geekhyena:

sunrisenebula:

lizzieraindrops:

oh is that what you want. is it really

okay let’s go

---

Three, two, one.

It’s been three years since he first set foot in silver dust while standing in the sky.

It’s been two years since he can’t look up at the Earth’s lone, lovely satellite without knowing he’ll cry.

It’s been one day since he decided it’s time.

He watches his eldest daughter walk across the grass in the backyard and lay a circle of light on the ground, faintly glowing symbols floating just above the myriad imperfect, precious green blades. He’s seen both of his girls do it a hundred times and more by now, but this time, so like the very first time, he is enveloped by a sense of deja vu, although nothing is the same. His hand curls around what’s in his pocket.

Nita turns to look at him. “Ready?” she says quietly.

Never. But he nods.

She speaks, and something that might be true silence and might be every sound in the world at once wraps him up and delivers him through space and time to a rocky, silvery-white surface in a gentle puff of dust.

Nita says something else in that flowing language that he almost understands, then looks at him. “You’ve got an air bubble five feet around that’ll follow you. Up to two hours if you need it. Page me when you’re ready to go; I’ll be in that crater.” She points at the craggy rim of a huge crater miles and miles away, then vanishes.

He looks up at the burning half-full Earth in the sky, and sits himself down on a rocky outcrop with a sigh. For a time, he sits there, elbows on his knees, hands cupped around a small, light stone that matches his surroundings. The one that Betty had picked up here that day, so long ago. It had sat in the dish cabinet, on the coffee table, on the DVD rack, and various other places since then.

He rubbed his fingers over the rough stone once more, then gently tucked it into a crack in the outcrop he sat on. He patted the outcrop with the palm of his hand.

“If I were one of those Greek gods,” he whispered hoarsely, “I’d have made you into the most beautiful constellation that ever danced across the sky.” The muffled silence of space seemed to listen.

“But I’m only a mere florist. I hope this is good enough.”

---

(if you want to cry more about Harry Callahan, go read Only A Mere Florist – I don’t remember what your tumblr username is, fabulous author, please remind me! by tumblr user sunrisenebula!)

Send me three random things, I’ll make them into a minific or a headcanon jam or something weird (probably tomorrow, I have to sleep soon!)

YOU FUCKING TURNED THE LINE FROM MY OWN FIC AROUND ON ME AND MADE ME CRY EVEN MORE HOW DARE YOU

i ain’t even mad that was actually a really brilliant move and this was beautiful and painful and WOW

HOW DARE U MAKE ME CRY LIKE THIS