proposal for an installation

HQ Youtube AU Headcanons

(with the help of @kenjiandcompany and @hachidorikun, cut for length because this got widely out of hand)

corresponding pictures:  1 2 3 4

  • Kuroo has a PhD in chemical engineering and explains complex science facts in 3 minutes with marshmallows stuffed in his mouth 
  • Akaashi has a cooking channel
  • 60% of Akaashi’s subscribers thirst-followed him but stayed because his recipes are actually really good and Akaashi smiles sometimes when he talks about different fruits and veggies
  • Kenma enjoys editing and does most of Kuroo’s editing for him in exchange for food
  • Oikawa is a transman and makes videos about his struggles and tips for fellow trans folks 
  • Bokuto used to be a viner but then changed over to youtube after vine was shut down. He lived the phrase “Do it for the vine” and the hospital staff knew him by his first name
  • Kenma didn’t record his face at first but started after people wouldn’t stop asking about it
  • Bokuto found Akaashi’s channel at 4am when he aimlessly watched youtube and he immediately tried out one of Akaashi’s recepes. It turned out so bad Akaashi almost cried when Bokuto tagged him in a picture
  • Kenma is somehwere in the background in almost all of Kuroo’s vlogs, mostly napping or curling up with his psp or ds 
  • Iwaizumi has a movie critique and meta analysis channel
  • Oikawa found said critique channel because Iwaizumi made a video on “Aliens” and utterly destroyed it
  • It’s Iwaizumi’s most popular video, mostly because of the very salty comment Oikawa left

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Recovered Jonsa Fic #16: Ya’Aburnee

Another fic repost!

The crypts seem warmer these days. In fact, they’re perhaps the warmest place in the castle now. At least, they are to Jon.

In his youngest days, he sought out cold and solitude to think and find comfort. But that changed when the two of them found one another again. It didn’t matter where they were. They could be lying naked next a roaring fire in the royal apartments. They could be huddled up in his war tent during one her surprise visits, a layer of canvas being all that lay between them and the roaring, icy winds outside. But when she was with him, things were warm, cozy, and clear. He could think better after having spent just a few precious moments with her after an absence.

Jon sighs as he descends the steps of the crypts, carrying his lantern past the various monuments of past Starks. The war. Gods. The first several times Sansa would steal away to the Wall and even beyond to see him, he’d scold her, beg her not to do it, not to risk her safety again. The third time, he even swore he’d not share her bed out of anger, hoping it would deter her. But he broke that vow of course. He’d been a fool, and desperate. Somehow, Sansa always seemed to show up when he was at the very end of his rope, at the brink of giving up. But she’d appear and things became clearer, he was reminded of what he was fighting for, and inspiration would come.

Most of his best ideas, battle plans, tactical maneuvers came to him either in the middle of the night or the morning after he lay with Sansa. Even his men picked up on this. It became a running joke among the army. The secrets to defeating the Others lay within the Queen in the North’s cunny.

The only time she didn’t come at a desperate point, she sent a letter to him, informing him that she would not be able to visit him for a long while, and bid him instead to journey back to Winterfell when he could. “I want you to meet your firstborn.”

It was all the inspiration he needed, really.

Jon gives a groan of relief as he reaches his destination in the crypts, bends his aching knees and sits upon the stone bench in front of the newest statue in the hall. Arya, bless her, had proposed the idea of installing it. It wasn’t customary, but his second-eldest had insisted. “So our Father can visit Mother for as long as he likes.”

A good thing, too. At three-and-seventy, Jon’s legs are not what they used to be. The wound in his leg that the wildlings gave him all those years ago began troubling him again around his fortieth year. His hips were good, but his knees ache easily. His left shoulder is often in agony. It’s why whenever he carries something— at the moment, a writing board, parchment, quill, and ink— it’s slung under his right arm.

He takes a few moments to adjust and wait for the strain on his joints to ease, then sets up his writing supplies. He looks up at the face of the marble statue. It did not depict his wife as he’d seen her last: grey-haired, with lines about her mouth, brows, and eyes. No, it showed Sansa at the height of her youth. Lyanna spared no expense in the commissioning of this monument, having the artist combined stone of different hues to match the burning auburn of her hair, the red of her lips. Even the eyes of the thing had gem studs of sapphire and onyx.

It was easily the most extravagant tomb in the crypts.

Not that she’d been particularly keen on an extravagant burial in life. The construction of her tomb began before her death, when Maester Torwyn tearfully informed her that despite the amputation, the growth which began on her breast had migrated to other parts they could not reach and she had no more than a year left.

Sansa, being Sansa, had responded by being the most composed in the room, and promptly began preparations. And, by preparations, preparations for a pseudo-abdication in Lyanna’s favor.

Lyanna had refused to let her mother abdicate fully, though she was more than ready to take on the responsibilities of queenship. “You should spend your last year without the burden of rule on your shoulders. And I am more than happy to assume that weight in full,” their brilliant, beautiful, resilient daughter informed her mother, “But if you are to die, I will not let you die as anything but a queen.”

Lyanna was Princess Regent for a year while the entire family devoted their matriarch’s final year in this world to making it the very best it could be. Jon and Sansa traveled, they hosted banquets and balls, they indulged themselves. Sansa didn’t involve herself in too many of the burial arrangements, allowing Jon and their children to take care of most of it. But when Lyanna informed Sansa of the lengths they were going to honor her, Sansa had protested about the expense.

“I don’t deserve a tomb any finer than Jon or Father,” she insisted. But this was one matter where her family did not let her have her way during that final year.

If anyone deserved a tomb like this, it was the queen who restored the North, House Stark, got it through the winter and wars, and revolutionized the structure of the kingdom. One of the best decisions Jon ever made was abdicating his rule in her favor. At the time, he’d done it out of a combination of guilt, his new knowledge regarding his origins, and the affection for her that eventually blossomed into the love they shared for fifty years. But under Sansa’s rule, House Stark and the North went from famine, poverty, and near-death to unprecedented prosperity. She is the reason her family can afford such a monument to her, and will likely be able to afford such things for generations to come.

He’d said as much. Jon can almost hear her now, replying that he’d done just as much, that he deserved just as much, if not more credit, for the North’s success as she did. “None of this would have been possible without you. As a queen, I’ve only ever been as great as my king.”

Jon wasn’t a king. He was prince consort. He’d insisted on that himself when they wed. Given Robb’s will and his title prior to abdication, he wanted no doubts placed on Sansa’s authority and position. But that didn’t stop Sansa from calling him her king in private. Though he’d certainly done his part in aiding her rule— Jon had many accomplishments, before, during, and after the War for the Dawn, to be proud of— Sansa overstated his contribution. She was the queen, and all he did for her, he did with her. And she did yet more. His greatest accomplishment, in his mind, was giving Sansa the support and inspiration she needed to discover her own greatness over the years. They’d done that for each other.

Not that the matter of whether he deserved just as fine a tomb as she was too great an issue. Sansa’s grave has an adjoining, half-finished chamber, specifically so that when the time comes, he shall lie beside her. She even went so far as to insist that, at the very least, when he died and his own statue was erected, that it would be constructed to hold the hand of hers.

Everyone agreed.

Jon looks at the partially-constructed tomb beside his wife’s resting place. He sighs again, dips a quill in the ink, and begins to write.


I sit at the bench now, as I have now three-hundred-and-sixty-four times before. I look at the place set aside for me by your side, and there’s a selfish yearning there. The only thing that keeps me from willing myself to die is the thought of the pain it shall bring our family. I will not betray them by leaving them before I absolutely have to. But I want to, so badly. I miss you.

Robb’s son is still thriving. When he’s not draining his exhausted mother’s breasts, he’s asleep or howling like a beast. The lungs on that boy. I can already tell that a special bond is developing between Little Torrhen and his big sister. The moment Kitty gathers him into her chubby arms, he quiets. It’s adorable.

Alysanne and Brandon now come up to my waist. Alysanne wishes to leave the nursery room and get her own proper ladies’ chambers now. Not that she says so. She knows that Litsa is still too young to make it through the night without her big sister sleeping beside her. Alysanne is as considerate and thoughtful as she ever was. But I see it in her eyes. She’s growing up, and wants that acknowledged. And I expect she may finally broach the subject some time around Litsa’s fifth Name Day.

Gods, they’re all so beautiful. Litsa’s name is prophetic, since she looks just like you. She’s getting to the age, though, where she wants to be a “big girl” and is starting to rebel against her nickname. I’ve asked her to forgive me, but I cannot quite bring myself to call her “Sansa” just yet. But I appease her in other ways. If you told my young self that I’d spend many hours a day playing with dolls, I’d have laughed in your face. But I’m sure you’re laughing now, just as you laughed at me when Alysanne and Arya were young. Yes, I am once again spending many an hour sitting on a rug, dressing up and holding little wooden and porcelain people in dresses and acting out the stories of Jenny of Oldstones and Queen Rhaenyra. In fact, I’m doing it more than I did even when our daughters were girls.

Though I did resume many of my state duties after you left, I’m not performing as much as I used to. By choice, I assure you. I prefer to spend as much time as I can with the little ones. I don’t feel too guilty. We’ve trained our girl well. She doesn’t need me. I think she just pretends otherwise to humor me. She doesn’t need me to help with matters of state. I assume any need she or any of the others have for me is more emotional than political.

Not that I mind. My brain isn’t what it used to be. I mind that. Up until the very end, you gave me bursts of energy and inspiration. But with you gone, I don’t have them anymore. Coming down here, writing to you each day certainly helps, but it’s not the same.

Do you miss me, as I miss you? Or are you so busy, wherever you are, with Father and our brothers and your mother and Jeyne and Beth and all those we lost that you don’t have time to miss me the same way? If those Seven Southern Gods are right, you’re in one of those Heavens they speak of, and they say there is no unhappiness there. I don’t blame you for this. Especially since you can probably see and hear me in a way that I can’t see and hear you.

But I do hope you’re able to set aside a place for me beside you, wherever you are, for when we reunite, just as a place beside you has been set aside for me here.

What do you look like, wherever you are? You in your youth is how they depict you here in the crypt, of course. But I’m not sure that I hope that’s the case in the world beyond. Some aspects of your youth, I hope, are with you. That you have both of your breasts, that your ankles, back, and neck do not ail you anymore. And of course, you know how I always felt about that red hair of yours.

But I found your grey just as beautiful. Your lined faced just as lovely. I know you spent a good thirty years or so lamenting your “fading” beauty, but you were always as stunning to me, from the day we wed to our last night together.

Can you change how I shall see you when I join you? So I can see you as you were at any and all points in your life? Would you want me to do the same? Do you want me to greet you in the next life looking as I do now— stooped, greying, balding, wrinkly— or as I was in my prime?

What do you want me to say, when we meet each other again?

I miss you so much, Sansa. I have these letters. I have the children and grandchildren, and I see so much of you in them. But there’s no replacing you.

Sometimes I’m upset with you, Sansa, especially late at night, when I’m truly alone, and the cold envelopes me. When you made that request of me. Perhaps if you’d not done it, or not done it in the godswood, you’d be here now. I’m not a superstitious, even a pious man, but these days I wonder. You were so considerate most of your life, Sansa, but this was perhaps the most selfish thing you ever did. Did it ever occur to you that living without you would be as painful for me as it would be for you?

I don’t think about that day as often as one would expect, despite the significance of what happened that day in the godswood. Despite the joy I felt then, I think the reality of all that was said only really hit me the morning after, when I knew for sure that it wasn’t a dream, that you would really be mine. I remember that day more vividly, more often. I remember how proud I was to lead you on my arm through the Great Hall, the frightening issue of telling our siblings having been accomplished the prior evening. How excited I was for us to announce our joy to the court. The first day you were mine, officially, eternally, publicly, and I knew no one could take you from me or lay claim to you.

I didn’t consider the implications of the other thing you said. That little Valyrian request and all the things that making that promise to you meant. I wanted you so, so badly. And I never thought it would come to be, that I’d keep that promise. Or that you expected me to, that it was anything more than a passionate endearment on your part. We were fighting a war, after all. I was on the front lines. The only times I feared that it might happen back then was when you made your little visits. And you just had to whisper it to me beneath the furs. “Ya’aburnee”, “Ya’aburnee.”

With all that you did just to survive, you were ready to die if it meant not living without me.

So much love, so much beauty, but so much pain in that strange, foreign little phrase.

There were times it made me feel like I ruled the world. Gods, Sansa. No one, not one person had ever expressed such a thing to me. That I was just so needed, so wanted, so valued, so loved. Whenever I was needed, it was for whatever practical use I had for others. I was needed as a ready blade, a willing laborer, a spy, a leader for the army, sure. I was needed as countless other men were needed. I was needed as a political pawn to solidify the powers of others, as a supplier, as a defender.

At home, as much as you, Robb, Arya, Father, Bran, and Rickon loved me, I was far from needed. I was in many ways unwanted, and not just by your mother. If I were lost, surely you all would mourn, but you didn’t need me. It’s why it was so easy for me to join the Watch. As much as you loved me, none of you needed me. Not even Arya.

That I was one of many, needed thanks to a lack of options and men, but still disposable and unimportant ultimately, even as I was groomed for leadership, was impressed upon me. Even when I was Lord Commander, I was murdered and replaced.

As great a team as we were together even before we confessed our feelings to each other, I wasn’t sure then that you needed me. As often as you decried yourself as stupid and weak in those days, you were truly dazzling. It was bewildering for me to witness your own blindness in regards to all that you were. And as much as I did to try and build you up, I was sure that if I were lost, you’d find another to help you. You were the indispensable one, as far as I was concerned. Countless people needed you, to lead, to inspire, to save. Not me, despite what any prophecy might have implied.

But that day, in the godswood… “Of course I’ll marry you,” you’d said, snowflakes melting on your soft lips. “Under one condition.”

I remember expecting your condition to be of the same political precision you always conducted. You wanted me to understand that I’d be your prince consort, not a king. That I’d lost a crown for good the day I handed it to you. Or I expected that you’d ask that I not march to the front lines and stay behind, commanding the armies from the safety of Winterfell’s walls. That was the only condition I feared.

But still I asked, “What?”

“Ya’aburnee,” you replied. And, not having taken up an education in Valyrian dialects as you had, I of course had to ask for clarification.

“Bury me. Outlive me. So I never have to live without you.”

There was a part of me that wondered if this was your way of saying that you wouldn’t marry me if I returned to the battlefield, so I hesitated. And you reassured me.

And I never felt so loved, so needed, so ready to take on the world. You needed me, couldn’t fathom living without me. Me, as I was. Not as another man, who was willing to stay behind as armies fought for him, commanding from safety and comfort as other men were slaughtered on the field. You couldn’t ask me to do that, because you knew who I was, understood who I was, accepted it. Accepted me, and needed me.

Loved me as I’d never been loved before.

And somehow, whenever I was in the middle of the fray and ready to give up, sure we would all perish, wondering what the point was of continuing to try, you’d suddenly appear. It didn’t matter how many times I railed at you for endangering yourself. When I reached my lowest point, I’d return to my tent to find you there, reminding me not only of all I had to fight for, but all I had to live for. Whispering to me beneath the furs as I moved within you, “I love you. Ya’burnee. I love you. Ya’Aburnee.”

You never stopped saying it. Even the letter you sent, telling me that Alysanne was coming. “I love you. Ya’Aburnee.”

It’s not fair. You were younger, and healthier. Until that bloody, leeching canker appeared.

How could you ever be sure that you could not live without me, Sansa? I never thought I could, yet I am. And I don’t much care for it. And I’m not sure I can do it for much longer. The rest of the family is the only thing keeping me here, but it’s not complete without you. You’ve never met little Torrhen. And I fear Cat, Litsa, Neddie, and Jonny are too young to remember you when they get older. It anything, that makes me even more eager to leave. It doesn’t seem right for me to live longer enough to be remembered when you haven’t.

I need to stop with self-pity. It was a nasty habit that only you managed to completely break me of. But you’re gone now, Sansa. And as much as I want to do you proud, I need to be with you even more.

I… I need you more than they need me.

I’m glad you made sure that a tomb next to yours was started. I suppose you weren’t entirely selfish. Sure, you left me, but you started the hole, the resting place for me beside you. Ya’aburnee. Or something. I never did manage to master Valyrian, High or otherwise.

We bury each other.

This is the last letter to you, Sansa. I think I am ready to go. Everything else, I’ll say in person.

I love you, Ya’aburnee,


Jon Stark Targaryen, Prince of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Prince Consort of the Three Realms of Winter, Hero of the Dawn, former King of the Three Realms of Winter, former Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, Lord Consort of Winterfell, Hand of the Queen, Council Advisor, Lord General of the Winter Armies, Husband and Consort to Sansa of House Stark, First of Her Name, Queen of the Three Realms of Winter, Lady of Winterfell, and Protector of the Realm, Father to Queen Alysanne I of the Three Realms of Winter, Prince Brandon of Winterfell, and Princess Arya of Winterfell and grandfather to the successive issue, died on the Day of the FIfth month, Year 356 after Aegon’s Landing, the night of the one year anniversary of his wife’s death.

Every day from her passing to his, even on the day of his death, Prince Jon wrote Queen Sansa letters, depositing them in a small hole built into the wall of tomb for that use. He was buried a week later beside his beloved wife, a statue of him at the height of his legendary military victories, erected atop his grave, joining hands with his wife’s monument per the instructions of their will. Though entry to the famous Winterfell crypts have been closed to the general public since their creation, the painting of their tomb by their great-great-great grandson, Prince Jon ‘the Dreamer’ of Winterfell, has gone down in history as one of the most romantic and well-beloved historical pieces of art in the North and all of Westeros, with prints and copies of the painting a popular, mass-produced piece. The letters which Prince Jon wrote to his wife were excavated from her grave a century later (and returned and preserved within their tomb shortly after once they were copied) and, along with the rest of the royal couple correspondence, have been published and become timelessly popular reading among each generation in the Three Realms and Beyond over the seven centuries since the royal couple’s death.

The romantic phrase of ‘Ya’Aburnee’, originally only a popular endearment in Eastern countries of native Valyrian speakers, has become a widespread expression of love within Westeros thanks to Sansa and Jon, with the phrase becoming a customary addition to wedding vows all over the world.

My installation proposal for a 6 month installation exhibition at a garden in Australia got accepted and now I have to make like 50 moss balls and hang them in sphere formation and ship them to Australia before August and I’m freakin the shit dirt out. Not to mention I have a zine to make and 2 jobs jaaksbhfkflkdbsba

anonymous asked:

This blog gives me life. I have a prompt: Alfred was worried for a while that the Wayne line would die off so now that Diana is pregnant he is very happy and is a bit of a mother hen but Diana uses the opportunity to pry embarrassing stories of Bruce as child out of Alfred.

“Miss Diana!” Alfred sounded absolutely startled to witness the Amazonian princess phasing into the BatCave via the Transporter he had installed personally. It had seemed so very appropriate all those years ago, when immediate conveyance was essential for Justice League business. However, no matter how safe he knew his mechanism to be, it did not sit well with him to see Wonder Woman arriving via his creation. Not one bit.

She smiled, unaware of his inner turmoil. “Good evening, Alfred,” she greeted with such earnest enthusiasm to see him still hustling about. “Bruce asked me to come here as soon as my meeting at the UN was finished.”

“To hear the results of your tests this morning, no doubt.” Surmised the intuitive and equally eager butler.

“Is he home yet?” Wondered the heroine who embodied the concept. She glowed naturally – Alfred assumed that being a divine creature would do that to a person – yet there was a something else fluttering about behind her azure eyes.

Was it perhaps something to do with the child she was carrying, the one she was trying to reach by rubbing her engorged belly?

Ravishing as always, Diana was dressed in an evergreen maternity gown that truly completed the look of a woman made from the Earth. Her makeup highlighted her in the most becoming of ways, her jewelry classically elegant, it did the old butler’s heart well to know that his charge was not only about to become a father, but that he just so happened to ensnare the most beautiful woman on the planet. His work on the Batmobile’s engine had left him covered in oil, meaning that he felt quite improper to greet her while his appearance was in such disarray.

“Come,” he suggested rather than ordered, his tone indicating as such. “Let us retire to the lounge, and I can bring you something to eat. Perhaps some more of that Greek yogurt parfait I prepared for you—”

“Please, Alfred, I think I’ve eaten enough yogurt this month to last me a lifetime.” Considering she was immortal, that was saying something.

Disappointed with her response, the older gentleman moved to help her climb the overdramatic staircase toward the ground floor of the manor. His proposal to install an elevator had been rejected – by her, no less. Bruce had also attempted suggesting it to the pregnant superhero who claimed that flying while she carried was very disorienting. He had been in the proverbial dog house until openly denying Alfred’s idea during their next meal together. As Wonder Woman, she was such a conscious person of the happenings around her.

He couldn’t help but to assume that all of her empathy was extended outwards, with very little left to focus on within.

Upon reaching the grandfather clock’s entryway, he heard the poor woman sigh. “It isn’t the weight of the baby that tires me – it’s maneuvering myself so that the baby stays safe. I can’t walk around my own apartment without feeling as though I’m going to bump my stomach against the kitchen counter or the bathroom sink!” It was evident in her tone that she thought of herself as an anxious mess.

Alfred could empathize with feeling protective, sometimes beyond the realm of reason.

They entered the lounge easily enough, despite both of their nervous inclinations. “Do not trouble yourself with maintaining your apartment, Miss Diana. I’m sure Master Bruce would be more than willing to—”

“That apartment has been my home for too many years now; I couldn’t leave it, even if it was destroyed in one of our many battles and I had to rebuild the entire building myself.” Her dedication was believable, her pregnant body detracting from such a hypothetical possibility.

The offer did not stem from one sole place of concern, however. There were multiple benefits of having Diana move into Wayne Manor for not only her wellbeing, or the baby’s, or even Bruce’s, but for his own peace of mind, no matter how truly selfish he felt for even thinking such a thing. “But you do intend to move in, after the baby is born, don’t you? We have many rooms to turn into a nursery – even Master Bruce’s old crib is hidden in one of the many closets in this perennial house.”

“Bruce’s crib?” Oh how her voice sang a tune of exuberance, her expression one of uninhibited mirth. “You mean he wasn’t born a grumpy old man?”

Alfred was absolutely ecstatic as well, that he finally had a comrade with which to rip on the young master with amicably.

Chuckling, the next few words he spoke were quite bold, even when compared to his usual sarcastic approach to conversations with Gotham’s crusader. “No, no, I think the only reason he has yet to fire me – no matter how many times he has threatened, over the years – is simply because he strongly believes in keeping his enemies closest to him. And out of every single believed ‘Kryptonite’ the Batman may possess, he might actually faint if I shared some of the nasty stories from his younger years with you. I assume that’s why he has the entire house bugged.”

“If I refuse to move into the manor without you to ‘buttle’ the next generation of the Wayne line, you should be safe from being terminated.” The mischievousness he had only glimpsed in Wonder Woman over the years was in full form before him now, seated on the couch in the manor’s lounge, visibly impressed with her cunning manipulation of the father of her child.

Nevertheless, it was the slight note of unintentional kindness that Diana spoke, that truly stole Alfred’s breath away.

The next generation of the Wayne line…

The reality of her words resonated within his ragged old body, instilling a newly discovered brand of vitality into his veins. Ever since the Mr. and Mrs. Were tragically murdered before their only son, Alfred had genuinely wondered if there would ever be a day in which Bruce would recover, and plan for a family of his own to treasure. For too long did he endure witnessing women from all over the world awkwardly encounter him in the kitchen the morning after a casual romp, for too many moons did he have to drive disappointed prospects home when the Batman’s role took priority and he could no longer entertain his dates for the evening; it did not matter what sort of woman traipsed through those doors – the very ones he polished at least three times a week – because none of them ever managed to break through to the man beneath the armour that was his stubborn full of a charge.

None, except for the Amazonian goddess before him.

And to hear her speak of the child she carried have familial ties to the once seemingly hopeless hero of Gotham City truly gave Alfred’s once defeated heart to soar.

He cleared his throat at once to avoid sounding hoarse. Without delay, did he reveal all to her, “Did you know he was expelled from our Gotham’s most prestigious academy?”

“Was he?” Diana nearly giggled like a schoolgirl herself, to hear of such a secretive anecdote.

“I don’t know if I should tell you why, exactly. However, I feel as though you have a right to know more of the seedy background of the man who shall be the father to your child.” Reflexively, Diana stroked her round belly at the mere mention of the babe inside, and they both grinned happily to one another to once again have it stated that she was carrying.

Wonder Woman, the champion of truth, leaned in ever so slightly in order to whisper, “Did it have anything to do with that sharp mouth of his?”

Everything Master Bruce does is impacted by the way he speaks to people; no other man could see himself beneath his people while still talking to them as if he reigns on high.”
“He does sit amongst the gargoyles around the city, quite a bit,” Pointed out the thoroughly amused princess. She rested her elbow against the back of the couch so that her hand could act as a supportive cushion for her head, allowing herself to become even more comfortable for their discussion. “But I doubt he was just as fascinated by such things as a baby.”

Alfred answered with an impish glint in his eyes, “Would you believe if I said that he was quite a fan of Winnie the Pooh?”

“Winnie the who?” Was the well-warranted reply of a woman who was not privy to the popularized children’s characters of a world she was not born into. Most obliging, Alfred withdrew his smartphone from his pants’ pocket and took to Google to help him clarify. Within seconds he had a picture of the yellow bear on his screen and showed it to the curious woman, who found herself cooing the moment she laid her eyes on the cartoon plush. “I’ve seen this one before, it’s quite popular! Bruce enjoyed this as a child?” While unaware of stories designed for infants, Diana knew how to navigate the world’s most successful website and began swiping through the images for the search, looking over all of the other characters from the series.

“If you dared to turn off the movie when he was watching it, he would throw the most outrageous fit; even when he was not yet at the age to have depth perception, he always managed to throw a bottle or a rattle or his ‘chook’ directly at my hand, as a retaliation of the cruelest kind.”

“A ‘chook’?” Diana repeated to demonstrate her confusion.

“Ah, it was Master Bruce’s name for his pacifier when he couldn’t pronounce the word… though I honestly have no idea how he came up with such a word.” The answer he provided dramatically befuddled him.  

“A mystery of the strangest kind, I assure you.” Came a displeased baritone from the lounge’s doorway.

Both occupants of the couch turned their attention towards the distraught master of the manor, who appeared to have endured a light drizzle outside before entering his home. Still, despite his sullen mood to discover his two greatest confidants gossiping about him like a pair of clucking hens, Bruce Wayne strolled over to them with a manly sort of grace and leaned towards his Wonder Woman. Laying a kiss upon her lips, he lingered while ignore the elder man in the room. “How are you feeling?” He asked half of his question while still pressed against her skin.

“Mmm,” Diana hummed as she savoured his touch, dazed for but a moment. “Very well, actually. It’s both terrifying and exciting to learn about what sort of terror you were as a boy.”

“From my understanding, you weren’t a mere doll on a shelf as a young girl, either.” Bruce countered successfully. The unspoken permission he had to run his hand over the curve of her stomach was intimate in his own right, a touching scene to behold for the butler who never though he’d see the day.

An Aphrodite-like laugh echoed in the room. “No, but I didn’t start attacking my caretakers until I had outgrown diapers.”

“I highly doubt that.” Admitted the manor’s master, openly insulting its newest resident.

Diana feigned insult, then turned to face her ally in such stories. “Alfred!” If they were younger, it would have sounded as though she was requesting for Bruce to be scolded or punished for his rudeness. Knowing that she could handle herself, Alfred knew that she was merely asking for support in their ridiculous lover’s spat.

Much wiser than them both, the butler turned to face his boss and informed, “I will be making Miss Diana a dinner of spaghetti and spinach meatballs very soon; does that suit you as well, Master Bruce?”

“Even if you managed to make me a turkey dinner and laboured over every single side dish, I wouldn’t forget your betrayal, Alfred.” Speaking such heavy words, wearing a mocking façade of dismay, Bruce departed from the lounge without looking back at the pair of them. He pretended to be offended by their private exchange, but his oldest friend knew much better than that: Master Bruce would prefer not to be the one to wander down memory lane for almost any reason, so it only made sense that the responsibility of sharing such tales fell onto his elderly shoulders.

“Bruce!” Diana called after him, sounding as though she was going to scold him herself now. “You didn’t even ask about the gender of our child!” Her mood had shifted so quickly, the aftershock feeling like the reaction of two tectonic plates colliding.

“The gender?” Alfred repeated, stupidly.

Slowly, the enraged Amazon fell back into her seat as if she had never been roused to yell after the Father of the Year. She nodded once she was comfortable again. “I’ve been waiting for a week or so to learn whether we will have a boy or a girl, and I finally got my answer today.”

Before she could tell him anymore, Alfred held up a staying hand. “If you wouldn’t mind, I think I’d like to be surprised.”

That reaction shocked Diana, as she was most definitely excited to share the news with someone in her makeshift family. Blowing at a stray strand of ebony from her face, the slightly disgruntled superhero whined ever so softly, “Are you certain?”

The empathy he housed for the poor woman who was forced to suffer through a lifelong struggle with a partner like Bruce tugged him every which way. Alfred kindly decided on a compromise, so that she would not be made to endure anymore pain, especially not by his own doing. “Why don’t you share with me the names you have decided on? That way, I will know what to call him or her when you bring the baby home.”

“Oh,” the idea’s pleasant compromise rang true in Diana’s immediate reaction. Once again, he had soothed her riled spirit and found her to be quite agreeable, much more so than Master Bruce used to gripe about during their courtship days. “Well, all right. Bruce told me that we can choose any name so long as, if it is based in Greek, our friends and family can pronounce it too.”

“That seems…fair.” For once, Alfred could only assume.

Diana’s nod confirmed that she had accepted the term graciously. “So, I thought that a good name for a boy would be Alexandros, because it is a name given to someone who defends men. It holds a great deal of history behind it and it is used universally now.”

By meaning alone, the old man, who felt like nothing more than a rattling ball of unbridled excitement, agreed completely. “A fine choice, Miss Diana. Especially considering who his parents are.”

“Thank you, Alfred.”

“And, if you are to have a baby girl?”

“Penelope.” The answer was blunt, accentuated by a beautiful smile.

“Penelope?” He said the name once after her, trying to hear if he too could make it sound so angelic.

Diana seemed to be searching for something in his eyes, and Alfred could not understand her gaze. So, when he had worn a rather stupefied expression long enough, she put him out of his misery and disclosed, “Penelope is a strong name, as it belonged to the wife of Odysseus who fought her own battles while he was on his journey. But, I also liked the sound of this name because it reminded me of you – we could call her Penny. Isn’t that what your family name is, Alfred?”

Oh, how he fought to keep himself from tearing up due to such a sweet sincerity. Though Master Bruce was not present in the room, his butler knew that the decision on their potential daughter’s name was a shared choice, and it warmed him beyond measure. To think that his dream for the poor orphan boy he had raised on his own for years not only had his own family, but he planned to honour the only family he had had for years in such a secret way.

Indeed, this sort of secret was much better than any old gossip some old butler had to share.

Alfred nearly choked when he spoke up after her sentiment nearly undid him. “Ah, it’s…Pennyworth.”

Without missing a beat, Diana simply said, “That’s perfect, then. You’ve had your hands full with a very bossy boy for all of these years; if you were to get along with my daughter as well as you do with me, I am sure the two of you will be as thick as thieves.”

Good God, he hoped so.

Just when Alfred thought he could never be happier, he seemed to be proven wrong with every single passing day of Diana’s pregnancy. At long last, the sound of little feet would be scampering through the halls of the once lively, prestigious Wayne Manor, and the old man that he had become knew time would stand still for him many times while he ‘buttled’ after the next generation of Waynes…

Well, he could not help but to think, I seemed to have done something right, then.

The evidence of such a truth would be proven to him soon, only four months away.

((Did anyone else tear up for Alfred? He deserves all of the love! Plus, isn’t it cool that they are honouring a man with a name for a daughter? I am not a fan of characters naming their children after other characters that already exist in the same universe, because it becomes incredibly cheesy, way too quickly. So I thought I would find generalized Greek names that apply to both of them, and ta da~ It just so happened that Penelope had a cute ring to it, that also complimented the best butler ever! I hope you enjoyed the Winnie the Pooh and ‘chook’ stories too, and feel free to prompt me if you so choose! ~ Maiden))


California’s utility monopolies are proposing to raise the power bills of many Californians who install rooftop solar panels. Join me in protecting net metering, reject new fees for solar customers, and continue to expand solar access to more Californians:

The thing about cinder is that shes just a kind 16 year old mechanic who is forced with the responsibility of starting a revolution to overthrow the tyrant queen because she is the true heir of the lunar throne.

Cinder never wanted to have that kind of responsibilty, but she takes it on for the good of the lunar and earthern people, and when she does regain the throne the thing that she wants to do is end the monarchy because she’s smart and knows that there will always be tyrant kings and queens as long as a monarchy will be in place.

She just wants to live a peaceful life with her friends and kai and make sure nobody suffers under oppression.

Shes lived through oppression, being a cyborg and later on, finding out she’s Lunar and that Eartherns dont trust her because of her bioelectical manipulation, so one of the first thing she does while in power is to propose installing the chip so that lunars can no longer take advantage of other people in the horrific ways that they do.

Cinder is honestly such a cinnamon roll who never even got the chance to grieve over the death of peony all she wants is the good of the people and she knows that she isnt ready and doesnt know how to make a good queen even though her morals are so aligned with the best possible outcomes to make the Lunar people stop living under the oppression of levana.

Meant To Be Part Three - Alan Ashby ft. Austin Carlile

…then 2 years later she’s at warped and austin is like alan is a mess and he has started to cut so u go back with him and he proposes and she says yes

This is the last installment but if you guys want I could do an epilogue or so where they get married and it’s their honeymoon, or something like that idk whatever you guys want

Part one Part two

Written by Afiya

*Austin’s P.O.V.”

This is not what it is, only baby scars. I need your love like a boy needs his mother’s side.
This is not what it is, only baby scars. I need your love like a boy needs his mother’s side, yeah.

Finishing the set, I look out at the crowd, mosh pits still going at it, crowd surfers everywhere, and everything moving in complete harmony, except for Alan. He’s been a mess since we came back last night, and the cuts haven’t healed yet. He’s been messing up left and right, and I know why. When we played at warped two years ago, this is where I introduced him to Y/N.
“Thank you!” It’s been two years and he still hasn’t stopped thinking of Y/N, “Make sure you stop by our merch table and pick up some new merch, maybe take a selfie or so if we decide to stop by.” I smile and the crowd goes wild. “Make sure you hydrate, go eat something,” every day it’s been a pull and tug with Alan, “thanks to everyone who went to the signing earlier, and hopefully you’ll see us around,” to get him out of bed and do something, and not just sit there rotting away. And we couldn’t let the fans see this, it would ruin him. They all look up to him so much, and he was very particular about wearing bracelets today, covering his wrist. Y/N was always at Warped, I wonder if she was here today… “Hey Alan, you going down to the merch table?” Tino gulps some water then looks towards him. Alan usually goes to these things as a way to get him mind off of Y/N, but today was different. Today he looked at us and shook his head “Nah I’m going to stay in today.” His voice cracks and he turns away from us, “it’s hot and I’m really tired, just gonna go to the buses.”
“You sure? Want me to come with you?” Aaron walks in his direction, but Alan stops him “I’m fine, I don’t need anyone.” He walks off in the direction of the buses, alone. 
“Should we just leave him, he needs someone.” Phil watches him walking away.
“No, he wouldn’t want us there,” Aimlessly staring in a general direction, I feel the razor in my pocket, I’ve kept it with me today, not knowing what to do with it. Though it was only a small sharp object I still couldn’t wrap my mind around it. Why would he do this? He was better than this. He’s so strong he doesn’t need it. Focusing, my eyes land on one person. The person I never thought I’d see ever in my life again. I saw Y/N.

Overwhelmed with joy, I practically ran towards her, “Y/N!” Wrapping my arms around an old friend, I almost forgot she was mad at us. I almost forgot about last night, I almost forgot about everything that happened two years ago. “I missed you.” I know in a second or so she would push me away, and probably tell at me for approaching her when I distinctly remember her yelling at Alan over the phone for us to all stay away from her. “I’m sorry.” I breathe to her ear, maybe she could forget about what happened and we could all go back to normal. God I missed her. We had been friends since high school, and her dropping out of my life like that took a tole on me too, I missed my friend. Though her skin was covered in more tattoos than I remember, she still smelt like flowers, she was still my best friend. For a split second I could feel her arms raise as if to give me a hug, but she pushed me away.”Get off of me Austin! I told you I never wanted to see you guys again. I’m happy now, finally. After two years I think I’m finally fucking happy and I don’t give a shit if it’s Warped. You see me, you leave me alone.”
“But Alan and the guys-“
“All lied to me, and Alan broke my heart.” 
“We didn’t mean to I swear-“
“You didn’t fucking mean to keep that secret from me? The one where Alan cheated on me? What- did you just forget?” She looks up at me and shakes her head, “I’m done, goodbye Austin. And tell Alan I said go fuck himself.”

“No! Y/N! Wait, please. I’m begging you.”

“What?” Turning around, I see her furious, with tears in her eyes. “What do you want Austin? Do you want me to go back to the busses and act like none of this has ever happened? Do you want me to tell you all it’s okay that he broke my heart, and I still love him? It’s been two years, get over yourself. I’ve started to move on Austin! I got promoted, I got a dog, I’m happy okay?” The tears spill onto her soft cheeks, and I only hate myself now. I didn’t stop Alan, and for that I lost my best friend.  “You guys fucked me up to the point where I can’t even listen to your songs without breaking down. I thought you all cared for me, you humiliated me Austin. You of all people.” By the time she stops talking, her voice is small and breaking. “And the worst part about it is,” Her voice is hollowed out with pain.  I did this to her, we all did. “The worst part about it is I still love him.” Then she breaks down crying, every last bit of sorrow and regret she had was poured out with her tears.  “I still love him.” She whispers, and I hold her.  “Y/N, it’s okay, he loves you too.” I sooth her, rubbing her back in small circles like I did in high school anytime things go too rough for her. “But I can’t go back to him.” She says this in the smallest voice possible, as if her whispering it will make all of this go away.

“Why not?”

“He hurt me Austin, you all did. I can’t go back, I’m not going to those buses, and I can’t be your friend… Austin I don’t even think I should be talking to you right now.”

“Why not?”

“Because, don’t you see? I was perfectly fine pretending you never happened, I was fine pretending none of this happened, now you show up out of nowhere and I’m crying like there’s no tomorrow.” I wipe her tears and look at her, “You’re right, you should walk away right now because I’m the worst friend ever and Alan’s the worst boyfriend, and everyone else just let that happen, but you cant.”

But now she’s the one that says, “Why not?” And I touch the small, silver, sharp object in my pocket. It was cold in my hands, but still made my palms sweaty as I brought it out of my pocket and towards Y/N’s face.  “This is why.”

“Whose is it?” She takes it in her hand, then looks up at me “Oh my god, Austin no.”

“Yeah, and it’s really bad, on and off since you left.”

“Austin I’m so sorry!” She wraps her arms around me then looks up at me, “You shouldn’t do this because of me, I’m not worth it.”

“Wait, no! Alan does it, not me!”

“Really?” She looks up at me, questioning everything. “Where is he?”

“The buses.”

“Can you take me there?” Gabbing her hand, we speed walk towards the buses, Y/N in tears “Why would he do that, he shouldn’t hurt himself over me! I’m not important.”

“Y/N, stop that, you’re plenty important. Everyone loves you, okay? Don’t downplay yourself. There’s someone out there who loves you, we all love you.”

“Thanks Austin.” We end up at the bus, and she looks at me. “Okay, um Austin?” She looks up at me.


“I want to be friends with you again, I’m not so sure about me and Alan, but yeah, I miss you, a bunch.”

“Good, me too.” I smile at her, “But you need to go talk to Alan, I’ll be at the merch table.”

Y/N P.O.V.

“Alan?” I say, peeping my head onto the bus, I hear a soft cry from the back of the bus and follow the noise. “So fucking stupid, how could I let her go, how could I cheat on her?”

“Alan?” He’s against the wall, sitting on the floor near the back of the bus. “Alan… what are you doing?” He looks up at me, and hides whatever was in his hands, and stands up.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?” He wipes his tears, but then I see his wrists, and he puts them behind his back too.

“I’m here for you, Austin told me… everything.” I pull his wrists from behind his back and look at them. “Alan-“

“I know, it’s a bad thing for me to do, I don’t need a lecture I’ve gotten it from everyone on tour. But god, Y/N, I’m such a fucking idiot for cheating on you I’m so fuckin stupid, I wish I could take it all back Y/N.  I miss you, I miss your smile, your hair, your scent, I miss the way you laugh, and the way you’re always so ambitious to get what you want, I miss every good thing about you.”

“What about the bad things?”

“There are none.” I take a step back, I’m not ready for this, but then he gets back on his knees and wraps his arms around me just like he did two years before, and all of my of my old feelings for him come rushing back. “Please don’t leave me.” He begs, “I need you I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

“Alan, I-“

“Just say yes.”

“Say yes to what?” I look down at him, and he pulls out his wallet, getting on one knee he takes out a small silver ring.

“Say yes to me, please, Y/N I know I don’t deserve this, and you probably hate me but please let me show you I can make this right, let me love you, let me be with you, let me marry you because if you do I promise I’ll never hurt you again.”

“Oh, Alan.” Not meaning to be cliché, but this was so unexpected.

“Please,” He begs, “Just say yes?”

“Yes.” Getting up, I see a light begin to shimmer in his eyes again, “I’ll marry you.”

“I love you, and I’m sorry.”

“I love you too.” I tell him, pressing our lips together. His lips felt like ecstasy on mine, though I’ve kissed guys other than Alan since the breakup, I hadn’t had an emotional connection with them. I’ve never felt like this with any other guy, regardless of what, Alan and I were meant to be.

Do you understand how trees work?

Anonymous Submitted:

We recently had an artist do a site visit to our Museum Park to propose locations for a sculpture installation. At one point, she looked at us in all seriousness and said, “Can we move that one tree right there? It just needs to be repositioned a couple of feet to the left, and then the sight line for my sculpture will be perfect.” 

Yeah. No problem. We’ll take it down like this. 

And put it back up like this. 

We’ll get right on that.