#i want to sit next to him and enjoy a quiet moment with occasional birdsong and the cool breeze............................

[avian-hearts]

i randomly remembered the "i want you everyday" song again and i always loved how peaceful windy looks in it,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

[random-tinies]

Crowza - 1

I’ve had this AU idea sitting in my brain for a while and I’m going to turn it into a full-on fanfiction series. I’ll be tagging it as Crowza AU Here is Chapter 1 💙 No trigger warnings for this one. ^^ just good fluff. ft. Mumza as Lady Death, 1.6k words

Previous (N/A) | Next

. .

There truly is no proper comparison to flying. Sure you can describe the feeling, you can say it's like swimming in freedom, but it will never compare to actually flying.

Philza thinks about this as he soars through the air, wind blowing through his primary feathers. Occasionally he flaps, defying the gravity that tries to pull him back down to earth. He takes a breath of fresh air, relishing the way it chills his lungs. If it weren't for his cloak and his feathers, he would be quite cold this high above the ground. Especially in early spring.

Although it's early April, occasional drifts of snow still dot the landscape below him as the birdman flies north for the summer. Twice a year, he makes this migration, and although it may be warmer in the southern areas, Phil enjoys the northern pine forest he calls his summer home. It's special to him for three reasons.

Kristin, his home, and his boys.

First things first, however. He needs to stop by his cache and see if it had been raided by squirrels while he was gone. Or if anything fresh is caught in his traps. Nasty buggers, always giving him grief. Troublesome creatures. Phil banks left and dives down towards a thick old oak tree with winding and twisted branches. He lands on one, bird feet gripping with sharp claws, and hops down to where his stash should be.

Near the center of the tree, the branches arch and wind themselves together in such a way that it forms the perfect shelter for someone his size. It had taken him a good century to help the young tree grow in such a way, but it gives him the perfect shelter year after year so every painstaking day of tying young branches was worth it.

Phil looks around to make sure he's not being watched before hopping inside. One can never be too careful when your cache is involved. His wings fold behind him as he walks forward, ducks under a large branch, and enters his storage room. A quick scan confirms that nothing found his home this winter and he relaxes, breathing a sigh of relief and grabbing some squirrel jerky to munch on.

It had been a long flight and he wants nothing more than to just flop on his bed and take a short nap, but he has two homes to visit first. His wings seem to ache in protest but he steps back outside and takes off into the sky once more.

A few strong flaps put him in the air and he soars the short distance it takes to get to his boys' cabin. He can see it from the top of his tree, it is an easy flight. He notices the youngest of the three outside chopping firewood and decides to land on the roof some ways above him. The sky is overcast enough that his silhouette looks just like a rather large crow.

The movement catches the boy's eye and he looks up, putting a gloved hand up to his face to try and shield his eyes from the bright white cloudshine. He squints and yells up at what he assumes is the same bird he's been seeing for years now, "Oi! Good to see you! Took your sweet time this year!"

Phil shuffles his wings and scoffs quietly. He's right on time. He always shows up to his Lady's forest on the same day every year. He watches his boy fondly as he continues to talk to himself, quieter now as he hefts the axe to chop another log in half. "Y'know, Wilbur thinks you're a crow but I think you're too big to be a crow. Plus I don't think crows can live as long as you have."

Phil sits down on the peak of the roof, legs still under him in case he needs a speedy escape. He listens to the peaceful sounds of a quiet life. A cold chill on the breeze, shadows crossing the ground as clouds moved through the sky, the occasional birdsong reaching their ears, the thunk of the axe as it chops through the wood.

The door to the cabin opens and Phil tenses, ready to fly off if attention is directed to him. He’s a little close to it and it could be a risk if whoever steps out decides to look up at him. While he loves these boys, if they find out he isn’t a crow then he’d never be able to return and watch them again.

A tall brunette steps out and calls to the blonde, “Hey, Tommy, when you’re done out here, could you come inside? Techno got a letter and we need to discuss it together, as a family.”

Tommy nods and sets down the axe. He nods towards the roof. “Hey, Wilbur, your crow friend is back. Silent as always.”

Whelp! Time to get out of there! Phil immediately takes off, flapping hard and flying over the boys’ heads. His silhouette is even harder to recognize as anything other than a crow as he soared away. Wilbur says, “Oh yeah, there it is, just like every year. You reckon he likes us?”

Whatever Tommy replies, Phil doesn’t hear it. He’s too far away, heading towards where Kristin lives in the forest. The landscape below him becomes denser and darker, the pines twisting and behaving oddly. Branches bend lower and often twist together. Crow caws are more frequent and a few join him as he flies towards his destination.

“Dadza!”

“Philza! It’s been so long!”

“Return of Dadza! Dadza! We missed you!”

Phil chuckles, striking up casual conversation with them, telling them stories of his travels. He does this every year when he returns from migration. Some of the murder follow him south during the winter but let him visit his boys alone. They prefer to stay with their lady, and Phil doesn’t blame them. He’d stay with her all the time if he was allowed.

At last they reach Kristin’s home. The murder descends and a few part ways to fly in through the open window. Phil smiles as he lands on a doormat that reads “On Death’s Door” and chuckles at the inside joke as he uses the tiny knocker built at the bottom just for him. The door opens and the most beautiful woman in all of history looks down at him with a fond smile. “And who would this be, knocking at my door?”

She wears a long black dress that graces her curves breathtakingly. Dark brown hair flows off her shoulders like a waterfall of shadows. Her voice is like the sound of windchimes in a gentle breeze, enveloping Phil in its peace. Even if his feet are rooted to the ground, his heart soars with joy. She is his everything and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Phil takes his hat off and bows to her, wings spread. When he looks up, she leans down and extends a hand towards him to step up onto. “You know I’d never miss an opportunity to have a brush with Death.”

His grin widens as she gives him a withering look. “You’ve said the same joke for the last five decades.”

“And you’ve said the same response for the last four decades.”

He laughs and balances himself as she lifts her hand. He bows his head as she presses a kiss to the top of his head, blush dusting his cheeks. The kiss of Death, if you will. Even if they’ve been together for forever, he’ll never get over these little moments. Coming back from his winter migration is his favorite part of the year.

Phil’s feathers ruffle and he places his hat back on his head. Nobody can make him feel as light as she can. She strokes his feathers and asks him about his flight, letting him perch on her hand. He tells her about the herd of deer he passed who had two fawns among them and the pack of wolves he heard while roosting one night.

She listens attentively to his words and pours him a small cup of tea. Phil could never express his love for her in the right way but he knows she understands. Their mob settles around them and drinks in every word, occasionally adding their own and squabbling amongst themselves. This is his family as much as his boys in their cabin are. He feels peace, drinking the bittersweet tea in his tiny cup. 

A younger crow hops up and leans against Phil and preens his wings.

“Mumza! Mumza and Dadza!”

“Puppies! We love to see it!”

“Can we go visit them? I want to hear them!”

“Shiny ring… Phil, what about your boys?”

Phil hums and Kristin snaps her fingers. “I almost forgot! I meant to warn you, but the air is different this year. I’m not quite sure what’s going on, but I’ve felt more death in these areas than before. A few of my crows have gone missing.” She pets down his back, smoothing his feathers. “Be careful. I don’t want you to be among them, okay?”

He gives her his best reassuring smile and says, “You know me, Kristin. I never let anything happen to me. How many years have I managed to escape death?”

She chuckles. “Many times, though there have been some close calls. Just watch out. There are fates worse than death, my love.”

He bows his head. “Of course, my lady. I’ll keep an eye out.”

The rest of the night goes smoothly. New crows that followed Phil there introduce themselves to Lady Death and join their flock. By the time the fire in the fireplace dies down, the two are fast asleep in her bed, snuggled together and dreaming of a happy future.

[bones-of-sheogorath-blog]

I wrote some really cute Haskill/Sheo friendship stuff and didn’t want to wait to post it to ao3 so that means you tumblr folks get to see it first! Here we go. 

The throne room was shadowy and warm, heated by hungry firelight. Sheogorath lounged upon his heavy, towering stone throne, his blistering gaze of molten gold half closed as if the daedra were blissfully dozing away. He wasn’t. In truth, the Madgod was dutifully monitoring his realm, his far reaching vision gazing upon all corners of the land, from every village, to every household, consciousness drifting into the minds of his faithful residents to monitor their emotions and thoughts. He saw what they saw, and everything in between, all at once, without a hint of darkness to obscure his all seeing vision.

The throne room was empty of distractions, the heat from the bi-colored flames on either side of the throne licking at his skin and warming his extravagant clothing. Sheogorath was quite comfortable. The realm was at peace. The Gatekeeper was handling a group of adventurers that he had no desire to let into the realm, and the grummites were oddly quiet. There was, however, a distinct lack of birdsong drifting through the air, so with a flick of his wrist and a twist of his fingers, Sheogorath crafted more feathered creatures of vibrant plumage, and scattered them across the Isles. The people of the villages looked to the skies to behold his colorful creations, and smiled with appreciation.

Quiet footfalls distracted the prince, and twin eyes of glittering fire drifted open to take in the approaching figure of Haskill, a tray within his gentle hands, an assortment of food and drink balanced delicately upon the plates. Ah, it was today’s lunch. Grateful, as he usually was, Sheogorath took what food was his, and left the remainder to Haskill, and quietly, they ate in peace. A sigh from Haskill fell into the air, and, glancing toward his Chamberlain, Sheogorath recognized the signs of exhaustion within the gaze of the elderly man. For a moment, the lord thought about what he could do about that. Haskill was such a faithful servant. In that instant, a pleasing idea sprung to mind. Haskill worked so hard all the time, the Prince decided he knew just what his Chamberlain needed. A break. Perhaps the Prince could turn his servant’s frown around, and make him happy for once. Haskill certainly deserved that.

“Haskill!” The servant’s name sprung past his lips with a cheery tone. Haskill turned his head to gaze upon his lord with tired eyes.

“Sire?” The Chamberlain questioned, no doubt expecting some other order or command. Well, he was quite correct, but it wasn’t the typical demand that Sheogorath usually had.

“Haskill, I want you to sit on my throne for the rest of the day.” With that, the Prince stood, took a few steps away, and gestured for the Chamberlain to take his place. The servant was, quite frankly, appalled by the thought of daring to sit upon his lord’s throne. To do so would surely invite a terrible death. “Haskill.” Sheogorath snagged the Chamberlain from his thoughts. “Just do as I say.” The Prince ordered with a gentle smile. Haskill, still uncertain, shifted closer to the throne from where he had been standing and, cautiously, settled onto the cushion that had been placed atop the stone. Drawing in a heavy breath, the servant gazed upward at his lord with curious eyes, as if silently questioning what he should do next.

“Great! Now, tell me to do something I’d usually tell you to do.” The Prince commanded, his smile widening into a toothy grin that displayed sharpened fangs. Haskill’s features twisted with confusion.

“I don’t understand.” The Chamberlain responded with evident uncertainty. The Madgod huffed with quiet amusement.

“Go on, just do as I tell you.” He insisted. Haskill seemed to think for a moment, tilting his head to the side, fingers twitching against the dark fabric of his lap.

“Bring me...a drink?” He was quite thirsty, unusually so. He had drank all the wine that had come with lunch, but that hadn’t helped much at all. Water would be a much nicer beverage, and if Sheogorath was offering, as unusual and discomforting as it might have been, why not take the Prince up on his offer? It was the only thing that would get Sheogorath to return to his former self. When his lord came up with ideas such as this, nothing would change his mind.

Sheogorath turned on his heel and moved gracefully away, shifting behind the grand tree that towered over the throne and into the royal wing. When he returned, it was with a glass of chilled water, which he quickly offered to the Chamberlain that awaited him upon the throne. Haskill accepted it gratefully, though he still shifted with some minor discomfort. He hadn’t quite deciphered his lord’s plan just yet. What exactly was Sheogorath up to? Haskill became increasingly confused when the Prince took his usual place next to the throne, standing as if he were the Chamberlain, and not Haskill. After some time had passed, in awkward silence, Haskill parted his lips to question Sheogorath.

“My lord, what are you doing? What is going on?” The servant inquired with a downward twitch of his lips. Sheogorath turned to him and smiled.

“I’m you!” He responded brightly. “And you're me. For the rest of the day, anyways.” There was a pause, as he granted Haskill time to process the answer. “You can order me to do something else.” The Madgod informed cheerily.

Haskill thought for a moment.

“Some fruit would be nice, I suppose.” He finally replied. So, Sheogorath moved swiftly away, and when he returned, it was with a plate of alocasia fruit. He offered it to Haskill with a happy grin. Haskill took the food, gazing at it for a moment. He wasn’t exactly hungry, he just hadn’t been sure what to tell his lord to do. He knew Sheogorath fully intended to take his place for the rest of the day, at that point, and there was nothing he could do to change his mind. The least he could do was play the Prince’s amusing little game. Settling into a more comfortable position upon the throne, allowing his stiff muscles to finally relax, he realized just how pleased he was that he wasn’t standing, as he usually was. It was nice to sit down for awhile.

“How about a dance?” Sheogorath’s voice broke through his thoughts. Haskill shifted his gaze to the Prince, unsure.

“That’s not your job. Or mine, for that matter. Thankfully.” Haskill wouldn’t be able to dance even if he tried. Sheogorath, however, was quite good at it. Perhaps that meant Sheogorath wanted to dance. He occasionally did, without any prompting, but now it seemed he was waiting for a request. Haskill decided to give the king what he wanted.

“Okay. Dance for me.” The Chamberlain ordered, his voice a gentle breath that parted from his lips and into the warm open air. Sheogorath’s features shifted with joy as he moved out into the center of the throne room, and proceeded to dance in the most over exaggerated way the Chamberlain had ever seen. It was a wild and untamed effort, complete with swift twirls and swings of the hips. It was enough to drag a jolt of laughter from Haskill’s lips. With wide eyes, he managed to stop his chuckling, promptly snapping his mouth shut. He had never laughed at Sheogorath before. What if it angered the Prince? But Sheogorath merely paused his dancing, and began to laugh as well. When he finally managed to control his breath, his eyes intent upon Haskill’s form, the Madgod smiled warmly. With appreciation and affection, Haskill, finally realizing what was going on, quietly smiled back. He knew then, what Sheogorath was trying to do. Sheogorath was trying to make him happy.

“You know you mean a lot to me, don’t you?” Sheogorath slipped closer, his inquiry slithering smoothly past pale lips. The Chamberlain regarded his lord with a small smile, having finally allowed himself to relax and enjoy the moment. “I appreciate you, Haskill.” The Prince promised with warmth within his tone. Looking at his lord with fond eyes, Haskill responded back.

“Thank you for this.” The Chamberlain responded with a small smile. “It means a lot.”

And he meant it.

[timeinabottle]

Stranger Things AU | Jopper

William Byers disappears into thin air in 1883. His distraught mother, Joyce must put aside her differences with the only man that can help her now. In their desperate search for her son, they uncover the dark world of the occult, a terrible haunting and something the Witch’s daughter calls… the Other Side.

Stranger things have happened…

Read Chapter One: The Vanishing of William Byers on AO3 {X}

Read Chapter Two: It’s Happening Again (Part I) on AO3 {X}

Listen to the soundtrack on spotify {X}

Chapter Two: It’s Happening Again

Part I

The rustle of leaves underfoot was her soundtrack on the long march home from the center of town. Joyce had finally started to become numb to it all and was trying her best to just enjoy the walk for what it was, without dwelling on the situation at hand. Off in the distance, the noon train to Indianapolis sounded it’s whistle while birdsong carried lightly on the breeze. A rooster crowed from a nearby cottage. Each sound was comforting to her; pure white noise and a blank canvas to paint her thoughts.

The sky had begun to clear up, and a blue sky threatened to break through. The maple corridor, which lined her path home, glowed a ruby red in the sun as the broad leaves danced around the hem of her skirts. It was turning into a crisp autumn day, beautiful in all its glory; a stark contrast to the bleakness she felt in her heart.

The familiarity of the scene made her yearn for the quiet and simple life she had only one week prior. All the mornings she spent walking her boys to school when they were younger played in her memory. Jonathan walking ahead with Will puttering behind, stopping every few yards to jump in another gully full of leaves. Joyce would have to pause and wait, chirping at him to hurry up (he’d be late for school, again!) even though she loved to see him so excited by the season’s offerings.

Her sweet baby boy, eyes full of wonder and light. He was all she could see when she looked around her now. Everything reminded her of Will. There was the tree he loved to climb, and that was the pond where he caught his first frog when he was three. Over there was the bench they would stop and sit on when she walked him home from school. Happy memories came flooding back at once, and she smiled. But it didn’t last long before her thoughts quickly turned dark again, as she vividly recalled the reality that she had been at this exact spot two days ago, crying out his name over and over into the forest, as Jonathan searched every nook and cranny of the woods.

It was then and there that she finally allowed herself the indulgence to cry.

At first, it was a whimper — small and hidden behind a delicate lace glove. A stifled sob followed, and Joyce tried to steady herself, suddenly unable to breathe; it was as if someone sucked all the air out of the sky above. She was gasping when the tears came. With each step closer to home, Joyce allowed the tears to wrack her body. She became unabashed and unwavering in her cries, shed of the worry that someone might witness her coming-undone.

She rounded the corner down the winding path to her home, and her only relief was the sight of the smoke drifting out of the chimney indicating that Jonathan was home from Indianapolis.

The old house had once been a neglected two-story gothic revival, but after Lonnie’s insurance paid out, Joyce wasted no time and spared no cost in fixing it up to its original grandeur. She even had it painted her favorite shade of green, just because she could.

Soon after she began renovations, a man had stopped by from a new company in town, Hawkins Power and Light. It seemed they had gotten their hands on Edison’s patents and electricity was making its way to sleepy little Hawkins much sooner than the rest of the country. This man, called himself Owens, had heard she was renovating from one of the builders she hired. He wondered if she would be willing to allow his company to install an electric light system throughout her house, as a trial, for free.

All she had to do was let them set it up, no questions asked, and answer a few surveys by telephone occasionally for the next year. Owens explained that they were government funded and they wanted three things: One, to see if it was possible. Two, to use her as an experiment to examine the total costs involved, and three, to study how the ordinary American family adapted. Joyce asked him if he knew she was a widow and that her family was anything but ‘Ordinary.’ The man had a kind way about him though and insisted that just meant she needed it more than anyone. He promised she wouldn’t regret it.

And he was right. There was something about not having to light every goddamn candle in the house, or fuss with the gas lanterns, that she didn’t think she could ever go back to what her and the boys jokingly called “the Dark Ages.” Sure, she had gone a bit overboard with all the upgrades, and money was running low now, but she didn’t regret anything if it meant her sons were more comfortable. Everything was for them.

She drew a shaky breath and hastily wiped at her tear stained face as she neared the house, pointless as it was. She could feel the rawness in her cheeks, and there was no way she could hide that evidence from her oldest son. The best thing she could do was to put on a brave face for him as she walked through the door.

A new fire danced wildly in the hearth, struggling to stay lit. Ingredients for a stew were spread out across the counters in the kitchen, and a pot was steaming on the stove, filling the house with the smell of Will’s favorite dish.

The tiniest grin touched her lips at the thought of the last time she had made it for him, only a few weeks earlier. The memory was fresh, yet so far removed from her. It already felt like a lifetime ago.

"What's in it?" Will's nose wrinkled as he looked over the lip of the pot boiling on top of the woodfired stove. Joyce tutted him away so she could stir their dinner one more time and make sure it didn't need anything else. Will settled in at the kitchen table, picking up his pencil and getting back to his sketchpad.

“Don’t worry, It has everything you like,” she reassured him, meeting his look of concern, though his attention was on his drawing - a wizard and a fiery dragon dueling on a rocky cliff. “Although, now that you mention it, I think it might be missing something…" she pursed her lips, tapping her chin as she thought, trying to regain his attention. "Something special. Magical, even."

That got him. Will watched with a grin as his mother searched the kitchen for her exceptional ingredient, her dainty fingers waving over spices and herbs as if casting a spell on the savories. She slowly turned her focus to her youngest son with a wicked grin.

“What are little boys made of, again?” She counted off the ingredients on her fingers, creeping toward him. “Snakes, snails…”

“Puppy dog tails?” Will perked up, but not before returning to his sketch.

She pointed at him, “Yes! In that case, you’ll do just fine!” She cackled and lunged for him, but he didn’t flinch. Waving her fingers around him for good measure, she added, ”Double double, toil, and trouble. Fire burn and William bubbles!” The reaction she got was tepid.

”I know you're not a witch like everyone says. You can't scare me with that anymore, you know,” Will rolled his eyes and went back to his drawing.

Joyce’s heart dropped. He was growing up so fast… but not if she had anything to do with it!

She grabbed the leftover carrots and stuck them between her fingers as if they were long, crooked old hag’s fingers instead. Ever so quietly, she snuck up behind her son and gently ran the roots across his cheek, letting out a sinister cackle when he jumped out of his seat. He fell into a fit of giggles when he realized what she had done.

Joyce reached for him with her other hand, through her own laughter, finding the ticklish spot between his ribs that made him laugh and squirm and shriek in delight.

He jumped back from her wiggling fingers, his face lighting up with laughter, “Mom… you’re home.”

“What do you mean, baby?” she asked him, her cheeks aching from smiling so hard. She turned away from Will and back to the stew bubbling away on the stove behind her.

“You're home,” Jonathan repeated when she didn’t respond. He touched her arm, stirring her from her daydream, pulling her back into her waking nightmare. His eyes met hers, and that's when she noticed the deep frown lines etched upon his face. It made him look so much older than his sixteen years, and that made her heart break even more. He was far too young to be this haggard with worry.

She touched her son’s cheek and pulled him into a hug, and throwing herself into it, letting him hold her up for a moment.

“What did the police chief say?” Jonathan’s voice hitched, the worry seeping through.

Joyce pulled back and allowed herself to collapse into the chair at the kitchen table before answering him, loosening her bodice to allow herself more air. She was beginning to feel faint again. “Chief Hopper took the case, and he’s gathering volunteers to form a search party. He sent me home to rest… for now. I have to go back to the printer’s by half-past three to pick up the posters with Will’s information,” her voice wobbled with emotion when she spoke. She was trying her best to hold it together. “Did you see your great aunt in the city?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

Her eldest frowned, “Only for a moment. She hadn’t seen Will… but she wasn’t really making much sense either.”

Joyce nodded sullenly, she knew Aunt Darlene would be difficult to get a straight answer from. “And your father’s sister?”

“She moved to Chicago last spring,” Jonathan place his hand on her shoulder, knowing this wasn’t the news his mother wanted to hear. “Her landlord gave me her card, but the operator said no one was answering when I tried to call on her.”

Joyce drew a deep breath and covered her face in her hands. Will was missing, and they had nothing to go on. Was this all really happening?

Jonathan rubbed her back, “You’re shaking. I’m going to draw you a bath, and then I'm going out to join the search party. Don’t worry about the posters, I’ll get them.” He began rummaging through her coin purse, grabbing what he hoped was enough and pocketing it, not even wanting to worry her about counting it out right now; she didn’t need the added stress of worrying about the money, or the lack thereof. He knew the accommodations she had made for him and his brother had cost more than she let on and she was struggling to keep up with household expenses again. His poor mother could never seem to catch a break.

Jonathan turned back to the meal he had cooked up for her, “Will you please eat something?” Scolding her over his shoulder, he served up a bowl of stew. “I know you haven't since I left yesterday.” He placed it in front of her, an expectant look on his face.

She sighed, there was no way she could possibly eat right now, her appetite was just as missing as her son was. Jonathan looked sternly at his mother, and she could tell he wasn't going to take no for an answer. Where did he get that stubbornness from?

She smiled meekly at him and took the spoon, pushing the steaming stew around the bowl and blowing on it.

Jonathan nodded at the sight of this, taking that as good enough sign she would eat if he left her alone for a few moments while he prepared the bath for her. Leaning down, he kissed her on the forehead and left her to her meal.

She continued pushing the stew around the bowl as it cooled and listened to the noises of the pump squeaking and the water hitting the hammered tin of the bathtub. The rushing sounds from the other room were soothing; another familiar background noise. Something to remind her of how things used to be, not so long ago. She sighed once more and slowly brought a spoonful of stew to her lips. Hungrier than she realized, Joyce polished off the entire bowl before Jonathan had returned for the hot water bubbling over the fire.

He filled the bucket with the hot water and carried it off to the next room repeating this task several times while Joyce cleaned up the mess her son had made while making her dinner.

The sun had shifted, and everything was suddenly cast in shadows. Joyce turned on a light in the kitchen and began to wander the old home; it felt even more empty now than ever before. Down the hall, she stopped at the portrait of her two boys, wrapped up in gold foil framing and convex glass, the fanciest frame she could get for her only picture of her sons together. Without a thought, Joyce grabbed it off the wall and marched it to the parlor where the sun still shone through the windows in the mid-afternoon sun. She examined the grey image, the sight of Will calming her somewhat. Her boys were so handsome. They looked like little princes in the photograph, dressed in their Sunday finest.

It was a blessing she was able to afford such luxuries. She had heard of families only being able to afford the photography after a person had died as a memento mori, and she was thankful that was not her case. Heaven forbid they couldn’t find the body… her tears dripped on the glass as she banished the thought from her mind.

Jonathan came back to let her know, “The bath should be ready for you now. I’ll be home later tonight, I promise. Try to get some sleep?” He squeezed her shoulders to say goodbye, and she nodded, putting the picture up against the piano, following her orders once more. Bath. Then sleep. It was all she could do right now so why bother fighting.

It was just what she needed, after all, it seemed. She hadn’t realized how tense she was until she dipped below the surface of the hot water and her muscles began to relax. She let herself sink to the bottom of the tub, the water coming up over her head. When she finally came up for air, she was renewed, the water soothing her anxious mind. She combed her hair out and lathered up in the special French lavender soap Will gave her for her birthday (he saved up all his allowance for months just to buy it for her.) Her eyes became heavy as she rinsed off, so she leaned back against the tub, drifting off in the warmth that enveloped her.

She didn’t know how much time had passed when she opened her eyes again. The water was cold, and the sun was low in the sky, casting the house into shadows. She must have fallen asleep.

The house shifted and creaked, and she heard the piano tinkle, catching her attention. A loud thump came through the walls, startling her. Was someone in the house? Joyce stepped out of the bath, quickly getting dressed, the fabric of her nightgown clinging to her wet skin. She didn’t bother to tie up her robe. “Hello? Who’s there?” she poked her head around the corner and listened.

No one.

She tip-toed her way to the kitchen and then to the front of the house. “Hello?” she asked one more time, just to be sure. She was met with silence.

Joyce collapsed into the chaise behind her in relief. She spent a long moment there listening to the fire crackle and the wind beginning to pick up outside. She listened to her quiet house, with her true fears finally realized: a mother missing her child. She wouldn’t wish this on her worst enemy. When she couldn’t stand the silence anymore, she grabbed the pack of cigarettes she kept hidden in rolltop for special occasions. She lit one, the tobacco sweet on her tongue.

The memory of her first taste of nicotine came rushing back. She was thirteen. Hop - though she called him Jim back then - had stolen a pouch of tobacco and papers from his brother one hot summer night. She was curious; He wanted her to try. It was her first cigarette, and her first kiss as they watched his friends shooting off fireworks down by the riverside that fourth of July. She drifted in the fleeting memory and inhaled deeply, meditating on the smoke.

The last beams of sunlight hit the cloud on her exhale, turning the parlor into a hazy dream. She was finally starting to relax, just a little, and she sank back into the cushions. Words couldn’t express how relieved Joyce was that Hopper didn’t hold a grudge with her. Or if he did, it would seem he was putting it aside for Will’s sake now. She would be eternally grateful for the kindness of an old friend, and the relief he brought her, knowing she wouldn’t have to face this on her own.

A loud crash interrupted her reverie, and she looked over to see the picture of her boys on its face across the room, glass shattered around the pretty frame. Joyce frowned, it didn’t feel drafty in the house. That glass shouldn’t have smashed so violently unless…

A chill came over her. She listened, but there was silence. Nothing but her heart beating and the fire dying.

She was alone.

A/N: Part II coming soon...

[artswaps]

What do you think Keith’s favorite little things in life are?

oooh this was really fun to answer but once again I went off on a super long tangent, OOPS SORRY HAHA. Also not proofread so… be warned lmao. Under the cut:

- Nature!!! Keith is a nature boy and loves quiet, natural places. He probably feels really content in a natural settings, the kinda environments that have a stillness to them. Not silence- he hates silence- but quiet; birdsong and crickets and the wind, the sounds of wildlife etc. etc. 

He likes sunsets and sunrises, likes the sound of rain and storms (even if being stuck indoors when there’s things to be done can be pretty frustrating), likes watching birds and other animals he finds doing their own thing. He can probably identify a lot of different bird species, might even have at least a vague idea about what their different calls sound like.

But there’s also the more adventurous and boyish side to Keith that would really love exploring those kinds of natural places. Hiking for sure, but also maybe stuff that’s a bit more daring, too. He has a healthy respect for nature, and has decent survival skills, so maybe he’d be a bit of a thrill seeker. 

dsfjk sorry for getting a bit sidetracked but here’s a story: I had a couple of friends come down to visit me last week, and at the end of the day while we were heading home, we took a detour to look at Hopkins Falls, a waterfall close to my town.

I looked at a dry part of the cliff face that had a lot of rocky parts jutting out and said as a passing remark to my friend Matt something like, “hey, wouldn’t it be badass if someone could just straight up and climbed that wall?” 

APPARENTLY he took that as a challenge because the next thing I know he was giving me a fuckING heart attack and climbed a cliff face about 5 times his height in like, 20 seconds flat. Then, realised that he couldn’t get back to the lookout path from where he was and had to climb back down, and the whole time I couldn’t help but be horribly aware of the VERY UNSAFE ROCKS AND POTENTIALLY DEEP WATER below him.

Yeah. That’s Keith. He’d scale a cliff with no safety gear just because he KNOWS he can pull it off, and he’s curious about what’s at the top, okay?

So yeah, Keith likes nature and he likes birds and he likes exploring!! 

- He also seems to genuinely like training? There’s been a couple moments in canon where we’ve seen him training by himself in his downtime. Having a task set out in front of him that he can work through to reach a goal is just how Keith likes to operate; I imagine he finds a lot of satisfaction in learning new moves and knife tricks, and at being able to pull off the things he’s been practicing in battle. 

Burning physical energy like that probably helps him think clearly too, so maybe he also uses training as a way to help clear his head. Keith’s very action-driven, doesn’t like staying idle for too long or sitting still when he could be doing something, so training and practicing with his Blade are good outlets for that. 

- Movies!! I imagine that Keith loves goofy action movies, especially the classics. I’ve noticed that it’s a pretty popular headcanon that Keith is a bit oblivious when it comes to pop-culture, and I also personally like the idea that he just… doesn’t really keep up-to-date with more recent stuff if it doesn’t interest him. Lance might make an Avengers reference or something and Keith’s just “??? don’t get it, don’t care”.

But he’s surprisingly knowledgeable about the old classics like….. idfk, Die Hard for example (I myself am very ignorant about action movies and a lot of pop-culture in general LOL)

OH, and old Sci-Fi. He doesn’t like, watch it religiously or w/ever and has only caught a few scattered episodes, but he’s seen some classic Who before and was pretty into it. When he gets back to Earth he wants to hunt the old series down and watch it from the start. He thinks the dated effects are charming and after his time in space, the old Doctors remind him a LITTLE bit of Coran, haha.

I don’t see him being much of a Disney fan at first, because he hears about all these animated films about princesses and true love and just kinda says “pass”. He just wouldn’t be interested? But uuh there was a hc that came up when @ravensimaginaryfriends and I were talking abt Kallurance stuff a while ago where Lance introduces Keith and Allura to Disney and they end up having a whole bunch of Disney marathons and it was a VERY good convo. 

Keith becomes surprisingly fond of Disney movies! Not so much the older Princess-y ones but even those he doesn’t hate. They’re simple and not showboat-y and can be kinda fun to watch with friends. But he loves the friendship/family-oriented ones like Lilo and Stitch and Fox and the Hound (because let’s be real those are the BEST ones anyway).

I also have a hc that Keith is a big fan of Miyazaki. His favourite Ghibli film is Howl’s Moving Castle, because that’s my favourite and I’m always right. (NO lmao he probably likes, uuuh… idk Mononoke, bc it has more badass fighting and cool nature-y vibes. Or Spirited away, because the dragon is cool.)

Other lil things:

- Reading!! He has to be in the right mindset for it, and he doesn’t really have time for it at all up in space, but back on Earth Keith really enjoyed reading. Even if was just perusing through old books on constellations or hoverbike magazines or whatever. He finds it relaxing, when there’s nothing else he’s pressed to be doing.

- Keith is a carnivore and he loves meat lol. He isn’t a picky eater (living in the desert like he was, and up in space with limited resources like he is now, he can’t really afford to be a picky anything.) But uuuh if you gave him the choice he’d choose a steak over a plate of veggies any day. He loves gravy on everything. Also, would probably kill for some greasy take-away food? It’s a very simple pleasure but he loves Maccas. (if he ever went to McDonalds during his time living alone then he’d buy like, 3 Happy Meals for himself, because he can be a big eater and 1 isn’t enough for him but uuh sometimes the toys are cool LOL)

- He likes classic rock music, and classic pop, as well as some occasional bluesy or jazzy stuff. He didn’t really own a phone or Ipod or whatever, and would just listen to the radio back in his shack, but he’d always have it tuned to the same station that played the classics. Eagles, The Moody Blues, Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Rolling Stones, etc etc. Doesn’t really have a favourite artist, just really likes the energy of music, and enjoys anything with a good beat or solid melody. Has a secret love for the Bee Gees.