#archway paperbacks

[ljsmiths-thenightworld]

Any other Night World historians out there know what the prize gold-plated flower looks like? I don’t believe I’ve ever seen it, and doing a search now didn’t come across it.

[retrogirlsbooks]

The Nancy Drew Files Case 13: Wings of Fear by Carolyn Keene

Cover illustration by Gabriel

ISBN 0-671-64137-9

[paperbackpurgatory]

Christopher Pike's Road To Nowhere (1993)

Death came along for the ride....

[andromedaexists]

WUPDATE: Call Me Icarus

Thursday, April 12th || Pre-Orders Available!

Oh wow long time no talk y'all. I had a couple things come up suddenly (burnout, midterms, work requirements, surgery, manuscript submission, starting a book directory), but now I'm back!

And boy, do I have some good news for y'all. Call Me Icarus is drafted and submitted to the publisher.

What does this mean? This means that pre-orders are up! I am publishing through Inkshares (the wonderful publishers of A God In The Shed). They take a unique approach to publishing, though, which means the ball is in the court of public opinion as far as CMI goes.

Now that the manuscript has been submitted, it has entered funding. This means I need to obtain a certain amount of pre-orders in 180 days for the book to move to publishing!

That means that right now you can go over to this website and pre-order Call Me Icarus for $10 (Ebook only) or $20 (paperback and Ebook)!

I am so excited to share this news with y'all, and I am sorry for keeping y'all in the dark for so long. I just really wanted to make sure this was actually happening before I started spreading the word lol

Anyways, we know what y'all are really here for. enjoy the snippet!

With the plan fresh in their minds, Icarus and Achilles make their way out of the back streets and into the harsh lights of Playhouse Square. Or, what remains of Playhouse Square. It had been years since the theater has seen anything other than bloody meetings and negotiations between the Elysians and dissenters. The metal archway had seen better days, the letters no longer lit up and the metal filigree had long since turned to rust. Icarus had never seen the sign up close, but he has heard legends of it when he was still in the program. This is where all major Elysian business is handled in the state. This is their hub. And that’s why Icarus and Achilles are there. If they’re going to get ATLAS’ attention, then this is the place to do it. As they walk towards the center of the square, Icarus moves behind Achilles. He needs to make it look like he’s holding the kid captive, not like they’re friends walking down the street. He won’t be able to speak from here out, he sounds too much like his father and Gods forbid if anyone were to recognize his voice. He grabs Achilles’ wrists and binds them with a bandana - lose, but still convincing from afar - before putting a hand on the kids shoulder to guide him. His other hand wraps wound the handle of his bat, swinging idly through the air at his side. Icarus can tell that people were starting to become nervous around them, passers-by no longer looking up at them as they walk past and instead giving them wide berth. That’s good, it’s good that they stay away. Icarus doesn’t want any civilians getting caught up in their shenanigans. He taps his middle finger three times against the kid’s shoulder. Even if he cannot verbally assure him, Icarus wanted him to know they were in this together

TAGLIST

@flowerprose @isherwoodj @cream-and-tea @touchingmadness @lockejhaven @marinesocks @wildswrites @the-finch-address @writingpotato07 @leighvalentin @inkspellangel @cljordan-imperium @outpost51 @alleahgrinnon

Please fill out this form to be added or ask to be removed!

[ritualoftheancients]

Ritual of the Ancients Chapter 20: Betrayed

by Roan Rosser

This is a chapter of a complete vampire novel with a trans-masc main character and a gay romance subplot. New Chapters are posted every Sunday. If you like the novel and want to support the author, ebook and paperback copies can be purchased here.

*****

I woke up a few hours before dawn to an empty bed. I’d expected as much, but I still wished I could have woken to Jack’s warmth next to me. Everything sounded quiet upstairs. I found a pile of new clothes waiting for me on the coffee table, along with a note from Jack.

My fierce tiger,

Sorry to sneak out on you like this, I have to go out for a few hours. There’s some blood in the dumbwaiter for you. Call me if you need anything before I get back.

Hugs and kisses.

Love you,

Jack

I smiled as I read it, and tucked it into my pocket to save it to read again later.

While I waited for the sun to go down, I took a shower, changed into the new clothes, and chugged down the breakfast of cold blood. One of these days I’d need to try adding it to coffee or something. Couldn’t make it any worse-tasting that was for sure.

Since sunset was still over an hour away, I picked out a thriller novel off one of the shelves and sat down on the couch. I’d heard it was good, or at least good enough to have a movie made based on it, which I hadn’t seen either.

The tablet was upstairs, and after what I saw on the news the other night, I was swearing off TV for a bit. So instead I lost myself in a fictional world of murder that, while ridiculous, was more believable than my current circumstances.

A door slammed upstairs, and then the floor creaked as if many people were walking around up there. I frowned and looked up at the clock on the wall. 11:00 pm. I’d gotten more caught up reading than I’d meant to; the book was as good as advertised. I wondered where Jack had been until so late. I hoped too that he hadn’t gotten too much flak from Emily when he’d returned her car.

The door to the basement opened and then Jack’s voice wafted down.

“Everett, can you come upstairs please?” “Coming,�� I called, and put down the book.

When I got to the stairs, the door leading to the kitchen was open and no one was visible. I made my way up slowly, unable to help but feel like something was wrong.

Jack stood in the archway that led to the living room when I entered the kitchen. Waving me over, he smiled at me, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

I hesitated and tilted my head, trying to see past Jack into the living room. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Jack’s smile slipped. “We have some visitors with some good news.” He stepped back into the living room and gestured for me to join him.

I wanted to ask why, if it was good news, Jack looked like he was attending a funeral, but instead I walked over to stand next to him in the archway. As I took in the crowd of visitors, Jack draped his arm over my shoulders, careful not to jostle my hurt shoulder. I recognized Stacy and one of the two men with her as Ted from the PCA. Besides them there were two more people, one man and one woman who I didn’t know. All vampires if I had to guess, since they were with Stacy and Ted. I’d bet their presence was also the reason for Jack’s bad mood.

“Good news,” Stacy said. “The council has looked at your case and come to a decision. You’re to be given this decade’s slot.”

She paused and looked at me expectantly, waiting for a reaction. Puzzled, I twisted my head to look up at Jack, who looked as baffled as I felt.

“Slot?” I asked, looking back at Stacy and then around the room. The female vampire’s face twisted up in a snarl and she glared at me, but didn’t say anything. Both men were impassive. “How is that the good news?”

Stacy sighed. “I suppose you don’t know. In order to keep the vampire population in check so that there aren’t more vampires in a given area than the human population can support, only a limited number of humans are allowed to be turned each decade.”

I stared at her. “Wait, so what if a vampire is made without a slot, as you called it?”

“They are destroyed,” Stacy said in a deadpan.

I blanched, and Jack’s hand tightened on my uninjured arm.

“Don’t worry.” Stacy smiled and folded her hands in front of her. “You’re getting the next slot, so you don’t have to be destroyed.”

“But I didn’t have a choice!” I tried not to yell. I wasn’t mad at her, but I couldn’t help but be a little frustrated.

“Which is why the council ruled in your favor,” Stacy said, her tone turning hard. The woman with her began grinding her teeth until Stacy shot her a hard look.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. “And the other problem?”

“The council accepted Jack’s proposed solution.” Stacy smiled, as if that answered everything.

I glanced up at Jack. “And that is?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

Jack had the grace to look embarrassed. “No. I didn’t know if the council would agree, and there was no need to upset him unduly if there wasn’t a need to,” Jack said to Stacy, not meeting my eyes.

“Yes, the possessiveness you mentioned.” Stacy gestured to the vampires flanking her. “That is why I brought backup. Ted, Luke, if you please.”

I opened my mouth, but before I could say anything, the men darted forward and ripped me away from Jack’s side. They twisted me around and threw me against the wall next to the door face-first, one holding each of my arms painfully behind my back. I cried out as my injured shoulder was ground into the wall.

“Hey, careful!” Jack yelled.

“He’s just being dramatic,” Stacy said. I couldn’t see anything but plaster and vampire arm as my face was pressed against the wall. “Now, where does he keep it?”

Jack sighed. “Let me.”

“Too dangerous,” Stacy said. “You stay back.”

“Look, he trusts me. And it’s not like he isn’t dangerous to you either.” Jack’s voice was patient.

“What?” the vampire holding my right arm asked. “What does he mean by that?”

Stacy sighed. “I wish you hadn’t said anything, Jack.”

“They’d have to find out eventually, Stacy. Just tell them to let him go.”

“Fine, let him up.”

The pressure on my arms disappeared and the men let me go, although they stayed where they were. I straightened my shirt and turned, feeling a bit boxed in by the much taller men on either side of me.

“We would have found out what?” the same vampire—now on my left—asked, giving me a wary look. “What danger is he to us? He’s tiny.”

I folded my arms and glared up at him. Luke by process of elimination, since I recognized Ted on my right.

“He’s of a rare bloodline that can feed off other vampires,” Stacy said, placing her hands on her cocked hips as she regarded me. The vampires on either side of me both sidled a step away. “That line was thought to be extinguished thousands of years ago. No doubt part of the other reason the council let him live. Though other than the council telling me that, and that he is to be allowed to live, they wouldn’t divulge any more details.”

“On that note, any progress on finding my maker?” I asked, dropping my challenging gaze from Luke next to me to look at Stacy. I was genuinely curious, despite my anger at being ganged up on.

“No, but don’t worry, we will.” Stacy snapped her fingers and Jack moved over to stand in front of me, holding up a cloth bag. “The amulet. Now.”

I glanced down at the bag and then around the room, finally getting the plan. “Wait, you’re going to give a human mob boss a magical amulet? Jack did tell you what I found out about it, right?”

Stacy rolled her eyes. “She’s only a human; she won’t know what it does. We did some research on her. Her house is filled with stolen occult artifacts from around the world. No doubt she just wants it for her collection.” Stacy waved a hand dismissively. “In a few months after your faked death, we’ll send someone to steal it back, so she won’t connect the theft to you.”

Jack gave me a pleading look. “It’s the fastest way to get her to call off her goons. I made contact with her today—”

“You what!” I jumped. “How? Why?”

“I was getting there.” Jack gave me a patient look. “I called my old cell phone, she answered. I negotiated with her. The amulet for your life.” He shook the bag. “So please, Everett, can you give it to me?”

I swallowed and licked my lips, but did as Jack asked and reached into my pocket. I pulled the amulet out and lifted it up to eye level to stare at it. I held it out over the bag and tried to drop it, but my fingers wouldn’t let go. Someone moved in my peripheral vision. I snapped my arm back to my chest, crouched, and hissed at a startled-looking Jack. “No! It’s mine! I won’t let you steal it!”

Stacy pushed Jack aside as I lunged for him. Jack fell to the floor and Stacy caught me by the throat, holding me at arm’s length. Luke and Ted grabbed my arms, and together the three shoved me to the floor and pinned me down. The woman rushed forward and tackled my flailing legs.

“Don’t touch the gold with bare skin,” Stacy called over the melee as they struggled to contain me in my frenzy. “We don’t know what its effects might be.”

I barely heard them over the voice in my head screaming at me to get away before they took my precious amulet.

Take it away and keep it safe.

After a few moments they managed to get me firmly pinned down, although it took the combined strength of four of them to keep me down. I was dimly aware of Jack nearby, but the voice beat at my mind, driving away any other thought except the amulet.

“Don’t hurt him!” Jack yelled over the chaos. “And I need the amulet now if Zoe and I are going to make the meeting with Lady Ann in time.”

“Lin, the muzzle,” Stacy requested in a calm voice, as if she were sitting at a desk asking for a pencil rather than fighting a snapping, snarling vampire.

The woman sitting on my legs who been shooting me daggers earlier pulled out a leather face mask that looked like it had come right out of Silence of the Lambs, and tossed it to Stacy. She put it over my face, strapping it around the back of my head so tightly, the straps dug into my skin.

“Shit,” Stacy said, letting go of my throat and standing up. I was still snapping at the vampires holding me. “We’re going to have to sedate him.”

“Ya think?” Ted gasped, barely keeping hold of my injured arm. Vaguely I knew it hurt to fight, but it was like the pain belonged to someone else.

Stacy came back, holding a needle filled with dark red fluid. She knelt and grabbed my hair, wrenching my head to the side, then plunged the needle into my neck. The world went black.

***

I woke up with a pounding headache, and the feel of leather straps digging into my head. Something plastic-y yet pliable was wrapped around my entire body. I was so thirsty. I opened my eyes, but darkness greeted me.

Rock music blared from somewhere behind my head, almost drowning out the sound of two people conversing and the background hum of road noise. I recognized Stacy’s voice, and thought the man talking to her might have been Ted. The surface I lay on bounced as the car went over a pothole.

All I could think of was the amulet. I could feel it moving away from me, and I wanted to scream in frustration. The voice was a little quieter now, giving me enough presence of mind to swallow the sound down to a low growl. Still, it was like someone else talked over my thoughts, making it hard for me to focus.

Jack was in danger, I could feel it. Lady Ann wasn’t going to let things go that easily, but the voice in my head screaming about getting its amulet back quickly pushed all thoughts of Jack away.

It took me a few moments of wriggling to get my hands up from where the tight plastic had them pinned to my side. I grasped the material in front of my face and pulled until I had torn a large enough hole for me to see through. Sticking my arms through first, I got my head and shoulders out so I could sit up and look around. I was in a long car, lying on a gurney. A dark curtain hid the car’s front seat. Thick straps circled my legs and torso—so that was why it’d been hard to move.

Wait, was I in a body bag? And was this a hearse? I shook my head. So cliché, vampires driving a hearse.

I fumbled with the buckles of the face mask, ripping it off with a satisfied grunt and tossing it away.

“What was that?” Stacy suddenly asked from the front seat. I twisted around to look behind me. A hand came through the curtain, pushing it aside to reveal Stacy’s face. Her mouth dropped open as we locked eyes. She looked delicious. All I could see her as was a meal, although vaguely in the back of my mind I knew she had a name. My fangs descended, and I began fighting to pull my legs out of the bag.

“Fuck, Ted, he’s awake! Pull over, pull over and come help me!” Stacy screamed, unbuckling her seat belt to begin climbing into the back seat.

“What the hell!” Ted yelled. “He should be out until at least tomorrow!”

The car abruptly slowed and jerked to the side, sending me and the gurney tumbling over. The gurney landed on top of me, but I didn’t even feel it. I kicked my legs free and lunged for Stacy. My front half collided with her as she finished crawling into the back, slamming us both against the back of the front seats. I opened my mouth wide and bit her shoulder through her blouse. I sucked greedily at her blood. Stacy screamed and fought under me for only a moment before going limp from my venom.

The voice screamed at me to kill the one who took the amulet from me, but the blood hitting my stomach gave me a shock of clarity. The only thing I could compare it to was like when I’d had coffee the morning after a late night at the bar, and the caffeine hit. I let go, shoving the limp Stacy away from me while licking the last of her blood from my lips.

At that moment, Ted threw open the curtain and froze, eyes flicking back and forth between Stacy’s motionless body and me. I grinned at him, showing off my fangs and bloody lips.

Ted pursed his lips and reached down slowly to unclip his seatbelt while our eyes remained locked. Before I could move, Ted had the door open and slid out. I lunged after him, but got tangled in the curtain. By the time I tore free of the fabric, Ted stood warily in front of the car.

I ignored him and climbed into the driver’s seat, closing the car door. The keys still dangled from the ignition. Perfect. I started the hearse back up. Ted frowned, but backed over to the side of the road.

My feet couldn’t even reach the pedals, so I adjusted the driver’s seat closer to the steering wheel before putting the car into drive and flipping an abrupt U-turn. I ignored the angry honks of the other driver’s and sped towards the amulet’s pull. In the rearview mirror, I glanced back to see Ted standing where I’d left him. He had a cellphone pressed to his ear and was shouting at the person on the other end, gesturing at the retreating hearse.

In the back of the vehicle, Stacy slurred like a drunk, but I ignored her. I needed to get the amulet back. My amulet. The voice told me so. I’d feel better once I had it back. I didn’t know where Jack was meeting Lady Ann, forcing me to drive back and forth through the streets as I tried to home in on its location. I followed the feeling north and west, and ended up on Lombard street going north past the industrial parks north of Saint John’s, which were all dark and shuttered at this late hour.

I was getting close, I could feel it. The voice began to quiet as I drew nearer, letting me think more clearly.

“Jack, have to rescue Jack. Not the amulet. Jack,” I said out loud in an attempt to remember why I was really here. I didn’t care about the amulet, despite what the voice in my head was yelling. Let Lady Ann have it. But Jack, I had to protect Jack from her. She wasn’t about to let my defiance of her go so easily, despite what she’d told him. She had to have figured out that Jack had been helping me, and she was going to punish him for it, I could feel it.

The clock on the dash said 12:48 am as the hearse bumped over the bridge over the Columbia Slough, where Lombard turned into Marine Drive. Suddenly, the amulet felt like it was behind me.

The voice screamed so loud in my head that I felt like a spear was being stabbed through my face. My vision went black. I took my foot off the gas and my hands off the steering wheel to clutch my aching head. The car swerved to the right, bouncing onto the sidewalk before hitting a streetlight with a crash.

The airbags went off with a bang, smacking me in the face. In the back, Stacy cried out as she was flung halfway into the front seat. Her eyes were still glazed over and she lay there moaning, covered in broken glass from the shattered windshield. Steam rose from the engine where it was wrapped around the light pole.

“Amulet, amulet, amulet!” the voice screamed in my head. Or maybe it was me screaming out loud. “Back, back, go, fast. Ours.”

I kicked the bent driver’s-side door and stumbled out clutching my aching head.

“No, Jack. Jack.”

It was like my thoughts were fighting, pulling me in two. But my mind was united on one thing: I needed to go, now, towards the amulet. Where Jack would be.

I took off running down the road leading north, past the Kelley Point Park sign. The yellow gate that would have normally be closed at this late hour was wide open.

Kelley Point Park wasn’t a bad place for an exchange that you wanted to keep as quiet as possible. The heavily forested park lay on the little strip of land between where the Willamette River split from the Columbia, and was surrounded by business and industrial parks that were empty at night. There were no residential areas anywhere nearby.

Behind me, metal squealed as Stacy crawled out of the car. I glanced over my shoulder to see her swaying on her feet, clutching the side of the wrecked hearse to stay upright. She called out in a slurred voice, “Everett, Jack didn’t go alone! Come back! Nothing’s going to happen to him! Zoe’s with him.”

I ignored her and kept running.

[karenlacorte]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: ❤️ Vintage Tall and Proud by Vian Smith.

[penig]

Most literary historians, when asked to name the first YA novel, will name either Seventeenth Summer (1942!), Catcher in the Rye (1945), or The Outsiders (1967). As a publishing category YA took a long time to get established, and through most of its lifetime the category could really only be assembled post hoc, defined as "books that particularly attract readers in their late teens."

When I went to school in the 70s there was a YA section in the main branch of the public library. It was a single stack, taller than the children's stacks and shorter than the adult ones, just inside the children's section directly in front of the open archway linking the adult side to the children's side. One side of the stack was fiction, one side was non-fiction. And throughout my high school years, I was looking for books in the adult, juvenile, and YA sections, because as far as my tastes and reading ability were concerned, what got shelved where was a total crapshoot.

Almost all fantasy was in the juvenile section - that was where you found the Lord of the Rings, Narnia, and dozens of lesser-known fantasists of various levels of complexity. Gormenghast, however, was in the adult section; I'm pretty sure I got the odd The Brothers Lionhart by Pippi Longstocking author Astrid Lindgren out of YA; and Alan Garner was only available in the juvenile-side paperback racks, in which YA, teen, and juvenile were hopelessly mixed up. YA's predecessor, the teen novel, was almost entirely to be found in the juvenile section, including problem novels dealing with sensitive subjects like pregnancy and abortion - if the copyright date was pre-1970. Later teen novels that dealt with sex or drugs were far more likely to be in the YA stack. Historical novels were almost exclusively in juvenile (in that library at that time Sutcliff was only in juvenile) or in adult (lots of historical romances and general historical), but a small subset of historical novels, specifically dealing in a non-romanticized way with American history, were in YA. Science fiction was in all three places, divided up apparently based on vibes, but with anything remotely sexy in the adult section. It wasn't just sexy SF, though - Andre Norton was in all three sections, represented by different books. Mystery was either juvenile or adult, not YA. Mainstream novels seemed to be cataloged, again, according to vibes. Most classics could be found in both adult and juvenile sections, sometimes duplicated, never in YA . The Bostonians, by some peculiar process I will never understand, was in juvenile; so were Austen and the Brontes. The non-fiction side was all works that had been written and published for adults, on topics the librarians considered to have YA appeal.

When I was actively publishing, in the 90s, the category of YA was still a long way from settled. Many excellent fantasists (Patricia McKillip and Diana Wynne Jones, for example) were shelved in both bookstores and libraries as adult, if in paperback, and as juvenile, if in hardback. I once asked a buyer for B&N how they determined whether a title was YA, and her reply, I swear to god, was "trim size."

As for the original anonymous assertion that queer and POC stories "always existed" and challenging the notion that YA literature is significant for telling these stories - um, no, that's not how it's worked! Growing up in the 60s, a lot of publishers were turning out stories about black people specifically, many of them (including one Pulitzer prize winner) written by white people. Very few non-black POC protagonists were to be found; it has been true from the beginning that unless public demand caused publishers to consciously seek out content about non-white people, American publishers, at least, almost never published any; and even when they did, it would be full of stereotypes, romanticizing, and probably tragedy, and written by a white person. Publishing a POC author was always a publicity point that allowed publishers to pat themselves on the back for how progressive they were. It was slightly easier for minority authors (including women) to publish in juvenile than in adult non-genre imprints; juvenile in those days was a ghetto, which allows a lot of freedom as long as you don't call attention to yourself too much. Some of the most innovative writing of the 20th century was done by people writing for the young, but we had no clout whatever.

The closest things to queer content I remember from the 70s/early 80s was Christopher Isherwood (solidly on the adult shelves), The Man Without a Face and I'll Get There, It Better Be Worth the Trip in the YA stack, and some random discussion of queer people in the context of their persecution by the Nazis in historical adult non-fiction - and the book I remember devoting the most space to it, on Weimar Berlin, regarded the trans people at Hirschfeld's institute and in the lively bar scene as sad and pathetic, and the destruction of the institute and burning of the books as, yes, a great injustice and awful on a human rights level, but at most a trivial loss to science.

I had a conversation with Muskogee-Irish YA writer Cyn Smith, in the 90s, in which she told me that no book had, at that time, ever been published written by an American Indian who was not part white, except through the medium of a white translator/editor who shared a byline with them. (And if you ask what about The Education of Little Tree AIM will come kick your ass - that was written by a Klan member.)

So yeah, these people and these stories have always existed - but in the Western English-language publishing industry, you had to know where to look in order to find them. And while many prominent POC authors have written for adults, when queer stories hit the mainstream, the groundbreaking titles were YA - not all of them even very queer-friendly. Annie on My Mind, Damned Strong Love, and Deliver Us From Evie were hugely upsetting to straights when they came out, and as representation they all have their problems.

The bottom line here is - don't get too caught up in categories. They're all imaginary. Once, there was only publishing; then genres coalesced out of the primal soup as publishers figured out how to best market different types of stories to an increasingly literate populace; juvenile literature coalesced out of that, teen out of that; and now, YA, as society divides the age groups from each other at unprecedented levels, at the same time that it copes with the fact that a lot of people like to read certain books regardless of how old they are. It's a shifting landscape, with definitions shifting constantly in response to the interplay between actual reading/purchasing patterns and the prejudices of publishing executives.

YA is only a useful shorthand for discussing certain literary trends and phenomena so long as we are not spending all of our time arguing about what is is.

The other anon talking about YA as a genre demographic really gave me a lot to think about. It put some things in perspective. Gotta admit, I never really understood how YA authors and readers often say things like 'YA is the only place with books by and about people of color, queer people, etc.' Those stories have always existed, though? Are they saying the stories that always existed didn't actually exist until YA was created less than 20 years ago??? It does not compute. Maybe another part of it is that tropey stories like the ones in YA are also in genre fiction for adults, but they're harder to find because they're not all gathered in one place like in YA.

--

YA fans also just assume that old shit that sounds like YA was marketed as YA, often because it was rereleased as such. But just because the term 'YA' is old doesn't mean its current form is.

[browsethestacks]

Super Heroes Which Way Book #01 - Superman: The Man Of Steel by Andrew Helfer

Art by José Delbo

Archway (1983)

[booklung]

[nsk96]

Important posts

Just another place to store more important links. Everyone welcome to view (skip the ones labeled “Personal” if you want to)

Folk stories of Tumblr

Job discrimination, applications

The Internet Archive lawsuit

Online echo chambers, Incels, Teens

Abortion States & Routes

Abortion, Marital R*pe

Bilateral Salpingectomy

How to adult

What if Jesus was aborted

UK: Human Rights Act in danger

Anti-Trans Legislation affect cis people

Rip current, rip tide, ocean, beach

Secret Tumblr Dashboard

Opening paperback book without creasing

Weaponized Incompetence

Personal: Harassment on Instagram from you-know-who

Personal: you-know-who continuing with the same crap

Good Luck, future Dragon Raja fans

Personal

YouTube

Banning free school lunch

DnD assets

Calculus textbook

Minecraft roof, roads, archways

Sideblog deletion

Heart locket GIF, Minecraft achievement, etc.

Stretches/exercises: eyes, neck, wrists, feet, sleep

Life hacks

Pagan folk music rec by Starsharks

Shop natural fabrics and threads

[absentcaryatid]

The Missing Piece

An ATEEZ fanfic by AbsentCaryatid

Based on 'The Real' MV, 816 words, sfw

~

Clad in a silver NASA jacket Mingi placidly contemplated the archway marking the entrance to the campus. So, ATEEZ High School was the source of the draw he had felt calling him to this location. As a new arrival he knew he would be tested but secure in his abilities and worth this would not be a trial, merely something to get over with. Confidently he made his way to the classroom and in the first show of his power cleared the desks around him with a mere thought scattering them like leaves. Impressive but not proof he was a demigod, after all any of the lower-level imps present could perform such a feat.

Sensing something in the air, Seonghwa looked up from spell work and commented to Hongjoong, “The one we have waited for has arrived.” Representing Wisdom, the deity looked immaculate in aqua, not a drop of ink to be seen on him despite hours of calligraphy and the same could be said of his companion who also managed to keep similar white clothes beneath a robe of blue spotless.

Nodding, Knowledge demigod Hongjoong agreed, “I can feel their presence and they are powerful.”

Nearby fellow deities, personifications of Agility and Play felt the same pull leading them from the practice room to the new student. The youthful looks of San and Wooyoung belied their extreme age. In a somewhat flippant use of immortality the two had amassed quite a collection of sports memorabilia having had several lifetimes to attend sporting events around the world. Patches were a favorite way to keep score of places they had been and teams befriended.

No matter how close they might have felt to the members of any sport, their sense of fair play prevented them from influencing the outcome of any game. Nudging the skies toward favorable weather may have occurred from time to time but that exuberance could of course be forgiven. Ready to make the acquaintance of their new peer, San led his minions with Wooyoung following to find the recent arrival.

Leather jacketed Jongho and Yunho, deities of Leadership and Respect, also picked up on the change in the air. They too knew the missing piece was now present and they could begin the ritual signaling to their lord, a full god with powers far beyond their own. Leaving their motorcycles and gang behind they followed the trail summoning them to investigate the newcomer. The six resident demigods converged on the classroom where Mingi stood alone. Circling him, they taunted Strength which might not have seemed smart but as pink haired Wisdom attested, “If he is the person we think he is then we are allies and will come to no harm.”

Respect loomed over Mingi ominously and called forth the most powerful student. In a test that would have flattened even the other demigods, their long-haired warrior made no impact on Mingi despite the force of his punch. Mocking the effort, Strength pretended it was not his natural ability defending him but a mere paperback textbook. San, demigod of Play, broke into a smile and noted, “I like his style. Let's take this outside, shall we?”

Meeting again on the field, Wooyoung was already sure Mingi was the embodiment of Strength but double checked his instinct with a baseball streaking toward the newest student at an astonishing velocity. With no effort at all the ball's progress was halted with Mingi's lazily outstretched hand. Wooyoung was pleased the wait to complete their crew was now at an end.

Each of the paired demigods sent forth a member to join Mingi in sending up a beacon. Strength, Wisdom, Agility, and Leadership combined their power forming the signal alerting Yeosang that the crew he called ATEEZ was now assembled. The school, as he had built it to do, had drawn the lower-level deities he needed to bring together to complete his plan. Things were about to get interesting and thoughts of what that might be made Jongho smile.

Hungry for attention of even the smallest worshipers, the beacon found Yeosang with arms outstretched reveling in the attention of a flock of doves easily lured with crumbs of bread. Being a full god he had more attributes than the demigods he had gathered for his project. Expressed in a mismatched stylistic quirk, Humble and Kindness were his primary purview. Knowing his value, Yeosang was never going to express humility himself but he did a fine job inspiring it in others.

What he had collected these seven powerful deities to do was not something revealed to any of them yet but they had the sense their participation would be part of something beneficial to the world. In time they would discover just what role they were to play but in the meantime they would simply enjoy the feeling of completeness from being together as eight making one team.

~

Masterlist

[retrogirlsbooks]

Stepsisters by Joan L. Oppenheimer

ISBN 0-671-52526-3

[paperbackpurgatory]

Victor Appleton's Tom Swift: The Negative Zone (1991)

"Dimensions in danger!"

[myhockeyworld87]

Favorite Season

Ok so I’m making a couple stories that didn’t show up in the tags all new posts again. I apologize if you already read this. 

Word Count: 8,690

POV: Jon’s

Notes: So this is me in my sad bitch hours, so let me apologize in advance to everyone. This story just sort of popped into my head when I listened to Mariah Carey’s Miss You Most at Christmas Time and so I decided to put it down on paper so to speak. Sorry I haven’t been on much lately, but hopefully that will change with the new year. Guess I needed a little cleanse, but I’ll post more on that later. Happy Reading and Happy New Year! I hope you are spending it with friends or family or both. May 2021 bring you peace, joy, health and happiness!

Sidenote: This is not my gif

Second Sidenote: Wishing Jon the best and hoping that he is able to be back on the ice soon!

People always assumed when you talked about what season you loved the most, that you meant hockey, for obvious reasons of course; it was your profession, but once you’d met (Y/N), the word season took on a whole new meaning. You’d kindly respond and tell them no, that wasn’t the season you were talking about. They then assumed that you’d meant spring, for that’s when (Y/N) walked into your life. Well, ran into was more like it. She’d been rushing to the United Center for an interview for a summer internship program, while you were on your way out. Neither one of you had been paying attention, which is how you’d ended up holding her in your arms that first time. You knew from that first moment that you never wanted to let her go.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” (Y/N) said as she tried to regain her footing.

“No, it’s my fault. I should’ve been watching where I was going.” She stepped out of your arms to pick up the strewn contents of her bag and being the gentlemen that you were, you knelt down to help her. “Here let me help you.” You picked up a small paperback book and glanced at the title. “Alors tu apprends le Francais?”

“Oh geez, this is so embarrassing,” she admitted, a blush staining her cheeks. “I just bought this book a week ago, in hopes to learn French but I’m afraid I don’t know a word of what you said…well, other than French.” She laughed softly to cover up her embarrassment, but the sound was like a melody that you wanted to play over and over again.

“I just asked if you were learning French.” You handed the book back to her with a smile, as you both stood up off the ground.

“Well, don’t I feel stupid.” She placed the book back in the bag, then placed it on her shoulder. “But yes, I’m trying to learn French. I’m hoping to go to Paris after graduation. Which gives me approximately one year to learn the language, you so eloquently speak.”

“Thank you, but I grew up speaking it, so it comes naturally.”

“Ah, well, you’re lucky.” She took a step away. “I’ve got to run. Again, so sorry for bumping into you.”

“It really wasn’t your fault.”

“We’ll call it a draw,” she said with a lift of her shoulder as she turned and walked away. It was then you noticed a small snowflake charm on the ground.

“Wait, you forgot this.” She turned back around, meeting you halfway.

“Oh, this must have fallen off my keychain again. Thank you, I would’ve been devasted had I lost this. I owe you one.”

You weren’t sure if they were just words spoken or if she truly meant them, but you decided to take a gamble. “How about dinner?”

Her beautiful eyes got even larger, at your poor attempt to ask her out, and you thought you’d just made an idiot of yourself. “Um…sure.” She dug into her bag pulled out a pen, then tore a page of her learn to speak French book out. She scribbled down her name and number, then handed it over to you. “Call me.” Then she turned and took off again. “Sorry, I’m really late.” She was halfway down the hall as you stood there glancing between her name and her. “Hey what’s your name?” she called out.

“It’s Jon.”

“Make sure you bring my page to dinner. I expect you to teach me how to say whatever’s on that.” The words were no sooner out of her mouth than she disappeared down the hall. You called her later that night, and then the following day and every day after that. By the end of spring her French had improved, but not to the point where the two of you could have full conversations without her questioning words here and there. Yes, that spring had been magical and if someone would’ve asked you as summer started, you probably would’ve said that it was your favorite season. But then summer did start, and well that meant you got to see (Y/N) lounging by the lake in a bikini. Your twenty-year-old self thought there was no better season than this. Again though, that wasn’t the season that would stand out in your mind. Nor would it be fall, when just after six months of dating her you told her you loved her.

It hadn’t been some grand gesture like you see in the movie. Rather it was really quite simple. You’d just lost the season opener to the Nashville Predators. It was your first season as captain of the team and you’d really felt the pressure; more from yourself than anyone else. You were the last to come out of the locker room, and you were feeling pretty defeated, but there stood (Y/N) leaning against the wall, holding a piece of paper which read, ‘Tu Les Auras La Prochaine fois.’ But it wasn’t the sign saying that you’ll get them next time that made your heart skip a beat, it was seeing her smiling face holding it that did it for you. “Je t'aime.” The words were out of your mouth before you could think about it, and you didn’t want to take them back. She looked a bit startled and unsure of what to say. “It means I love you, silly. Man, I really thought your French was getting better.”

“I…I know what you said. I just want to make sure, you meant it.”

“Je t'aime, Te Quiero, Ti Amo, they all mean the same, (Y/N). I love you. I probably should’ve said it the day I met you, but…” She still didn’t say anything and suddenly you were starting to wonder if maybe today was too soon. “You don’t have to say it back.”

“No…I mean…Yes…” She closed her eyes then, gathering her thoughts. “Damn, I said that all wrong. I love you too, Jon. Je t'aime.” Her lips were on yours then, the kiss was like so many you shared these last few months, only there was more heat, more passion as you poured all your love for her into it. “Let’s go home,” she softly whispered when you broke apart, a glint in her eye that told you she wanted to show you how much she really loved you.

Your lips quirked up into a smile. “Anything you want, mon amour.”

Yes, fall definitely was one of your favorite times, but it was Christmas that always held a special meaning.

That first Christmas would always hold a special place in your heart. You could remember it like it was yesterday.

You’d just come home from a quick road trip to Detriot. You dropped your bags off at your place and then headed over to (Y/N)’s apartment. When you got there, caricatures of her and her two roommates were drawn on the door, all three dressed for Christmas and around a cartoon tree. You had a hard time knowing where to knock for all the decorations on the door. (Y/N) came scurrying to the door. “You’re back,” she said jumping into your arms and kissing you soundly. Your lips never left hers as you stepped into the apartment.

“Mmm, I see someone missed me.”

“I always miss you, but I’m glad you’re back. You’re just in time to help me hang the rest of these decorations. I could use your height.”

“Oh, so now you only want me because I’m tall.” She released you then swatted you on the arm.

“No, but it doesn’t hurt. Here can you help me string these lights up?”

You took the strand and hung them up per her instructions. “Boy, you really go all out for Christmas.”

“But of course, don’t you?”

“Not really. I don’t even have a tree.”

“Wait, what? You don’t have a tree?” She repeated your exact words as if the thought was impossible.

“It’s not really a huge deal in my family, besides I’m usually never home because of hockey,” you told her as you finished hanging the lights. (Y/N) walked over to the closet, grabbed her shoes, and put on her coat, as soon as you were done. “Uh, babe, where are you going?”

“To go get you some Christmas decorations.” She opened the door, then looked back when you didn’t follow. “Are you coming?” You had no choice but to follow her.

The rest of the afternoon was spent picking out lights, ornaments, a tree, and more decorations than you could fit in your shopping cart, but you didn’t mind being dragged from store to store as (Y/N)’s face lit up in every one of them. “Ok, star or angel?” she asked you holding up two tree toppers, but before you could answer she kept going. “I mean part of me thinks that we should go with the star. It’s pretty traditional and well they always sing about hanging the star on top of the tree, but I like the symbolism of the angel.”

You looked both of them over when she finally decided to take a breath. “Angel, definitely.” She turned the figurine towards her looking it over, while you walked behind her, letting your hands slide around her waist so you could pull her close. When she turned back to look at you, questioning your choice, you simply said, “You’re my angel and she reminds me of you.” She kissed you then, right there in aisle C8, amidst the Christmas decorations.

“Angel it is then.” She set the tree topper in the cart and the two of you headed to the checkout. On the way there, you spotted a sprig of mistletoe and tossed it in the cart unbeknownst to (Y/N). It wasn’t until the tree was up that night, that she found it. “I don’t remember putting this in the cart.”

“You didn’t. I did.” You took the mistletoe out of her hand and went to hang it up in the archway. “If we’re going for full-on Christmas, we can’t forget the best part.” Grabbing her hand, you lead her over to where you’d just hung the little green sprig.

“You really think you need this, to get me to make out with you?” Your hands encircled her waist as she spoke the words, and you drew her in close to you.

“Well, no. This is just an excuse.” You pecked her lips quickly. “Besides, this is my first time decorating for this holiday, I might as well go all out.”

She returned the kiss, only it was more heated as you slid your tongue inside her. She moaned into your mouth before pulling back. “In that case, let’s make it a little more memorable.” She stepped out of your embrace, her fingers trailing down to the button on your pants. It slipped out of the buttonhole easily, before she slid the zipper down. You sucked in a breath, as her hands snuck inside the waistband of your boxers and she slid them and your pants all the way to the ground. (Y/N) fell to her knees, her hands skating up your thighs as you felt her warm breath fan across your cock. It twitched before you felt her lips place a kiss right on the head. Her lips trailed all the way up and down the length of your shaft, teasing you.

“Babe, you’re killing me.” A wicked glint in her eye was her answer back, as she placed her puckered lips on the head one last time before she finally took you inside her mouth. Your hands threaded through her hair as she sunk down to take most of you in. She took her free hand and wrapped it around the length that didn’t fit inside and gave it a gentle squeeze, then her mouth started to work its own little bit of Christmas magic as she hollowed out her cheeks and sucked on your cock. “Damn, baby that feels so good,” you hissed out, your hips rocking a bit into her mouth. If this was (Y/N)’s idea of Christmas traditions you were all for it, and mistletoe was definitely going to be a staple to your decorating every year.

(Y/N)’s free hand slipped down to your balls where she cupped them and you felt yourself close to bursting. Your body tingled as she hummed around your cock. With her mouth and hands on you it felt like there was enough electricity coursing through your body that you could light up a million strand of Christmas lights at the moment. “(Y/N), I’m going to…” she didn’t stop though just took your cock deeper until you swore you hit the back of her throat. It was that move, that pushed you over as you spilled your seed in her mouth. She swallowed as much as she could, though some dribbled out and you thought it was hot as hell.

That night would forever live in your mind, as you returned the favor by making her cum not once but twice under that same mistletoe. Even though, it was one of your favorite memories from that first Christmas. It wasn’t that, that made Christmas your favorite season. It was the way that (Y/N) embraced the joy of the season in everything she did. Even the simplest things were a little brighter with her around. She made everyone around sparkle and shine just like tinsel on a Christmas tree. Not that she wasn’t always that way, but there was just something special about (Y/N) and Christmas and thus it became your favorite time of year.

There had been no Christmas break that year in the NHL, meaning you had no time to head back home, so (Y/N) had invited you to her house to be with her family. They had welcomed you with open arms and you had found out, why she’d loved Christmas so much. Her family went all out, decorations were everywhere and presents were piled high. They’d included you in all their traditions, from frosting to cookies to playing Christmas charades. They even had you cut a piece of wheat for Baby Jesus’s manager, as was their annual custom to do before opening presents Christmas morning. That first Christmas had set the tone for all those to follow after it.

As Christmas drew to a close that year, you knew one thing for sure. That you never wanted to spend another one without her. It was an easy decision to ask her to move in with you, once she graduated college, and right before that Christmas that year, the two of you bought your first place together. To commemorate the event, (Y/N) had a special ornament made in the shape of a key.

Hockey took precedence the following year, as you won the Stanley Cup and it seemed like the summer and fall flew by. One thing was for sure though, and that was that (Y/N) was with you every step of the way. You knew you had to make that Christmas extra special. It was the first time your family flew in for the holiday. (Y/N)’s family all came to your place as well that year. The house was filled with love and laughter and was about to get a little more exciting.

All the presents had been unwrapped and everyone was lounging in the great room. “I think there’s one more present here,” you pointed to a box you had hidden off in the corner. “Looks like it has your name on it, babe.”

(Y/N) took the gift and looked at the tag. “It doesn’t say who it’s from.”

“Well, that happens from time to time. You know Santa’s elves are really busy this time of year,” her mom chimed in, giving you a little wink. “Go ahead and open it.”

She tore through the layer of paper to the box, then lifted the lid, which happened to reveal a smaller box. “Oh my god,” she exclaimed, laughing as she took that wrapped package out and removed the paper again. Lifting the lid, she found yet another box. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Did you do this?” She was staring straight at you because she knew this was totally out of your character.  All you could do was simply shrug. The unwrapping went on for another six layers until she finally revealed a small black velvet box. All your family gasped as she went to open it. Her eyes were fixated on the container, as she slowly pulled back the lid. The look of excitement on her face was almost too much for you, and then her face fell, exactly like you thought it would. “There’s nothing in it.” She whispered, her voice small as she lifted her eyes to you. You could feel her family and yours glaring at you for pulling a stunt like this. You decided now would be a good time to put everyone out of their misery.

Dropping down to one knee in front of her, you reached into your pocket and pulled out the extravagant ring that you’d had made for her. The gasp from everyone this time was probably heard down the street as they took in their first glimpse of the engagement ring. (Y/N) covered her mouth with her hands and you saw one lone tear slip down her cheek; a happy one, you hoped. “(Y/N), I was going to leave this in the last box, but then I couldn’t. For your real present isn’t this ring. It’s me. That is if you’ll have me.” She was already shaking her head yes before you even had a chance to ask her the question. “I guess what I’m asking is if you’ll spend every Christmas from now until the end of time with me?” Another tear slid down her cheek and this time you knew for sure it was a joyful one. “(Y/FN), will you be my wife?”

“Yes, Jon, yes!” She was down on the ground in your arms kissing you before you could blink. She almost tackled you to the carpet, but your hand reached out and steadied you both on the end table beside you. That’s when you realized the ring popped out of your hand and had fallen somewhere amongst the pile of wrapping paper.

You broke from the kiss immediately. “Shit, I dropped the ring.”

“I don’t care. You’re my present and apparently my future as well.” She locked her lips with yours again. The two of you were so caught up in each other, you forgot about the rest of your family in the room; who had now gone on a search for the engagement ring.

“Found it,” your mom said breathing a sigh of relief. You took it and slipped it on (Y/N)’s finger making it official. That Christmas was definitely one of the most memorable.

The following summer you married. Most people expected the two of you to have this big grand wedding, which would’ve taken another year or more to plan, but neither you nor (Y/N) wanted that. Instead, it was a quiet ceremony with just family and close friends, exactly what you wanted, as you couldn’t wait for her to be your wife. That Christmas was your first as husband and wife, and there was more than one Mr. and Mrs. Toews ornament hanging off the tree.

Payback came your second Christmas as a married couple. There you were opening box after box. “Really babe? I would’ve expected this last year.”

“Gotta keep you on your toes, Mr. Toews.”

You unwrapped yet another box. “So is the Rolex we looked at a couple weeks ago in here?” She mimicked your shrug from two years ago. It had to be the watch, for the shrug was always (Y/N)’s go to move when she didn’t want to tell you that you were right. Sure enough, as you peeled back the paper on the last package, there was the signature green box of the famous company. “Nice try babe, but I guess I outsmarted you this time.” The hinge creaked as you opened the box, but you were shocked when there wasn’t a watch inside, but a positive pregnancy test. “Are you…?”

Your eyes locked with hers and she was nodding her head. “Yes, yes we are.” Your lips were on hers in an instant, as this time you were the one with tears in your eyes.

“I don’t get the big deal over a watch.” You heard your brother say in French in the background.

“They’re having a baby you idiot,” your dad told him, cuffing him upside the head.

Levi Abram Toews was born on July twenty-fifth of the following year, giving you a little bit of Christmas midway through the following year. His first Christmas was probably one of your favorites. At six months old, he was sitting up and just starting to crawl. (Y/N) had to move all the floor decorations up, because he started to chew on all the snowmen that he could grab. Levi’s little eyes sparkled as he was mesmerized by all the twinkling lights and bulbs. You thought you couldn’t love Christmas anymore, but seeing it through your son’s eyes made the holiday even more joyous.

When 2013 Christmas rolled around it had you hanging another Stanley cup ornament on the tree as the Hawks had won yet another one. It seemed as though the moment (Y/N) stepped into your life all the pieces just fell into place. She truly was the angel on top of the tree.

You didn’t think anything remarkable happened the Christmas of 2014 but by Valentine’s day it became clear that your wife was pregnant again, and your new little one had to have been conceived on Christmas Eve or Christmas morning. It too would always hold special meaning whenever you looked at your baby girl. Elizabeth or Lizzie as you liked to call her, joined your little family on September 25th, 2015. Making her the cherry on the cake to winning your third Stanley cup. Lizzie was daddy’s girl and everyone knew it, even your wife. Of course, there were a few ornaments on the Christmas tree that year. One with Lizzie’s picture in the cup, along with her first Christmas ornament, all got hung alongside the three Stanley Cup ornaments and Levi’s bulb. Your tree was getting quite full.

As were your wife’s hands apparently, as you could see (Y/N) getting more and more tired as Christmas 2016 rolled around. Oh, she was still her fun-loving and joyful self, but she also looked completely exhausted most days. She would dust off any concerns and tell you that was the price she paid for having two kids under the age of four. “Babe, why don’t you come and sit down,” you told her having just gotten back from your last road trip before Christmas, which was only three days away.

“I can’t. I still need to finish wrapping the gifts, then I’ve got cookies to bake, and get the food prepped for Christmas Eve dinner.”

“What can I do to help?” You asked rubbing her shoulders as she worked in the dining room wrapping the presents since the kids were finally in bad.

“You could…” She spun around to talk to you and that’s when your heart fell out of your chest as she collapsed right into your arms. Your blood ran cold as you saw color draining from her face. Gently as you could, you laid her down on the floor, calling out her name. “(Y/N)…baby…(Y/N) please wake up.” You ran and grabbed your bag knowing that you had smelling salts in there that the team used every now and then. Breaking it open, you wafted the scent over her nose, praying the whole time for her to wake back up. It took a bit, but eventually, she did rouse. “Oh thank god.”

“What happened?”

“I was going to ask you. You just fainted in my arms.” She made a move to get up but you could see that another bout of something had hit her again. “No just stay there. I’m calling the team doctor.”

“Jon, don’t. I’m sure I’m just tired. I’ll be fine.”

It was too late for her to try to change your mind as you already had the doctor dialed up. He asked a few questions, basically checking to see if she could be pregnant, but that wasn’t an option as she’d just finished her period two days ago. He recommended that you head to the hospital and get (Y/N) checked out. It was a fight to get her there, especially so close to Christmas, but eventually, she gave in and once her parents came to watch the kids, the two of you were on your way.

You rushed into the emergency room, where (Y/N) went through a series of tests. You hadn’t realized until that moment, when (Y/N) was laying in the hospital bed, that she’d lost some weight and seemed very fatigued. Your wife was always this strong and unmovable force, yet right then she looked so frail. Mentally, you kicked yourself for not noticing these things earlier.  After hours of testing, the emergency room doctor came in to speak to you both. He told you that there was definitely something off in her blood work and that he wanted to admit her for further testing. (Y/N) put up a fight, not wanting to be in the hospital another minute. She insisted she had way too many things to do than just laying around waiting for them to tell her she would be fine.

“You’re staying and that’s final.” She argued with you, but in the end, you won out again.

Thankfully, she was out of the hospital by Christmas Eve and when she came home, her parents and yours had most everything done so that it was a perfect Christmas for your children. It was two days after Christmas that you received the worst news of your life. (Y/N) had been diagnosed with stomach cancer. The doctor wasn’t sure what stage it was in but wanted her for more testing before they would try and figure out treatment. It couldn’t have come at a worse time, as you were just gearing up for a ten-day road trip.

“I’m not leaving you.”

“Damnit Jon, you are going. You’re the captain of the team and they need you,” she shouted back to you. The two of you had been arguing since you put the kids in bed. Your parents were still there, they had decided to stay a little longer with (Y/N) being sick to help out with the kids and her parents were only minutes away, but none of that mattered.

“I’m also the captain of THIS team,” you said pointing back and forth between the two of you. “And right now, that’s more important.”

“It’s just some testing at this point. If there’s anything more serious, you can be on the next plane back here.” Her voice was quieter now, and you couldn’t tell if she was just weak from cancer or tired of fighting, but you could see the determination in her eyes not to lose this battle. You needed her to keep that same look for whatever was to come and it was for that reason alone that you found yourself agreeing to go on the trip.

She was right, you were only a phone call away, and she could facetime you in on all her appointments, which she did. It was not the way you wanted to find out that her biopsy showed her having stage two stomach cancer and that her chance of survival was thirty-five percent.

You could see her crumbling on the screen, her mom and dad beside her for support, but it wasn’t enough. You should’ve been there damnit. Why in the hell had you listened to her? You wanted to scream through the phone but couldn’t; you needed to stay calm and be there for her. “Baby, look at me,” you said in a gentle yet reassuring voice, and her tearstained eyes locked with yours. “We’re going to beat this.” She sniffled loudly, then straightened her back, that steely determination taking over.

“Of course, we will.” What you didn’t know, was that she cried the entire ride home in the backseat of her parents’ car, or how she made her dad ride around the block several times before going inside to see your children. All the while, you were on the phone with the team doctor finding out everything you could to help your wife. The two of you found the best specialist in North America and had her records sent there. A week later, you were by (Y/N)’s side at UPMC Medical Center in Pittsburgh determining the best course of treatment.

She would do several rounds of pinpointed radiation to shrink the tumor before they would go in and remove it. It would all be followed up with some intense chemotherapy. The doctor told her she would more than likely lose her hair, and that it would make her extremely weak. They could set everything up to happen in Chicago so that she wouldn’t have to leave your home.

The surgery, which took place in February and caused you to miss a few games, went very well. The two of you stayed in Pittsburgh five days before flying back on a private plane home to your children. Who didn’t seem to understand why mommy couldn’t pick them up and carry them around anymore. Your parents and (Y/N)’s were godsends, as (Y/N) insisted you go back to hockey. You hated being away from her, though with every day that past you could see her strength building up. That was until the chemotherapy started.

There were to be six to eight rounds of chemotherapy that (Y/N) was going to have to take. They would fall in four-week intervals. You were there the day she got her first one. It took over eight hours for her to receive the treatment through her port that the surgeon had put in. She seemed to take it really well or so you thought until you found her hunched over the toilet a couple days later throwing up. She tried to shake it off, act like it was nothing new, telling you it was just like being pregnant again, but you knew better. You could hear the tremble in her voice, see the tears she fought so hard to hold back, while you held back your own. You’d give anything to take this pain away from her, but you couldn’t.

It wasn’t until round three that her hair started falling out in clumps. She was sitting at the breakfast table, the kids at her parents when she brushed it back to pull it out of her face. Strands of hair covered her fingers, a look of horror covering her face. “It’s ok baby, we knew this would happen.”

She swallowed hard past the lump in her throat. “I just thought that I made it this far with it, that maybe they were wrong.” You were at her side in a minute, holding her as she started to shake from head to toe.

“Let it out (Y/N). It’s ok to be sad or mad or anything. I’m right here.” It was the first time that she’d cried about it, at least in front of you.

“It’s not fair Jon,” she sobbed into your chest. “I want to be there to watch my kids grow up.”

“And you will, mon amour. We’re going to fight this every step of the way.” She cried for a solid hour, as you held back tears of your own, telling her in a calming voice that she was going to beat this. All the while being scared as hell that she might not.

Later that day, you helped her shave every strand of hair from her head. It was the hardest thing you’d had to do in your life. You’d rather take a ninety mile an hour puck to your face then to see your wife this broken and defeated. In the end, she took a deep breath as she looked herself in the mirror, eyes still glassy from tears. “You will not beat me,” she told her reflection, then looked at your reflection. “I will fight this with every breath I have.” Your lip trembled as you fought back the river of tears that threatened to spill over at her strength. Your wife was a fighter, and you knew she would conquer this disease and you’d be beside her every step of the way.

That summer you spent every available second with (Y/N) and the kids. Treatments became a normal part of your routine. The problem was with everyone, you saw your wife getting weaker and weaker. She was practically skin and bones, even though she would force herself to eat. When she took her final round of chemotherapy in October, you breathed a sigh of relief. The doctors said they wouldn’t know if the chemo had worked for a few weeks and so you waited. Praying every night that her cancer was gone once and for all, and your wife would no longer have to suffer.

A month later, you were back in Pittsburgh, sitting in front of the doctor who held your entire fate in his hands. “I’m afraid it’s not good news,” he started to say, and your face drained, while (Y/N) gripped your hand tightly. “The chemotherapy hasn’t responded as we’d like.” Everything he said after that was a garbled mess. Your mind clouded over and there was a loud ringing in your ears. You wanted to grab this man by the throat and tell him to make your wife better. That was his job, wasn’t it? He was supposed to heal people, and damn it he should’ve done that for (Y/N). “I’m not giving up hope yet.” It was those words that finally drug you out of the blinding rage that was coursing through your veins. He proceeded to say that there was an experimental drug and that they had no way of knowing if it would work, but it might be something the two of you would be interested in trying. He handed you a bunch of paperwork to go home and read before making any decisions.

“I think you should take it,” you told her the minute you got in the car.

“Maybe we should read what he gave us first.”

“It doesn’t matter what that says (Y/N) if it means that you get to stay here with me and the kids; I think we should do it.”

“It’s not a 'we’ Jon. It’s me who has to do this. What if it has some long-term effects or…” she started to list scenarios, that meant nothing to you.

“The only long-term thing here is that you’re dead. Do you want that? Because I don’t.” You were yelling at her, and you didn’t want to, but couldn’t she see that this drug was your only option. “I need you (Y/N). The kids need you.” This time you couldn’t hold back the tears as they started to fall hard and fast down your cheeks. “Damn it, I love you and I’m not willing to lose you. Do you understand me?”

You could barely see her swallow hard as tears flooded your vision, and while you knew you needed to be strong for her; you were finally breaking. “Ok,” she whispered softly, and you grabbed her holding her to your body as close as you could with the console in the middle of the car. “I’ll do it.”

“You will?” you mumbled into the crook of her neck. You could feel the dampness of her shirt from your tears but all that mattered was that she agreed to take the treatment.

“Yes,” she answered pulling you back so she could look in your eyes. “I’d do anything for you, my love.” You kissed her then pouring every ounce of love you had for her into it.

The following day, after reading through all the paperwork, (Y/N) called the doctor and got set up to take the new drug. Once you were back in Chicago, she started treatments right away. The drug was aggressive, even more so than her first round of chemotherapy and within two weeks she wound up in the hospital, her immune system so compromised that you had to suit up in a gown and mask every time you went to see her. The kids weren’t allowed in, which killed her, but you had them facetime her every day.

As Christmas grew near your spirits were low. (Y/N) insisted that you put up all the decorations just as you had every year. She ordered the kids’ gifts online so that they wouldn’t miss out on a single thing. Her only term for taking the new treatment was that you continue to play hockey. Her parents stepped up and watched the kids while you were away. You were just returning home from a road trip, about a week before Christmas when you stopped in at the hospital to see (Y/N) before heading home. When you walked into her room, you barely recognized her. Her frail form looked almost lifeless as she lay in the hospital bed, so much so that you had to check the rise and fall of her chest to make sure she was still breathing. Thankfully she was.

“Salut mon amour,” you said in a soft gentle voice, wanting her to know that you were there but at the same time not wanting to wake her if she was asleep. She turned her head to the side to see you, a weak smile gracing her chapped lips.

A scratchy “hi,” was all she was able to muster back. You took your gloved hand and held hers in it. God, what you wouldn’t give to just touch her skin and feel her once again. But since you couldn’t, you stroked your thumb back and forth over her palm, hoping that she could somehow draw from your strength.

“How are you feeling today?”

The smile dropped, and so did your heart. “I don’t think this is working Jon.” It was too soon to tell. Even the doctors had said that. She just needed to hang on, give the drug more time to work. “I think we need to start preparing for the worst.” Her hand squeezed yours, whether it was for support or to support you, you weren’t sure.

“No, baby, I’m not ready for you to give up yet.”

“I know Jon, and I’m fighting I really am. But it’s just so hard…Hard to breathe…Hard to move. I don’t feel like me anymore.” A tear slipped out and though you had a glove on your hand, you reached up and wiped it away.

“You’ve just gotta fight (Y/N). You’ve got to do it for Levi, and Lizzie, and god baby please do it for me.” You were begging now, both her and god. You couldn’t lose her, you weren’t ready to live your life without her yet.

“I will my love…..but Jon, there may come a day when I can’t fight anymore and I need you to support me on that.” You knew what she was talking about, that if the doctors wanted to put her on a ventilator, she didn’t want that. Though if it could save her…you weren’t sure you could follow her wishes.

You nodded your head not willing to put in words something you couldn’t promise just yet. You stayed there with her for a while; until she basically kicked you and told you to go home and get some sleep. The moment you walked in the door of your house, you screamed in anger. There were all the decorations that (Y/N) made you hang with the kids and you hated every one of them. They were torturous reminders that your wife wasn’t there this Christmas, that she couldn’t be with you and the kids. You grabbed the strand of garland that hung on the archway into the living room and ripped it down, throwing the ball of mistletoe across the room. It felt good, and so you tore down some more, just letting all your anger and frustrations out. It was a side of you that hardly ever came out even on the ice. Oh, you’d definitely dropped the gloves a time or two but only when someone really deserved it. Only now there was no one to fight. It was a disease and you couldn’t throw it up against the boards or punch it in the jaw. So instead, you took it out on the decorations. Every wreath that hung on the wall you ripped it apart with your bare hands. Every Santa figurine that sat on the table, you smashed against the floor. You were just about the tear the stockings off the fireplace when you stopped. It was seeing your wife’s name knitted into the fabric that got you and instead you carefully took it off the hook and brought it to your face as if it were her and you could simply hold her that close once again.

“Please (Y/N), please don’t leave me,” you called out to the void that was your house, as you dropped to your knees, tears freely flowing down your face. It was all too much. You’d finally reached that breaking point and just laid on the flooring sobbing and praying to God to save your wife. It was the only Christmas wish you had. Sure, you’d prayed when you were younger asking god to make you a better hockey player and then that you would be drafted in the NHL, but never in your life had you wanted anything like you wanted this, for your wife to be fine, for her to live a happy healthy life with you and your children. You’d trade everything you had if you could.

At some point, you picked yourself up and looked at the disaster that you’d made in what was once a storybook Christmas home. (Y/N) would be so disappointed in what you had done, not to the house, but to the mess that your kids would walk into when they would come home. You cleaned up the broken shards of glass, restrung the garland, and tried to salvage what you could of the other decorations you’d destroyed yet somehow the house still seemed to be missing something. There were tons of extra decorations in the closet, as your wife seemed to always buy more and more every year, well you couldn’t really blame (Y/N) as you tended to help as well. So, you dragged yourself upstairs to see what else might try and make the place a bit more festive.

It was in rummaging through the closet that you stumbled upon it. It was a simple container, not very big with the word “Love,” written in script on the top. You peered inside and were stunned to find dozens of envelopes, each marked with either yours or your children’s name on them. It was then that you realized they were goodbye letters from your wife, as some were addressed to Levi and Lizzie on their eighteenth birthdays or their graduations. There was even one for each of them on their wedding day. A gasp left your mouth at the realization that she didn’t plan on being around for any of these occasions. You weren’t sure what hurt more, the fact that she was giving up or that you’d be facing a life without her.

All that anger and hurt from moments ago came surfacing back and you had the urge to punch your fist through the wall this time, though you fought it for the sake of your kids. Flipping through the envelopes you saw different ones with your name on them. You picked up the one that was on top of the pile marked 'To Jon on Christmas Eve.’ It was heavier than what you thought and you realized that it wasn’t a letter but a video. Taking the box, you headed downstairs to see what your wife had to say.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew you shouldn’t be watching this, as you hit the play button on the remote control, yet you couldn’t stop yourself. Maybe there would be something on here that could help you convince her to fight harder. It took a second for (Y/N) to come on the screen. She looked weak, yet still as beautiful as ever as she sat in the chair up in your bedroom. Her wig was on, probably in hopes that you’d remember her like she once was and not the sickly cancer patient she feared everyone saw.

“Bonjour, mon amour.” God, you loved how she spoke French to you. She’d been so earnest in her studies those early days and now was rather good at it. “I’m not sure where to start with this. I want you to know that this is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I hope that you’re watching this after the kids’ are in bed and you’ve put all the presents under the tree. God, how I’ll miss doing that with you, but I know that you will make this Christmas and every one after special for our two little angels. They are so lucky to have a dad like you, just like I was so lucky to have you as my husband.” Tears were streaming down (Y/N)’s face as she spoke to you on the screen, just as they were flooding your eyes.

“I love you so much,” she swallowed hard, the movement visible as her body was frail. “Even more than I love Christmas.” It was a small attempt at humor on her part, and you wish that you could smile at it, but at the moment all you had were tears of sadness. “Remember that first Christmas when we bought the tree topper together. You told me then that I was your angel. Well, now I truly am. I hope that when you place her on top of the tree, you’ll know that I’m smiling down at you and our babies.” Your eyes automatically went to the angel on the tree. Her soft smiling eyes shining right into yours. A sob broke from you then, as you realized how much the angel looked like your wife. She had the same eyes, the same hair, and the same soft easy smile that melted your heart.

“I’m going to miss this time of year with you; the laughter, the joy, the mistletoe. It was always my favorite season with you, though you made everyday special.” You knew how she felt, for you had a feeling you’d miss her most at Christmas time. “Jon, I’d give anything to be with you right now. Just know that if I had to do it all again, I would. I’d go through every treatment, every needle, every single bit of it, if it meant one more Christmas with you…hell, even if it was one more day with you.” She wiped away the tears then, visibly collecting herself to continue on with what she had to say.

“But I want you to be happy, Jon. I want you to love again. I want you to find joy in not only Christmas but every day, even if I’m not there. And I can see you sitting there, shaking your head and telling me it’s not going to happen, and maybe it won’t tomorrow or the next day, but I hope it does someday. I love you too much to not want you to love again. Be happy, you deserve it.” You weren’t sure how she could ask this of you, there was no way that it would ever happen if she wasn’t in your life.

“Bumping into you was the best thing that ever happened to me. You were the best thing to happen to me, Jonathan Toews and for that I thank you. I couldn’t have asked for a better friend, husband, or father. You will always be the love of my life…and what a life we had.” There was still more of it to be had, you just knew there had to be. “I love you, Jon. Merry Christmas, my love.” It took another second and then the screen went blank.

“I love you, (Y/N),” you whispered up the angel smiling down at you. Tears clouded your vision until all the lights just seemed to melt into one giant one. This was not how things were meant to end. You laid your head back against the sofa and closed your eyes and just prayed. Even though you’d just done that hours ago, you asked God to do the impossible, to give you a Christmas miracle.

At some point, you must have fallen asleep, for you woke up sometime later to a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Jon, sweetie, wake up, my love.” You could swear that was your wife’s voice. It took your eyes a minute to regain focus, but it was your wife standing over you, in Christmas pajamas, her hair tied back in a ponytail. Her hair, you thought vaguely, not some wig because she’d lost all hers, and she looked healthy, strong in fact.

“You’re here? You’re ok,” you said jumping up and running your hands down her arms.

Her smile told you then that it hadn’t been a dream like you thought, and you looked over to the screen on the tv, to see the Christmas message she’d sent you back up on the screen. “You were watching it again, weren’t you?” she asked.

You had to shake yourself to get the cobwebs out of your brain. It was six years ago that you found the video, though you’ve replayed it every year since. That first time watching it you’d wanted to run to the hospital and shake some sense into your wife, but something stopped you. Maybe deep down you knew she had never truly given up, for she had called you Christmas Eve saying that she was feeling much better. The kids had gotten to see her on Christmas day, though there were still precautions taken. It was a week later that she was home and with you as her strength continually improved. She grew stronger every day after that as well. It was months later that her cancer was declared gone by the doctors, the new treatment having saved her life and yours in the process. She was a survivor and you thanked God every day for giving you that miracle you’d asked for so long ago. “I still don’t know how you found them,” she said to you. “Or why you continue to watch that video every year.”

“I watch it because it reminds me of how close I was to losing you.” Your arms encircled her waist now, drawing her closer to you. “And how magical the Christmas season is as it brought you back to me.” You gazed into her loving eyes, yours shining with that same love you saw in hers. “And to hold you a little tighter each day.” You did exactly as you said, squeezing her so that no space was between either of you, before dropping a kiss to her lips.

“I’m not sure it was the Christmas season that helped me find the strength to fight. I’m pretty sure it was you, Mr. Toews.” Her lips found yours in a soul-stealing kiss, as she poured all her love for you into it.

You maneuvered the two of you under the archway where the sprig of mistletoe always hung. “Well, Mrs. Toews, Christmas will always be my favorite time of year, though I treasure every day with you. Joyeux Noel, mon amour.”

“Merry Christmas, Jon.”  

[passivenovember]

Let the Great World Spin. 

Steve made the mistake of asking what Billy's major in Romantic Literature was, exactly, like two minutes after moving the last box into their new apartment. He tucked each corner of a baby blue fitted sheet into one side of the mattress while Billy worked on the other and wondered aloud If spending all day writing artsy-fartsy poems would be able to pay the bills.

Billy had frowned, and.

Clenched his jaw. Raised a dismissive hand when Steve began his usual parade of that's not what I meant and hey I'm sorry when Billy snatched his special box of shit--

A treasure chest containing rolls of floss, tube tops made of repurposed bandanas, one vintage lava lamp and a stack of True Crime trading cards--four from Dustin and one from Max-- 

Off the dresser before moving into the living room.

Steve followed, because.

Yeah.

He watched from the tasteful archway as Billy threw his box on the coffee table, lava oozing through ridges and tears in flimsy cardboard, and made up the couch with sunburnt looking cheeks.

Billy passed out there, with book on his chest, every night for a month.

So.

Naturally they were off to a great start.

Steve tried to apologize but Billy wasn't merciful. As annoying as it was cute, he couldn't deny it was one of his favorite things about Billy, the way he made people work for a spot in his life.

Steve tried to sweeten the deal.

A new Metallica tape here. Primary status library card there, but.

Billy wouldn't give.

Ever the poet, he didn't bury corpses in the sand until grand gestures were made. Declarations. Speeches. So on Friday night after spending two hours at the pub and returning home to find Billy asleep on the couch with a towel around his head, Steve climbed onto the coffee table and started talking.

"Billy Hargrove," Steve announced.

Billy started drooling on his chin.

Steve cleared his throat, embracing a more heroic stance; hands on narrow hips, foot on Billy's cardboard treasure box. "William Patrick Hargrove."

Billy startled awake, towel going lopsided as he sat up. He stared wildly around the room, raising his copy of Let the Great World Spin and aiming it at Steve's head. Poising the paperback to crack walls made of flesh and bone.

Steve held out his hands. "Wait, I just--"

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"I have something to say."

Billy snatched the towel from his head, folding it with as much grace as a hurricane. "What time is it, Harrington?"

Steve checked his watch, blinking sharply as the numbers started doing the macarena. He sighed. "Doesn't matter. Look--"

Billy looked.

Steve lifted his arms. Cleared his throat and repositioned himself on the coffee table to show that, after tonight, they would never have to be alone again. Billy's mouth cocked patiently as the third leg on the coffee table snapped and Steve fell headfirst into a mountain of beanbags.

"Fuck this," Billy stood, grabbing his paperback from where it lay discarded over ratty green carpet. "Let's go to bed already."

Steve gaped at him. "You don't wanna hear what I have to say?"

"What, you gonna finally admit that you love me, or something?" Billy scrubbed adorably at his eyes, and.

Steve clambered to his feet, noticing for the first time that Billy looked tired, and admiring the way his curls stuck out in every direction like a wad of blonde pipe cleaners. Steve opened his mouth to speak. To preach, but Billy was already hobbling away, sweatpants wedged up his ass.

"Love you too, shithead, 'm fuckin' tired."

Steve wanted to burst into song.

Or burst into tears, but.

The bedroom door slammed shut.

--

Apparently, scribbling love stories on the backs of takeout menus can funnel into all sorts of practical things. Like kitchens full of new pots and pans, monthly oil changes for Steve's car, and a pantry stocked with individually wrapped protein bars from the organic store across town.

They finally start sleeping in the same room again when Billy lands his first job as a research assistant.

For Steve this means getting to quit his shitty job at Family Video and focus on school, in between guitar lessons and trips to the farmers market.

For Billy, this means spending fifty hours a week in the office of a PhD. that definitely wants to fuck him and focusing only on school.

Forgetting their anniversary in favor of Shakespeare's Life and Work, Masterpieces of World Literature, an Entire course on John Milton's Paradise Lost. Steve forgives him until a lecture series on Folklore has Billy crying every night over the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice.

Asking Steve red-eyed, coffee induced, panicked questions like; "Would you follow me into the underworld?"

So Steve holds him. "Of course I would."

"Even after I missed our anniversary?"

And Steve doesn't have anything to say to that, so.

He goes to bed alone, just like every night, while Billy falls to pieces in the next room.

--

It's maddening.

The tentative bones of each of Billy's fingers are sure to peek through before graduation. Skin caught between the pages of books, left behind like loose pencil shavings as Billy puts one pad in front of the other, marching on his way to The Great Big Somewhere.

By March, Billy's a shell of a man. Sleeping less than five hours a night, burning through packs of tea candles because he studies under a haze flickering amber, like some sort of medieval poet, and only eating one meal a day if Steve cooks it for him.

And Steve's worried.

Crying on the phone to Joyce. Throwing up in the toilet when Billy passes out at the supermarket. Preparing himself to be a widow at twenty-five.

So.

He decides to say something.

The first time he brings it up Billy pours rice milk into his lap.

The second time he bursts into tears over a stack of files.

So.

Steve decides to put a sock in it.

But then it's April. Spring Break. Steve expects that they'll follow through with their plan to visit Hawkins, but right as their bag is packed to board the train home, Billy insists on staying back to finish his dissertation.

Steve throws his suitcase at the wall. Billy bursts into tears and locks himself in the bedroom. One phone call to Joyce and half a sentence from Hooper proves it; Billy will starve to death if Steve leaves him alone.

So they stay in New York. Cooped up in their massive, empty, hard-earned apartment while Billy writes about love without ever showing it.

Steve thinks about leaving.

Just.

Packing his shit in the middle of the night, sticking a note to the fridge with the magnet Billy had made for their first anniversary, but.

This will pass. That's what Steve keeps telling himself; Billy will have his Masters soon, that precious slice of paper that burned their relationship to the ground, and then they'll move to a house on a lake like Steve's always wanted, and.

Love won't exist between the pages of a book anymore it'll be real. Like first meetings on a high school basketball court, secret kisses at the top of a Farris wheel, Sunday mornings in green meadows.

Love will fall just like it used to.

Bright red across hardwood floors.

--

The last and final straw comes at 4:45 in the morning.

Billy punches their lamp off the table in his sleep, shouting about the structure of a novel and cutting his knuckles open and that's it.

Steve has, well and truly, had enough.

He tells Billy just as much over a stack of alcohol wipes and a fist that, luckily, doesn't need stitches. Steve tries not to cry, and then tries not to weep, and.

Fails.

When the love of Steve's life falls to his knees and says, "I'm exhausted," and it feels true.

Like red books full of hymnals.

Steve fails when Billy hugs him around the waist and says, "I only ever write about you," and it feels heavy.

Like shattering church windows.

Steve cries and he hates himself. And Billy. And the universe; nuns and religion. Mountains, valentines day cards, bouquets of lilies, and poetry most of all. When his fingers card through fuzzy blonde curls.

Steve tugs his poet closer, and.

Decides to follow him anywhere.

[karenlacorte]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: ❤️ Vintage Tall and Proud by Vian Smith.