#there were no other Tangled recipes in this book that I saw

[birb-tangleblog]

Mother Gothel's Soup from Disney Enchanted Recipes Cookbook!

[duskyashe]

NaNoWriMo Day #28

[masterlist] [part one] [part two]

No prompt this time, I just really wanted to write this continuation ^⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠^

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While the kid—Danny—took care of his business, Jason busied himself with getting the pancake batter mixed up, mind whirling with the thoughts he'd set aside the night before. Questions about how Danny had gotten to Gotham, how he'd gotten into Jason's apartment, and how the kid had done whatever it was he'd done tangled and spun around inside his head, mixing with thoughts and theories about what, exactly, had happened last night. He knew he'd probably have to tread lightly with the conversation topics at first, the kid looked like something a half dead cat dragged in and would most likely be standoffish at best. Jason knew himself, though, and with how badly he wanted answers, well... He wasn't sure how well he'd be able to handle taking the slow approach this time around. He'd just have to do his best and hope to high heaven that he didn't drive Danny away by being too pushy.

Danny made his way into the kitchen just as Jason was mixing the last of the big lumps out, causing Jason to grin. "Good timing," he said, setting the bowl down on the counter, shuffling a few steps over to turn the range on at a low heat. He bent to dig his pancake skillet out of the cupboard, he didn't make pancakes often enough to keep it readily available, though he did make sure to bring it every time he moved safe houses. A good pancake skillet was hard to come by, and he refused to dishonor Alfred's special pancake recipe by using a subpar pan if he could get away with it. "So, Danny, what do you like in your pancakes? I've got a few bananas that haven't gone bad, some walnuts, chocolate chips, one of my brothers left a jumbo container of peanut butter M&Ms last time they were over, and I've got some precooked bacon we could crisp up to crumble and throw in if that's your fancy." Jason glanced over his shoulder as he stood up with the pan in hand, pausing when he saw Danny's wide eyed expression. "What?"

"You... You can put all that stuff inside your pancakes?" Danny asked in shock. His big blue eyes seemed to shimmer with barely contained awe, his shaggy hair and oversized blue hoodie combining with the expression to make the kid seem even younger than he likely was.

Jason carefully sat the pan down on the range before turning to Danny with a raised eyebrow. That protective something was rising in his chest again, and he wasn't sure he wanted to stop it. "Kid, we can put all of that and more in our pancakes, if we want to. Who's gonna stop us?" Even with his crappy childhood, Jason had known you could add things to pancake batter before Bruce had taken him in! He'd never done it before that point, but that was excusable in his opinion. Not knowing it was possible in the first place wasn't.

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After a filling breakfast of chocolate chip and bacon pancakes, with milk and applesauce packets so their meal was a tad bit more balanced than it otherwise would be, Jason finally decided to try getting some answers from the adorable kid who had mysteriously entered, and likely saved, his life. He just wasn't entirely sure how to start. Over breakfast, they'd asked each other some basic getting-to-know-you questions, so Jason knew Danny was ten and liked space, heroes, and the color mars red, and Danny knew Jason was twenty-one and liked books, guns, and the color burnished gold. How was he supposed to move the conversation in the direction he wanted to take it without just outright changing subjects? He must be more out of practice with social interactions than he'd thought if he was struggling this badly.

Luckily, though, it seemed Danny had no problems with getting down to business. "Alright, you said you had questions. I'm assuming most of them are about what happened last night and the rest are about me. Am I right?" He was a blunt little bugger, too.

"Pretty much," Jason said, nodding.

Danny nodded as well. "Right, well, we can do this the kinda quick and fairly messy way, or the much slower and more complete way. Which would you prefer?"

Jason raised an eyebrow at that. "I'm assuming one of those is me asking questions and you answering them?"

"Yep, and the other is me just starting from the beginning and answering any questions at the end," the kid agreed. Danny looked him dead in the eyes. "I don't have anywhere to be for at least the next few hours, but I don't know if you do, so you get to decide how we do this."

He thought about it, and the repercussions of both options. The "quick" and dirty method would theoretically get his questions answered quicker, but was liable to give him more questions and end to taking longer than either really wanted it to, while the "longer" and cleaner method would take longer to answer his questions, but would also give him most of, if not all, the context he'd need to actually understand the answers to his questions, and potentially be quicker in the long run at that. Jason nodded, decision made. "Let me tell my family I'm alright, then we'll start from the beginning, yeah? And we should probably move to the couch, it'll be more comfortable than the dinner table."

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＼⁠(⁠◎⁠o⁠◎⁠)⁠／ I GOT INSPIRATION! I know I said I'd only use prompts this month, but they were starting to make me want to tear my hair out, and I like my hair (⁠；⁠^⁠ω⁠^⁠）so yeah, these last few days will be free days where I can write whatever the fudge I want to. I'll probably write part four of this sooner rather than later, and I'm thinking of writing a part three for the fake cryptids au, as well. Here's hoping everything goes to plan (⁠^⁠～⁠^⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ

I'm too tired to be able to go through with tagging everyone who asked to be tagged in part three of this ficlet series, so I'm just going to hope this makes it to everyone who wanted to see it even without me tagging them. Maybe if I weren't so tired, I'd take the time to tag people, but ¯⁠\⁠_⁠༼⁠ ⁠ಥ⁠ ⁠‿⁠ ⁠ಥ⁠ ⁠༽⁠_⁠/⁠¯ I'm trying not to fall asleep as I write this (⁠´⁠-⁠﹏⁠-⁠`⁠；⁠) so yeaaaahhh, I'm going to finish this up and get myself to bed ಡ⁠ ͜⁠ ⁠ʖ⁠ ⁠ಡ

Have a good morning/day/night!

[readingrobin]

A Conspiracy of Truths by Alexandra Rowland

In a bleak, far-northern land, a wandering storyteller is arrested on charges of witchcraft. Though Chant protests his innocence, he is condemned not only as a witch, but a spy. His only chance to save himself rests with the skills he has honed for decades – tell a good story, catch and hold their attention, or die.

But the attention he catches is that of the five elected rulers of the country, and Chant finds himself caught in a tangled, corrupt political game which began long before he ever arrived here. As he’s snatched from one Queen’s grasp to another’s, he realizes that he could either be a pawn for one of them… or a player in his own right. After all, he knows better than anyone how powerful the right story can be: Powerful enough to save a life, certainly. Perhaps even powerful enough to bring a nation to its knees. -Storygraph

I believe I deserve a medal for finishing this book as quickly as I did, i.e. nearly two weeks. Now, I have to say that this is not a bad book by any means. It's intricately plotted, well told, and filled with memorable characters. It also happens to be excruciatingly, painfully, and utterly slow. There are times when I would read what I believed to be a good chunk, only to see that I had only moved about 2% further into the story. This book is a black hole where time and progression is only a relative theory and you're at the mercy of the author as to how long things are doing to drag on and on. All of the action happens out of view from our main character, Chant, who spends the majority of the plot in some sort of captivity, the only thing that changes is the location. For me, someone who is used to more fast-paced works, it became a little frustrating on more than one occasion.

That negative aside, everything else about A Conspiracy of Truths is pretty fantastic. I'm always a sucker for a curmudgeongly old man who knows he's the smartest one in the room, which is an apt description for Chant. This man, all from within a jail cell, brings a society to its knees through ingenuity, cleverness, and sheer dumb luck. There's no finer recipe for revolution. His voice carries the slow pace fairly well and it was a main reason of why I kept reading. He is a man that is devoted to the meaning of his profession, telling stories to just the right people at the right time. His humor comes from reacting to the oddness of the society containing him, one that thrives off bureaucracy and superstition. I saw another reviewer comparing it to Soviet-era Russia and, you know, the parallel isn't too far off. 

The world, though we see little of it, somehow seems enormous as we sit alongside Chant in captivity. This is mainly achieved through the stories of this realm, coming from different places and carrying the views and lessons tied to that culture. There were tragedies, epics, trickster tales, creation myths, all told to either entertain, impart a message, or simply just to pass the time. I really like how this story incorporated its myths/legends/folktales into the overall plot, as well as how the reactions of certain people give a good indication of their true character. Not to give spoilers, but this ultimately reveals a theme of how the stories we choose to give meaning to might not always be the truest ones and that may come back to bite you in the end.

I'm not sure I will continue with the next book in this series. This one was certainly enough for me and I was satisfied with it in the end, even though it concluded with more of a fizzle than a bang. I'm willing to give Chant and the others a rest for now.

(3/5)

[river-bottom-nightmare]

i want dick grayson to be annoyingly perfect in the smallest of unimportant ways. and i want it to irritate the living hell out of everyone around him

every now and then, jason and dick will go to different chili dog carts around the city, and dick will sit and nod in agreement as jason nitpicks the food, occasionally offering his own two cents. the conversations are tense and if the topic strays from anything except food jason books it, but it’s progress, and dick’s grateful. but he doesn’t understand why jason always growls at him when he’s preparing his chili dogs, chalking it up to jason’s obsessiveness about that food in particular. dick figures he’s probably doing it wrong. until one day, jason bites out a rough question, asks him how he did that. dick’s confused, until jason points out, “you tear open the top of the ketchup packet in a perfect line every time. and you get all of the ketchup out of the packet in one smooth squeeze, and you never get any on your fingers, and i don’t understand how.”

roy was, arguably, a better archer than ollie. green arrow had been birthed from the island, from the trauma of survival. roy, however, had been practicing since he was a kid, and now that he was well into his twenties, he could safely say he was one of the best shots in the world. he could beat all his friends at darts, shoot an apple off wally’s head, and was generally pretty awesome. or, he would be awesome, if only dick fucking grayson would stop making every single shot of anything he threw in a trash can. no matter what he was throwing away, no matter the angle, no matter the wind or rain, as long as the trashcan was in eyesight, anything dick tossed would inevitably end up inside the garbage. sometimes, dick barely even glanced at the damn thing, just took note of it a threw the trash, expecting it to land in the proper place. and it always did. the worst part was, dick didn’t even seem to notice it. he wasn’t actively trying to make every shot. when asked, dick just shrugged and said “we had some pretty good knife throwers in the circus.”

tim’s memories starting out as robin were a whirlwind, a push-pull of bruce’s mistrust, then bruce’s acceptance, of dick’s fear and hesitation, then of dick’s love. he still remembered dick making the two of them hot chocolate in the kitchen after a day of training, tim’s muscles sore and entire body aching but the feeling of pride, because he was good enough to be robin, he knew he was. he hadn’t expected that to happen anytime soon again, given the way their relationship had fractured after tim had left dick’s batman, a terrified fury in his eyes. yet, he’d been proven wrong when, after a particularly rough arkham breakout, alfred asked both dick and tim to stay instead of returning to their own apartments. just because the manor brought back a feeling of warm nostalgia, however, doesn’t mean it kept the nightmares away. he came down to the kitchen and saw dick already up, moving around the stovetop. with a knowing look in his eyes, dick grabbed another mug to make tim some hot chocolate. tim was washed over with a feeling of relief, of acceptance. dick slid the mug towards him and tim took a sip, letting the rich chocolate warm him up from the inside. it was delicious. his little sigh of pleasure must have been audible, but then he remembered something he noticed. “dick. did you use alfred’s recipe for this?” and dick laughed, responded with, “nah. too much work. i just sort of tried to remember what was in hot chocolate, and eyeballed most of the ingredients. i’m glad it turned out good though. no clumps too, that’s good.”

donna didn’t care how old she got, playing in the park with dick never got old. as one of her oldest friends, the two of them could just walk around the park, in companionable silence, just letting themselves relax and enjoy the moment. so, of course, dick would break the silence and ask if she had any earbuds, because it was getting to quiet for him. donna laughed, and reached inside her pocket, fingered past the keys, and grabbed the headphones. the tangled little ball that came out made her sigh, and she pulled on an earbud to loosen it, only managing to make one of the many knots tighter. then, dick took the headphones out of her hands with a here, i got it, and with a few quick tugs, the tangled monstrosity unraveled easy as breathing. then, completely unaffected, he handed her an earbud, putting the other in his own ear. “i’m the one who’s got a lasso,” she said, ignoring dick’s snort and quip about how earbuds and a lasso are two completely different things, donna.

cass hadn’t expected to enjoy such a gentle, graceful form of athletics, but after a few lessons, it had become apparent that ballet could be far from gentle. it pushed her, made her practice and strengthen herself, and she’d fallen in love with the art quickly. however, the most frustrating part of the entire thing had little to do with actually dancing. the school bruce had helped pick out was prestigious, which meant a strict dress code, which meant her hair had to be in a bun. unfortunately, her hair never seemed to want to cooperate. after her latest attempt, falling into a mess of hair at her nape that had so many locks falling out, cass contemplated how mad the teacher would be if she showed up in a ponytail. at that moment, dick peeked into her room, having heard her frustrated noise, and asked if he could do anything to help. cass pointed to the mess of hair, not even remotely contained by the hair tie, and blew a strand out of her face. dick smiled with understanding, then came into her room, grabbing the comb on her bed and standing behind her in front of the mirror. he smoothed her hair with the comb, then pulled it this way and that, twisting and turning and wrapping until, two minutes later, a picture perfect bun sat atop her head. cass blinked with surprise. “first try,” she said, staring up at him, but he just shrugged and said, “it’s not that hard. you want me to drop you off?”

bruce could admit that he rather enjoyed undercover missions. it was an extended game with high stakes, a test of his own acting skills. with makeup changing his face, an expertly made wig, and a demeanor completely different from both brucie wayne and from batman, he swept through the crowd of greasy men, looking for a specific contact. then, he caught sight of someone specific indeed, though they weren’t his contact. eyebrows raised in a what are you doing here? gesture, he slid onto a barstool. from behind the bar, dick offered him a blinding smile, cleaning a glass. he tapped his wrist twice, a clear message. undercover, same as you. then, dick grabbed a couple bottles from underneath a shelf, flipping them in his hand and pouring with grandeur. bruce noticed he hadn’t put any alcohol in his little mixture, only making it seem as if he had. the flashy moves were entertaining, bruce could give him that. dick slid him the drink and bruce took a sip, eyebrows raising in brief surprise. “this is good. bartending?” dick put the bottles and the lemon away, unimpressed. “it’s not like it’s hard. just mixing a couple ingredients. no biggie.” bruce was fairly certain bartending was more difficult than that, but just then, his target came into view. 

steph understood some of the bats’ frustration with dick, she really could. he hadn’t exactly been a welcome and opening batman, that’s for sure. regardless, as the few masks left in gotham had to work together, and she’d gotten to know the man pretty well. and she enjoyed his company as nightwing much more than batman. she dropped onto his balcony in his bludhaven apartment, announcing her presence in that loud-subtle way. dick was nestled in a couple blankets on the couch, going over a couple files, apparently just back from patrol if the small bandage on his neck and bags under his eyes were any indication. nevertheless, he brightened when he saw her and she nodded when he asked if she wanted to spend the night. he moved some of the papers to make room for her on the couch, but she flitted into his bathroom, going through the nail polish bottles she knew he had, and grabbing a shade of red that caught her eye. she tossed him the bottle and put her fingers in his lap, talking aimlessly about a movie she watched with cass. dick seemed to relax amidst her jabbering, and he shook the bottle a couple times before opening it and focusing on her right hand. but as he started, steph paused her rambling and focused on him instead, holding her hands gently and brushing paint onto her nails. he managed to cover her entire nail in three easy strokes, smooth and glossy, not a hint of paint on her skin. the nail was practically perfect. oh god she was jealous. “got a lot of practice with this, grayson?” she asked, and laughed at dick’s mock-offended of course not!

damian wasn’t one for photography, and he could grudgingly admit drake was far better at that particular skill than he was. however, his art class had promised to cover all types of media, and had upheld that pledge. the next two weeks were dedicated to photography, and their final project for the unit had to be a small collection of photographs. animal photography, of course, was damian’s chosen subject, and the knowledge that animal photography was one of the hardest skills to master only had damian wanting to do it more. days later, however, he could admit that it was trickier than expected. how had he never noticed how active his animals were? they never sat still, and every single picture came out blurry. grayson, upon coming across him in the manor grounds, noticed his futile attempts and asked if he could help. damian acquiesced the camera to grayson, who looked through the lens, finding the right angle and background, adjusting the focus settings slightly. then, he let out a sharp whistle and snapped his fingers. in nothing short of a miracle, damian’s pets pasued to look at him, only for a second, and the shutter clicked furiously. damian flipped through the photos, a good many of them clear and wonderful. damian snapped in irritation when dick ruffled his hair and said, “now you try!” it definitely wasn’t as easy as grayson made it look.

babs didn’t really know what she was expecting when she broke up with dick. there was hurt on both ends, and distance for a while, and she had no idea how much she’d miss him. but after a couple months of working together, of remembering that underneath the romantic tangles, their friendship was strong, she’d gotten to the point of dick randomly dropping by her apartment again. the downside was, dick kept randomly dropping by her apartment again. he stole her snacks and messed up her filing system and was so irritating that barbara almost forgot how relieved she was at having one of her best friends back. fortunately, it did come with benefits, because when he was bored, he did some of her chores for her. pausing in the doorway, she smiled at the sight of dick folding her clothes and putting them away. the gesture was platonic now, but no less appreciated. she pushed her wheelchair forward, and in greeting, dick told her how much he wanted to steal all her patterned socks. babs reminded him they wouldn’t fit, and laughed at his pout. dick grabbed one sock off the top of the laundry basket, then dug his hand into the pile of clothes randomly, coming up with the second sock in an instant. folding them together, he repeated the process for each pair. “that...that was fast. you got all of them?” babs asked in confusion. “yes? why, did you expect some to be missing?” was dick’s reply as he shook the wrinkles out of a sweater.

wally was never surprised. he knew dick better than probably most people in the world. he’d gone from frustrated and jealous of dick’s random talents, to admiring and appreciative, to just accepting them as a fact of life. dick’s phone never cracked if he accidentally he dropped it. dick never buttoned up shirts wrong, aligning each button with the right hole perfectly on the first try. dick could plug in usb ports the right way. dick always remembered which light switch was for which room, no matter whose house they were at. dick could pop a cd out of its case without ever smudging the disk, holding it by the rim perfectly. and dick always seemed to know when wally needed a day off, to just visit their old haunts, grab some ice cream, and spend the day talking away on a rooftop. that was just something his best friend could do. and wally would never tell dick, but underneath his fake irritation at it, but he loved him for it.

tag list:  @comicsandhoney @birdy-bat-writes @elles-shitposts-personified @subtleappreciation @screennamealreadyused @pricetagofficial @catxsnow @astroherogirl @yesboopityboop @dangerduckjpeg

[smurphyse]

Loki is dating a young woman who is a fantastic cook and one day he realizes his pants are a tad tight. He’s gained some weight but doesn’t have the heart to stop eating her wonderful food

Southern Belle

Word Count: 1691 words

Tags: body issues (not like anything too triggering, I don’t think), mentions of sex

I always love feedback, but like, please be nice lol

Send me more Loki prompts! <3 I love doing oneshots!

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“Here we go,” she sing-songed, carrying a large baking dish over to the table, the little hand-painted ladybugs that decorated it’s sides seeming just as excited as she.

Loki sat patiently, smiling at her as she set it down on the blue checkered tablecloth next to a tub of ice cream. She set down a few brightly colored plates, all painted with various bugs and flowers, decorated by her own hand- which were still stained with paint, he noticed fondly. 

“Peach cobbler,” she grinned, shaking her shoulders in excitement, “Just like Mamaw used to make!”

She watched him closely as he took his first bite, giggling when his eyebrows knitted together in bliss. Fuck, everything she made seemed to come from Valhalla.

His girl, his Southern Belle. The two had been dating for only a few months, ever since Loki had come to San Francisco during his travels. She had been poking around an art fair, her long curls pulled up into two pigtails as she pulled out pieces to observe.

She’d been wearing a pair of dirt smeared overalls, detailed with little butterflies and flowers, obviously hand-embroidered. They were rolled up at the ankles, her neon Converse forcing his eye to her like a shining beacon in the night. 

He’d been drawn to her, like a moth to the flame, unable to control himself as he pushed past the crowds to meet her. As he came face-to-face with her she glanced up at him and flashed him a megawatt smile. He’d been speechless, utterly besotted. 

“Can I help you, darlin’? You look lost,” she drawled, and it took a moment for the Allspeak to translate her thick Southern accent. 

“I think I’ve just been found, actually,” he chuckled, finally finding his voice. 

Her smile seemed to grow brighter, the little crinkles around her eyes deepening as she flushed deeply. 

Loki had offered her a coffee, and she took it. He’d been living in bliss ever since.

She’d come to San Francisco to be an artist, picking up little commissions here and there, working in various galleries and zipping from place to place to help out her fellow creators. She was constantly buzzing around, full of excitement and energy about the whole world around her, ready to take it on day by day.

She gave Loki courage, made him see the little details of this Odin-forsaken planet that he had mostly overlooked. He loathed to admit it, but she had made him love Earth, so long as she was on it. 

One day he would take her to Asgard, and he would watch as she painted the skies in her excitement and ecstasy. His world would be born anew in his eyes, just from the little things she would point out, things he’d never seen. 

They found time for one another whenever they could. Loki had kept himself busy working in various art fairs, finding himself a good organizer for such events. One activity that they had found pulled them together, besides the lovely rapture that was their sex, was cooking. Loki had taken it up when he arrived on Earth, mostly enjoying food closer to Asgard’s cuisines. She was from the South, whatever that meant Loki was not sure, but she insisted it meant all things ‘comfort food’. 

And comfort it gave. She’d shown him Tennessee Barbeque, ‘Pop Pop’s Soaked Ribs’, a bunch of things having to do with cottage cheese, and of course, desserts. 

He was settling down. Norns, if Thor could see him now. He’d likely have a joke or two to make of his unattached, emotionally distant brother finding love in such a creature as her. 

Loki could hear her now, singing some country song in the shower, her deep twang echoing off the tiles and through her small apartment. 

He was getting ready for the day, pulling on a deep green undershirt as he stood in his boxers. He pulled a pair of black slacks out of his little designated area of the closet and pulled them up.

As he buttoned them, he noticed they felt a bit tighter than the last time he’d worn them a few weeks ago. They had one of her art events to go to for lunch, and he’d been wearing jeans mostly when he was working at the fairs. 

Turning, Loki checked out his ass in the mirror. He still looked fabulous if he had to say, but his pants were tighter. 

Could this be a trick? Had Thor tracked him down and performed some spell to throw Loki off his game? It certainly would not be the first time something similar had happened. 

He lifted the shirt, turning to the side as he patted his tummy, his finger pinching along his sides as he sighed heavily. He stepped closer to the mirror, pressing the back of his hand under his chin. His mouth dropped open in shock, and he glared at his reflection.

He’d gained weight.

“I wouldn’t have nothin’ if I didn’t have you,” she sang as she walked back into the bedroom in a fluffy pink towel. She came up behind him and wrapped her hands around his waist, giving him a squeeze as she placed a kiss between his shoulders.

“Hey, handsome.”

Loki scoffed, feeling quite uncomfortable suddenly. She frowned against his back, her hands squeezing his sides lightly, his love handles.

He pulled away from her with a groan, the air feeling heavy around him. He turned to look at her, her lip set in a pout on her concerned face.

“I’m not feeling very handsome today, kitten.”

“Oh,” her frown set deeper for a moment, but was quickly replaced by a mischievous smile, “Is there something I can do to make you feel handsome?”

She tucked her lip between her teeth as she sauntered back up to him, placing her hands on his chest. He smiled down at her, his heart bursting in his chest. 

Loki dipped his head, catching her lips with his own. Her hands tangled into his hair as her towel fell away, and Loki took the opportunity to lift her into his arms and carry her over to the bed.

“I think I have something in mind,” he grinned, pulling her under the covers as she giggled from his touch. 

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

They arrived at the event a little late. The only craft she was not talented in was the art of makeup, but luckily Loki was, and they’d had to spend a few extra minutes covering up some of the hickeys someone had left on her neck and chest.

They were at some vegan restaurant in town that doubled as an art studio. Loki would never understand it, all these hybrid businesses were too niche, they’d have a hard time lasting in this market. But, she liked going and supporting other artists and friends, enjoyed having her art displayed on the walls of local businesses, and who was he to deny her that fun?

The little buffet table was filled with all sorts of leafy greens and vegetables of all colors. It was a vibrant exhibit, accentuated greatly by her art that complimented the bright green and orange paint job of the establishment.

“How come you don’t make food like this?” he asked, waving a blackbean taquito toward her as she gazed at another artist’s work.

“I make vegetables all the time,” she shrugged, snagging the taquito out of his hand and taking a bite.

“You make vegetables with Crisco, which I believe is just butter and animal fat mixed together.”

“I thought you liked my food, honey,” her big eyes clouded with worry, and his chest crumbled in an instant. 

“Oh, my sweet,” Loki sighed, snaking one of his hands around her waist, the other moving to cup her chin, “I do, it’s just-”

“Just what? You’ve been acting weird all day, Loki. What’s going on?”

He felt the heat creep across his cheeks, embarrassment flooding his every vein as he looked down at her. He hated feeling like this, vulnerable, but he wanted to be honest with her, to invest in this relationship.

“I’ve gained some weight recently… and I think it’s from your cooking.”

Her eyes widened in shock, “I haven’t noticed.”

His head cocked to the side, his lips pursing in disbelief. She noticed everything, from the ants on the sidewalk to the stars in the sky, she saw it all. 

“Loki, if you want me to make healthier meals, I’m more than willing. You just seemed to like my comfort recipes so much, and I wanted to make you things you liked,” she wrapped her arms around his waist, tugging his hips tightly against hers. “I have lots of recipes in my book, darlin’.”

“I do love your cooking. I guess I just feel a little… insecure right now,” he admitted, his face starting to cramp from the blazing blush across his nose.

“I really didn’t notice anything, but,” her hands dragged back to his belly, patting it softly as she stood on her tiptoes to give him a kiss. “Now that you mention it, I do like the little bit of cushion I’m feelin’.”

“Wow,” he chuckled, kissing her again. He covered her hands with his, giving them a soft squeeze of thanks. 

Suddenly, he had an idea. He leaned in and whispered hotly against her ear, “Think you can help me work some of it off?”

“Oh,” she feigned innocence, her southern drawl coming out in full force, “what kind of exercises do you have in mind?”

“The kind that includes me, you, and a locked bathroom door fifteen feet away,” Loki smirked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. 

“Oh, I’m gonna be so sore in the mornin’,” she laughed as Loki dragged her to the other end of the restaurant, admiring his ass in his trousers unabashedly. 

Loki pulled her into the bathroom, locking the door behind them as he lifted her onto the sink. She grinned at him, her eyes full of light as he looked at her lovingly.

His girl, his Southern Belle.

His favorite thing to eat.

[adelior]

Name: Unconditionally

Author: R. Adelio

Genre: Romance, Minecraft, Comedy, Fluff

Main Lead: Technoblade, Dreamwastaken

Female Lead: Reader

Chapter: 1

Special Addition: Tchnomaid

Letters: 10,718

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"I'm bored" You mumbled into your palm as you kept your gaze on the papers that were set up in front of you. "It's your fault for trespassing their area, [Name]. You should know by now how strict Dream is with the boundaries of the countries." Wilbur interpreted, his brows furrowing by the second. "They could have killed you."

"I'm sorry, I was just curious" Hearing you apologize, he softened up and groaned. Wil patted your shoulder with a somewhat forced smile before leaving the room. "Make sure to finish brewing the potions by the end of the day. For now," He looked back, nodding his head. "I'll see you around, [Name]."

"You too, Wil" Sighing, you turned to look at the blonde-haired boy who stood awkwardly in the corner. "Well uh, that went well at least!" Slamming your first, you startled Tommy as he shrieked. "I got in trouble in YOUR PLACE-"

"Yeahhhh, about that, I'm sorry!" Tommy shook you by the shoulders, a grin spreading across his face. "I'll make it up to you okay? I'll set you up on a date with Wilbur if it makes you feel any better" Your cheeks darkened, giving the kid a pathetic slap as you covered the bottom half of your face.

"It's really nothing like that. I don't.. like him.." The last part of your sentence was muttered, and as usual, the boy who knew of your feelings let out a hollering laugh. "I knew it! Who would have fucking thought that you'd fall for Wil! Out of all people!"

"LOOK-" You turned to face him, your face getting hotter and hotter the more you thought about it. "I have my reasons okay! He's a good guy, and on top of that, he's an amazing friend"

"An amazing friend you say? He's also one hell of a fucking leader that's for sure. But enough about your crush let's go out and play with Tubbo!" Dismissing him with a single wave, you gave your best sympathetic smile. "Sorry Tommy, but I have to finish brewing these potions by the end of the day. I can't afford to be disciplined by Wil again"

"Hm, whatever, fine" The boy shrugged, leaving you alone. "THIS ISN'T THE END WOMAN! You will join me and Tubbo on our conquest sooner or later!" You chuckled, smiling at his childish behavior. "Yeah, yeah, now go on and have fun"

You can hear him shout out loud, laughing as he tackled what you perceive to be Tubbo. "I never wanna leave" The sentence that slipped out of your mouth caught you off guard. Despite being an outsider to their nation, they treated you with respect and saw you as a member of their group.

Sitting back down, you continued to flip through the pages of the book. Studying the recipes and applying the specific ingredients to each bottle. "Oh shit, I ran out of spider eyes" Cursing, you stood up to walk towards the door, looking out into the hallway. "Niki!" You shouted from your office, capturing the woman's attention. "Yes, [Name]?"

"Do you know if we have any spider eyes left in the chest room? Or have we completely run out of it" She pondered for a second, answering once she finished checking her inventory. "I don't think we have any more spider eyes. I'm also not carrying any with me sadly"

"Oh, that's alright. I can just outside and kill some spiders myself" Pushing yourself forward to one of your chests, you opened it and took some resources. A bow, 10 arrows, and full iron armor apart from your golden shoes. "[Name], you don't need to go out and kill some on your own. It's dangerous at night"

"Exactly, which is why I plan to go to the Piglin market to trade some gold for a few stacks of spider eyes" Niki shook her head in denial, refusing to let you pass by. "That's even more dangerous! We're humans, we can't go inside there unless we have the King's permission. And usually, we'd have knightly escorts to go around with us"

"True, but I can slip in and slip out without being noticed" You shrugged on your hood, a robe that covered your full body apart from your face. "I can hide with this, besides if they aren't able to tell that I'm human they'll never be able to report it to the king"

"Al..right.." The short-haired girl had a troubled expression on her face, but nevertheless, let you pass. "Good luck! Please come home safely" You turned to give her a single nod, a reassuring smile that was enough to calm her down. "I promise, so don't worry about me okay?"

And so you left, walking to the basement of your home where the Nether Portal stood tall. You gulped at the mere sight of it, how mysterious yet alluring. The purple particles only making it look majestic. "beautiful.." You muttered as you slowly entered, the change of temperature really hit you hard. It was hot, humid compared to how it felt in the overworld. "Goddamn how do piglins live like this"

"Shocking, right?" A male voice erupted from the silence, causing you to stiffen. "I'm assuming you're not used to traveling to the Nether." You slowly turned around, only to be met with a man with dirty blonde hair. "Pardon?" You tilted your head, staring at his smiling mask. "Nothing, would you like me to escort you and keep you safe?"

"And what makes you think I'd trust a stranger" You questioned, earning a chuckle from the man. "You're not as dumb as you look. But don't worry you're not my type, I won't do anything."

"WH-" His hand went over your mouth in a flash, he moves fast for a person with netherite armor, and on top of that a black robe. "Keep your voice down, first rule when entering the Nether World is to never bring unnecessary attention to yourself."

"Got it" Your voice was muffled from his large hand, he stepped back before leading the way, making sure that you were tailing right behind him. "The second rule, make sure to always be with somebody. Never travel alone or you'll die in an instant without somebody keeping you safe."

"Safe? Is the Nether really dangerous for you to say that?" Observing his reaction, you realized how sharp his jawline was. You can't peak through the mask but his mouth was fully exposed. "Yes, I take it you've never looked into this dimension?"

"Well, to be fair I've only heard of the Nether. This is my first time actually setting foot into the portal" The man's mouth pulled back into a dumbfounded snarl, almost as if he was silently judging you for your actions. "Weird." Was all he said before nudging you forward. "We're here, keep your guard up. What are you here for exactly?"

"I'm here to trade gold for a few stacks of spider eyes" He sighed, pulling your hood closer to your face. "You do realize you could have killed a few spiders in the overworld without having to come here."

"Uh, not really the best in combat you see" You admitted, darting your attention to the passing piglings who stood at least 5 feet taller than the man leading the way. Their species were large and brute compared to humans, they were cool but dangerous to interact with. "What the hell were you thinking when you decided to come here without somebody to guide you."

"I honestly have no clue" You stared at the man with a blank face, earning a disappointed grunt from him. "Well, turn around Princess because we just arrived at the Mob looting store. Stay out here, I'll get the eyes for you."

"Wait a second- I feel bad you're the one who led me here and protected me-" The man that accompanied you patted your head with one of the most genuine smiles you've ever seen. Despite him being awfully mysterious, he has shown nothing but kindness all throughout your journey. "Don't worry about it. Just stay here and don't run off anywhere. It's even more dangerous inside because piglins tend to fight over items."

Fidgeting with your hands, you finally agreed. The blonde took that as an agreement and stepped into the store. You were left to stay outside, leaning against the wall that was nearest to the door. A few seconds passed, and yet you were still outside waiting. You were beginning to think that the man who you walked with abandoned you.

"Ex..c.." A piglin with long pink hair muttered, his hand reaching for you. "Excu.." You stepped aside, worried that the mob was here to harm you. The more you stared at him the more you realized he was one of them, but one that looked more human. "Is there something you need?" You questioned the man, earning a nod. "What is it?"

"Do you.. Do-" Before he was able to finish his sentence, your eyes widened in realization. You swung your right hand to open your inventory, taking out a gold bar to hand over to him. 'I heard piglins liked gold, maybe he'll leave me alone if I gave him one' Was what you thought as you urged the hybrid to take it.

He looked at you back and forth, debating whether or not he should accept it. "Take it, it's alright I have plenty of where that came from" The man in front of you hesitantly took the gold into his hands, his eyes widening when he realized how shiny and well kept the item was.

"You..-"

"Hey." The man who accompanied you shouted once he exited the shop, pulling out his netherite sword. "Back off."

"Hey wait! He didn't do anything wrong, leave him be" You pushed the blonde male back slightly, apologizing to the other person with a forced smile. "Let's just head back before we get caught!" Turning around, you tangled your fingers with his and ran away, waving the piglin goodbye.

"What are you doing." He asked, narrowing his eyes from under the mask. "You said to keep attention away from us so I am-"

"I wasn't even that loud." You turned to glare at him. "It got a lot of people's attention" The man laughed, swooping you into his arms, and began to speed up his pace. "You're a good listener." He complimented, a smile fighting to break through his irritated expression.

It took time for the two of you to finally reach the same Nether portal from before. The blonde slowly lowered you onto your feet, handing the bag of spider eyes into your chest. "Here, it's heavy so make sure to hold it with both hands."

"Thank you.." You muttered, gladly taking the bag with a smile. "Say, um.. I never caught your name?" Before the man was able to walk away, he turned to look at you one last time before telling you his name. "Clay, the name's clay."

"Clay?"

"I'll see you around." With that, he pushed you into the portal. You fell onto your back once you were transported over to the overworld, lying there with staggering breaths. "I never got to tell him my name though" But once you sat up, the Nether Portal's liquid-like wall disappeared. The particles were being sucked into the middle, and the doorway to hell was disappearing.

"What the..-"

"[NAME!]" You hear your name being called out by what sounds to be Wilbur. Turning to look over your shoulder, you see the whole group running towards you with a worrying expression. "You're back!"

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ec: @quacobs (instagram)

[gentlemancrow]

Written in the Stars Will Have to Do

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

Read on AO3 instead!

Written in the Stars Will Have to Do

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even after everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Martin snorted and shook his head.

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

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

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

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

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

“It BLEEDS?” Martin exclaimed in horror.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jon.  STOP.  It’s over.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A… Telescope?” he’d blurted dumbly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jon rolled his eyes fondly.

“Gross.  Keats again?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Jon?  Are you quite alright?”

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

Another victorious smirk and a loving murmur.

“Told you so.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dauntless, Jon only tugged harder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, hot toddy with tea.”

“Ooh, lovely, you do know me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” he finally answered, smiling softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jon, I-“

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

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

“You… I’m sorry?” he squeaked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.  Oh.”

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

“I love you.  I love you so much.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me, too…” he whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t.”

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

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

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

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

“Will you marry me?”

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

“Yes, yes I do believe I will.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jon chortled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do.  And Jon, do you?”

“I do.”

“You may now soundly snog the groom.”

“Martin…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Martin lit up with literary glee.

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

“Absolutely no chance in hell.”

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

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

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

“I do like, please and thank you!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t push your luck...”

[the-light-finds-its-way]

Lazarus

Guardians name: Lazarus

Age: Infinite

Race: Jovian

Call signs/alias: The Gloomstalker

Pronouns: He/him

Class: Warlock

Preferred subclass(es): Void

Ghost’s name: Rasmodius

Their Vanguard: Zavala, Ikora, Cayde-6

Fireteam name: Fealty of Light

Fireteam teammates: None yet! He’s still searching for some people who’ll be his friends and join up with him!

Favorite legendary weapon: Twilight Oath

Favorite exotic weapon: Whisper of the Worm

Favorite exotic armor: Karnstein Armlets

Favorite ornament armor set: Steeplechase

Favorite weapon ornament: Eye of Osiris

What stats do they focus on: Recovery, Resilience, Mobility

Are they offense, defence, or support: Offense

Do they prefer being close, mid, or long range: Any and all of them

Do they lean more “Element of Surprise” or “Upfront and Aggressive”: Upfront and aggressive

Strikes, Gambit, or Crucible: Strikes

Who was their mentor(if they had one. If it is a character you created, tell us about them!): Asher Mir

Who are they mentoring(if they are. If it is a character you created, tell us about them!): Nobody at the moment

What ship do they have: A Thousand Wings

What is their Sparrow: Eon Drive

Favorite Ghost shell: Eris Morn shell

Favorite shader: Corrective // Protective

Favorite color: Black

Favorite food: Ramen

Favorite piece of Pre-Collapse tech(if they’ve seen any): The cell phone

Favorite Pre-Collapse music(if they’ve heard any): Amon Amarth

Favorite place in The Last City(if it’s a place you created, give a little description!): The 3rd District. It’s a place where many poor and homeless people live, and Lazarus likes to cook exotic meals and general food for them at every chance he gets. He likes helping give food to those without any.

Favorite NPC(s): Asher Mir, Ikora Rey, Zavala, Cayde-6

Favorite patrol location: Anywhere on the Tangled Shore

5 things your Guardian likes(can be anything): Stoicism, spontaneity, creativity, justice, cooking

Least favorite food: Hamburgers

Least favorite shader: Nailbiter (it’s too colorful for him)

Least favorite patrol location: Anywhere on Titan

Least favorite Pre-Collapse tech(if they’ve seen any): Landlines

Least favorite NPC(s): The Spider, Emperor Calus, Oryx, Savathun

Least favorite weapon ornament: Heretic Robe

Least favorite ornament armor set: Liminal Voyager

Least favorite legendary weapon: Avalanche

Least favorite exotic weapon: The Queenbreaker

Least favorite exotic armor: Transversive Steps

5 things your Guardian dislikes(this can be anything): Stupidity, mistreatment, evil, bad food, negligence

Your Guardian has to rest. What is their living space like: A humble little apartment with minimal things. The walls are painted a dark grey, almost black, and the carpeting is black but soft, and the lighting is low. There are Vex trinkets everywhere, and broken Vex parts scattered about.

Does your Guardian have any casual wear?(Y'all remember Polyvore? The website URSTYLE works very similar if that helps!):

What hobbies and/or skills does you Guardian have: Cooking is his main and only hobby. Specifically, making gourmet meals.

What would your Guardian’s lore book be called: Breadwinner of Stars

Where was your Guardian reborn?(If you created the location, give us a little description!): The Tangled Shore, near a Vex cave

What were they wearing when they were reborn: A button-down black shirt, khakis, black loafers, and a cheap watch

What was their reaction to being reborn: Confusion, loss, and disconnect

What was their reaction to their first rez: Awe. He felt invincible, and everlasting. Immortality comes with no price but the weight of defending the innocent, and he was glad to immediately take on that duty.

After being reborn, did they meet friendlies first or hostiles: Friendlies. Asher Mir found him, and rescued him.

Who was the first other Guardian they met?(Same thing! If you made them, give a little description!): Asher Mir

Did your Guardian get reborn with, or find, any indication of their past life? If so what do they have/found: Lazarus found no indication of his past life besides the clothes he wore. He assumed he came from wealth of some sort, perhaps a high society member of the Jovians, though he’s unsure. He has tried finding out more about his life, but no Jovian recognizes him before he was a Guardian.

How did your Guardian get their name(if they didn’t rez with past life momentos): The cave Lazarus woke up near was a labyrinth, and without knowing the word for it, Laz called the place “a lazarus” instead of labyrinth. Asher laughed, genuinely, and said he’d call the man Lazarus for such a comment. But eventually, both took pride in the name, and it became a strong name with lots of positive meaning to them both.

Going back to your Guardian’s lore book, what would be some some quotes or passages from their book: A lot of recipes, including one on cooking Ahamkara properly. Lots of exploration into the Vex, and adventures to figure out how to cure Asher Mir’s arm and save his teacher. Some quotes would be: “The Light hurt me at first, but eventually, it wasn’t so bad. I adapted it to suit my needs, and made a tool from a weapon against myself.” “Jovians wince at the Light, but me? I will embrace it forevermore. It is a gift unto me, and I will reach my tendrils into eternity to wield it if I must.”

Does your Guardian have a significant other: No

Did your Guardian go explore first before going to The Last City? If so, where to: Lazarus explored the Vex labyrinth, and learned its ins and outs. It took quite some time to get used to it, but his intelligence is high, and thus, Laz learned them faster than Asher could.

What was their reaction to first seeing The Last City: Awe and wonder. It was as beautiful and lively as he’d imagined it being.

Is your Guardian a part of a clan: Mithrax’s House Light

Does your Guardian’s clan have a back story? If so, what is it?(if you want to or able to share): N/A

If your Guardian would have a quote as a flavor text for a weapon and/or piece of armor, what would they be: “Light be with us all, for Darkness is but an inescapable dive into a jaded infinity.”

If your Guardian has had any interactions with any civilians (The Last City/The Farm), Eliksni, Cabal, Vex, Hive, Taken, Scorn, Rouge Lightbearers, or Iron Lords/War Lords(if your Guardian is an Old Light) tell us about it!: Lazarus disagrees heavily with the Iron Lords, and always has. He didn’t like them when they were warlords, and he still disagrees with them to this day. Laz gets along with other races, specifically Eliksni, as they are close neighbors to the Jovians, both living on the Tangled Shore. He saw their Collapse, when they lay siege to The Last City, and felt pity and sympathy for them rather than hating them. Laz has only ever fought Vex, and studied them, and sees them as a bane and plight, since they hurt his teacher. He struggles to trust the Cabal after what they did during the Red War, but he’s slowly trusting them. He doesn’t trust the Hive whatsoever, and disagrees with Darkness as a whole.

Does your Guardian have any unconventional allies or connections(By Vanguard standards): The Eliksni. Lazarus has befriended them long before House Light was a thing, and spent lots of time with them on the Shore.

How does your Guardian feel about themselves or others using Stasis: Horribly. Lazarus does not trust Stasis, as it’s Darkness, and he thinks it’ll corrupt everyone at some point. Some are more resistant to the corruption than others, but everyone who uses Darkness will succumb to it someday.

Did they run The Last Wish raid? How did they react to seeing a live Ahamkara a.k.a Riven: N/A

Did they run The Deep Stone Crypt raid? How did they react to the Crypt and seeing Exo Eliskni: N/A

Is your Guardian from D1? How did they react to seeing Taniks alive once again: Lazarus was shocked beyond measure, and was ready to kill him again to defend the innocent people.

Where did they go and what did they do during The Red War: Lazarus stayed on the sidelines, giving resources to the Lightless, Guardians, everyone, and mainly provided support and healing as necessary. He couldn’t put himself in danger, and advised others to do the same.

Here are some characters that are either polarizing or have created a strong enough mass emotion within the community. What opinion does your Guardian hold on each of them(These are only a handful of characters!)>>>

Osiris, First Warlock Vanguard, originally exiled: Lazarus struggles to trust Osiris, and believe him to be a better person today. He’s well aware of the old, self-centered Osiris with a whole cult, and is dismayed by this man’s sheer selfishness.

Eris Morn, Bane of the Swarm: Awe and amazement at her persistence. Laz admires her deeply.

Cayde-6, Sixth Hunter Vanguard: A young soul, and foolhardy, but a great person nonetheless.

Ikora Rey, Second Warlock Vanguard: Wise, trustworthy, a great friend.

Commander Zavala, Second Titan Vanguard: Someone Laz can confide in, and trust to have his back at all times.

Saint-14, legendary Titan, First Titan Vanguard: A great person, someone with conviction and will, with the best interest of others in mind. Lazarus loves Saint, and trusts him deeply.

Lord Saladin, Iron Banner handler, One of the last remaining Iron Lords: Distaste, hatred, loathing. Lazarus can’t forgive what Saladin did.

Lord Shaxx, Crucible handler, Hero of Twilight Gap, living megaphone: Admiration, aspiration to be like him, and he is proof that anyone can change for the better.

The Crow, New Light, Ex-Enforcer to The Spider: Wary, but willing to give aid and help however he can. Crow isn’t Uldren, and he’s better. Lazarus must constantly remind himself of this.

The Spider, The Shore’s Only Law, founder of “House” Spider: A con artist, and someone to sparingly trust only when absolutely necessary.

Uldren Sov, Prince of the Reef, Master of Crows: Never trust him, never believe him. The man only spews false promises.

Mara Sov, Queen of the Reef, Queen of the Awoken, Ex-Kell of Wolves: Never trusted her, never believed her, and never will. She is a con artist as much as Spider.

Variks, the Loyal, founder of House Judgement: Trusts him, and believes him to be a good person. Lazarus likes that he mistrusts Stasis as much as he does.

Mithrax, the Forsaken, Kell of Light, founder of House Light: Trusts him completely, and believes him to be a savior and the Light of Eliksni.

The Exo Stranger/Elizabeth “Elsie” Bray, Granddaughter of Clovis I and Sister to Ana Bray: Wary to trust her, and hesitant around her. Laz believes someday she’ll succumb to the Darkness, and fall victim to its influence. He pities this day.

Eramis, of House Salvation, Kell of Darkness: A fool, misguided, so desperate and damned. She dug her grave, and she now lays in it.

Empress Caiatl of the Cabal Imperial Empire: Struggles to trust her, but after what she did for Zavala, he’s willing to give her a chance.

Taniks the Scarred, the Perfected, the Abomination, the Shadow Thief: He’s a scourge on everyone, and a threat to be eliminated.

The Darkness is fast approaching. How is your Guardian handling it: Lazarus is ready to fight, and will go against it tooth and nail. He doesn’t hesitate to take things head on, and will do the same against the Darkness. Whatever must be done to protect the innocent, Laz will do it.

And finally, does your Guardian have any advice for any New Lights: Never give in to Darkness, and always walk with the Light.

[sweetdreamhellofanight]

Symptom of Us

Ariya Daivari x Reader Warnings: None Word Count: 1,356 Summary: If it feels so good, why does it hurt so much?

Neither of you had made it any secret at this point, casting glances over at each other throughout the night that lasted too long to be just looking around. 

The night went on, and you found others to occupy your time. He found his own group and you could hear his laugh over the music, over the crowd, over everything else around you. 

Because you’d been waiting to hear that laugh all night, you realized. 

And all the while, you both moved closer together. His drink now set down on a table and forgotten, hovering near your friends, glances lasting longer and longer, his unreadable expression now clear as day. 

And now, as the party neared its crest, you could feel him close to you, his cologne overwhelming, his breath hot against your neck, his hand hovering over the small of your back. 

You could feel your blood rushing, boiling, the closer he got to you. 

The air in the room sucked out with every step you two took towards each other. 

The noise fading until all that was left was the sound of your heart beating out of your chest. 

Part of you wanted to turn around, to fall back into his arms, as you’d done so many nights before, and tell him to come home. 

Instead, you left. 

You knew he wouldn’t be far behind. 

But you needed to leave everything else behind, just to make sure. 

Just to see if he would follow, or if this would be the first time you left alone. 

The rain had finally stopped, the pavement still wet, leaves still dripping over you as you walked. 

Your coat in hand, you walked slowly, your heels making almost no sound. 

You wanted to make sure you could hear it when it happened. 

If it happened. 

And then it came, the sound of the door opening, the noise spilling out into the quiet street for just a second, just as he left it behind. 

And then the sounds of his footsteps moving in your direction. 

And you tried not to smile, tried to make sure he didn’t get the satisfaction from your reaction. 

But then his voice came out, pulled you out of your thoughts, and you knew yourself well enough to know where this would lead. 

“Do you need a ride home?” 

You stopped and waited. His footsteps continued, until you could feel him closer to you. 

Finally, you turned around. 

Ariya looked you over, hands at his side, fingers tapping on his sides, looking nervous, 

“I drove myself,” you said, softly. 

He nodded. 

“Are you parked nearby?” he asked, taking a step towards you. 

“Across the street,” you said. 

And he did what he always did, without question, without hesitation. 

He waved his hand in front of you, asking you to lead the way, standing beside you and waiting to join you on the walk over. 

So you did. 

And he kept pace with you, standing too close, letting his hands wander towards yours, waiting for you to say something. 

“I didn’t know you would be here,” you said, finally. 

He nodded, 

“Last minute plan,” he said. “You?” 

“Me too,” you said. 

It was nearly 1 am, the streets completely empty, but even as you crossed without looking you could feel his hand on your back guiding you through. 

And you leaned into it. 

Because this is how it always went, and it was how you were always going to react. 

He would find any reason to get close to you, to touch you, to remind you what you wanted, to make you question why you left him each time. 

Just enough to make you want him again, to make you choose him again. 

“It’s been a while,” he finally said as you made your way into the parking lot, pulling his hand away from you. You had your keys in hand, parked nearby, but you made no move to go towards your car. 

“It has,” you replied, “almost a year.” 

He nodded, and you wished he hadn’t moved his hand. 

“I saw something the other day,” he started, smiling brightly for a second, “this cookbook. It was something like all the fake recipes in movies or something and I thought of you...like that time you spent a weekend trying to make the exact same cookies you saw in a comic?” 

“The weird spiced cookies, yeah,” you said, remembering that weekend three years ago, fondly. Both of you covered in flour, the face he made when he’d tried molasses straight from the jar, and the way he’d smiled after the first bite of the final batch. The way you’d leaned into him, exhausted and satisfied and happy after so much work. 

“You probably already have that book,” he said, as you two walked far past where your car was parked. 

“I don’t,” you said a little too quickly. 

He looked at you from the corner of his eyes and smiled. 

And you knew it was only a matter of time. 

“Did you enjoy the party?” you asked, trying to buy just a little more time for yourselves as you circled the lot. 

He shrugged, 

“It was nice,” he said. “It got better towards the end,” he added after a moment, and you felt your cheeks burn and you realized you’d missed that feeling. You had missed the way he made you blush, the way he made you feel.

You’d missed him. 

Finally, you’d walked the full circle of the parking lot and approached your car, and this time you made sure he could see the keys in your hand. 

“Did you drive?” you asked him. 

He shook his head, 

“Got a ride here,” he said. 

And for the first time that night, you turned to face him completely, looking him over. No jacket, only the top two buttons undone on his shirt, his sunglasses hanging off his shirt, pulling it down further. 

But his eyes were on you and you knew it was time to make your choice. 

“I should get going,” you said, after a moment, your voice cracking over the words, a resistance against them. 

He took a step closer, and pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, fingertips lingering over it, running down the length of your hair, curling his fingers in the ends. 

“You looked beautiful tonight,” he said, softly. 

You inhaled slowly, soaking in the feeling of his touch on you once more.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” you teased. He smiled, and for a moment you forgot why you’d ever been so far apart from him in the first place. 

It was effortless, the way you fell back into step with him. It was second nature to be this close, his hands tangled in your hair, breathing him in. 

“How does it end tonight?” he asked. 

“How does it always end?” you asked. 

And neither of you moved. You let the wind and the rustling of trees around you fill the silence because you both knew the answer before you even left the bar. 

You go home with him. 

He reminds you why you loved him at all, why you miss him late at night when you’re alone. 

And when the sun comes up, he leaves without another word, without a note, without a call for months. 

Until you see him again like this, and you fall back into this cycle that neither of you can seem to break. 

But he leaned in closer, his hand moving up to cradle your head, his touch soft and loose. He would let you go if you moved. He would let you leave if you pushed him away. 

But you never pushed him away. 

You never moved. 

You always let him come back to you, hold you close, and pull you back into his orbit. 

And every time you told yourself next time would be different. 

But next time had yet to come. 

Instead, you took his hand in yours, and closed the space between you two, and kissed him gently. 

“Come back with me?” you asked against his lips. 

“Always.” 

[stardew-imagines-me]

Hello!! ○.○ may i request a rivalry between,, shane, elliott and harvey for the farmer's affection?

You had always thought if there was one thing you'd be in Pelican town when you moved down to revive your grandfather's farm, it was being lonely. Now, that wasn't to say you hadn't expected anything from the townsfolk themselves, that would've just been rude, but you didn't actually expect much.

It took a few days to find your way up around your new home; horrified at how overgrown your plot of land looked and debating on if it was too late to run back to Zuzu city. In the end, you hadn't and decided that it was best to buckle down on at least making a path to your cabin door without getting wild spurs caught on your pants.

Eventually, as you became accustomed to your new life, you had settled into a comfortable routine of getting up, watering the crops, walking into town to greet your new friends and finding yourself faced with three different men direly seeking your attention.

It's actually kinda funny on how you landed yourself into this situation, an odd but not unappealing love square with the town drunk, the local doctor, and the mysterious poet. Honestly, you really were at a loss when it came to romance. When you lived in the city, there wasn't exactly time for such thing when you juggled all different kinds of dead-end jobs, crazy neighbors, and outrageous bills for an education you never completed. What a life, right?

So when you found yourself cornered by Shane, the same man who had cursed you out the first day you arrived just for simply looking at him, you were confused... but intrigued. He had apologized through clenched teeth, shoulders stiff and hands clenched at his sides as he refused to look at you. His posture was terrible, his eyes were blood shot like he didn't know what the word sleep was, and his hair was a wild mess of tangles.

He looked like shit, to put simply.

Attractive shit.

"I, uh.... I just wanted to say sorry. I don't actually like people, and new people at that." If that was his best apology, your grandmother would've slapped him upside the head if she were still alive, but you nodded, offering your best comforting smile. "Don't worry, I understand completely."

His expression twitched, softening as he looked over to the side. He frowned, but the dusted blush across his cheeks spoke volumes as to what he was really feeling inside. You knew he wanted to say more, but when he suddenly walked away, hands shoved into pockets and speed increasing by the second, you couldn't help but crack a lovestruck smile as he bolted down the street and stumbled around the corner towards Marnie's barn.

The second man who had found his way inside your heart was the lovely, kind hearted doctor.

Normally, when you bump into someone and they fall over, you help them up and apologize - not stare at them for a minute straight until they reach by your feet to grab the parsnip seeds they had purchased only minutes ago. Harvey may be a doctor, but he is definitely not slick.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?" The poor man says and falls to the ground to help gather the seeds for you, stuttering 3 different apologizes out as he shakes. Dear lord, you should be the one asking that, not him.

"Uhm, yeah." You mutter, carefully stacking your items up in your arm and waiting for Harvey to place the remaining seeds on top of the pile. Truth be told, you had been surprised when Harvey looked you over. It would've been more flattering if he didn't look as if he was about to collapse at any second. Do people sleep in this town??

"Uh... my parsnips, Harvey.." You motion with your head at his hands, knocking him out of his trance once again. He quickly hands them over with a small bow and an apologetic smile, nervously jittering. "I'm sorry if I make you uncomfortable," you blurt, mentally slapping yourself for even letting that pass through your lips. As if you couldn't have made this situation more awkward.

He looks shocked, shaking his head as he speaks, "Of course you don't, I've been meaning to talk to you but... not exactly like this." You feel sympathetic when he rubs the back of his neck, ears a bright red. You wanted to assure him that what just happened wasn't his fault, but Maru had called him over, interrupting the awkward yet charming exchange.

For the first time, you had noticed how cute Harvey was, especially when he was flustered and caught off guard. You'd have trouble not laughing at how big his eyes got when you called his name as you planted those same parsnips hours later.

The last man you'd soon become smitten with was the beach beauty poet who loomed around town, looking for creative inspiration through blooming flowers and rushing lakes. You were lucky if you caught a glimpse of him during the day, often finding yourself too busy to talk with him or too far from where he usually walked his paths. Whenever you think about how you finally did talk, you can't help but cringe at the painful memory.

It was a hot summer afternoon, sweat dripping off your skin and drenching your clothes as you desperately wrangled a fish from your hook, trying not to curse as the damn thing wiggled and fought to escape from your grasp. Through your frustration and incoherent mumbling, you hadn't noticed a tall, sun kissed freckled man wonder into the clearing of the pond, admiring your figure.

"You're beautiful," He thought aloud, laughing as you comically stiffened, fish hopping out of your hand and splashing back into said pond, swimming away. "Wha-" you began, whipping around fast and clumsily to see who had interrupted your passionate dance with your mortal enemy.

"You're breathtaking," Elliott gasped lightly, eyes sparkling with curiosity as he takes a step towards you.

You're stuck between wanting to laugh at what he had said or cry because the most ethereal man you had ever seen to caught you wrestling with a fish, sweaty and breathing way too hard to deem as healthy. "You're kidding, right?"

Elliott shook his head, beaming as he brought a hand up to your chin. "I would never joke about someone as beautiful as you, my dear." This all was overwhelming, and whether it was the incoming delirium of the heatstroke you most certainly got or the way your heart thumped against your chest as his hand cupped your face, you clutched your fishing pole and ran as fast as your legs could take you.

If those lovely interactions weren't enough to catch you off guard and throw you into some stereotypical romcom, then the fact that over the next few months after these events took place, each man had made it his goal to confess their love in the most unique ways possible; if it weren't a bag full of vitamin medication to keep you healthy, or recipes cautiously torn out of whole cooking books to make you swoon, then it was cheesy poems about unrivaled beauty of a certain farmer who took great care in catching fish.

It wasn't as if they didn't know about each other either. Shane would often make a point in being the first to greet you when you walked into town square, carrying himself taller as he saw Harvey's bemused expression, or Harvey waltzing into a conversation about you had been having with Elliott, watching the latter's demeanor sour slightly, forcing himself to politely engage in the doctors witty quips that always had you doubled over in laughter.

If it bothered you, you never showed it, and truthfully, it never did. Admitting that you had feelings for all three of them was hard, especially when you got angry at yourself for even believing you were really wanted by them, but after a long time of contemplating, arguing, and stressing about the situation by yourself, you had your verdict.

Nature would take it's course. You had ended up in a completely bizarre situation without doing anything to start it, and even though these men would dance around each other with the same intention, they never really angered each other. Everything right now was...  Perfect actually. Time will only make way for the future when it came, but right now as you made your way to Elliott's beach shed with an elegantly written poem about red locks and starfish, it didn't matter. Nor did it when you walked to Marnie's to give Shane a homemade made by following one of the recent recipes he sent you or when you walked to Harvey's with a basket of fresh fruits you had grown yourself since you knew he never made enough time for him to eat.

You would accept change when it came, but for now, it was okay to live in the moment.

[peregrination-studies]

Hello!!🌿💜

For the autumn asks : fisherman sweater, apple pie and knitted blanket.

I hope you'll have a great day!!🌿

Hi hi! Thanks for the ask!!

fisherman sweater: what do you do to cheer up after a bad day?

Totally depends on the day and what I need cheering up about! So I'll answer this with one specific scenario:

Let's say I wake up and I'm just not feeling it. The sky is too bright (I'm more of a rainy-day person), my clothes are too itchy (did I put too much lavender in *again*???), the interior of my car-door handle breaks off (I know I've gotta get that fixed but uggghhhhh)... and so on and so forth.

In this scenario, my "bad day" is characterized by small annoyances. The best way to handle *this* sort of bad day is to add in small joys and acts of spontaneity. Maybe I'll put a bit of honey in my green tea instead of just drinking it plain. Maybe I'll pick up a new book. Maybe I'll try a new recipe that I've been thinking about trying for a while. The best fix for a day of little annoyances is small acts of defiance against the fabric of monotony.

apple pie: what’s your favorite fall tradition?

When I was a kid, I used to go to my great-aunt's house with a lot of the family on my mom's side for thanksgiving. It was usually an event of around 100 people stuffed into a farmhouse. It was loud and chaotic, and sometimes chickens would try to get inside the back door or calves would start mooing dramatically for their moms in the background.* The entire house was swelting from the autumn heat combined with the heat of the oven which, in classic family fashion, had been running non-stop since three days before when meal prep started. The dads and grandpas all gathered 'round the small TV in old floral-print chairs that, if not properly used, would literally break in half. They'd whoop and holler at the football game and their wives, my relatives and role models, all collected in the kitchen like water through a funnel to swap stories about life since we last saw each other.

Meanwhile, my cousin and I (we were born conspiratorial) would sneak off to the basement and create stories or work on the language we'd been developing together. We were the only ones who could speak it, and we constantly created new grammar rules and words just in case anyone ever managed to understand us. We liked to imagine we kept everyone on their toes. The basement was drafty and cold and constantly in a state of "remodeling," so one wall was entirely dirt, pocked with mouse holes. We'd shriek and giggle about it and joke that maybe a mouse would come through to either befriend or fight us. I loved it.

I haven't been to one of these family gatherings in a while since I live quite a ways away from everyone now. One day I know I'm gonna go back tho. It's still my favorite tradition.

*One year a calf was actually IN the house and lowing softly because he needed to be bottle-fed.

knitted blanket: top 5 movies for a rainy day marathon

1) Tangled, 2) Finding Nemo, 3) The Martian, 4) The Princess Bride 5) The Sound of Music

Ask game x

[captainseaweedbrains]

Everlark + 14 (though I like how 25 is actually just cribbed from the books ... I see you, OP)

So I finally got around to writing this! I hope you enjoy it and sorry about the wait! All mistakes are mine. :) 

Can also be read on Ao3: x

Prompt: “You’re supposed to talk me out of this.”

Life under house arrest—“Stay at Home Order, Katniss,” Peeta always corrected whenever she referred to it as such, “We’re not under arrest for anything.”—Fine. Life under their state’s Stay at Home Order with Peeta was far from the worst-case scenario she could have concocted when the world went into lockdown mode. While she never foresaw her casual weekend-with-the-boyfriend trip turn from her usual two-day visit to an almost three-month visit, Katniss couldn’t complain. The tiny apartment was exploding with all types of baked goods—different breads from recipes Peeta’s dreamt of trying for years and finally had the time to “give them the attention they deserve,”; the sweets she’d randomly point to in his fancy cookbooks and challenge him to make for her; and their many attempts (and failures) at replicating what they saw while binging The Great British Bake Off on Netflix. She’d never been as well-fed in her life as she’d been at Peeta’s for the past three months and she loved it.

 Life was pretty good at Peeta’s. Great, actually. And despite the world crumbling around them and her anxiety taking a huge nosedive due to her fear of her mother and sister possibly contacting Co-vid while working their long hours at the hospital, Katniss couldn’t help feeling content here in their little nest of sweets they created.

On days where she finished with her classes on a good note, the apartment still smelling like fresh baked bread and coffee Peeta made that morning, Katniss would curl up on the couch, the soft blanket she kept at his place wrapped around her, and imagine this being their life always—Peeta painting out on the small balcony, humming to himself; Katniss writing at her desk inside, trying to figure out the notes to the tune in her head. Both subtly glancing at each other and smiling when they were caught (they always got caught). She imagined them walking hand-in-hand, after, to the pizza place around the block that sold the greasiest garlic knots known to man, pointing out the new window displays from the tiny shops as they went. Later, they’d return to their place and argue over what movie to watch until one of them caved, both knowing they’d end up tangled under the blankets, food and movie forgotten.

The image of them living together was comforting. It felt wonderful. Katniss couldn’t stop the silly grin on her face as she thought about it, thinking about how right it felt, living here with Peeta.

They’d only discussed living situations once, a few years back when Peeta got offered a position at an art museum in the city that was two hours away from their hometown. The offer was too good to pass up, they agreed. It’d be stupid not to take it. “It’s only two hours,” she reminded him when he still seemed unsure about the distance, her hands cupping his face, her body pressed against him in his lap. “Remember in college, when we were, like, 8 hours apart? Or when you studied abroad for a year in Italy for your Master’s program? We survived that and we’ll survive this.”

“Yeah, but those all had an end date,” he argued. “This is my career. There’s no end date in sight.”

“And there won’t be,” she reassured. “They’re lucky to have you.”

“But what about us?” he asked, his hands rubbing up and down her back. “I know it’s a couple hours, but with work and our everyday lives—we won’t see each other as often, especially when you get into musical season.”

“I’m not worried,” she said, kissing him on the forehead, her hands running through his curly hair. “We’ll make it work.”

And they did. They found him a cheap apartment in a small village where you walked everywhere for things you needed, music playing at almost every corner, the train station nearby for him to take into the city for work. They alternated months and weekends on who visited whom, Facetiming every night before dinner, before bed. It wasn’t ideal, and the weeks sometimes felt so long, the desire to feel his warm arms around her at night hitting her hard at times, but she always seemed to survive until the weekend, tackling him when she’d see him on Friday nights, throwing bags on the ground, squealing in glee when he’d pick her up and carry her inside, their lips locked together.

They’d been dating since junior year in high school, but everything still felt fresh and new, especially when he kissed her. Held her hand. She wasn’t sure if that lingering feeling of newness was because of the distance, though. Most of their years together had been living hours apart. If they moved in together, would that feeling go away? The few months living together didn’t seem to diminish the excited flutter she felt when he’d curl up next to her on the couch, or how happy she felt when he brought home things she had mentioned in passing, like needing more tampons or wishing she’d remembered to bring more hair ties, having misplaced the six she brought with her for her supposed two-day visit days into her Stay at Home Order stay. In fact, their government-mandated time together only seemed to further convince her that they could make living together work and still come out strong.

There was still a wiggle of doubt, though. Part of her worried maybe this was moving too fast, or that he was perfectly fine with their hours-apart living situation. Moving in together was a big deal. It was the step couples made before marriage. Was she ready for that? God, she wasn’t sure. Then there was her job to worry about, the kids she’s taught for years. What would her students do if she moved on, wasn’t their teacher anymore? Would they miss her?

Prim thought them moving in together was a great idea. “It’s about time,” her sister said during their weekly Facetime date. “Your relationship is a fourth grader, Katniss. A fourth grader,” she stressed. “I think that’s long enough to move in together.”

“I know, I know,” she said quietly, hoping Peeta couldn’t hear them from the front room. “But what about my job? This year I qualify for tenure and with the world turning to shit, job security is pretty important.”

“Please,” Prim scoffed. “I bet Rue can get you any choral position in the state. My girl’s got connections.”

Katniss gave her sister a look. “You’re supposed to talk me out of this, Primrose. I can’t just leave you and mom—my job!” She fiddled with the end of her braid. “My students need me. I can’t just leave that for a guy.”

“Do you honestly hear yourself? ‘For a guy,’” her sister mimicked. “Need I remind you that your and Peeta’s relationship is the same age as a fourth grader? God, I asked Rue to move in a month after knowing her. You two move way too slow.”

“So you think I should ask him?” Katniss wrapped her arms around her legs, tucking her knees under her chin. “Is it rude to ask if I can move in? It is his place.”

Prim rolled her eyes. “God, you two can be too much sometimes,” and with that, her sister hung up.

That was days ago and all Katniss kept thinking about was asking him. She thought of doing it in a cute way, like with her toothbrush or maybe joke about her needing space in his closet for her things, but she already kept half her belongings here. She had a toothbrush next to his and drawers for her socks and underwear. Peeta had always kept obvious space in the closet for her shirts and dress pants for when she came straight from work. Somehow without her realizing it, without the mandated Stay at Home Order, Katniss had already started moving in. Maybe Peeta was just waiting for her to mention it.

So later that day when she finished with her classes on Zoom and he came in from painting on the balcony, his hands still a bit sticky with orange acrylic paint, she pulled him down toward her, the couch far lower than his tall frame, making their angle awkward but she didn’t care. She kissed him, cupping his face in her hands, his cheeks warm from the early summer sun. When she finally let him go, she smiled and told him to sit, crawling into his lap when he did.

“I’m not complaining,” Peeta joked, his sticky paint hands leaving finger prints along her skin, “but what was that all about?”

“Let’s move in together,” Katniss told him softly, biting her bottom lip. “I want to live with you, Peeta, and not just while we’re under house arrest.”

Peeta’s smile could brighten any room and right now, it blinded her. “Stay at Home Order,” he jokingly corrected, rubbing a thumb along her cheek. “You’re really ready for that? To take that step with me?”

“I think I have been for awhile,” she confessed, leaning into his touch. “I want to live with you for always. Is that—is that okay with you?”

He laughed and pressed his forehead against hers. “That is perfectly fine with me, Katniss.”

[lizzybeth1986]

Sea of Love

Book: Perfect Match

Pairing: Heathcliff Young x Rosemary Park (Hayden x MC)

Rating: Slight M for hints and innuendos, but mostly PG.

Summary: It's been a year since Heathcliff and Rosemary got together, and Rosemary has something special planned...

Song Inspiration: Sea of Love by Phil Phillips and the Twilights.

A/N: Heathcliff's personality is Pioneer (Mysterious | Sweet | Humourous | Logical). The cake mentioned here is a chai cake with orange-cardamom frosting, inspired by this recipe. The picture in the moodboard is from the same site too.

(Faceclaims:

Heathcliff: Ephraim Sykes

Rosemary: Nikkita Chadha)

Note to self: must send extra thank you note to Steve. With handmade cookies.

In the last one year that they'd been together, Rosemary knew enough about Heathcliff's cooking prowess to leave him in a kitchen without fear of burning the whole house down (and if it was party rice you were craving that day, you'd be in for a treat). She also knew that - until a couple months ago - she couldn't say the same for his baking.

Heathcliff had really pulled out all the stops to make this anniversary dinner perfect. Creamy chicken flavoured with garlic, thyme and sundried tomatoes (was this the recipe Delish had dubbed the "Marry Me" Chicken? Rosemary's hand ghosted over the side pocket of her trousers), and white wine. How he'd managed to keep this a secret until she came home from work was anyone's guess.

That wasn't even the best part. He'd baked. In front of her was an amazing, homemade chai spiced cake, with orange-cardamom flavoured frosting. It looked like it had come straight out of Steve's gorgeous bakery.

Heathcliff knew how much Rosemary loved her homemade chai masala blend (he even made an effort to stop saying chai tea, after she'd glared at him the first few times). He knew cardamom was her go-to spice for sweets (and saffron if she really wanted to splurge), and she looked at orange peel the way Heathcliff looked at...well...any pizza that didn't have pineapples on top of it. This dessert was like every food dream she'd had since childhood, all condensed into one plate. And Heathcliff couldn't have done it without listening. And remembering. And learning how to make it.

And then acting like that was no big deal.

That wasn't even the best best part! That prize had to go to his attire. His clothes were the perfect blend of casual, classy and sexy - as usual - but the icing on top of the cake was his "Kiss the Cook" apron.

What was a girl to do but oblige?

"Come here, you," she said, pulling him to her by the apron, tracing a line down the column of his throat with her lips. He shivered at the contact...for the first 30 seconds. Then he squirmed, laughing.

"Stop that, Rosie," he whispered, all cinnamon spice and hushed laughter. "You know that tickles."

"I know," she whispered, smiling against his skin. He responded in kind, raining openmouthed kisses along her jawline and her collarbone, gently biting at the joint between her neck and shoulder. Rosemary's pulse began to race.

"Keep that up and we won't be leaving this house all week, Heath."

His throaty chuckle reverberated against her skin. "Well, you don't see me complaining."

"Oh, but I will," she said, running a finger over the skin below his neck, beneath his shirt...then let it drop and pulled away.

"But -"

"Enough surprises from you today," there was no mistaking the smirk on her face, as she pulled out an old silk scarf, "It's my turn now."

--

"When's this blindfold coming off?" Heathcliff could hear Rosemary's windchime laughter, feel her soft hands as she guided him through a familiar, grassy path.

"A few paces more, I promise," she said. He could feel softness of mud give way to the crunch of gravel beneath their feet - that was how he knew they were no longer at the park near their home.

It was funny how even though a year had passed, he could still smell the rain exactly the way it was when they first met. Could still see the awning that he pulled her into to keep dry. Could still hear the footsteps of that old lady in the park, gazing fondly at them, telling them she saw in their eyes the same fire she felt for the man she loved.

Heathcliff hoped the old lady was resting in front of a cozy fireplace now, content in that man's arms. That she was still happy, still in love, still believing in the magic of love at first sight. Because she could tell already what they wouldn't realize until much, much later. That this love was a love meant to last the test of time.

They suddenly stopped. Somewhere in the distance, Heathcliff could hear the gurgle of water.

"Alright," Rosie was speaking now, "You can take that off."

The soft gurgles were from the lake. The same lake he'd taken her to on their first date. In the moonlight it was ink-black and glittering, the air smelling of just-bloomed gardenias.

Most of Heathcliff's memories before that first date were a little dim, and he wasn't even certain that little factoid he'd told her about "knowing a guy" who could allow them to use the boats at night was even true. All he remembered was Sloane mentioning it somewhere on his first day, which taking notes.

It appeared Rosemary was intent on jogging his memory of that night, because right in front of him on that lake was a boat, edged with flowers.

She placed her long, slender arms around his waist, resting her cheek on his back. "Blue roses for your shyness. Jasmines because you still make me laugh when I feel low and Gladiolus for the rare moments you show me how you really feel. Gardenias because you're sweeter than sugar syrup in a gulab jamun -"

"Hey!" Heathcliff said, playfully punching Rosie on the arm. His face felt incredibly warm.

"What," Rosemary pouted, all feigned innocence, "You know I love gulab jamun."

Heathcliff said nothing in response, just grinned as he parted her lips softly with his own, savoring the lingering taste of cardamom and orange peel on her tongue. The kiss soon turned heated and passionate, their bodies pressed against each other and their hands everywhere. He was dimly aware they might be caught and almost didn't care.

Rosemary moaned against his mouth, then practically ripped herself from his embrace, fingers still playing with his curls.

"Heath," Rosie said, her voice still coming out in halting, shallow breaths, "no more making out until we leave the boat. There are ways I'd like to get wet but falling into a lake isn't one of them."

Heathcliff let out a shocked burst of laughter at the pun, then allowed her to guide him into the boat. She settled in his arms for a few minutes when they were comfortably seated, before eventually picking up oars on the opposite side. Heathcliff's eyes softened at the memory - she'd done the same back on their first date too, telling him she didn't want him to row alone.

They rowed in companionable silence, before he heard her mumble and hum a familiar tune.

Do you remember

When we met

That's the day

I knew you were my pet

Heathcliff grinned. "Don't let Dipper hear that."

Rosemary scoffed. "You're the literal worst."

"Remember that restaurant we went to?"

"Yeah...Jade, right? That Asian fusion place. Such overattentive staff. Like they were literally swooping down to fulfill your every demand."

He had to admit - and he was a normally patient man who liked giving people the benefit of the doubt - even he had gotten annoyed. "They shut down six months ago. Wonder how much of that had to do with Eros getting a complete overhaul. They got a ton of patronage from that place."

"Pity," Rosemary replied, uncharacteristically focused on her rowing, "the food was pretty good."

"I barely remember the meal," he said, gazing at her fondly, "The company was far, far better."

Rosemary blushed, allowing herself a small smile.

They settled back into comfortable silence again, punctuated by the sound of the water, and Rosemary's soft humming. She looks so unbelievably beautiful in the moonlight, almost exactly the way she did all those months ago, in her beautiful pink lace dress, eyeing him underneath those long lashes. Her mood was different tonight, though - he could see beads of perspiration on her forehead and above her upper lip, and she was chewing at the lower one in that way she did whenever she was nervous.

"You okay?" He asked her. This was her surprise, she knew he loved it...why was she still so tense?

"I'm fine. I'm fine," she said, voice almost coming out in a squeak.

It didn't help that he'd been nervous all day too (he just had a better time hiding it). He'd planned to sit her down and talk to her after the surprise dinner...except she had sprung a surprise of her own instead. He breathed in the heady scent of the flowers before he spoke again.

"Rosemary?"

"Hmm?"

"Penny for your thoughts?"

She laughed, her voice still shaking from nervousness. "Okay. But only once we get out of this boat. I have something to say and I don't want to say it with us toppling over and getting all sodding wet."

Heathcliff raised his eyebrows. "What's this thing that you can't say sitting down?"

Rosemary eyed the pier, gulping. "Well...looks like you won't have to wait too long to find out. But before we get out...before I say this...can you kiss me?"

He shifted closer and buried his hand in her hair, knowing the slow caress of his fingers on her scalp would always calmed her. Their lips melted into each other, tongues tangling and exploring and pressing insistently. He caught her bottom lip gently between his teeth, reveling in the noise she made at the back of her throat. Her eyes were unfocused, and her lips swollen and rosy when they were done...and it only made him want to kiss her again.

Even if this was the last kiss they shared...even if the thing he kept in his pocket came to nothing...even if she never wanted to see him again after this...he knew they would both at least cherish this.

They got off the boat, walked towards the park. Sat at the place where an old lady had sat once.

And then Rosemary did the unthinkable. She knelt down.

"Heathcliff Young," she began, then stopped, clearing her throat. He felt like he knew what was coming, and suddenly every part of him felt numb.

"Heathcliff Young. I've tried this speech fifteen different ways all through last week. All the things I've practiced saying come out sounding silly, or cliche, or just downright...not us. So I think I'll just say it straight.

"I barely remember what my life was like before you came into it. Before you entered my world, before you won me over with your humour and honesty and your patience, and...God, to live with me you truly need to have a whole lot of that last one."

They laughed together, and Heathcliff found his grip on her hand tightening.

"From the moment we met I couldn't see myself with anyone else, and now that we've faced the worst together and lived together and destroyed kitchens together...I don't think I ever can see myself with anyone else. I don't think I ever want to....oh Heathcliff, don't cry."

He let out a watery laugh, sniffing. "Happy tears. They're happy tears."

She giggled back, tears glistening in her own eyes, then took out a box from her pocket. He could feel his fingers tingling from the anticipation. She opened it to reveal a beautiful platinum ring, thick and firm, studded on the side with diamonds.

"Heathcliff Young," she whispered, still on her knees, "will you marry me?"

"Damn," he replied. She frowned. "you got there a lot faster than I was planning to."

Her face fell. "What...what do you mean?"

Oh...oh no. She thinks I'm saying no.

"Well...I've been carrying something with me too. All month, actually."

He took out a box from his own pocket, revealing a gem-studded platinum ring. The sapphire and tiny diamonds winked at her in the moonlight.

"Oh...oh my God." Rosemary took a step back, covering her mouth with both hands and half-laughing, half-crying with delighted disbelief. "Oh my God! You too?"

"Yep. Had a big sappy speech planned and everything," Heathcliff grinned and wiped away his tears. "Looks like you beat me to it, baby."

Rosemary let out a strangled laugh, throwing her arms around his shoulders. "I guess I should take that as a yes."

He snorted. "Yes."

She put his ring on him first, marvelling at the perfect fit (she'd tell him later that it had taken her all week to measure his ring finger without waking him up). He smiled as the ring he got her, found its rightful home ("same, Rosie," he'd reply, "same.")

Rosemary buried her head at the crook of his neck, breathing him in. Heathcliff tightened his arms around her. This wasn't how he was expecting their anniversary to go...but somehow she managed to make it far, far better than what he'd envisioned.

Then again, that was what Rosemary did with everything.

"Can't wait to return home with us wearing this," she said, admiring her ring, then added cheekily, "Wearing only this."

Heathcliff groaned. "Keep that up and it'll wind up happening right here on this park bench instead."

It was amazing that after all this time, after taking one of their biggest decisions as a couple, they were back to teasing the hell out of each other. He laced his fingers through hers, taking her hand and leading them home. He could see her smile every time his thumb brushed the ring on her finger, and his (deceptively mechanical) heart soared.

Note to self, Heathcliff thought as they walked home, must send Nadia an extra thank you note. Both for the ring suggestion AND for recommending chai cake.

--

Tagging:

@haydenyoungappreciationweek @sazanes

[binsofchaos]

99 Additional Bits of Unsolicited Advice

• That thing that made you weird as a kid could you make great as an adult — if you don’t lose it.

• If you have any doubt at all about being able to carry a load in one trip, do yourself a huge favor and make two trips.

• What you get by achieving your goals is not as important as what you become by achieving your goals. At your funeral people will not recall what you did; they will only remember how you made them feel.

• Recipe for success: under-promise and over-deliver.

• It’s not an apology if it comes with an excuse. It is not a compliment if it comes with a request.

• Jesus, Superman, and Mother Teresa never made art. Only imperfect beings can make art because art begins in what is broken.

• If someone is trying to convince you it’s not a pyramid scheme, it’s a pyramid scheme.

• Learn how to tie a bowline knot. Practice in the dark. With one hand. For the rest of your life you’ll use this knot more times than you would ever believe.

• If something fails where you thought it would fail, that is not a failure.

• Be governed not by the tyranny of the urgent but by the elevation of the important.• Leave a gate behind you the way you first found it.

• The greatest rewards come from working on something that nobody has a name for. If you possibly can, work where there are no words for what you do.

• A balcony or porch needs to be at least 6 feet (2m) deep or it won’t be used.

• Don’t create things to make ; make money so you can create things. The reward for good work is more work.

• In all things — except love — start with the exit strategy. Prepare for the ending. Almost anything is easier to get into than out of.

• Train employees well enough they could get another job, but treat them well enough so they never want to.

• Don’t aim to have others like you; aim to have them respect you.

• The foundation of maturity: Just because it’s not your fault doesn’t mean it’s not your responsibility.

• A multitude of bad ideas is necessary for one good idea.

• Being wise means having more questions than answers.

• Compliment people behind their back. It’ll come back to you.

• Most overnight successes — in fact any significant successes — take at least 5 years. Budget your life accordingly.

• You are only as young as the last time you changed your mind.

• Assume anyone asking for your account information for any reason is guilty of scamming you, unless proven innocent. The way to prove innocence is to call them back, or login to your account using numbers or a website that you provide, not them. Don’t release any identifying information while they are contacting you via phone, message or email. You must control the channel.

• Sustained outrage makes you stupid.

• Be strict with yourself and forgiving of others. The reverse is hell for everyone.• Your best response to an insult is “You’re probably right.” Often they are.

• The worst evils in history have always been committed by those who truly believed they were combating evil. Beware of combating evil.

• If you can avoid seeking approval of others, your power is limitless.

• When a child asks an endless string of “why?” questions, the smartest reply is, “I don’t know, what do you think?”

• To be wealthy, accumulate all those things that money can’t buy.

• Be the change you wish to see.

• When brainstorming, improvising, jamming with others, you’ll go much further and deeper if you build upon each contribution with a playful “yes — and” example instead of a deflating “no — but” reply.

• Work to become, not to acquire.

• Don’t loan money to a friend unless you are ready to make it a gift.

• On the way to a grand goal, celebrate the smallest victories as if each one were the final goal. No matter where it ends you are victorious.

• Calm is contagious.

• Even a foolish person can still be right about most things. Most conventional wisdom is true.

• Always cut away from yourself.

• Show me your calendar and I will tell you your priorities. Tell me who your friends are, and I’ll tell you where you’re going.

• When hitchhiking, look like the person you want to pick you up.

• Contemplating the weaknesses of others is easy; contemplating the weaknesses in yourself is hard, but it pays a much higher reward.

• Worth repeating: measure twice, cut once.

• Your passion in life should fit you exactly; but your purpose in life should exceed you. Work for something much larger than yourself.

• If you can’t tell what you desperately need, it’s probably sleep.• When playing Monopoly, spend all you have to buy, barter, or trade for the Orange properties. Don’t bother with Utilities.

• If you borrow something, try to return it in better shape than you received it. Clean it, sharpen it, fill it up.

• Even in the tropics it gets colder at night than you think. Pack warmly.

• To quiet a crowd or a drunk, just whisper.

• Writing down one thing you are grateful for each day is the cheapest possible therapy ever.

• When someone tells you something is wrong, they’re usually right. When someone tells you how to fix it, they’re usually wrong.

• If you think you saw a mouse, you did. And, if there is one, there are more.

• Money is overrated. Truly new things rarely need an abundance of money. If that was so, billionaires would have a monopoly on inventing new things, and they don’t. Instead almost all breakthroughs are made by those who lack money, because they are forced to rely on their passion, persistence and ingenuity to figure out new ways. Being poor is an advantage in innovation.

• Ignore what others may be thinking of you, because they aren’t.

• Avoid hitting the snooze button. That’s just training you to oversleep.• Always say less than necessary.

• You are given the gift of life in order to discover what your gift *in* life is. You will complete your mission when you figure out what your mission is. This is not a paradox. This is the way.

• Don’t treat people as bad as they are. Treat them as good as you are.

• It is much easier to change how you think by changing your behavior, than it is to change your behavior by changing how you think. Act out the change you  seek.

• You can eat any dessert you want if you take only 3 bites.

• Each time you reach out to people, bring them a blessing; then they’ll be happy to see you when you bring them a problem.

• Bad things can happen fast, but almost all good things happen slowly.

• Don’t worry how or where you begin. As long as you keep moving, your success will be far from where you start.

• When you confront a stuck bolt or screw: righty tighty, lefty loosey.

• If you meet a jerk, overlook them. If you meet jerks everywhere everyday, look deeper into yourself.

• Dance with your hips.

• We are not bodies that temporarily have souls. We are souls that temporarily have bodies.

• You can reduce the annoyance of someone’s stupid belief by increasing your understanding of why they believe it.

• If your goal does not have a schedule, it is a dream.

• All the greatest gains in life — in wealth, relationships, or knowledge —come from the magic of compounding interest — amplifying small steady gains. All you need for abundance is to keep adding 1% more than you subtract on a regular basis.

• The greatest breakthroughs are missed because they look like hard work.

• People can’t remember more than 3 points from a speech.

• I have never met a person I admired who did not read more books than I did.

• The greatest teacher is called “doing”.

• Finite games are played to win or lose. Infinite games are played to keep the game going. Seek out infinite games because they yield infinite rewards.

• Everything is hard before it is easy. The day before something is a breakthrough, it’s a stupid idea.

• A problem that can be solved with money is not really a problem.

• When you are stuck, sleep on it. Let your subconscious work for you.

• Your work will be endless, but your time is finite. You cannot limit the work so you must limit your time. Hours are the only thing you can manage.

• To succeed, get other people to pay you; to become wealthy, help other people to succeed.

• Children totally accept — and crave — family rules. “In our family we have a rule for X” is the only excuse a parent needs for setting a family policy. In fact, “I have a rule for X” is the only excuse you need for your own personal policies.

• All guns are loaded.

• Many backward steps are made by standing still.

• This is the best time ever to make something. None of the greatest, coolest creations 20 years from now have been invented yet. You are not late.

• No rain, no rainbow.

• Every person you meet knows an amazing lot about something you know virtually nothing about. Your job is to discover what it is, and it won’t be obvious.

• You don’t marry a person, you marry a family.

• Always give credit, take blame.

• Be frugal in all things, except in your passions splurge.

• When making something, always get a few extras — extra material, extra parts, extra space, extra finishes. The extras serve as backups for mistakes, reduce stress, and fill your inventory for the future. They are the cheapest insurance.

• Something does not need to be perfect to be wonderful. Especially weddings.

• Don’t let your email inbox become your to-do list.

• The best way to untangle a knotty tangle is not to “untie” the knots, but to keep pulling the loops apart wider and wider. Just make the mess as big, loose and open as possible. As you open up the knots they will unravel themselves. Works on cords, strings, hoses, yarns, or electronic cables.

• Be a good ancestor. Do something a future generation will thank you for. A simple thing is to plant a tree.

• To combat an adversary, become their friend.

• Take one simple thing — almost anything — but take it extremely seriously, as if it was the only thing in the world, or maybe the entire world is in it — and by taking it seriously you’ll light up the sky.

• History teaches us that in 100 years from now some of the assumptions you believed will turn out to be wrong. A good question to ask yourself today is “What might I be wrong about?”

• Be nice to your children because they are going to choose your nursing home.

[dipplie]

This is how I cope don’t @ me

1: Top 3 pets you wish to have Bunny, Mouse, pet bee 2: Top 3 Disney Movies Tangled, Zootopia, and a close tie between The Princess and the Frog and Wreck it Ralph 3: Top 3 OTPs Nick and Judy (I’m not a furry), honestly probably the other pairings from my 3 (4) favorite movies like Felix and Calhoun or Tiana and Naveen or whatever 4: Top 3 pick up lines Pick me up- no literally please just carry me around like sweep me off my feet no like ACTUALLY like ju- 5: Top 3 summer activities Lying in the grass, listening to music on the swings, drinking from the neighbors sprinklers because you didn’t bring water on your walk 6: Top 3 school memories    -Once in 5th grade we were doing an egg drop, and I put mine off till the day before, so my parents just gave me a jar of peanut butter, and I just put the egg in the jar, and when they dropped it from the school roof it exploded all over the pavement and left a stain for years.    -Another time in 9th grade, a couple friends and I wrote a giant “send nuds” in the snow beneath my friends next class’s window, and some other kids took a picture of it and spread it around, and like the whole school was talking about it for a day or two (though we denied it was us so we didn’t get in trouble).    -And in 12th grade the last day of the 3rd semester, my AP Psych teacher said “you know you guys might not come back after spring break since the covid-19 virus might come to America.” And half the class was like: “I hope so we don’t have to come back haha.” And then we went into lockdown for a year 7: Top 3 things you find attractive Being looked at, Being talked to, Being touched at all oh my go d 8. Top 3 shops I dunno man can I say Build-a-Bear Workshop I’ve never been there 9: Top 3 romantic dates Theme park, Aquarium, Build-a-Bear Workshop 10: Top 3 drinks Milk, Milkshakes, the color purple 

11: Top 3 spices/herbs oh my god im too white for this question I think doritios are spicy, SALT 12: Top 3 apps to use not tumblr 13: Top 3 months of the year not winter 14: Top 3 clothing items Skirt, Bows, Thigh-highs 15: Top 3 kinds of flower Daffodils, Buttercups, Dandelions (yes I’m aware they’re a weed) 16: Top 3 Christmas movies Home Alone 1, Those stop motion rudolph ones, the original grinch 17: Top 3 things you don’t/Won’t miss Angsty middle schoolers, Angsty high schoolers, Angsty people 18: Top 3 games Minecraft, Stardew Valley, All the Zelda games between 2002-2009 19: Top 3 binge perfect tv shows I really don’t watch actually T.V. shows I just watch anime sometimes maybe and youtube series man 20: Top 3 kinds of candy Butterscotch, Chocolate coins, Those little pebble chocolates that looks like fish tank rocks 21: Top 3 ways to exercise/be active Well I have an answer, but I don’t think I can say it~ 22: Top 3 spirit animals (I’ve heard something about this being possibly racist so I’ll approach this wish caution) Bunnies, Lambs, a pet rock 23: Top 3 petnames Honey, Muffin, Sweetheart 24: Top 3 places you’ve been to A yearly carnival my old town had once a year, Disney World even though I almost drowned there, The Arcade in my old town called Bananas 25: Top 3 most used websites Youtube, Tumblr (regrettably), Pintrest 26: Top 3 people you last texted My boyfriend, my friend, my co-worker friend 27: Top 3 hashtags you use imagine using the tags how they’re supposed to be used 28 Top 3 items you can’t leave the house w/o clothes (i’m really funny) 29: Top 3 guilty pleasures I write self-insert sometimes I guess 30: Top 3 subjects of study/classes to take Psychology, Sociology, certain art classes 31: Top 3 things to draw/doodle My OC’s, My friends, inappropriate stuff 32: Top 3 aesthetics Cottagecore, Bloomcore, Wonderland 33: Top 3 things you’d buy if you gained three million dollars Pretty things, Cute Clothes and stuffed animals, therapy 34: Top 3 ways to treat yourself Buying pretty things, Wearing cute clothes and holding stuffed animals, therapy 35: Top 3 cartoon crushes Kyoya from OHHC, Mako from Kill La Kill, Marceline/Marshall Lee 36: Top 3 things to do in the snow Draw in it, make snow sculptures, eat it 37: Top 3 accents to hear Russian, Spanish, idk spanish 2 38: Top 3 scents Vanilla, Cream, Strawberries 39: Top 3 things to do in the rain Sit in the car quietly, make out probably, cry 40: Top 3 cupcake flavors Chocolate, Chocolate 2, Chocolate 3 41: Top 3 fruits Cherries, Strawberries, Grapes 42: Top 3 holidays to celebrate Halloween, Christmas, Valentines 43: Top 3 embarrassing moments My friend jokingly revealing my weird self insert fanfic I wrote in middle school (that was gross don’t ask about it) to my friend group, getting a constant D- in AP Stats the whole semester and the whole class secretly knowing about it, wearing an oversized minecraft shirt in my 6th grade school picture 44: Top 3 crayola colors Seafoam, Canary, Cotton Candy 45: Top 3 things you hope to accomplish in college Get back into theater and actually be included and noticed, not cry in the bathroom, feel cared about by my classmates 46: Top 3 fanfictions you’ve read don’t ask me that you can’t ask me that the last fanfics i’ve read were in middle school  47: Top 3 people you miss right now My boyfriend, Two of my friends GJ, my dopamine  48: Top 3 fears Being hated, Being alone, Being abandoned 49: Top 3 favorite literary devices (oh god it’s been a minute hang on) Alliteration, Juxtaposition, Colloquialism 50: Top 3 pet peeves Saying one thing and doing another, trying to act like you’re being the bigger person by not choosing a side, constant self deprecation 51: Top 3 music artists AJR, 3OH!3, Fake Type 52: Top 3 bad habits BFRD OCD, speaking before I think, lately I’ve been lashing out  53: Top 3 ice cream flavors Cookie Dough, Bubblegum, Cheesecake 54: Top 3 meals you love Bread and cheese, cheese with bread, I like dairy and bread 55: Top 3 things you want to say to someone in your lifetime Where are we going, What are we gonna do, what are you doing onii-chan (im so sorry) 56: Top 3 dog breeds Small, fluffy, actually a cat 57: Top 3 TV shows from your childhood The Amazing World of Gumball, Courage the Cowardly Dog, y’all remember Might Bee??? 58: Top 3 languages you speak/wish to speak Better French, More ASL, I guess Spanish would be useful 59: Top 3 series (book, movie, television) I like the first couple Saw movies but then it went kind of downhill, I eventually stopped keeping up with SU ad AT but they have lesbians now and we love that, and I guess I read Warrior Cats in middle school. 60: Top 3 pizza toppings Cheese, ???, that’s all I need 61: Top 3 youtubers you’re subscribed to Markiplier, Erolds Story, Wilbur Soot 62: Top 3 tattoo / piercing ideas Little Flower earrings, Little flower tattoos, Little flower stuff 63: Top 3 awards you want to win love trust and affection  64: Top 3 emojis 🍄🐝🍋 65: Top 3 things you’d do differently have different parents 66: Top 3 places to be in the world In love, Back up, Purgatory  67: Top 3 things you miss about being a kid Lack of responsibility and pressure, Mental illness, Lack of shame 68: Top 3 baby names Penelope, Theodore, Sofie 69: Top 3 smoothie combos/flavors Grape, Strawberry, Cherry 71: Top 3 turn ons People being patient with me, People treating me equally, Being touched kindly at ALL 72: Top 3 turn offs looking like Tyler1 73: Top 3 recipes you want to try Sugar spice and everything nice 74: Top 3 dream jobs Primary School Teacher, Child Consoler/Therapist, I dunno being a storytime animator sounds nice... 75: Top 3 lucky items Fidget Toys, Stuffed Animals, Random Office Supplies (you know the ones)

[believerindaydreams]

Okay I know there has to be a Boone/Arcade scene for pacing but this feels like treading water

Oh well, crossing at dawn 2.75 and then I'll be chronologically in order agsin

Boone

Don't know why now of all times, when we've finally sorted out our problems, I start having nightmares.

That time in the Legion, when I'm awake I hardly think about it. But when I sleep it grabs me, I'm wrapped in crimson that's starting to bleed and armed with a machete against men with grenade launchers and rockets.

Not that strange, it's what happened.

I get off the bunk, stealthy as I can manage; Manny's taken the top like always, he's out cold. My wife's fallen asleep on top of Veronica, hands entwined; I'd start wondering about that if the engineer wasn't so obsessed with this train. She's staying out, so the fling is a fling.

Can't complain, that's for sure.

Arcade's in the dining car, reading with his feet up; the place smells like frying fat and sugar.

"What's up?"

"Can't sleep. Didn't seem worth trying any longer."

"Well, I've got something cooking if you're sticking around. What would you normally do to unwind?"

"Practice my sniping."

"Ah. And you can hardly do that on a train, so no wonder you're stressed out."

Guess he has a point. Not many days I've spent without practicing with some kind of firearm or another. "What's cooking, then?"

"Fried Nuka-Cola balls." He's hiding behind his big book now, can't see him. "It's a classic recipe. I'm testing it."

"Can't get enough of the stuff, huh?"

"Followers," Arcade says, peeking over the top of the book, "are interested in all kinds of prewar experiences, valuable or not. Because it takes more than weapon schematics and vault doors to build a society- I think they started forgetting that, towards the end. How to live when your whole life isn't bent towards destruction. The more frivolous, silly, utterly human scraps we can salvage from the wreckage, the better off we all are."

"...so this isn't about your addiction then."

"Well, that too. Any Follower worth the lab coat can spout off nonsense to justify their actions, it's one of the first things you pick up at the Boneyard." He chuckles and tucks the book under his arm. Picks up a kind of metal net and shakes it out, then upends it over a plate. Golden balls spill out, like Manny's dumplings but smaller and less meaty. "Give those a while to cool."

"Guess I'm not going anywhere."

"Great," Arcade says, actually putting the book down. "Because I've- I have missed you, if that makes sense. Far be it from me to ever imply I miss the Sierra Madre, because I most definitely don't, but- you know what, there is absolutely no way of saying this without sounding terrible. That third rum was a mistake."

"With Nuka in it, I guess."

"...yes. Well. I could be even more drunk, but- you know what it is, I had approximately ten seconds to go from the idea of having finally, unbelievably, made a cautious attempt at opening up, to suddenly being the fifth wheel on a cart."

"There's only four of us."

"I'm talking metaphorically- Boone, it's been a lot to deal with. Manny was just that sniper in the dinosaur, Carla I didn't know at all, this is very much a case where I'm late to the party and I'm trying to get to terms with that by consuming junk food abominations and revisiting highlighted passages of the Wasteland Survival Guide. Please don't hate me for realising I'm not even the most important person in your life anymore."

The weird little fried balls are cooled off. I pop one in my mouth- kind of crispy on the outside, syrupy inside. It does taste like a soda, sort of.

"I'm not going to throw you over just because they came back."

Arcade stuffs a ball into his mouth, doesn't speak until he's done chewing. "Surviving the Enclave collapse did not, I'm afraid, do anything for my capacity to trust that a given situation will remain stable."

"...you want to fuck?"

"No. Yes. I would dearly enjoy a prolonged, imaginative and exhausting fuck, but right now I need to get to grips with this before I can get comfortable with you again. Boone, is any of this making sense?"

Wish Manny and Carla were awake, this is out of my depth. "They've told you they're glad to have you along. Don't know that me saying it helps you much."

We're getting through the balls at a fast clip. Saves looking at each other. "Is this because I shot those men at the Freeside gate? You look at me and wonder what other promises I'd break?"

Arcade blinks. Twice. "Not really where I was going with this, but carry on."

"Didn't kill 'em for my sake, when I could have turned myself in. Manny and Carla could have gone back to the Great Khans, they'd be glad to get a good soldier back and she'd stick with him if I vanished. But no way you could have gone with them, with that Legion alliance on the way. Had to make the choice, and I made it."

He slowly crushes a ball in his fingers, opens them up, looks at the dark liquid. "You're saying, cheer up, because I murdered some guards for you."

"Can't make you feel better about the others, because I'm not them. But you want to know if you matter to me? Damn straight you do."

"...I suppose that'll just have to suffice. For the moment."

Comes as a relief, when he quits talking and gets your hands and mouth sticky with soda syrup.

Action's a hell of a lot easier than words.

*****

Manny

Glory be, Veronica should have called it the Love Track. You can hardly move on this train without stumbling over somebody fucking or thinking about fucking or recuperating after the fact.

And I'm not planning to be left out altogether. Third day in I invite Arcade for a roll in the hay. Or maize husks, anyway.

"Why are we here? Cow won't need milking for at least two hours."

"Thought we could get to know each other a little better."

"Ooo-kay. Fine."

He's nervous. Forget the hay, then.

"See, I care about those two idiots out there, bless 'em, but Boone does not do feelings and Carla has been through so many kinds of hell since getting pregnant, I'm amazed she still gets up in the morning. So nobody else is going to ask this- are you feeling all right?"

"Good enough."

Wow. Boone's contagious. "Hey. If I can help, name it. I wouldn't be half as gracious about it if I was the one dumped into a three-way tangle."

"You could satisfy my incessant curiosity, I suppose." He picks up a brush and starts tending Cow; technique all wrong but they're patient animals. "How did you all agree to this, if I may ask?"

"Hmth. Sure you can ask, Boone proposed to her and she turned him down because she didn't believe that he wasn't sleeping with me. He came back to the barracks with a turquoise ring and a broken heart so bad he actually talked about it."

"Were you? Sleeping with him?"

"Not then. But we had done...so next leave, I went to Carla myself, told her it was killing my partner, that if it was me or caps or anything I had the power to change, name it and I'd do it. He'd been so happy with her...well. You met him before he got Carla back."

"I'm not sure I saw him at his worst, even so." Bless the man, Arcade's blushing.

"Could be, I wouldn't know. Well- she laughed and asked if I'd brought a ring too, and I said yes, just in case you wanted one. Nice bit of bone carving, you'd knock that off in a bored afternoon with the Khans. Anyway she suddenly took me seriously after that...she was in love, I was in love, Boone wanted both of us. And she felt better when she heard I didn't go for girls. So I went back, told Boone to try again...went storybook the second time, Carla said."

"Then you were always planning to make a life with them."

"Planning? No. I thought that she'd tell me to find my jollies somewhere else, I'd mope about it for a few months, and head back to the Khans- that was before Bitter Springs."

"So what made you stay?"

"You really don't let up with the questions, do you?" Arcade's not bad to look at, that's for damned sure. The distracted way he's brushing his hair back, for instance. But I'm not going to fuck him just because I'm here and he's here. "Cos I still wanted Boone. Because we were partnered and I couldn't have quit thinking about him if I tried. Because they were a couple of star-struck idiots and they were going to need help."

"I suppose you were right about that."

I'd just as soon forget the word Arizona, thanks. "Sure. Who else would have taught them a triple-step to dance at the Tops?"

"You know a triple-step? I thought that only- well, that only Enclave remembered that."

"Khans were from a vault, back in the day. Good exercise, and it's fun."

"Mmm. It shows."

There's a certain hunger the way Arcade says it, couldn't call it subtle. Suddenly I get to come to terms with just because I'm being polite and hands off, doesn't mean he is.

Well. I wouldn't mind being the one who gets chased, just for a change.