mirror puddle

angelsarenamederika  asked:

Have you ever written any works about that clean, empty train station Harry ended up in? Or rather, what that place may have looked like for other people?

Ginny woke up with a gasp that felt like sandpaper shoved down her throat. Her lungs brimmed with rock and cold water, with the thick musty smell of snake.

She inhaled again and it was softer– she blinked her eyes open as the world rearranged itself. Mildew and stone gave way to the scent of sun-warmed grass. Apple blossoms. Branches cut the sky into shards of blue. 

She had learned how to fly in this orchard. She had stolen her brothers’ brooms out of the shed and practiced when no one was watching her. She knew this view–lying on the ground, looking up–because she had laid out here in the shade on hot summer days, because she had fallen off brooms and bruised herself all over, again and again, knocked all the air out of her lungs.  Ginny sat up. 

-

Ginny sat up. Her mother put a mug of tea down in front of her. Ginny wobbled where she sat and clutched at the rough edge of the kitchen table. 

“Drink your tea,” said Molly. 

“Mum,” she said. “I think I’ve been hurting people.” The Burrow’s kitchen was sunlit and scrubbed clean behind Molly. 

“Of course you wouldn’t, sweetheart,” said Molly. 

Mum,” said Ginny. “There was blood on my robes." 

"We’ve all killed a few chickens in our time,” said Molly. 

“How did I get home?” She wrapped her hands around the steaming mug. It was cold against her palms, wet and gritty. There was dirt under her nails. She shivered. “I was at Hogwarts." 

"It’s not going to be easy,” Molly said. “He’ll tell you that, someday– the choice between what is right and what is easy. Isn’t that interesting? That doing the right thing is always so damn hard.” Molly put the tea kettle back on the stove. Her apron was thick beige canvas, well-used. “But you won’t really be listening. Because a boy will just have died, and you’ll be thinking about that. About whether or not he had a choice.”

“Who’s dying?” Ginny said. “Who’s going to die?" 

"No one you know well,” Molly said. “It’s alright. No one important to you. Someone very important to other people, but, of course, everyone is. And no, he won’t have had a choice. Right, or easy. But you do." 

-

Bill was trying to brush her hair. It was tangled at the back of her skull, matted, but his hands were very gentle. The chair she sat in creaked under her, old, in need of repairs like everything the Weasleys had ever owned. Sunlight dripped down through the leaves of the orchard. Bill had been the one who taught her to undo the lock on the broom shed door. 

"You haven’t done this since I was little,” she said. 

“You’re still little,” Bill said. His voice was younger, squeakier, and when she tipped her head back she saw his chin smooth and unstubbled, his hair still short and neat, his ear unpierced. 

“I miss you,” she said. “You’re going to leave. You’re going to go on adventures and forget to write home and forget to visit." 

"I’ll visit,” said Bill. 

“Not enough,” she said. “I’m glad you grew your hair out, though. It looks good. Mum doesn’t get it, but it looks more like you." 

Her skull was cradled in his hands, still tipped back, looking up at him. 

"You’re not really here,” she said. 

“No,” he agreed. “You’re all alone. You’re on the floor of the Chamber, can’t you tell?" 

Ginny touched her robes. They were cold and damp, sticking to her spine. Moldy water dripped from her hem onto the dry dirt of the orchard. 

-

"You’re just embarrassing us,” said Percy. He was fussing with his robes, picking lint off them. A sunbeam came through the kitchen window and draped itself around his shoulders. 

Ginny swallowed. “You don’t mean that.” She looked around the kitchen, but it was empty. Mum and her teapot weren’t anywhere. 

“Can you imagine how Mum and Dad will feel?” Percy said. “When it comes out their baby girl has been strangling chickens and killing Mudbloods?”

“No one died,” she whispered. “And don’t say that word." 

"C'mon, Ginevra, no one died but they were meant to. A camera, a mirror, a ghost, a puddle– the Mudbloods got lucky." 

Her whisper shrank and shrank. "Don’t say that word." 

"Mudbloods? Why? You wrote it on the wall in blood.” His face twisted, sneering, twisted and twisted– she had never seen Percy’s face skew that far. She didn’t think faces could move like that. She didn’t think they should. She squeezed her eyes shut. “You’ve been trying to kill people all year, and you haven’t even managed one,” said the thing with Percy’s voice, the voice he used to tell first years to knot their ties properly. “Embarrassing. Maybe tonight you’ll finally get it right." 

"You’re not really here,” she said. “This isn’t real. This is a dream, it’s all in my head, you’re not really here." 

"Of course it’s all in your head,” Percy said, or something that had once looked like Percy said. She wasn’t opening her eyes to see. “Why would that mean it isn’t real?”

-

“Welsh Greens are my favorite dragon,” said Charlie. Ginny pried her eyes open. Charlie smiled at her from across the kitchen table. Her tea was still gone. Percy was gone. The sunlight had faded to pale morning light. She was shivering. 

“I try not to play favorites,” he said. “You know, but sometimes you just gotta admit things to yourself.”

“Charlie, I think I’m dying.” She gripped the edge of the rough kitchen table and it bit into her palms. 

“They’re just so elegant,” Charlie said. “The first time I saw one fly. Do you remember? No, you weren’t born yet, I think. But Dad got suspended for a month, though Mum and Dad didn’t tell us that part–something with Lucius Malfoy–but he had a month off so we went to stay with that old friend of Mum’s in Newport. Right near the preserve. And we went out into it, and the twins kept trying to run off, and Bill spent all his time reading those adventure books he liked so much then, but we saw dragons. A Green sunning, across a gorge. One flying, almost directly over us. And I knew, right then, what I wanted to do with my life." 

"I think it was Lucius who put the diary in my textbook,” she said. “Why would he do that? Why did I write in it? Why did Tom make it? Why did I write back?" 

"See this?” said Charlie, rolling up a sleeve. Two long jagged lines of scar tissue bulged down his forearm, wrapping around it. “Poor thing got stuck in a trap and nicked me when I was getting it loose. Damned poachers." 

"Charlie, I think I hurt people.”

“And here,” said Charlie. He untucked his shirt and showed her a big shiny burn that went all up and down his leftside ribs and hip. “Healing skin,” he said. “It’s the weirdest thing.”

-

“We prank Filch and Mrs. Norris all the time,” said George. He was sitting in a tree in the orchard, the way the twins had used to before they got too big for the fragile branches. “But Merlin’s beard, Gin, never like that." 

Ginny sat cross-legged in the grass, picking stalks and trying to weave a crown. "Do you think Mrs. Norris’ll be okay?" 

"And Justin?” said George. “He’s a little twerp, but my god. We could have helped you put cayenne in his oatmeal or something, come on." 

"It wasn’t me,” said Ginny. “I didn’t mean to." 

"Okay, was it not you, or did you not mean to?” said George. “Those are two different excuses.”

-

“Never trust something if you can’t see where it puts its brain,” Arthur said. Her father was under the car. She couldn’t see him from the mid-chest, up. She couldn’t see his face.

-

“You know it’s not your fault, right?” Ron was lying on his back on his bed and she was laying belly-down on the floor, coloring. The ghoul in the attic banged pipes– angry, desperate sounds resounding like they were in an empty, vaulted space that swallowed up echoes and spat them back. 

“I wrote back,” she said. 

“Yeah, and? Plenty of people have penpals. That’s all you did. You were lonely. Don’t you think I get it? We’re the last ones, you and me. The point where people have seen so many Weasley kids they stop bothering to learn our names. I know.”

“I should’ve known,” she said. She rolled over onto her back, her hair tangling with her colored pencils. It sounded like the ghoul had maybe broken a pipe– a violent hissing shook the room. “Never trust something if you can’t see where it keeps its brain." 

"That’s stupid,” said Ron, sitting up, leaning over so she could see the profile of his long nose, his flop of red hair. There was a spreading stain on the ceiling above him.

Dad says that." 

"Well Dad’s stupid sometimes. What does where something keeps its brain have to do with anything? Somebody put that diary in your stuff. Someone made that diary– and they kept their brain right in their skull, just like us." 

"So it’s ‘never trust anyone’?” Hissing, snarling, metal on stone, the drip of water. Her skull pressed into the hard floor, too heavy to lift. The noise rose and rose, but she could hear Ron’s voice just fine. 

He shrugged, lanky shoulders bobbing. “I dunno. Maybe it’s 'do your best.’ I dunno. You’re eleven. Why do you have to be thinking about stuff like this?”

“You’re twelve. Why are you?”

Yeah, well, I helped fight You-Know-Who in my first year." 

Ginny curled her fingers into her dark robes. She had had to throw away the ones she’d killed the roosters in. She’d never learned Mum’s cleaning spells well enough for that. 

"You could, too,” Ron said. The stain on the ceiling kept spreading, white plaster going dark. “You did. Fight You-Know-Who, your first year.” Water dripped onto her forehead. 

“How?” she said. “I helped him. Tom was in my head, my hands– He was–" 

"You tried to tell people.”

“I should’ve made them listen,” she said. 

“You can’t make people listen,” said Ron. 

“What can I do, then?” she said. 

“Wake up,” he said. “Wake up, wake up, come on, Ginny, wake up, Harry why is she so cold.”

-

“I’m so scared, Mum,” she said. The tea was steaming but her hands were shaking against cold ceramic. “I think I’ve been hurting people." 

-

"You’ve always been able to tell us apart,” said George. The leaves on the trees rustled behind him. “We appreciate that, you know? Like, there’s some pranks we can’t play with you around, but, still, it’s nice." 

-

"You can go,” Percy said, kindly, and Ginny shivered and shivered. “You’ve always wanted to. You’ve been dreaming about running all your life. Just taking a broom and going." 

-

Apple blossoms filled the air. Dry grass tickled her cheek, the curve of her calf. Branches cut through the sky– blue, broad, endless. She could feel cold, rotting water seeping into her robes, her socks, swallowing her hands. 

-

Bang. The ghoul in the attic was hitting pipes again. Hissing. Shouts. 

-

Bang. Swinging his feet, knocking his heels against the table legs, Fred sat on the rickety table in the broom shed. He trimmed the stray broken twigs from the tail of his Cleansweep, whistling, and he didn’t look up. 

The door of the shed hung open behind Ginny, the sun at her back, the smell of apple blossoms in the air. 

"If you’re going to steal our brooms,” Fred said. “You could at least help with maintenance, you know." 

"Why are you the last one?” she said. He had stopped whistling, but the sound kept going, ricocheting off the walls. “Why weren’t you with George?”

“We don’t do everything together,” said Fred. He looked up from the broom and he was smiling. “He’s going to do a lot of things without me, one day.”

“Where am I?” she said. “What is this? This isn’t home." 

"Isn’t it?” Fred said. He was smiling and she wanted him to stop. “You see, Ginny, you get a choice. Not everyone gets a choice, but you do. This is a place where people wait,” he said. “This is a place where they get to decide. To go forward or to go back." 

"What if I don’t want to go back?”

“Then you take one of these brooms, Gin, and you just go.” He stood up, holding the broom loosely in his hand. “You used to dream about it, remember? When no one was paying attention to you, or when they were paying too much, or when Ron broke your favorite porcelain doll. You thought about sneaking out here, and taking a broom, and just going. The first time you snuck out here and stole my broom, that’s what you meant to do. Run away. Find a circus, or an adventure, a new life.”

“But I came back." 

He shrugged. "You ran out of the cookies you’d packed. And it got cold." 

"It’s getting colder,” she said. “Fred, I’m so cold." 

"You won’t get cold, if you go. You won’t run out of anything.”

“What’ll I find?” The sky out the window was blue. It went forever. 

“I don’t know, kiddo. Not yet.”  

-

Bill was brushing her hair in the orchard. It didn’t hurt, but she knew it should. She tipped her head back. The sky was blue. She let him hold the weight of her skull in his two big hands, his rings digging into her scalp. 

Charlie was telling her about dragons. Percy was picking lint off her shoulder and telling her to get some sleep. George was picking dead leaves off the apple tree and dropping them on her head. 

Ron laid on his back in his bedroom and water dripped down from the ceiling. The ghoul was shrieking, the pipes were hissing. The stain spread and spread and she watched it go. She couldn’t lift her head. 

-

“You have a choice,” Arthur said. He had oil on his cheek from fixing a car he swore he never meant to drive. 

“It’s getting colder." 

"I know, baby." 

-

The handle of Fred’s broom was trapped between them, digging into her ribs, bruising her collarbone. She twisted her hands in the back of his shirt and buried her face in the front of it. Fred was taller than he should be. His chin was bristly with a beard he shouldn’t be able to grow this well, not yet. 

"I miss you,” she said. “You’re going to leave." 

"Are you?” he said. 

She gripped the back of his shirt tight. She could smell the orchard through the open door. She was crying. Her tears were the only warm things in the whole world. “No,” she whispered. 

“It won’t be easy,” Fred said, his chin pressed to the top of her head, because he was taller, he was so much taller than he should be. She cried and the stain spread through his shirt. “But it will be worth it." 

-

Apple blossoms and old stone. Snakes in the dry grass. This was where she learned to fly. She had taught herself. 

"Wake up,” said Ron. “Harry, why is she so cold? Wake up, Ginny, you’ve got to wake up." 

The blue sky was cut into a hundred shattered pieces. 

She opened her eyes. 

bobstery  asked:

So frisk can only see Chara through any reflections, like mirrors or puddles? Wow that is like seeing something from reversed reality, where nothing or everything exists.

sometimes even shadows, but never in the same reality :> that’s where the debate might come in: 

“is it really Chara they’re talking to?”

like dappled sunshine [viktuuri, rated t]

i’m like, obsessed with “nakedyouth” by kojiro shishido and i wanted to see if i could write something like the style of his animation so here you go. let me know what you think.


It’s a hot, sweltering day in Hasetsu; moving anywhere feels more like swimming through soup. The sun filters in through the leaves of the trees in the park, and the sound of cicadas chirping echoes from all around.

The steam coming from the onsen showers only makes it harder to breathe. Yuuri gasps a little as he stumbles out of his stall. His towel falls, and he briefly bends to pick it up.

He straightens up to find his coach stepping out of his as well. Water droplets run down Viktor’s pale skin in little rivulets, fall into his eyes like rain. His body is sculpted like a statue, and when he turns to look at Yuuri, all Yuuri can do is blink, and blush, and turn away.

Keep reading

stayfreeponyboy  asked:

Your art is SO SO GOOD!!!!!!!! I'm so glad I decided to follow you. Keep up the art because it's not only great to look at but it helps soothe me when I'm feeling dysphoric or anxious. Okay I'm probably rambling on now but yeah I love your blog 😊 Question though: Have you ever drawn a ftm Link being comforted and reassured by Rhett?? If you have could you link me to it to look at on days when I feel like I'm not manly enough?? Thanks!!

Thanks!!! :)

And since I haven’t drawn that before, here it is now!
First time wearing a tux after FTM surgery??
(Not sure what the occasion is but I assume it’s something special ;3)

youtube

I have looked forward to writing this post for months, MONTHS you guys, even before I started outlining this whole One Week One Band week. 

Now that it’s here it’s all I can do not to devolve into a puddle on the floor. A puddle which tries hard to be Profound and talk about the Symbolism and Impact and What This Video Meant For Janelle Monáe as An Artiste. A puddle which really works to dissect Palace of the Dogs, gallows humour, and the way the video hints at the duality of the myth of the crazy creator along paired with a social stigma around real mental illness. A puddle which makes Footloose references punctuated with cool asides about Katherine Hepburn and Meshes of the Afternoon and the symbolism of all those mirrors. A puddle which says smart things about the catchy rhythms, the way this song functions equally poignantly in Metropolis and Aughts celebrity culture and one’s personal life.

But ultimately just a puddle which mostly sits [lies? pools? pudds?] there and emanates squeeeeeeeee sounds.

Because this video was not just one of my first interactions with Monáe’s art, it wasn’t just there at a seminal time in my life [look we can talk about this some time over beers, but as a queer person who was just leaving a social group in which seeing/showing women’s legs was a sin, here was this beautiful woman in menswear just dancing around and LOOK AT HER MOVE and UM WHAT ARE THESE FEELS and I JUST WANT TO THAT COOL SO MUCH and ZOMFGSQYEEEAEEEE] … 

Sorry. Puddling. 

I’ve started and restarted this post about 8 times and that’s the furthest I get without that happening. 

I’m a professional human who takes pride in being able to engage in fandom and everything that means, while still being able to separate all those feels and be objective in my work. But sometimes you just turn into an aforementioned puddle of squee. 

What I’m trying to say is, we all have our Kryptonite, except sometimes that’s a good thing which turns us into squee-puddles, and this video is one of those things.

Watch the video, and if you don’t smile, if you don’t enjoy, if you don’t tap your foot and wish for reverse-saddle shoes and moves like that, then you’re not a human, you’re not an android, you’re not an alien; I don’t know what you are, but check yourself into a research lab, we have discovered a new life form.

anonymous asked:

i'm just some rando who followed you bc you're really funny so i don't know what fandoms you're in exactly but i just saw that writing prompt you did & HOLY FUCK it's beautiful!! so i was wondering if you'd do 1.Dancing in the Rain with any ship you want i just love your writing

( Thank you so much, lovely! I hope you like this little snippet ❤ )


The sky goes from ashes to dove down to spilt watercolour; Karakura rain has always been this way–sudden, coloured with change, tinged with the edges of transition. 

(He doesn’t consider himself an artist–but Ishida Uryuu knows a canvas when he sees one.)

Inoue-san’s steps turn skips turn semi-pirouettes over the puddle-mirrors of the sidewalk, and in the wake of these moments, Ishida forgets to miss the sunset; the unseen, forgotten twilight of the rainy season.

(Inoue’s wet hair drips with sun.)

Yellow rainboots and twirling bookbags and the hummings of a lullaby. These, he thinks, are the slivers of life that imitate art.

(Or is it the other way around?)

She asks him what he’s looking at and he really, really wants to tell her the truth–but he’s as much an archer as he isn’t an artist, and  knows the answer to that old quincy riddle off his heart

(What do arrows and words have in common?)

Just the rain, he says.

(The strictest no returns, no refunds policy in the universe.)

Streetlights blink to life, and Ishida wonders, wasn’t there a poem about this sort of thing? The sky, the earth, and hearts connecting–

(Inoue’s smile tastes like deja vu.)

ROTG Anniversary Day 1: Design A Guardian

This is my first ROTG OC and I don’t know if I like her yet, but this is the Cloud Queen, and she’s like the daytime equivalent of the Sandman.  Just like Sandy gives the children sweet dreams, the Cloud Queen gives them sweet daydreams.  She’s the one that molds the clouds into shapes and plants those escapist thoughts into the heads of children staring out classroom windows and gazing at the skies on a car ride who just need a moment to fly away.

She crafts each cloud with particular care, instructing them when to change shape or disappear completely.  It comes to her attention when a child is feeling especially discouraged and she can alter what they see in reflections (usually in windows but also in mirrors or puddles) to spark their imagination.  

Imagine celebrating Jared’s birthday in the hills

“Get up! Get up! Get up!” I shout, jumping on the bed.

Jared rolls on the bed, using one of his pillows to cover his head. I keep jumping, shouting at the top of my lungs. When all the shouting doesn’t work, I take Jared’s covers to pull them off. He’s half asleep, and in his attempt to grab one of my ankles, he doesn’t realize that he’s almost on the edge of the bed, falling with a loud thump.

“Oh my, Jared?”

I fall on the bed, kneeling to watch him on the floor.

“Are you okay?” I ask him, seeing him rub his head, “Is it a bad moment to say happy birthday?”

“Give me… Oh, my head… Give me a second”

I nod, without taking my gaze from him. Jared sighs, still rubbing the top of his head. I wait, forgetting about the surprise I prepared for him. It takes him a few minutes to wake up, still on the floor. When Jared stands up, he jumps on top of me, tickling my belly, ribs and armpits.

“Stop! Stop!” I shout, not being able to stop laughing, “Jared, please!”

He does stop, both breathing heavily, a bit of laugh still in the air.

“Happy birthday” I mutter, a permanent smile on my face.

His lips go straight to mine, his hand starting to caress my cheek. Our breathing is still heavy, forcing us to end the kiss quickly.

“You need to get dress, I let you oversleep”

“What time is it?” He asks, getting off of on top of me.

“Midday, I’ll wait for you downstairs”

I give him a quick peck on the lips, getting off the bed.

Once I’m downstairs I check everything one more time. I’m sure everything’s ready, I’ve probably checked it three times by now. But you can never be sure with me, there’s probably something missing in my bag and I haven’t noticed.

When Jared comes to meet me his eyes go straight to the bag by my side.

“Are we going somewhere?” He asks me, lifting both eyebrows.

“Of course” I say with a smile.

Jared looks confused. This is his first birthday with us as a couple, and I wanted this be special. Jared helps me with my bag, taking it to my car. I drive, he changes the radio. I spend all the way avoiding his questions about our destination. The city looks pretty dead today; The weather is nice, thou, and that’s perfect for what I’ve prepared.

When we reach the point in which we cannot continue by car I let Jared know. We hold hands, sharing quick glances once in awhile, we walk in silence, but smiles never leaving our faces.

Jared is one of the most outgoing, adventurous man I’ve ever had the chance to meet in my life. Reason why I decided to spend the afternoon in the hills, enjoying the view, the nice weather, and being in touch with Mother Nature. the exact spot for our little adventure is a hidden place among rocks and trees. There’s plenty of shadow, green areas and warm breeze for us to sit and enjoy.

Jared looks around, fascinated by the view of the city and how nature seems to enjoy it’s days without caring about the people destroying the city at its feet.

“This is beautiful” Jared says, laying on the lonely spot of grass.

“Happy birthday” I say again, feeling a warm in my heart just by looking at how happy he looks.

Jared takes my wrist to make fall on top of him, his right hand caressing my cheek, pulling away strands of hair.

“Thank you for this” He mutters, the smile glued to his lips, “Really, thank you so much, I love it”

“You don’t have to thank me” I say, kissing his cheek and resting my head on the space of his neck, “I just want you to have a nice birthday”

“It’s going great so far”

“We can stay the whole day like this or we can eat something first and then lay for good, what do you prefer?”

“Let’s eat and then lay for a bit”

We both prepare the space for our picnic; I lay everything I prepare for him during the morning, noticing how amazed he looks. Once I tell him that he can start eating, half of the things in the plates disappear in a matter of minutes. I try to ask him if he likes the food, but his whole attitude is confirmation enough.

Jared kisses me whenever he’s not eating, or telling me how amazing the food is. I just laugh and kiss him back, happy that he’s enjoying his birthday.

When he’s finally done eating we lay for a bit, discussing about what we see in the clouds, or how we think they will show us next. Our bodies warming each other, his hand holding mine with no intention of letting go.

An hour passes by before Jared sits up really quick, his head turning to me with a big smile.

“I got an idea”

Jared stands starting to pick all our things, telling me to hurry. I keep asking what’s going on, but he just shushes me, saying that he I’m going to love. What? I have no idea.

We leave everything in the car, and I can’t get to ask again when Jared holds my hand, taking somewhere between the trees and rocks. He looks so excited that I decide not to ask again, and just enjoy the walk to wherever he’s taking me.

And, actually, the view is breathtaking.

We’ve been in this place for a while, and in any moment we’ll start to see the sundown. Everything starts to fusion with the colors of the sky, the little puddles mirroring the clouds, the leaves dancing with the wind. And, even though it takes us a while to get where Jared wants, I just can’t seem to believe how beautiful everything is the higher we get.

“We’re almost there” Jared assures me, and it is only there when I notice how tired I am.

But I seriously couldn’t care less. We walk for a couple of minutes more, and when Jared finally stops I just can’t believe what’s in front of me.

From the spot that I chose for us to have the picnic most of the city was at our feet, we could see the beach at one side, and people living their lives on the other.

But from here… Everything seems so little, and it actually feels like all our tables were left behind, in those distant buildings, with that distant people.

I walk towards a rock, sitting on the edge, still amazed by everything. I turn for a second, to call Jared by my side. He sits next to me, putting his arm on my shoulder to get me closer to him.

“I was supposed to be the one giving you surprises” I mutter, not being able to take my eyes away from the view.

“We have a whole lifetime to fill with surprises” He says, leaving a soundless kiss on my forehead.

“Good” I say, pulling away a bit to look him in the eyes, “Because there are more surprises waiting for us when we get home”

A laugh burst from him, and in no time we are kissing again.

“I knew there was a reason why I am so in love with you” He mutters between kisses.

“Wait, what?”

I pull away again, my eyes fix on his. He just said he is in love with me. This is the first time. I feel something on my chest, it’s tight, but my heartbeat is threatening to let me heart escape in any second, and a smile appears on my lips, and suddenly I’m feeling everything and nothing at the same time. And Jared is looking at me like he wasn’t supposed to say this right now, like he was holding it for later.

“You’re in love with me” I whisper, a smile nailed on my face, “You said…”

“I am” He says, taking his hand to brush his hair, “Good, I finally said it”

“Finally? How long have you been holding that?”

He shrugs, and we can’t help but laugh. Jared hugs me again, leaving little kisses on top of my head. My arms wrap him tight, never wanting to let him go.

“Are you in love with me?” He asks, as if he’s afraid of my answer.

“What do you think?”

“Yes?”

“Of course I am” I laugh, adjusting in my place to look him in the eyes, “I’m in love with you, Jared, I thought it was pretty damn obvious”

“I can be a bit blind”

“Well, now you know. Happy birthday!”

“Best birthday ever” He says, moving to kiss me on the lips this time.

I-
I don’t know how I missed this.

When Crowley is in the confrontation with Hastur and bluffing about the squirt bottle having holy water in it, he says “Do you feel lucky?”  He’s quoting Dirty Harry.  Even Crowley’s speech about “This is the most efficient plant mister in the world, capable of turning even a Duke of hell into a puddle yadayadayada” mirrors Dirty Harry’s monologue about his gun in the “do you feel lucky” scene.

I can’t believe it.  Crowley’s stress response in life-threatening situations is to quote action movies.  This is honestly better than the James Bond bullet hole windshield transfer stickers.  Anthony J Crowley Serpent of Eden and Tempter of Mankind is a fuckin nerd pass it on

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The rain tapered off but heavy drops here and there warned us constantly: it’s not all over yet! There was so little left of the cheerful afternoon of minutes ago on the streets of Cluj… Leaden light was drawing now hard shadows on the wet pavement, mirroring in cold puddles a formless sky. It takes a brave one to step through this and well I’m not so brave: I decided to seek cover and have a beer, or two, until the weather is hopefully calming down. What I got was this Nemțeana, a craft Romanian helles lager true to the German spirit - smooth and thick, with well baked bread crust and fine hops (a bit more than usual on those). Lovely. Still when I got out, the wall of rain was doing its same thing thus the lights on the Opera House looked at us so dim, so wet, so afraid…