of it is because of Max, because she doesn't want her to make that choice. So now if you excuse me, I'm still playing the funeral scene in my mind and the bathroom scene (totally broken) and had to write this as cathartic, so feel free to disagree with me or whatever you prefer, each one of us experiences a different game because of our different experiences in life. Next step: BTS and LIS2 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x9uy4V8SvPk

#Life is Strange #Max Caulfield #Chloe Price #Warren Graham #Kate Marsh #Stella Hill #Daniel DaCosta #Dana Ward #Juliet Watson #Evan Harris #Luke Parker #Taylor Christensen #Victoria Chase

[hermits-that-craft]

Love Run, The Song You Know's Begun.

"Though some would harm you, none - not one - no none Would raise to you a hand nor thumb Not while by you I stand and hum" - The Amazing Devil, Love Run Reprise --- The afterlife. Choices. Broken Promises.

Cross posted on ao3. Link in reblog

He wakes up in a meadow, surrounded by lilies, marigolds, poppies and white carnations. He blinks slowly, looking up at the sky. It’s synthetic. Perfectly painted. The sky is a beautiful baby blue, and he can see the paint strokes in the clouds.

He isn’t angry though. He can’t find it in himself to be angry. He hardly remembers who he is.

Where he is.

He stands, running his hand through his hair. He’s wearing a long sleeved white shirt, with a red collar and arms. His pants are beige, pockets filled with rocks and faded photos. His heart yearns, but he doesn’t move, the flowers growing through his feet and anchoring him to the meadow. Blood pools at his feet, runs in front of his eyes. His skin is littered black and blue.

But he isn’t in pain.

He can’t move.

“You have a choice” The universe whispers to him, gently in the breeze. “You can go back, or you can move forward. You were ripped from that world too soon.”

It’s regret, what's on her voice. At least, thats what he thinks it is.

“Why can’t I remember anything?” He asks her. “What’s my name? Why am I bleeding?”

“You have a choice,” The universe reiterates. “You can go back, or you can move forward. I cannot tell you about your past. I will not tell you of your future. This choice is entirely yours.”

“How will I know?”

“You will feel it. You will feel the pull towards one option or another.”

“What if,” He pauses, uncertain. “What if I don’t want to choose?”

“Then you will be split between both. Half will move forward. Half will go back.” The universe seems to want to say something, as though she believes that she is leaving something out that is important.

“Can I stay here?” His voice is small, uncertain. “I don’t want to be hurt again. I don’t want to be an adult anymore.”

A woman appears in the meadow. Her dark, shoulder length hair flows gently in the breeze, golden cloak swaying with the grass. She wears a black, sleeveless top and black cargo pants, alongside leather boots. She turns to him, and her eyes look like the stars. She isn’t Clara - the emptiness of the void does not exist here - but he knows her.

He’s seen her in the photos on someone’s walls. Heard about her in another’s tales. Felt her in a person’s embrace.

She is the universe.

She is Kristen.

She walks to him silently, tears welling in her eyes as she pulls him into a hug. It’s warm, the warmth he craved from before, but not dangerously so. He isn’t cold anymore. She holds him as he breaks. He doesn’t know his name, he doesn’t know what he left behind. He doesn’t know where he is or what he is. But he knows her.

“I can’t keep you here.” She whispers to him. “My boy, my son, how I wish I could. Someone awaits you on both sides. You should go to one of them.”

“But what about you?”

“I will join you when the last member of our family joins you.”

“Mum-”

“You have to decide, now.” She pulls away from him, and wipes the tears from his eyes. “Where will you go?”

“I can’t. Both?” He watches her with sad eyes. “Will I remember both?”

“When half of you decides to move forward, then you will remember what the half that moved back will remember.”

“Then both.” He says, and Kristen - the universe - smiles at him. She is kind.

“Go back to sleep. When you wake up, all will be well.”

----

Ghostinnit wakes in his dirt house, floating just off of the bed. He sits, confused. What does he remember?

“TO REVOKE THE CITIZENSHIP-” “Let’s be the bad guys, Tommy.” “I don’t give a FUCK about spirit.” “Let’s blow that motherfucker to smithereens” “Sorry doesn’t cut it. “The only universal language is violence.” “Down with the revolution boys, it was never meant to be.” “I wanna see WHITE FLAGS!” “We’re fucked, we were fucked the minute we were thrown out.” “He would drop us at the SECOND he realised we’re not in the lead anymore.” “Do you know what happens to traitors, Tubbo?” “L’Manburg can be independent, but L’Manburg can’t be FREE.” “The most logical thing to do. For Tommy to be… Exiled. From L’Manburg.”

Oh.

So that’s what he remembers.

Ghostinnit doesn’t know who he can trust. He remembers dying, painful, slow and full of fear, but he doesn’t remember much from between doomsday and death. Perhaps he was happy? Or at least, not scared? He shouldn’t trust anyone, just in case.

Ghostinnit floats out of his house, ‘walking’ towards Eret’s castle. As much as Tommy wants to hate the king for betraying L’Manburg, Tommy remembers seeing Eret fight alongside him during doomsday. Go head to head with Dream and Techno and Philza. The admin and Tommy’s family. Eret fought to help him. So Tommy should be able to at least forgive the king, or steal from him.

He’ll make up his mind on the way there.

Ghostinnit floats, not paying much attention to his surroundings, until he stops. He’s not sure what made him stop, but he looks at the flower garden that grows around Eret’s base. Wild poppies grow on the lawn, and Tommy sits down, picking them. He doesn’t know what possess him to make the flower crown, but it doesn’t feel right until he stops.

A flower crown made of poppies.

A crown of blood.

Tommy holds the flower crown gently, taking great care not to bend it wrong. He floats into the grand castle, wandering until he hears a shout.

“He’s gone, Tubbo!” It’s Jack, his mind happily supplies. He has a few bad memories of the man, he recognises the shout, but he doesn’t have any recent memories of him, so he surely could trust Jack! “He’s gone and the server is thriving!”

“How could you be so heartless!” Tubbo screams, and Ghostinnit floats over to the doorway. Niki and Jack stand to one side, idly watching as Eret holds Tubbo back. Ghostinnit’s friend (ex-friend? They did have a falling out) is struggling against Eret’s grip, screaming and thrashing. Phil and Techno are there, both glaring at Jack and Niki. Tommy doesn’t understand it.

A casket lies on a pedestal, the L’Manburg flag draped over it. A soldier's burial, for Wilbur perhaps. Tommy knows that getting his body from the prison would be a hassall. One that those who hate him wouldn’t go through, even if those people were his father and brother. Sam and a sheep woman stand guard over it, though their eyes are clouded with pain. Quackity and Sapnap weap, Karl holding onto them protectively. Perhaps not Wilbur’s funeral then, he doesn’t remember Wilbur being close to either of the two, though he might have become close in the happy memories.

“What's wrong?” Ghostinnit asks quietly, floating into the room. The crowd looks at him, and Ghostinnit wants to curl up in the air. There are too many people looking at him, they’re angry, they’re going to kill him-

“Tommy?” The sheep woman’s voice breaks, and somewhere in his mind he digs up a name. Puffy. “Oh Void-”

“You’re Puffy, right?” His voice is small. “I don’t have any memories of you, so you must have been a good memory.”

“What?” Eret chokes out. “I thought-”

“I only have bad memories. I guess the universe wanted me to make better memories.” Ghostinnit shrugs, though he can’t quite make the panic subside. He wishes everyone would just look away-

“You look like shit.” Jack says, glaring at him.

“Well, I was beaten to death by my abuser.” Ghostinnit shoots back, though he floats back from the man. Something is off about him. He doesn’t seem quite right. “And I’m sorry for not exactly having enough time to look at myself. I wanted to come see Eret. Who’s funeral is this?”

“It’s yours.” Sam says, bowing his head. “I’m sorry, Tommy. I’m so sorry-”

“You didn’t kill me.” Ghostinnit says. “You did what you had to do.”

“We’ll bring you back.” Tubbo says, his eyes full of promises he can’t keep. “I don’t care what we have to do. What deals we have to make.”

“Don’t.” Ghostinnit shakes his head. “The revive book isn’t real. I don’t want to come back. I’m only here because I’m waiting.”

“For what?” Techno asks, and Quackity glares at Ghostinnit’s older brother, who ignores Tubbo’s wails. “What are you waiting for?”

“Whoever Kristen says she’s waiting for.” Ghostinnit shrugs. “Then I’ll go back to the meadow.”

And with that, Ghostinnit turns to leave. He’ll talk to Eret after the ceremony. After his funeral. After all, he doesn’t want to watch as his father and brother’s faces fall with the memory of his mother. He doesn’t want to listen to Tubbo and Puffy’s wails. He just wants to let Eret know that he was forgiven. He places the flower crown on a table underneath a mirror, somehow having made his way into one of Eret’s bathrooms.

He sees his reflection in the mirror, and stares at it in shock. The black eye that he was given as he was beaten to death is no more, instead replaced with a bouquet of forget-me-nots. In fact, all of his bruises are the small, blue flowers. The blood that fell from the side of his mouth and his nose is gone, replaced by a poppy. He wears a red sweater, not unlike Ghostbur’s yellow one, or Glatt’s blue one, and his skin is grey.

His eyes are blue though, not whited out like he imagined. Pure blue, no glowing white or void like black. A bright, sky blue.

He smiles, and poppy petals fall from his lips.

---

Tommy hops off the train that left the meadow, a bag over his back. He’s wearing his normal clothes, and the injuries he once sustained are gone. He feels solid, but also not solid. Scared, but not. He remembers everything, and somehow nothing.

He doesn’t know which stop to hop off at, so he doesn’t. He watches as others hop off at different stops, ghosts going to worlds. Perhaps to be reborn, perhaps to meet the afterlife. Maybe even to become a member of someone’s chat.

The train stops, and he’s the only one on his carriage. The end of the line.

Tommy gets off, worry in his gut. What if he doesn’t see Wilbur here? What if Wilbur hopped off at another stop. What if Wilbur doesn’t want to see him?

What if he does see Wilbur?

Tommy looks around the station, hugging himself as he tries to find a familiar face. Maybe Schlatt will be there, maybe not. He’d take anyone , at this point.

He’s the only person who hops off at this station.

“Tommy?” It’s Wilbur’s voice that pulls him out of his frantic searching. “You’re not supposed to be here, the void wasn’t preparing for you. Why are you here?”

Tommy turns, and sees his brother. Still in his Pogtopia coat, but cleaner. Warmer. Tears pool in Tommy’s eyes, and he runs to his brother, getting pulled into a hug. He’s with Wilbur again. He’s nearly home .

“Who hurt you, Toms?” Wilbur sounds choked up, upset. “Why are you here?”

“Dream.” Tommy says quietly. “He beat me to death.”

“I’ll kill him.” Wilbur swears, and Tommy laughs wetly.

“Don’t. I promised that I’d see you soon.” Tommy pulls out of Wilbur’s hug, reaching for his hand. “Let’s go home, I’m tired of being an adult. Let’s be a family again.”

“I’m not supposed to see you for another fifty years.” Wilbur accepts the hand Tommy offers him, smiling sorrowfully. “But I’m glad you hopped off the train here.”

“I wouldn’t have hopped off anywhere else. Too much pull to here.”

They both walk out of the station, hand in hand. Tommy sees the outline of Schlatt and Mexican Dream in the distance, and he knows that his family will come through, sooner or later. He’ll see them around, but for now he’ll spend time with his older brother and his friends.

He has an eternity to spend with everyone else, when they arrive.

#tommyinnit #dream smp fanfiction #dream smp #wilbur soot #angst #sbi fanfic #dsmp fanfic

[staygold-ponyboycurtis]

The Funeral

The Curtis parents’ funeral, from Darry’s perspective. Enjoy :)

- 

Frozen. That’s the word. That’s how I’ve felt for the past eight days, five hours, and fourteen minutes. 

In some ways, I don’t think my brain can access the place where it keeps sadness and grief. Growing up like I did, you just don’t let your mind go there. You have to be brave. No crying. No weakness. I have to be strong for my brothers. I can’t let them know I’m suffering and want to fall apart every second of every day since this nightmare began. I have to let them know we’ll be okay. Even if I don’t quite believe it myself.

We got the phone call less than forty-eight hours after we learned mom and dad were gone. As if things couldn’t get harder for us. An apathetic voice on the other end explained to me that they’d be sending over a representative from the state of Oklahoma to assess our familial situation now that there were two minors living parentless in the home. We had less than a week to gather our bearings, then our fate would be decided by an asshole who knew nothing about us.

Before I could even process that my mom and dad were gone, I had the weight of the world dropped on my shoulders. A bitter realization that life as we knew it was about to change forever. Sodapop and Ponyboy couldn’t even mention the subject without anxiety burning through my body. 

It seemed they had a million questions that I couldn’t answer. What would happen to them? What would I do to handle the situation? Could the courts really take them out of our home? They knew there was a chance that they’d be sent off to a boys’ home for orphaned kids and we’d never see each other again. I told them that was impossible. That there was no way in Hell I’d let that happen. I couldn’t lose my entire family in the span of a few weeks. I just didn’t know how I could stop it. 

“They can’t just take us, can they, Darry?” Sodapop had asked. “Don’t we have any say?”

“I have no idea,” I said. “They’re going to do what they think is best for you two.”

“Bullshit. They don’t know what’s best for us.”

But today isn’t about that. Like everything else, I’ve trained my brain to ignore the pressing issues before us. Store them in a place where the truth can’t hurt me too badly. Today is about saying goodbye to mom and dad. 

I stare at the two dark oak caskets sitting at the front of the altar. They’re closed. The harm caused by the accident was unfathomable. I had to identify their bodies at the city morgue. It was a task that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. When I saw the damage that was inflicted to my poor parents, I got sick all over the linoleum floors. That was the first and last time I’ve broken into tears this week. 

I forbade my brothers from seeing our parents in their final state. They begged, but I couldn’t let their last memories of our mom and dad be such a gruesome sight. One that has haunted me every second of every single day since. I want Sodapop and Ponyboy’s memories of our parents to be warm, loving, and happy. Something to mend the heartbreak.

At the funeral home, my brothers asked if they could leave a few things with our parents before burying them. Ponyboy wrote two long letters, both a few pages long. He mulled over what to write for hours, sitting at the desk in his room crumpling up papers and getting frustrated with himself when he couldn’t get his thoughts out. He folded them up tightly and handed them to a man named John, who was in charge of everything. He give him strict instructions on who to give each letter to, seeming resistant to trust a stranger with what I imagined were intimate, emotional messages to our mom and dad. Sodapop handed over a photo of the three of us on Christmas last year, arms slung over each other’s shoulders and smiling, giddy with holiday spirit. He wanted mom to have it. It was her favorite picture. 

I’m torn out of my daydream when Sodapop starts walking to the front of the church. The turnout is small, with just a few of my parents’ friends peppered throughout the pews. We’ve never had a big family, which is all too apparent at a time like this. Mom was an only child, and dad only had a younger brother who died in the Korean War over a decade ago. All we had was each other. Two-Bit, Johnny, and Steve sit together a few rows behind the three of us. Dallas sits by himself in the last row in the corner of the small church, his head down low. I nod at him when I catch his eye, letting him know how grateful my mother would be knowing that he came to say his final goodbyes. 

I see Sodapop’s hands shaking as he situates himself in front of the podium. Neither mom nor dad had any funeral plans designated for us to follow, so we had to choose how to honor them. Two whole lifetimes summed up a few hours. Mom was always religious and enjoyed going to church, so I decided that she would want a formal service. Sodapop insisted that he wanted to speak. I decided I would, too. Ponyboy said that he wouldn’t be able to. He didn’t think he’d be strong enough. Though I told him that mom and dad would have liked him to share a few words in their honor, he implored me to not bring it up again.

“I don’t even know what I’d say, Dar,” Ponyboy had said quietly. “And I don’t think I could get through it without blubbering like a baby.”

I knew that Ponyboy, like me, would grieve our parents silently. These past few days, he hadn’t mentioned them at all. I saw him lose it when he saw dad’s old flannel draped over the couch the other day and again when he opened the fridge a few days ago and found a chocolate cake that mom had baked the day she died. I acted like I hadn’t noticed him rush into his room and close the door quickly, but pressed my ear to the door to make sure he was alright. I could hear him crying heavily in his room, trying to catch his breath in between sobs. But I knew that this was natural and necessary, and that I’d be less than comforting if I barged in on him. 

“Hi, everyone,” Soda says in a small, defeated voice that is so unlike his usually charismatic demeanor. His voice quivers and I can see his eyes well up with tears before he’s even begun. I want to run up there and pull him into a tight hug, but I know that he needs to do this. He wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his dress shirt. “I’m sorry, I swore up and down that I wouldn’t cry.” 

He looks at me and Pony for reassurance and continues, pausing to gain composure. 

“My mom and dad were the best parents a kid could have. There’s nothing that my ma wouldn’t do for anyone. She always said that being our mom was her favorite thing to be. Well, being her son was my favorite thing to be. Mom and I were one and the same. It was like we had the same exact personality. We were the goofballs… the crazy ones in the crowd. She loved a good time and loved music, just like me. 

She was funny, but not in the way most moms are. She could joke with the best of us, even our friends. And she always knew how to make you feel like you were the most important person in the world. Because when you were with her, you were. She knew how to make everyone feel special and cared about. Gosh, am I going to miss that about her… She was the best. There will never be another person like my ma."

I look over at Ponyboy, whose eyes are inquisitive and burning holes in the side of my head as we listen to Soda speak. His face is swollen from crying so much, the tip of his nose red. He gives me a look that says, Why aren’t you upset? Don’t you care? But I’m petrified. Frozen. There’s that word again. My face is stoic but my heart is cracking with pain and each memory Soda recalls is deepening the weak spots. I want to be a pillar of strength for my brothers. I don’t want to fall apart in front of them.

"When I think of my dad, I think of someone who wanted the best for us. The day of the accident, he was celebrating a promotion at work, which he worked hard to get. But he loved to goof off like mom, too. He loved to play football in the front yard with all of us. Nobody could hike a football like him, no matter that he was twice our age. And he loved sweets, like me. I would always sneak into the kitchen at midnight to grab a piece of whatever mom had baked that day, and dad would have already beaten me there. And, usually, had a plate out for me already. I used to love talking with him in the middle of the night, just dad and me. 

Nobody worked harder than dad, either. He worked his whole life to make sure we never wanted for anything. He never wanted us to go without. I know now that that’s what makes a good man. I wish he could’ve lived to see it all pay off. And I wish I had gotten the chance to tell him that. I don’t know how we’re going to survive without them. I love them both. So much. And I hope they rest in peace. Thank you.”

He wipes his eyes again and makes his way back to our pew. When he sits, I squeeze his shoulder and wrap my arm around him. I feel his body tremble with tears and rub his back until he calms down. 

The priest ushers me to come up and speak, and I hesitantly stand, adjusting my suit jacket. Making my way up to the podium, I look out to the forlorn faces in the crowd. I look at Sodapop and Ponyboy, whose faces are contorted with sadness. I swallow the dry lump in my throat.

“Thank you all for coming,” I say bleakly. “My mother and father would appreciate you all being here to support us and remember them today.” 

I reach into my pocket and pull out a worn piece of paper that I’ve been hanging onto the past few days. I’ve been scribbling notes here and there about what I wanted to speak about. No matter what I would write, it never seemed sufficient to describe the enormity of what my parents meant to the three of us. I didn’t know where to begin. 

“As you all know, we lost my parents over a week ago unexpectedly. There was no time for my brothers and I to say goodbye or tell them how much we loved them. We never got the chance to thank them for everything they’ve ever done for us or tell them how hard it would be to live the rest of our lives without them…” I trail off, feeling the sadness creep in. 

I want to keep it formal. Just say the typical things everyone says when someone dies and get back to my seat as soon as possible. But I want Ponyboy and Sodapop to know that I’m hurting, too. And I want to honor my parents the best I can. So I continue.

“My mom always used to say to us, ‘If we always have each other, we having nothing to lose’… I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately,” I say. “Because now we’re separated. We’ve lost the two people we love most in the world. And I don’t really know how we’re going to go on. But then I’m reminded of so many things about our mom and dad and what they taught us. How to love each other and to stick together, no matter what. How to make a lot out of a little and to be grateful for what you do have rather than focus on what you don’t. And even if they’re gone now, I believe they’re looking down on us, right by our side like they’ve always been. So, really, we’re still all together. It just may look a little different now.” I look at my brothers again, who have small smiles on their faces.

“My mom was the nicest woman you would ever meet. She loved anybody who walked through our front door, no exceptions. She’s the reason why we have friends who became family,” I say, nodding to the gang in the pews. “And dad was the perfect example of a role model. He raised us to be strong, humble, and hard-working. He pushed us hard but loved us well. I’ll miss them both incredibly. We all will.”

I look at the two caskets below me and acknowledge that my parents are in them. A few feet away from me, but it feels like thousands of miles. I’m overcome with grief and I can’t stand it. I almost lose my composure when I feel the tears fill my eyes.

“That’s all I have...” I say. “Thank you all for coming.” I rush off the stage as the tears start coming. Ponyboy and Sodapop stand up from the pew and rush over to me as I make my way back to the pew, joining together for a hug. They push their faces into my chest and I put my face on the top of their heads, letting the tears fall. 

I wish more than anything that we weren’t here right now. That life had some other plan for us. But, then, I don’t want to be anywhere else.

Everyone shuffles out of their pews and out of the church at the announcement of the priest, congregating by the front door. I don’t know how long we stand there hugging, weeping quietly on each other. 

We pull away and look at each other, then chuckle a bit at how distraught we all look. 

“I love you guys,” I say to them, sniffling. “We’ll be okay.... we’ll be okay.”

-

I love you all and your support of my writing lifts me up so much, you couldn’t even imagine. Thank you for enjoying my writing the way you do 🥺

#the outsiders #my writing #ponyboy curtis #sodapop curtis #darry curtis #curtis brothers #ponyboy #sodapop #ponyboy sodapop #steve randle #two bit mathews #two bit matthews #dallas winston #dally winston #the outsiders headcanons #the outsiders imagines

[moonstruckbucky]

Royal Holiday (1/6)

Summary: Bucky Barnes is bored - trust him, he knows how that sounds. But being royalty, in his humble opinion, isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Time to mix it up a bit.

Pairing: Prince!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader, modern AU

Warnings: None

Notes: Here it is, my submission for @heamarvel​‘s Hallmark Event! Hope you all enjoy! Feedback is appreciated. x

Series Masterlist / Main Masterlist

If it’s one thing Bucky hates, it’s diplomacy. Ironic, considering he’s currently neck-deep in a manifesto his father had dropped into his lap a week ago. Ironic still, considering he’s a bloody prince. Not a prince who prances around in jewels or silks, but a prince nonetheless - a prince with responsibilities and a duty to his country when the throne eventually comes to him.

It’s a mantra he’s heard his entire life, and it’s a mantra he’d really love to stop hearing before he takes a screwdriver to his eardrums.

He knows it’s unfair, knows he’s got it better than most, and he respects that - kind of. While he wants for nothing, he feels trapped, imprisoned by duty, regality, and nobility. Bowing under the weight of his future, the eventuality that he’ll be a king. He’ll need to command and rule and say goodbye to his freedom - however much of it he has.

He’s already damn tired of it.

And that’s why his unofficial-official bodyguard Sam finds him open-mouthed and snoring behind his desk in his office. The older man isn’t surprised by it really. Having been with the Royal Family for close to ten years now, he knows Bucky’s mannerisms, habits, quirks, and annoyances better than most, and while he wishes Bucky would grow up a little, he isn’t quite so strict as his Queen Mother over his behavior.

Sam purses his lips, rolls his eyes a bit, before he creeps to the desk. Reaches for the massive manifesto that sits open in front of Bucky, snaps it closed, the dark-skinned man’s gaze flits between the two for a few moments.

A little humming under his breath, he lifts the binder over his head above the desk, lets it drop with a loud slam that wakes Bucky with a jolt and a girlish yelp. He flies backwards and his weight shifting tips the chair. Trinkets and knick-knacks rattle as he and the chair hit the floor. Sam waits patiently, tipping a snowglobe on the shelf beside him, while Bucky splutters and curses him out.

“The hell was that for, Wilson?” he grouses, rubbing the back of his head where it hit the floor.

“Your mother is requesting you,” Sam responds with a pointed look, setting the snowglobe down.

Bucky feels himself scowl before he can stop it. He loves his mother, he does, but he knows what she’s going to speak to him about - it’s the same thing she always wants to talk to him about.

“Do I have to?” He knows he sounds like a petulant child, he knows, but if he’s honest, he’d rather play Baby Shark on repeat for the rest of his life than listen to his mother prattle on and on about how it’s time for him to find a wife. A suitable one, one of noble birth. One who’s proper and polite and graceful.

Bucky wants something different.

He admits he hasn’t thought much about marrying (clearly) or even falling in love, but as he gets older, grows closer to becoming a king and taking on more responsibility, the prospect of finding someone to share that with occasionally crosses his mind. He has no doubt his mother would find someone who’ll make him happy, but the idea of having his bride chosen for him, the risk of being trapped in a forced marriage, doesn’t sit well with him at all.

Sam gives him an exasperated look. Nodding sagely, he sighs and straightens his shirt, slightly wrinkled thanks to Sam. Following the older man out, he prepares himself for the conversation he’s heard a thousand times before.

She’s relentless, he decides, and he finally figures out where his stubbornness came from. She’s organizing a gala in his honor, a presentation of him as an eligible bachelor, and she’s taken the liberty of inviting every eligible heiress, princess, and everyone in between in a massive effort to get him to connect with someone.

She’s frustrated with him when he voices as much, voice growing higher with her irritation. “James Buchanan, it is your responsibility to marry. You’re nearly thirty, and you’ve yet to choose a wife! You’re not getting any younger and should you choose not to marry, your reign will be forfeited!”

Ah yes, the little wrench in the system. A decision made by the country’s parliament as a failsafe in case Bucky clutched his bachelor lifestyle to the vest. Clearly they hadn’t had much fail in him to marry and rule successfully, and a small part of him wants to shove their faces in it.

But only if it’s on his terms.

“Sounds like a dream to me,” he mutters back, just loud enough for his mother to hear him. She screeches, kind of like a hawk - or a banshee - and Bucky feels a little bad. But only a little. Gesticulating wildly, he exclaims, “What? Would it really be so bad if we just gave the crown to parliament? I’m sure Pierce would be happy to take it. After all, can’t have a thirty-year-old playboy bachelor ruling alone, can we? Bad for his family’s image, isn’t it?”

She opens her mouth to retort, offense written clearly on her face, but Bucky sweeps from the office before she can utter another word. Sam is waiting for him outside the door, and he straightens, tries to act like he hadn’t been eavesdropping on the loud exchange.

“Let’s go Sam,” Bucky orders, “I need to get out of here for a while.”

Sam doesn’t hesitate - he calls for a car and fetches Bucky’s winter coat. “Yes, sir.”

You resist the urge to slam the phone down into the cradle, opting instead to gently place it back where it belongs. But you do give it the middle finger as you scribble out the order you’d gotten halfway through before the customer decided she didn’t want to spend fifty dollars plus delivery on a floral arrangement.

Tossing the paper in the trash, you walk around the counter to straighten out the displays of vases, each holding stems of various flowers. Casting a glance out the window, you sigh at the people who walk right by your shop, despite the inviting fairy lights, the floral displays and boxwood trees in the windows, and soft Christmas music playing from the speaker system.

It’s a month until Christmas, and your orders are down - again. You’re not sure why, but there’s been a steady decline in sales for the past six months. Dejectedly, you chalk it up to people losing interest in sending flowers to people, with the exception of funeral arrangements if only because people die every day. In New York, it’s unheard of that people can’t afford flowers - most can. They just don’t send them. The classic gesture is being swept under the rug in favor of material things - new electronics, vacations, jewelry.

It saddens your heart to think it, but it’s true, and if sales don’t pick up, you’ll be forced to sell the building you left everything behind to buy. Tail tucked between your legs, you’ll plant yourself behind a desk for the next foreseeable future, working overtime to pay off the expenses from the flower shop.

Misty-eyed, you sniffle and clean the stamens from the stems of stargazer lilies. A little unusual to carry them this time of year, but they’d been a special request from someone who’d never showed to pick them up. Usually it’s easy to lose yourself in the pretty colors and scents of flowers, but now, you can’t even be bothered to make new arrangements for fear they’ll go to waste - then it’s more money down the drain.

Instead, you clean the shop from top to bottom, rearrange the displays, open the door despite the chilling air and display a boxwood tree - handmade - out in front. A couple slow in front of the shop, eyeing the boxwood tree. The woman smiles, pointing happily to it, remarks about bringing it for Christmas dinner.

To your joy, the husband agrees and they step inside to order one with red and gold decorations. It’s a steep sale - $100 plus tax - but it’s not quite enough to cover your rent for the month just yet. A few more boxwood tree sales and you’ll be covered. Surprisingly, you catch the woman taking a photo of the boxwood tree outside as the husband places the order.

“I’m going to send this to Sue! I’m sure she’ll love one for her house!”

You smile gratefully, hoping like hell this Sue woman indeed places the order with you. The couple waves pleasantly, offering their names - Jack and Michaela - and then they take their leave. A few more people trickle in, place orders for both Christmas and for Thanksgiving centerpieces, and you take a couple of phone calls - one to actually order, one for general information. It turns into a fairly successful afternoon, and as you get ready to close, you feel a little hope blooming in your chest.

Hope that you might not lose your dream.

Outside on the busy streets, Bucky is blown away. He’d insisted on getting far, far away from the royal house despite Sam’s initial reluctance. Bucky was a prince, a known prince, and both paparazzi and people could be unpredictable. Not to mention, he’s sure there would be people willing to hurt Bucky, ransom him or something to make money off his family - okay, Sam knows that particular scenario might be a stretch, but it’s what he’d been trained for.

Bucky’s like a kid in a candy store, weaving in and out of the crowd, ducking into this store and that, experiencing regular city life like he never got to. It had always been schedules and propriety and rigidness that he’s relishing a bit in the freedom to just be. He buys Sam a new winter coat, one that blends in a bit better with the public, and he settles on a peacoat, scarf, and paperboy hat for himself. He feels...normal, and on the street, no one recognizes him.

As he strolls down the sidewalk in the fading light, he catches a glimpse of fairy lights across the street. A woman stands outside the door, beige coat and burgundy hat in place. When Bucky crosses the street, he realizes she’s staring at the building, which he now notes is a florist shop. There’s a longing in her gaze, a shininess that suggests she might be on the verge of tears.

There’s a pull deep inside him, compelling him towards her. It’s like she’s pulled him into her orbit, and Bucky doesn’t think he’s ever had this kind of reaction to a woman before. He doesn’t even know her and yet he desperately wants to, needs to know her. He’s entranced by the look on her face, an expression of sheer yearning paired with sadness trapped within it. He wants to kiss it away, and his reaction should startle him.

But it doesn’t. It only forces that tug to pull harder, and he takes a few steps forward. Before Bucky can approach her, he’s swept up in a crowd and loses sight of her. When he steps out of the throng, he searches for the woman, but she’s gone.

Chapter Two

#bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky x reader #prince!bucky barnes #prince!bucky x you #prince!bucky x reader #modern royalty au #heamarvel hallmark event

[justfandomwritings]

Urban Legends (Part Two - Chris Beck)

Pairing: Chris Beck x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: none really apply yet. it’s a sad chapter, but it’s not graphic, I don’t think it will make anyone cry, and there’s no depictions of depression.

Summary: (Y/n) Watney was something of an urban legend at NASA. Commander of the Ares I mission, (Y/n) was the first human to set foot on another planet. She heard names like Neil Armstrong and smirked. She was on her way to being the most famous astronaut in history, and she was determined to bring her brother along for the ride. She recommended Mark to Vincent Kapoor. She helped him get on the Ares III mission to Mars.

Her brother was stuck on Mars because of her, and she was determined to bring him home. 

After all, if he was the first human to die on another planet that would thoroughly steal her thunder; and she couldn’t have that.

Notes: Chris not in this chapter, but coming up soon. This follows the timeline of the movie

Previously On... Part One

Intriguingly, most urban legends about aliens do not feature NASA.

People don’t really care that much about whether aliens are roaming around the rest of the universe or even their own galaxy. Perhaps selfishly, humans are only really interested in other intelligent species when the story features Earth.

When they hear rumors of a suspicious aircraft flying around the canyon. When someone claims to have seen a crash site out in the fields. When the town drunk says a flying saucer took him away in the night. When the government is a little too secretive about what’s going on behind the closed doors of a military installation.

That’s when people pay attention. When they think their picture perfect, cookie cutter lives might be affected. Whether that affect is better or worse, or simply more interesting.

To be fair, often times people only pay attention to the claims in passing. Rarely if ever, do people actually deem an alien abduction story credible. Even videos of suspicious lights circling overhead are usually written off as photoshop. Still, they take the time to listen, and that’s more thought than the average man or woman ever really gives to the rest of space. 

When people hear about suspicious UFOs, whether obviously fiction, easily explainable, or somewhat plausible, people immediately direct their eye to the Air Force. 

NASA is way up there in the great unknown, so when a flying object is inside the Earth’s atmosphere, when people can see it with their own eyes, they turn to the military for answers and explanations. Even if the explanation they’re hoping for is “Yep, Martians are real,” they’ll still question the nearest MAJCOM of the USAF during his next press conference before they ask the Director of NASA. 

Even when there wasn’t a story to cover, even when it was just curiosity, no one in their right mind ever asked the Director of NASA if aliens were real. For fear, obviously, of sounding like a complete and utter idiot.

Unless, that person was (Y/n) Watney. 

“Please, for the love of God, tell me you’re saying aliens.” (Y/n) whispered under her breath. 

“I wish we were,” Vincent sighed.

(Y/n) knew what they were really saying. It just wasn't something she wanted to hear, wasn't something she was willing to consider.

(Y/n) had been to Mars. She knew there was no such thing as Martians, or at least, she was pretty sure. At this point, she would be willing to consider anything, and it seemed there were only two possibilities. 1) Little green men burrowing out of holes no one had previously noticed in the surface of the red planet and parading around the camp, or 2) The Worst.

The alternative to aliens was such a crushing prospect that her mind simply refused to accept it. Even though it was the only plausible explanation.

“This,” the nameless Sat Com lifted her control and scrolled back through to the first image, “is the state in which Commander Lewis’s report confirms she left the camp. This picture is from just before the storm that caused the evacuation.”

The woman’s thumb rolled over the arrow to pull up the next in the sequence. “This is the most recent photo we have of the Ares III sight.”

It was plain as day. The solar panels had been cleaned. Mars’s harsh winds could have easily accomplished that. But the rover. The monstrous white blob on the surface of the planet had visibly shifted several hundred feet from one side of the HAB to the other, and no wind could move that. 

“So you’re telling me…” (Y/n) trailed off. She couldn’t speak the thought into existence. If she spoke it, she couldn’t take it back.

Teddy Sanders reached over the high back of the conference room chair to rest a hand on (Y/n)’s tensed shoulders. “We have to release the photos within the next sixteen hours. We’ll be releasing a confirmatory statement with them. It will be all over the news, but we thought you would want to know first. That you would want to...” Teddy found himself cut off. 

“How long have you known?” (Y/n)’s voice was low, almost dangerous as it spat out the words with a venom. 

“Mindy was the one to find it on the 3 A.M. shift.”

So the unfortunate Sat Com had a name. (Y/n) wondered, somewhere so far in the depths of her mind in a part of her brain that still hadn’t registered what was going on, if Mindy had actually been the one to piece this together or if she’d just drawn the short straw in telling the higher ups.

“She called in an emergency alert to the three of us the moment she noticed the discrepancy between the logs and the images. Since then, we’ve been prepping for the public outcry. You were the first person we brought in.” For a PR person, Annie Montrose truly failed at choosing her words.

“That ‘discrepancy’,” (Y/n) spat, “is my brother.” Shoving away from the table, there was a grunt as her chair ran over the foot of Director Sanders hovering behind her. “And you left him on Mars.” 

(Y/n) was fuming as she stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her so hard she heard a picture, on the wall inside, shatter as it hit the ground.

(Y/n)’s fury lasted about as long as it took her to walk to the end of the hall. It was as if the picture had held all her rage, and the moment she heard it fall her anger went with it.

Mitch Henderson found her, thirty minutes later, on his way to receive the news himself. Being late to the meeting had seemed less important than helping the poor woman down the hall and into a proper seat. 

Mitch held (Y/n)’s shaking frame to his chest and let her cough out incoherent phrases until she finally managed to mumble enough for him to piece things together. 

“Mark.” Hiccup.

“Not.” Sobbing.

“Suit broke.” More sobbing.

“Rover.” Breathless gasp.

“Moved.” 

“Oh,” Mitch caught on. “Oh good God no.”

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

“Sweetpea,” Her mother’s voice sounded weepy on the other end of the phone, but that was to be expected. 

“Ma,” (Y/n)’s voice broke as she spoke into the receiver.

There was a shuffle and some sniffling. Her father cut in. “(Y/n), I thought you said you were coming to stay for a while. I thought NASA gave you time off to be here.” Her parents’ desperate plea wasn’t lost on (Y/n). Their son was never coming home; they at least wanted their daughter back. 

Her parents had always thought if one of them wasn’t going to come back it was going to be (Y/n). It wasn’t just that she went first. It was how much she loved the work. 

She was consumed by it. Consumed by space so whole-heartedly that her parents wouldn’t have been surprised if she opened the hatch and let the blackness swallow her whole, simply to be the first human to touch the nothingness.

(Y/n) took extensive notes, updated daily diaries, sent emails constantly, detailing every aspect of her time in space. Everything was an adventure to her. Even the tedious task of putting on her suit was a marvel that filled her with utter glee. Her parents were in the loop on all that was happening, and she explained the goings on every step of the way.

By the time the more relaxed Mark launched, Mars seemed a bit old hat. They were proud of him, of course. He was leaps and bounds ahead of the rest of his field. He was boasted and bragged about to anyone who would listen. But he had a freedom and trust (Y/n) never had.

Mark didn’t need to explain space flight because (Y/n) had already given them a thorough summary. Life, analyses, reports, training, (Y/n) had done it all before. They knew Mark to tell them if anything changed, and they were comforted by the fact that he would remain level-headed about the experience. Certainly, he wouldn’t squeal when he stepped on the surface of his second planet. 

Their parents knew what to expect, knew what he was doing, and because nothing happened to (Y/n), they were sure he would be okay. 

How wrong they were. When (Y/n) landed at the airport in a small private plane chartered by NASA, they knew something was up. When she collapsed into her father’s arms and sobbed, they figured it was big. And when Mark’s name had finally choked out of her lips, they put the pieces together. 

This would be worse. (Y/n) was sure of it. 

They were still grieving. They’d had a funeral, figuratively buried their son. They were waiting for her to join them in their sorrow and healing. And now she was going to have to tell them she wasn’t coming. And she was going to have to tell them why.

She would be the one to tell her parents that their pain wasn’t over, that it would be prolonged for several slow, torturous months. That their son’s death wasn’t going to be swift. 

“Pops, I can’t come home.” (Y/n) croaked out through a throat cracked and sore from days of crying. “I have some news.”

“I don’t think we can take much more news from NASA.” Her father heaved a sigh that spoke volumes to how much he was trying to hold it together for the rest of his family. 

“Pops, get Ma back on the phone with you.” (Y/n) instructed. She was braced for impact. She needed to get it out before she broke down. 

“Donna!” (Y/n) heard her father shout.

Her mom must have run from the phone when she handed it off to her dad. It made sense. Not once in her life had she ever called (Y/n) Sweetpea. Terms of endearment were well assigned in the Watney household. Her parents were always Ma and Pops, but they called each other Darling and Honey when they were feeling romantic. (Y/n) was always, without fail, Princess. And Mark, despite his many objections, had always been Sweetpea. 

Even knowing where he was, her mom was holding onto some desolate hope that Mark was alive, that Mark could call. 

In a way, Ma was right, but that was even worse news. 

“I’m sorry, Princess,” Her mother rejoined the call with a hiccup. “I’m just…”

“It’s fine, Ma.” (Y/n) didn’t think she could bear hearing anything about how they were doing before she got this out and ruined whatever small peace the memorial service had given them. “I need to tell you both something.”

“What is it?” Her father asked, far too close to the speaker.

“I know neither of you have read the report about how...” She tried to think of a better way to say it. “On what happened,” she settled. “And I know you don’t want to know, but I’m going to have to explain a small part of it to you.”

“(Y/n), we don’t…”

(Y/n) cut off her father’s objections with a volume that bordered on shouting. “You do. You need to know, whether it’s nice or not. And it needs to come from me. This is important, Pops.”

Her parents quieted then. None of the Watneys really had a temper. They were all ‘long fuse’ type people, but clearly (Y/n)’s had been burning for far too long. 

“Mark was hit by a piece of debris which NASA believes broke off of an antenna.” (Y/n) took in a deep breath. She needed to remain calm, or at the very least her voice did. “Vital signs in the space suits are transmitted to a received on the arm of the team doctor, who read that Mark didn’t show any signs of life.”

It was her father’s tears that interrupted her this time. She couldn’t see them, but (Y/n) knew they were there when he spoke. “Why are you telling us this, (Y/n)? We don’t want to know.”

“Because Pops, something’s… come up.” She didn’t know a better way to say it than that. “Imagery of the Ares III site seems to show signs of activity and maintenance that were not performed by the crew on the day of their departure.” 

Silence. Utter silence. 

“What…” Mom.

“Are you…” Dad.

“That…” Mom.

“Are you….” Dad.

“What does that even mean?” Her mom finally got out the question they were both trying to say.

“The only logical theory is that when the antenna broke off, it somehow managed to break Mark’s vital monitor either by piercing his suit without actually breaking the seal or by having a direct impact that broke both his communication and vitals monitor, or possibly both.” Another deep breath. “Whatever the case, there are signs of movement at the HAB since the crews departure…” 

Finally she got to her point. She spoke the thought into existence, “Mark’s alive. And he’s alone on Mars.”

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

Next Time On..... Part Three

Taglist:

Forever Taglist:

@maybe-a-fangurl / @libbymouse / @geeksareunique / @deathbyarabbit​ / @spilltheearlgrey​

Series Taglist:

@multifandombabelover​ / @cutiepiemimi13​ / @captainscanadian​ / @harishaanne​ / @andtheytoldustotellyouhello​

#chris beck x reader #chris beck #the martian #the martian imagine #the martian fanfiction #chris beck imagine #chris beck fanfiction #chris beck x you #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan fanfiction #chris beck drabble

[fakeyellow]

Kamilah faces the consequences of her actions. The Ending(s) of Forget Me Not.

I wrote three different endings. If you don’t want to read all of them, just read the third one.

1.

Kamilah watches from afar as Isla puts her life back together, piece by piece. There’s a bit of confusion, adjustment needed as Isla comes to terms with the missing gaps of her memory but she’s always been strong and she picks herself up.

Kamilah follows Isla’s career as she becomes Grant Emerson’s campaign manager and successfully gets him elected as Mayor of New York. And although she knows it’s old fashioned to cut out newspaper clippings, she does exactly so, collecting all the snippets in articles and photos that include even the slightest mention of her.

When Isla seems to decide that she doesn’t want a future in politics, she looks into jobs with financial corporations, and at one point, her resume crosses Kamilah’s desk via the mistake of an intern.

Her hand pauses over the small, professional headshot included in the resume and Kamilah can’t help but stroke it tenderly, as if she were stroking the woman’s actual face.

She’s changed her hair since the campaign and it suits her. Although the picture is still Isla, there is a remarked maturity in her face that reminds Kamilah bitterly of just how much time has passed.

She can only imagine how much Isla must have grown, how much she must have changed, how much she must have gone through. The new connections she must have made, the new interests she must have discovered, the new relationships she must have formed...

There is only so much her guards can tell Kamilah, from their positions in Isla’s neighbouring apartments, and besides, she had placed them there to guard Isla, not to spy on her.

She forces herself to be content with what she does know of Isla and she continues to scour the newspapers for new mentions of her.

—

A few years later, when Isla’s become established in her own career, Isla falls in love.

Kamilah discovers this all by chance one day when she’s meeting with the lawyer representing a business Ahmanet Financial is in the middle of acquiring.

The lawyer’s phone lights up with a call and although the woman quickly apologises and puts it into her pocket, Kamilah catches a glimpse of the lock screen.

It is a photo of Isla and the woman, dressed in a beautiful white dress and a white suit respectively. They’re kissing and Kamilah suddenly notices the shiny, new wedding band on the lawyer’s finger.

The meeting finishes without any other complications and Kamilah is left alone in her office.

There is an unspeakable pain in her heart, a sudden pang of loss even though she had always known this was likely to happen, and she closes her eyes, the photo branded onto her mind.

It’s in the middle of her grief that Kamilah then hears the voice.

It’s small, even with Kamilah’s heightened senses, and she realises it must be coming from the lawyer’s cellphone as she makes her way to the elevator.

Words of affection are exchanged between the two women and Kamilah listens to Isla, hearing the happiness, the warmth, the love that flows in her voice.

Although it still hurts, Kamilah smiles.

“I’m happy for you Isla,” she whispers into her empty office.

And that is the last time Kamilah hears Isla’s voice.

—

For all intents and purposes, Isla lives a long, fulfilling life.

She thrives in her career, leading numerous initiatives that help the lives of thousands of people. She flourishes in her marriage to the lawyer, and they spend a happy 50 years together.

Isla passes peacefully in her sleep at the old age of 84 and her funeral is filled with all the people who’s lives she touched.

Speeches are made of her great deeds, her loving nature, her unrelenting determination to do what is right.

And when the last funeral-goers finally trickle out and Isla’s body is laid to rest in the ground, a single figure dressed in black appears.

The figure walks slowly towards the newly engraved tombstone and bows her head, tears trickling down her cheeks.

Kamilah kneels and places a single stem of forget me not flowers on the grave of the woman who will always hold her heart

2. Short ending if Serafine’s memory erasure hadn’t held.

Some background information: When Isla awakes without any memories or clues of the past year, she becomes determined to never again be left with nothing. She gets into photography, a way to forever capture moments of time. Even if her memories disappear once again, she will at least have her photographs.

One day when she’s developing her photographs, she notices a woman appearing over and over in her photos. She’s always in the background, with her face partially obscured, but Isla finally finds a picture where the woman’s full face can be seen.

After doing some research, Isla figures out that it is Kamilah Sayeed, the elusive CEO of Ahmanet Financial, and she goes over to the corporation building.

In the place where so many things had happened, Isla’s memories suddenly return and she goes to confront Kamilah in her office.

—

“How could you?” Isla burst out.

The shock on Kamilah’s face disappeared, giving way to a deep weariness and shame.

Kamilah sighed heavily, “I know. I did terrible things and I have been paying the price every day since.”

“No,” Isla shook her head as her eyes began to water, “How could you do that to me?”

“You were tearing yourself apart, Isla,” Kamilah said desperately, needing Isla to understand why she’d done what she had, “I wasn’t going to just stand still and watch as a small part of you died each day.”

“Still,” Isla’s voice broke on the word.

“It should have been my choice,” she continued fiercely, “And I would have told you that no matter what happened, I would always love you. I would always choose you.”

“We could have gotten through it together,” Isla cried out before turning silent.

It was after a long silence that Isla eventually asked, in a small voice that conveyed the weight of all of the hurt she carried, “Didn’t you trust me?”

She gazed probingly into Kamilah’s eyes, as if searching for something in its depths. But finding them lacking, Isla finally sighed and whispered.

“Goodbye Kamilah.”

3. If Serafine’s memory erasure hadn’t held: Version 2

“How could you do that to me?” Isla asked, her face crumpling as she grappled with the full realisation of what had happened.

And although Kamilah wanted nothing more than to sweep her up in her arms and never let go, there was also a part of her that wasn’t sorry for what she’d done.

“You were tearing yourself apart Isla!” Kamilah burst out almost in frustration, desperately needing Isla to understand why she’d done what she had done, “I wasn’t going to just stand still and watch as more and more of you died with each day.”

“So what,” Isla scoffed, her watery eyes burning furiously at Kamilah, “You thought you’d erase my memories? You thought that if I didn’t remember you or anything else from the past year, I’d just return to my normal life, as if nothing had ever happened?

Kamilah remained silent, unable to say anything as Isla’s voice grew in intensity.

“Well you were wrong,” Isla bitterly said, “When I woke up, I was alone. Do you know how it feels to have woken up only to realize that you’ve lost an entire year of your life?”

“You even took Lily away from me,” Isla cried out, tears streaming down her cheeks, “You took Adrian and Jax and…”

“You all were my family and you took it all away” She continued, “I couldn’t even remember you. I just knew that there was something essential missing.”

Isla paused now, her voice growing quiet as she stared directly at Kamilah, “I cried myself to sleep every night. Did your guards tell you that?”

Kamilah flinched but Isla continued.

“Did they tell you that every day I woke up wishing I hadn’t? Did they tell you that I felt like a shell of a person, that sometimes, it felt as if I would drown in my loneliness?”

“Isla, I-” Kamilah began hoarsely.

“Did you even miss me?” Isla cut her off, searching probingly into the depths of Kamilah’s eyes.

A thousand words swelled up in her chest, begging to be released, but in the end, Kamilah could only breathe out, “Every day. Each and every second, I never stopped missing you.”

A fresh wave of tears spilled over and flowed down her face even as Isla forced herself to harden.

“I don’t forgive you,” Isla softly stated and Kamilah closed her eyes in response. There was pain written in the lines of her face but she nodded, as if she had expected this.

And then, suddenly, warm arms wrapped around Kamilah, Isla’s head nestling into her chest.

“But you’ve punished yourself for long enough,” Isla finished tearfully, “You have to forgive yourself. You deserve happiness too Kamilah.”

And Isla’s words finally caused Kamilah to break down in long, overdue tears. She’d repressed her emotions for so long in an attempt to atone for the weight of her countless sins, a weight that she’d constantly carried with her.

The redemption in Isla’s words were more than she’d ever hoped for.

Isla leaned back in their embrace, tenderly wiping away Kamilah’s tears. Kamilah grabbed onto Isla’s hand, leaning into her touch.

“Everyone is allowed to make mistakes. To mourn over something they wish they could undo. The important thing is that you come out of it a better person. You face up to what you did and you make amends. That is how you make up for your actions. Not by punishing yourself out of misplaced guilt,” Isla said.

Kamilah nodded and stared wondrously at Isla, almost unable to believe that this remarkable woman had come back to her, that Isla still believed so strongly in her.

“I still don’t forgive you for what you did to me,” Isla interjected sternly before softening, “But I will. And I will never stop loving you.”

Kamilah’s heart swelled with affection and it seemed impossible that one person could love someone so much.

“I love you too.”

—

A/N: The first ending was what I originally had in mind for the story and is why I titled it “Forget Me Not.” I thought it’d be sad to imagine Kamilah watching over Isla from a distance, seeing her have a happy life even if it broke her heart to not be with her.

Then I wrote the second ending where Isla isn’t able to forgive Kamilah for what she’s done to her. I really just wanted to end it on “Goodbye Kamilah.”

Then I thought about the second ending again and I thought the MC should be angrier at Kamilah at first, so that transformed into the third ending, which I think I like the best. I had a hard time coming up with what Isla’d say at the end so I used the long, italicised quotes from BB Book 2 Chapter 12 and 15. 

Which ending was your favourite?

#bloodbound #kamilah x mc #kamilah sayeed #playchoices #playchoices fanfic #my writing

[daphner20]

Justice Browne

Restoration

Prologue

My name is Justice Fritzgerald Browne, and ' Truly God is good to me!” My father wanted to name me John Fritzgerald, but my mom said , “ not a day like it!”

I met the love of my life Alicia Leah (nee Dean) at a Catholic Retreat for young adults called T.E.C ( To Encounter Christ), 25 years ago. She was 19, and I was 24. We were married 6 months later. And that union has blessed us with two sons. Joshua, 20 and Jamie 18.

Joshua is a Senior at Notre Dame University, he is a bio/chemistry major, his next step is med school. Jamie is a sophomore, at Notre Dame as well, but they are on different campuses. Jamie is studying accounting. Both of my sons, graduated from High School at 16. 

I am so proud of my sons, they are truly one of the joys of my life.

Almighty God, has also prospered the work of my hands. I am one of the largest grocers in The  Bahamas. With 4 grocery stores in Nassau, 2 in Grand Bahama, and 1 in Abaco. I own substantial shares in a local bank and insurance company. 

I am also on the Economic Council for The Bahamas. I am also the past president of the Chamber of Commerce.

When I was in CCD, as a child, I remembered Sister Cecilia, teaching us the 10 commandments, the sermon on the mount, and corporal acts of mercy. I have spent my entire life, living as closely as possible to these teachings.

My parents, were the greatest in the world. I was the product of their old age. They were married for 18 years, before I came along. My mom was forty, and my dad was 47. My mom told me that she had never stop trusting and believing that God, will bless her womb. She lived to cradle my sons in her arms. She died 10 years ago, and Daddy followed 2 years later.

As, I lit a candle after mass. I am thankful and grateful to the Lord, who has bless my family, my work, my health, and my faith all these years. I also lit a special candle for my boys, just in case they didn’t go to mass this morning, and asked God to forgive their sins.

Chapter 1

“ So you don’t have any classes today,” said Justice 

“ No, they are cancel until further,” said Jaime.

“ I suggest, you go and stay with Joshua,' said Justice.

“Daddy,” said Jaime, “it’s just a tropical storm!”

“ Jamie, tropical storms can be dangerous as well,” said Justice.

“ The school has taken all precautions, we will be fine. Further more, Josh, campus is on lockdown as well,” said Jaime.

“Ok,' said Justice, reluctantly, he knew how strong will Jamie is. 

'Love you Daddy,” said Jamie, laughingly, he knew his father normally gives in.

“ Love you kiddo, said Justice. ‘Youth’ muttered Justice, they think they are invincible.

5 minutes later.

“ Hello Josh” said Justice.

“ Hi Pops” said Josh animatedly.

“ I heard, about the storm, are you taking precautions.

“ Yes sir, we will be fine, you are aware, that we have been through storms before said Joshua.

“ I know, said Justice, “but it has always been with me and your mother.”

“ We will be fine,  I will check on Jamie every day, don’t worry.”

“ I love you Joshua, you are a good son and great brother,” said Justice, holding back tears.

“I love you too Pops,” said Joshua, smiling, “ and turn of the water works, your too old for that.”

As Justice, hung up the phone, he realized, that he wasn’t trusting  God to protect his sons.

A few days later, the weather channel, said the storm had been upgraded to a category 3. It will bring lots of rain and high gusty winds.

“I will go by church, this evening to light a candle for my boys,” said Justice in his heart.

When I got home, it was late breaking news on all the stations, that Hurricane David, had come ashore as a Category 5, and there were wide devastation.

“ Have you heard from the boys today,” I asked Alicia.

“ I spoke to them, yesterday, but they told me, that the power company was shutting down the power. They said they will call me, as soon as the power comes back on.

It’s been two days now, and still no communication from our sons. I told Alicia, that I was going to North Carolina tomorrow.

Finally, the phone rang, it was Jaime's  number.

“ Jaime, thank God, son how are you? Shouted Justice.

“ This is Dr. Matthew, from Raleigh General,  is this Mr. Browne? We regret to inform you that your son,  Jaime Browne  died two days ago. We finally charged his cellphone, and we found your number. Also, we regret to inform you that your other son Joshua Browne died this morning.

Chapter 2

“The Lord giveth, and the Lord take it away, blessed be the name of the Lord,” said  Justice.

It was a bright and sunny morning, three weeks later, when I buried my boys. How could a day be so beautiful, when my children will never see it again! It’s like the world is mocking me. I am numb, I am on autopilot. I am doing everything that needs to be done, without any emotions.

I flew to North Carolina, to officially identify the boys. I had to make arrangements, to bring them home. I had to pick out the coffins.  I had to decide their burial clothes. I had to choose the photos and songs for the obituary. My boys were altar boys and a part of the youth group,  so every body wanted to play a role in the funeral service. There were such an outpouring of sympathy, I had to make sure they were acknowledged. Instead of two individual plots, I chose one. Joshua at the bottom, and Jaime on top.

Because, they were inseparable, growing up, they were together when they died. Joshua roommate told us, that when the storm got upgraded, Joshua decided to go and stay with Jaime. However, the storm had produced several tornadoes, and one of them had flatten Jaime’s dormitory.  Jamie, the coroner believed died instantly, and Joshua died three days later.

Alicia grief is inconsolable, she is heavily medicated, I don’t know what to do. I just have to be strong, for her and my sons. My head says there are gone, my heart says they are here, and there is no reconciliation. As an accountant, this should be easy. 

Just as the sun rises each morning, I must do the same. Everyone is remarking on my strength. I told them, it’s not me,  but the Lord. His strength is made perfect in my weakness.

A month later,  I returned to work full time, Alicia is turning the corner, she is off the sedatives. She is still profoundly sad, but that is to be expected, and she has me.

“ Mr. Browne, here are the papers, you wanted,” said Sheila my secretary.

“ Mr. Browne, Mr. Browne,” Sheila is frantic now. The last thing I heard her screaming was Call an ambulance!!

Chapter 3

Two weeks later, I woke up in the Intensive Care Unit (ICU)

I had suffered a massive stroke, I was totally paralyzed on my left side The doctors told Alicia, that my recovery will be long. Not only will I need a physical therapist, but a speech therapist as well. Another, prognosis, was that I may never fully recovered, and be a shell of a man. All of my  physicians were in agreement with that!

Alicia, brought me home three weeks later. The house was completely transformed. There were ramps for my wheelchair. My study, became my hospital room. Because, I couldn’t swallow on my own, I had a drip in my arm, I was also feed intravenously, I also had to use a catheter. My care also included 3 private nurses on shifts.

Alicia had spared no expense.

My first visitor, was my oldest and dearest friend Greg Henfield, he was also my boys godfather.

“ I am sorry Justice, first the boys, now this, I have known you all my life, I can’t believe this is happening to you, you were a Saint living amongst us! What did you do, to make God so angry,” he said.

Thank God, I couldn’t speak or move, I would have kicked him out.

Next, visitor, was  my lawyer, Charles Powell, “ I think you should sell your business, seeing that you have no longer have heirs, and  you and Alicia can live a comfortable life, with the proceeds,”he said.

Blood in the water, thought Justice, the sharks are circling.

Finally, my father-in-law, Wilfred Dean, came.  I loved him like a father. “ My daughter, can’t take anymore, first her children, now you, this is to much for her. I told her to sell your businesses and shares, and put you in a nursing home and take care of herself,” he said.

“What about our vows?” I wanted to scream, “ for better or worse, sickness and in health.”

Alicia, took his advice, she sold everything, but she didn’t leave me.

Laying in that bed day in and out, with only my thoughts. Why God, I am a good person, you took my boys, my health, my work, my friends and family. Why me?

I wish I never was born, I wish I was like a stillborn child, who never saw light. Why did you bless and then take away. I pour out my complaint and bitterness day unto day.

Until one day, The Lord Spoke!

Chapter 4

“ Who is this who darkens counsel by words without knowledge?

“ Now prepare yourself like a man; I will question you, and you shall answer Me.“ Where were you, when I laid the foundations of the earth? Who determined it’s measurements? Surely you know!

Then Justice answered ,” I know that you can do everything, and that no purpose of Yours can be withheld from you. I have heard of You by the hearing of the ear, but now my eyes see You, therefore I despise myself, and I repent in dust and ashes.

Justice didn’t realized, that he was speaking. He had gotten, his speech back. Praise the Lord.

Over, the next few months, with the help of his therapists, he regained the strength and the mobilty of his limbs. Justice Fritzgerald Browne made a full recovery and discovery.

“ Though He slay me, yet I will trust Him!” Justice said.

Alicia, had kept the life insurance benefits of the boys. With that money, he was able to purchase 10 grocery stores. And the a year later, Alicia gave birth to twin girls,  Hannah, and Annah. Double grace and favor!

Justice, lived to see his children’s children.

And God bless Justice's latter, greater than his former!

The End

“

#spiritual #god #faith #hope #story #religion

[pigtailedgirl]

Tony Stark Ends My MCU in Endgame

Just sharing some stuff I did on dreamwidth with a few updates. I’m new to tumblr, give me patience.

Here is why I'm never watching another MCU film or giving money to them or Marvel if I can help it. Tony Fucking Stark. The capitulation to and adoration of both RDJ and that character shows me that their brand of heroism is nothing I want to do with. Endgame validated his worldview and I can't reconcile. Look. I'm no big fan of Tony or Iron Man. Been tolerating since Avengers. Been outright thinking he deserved a tell off and comeuppance since Civil War. Did not believe he'd get it, but thought, well, thought at the least he'd still be not outright unchallenged or proven right. Basically, I was wrong in that I thought the films were conscious of his flaws they were highlighting, and that even if they could never be confirmed or explored while RDJ was onboard, because I think RDJ would never consent to looking bad because he's a narcissist and he has star power, they were there, canon, and recognized with subtlety. And I had other models of heroes in Steve and Thor to say Tony is not the only version of hero to emulate. Iron Man as a character through his movies and the Avengers film is a hero born of guilt and mired in a complex selfishness. I thought this always but especially with repeat viewings. He's fascinating because he does help people, and commit good acts, but it is born not from a desire to care for others. It's often a side-affect of his overwhelming ego. That is the kind of hero Tony is. A selfishly, not selflessly motivated one.

I eventually got very tired of Tony not seeing others around him that were hurt instead of helped by his brand of heroism. A replacement for his brand of weapons at Stark Industries or his rock-star persona. Or seeing others at all. It's something that regardless of results, I think society needs to re-examine the strength of. The ego. The self. An American world doesn't need more internal selfishness to admire. It should wear Tony down in a very different way than the MCU reflects. It should have a foil and a cost. Endgame has erased and ignored this, validated and lionized Tony as a hero role-model, to an awful degree. To start Tony is made weak in the opening and given his monologue goodbye to Pepper to garner sympathy. For him. Not for Pepper. Not for Nebula do they have kindly interaction together; we are squarely with and in Tony POV. It's re-occurring, this sainted POV of Tony in this film. You'll notice it especially in his funeral, when he’s already dead, as on-lookers who have no connection or tenuous relation to him gather and mourn because to the film he's the icon of the MCU and the hero.

This POV is not extended to others, say Natasha’s loss. The film has a central character it is focusing and idenitfying with, and it’s Tony Stark.

The main thrust of argument in the film is also weighted in Tony's favor. Tony gets off the ship on Earth. To be hugged and comforted by his foil Steve. He is fragile and we linger on his emaciated frame in his argument with Steve and the others. We linger on him in bed after, surrounded by caring loved ones. Held back by Rhodey. Our sympathy is supposed to be centered squarely on him. Yet his argument itself is devoid of logic or reason or compassion for others that are not himself. 1) Ultron was evil and the Iron Legion was causing civil unrest even before and is gone through no others decision. Tony never rebuilt it. 2) The reason the Avengers were not working together in Civil War and after was entirely because of Tony. It's Tony who got the olive branch of a phone Steve sent and hasn't used it. Indeed Steve came as soon as Bruce and Rhodey phoned. It's Tony who went to space and left the others behind. It's Tony who lost trust and therefore tracking of Vision causing him to go off-grid. It's Tony who agreed with the accords, has since broken the accords, and has since not done anything to demolish them. Accords which Ross wanted to use to stay hands in Infinity War as well. 3)Tony is in a room playing photos of the dusted, came with a woman who's sister is murdered, and can only focus on his hurt about the Snap. On losing Peter, because of what it means to him. Of the others not being with him to comfort him in his time of battle and loss. His priority is his pain alone. It's supremely selfish. It's given no rebuttal because the narrative agrees his pain is what matters. So characters feel sad for him instead of anger or their own hurt. If they don’t agree with him, no time is devoted to seeing that.This is where you expect an argument. A reflection by everyone. A hash-out on the priority of one's personal pain versus the whole universe's losses. None ever comes. The film avoids another interesting conflict on selfishness vs selflessness to approve of onlyTony when in the five year gap it celebrates in Tony's family, at the expense of everyone else refusing to move on. Only Tony gets happiness in time through his not thinking about others. Now Tony does regret Peter. So Tony decides to help reverse the Snap. But he is given zero push back on the decision to do so entirely for his benefit, that it is his alleviation of feeling Peter's loss, and not for the world's losses, or Peter's loss independant of Tony. Again it’s a selfish and self-motivatied choice. 

That Tony refuses to give up his 5 year family, which will come at the expense of 5 years lost to the returned, of the collateral we saw take place in Infinity War, at the deaths and changes since is not examined because the narrative doesn’t care to disagree with Tony. I'm not saying erasing Tony's family is right, heroic, or a choice he or the film should advocate for. But there is zero thought or discussion to the idea that Tony's family or pain is not all there is to consider in this plan. Where is Thor, saying how dare you value your happiness over all the dead of Asgard? Where's Natasha mad at her effort to keep everyone together, including world crisis prevention? Where is Carol with the universe as a whole perspective? Where is Banner saying help me at least not kill ourselves trying? Where is Clint not wanting to be a killer when his family comes back? Where is any nuance that just because Tony wants this in this way, it's not the only way everyone would feel. This film never puts anything above Tony's feelings. This extends to his heroic sacrifice at the end. The final two ways the film absolutely prides Tony's view versus anything else are his death and mourning. Tony is treated as the ultimate hero. Out of 14 million scenarios, it takes him alone to win. Him using the stones barehanded when all others couldn't. Him saving the world. His ultimate sacrifice and entirely his choice. All about him. It's not selfless that way. It's killing yourself yes, it’s saving others, but you are the ultimate universe saver. The ultimate avenger. You defeat the bad guy. Not bring people back in an act of return, but in an act of rightfulness you fix what you've been complaining others wouldn't let you and defeat evil all by yourself. Your entire motivation is rewarded, because you protect the universe by killing all your bad guy enemies. Rooted in how you feel and what you want. His final line "And I am Iron Man" a rebuke to anyone who doubts the greatness of him. Tony was right and perfect everyone. Listen up.  But there is no self-sacrifice here, because it's not about him losing. Oh, fans will mourn him. Lament Tony's lost family and happiness. Rally against his pain in dying. But Tony doesn't. There is no reflection in the film from him on the potential cost or the reality in the moment. No care is extended to the daughter's feelings or Pepper's or his friends. Nothing is about the impact or loss he'd feel of leaving them. Instead he's, like always, the focus. The film is entirely about losing him and how it's the worst for you and the world. That is what the film wants you to be sad about in these moments. Every character props him. Steve's tears. Peter's "Mr. Stark we won", and Pepper's "You can rest now." It's all about making Tony look good. This continues with the funeral. Morgan talking to Happy being about a callback to cheeseburgers Tony loved. Tony Stark 's first reactor is “Proof Tony Stark Has A Heart” floating away, wreathed in flowers. It's all tribute to the man and only about him. That's not selfless, it's self-aggrandizing. The character has gained no humility or grace. Just more fame. I'm not interested in that. In fact I'm angry. The overarching message of his rightness also destroys his foil, Steve. Who stands behind Pepper at the funeral? Steve. Who stands with Tony throughout the film? Steve. As his character's end, Steve adopts Tony's mindset of not being a selfless hero and chooses to do as Tony did and think only of what Steve currently wants. Peggy. In the past. At others expense. Steve chooses to be a selfish hero. As does Thor going off the rails in film and off with the guardians and abandoning his people. Marvel thinks that's the right way. A summation of all their films and a thing to look back on and celebrate as Tony hologram's monologue tells us. All heroes are reduced to the Tony Stark role model. It tells me they never thought Tony's world-view was a problem. And I disagree. Or they wanted to honor him so they warped everything else to work it. If they do it once, twice, always...well, what next? So I'm done.

#anti tony stark #anti-endgame

[minddofbecka]

(long) gc fic rec

All The Days Of My Life by rilla - 41k

It's 2016. At the end of the band's last tour, Zayn and Harry get married in Vegas. It's not the worst thing that's ever happened to them, but it certainly comes close. Half fix-it fic, half woke up married.

Trust Me by alnima - 78k

Zayn has trouble trusting Harry to catch him when he falls, but Harry is determined to be there no matter what it takes. Part 1.

Stay With Me by alnima - 173k

Zayn and Harry could never get it quite right. And now isn't any different. Except it is. Part 2.

and you and i were fire, fire, fireworks by trishapocalypse - 21k

espresso yourself yeah?? I stopped by there today

YOU WERE? what time??? maybe I saw you???

oh it was like half-eight? had an early class and all

oh ): i was hoping maybe you were there when i was… woulda been like fate, huh??

(Or: the one where Zayn is drunk and lonely and Harry is a number graffiti'd on a loo stall door that Zayn texts. A lot.)

like a sledgehammer by colourexplosion - 5k

Harry’s a good flatmate otherwise. He doesn’t ask questions when Zayn leaves without telling him for a few days and comes back looking refreshed and a bit younger than before. He doesn’t burst into Zayn’s room unannounced and he respects the fact that Zayn doesn’t go out during the day unless it’s absolutely necessary.

And if he’s figured out Zayn’s a vampire, he’s never brought it up.

Or, Zayn's a vampire and Harry's his human roommate.

let me be the one who calls you baby by alnima - 8k

“You look lovely, you hunk of man meat,” Harry declares, winking at Zayn.

Zayn blinks at Harry, his movements stilling for just a second before he continues to crawl into bed. He settles back against the pillows, wets his lips, and says, “What did you just call me?”

“Hunk of man meat,” Harry repeats, and it sounds kind of silly the second time that he says it.

“Right, I thought so."

Dancing On My Own by rilla - 59k

A Four Weddings and a Funeral au. Zayn and Harry keep meeting at weddings over the years, and slowly fall in love.

baby i’ll never leave if you keep holding me this way by estrella30 - 10k

“Does he have your mark?” his mum asks. Zayn shakes his head. He’d looked at Harry’s wrist explicitly for the edgings of Zayn’s family crest but couldn’t find anything. Not that that means Harry’s not the one; it might need a touch or connection to come to the surface. Zayn’s not sure he wants to find out though. He doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to know for certain.

“Ah, well. It could be coming,” she adds, and Zayn shrugs. She’s silent for another moment, before quietly adding, “You could pick him, you know.” She sounds thoughtful, distant even. Zayn wonders what she’s thinking about, what she’s remembering. “If you want to that is. I know you’ve not been looking for your mate Zayn, but maybe this was what you needed. Maybe you needed your mate to find you.”

or - Zayn is an immortal modern times non evil sexual incubus who is reluctant to find his mate. And then he meets Harry.

all that is gone and all that’s to come by greenandgolden - 10k

Once upon a time, Zayn’s Instagram had been littered with photos of Harry. Some of them together, some of him alone. One of Harry sleeping in Zayn’s bed, his face a bit puffy and his hair a wild mess sprawled across Zayn’s pillowcase. Pictures of them with each other’s families from holidays and birthdays, everyone with smiles on their faces and their arms wrapped around each other. Most of those photos are saved on Harry’s phone, hidden away because he couldn’t bear to delete them but at the same time he can’t stomach looking at how happy they were together versus how miserable he is now that he’s alone.

a post break up au

i fall in love whenever we meet by leighbot - 5k

“You had on operation on your back, babe. D’you not remember?” the man says as he reaches a hand out to rub gently at Harry’s chest.

Harry turns back again, feeling queasy with all of the movements. “No. I’m sorry… are you my doctor, too?”

“No, I’m not your doctor. My name is Zayn, H. Do you remember me?”

“Zayn,” Harry repeats, enjoying the way the word buzzes at the tip of his tongue.

Or, the one where Harry has temporary amnesia after surgery; he doesn't need his memories to know he loves Zayn.

He Feels Like Home by moonstarwrites - 21k

Under the impression that he would never meet his soulmate because others in his family faced the same circumstance, Zayn married Perrie and built a life with her. While that life wasn't anything out of the ordinary, it would do. Then, Zayn met his soulmate, Harry.

Love Is Blind (and darling, right now, I can’t see you) by purpledaisy - 35k

Harry had squeezed his eyes shut pretending it was real for the moment, that Zayn was actually his. Still, it doesn’t matter if the lights flashing behind his eyelids were the brightest they’d ever been because Zayn must have had his eyes wide open just waiting for it to be over. - Written for the prompt: pretend boyfriends

Boy with a Coin by Archangel_Blood - 29k

A piece of paper falls out of the bundle, and Louis snatches it and starts reading before Zayn can prise it off him.

“He’ll have eyes as green as frogs.” Louis arches an eyebrow at his brother. “Very romantic, Zayn. He’ll wear sparkly boots and he’ll be marvellously kind. He can juggle, and he—four nipples?” Louis barks out a laugh. “Zayn, such person doesn’t exist!”

“Exactly!”

Slide

by thisonegoes - 87k

Zayn's dad explained it to him in a small speech, the day she was born."No one prepares you for it. There aren't any manuals. Sometimes being a good parent means simply keeping your kid alive. Keep them breathing, make sure they're safe, love them until you could burst with it. On days when everything feels especially hard, just remember that your kid is Number One. Everything else becomes secondary. Less than. Minuscule by default. And believe me when I tell you this: when she eventually paints you a picture, sings you a song, does a cartwheel... always be sure to clap. If you're proud, make sure to say so."An AU about being a father, having faith, and growing up.

What If This Storm Ends by Archangel_Blood - 18k

Despite all evidence to the contrary, Harry does actually know how to take a hint; sometimes he just chooses not to. It’s not that he particularly enjoys disappointment, but he can deal with it. What ifs, on the other hand, those are the paper cuts and grazed knees that seem like nothing much, yet they take forever to heal, itching and stinging and driving you mad.

Give It All Away To You by disarm_d - 10k

“Zayn’s got love at first sight,” Louis says. “Again.”

University AU in which Zayn and Harry figure out how to give each other what they want.

we can take the darkness by leighbot - 72k

“I’ve met the guy and he’s always making eyes at you when you’re not looking.”

“No, he isn’t,” Zayn dismisses, finishing off his second glass of water. “I would have noticed if Harry ‘made eyes’ at me,” he says, using the air quotes. “We’ve been best mates for over three years.”

“That’s why I said: when you’re not looking,” Griff repeats. “It’s like you’ve never seen a Sandra Bullock movie.”

Zayn rolls his eyes and stands up. “Harry Styles and I are best friends,” he says, loudly and clearly. “Nothing more.”

Entangled Arms (or a vacant space) by vinoharry - 43k

When Harry first approached him at the bar, hips swinging and walking dick first, Zayn thought it was going to a night of perfunctory small talk before they fell into bed together. But Zayn got so much more than he bargained for.

new clothes, bloody nose by dutty (vodka) - 22k

The one where Zayn is an escort and Harry happens.

a sky full of stars by weddingbells - 20k 

In which Harry Styles is a librarian and Zayn Malik reads lots of books, and Harry pines and Louis Tomlinson and Niall Horan tries to help him to get the boy who might be the boy of his dreams, and Harry just wants to know everything about the tattooed angel he can't stop thinking about. Basically.

You Might Just Be What I Need by PornyZiallFeels - 47k

Saw Zayn again today

Figured you would that’s the thing with dot n his daughter being mates

Runnin into him might become a regular thing now

Fuck me

your love is a waiting game by alnima - 26k

It’s been four days without Harry and Zayn’s feeling brave. He loves him, but he’s not waiting for him, not anymore. If Harry can’t love him – won’t love him – then he’ll find someone else.

When All I Want Is You by estrella30 - 9k

The flat is small. It’s tiny and cramped and nearly everything that’s inside is either broken or on its way to needing to be fixed. They’re never going to fit all of their things here, and will be in each other's faces every second of their lives.

Zayn absolutely cannot wait. It’s tiny but it’s theirs. It’s going to be theirs.

When Harry moves out a year later and Zayn’s left alone, the flat’s never seemed so big.

or - Zayn and Harry move in together and don't have a lot of money and everything falls apart (and then gets put back together)

where did the party go by shuttermutt - 34k

"…insofar as the two parties who want to wed should decide to do so before they have both reached the age of eighteen (section 1.ii) they will have a period of one year henceforth to decide if the marriage is fruitful and if not, they shall be allowed to part as if having not been married in the first place…" Section 2 of the 'Romeo and Juliet law', passed into law in Britain and its territories, 1803

They duck into a tattoo parlour that’s halfway between the city centre and Harry’s mum’s and Zayn gets two black lines carefully inked onto his left ring finger. He smiles up at Harry while it’s being done.

"It’ll last forever," he says. "Just like us."

Conspire Against the Odds by whatwasthatharry - 38k

“Louis?” he asks, eyebrows knitted together as he tries to process what just happened.

“Yeah, Z?”

He sounds tired, and Zayn finds himself wondering if it's because it's clear something is weighing on Harry..

“Is everything okay with Harry?”

(A story in which Zayn meets Harry during their senior year of college and immediately becomes infatuated with him. But Harry disappears most nights, and it's clear he's hiding something. Zayn wants desperately to know what's going on, but no one seems to want to tell him anything.)

In A Flash by hmarie - 24k

Zayn found Harry slouched in the corner of the destroyed nursery. His hands covering his face as tears streamed down his cheeks. The white crib Zayn had spent five hours making sure was put together 100% correctly, flipped over and smashed to pieces. Zayn had to step over the crumpled blue bedding in order to even get to Harry.

“I can’t do it anymore, Z.” Harry’s sobs tore their way from his chest.

Zayn’s fingers trailed across Harry’s cheeks, wiping away the remaining tears. He cradled Harry’s face between his palms as a few more tears slid from his own eyes. He slowly nodded. “Regroup, we can do that.” Zayn let his forehead rest against Harry’s as he gently leaned forward to capture Harry’s lips. “Let’s get out of this room.” He quickly stood and pulled Harry with him.

Or- Harry and Zayn give up on their dream but Gemma won't let them.

you can drive all night by liquidmeasure - 25k

"Harry needs someone to guide him, to tell him where to put each part of himself. It feels right somehow, and lately maybe something more than right, because sometimes he catches himself contemplating intentional accidents, just to see if Zayn will come running, where he’ll touch Harry. An elbow, a shoulder, the curve of his waist."

Harry doesn't know where to put his parts. Zayn helps him figure it out. Louis yells a lot.

Million Dollar Man by soyane - 50k

Harry is a student, who'd much rather focus on writing articles and participating in conferences than working to pay for his bills.

Zayn might have a proposition for him.

What If This Storm Ends by Archangel_Blood - 18k

Despite all evidence to the contrary, Harry does actually know how to take a hint; sometimes he just chooses not to. It’s not that he particularly enjoys disappointment, but he can deal with it. What ifs, on the other hand, those are the paper cuts and grazed knees that seem like nothing much, yet they take forever to heal, itching and stinging and driving you mad.

Once upon a different life by withbatedbreath (heart_eyes) - 45k

Zarry version of The Vow

When it comes to love you're an easy fight by orphan_account - 11k

AU. Harry never really could say no to people.

Hands All Over by blainedarling - 8k

“Point is,” Louis leans over the back of the sofa. “Point is, that Harry Styles has got a very good bum. And I feel very confident in saying that having seen it up close and in person now, too.”

The room goes very still, and quiet. Even Niall stops eating.

“What was that?” Zayn asks, as calmly as he can manage. This is Harry Styles they’re talking about. It’s not like he’s got a crush or anything, but— He might have gotten off to that photo of him on holiday in the tiniest of tiny yellow shorts more times than he would care to admit.

“Harry Styles,” Louis replies coolly, his eyes twinkling. “Was signing off on his pre-exercise questionnaire upstairs when I was on my way down.”

—or, the one where Zayn tries and fails to massage his celebrity crush without getting massively turned on.

Tight Lips and Cold Feet by mmaree - 17k

He remembers an intensity of feelings but not a lot of words.  He recalls drunken laughter with mates, sunny days and shy smiles, shit weed and tattoo parlours, cold sheets and burning touches.  Harry recalls a fantasy where real life took a backseat, where all that mattered was that they were young and alive.

At some point, Harry got scared.  He needed something he could hold on to, something he could be sure of.  But the more he dug for reassurance, the more Zayn clammed up.

And the more they f*cked.

Maybe Zayn saved his words for his books when he should have spoken them aloud.  Maybe Harry should have ended it better instead of running away like a coward.

Then again, maybe he should just stop dwelling on the past.

Or the one where Harry gets cold feet.  Three years later, Harry’s an editor and Zayn is the new writer he’s been assigned to work with.  

They have a lot more than just a book to work out.

Readiness is Near by greenandgolden - 13k

“Morning everybody, sorry I’m late.”

Harry looks up from his tablet, his heart dropping when he sees Zayn walking into the room. He’s heading for the desk in the front and no, this is not happening. Harry did not just douse his professor in coffee. He did not just give his professor his shirt and his phone number.

A teacher!zayn, (adult) student!harry kidfic.

hey moon (please forget to fall down) by leighbot - 7k

He spots a tape on the nightstand on his side, next to a glass of water and two small paracetamols. Zayn, watch me is written on a sticky note and Zayn smiles, confused, as he scoots closer to the edge.

Or, a 50 First Dates AU.

on the line by alnima - 32k

Zayn nods and watches him, feeling like he should feel relieved. Mostly he’s worried. It’s a silly thought, but sometimes Zayn wonders if Harry has some boyfriend across town that he goes to see on nights like this, nights where the air feels different between them. And because even after six years, it’s never made sense to Zayn why Harry, a salesman, needs to spend so much time at the office at night. But who is he to have suspicions when he’s about to head out and deal with some drug trafficker across town?

Or, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, the Zarry version

#bc