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all i really want is something beautiful to say

@lostemotion / lostemotion.tumblr.com

The nerd otherwise known as geckoholic. Multi-fandom and multi-ship blog: Marvel (616, MCU & shows), DC (comics, DECU & TV) Terminator Genisys, Voltron, The 100, Sense8, Mad Max, Killjoys, Pacific Rim, The Hunger Games, Strike Back, The Killing, Star Trek, 12 Monkeys, Wynonna Earp, Z-Nation, and so many more. More than just skirting the edges of anime hell. C- and K-dramas have taken over recently. Batfam will happen around here. Always and forever losing it over the Hawkeyes.
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knottahooker

No one showed up for the last story time.

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copperbadge

I totally read this as the first line of a post-apocalyptic dystopian scifi novel.

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lizzybees

No one showed up for the last story time.

Tuesday afternoon had been story time for thirty seven years and for thirty six of them Miss Madeline had held court in the antique rocking chair in the north corner of the Willow Valley Public Library. She’d seen hundreds of children come and go, sometimes coming back with children of their own, but the stories remained the same; timeless classics read to each new generation that found a spot on the carpet in front of her chair. 

In retrospect it might have seemed odd to even hold the usual Tuesday afternoon story time given that most folk were huddled in their houses with their loved ones, listening as shocked, red-eyed news anchors read off each new city that had fallen to the uprising. But as sure as the sun rose in the east, Tuesday found Miss Madeline sitting in her rocker at three o'clock sharp, a well-worn picture book held in her thin, trembling hands.

The sharp creak of wood echoed in the empty library as Miss Madeline settled her aching bones into the rocking chair, her slim fingers clutching the book that perhaps meant the most to her out of all the books in the world. Her mother had read it to her as a little girl, and she had read it to countless other children, so often that she didn’t even need to see the words on the now tear-stained page.

Her voice weary and shaking with grief, the distant echo of explosions rattling the windows, she tendered traced the watercolor illustrations with one finger and began reading aloud to the empty room.

“In an old house in Paris that was covered in vines, lived twelve little girls in two straight lines…”

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biochemjess

I cannot fully convey how much of Unknown is Wei Qian working himself down to the bone in is his efforts to put Lili and Yuan first and Yuan fighting tooth and nail to put Qian first. Qian is shouldering this immense burden and Yuan is silently screaming behind him to let him help.

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reblogged

Honestly, I'd pay money to see just ONE of Yuan's sex dreams, then him waking up from it in a cold sweat, and then having to act normal around Qian all day.

"You don't even know what I dream about at night."

Oh we know, but please, go on. 👀

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