May 4, 2015
ツ
Send me a ツ to see a tweet my muse would post/make about yours
seen from Türkiye
seen from China
seen from Malaysia
seen from Japan
seen from China
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United Arab Emirates
seen from Japan
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Russia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Singapore
seen from Indonesia
seen from Türkiye
seen from Singapore
ツ
Send me a ツ to see a tweet my muse would post/make about yours
Criminal Verse!AU : Making a Massive Mistake. Simon and Andrew
Jesus. What was he even doing here?
He glared out from his corner at the pathetic row of pews. It wasn't the private chapel his family owned, but one of the public ones, barely a decent sized room, where out of the crowds on the street, the faithful few, so few, would file in to pray on Sunday like he used to. Parents and kids and uncles and in-laws and neighbors, all squashed in, rubbing shoulders with the next along on the bench and hearing the reading of the mass, the sounds and shapes of a language long bled out telling the will and mercy of the heavenly Father.
When he was a kid, it used to make him feel special. The fact that he was one of, what, eight there who had actually understood what was being said. That the home-schooled Latin that was such a fucking slog to fidget through actually paid off, telling him what God was actually saying, and not just nodding along like the rest.
It just made his stomach turn to think of it. All those people, just blindly following. Afterall, even if you got what they were reading from the book, what was the point of it all if you didn't know for sure that the priests were even doing what they said they were? Where was the proof? You gave them the low-down, and you passed them the money, but Simon had seen too many bum deals to just take some guys word for it. There were too many things riding on him keeping his mouth shut to confess properly anymore.
Even the incense sat cloying up the air, the smell oozing out of even the wood of the seats, sweet as rot.
The door creaked, and his head shot up out of his hands. He assumed it was just one of them; the priests.
"It said on the door that it's free to enter." He called warily, straightening up on the uncomfortable seat.
Meg, Andrew, Peter
Fuck- Meg. I’m sorry but I couldn’t fuck Peter. It would be weird. It’s Andrew’s brother, I just couldn’t do that. Like seriously.
Marry- Andy. Every time. No questions asked. If he asked, I’d be his. Done. Easy. Yep. *giggles*
Get drunk with- Peter. That would be cool, I’d like to get to know him better. Plus Andy would never take shots with me, so if Peter would, why not?
I have a prayer just for you.
"I hope by prayer you mean doughnuts. We like doughnuts, don’t we?"
Grace whispered, an exhausted smile covering her face. She met his eyes lovingly as he bent down to kiss her forehead, like he had been doing since he arrived at the hospital. He had been so scared the entire boat ride back that he wouldn’t make it, or worse. But he was here now, and had been there every step of the way, and that was the main thing. Now he seemed to be incapable of doing anything else but watch the love, no, loves, of his life. Following Andrew’s eyes, Grace watched the bundle of blankets in her arms. Pulling back one of the sheets gently, Grace giggled softly at the face that met her.
"Yes we do, we do like doughnuts, don’t we? Yes," she rocked him in her arms, adjusting his position slightly to support his head, and so she could move him closer to her. She grinned as he kicked his legs; it felt so different to the past three months, but exactly same too.
Grace let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob as her eyes filled up hopelessly. As if he had been expecting it, Andrew placed the teas he had fetched on the table and sat on her bedside, facing Grace and their son - his son. He brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb.
"Don’t cry, Neshama, I believe babies are supposed to be a good thing,” he chuckled, fondly remembering the day she told him she was pregnant.
"Yeah, I heard that somewhere, I can’t quite remember where," she laughed. Pressing his forehead to hers, Andrew breathed deeply, relieved they were safe, a part of him in shock that they were real. He brushed her lips with his, unable to contain his ecstasy.
Two tiny hands broke them apart. Grace took one of his hands in hers playfully, but gently as if they were made of air. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you want a kiss too?” She smiled as she kissed the petite fingers that were desperate to wrap around something. “There, there you go. Now, little one, do you want to meet your father? He’s very nice, I promise.”
Grace smiled up at Andrew. He met her gaze with both joy and apprehension. He had imagined this day many a time, but now the moment presented itself, he was at a loss at what to do. For whatever reasons, he didn’t have a lot of experience with children, especially his own. He swallowed hard at the frighteningly small number of memories he had of Calev, but repeating that now was not something Andrew was prepared to let happen.
"Andew," she whispered, jolting him softly from his thoughts, "he isn’t going to disappear if you hold him once. We aren’t going anywhere, I swear to you.”
Andrew gave a small smile and held out his hands. He took the child in his arms, trying to remember everything the nurse had said about holding him safely and correctly. Once he was comfortable, and the child had stopped squirming, Andrew studied the face searching the room. His inquisitiveness brought a grin to Andrew’s face, followed by an onset of tears. He clenched his jaw to send them away, but not before a single trickle could stain his cheek.
"Hello, motek," he spoke softly so his voice did not crack, "I would appear to be your father, and I am very, very pleased to meet you.”
Grace watched them, pushing herself up to rest on her pillows and face them properly. As Andrew became more confident, he began rocking him, holding their son higher to kiss his forehead. Looking up at her briefly, Grace caught the grin as wide as the river Jordan on Andrew’s face. She beamed as she imagined the pair thick as thieves, playing catch and practical jokes.
Her own thoughts were disturbed as the door opened. The nurse who had been checking on her for the past hour came in quietly. Smiling the way nurses in maternity wards do, she picked up her chart from the end of the bed to review doctors notes and vitals and, well, whatever else they have written there in bad handwriting. She smiled again as Andrew shot her a semi-worried look.
"Everything is perfectly fine here," she reassured, "mother and baby are doing very well indeed." A relieved sigh escaped Andrew as he glanced back at Grace. "Does baby have a name yet?"
The blood suddenly flushed from Grace’s face. They hadn’t decided. They had names to choose from, but they hadn’t agreed on anything. Her baby didn’t have a name. How could they not have decided on a name? Grace became aware of her breathing getting more shallow as the frown of shock and frustration deepened on her face.
She searched Andrew’s face desperately for the words to explain this, but he did not move. All the time he sat smiling down at their perfect, nameless child, not a ounce of concern on his face.
"It’s okay if you haven’t decided," the nurse continued after a few moments, "I can come back once you’ve had a chance to talk it over."
"No, that won’t be necessary," Grace half pleaded, "he has a name, he does. He-“
"Ronen," Andrew interrupted calmly, a tiny hand wrapped around his index finger. He looked up at Grace, more certain of his words now than in any sermon he had ever written, "his name is Ronen."
Tears of both joy and exhaustion flooded Grace’s cheeks until she could only nod in reply. Leaning forward, she kissed him, thanking him for a thousand things without a word. She looked at their son, and then at Andrew as she spoke softly.
"Ronen Peter Bar-Jonah."
☂ Andrew xx
Grace smiled up at him for a moment, completely wrapped up in the gooey cliché he had just handed her. For a moment she was tempted to make a fuss, tell him he needed it just as much as she did before handing it back, but there was something in her that just couldn’t do it. She had heard somewhere that when movie moments happen in real life, it is an offensive act to ruin them, and that was the last thing Grace wanted.
Showers hit the pavement from a sky more shades of grey than a smudged newspaper. It was quite a distance back to camp, but she supposed his idea to run and be out of it for good was far better than waiting for it to blow over. She couldn’t help but giggle at how crazy the storm had become. Preparing herself for the run, she slipped into his jacket, zipping it up and turning the collar against the wind.
"1,2,3!"
The pair made a break for it, dodging puddles and battling wind as they raced, laughing like children. Grace tried her best to keep her feet dry; her beautiful Jimmy Choos would not survive drowning. Just behind her she could hear ripples and waves crash as Andrew’s feet found puddle after puddle. She grinned as she sped, unable to see anything but the funny side to their situation.
They hit the grass of their tent city, sliding now and again as they ran. Every sharp corner, every inconveniently placed tent made it harder for them to stay on their feet. Without a word, their dash to escape the weather became an obstacle course - the prize of winning being dry, warm shelter. She looked over at him, her laughter met with a cheeky grin before a short spurt carried him ahead of her.
Making the final turn, she saw Andrew come to halt outside her tent before throwing his arms into the air in victory. Before she had the chance to stop gracefully beside him, her foot slipped, sending her forward and into his arms. Grace broke into fits of giggles as she rested her forehead on his chest, breathing heavily from the run, rain soaking her neck.
Looking up at him, she smiled fondly, using her thumb to redirect a trickle of water on his cheek. She stood up on her tip-toes, her smile widening as her eyes flickered between his eyes and his lips, until she could stand it no longer. She leaned into him and kissed him softly, electricity running through her as the rain continued to beat the ground around them. She pulled back for a moment, squinting up at the rain and smiling at how beautifully corny her life seemed to be before finding his eyes again.
"Thank you for the jacket" she laughed as she kissed him again, succumbing to the first lighting strike of the storm.
The Calming of the Storm || Closed || Andrewfirstchosen
Grace sat quietly, contently, listening to the rain patter on the tent they shared. The forecast hadn’t lied when it had said a storm was brewing. Propped up on her pillows, her eyes flickered between the rain streams on the ceiling, and Andrew beside her. His nose in a book, she stared softly as she waited for the lightning to come.
When it did, Grace sensed Andrew’s eyes pull from the pages to the exposed silhouette of the stormy world outside. His muscles tensed from unease under the sheets like they did every time a storm hit. She smiled to herself. Not in all the time they had been together had he ever admitted it. Grace bit her lip in thought - then came the thunder.
It roared above them, a whip cracking on the roof of their tent. Grace shot up from her comfortable spot beside him, like she had done every time the thunder had called lately. Unsteady breathing consumed her and her hands gripped the sheets. She raised a shaky hand to cover her mouth for a moment, before resting it on her chest and exhaling sharply.
"Shit that was loud!"
"Goodbye" *sobs*
*Beeps*
"Hey, Drew, it’s me. Look, I know you’re probably really busy, and you tell me not to call cause you see that you’ve missed it, and you get worried that something’s happened.
But I’m fine- we’re fine, I promise! I’m just checking in.
I got your favourite for dinner tonight, fresh from the market, it’ going to be amazing, I swear! I won’t burn it this time - or at least I’ll try. You know what I’m like!
Sorry I’m just talking aimlessly again, force of habit.
I’ll, um, see you tonight.
I love you,
Bye.”
End of message
//Why you do this to me?
✿
9: Forehead kiss
Grace honestly hadn't expected him to react the way he had. She’d had this conversation with him a thousand times in her head and every time he had turned against her. She knew about what he had been through before they had met. She had been so sure that it would return to haunt them now.
She smiled. Tears of joy began to trickle down his cheeks as she watched him kneel up from where he had been sitting on the floor. Without having the opportunity to prepare herself, she felt his arms wrap both incredibly gently, and as tightly as he knew she could bear, around her waist. Her smile grew as he pressed his face softly to her stomach and stifle a sob that broke wonderfully into a chuckle.
She kissed his forehead as she knelt down in front of him. Nudging his chin up to face hers, she wiped away his tears and kissed him again.
"You shouldn't cry, Drew" she giggled softly, teasing him "a baby is supposed to be a good thing."