#forked tongue of NASA

[mondoreb]

End Times Prophecy Headlines: June 6, 2023

End Times Prophecy Report.com HEADLINES TUESDAY August 16, 2022 And OPINION “And Jesus answered and said unto them, Take heed that no man deceive you.” —Matthew 24:4 “The best way to keep a prisoner from escaping is to make sure he never knows he’s in prison.” —Fyodor Dostoevsky ===INTERNATIONAL UKRAINE:  Is The United States Losing Its Control Of Ukraine? RUSSIA: Russia says Ukraine launched a…

[reality-detective]

NASA Satanic Freemasonry & symbolism using numbers 666... Is it just a coincidence?

Their logo is a reptilian forked tongue 🤔

[rambleonwaywardson]

Clegan Astronaut AU - Part 8

Masterpost

AU Summary: the boys as modern day NASA astronauts. Taking place in 2025, Bucky is about to head to the moon as mission commander of Artemis III while Buck is CAPCOM at NASA. Established relationship (obnoxiously in love).

Author's Note: We're going to the moon!

Definitions since NASA loves acronyms

---

A house looks big until you climb a tree. The first time your little human limbs carry you up that rough wooden bark, so you can perch high on a branch with the breeze hitting your face just so, you feel like you’re on top of the world. An adventurer, off to discover and conquer new lands. All you need is a telescope and you’ll be a modern day Shackleton. A kid can dream this way. Can see a whole heroic future laid out before them, with the world at their disposal and the wind in their hair.

A town looks big until you get in a plane for the first time. Little buildings, little cars, little people shrinking to tiny specks, like ants roaming back and forth across a brick patio. The first time you get into a plane, you feel like you’re on top of the world. The first time you fly one, nothing will ever be the same. A young pilot can dream this way. Can look back and see the little kid they were, swinging on a tree branch, and say look where we are now. Can look forward and feel invincible.

A planet looks big until you look down on it from a space station, orbiting the world 16 times in a single Earth day. People, houses, towns are invisible, insignificant, but they’re all there, in one perfect picture through a space station window. The continents stretch across the globe between vast expanses of ocean that feel endless from the ground but look so inconsequential from the heavens above. The first time you go to space, you don’t really feel on top of the world anymore, because the world, suddenly, doesn’t feel so grand. And yet it’s beautiful, breathtaking, perfect all the same. An astronaut can dream this way. Can look backwards and forwards and think, nothing has ever been, or ever will be, better than this. 

Until they go further, faster, in search of something new, somewhere that no one else has ever been. Twelve people have stepped foot on the lunar surface. Only twelve. Not a single one since 1972. And never at the lunar South Pole. In just a matter of days, all of that will change. 

–

November 6

Cape Canaveral, FL

The Space Launch System, 322 feet tall with millions of pounds of thrust capability, looms over Florida’s space coast in the sunrise, an all-powerful presence that will hold the fates of four men in her hands. The rocket stands quietly on launch pad 39B, her main engines and solid rocket boosters just waiting to be brought to life. It’s been under development for many years at NASA, designed with the explicit purpose of getting humans and their cargo to places they’ve never gone before. That starts with returning to the moon. This time, the missions are longer and more complex. They’re meant to test the limits of human survival and create a sustained human presence beyond low earth orbit. Artemis 2 already successfully orbited the moon. Now if Artemis 3 can get the job done, it may open up a new chapter for the human species. 

The esteemed mission commander meant to accomplish this feat is currently dressed in an Artemis crew polo-shirt but still has bed-hair, which he’d hopelessly tried to tame for the photos NASA wanted of the four crew members this morning. He’s also trying not to burst out laughing at the sight of scrambled eggs stuck to Curt’s nose. Eggs that Bucky, said commander, had just flung at him off of his fork.

“Oh, real classy,” Curt says, wiping the eggs off his face. He pops a piece into his mouth and swallows before sticking out his tongue.

“You takin’ my sloppy seconds, Curt?” Bucky asks.

Curt raises an eyebrow and points his fork at the commander. “Don’t talk about your husband that way.”

Bucky scowls. “Fuck off about my husband.”

Curt gathers some of his own eggs onto his fork and takes aim. Bucky squeezes his eyes shut in resigned anticipation, but Rosie shoves Curt’s hand down before he can fire. “No fair,” Curt whines. “He hit me.”

Rosie levels a hard look at him, and Curt angrily shoves the eggs into his own mouth. They both glance over, though, when they hear a gasp followed by a barking laugh. Alex, at the other end of the table, has one hand clapped over his mouth, the other holding his fork in the air, as he stares at Bucky, who is glaring right back at him, egg stuck in his messy hair. There’s a tense, slow-motion moment of the four men staring each other down, like they’re in a western face-off instead of NASA quarantine. Just as they’re scrambling for a weapon in this food fight, a bellowing voice shouts “NO!”

They all freeze and look at the doorway to the kitchen, like four children caught doing something naughty. One of the poor chefs who had prepared this meal had come in to see if there was anything else they may need, and the look of horror on her face is enough to make the astronauts slowly lower their utensils and apologize. “Sorry, ma’am,” Rosie says sheepishly, even though he hasn’t even done anything.

The chef sighs, crossing her arms. “Is it that bad?” she asks, knowing full well the food is the furthest thing from bad. “Nothing better to do with it than throw it at each other?”

Alex shakes his head and pointedly takes a bite. “No, ma’am.”

“It’s perfect,” Bucky says sincerely. “Couldn’t ask for a better pre-launch meal.” 

Despite being given their choice of what to eat for breakfast this morning, the crew had decided to keep with an old NASA tradition that had started with Alan Shepard, the first American man in space. Before his inaugural flight, he’d been served steak and eggs, something filling and rich in protein. And so they’re eating steak and eggs, washed down with some orange juice at Curt’s request.

“Delightful,” Curt echoes. He nods his head enthusiastically as he takes a massive bite of perfectly seasoned steak.

The chef rolls her eyes and waves her hand at them dismissively. “Eat up, boys.” It’ll be several hours until they’re able to eat anything else.

–

Houston, TX

There’s a quiet sort of clamor around Mission Control, papers rustling and coffee makers gurgling and men and women hustling about as flight controllers prepare themselves for every possible outcome of today. As the last dregs of hurricane season refuse to slip silently away, the NASA meteorologists have been diligently keeping an eye on the stormy weather threatening to hit the Florida coast. As of early this morning, they were still go, but mission control continues to wait with baited breath for a call that could put a pin in the entire day.

For now, business as usual.

Gale runs a hand through his hair as he walks to his console. He takes a sip of his coffee, which is fresh from the coffee maker in the back of the room, and it just about scalds the taste buds right off his tongue. With a grimace, he sets the ridiculously hot cup on his desk, and that’s when he notices the plain white box sitting on his chair. Skeptically, he reaches down and removes the lid, revealing a neatly folded, navy blue Yankees sweatshirt, the lettering worn but the fabric as soft as ever. A note sits on top: “Happy Launch Day.” He’d recognize Bucky’s messy scrawl anywhere. 

Looking around at the other flight controllers, Gale’s eyes land on Dr. Huston, who arrived back in Houston from quarantine last night. They make eye contact, and Dr. Huston nods to him. Bucky, evidently, had requested that the flight surgeon personally ensure Gale get this today. 

He sets the box at his feet and sits down in his chair, the sweatshirt gripped tightly in his hand. With another glance around the room to make sure no one is watching him too closely, he presses the fabric to his nose. It no longer smells like him. Instead, it’s all Bucky. Smokey and sweet. Bucky couldn’t take the sweatshirt with him, so instead he did for Gale what Gale did for him two weeks ago: gave him something to bring him peace. Gale’s mouth can’t decide if it should smile or frown, so instead he just stares at the piece of clothing laying limply in his lap with a weird, thoughtful sort of twisted expression that totally won’t make the other flight controllers look at him suspiciously at all.

Out of the corner of his eye, he clocks someone sitting down at the console next to him, and it’s not who is supposed to be there. Marge slides into Croz’s seat and leans way too far into Gale’s personal space.

“Can I help you?” Gale drawls skeptically.

Marge hums, pursing her lips and tilting her head innocently. Gale glares at her, not liking the concerned look in her eyes. She glances at the sweatshirt gripped in his hands, then back at him. “You doing okay?”

Gale is tired of that question. Or at least, he’s tired of the general implication that he may not be okay. The rocket hasn’t even left the ground. John is not even in low earth orbit, much less on his way to the moon. He doesn’t know if he’s sick of the notion that he can’t handle his job, or if he’s sick of being reminded of the fact that he may eventually have reason to not be fine. “Yes,” he says curtly. “I’m good.”

She fixes him with that same look she’s been giving him for days, the one that says she doesn’t quite believe him and she knows he doesn’t know if he believes himself. But he is a professional. He is good at his job. And that isn’t going to change now. He levels her with a look nearly as intense and pointed as her own. “We’re not gonna talk about it. We’re all just gonna do our jobs. I told them I can handle it and I can.”

Marge leans back and crosses her arms, but she nods at him. Croz appears behind her, his own cup of coffee in hand, and leans against the back of the chair. He ducks his head low conspiratorially. “Is there a reason you’re having a secret meeting at my desk?”

“Well, that would be a secret now, wouldn’t it?” Marge smirks at him, and he chuckles, motioning for her to get out of his seat. 

She gets to her feet and smooths her skirt. “Best of luck Major Cleven.” Stepping closer to Gale, she gives him a gentle kiss on the cheek and squeezes his arm. “Give Major Egan my regards.” When she turns around, she gives Croz a quick hug before returning to her own desk, where she will spend the day translating mission control speak for the public.

Harry Crosby, the Flight Dynamics Officer, or FIDO, takes his seat beside Gale. “How’s it going, Buck?”

Gale narrows his eyes at his computer screen, trying to analyze Croz’s tone to determine if that was a legitimate question or another ‘how are you feeling now that your husband is about to go to the moon and the odds of him returning are not as high as you’d like?’ Knowing Croz, he could mean it either way. 50/50. 

So Gale just nods. “Good, Croz. How are you?”

“Yeah, yeah good,” Croz replies. He’s the best flight dynamics officer NASA has. He’s been a flight controller on countless missions. He was FIDO for Artemis 2, even. This is standard… except it’s not. The stakes just keep getting higher and everybody knows it. It’s just that no one will say it out loud unless they have to. “I’m good,” Croz repeats. He raises his cup of coffee to his mouth.

“I wouldn’t,” Gale warns him. When Croz looks at him funny, he explains, “hot as hell.” Croz nods gratefully and gently blows on the coffee instead.

–

Bucky, Curt, Rosie, and Alex keep exchanging meaningful glances with one another across the suit-up room. Each of their suit techs is running them through a series of checks as they put on every single piece of their OCS suits. They had these suits custom-fitted months ago, but sitting in the chairs in the suit-up room at Kennedy Space Center, everything is feeling more and more real by the second. They’re doing this. It isn’t any sort of dress rehearsal, or a fitting, or an extremely detailed dream. It’s real. 

“Looking hot, Egan,” Curt calls out from his chair.

“Not as hot as you, babe,” Bucky says back as his tech helps him get the bright orange and blue outer pressure garment on over top of his liquid cooling garment, which is essentially glorified long underwear with cooling capabilities.

Suiting up is not a short process, and it’s highly detailed and redundant. These are the suits that will be worn inside Orion, including during critical mission phases like launch and reentry. It’s the suit that’s meant to keep them alive in case of a catastrophe in the spacecraft. NASA is taking no chances that one of them could fail. The techs tell them to sit, stand, clench their fists, crouch, bend, twist, and just about any other movement that could be inhibited by the suit or that could damage the suit if incorrectly worn. They do up buttons and zippers one by one, demonstrating after every single one that it’s secure.

Before putting his left glove on, Bucky rubs his thumb over his ring finger – already a habit after only a month of being married – only to remember that the ring isn’t there. No jewelry can be worn while in the space suit. There’s a brief pang in his chest, but he knows the ring is safe in his Personal Preference Kit, which he’ll take with him on board Orion. His suit tech raises an eyebrow at him and asks if he’s alright.

“Yeah, all good.” He nods at the tech, who helps him slip the glove over his hand and secure the pressure seal. 

–

Gale checks the time. L-2 hours and 30 minutes. He knows that right now, the crew is disembarking from the holding room, suited up and ready to go. They’re being met with flashing cameras, the world’s first launch-day look at the first men to step foot on the moon in this century. They’re saying goodbye to their families – from a distance, to avoid any potential contamination. Saying goodbye to parents and siblings. No spouses this time, though. 

Gale is the only spouse of an Artemis 3 astronaut.

A small part of him longs desperately to be there on Cape Canaveral, the SLS watching over them in the distance, the silver transport van waiting to take the crew to the launch pad. Bucky in front of him, so close he could almost touch him but just a hand’s breadth out of his reach. He wants to see those beautiful blue eyes staring into his own, that messy brown hair blowing haphazardly in the rising wind. He wants that last look.

He wants to watch the rocket climbing into the cloudy afternoon sky, watch as it carries a part of his heart away to the stars. 

He’ll be with John almost every step of the way, the angel on his shoulder and the voice, quite literally, in his ear. He has nothing to complain about, really. His job is here. His job is to keep his husband safe. He’ll hear his voice again soon enough, and he’ll settle for the mere vision of John’s wild grin as he looks to the heavens, the phantom feeling of fingers brushing over his own. 

Gale takes a breath and reins his thoughts in. He flicks the mental switch that pushes him into work mode, his focus nowhere but on the mission.

At KSC, Bucky doesn’t have any family to say goodbye to. He stands by as the others speak with their parents or siblings, says a few words to them himself. He takes a breath, tries not to dwell too much on the pressing need to see Gale’s face just one more time. One more time before he climbs into that spacecraft. 

It won’t be long until he hears the comforting sound of his voice. Gale will be with him through the whole mission, at least when he’s on shift. He’s lucky, that way. Few other astronauts have the luxury of that closeness to a loved one. So this has to be okay.

With one final wave, the crew climbs into the astrovan, and they set off towards launch pad 39B.

–

As the crew finishes suiting up, mission control starts buzzing, flight controllers chatting, checking the telemetry data coming in from the SLS and Orion, and ensuring they can properly communicate with the spacecraft. 

“Weather is holding, Flight,” a voice comes in from KSC. There’s a brewing storm off the Atlantic coast, but it doesn’t look like it will hit until well after launch. The wind isn’t against them yet. Visibility is good. Flight director Albert Clark hopes this stroke of luck will bode well for the mission.

Gale thinks about Bucky, ranting to him the other night about how this better not play out like last time. When he went to the station, the launch had to be scrubbed three times due to bad weather before they finally got off the ground. And every scrub occurred after the astronauts had already boarded the spacecraft. “Three times, Gale!”

A lot of launches get scrubbed; that’s just how things are. Whether its inclement weather or a technical concern with the spacecraft or the rocket or the ground systems. Any abnormality, and the rocket might not leave the pad. The crew has to come back down, a process in itself, then suit up and do it all again another day. In the end, everyone would rather that than a launch gone awry.

“Would you rather not go?” Gale had asked.

“You know the answer to that,” Bucky had replied, rolling his eyes. He’d give an arm and a leg to go to the moon. He’d just prefer if he didn’t have to go through the entire hours-long process of launch prep several times over like some weird version of Groundhog Day.

Gale would prefer that, too. A scrub or two could mean up to two more weeks in quarantine for the crew. Two extra weeks of Gale’s house being too empty. Two extra weeks of being on the defensive, thinking about every single thing that might go wrong and how they’ll work through it.

But the weather is holding. Now it’s up to, well, everything else.

–

Four astronauts, clad in OCS suits, rise slowly above the cape in the launch tower elevator. Destination: the Orion crew capsule, stacked at the top of the SLS. They could see for miles, if they cared to look, but their thoughts are on nothing but the rocket they’re about to board. It’s alive now, fueled and ready to go in its launch configuration. It creaks and hums in front of them, daring them to climb on.

Alex chuckles as they walk across the access arm at the top of the launch tower, 300 feet in the air. “Are we crazy?” The others can’t blame him for putting into words what they’re all thinking. They’ve all thought it before, too, the last time they each voluntarily strapped themselves onto a gigantic rocket literally meant to eject them from the planet.

“100%,” Rosie assures him.

At the end of the access arm, a few members of the closeout crew, dressed in white NASA flight suits, greet them as they enter the White Room.

“Ready to fly, boys?”

One of the closeout team members approaches and claps Bucky on the shoulder. Bucky looks at him before breaking into a grin. “Kenny, what are you doing up here?”

Ken Lemmons is one of the lead engineers for the Orion capsule and a good friend of the crew members. Bucky has known him for years, since junior year of college when Kenny transferred to the aerospace engineering program at the same university that he and Gale attended.

Kenny grins. “Wanted to personally see you off. And make sure you don’t fuck up my spacecraft.”

“Our spacecraft, now,” Curt says cheekily, even as Kenny pulls him into a one-armed hug.

“She gonna take care of us?” Bucky asks, motioning to the open hatch of Orion.

Kenny gives the same half-hug to Alex and Rosie before stepping back. “Oh yeah,” he promises. “Smooth ride, guaranteed.” 

There’s an energy in the White Room, this camaraderie between the astronauts just itching to get this mission going and the closeout team whose job it is to see them off safely. This is the last human contact that the crew will have, other than with each other, for a month.

The team members do another set of checks on the OCS suits, and they help the four astronauts get their com caps situated on their heads before conducting a com check.

Bucky, as commander, is the first to climb into the spacecraft, and a support person helps him get into his seat and check that his communications gear is still properly configured. Then the bulky space helmet is sliding down over his head and the support person makes sure it’s properly sealed. She makes sure he’s strapped in, coolant hooked up and oxygen flowing, and then squeezes his shoulder and looks him in the eye. He smiles and gives her a thumbs up before shaking her hand.

Next is Curt, sliding into the seat beside Bucky before going through the same process. Then Rosie, and lastly Alex. With all four astronauts strapped into the capsule, Kenny pokes his head in through the hatch, grinning with the same excitement and anticipation that is palpable in the atmosphere around them. He takes a deep breath, taking in the sight of his friends, these four brave American men, off to make history in the spacecraft he helped design. “Godspeed, boys. Have a safe flight.”

Then the hatch closes the four of them inside.

Curt reaches over and taps Bucky on the arm, pulling Bucky’s focus away from the console in front of his face. They grin at each other and Curt lifts his fist for Bucky to fist bump. They’re really doing this.

“Whaddya say, Curt?”

Curt turns his head to face forward again. “Gonna fly like an angel,” he says. “Not die like one.”

–

Inside the launch control center at Kennedy, the test director gives the final briefing. The weather is holding. The vehicle is in good condition, telemetry is good. They relay to Houston that all systems are nominal. Houston relays the same message back.

“How we lookin’?” Bucky asks Gale over coms.

“So far so good down here,” Gale tells him, relieved to hear his voice.

“How’s that damn weather?”

Gale leans back in his chair and watches the room around him, the flight controllers running through last minute checks and monitoring every single system. “Sounds like it’s going to cooperate for once.”

On Orion, Bucky is already thinking about how his legs are going to go all numb from sitting in the same position in this seat for hours. But he tries to look out the window. All he can really see is gray-blue sky, clouds for the most part leaving Cape Canaveral in shadow. “I sure hope you’re right.”

“Launch control says the storm is still far off the coast,” Gale assures him. “And wind speeds aren’t high enough to mess with you yet.”

“Then it looks like we’re doing this, huh?”

Gale nods, even though Bucky can’t see him. “We’re doing this.”

–

L-15 minutes. 

Albert Clark, standing at his console in the middle of the room, takes a good look around mission control. “Alright flight controllers, give me a go/no-go for Artemis 3 launch. Booster?”

“Go.”

“Control.” “Go.”

“GNC.” “Go, Flight.”

“Prop.” “We’re go.”

“CDH.” “Go.”

“FIDO.” “We’re go, Flight.”

“FAO.” “Go, Flight.”

“MPO.” “Go.”

“EECOM.” “Go.”

“INCO.” “We’re go.”

“CAPCOM?”

Gale, leaning on his desk with his chin resting on a fist as he follows the go/no-go, smirks to himself and nods. “We are go, Flight.”

“Launch control this is Houston,” Clark says. “We are go for launch.”

“Copy Houston.”

Gale listens in anticipation to the callouts from Launch Control. T-10 minutes. The automated Ground Launch Sequencer has taken over the official launch countdown. 

T-6 minutes. “GLS go for core stage tank pressurization.”

“Orion ascent pyros armed.”

“Copy, pyros.”

“Orion set to internal power.”

“Copy, Orion internal.”

T-4 minutes. “GLS is go for core stage APU.”

“Core stage APU start.”

T-1 minute. Gale is drumming his fingers on his thigh as the chatter in Mission Control wells up to a crescendo and then dies down. They’re ready. Launch control confirms, “we are go for launch.”

Outside, at viewing areas far from the launch pad and all up and down the Space Coast, excitement bubbles as the loudspeakers echo the countdown. Thousands of spectators join in. “15, 14, 13, 12…”

Inside mission control and launch control, the launch director’s voice counts over coms “10, 9, 8, 7, 6. Main engines start.”

The rocket on the pad explodes to life, the main engines spitting gas and flames into the chamber below. 

“Holy shit,” Alex mutters. The entire stack is shaking, jostling the crew inside Orion. This is by far the most powerful rocket any of them have ever been on and they can feel it. Bucky is grinning like a maniac as he flexes his fingers in and out, in and out in anticipation.

“3, 2, 1. We have liftoff.”

There is no doubt of the exact moment that the rocket is released from the pad, charging into the air. The crew feels themselves pressed back into their seats with incredible force as they accelerate upward, clearing the launch tower in a matter of seconds. 

“Here we go, boys, the clock is running,” Bucky says to his crew, and Curt whoops loudly as they pick up speed and the rocket begins to reorient. Over coms to Houston, Bucky informs them, “Gale, we’re into roll.”

As CAPCOM, Gale acts as the go-between for the crew and mission control. As mission commander, Bucky is the primary contact on the other end. “Okay, John. Thrust good on all four engines. SRBs good.”

Bucky: “Looking good here… roll complete. Pitching now.” 

The rocket adjusts its angle, setting it on a trajectory to reach orbit. The crew can now just barely see the world disappearing below them. 

Curt: “Fuuucckkk”

Gale: “Good, boys?”

Bucky: “Good here. Curt’s just having a moment.”

Gale: “Artemis 3, Houston wants to remind you that everything you say will be transcribed and available to the public.”

Bucky: “Curt, Gale wants you to stop saying fuck.”

Curt: “Fuck Gale.”

Gale: “Thanks.”

Rosie: “Jesus, look at that.” They can see the horizon, a rainbow stretching over the ocean as the incoming rain slowly approaches the coast.

Gale has to remind himself to keep breathing as he watches the live video feed on the big screen at the front of mission control. Perfect, he thinks, willing it to stay that way. He tunes in to Croz’s calm voice. “Trajectory is nominal. Straight down the middle, Flight.”

Clark nods. “Copy FIDO.”

Gale: “You’re looking great, John, right down the line.”

Bucky: “Roger, all good from here… Hey Gale, you’re looking great, too.”

There are collective groans in the background, both from Orion and mission control. Gale can’t be bothered, at this point. Bucky grins at his console.

“Approaching max q,” Croz states, about a minute into the flight.

Gale: “1 minute 15 seconds. Coming up on max q.”

Bucky: “Copy. Come on baby, get us through.” This is, presumably, said to the rocket. Not Gale.

The entire room seems to hold its breath as the dynamic pressure on the rocket reaches its maximum, shoving its way through the atmosphere at high speed. Nothing happens. The rocket keeps climbing, and everyone can exhale. It’s not common that a rocket actually fails at max q; it’s a major design constraint that every single part and system is engineered around, created specifically to survive launch conditions. But there is undeniably a reason why it’s a major design constraint. If the slightest thing is off, everything can fall apart in the blink of an eye.

Curt: “Two and a half G’s. Trajectory good.”

Gale: “You’re through max q. All systems nominal.”

Bucky: “Engines good. We’re goin’ boys!”

Gale breathes a little easier with every second that passes, even though he knows this mission is just getting started. His eyes track the trajectory on the big screen as the rocket flies over the coastline.

Gale:  “Artemis 3, you are feet wet.”

Bucky: “Roger. Feet wet.”

Gale: “2 minutes. Artemis 3, confirm SRB separation.” The two solid rocket boosters jettison from the core stage, their job done, and they plummet into the ocean below.

Bucky: “Can confirm SRB separation. Still going nicely.”

Gale: “Engines look good.”

Next the service module fairing and launch abort system are both jettisoned.

Bucky: “4 minutes and we are still go up here, Buck.”

Gale: “Roger, we’re checking systems here.”

Clark runs through the go/no-go again.

Gale: “We’re go here. Looking good, boys. Right where you need to be.”

Bucky: “Thanks babe.”

Alex: “Oh man, Buck. You really gotta feel what this baby is capable of.”

Gale: “I plan to. Glad it’s a smooth ride. You boys are doing great.”

Around 8 minutes in, the booster and control officers give Gale the thumbs up.

Gale: “Go for core stage MECO.”

Bucky: “Roger. MECO… Core separation confirmed.”

The core stage, which includes the main engines, cuts off right on time and disengages from the spacecraft, falling back through the atmosphere. 

Bucky: “Entering LEO… and we can feel it up here.”

After main engine cut off, as the spacecraft enters low Earth orbit, the crew finally feels weightless. Rosie laughs as he grabs their zero-g indicator, a small stuffed bear with a NASA shirt, as it floats up and around the capsule, letting them know with zero doubt that they are, in fact, in zero gravity. He tosses it gently towards Alex, watching it float effortlessly in a perfect, straight-line trajectory, no forces to inhibit its motion. 

“Bucky, check this out,” Alex says, leaning over to pass the bear to his commander.

Bucky grabs the toy and stares down at it for a moment before he scoffs. “Where did this come from?” The bear has a tiny name tag sewn onto his shirt that says ‘Beary Egan.’ Except last he knew, their zero-g indicator was a little Earth plushie. 

“Happy launch day,” Gale’s voice chimes in over coms, making Bucky laugh.

“Buck,” Rosie says. “I want you to know that Bucky is currently hugging the zero-g indicator with an undue amount of force.”

“Excuse you,” Curt says dramatically. “The zero-g indicator has a name.”

Rosie nods in understanding. “Sorry. Buck, I want you to know that Bucky is currently squeezing the life out of Beary Egan.”

“I believe that’s Commander Beary Egan,” Alex corrects.

Gale chuckles, knowing that this exchange will appear in the official mission transcript. “John, please let zero-g indicator Commander Beary Egan do his job and indicate the zero-g.”

“The zero-g has already been indicated,” Bucky retaliates. But he lets go of the bear and tosses it to Curt, who bumps it around in the air, back and forth and back and forth like a tennis ball.

“Never fuckin’ gets old,” he muses. 

Now that they’re in low Earth orbit, the interim cryogenic propulsion stage undergoes a burn that raises the spacecraft’s altitude, preventing it from re-entering the atmosphere so they can later perform a trans-lunar injection burn. With this maneuver complete, the crew spends the next hour or so performing systems checks and deploying and adjusting solar panels, preparing for the journey to the moon as they orbit the planet.

Bucky looks out the capsule window, where he can see the curvature of the Earth, the blues and greens and browns that make up the planet they call home, the wispy white clouds in the atmosphere that’s now below them. He’s seen this view before, from the space station, but it’s just as breathtaking the second time around.

Gale: “Okay 3, we’re coming up on TLI.”

Curt: “Copy. Go for TLI.” The ICPS fires to perform the trans-lunar injection burn, which takes several minutes, kicking Orion out of low Earth orbit and onto a path to the moon. 

Gale: “Looks fine… yep we have you on target. Burn looking good.”

Curt: “Burn baby burn.”

Rosie: “Can’t believe I’m stuck in a tin can with you for a month.”

Curt: “Likewise.”

Gale: “Go for staging.”

Bucky: “Yep. We have ICPS separation.” He glances over at Curt as the ICPS kicks off as well. “We’re committed now.” 

They are officially en route. 

Curt reaches over and claps Bucky on the shoulder, jostling him enthusiastically. “We’re going to the fuckin’ moon!” Rosie and Alex high five through their bulky OCS gloves. On Earth, mission control is exchanging similar congratulations. Croz reaches across his desk to shake hands with Gale, and they’re both grinning from the overwhelming excitement and relief of a successful launch and TLI burn. The excitement of achieving a trajectory that’s going to put humanity back on the lunar surface.

–

That night, Gale steps out of JSC’s building 30, which houses mission control, and into a world where his husband is no longer on this planet. While he’s not inside mission control, he has no way to contact him. In this day and age, that feels like such an unthinkable thing. No texting, or calling, or emailing. Or anything. Except for the occasional video call, the only way to hear John’s voice is when he’s on shift as CAPCOM, and that’s how things are going to be for the next month.

Gale will spend an 8 hour shift on coms with Artemis 3, and then he will go home to Pepper. He will eat alone, go to sleep alone, and wake up alone. He will worry about his husband walking on an extraterrestrial body, alone. 

Gale sighs and takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and lets the sticky Gulf Coast air fill his lungs. He opens his eyes when he hears footsteps beside him, and he doesn’t have to look over to know that it’s Marge. She takes his hand in his, and they just stand there. You’re not alone, the touch says, and Gale squeezes her fingers. Thank you. They stare up at the night sky together, at the stars pockmarking the blackness like little beacons in the night, at the moon that his husband is heading towards at this very moment.

Gale inhales again, bites his lip, lets himself smile the littlest bit. “It was a beautiful launch.”

And it was. If only that could guarantee a beautiful mission.

…

…

Part 9

[starbuckie]

𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞

challenge: the sweethearts diner 1k writing challenge by @bemine-bucky

prompt: “be still my beating vagina” from mamma mia: here we go again with a side of enemies to lovers

pairing: college!chris beck x reader

words: 3.5k words

warnings: SMUT 18+ (sixty-nine, oral ig), enemies to lovers (kinda), benefits-only kinda situation, chris is kinda in love with u (hooray), academic rivals, fetal pigs

summary: good god, chris beck pisses you off, with his ass-kissing good grades and dorky fucking glasses, but you’ve never had a better time in the sheets than when you were riding the soul out of him (and he could say the same).

a/n: this was not proofread, but my dear savannah, i am so glad that i get to celebrate this challenge with you!! a thousand followers is fucking huge- and now you have even more and rightfully so, you talented, talented writer you. i also added a little constance and charles blackwood, i thought it make it a little more fun. i love my dear space boy and i will always love writing for him, so i hope you all enjoy!! <33

main masterlist || sebastian stan characters masterlist

“Be still my beating vagina,” your roommate whispered from across the table. Constance was a quiet girl, shy and very much the girl next door, but whenever the two of you sat alone the woman was nothing short of absolutely raunchy. She took pleasure in finding men and women alike across campus that she found attractive and commenting about it in some odd way of hers. 

The day’s winter lunch in one of the Yale cafeterias seemed to center around a certain studious, infuriatingly intelligent, bright-eyed boy. 

“Ah, that’s butthole Beck,” you grinned, “I have him in nearly all my classes.”

“Pre-med?”

“Yup.”

“You don't like him?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Makes sense. All you pre-med students are righteous pricks.”

“Rude,” you nudged her elbow with the end of your fork and she stuck her tongue out at you. “I went to highschool with him, the man’s a dick. And in class, God, you’d think the little asshole was quiet as a mouse, but once he opens his mouth, he just goes on and on about this and that...”

The two of you watched as Chris Beck, the king of loners and top student in your Organic Chem class, slowly stumbled over his own shoelaces with a bowl of soup in his hands. His infamous navy blue glasses sat crooked on the tip of his sharp nose and honestly, the NASA hoodie he wore looked comfy. Or made him look comfy. You couldn’t tell which. 

“Shame,” Connie delicately placed her napkin in her lap and flattened it out. “He’s a real looker. Bet under all those snuggly close he’s got a huge dick and cut abs.”

A half-laugh choked its way out of your throat as you hit your chest and begged lettuce not to fly out. While you coughed into your elbow you saw a multitude of kids look in your way, concerned about the fit you were sent into- but you were only focused on the blue-eyed boy, who only looked pissed off by your existence at first. 

But then he winked at you, and that irrational anger you held towards him melted into a big pool of warm, goopy chocolate. His eyes held a certain fiery lust in them, and maybe that was another reason you hated him. He was really fucking hot. And he was the one person stopping you from becoming your year’s valedictorian. Damn Chris Beck. 

This side of him stayed near invisible to the public eye, but you knew it. Oh, you knew it all too well. Even though you stayed enemies in the views of your teachers and fellow classmates, the finest written academic rivals of all time, there was a simple, mutual attraction. Even when he used you as a scapegoat when he so clearly messed up on dissecting the fetal pig in Biology. He just threw you under the bus, and Professor Calhoun taking points off of that lab only started what you liked to call the Blame Game.

It had been all you had known since then. So you rolled your eyes at him. 

You forced yourself away from his silent, heat-filled gaze and turned your attention back to your friend. “Constance Blackwood, I forgot how much of a pervert you are.”

She snorted and took a sip of her clam chowder. “Can’t help it, when I see a hot person I must comment.”

“I’ve noticed.” You retorted. From the side of your eye, you subconsciously looked for him, but he wasn’t there. The clumsy smartass must have finished his teasing for the day. You took a sigh and continued to eat your salad. “Your cousin Charles though, now he is hot. I swear to God, at your birthday last year when he wore that yellow shirt with his hair like that? Fucking sexiest thing I’ve seen in my life.”

“Y/N, he’s like ten years older than you; he has his own goddamn memorial photo in the school of finance.” Constance admonished. 

‘’Course, darling Connie, that only makes him hotter.” You let out nothing short of a cackle when she balled up her paper napkin and tossed it at you. “Ouch-”

Someone bumped into you from your right side, walking so quickly that they didn’t even apologize. Constance jumped slightly, as if the person had run into her rather than you. “How uncivilized!” She grunted. “You’d think with a ton of these high-class propers they’d have some manners as well.”

You weren’t as fazed by it all. Your back turned against your friend, only to catch a glimpse of the person who so rudely bumped into you. Their hood was pulled over their head, and it was a classic outfit; dark wash jeans and a grey hoodie, but that was exactly what caught your eye.

The little NASA rocket ship on the left arm of the sweatshirt.

-

You only had to knock one before the white-painted door opened up before you. Two strong hands manhandled you into a dim-lit dorm as you stumbled over your own feet. The door slammed shut behind you, and by the time you realized that, you were being shoved up against a row of coat hooks by none other than Christopher Beck.

“Gee, Chris, you really know how to treat a woman.” You smirked. Chris’ face was only a few good centimeters from your own, mint rolling off his warm breath from the gum he’d probably just popped into his mouth. He changed it out every twenty minutes or so. His bare arms caged you in an uncomfortable position, with your own pressed to your chest. “Y’know, the literal throwing me into your room makes it less subtle than you think it is. Also I brought you cookies. It’s only the dough, but it’s the good Christmas cut up ones that have reindeers on them.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, backing up. It took all your strength to not look down at his cut abs, because, well Constance was right in her suspicions. You just didn’t want to confirm them. Out of possession or hatred you weren’t sure. “So, Charles Blackwood, huh?”

He’d already walked off to his desk with the Safeway bag you handed him, but you were curious. “What?”

He started placing it all, that organized man: the canned soups in the top right cabinet and the Nestle cookie dough in the mini fridge by his feet. “Charles Blackwood. Heard you and, uh, Constance talkin’ about him earlier. He’s a bit old for you, don't you think?”

“That why you so rudely bumped into me earlier? You’re jealous?” You chuckled and kicked off your slippers before walking over to where he stood in front of his single desk. He grunted in frustration, but gave no other comment. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Beck, ‘m joking with you. But why does my choice of men concern you? This,” you poked him in his hard, muscly back, “is purely for my pleasure.”

He turned around and grasped your waist. You shivered against his warm skin- it really was freezing in Connecticut- as he grinned devilishly. It was a rare thing, seeing him be so cocky outside of a learning environment, but the science man knew how to get a girl interested. “‘Cause I’m the only guy who can get you off, honey?”

You grasped the back of his hair, the shorter ends of his fluffy hair at the nape of his neck, and pulled him down to your lips for a short kiss. “No, ‘cause you’re the only guy I know at this school who likes calling me mommy.”

“Shut the hell up,” he frowned, shoving his palm into your face as you let out a genuine laugh. “It was one time.”

“Why do you think lettuce goes in your fuckin’ soup cabinet, Chris, it’s a goddamn vegetable. It belongs in the fridge, you animal…” You pushed him aside and stood on the tips of your toes to reach it. While he was smart, he seemed to be nothing more than an idiot when it came to home economics. But then you realized that there were many more store items laying about in the wrong places, and you had to groan. “I swear to God, you may be top of our school but you have absolutely no common sense.” 

You turned around with a smile on your face, only for it to fall when you saw Chris, sweatpants thrown off on the ground and his hard cock standing upright. He was needy today- that much was clear when you saw the sheer amount of precome just leaking from his swelling tip. “Oh, we’re- uh, we’re getting right to business today, alright, I can work with that.” 

In an instant, you slipped your navy blue Yale crewneck over your head to reveal nothing but your bare chest to the man on the bed. Your nipples hardened in the cool air and you could feel your clit throb at the nearly nonexistent force. You wore only a thin pair of cotton panties under your flannel pants, the kind with the little bow on the front band, the kind that Chris liked to make fun of. It’s a contrast to you, really, they’re much more innocent than you are, is once what he had told you. 

It only took a few moments for you to pounce on the bed after you'd thrown your clothes off, the wild goddess within you needing to hop on his dick and ride him until you couldn’t see. “Condom?” You gasped as he grabbed your waist. 

“Where they always are, hun.” Your hips swiveled from his hard abdomen for the slightest moment as you leaned over the marble bed table next to the bed, finding a small pile of foil packets, ready to be used. What a great sight for his roommate to see. You tore the package between your teeth quickly and efficiently before loosely fisting his cock. 

He was admirable- all eight inches of him in his wet glory, cut and just weeping for you. Image enough to make any girl wet. 

You jerked him slowly a few times, relishing in the small, submissive whimpers that arose from his scratchy throat. It gave you pleasure knowing he only did this with you- you had been the one to take his virginity before, you made him so fucking needy and God, it felt like you owned him and in a way it made your heart soar. 

Your cold fingers felt like heaven against the hot flesh of skin. It was you that made him blush and feel good and you were the one spreading goosebumps over his body when you finally decided to teasingly roll the latex over him. “Christ, Y/N- feels so good.”

“I’ve barely touched you and you’re already gonna come?” You grinned, hovering above his meaty thighs. “That’s a little pathetic.”

He whined, his head hitting the back of the wood board. You turned on him, your back facing him and everything, and arched your spine so your ass and dripping cunt laid right in front of his face. But that was when an idea hit you. Something you’d never really done with anyone, less with him, but God, it was hot. 

“Actually, I think I wanna try somethin’ else today, Beck.”  You slid over his dick (which frustrated him beyond belief), to sit on the v-line of his hips. “We’re not gonna need this today, honey.”

Once again, the chill of your fingers ghosted the condom off of his sensitive length and he choked on another moan. Without another thought you threw it to the ground, and just focused on scooting back across Chris’ chest far enough to mouth his cock.

You must’ve looked nothing short of ruined just staring at his dick, with your knees spread around his torso and your mouth salivating. Your nails ran up and down the small trail of hair leading to it, causing the man beneath you to shiver. “Y/N, please-” he grabbed your hips, pulling your pussy close enough to his mouth that you could feel his breath hitting your soaked entrance. “Please do something, honey,” he pleaded.

Your right hand traced up to the base of his cock and after prodding the head of his dick against your wet lips, you throated him. You moaned at his taste- salty and a little bitter, but it was always good when it was him. 

And Chris wasn’t stupid. He’d watched porn, he knew what to do with your pussy laid out in front of his face for him to just feast on. His hands trailed from your hips to the flesh of your thighs, spreading them far enough for slick to come rushing down your skin. His fingers indented into your legs, a pleasure-filled pain to you, and he finally flattened his tongue against your cunt and licked straight from your clit to the top of your hole. His fingers played around with your gentle skin, all the way up to your weeping slit, where he inserted just a thick finger in you and began pumping in and out. 

As soon as Chris began eating you out, you let out a high moan, near a scream really, and you grasped for anything to reach onto, finding purchase in his muscular thigh. Once the first contact of ribbed pleasure hit your core, you writhed against his face, grinding your pussy against his mouth and hand.

“Now who’s the impatient one?” You couldn’t see Chris, but you knew that the cocky asshole was just smirking at your need to get off. “You just work on my cock and I’ll make sure you come just fine, honey.”

He gently slapped your clit, causing you to whine with your lips stretched wide around his dick. He shuddered at the vibrations your mouth gave him, only going back to work, finger-fucking your tight hole and making sure that your leaking juices were going nowhere but in his mouth. 

It was difficult to bob your head up and down his cock as he ate you out with such skill and efficiency, but you managed to do just that. You made sure to hollow out your throat when your nose hit the skin of his thigh, choking on his dick as soon as you slipped all eight inches of him down your constricted walls. 

“F-uck!” Chris practically groaned into your pussy, your legs shaking around his body. “You do that again and ‘m gonna fuckin’ come.”

You teased him with your fingers, softly fondling his heavy sac that was swelling and tightening when you began to jerk him into your mouth again. With the same integrity and need for you, Chris added second and third digits into the mix, stretching out your walls with his long fingers. “Taste so good, sweetheart, smell even better,” he grinned, “could stay here all day.” His lips puckered around your clit, causing you to jolt back even further in his hold. “The best I’ve ever had, I swear to God.”

You had to pull off his cock for a moment, nearly unable to hold back your smile as you just loosely gripped his hard dick. 

“You haven’t had any other, honey,” you fingered the tip of his dick before placing a ghostly kiss to the top of it, relishing in the way he nearly shook under you when you did so. “You’re mine, Beck.”

The possession of it all made him feel fuzzy, along with your mix-like ministrations you worked on his body.

Immediately your mouth sunk back down onto him, your velvety throat enclosing him in his aura of pure bliss and hazy vision. His hips lifted up into your mouth, pushing his cock further into the contracted walls holding him in so deep. Neither of you cared how loud you were being anymore- you were so close to coming, nothing else in the world mattered except for what was soon to be him just creaming into your mouth.  

But soon enough, your hips began to have a mind of their own and you no longer had control of your body. Like clockwork, you quickened your grinding against his face, his fingers working you until your walls clamped around them. With a high-pitched whine you came on his face as he groaned, Chris’ own hips trying to meet yours in time. He slurped up your slick as it ran from your hole, the absolute ravenous sounds escaping his body making it sound like he hadn’t eaten in months. 

As you continued to move against his face, he came too, his dick twitching a final time as ropes of come spurted right down your throat. You hummed around at the taste of him, opening your mouth so you could lay your tongue flat and lick your way up his cock, making sure to not let a drop of creamy liquid go to waste.

Your bubble of hazy fucking cleared, the tunnel vision for only his dick slowly fading as a drowsy spell began to layover your worn body. Legs collapsed from beneath your body and Chris had to pull your tired limbs to the side before he removed his warmth from the mattress, getting up to ensure a little clean up before he went back to you. 

“Why have we never done that before?” He panted. His roommate would probably come in later in the morning, so he was courteous enough to toss the discarded and never used condom into the trash can in one smooth toss because he knew the both of you were too tired to be up before nine A.M. His sweatpants laid by the base of the bed and he tugged them on as carelessly as he could with shaking legs before hopping back into the oh-so comforting bed. 

“Well,” you grinned, crawling over him to settle on the warm, solid planes of his chest as soon as the blanket was pulled back over you, “if I had known you were gonna enjoy it so much I would’ve introduced it to you before.”

His arms opened up to you as you fell onto his body, scooching up so you were nearly face to face. It was a position for lovers, not for the usual likes of you, but neither of you objected to the intimacy you shared in the moment. “Huh,” he mumbled. “I like doing these things with you.”

You turned your face into the curve of his neck and laughed. “What, having sex? I do too.”

“Yeah,” he whispered. It was a little unexpected, but his warm hand slithered around your waist to your back, his rough fingers tracing soft patterns against your worn out body. The soft breathing of aftersex was the only known shared thing between the two of you- the feelings would only become known later. “Hey, Y/N?”

By then, the rise and fall of his chest and the comforting contact of his naked skin against yours lulled you to sleep, quiet puffs of breath escaping your parted lips as you hummed. “Do you wanna make cookies tomorrow?”

You snorted, nuzzling closer to him. “You askin’ me out, Beck?”

“No,” he chuckled, “You’ll know when I do that. But I’ve got a whole roll of reindeer cookie dough in my fridge and I can’t work an oven.”

The idea was more than appealing. You couldn’t deny the warming in your chest. You and Chris. Warm jumpers, you in his big NASA one despite having your own perfectly good one, making Nestle cookies in the residential kitchens on the third floor of the dorms. It wasn’t normal for the two of you- it sure would seem like a shock to anyone who saw you spending any time together outside of class, smiling too.

“How do you know I can work an oven? Maybe I’ll purposefully burn the cookies just to take my hateful vengeance out on you.” You smiled.

“It’s a bit hard to see you with a hateful vengeance for me after you- y’know.” He crudely gestured behind your back but you could tell what it was, slapping his chest with a short laugh. 

“Go to sleep, Chris.”

“I can’t tell if that was a yes or no, Y/N.” He poked the flesh of your hip with his pointer finger.

“Yes, Christopher, I’ll stop you from setting the Yale residential area on fire for a batch of cookies.” You kissed his shoulder and turned your head to the side, trying to hide your near painful smile that seemed ever growing.

“Attagirl,” he grinned, trying to pursue the same thing as you. The last thing he saw was the everlasting image of the two of you kissing in the kitchen before he closed his eyes and let slumber take over him. “Goodnight, Y/N honey.”

[bluefirewrites]

‘Wake Up’

May have been inspired by WandaVision...

********

Julie rolled out of bed that morning in high spirits. Despite having to wake up early for school, she had a bright smile on her face the moment the alarm rang. 

She went for her closet but, as she passed the mirror, was quite confused to find herself already wearing the outfit she was planning to wear. 

Strange. 

But she still opened the door to her closet, sliding her hangers around to find her jacket while humming some nonsense tune. Every few articles or so she sifts through, Julie would keep coming across a white shirt. 

“Sunset Curve?” she read the logo aloud, not sure why that sounded so familiar... 

She didn’t think any of it.

Her jacket was right next to this white shirt she didn’t remember owning. 

Shrugging it on, she ran downstairs were Carlos was already going on to her dad and her aunt about whatever this week’s obsession was. 

“I’m telling you dad, there’s proof!” 

Her dad laughed as he cooked breakfast (or more like burnt it...), “Whatever you say, mijo,” 

“What is it this time?” Julie groaned, already picking up a banana from the bowl, forgoing whatever mess her dad was making in the kitchen. 

Carlos was already by her side, shoving his tablet in her face, “I saw it online! These guys went into this house at like 3AM and caught a ghost on camera! A ghost!” 

She didn’t so much glance down on the screen, already dismissing her brother’s words, but before she could open her mouth, a new voice butted in their conversation, coming from the front door. 

“Oooh a ghost? Now that’s interesting...” 

“Luke!” Julie beamed at the arrival of her boyfriend and their two friends, who had just walked in. 

He waltzed over, dumping his backpack onto the couch, and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek, “Mornin’, Jules. Now what’s this I hear about ghosts?” 

Reggie pushed past Alex, who was still kicking his shoes off in the foyer, “Oooh. Show me!” he said excited, huddled over Carlos’ tablet, “Woah. That’s creepy!” 

“Do not encourage him, Carlos,” Alex finally made it to the table, “Reggie’s convinced aliens are real too.” 

“They are real!” 

“Just cuz you watch Star Wars-” 

“-Not because of Star Wars! Ask NASA-” 

“-Wh-okay. I just go and ask NASA-?” 

“-Yes. Just go and ask-” 

Luke rolled his eyes at his friends’ arguing. He reached over and picked up a piece of overcooked bacon on Carlos’ place. He took a bite. 

Julie’s eyebrows furrowed at the sight. 

“You can eat?” 

Luke raised one of his own, finishing off the bacon, “Yeah. Of course. Why? Am I not supposed to?” he joked. 

“Yes,” Julie found herself saying, “You can’t... you’re not...” 

She stopped. 

She didn’t even know what she was going to say next. 

“Julie!” 

She looked up, not realizing that she had been staring off into space, “Yes, Alex?” 

The blonde wrapped his arm around her shoulder, “Back me up here, would you? And tell this guy” he points to Reggie, who stuck his tongue at them, “that ghosts (and aliens) aren’t real.” 

“Um... er...” 

Julie... couldn’t answer that. Finding the question, and this conversation, completely absurd. 

Luckily she was saved from answering when her two besties rounded the corner, talking animatedly between each other. 

She didn’t remember hearing them come in... 

“Julie!” Carrie chirped, hugging her from behind, “Love you. Good morning, but we have a situation.” 

“What’s up?” 

Flynn settled next to her on the table, “We need a band to play at the dance this week. I’m DJ-ing of course. But we need like a killer closer.”

“But I thought Dirty Candy-?” 

“We can’t,” Carrie interrupted, and that was all she could explain, “Any chance Julie and the Phantoms could fill in?” 

“A school dance?” Luke grimaced, “Not exactly the Strip...” 

Julie couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of deja vu when she heard him say that... 

“I don’t know,” a woman’s voice carried over, appearing behind Ray, “You gotta start somewhere right? Build a following?” 

Julie nodded, “Mom’s right.” 

“She always is,” Ray remarked before kissing his wife, making Carlos gag but making Julie feel...

...sad. 

There was something so bittersweet about this moment, but Julie couldn’t put her finger on it. Even when she stood up and hugged her mom, something was telling her... to not let go. Not even for a second. 

“What’s wrong, Julie?” she asked, realizing that they have yet to break their hug. 

Julie blinked away tears that started to form against her better judgement. 

She pulled away, straining a smile, “Nothing. Mom.”

Julie took a look around the room, where all her loved ones were watching her with fondness in their eyes. Her gaze lingered on the three teenage boys, her boyfriend Luke among them- her boyfriend of... how many months? Years? 

Weird. She couldn’t remember how long they had been together. 

She shook her head to rid of that slightly distressing thought. And she took in the room again. 

“Nothing’s wrong...” she reiterated aloud, “Actually, everything’s... perfect.” 

Her mom beamed at her, rubbing her shoulder, “Glad to hear it. Now I think we should all get some breakfast before we send you kids off to school.”

Suddenly, Julie was back at the table, that had somehow grew in length and had just enough chairs for everyone. 

Looking down, she was surprised to find a yummy looking breakfast, completely different from what her father had cooked before...

Julie lifted the forkful of fluffy looking pancakes to her mouth when she heard the doorbell ring. 

Everyone froze. 

Julie did too. 

She turned to Luke, who clenched his jaw staring at the front door. In fact, everyone had stopped what they were doing to stare at the door, acting like the ringing was some sort of... hindrance... 

“Um... is anyone gonna get that?” she asked tentatively, put off by everyone’s reactions... 

“Why?” Victoria said, voice cold, “Everyone that’s supposed to be here is here.” 

“I know but-” 

The doorbell rang again. And Julie made the move to get up. 

“Hey,” Luke uttered softly, hand holding hers, “Just ignore it. They’ll go away. Let’s finish our food-” 

“You can’t eat,” Julie blurted out again, which only upset Luke more.  

His grip on her tightened, “Yes... I can.” 

The doorbell kept ringing. In short intervals, repeating in an almost desperate pattern. 

Her curiosity got the better of her. Julie wrenched her hand away from Luke’s hold and practically ran to the door, much to the loud protests of everyone. 

“Don’t!” 

“Julie, get back here right now!” 

“It could be important!” she shouted back at them, hand on the handle and opening. 

A guy with long hair and a hoodie was standing there. His eyes had a frenzied look to them, he kept taking short, ragged breaths- all in all he looked like hell. 

Eyes widened and hands already on her shoulders, “Julie! You got to listen to me-” 

“Who even-?” 

“Don’t fall for it, Julie. We have to-” 

The strange boy tried pulling her along, but she stood her ground. 

“I don’t- I don’t know you.” 

The boy sighed, kept looking wildly around himself, “You- you don’t have to. He’s gonna find-” 

“She said she doesn’t know you,” Alex was now by her side, staring down the stranger, “What seems to be the problem here?” 

The stranger stumbled backwards, eyes widening, “A-Alex?” 

“You know him?” Julie gaped at the stranger. 

“Yes- I mean, no.” The guy shook his head furiously, “No! That’s not- That’s not Alex, Julie!” 

“What do you mean?” 

“He’s not real! This isn’t- this isn’t real. It’s all in your head,” 

Julie shook her head, “No. That’s not- this has to be, Willie.” 

The guy straightened up. 

“Yes. Yes! That’s me!” 

How- how did she know his name? But once it spilled out.. it felt right. 

It was the only thing that had felt... right. So far. 

The guy- Willie, took her by the hand again, and this time Julie wasn’t wary. She sort of wanted to follow him. 

“Look, we don’t have much time before he figures out what I escaped-” 

“Escape? He-?” 

“But we need to get you out of here. We need to-” 

“William?” 

Willie whirled around and a man stood there. In a dress shirt, holding a cane. 

“No.... no,” Willie held his arm out in front of Julie... as if he was trying to protect her, “Caleb. Stop this right now! Let her go, you psycho!” 

The man, Caleb, smiled a sickly sweet smile, “Now that isn’t a way to speak to your old man, is it?” 

“What-?” 

Julie blinked and Willie faced her now, cleaned up and wearing new clothes, clothes more... befitting for the time. He stood next to Caleb, who had an almost death-like grip on the boy’s shoulder. 

“Apologies for that, miss,” Caleb greeted, “My son and I just moved in next door.” 

Willie wiggled under the Caleb’s hold, “You’re not my-!” 

“Anyways, it’s nice to make your acquaintance...?” 

“Julie,” she said, eyes on Willie the whole time. He appeared to be afraid. 

And somehow Julie knew that she should be afraid too..

She was slowly stepping backwards into the house, “Nice to meet you... But I have to go-” 

“Ah yes, get back to breakfast. Hopefully no more...” The glanced down at Willie, “interruptions.” 

“Right,” She was already inside, ready to close the door... she didn’t like how Caleb looked at her. She wanted him gone. 

“We’ll be making our leave now. Have a lovely morning, Julie,” 

With that Caleb was dragging Willie by the scruff of his shirt down her steps, the boy kept bucking trying to escape. 

“Julie! Julie!” he kept calling out to her, “You need to get out!” 

“Quiet, you!” Caleb hissed. 

Julie’s heart beat rapidly, hands shaking the doorknob, “What-? H-how?” 

“Wake up!” 

Wake up. 

Wake up?

“... if it’s all you do...” she sang softly, the words coming out along with the melody that she had been humming earlier. 

Both Caleb and Willie stopped. 

“No,” the man uttered, “Stop that.” he ordered. 

Willie grinned, “Yes. Julie! Snap out of it!” 

“Look out, look inside of you...” 

Julie turned her head, Alex was no longer next to her, back with everyone in the kitchen, who stared at her in disbelief. Her mom had rose from the table, telling her to stop. 

That made Julie’s blood run cold. 

Her mom. 

She would never... she would never to tell her to stop singing. Especially not with this song. This song that she had written for her before... before she-

Julie gasped in realization. “You’re dead.” 

Luke got up, making his way towards her, “Julie, what are you talking about?” 

She backed up, “No. You’re dead too!” 

This wasn’t real... 

None of this was real. 

She had to leave. 

This wasn’t- this wasn’t what was supposed to happen... 

Emboldened by the revelation, she kept singing, “It's not what you lost... It's what you'll gain raising your voice in the rain...” 

The house, her house, began fading away, replaced with any inky blackness that gave Julie more relief upon seeing it. 

She could hear Caleb shouting at her, and Willie’s encouragement to keep doing what she was doing. “It’s working! It’s working!” 

“Wake up your dream and make it true... Look out, look inside of you...” 

One by one, her friends, her family started to fade too, getting lost in the darkness.. 

Her eyes met her mom’s, and she almost stopped.

But no. 

Her mom wasn’t there. She was already gone... 

Swallowing hard, shutting her eyes, she... kept going... “It's not what you lost... Relight that spark, time to come out of the dark...” 

She took a deep breath...

“...Wake up...” 

When she opened her eyes, she found herself tied to a chair in some luxurious looking office. Jazz music playing faintly in the background. 

Caleb glowered at her from his place behind the desk. 

The memories came flooding back to her. 

The flowers, Nick- 

Poofing. 

To the club. She was in the Hollywood Ghost Club. 

She had been there for hours. 

Julie struggled in her bindings as Caleb stalked over to her menacingly, “Now, now, now. You shouldn’t have done that.” 

“Where’s-” she looked around, “Where’s Willie? How did he-?” 

“Somehow he had found a way out of his little holding cell and came up here to cause some trouble...” he knelt down in front of her, “I’ll make sure that won’t happen again.” 

Julie scowled at him, wanting to slap the smug grin off the ghost’s face, “Again?” 

He wagged a finger at her, “You need to be preoccupied, my dear Julie. While I figure out a way to relinquish your hold on those boys.” 

“I told you, I don’t even know!” 

“Ah, but there is a way to break it. I will find out. And since you’re here” he procured a velvet bag from his back pocket, “the boys would come running in trying to save you.” 

The perfect trap... 

Julie wanted so badly to tell Caleb off, to tell him that they wouldn’t fall for it. 

But they would come barging in to come get her no hesitation. They had risked everything for her before. 

And they would do it again. 

“Now,” Caleb stuck his hand inside the bag and gathered up some purple dust, “We’ll do this one more time. And don’t fight it,” 

Her eyes widened, realizing what was happening. She squirmed some more, but to no use, “No no no-” 

“You should be grateful. I could have easily made it... unpleasant,” 

“I’ll find a way out!” 

“Let’s see how you fare without Willie’s help,” 

Then Caleb blew the powder into the face. And her eyes fluttered closed. 

“Nighty night...” she heard him say before it all went black. 

****

Julie jerked, hunched over her plate of breakfast. 

She felt Luke’s hand on her back, “Are you okay, Julie?” 

Lifting her head, she saw her loved ones laughing with each other, enjoying the morning. The sunlight dancing behind their heads, and her mom- 

She lifted her cup of orange juice in her direction, smiling before taking a sip. 

Julie nodded, “Yeah... I’m fine.” 

“Something wrong?” 

“Uh... no.” she said, ignoring that nagging feeling in the back of her head, “Actually everything’s great.” 

Luke smiled at her, “I’m glad. Now, pancakes?” 

“Right,” she smiled back at him. 

Then she dug into her breakfast, marveling at how good it all tasted. 

Yes, it tasted perfect. 

Everything was just... perfect. 

[itsevidentvery]

Watch you eat cake

Look, ‘slither over...watch you eat cake’ would. Not. Let. Me. Be. So here is The Obligatory Quarantine Ficlet, in which Crowley does watch Aziraphale eat cake over Zoom, and slithering is at least strongly implied.

Crowley’s always known, vaguely, that Aziraphale has a computer. It is a clanking, whirring behemoth of a thing, for which ‘rebooting’ does genuinely involve the vigorous and repeated application of a kick to its side. It’s been souped up gradually under the ministrations of the whilom Sister Loquacious, and Aziraphale’s blithely rattled off specifications sleeping mildly under its battered hood that would make a NASA mission control room seem overpowered. Crowley suspects there are nuclear launch codes lurking underneath the crocheted runner draped alongside it. There’s something… comforting, Crowley thinks, fitting that something of such awesome power rests beneath that unassuming exterior.

Crowley knows, intellectually, that the machine’s capable of accessing the internet. It probably has its very own internet slumbering underneath its tartan cover. But today is the first time he’s ever come face-to-face with the possibility that Aziraphale might exercise that function.

‘You – you know about the internet?’

Aziraphale – visible over a webcam of a resolution so stunning no earthly internet connection could be responsible for it – is wearing an expression of mild puzzlement. ‘Yes. That is where Wiki Pedia lives.’

‘Wiki - ’

‘I have had,’ says Aziraphale, ‘some – er – minor disagreements about the Lutheran Apocrypha.’

‘You’ve had death-matches about the Lutheran Apocrypha on Wikipedia?’

Aziraphale turns pink and mutters something Crowley can’t quite catch about rationalskeptic666, with whom the angel seems to have a particular grudge.

‘All right,’ says Crowley, who suspects the history of this particular beef could easily fill its own Wikipedia page, ‘but why Zoom?’

‘Is that what this is called?’ says Aziraphale. ‘Oh, because it’s so fast, I suppose. How delightful.’

‘No, I – never mind. Angel, why are you calling me?’

‘Well,’ says Aziraphale, pinkening again, ‘you offered to watch me eat cake.’

‘I offered to slither over and watch you eat cake,’ says Crowley. He’s still a little stung at the rebuff.

‘Yes,’ says Aziraphale, ‘but of course, that would never do.’

‘Right,’ says Crowley.

‘There are rules,’ says Aziraphale, and there seems to be a certain emphasis in his voice. ‘It wouldn’t do to break the rules.’

‘Suppose not,’ says Crowley.

‘I couldn’t break the rules,’ says Aziraphale, and there’s a certain pleading in his voice.

‘No,’ says Crowley. ‘You mustn’t break the rules.’

‘No,’ says Aziraphale, leaning forward until his nose nearly bumps his screen, ‘no, I mustn’t break the rules.’

‘So you said,’ says Crowley. He’s a little irritated that Aziraphale seems to feel the need to hammer home the point like this.

‘Right,’ says Aziraphale. He seems to have deflated a little, Crowley can’t tell why. ‘But I did bake a cake, you see.’

‘You’ve baked several, I thought,’ says Crowley.

‘Yes,’ says Aziraphale, ‘but I just baked a cake.’

‘All right,’ says Crowley, a little baffled. ‘Er- enjoy?’

‘I intend to,’ says Aziraphale, ‘but I thought you might – you said you – you offered to watch.’

‘I offered,’ says Crowley, ‘as I believe I’ve said before, to slither over and watch you eat cake.’

‘You did,’ sighs Aziraphale, ‘but I thought that we could. Er. You could. Watch. Even if you couldn’t slither. As it were.’

He lifts a china plate with a slab of something gooey and rich-looking to his webcam.

‘Oh,’ says Crowley. ‘Oh!’

‘Sachertorte,’ says Aziraphale, his voice caressing each syllable. ‘I had to miracle myself the apricot jam, of course, but I thought - ’

Crowley miracles himself a fainting couch so quickly he pays no attention to the upholstery – a particularly vile chartreuse that does his colouring no favours – and sits back. ‘Go on.’

Aziraphale poises his fork over the cake, with all the ceremony of a high priest anointing a monarch, and cuts himself a delicate sliver. Crowley watches his eyelashes flutter against his cheek.

‘Are you watching?’ asks Aziraphale, his voice lower than usual.

Crowley nods and then, seeing that Aziraphale’s eyes are cast down, says ‘Yes.’ His voice, in sharp contrast, is rather higher than usual.

Aziraphale raises his fork to his lips and takes a small bite. His eyes close all the way and he lets out a little sound. Crowley, leaning forward, watches his Adam’s apple move as he swallows.

‘Oh,’ says Aziraphale, on a dreamy exhale. ‘That was - ’

‘Take another bite,’ says Crowley, as Aziraphale’s eyes open.

Aziraphale’s eyes are a little darker than usual, in the flickering candle-light of the bookshop. ‘Another?’

‘Yes,’ says Crowley. ‘Take – take a bit with the cream.’

Aziraphale’s nostrils flare a little. ‘All – all right.’

He takes a slice of the cake, with a tiny cloud of cream, buttery-golden.

‘It’s hand-whipped,’ says Aziraphale. His voice lingers on ‘whipped’.

‘Is it,’ says Crowley. ‘Take some more.’

Aziraphale obliges, and lifts his laden fork to the camera for Crowley’s inspection. ‘Will I do?’

Crowley swallows. Aziraphale says ‘Is this what you want?’

Crowley’s eyes fly to Aziraphale’s and he says ‘Eat.’

Aziraphale’s eyes turn even darker. He raises the fork to his mouth and takes what any reasonable observer would consider to be a pornographic drag on the tines of his fork.

His eyes lower by torturous millimetres. His head falls back a little and his hands rest on the tabletop in front of him. Crowley sees them, soft palms up as if in supplication. Crowley’s own hand reaches out to cover it on his screen before he snatches it back.

Aziraphale savours. He chews, slowly and methodically. A little moan passes his lips.

‘What,’ says Crowley. ‘What’s it like?’

He’s never wanted to know before, but here, now, he wants to reach through the screen and into his angel’s head and join him.

Aziraphale swallows. ‘It’s,’ he says, ‘it’s rich. Decadent. Complex.’ His eyes open, and Crowley gasps at the weight of their gaze. ‘It’s not the same.’

Crowley’s throat is very dry. ‘No?’

‘No,’ says Aziraphale. His tongue swipes, slowly, over the corner of his lip, licking away at the trace of cream that had been lingering there. ‘It’s not the same at all.’

‘Shame about the rules,’ says Crowley. ‘otherwise I could…

‘…Slither over,’ says Aziraphale, and Crowley buckles at the sound of the words in Aziraphale’s mouth, ‘but Crowley, the rules.’

‘The rules,’ says Crowley, watching Aziraphale.

‘The rules,’ says Aziraphale. ‘If you did, Crowley – why, you couldn’t leave.’

‘Couldn’t I,’ says Crowley, watching Aziraphale.

An emphatic shake of the head, curls quivering. ‘You’d have been exposed, don’t you see? You couldn’t. It wouldn’t be responsible, Crowley. I couldn’t let you.’

‘Oh dear,’ says Crowley. ‘Still, you’ve got some cake on, yeah?’

A dimple appears. ‘I’m baking gateau opera.’

‘My favourite,’ says Crowley, who wouldn’t be able to pick out gateau opera in a lineup. ‘Get the claret out, will you?’

‘They won’t arrest you, will they?’

Crowley grins and looks down at himself, where his skin is shifting and settling into gleaming black scales. ‘I don’t think the rozzers have powers over ssssnakes, angel.’

‘Slither over,’ is what Crowley said, and ‘slither over’ is what he meant.

[hopelikethemoon]

Reunion Part 2 (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: Reunion (Part 2) Rating: PG-13 Length: 1400 Warnings: None Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set December 24th 1998. Part 2 of yesterday’s update. And a shorty, because I was working on my room all day. Unbeta’d because we ride like warriors.  Summary: Mitch and co. enjoy dinner with Reader and her family

@grapemama @seawhisperer @huliabitch @pedropascalito @rogrsnbarnes@thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow@plexflexico @readsalot73 @hdlynn @lokiaddicted @randomness501 @fioccodineveautunnale  @roxypeanut @snivellusim @lukesrighthand @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts@synystersilenceinblacknwhite @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @exrebelshocktrooper@awesomefandomsunited @ah-callie @swhiskeys @lady-tano @u-wakatoshii @space-floozy @cable-kenobi @cool-ultra-nerd @himbopoes @findhimfives @pedrosdoll @frietiemeloen@arrowswithwifi @random066 @uncomicalhumour @heather-lynn @domino-oh-damn @cyarikaaa @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl​  @yabby-girl​ @xqueenofthecraziesx @punkass-potato @coredrive​ @pascalesque​@theduchessofkirkcaldy @queenquazar @sabinemorans​ @buckstaposition​ @holkaskrosnou​@yespolkadotkitty​ @fleetwoodmactshirt​ @seeking-a-great–perhaps @kochamcie​ @jaime1110​

The afternoon had gone smoothly. Catching up with Mitch had proven easier than you had expected it to go. He was an easy going guy, but you had still been nervous about revisiting those parts of your past. 

You and Connie helped Chucho with dinner, which proved to be a bit of a smorgasbord of different side dishes and choices. Proof of the blended nature of your families. 

“What is it that you do, Monica?” Darla questioned as she primly forked up a bite of the brussel sprouts that Connie had brought. 

“Well, I’m a student right now.” Monica answered, wiping at her mouth. “I graduate in May.”

“Oh, that’s right.” She nodded. “Have you decided what you plan on pursuing after graduation?”

“I’m considering law school.”

“She’s incredibly smart,” You boasted. “She’s got the drive, passion, and intellect to really go places.”

Javier was quick to add on after you, “She’s top of the class. She puts a hundred and twenty into every project.”

Monica rubbed at her cheeks, “Guys, come on. You’re going to make me turn into a puddle.”

Nadia nudged her, “She’s brilliant and humble. A winning combination.”

“And what are you studying?” Mitch questioned. 

“Already graduated.” Nadia explained, “I’m working at NASA. My internship transitioned into a full time job.”

“NASA?” Mitch pursed his lips approvingly. “That’s pretty impressive.”

“I’m gonna go to space!” Josie announced, shoving a piece of bread into her mouth. 

“Please don’t choke.” You chastised her gently, “I thought you were going to wrangle dinosaurs.”

“In space.” She said as she chewed.

“Mouth closed.” Javier tapped her arm to get her attention before giving her a stern look. “Manners.”

She stuck her tongue out.

Mitch laughed, “Someone’s a spitfire.”

“We have our hands full,” You shook your head, taking a swig of your beer. “And someone is going to go to bed without dessert.” You warned Josie.

“So, Tate,” Javier cleared his throat and took a swig of beer. “Still in college or thrust into the job field?”

“Fortunately, I’m done with college.” Tate offered. “I recently got hired at a big architectural firm in the city. Mostly working as a consultant on a few rehabs downtown.”

Javier nodded with interest, “I had a friend in college who went on to become a pretty successful architect. Designed a bunch of the Holiday Inns in Texas.”

“That’s a sweet gig if you can land it,” Tate agreed. “Architecture sort of fell into my lap.”

Darla coughed politely, “Tate had initially attended Syracuse.”

“That’s a big party school, isn’t it?” Nadia questioned and the face Tate made in response was answer enough. 

“We got him transferred back home sophomore year. Temple.” Darla shrugged. “The head of the architecture program’s wife is a dear friend of mine. We serve on the DAR board together. She put in a good word for Tate.”

“Fortunately,” Tate shifted in his seat nervously. “I enjoy it. I always loved building tracks and Lego models.” He shrugged. “So, uh… what do you both teach?”

“I’m not teaching yet,” You answered, as you watched Mitch converse with Chucho to his left. “But it’ll be an elective in the criminology course at UM.”

“They’ve got me teaching a handful of courses,” Javier explained. “The thing people fail to recognize is just how much government overreach and bureaucratic bull you have to put up with if you wanna go into a field like the DEA.”

Steve leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “It’s not for the faint of heart. I just got out myself. Starting up my own consulting business.” He shrugged. “The government doesn’t care about the people affected by the narcos. Just look at what the US did to Mexico.”

You watched Javier then, searching his expression for any signs of discomfort. You knew he despised bringing up Colombia — but these last few months had made it impossible. 

“Is Santa in Mexico?” Josie questioned.

Chucho clicked his tongue against his teeth, “I bet he is. You gonna be good the rest of the night so I don’t have to tell him to fly by?”

“I’m a good girl.”

“I know you are.” Chucho winked at her. “But you’ve gotta be good right up until the moment he shows up… and then for a whole year after he’s gone!”

“Is Sofía going to be on the good list?” She looked at her sister then. “Sissy cries a lot.”

Javier leaned over and kissed the top of her head, “I have it on good authority that both of you are on the good list. Right alongside Emily and Olivia.”

Monica dropped her voice, “I heard that even Nadia was on the good list.”

“Speaking of the good list,” Nadia gave Monica a look, “My momma’s going to be expecting us soon.”

“Oh? Are you still going?”

“Yeah,” Nadia shrugged. “She’s still a little iffy with the whole girlfriend thing, but I think she’s coming around.”

“I’m glad. Still coming over tomorrow afternoon?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Monica beamed, clearing off their dishes. “Mitch, Darla, Tate — I’ll see you tomorrow. It was a pleasure to meet you.” She looked to Chucho then. “Still need a ride to the hotel?”

“Stephen here offered to give me a ride.”

“Drive safe and have fun.” You called out as they got ready to leave. “See you in the morning.”

“You two have been awfully chatty down there,” Javier pointed out as he gestured between Chucho and Mitch. “Should I be afraid?”

You chuckled, “I wasn’t going to say anything, but… What horror stories are you telling?”

Mitch gave a good natured laugh, “We’re just commiserating on how good it is to see you both happy.”

You smiled warmly, “It’s hard to believe we’ve spent seven Christmases together.”

“More if you count the years prior,” Steve pointed out. 

“Yeah, but you were always trying to pair me off with someone.” You made a face. “Mitch, can you believe these two tried to pair me off with doctors.”

Mitch laughed, “She hated the hospital.”

“I got chickenpox.” You grimaced. “No sixteen year old should have the chickenpox.”

“Well, how was I supposed to know you were in love with Javier?”

You shrugged, “It all worked out in the end.” You reached around Josie to rest your hand on Javier’s shoulder. “Can you get dessert ready, while I get Sofía down?”

“Of course, baby.” Javier nodded, scooting his chair back. 

“I’ll help,” Mitch offered. 

“He’s not bad around the kitchen.” Darla assured you. 

You scooted your chair back and grabbed Sofía out of her high chair, hauling her back to the nursery. 

Sofía was quick to fall asleep, clearly worn out after an afternoon of entertaining everyone. Josie would be quick behind her — you doubted she’d make it past dessert. 

And the sooner they both went to sleep, the sooner you and Javier could put out the gifts from Santa; and drink down the milk and eat the cookies she would leave out for him too. 

Christmas was fun as a parent. 

 ——

 “The bells have been put on Josie’s door, we’ll know if she tries to escape.” Javier told you as he quietly shut the bedroom door behind him and moved to join you in bed.

You rolled over to face him, reaching out to run your hand down his arm. “Do you think she’ll like the bike?”

“She’s been dying for one.” Javier smiled, “Santa did good.” He shifted closer to you, until his lips were mere inches from yours. “What did you get me for Christmas?”

You brushed your nose against his, “You’ll have to be a good boy and wait until the morning,” You teased as you traced your fingers over his cheek. 

“I don’t know if I’ve been good.” He retorted with a smirk as he curled his hand around your hip. 

You cupped his cheek and kissed him. “You were great today. It went so well.”

“That was all you, baby.”

“It was everyone.” You kissed him softly again. “What did you think of Mitch?”

“He’s a hell of a guy. Down to earth despite…” He made a face. “Darla’s loaded, isn’t she?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I mean, our dad was middle class. But Darla is a whole different league.”

“Did you enjoy today!”

“It was so weird to see them again,” You chewed on your bottom lip. “I think I’m going to keep in contact with them.”

“They seem like good people.”

“And I want the girls to know their aunt and uncle. Aside from Steve and Connie. I want them to have a family… a big happy family.”

“I could get used to spending Christmas like this. A full house… a full belly.”

You poked him in the gut, “That's all your pops. He cooks the best holiday dinners.”

“Yeah, he was always good about making the holidays special. You know, we always had these big extended family get togethers around the holidays.” He shrugged. 

“They’re overwhelming, but they’re fun.” You stretched your legs, reaching one over to slot in between his. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“Being mine.”

Javier missed your forehead. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

You smiled to yourself, remembering the first time he said that to you. 

That photo album had long been filled with photos of the two of you and the family you’d made together. 

[5am-the-foxing-hour]

First Movie Night

Fluffy thought has now been written.

Characters: Deceit, Remus, Roman, Logan, Patton, Virgil, Thomas.

Familial/platonic: DLAMPTR

Warnings: no warnings that i can think of

- - -

Word count:1 349

- - -

General Fanfic Tag list: @ebony-wolf, @nashiraneko, @i-sold-my-soul-to-thefandom, @rabbitsartcorner, @punsterterry,  @sleepyssnail,  @nightmaresides, @virgilswritings, @ninja-girl2846, @ninjago2020, @starryfirefliesbloggo, @garecc,  @sympatheticdeceit, @cookiethedevil, @askthesnake,  @all-bridges-will-burn, @tacohippy56900, @little-euro-girl, @aggressiveshipper, @imbasicallyshakespear, @slayerofspiders, @prinssess61, @underthesea73​,  @suicidalcitrusfruit​,

- - -

Deceit was not in a good mood.

He was in Thomas’s living room, standing near the stairs. All the light sides and Thomas staring at him, dressed in onesies.

Patton sat in his cat onesie snuggled up on the couch, with a cup of hot chocolate in his hands. Virgil sat behind him on the back of the couch in a skeleton onesie. Thomas sat in the corner of the couch, dressed in black pyjama pants and a grey sweatshirt. Roman was sprawled on his throne of pillows, bundled in a blanked and dressed in his beast onesie. Logan was sitting on the couch too, someone having actually gotten him to change into his pyjamas, which was a white T-shirt with the NASA logo and a pair of deep blue pants sprinkled with a star pattern.

The sudden attention on him being there was making his skin and scales itch and crawl, his wrist felt like it was burning through the fabric of the glove where Remus was grabbing him, having not let go since he grabbed Deceit and dragged him away from his desk and out of his room.

 “Remus.” Deceit hissed giving his hand a thug, but Remus didn’t let go. “Why did you drag me here?”

 “It’s movie night, duh!” Remus huffed rolling his eyes.

 “If that’s so, then let go of me so I can return to my work.” Deceit huffed with a glare.

 “No! you’re joining! for one movie!” Remus argued.

 “I am not about to sit around and do-”

 “Two movies!”

 “Wha- Remus that’s not how it works!”

 “Three movies!”

 “REMUS! NO! I Am not-”

 “FOUR MOVIES!”

 “NO!”

 “FIVE!”

 “REMUS I SWEAR TO-”

 “SEVEN!”

The others could do nothing but stare as Remus and Deceit went back and forth in an argument Deceit was quickly losing.

Deceit made several frustrated hisses before he snatched his hand back from Remus.

 “IF I WATCH ONE MOVIE WILL YOU GET OFF MY BACK ABOUT THIS?!” Deceit snarled.

 “Hm… SURE!” Remus cheered.

 “Then fine.”

 “Yay! Snakey will watch eight movies with us!”

 “Wha- Who said anything about eight!?” Deceit snapped before he huffed in frustration and rubbed the brim of his nose with one hand. “You know what, fine. Fine! Let’s just get this over with for everyone.” Deceit huffed as he stalked over towards the armchair.

 “Ah! Snakey! You need to get cosy! Not your fancy wear! And I do love your with less clothes~” Remus said with a grin as he snapped his fingers, the others looked various degrees of panic at whatever they thought Remus would change Deceit’s clothes into. Deceit froze mid stepp, as his normal clothes changed into a black T-shirt with his logo and a pair of grey fuzzy plaid pants and yellow fluffy socks. Hat and gloves were gone, which revealed his wild mess of hair under his hat. The lack of long sleeves and gloves revealed the scatters of scales that was speckled out along his arms, some even reached the back of his hands.

Deceit just looked down at himself before he grumbled and sat down in the armchair with a growl, crossing his arms and glaring at the TV.

Remus was grinning as he moved to snap his hand again.

 “KEEP YOUR UNDERWEAR ON IDIOT!” Roman screamed making Remus give away a irked noise before he snapped his fingers, leaving him in nothing but his neon green boxers and a black tank top with a kraken on it.

 “ROOOMAN! YOU THREW OFF MY GROOVE!” Remus whined stomping the floor with a pout.

Deceit claimed one bowl of popcorns for himself, before he curled up in the armchair glowering at the TV screen. Roman and Logan were pointing out the stupid or obvious things, while Virgil and Patton kept mostly quiet. Remus piped up now and again there he lied sprawled on the couch, feet on Logan’s lap and his head pushing against Thomas’s thigh, Thomas had tried to get away, but Remus just kept stretching so he gave up and just let the creative side do what he wanted.

It was around the time Thomas put in the third movie that they noticed Deceit had fallen asleep. Curled up in the arm chair around the now empty bowl only holding some unpopped kernels. Thomas couldn’t help the small surprised coo that left him at the sight. Deceit looked way less threatening and evil asleep. Thomas reached out and carded his fingers through the strands of hair.

Deceit made a small noise in the back of his throat before he nuzzled into the hand, tongue poking out from between his lips before returning into his mouth. Thomas starred starry eyed at Deceit’s face. Deceit’s tongue was forked, like that of a snake, and it was adorable.

 “Oh Yuck! don’t think those disgusting thoughts about kissing my best friend!” Remus whined from the couch, making Thomas splutter and flush bright red.

 “Remus!” Thomas hissed.

 “What it’s True! We all know your thoughts Thomas! and they are disgustingly adorable right now, get me to the juicy stuff!”

 “Eeew! I don’t want to know those thoughts! even less about Deceit!” Virgil hissed kicking Remus on the shoulder, only making the chaotic creatwin bark out laughing.

 “He just looked cute! I don’t lie awake at night thinking about him!” Thomas tried to counter. “How would a relationship with a sides even work?! Only I can see you… can you even leave my apartment?”

 “That is a couple questions for another day.” Logan said with a yawn “Once we have all gotten a good night's rest. And we have the energy to partake in some theories and hypotheses so that we can find it out, because I do not know the answer to those questions.”

 “Wait… have you tried to appear when I’m not at home?” Thomas asked. The others shared looked before they shook their heads.

 “It was easier when you were a child.” Roman piped up. “You didn’t realise I, or well, that was before me and Remus were split up, i think…”

 “We were like an imaginary friend to you, but as you grew it got harder until it was almost impossible, it’s so much easier to appear in your home than if your outside.” Remus said, sitting up.

 “That… makes sense i guess?” Thomas hummed. only to yelp when a dramatic scene happened in the movie he had started earlier, but completely forgotten about.

They watched some more movies before Thomas noted that all his sides had fallen asleep, Remus had moved so that his feet was now thrown over the back of the couch and his head hanging off the seat, as he snored. Logan had slid to the side and was currently using Remus’s stomach as a pillow. Virgil had slid down the back of the couch and wrapped his arms around Patton, both snuggled up together sleeping soundly. Roman was sprawled on his pillow throne snoring just as loudly as Remus. Deceit was still curled up in the armchair, giving away a hissing snore, his tongue poking out with each exhale, Thomas chuckled when he saw it, it reminded him of Sir Hiss’s snoring from Robin hood.

Thomas got up from the couch and stretched, making some joints pop, before he walked over to the TV turning it off, which cast the living room in the faint light of the mood outside, Thomas gathered the bowls and cups before putting them on the counter next to the sink, and then gathered some blankets and plaids for the sides, throwing it over them before he went to brush his teeth, knowing Logan would get offended if he didn’t. Thomas got back to the living room once he was done, he grabbed a blanket on his own before going upstairs, stopping after a few steps to look down at the sleeping sides. A smile on his lips. Despite his unfamiliarity with Deceit, he hadn’t hated having the snake like side there.

 “Good night guys.” Thomas said before he walked upstairs to sleep to the rest of the night.

[the-many-facets-of-folly]

NASA, the forked tongue liar.

[revolution-john]

Madam Dixon

by STEVE LAMBERT

What set the whole thing off was Sam Heintzman leaving a vase of long-stem roses on her front step. It was early still, around seven, and she heard something outside the front door. She peeked out the window and saw Sam waddling back towards his place across the street.  They were beautiful, the roses, and the ring in the middle of the vase were all open and singing, and the ones around the lip, for some reason, huddled in on themselves like little old ladies wrapped in shawls.  A tiny card taped to the vase read, “Let me know if you need anything.  My deepest sympathy.  –Sam.” She leaned in, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

Sam, who had been an engineer at the Cape, was recently retired.  His job had been something to do with making the tiles on the front of the space shuttles.  But now he alternated between working in his yard and sitting in a lawn chair in his driveway, drinking canned beer and admiring his landscaping while the sprinklers ran. He had almost no fingernails, and his fingers were nubby at the ends.  Nubbiness, she’d often thought, was his defining feature. On more than one occasion, she’d seen him pop a beer tab with his house key. She couldn’t imagine “needing” anything from him.

Rich and Sam hadn’t exactly been friends, but living so close to each other for so many years, they’d became steady acquaintances, treated each other in that excessively cordial way that people do who don’t know each other intimately; all those handshakes and nods and winks and courteous chuckles—affirming gestures, like two salesmen.  Plus they both spoke the dull Latin of lawn care.  She recalled how on late afternoons the two of them would walk slowly around their or Sam’s yard, each with a can of beer in hand, pointing at various imposters, pulling them up and naming them: tickseed, dollar weed, chick weed, etc., etc.  She didn’t know the language.  It was an easy way for them to be, but she saw the way Sam looked at her sometimes.  She thought Rich noticed, too, but he was not the jealous type.  Never was one to get territorial.  

              She didn’t really feel like visiting, but probably should, she thought, go thank him for the roses before it got too late.  For some reason, she thought about how hard she’d found it to be alone at night, especially not being a sound sleeper. That was the most pronounced absence she felt in the wake of Rich’s death—his not being there, next to her, when she lay in bed at night.  It was just her now when she’d wake up at two or three in the morning; her and the intermittent sounds of the night settled down around the house, gently crushing it into the dirt, like a child slowly pressing its soft, fat hand down on a toy it has decided is no longer fun to play with.

She glanced over at the vase of roses on the bar, where she’d put them, and decided to walk over to Sam’s and invite him for lunch.  Why not? She thought. It’s a neighborly gesture. It would be an imposition for me, to go to lunch, but it would probably mean a lot to him. Anyway, it’s the right thing to do.  

 He answered the door in his usual attire: plaid shorts, white V-neck and flip-flops—big grin on his round face.  “Madam Dixon,” he said in a voice like a retired boxer’s, and bowed, his rubber flip-flops squealing under the strain.  

“Sam,” she said, “the flowers are lovely.  Thank you for them—and the card.  It was very nice of you.” She didn’t mean to sound dismissive but thought maybe she had. She hoped he hadn’t noticed.

“Come in, come in,” he said, moving to the side, and she reluctantly stepped into the dark living room. She found herself wondering if was her first time inside his house. A couch hunkered to her immediate right, and a small hallway stretched out beyond it.  Light funneled in from the back of the house. Particles floated and swirled around in the rays of light like nebulae.

“Thank you,” she said.  No, I must have been in here before, she thought, but couldn’t think of a single time she had.

“Have a seat.” He pointed to the couch, and then touched a stout finger to his nose, as if nudging it into place.

“It’s rather dark in here, don’t you think, Sam.”

“I guess it is if you’re coming in from outside,” he said, and he opened the blinds. Light slanted in in thin layers. He winced a bit.

“How’s that, madam?”

“You don’t have to call me that, you know,” she said.  Now that Rich is gone, she thought, it seems silly somehow.  She had been “madam” to his “Colonel.”  

“Oh, it’s just for fun,” he said.  “Would you like something to drink?  A cold adult beverage, perhaps?  I have some Busch in the fridge.”

“No, thank you, Sam. I just stopped by—”

“I believe I’ll have one, if you don’t mind.”

While he was gone she noticed a very large framed photograph on the wall, opposite the couch, of a space shuttle blasting off of a launch pad.  She pointed it out when he returned with his beer.

“Oh, her.  She’s the Columbia. A real beautiful craft.  The first to go to space.…April twelve, nineteen eighty-one.” He clicked his tongue then sipped his beer.  She found it mildly irritating that he referred to it as “her,” but didn’t dwell on it because she realized something.

“Rich took me to that launch, Sam.  We were there, at the—what do you call it—where the bleachers are? Where everyone watches?”

“The Causeway?” He slightly tipped the beer can and slurped, like he was trying to be extra careful not to spill any.

“That’s it. The NASA Causeway.  That’s where we were. We’d been transferred to Patrick about, I don’t know, a month prior—from Barksdale, in Louisiana.  He was so excited about that—getting to see that first shuttle launch.”

She remembered: on the way to the Cape, Rich driving huddled up close to the steering wheel, pointing up at the sky, and her just sitting there listening. “Folks who’ve been to rocket launches say you can watch it the whole way up. You can see everything: the glint of sunlight on the metal, the tower of smoke, like a string of popcorn, like on a Christmas tree—everything.  Takes maybe an hour to disappear, to dissipate.  Course, this’ll be a little different.”  Neither of them knew exactly what a shuttle was, but he made it sound much more interesting than she would have found it all by herself. The car swerved a little under the strain of Rich’s excitement.

And it was something. And crowded with people—people with binoculars and telescopes and wearing sunglasses and wide-brimmed hats and men in shorts and Hawaiian-print shirts, open at the front.  One woman chased a little boy, who was about three, in circles.  She was short, but pretty, and had on a black one-piece bathing suit.  The little boy chuckled as his young mother chased after him, one hand keeping her sun hat on her head. And they all watched it lift off and go up and it all seemed so slow, but it wasn’t slow, it was fast, hundreds of miles per hour, but from where they stood everything was happening in slow motion, beautiful and vivid and big.

“It was a big deal, Madam. Very exciting.”  Sam walked closer to the photo, swigging as he moved, like a kid with a glass of milk. She half expected him to start blowing bubbles in his beer. “Who knows,” he said, “the guy or gal who took this picture might have been standing right next to you.” He looked away from the photo. “Barksdale,” he said, and scratched at the top of his blotchy bald head. “Seems like I’ve been there…”

She watched him and wait for more, but nothing followed.

“Sam,” she said, “I was wondering.  Do you have any lunch plans?” It seemed absurd the second she said it. Of course he didn’t. She imagined him opening a can of tuna and eating straight out of it with a fork.

“Oh, well,” he said.  He put the beer can down on the coffee table and scratched at his head again.  He moved closer to the wall with the photo of the shuttle on it. He put a hand on the wall, like he was bracing himself for a dizzy spell.

This can’t be happening, she thought.  He isn’t even attractive. He’s an old troll. I don’t like him a bit, to be honest. Drinking beer this early in the day.  She got a flush feeling and her face felt warm.  He thinks I’m a sad, pathetic old widow.

“I do, as a matter of fact, Marie.  I’m going out to the—” He looked at his watch.  “And won’t be back till—Maybe we can—”

“Oh, that’s fine,” she said.  She stood up, shook her head.  “Really. It’s fine.”  She thought she might start crying, which was completely out of the question.  This is not a rejection, she told herself. It’s just bad timing.

“Well,” he said, and he smoothed the palms of his hands across his shirt front.

“No need to explain, Sam.  It’s fine,” she said, smiling. She found that she was pressing on her hair with one hand. She made herself stop. “Rain check,” she added, without having thought about it beforehand.

“Yes!” he said, happy to have a word for the awkwardness he felt.  “Rain check, indeed, madam.”

 She watched from her living room window as Sam got into his burgundy Chrysler and pulled out and sped off down the road and out of sight.  Where is he going so fast? She thought.  She picked one of the roses from the center of the bouquet and smelled of it.  Its scent was so faint that she couldn’t think of a word to describe it.  He’d said he wouldn’t be back till late.

 She’d loved Rich, she often thought, because he made her feel like somebody. In the beginning, when they were dating, she’d felt unfamiliar to herself when she was with him. Later, after they were married, the wife of an Air Force officer, she felt confident and important. Initially, anyway. She loved him for that, for that gift he probably didn’t even consider a gift.  She loved it better than any jewelry or flowers or exotic getaway. It felt almost permanent, and it was real. But things always change. Things didn’t get better or worse—they just changed.  They were two people in a habituation together. She continued to love him, and she supposed he still loved her.  But towards the end it wasn’t a gift so much as an ill-fitting pair of jeans you can��t bring yourself to give away because you are sure you’ll fit back into them some day.

 She waited till dusk.  She put on dark clothes and her old running sneakers and grabbed the flashlight out of the catchall drawer in the kitchen. She preemptively took two Ibuprofen. If I have to do any climbing or crawling or anything I’ll be sore tomorrow, she thought. It was very quiet outside.  

She checked his side door, the one that goes into the garage, and it was unlocked, of course. No one locked up in their neighborhood. There was no need to. It smelled like gasoline and fertilizer in the garage, and the smell made her feel lightheaded.  She lifted the mat at the foot of the door that led from the garage into the house, but didn’t find a key. she shone the flashlight around until she saw a little metal hook on the wall, to the left of the door, with a ring of keys hanging on it. She tried five before she found the right one. Before she turned the key in the lock she took a moment to consider what Rich would think of this.  Presumably, she thought, he could be watching me at this very moment.  What do you think, Rich? she whispered. It gave her the creeps to hear her voice in the dark, stinky garage.  She heard something scurry and thought rat or possum and inserted the key and quickly entered the house.

In the yellow glow of the flashlight bulb the photograph looked mythic. She immediately had an urge to cry, standing there looking at it with what amounted to a spotlight on it.  For the first time in a month she was feeling the full weight of her grief. Before she knew it she was sitting on Sam’s couch looking up at the photograph, sobbing—like a proper widow, she thought.  What an odd place for mourning?  But the photo captured something, and not just the shuttle launch—that was secondary—but the color and feel of that day, that point in time.  The quality of light.  A small bit of her life, as it had been once, paused—a crystalized memory she’d forgotten she had.

She got up and walked over to the picture and put the flashlight right on it. Maybe if I look long enough I’ll find us, she thought, me and Rich, with our hands shielding the sun from our eyes, watching the shuttle climb up towards space.  Maybe I’ll find the petite young mother and her little boy. She looked and squinted and searched the photograph.  But she needed more time with it.  Most of the onlookers were blurry. It was too dark now. The shuttle, lifting off, and the dense exhaust, were the most vivid things. She stared so hard that things got distorted and she started to zone out. She imagined Sam ripping his nubby fingernails off and sticking them to the black nose of the spacecraft.  He ripped one off and stuck it on and went for another one.  Then he took a sip of beer. Disgusting old troll, she thought. Who drinks beer in the middle of the day, anyway?  

A few minutes passed and she pulled herself together. She sat and stared at the huge thing hanging there on the wall until a light from outside grew and intensified and she realized that it was the headlights from Sam’s car, shining in through the window as he pulled into the driveway.

She wasn’t sure what to do. She heard the car door slam. She turned off the flashlight and put it in her back pocket and carefully hoisted the photograph off the wall and crept, bent over, to the door that let out to the garage. From inside the garage, she heard the key in the front door, heard it turn and the door open. Sam sighed as he closed it. She slowly put the keys back on the hook by the door in the garage. She paused and heard an interior door, a bedroom door. She left the garage and stole quickly across the street, tip-toed home in the dark, the picture under her arm, like a cat burglar.  But what I’ve done doesn’t feel like stealing, she thought, as she sat the photograph against the wall in her bedroom. She took the flashlight out of her pocket and sat on the edge of her bed. It feels like something else. Feels like a resurrection.

()

Steve Lambert’s writing has appeared, or is forthcoming, in Saw Palm, Chiron Review, New Contrast (South Africa), The Pinch, Broad River Review, Longleaf Review, Emrys Journal, BULL Fiction, Into the Void, Cowboy Jamboree, Cortland Review, and many other places. In 2015 he won third place in Glimmer Train’s Very Short Fiction contest and in 2018 he won Emrys Journal’s Nancy Dew Taylor Poetry Prize. He is the recipient of four Pushcart Prize nominations and was a Rash Award in Fiction finalist. He is the author of the poetry collection Heat Seekers (CW Books, 2017), the chapbook In Eynsham (CW Books, 2020) and the fiction collection The Patron Saint of Birds (Cowboy Jamboree, 2020). His novel, Philisteens, will be out May 2021, and his second full-length poetry collection, The Shamble, will be out in October, both with Close to The Bone Publishing. He lives in Northeast Florida, with his wife and daughter, where he teaches part-time at the University of North Florida.  

[mondoreb]

End Times Prophecy Headlines: June 4, 2019

End Times Prophecy Headlines: June 4, 2019

Bible prophecy in today’s news headlines

End Times Prophecy Report HEADLINES MONDAY June 4, 2019

And OPINION

“And Jesus answered and said unto them, Take heed that no man deceive you.” —Matthew 24:4

===INTERNATIONAL

CHINA: Beijing vows to defend ‘islands and rocks’ in the South China Sea

SYRIA:  Up to 10 fighters killed in Syria in Israeli airstrike

RUSSIA:  U.S. tells Russia it backs Israeli…

[reality-detective]

Here's another one 👇

During a rocket launch they say "T Minus" in the countdown, when you are minus the T from - satan = saan - unscramble that and you're left with - nasa. Their logo has a forked serpent tongue and when people speak with a forked tongue they are what?

It's not rocket science. 🤔

[adamsdoyle]

My girlfriend asked me to make her a list of works of fantasy and science fiction so should could feel keyed into references when they come up in conversation. She wanted to feel more grounded in these genres, which she likes, but hasnt made the effort to be on top of everything.

I was happy to compile the most important names, but told her it couldn’t be a short list because recognizing the works of today means honoring their origins, which goes way back into our past. 

What’s below is my best effort to include what I assess to be the most culturally relevant becoming, tempering my favorites, and trying to keep it from being totally overwhelming. I’ve left off works from the past five to ten years because it can take a span of time before we're aware the effects new ideas may have. Felt like sharing here in case you or your friends want a crash course on the bedrock of our imagined landscape. I do try to be globally aware, however this list will reflect my bias as a white, straight, male who grew up in the States. And as this is an ongoing conversation between her and myself, I wanted to be able to vouch for the contents.

-Key-

(Wiki)  Read up for cultural significance *         Personal Favorite +        Hugely influential ^        Non-Essential but worth listing

-Literature-

8,000 BC Aboriginal mythology (pre written language)

2,300 BC Egyptian & Chinese myths+

1,000 BC The Old Testament+

900 BC Greek myths, fables, and all the rest

300 BC - 1800 AD Folk and fairy tales+

1000 AD Beowulf (Wiki)

1100s Legend of King Arthur+ 1200s Norse mythology+

1300s The Inferno - Dante Alighieri+

1500s A Midsummer Night’s Dream - Shakespeare

1600s Paradise Lost*

1700s Gulliver’s Travels The Arabian Nights (Wiki)

1800s Faust Frankenstein* - Mary Wollstonecraft Shelly+ Grimm’s fairy tales+ (Wiki brothers, who collected folktales) The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde* Dracula - Bram Stoker+ Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll+ Flatland The Time Machine & War of the Worlds - HG Wells+ (godfather of SF) Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea - Jules Verne+ The Tell-Tale Heart - Edgar Allan Poe+

1900s Peter Pan - JM Barry The Comet - WEB Dubois Little Nemo in Slumberland - Winsor McCay The Book of Wonder - Lord Dunsany (less known now, he was highly influential in his time for fantasy & mythos) The Metamorphosis - Franz Kafka+ (Einstein’s Theory of Relativity) The Wizard of Oz - L. Frank Baum+ John Carter of Mars - (Wiki) Call of Cthulhu or The Outsider - HP Lovecraft+ Brave New World - Aldous Huxley (Teacher of Orwell https://bit.ly/2xayA23) 1984 - George Orwell+ Amazing Stories magazine - John Campbell+ (writer & editor)

After 1950 Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien+ Chronicles of Narnia* - CS Lewis I Am Legend - Richard Matheson (The first real zombie story. Also wrote for Twilight Zone) Childhood’s End - Arthur C Clarke+ I, Robot - Isaac Asimov+ Farenheit 451 - Ray Bradbury Funes the Memorious or The Garden of Forking Paths - Borges+ Slaughterhouse Five - Kurt Vonnegut Wizard of Earthsea or The Lathe of Heaven - Ursula LeGuin Stranger in a Strange Land - Robert Heinlein Dune Where the Wild Things Are - Maurice Sendak The Neverending Story* ^The Man in the High Castle Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? - (inspired Bladerunner) Philip K Dick+ The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy A Wrinkle in Time The Stand - Stephen King+

After 1980 Invisible Cities - Italo Calvino Xanth series* Communion - (True account of alien abduction) Neuromancer - William Gibson+ Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood Jurassic Park - Michael Crichton+ Snow Crash - Neal Stephenson Ender’s Game* - Orson Scott Card Parable of the Sower - Octavia Butler A Song of Ice & Fire - George RR Martin ^Hunger Games Harry Potter - JK Rowling+ Who Fears Death

-Comics/Superheroes-

-DC Comics- Superman (Wiki how he came to be) Wonder Woman (Wiki how she came to be or watch Professor Marston and the Wonder Women. Very interesting) Batman (and Joker) The Sandman - Neil Gaiman Watchmen* - Alan Moore+

-Marvel Comics- Spiderman* (Wiki how he came to be) X Men* Avengers (the hugely popular films all started with decades of comics) Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles* Hellboy*

-Games- Dungeons & Dragons+ Magic the Gathering Netrunner

-Artists & Illustrators-

1100-1200 Anonymous monk’s illuminated manuscript creatures - https://bit.ly/2Ynytf7

1400s Hieronomous Bosch+ Leonardo DaVinci Michelangelo+ 1500s Arcimboldo

1800s Gustav Doré+ Howard Pyle JW Waterhouse

1900s Maxfield Parish NC Wyeth+ Sir John Tenniel Windsor McCay+ Arthur Rackham - fairy tales Jack Kirby - superhero comics Margaret Brundage - Weird Tales covers Picasso - Cubism Chesley Bonestell - space travel, integral to NASA Frank Frazetta MC Escher Heinrich Kley Sun Ra - Afrofuturist musician

After 1980 Jeff Easley - D&D Jim Lee - X Men Michael Whelan  H.R. Giger - Alien films Brian Froud  Syd Mead - design of Bladerunner & other films Roger Dean - album covers Jean Giraud aka Moebius Bill Waterson - Calvin & Hobbes Leo Dillon and Diane Dillon James Gurney - Dinotopia Alan Lee - Lord of the Rings Alex Ross - superheroes Chris Van Allsburg Mike Mignola - Hellboy Mary GrandPré - Harry Potter

-Radio-

1930s -1950s Flash Gordon War of the Worlds (Wiki Orson Welles’ radio hoax) Buck Rogers The Shadow and much more in the ensuing years, including adaptations of The Lord of the Rings, Star Wars, and The Hitchhiker’s Guide

-TV Shows-

After 1950s Twilight Zone - Rod Serling Lost in Space Star Trek - (Wiki) Gene Roddenberry Dr Who (Wiki) The Jetsons (Wiki) Cosmos - Carl Sagan+ (Science fact)

After 1980s Transformers Quantum Leap Twin Peaks - David Lynch (not really either genre but impact has been undeniable) Buffy the Vampire Slayer* - Joss Whedon X Files* Neon Genesis Evangelion

After 2000 Firefly - Joss Whedon Lost* - JJ Abrams Battlestar Galactica Black Mirror* Game of Thrones Westworld* - reboot of Michael Crichton 1970s film

-Films-

1900s King Kong (Wiki) The Wizard of Oz+ Fantasia- Disney+ Monster movies- Dracula, The Mummy, The Wolfman, Creature from the Black Lagoon, Frankenstein (Wiki)

After 1950 Godzilla+ (Wiki) Seven Samurai or Hidden Fortress - Akira Kurosawa+ (Not SF or fantasy but influential) The 7th Voyage of Sinbad - Special effects by Ray Harryhausen (Wiki) Invasion of the Body Snatchers 2001 A Space Odyssey - Stanley Kubrick+ (Wiki) Planet of the Apes Night of the Living Dead+ (Wiki) Superman #Star Wars Trilogy - George Lucas (owing to Joseph Campbell’s monomyth)+

After 1980 Bladerunner* - Ridley Scott ^Legend Mad Max series Alien or sequel Aliens Close Encounters of the 3rd Kind - Steven Spielberg+ ET Star Trek series Back to the Future Brazil - Terry Gilliam+ Tron+ Ghostbusters* Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure* The Princess Bride* Labyrinth* The Terminator & Terminator 2* - James Cameron+ Akira The Fifth Element Robocop Beetlejuice ^Nightmare Before Xmas* Jurassic Park - Steven Spielberg+ The City of Lost Children* The Iron Giant* 12 Monkeys Groundhog Day* The Sixth Sense Ghost in the Shell (1995 anime) Gattaca* Donnie Darko* Starship Troopers (tongue in cheek adaptation of Heinlein’s classic) The Matrix*

After 2000 Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon My Neighbor Totoro or Spirited Away - Hayao Miyazaki ^Underworld Minority Report Lord of the Rings Primer ^The Incredibles Shaun of the Dead*  Pan’s Labyrinth - Guillermo del Toro Moon* Marvel Cinematic Universe ^Idiocracy Inception* &/or Interseller - Christopher Nolan+

[actuallysleepingrn]

Pretty sure that, in addition to Aziraphale and Crowley, the postman is a demon (horns), the woman sticking her tongue out is Medusa (forked tongue and snake hair looking at the kid), the other women holding the telescope with the galaxy skirt and NASA shirt is an alien (eyes), and the older lady is a witch (cat familiar, staff/stick, but I'm less sure about this one, tbh). Which all makes me super happy

A tiny journal-ish gif-comic from a few tweets I made last night!  I believed this kind of stuff until I was 14 or so, which is pretty old in retrospect…

There used to be more but I accidentally saved over it :/

[violettemcon]

Circle’s end :: Jearmin College AU

SUMMARY:  Armin’s a welfare kid with a sordid past. Jean’s a prep school graduate living in the cushy upper middle class. Scholarships and the simple Privilege of the Rich grant them entry into the renowned Trost State University, and by the begrudging grace of Eren Jaeger, these two end up as roommates.

Author: azxrae 

Rating: mature 

Pairings: Jean/Armin + other side ships 

Chapters:6/28

Warnings: read tags on ao3

Read here

check out the first chapter below:

FRIDAY, JUNE 9TH: 3:19PM

Eren Jaeger peered at his best friend. Across from him, a rather distracted blonde was all but inhaling his steak burrito bowl. Delicate features wrought into what was presumed as bliss.

“How is it?” he asked with a grin.

“Mm—” Armin Arlert caught himself when he swallowed, a hand rising to cover his mouth while eyes widened in embarrassment.

“S’good.”

“Just good?” Eren chuckled tauntingly and dropped his own burrito into its basket.

The two had come to Chipotle straight after Eren and his mom picked Armin up from the train station. The blonde asked to eat there out of curiosity; they didn’t have Chipotle in Shiganshina, and he knew it was both Eren and Mikasa’s favorite place to eat. Armin wanted to experience the hype for himself.

That, and he was super hungry; he’d only had a bag of Doritos before the six-hour train ride into the city.  

“I’ve never brought anyone here who wasn’t in love,” Eren said matter-of-factly, “It’s like a rite of passage, ‘MIn. You come to Trost, you gotta eat Chipotle at least once.”

Armin fixed the brunet boy with a smile. “It’s yummy. Definitely some quality Mexican cuisine.”

Speaking with Eren face to face was certainly surreal but in the best way. It was nice not having to rely on a Skype call to get his attention for once. And those letters were always a hassle to keep exchanging. Of course, packed away in one of his moving boxes was a New Balance shoebox filled to the brim with each one he’d received from Eren, as well as Mikasa. Keeping the letters was mostly for sentimental value though; reading them over would’ve undoubtedly sent Armin right into depression.

He pushed his fork through his burrito bowl, trying to even-out the lettuce piled at the top.

“Hey, Eren?”

“Mm?”

Eren paused mid-chew. Beneath the table, the blonde poked Eren’s calf with the tip of his shoe.

“I really missed you… that’s all.”

The green-eyed boy’s gaze had softened. Clearly, he’d not expected Armin to get all emotional on him. But it was well-received – or at least it appeared that way by Eren’s smile growing and him poking right back under the table. 

“Aww, come on. You know I missed you too, ‘Min.” He reached across the table to give his hand a squeeze.

Armin was happy, but his bliss wasn’t what it could be, not when he had yet to reunite with the third of their trio. Mikasa was currently attending a dance camp another town over and wouldn’t be back until the end of the month. It was, to say the very least, unfortunate. Armin’s impatience to see her was becoming a nagging ache.

“I just wish Mikasa could be here…” The blonde puffed his cheeks out. “Feels incomplete without her, doesn’t it?”

Eren agreed with a nod. He tapped his phone’s screen and peeked down at the date. “But hey, only sixteen more days. And then ErenMikArmin will be back at it again.”

It was visibly difficult for Armin to keep his laughter in. Evidentially, Eren was still holding onto that ridiculous nickname he’d created for them in middle school. The blonde shook his head and rested his cheek on his palm, grinning.

“You’re the only one who calls us that for a reason, you dork.”

Eren’s lips turned into a grin of his own. He’d started to retort to Armin’s comment, but a call to his left promptly claimed his attention.

 “Yo! You on a date, Jaeger?”

Armin blinked at the unfamiliar voice. He looked over and up, meeting the questioning stare of a pair hazel-brown eyes – that belonged to a rather attractive boy if he should say so himself. This mystery boy had a smirk wiped over his lips, one that seemed to rouse irritation in Eren because he hopped from the stool the instant he noticed his presence.

The unnamed youth stood only an inch or two taller than Eren. He had dusty brown hair and a long face that one might compare to a horse if they were fishing for insults. But Armin thought he was handsome. Really handsome. He was clad in a pair of Adidas shorts and a muscle tee of the same brand. ‘Did he just come from working out?’ His limbs were thin, muscled and hung lean against his lanky build. Everything about his appearance was long.

“Fuck off, Jean. No.” Eren growled at the other male. “Did you forget my best friend was moving here in June? This is Armin.” He gestured to Armin with his hands.

This “Jean” character raised those perfectly-arched eyebrows – one of which had a barbell pierced into it – and tilted his head. “Oh yeah, Armin! That friend you and Mikasa talk about nonstop.”

There were faint hints of what was presumed as a French accent in Jean’s speech pattern, which was interesting.

Eren rolled his eyes. “He’s right here, dumbass.”  

Armin dabbed the corner of his lips with his napkin. He swung his stool around to face Jean and held out a small hand.

“Hello…. Jean, is it?” He smiled, hoping he wouldn’t notice just how shy he felt. “I’m Armin.”

The grin Jean wore broadened as he grasped Armin’s hand. Armin expected a callous feel but was instead greeted with soft, smooth skin. He noted the designer clothing he was wearing and suppressed a snort. ‘I bet he’s never worked a day in his life.’

“That’s me. Sorry, I was kinda rude, but it’s nice to finally meet you, Armin.”

Armin didn’t understand why he was suddenly so enamored by a complete stranger, but he was, and as he sipped his Cherry Coke, the boy felt his smile growing.

“You too.” He drummed his fingers on the side of his cup. “So, um, I’m amusing you’re French?”

Jean nodded. “Oui. Je m’appelle Jean Kirschstein,” he said it with a smirk, “My grandfather on my dad’s side is German, though. S’where the last name came from.”

“I highly doubt he cares about your lineage, Horse Face.” Eren clapped a protective hand on Armin’s shoulder, and the blonde playfully stuck his tongue out while biting back a giggle at the nickname.

“That’s for me to decide,” Armin said, “And I decide I care.”

Jean’s expression was triumphant as he peered at Eren. “As you should. Eren mentioned you’re staying here permanently, right? That means we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

Armin brought his drink up for a sip. He tried to put Eren’s scowl to the back of his mind, but it was difficult. The curiosity surrounding why he seemed to so intensely dislike him was there. But, knowing Eren, and with the bit of information he’d gathered about Jean, he couldn’t help but think it was something stupid.

“Maybe...” He cleared his throat and spoke up, “Maybe a lot more if... Well, are you going to be at Trost U in the fall?"  Jean had done well at making him feel comfortable enough to be more social. It was similar to the buzz a person got after having a drink at a party full of strangers.

“Ay, just so happens I am!” The words left him enthusiastically. 

“Really?” Amin lifted his head. “What’s your major?”

“Studio art. Yours?”

“Astrophysics.”

Jean whistled, clearly impressed. “Astro—? So, like, you wanna be an astronaut or what?”

“Um, no…” Armin shook his head, the corners of his mouth rising into a small grin. “I’d really like to just… study the cosmos and, in a perfect world, write books for NASA.”

The taller male was blatantly awestruck. “Cosmos? Sorry, I pretty much slept through astronomy in tenth grade.” He let out a sheepish chuckle. Armin didn’t understand how anyone could sleep through a science course (or any course, for that matter), but he didn’t speak on it. It would undoubtedly make him sound like a nerd. And, for some reason, he wanted to leave the best impression possible on Jean Kirschstein.

“It’s the universe, you idiot.” Eren returned to his seat and took another bite into his burrito.

“Eren, not everyone knows scientific terms...” Armin sighed.

“Yeah, Eren.” Jean punctuated the second syllable of his name. “No need to be a condescending ass.” When he looked back to Armin, his expression softened notably. “Armin, I’d love to talk to you about space one day. Though, it’d mostly be an info session since I don’t know much aside from the name of the planets.”

“Careful, Jean,” Eren warned, chuckling as he looked straight at Armin, “Armin might just take you up on that and talk your ear off. I know from experience.”

“Oh, hush.” Armin kicked the brunet’s shin under the table. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know a whole lot more about what goes on outside of our galaxy because of me.”

Eren didn’t even pretend the impact of Armin’s shoe hurt him. “You’re just proving my point, ‘Min. Once you get started about space, there’s no stopping you.”

“I don’t think I’d mind.” Jean leaned against the wall and crossed his foot over his ankle. “Yo, Eren, you bringin’ him to Karaoke Night?”

Armin’s attention piqued. He looked between the two boys questioningly.

“…Karaoke Night?”

“Yeah. Next Saturday. Our friends rented out a room at this sick karaoke bar downtown,” Jean informed him, “It’s a noraebang. A Korean karaoke joint. You should come since you’re gonna be going to uni with us. A friend of Eren and Mikasa’s is definitely a friend of ours.”

A sense of warmth settled in Armin’s chest at his words. Friends. He’d never really had many of those. Only Eren and Mikasa, and when they moved away Armin was, for the most part, alone. Sure he had his school peers, but he wouldn’t consider them actual friends. When it came down to it Armin spent a great deal of those years on his own. He never complained though. He always had his books and his grandpa, and that had been enough to sustain him.

Until now, at least.

“I’ll bring him.” Eren’s words brought Armin back. “Just so happens Armin's got an amazing singing voice.” The tanned boy shot his friend a smile, to which Armin blushed.

“Hey... don’t exaggerate."

Jean took a step forward when the line moved, but remained a close enough distance where he could keep his voice at a leveled volume.

“It’s a damn shame Mikasa’s still in Yalkell.”

“Dude.” Eren rolled his eyes at Jean for the second time that afternoon. “Let go of that crush already. As her brother, I can tell you she’s not interested.”

‘Crush?’ Armin’s eyes widened slightly, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit… well, actually, he didn’t know what he was feeling. He knew it wasn’t difficult to develop a crush on Mikasa, considering her appearance, and the fact that she was well…. Mikasa. Armin poked his tongue to his inner cheek.

‘I wonder… does that mean Jean’s interested in women? Exclusively?’

“Shut up, Jaeger,” Jean growled at him, “You know I left that shit behind ages ago. I was just saying, ‘cause she’ll miss Karaoke Night and it’s Squad tradition.”

“You guys… are in a squad?” Armin cocked an eyebrow in faint amusement.

“Yep.” Jean seemed proud to bestow this knowledge on him. “Consists of me, my best friend, his girlfriend, Eren, Mikasa and this little blond girl that looks freakishly like your female doppelganger.”

Eren nodded with a chuckle and surveyed Armin’s appearance. “Kris does look a lot like you, Armin. It’s actually weird.”

Armin took the final sips of his cola, huffing softly when he realized it was empty. He decided to focus on eating for the moment. He didn’t want his food to get cold. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jean push himself from the wall.

“Can I… ask where you’re staying, Armin? It’s kinda important.”

‘Why would my living arrangements be important to him?’ Both confused and curious, Armin licked away some lettuce from the corner of his mouth.

“Um…well, currently, I’m staying with Eren. But it’s temporary. I’d like to start renting a place in the student-housing district pretty soon,” Armin informed in his soft voice, waiting for Jean to elaborate on why he’d asked.

“Oh yeah?” The handsome boy inclined closer, interested. “That’s awesome news, because—”

“No.” Eren’s head whipped around instantly. “Don’t even suggest it.” He sent Jean a sub-zero glare, just as Armin’s brows raised in curiosity.

“Suggest what?” He blinked.

Jean crossed his arms and his lips fell into a smirk. The Apple smartwatch on his wrist lit up but he ignored it in favor of speaking to the boys before him.

“My best friend and I have been searching for a roommate.” His eyes were on Eren as he spoke. “We’ve got a pretty nice spread, and the rent’s hella cheap ‘cause it’s near campus.”

Armin could feel Eren’s hands grab his own, and he heard the growl he emitted, but he couldn’t help but consider it. It would be ideal to live with the Jaegers, but Armin was too prideful to lean on them any more than he already had. Being self-sufficient was more important to him than anything else. He would not allow himself to be a burden. 

“Wow, I’ll admit that sounds—”

“It sounds awful,” Eren cut in. “You’re not… really considering it, are you?” He looked to the blonde with pleading eyes.

Armin groaned, but he wouldn’t deny he looked horrendously adorable pouting at him like that.

“Eren…” He spoke sternly, but was sure to disarm him by taking larger hands in his own. “This is exactly what I’ve been looking for, and you know it. All that work I put in last year wasn’t for nothing. I’ve already saved up enough for a few months’ rent and I have a job. It’d be a good idea to put my finances towards something productive.” It had always pleased him to speak of things he knew would ultimately progress him in life.

Jean whistled again. “Sounds like you’ve got it made, Armin.” A taupe gaze shifted to Eren then. “I think he should at least come look at the place. It wouldn’t hurt.”

Truthfully, Armin was considering doing so whether Eren approved or not. His opinion mattered of course, but the boy was fully capable of making decisions for himself. As Jean had said, exploring his options couldn’t hurt.

“Jean, tell me more about the apartment, please.” Expectant eyes lifted to the taller male. 

Jean beamed, though he did seem hesitant when he stole another glance to his smartwatch. “How about you give me your number instead?”

The suggestion was unapologetically bold. Armin was stunned. He saw Eren grimacing out of the corner of his eye.

“I mean so I can text you and give you the details,” he elaborated, a sigh escaping after he said it. “I don’t think I can chat much longer, as much as I’d like to. Connie – that’s my best friend and your maybe-future-roommate too – very explicitly said he wants burrito waiting for him when he gets off work. He’s been texting me nonstop to make sure I don’t forget.” Jean looked up at the ceiling for a short while and then flicked his eyes back to Armin. 

“It’s weird, but for some reason, I’ve got a good feeling about you, Armin,” He said, smiling faintly, “We could FaceTime. And maybe I could give you a virtual tour?” Jean looked hopeful. Strangely, Armin found it to be kind of cute. He sunk his teeth into his lip and decided to focus instead on what his new acquaintance had said. A proposal for a new apartment on his first day in Trost. What were the odds? Honestly, it seemed a bit too good to be true, and Armin had always been rather pessimistic, (according to Eren at least – he’d just called it realism), but he supposed, for now, he’d go along with it. He could see no better choice but to do so, anyway.

Wordlessly nodding, he watched Jean retrieve his iPhone, unlocking the screen with his thumb. Armin quickly did the same and they exchanged mobiles.

“I can’t believe this,” Eren was saying as Armin’s phone chirped with a new text just an instant later. “You do realize he’s a fucking douche, don’t you?”

Armin huffed and looked down at the message. He punched in his contact as “Jean”, deciding he’d personalize it with an emoji when he got to know him a little better.

The taller boy seemed exasperated by Eren’s so very apparent repulsion at their exchange. Armin pocketed his phone and pushed his food across the table, walking around to sit next to him. He rubbed his arm gently.g

“I should probably go.” Jean stared at Eren momentarily, then he shot Armin another, smaller smile. “Nice meeting you Armin.” He began to walk backward towards the line, which had grown significantly shorter. “See y’all around.”

Eren waved his hand, and Armin returned the smile with an even brighter one.

“Bye Jean!”

Jean waved back before jogging off to order his food. When the smaller male turned back, Eren was staring at him with this smug, knowing look in his eyes.

“…What?”

“I saw that, Armin.”

Armin was confused. “Saw what?”

Eren reached behind him and held his nape, drawing him in so their foreheads were nearly touching. “You were giving that bastard googly eyes the entire fucking time.” He spoke in a low murmur.

“W-What?!” Armin practically squeaked and jerked backward, then remembered where they were and settled for a fierce whisper. “I was not!”

“You so were.” Eren’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You like him? Is that why you wanna room with him?”

Armin pushed his bangs out of his eyes, staring at his friend in disbelief. “No, I don’t like him. I just met him like fifteen minutes ago!”

That God-forsaken look persisted on Eren’s face, though. He swigged his Nantucket Nectar then returned his attention to Armin. “Do you at least…. think he’s cute?”

That was when Armin stopped short. He rested his elbows on the metal surface of the table, sinking his head into his palms dramatically. He really hoped that Jean hadn’t somehow acquired a superhuman hearing ability and was able to hear him from the other side of the restaurant.

“Maybe a little."

Eren scoffed, though he didn’t seem too surprised by this knowledge. “I really don't get that," he sighed, “How the hell can anyone find Jean Kirschstein cute?”

Armin was digging through what remained of his burrito bowl, avoiding eye contact with that intense, marble-eyed stare.

“From what I’ve seen, he seems to be… nice.”

Eren rolled his eyes. "That's just 'cause he has yet to rub his dickery all over you."

Armin curved his brow upward. “Why do you hate him so much?”

Eren shrugged. “I don’t… hate him. I’ve known him since I moved here and he’s in my circle of friends. Guess our personalities just clash sometimes.” He bit his lip. “Most of it's just playful bantering. It’s what we’re used to, I guess.”

“Oh.” Armin nodded thoughtfully. For a while, they finished up their food in silence. Armin reached into the shared bag of chips and dipped one into the guacamole.

“Yo, 'Min." 

He looked over at Eren curiously. “What’s up?”

The other boy leaned in a bit closer to him. His voice had grown quiet again. “If… if you do become his roommate,” He looked almost shy then – which was certainly a cute look on him. Armin bit back a smile.

“—you won’t start to like that bastard more than me, will you?”

The blonde blinked at the question. The notion of him liking anyone more than Eren was entirely ridiculous, and he should know that. Armin suddenly felt inclined to smack him upside the head for asking something so stupid.

“You’re seriously asking that?” Armin shook his head, poking lightly to the side of Eren’s cheek. “Don’t be ridiculous, you dummy. You should know by now. You’re the only guy for me.” His tone was playful but the words were deathly serious.

“Good.” Eren was clearly satisfied by the reassurance. He squeezed the boy’s arm gently.

“Let’s hope it stays that way.”

- - -

THURSDAY, JUNE 15TH: 2:45PM

Jean had been right when he said the apartment was nice. It had sufficient space, with three moderately-sized bedrooms as well as a living area, and an open kitchen with an island-bar to serve as a dining space. There was one bathroom at the very back of the apartment. Compared to a place not so close to campus, the rent was cheap. But it was definitely on the luxurious end of things.

Of course, the decision to live there was made quickly. After all the paperwork was finalized, Armin began moving his stuff in. The lot of his things that he didn’t immediately need was kept in the Jaegers’ storage, though, so the process seemed to breeze by. Armin wouldn’t deny he enjoyed spending time with Jean and Connie whenever they were hanging around the apartment.

It was all so surreal to Armin, and the feeling hadn’t worn off, not even on the following Thursday when Armin gripped his brand new key (wrapped in a Trost University holder) and fitted it into the lock of Room 305.

He paused when a hand touched his shoulder.

“Y’know, It’s not too late to change your mind and come live with me instead,” Eren said. The seriousness of his tone provoked the softest of laughs from Armin. Of course, he’d make such an offer when Armin’s mind was already completely made up.

“It actually kinda is.” He turned to smile apologetically at the other boy. He’d admit it was endearing how clingy he was to him, but Eren had to know this would be good for him. Armin had always craved a life where he relied minimally on the support of other people. Renting an apartment – even if he currently was sharing it with two guys – was a start along that path.

“But hey,” Armin looked up at him, “We can still see each other at school. And work. Remember that.”

Eren grumbled, but it was the truth. After his graduation Eren had been in dire need of a job, so his friend found work for him waiting tables at Olive Garden, a job Armin had for several months before he moved to Trost and was relocated.

“School doesn’t start until the end of August.” Eren pouted slightly. “That’s like a whole two months of not constantly being in each other’s presence.”

“We managed it before,” Armin reminded. He closed his eyes at the memory of those years spent without his best friends. He couldn’t be more thankful that they were going to the same university in the fall, honestly; there was so much lost time that had to be made up for.

“I don’t know how we did.” Eren took the liberty of opening the door while Armin swallowed down his anxiety. His eyes were immediately drawn to the side of the den, where Jean stood at his easel. His back faced them and he was singing rather loudly to some grunge song blaring from the kitchen.

“Yo Horse Face! Stop being a tool for a second, will ya?” Eren rolled his eyes and walked in front of Armin, tossing the overnight bag he’d been holding at the couch. The noise made Jean jump and spin around, nearly dropping his pallet in the process. He narrowed his eyes.

“Mother fuck— you’re early.” Sitting his art utensils on the stool, he wiped his hands on his smock and strode over. 

“I definitely was not expecting you to bring him, Armin.”

“I needed an extra hand. Couldn’t lug all this stuff over here by myself.” Armin smiled and surveyed the perimeter of the room. He set his bag of pillows down in front of him.

“You’re here alone?” 

“Yeah.” Jean looked down at his pillows, then back at Armin’s face. “Connie went grocery shopping.”

Eren laughed and leaned on the arm of the couch. “Connie went grocery shopping?”

“By that I mean he went to go restock our ramen supply." 

“Sounds more like him.”

The guy in question, Connie Springer, was their third roommate and also Jean’s best friend. Armin always thought he was short for his age – being the smallest in his graduating class and practically dwarfed next to Eren – but when he met Connie he was stunned. He could see why he was close to Jean though; they were both ridiculously dorky but in the most endearing way. That and he was really nice. Something told him he was the one that kept Jean in check most of the time.

The blonde ran a hand through his hair and joined Eren on the couch. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” He nudged him lightly with his thigh.

“Are you kicking me out, ‘Min?” Eren feigned a sob, his legs kicking up on the coffee table. “I’m hurt.”

Jean scowled at him. “This isn’t your house, Jaeger.”

“It’s not yours either, Kirschstein,” Eren said matter-of-factly, a small chuckle following. “It’s the landlord’s.”

“Aunt Carla said she wanted you back before three.” The softness left Armin’s voice, and he looked at his friend sternly. “You do remember that, right?”

“Mommy setting a curfew for you now?” Jean walked back to his easel and picked up his pallet to check if any paints had dried out.

“Fuck off, you bastard,” Eren hissed, “There are relatives over and she wants me there.”

Armin hoisted him by the arm and they stood together. “Go home, Eren.” He walked behind him, lightly pushing him towards the door. “I don’t want your mom flipping out at you.”

Eren turned to him and sighed beneath his words. “Fine, fine. I’ll leave. But if Jean does anything shady call me. I’ll be over like that.” He snapped his fingers on the last word to emphasize just how serious he was.

“Everything will be fine. Promise.” Armin smiled reassuringly at his friend and patted his arm. His eyelids fell when Eren began messing his hair, then he very lightly kissed his temple.

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow, okay?” The blonde’s eyes opened again after a pause.

“Sure thing, Armin.” Eren poked the tip of his nose, not bothering to say anything to Jean as he left the apartment. Once he was gone Jean sighed dramatically and returned his attention to his easel.

“Good fuckin’ riddance.”

Armin only smiled at that. He knew Jean and Eren thought fondly of each other, despite the constant verbal abuse. That much was made clear when he looked at the pinboard of Polaroids posted above the TV. At the center was a photo of Jean, Connie and Eren that he presumed was taken a few weeks before at their graduation. Eren was in the middle and Jean and Connie both had their arms draped over his shoulders. All three of them had wide smiles painted over their lips. Armin thought it was adorable, but it did make him kind of sad. He’d graduated early so he never got to experience anything like that; all he’d gotten was his diploma in the mail and a congratulatory letter from the principal.

Armin sighed at the memory. It was in the past, so there wasn’t a need to dwell on it. He walked back from the door and crossed the room to stand a few feet away from Jean.

“What are you painting?”

The taller youth smiled, though his eyes remained on his work. “My parents’ anniversary is coming up. They spent their honeymoon in Venice so… I’m painting a Venetian cityscape.” he told him, “Y’know how there are those canals running between the buildings there? The hotel they stayed at was like that. I’m trying to recreate it for them.”

Armin craned to see the painting and was impressed. Jean’s artistic talent was far beyond his expectations. There was so much detail, and the portion of it that was painted was so vibrant. For that moment, Armin couldn’t take his eyes away. He admired it with a silent smile.

“Also,” he continued, “peonies are my mom’s favorite flower so, in front of one of the buildings, there’s a pot of those. See?” He pointed to the little flower pot with the tip of a long finger. Armin’s eye followed.

“Jean, this is amazing,” the blonde commended excitedly. “You’re so talented! And this gift… it’s so thoughtful! Your parents will love it for sure.”

Jean wordlessly eyed the piece. "You think?"

"Yes, I think,"  Armin said, nodding earnestly. 

Jean snapped his pallet shut and dropped his paintbrush into a cup of water. 

“Thanks, Armin. It really means a lot to hear that.” His tone was sheepish as he untied his smock and pulled it off his body. "Yo really have no idea." 

The blonde’s smile grew a fraction. “You’re very welcome, Jean.”

The taller boy scanned over Armin’s appearance for a second, then met blue eyes.

“So, uh… hey, I… made some iced tea earlier. Do you want some? I need another person’s opinion on the taste and Con’s not here.”

The offer made Armin nod with sudden fervor. Tea was his all-time favorite beverage, hot or cold. He didn’t think there was a time when he wasn’t in the mood to drink it, truly.

“I’d love to have some.” He tucked some hair behind a pierced ear. “Tea is, like, my favorite thing to drink ever.”

Jean peered down at him, chuckling. “Well damn. Armin. Now your opinion's gonna be biased.” He walked past him into the kitchen. Armin instinctively followed.

“I promise it won’t be!” he said while plopping onto a stool at the island counter. When Jean turned to him, Armin’s eyes held unwavering intensity. The idea of not having the tea wasn’t something he was willing to accept.

Jean chuckle grew into a broad laughter. “Shit… don’t look at me like that. I wasn’t gonna deprive you.” The assurance came gently. Armin observed him approach the fridge and produce a plastic pitcher when he opened the door. The taller boy had a tiny smile on his lips whilst pouring the darkened liquid into a glass he’d acquired from the cupboard.

“Here you are, my good sir.” Jean slid the tea over to him.

“Thank you.” Armin smiled and lifted the cup to his mouth. As he sipped it, he let his mind wander, and found himself thinking of Eren’s actions before he left. He knew his friend had a tendency to get overprotective, so the wariness wasn’t unlike him. Armin wondered if it was warranted, though. Something was telling him he’d get along living with Jean and Connie just fine, and he was an excellent judge of character.

But he knew there was something that could pose a problem if he let it. Jean happened to be the hottest guy he’d seen in a while. That was, to say the least, unnerving. Armin would just have to be thankful repression was one of his greatest talents. It was a sad thought, he knew, but there was no way someone so filthy was deserving of anyone.

Armin stared into his glass, hoping his features remained composed despite where his mind had gone. The blonde took another sip of tea to calm himself, suddenly remembering why he was drinking it in the first place.

“This tea is delicious, Jean,” the boy complimented, sending him a smile when he looked up. “It’s not too sweet or too bitter. It’s just right.”

At that, Jean looked something akin to a dog who’d just been told they did something right and received a treat for it.

“Yeah?” He grinned. “I’m glad you think so, Armin.”

‘He’s cute.’ It was becoming apparent that Armin wasn’t doing as well at controlling his thoughts as he’d like, but saying those things within the protection of his mind... That was okay. That had to be okay.

‘I’m completely allowed to think something harmless like that.’ The blonde rested his cheek on his fist and sighed to himself.

Jean seemed oblivious to the goings-on of Armin’s mind, which was fortunate. He smiled at him and poured a glass of tea for himself.

“So hey, after this, would’dja like some help unpacking?” he asked. “Pretty sure I’ve got an empty storage bin that’s perfect for under-the-bed space somewhere around here...” Jean lifted his tea up to his lips. “You can use if you like.”

Armin was prepared to deny the help even though he knew he needed it, but he made himself stop. The honesty of Jean’s smile was a little unsettling, as was how fixated the blonde suddenly became on watching the bob of his Adam’s apple whilst he swallowed his tea.

‘I really need to chillax. I’m not some rabid animal...’ Armin tore his eyes away. He remembered reading somewhere that victims of… what he went through often acted out in terms of seeking sexual partners. Armin may not have been doing something as extreme as that, but this effect Jean was having on him at such an early stage was definitely something to worry about.

“Yeah, sure thing,” he said despite the minor inner turmoil. He put on his most convincing smile and downed the remainder of his tea.

Jean beamed. “Awesome!” He too finished off his tea and carried both their cups to rinse in the sink. He was placing them in the dishwasher when Armin moved to grab his belongings from the living room, then together they exited the space and made for Armin’s bedroom at the very front of the hall.

[entoman-created-by-the-tallgreys]

Apophis ... Si Going to rock the world

Ok, Bad Pun as a Title ! BUT ! it Will and on it’s onw Course to Earth Yah ! 

If there is an Aline race Guiding the rock it Chance’s of Hitting Earth are 100% ! 

And there Going to Have MORE then just 1 Rock ... Get ready for all of the Volcano’s to Blow .. over n over ! an Hurricane’s to Raging on the Earth .... ! 

in the Great Battle ! the Super War With the Gray’s ! 

Also, thank’s Lizard Split fork Tongue Nasa ! ... no Really thank’s foor the Head’s up on the Chaos ! 👍🏻 

... And i Wasn't Being Sarcastic ... Thank you to any one Giving Out Data, i can Get to, in the finale day’s and Soon ! ...... to Be the final Hour’s before Chaos Hit’s !