#i sit and watch from way up high just like a bird who's learned to fly (answers)

[bunny-lily]

Tether Me - Prologue

Pairing(s): Geto/Gojo/Reader Summary: You ran.

It's what you did in life. It's all you knew how to do. You ran, ran, and kept running and never stopped, because if you stopped, it meant you were trapped, chained, a bird with shredded wings in a gilded cage.

So, how did you end up here, tucked away into a little village in rural Japan, falling into the depths of two black holes with no way to escape?

How could you run from this? From them?

…Would you? CW: No y/n | polyamory | slow burn | slice of life | alt au - no curses | fluff | light angst | eventual smut | forgive me, there's internal monologues | I like using big words... | Gojo & Geto are whipped for you | emotionally constipated reader | (most of the tags have been condensed, you can find the full list on my ao3 here) AN: this is just the prologue chapter, sort of exposition. No bois in this one (technically), but I'm posting chapter 1 at the same time as the prologue. As a heads up, my most comfortable place for posting my longer fics like this is ao3. You can find more of my blurb thoughts on there. I'm not the best at tumblr posting, so forgive me pls ;-;

Ch: Prologue | Ch: 1 | Ch: 2 | Ch: 3 | Ch: 4 | Ch: 5 - 1 | Ch: 5 - 2

WC: 9.4k

You’ve always likened yourself to a kite, but less pretty and enjoyable.

Every time you glanced at a kite in the children’s toy section, or watched as thousands flew in the sky during festivals, your eyes stung and something bitter and uncomfortable twisted in your gut. In a way, you saw yourself in them; fragile little creatures tethered to the earth by no fault of their own. So easy to snap – to break.

They were always trapped, chained down, forever bound to either get reined back in after one had their fill of fun, or to fall like tragic angels to the ground when the winds died, and they would once again be unable to travel free amongst the stars where they belonged. All thanks to the threads wrapped around their very bones, far too strong for something that looked so thin and prone to fraying.

Yet nobody ever did release the chains. Who would willingly free their prized, imprisoned bird?

Of those pretty, unfortunate kites, you lamented with them. 

You, too, were pinioned to solid ground. Your wings were clipped, feathers torn from flesh one by one until you were born in a body that could no longer fly. Responsibilities, duties, relationships – they all kept you drowning in a suffocating pile of down-stuffed pillows, filled with plumes that were once yours. They progressively got heavier and heavier, locking your limbs between illusions of comfort and safety, sitting on your chest and flooding your mouth until you choked and gagged and couldn’t breathe.

You were different from kites, sure, beyond the very obvious things. You weren’t a pitifully flimsy, inanimate toy, left forgotten in some closet, awaiting the one day you’d be remembered, taken out, and allowed to taste the breath of deities themselves again. But if you could glide in the wind like they could, oh, nothing would bring you more joy, more solace, even if you were still tied down. All for just a kiss of freedom.

You ached to be detached from everything and everyone. An untethered kite, a fledgling bird learning to fly, a paper lantern that glowed its very joy from within for all to see.

Paper lanterns.

You couldn’t stand paper lanterns, because you yearned so deeply to be one. How wonderful it would be to have a warmth alight inside you as you rose to the heavens, lighter than air. 

You envied them. 

They made you nauseous with longing.

They made you want to stretch your fingers high and try to catch one within your palm like a cascading star.

They made you want to reach your fist past your throat and rip out your heart barehanded, just to make the accursed thing stop pounding so goddamned hard in your stomach as it sank lower and lower with each additional candle that got to join their family of stars beyond celestia. 

Because, for fuck’s sake, you belonged up there, too. Free, flaring, blazing and flickering so spectacularly that philosophers would wax poetic about you for ages to come.

It wasn’t fucking fair for you to be stuck on Mother Nature’s spine like this, burdened by the neutron star in your body that just grew more and more dense, urging you to dive into the ocean and let it snare you into its depths. You didn’t choose to spawn with a spirit disconnected from the flesh that acted as its prison, you didn’t choose to be jailed like this.

So, why?

Maybe that’s one of the reasons you were drawn to kites. You pitied them. You pitied yourself.

You weren’t a kite. You didn’t want to be one, to have your boundless form fettered down. But when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, that’s all you could ever see staring back at you. A kite with faded, worn out paints that barely clung to the tattered paper, feebly held together by thin strips of bamboo that had been aged and mottled from the inside out by time.

You hated paper lanterns. You hated kites. You hated yourself.

As the years dragged on, from the moment your brain snapped into your body with the sudden realization that you were a conscious, living, breathing person, those ugly feelings festered and spread like a fungus that refused to abate even a trace, just a second so you could catch a breath of fresh air that didn’t reek of mildew.

The seconds spanned on for eons without prejudice, destroying your cells at the molecular level with each passing birthday that trudged reluctantly along.

In the back of your mind, the sensation of being asphyxiated by your own feathers that had been shorn away from you etched itself deeper and deeper into your psyche. You became restless, antsy, the variegated world around you fading rapidly. Colors you once saw as a child, before you could latch the inherent sense of wrongness in your chest to a concept, gradually dulled until all you were left with was a world tinged heavily in gray.

The streets you were raised on grew denser, despite the amount of people living on them never actually changing noticeably. The verdant grass of your backyard turned into a dominating presence everytime you laid your eyes on it, unruly and all-consuming, demanding an undivided attention you did not want to give. The orange beams that hung over black asphalt instilled a sense of panic in you that wasn’t there before. 

You used to be fond of walking around your neighborhood in the middle of the night, when you rightfully should have been sleeping. An inverted circadian rhythm suited you well when you were young, unaware that the crushing sensation under your sternum would only get worse. 

Now, though, the thought of straying out where there wasn’t enough light to see straight ahead made sweat form on your chest and palms while your teeth clattered from a nonexistent chill.

Everything caved in on you. Not in a rush, not in a cataclysmic flood. No, you didn’t discern you were fighting for air until you were already gasping fruitlessly. Lost, terrified, unsure, you could only bear witness to the collapse of your own mind.

Then, one day, a soft voice whispered in your ear.

Run.

It wasn’t a threat, not some ominous warning of death looming over your shoulder. It was a suggestion, an offering, an olive branch towards that freedom you coveted. It was salvation. 

Who were you to ignore the hand of deliverance?

The first time you changed your scenery, moved elsewhere, even if it was only a few streets away from your childhood home, felt incredibly liberating. After so long that you had forgotten how it felt, you got the chance to gulp down air as if you had surfaced from beneath the perdition sea after spending your whole existence beneath it. 

Color returned to your world, excitement formed anew, everything felt right. Achromatic wastelands turned into kaleidoscopic meadows, fulgent and lucid. You savored it, reveled in it, frolicked and danced and lived.

…It didn’t last. 

Not long. You exhaled, and it all vanished, sand swept away by an uncaring and spiteful hand.

Once you had become used to the environment, when you no longer had to actively remember where your flat was, or how long it took to get to the store, everything was washed out; water dumped on a painting that had yet to form defined shapes.

That crushing sensation had returned, and with it the reminder that, as much as you wished you weren’t, you were a kite. Tethered, perpetually confined, worn bamboo strips and thin paper threatening to rend under the drag.

Thus, you ran again. A new town, a new city, a new skyline. Euphoria nestled cozily under your breast like a second heart, purring contentedly as it curled up on the nest of blankets it created for itself.

New places, new faces, new people. All of it was fascinating to you beyond measure. It interested you to no end to learn about other human beings; their thoughts, their perspectives, their preferences. What they despised with grit teeth and barely restrained anger clenched in trembling fists; what they loved so dearly that they could never drown beneath the same waves that followed your heels, tide rising progressively. 

They glowed from within, bright and budding and vibrant. Their eyes flickered with life, glazed so clearly that stars sparkled in the depths of their hues. You were drawn to them, a moth to mesmerizing fire.

You felt free. You rode that high as much as you could, for as long as it would allow.

Until a realization struck you with the force of a bullet train one night. A man hung onto your arm, easy laughter shared between the two of you as you let him take you home. Alcohol tinged his breath, but not enough to give him anything more than a slight buzz. He was a total gentleman through and through, and you listened with eagerness as he spoke about his upcoming work project, his excitement palpable with every word. 

His hand linked with yours, fingers intertwined, his warm palm engulfing yours. There was a comfort in that transient window of time, one you held to your heart. It was so unfamiliar, so addictive. And as you stopped before your door, having completely forgotten of your lack of wings, you waited with bated breath for him to slant into you.

A pair of infirm lips, minutely chapped and tasting of wine, pressed against yours, and dread exploded in your gut.

He pulled away from you, lovestruck in the way his eyes shone as he looked into your own, and reality crashed down on you with horrors in three measures, shattering like broken glass in the vortex of your conscious thought.

When you stared at him, watched the way he opened his mouth to speak, you made the connection.

“I really like you,” he had murmured to you that night, nearly shy. Yearning. Hoping.

Paper lantern.

“I want to ask you out properly.”

Tether. 

His words sank into your skin like ice, digging deep, burrowing into your marrow.

Kite.

The illusion of pellucid skies of the richest shades cracked, the lush plains you fantasized of often turned to barren heaths, and all those tormenting feelings came back to choke your breath with a vengeance. Sickly fingers wrapped around your throat, sunk into your mouth, dug past your gag reflex, wrapped around your ankles and wrists until you could barely lift your feet just to move forward. 

You remembered with great disdain what you were. You had managed to sever your thread by running off from the pod you were born in, but it wasn’t a clean cut. The string hung off your fragile wooden bones loosely, just waiting for somebody to grab and yank, to shred your freedom away from you once again, to leave you knotted around a pole to sit like decoration and stay.

You were not free.

You were not a paper lantern. You did not gleam from your soul like he did. You did not pour light from your heart and words and touch.

You’d do anything to forget that, to prove that sentiment wrong, to show the world that you weren’t a rock thrown into a pond. You’d do anything to change the narrative, to force a rewrite. So, you did what you always did.

You ran.

You found somewhere else to live, blipping off the radar unannounced. One moment you were there, the next you had cut your lingering thread an inch shorter, following the wind blindly like a duckling to your next destination.

Each time you settled down somewhere, you had this silent hope: maybe this is where I’ll be happy.

You clung to that hope, fervently ignoring the screeching whisper in your ear that said otherwise. The next place was never the final one. It never would be, no matter how hard you tried to delude yourself into believing you weren’t a lost soul, unable to move on. Some pathetic ghost you’d make, if you weren’t one already.

Whenever you let yourself rest for a heartbeat too long, the rope you had trimmed ever shorter was skimmed too close by too-warm fingertips, and you fled again, and again, and again.

That’s all you seemed to know nowadays.

Perhaps proven now, as you sat on a train in a foreign country, absentmindedly watching rural landscapes race past the window. Your knuckles pressed indents into your cheek, the sensation unpleasant and nearing on painful, though you had stopped paying any mind to it a while ago. Your thoughts laid scattered at your feet, and you couldn’t be bothered to pick them up.

Rather, the white matter of your brain was being filled with the empty, buzzing tune of songs you’d heard a hundred times over playing through your earbuds at the loudest volume possible. It made things easier to manage during this grand, several-thousand-mile-long trip. The less thinking you had to do, the better. It was the absolute last thing on your bucket list, loitering just under the cutoff line, hoping to sneak in a few words you refused to listen to.

You couldn’t let yourself regret this. You wouldn’t.

Not now, not after you’d already dropped everything and dissipated beyond the welkin’s gaze. You had only one place you could go to at all now, and you were already on your way there.

So if you had to blast your eardrums out to bridle the whisper-shouting voices spurned by overthinking, so be it.

Rice paddies blurred by, blending in from one farm to the next. The sun reflected off the waters the stalks soaked in, absorbing the warmth the light provided and feeding the plants with the fruit of life. Somewhere along the way, you had begun counting each field you passed for no particular reason.

You thought it’d lull you to sleep like counting sheep, subconsciously desiring to sink into a dreamless abyss and catch up on the hours that had been eluding you every night for months up to this point, given how far away you still were from your destination. But your cerebrum was not kind to you, and your body refused to succumb to the tempting allure of nothingness.

Thus, you remained as you were, counting paddies as the day never quite moved forward. The sun dwelled high, trying to glare down on you, but it couldn’t get the angle right to invade the shade of your tiny cabin room on the train.

It stayed stuck to the center of the sky, mighty and proud. But then, after what seemed like only a few seconds, you blinked, and suddenly it was hanging off the horizon’s ledge.

With a slight jolt, you realized the train had decreased in speed, and was continuing to lose momentum as it approached an isolated station, all alone in the countryside. You checked the time on your phone, your eyes feeling unusually heavy and sticky. It was only early night, but you were worn down to your sinew.

Right. Jet lag. You had hopped on a plane and traveled to the other side of the planet on a whim, another desperate attempt to grab onto the concept of freedom you craved. It didn’t take you longer than a week to find a small house deep in the pastoral lands of Japan, where mountains wrapped around the valley like a scarf. You chose Japan, if only because you learned the language when you were studying abroad some years ago.

It resided in a town of such a low population, blissfully around 600, it was a wonder you could even find a train that took you this far to begin with. Of course, that meant the house was decently rundown, with a community small enough to consider it unnecessary to repair. You couldn’t care less. All that meant to you was that it was cheaper to buy it outright than rent a more maintained structure. Buying it was a risky move, given your track record of up and ditching the last bed you slept on without any hindrance, but, at this point, you were tired.

You just wanted to be somewhere for longer than a month or two. Maybe owning a house was contrary to your desires to be unbound, with no board to pin your tattered and thin wings to, sure, the pros far outweighed the cons.

Cheap shelter, little to no people, far, far away from anywhere you’d been before. Three for three.

It’d still be a 45 minute drive or so before you actually got to your new residence, but you weren’t in any particular rush. You chose the most isolated place on purpose. Less people, less deafening sounds, less claustrophobic, brutalist structures that loomed higher and higher.

Less chance of being tied down.

With a hiss and a loggy wheeze, the train settled into place, jostling you as you got to your feet and stretched your arms above your head. The muscles in your back and shoulders twinged from sitting in the same position all day, and your legs stung like sparklers, but it was nice to work your joints properly again. After tucking away your phone and earbuds, you tugged your luggage down from the overhead rack with a grunt.

You were hopeful that there’d be taxis outside the station, and that you wouldn’t have to walk to the village. Who knows how long that would take. You’d probably keel over after the first mile. The thought made you snort while you squeezed down the aisle, suitcase with your bag stacked on it rolling behind you, purse strapped across your torso. The conductor – a sweet, older man – nodded silently to you as you disembarked, waving a farewell to you, which you returned. He was nice, you remembered him greeting you when you first boarded. 

He didn’t talk much, just a polite, “welcome aboard,” while the ticket collector pointed you in the direction of your cabin, which you greatly appreciated after hopping off a plane and hurrying your ass over to your required station. You were too spent for conversation.

Leaving the station was much easier than you expected. Unlike your home country, where you could get lost just by turning 45° to the left, Japan seemed to prefer neater environments that were easy to navigate. And, upon stepping out of the building, you rejoiced at spotting a few variously colored cabs waiting along the curb. Outside of one stood a man, roughly in his 50s or so, who waved you over.

“Need help getting somewhere, miss?” He questioned, and you nodded as you pulled out your phone, scrolling through your emails to find the one confirming your purchase of the listing. 

“Yeah, could you take me here?”

He glanced down at your screen when you showed him the address and chuckled quietly. “Well, that’s a surprise. Last time I visited that house was some twenty years ago to take the owner to the station, rather than from.”

You blanched nominally. Twenty years? Had your house really been abandoned for twenty years? The listing claimed it was only ten max, that estate bastard. A sigh left through your nose. Too late to deal with that now, you figured. “I just purchased it.”

The man nodded as he popped open the trunk and assisted you in slotting your luggage inside. “You look like you’ve come from far away. It’s rare for foreigners to choose to live in such a distant location. Not a fan of the city?”

I fucking hate cities.

“Something like that, yeah,” you assented, thanking him as he opened the back door for you. 

You appreciated his efficiency as he wasted no time dilly-dallying around. As soon as he was buckled up in the car, he was on the road, taking you down the last leg of your trip. The world outside the window streaked by in shades of violet and blood orange as the sun hovered on the edge of the skyline, reluctant to rest for the night.

“Ah, apologies. I’m Hayato Kazuhiko, you may call me Kazu, if you prefer,” he quickly introduced himself, and you followed suit. “Why’d you choose this little village of all places? It’s very small.”

You hummed. “That’s exactly why I chose it. I’m not a big…people-person, if you know what I mean.”

The older gentleman chuckled lightly. “My wife is the same,” he nodded as he peeked at you via the rearview mirror. “She had to visit the small town I used to live in one day, and it was love at first sight for us. She was immediately drawn to country life, and we’ve lived out in the neighboring town here ever since.”

“How long have you been married?”

“Twenty-five years,” he nodded, and you could see the pure love and devotion in his eyes as he spoke about his spouse. It was wholesome, and softened your heart a sliver. 

He was surprisingly relaxing to listen to. Pleasant voice that didn’t grate on your ears, a few stories shared about his wife, the occasional tale about some significant structure or location. It was calming, in an odd way. He’d point out a shrine or hiking trail you’d pass by, and offer to take you to them one day to teach you its history and meaning, and you actually considered it.

It could’ve been the harmless nature about him. Even as night descended and you could only really see his silhouette, inspecting him reminded you of your father, but…better, for lack of an accurate word. You weren’t afraid that he’d suddenly raise his voice, or take you down a suspicious road – or, hell, back to the train station to send your sorry ass right back to where you came from.

“Mr.–” you cut yourself off and cleared your throat, mildly embarrassed about slipping back into your mother tongue. Japanese honorifics were something you continued to struggle with. “Hayato-san, do you have children?”

He gave a mellow laugh and shook his head slightly. “Please, just Kazu is fine. And I do, three of them, in fact. A younger son, and twin girls about your age,” he estimated roughly.

So the fatherly air to him you picked up on wasn’t imagined. That brought you a form of reassurance you couldn’t distinctly name.

“My twin girls are all the way up in Tokyo,” he continued, chest puffed with pride, “and my son is still in highschool, causing chaos.”

“Chaos?” You raised a brow.

“Yes, but not the type you’d think,” he hummed. “He’s a gentle child, but his kind nature means he’s unfortunately quite gullible and gets himself into trouble.”

A voice, the faint echo of a memory long lost, intoned in the far reaches of your lucidity; someone shaming you for getting caught up in an issue that wasn’t even your fault. Your stomach twisted with dread, and your head snapped to peer at Hayato, expecting to find disappointment shining in his eyes when you studied them through the rear-view mirror.

Except, there wasn’t any.

Concern at most, a crease in his brow as he warred within himself between protecting and helping his kin, or letting the kid learn on his own. There wasn’t any disappointment, or anger, or exasperation. You could see him reminiscing as he stopped talking, focusing more on the twists that followed the mountain’s curve, and all you saw was just…love, and happiness.

The churning in your gut settled, instead replaced with a sense of hollowness. Not the kind that made you sick; rather, it was like you had a gap in your chest where a puzzle piece was missing, while his was filled with a perfectly fitted heart.

Bittersweet, possibly, but only distantly so. You felt happy for someone who was borderline a complete stranger to you, someone you shouldn’t even care about beyond tipping him well for driving you to the middle of nowhere in the dead of night, but you did anyway. 

Maybe I could have had that too, your thoughts mutedly supplied, if I was normal.

Then again, you didn’t want that, not really. Though you couldn’t tell if that was just who you were as a person, or a result of the coals perpetually under your feet, it didn’t change your mind.

Nothing could.

You were sure of it.

Smooth concrete eventually became a densely packed dirt road when Kazu turned off the main path, the car vibrating as the wheels rolled over loose stones and gravel. It didn’t last long, thankfully, as the shabby looking pile of wood came into view, albeit dark since the stars overhead were too dim to illuminate anything much.

“Where we are, miss,” he spoke as you both climbed out of the vehicle and met at the trunk. He opened it to retrieve your luggage, and you pulled your wallet out of your purse and counted off a few bills, wondering what the right amount to give to him would be.

It was hard to translate currency worth when things were valued differently in this country. Your trip abroad was a long time ago.

“Is this enough?” You peered up at him and held out the bills.

He took one glance at them and chuckled deeply. “That’s far too much, really,” he replied as he pulled only two of the strips out of the small stack you were holding. “Be careful with your money while you adjust to the currency of this country. Do you need assistance with your luggage?”

“Oh,” you analyzed the remaining money in your hands before tucking it back into your wallet. You really hoped he took the right amount needed and didn’t undersell himself. “No, I’ll be okay. You got me here in one piece, that’s all I could ask for.”

“Are you sure?”

Your head bobbed as you inspected your suitcase and bag, popping out the handle. “Yes, I am. Drive safe, Kazu-san. Thank you for taking me here.”

His chest rumbled with a laugh. “Please, it’s my job. You are pleasant company.”

“Likewise,” your lips rounded into a smile as you bowed politely. It was small, and you were tired, but it was genuine, the first one you’ve had for a long while. “Goodnight.”

Kazuhiko waved his hand in farewell, bidding you good dreams as he climbed back into the taxi and drove off, leaving you alone.

Your lungs deflated.

The air here was crisper, stinging your throat in a pleasant way as you inhaled slowly. Faint hints of pine and sap drifted across your senses. Nothing indicated any heavy stenches of smog or gasoline or gods know what litters the streets of every downtown city you’d been to before.

It would probably take you a while to get used to, and you oddly didn’t want to, if only so you could admire the fresh fragrance every time you stepped outside. Your muscles relaxed, surprising you as you hadn’t noticed just how tense you were until you were perched outside the front gate of your brand new (old) lodging.

Turning to face it, you groaned upon the realization that it was on a hill. Said hill was tiny, mind you, but a hill nonetheless. You found you couldn’t give much of a shit right now, just yearning to lay down and pass the fuck out for a while. Maybe the rest of tomorrow, too. A few weeks, actually, if you were allowed to choose. A coma sounded wonderful.

“Home sweet home,” you mumbled to nobody in particular as you pushed open the gate and virtually jumped out of your skin at the near shriek it gave. Okay, it had to have been longer than 20 years, that was loud. 

With your heart fluttering rapidly, you made a note to deal with it (and everything else) later and trudged up the incline, almost eating shit and dying when the toe of your boot caught on the edge of a stepping stone. Another thing to add to the “deal with later” list. You had a feeling it would just keep growing exponentially.

Finding the key was easy, for better and worse. It simply sat in the door knob’s lock, very safe and secure and definitely not putting your house at risk of…what?

There was nothing in there, evident when you pushed open the front door, which wailed just as loudly as the fence gate. You felt the blood drain from your face. Sure, the interior was empty, but the house was a wreck. Peeling walls, strange, crusty scent, and a sticky floor at the entrance that made you grimace when your sole pulled off it like velcro. You knew that it was custom in Japan to take off your shoes at the door, but fuck that. Absolutely not. You were not walking in any part of this house either in socks or barefoot.

Everything was virtually pitch black as you delved further in, so you depended on your other senses, and the ability to smell was one you wished you didn’t have. Your nose wrinkled as various rotting odors welcomed you, making you immediately regret going through all this.

Morning. You’d deal with it all in the morning.

Practically sneaking on your tip-toes, you explored the open space, trying to find the room that smelled the least and was passable to sleep in. Granted, there were really only two actual rooms down a hall going opposite of the kitchen besides the restroom and washroom, but the bigger one seemed decent.

At least you had a sleeping bag and wouldn’t be conking out on the bare floor. You went through the motions of prepping for bed mostly by habit, doing the bare minimum seeing as you didn’t have much of a choice. You brushed your teeth with the water from your tumbler, located and unrolled your sleeping bag, and climbed under the rustling top after yanking your shoes off, zipping it up as far as it went. 

Admittedly, the setup was kinda janky, but it got the job done. 

You couldn’t be bothered to change into pajamas.

With your head plopped on probably the least comfortable pillow you had found to bring with you (also the only one that would fit in with the rest of your shit, it was practically a pillowcase filled loosely with sporadically placed lumps of stuffing), you closed your eyes, and your body finally let sleep take over.

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

Morning was not pleasant. Surrounded by the musty scent of gods-know-what, back aching from the restless sleep you got from your pitiful sleeping bag and the hard floor, you were groggy beyond belief and desperate for fresh air. And a massage. And a cigarette.

You didn’t smoke, finding the heavy and pungent funk nauseating, but the temptation was there. You felt you gained a little more understanding of smokers.

Brushing the thought aside, you pushed yourself up into a sitting position and rubbed the heel of your palm against the sore spot on the side of your skull. You would have believed someone replaced your pillow with a rock if you hadn’t intimately known that lump of fluff. Or, rather, lack thereof.

Red lines, tender to the touch and tingling a little, were pressed onto the arm you laid on for most of the time you slept, causing you to hiss when you traced your fingers against them. It seemed to be barely past dawn when you reviewed what was out your window, leaving you questioning just how long you slept, if at all.

Figuring you wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep anyway, you shoved yourself out of ‘bed’ and groaned when every joint in your body popped and every bone creaked. Hell, you weren’t sure you’d be able to sleep tonight again. Not here, anyway. More problems for future you.

She’d certainly be happy about that. She already had so much shit to handle.

The growl of your stomach reminded you that food was something you needed to consume to continue living. 

Reluctant as you were to do anything, you figured going out by starvation was 1) probably not the best idea, and 2) you wanted to be out of this dingy torture shed.

What was unfortunate was that you, like a smart person, didn’t bring anything more than snack bars and those weird trail mixes with the fruit cubes that you just threw into your bag without much care. It was really the only motivation you needed to walk your sorry self out the door. 

After you brushed your teeth and changed your clothes, of course, being very careful to not let anything touch the floor.

Stepping out of your home through the shabby and creaky door with your purse slung across your chest, you were met with the grandiose sight of mountains surrounding you on every side. They rose high, aching to brush the sky and touch a star, just one, just once, just for a second. Covered in thick greenery, you figured the faint yet present scents of cedar, pine, and other woodsy tones were carried down into the valley from the steep inclines.

You couldn’t see any of these details nearly as well when you were dragging your tired ass to this place with ink covering the sky in a thick veil, but it truly was breathtaking.

Had nature always been this green before?

Having only done some cursory research on the village – namely, population – you didn’t bother giving yourself time to actually inspect photos of the tiny rural town. From what you’d seen anyway, pictures could never do it justice. A velvety breeze brushed against your cheek, prompting you to tuck your hair behind your ear and pivot towards the direction the gale came from.

Your breath left you in a silent ‘oh’, mesmerized by the incredible view of the rising sun you had. It shone valiantly and radiantly through the gaps it had carved out between the towering peaks itself, illuminating the land in shades of brilliant gold with its splendor.

For perhaps the first time in your life, you felt…nothing.

Not a sense of hollowness, nor a void in your chest, no.  A peaceful kind of nothing, as if not a thing in the world could take your mind away from this newfound elysium you found in sharing the morning’s shine with its source.

Invisible fingers caressed your jaw, threading through your hair with the gentle touch of adoration, as if you were delicate.

You hated to be treated like you were easily breakable, as fragile as glass, but this sensation was consoling, rather than degrading. The wind cherished you, not akin to a brittle figurine, rather as someone who was beautiful and worthy of gentleness unsullied by pity or licentious intentions. As if you were someone to be worshipped and revered.

A mother combing her fingers through her daughter’s hair, humming a lullaby only she knew the tune of.

Perhaps it wasn’t impossible to find what you were searching for. You didn’t know what it was exactly, a question without an answer, but it gave you a place to start.

With a deep breath swelling behind your ribcage, filling your soul with air untouched by sickly city pollution you were so accustomed to, you turned and began heading down the beaten dirt path that led into the heart of the village. The early summer warmth was pleasant on your skin, not too hot given the time. It seeped into your cold fingers and made them ache a little less with each minute going by.

While the town you had chosen was visually quite a bit older in style, with smaller structures dotted about reflecting traditional Japanese designs, there were some modernities. Electricity was, fortunately, one of them. 

Based on the fact that you found and bought the listing online, you figured there was likely a way for you to get your hands on some Wi-Fi here, too. You’d probably die without it.

The nearer you drew to the center of the population, the denser the structures became. Not to say they were rubbing walls, but neighbors were only a short few steps away, compared to the distance between your own house and the one closest to it.

Minka houses in significantly better condition than yours spanned either side of the road as the terrain shifted from soil to asphalt. They were beautiful, and you bet that living in that kind of house in this kind of place was either absurdly expensive, or dirt cheap, with no real in-between. You were personally on the latter end of this, which probably wasn’t a good thing. 

Doomed by the narrative once again.

Off in the distance on an elevated surface, you could see what you thought was a Wayo Kenchiku temple, if you had to guess. Its overlapping roofs were a deep green in shade, nearly black. They protected the desaturated brown walls of the building, and you were taken aback by how easy the temple was to see from where you were.

It sat across a wide river, one surprisingly calm as you approached it. It rushed along, springing with glimmering waves that shimmered under the light and frothed white around raised boulders. Despite it coming across as fairly deep, you could see clear through to the bottom, with the water itself being a refreshing shade of clear blue. A bridge spanned the rift, made of sturdy wood that had dark railings protecting either side of you, matching the aesthetic of your surroundings.

The bridge whined under your weight, but didn’t shift, giving you some reassurance that you wouldn’t go crashing through the planks. It led into the most packed section of the whole area, with structures built closer together, bearing a more modernized likeness, while retaining its unique characteristics.

In truth, though you remained apprehensive, the voice that scratched at the back of your skull everywhere you went and pestered you to run, run, run, had quieted. You hadn’t registered it, the silence, too focused on taking in your new surroundings as a serene blanket covered the thoughts that usually pranced wild and free in your cranium, putting them to rest with a whispered mercy:

This feels right.

It didn’t take you long to spot what you figured was the local grocery store. The bell above the door chimed as you stepped inside, peering at what products you could see on the shelves and aisles from where you stood. Being an anxious little creature, you double-checked to make sure you had your wallet, as well as the translated bills within. Last thing you wanted was to embarrass yourself in a place where everybody knew everybody.

Reassured, you chose a random aisle and headed down it, skimming the products to see if any of them appeared even vaguely familiar to you. Besides cans of soup and tubes of Pringles, there wasn’t much for you to grab onto. Sure, there was ramen, but you didn’t have a way to boil water. Cereal and milk, maybe?

Shit, no, you didn’t have any cutlery or dinnerware. Unless you wanted to be a sad raccoon and eat raw cereal straight from the box, but you weren’t that desperate.

Yet.

Mentally crossing out your options as you went through them, you nearly knocked over an entire row of items when you almost ran into an older lady who stood in the middle of the strip, watching you.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” You hopped back a foot, raising your hands in front of you placatingly. “I-I didn’t see you there, am I in your way?”

The woman laughed and shook her head, her smile reminding you of a grandmother that’d sneakily give her grandkids candies while their parents weren’t watching. “You’re quite alright, I was actually wondering if you need help?”

“Oh, uh…” Bashfully scratching the back of your head, you glanced at the various bags of foodstuffs beside you and debated your choices. Say no, when it was painfully obvious how green behind the ears you were, or set down your pride and ask for assistance.

Your stomach chose for you, warning you to suck it up and get food before it began eating itself.

The woman’s chuckle was heartier the second time around, her eyes glimmering with mirth as she motioned for you to follow her. Feeling a bit like a scolded child, you trailed after her while she wove her way around her store towards the produce section at the back. She pulled a random fruit from the thunder-rain-shelf-thing (you honestly had no idea what it was called) and rubbed it against her apron before handing it to you.

“Eat,” she insisted.

You blinked rapidly, peeping the fruit, the sign for it, then her. “How much…?”

The lady waved her free hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Eat, I insist.”

You were going to argue further, but a deep cramp in your gut had you sinking your teeth into the sweet and wonderfully-textured treat. As embarrassing as it was, you borderline moaned as you chewed, quickly taking another bite. Whatever it was, it tasted divine.

This time, when she directed you to move with her, you followed without hesitation. “Thank you so much,” you mumbled as she pulled out a chair from behind the counter and urged for you to sit on it.

“It’s nothing, I can’t let you go hungry, now,” she swept away your worries. “You’re new here,” she stated, rather than asked.

You nodded through another bite, waiting until you swallowed before continuing the conversation. “Yes, I got here last night.”

“Oh? Are you visiting someone?”

“No, I moved here.”

Her brows raised. “Really, now? Who are you staying with?”

Mid-bite, you stopped to address the matter. “Oh, no, I’m not living with anyone. I purchased the house just outside the village.”

The way her eyes widened was nearly comical. “That place? Now, that’s a surprise.”

If you had a nickel.

“That’s the second time I’ve heard that now,” your lips tugged into a frown and you stifled it with another chomp into the sweet object in your hand.

At that, she simpered mutedly. “I apologize. I’m merely awed that it was still standing, let alone that someone had bought it. Last I heard, there hasn’t been anyone living there for, oh, maybe 20 years or so.”

The realtor, that dog. He did lie to you after all.

You scornfully hoped he was enjoying spending your money.

Picking at your cheek with your free hand, you looked away with a nervous giggle. “Yeah, it’s…not in great shape. I have a lot of work cut out for me.”

“You’re going to try to repair it?”

“Yeah. Keyword being try.”

“I’m not sure that’s a wise choice.”

You sighed. “Me neither, but I don’t have much of a choice now.”

The woman shook her head, smiling regardless. “You let me know what kind of help you need. There are plenty of handymen in this village of ours, I’m sure they’d be happy to help.”

“Oh, that’s very nice of you, but…I’m sorry, I didn’t ask for your name,” you pouted, hurriedly introducing yourself.

“Just call me Granny. And I won’t take no for an answer, missy,” okay, now you really felt scolded. “I won’t stand for you trying to fix up that cluster of wood by yourself, it’s far too dangerous. And you shouldn’t be staying there while it’s in that condition, either. Give me a moment, let me find someone you can stay with.”

Panic rose up in you and you waved your hands frantically in front of you. “N-No! It’s fine, I’ll– I’ll figure something out, really, don’t worry. Please.”

Granny eyed you suspiciously, her hand hovering over the landline on the wall. “Are you sure?”

“Yes! It’s fine, I’m fine, I promise.”

Her eyes remained squinted, even as she lowered her arm. “Alright, if you say so. But if you need any kind of help, big or small, come to me right away, okay?”

Relieved you wouldn’t have to interact with more strangers, you nodded and deflated. “I will.”

“Promise me, young lady.”

“I promise.”

She grinned brightly and ruffled your hair. “That’s a good girl. Let me pack you a few things to take with you so you have something to eat.”

“Ah– wait, I…I’m not very good with currency yet,” you halted her sheepishly. The prices were still confusing as fuck to you. Man, how the fuck were you going to manage this when you get a job? If?

“Nonsense, it’s on me. I won’t charge you.”

Sorry, what? Did she do that for every person she met five minutes prior?

“But– but that’s not–”

“Finish up your peach,” she asserted as she was already walking away with a bag in her hands that wasn’t there a second ago. What was it with grannies and having some weird, innate magic?

Your eyes darted down at your half-eaten peach, surprised to learn that it wasn’t some foreign fruit you’d never even heard of before, let alone tried. It was an exceptional blend between succulent and rich; easy to bite into and chew without pouring juice all over yourself.

The fuck kind of peaches have you been eating before?

Sensing you might be buying these often if they were this good, you had well-nigh inhaled the rest of it by the time Granny came back with a stuffed bag.

“Here you go, dear,” she held out the shopping bag to you, which you took graciously after tossing out the peach pit into the small trash can by the counter.

Glancing into the bag, your lips shifted downwards. It was filled with a few different fruits and veggies, a couple bags of snacks, but mostly packaged food that looked like it could be eaten as is without needing to worry about cooking it. Your guilt skyrocketed. “Granny, this is too–”

“Don’t worry about paying. Save your money for the repairs of that home of yours.”

Your head shot up, eyes widening. “I can’t–”

“You can because I say so, young lady,” Granny puffed out her chest proudly, using a motherly tone that easily put you in your place, much to your bafflement. You didn’t even listen to your own mother like this. “Come back in the evening, I’ll have something cooked up for you.”

“You really don’t–”

She made brushing motions with her fingers, shooing you off the chair. “Off you go. There’s a lovely little pergola in the park, go have breakfast there. Just turn right when you leave and keep walking straight.”

Flustered, you let her push you along out the door, your confused brain trying to catch up. “Granny–”

“I’ll have a list of handymen for you when you return,” she informed you right as she managed to get you out the door. “Explore the town while there’s still daylight!”

And just like that, she was back in her store, sweeping with a broom that you swear materialized out of nowhere. You stared at the shop for a good minute, blinking dumbly until you processed whatever just happened.

You still weren’t wholly sure. You went in, expecting to grab a bag of something random to ‘feed’ yourself with, and left with a bag full of free food from a woman who spontaneously decided to give it to you. 

The fuck. She’d go bankrupt if she just kept giving strangers sustenance off her own back.

Your own feet seemed to carry you along as you exhaled through your nose and took her instructions to heart. Too late now, you’d feel bad if you went in and returned everything. It’d be insulting at this point, and you were hungry, anyway

A cooked meal did sound lovely as well, discomfited as you were. You had never met your own grandmothers – not in person at least, so you had no idea if grandmothers were simply like that or not. Regardless, you had a feeling she was going to fill that role in whether you liked it or not. 

Luckily, you were drifting towards like. She did give you free food, after all, and was going to find help for you. That part you were more apprehensive about, however, stubbornness and introversion making you want to be stupid and attempt to pick up carpentry out of nowhere.

All you could do was try to accept it and sigh, taking in the sights, stores, and dwellings as you walked past them and towards the park. A couple shops caught your eye, particularly a clothing boutique, and what could possibly be a hardware store. You weren’t certain, and didn’t want to find out yet. The prospect of entering one and facing the big ass sign that said ‘you don’t know what the hell you're doing!’ was too daunting to approach for now.

It didn’t take you long to get to the park. In fact, it was such a short walk that it bemused you. A population of 600 people seemed larger on paper than it was in reality. Most of the town was behind you, granted, but the uncanniness was uplifting, in a way.

It didn’t feel claustrophobic. The trees in the park were closer together than some of the buildings outside it, and they smelled so good that it knocked you back a step. The entire wild garden carried the fresh perfume of sweet and fresh vegetation, from blooming flowers scattered about and the grass underfoot, to the rustling leaves above. You couldn’t recall the last time you were in a park, let alone one that was as vibrant and alive as this one.

The pergola was easy to find. It resided in the center, right beside a large pond that you saw was filled with koi fish when you got close. 

They swam to-and-fro, carefree, intermingling, playing, and searching for food. 

Your stomach twisted when you made an unintentional connection in your mind. They reminded you of kites. Pretty, ultimately trapped.

The koi fish, however, didn’t seem to mind one bit. Not that you could understand fish language. They just went about their business calmly. It perplexed you, didn’t spending their lives in a single body of water bother them? Didn’t it make them depressed?

Could fish feel depression?

Shaking your head to rid it of the peculiar journey your mind had gone off on, you set the bag down on the table under the pergola and settled into one of the chairs, reaching to dig through your options. Of the items present, you opted to munch on a sandwich Granny had tossed in with everything else, bundled in saran wrap and clearly made by her.

While you were skeptical of pre-made food bought in a grocery store like this, one sniff had you biting into it ravenously. You were way hungrier than you thought as you devoured it, trying to will yourself to slow down enough to at least savor the taste of it. Your earlier guilt and trepidation disappeared three bites in, and you were now very much anticipating Granny’s handmade cooking if this was the kind of sandwich she was capable of creating.

You questioned again if all grannies were like this, or if you lucked out. Either way, if it meant you didn’t have to struggle with food for the time being (or ever, if Granny let you mooch off her forever), you didn’t mind getting spontaneously adopted by her at all.

About halfway through your meal, the koi fish in the pond caught your attention again. They were gorgeous animals, graceful and sleek with scales that twinkled iridescently when the sun flickered over them from between the gaps in the canopy above. They had you mesmerized, sights focused solely on them as they showed off.

Maybe they had managed to hypnotize you, because you decided to tear off a piece of the ham, rip it into tiny pieces, then throw it towards the pond. There was a large splash as all the fish rushed towards the food, making you snicker.

A sort of childish glee bloomed within you, persuading you to indulge them a smidgen longer before you finished off your food. The park seemed like a sacred place where nothing could touch you, where the lands would remain lavish and healthy, and where you could let all your worries fade away.

Arcadian – that was the best way you could describe it. Placid, halcyon, grounding, mellow. You could go on and on, really, but you–

The hairs on the back of your neck prickled when you sensed that someone, or something, was watching you. Heat grazed against your nape, slow, measured breaths right behind your ear. A kiss from a pair of soft lips that never reached your skin. A demanding presence wrapped around your figure, a prey caught in the trap laid out precisely by a steadfast and salivating predator.

Ghostly fingers slid down your shoulders, crept over your forearms, and encircled your wrists, holding them in place with a deceptively lax hold. Something firm and wide pressed against your shoulder blades, keeping you between it and the table.

Your heart kicked in your throat, preventing you from swallowing anything more than a tiny gasp.

And, like the cornered quarry you were, you shifted slowly to peek from the corner of your eye, avoiding any sudden or abrupt movements. You expected to find a beast hovering over your shoulder, eagerly anticipating your reaction. 

There was nothing. 

Only foliage greeted your wide-eyed inspection, expansive and untouched since you came here. The feeling of being hunted on had evaporated as soon as you checked, and though uncertain of this verdict, you chalked it up to being in totally unfamiliar territory. A result of a soundless, featherlight brush of wind, a critter in the foliage envying the fish you fed, lasting no more than a sigh.

Your brow furrowed as you searched through the plant life, seeing not even a hair out of the ordinary. That dovish sensation the park carried returned like it had never left to begin with, coaxing you to let it go and relax.

Maybe that was your cue to leave.

You shook off the lingering sensation with a shiver. Everything was okay in the wooded pasture, and as tranquil as your surroundings were, you knew you’d have to face the elephant in the room eventually.

You dusted yourself off as you got up to dislodge any lingering crumbs, carefully packed everything back into the bag, and took one final look around. This place would become your safe haven, you determined. Already, you were thinking of coming back, the memory of your adrenaline spiking fading rapidly. Imagining returning here gave you that minor push you need to fill your lungs with courage and turn to head back out the way you came.

You could explore the town later. Right now, you needed to address the state of your new stead and gauge what laid ahead of you first. Maybe it’d give you at least an idea of what you required to get started on all of this, though you doubted you’d come out of witnessing it in the full glory of the sun knowing more than you did now.

Absentmindedly, the milieu filtered into your subconscious, automatically noting small landmarks here and there to assist you in finding your way around the streets while they still confused you, until you had learned to traverse them and knew every path and alley like the back of your hand.

(Just in case, you assessed the back of your right hand. You know, to reacquaint yourself with it.)

Glumness overtook. You knew you probably wouldn’t stay here for too long, no matter how much you liked it. You could fix up the house, flip it, and head off someplace else again in pursuit of something that probably didn’t exist.

It’s always been this way for you. The same old pattern, the same old story, the neverending book that looped in on itself over and over, caught in a wormhole where the exit was the entrance.

So it was easy to convince yourself to not get attached to the valley, nor the people, nor that damn sticks-on-bricks abode. Not even the grass filled with flowers and protected by tall trees you had already found yourself longing for.

It was easier this way. This was all you knew, after all.

You had it all figured out.

Didn't you?

banner by cafekitsune ♥

[steddieas-shegoes]

Request: Steve being a hidden nerd in certain ways (ei: sports, camping, outdoor stuff like camping & vegetation/botony, bugs, animals & shit) the kids losing their collective mind as Steve tells them about it. Maybe on a camping trip or something???? I especially want Hop to be impressed.

This is maybe my first request that didn't have some kind of romantic relationship Steddie. They do have a little flirty moment, but beyond that, I liked the idea of just everyone loving Steve and being so intrigued by his knowledge of all of this random nature stuff. Also, no research was done here. Like, zero. I don't know what is true and what isn't so assume none of it is. This is fiction based on fiction and we're here for a good time. I've never been to Yosemite, but it is on the list for me and Liam to go! - Mickala ❤️

----------------------------------------------------

No one expected Steve to actually want to go camping. Sure, he wanted an RV, wanted to go to National Parks and see mountains and lakes and rivers, but they assumed he’d just want to stay in the RV.

They hadn’t expected him to bring tents.

They hadn’t expected him to suggest sleeping in the tents.

“But…we have an RV,” Mike said, suddenly no longer interested in their trip to Yosemite.

“To travel in. But we won’t all comfortably sleep in it. It’s made for five people at most.”

And that was that. The only people sleeping in the RV were Hopper and Joyce and Max and El, and everyone else was sleeping in tents.

The entire drive there was filled with arguments over music, arguing over who got to sit where, and Steve’s “fun facts” about the land they would be staying on.

He had apparently done quite a bit of research, or he had been hiding a whole wealth of knowledge from everyone.

His fun facts were actually interesting, and everyone quickly tuned in when he started telling them about how the mountains could be dated because of the type and color of the rocks, and how much of the sequoias had been destroyed over the last couple of decades and what they were doing to preserve what was left.

When they arrived, everyone stared in wonder at the meadow in front of them, the mountains as the backdrop to a beautiful sunset.

It would still be light for close to two hours, so they didn’t rush to set up the tents. They went on a short walk along the road they took to the campsite, Steve pointing out different types of plants and birds as they went.

Everyone was in awe of his information, but no one was as surprised as Hopper.

“Where did you learn all this?” he asked on the way back to the campsite as the kids raced each other ahead.

“I went to camp once when I was seven and then I was obsessed with nature. My parents wouldn’t let me go back to camp, but they let me get books and movies about plants and animals. In high school, I took geology and almost had a perfect grade. I just like this stuff,” Steve shrugged.

“So you only went to camp once? Is this your way of going to camp?” Hopper asked casually.

He didn’t usually ask questions that didn’t tell him something he absolutely needed to know.

“I guess. And to spend time with everyone. I like when we can all be together without hell surrounding us, ya know?” Steve admitted.

Hopper’s hand rested on his shoulder and squeezed in silent agreement.

Putting the tents up had been relatively easy, especially when Steve managed to show them a trick he taught himself when he was young and wanted to set up a tent in his backyard but never had anyone there to help him.

No one commented on how sad it was, but Steve realized it after he said it.

As everyone got their sleeping bags and lamps set up in their tents, Steve found a large rock along the edge of the creek in the meadow and sat on it, watching as the sun finally sank behind the mountains.

“Hey,” a voice startled Steve.

He relaxed when he turned to see that it was Eddie.

“Hey.”

“Mind if I sit with you for a minute? Kids are being a bit too much right now.”

“Go ahead,” Steve gestured to the spot next to him. “Not exactly a comfy seat, but the view can’t be beat.”

“Oh, so you’re rhyming now?” Eddie teased as he nudged Steve’s shoulder.

“Not on purpose,” Steve laughed. “It’s pretty great out here, though.”

“Yeah it is. You did good, Stevie.”

Steve looked over to see Eddie already smiling fondly at him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And, for what it’s worth, I think it’s pretty fucking cool that you love nature so much. Nature isn’t really a good friend of mine, but it’s pretty nice to hear about it from you.”

“I’ll make an explorer out of you yet, Eds.”

Eddie looked at him with a look he hadn’t seen on anyone before, at least not towards him.

“Maybe you will, Stevie.”

Eddie only sat there for another minute before excusing himself to check that none of the kids touched his brand new acoustic guitar.

Steve sat there until it was completely dark around him, watching the land in front of him shift ever so slightly as the breeze picked up and the cicadas started their nightly song.

Robin sat down next to him, rested her head against his shoulder and sat with him in silence for a few minutes.

“It’s good to be out here. I don’t think Max ever expected to see mountains like this. She keeps asking when she can climb them,” Robin whispered.

“She does remember her legs aren’t at 100% yet still, right?” Steve asked.

“I think she’s willing to give it a go anyway. What’s the point of being here and surviving everything if you can’t even try?”

Steve nodded.

“Wanna come tell us more about the trail we’re taking tomorrow?”

“You guys wanna hear about it now?”

“Yeah. We like that you’re passionate about it.”

Steve felt his cheeks heat up at the words.

“Okay then. If you guys don’t mind. There’s supposed to be a specific type of rabbit who burrows along this specific trail during the summer and they can grow to be nearly two feet long.”

“That sounds terrifying. Come tell everyone about it,” Robin said as she got up and offered him a hand.

He took it and made his way back to the group.

Everyone listened to him talk about their plan for tomorrow, not interrupting when he got sidetracking talking about the type of trees they would see and what kind of flowers tended to bloom during this particular time of year.

When Steve and Eddie slipped into their tent an hour or so later, they could have stayed in their respective sleeping bags.

But Steve was still too eager to talk about things, so Eddie sidled up next to him in his sleeping bag and held his hand while he talked for another hour about the waterfall they’d be seeing and the type of fish that would most likely be in the river.

[gildedphoenix]

SuperPhantom - White Crow

Posting this now because I'm not sure I'll ever finish it.

Feel free to contribute.

White Crow SuperPhantom

(965 words)

--+--

Dean answered his ringing flip phone. And NO Sam, he doesn't need a smart phone. The battery on this thing lasts 5 days and it survives being in Dean's pocket when he's thrown against a wall by the bad guy of the week.

"Hi Bobby. Whatcha got for us?"

"I hope you've got gas in the take because this one is going to be a bit of a chase." Bobby opened. "I've got reports coming in from all over about a white crow being linked to dozens of deaths. None of the hunters who've looked into it so far have been able to track the creature or find any connections between the victims. The issue is that some of the crimes aren't fresh. The last victim, a Tim Stillion, had been dead for weeks. Can't figure out the cause because the animals had been at his body. And unless this bird can teleport, he was on the other side the country when Stillion was kill't."

Sam, who was already clickity clacking on his laptop, spoke up. "It sounds like the crow isn't a portent of death then, but just a reporter. But how is it finding the bodies?"

"Yeah," Bobby drawled "I figured you'd come to that conclusion. That's why I called you boys. Every other hunter is out here trying to end this bird when it's solved more cold cases then all of them combined. Bunch of idgits."

Dean grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and started towards the garage. "So where are we headed Bobby? Any word on the last sighting?"

"Last couple time it was seen, it was around central Illinois."

"Let's roll"

-=-=-=-=-

Sam Manson revved her vespa and continued chasing the white crow down ST-54. They'd been at this for weeks now. And despite it all, Sam was just happy that she'd found Danny at all.

/three weeks ago/

"There's no way!" leopard print blouse said. "You look like one of my son's friends."

Danny had a tendency to drop whatever he was holding if he got summoned but for once, he kept hold of his cell phone. So when he ended up disappearing in the middle of a Doom speed run, Tucker was able to track him down. And after a few minutes (and way too few reasonable security measures) Sam and Tucker were able to watch a live stream from a web connected Nanny cam.

The room was all white, leather couches pushed back against the walls. Marble and brass coffee table set with white taper candles. Starbucks cups sitting on the ledge of the kitchen counter. And in the middle of the room, Phantom. Desperately trying to convince 6 PTA, HOA, Basic Witches that he was indeed the Ghost King that they were trying to summon.

A woman in a white gauze blouse and white wash jeans stepped forward. It must be her house, because she matched the decor. "How did you highjack the summoning?!" It was the same tone every teen has heard from their parents. The tone that said they'd already decided what had happened and were just waiting for you to admit fault.

"Hey, you summoned me. What did you even want, anyway? Pumpkin spice to be available year round? For the grocery store to accept your expired coupons? How about-"

"Now you listen to me young man," A third woman, dressed in sunny yellow and a high pony tail that did nothing to help her look younger. "You need to learn manners and your parents clearly didn't care to teach you"

("Ouch" danny mumbled, "accurate, but ouch" )

Yellow started chanting and the others quickly caught on and joined in. Danny, realizing that he was running out of time to gas light, gatekeep, or girlboss his way out of a solution, tried the old reliable Plan Z. Run away.

So he turned ghostly tail to the nearest window and - BONK! - was stopped by the shielding on the summoning circle. Which was a first. People usually forgot about that. Danny was now both impressed and worried as be felt both pressure and dread building around him as the chanting volume and speed.

Danny clutched his head as the pressure grew to a screeching point until everything released with a pop. The pressure was gone. The chanting was gone. Danny felt lighter, which was saying something given how gravity was typically just a suggestion while he was in ghost mode. Opening his eyes -and when had he closed them? - he noticed one more difference. Everyone had gotten bigger. And the furniture had gotten bigger. And the room had gotten…. uh oh. He had gotten smaller.

Danny was trying to orient himself and identify where an deep thudding was coming from when he was hit from the side. Foot steps. That's what the thudding was. They were just drastically louder when he was only tall enough to stare people in the shins. And the sidelong assault? A broom. Which connected a second time before he thought to go intangible. (Why did he always forget intangibility?)

The woman in white had gotten a broom and was swatting him towards the open patio door, her strappy white sandals stopping behind him and he frantically tried to coordinate his limbs in that same direction. His limbs did not want to coordinate but he eventually got himself out the door and the broom stopped swatting at him.

Once he cleared the threshold, the door rolled closed with a slam and the lock snicked shut.

"And don't come back unless you've learned respect!" was shouted at him from a nearby window before it, too was slammed shut.

======================================

Looking back into the house, he was met by his own reflection in the sliding glass door.

"SQUAAAAAAK!"

In which Danny and Sam are traveling the US 90's road trip style to absorb the ecto of recent (or semi-recent) murders so Danny can get enough power to break the spell and transform back.

The general hunter community is chasing a white crow and a witch to stop them from committing all these murders.

And Sam and Dean and Bobby are trying to just figure out what's going on.

[fr3sh-tragedies]

hey! hope you’re doing well🫶🏻

i was wondering if you can write more fics with Rose Winters x fem reader, because i really liked the most recent fic with her. 💕

thank you! have a good day! 🩷

Admission

[Shadows of Rose] Rosemary Winters x Female Reader

Summary: Rose has grown to like you, though she keeps her feelings hidden, convinced that you wouldn't feel the same way. Her worries are relieved when you sit her down for a talk.

Word Count: 3.17k Content Warnings: Fear of rejection Category: Soft Angst + Heavy Fluff || One-shot

[A/N]: Sorry for taking so long to post again. I've been trying to figure stuff out with my meds, and it's been messy. Thank you so much for requesting, hun! I hope you like what I managed to come up with!

[A/N] #2: Sorry if the formatting for the images and GIF above are weird. I kept trying to edit it properly on my phone and my laptop, but it kept changing every time I saved the post.

Enjoy!

Blended between the gentle rustle of leaves and the soulful songs of birds chirping high above, hearty barks of laughter sprung to life. Trailing forward on the graveled path encircling the small scenic park, you and Rose snickered with each shared inside joke passed alongside light, playful pushes, uncaring of the eyes trained on you in curiosity and slight annoyance.

As she spoke about another joyous memory of hers, you couldn’t help but take notice of the features adorning the heavenly smile painted across Rose’s lips. Although her eyes only periodically met yours as she recalled and retold the story in her mind, the way they crinkled from the amusement – also evident in her tone – was prominent. Similarly, upon chuckling in response to a particularly comical moment, the bridge of her nose scrunched up, and you watched as her hands flew down to rest on her gut to prevent herself from doubling over as another wave of laughter erupted from her throat.

God, she was beautiful.

You’d known that since the moment you met her years ago during one of her outdoor training exercises. To this day you were unsure as to why she was suddenly allowed to train away from the BSAA grounds, though you would forever be grateful to the soldiers stationed there who let her be free for a day and enjoy the park between training sessions.

You remembered watching her in pure awe then, just as you continued to do now. Everything about her amazed you.

On that particular day when you had first met, it was inspiring to witness how effortlessly she seemed to move during practice, and even more breathtaking to see how intrigued she was by the nature that surrounded her when she was allowed a break. The way her cheesy grin grew as she watched two birds dancing up in the branches, how the brightness of her blue eyes filled with curiosity when they finally landed on you, how she eagerly bounced your way with her arm outstretched – each little characteristic she presented to you swept you off your feet.

“Hi, I’m Rose,” she chirped once you managed to snap out of your awestruck trance and take her hand into your own. When you timidly offered up your name, she nodded and repeated it. “Pretty name,” she noted out loud to herself. She hadn’t seemed to notice the way your body tensed, nor the way your face grew warm and red at her words. Instead, she asked what you were doing there, and more importantly why you’d been watching her.

A moment passed where you came forward with no explanation, desperately trying to find a good enough excuse that wouldn’t make you come across as odd to this new, bubbly girl. Finally, you forced yourself to admit that you thought what she had been doing looked cool. “Oh, really?” She asked, her brows raised. “Why don’t you join me then? It’ll be fun!”

At first you tried to deny her suggestion. All it took to win you over, however, was a small, drawn-out “please,” paired with the pleading eyes you would later learn to be her favorite way to convince you to do what she wanted. Ultimately, you agreed, and she led you to the small, secluded section of the park she had been using to train all day. Just as she had begun to explain one of the easier maneuvers, excited to have someone to finally talk to, a gruff, towering man approached, halting her small lesson with a question of his own.

“Who is this, Rose?”

She turned to him, all of a sudden trembling and waving her hands about as she did her best to defend herself to this strange man. “She’s just a friend,” was how she started, and his head cocked itself to the side, eyes trained heavily on you with some kind of emotion you couldn’t pinpoint. “I figured we could do a few of the training moves together for fun.” The man sighed, shoulders drooping with fatigue and rough hand raising to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Rose, we’ve been over this.”

“I know, but I just thought it wouldn’t hurt to ease up this once. Chris, I’ve been working so hard, just like you want me to, but I really want to take a break every once in a while. Why can’t I just relax for one day? Isn’t that why you brought me out here this time?”

You remembered standing there, hands practically tied together in an attempt to ease the harsh trembling they carried. The soft breeze that day only forced you to take notice of the frigid beads of sweat forming on the back of your neck, which you not-so-subtly swiped at as you listened to them speak. The nerves throughout your body spiked when the man, whose name you barely managed to pick up on as Chris, glared over at you once more.

Wordlessly, his gaze flickered between you and Rose. You could feel yourself melting beneath his crushing eyes, your own focus landing on the soft tufts of vibrantly green grass beneath your shoes.

“Just this once,” he said at length, prompting you to snap your head up to face him again. You weren’t sure who he was, but you could tell how important his word was to Rose, who had once again grown giddy at his permission. “Thank you, Chris,” she cheered as she tugged him sideways into a small hug.

She pulled you to a nearby spot and continued explaining the specific move she had tried to talk about earlier. Chris kept a watchful eye on the two of you, though you could tell it was more on you than her. After some time, you didn’t even notice him anymore, too engulfed in the game you and Rose had made up and started playing. By the time soft blues and purples began to paint the sky, you saw how he seemed to be more at ease around you, even offering you a kind smile before you parted ways with your new friend.

Now, as you trotted through the park with that same friend, it was all too easy to listen to her poke fun at a few failed training experiments she had with Chris over the years. Even with her teasing words, it was clear how much the man meant to her. “He’s like a second father to me,” she told you once.

As she finished her thought and turned to you, you blinked, unsure of whether or not she had asked you something. You had been too focused on how the palette of the setting sun casted itself beautifully over the blonde locks tucked underneath her cap and her pale skin, the hues alone making her look ethereal. You fidgeted with your phone in your pocket for a moment, wanting to capture her in that moment.

“Is there something on my face?” She questioned suddenly, subconsciously wiping her mouth as your silence briefly continued. “Oh, no,” you replied after finally coming back to your senses. “Sorry, I just kind of zoned out for a minute.” She hummed and nodded, a small smile toying effortlessly at the corners of her lips.

For a split second, you found yourself gawking at her again. Before she could catch you a second time, however, you coerced yourself to instead listen to the crunching of the gravel beneath your feet as they carried you forward, your eyes dropping to watch them do so. The cool wind that grazed over your skin was welcome in comparison to the burning sensation building up in your face, and you were unable to bite back a small huff of relief when it cooled and dried the droplets of sweat forming on your brow. Curiously, Rose glanced your way at the sound, though she looked ahead again when you said nothing more.

“So,” she started after walking a few more paces, “any ideas on what you want to do after high school? I mean, I know you told me about the college you want to go to and what you want to major in, but any plans for anything else?”

“Anything else?” You echoed. “What do you mean?”

Just as yours had done only a moment prior, Rose’s face seemed to burn scarlet red, though she quickly averted her eyes and turned her head to hide it. Forming a fist and bringing it up to cover her mouth, she cleared her throat and nodded. “Yeah, like…” She shrugged, though it seemed more like she was trying to get something off her shoulders than being casual about it. “I don’t know. Maybe start dating someone, or… do something else?” She scoffed. “I don’t know.” It hurt your heart to see her seem so anxious about something, but her tone and timidness brought a sense of endearment as well.

“Oh,” you blurted, mirroring her actions and turning away to hide the betrayal of your reddening features. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make it awkward,” she murmured with a defeated sigh.

You desperately wanted to tell her she didn’t make anything awkward, wanted her to know there was nothing to feel guilty about, but it would be a blatant lie to say things weren’t uncomfortable. Instead, all you could offer up was a whispered “it’s okay.”

As the world around you quietened and settled to make way for the rising moon, your mind raced and scrambled for something more to say. “Well,” you squeaked out eventually. “I don’t know about dating anyone, but it would be nice to find a steady job so college doesn’t completely kick my ass.” A quiet chuckle slipped from her lips, though she seemed disappointed in your answer, her eyebrows creasing as though she had been expecting something else. Hoping for something else.

“Yeah,” was her only reply.

When your eyes finally wandered over to look at her, she seemed further away, her eyes slightly dull and that smile gone from her face entirely. Upon noticing this shift in her demeanor, you found yourself determined to cheer her up, eyes flickering around the area almost frantically for an escape from this tense atmosphere you had unintentionally built.

A few paces ahead was a bench, clear of other people and free from any potential prying eyes. As you crossed through the grass, Rose watched you with a hint of confusion, quickly trailing behind and ultimately joining you on the bench. Before any other thoughts could form, one thought in particular made itself known to you, one that had you crumbling slightly from fear.

It seemed the short-lived discussion of dating seemed to be the cause of her deflated charisma. Maybe bringing it up again in a different light would spark that gleam in her eyes again.

While your hands fiddled restlessly with the hem of your shirt, Rose looked around silently at the empty park, the tree behind the bench nearly drowning the both of you in total darkness as the sun continued to fall beneath the horizon. It took some time before she noticed your shuffling, though her face was quick to contort with concern when she did. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I just,” a quick clearing of your throat was made as an attempt to conceal the way your voice shook and cracked. “Can I be honest with you about something?” She nodded. “Of course.” “It has to do with what we were talking about earlier. About dating someone?” At your words, she seemed to perk up, a strange concoction of emotions flooding behind her gaze.

Even with the darkening shadows dimming any clarity given by her features, she made it evident that she had taken a sudden interest in what you had to say. She was eager.

You heard the rustling of her sleeves as her arms lurched forward toward you, only to falter and return to her sides, and could still make out the silhouette and the curve of her face when she winced at her own actions. You paid no mind to it, knowing that what you were wanting to say would probably bring you more grief than what she felt.

“I do actually like someone,” you mumbled, shying away from her gaze when it returned to you. “But will you promise me you won’t freak out if I tell you who it is?”

As if the incident from before had been replayed, she physically deflated at your words all over again.

“Uh,” she whispered, looking down unsurely.

“Yeah, sure. I promise.”

Her tone made you hesitate for a moment. If she was this upset just by you mentioning you had feelings for someone, how would she react to you admitting who it was? Before you could lose the nerve, you forced yourself to speak. “Well, she’s special to me. Ever since I met her, she’s done nothing but make me happy, and I feel like I can actually be myself around her. I feel… safe and secure with her, and I’ve honestly been picturing myself with her in the future.”

Each passing word seemed to crush Rose more and more, though you continued with this seemingly brutal torture anyway.

“She’s beautiful, and funny, and smart, and strong, and talented, and I didn’t realize how important she is to me until recently. I want to tell her how I feel and see if she feels the same, but I need you to be honest with me. Do you think she’d feel the same way?”

Bitterly, she shrugged and shifted her hands to toy with her fingers. “Depends,” she responded bluntly. “Who is it?”

“It’s you, Rose.”

For an agonizingly silent moment, all she could do was stare down at her hands, and you wondered to yourself if she had even heard you at all. Just as you parted your lips to repeat yourself, her head lifted and turned to you. The pale lighting from the slowly rising moon caressed her face, allowing you to see the starstruck expression that riddled her features. Shakily, she lifted her finger to point at herself. “Me?” She asked in disbelief, a scarlet red hue dusting across her cheeks.

When you nodded, it only took half a second before that gleaming smile you adored more than life itself broke out across her lips. “Oh,” she blurted, shrinking into herself a bit while her chipped nails tapped at the backs of her knuckles, her grin never fleeing.

Her eyes, although you couldn’t see them clearly in the little light provided, flickered down for a moment in thought before returning to your own gaze. “You’ve been picturing a future together with me?” You hummed and nodded, soft prickles bubbling up on the back of your neck as your mind tried to convince you of every possible way she could reject you then. The thumping of your heart skipped with fear when she laughed, and your head dipped down to hide your face.

“I never thought you’d actually feel the same way,” she confessed, hands writhing against one another. The moment the words left her lips, you found yourself glancing back up at her, eyes wide and mouth agape in shock. “You like me too?” Another soft chuckle. “Yeah, of course I do. I honestly thought I was horrible at hiding it, but apparently not.”

The corners of her lips perked up into a sly smirk. “Or maybe you’re just a little too dense for it.” Playfully, you smacked the side of her arm, which prompted another joyful laugh that you could never get enough of. Slowly, her hand slid over to cover yours and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “But in all seriousness, I really do like you. I’ve been wanting to tell you that for a while now, but I couldn’t bring myself to. I really didn’t think you would feel the same way.”

Tilting your head to the side, you gave a look of confusion. “What? Why wouldn’t I like you? You’re only, like, the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

She tucked her hair back out of her face before offering a small shrug as a response. Your question seemed to bring her a feeling of discomfort, and although you weren’t sure why, you were quick to try and think of a way to cheer her up again. Before you were able to speak, however, she answered you properly.

“Well, I mean… to be fair, I haven’t always exactly been liked. Before I met you, I had never actually fallen in love with anyone. Mainly because I’ve never been close to anyone before, but also because you’re the only person I actually feel safe with. I feel like I can be myself around you – like I finally mean something. You make me feel like I’m normal in all the best ways. Chris is nice, but he and the others have only raised me to be a bioweapon for them, and they don’t hide the fact that that’s how they see me. You, though… You make me feel human. You make me feel like I’m a real person who has her own purpose – her own life and future.

“And if I’m being honest? As corny as this is going to sound, I don’t want to live in any future for myself if you’re not in it. I was worried that if I confessed how I felt to you, you’d think I was weird or gross and wouldn’t want to be around me anymore. That’s why I kept trying to hide how I feel. I didn’t want to lose you.”

Each passing word only caused your smile to grow. As she spoke, you flipped your hand around in hers, allowing you to finally lace your fingers with hers. When she fell silent again, you gave her hand a small squeeze, similar to how she had done to you shortly before. “Well, now you don’t have to worry about it anymore. You know I feel the same, and you know I want to have a future with you.”

Slowly, she rose to her feet, then turned and helped you stand to look her in the eye. Even with the blackening shadows, you could still see the smitten gleam in her eyes, paired with the seemingly permanent smile on her lips. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she whispered.

“So what does that make us?” You stepped forward, arms flying out to encircle her and pull her flush against your body, prompting a small yelp to sound from her. As quickly as you had reached for her, she all but melted into your touch and held you just as tightly in return. “Well, I’d like to be your girlfriend,” you replied. “But only if you feel the same.”

Her shoulders shook slightly against you as she laughed, her fingernails digging in lightly to your shirt as she nodded. “Of course I feel the same, you dork. I’d love nothing more than to be able to call you mine.”

[charlieeenby]

you put me in the ground, i ain't done

chapter 2: the second

becoming Robin, loosing him, and meeting Tim.

warnings and tags: talon Dick Grayson, adoption, major character death, (jason) mediocre parent Bruce, angst

title from i ain't done by the crane wives

Adjusting to life at Wayne Manor took time for Talon and Jason. Longer for Talon because Bruce wanted to find out who they’d been before they were Talon, but Talon had no interest in that.

In private, Talon wondered if they’d had a family, people who cared for them the way they cared for Jason, people who missed him.

And for a while, Bruce let it go. But every so often, he’d bring it up. Talon would growl and walk away, finding Jason and hiding both of them away. (Alfred knew where they were, but he’d never tell.)

Eventually, Bruce gave up, but he told Talon that if they ever changed their mind, he was’d be happy to help. Talon had responded with a hiss.

When Jason became Robin, Talon threw a fit. They grabbed Jason and hid the boy away, somewhere even Alfred couldn’t find them. Bruce and Alfred knew they were still in the house because food was going missing, but they never saw either one of them for almost two weeks.

“T, I’ll be okay, I swear.”

Talon tugged Jason closer. “Mine. Mine.” they cooed, petting Jason’s hair and grooming him.

“Yeah, T, I’m yours, but I can help people. People like me and you. Kids who need a friend. Victims of abuse or muggings. I can stop the bad guys.” Jason said gently, leaning into Talon.

For a while, a few hours, Talon said nothing. Over the next week and a half, Talon barely talked to Jason, just held the boy close. But one day, they pulled Jason onto their lap, setting their chin on his head.

“Little bird help people?”

“Yeah, T, I wanna help people.”

Talon sighed. “Only if Bat is there. No Bat, no little bird. Understand?”

Jason giggled, not that he’d ever admit it. “Yeah. Only if Batman is there.”

That got Talon to crack, and they nuzzled against Jason’s temple. “Talon will wait. You will come home or Talon will come get you and their will be no more little bird being Robin. Understand?”

Jason hugged Talon. “Yeah, I understand, T. Thank you.”

For the first year of Jason being Robin, Talon was incredibly anxious. They paced the length of the cave while Bruce and Jason were out and on a handful of occasions, followed the pair at a distance. They never intervened, just watched.

Bruce knew about this, but allowed it.

But over time, Talon relaxed a little, and stopped pacing the cave while waiting. They still waited, sitting high up on a ledge or right next to Alfred.

When Jason started acting out and being secretive, Talon tried to help, tried to figure out what was wrong, what they boy was hiding.

They learned nothing and Jason only pushed them farther away.

Then one day, Jason got into an argument with Bruce and then he ran away. Talon couldn’t find him. Talon’s little bird was gone and their was nothing they could do.

Talon was angry and hurt and sad. Jason was gone, in the ground. They wanted the pain to stop and they wanted their Jason back.

Instead, they had a rock with Jason’s name on it and an angry Bruce.

Bruce had yelled at Talon earlier so they had left and gone into Gotham, looking for bad people to hurt. But instead, Talon had found a small boy with a camera.

The boy had fallen asleep on a roof and Talon was worried that someone would hurt the small child.

Creeping up next to him slowly, Talon kicked a rock to make noise and wake the boy.

He startled and sat up, looking around wildly, freezing when he saw Talon. Neither of them said anything for a moment.

Talon waved at the little boy, and then to Talon’s amazement, the boy waved back.

“Hi.” he said quietly. “Who are you?” he asked Talon.

“Talon. You hurt?”

The boy shook his head, “No, just tired.”

“Go home. Be safe.” Talon said, worried.

The boy winced.

“Home not safe?” Talon questioned.

“It’s not home. No one else is there.”

Talon searched for the word for a moment. “Parents?”

The boy shook his head.

“Brother or sister or... other?”

“Siblings?” Talon nodded. “I don’t have any.”

“Friends?”

“No.”

Talon frowned. Small children needed people. That’s what Alfred had told them and Alfred was always right when he said stuff like that. Then an idea struck Talon.

“Come home with Talon. New family.”

“I can’t do that.” the boy said.

“Small child needs people.”

The boy tilted his head in confusion. “Huh?”

Talon hummed. “You small child.”

“Yeah.”

“Small child need people. You need people.”

“Oh. No, I’m okay. I have people, they’re just not at home right now, that’s all.”

“Then small child go home and wait for people. Or small child goes with Talon.”

The boy smiled. “I’ll go home.” the boy stood. “It was nice to meet you, Talon.” he said and Talon smiled at him.

Talon scooped up the boy, Tim, as they’d learned, and started walking towards the batmobile. Batman was there, waiting, and he frowned when he saw the boy in Talon’s arms.

“Talon, what...?”

“Small child needs people.” Talon said and got into the vehicle. Batman got in as well.

“Talon, we can’t just take children.”

Talon glared at Batman who winced, sighed, then started the engine.

“It’s okay, Mr. Batman.” Tim said softly.

Batman sighed again but said nothing.

Tim was a strange child. Jason had taken up a lot of space in Talon’s life, but it seemed like Tim was trying to take up as little space as possible. He never got seconds for meals, which worried Talon and Alfred. Bruce was… aware.

Talon also noticed that unless Talon offered affection, Tim never sought it out. So Talon started offering it more and more. They were careful never to assume that Tim wanted it, because there were rare occasions when Tim would say no.

Which Talon had no issue with, though they still worried. Talon’s favorite time with Tim was when Tim would come sit near Talon and work. This allowed Talon to keep an eye on his new bird while also respecting Tim’s boundaries.

When Tim became Robin, Talon actually held him hostage, hissing and growling at Bruce whenever the man tried to talk to them or get Tim. They allowed Alfred to bring food, but for a week, Tim and Talon were in the cave showers.

It wasn’t until Bruce came over and said that Talon could come with them that they let Tim go. For months, Talon was very clearly angry with Bruce and had no issue making that known.

[rorysanderson]

[ FADING. SELF PARA 001 ]

SUMMARY: Rory has his nightly conversation with Eliza. LOCATION: Rory's porch, late evening. TW: death, grief

It’s cool enough in October that the crickets start to chirp again, rather incessantly.

Annie complains about the sound, insisting she’ll never be able to fall asleep like this for fifteen minutes straight before she eventually falls asleep like this. Rory envies a child’s ability to sleep through just about anything, including an admittedly obnoxious cricket choir.

They’re louder out here. Not surprising, considering they’re surrounded by foliage and trees more than they’re surrounded by anything industrial. Rory can accept their presence begrudgingly, if only because he knows it’s him, really, who’s the intruder here. It feels unfair Rory would hold a grudge against them for the simple crime of existing where they’re meant to exist; something Eliza had affectionately insisted to him, for a very long time, Rory knew nothing about.

He sets both cups of earl gray down on the small table out on his porch, then takes his usual seat to the left. Rory watches as the steam rises from the cup that isn’t his, carried away by the cool night breeze, off to where he can’t follow. What fills the silence for the next five minutes is the crickets’ high-pitched instrumental, the rustling of leaves against the wind, and the occasional intrusive chirp of a bird that’s not meant to be awake anymore.

Rory spins his cup between his fingers gingerly, careful not to burn the tips of them by pressing against the ceramic for too long. Eventually, he brings it to his lips and takes a sip, the heat of the tea comfortable enough to both satiate his thirst and warm his body against the dropping temperature. He sets the cup down again, tracing the rim of it, before he starts.

“Annie’s learned the word fuck,” Rory tells his girlfriend, gaze fixed on the untouched cup of tea across from him. “Keep thinking she’s not listening all the time, but that little bugger’s got her ear to the ground always,” he snorts, amusement settling inside him. “I’m surprised she didn’t learn it sooner, honestly. She’s been warned she can only say it in the bathroom, and never in front of anyone else,” his lips tighten into a warm smile. “Yesterday she broke one of her Barbie’s heads off accidentally and I watched her march straight into the bathroom and shout it,” Rory laughs, rubbing his face both tiredly and disbelievingly. “Wish you coulda seen it, Ellie.” 

His hand traces the smooth edges of the porch table. He’d built this almost immediately after he and Annie had moved to Blue Harbor, knowing he’d need a place, eventually, to sit outside and talk to Ellie. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered, if the tea didn’t play such an important part of their talks. Rory doesn’t think he believes there’s anything to look up at the sky for — feels a little silly, if he tries it. He supposes there’s nothing less silly about talking to a cuppa, mind you, but at least there’s something about her there. The cup’s got a hideous neon-pink pattern printed around it, the loops largely reminiscent of ass cracks. It’s what had drawn Ellie to it in the first place, cackling at it at the thrift shop, and she’d happily drank her tea out of it for years after the fact.

Humming, he continues, “Valley’s finally told me about what happened with her and Murph,” he tells Eliza. His fingernail scratches at the wood of the table anxiously. “I’m sure she’d’ve preferred it’d been you she could talk to. Never been good at all that,” he swallows, his throat starting to feel a little tight. “Not like you, anyway.” The steam is still rising from the cup, but it’s coming in thinner waves now. “I know you’d be worried about her. I’m worried about her, too. Getting her to ask for help — it’s like pulling teeth,” he huffs, the words filled with affection despite himself. Valley and Eliza had been good friends for a reason; she reminds him a lot of her, in many ways. “I won’t keep my eyes off her,” he promises Eliza unnecessarily. “I mean it.” 

He continues to tell her about the past week — an oddity at the flower shop, an ambitious commission by a young musician, Annie’s affinity for Ms. Zakwe, her new favorite teacher. Peanut Butter’s great escape, the grand army of insects he’d been afraid he was going to have to fight, the quiet afternoons off where nothing particularly interesting happens. He talks until the steam has stopped rising entirely from the tea inside the cup, the night seemingly having cooled it down in its entirety. He talks until he’s out of things to talk about, and the elephant in the room has made its way to their porch, sitting on its hind legs. 

Rory purses his lips. He can taste his heartbeat, suddenly, with how far and fast it’s beating. He thinks he has the words, really, but they’re stuck to the roof of his mouth now, and his tongue feels heavy. 

So instead he says, “I’m sorry.”

The tears sting at his eyes almost immediately, the knot in his throat constricting so fantastically it almost feels like he’s going to choke with it. His hand grips the handle of his cup so tightly he fears, for a second, he might well and truly break it. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, wiping at his nose with his free arm. “I didn’t think I’d like him this much, Ellie.”

A part of Rory knows there’s nothing to apologize to her for — she’d never have given him any sort of grief for this, under the circumstances. Even in life, he doesn’t think there was a jealous bone in Eliza Carmichael’s body. She’d been perfect in every sense imaginable, and Rory had been at the right place at the right time, lucky enough to orbit her as long as he had. And still, he can’t help feeling like the admission is some sort of betrayal: he’d promised her, once, he’d spend the rest of his life loving her, and now — now—

“I think I’m forgetting your voice,” he admits, voice thick, blinking tears away. “It’s hard to remember it, on my own. I used to—” he clears his throat. The knot sits firm. “I used to be able to pick you out of a crowd by the sound of it. Pick apart your moods with it. And now, uhm,” his eyesight’s blurred over, suddenly. “And now I can’t even remember your laugh. I can’t even remember how you said my name, Ellie.” 

He chokes on a sob, pressing the heels of his palms tersely against his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes again. He wants to tell her how different they both are from each other — where Eliza had slotted herself into the parts of Rory that had been left wanting his entire life, Jack’s somehow snuck into the crevices of what remains, content to live in the spaces Rory never filled. How where Eliza had always burned so brightly she’d blind anyone who looked at her too long, Jack slumps into himself and exists outside the lines, like a sculpture at an art museum you’re not meant to touch. How where Rory’s losing the details of Eliza he’d been sure he’d committed to memory for years, he’s slowly starting to learn the exact number of Jack’s laugh lines, the depth of his frown, the texture of his scars, all by heart. 

The love he has for Eliza burns as brightly as the first day he’d laid eyes on her. He cannot deny her that — he cannot lie to himself about it. It is, perhaps, the reason why it hurts to think of her as a disappearing memory, as a stack of carefully-wrapped canvases sitting in storage, collecting dust instead of admiration. And where Rory thought there was no room in him left, no way to make it inside himself with such overwhelming grief having taken up residence, it turns out somewhere between a shy smile from across the way while unloading moving boxes and the feeling of calloused lips soft against his own, there exists a chasm, still. 

Does this count as a broken promise, then? I’ll love you forever, but I’ll forget the details of your face. I’ll love you forever, but I’ll not be able to remember the exact curve of your smile. I’ll love you forever, but you’ll start to live outside of me bit by bit, until time takes the rest of you.

You’ve never done anything by halves, have you, Rory Anderson? Eliza had asked of him once. Her voice still eludes him — she comes through like a radio station just outside its frequency. But he does remember how she’d caressed the side of his face, looking at him with such fondness it’d spread through Rory like a wildfire. I hope you know what it feels like one day, to have the attention of someone like you.

Maybe. 

He thinks of Eliza’s insistence that the world was made up of colors Rory’s yet to discover, her firm belief that he’d see what she saw, one day — that he’d find that burst that so eludes him, and he’d know, he’d know, then, he’d found exactly where he was meant to be. 

Maybe, Rory thinks as he lets the breeze run through his hair, take whatever’s left of his quiet sobs — maybe making space for more does not constitute a broken promise, in the end. 

Maybe some things have to be felt through their absence, by the gaps in the memory they leave behind.

Maybe, actually — this is how all things are meant to be loved:

Deeply, even as they fade.

[ladyofthe-manor]

Ronmione shippers... in 2024?

I don't know what I did to big Tumblr for them to be punishing me with my timeline but lately I've been bombarded with Dramione hate seemingly out of the blue. I don't know why, but it has been kind of funny to see other people's posts.

I saw someone wrote out a list of reasons Dramione would NOT work, and it included things like "Hermione being unforgiving and petty" and "Hermione shouldn't need or want a man to change for her" and it left me honestly baffled. Maybe it should be a prerequisite that you read Dramione fanfiction before you attempt to bash it, because clearly some of these people are just outing themselves.

The misogynistic hatred of Hermione as a character is nothing new, so I won't touch on it here, but some of these posts are so telling.

I will talk about Draco though, because he gets almost double the flak because of all the hatred of Drarry on top of it all (which reads as homophobic to me but well, that's a story for another time.)

Most Dramione readers and writers don’t ship Hermione Granger and the 12-year-old boy that prayed on her downfall and wished for her death. Do you think we seek out 100k+ word stories just for the long awaited epilogue where he calls her a mudblood in their marital vows? 

Are you that judgmental that you would begrudge a sixteen-year-old (threatened with the death of his mother) the chance at redemption?

A brainwashed, bullying, ignorant CHILD? Who goes through an entire war? Who watches and is forced to participate in torturing his own classmates? Do you really think he went through all of that only to come out on the other side STILL believing everything he was taught? Or is it more feasible that he might have had a change of heart or two?

(And honestly, even if he does come through the war still believing in blood purity, the fanfictions that explore his subsequent journey of self-discovery and learning are some of the most popular on ao3. I wonder why?)

Isn’t it more exciting to read about Draco and EITHER his redemption arc, or if you hate him so much, his own downfall? Especially over canon pairings? Ron and Hermione are childhood friends-to-lovers. BORING. 

You can't have it both ways. I've seen people absolutely shit on Hermione for the birds, and the permanent disfiguration, and the jar, but jeez, do you know who would have loved that side of her? Probably Slytherin Draco, don't you think? Or is it Ron, the object of her ire with the birds and the one that thought she took it too far and was too ruthless?

Also, to so confidently argue that Hermione would never forgive Draco and that he would never change (even for himself if not for her) is such an incredibly pessimistic outlook on life that I can almost understand why you sad people still ship Ronmione. It's giving... ordering chicken tenders at a fancy restaurant. Grow up, lmao.

Hermione can forgive her childhood bully... for HERSELF. Draco can unlearn the harmful brainwashing of his childhood... for HIMSELF. And then the two of them can learn from the other's experiences and heal together. Or they can bicker until the sun comes down and turn slowly from enemies to lovers. Or they can become friends to lovers. The possibilities are endless, and more importantly, it allows for something Ronmione inherently lacks: GROWTH.

It's especially funny to me, because unless you specifically go looking for it, most of the quality Dramione fanfiction that gets posted on a DAILY basis doesn't even mention Ron except to say that their stale high school sweetheart relationship ended quietly and amicably and everyone moved on. You guys love to go on and on about Draco and Dramione readers are sitting there like... Ron? We don't think of you.

[aqua-the-smiter]

Here it is! Part 3, the last one. I wasn't planning on it initially, but it felt incomplete otherwise. I wanted to give it a nice ending at least.

Selkie!Ferrus x Argena Seeva Some interesting happenings over the winter months SFW Very much inspiring by this song - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SR7QTKe1D7Q Iron Hands dividers by the lovely @squishyowl

He was indeed there the next day. And the next. By the turn of autumn Argena’s visits to Ferrus had become something of a daily thing. Not always, but when weather and duties permitted, more often than not they were there together. The flagging system they had wasn’t perfect by any means, but it worked. If he was there, he would leave a shell on a flat rock up the cliff. That way she wouldn’t have to climb all the way down for nothing.

Ferrus had to admit, he liked having her around. He remembered telling his brothers how he was fine being completely alone. That he could probably go until the end of time without talking to anyone. Which had not necessarily been a lie, but if he was forced to be honest, at least to himself, this was far preferable. Gena was a lovely woman. Sweet and lively and skilled. Sharp as a blade too, and eager to learn from him. She liked hearing about his travels, and about his immensely strange family. He was a little smug that she would take his side most of the time when he told her about their arguments, although she was perfectly willing to call him out if she felt like it.

And she wasn’t wrong either. He had been much more cold and callous in his youth. Not anymore. He still had some of it in him, but he’d long since realized that kind of thing did not make him look “cool”. He just looked silly, acting like that. Although his temper remained. Maybe not as quick to flare to its hottest, but it didn’t take long. She was good at calming him down though, he noticed on the few times he’d lost it around her. A gentle pat on the arm and a few soft words. Like cool water tempering hot metal. Her company had quickly become something much looked forward to. And was rapidly blooming into something a little stronger.

Her selkie lived in a cave further down the beach, where the cliffs were higher and more sheer. She had to cling to his back as he clambered up the stone with surprising grace for a man of his height and weight. During high tide the beach was covered altogether, and he’d had to carry her over the rushing surf. 

It was clear he’d been working on it for sometime. The main cavern branched out into two separate rooms. In one he stored a good stock of food in barrels and crates he’d scrounged up from somewhere, fish and shellfish preserved in salt. He could easily catch his own, either in or out of seal form, but he’d long since learned the value of taking precautions. The middle chamber held his bed, a fire pit, a few chairs and a low table. That was covered in wood shavings and carving tools, so metal work was not his only skill. The last one contained his much prized anvil, forging tool and a supply of metal. 

“Nice place.” She’d said the first time he brought her in, looking around.

“It’s not much, but I’m happy with it. Some of my brothers prefer opulence, although I could never see the appeal.” He shook his head. “They live in it, you make it.” Gena told him, admiring a few of his finished pieces sitting out.

They spent hours together working around his home or talking. He talked a lot about his brothers. Which made sense, as he’d been close with them for most of his life until recently. Apparently they weren’t all selkies, like she had initially thought. Leman was a large blond wolf, Roboute was a pegasus (a winged horse), Sanguinius was a harpy (some hybrid between a human and a bird). He had a brother named Magnus who was a sphinx, and the best mage among them by far. The twins, named Alpharius and Omegon, were sea serpents. Vulkan was a dragon, and there was another metalworking brother named Perturabo who was a gryphon.

“What was Fulgrim?” She asked. The two were sitting in the mouth of the cave, sucking the meat out of some cooked scallops she’d collected.

“He was a naga. Lower half was a snake, the upper was human. All my brothers have that in some capacity, actually. But as it happens, he has been turned into something else by Father. He was none too pleased about him stealing my sealskin, apparently.”

“So he didn’t get off scot free? Good.” Gena nodded her approval. “Your father seems sensible.”

Ferrus cracked open another scallop with his back teeth and spat out the excess shell. “He is. Tends to be hands off for the most part, but he steps in when he needs to. It’s difficult to keep all 18 of us from tearing each other’s throats out sometimes.”

“If all your brothers are their own thing, what about you? Are you still a real selkie? Do other selkies dislike you?”

“Of course I’m still a real selkie.” He huffed. “And I get along with them just fine. They see no difference in me aside from my size in human form, and they don’t mind that. Truthfully, I consider them more ‘my kind’ than my brothers.”

“Aww, that’s sweet.”

“I am grateful for it, yes.” 

“Even if it is a bunch of seals for family. Still weirder than mine.”

Now it was his turn to grill her. “You said you had siblings too, if I recall.”

“I do, but by your standards they’re nothing to write home about. My older brother Brendan is perfectly fine.Not as talented as me though.” She said with a smirk. “And my little sister Lillian does nothing but get underfoot and drive me mad.”

“Just remember it could always be worse.” Ferrus replied.

They got into the habit of giving each other small gifts. Ferrus would send her back with small treasures he’d found while diving in seal form. Iridescent shells, small gold coins and jewels from shipwrecks. Once he’d even presented her with a huge chunk of mother-of-pearl, which was easily her favorite. In return she usually brought him more practical things, utensils, pieces of wood and metal, cloth, etc. Not always though. Once she presented him with a gold armband she’d worked on in secret for a couple of weeks. It was beautiful, engraved with knotwork, and the words that adorned the tattoos on his upper arms that cut them off from the rest of his skin.

 Needless to say he was quite pleased with it.

“Làmhan iarainn. Hands of iron.” He translated as he slipped the band on. “Thank you, Gena.”

He smiled at her then, and she felt very pleased with herself. “You’re welcome. Are they?”

“Are what?”

“Your hands. Are they actually…y’know. Iron? They feel normal, aside from being so big.”

“There’s your answer. But they may be less normal than you think.” He winked at her, but didn’t elaborate.

Summer however, turned to autumn and winter, thus cutting their visits down. Both due to the weather and the increase in workload. Autumn might have its rains and chill  but winter was even more unkind with heavy snows, biting winds, and cold claws. Even when she did have a moment to spare, she would find that more often than not, the rock was barren of his shell. She didn't know what selkies did through the winter, but she assumed even he needed food and warmth to last him through it, no matter how extraordinary he was otherwise. So as much as she missed his company, she understood his absence. Her family noticed her somewhat dour shift in demeanor, and her sister had taken to asking her if her sweetheart had deserted her.

It was an effort to not thump Lillian for that.

What her family knew about Ferrus was little and less, and she intended to keep it that way unless something out of pocket happened. But that was just fantasy on her part, she was sure. Her good reputation had kept anyone from asking too many questions. She didn’t outright lie, just gave slivers of the truth.

To keep herself distracted she set to work on weaving a tartan for the selkie. She had long accepted his lack of clothing and it made sense. But still, she thought he might appreciate one, just in case. She’d make sure to buy extra materials, because it would definitely need to be big, and found snatches of time to work on it between her other chores.

It would have been an uneventful winter otherwise. The snow was bad but not devastating, and in between bouts of it she even found a few spare moments to head down to the beach and see if Ferrus had left his shell. It was on one of these treks she discovered just what had become of his most loathed brother.

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That blasted horse wasn’t there, thankfully.

On the trail from her home to the moors and the shore there was either a very large pond or a very small loch, depending on who you asked. In the middle of it was a small island with a huge old oak tree growing in the center. And in that large pond or small loch there lived a peculiar white horse. 

Argena hated that horse.

He was beautiful, of course. His coat as white as the snow and his hooves black like polished onyx. His mane and tail were long and silky, and flowed like the foam of a rushing torrent. Everyone assumed he was a runoff of some farmer or warrior or what have you, and nobody understood her wariness around him. Many people had tried to capture him, only to be met with empty hands when he either disappeared or flung himself into the water and swam beyond her reach. He gave her the creeps.

Especially when he would stare at her from the far shore. Fox would always snort and lay her ears back when he was around. Argena would’ve swore on her life that the bastard was a kelpie. The only thing that didn’t make sense was why he never seemed to eat anyone. He’d certainly had the opportunity. 

Bastard.

But today, he wasn’t there. At least, not in the form she recognized him as. The snow was falling gently, and the sky was a flat, dove gray. 

No, wait, there. Not in his usual spot, instead sitting on a fallen tree near the path. And not a horse at all, not this time at least. He was a remarkably handsome, pale young man. A little too flawless, actually. It was uncanny. His long white mane and tail had become long, crystal white hair tangled with green strands of water plants. A few waterlilies stuck out here and there. His eyes were the purple of amethysts.

Her hands gripped the reins tighter and she tried to ignore him. She recognized him for what he was, of course. If the water plants in his hair hadn’t tipped her off, it was the fact that it was still dripping wet despite the cold that surely would’ve frozen it. But more than that, he was a one to one with Ferrus’s description of Fulgrim. She wanted no part of that.

But he studies her with those glittering eyes of his. His eyelashes were white too, she noticed.

Don’t look at him.

“Are you going to your selkie again?”

Her blood ran cold, and she pulled her cloak tighter around herself. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She refused to be afraid of such a petty jackass. Even if he wasn’t actually Fulgrim, which she doubted.

“Oh don’t play coy with me.” He unfolded himself and stood up. “You smell of forge smoke and sea spray whenever you come back.”

“And since when was I ever of interest to you? You know I’m too smart to let you just lure me in and eat me.”

With that, he exploded with a very indignant and horse-like snort. “I have never eaten anyone.”

Aha. Gotcha. “So you’re just here spying on your brother despite his wishes? I believe he made it quite clear that he never wanted to see you again?”

That made him shut down for a moment. “I am not spying on him.” He started, deciding it would be better to make at least a somewhat favorable impression on her, rather than continue to dig himself a hole. “Father turned me into this abominable horse monster, and I decided to come here until he decides I’ve been chastened enough.”

If nothing else his brother had certainly found a pretty thing as a playmate. Sharp too.

“And yet you decided to bed down in your brother’s home territory where he would most certainly return one day.” Gena said with a curl of her lip. “You really are as shameless as he’d told me. Seems you’ll be stuck like that for a while yet, since you clearly haven’t learned your lesson yet, Fulgrim!”

Before the kelpie could respond she’d spurred Fox on into a gallop. Not the safest in this snow, but she wanted to be away from him.

“And put some bloody pants on!”

Fulgrim sat there sulking for some time. A raven landed on a branch next to him. The crawling sounded suspiciously like laughter.

“She has a point you know.” Corvus said, shaking snow off his tail feathers.

“Shut up!”

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Ferrus hadn’t been there, so in the end she’d settled for leaving him a note on the rock, setting it in the small box of things she’d brought for him. Her little supply runs, and while she usually missed him taking it, the next time she came back the box was always empty. It wasn’t anything much, just some small dried foodstuffs she could spare, a needle and thread, and soap. 

But it seemed she was fated to spend the rest of the winter without her selkie. And she felt his absence sorely. It seemed the old saying of “distance makes the heart grow fonder” was well and truly accurate. Her heart had grown very fond of him over the months.

Actually, it was a little concerning.

It wasn’t just fondness. It had taken her much time to come to this conclusion, but now she was sure of it. She loved Ferrus, loved him and wanted him to know that she did. There was no way to know if he felt the same, but holding her blossoming feelings all winter was really starting to prickle. She’d only made one more trip down to the shore after her run in with Fulgrim. Sure enough, the box was empty, but Ferrus had once again been absent. It was starting to drive her nuts.

But it was spring now. The snow had long since melted into patches. The air was full of birdsong again, and the scent of freshly blooming flowers. People were beginning to gather outside again going about their work as the retreating cold allowed. It was nice.

Moreover, it meant she could see Ferrus again and give him the completed tartan. 

Riding past the very large pond/very small loch still made her shiver. Although she didn’t see any sign of Fulgrim, she doubted he was gone. And just because she couldn’t see him, doesn’t mean he couldn’t see her. The thought made her shiver.

Her mood rapidly approved upon reaching the rock. His shell was sitting there. The snow and ice encrusting the shore had long since melted away. And when she looked out over the water…

Yes! There he was! Swimming in seal form. He leapt out, more graceful than any dolphin despite his side, a huge fish clamped in his strong jaws and sharp teeth. Then disappeared back under the azure water. Quickly, she made her way down to the stretch of sand waving to him with her free hand the next time he surfaced.

He just about flung himself onto the beach, slithering upwards in that goofy caterpillar-esq way that seals had to on land. Even a seal as regal and majestic as him, because despite obviously having the looks of a predator, his seal form was undoubtedly a noble creature. Then the sealskin came off, draped in its usual place around his shoulders. The golden armband she’d made for him was still there. His silver eyes shone as he swept her into a tight embrace.

“Gena!” He held her as tight as he dared. “Father’s teeth! You’re alright!”

She hugged him back with the arm that wasn’t wrapped around the huge tartan. “Of course I’m alright. I was more concerned about you. Where were you all winter, you big lug?”

“Me? Swimming mostly. Traveling around, getting a lay of things. I’m not the one to be worried about. You met Fulgrim. And he’s a kelpie now no less! It could have been so much worse. I’m glad you’re safe.”

“What? You were worried about little old me?” She teased. “It was nothing, honest. He gives me the creeps for sure, but he seemed so petulant. He didn’t come off as threatening either. Just…weird.”

Gena felt his strong arms tighten around her. “All the same. I’m happy you’re safe.”

Her note had just about stopped his heart for a few moments. Especially after what he’d been pondering all winter. That being, the future of their association. But this, seeing her now, seeing her safe, and the warmth of relief and joy he felt at seeing her was all the confirmation he needed.

She really did look beautiful today. Her long, wavy black hair rippled down her back and over her shoulders, her golden eyes and sweet face bright with happiness at seeing him again, her fair skin given a rosy tint by the warming spring sun. He was happy to see her too.

His home hadn’t changed much since she’d left. The two sat near the mouth of the cavern again, eating chunks of slightly charred fish and shellfish off a wooden board. Ferrus, contrary to her worries, had been overjoyed with the tartan, and now wore the kilt as any proper Scotsman would. It looked good on him too. The black contrasted nicely with his pale skin, while the interweaving lines of gray, gold, and blue helped offset the otherwise gloomy coloring.

“It’s good to see you again. I confess I was wondering if you would be back.” The selkie admitted.

“Of course I would come back. You’re my friend.” Gena assured him, patting his knee.

“Yes, well…good to hear. I’m glad you did.” 

He seemed a little off

“I hope Fulgrim was the only strange encounter you had.” He said, almost prompting.

“He was, yes. Aside from my family being their usual selves. Why do you ask?”

“Aside from being concerned for your wellbeing? Well…there is something I’d like to ask you.” He said slowly. Hesitantly, even.

“Oh? Go ahead, ask.” She reached up and patted his cheek in reassurance.

His face colored slightly. “Well...alright. This might be sudden, but I…I would like your permission to court you, if I may.”

That made her freeze for a moment. Slowly, she brought her eyes up to meet his. “Court me? As in…”

“Yes. Like that. I love you, Argena.” Ferrus admitted. “I have been pining after you all winter and have only recently come to understand why, exactly. But it’s not something I can lie to myself about. I’ve been wondering if I should ask you. If it would ruin things between us. In the end I decided I would, and leave it up to you what you wanted to do next.”

“You’re very sweet, Ferrus.”  Gena smiled up at him, and placed her hand on his. “I never thought I’d see a man as big and strong as you so nervous.”

“This is an important thing I’m asking you. We could be married.”

“I’d like that. Being your little mortal wife.”

He snorted. “Don’t put it like that! You’re more than that to me. Although I suppose that does bring up an unfortunate aspect.”

“You’d probably outlive me by several centuries at the very least. Yes, I know. I don’t mind. I’ve been doing some thinking over the winter too, you know?”

“Of course. But I mind. I don’t want to outlive you. Have you for some decades and then not. You’re precious to me beyond words Gena.”

Now it was her turn to blush, and she rested her head against his side. He put his arm around her and pulled her close. That was as much of a yes as anything else she’d said. “You know, it reminds me of a story my grandmother told me once. Her mother-my great grandmother-buried a sealskin underneath an old oak. She said whoever dug it up and put it on would have a new life as a selkie.”

“Do you believe it’s true?” Ferrus asked, suddenly hopeful. 

“Is it possible for a selkie’s skin to pass on that kind of power?”

“It is. But only if the selkie dies in human form or otherwise abandons the coat. Which is possible, and doesn’t even require something terrible happening. Not every selkie who weds a human does so because he or she is forced. Burying the sealskin somewhere very safe and secure is a way to also bury the call of the sea if someone feels they’re not strong enough to resist it. Not always, and it’s not something I would do. But it’s not out of the question. Do you know where this oak is?”

“It’s on a little island in that small loch where I met Fulgrim.”

“He won’t be a problem.” The selkie swore. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

It felt like flowers were blooming in her heart. “It’s all just like that song you were singing when we first met.”

He smiled at the memory. “It does, doesn’t it? I still have to sing you the rest of it sometime. After we find that sealskin. If that’s what you want.”

“Trust me Ferrus, I don’t think there’s anything I’ve wanted more. I love you, my fair selkie.”

She reached up and placed her hands on his cheeks. He leaned down, and she pressed a kiss to his lips.

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Fulgrim, indeed, turned out to be no problem at all. Ferrus surprised her the next day with the sealskin. Just where the story had said it would be.

“It looks just like yours.” Gena told him. Dark gray on top, light gray on the sides, dark speckles. “And what about your brother?”

“We exchanged a few words. He will leave you alone. In fact, he’s going to leave this land entirely. And he’s fully aware that I still despise him.”

“Thank you, Ferrus.” She hugged him tightly around the hips. 

“When you feel you’ve spent enough decades here, tell me. We’ll go back to the sea, you and I. That sealskin is the real thing, I can feel it. Until then, and after, I am yours.”

“And I am yours.”

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Epilogue

In the end there wasn’t much fuss made about Gena’s strange new betrothed when she finally brought him home. Ferrus was impressed with how clever she’d been, spinning a tale about a shipwrecked sailor she’d nursed back to health and fallen in love with. There was a grain of truth in it, as in all the best lies. He’d had to use a bit of his own magic as well, mostly to lower his height so he was not so freakishly tall compared to the humans. He was still a respectable seven feet, but that could easily be written off as just rare luck with his ancestry. Moreover, he had proven himself a dab hand in the forge, so clearly she was not marrying a good-for-nothing.

The hoops to jump through had been numerous but worth it. Especially now.

“He’s beautiful.” Ferrus said, his silver eyes full of fatherly love as he looked down at the little boy in his wife’s arms.

Little Melor looked just like him. It was uncanny. Except for his eyes. Those were beautiful and golden, just like his mothers. He kissed Gena on the cheek as she rested against him.

“He’ll be as handsome as his father when he grows up.” Argena agreed, tapping their little son on the nose. The babe giggled.

Underneath his swaddling was a tiny sealskin. He’d come out wrapped in it. Ferrus had assured her it would grow with him. A selkie’s skin would always fit. It was a very rare occurrence for the union of a human and a selkie to produce another selkie, but it was possible. Evidently, Gena already had good luck with selkies.

“You want to hold your pup?” She asked. “You haven’t gotten to as much as you’d like, I think.”

In short order Melor was handed off to his father. The baby was still absolutely tiny in his father’s arms. Despite being so big Ferrus held him tenderly. He wriggled a bit.

“A little restless.” Gena noted. 

“A little.” He agreed. Then he began to sing.

Once a fair and handsome seal-lord lay his foot upon the sand For to woo the fisher's daughter and to claim her marriage hand. "I have come in from the ocean, I have come in from the sea, And I'll not go to the waves, love, lest ye come along with me."

"Lord, long have I loved you as a selkie on the foam. "I would gladly go and wed ye and be Lady of your home But I cannot go into the ocean, I cannot go into the sea. I would drown beneath your waves, love, if I went along with ye."

"Lady, long have I loved you: I would have you for my wife. I shall stay upon your shoreland though it robs me of my life. I will stay one night beside you, never go back to the sea, I will stay and be thy husband though it be the death of me."

"Lord, I cannot go and wed thee all to watch my lover die! Since I'll not be left a widow I have a plan for us to try: Let us speak with my grandmother who's ever dwelt beside the sea. She may know some trick or treasure that I may wed my fair selkie."

So they've gone to her grandmother's little cottage by the sea To inquire how a maiden can be wed to her selkie. For the selkie's watery kingdom would surely rob her of her breath But to stay on land past midnight, it would surely be his death.

"Lord, I know not how to aid you – you may never live on shore. For your kind to live 'til dawning has ne'er been seen before. But my mother had a seal-coat that she buried 'neath a tree For she told me that its wearer would become a fair selkie."

So they've journeyed farther inland though the seal-lord's getting weak And she's shouldering the shovel to unearth the thing they seek. At the rising of the full moon underneath the elfin oak She's unearthed that very treasure of which her grandmother spoke.

And just before the stroke of midnight they have made it back to sea And she's donned that magic seal-coat and become a maid selkie. Now they've gone into the ocean, hand in hand into the sea, She has gone along -- a fair seal-bride for her selkie.

Melor cooed softly before finally falling asleep, peaceful and content to be held by his father. Ferrus held him gently, and held him close. His other arm was around Gena. She smiled, listening to him sing. He did it often for her, and she never tired of hearing it.

“You know, I think I’m going to be just fine not going back to the sea for a while.”

“And your family?”

“They can lump it. I’ll see them eventually. It’s not like another several decades will kill them. It’s been centuries. And I have more important things to think about. Thank you, Gena. For coming to see me that day instead of just running away. I expected you to.”

“How could I run when I had you in front of me? I’m glad I went down too. I have you, and you’ve given me something infinitely precious. Thank you, Ferrus.”

“Only for you, mo ghaol.”

[autumntouched]

A Rough Landing

A/N: July has been brutal. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve suddenly found myself crying in the shower or deeply exhausted from a depression I can’t seem to shake or in a spiral of anxiety I don’t know how to talk myself down from. As someone who’s been driven for much of her life, I feel so lost at the moment. I’m surrounded by many wonderful people, so I’ll be okay but being happy again feels a long way off.

Natasha’s first flight after the bird strike.

Natasha removes her mask. The thing that’s supposed to help her breathe feels like it’s suffocating her. Her hands are shaking so hard, she can barely complete her post flight check. It doesn’t matter that it’s taking her longer than it should. If she tries climbing down the ladder, her legs will probably give out.

Her only comfort is that Bob isn’t faring much better. He’d thrown up as soon as their wheels bumped along the landing strip. But at least his legs can hold him enough to get to the ground. Natasha leans her forehead into her hands. How could she have worked so hard and come so far only to blow it at the finish line? If she doesn’t pull herself together, Maverick is going to ground her.

She doesn’t know how long she’s been sitting there before footsteps scrape up the ladder. Natasha struggles to calm her breathing. “Just double checking my work,” she lies, voice cracking and betraying her.

“It’s just me, Phoenix,” says Maverick, and her heart sinks so hard and fast that she’s crying before she can get a grip on herself. Not just soft tears but the kind that sends snot blurting from her nose and stains her gloves dark while her shoulders shake and heave.

Maverick leans on the side of her plane, watching her completely fall apart on the eve of one of the most important missions she could fly. She’s out, and that only punches her gut harder.

“I’m not a girl,” Natasha says stupidly through her fingers, Hangman’s taunts loud in her ear, shame burning her cheeks. Her helmet feels too tight, but it’s the only thing keeping her from completely falling apart.”

Maverick snorts in spite of himself. “I’ve been around long enough to know learning to cry would save a lot of people a lot of time. And anyway, you’re doing better than I thought at this point. I was going to call it a win if you even got in your cockpit today.”

That startles her into looking over at him. Maverick’s normal intensity is softened some, the gleam in his eyes almost fatherly in a strange way. He reaches out a hand and touches her shoulder.

It’s better to face the truth head on than put it off. “We’re out, aren’t we?” She hasn’t just let herself down. She’s let Bob down too.

Maverick studies her. “Is that what you want? I’d understand. Everyone would.”

“You’d trust me on a mission? After what happened? After right now?”

A breeze ruffles his hair, revealing a few strands of gray. Up close, the crows feet at the corner of his eyes are deeper than they seem from farther away. The steady, youthful air with which he carries himself fades in the lines of wisdom carved into his face. “The only question that matters is whether you trust yourself.”

She has too much respect for him to lie, no matter how badly she wants to be picked. “I want to,” she admits.

Maverick squeezes her shoulder. “I can work with that, if you can.” He leans in closer even though they’re the only two this high up. “Being a good pilot is not never ending up in a bad spot, okay? It’s not never failing. It’s not not doubting yourself. It’s what you’re able to do when everything goes to shit and trusting you’ll figure out a way to the other side. And the more you see things go to shit, the more you’ll trust yourself to figure it out. I promise.”

Natasha drags her arm across her still running nose as something he said registers. “You didn’t think I’d fly today?”

A smile tugs at his lips. “I didn’t think you’d fly without an order,” he amends.

She sniffs and takes that in. “You’re a hard person to disappoint, sir.”

Now Maverick fully smiles. “And yet, I’ve been told what a disappointment I am many a time.”

“I talked to Rooster about that.”

He gives her shoulder a shake. “Okay, Lieutenant, this conversation is about you, not me. Let’s keep it that way.” Natasha feels a smile touch her own mouth in response. Knowing how hard he’s fighting to keep them alive, how firmly he believes in them steadies her.

“My legs still feel like jelly,” she confesses.

“I’ll walk you down. We’ll take it one step at a time okay?”

“Okay.”

He talks her through lifting herself out of the cockpit and onto the ladder. He guides her every step of the way down, just as he has been the voice in their ear from the first hop. Her legs shake when her feet finally touch the hard tarmac, but she manages to stay upright.

Rooster and Bob are waiting for her, her WSO still pale and a little green, hair flattened from sweat.

“Fuck,” Phoenix complains, both humiliated and grateful to see them.

“You told me you couldn’t fly this mission without me,” Rooster reminds her. “So here I am.”

“And what about you, Bob?” It sounds more accusing than she means for it to be.

He shrugs, tucking in his chin bashfully. “I like flying with you.”

Natasha takes them in, feels their belief in her despite everything they’ve been through. Or perhaps because of it. Maverick squinting at her in the dusk light, Rooster holding himself a little straighter than he has since he learned Maverick would be their instructor, and Bob waiting to see how she’ll lead.

Maverick taps her helmet. “Go get some rest, Phoenix. Come back again tomorrow.” It’s not a question, but she still gives him an answer as Rooster slings his arm over her shoulders and Bob falls into step beside them.

“I will, sir,” she promises.

[pixeldistractions]

Jack Phoenix lived a pretty ordinary life. His brother caused all the drama that people talked about in their family. In fact, when all added up, Hayden had probably caused their parents enough stress for the both of them combined, so Jack felt it was his duty to be the stable twin.

The biggest stir Jack ever caused was dumping his high school girlfriend in his sophomore year of college. He had met the woman who would become his wife, whom he married and remained happily married to for all their years since. He didn’t become a pro sports star after high school and became a cop instead. Like his father, like any other number of thousands of men just like him. Like it was a Phoenix family tradition to aspire to greatness and fall just short. They were family people, hard-working people, and their family was strong.

His family was comfortable while remaining humble. He lived in a beautiful suburban home with his beautiful wife and three beautiful children. He built a treehouse for his kids in the backyard. He was a scout club leader on Saturday mornings. He had a job that fulfilled him and a rich network of friends.

And his dad was dying.

It was early, but not remarkably so. Micah had enjoyed his retirement for a few years—not as many years as he hoped. He met his grandchildren, but he didn’t get to spend as many years with them as he hoped. No matter how early or late, would it ever be enough time?

It happened slow for a while, and fast in the end. Micah learned the news of his terminal condition last summer, and he waited until the fall to tell his family. The first months felt so surreal for them all. They didn’t understand it, since he looked the same as ever, healthy as ever. They were sure the doctors were wrong. He would live longer than twelve months, they were sure of it.

Other things took priority, as life does. Jack and Hayden talked casually about putting together a little trip for their dad. He always wanted to see Brazil, or Japan, or Indonesia. He’d been basically nowhere and his bucket list was an eternity long.

They went back and forth about where, how long, how much it should cost. But soon Micah grew too tired for even walks around the neighborhood, content to sit and watch the birds. He was watching his life go by him, slipping past more rapidly now than ever.

They didn’t go soon enough, and before they knew it, Micah was too sick for Brazil, and then, too sick for even Hawaii.

He would leave this life having never seen the places he dreamed of.

It happens to the best of us.

Micah was far too humble, having spent the bulk of his middle age caring for his family. Jack could blame his brother for being so messy for so long, but that wouldn't help their situation. There was no way to turn back the clocks.

“It’s okay,” Micah told Jack. “I’m at peace with that. But you go. You see it all, whatever it is you want to see. Do what really matters. Do it now, not later. You never know when your time will run out.”

Until you finally do know, with certainty, exactly when your time will run out.

“I will, Dad,” Jack said. “I promise.”

The only thing Micah wanted now was to pass as painlessly as possible in his home, surrounded by the family he loved.

They were right about one thing. Micah Phoenix did last longer than the doctors foretold. He lived fourteen months instead of twelve.

It happened on September 29th, 2088. He was 66 years old.

— from “intermission: when time runs out” (1/3)

Next ->

[rwby-confess]

60-something confessions, weve paid our tribute, what are YOUR confessions

Okay, here goes 10 confessions from me:

1.

I wish we had seen Pyrrahs friendships, I think she and Ren would've been good friends since both of them are so level headed.

I headcanon that they would take care of the school garden together, Pyrrah would struggle a bit with delicate plants but same time be happy to be able to learn from his peers new things for once.

One day she learns that Nora and Ren are orphans. Her respect for them grows, seeing them as so much stronger for not having the same support she had growing up, yet here they are thriving. She makes sure to invite them over during holidays and for other things they possibly missed out on as kids.

She doesn't care for cooking but often goes to shop for ingredients with Nora.

2.

I think Freezerburn is incredibly soft.

Weiss is able to cool down hot-headed Yang and Yang is able to melt away the Ice Queens tsundere tendencies. :'-) <3

3.

I miss seeing the street fashion influence when it comes to designs, ofcourse I understand why it isn't there as much anymore but I can still moan about it.

Yangs' tsuyome-esque looks was my fave, it was fire and I wanted to cosplay it so badly.

Ruby's look reminds me of something I wore when I was 12yo actually

4.

Only on my second watch I realised that Ironwood looks really hot with this look and it's a shame that it got SO little screen time. And same with Winters first look.

5.

Also on my second watch I realised that the straps on Oscars' gloves are green not black ???

6.

Remember bootleg Neptune from volume 4? Yeah he sure exists. But what if he did more?

Weiss is trapped in Atlas, she's lonelier than ever, she can only go to places and events dad approves of. And this guy keeps coming around, maybe they meet at the Schnee Manors garden, why not go for a bad boy?

They have fling going on, for Weiss it's mostly out of boredom and finding him good looking. If she's trapped might as well have fun. Maybe they'll get in trouble or have some other sort of side plot going on together but eventually when Weiss gets a window to escape out of Atlas, she's faced with a decision.

Stay with the guy who obviously finds it insane to trade living high life in Atlas to go chase some pals she met at school in other kingdom. Weiss snaps out of the rose coloured glasses after hearing this, ultimately choosing her friends.

Idk I just wish they let them do the usual young people fuck ups and learning experiences if there's going to be whole volume of them sitting around

7.

Yang's probably closest thing Oscar got for mother figure...

8.

The bird thing. Make Raven tell Weiss and Yang how the experience was as she remembers, give them reason to be shocked. So here's my suggestion:

Maybe the process was violent since current humans aren't used to magic in any shape, they're stripped from their autonomy in that moment and it's humiliating.

Like Amber was in the chamber beneath Beacon, Oz did it to Branwens there in similar way? Underground to not attract grimm, no one to hear their screams, its cold and dark, they're stripped like Amber to act as guinea pigs for this man.

Qrow has (more or less) made peace with all that trauma and what happened since he thinks its suffering for the greater good. After all, the man doesn't really have home to go back to. He doesn't want to bring misfortune to people he loves and the tribe doesn't really want him back.

However Raven learns that Salem can't be beaten, meaning she and Qrow suffered for only to be ideal candidates for a suicide mission...

9.

I want Qrowin angst, please crwby, I want to suffer lmao

Give Qrow absolutely losing it, calling Winter after Atlas falls asking her if she knows where the kids are? Where did she last saw them?

And when Winter tries to answer Qrows questions she can't bring herself to say it; they're gone. She was there and she couldn't save them, not even her own sister. The words just won't come out... and after the silence she tells him to meet her in Vacuo, after all he deserves to know.

Whatever differences they had in the past feel so miniscule now.

(Aaand I headcanon that both of them craved for a "normal" family, making this little story even more horrible!)

10.

Yang "shooting" kids' leg on live TV should've had more consequences me thinks. Give me atleast someone commenting or being vary of her.

Her arm is brand new Atlas tech according to Tai, maybe someone would see it as an issue after finding out that she got it for free from Ironwood himself.

Maybe anti Yang propaganda being showed around town could've pushed her to work with Robyn (lol)

"Quite frankly miss I'm about to piss myself right about now, so this one is on the house"

[junebluues]

When is your birthday?

What is your favorite book?

What is something you're insecure about?

What is your dream job?

What is a fact about you that nobody would believe?

What were your highs and lows for this last month?

Where is somewhere you'd like to visit?

How do you de-stress?

What are your favorite apps besides tumblr?

Describe yourself in one sentence.

What is something you're really good at?

What's a totally random and useless fact that you know?

What is your longest friendship?

How are you feeling right now?

Are you an early bird or a night owl?

Favorite song lyrics right now?

What does self care look like for you?

Describe yourself with 3 singers.

What makes you nervous?

What’s a pet peeve you have?

What will always make you cry?

What kind of first impression do you think you make on people?

Favorite color?

:3

WOW thats a lot thanks starry!!!!

june 14th!

i don’t have one single favorite, but one of my favorites is the perks of being a wallflower!

i think it’s mostly my face/body hair. i’m naturally very hairy and i sort of had kind of a unibrow and a slight mustache as a kid even though i’m afab. it was very noticeable because i also have black hair. my teeth were also crooked before i got braces, and i used to wear glasses before i got corrective contacts. i’ve been insecure about my looks since i was a kid. i was a really weird kid and it didn’t help that i was “ugly” and all my friends weren��t. it kind of put me into a pattern of self-depreciation and loathing. my teeth are now fixed and i got laser hair removal done in most places, plus i no longer wear glasses. i was basically a weird kid who got a glow up.

well if we’re talking about pay not being a problem i’d say author or actor (either on stage or film, doesn’t matter) but if it’s being realistic… pharmacologist.

i used to be a gymnast.

i think one of my highs was the troupe hangout before school! one of my lows was when i got really really tired of socializing and separated myself from everyone and ghosted a lot of people.

i want to visit the philippines again! it’s my home country and i want to see my relatives.

um. i sing about it. that’s so theater kid of me but like… me belting is better to hear than me screaming.

i love pinterest and instagram! insta is me interacting with friends and silly videos. pinterest is fun pictures.

i’m the type of person who got way funnier after the fourth grade because of my issues…

i’m a good actor, i’d say? if my awards are anything to show for it…

the most stolen book is the bible.

um… i had this friend for six years but we’re kinda drifting apart. so other than that, two years.

i’m kinda nervous for auditions…

night owl. i like the night time because nobody can bother me, and nobody bothers to find me in the dark.

“you wouldn’t leave till we loved in the morning, you learned from movies how love ought to be. and you’d say you love me and look in my eyes, but i know through mine you were looking in yours.”

sitting alone in my room watching a video essay on one of my favorite movies, wrapped in a blanket hugging a stuffed toy while ignoring my messages.

in terms of lyrics maybe… laufey mitski and bo en?

auditions. not shows, not competitions, not recitals, auditions. they make me terrified because what if i accidentally suck and they don’t accept me? things where i only have one chance to show my skills.

when people bring up insecurities/things people can’t change when we’re like talking about things that happen to people at school… just. no. i’m all for getting the drama just. don’t bring up their tangled hair or the fact they live in a poor neighborhood. that’s not cool.

people bringing up the fact i can’t love people romantically, yet i almost always love other people more than i love myself (and more than they love me.) someone made a joke about that before and i nearly cried in front of them in the halls. i really want to love romantically. i can’t help it that i always give myself to people who don’t want me. thankfully i’m in a good qpr with someone who cares about me now and i’m grateful for them every day. <3

for some reason, some people think i’m scary to talk to!!! i don’t bite i’m very nice and laid back!!! people tell me i look really cool which is why they were scared, and i kind of appreciate that people think i look cool… like… screaming omg thank you… but other than that i think people usually think i’m pretty chill, funny, or caring!

yellow or purple!!!

thanks for this ask :333 hopefully i didn’t miss anything!

[fleshengine]

K I need to type this up somewhere, I just need to talk about it. This is definitely vent-y so enjoy this cut.

Here's the story so far.

When I was a child my mother married a man with two kids. They were my step brothers and they both have some combination of adhd/autism. They were also both particularly high needs, largely because their mother was a massive enabler and didn't let her kids learn to do things for themselves. So my mom, when confronted with the fact that she had two kids that needed a lot of support, and two kids who she had raised well enough to be fairly self governing, decided to largely neglect her own kids in favor of the louder, more needy, children of someone else. Yes I hate cuckoo birds, I'm a victim of brood parasitism.

Because I found my step brothers incredibly annoying and they were also the reason I was neglected as a child, I internalized a lot and I mean a LOT of ableism. Between the faces of adhd and autism being my cuckoobrothers and the face of depression being my older sister, I was determined to be the normal and productive and "good" child of the family. I hated them, I watched them pop pills and continue to have problems and I fantasized about being a successful engineer someday and them coming to me for money and denying them. This was in no way healthy and I am ashamed of the things I thought but in younger me's defense he was a neglected, abused, and sad little boy.

Fast forward many years, my mom has divorced the dad of the cuckoobrothers, I haven't spoken to them in years, my sister has moved out. I find myself in online spaces that open me up to the idea that I could be neurodivergent, I could have adhd, autism, depression. It takes a while but I push through my internalized ableism and one night I sit down with my mom and I talk about how much ableism I internalized from hating my ex step brothers and how it had taken me a while to work up to talking to her about it. But I told her that I thought I had adhd and/or autism and/or depression and that I wanted to talk to a doctor about it. A major step forward in the life of anyone with a problem of some kind is admitting you have it. By all rights this should've been a turning point in my life.

She told me there wasn't anything wrong with me. She told me that she felt the same way all the time and that it was normal. Nevermind that I had evidence. Nevermind that she made jokes about being autistic. Nevermind all of that. There was clearly nothing wrong with me, so the topic was dropped.

It's been years. I don't have a diagnosis for autism, or take antidepressants or really consider that I might have ADHD. I can't bring myself to think of myself in those contexts. Yes, I admit that I'm likely autistic. Yes I admit that I am depressed. I say I could have adhd but I don't know for sure. I don't joke about depression or adhd and I get livid when other people do. I just refuse to admit that it's okay in my head. I cannot reconcile my feelings and reality and the cognitive dissonance tears me apart.

I'm entering my fourth year of college, I had my first day of classes yesterday. I have barely scraped by, through the generosity and understanding of professors and faculty. I failed over 3/4 of my classes in my first year. I had to write a plea letter to be allowed to stay. I have groveled and wrestled with my own mind every day and it has barely been enough. I don't talk to my mom much, I actually sort of actively avoid her. But she called me this afternoon.

The call was actually really nice, I got caught up on her life and I did a little catch up of my own. She talked more than me and interupted me and I did a good job of not getting angry. I had a good time, we laughed about things. I was considering coming up to her place on Friday to see her and her band perform somewhere. She started talking about her current bf, how he's the kind of ADHD where he has just a couple things that he really hyperfocuses on. Then she went to contrast that with herself.

And she excitedly told me that she was getting on ADHD meds soon.

You know, I want to be happy for her I really do. You're supposed to celebrate people working on themselves. You're supposed to cheer them on. I lasted less than a minute. I reminded her of how she had shot me down when I was a kid. She brushed it off with a quick apology and started explaining how my sister had helped her come to terms with it. I told her I had to leave the call before I said something hurtful. Which was true, if I had stayed much longer I probably would've asked to go no contact again and told her that I hate her and she let me be ruined and how much better of a person I could've been if she had had more than two braincells to rub together back then. I left the call. I cried. I sent a message to my dad about it. I talked to my best friend. I wrote this.

There's still a corner of my mind that hates people who openly admit they have adhd. It sees my ex step older brother in all of them. How he would constantly blame his problems on his mental illness. How loudly he would sing that one line in AWOLNATION's Sail. My friend asks if we could make an extra stop while we're out and about to pick up their adhd meds and I hate them. My autobiographical writing prof cracks a joke about having adhd and I hate him. Someone I know blames her not having done a task on her adhd and I hate her. It's a little, hurt, angry part of my brain and I know it's wrong and I tell it it's wrong every time it comes up and I don't let its anger show through. But every time I consider that I might have adhd it hates me too.

fin, done, the end, fuck this shit

ps if my friend who needed to pick up meds sees this I love you pookie, you're a real one and please don't misinterpret me talking about how my internalized ableism manifests as me expressing hatred towards you, you're genuinely one of my best friends and you have given me a couple of the best nights of my life, as well as by far the best birthday I've had. I don't know what I'd do without you.

pps if my best friend who recently got on adhd meds and loves them sees this... yes it was incredibly hard to hear that but at the same time I was so happy for you. The pain has mostly gone and the happiness has only grown. I love you so much.

[batsyforyou]

Of Elves and Men Part 6

Pairing: Beleg x reader

Warnings: I refer you to part 1

And you thought Thomas had beautiful hair.

Goodness, you couldn’t have been more wrong! The elf was gorgeous. His hair was long and braided and a stunning shade of silver. 

He was breathtaking and your eyes could not stray. Looking at him was like discovering the joy of starlight for the first time as a child. His mere presence was memorizing. The elves worked to pick open the lock of your chains and all you could do was stare in silence. The silver haired elf gently put his hand to your head. 

“You have a high fever, friend. It is a wonder you have made it this far.” 

You hadn’t the strength to answer him. He didn’t seem to mind though and continued to rid you of your chains and whenever he would catch your eye, he’d smile. You couldn’t find it within yourself to feel embarrassed about your staring simply admiring the look of concentration on his fair face. 

They took you to their camp, the silver haired elf being the one to carry you. He placed you on a bedroll and you watched the elves work and cook food. You were scared, not knowing if you could trust these people. Despite knowing that elves were generally good folk you felt concerned. 

“Did you know to look for me?” You asked, your voice was so hoarse you could barely hear yourself. And you weren’t sure the elf heard you. 

The elf paused and looked down at you, “I hesitate to call those people who assaulted you friends, but they were caught and found outside of Doriath. They asked for a place to stay and a map.” He smirked. “Alas they did not know that their crimes had already been documented by two young boys, your personal guard and Lady Evelyn. They had sent word to Sir Thomas the same day. And when he heard about which way you were going, he sent massager birds to Doriath and asked for us to help in the search.”  

He gently patted your arm, “I am just glad that we found you.” 

“What is your name?” 

He smiled, “I am called Beleg. I am a marchwarden from Doriath in service to King Thingol. Am I to assume that you are Y/n? Servant to Lord Húrin?” 

“I am.” 

“Good, this would have been very awkward if you were not.” 

A small smile pulled at your lips, and he patted your arm. “Do not worry once you have eaten, and you are feeling strong enough, you can bathe and change into fresh clothes. One of our healers will help you if you need it and afterwards, they will care for your wounds.” 

You couldn’t say anything to him, tears swelling under your eyes, and you turned your face from him. 

He didn’t say anything more, letting you sit quietly. You listened to them speak their native tongue as every once and awhile someone would mutter something under their breath. Their voices were angelic and musical, and you remembered the rumors of elvish music. And how Lords Maglor and Finrod were masters of the art. 

You didn’t bother to ask about the rotting man. 

As Beleg had said their healer had helped you eat and bathe and he cared for your wounds providing bandages, ointment and a tonic for your fever. 

That night had been very long for you, and you didn’t utter another word to them. And for many days after your silence became a constant companion. But Beleg was undeterred and stayed close to you the entire time. He babbled about many things to you even though you never answered, only listening as he told you about his home and the woods that surrounded it. He taught you the elvish words for animals and plants and you greedily ate it all up. 

You hated that your chance meeting with the first born had to be under such circumstances and normally you would have relished the opportunity to speak with them and learn from them. 

But you were so tired. 

Most days you could barely lift your head from your chest as you sat on horseback. In some ways while stuck in the dark cave you had thought that you’d never see the sun again. 

You were still down the road when you spotted the town and Manor. Tears pricked your eyes at the sight, and you took a deep breath to calm yourself, willing the tears away. You thought you’d never see it again. Beleg brought the horse to a stop, and you could barely rip your eyes away to look down at him.

“I know that this whole ordeal has taken away your chance to celebrate your birth, and I am sure Sir Thomas will have a far different celebration in mind now that you’ve been safely returned. But see here,” He reached up and passed a small wooden figurine of a horse into your hand, “It has been said that men often give gifts for such occasions. And I made this for you during our journey. I hope this is suitable for you. I didn't have the time to make anything else.” 

Your eyes watered with tears, and you choked up holding the small horse close to your chest. “Thank you.” You couldn’t bring yourself to speak above a whisper worried that what composure you had would break and send you sobbing. 

“This means more to me than you could ever know Beleg.”

He bowed his head and smiled up at you. “I am glad you like it.” 

You heard the shouts of your townsmen and your servants, they must have spotted you, but you couldn’t tear your eyes from his. “Please know that if you or your King are ever in need, call me and I will assist you. You and your kin are always welcome in my home.” 

The elf beamed up at you patting your leg, “I’ll pass the message along.” 

“Y/n!” Thomas shouted, barely skidding to a stop beside your horse. 

“My dear, precious Y/n! Are you alright? Better yet I shall get you inside for rest!” 

“Thomas- “ 

“No!” Your servants came bounding up to you, “Take Y/n to their room! And send for the physicians!” 

Your horse was very quickly led away from Beleg and the elves. Still clutching your small gift to your heart, you looked over your shoulder at them unwilling to leave them behind. Beleg smiled at you and waved, as Thomas approached speaking quietly with them. 

Whatever was said you could not hear and soon it had become so crowded you lost sight of them entirely. 

As the horse was led through town the people cheered! Throwing flower petals and somewhere merry music began to play. And when the horse stepped onto the stone path that led to the Manor’s door, you were helped off your horse. 

“My liege!”

You turned as quickly as you could, “Bjorn!” Your eyes scanned the courtyard for him, and you found Johanne with him. You smiled, “Johanne! It is good to see you!” 

Bjorn raced over to you and crushed you in his arms lifting you slightly from the ground. You grunted some at his strength but didn’t reprimand him simply happy to be back. You smelled Johanne’s perfume and felt her small hands rub your back, “Come Y/n let's hurry and get you inside!” 

Bjorn agreed and lifted you in his arms like a man would his bride and you tried not to curl into his warmth. Johanne hurried beside him as she fussed. “Bjorn I am sorry- “ 

“You do not need to apologize to me, it is I who should apologize to you.” 

He refused to meet your gaze, “I should have sent men to follow you in secret so you would not have been harmed.” 

“Please don’t blame yourself for my sake Bjorn! It was my fault.” 

Johanne shook her head at the both of you, “Neither of you were at fault! The ones at fault have already been dealt with. Don’t blame yourself you could have never known.” 

Bjorn scoffed at her, “It is my job to protect them.” 

Johanne sighed but didn’t say anymore, you thumbed the head of the wooden horse lightly dozing off as Bjorn walked.

He took you to your room and left briefly so Johanne could assist you in a quick bath and into a change of clothes. Your servants had brought dinner to your room for the night, and you ate quietly. Thomas came into the room to tell you that he had put the elves up in the finest rooms available and that they chose to eat dinner with the rest of the house. 

You could only nod with tears swelling, “Thomas I am sorry.” 

He didn’t look at you, “I was so worried about you.”

You stared at your lap fiddling with your fingers, “I know.” 

A warm heavy hand squeezed your shoulder. “I am just glad to have you back.” 

You sniffed. “What happened to them?” 

He sighed and released you, “The elves gave them to us, and they were sent to Lord Húrin for judgment. Currently the men who attacked you are being held in a cell but the woman with them has yet to be found.” 

“What about Evelyn?” 

Bjorn spoke up, “I brought her here to see you. She waits outside.” 

You lifted your head meeting the three faces of your friends. “Is that a good idea?” 

He nodded, “Yes, my liege, once she joins us, I’ll share her part in this.” 

You nodded. 

Johanne hurried to the door and stuck her head out, “You can see them now.” 

A gloved hand grasped the door and Evelyn approached you. Her eyes were red, and she looked exhausted. “Y/n.” She sniffed. 

“You look horrible.” She sat beside you on the bed, and you flinched away from her. She frowned, her eyes downcast. “How are you feeling?” 

“I am as well as I can be.” You turned to Bjorn, “You may begin.” 

Bjorn stepped forward, “It was after you had already left for the fields when she came.” 

Bjorn heard a knock on the door. He approached, nodding to the men who stood by his hand on the hilt of his blade. “Open it.” 

The door cracked a smidge before it was thrust open from the outside. A woman burst through the door and Bjorn blinked. 

It was Lady Evelyn. 

The men went to action, “Wait!” He shouted. “It is our Lady Evelyn, friend to our liege. Let her pass.” 

The men glanced at one another and released the hilts of their swords.

Lady Evelyn, though startled, looked around the entrance hall, “Where is Y/n?” 

Bjorn raised a brow, “My liege has left to meet both you and the rest of your friends in the wheat fields as requested. It was my belief that you would be joining them.” 

Her mouth fell in horror, her hand shooting up to cover her gasp. “But I told Y/n not to go! It is a trap!” 

After Bjorn had shared this memory with you, you burst into tears. Evelyn hushed you and squeezed you against her, “I’m sorry!” You cried. “I’m so sorry! To all of you!” 

“It is alright Y/n, everything is alright. All has been forgiven.” 

“We are just happy to have you back.”

You didn’t leave your bed for several days. And as Beleg had predicted, Thomas had thrown a massive celebration for your return. You didn’t attend. Nor did you say goodbye to the elves when they left.

Part 7

Masterlist

[demenior]

Happy wip Wednesday. Today I offer you an older, unpublished piece I'm still obsessed with. I was trying to write it before the Fjorigins comic was released, but, alas. So it's non-canon.

Fjord and Vandran's first meeting. Sabian is there too.

--

“Stowaways,” Captain Vandran observes. He’s sitting behind a large desk in the captain’s cabin.

Fjord balls his hands into fists to keep them from trembling.

The captain looks to the man standing behind Sabian. The quartermaster, if Fjord heard him right.

“How the fuck did we get stowaways?” the captain has a deep drawl to his voice. He speaks in low tones, which make it sound like he’s not bothered. His sharp gaze suggests otherwise.

“Hell if I know,” the quartermaster shrugs, “I’ve got the men sweeping the brig, but I think it’s just these two brats.”

Vandran nods in agreement, and then focuses his eyes on Fjord and Sabian. He’s got such an intense gaze, that Fjord is certain that this man will kill them. His waxed moustache twitches as his lips curl into a snarl.

“The hell are you boys doing on my ship?”

Sabian’s looking at Fjord. Fjord isn’t sure what to say. He knows the zhelezo in Port Damali, knows what to say as a half-orc and an orphan to appease them into letting him go when he gets into trouble. Knows how to charm the matron at the Asylum into letting him stay just one more night, even though he’s too old to be living on handouts. And now he’s here, out on the open sea, and Fjord doesn’t know what to say.

“You’re Stones?” Vandran guesses. It’s not too hard a guess. Boys wearing ragged pants that are too short at the ankle. Shirts that are threadbare and stained with age. Sabian stole an open vest off a clothesline a few weeks back, but neither of them can afford another shirt or even shoes. They look like what everyone expects of the Asylum wards.

“We’re w-willing to work for passage,” Fjord says. His voice sounds high-pitched, a flighty bird compared to the steady force of the Captains’ drawl.

Captain Vandran sighs loudly, “And what use are two boys to me, Mr. Stone?”

This is the furthest Fjord has ever been from Port Damali and the first thing anyone knows about him is that he’s a fucking Stone.

“That’s not my name!” Fjord snaps.

It draws the captain’s full attention. Fjord squares his shoulders. Stares back.

“That is the name given to wards of the state, am I wrong?” the captain asks.

“It was given to me,” Fjord admits. His voice cracks, “but I don’t want it. My name is Fjord.”

Captain Vandran nods slowly. Looks to Sabian, but Sabian can’t hold his gaze.

“We can work,” Fjord says again. Sabian’s gone mute, so it’s up to Fjord to save them, “whatever needs doing—cleaning, cooking. I’m-- I know how to mend. I can sew. Or—or I learn fast. Whatever you need.”

The captain nods slowly, strokes a hand down his pointed beard. Looks up to the quartermaster again. Fjord turns his head to watch the silent conversation play out. He doesn’t know them well enough to read them. The captain is too stoic to gauge his emotions.

“Do you know what the policy is for stowaways, boy?” Captain Vandran asks.

Fjord thinks carefully, “They—they get reported to the zhelezo? When you dock?”

Vandran taps his fingers on his desk, “That’s what they say, yes. But how often do you think a stowaway actually makes it back to shore?”

Sabian whimpers. Fjord digs his fingernails into his palms. Thinks about all the kids at the Driftwood who caused too much trouble, and were “adopted”: never to be seen again. Thinks about slinking around the docks and staying near crowds so the zhelezo can’t use him as a scapegoat. He’s been one step ahead of a world that doesn’t want him his whole life. Fjord tries to convince himself that this threat is nothing new.

He’s also aware that you can only run for so long. Death only has to catch him once.

“Are you—are you going to kill us?” Fjord asks.

Captain Vandran stands up. Fjord’s heart leaps into his throat. The man makes his way around his desk without breaking eye contact. He stops in front of Fjord. Fjord can’t take his eyes off of him. He feels the same kind of shame that wells up in him when he’d be singled out for games of playing hero, when Fjord was always picked to play the monster the other children would kill. The kind of shame that can still bring tears to his eyes if he lets it. He won’t give anyone the satisfaction of making him cry ever again.

Captain Vandran stares at Fjord. Fjord balls his hands into fists. He’s tall, but he doesn’t have the same kind of muscle as working men. He can’t win this fight, but he’s going to give it his all.

Captain Vandran glances again to his quartermaster. The corner of his mouth curls upwards. One of his teeth is gold-capped.

“It’s a nice day. I’d hate to ruin it with some killing. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Dhelir?”

“Aye,” the quartermaster says, “bad luck to do something like that, with the weather as it is.”

“So Mr. Fjord. And Mr. Stone,” Captain Vandran says, “I’m not going to kill you. Not today, at least. While the weather, and my patience, still holds.”

Sabian sighs in relief. It comes out as a whine. Fjord keeps his eyes locked on the captain. There’s going to be a but, he knows it. The captain watches him right back.

“Get them some food. They look like they haven’t eaten in weeks,” Captain Vandran orders, “and then find them some work.”

Captain Vandran leans back, breaking away from Fjord. Fjord keeps his fists tight to keep from shaking. His chest aches like he ran a marathon, and he’s lightheaded with relief.

“Thank you,” Fjord hears himself say. Sabian has the sense to find his tongue again and blurts out a thank you as well. This has to be a trick. There’s no way this isn’t a trap of some sort.

Fjord can’t tell when the hammer is going to drop. But for now, he’s alive.

“Don’t make me regret it,” the captain orders.

[fighterkimburgess]

Lover

Summary: work, therapy, home. Kim’s got a routine again. But there’s one thing missing from it all.

Warnings: mentions of Kim’s previous canonical trauma, explicit discussions of the aftermath of a miscarriage.

—

The oversized hoodie Kim kept in the trunk of the car needed to be washed, the scent that calmed her when she was talking about everything that happened two years before nearly gone. But she held the cuffs to her nose and inhaled deeply, a tiny bit of Adam’s aftershave still clinging to it.

“Did anything change when you went back to work after the miscarriage?”

“Everything.” In not so many words she explained what the days in between were like. Her refusal to have a D&C, instead naturally dealing with it. Punishing herself by not taking painkillers because she had killed her child.

Except she hadn’t. She hadn’t killed their baby. She’d fought to protect three lives that night and two had made it out alive. It was awful and tragic but it wasn’t her fault. And that’s what she was learning.

It wasn’t her fault Kent targeted her that night. It was her fault she didn’t have her window up, but if she hadn’t then she’d probably have been dead when Adam arrived at the scene from a bullet to her head. It wasn’t her fault Walton shot her. It was her will to live that kept her alive. It was not letting Makayla lose another mother. It was wanting to live.

It was wanting Adam again.

She could recognise that now. There was enough time and space and she’d lived with Adam for longer than they’d been engaged at this point. She’d lived with him for longer than their entire romantic relationship at this point. Nearly two years of joint bedtime stories, of anguish when Mack was taken and joy when she returned. Of ice skating and bird watching and snowman building.

And somewhere along the way Kim had fallen back in love with him again. Adam had become the man she knew he could be. The man he wanted to be. And he’d done it himself. He’d grown up and bought them a goddamn house so Mack could live the life they wanted for her. He was a dad. He was a damn good cop and if she could take back those words from two years before and make herself ask how he was before what he did she’d do it in a heartbeat.

He made her smile. He made her laugh. He made Makayla laugh, telling her stories about the first time he and Kim did patrol together, wiggling his hips like Kim taught him. He constantly had painted nails and more than once had stared down a suspect who made a comment before saying “my daughter did them for me.” He was a good man and their daughters father and she didn’t know how to tell him she wanted to try again. If he even felt the same way.

In the car on the way home her phone buzzed, Mouse appearing on the car screen. She answered.

“Hey, I’m driving home so I’ll warn you.”

“Home to Mack and Adam?”

“Yeah.” It was quiet for a minute, Kim hearing the older man think. Their friendship was formed through Platt adopting them both, and now that Mouse was stateside again they talked at least once a week. He’d settled in Florida, happy and healthy and working for a tech company down there.

“You’re in love with him.”

“I am. I’m in love with Adam Ruzek.” It was the first time she’d said it out loud since she’d told Erin all those years before.

“Just gotta tell him now. When are you home?”

“Right now.” She pulled up outside the house, Mouse mumbling for a second.

“Tell him, Kimberly. Or Trudy will and we both know how that is. I’ll talk to you next week, tell Mack we’ll FaceTime soon?”

“Of course.”

As soon as she got inside it was the usual evening routine. Makayla greeted her with a hug, Kim hugging her back before sitting down to dinner. Adam’s cooking was improving, today was shrimp pasta with a lemon sauce. Mack wanted just garlic instead and he had her pasta separate to await her approval, garlic bread high on the plate.

“How was skating?” Kim asked, Mack grinning.

“It was so much fun! Jordan taught me to hip check him and I got him! Uncle Kevin and Dad took a video.”

“Yeah?” The Dad didn’t go unnoticed, nor did the way Adam’s eyes shone as Mack continued to talk about doing math homework. “And for science we need to count the birds we see and I told Mrs Young that my dad built us a bird feeder so I’m gonna email a photo so she can see it and maybe we build one in school too.”

She was energetic, an extra story before bed. Soon Makayla would be too old for her parents to read to her each night, but now Kim and Adam were taking full advantage and reading chapters of Percy Jackson to her. It was everything. But Makayla was asleep and she closed the door gently, going out to the living room.

Adam had two glasses of soda on the table waiting for them, a bowl of popcorn in the middle. The tv was waiting to press play on Death in Paradise, and Kim curled up on the couch. Ever since her therapist has advised stopping drinking, Adam had been sober with her. He didn’t have a drink at his poker nights even. It was one of the many ways he showed he loved her.

“Press play?” They watched the familiar scene play out, the dead body found before calypso music played and Adam shimmied around on the couch to the theme tune to make her laugh. He leaned over her to get a handful of popcorn and that’s when she knew.

She sat forward and pressed a kiss to the side of his mouth, not sure what to expect. His head turned and fully kissed her, Kim pulling him to her and deepening the kiss. Finally they separated, but breathing deeply and smiling.

“I love you.” Kim spoke first. “I love you and I love our family and I want us. I want us together. As long as you do?” Her words got softer as she finished speaking. 

“I love you too. And yes. All of it.”

The next morning Kim woke to Makayla shaking her arm, Kim blinking rapidly to wake.

“Everything ok?” She asked, Mack shaking her head.

“Dads not in his room!”

“I’m right here, kiddo. What’s up?”

Their daughter crawled into bed with them for Saturday morning cartoons and cuddles before Adam got dressed to get their breakfast, kissing Kim goodbye as he left. Her heart was full, and she couldn’t help but grin as she and Mack got the table ready for the weekend ahead.

She may not be healed, she may not fully heal, but she was happy and in love and what else could she want?