#ive been keeping an eye out for mountain lions and sure enough i found one

[goosehaver]

i was blessed at the thrift store today. this is my new son, who is nameless for now but i love him already.

[thisdiscontentedwinter]

Re: Plot Holes The things I do for you Disco. So Laura’s death and story in season 1 (I’m having Twin Peaks flashbacks lol). All of this can be found at: transcripts http://transcripts.foreverdreaming.org/viewforum.php?f=137&sid=b1a956839b5916e7cb7432de7e028092 Scripts https://sites.google.com/site/tvwriting/us-drama/show-collections/teen-wolf

So we start in episode 1.01: Stiles: A pre - I - wha - look, I know it’s late, but you gotta hear this. I saw my dad leave 20 minutes ago. Dispatch called. They’re bringing in every officer from the Beacon Department, and even State Police. Scott: For what? Stiles: Two joggers found a body in the woods. Scott: A dead body? Stiles: No, a body of water. Yes, dumb - ass, a dead body. Scott: You mean like murdered? Stiles: Nobody knows yet. Just that it was a girl, probably in her 20s. Scott: Hold on, if they found the body, then what are they looking for? Stiles: That’s the best part. They only found half. We’re going. – Stiles: Just hold on, okay? I overheard my dad on the phone. The fiber analysis came back from the lab in L.A. They found animal hairs on the body from the woods! Scott: Stiles, I gotta go. Stiles: Wait, no! Scott! You’re not gonna believe what the animal was! It was a wolf. – Scott: Oh, is this about the body? Did they find out who did it? Stiles: No, they’re still questioning people, even Derek Hale. – Scott: No! Listen, you gotta find Allison. Stiles: She’s fine, all right? I saw her get a ride from the party. She’s - she’s totally fine, all right? Scott: No, I think I know who it is. Stiles: You just let me in. We can try - Scott: It’s Derek. Derek Hale is the werewolf. He’s the one that bit me. He’s the one that killed the girl in the woods. Stiles: Scott - Derek’s the one who drove Allison from the party. – Scott: Who were they? Derek: Hunters. The kind that have been hunting us for centuries. Scott: Us? You mean you! You did this to me! Derek: Is it really so bad, Scott? That you can see better - Hear more clearly, move faster than any human could ever hope? You’ve been given something that most people would kill for. The bite is a gift. [So not much about Laura (also lol Derek not telling Scott “*I* didn’t bite you” immediately)]

Then 1.02: Scott: Curfew because of the body. Stiles: Unbelievable. My dad’s out looking for a rabid animal, while the jerk - off who actually killed the girl is just hangin’ out, doing whatever he wants. Scott: Well, you can’t exactly tell your dad the truth about Derek. – Stiles: What did you find? How did you find it? Where did you find it? And, yes, I’ve had a lot of Adderall, so- Scott: I found something at Derek Hale’s. Stiles: Are you kidding? What? Scott: There’s something buried there - I could smell blood. Stiles: That’s awesome! I mean, that’s terrible. Whose blood? Scott: I don’t know. But when we do, your dad nails Derek for the murder. And then you help me figure out how to play lacrosse without changing. – “Scott covers his mouth while gazing down at the lower half of the body. He slowly pulls the drawer open to where the sheet finally flattens out just above the severed hip.Removing his hand from his mouth, Scott pulls the sheet up to reveal the decayed and rotted feet. Then, unable to stand anymore, the sight or the smell, Scott covers up the body and slides the drawer shut.” – Scott: The scent was the same. Stiles: You sure? Scott: Yes. Stiles: So he did bury the other half of the body on his property? Scott: Which means we have proof he killed the girl. Stiles: I say we use it. Scott: How? Stiles: Tell me something first. Are you doing this because you want to stop Derek, or because you want to play in the game, and he said you couldn’t? Scott: There are bite marks on the legs, Stiles - bite marks. – “Dropping the shovel, Stiles clambers down into the hole. He feels around and finds a dark FABRIC in the dirt. Both of them now digging with their hands they finally uncover– A BLACK BAG, DRAWSTRING tied in tight knots. Stiles digs at the knot with his fingers.” “Both of them claw at the drawstring, almost frantically trying to get the knot to come undone. And then finally it loosens. The black bag flutters open to reveal the body inside–Except it’s not a dead girl. It’s the body of a WOLF. Stiles and Scott both HOLLER, jumping back.” Stiles: What the hell is that? Scott: It’s a wolf. Stiles: Yeah, I can see that. I thought you said you smelled blood, as in human blood. Scott: I told you something was different. Stiles: This doesn’t make sense. Scott: We gotta get out of here. Stiles: Yeah. Okay, help me cover this up. Scott: What’s wrong? Stiles: You see that flower? Scott: What about it? Stiles: I think it’s wolfsbane. – [Every Sterek knows this one :-)] Stiles: Okay, just so you know, I’m not afraid of you. Okay, maybe I am. Doesn’t matter. I just wanna know something. The girl you killed - she was a werewolf. She was a different kind, wasn’t she? I mean, she could turn herself into an actual wolf, and I know Scott can’t do that. Is that why you killed her? Derek: Why are you so worried about me when it’s your friend who’s the problem? When he shifts on the field, what do you think they’re gonna do. Just keep cheering him on? I can’t stop him from playing, but you can. And, trust me - you want to. – Stiles: The, uh, medical examiner looked at the other half of the body we found. Scott: And - Stiles: Well, I’ll keep it simple. Medical examiner determines killer of girl to be animal, not human. Derek’s human, not animal. Derek not killer. Derek let out of jail. Scott: Are you kidding? Stiles: No, and here’s a bigger kick in the ass. My dad I.D.’d the dead girl. Both halves. Her name was Laura Hale. Scott: Hale? Stiles: Derek’s sister.

Then 1.03: Sheriff: Hey, listen, while I’m here, you mind taking a look at those pictures I was telling you about? Sacramento still can’t determine an animal. Deaton: I’m not exactly an expert. This is the guy who was attacked in the bus? Sheriff: Yeah. And we found wolf hairs on Laura Hale’s body. Scott: A wolf? I mean, I think I read somewhere that wolves haven’t been in California for, like, 60 years. Deaton: True enough, but wolves are highly migratory. They could have wandered in from another state driven by impulse or strong enough memory. Scott: Wolves have memories? Deaton: Longer - term memories, yes. Associated with a primal drive. See this one here? Sheriff: Yeah. Deaton: Those are claw marks. A wolf would have gone for the throat or the spinal cord with its teeth. Sheriff: So what do you think, it’s a mountain lion? Deaton: I don’t know. A wolf could chase down its prey, hobbling it by tearing at the ankles. And then the throat. – [not necessarily about Laura, but part of a patern with Scott lol] Stiles: Did it work? Did you remember? Scott: Yeah, I was there last night. And the blood - a lot of it was mine. Stiles: So you did attack him? Scott: No. I saw glowing eyes in the bus, but they weren’t mine. It was Derek. Stiles: What about the driver? Scott: I think I was actually trying to protect him. Stiles: Wait, why would Derek help you remember that he attacked the driver? Scott: That’s what I don’t get. – “WE PULL BACK, moving from the bank of monitors, past the IV tree to GARY MEYERS lying in his hospital bed. His breathing is shallow and even in this dim light, he doesn’t look good. CAMERA CONTINUES MOVING around the bed to REVEAL someone standing in the shadows over the injured man. The Figure steps forward and we see it’s–Derek. He makes no threatening motions. Rather, he just stares down at the man until Meyer’s eyelids flutter. They open, sensing the presence in the room. He looks around until he sees Derek over him. He blinks to focus.” Derek: Open your eyes. Open your eyes. Look at me. What do you remember? Bus driver: Hale. Derek: How do you know my name? Bus driver: I’m sorry. Derek: How do you know me? Bus driver: I’m sorry. – Scott: Derek! I know you’re here! I know what you did! Derek: I didn’t do anything. Scott: You killed him! Derek: He died. Scott: Like your sister died? Derek: My sister was missing. I came here looking for her. Scott: You found her. Derek: I found her in pieces, being used as bait to catch me. Scott: I think you killed them both. I’m gonna tell everyone, starting with the sheriff. – Derek: I didn’t kill him. Neither of us did. It’s not your fault, and it’s not mine. Scott: This? This is all your fault! You ruined my life! Derek: No, I didn’t. Scott: You’re the one who bit me. Derek: No, I’m not. Scott: What? Derek: I’m not the one that bit you. Scott: There’s another. Derek: It’s called an Alpha. It’s the most dangerous of our kind. You and I, we’re betas. This thing is more powerful, more animal than either of us. My sister came here looking for him. Now I’m trying to find him. But I don’t think I can do it without you. Scott: Why me? Derek: Because he’s the one that bit you. You’re part of his pack. It’s you, Scott. You’re the one he wants.

1.04: Stiles: If Derek isn’t the Alpha, if he’s not the one who bit you, then who did? Scott: I don’t know. Stiles: Did the Alpha kill the bus driver? Scott: I don’t know. – “Derek ushers Scott into the dark hospital room, quietly closing the door behind them. He pulls the curtain back from the window to let in the MOONLIGHT which reveals–A MAN IN A WHEELCHAIR sitting nearby. Only one side of his body can be seen, a blank, catatonic expression on his face.” Scott: Who is he? Derek: My uncle. Peter Hale. Scott: Is he - like you, a werewolf? Derek: He was. Now he’s barely even human. Six years ago, my sister and I were at school, and our house caught fire. 11 people were trapped inside. He was the only survivor. Scott: So - What makes you so sure that they set the fire? Derek: ‘Cause they’re the only ones that knew about us. Scott: Well, then - They had a reason. Derek: Like what? You tell me what justifies this. They say they’ll only kill an adult, and only with absolute proof, but there were people in my family that were perfectly ordinary in that fire. This is what they do. And it’s what Allison will do “Derek pauses, sensing something. He takes a step back as the door opens, a NIGHT NURSE, named JENNIFER, looking in.” Nurse: What are you doing? How did you get in here? Derek: We were just leaving.

1.05: Derek: Starting to get it? Scott: Uh, I get that he’s killing people, but I don’t get why. I mean, this isn’t standard practice, right? We don’t go out in the middle of the night murdering everyone, do we? Derek: No. We’re predators. We don’t have to be killers. Scott: Then why is he a killer? Derek: That’s what we’re gonna find out. “They turn for the opposite edge of the roof while below them is something they would never notice: an ODD PATTERN carved into the gravel of the rooftop. A SPIRAL” – Scott: You know what else is a rite of passage? Graduating from high school. And you don’t have to kill anyone to do it! Why can’t you just find him yourself? Why can’t you just sniff him out when he’s a human? Derek: Because his human scent could be entirely different. It has to be you. You have a connection with him, a link that you can’t understand. If I can teach you to control your abilities, you can find him. Scott: So if I help you - you can stop him? Derek: Not alone. We’re stronger in numbers. A pack makes the individual more powerful. – Kate: Really? A dog joke? We’re going there, and that’s the best you got? If you wanna provoke him, say something like, “Too bad your sister 'bit it’ before she had her first litter.” Too bad she howled like a bitch when we cut her in half – Kate: 900,000 volts. You never were good with electricity, were you? Or fire. Which is why I’m gonna let you in on a little secret. And, well, maybe we can help each other out. Yes, your sister was severed into pieces and used as bait to try to catch you. Unpleasant, and frankly, a little too Texas chainsaw massacre for my taste, but quite true. Now, here’s the part that might really kick you in your new balls - We didn’t kill her. You think I’m lying? Derek: Wouldn’t be the first time. Kate: Tsk, sweetie - Well - Why don’t you just listen to my heart and tell me if I am. Okay? We - didn’t - kill - your - sister. Do you hear that? There’s no blips or upticks. Just the steady beat of the cold, hard truth. Found bite marks on your sister’s body, Derek. What do you think did that? A mountain lion? Why aren’t we helping each other out? You might as well admit what you’ve been guessing all along, which is - The Alpha killed your sister. And all you have to do is tell us who he is, and we’ll take care of it for you. Problem solved, everybody goes home happy. Unless - You don’t know who he is either. Wow. Guess who just became totally useless? – Sheriff: Listen, I hate to bother you, but, uh, I’m having a bitch of a time getting a consensus on what this is we’re dealing with. Deaton: I’m really flattered you’ve come to me for help, but, like I said before, I’m no expert. Sheriff: But you were pretty certain the other day about our attacker being a mountain lion. Deaton: That’s right. Sheriff: I wanna show you something. We got a little lucky here. Uh, the video store didn’t have any cameras, but a security camera that was watching another parking lot happened to grab a few frames. Take a look at our mountain lion. Here’s another. Deaton: It’s interesting. Sheriff: Actually, uh, this is the interesting one. Deaton: I see what you mean. “He slowly lifts the picture up to bring it closer to his eyes. The photo shows the dark shape. Except it’s now running on two legs instead of four.” Sheriff: I’ve never seen a mountain lion do that. Deaton: Can’t say I have either. You’ve got a problem here. Sheriff: My first instinct was it was a bear, but bears don’t walk on two legs. “A DOG IN THE BACK begins to BAY. Deaton looks back. A very different quality about him now. Nervous. He won’t look Stilinski in the eye.” Deaton: No, they drop to all fours. Look, like I said, you really need an expert here. Sheriff: Yeah, yeah, but - Could this still be a mountain lion? Deaton: I’m sorry. I’ve got a sick Doberman that needs my attention. Sheriff: No other ideas? Deaton: I’m sorry. Really, I wish I could help you, but I’ve got a sick - Sheriff: Yeah. Dog. I heard you. Thanks for humoring me again.

1.06: “Something presses against the steamed window causing Scott to flinch back. It’s a clawed fingertip. It begins to move, drawing something in the moisture.Scott watches, staring through the window as the hand pulls back into the darkness. A moment later the Alpha is gone, having left a simple yet mysterious sign in the condensation.Drawn into the steamed glass is a perfect SPIRAL…” – Derek: So what happened? Did he talk to you? Scott: Yeah. We had a nice conversation about the weather. No, he didn’t talk. Derek: Well, did you get anything off of him? An impression. Scott: What do you mean? Derek: Remember your other senses are heightened. Communication doesn’t have to be spoken. What kind of feeling did you get from him? Scott: Anger. Derek: Focused on you? Scott: No, not - not me. But it was definitely anger. I could feel it. Especially when he drew the spiral. Derek: Wait, the what? What’d you just say? Scott: He drew this spiral on the window of my car, in the condensation, you know? What? You have this look like you know what it means. Derek: No, it’s - it’s nothing. Scott: Wait - wait - wait - wait a second. You can’t do that. You can’t ask me to trust you and then just keep things to yourself. Derek: Doesn’t mean anything. Scott: You buried your sister under a spiral. What does it mean? Derek: You don’t wanna know. – Derek: I need your help. If you can hear me, I need you to give me a sign. Blink. Raise a finger. Anything. Just - Just something to point me in the right direction, okay? Someone killed Laura. Your niece. Laura? Whoever he is, he’s an Alpha now. But he’s one without a pack. Which means he’s not as strong. I can take him. But I have to find him first. Look, if you know something, just give me a sign. Is it one of us? Someone else make it out of the fire? Just give me anything. Blink. Raise a finger. Anything. Say something! Nurse: Let him go. You think after six years of this, yelling at him is going to get a response? Derek: Got a better method? Nurse: Patience. He’ll respond if you give him the time. Derek: I don’t have any more time. “As Jennifer turns to watch him go, as his shoes fall lightly on the tiled floor of the hospital corridor, neither of them look back to notice Peter slowly and shakily raising an index finger off the chair…” – “Derek quickly heads to his Camaro in the parking lot of the hospital. Unlocking it, he reaches for the door when he notices A PIECE OF PAPER slipped under the windshield wiper.He pulls it out, slowly unfolding it, then reading with interest. He looks up, turning back to the hospital as if trying to find someone watching him. Then crumpling the paper in his hand, he moves quickly, faster than ever.A second later, his car ROARS out of the lot and into the street.” – Deaton: Scott, you’re late again. I hope this isn’t getting to be a habit. Can I help you? Derek: Hope so. Want to know about the animal you found with the spiral on its side? Deaton: Excuse me? What animal? Derek: Three months ago. The deer. You remember this? “He unfolds the piece of paper left on his windshield. It’s a report and photograph of a dead deer with A SPIRAL carved into its side.” Deaton: Oh, yes. It’s just a deer. And I didn’t find it. They called me because they wanted to know if I’d ever seen anything like it. Derek: What’d you tell 'em? Deaton: I told them no. Derek: Did you hear that? Deaton: Hear what? Derek: The sound of your heartbeat rising. Deaton: Excuse me? Derek: It’s the sound of you lying. – Deaton: Oh, God. Derek: Are you protecting someone? Deaton: All right. The key to the drug locker is in my pocket. Derek: I don’t want drugs. I want to know why you’re lying. Deaton: I don’t know what you’re talking about. What are you doing to me? What do you want? Derek: I want to know who you are or who you’re protecting. – Derek: Look, when he’s conscious, he can keep himself from healing, but unconscious, he can’t. Scott: Are you out of your mind? What are you talking about? Derek: You want to know what the spiral means, Scott? It’s our sign for a vendetta, for revenge. It means he won’t stop killing until he’s satisfied. Scott: You think he’s the Alpha? Derek: We’re about to find out.

1.07: Stiles: It’s your boss. Scott: What? Stiles: Deaton, the alpha? Your boss. Scott: No. Stiles: Yes, murdering psycho werewolf. Scott: That can’t be. Stiles: Oh come on. He disappears, and that thing shows up ten seconds later to toss Derek 20 feet through the air? That’s not convenient timing? Scott: It’s not him. Stiles: He killed Derek. Scott: No, Derek’s not dead. He can’t be dead. Stiles: Blood spurted out of his mouth, okay? That doesn’t exactly qualify as a minor injury. He’s dead, and we’re next. [Bottle episode, not much else beside Scott accusing Derek again]

1.08: [Scott acts like a dick, Kate gets suspicious about there being a 3rd werewolf, nothing about the alpha or Laura, skip]

1.09: “Harris picks up his notebook from his desk, about to put it in his briefcase, when something catches his eye–A CRINKLED PIECE OF PAPER. He gazes at it, head tilting in confusion. Written on the paper are names and addresses. The first one is David M. Harris, name and address crossed off. The second is Lionel B. Harris. Also crossed off.Grant S. Harris, Thomas M. Harris, and on and on until down at the bottom his eyes pause on a name that isn’t crossed off: Adrian R. Harris.” Harris: Please don’t kill me. Peter: Do you know who wrote that list? Harris: Laura - Laura Hale. Peter: Do you know why she was looking for you? I know why. Turn around, Adrian. Turn around and I’ll show you. Turn around! Harris: No. Please. Peter: Look at me. Look at what you’ve done! Derek: Get down! – Stiles: All right. How did you find him? Scott: Can you try to trust us for at least half a second? Stiles: Yeah, both of us. Or just him. I’ll be back here. Derek: Look the last time I talked to my sister, she was close to figuring something out. She found two things. The first was a guy named Harris. Stiles: Our chemistry teacher? Scott: Why him? Derek: I don’t know yet. Scott: What’s the second? Derek: Some kind of symbol. What? You know what this is? Scott: I’ve seen it on a necklace. Allison’s necklace. – Stiles: Yeah, I said I can’t find her. Derek: Look, ask for Jennifer. She’s been looking after my uncle. Stiles: Yeah, well, he’s not here either. Derek: What? Stiles: He’s not here. He’s gone, Derek. Derek: Stiles, get out of there right now - it’s him! He’s the Alpha! Get out! Peter: You must be Stiles. – Peter: You think I killed Laura on purpose? One of my own family? My mind, my personality were literally burned out of me. I was being driven by pure instinct. Derek: You want forgiveness? Peter: I want understanding. Do you have any idea - What it was like for me during those years? Slowly healing, cell by cell. Even more slowly coming back to consciousness. Yes, becoming an Alpha, taking that from Laura pushed me over a plateau in the healing process. I can’t help that. I tried to tell you what was happening. I tried to warn you. – Sheriff: So you don’t know her name or where she was from? Harris: No! Which is exactly what Laura Hale asked. I’ll point you in the same direction that I pointed her. Sheriff: What is this? Harris: The necklace the girl was wearing. That’s the symbol on it. I asked her about it. She said it was a family thing. You find the girl wearing that necklace, she’s your arsonist.

1.10: Scott: You’re on his side? Are you forgetting the part where he killed your sister? Derek: It was a mistake. Scott: What? Derek: It happens. Peter: Scott - I think you’re getting the wrong impression of us. We really just want to help you reach your full potential. Scott: By killing my friends. Peter: Sometimes the people closest to you - can be the ones holding you back the most. Scott: If they’re holding me back from becoming a psychotic nut job like you, I’m okay with that. Peter: Maybe - you could try and see things - from my perspective. “His hand moves like a cobra striking, latching onto Scott. Fingernails rapidly extending to CLAWS, they sink right into the back of the boy’s neck. For a brief second, Scott’s eyes FLASH YELLOW. Then Peter yanks his hand back, letting him tumble to the floor. Blinking furiously, strange IMAGES FLASH into Scott’s head– A dark room fills with black smoke, men and women trying to cover their mouths, coughing and screaming as–Reddick and Unger, visible through a dirty basement window, toss liquid from five gallon jugs onto the house. They douse the windows, their images BLURRING as–Hands desperately grab for a door, trying to push it open while black, roiling smoke covers everything– Nurses gently lay Peter back onto a hospital bed. One undamaged eye blinks out from a face covered in white gauze bandages. Light seeps over his face, the brilliant white glow from a FULL MOON. A now un-bandaged Peter sits up in bed, the moon almost seeming to pull at him, drawing him up to his feet. At the door stands his nurse, Jennifer, watching in astonishment as– Someone steps through the woods, boots crushing leaves underneath her. LAURA HALE looks through the shadows to see– A STRANGE FIGURE in a hospital robe standing between the trees. He turns around to reveal one half of his face is covered in horrible burns. She steps toward him, reaching for him while he gazes back at her almost in a trance. And then he opens his mouth revealing razor-sharp FANGS as–” – Sheriff: Stiles, there’s just so many questions. Stiles: Like what? Sheriff: Like if Derek - wanted to kill everyone involved with the fire. Then why start with his sister? I mean, she had nothing to do with it. Why make it look like some kind of animal did it? When that cougar ended up in the parking lot - I checked with animal control. You know the instances of wild animal reports were up 70% over the past few months? It’s like they’re just going crazy, running out of the woods. I don’t know.

1.11: Kate: Come on, Derek. He killed your sister. Now - either you’re not telling me because, well, you want to kill him yourself, or for some reason - You’re protecting him. Look at that sour face. I bet you always used to get people coming up to you saying, “Smile, Derek.” “Why don’t you smile more?” Don’t you just wanna - kick those people in the face? Derek: I can think of one. Kate: Promise? 'cause if I thought you’d be that much fun - I’d let you go. All right, let’s see. Nothing, nothing, nothing. God, I hate this detective crap. – Kate: Unfortunately, Derek, if you’re not gonna talk - I’m just gonna have to kill you. So say hi to your sister for me. You did tell her about me, didn’t you? The truth about the fire? Or did you? Did you tell anybody? Oh, sweetie - That’s just a lot of guilt to keep buried. It’s not all your fault. You got tricked by a pretty face. It happens! Handsome young werewolf mistakenly falls in love with a super - hot girl who comes from a family that kills the werewolves. Is that ironic? Is it - ironic - That you’re inadvertently helping me track down the rest of the pack - again? Or just a little bit of history repeating. History repeating. It’s not Jackson, is it? Oh, no, no, no, he’s got a little scratch on the back of his neck, but - he’s not in love with Allison. Not like Scott.

1.12: Scott: This is what brought your sister back to beacon hills, right? Derek: Where did you get that? Scott: My boss told me three months ago someone came into the clinic asking for a copy of this picture. Do you wanna know who it was? Peter’s nurse. They brought your sister here so that Peter could kill her and become the Alpha, and that’s why you’re going to help me. Just say you’ll help me, and I’ll help you unlock your other - And there you have it! I found *nothing* that said the hunters actually cut Laura in half, Kate only taunts Derek but immediately admits it. Maybe there’s something in season 2 BUT I’M NOT DOING SEASON 2! At least not today!

DW: You’re a hero, anon! 

So we’re back where we started, right? With Derek knowing from the start that the alpha killed Laura? And somehow being surprised by it at the end, lol! 

[hellospunkiebrewster]

Unconditional - Part X of Duty

Author’s note: Well this is it, the last bit of this story. Thank you so much for sharing it with me and encouraging me through it all. I hope you love it, I was certainly an emotional disaster as I wrote, proofread, and edited the whole thing and it’s been something I knew was coming for a while. I can’t wait to keep my creative juices flowing with another idea, a few juicy prompts you all provided me, and of course Portraits of In-Between. If you’re new or missed something along the way, you can catch up here:

Part I: Déjà Vu - Part II: Hopelessly Cold - Part III: Bitterness - Part IV: Rage - Part V: Promises - Part VI: Oath - Part VII: Dysphoria - Part VIII: Toska - Part IX: Credence

Summary: Twenty years later, before the first event of her first social season, Ellie is surprised by a letter as she relives the events after her father died.

Word count: 2255

Tags: @queencatherynerhys, @theroyalweisme, @pbchoicesobsessed, @mfackenthal, @crayziimaginations, @boneandfur, @madaraism, @lizeboredom, @gardeningourmet, @hopefulmoonobject

Twenty years later.

A beautiful woman sits at her vanity near a palace window, her hair cascades down her shoulders and back, shining and dark. She turns her face to the mirror for but a moment and catches her grey-green eyes in the reflection. Just as quick, she looks at a picture on a side table briefly taking in a portrait of a family she barely remembered existed. Her father, from what she had been told, was a man to be inspired by, gentle and strong, profound and kind. It was a tall order to live up to. She turns an envelope over in her hands; it had been found here tucked among her things when she arrived to get ready for the night’s festivities. Only her name marks the creamy smooth surface, a name only her family and closest of friends call her:

Ellie.

The envelope is old for certain, it’s slightly yellowed at the corners. Her name is written in handwriting she does not recognize. The letters are formal and beautiful, as if done by a professional calligrapher. She knows who the sender is though. She flips the envelope over and pulls at the wax seal, navy blue embossed with a lion’s head. The old wax makes a snapping noise as it separates from the heavy paper of the envelope. Her hands are shaking lightly as she takes a deep breath and slips the paper slowly from the papery sheath. It’s every bit as thick and heavy, but filled with her father’s words.

My dearest, sweet Eleanor,

Tonight I find myself enthralled, unable to move from the side of your bassinet. It is deep into the night and your mother sleeps beside you; I am instead compelled to write to you. You’re much too small to understand the feeling behind what I wish to say but I hope these words find you one day just as you’re about to embark on a wonderful new adventure in your life.

My daughter, Ellie, you are my heart and my breath. The very things that keep me moving forward towards a stronger, more peaceful world. I wish to be a force of change in our still traditional and sometimes harsh country, to lay the foundation for you to bring Cordonia into the future. Our duty as monarchs is not ever easy nor painless, but it is a lovely thing to feel so connected and married to such a beautiful people and place as this country.

Ellie runs her fingertips over the words, feeling the tiny indentations in the page. She glances over at the family portrait once again, looking this time deep into her father’s eyes. She could almost see him in their room, watching her and her mother sleep, the silence blanketing them punctuated by the scratch of his pen.

She didn’t remember much of her own of her father, just tiny wisps of moments here and there from her early childhood. She recalls his handsome face as they hid under blankets in the living room and the feel of his arms around her after she’d scraped her knees tripping in the gravel of the hedge maze. She’s tried before to remember for herself just the type of man he was, but he always escaped and eluded her. Instead, here he was in this letter all these years later, before her first social season. Before she must select a man who she will marry, for the sake of the very same country he so loved. That she loved. She fiddles with the corner of the letter, bending it back and forth with her thumb.

Everyday, your smile is the most profound thing I’ve ever seen. It simultaneously fills me with this unconditional love and tears me apart. I hope I’ve been enough for you, I’m new to this whole father thing and I find myself wondering if I deserve those innocent smiles. My greatest regret in life would be to fail you.

Ellie feels the love behind every word, every letter, every stroke of his pen. Her vision blurs and she can’t read any more. She takes a deep breath and busies herself in her jewelry drawer, selecting a single strand of pearls to wear tonight. It isn’t anything fancy or regal, but she remembers the shine in her mother’s eyes when she gave it to her. The largest pearl had been a gift, a promise, from him, at a time when they thought they might never be together.

On this momentous day, I have little to offer in terms of advice but to follow your heart. Many will encourage you to find the most advantageous union, that love comes after, but in my experience love can overcome all obstacles placed on it. There is no ocean too vast or mountain too high to keep you from the one you love. For me, that love is and always will be your mother. It was never easy for us at first, but that hardly mattered to us, what mattered was each other.

She has kept me from losing myself to the rigors of my duty. She brings me back from the darkest places of hopelessness. The crown is not an easy thing to bear and a politically fueled marriage will bring you treaties but it may not bring you complete and true happiness. There is nothing in this world I wish more for you than that.

Ellie heard her parents’ love story on more than one occasion and knew about how they had been kept apart but managed to find each other again. They loved each other fiercely and her mother still did, even though her father was taken from them entirely too early. She had never truly moved on. She had suitors, for sure, a young Queen mother was a prize for single noblemen. The thought of the possibility of a child in line for the throne was a lamb lost in a wolves’ den to them, tantalizing and juicy. But her mother rebuffed all propositions. She had instead found something more unique and at times quite difficult and complicated with their mutual friend, Drake Walker.

Ellie mulls her own relationship with her Uncle Drake over. She has fantastic memories of her childhood with him: fishing trips, camping, movie nights, and skipping out on courtly events. She remembers how he looks at her mother, like she is the only person who possibly matters on the entire planet, like his love for her transcends everything she had ever gone through, including a marriage to his best friend. Drake often spoke about her father as if they were brothers, even if the blood relation was not there. There was a deep history that he would never share with her, one her father never could.

There really wasn’t a word for what her mother and Drake had. They loved each other and needed each other deeply, but it wasn’t always necessarily romantic. It was as if they clung to each other because they had experienced the greatest loss of their lives and they were the only ones remaining on earth. The companionship, the need to feel another’s arms around you, the press of someone’s lips, the feeling of bare skin against your own drew them together. They were soulmates in a way, with a deep mutual understanding and respect between them. Ellie knew it never was the same as the immense passionate love her mother and father shared.

Drake was happy so long as her mother was safe and happy, even if it was in the arms of his best friend. It was gut-wrenchingly tragic and so breathtakingly beautiful. It was something more than friends but less than lovers, an odd limbo. They had both been so broken, they weren’t sure they were capable of anything more.

There had eventually been pressure for a marriage between the two from friends and family, but it was a step neither of them were ever prepared to take. Instead, they found comfort in every conversation, every touch, every moment they spent together. Drake wasn’t made for courtly life. He’d tried for her mother on a few occasions, to disastrous results. She needed his support though, to keep her from being swallowed whole by her duty as Queen mother. It could’ve destroyed her, but he brought her back to herself, much like she brought her father back to himself.

Bear in mind, however, dearest Ellie, that no one person will ever be truly worthy of you in my eyes. You outshine the sun and the stars and I know one day you’re going to amaze and excite us all, exceeding everything we’d ever hoped and dreamed for you. Please, enjoy your time during this social season, but with the knowledge that the flashiest or richest suitor might not be the one who will be able to withstand the demands duty places on a relationship. Strength of character is far more important and can’t be taught.

Unequivocally and unconditionally yours,

Liam

Ellie thought she would manage to keep herself together through the letter after the close call earlier, but seeing her father’s name at the bottom of the page broke her down in the most visceral way. She spent so many nights of her life dreaming to have just one conversation with him and here he was, right on this page, imparting his wisdom. Her one wish as she grew up was to know him and instead all she had was stories and tiny ghosts of memories. Seeing his words, in his hand, on this page, is suddenly too much. She didn’t know how she could ever live up to his expectations, to his beautiful words. Her father was truly a man of great integrity, passion, and honor.

Her eyes well up to their capacity and tears drop to the letter. She quickly dabs them away before they’re able to harm her father’s words, his testament to her, when she was barely a few months old.

She carefully folds the old paper, and slides it back into its home, the perfectly yellowed envelope. In the silence, she slips it into her vanity drawer, among other heirlooms her mother and grandmother have given her. She closes her eyes and conjures her father’s smile before her as she internally wishes to find a love as fervent as her mother’s and his.

Ellie rises from her seat by the vanity and wanders to her closet where the gown for tonight’s masquerade ball hangs. She finds herself questioning whether her father would’ve approved of the slightly revealing, plunging neckline. Probably not. She wishes he were here to tell her he didn’t. On a shelf next to it sits a golden lion mask.

Her hands slide over the fabric of the golden gown and the delicate embroidery over the bodice, when a small knock sounds at her door.

“Come in.”

Her mother is still every bit as beautiful as she is in the family portrait by the window, only perhaps a bit more wiser than she was when it was taken. Instead of an air of naïveté and raw determination, she exudes confidence and poise.

“How are you feeling Ellie? I know how I was feeling before this event and I didn’t even have the weight of a country on my shoulders.”

“Surprisingly, calm.”

Her mother smiles and a tiny chuckle escapes her. “You’re every bit his daughter. I have no idea how he remained so calm in the face of so much, time and time again.”

“Well, he gave me some advice.”

“You two always did have a perfect understanding of each other.” Riley crosses the room to her daughter, placing a hand on her shoulder. Tears shine in both of their eyes. Riley wishes she could read what he said to her, but knows those words are for her alone.

“Would you like some help getting ready? We don’t have much time before the receiving line.”

Ellie nods and her mother reaches for the gown, unfastening the closure at the back. Ellie slips into it, pulling it over her shoulders and lifting her hair so her mother can fasten it. They both pause, looking at her reflection in the full length mirror. They speak at the same time.

“How can I even live up to his memory?”

“Your father would be so proud.”

Ellie smiles weakly. “I just want to do him right, to honor him with my actions.”

“Trust me, you already are. Your father loved you so much, you were his everything. Just being you is enough.”

Ellie finishes getting dressed by putting on the necklace and slipping into her shoes before grabbing her mask from the shelf. As her mother and her leave the royal suite, they’re greeted by Drake making his way towards them. He’s dressed in formalwear, a concession he’d made long ago to her mother.

“I just had the pleasure of meeting a couple of these suitors.” He spits the last word out, sarcasm dripping from it. “Who exactly selected these clowns?”

“Careful Drake,” her mother warns him, a smile playing about her lips, “I’m sure people were saying similar things about me at some points of the social season.” She leans into him and presses a soft kiss to his lips, quick but sweet.

Ellie and her mother take their places at the foot of the palace stairs. The large front doors swing open and Ellie can see the suitors lined up with their sponsors just outside. A royal herald begins to announce names she’s vaguely heard before, but she’s not entirely paying attention. Her mind is instead with her father’s words, tucked away in her vanity drawer.

[afni-fics]

Elder Scrolls DC - A Reluctant Dragonborn - Chapter 4: An Audience with Jarl Balgruuf

Elder Scrolls DC - A Reluctant Dragonborn - Chapter 4: An Audience with Jarl Balgruuf by C_R_Scott Chapters: 4/? Fandom: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Red Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Tim Drake, Lucien Flavius Additional Tags: Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Skyrim/DCU crossover, Reluctant Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Not Beta Read

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Summary: Tim makes his way to the city of Whiterun and has his first audience with its ruler, Jarl Balgruuf.

(NOTE: I'm in the process of reblogging the initial chapters of this story because, for some reason, Tumblr won't let me edit the earlier versions that I created using the Tumblr app on my phone. I'm also in the process of creating a masterlist for this series)

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Tim couldn't remember the last time he'd had to walk so much in one day. It turned out the city of Whiterun was several miles away from Riverwood, so the entire journey took nearly the entire day. He'd started out about an hour or so after sunrise, and he didn't find himself passing through Whiterun's gates until it was so late in the afternoon the sun was flirting with the horizon.

He probably would've been there a lot sooner if he'd chosen to jog part of the distance and take his journey off the cobblestone path and through the wilderness in a more straight line fashion, especially when he was finally able to see the city in the distance. However, the pain from his back was still bothering him. It was hard enough just tolerating the jostling of the backpack full of hiking gear and weapons (a new quarterstaff along with his bow, arrows, and a couple of daggers from Helgen) Gerdur helped him get before he left Riverwood. The idea of indulging in any kind of parkour over the rocky terrain to cut down on his travel time in his current state was ludicrous. Still, despite the pain, Tim couldn't help but indulge in a climb up to a small ledge only slightly off the beaten path that gave him his first real view of the city he was traveling to.

Whiterun was the model of a stereotypical small medieval city. It was nestled on a flat plain that was dotted with various farms full of crops and livestock. In the city proper, a large wall surrounded a collection of rustic wooden rooftops, above which towered a massive keep. Tim had to shake his head. When he was a younger, far geekier kid, this was the kind of setting he always imagined when he used to play Wizards and Warlocks with his old friend Ives back in middle school.

  When he entered the keep known as Dragonsreach, Tim had to pause to take in the sight. It was just like something out of a fantasy novel. The throne room was right there up a small flight of stairs past the main doors. A large firepit blazed right in front of the throne where who he assumed was the Jarl sat, seemingly tied up in a heated conversation with another person. 

"If the news from Helgen is true... Well there's no telling what it means," a balding man in expensive looking clothing said to the Jarl with a fair amount of concern. "I only counsel caution. We cannot afford to act rashly in times like these."

When Jarl Balgruuf responded it caused Tim to pause. His voice spoke with authority and carried quite well in the vast room. "What would you have me do, then? Nothing?"

For a moment, Tim wondered if this really was the best way to approach the Jarl. He hadn't been stopped by any of the guards upon entering the town or the castle. A part of him wondered idly at the lack of security surrounding this apparent ruler.

Suddenly, the sound of a sword being immediately unsheathed as footsteps quickly approached him made him reverse that thought immediately. Tim kept his eyes on the gleaming blade held by a gray skinned, armored woman with sharp narrow features, red eyes, and pointed ears.

"What's the meaning of this interruption," the woman demanded sternly. "Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors."

Tim took a breath to compose himself. Was this an "elf" of some sort? Then he answered the Jarl's guard. "I have news from Helgen about the dragon attack," he said. "I was also sent with a message from Gerdur to Jarl Balgruff. Riverwood is in danger."

The woman refused to lower her blade or or defensive stance. But her eyes widened in surprise. "You know about Helgen?" She glanced between Tim and the Jarl before finally relaxing her stance and sheathed her blade. "The Jarl will want to speak to you personally. Approach."

Marginally, Tim relaxed as well now. With a respectful nod to the guard, climbed the last few stairs up to the Jarl's throne. He glanced at the dragon skull mounted over the throne before letting his eyes fall on the man beneath it. Jarl Balgruuf was a blond regal man, dressed in furs and fine clothing. Upon his head he wore a gold crown with several gems inlaid upon it. The way he sat upon the throne, it reminded Tim of a male lion lounging on the savannah, completely secure in his superiority. With a sigh, Tim bowed in what he hoped was a respectful gesture to the man before him.

"So," Jarl Balgruuf started. "You were at Helgen? You saw this dragon with your own eyes?"

Tim nodded. "Yes. The dragon destroyed Helgen." He was careful to leave out the reason why he was in Helgen in the first place. Gerdur had told him the Jarl had not chosen a side in this country's civil war, but he wasn't going to take any chances. "Last I saw, the beast flew off toward the mountains in this direction."

"By Ysmir, Irileth was right!" Balgruuf exclaimed. Then he turned to the man on his right. "What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?"

Before the man Tim now knew as Proventus could respond, the Jarl's guard cut in. "My lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once. It's in the most immediate danger, if that dragon is lurking in the mountains..."

Proventus then interrupted her, earning a sharp glare from the elf. "The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation! He'll assume we're prepping to join Ulfric's side and attack him."

Tim winced as Balgruff bellowed. "Enough!" The word echoed off the walls. First, he fixed a glare on Proventus. "I'll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people!" Then he turned to his guard. "Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once." 

Irileth, the grey-skinned elf nodded. "Yes, my Jarl," she said crisply before turning to leave the throne room. Soon after, Proventus left as well, muttering something about other duties as he decended down the stairs. Then Tim was left alone with the Jarl, who studied him for a long moment before speaking. "Well done," Balgruuf praised. "You sought me out, on your own initiative. You've done Whiterun a service, and I won't forget it. May I know your name?" 

Tim inclined his head in a slight bow once more. "It's Timothy, sir, and thank you, Jarl Balgruuf. I'm sure Gerdur and Riverwood will feel a lot safer once your guards arrive. But I should go now. I've taken up enough of your time." he said politely. As Tim started to turn to descend the stairs himself, starting to wonder on his next steps on how to get back home, the Jarl spoke up once more, his tone thoughtful.

"There is another thing you could do for me."

Tim paused, eyeing the Jarl suspiciously as the man rose from his throne.

"Come, let's go find Farengar, my court wizard. He's been looking into a matter related to these dragons and... rumors of dragons."

As Balgruuf led the way to a side room next to the throne room, Tim felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach. He needed to start searching for a way back home, and he'd gotten more than his fill of dragons at Helgen. Running errands for this Jarl would just get in his way... but he couldn't say no right now. Last thing he needed was to insult this land's ruler and get thrown into a dungeon... or worse if nearly losing his head at Helgen before the dragon attach was any indication. With a defeated sigh, Tim followed obediently.

"Farengar, I think I've found someone who can help you with your dragon project. Go ahead and fill him in on all the details." Tim heard Balgruuf say as he entered the room of the Jarl's court wizard. There was an odd scent in the air that reminded Tim of certain incenses his old friend Raven used to use back at Titans Tower. Across nearly every flat surface in the room was some sort of book, scrolls, potion, or gemstone in haphazard disarray. Then he turned his full attention on the robed man that the Jarl was speaking with, who was now studying him back in return.

"So the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me?"

Tim shrugged. "I'll try to be as useful as I can, though I can't do anything with magic if it involves that."

Farengar smirked. "That shouldn't be a problem. I just need someone to fetch something for me. Well, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not be there."

It took every ounce of self control Tim had not to roll his eyes. Great, he was being sent to chase wild geese in some ancient, decrepit ruin that was probably booby trapped to hell and back. "And what does this have to do with dragons?" Tim asked, unable to completely mask the annoyed skepticism in his voice.

"Ah, no mere brute mercenary, but a thinker - perhaps even a scholar?" Farengar observed with renewed interest in Tim. Apparently this seemed to elevate Tim's standing in the wizard's eyes. Farengar then proceeded to give Tim a brief explanation about how until the event at Helgen, stories of dragons were dismissed as fantasies and impossibilities. "One sure mark of a fool is to dismiss anything that falls outside his experience as being impossible."

Tim thought about that for a moment, then shrugged with a nod in agreement. He'd had more than enough experiences like that in his life.

Farengar continued, explaining how he had been researching information about dragons before finally reaching his point. "I, uh, learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow - a "Dragonstone," said to contain a map of dragon burial sites." He pointed to a location on a large map in his room. "Go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find this tablet - no doubt interred in the main chamber - and bring it to me. Simplicity itself."

"Simplicity itself, huh," Tim echoed before shaking his head and pulling out a map of the region he'd gotten earlier at the general store in Riverwood. He marked the location of the barrow on it before re-folding it carefully. "Anything else you can tell me about this place?" Tim asked.

"It's an old tomb, built by the ancient Nords, perhaps dating back to the Dragon War itself."

Tim nodded as if he knew what Farengar was talking about, though he was mostly clueless. "Nords? Dragon War?" he thought silently. Suddenly, he missed the internet and its nearly infinite amount of wikis. He was suddenly struck with how hard it was going to be to do any kind of in depth research in this place. Did this city even have a library?

The mage must have caught some hint of a confused expression on Tim's face and misinterpreted it. "Ah. Maybe you just want to know how to get there. It's near Riverwood, a miserable little village a few miles south of here."

"So how do you know this 'Dragonstone' is in there?" Tim asked.

"Well, must preserve some professional secrets, mustn't we?" Fargengar replied cryptically. "I have my sources... reliable sources." 

Jarl Balgruuf, who had remained during this conversation, must have read the skeptical look on Tim's face. "This is a priority now. Anything we can use to fight this dragon, or dragons. We need it, quickly. Before it's too late."

Tim sighed. "I understand," he said with resignation. "I'll head back out to Riverwood first thing in the morning and make my way to the barrows."

Balgruuf clapped a firm hand on Tim's shoulder. Thankfully, it was his uninjured one. "Thank you, Timothy. Succeed at this, and you'll be rewarded. Whiterun will be in your debt."

Tim brightened a little at that. If the reward was gold, or something that could be exchanged for gold, that could help his dire financial straits. Also, having someone like the Jarl and perhaps even this mage in his debt might help him get home.

Still... Despite Farengar's insistance that this job would be "simplicity itself", Tim knew that it likely wouldn't be anything close to that. His luck just wasn't that good.

  -------------------------

NOTE: BTW, here is a shot of the exact placement of Tim's burn scars from Alduin in Helgen. I know the color's really off in this shot, but I wanted to illustrate how extensive the damage really is.

[sweetnsaltybio]

What I have so far...

            At first, I thought about making a fictional book of someone who has lived a life like mine. But what’s the point in hiding behind a glorified novel? There isn’t. So I’m going to tell my story, as real, and raw, as I can.

            I suppose it began when I was born. October 9, 1992. In a way, I wasn’t supposed to be born. My mom was told she wasn’t able to carry kids. So when she found out she was pregnant with me, on Valentine’s Day, her whole world became about me. And unfortunately, that hasn’t changed much. I’m grateful for my mom and my dad, and I will love them for all of eternity. But there’s been times when I’ve wondered if I really belong here, if it’s worth having me take up space, and time, and energy. I’ve wondered, if my parents could do it all over again, would they do it the same way? Would they still want me? Because I could understand bowing out; I could understand being so overwhelmed that they’ve wished for a different life; because I have. But that’s understandable, right? What sick kid hasn’t imagined a different life for themselves?

            So I guess the real “adventure” started when I was nine months old. For the longest time, I was a fussy baby. And I clearly wasn’t digesting my food right (I’m not going into those details, for the sake of you, the reader). My parents took me to countless doctors, until one suggested the possibility of me having Cystic Fibrosis. They did all the necessary tests, and to my parents’ dismay, I was diagnosed positive for Cystic Fibrosis. It’s a terminal illness that affects the lungs and the digestive system. I got it because both of my parents were carriers of the gene, and when they got together, it produced a baby with CF (a much shorter way to address the disease). My parents were told, at the time, that they shouldn’t expect me to live longer than eighteen years. To say that they were heartbroken is an understatement. They were devastated. From being told they could never have children, to having a child that wouldn’t live past her eighteenth birthday. But CF is all I have ever known for myself, so I can’t empathize their heartbreak.

            So I started to have to take pills. Pills every time I ate. Vitamins. I had to start with CPTs, or Chest Physiotherapy, where my parents would pat firmly on my back, chest, and sides, to loosen up the mucus in my lungs so that I could cough it up and keep my airway clear. As I got older, I could start wearing a therapy vest. The vest would fill up with air and then start vibrating, mimicking the purpose of the CPTs. It was easier on my parents, but I loathed that thing. Whenever they told me it was time for my treatments, I would run and hide, often behind the couch, which overtime, made it a lot easier for them to find me. I had to use a nebulizer machine, so I could inhale my Pulmozyme, which helps to thin the mucus that it’s in my lungs, my throat, and my sinuses. I was consistently underweight, as that’s just another symptom of Cystic Fibrosis – not being able to adequately gain weight. Which, growing up in a society focused on being thin, wasn’t necessarily a bad thing in my eyes.

            When I was one, my parents moved us to Arizona. Because they loved it, but I think it was also believed that not growing up in Cleveland, Ohio would be better for my health; humidity makes it a lot harder for me to breathe, and often clogs up my sinuses. I had to go to doctor appointments at least once a month to see a pulmonologist, and CF specialists. There were non in the small town that my parents had moved to, so we have to drive two hours to the big city of Phoenix to see my specialists. I remember hating them. I know they were only helping me, but they poked and prodded, and there were always needles, and they always wanted me to cough as hard as I could, and I hated it. It was inconveniencing, and uncomfortable. So my parents often had to bribe me: if I did could at my appointments and didn’t put up much of a fuss, they would take me to the Disney store at the mall and buy me something that I wanted. Weirdly enough, all I usually wanted was those cool little wash clothes that come shrink-wrapped in some cool shape, and then magically unfold when you put them in water. The CF clinic also always gave me a Beanie Baby when I was done with my visit. That was pretty cool to me. I still have most of them up in my childhood closet and my parent’s attic. I wonder what their value is now?

            When I was three years old, I had my first sinus surgery. I don’t know all of the nitty-gritty details of the surgery, I just know that they go in and clean out whatever gunk has grown in there that you can’t just blow into a tissue. I remember bits and pieces of the whole thing like it was a dream. I remember the view out of my hospital window. I remember my roommate that was there because he shoved a crayon up his nose that they couldn’t get out. I remember watching Barney on the small television, mounted toward in the ceiling in the middle of the room. I remember walking around, dragging my IV pole with me, and checking out the “kids room”, where a bunch of us sick toddlers could go play with all sorts of toddler toys. I don’t remember being that interested in it. I remember the anesthesiologist taking me into a dimly lit room to choose the facemask I would wear when they put me to sleep. I remember even getting to choose the “flavor” of the anesthesia. I think I chose strawberry-banana. I remember it didn’t taste how I expected it to.

            I was a ballerina. The doctors wanted me to be physical and get exercise. And I loved to dance. That’s how I met my first real best friend – Maggie. We danced, and tapped together. It was a blast. We ended up going to the same kindergarten together, which I believe was plotted by our mothers. Which was okay, because Maggie was as true as they came, and I loved her for it. I was kind of an oddball child, so it made it hard for me to make friends. I was also seriously boy-crazy; I’d chase them around whether they were my age or several grades higher than me. But I was also very much a creative, free spirit, with an expansive imagination.

            My parents tried to make everything normal for me, despite all the things that weren’t supposed to be normal in my life. My birthday parties were bright, and fun, and very typical for a kid my age. When I was five, I got my first bicycle. It was shiny, and pink, and new, with a matching helmet. My dad was the one to teach me how to ride. We lived pretty deep into the forest, and there was a dirt road loop around our neighborhood that we would go hiking almost every night. My dad took me down the small hill in front of our house. The only problem was, I’d forgotten how to use the brakes!  I crashed into a ditch on the side of the road. My dad had to pull gravel out of my mouth and out of my cheeks and my face. I remember I had to swish with peroxide. But that didn’t stop me from running around, like a crazy child, doing crazy children things.

            When I was three, my mom and I were watching The Lion King, and she fell asleep. We were up in the mountains, so we usually got a good amount of snow. I stripped out of my clothes and went running butt-naked through our front yard. Luckily, we were close with our next-door neighbors, and when he saw he running around like a little yeti, he picked my butt up and brought me into my house, casually waking my mom up to inform her of my shenanigans. He was apparently, quite unfazed. So he definitely had that going for him. Even when I, was yet again in the buff, I ran through his entire house during his family dinner, with my parents close on my heels. Guess what I was running from? My treatments, of course.

            One day, while Maggie and I were unsupervised, we crept into two-story garage, and crept up the stairs to admire his stuffed animal collection (not the fun beanie baby kind) and his shiny pool table. I remember him yelling at his, and it scared us so bad that we never went back, and I was terrified of him, even though he was the sweetest older man there was. And lucky for us, his wife was a nurse. So when I had an allergic reaction to an antibiotic that I had been given, his wife knew exactly what to do, and took care of me. Coincidentally, she was also the nurse that would later help my mom give birth to my sister.

            When I was six years old, my parents sat me down to have “a talk” in the living room. I wasn’t sure what it was about, but I knew that I didn’t do anything wrong, so it couldn’t be that bad, could it? Wrong. My parents told me that my mom was pregnant with my sister. I’m not sure why I reacted the way I did, but I was furious. I started crying – just absolutely sobbing. I think I might have thrown an ‘I hate you!’ in there, as I ran to my room to sob in my bunk bed.

[perambulatelove]

“She’s just a beautiful person, inside and out. And the most radiant person I’ve ever experienced, and I just can’t get her out of my head!”, I said frustratedly to my best friend over FaceTime.

“Suzi?” She asked.

“No hah” I started laughing, as much as I thought Suzi was a fantastically wonderful girl and I adore the fact we have some SERIOUS unmatched seamy chemistry...it still wasn’t HER.

“Oh Jessica then? Or Jazz? I did like her freckles, they complimented her eyes so beautifully! She was so gorgeous, damn I can’t believe you dated such a beautiful girl.” Kate kept on.

“No Kate...Anne.”

“Oh”, she said solemnly, letting her emotions splay across her face in the sudden onspread of depression and sadness that those four little litters always seem to bring on.

Kate just looked at the screen and then reached across her bed for her pipe.

“Well honey, I’ll smoke to that!” And we both took a hit for good measure before I delved into my heart, yet again, as this subject always requires reminiscing, solumn sadness and a generous degree of unrequited love that has lasted for 10 solid years, straight, sprinkled with the occasional fucking dreams of her.

HER. Such a big word. So much weight. And has for years. But since I’ve had dreams about her dating back easily to when I was just out of college, and for sure when I was in Japan, nothing has ever been the same. I even suggested she read The Celestine Prophesy after that dream in Japan.

...I wonder if she even remembers that’s the book I gave her last Christmas...

There’s like this insatiable desire that was shook awake when I began having those dreams. It was as if I was reassured that my feelings when we were a bit younger weren’t just a symptom of adolescent hormones at work.

“What about her?” Kate asked, snapping me out of the inner history I was reminiscing on the screen of my mind, something I always seemed to replay rapidly in my head anytime I get notions of Anne again.

“I had another dream...” I said again, watching as her face went from sad concern to a small frown of contempt and virtual disgust. She wasn’t unfamiliar to these dreams.

“Hell, I think I even remember telling Cara about these dreams though dude...she’s just everywhere” I said letting anger and frustration rise in me, as was customary whenever I talked to my best friend about this one girl. Her.

“Whose everywhere? Cara?” Kate chortled out lightly.

“Kate stop! You know exactly what we’re talking about!” I snapped back at her, not allowing her damn humor to make me feel anything but what I was feeling, again, because of this woman’s insatiable haunting of my dreams.

“I know...” she trailed off, letting me watch as we mirrored, this time, the small frown of mutual understanding.

“So what the fuck do I do about her then? I’ve never been able to stop thinking about her. And the only times that I’m happy and finally starting to just let go and fall for someone, let someone else have that place in my life where I can ACTUALLY love them, not this unrequited bull shit; every time I come so close I begin to have these fucking dreams.” I said throwing my phone down while Kate watched me take a hit to relax the ever-building anger inside of me.

“I can’t stand it! She doesn’t feel anything? Really? Fuck off with that! She can’t feel anything?! Why? Because I’m a little bigger and curvier than her usual MO? Because her shallow ass can’t see past that and see how much I could give her, and have wanted to give her for the last 10 years? I mean god fucking damn Kate! 10 years! A whole decade she’s been in my fucking life and like I literally...dude I think that I’m actually on the verge of going insane because she probably doesn’t even remember the moment we met but I’m just that in love with her and have been since that day...”

“What?!” She said coughing out her hit. “No! What the fuck?! Why on earth would you think you’re insane dude?! Because she can’t feel something? She’s lying; and I’ve told you this before. And fuck her for saying that and making you think you’re not good enough. Like all the reasons you’re even in school, all the reasons behind why you wanted to be a physicist and she’s telling you that everything you’ve been doing in your own research and theories is virtual bull shit...I mean there’s just no way! I feel your essence dude! Shit, I can feel even your god damn appreciation, longing for, and just utter love for this woman 3000 miles away and in the god damn mountains! You know for fucks sake that she’s hiding from it, or maybe she is really just shallow and thinks you’re not good enough but fuck her then! Totally fuck her because if she can’t see the love you’d fucking give her? Shit, if she can’t see how much you’d romance her and give her in this world, having to keep all those feelings locked away for so long, then totally fuck her! She’s immature and shallow and how could you want that?” She continued, spitting out her chips here and there while scooping salsa into her mouth.

“I. Fucking. Know.” I said getting irritated, still more, letting out the breath I was holding in while Kate was ranting the same bull shit I’ve gone over and over and still over again in my head. I just looked at her over the phone and said,

“So then what the fuck do I do about it? Give me a substantial answer!” To which she was quiet, as she always gets about this unending question that seems as if there’s to be no resolution from any angle.

“How do I get these dreams to stop? How do I get her out of my head? How do I get myself to stop thinking of her, and comparing literally every woman I come across to her? How do I stop loving someone who literally said she can’t even feel ANYTHING for me? TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK TO DO BECAUSE ITS DRIVING ME INSANE NOW!” I yelled more to the universe, cursing the gods, than at Kate.

“I don’t know man. Just keep living? See more tarot readers? Therapists? And I mean the reiki kind, not the physcology bull shitters who have no history of experiencing anything in their life...Who will just pull the odepuss-y shit...I mean...have you told her about this?”

“No.” I said quickly. “That’s NOT an option, and you know that. She told me she didn’t have feelings, so that’s the end of it. We just stay friends, that’s it.” finishing the sentence so resolutely, we sat in silence for a little. Knowing this fate has brought unending torture on me.

“Look honey. Sometimes people really are just scared. Sometimes even someone who is a boisterous, outgoing lion like herself can get afraid of being vulnerable. Not everyone will accept what they feel out of that immovable force of a wall they built up. But I can tell you this, the wall Anne’s built to keep others out, she’s also seemed to trap herself in, and that gets truly lonely. And I think we both know that she’s not going to be happy with anyone else, ultimately. She’s searching, she wants someone like you I’m sure, she wants that ability to just cry and be vulnerable with someone for once who could sit there and look her in the eye and say I get it; and hell how could she not want that from literally the most amazing and flawless woman on the planet? You do realize you study PHYSICS bitch, and do you know how much you’ve touched my life and changed so much about me? If she can’t look at you and see holy hell the compassion that oozes out of you and your wicked intelligence to boot plus you have to be the most interesting person Ive ever met - well shit you and I both know she must be HELLA stupid if she can’t see that. Or even if she��s running from it. You need to just...idk write it out and then forget about it. Just do that”

So I guess here it is, 10 minutes after a crying phonecall about my damn recurring dreams of this woman who has always been the muse of anything I could possibly imagine doing, drained of tears and anger just trying to get this god damn emotion out of me so that it will stop controlling me.

I don’t know what else to do because I’m going insane otherwise, so I did what Kate told me to do, I’m writing it out.

Anne,

I remember like it was yetsersay, fucking Christ be damned, you had to be the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on. And not in a simple manner either, there was something about you. You lit up the room. And everyone knew it. Hell, I’ve watched over the years as you’ve always been the one that just shines like the sun in a room. The blonde in your hair was utterly golden, translucent and this just amplified this glow you always emmited. To this day it still does.

Then I remember hearing your voice. It was like the smoothest molasses my mother’s ever poured into a ginger snap, and that’s truly where Cupid pelted me, deep, with an arrow that’s been pierced straight through my heart that’s remained for 10 years. We had to go around the room, Hell I even feel like this must have been the reality weekend that was at Sam Wheeler’s House. I remember what the room looked like, that’s for sure. The roof was slanted and the walls were red, of course just amplifying the flame you omitted and I think there was a pool table in the room. We must have been 14 at the time, it was 8th grade. And we were all told by our leader to go around and tell everyone something about ourselves in a nutshell. When it got to you, it was this coy but commanding, clearly sociable force that simply just spoke, capturing my heart, “Hi, my names Anne Deal, and this is me in a nutshell” and you proceeded to envelop yourself in a nut shell made from your arms. This probably had to be why I always called you by your full name. The way it just sang, I could never forget it. In the moment, I don’t think I really thought too much of it other than thinking you were so unboundingly attractive. I was right at that age when I was questioning that side of me possibly being gay, but meeting you that day changed so much in me.

I found myself being so wildly attracted to you after that. Too shy to really do anything to make any sort of lasting impression, considering I had enough depressive bull shit to go through struggling with my weight over the next four years (and prior, but it got worse in high school, a lot because of home life, but that’s not for putting all over the Tumblr), I remember that we would have passing conversations, but I wonder how much you remember about high school. Shit, I did crazy shit in high school and I know I don’t remember like 99% of it. Hell, I don’t want to remember that time in my life, except for one thing. Roughly around junior year I remember seeing a picture of you with this little yellow cartigan on, sitting in a field of yellow flowers, and I’ve never been more taken aback by a woman. And I mean a woman, a god awful, completly beautiful, radiant woman that continually stops my heart because there is no way she is not just a complete goddess down to her SOUL. But by this point I knew I was gay, and I knew you made my heart melt, that’s for sure.

And sitting in that theater, I know I was a nervous wreck, but shit can you blame a girl? I’m this nerdy, geeky, always been ugly and not something to look at girl who plays video games and watches anime and reads manga, Hell, dresses in Lolita and you had to be, by far, the most attractive, interesting, flooring woman I had ever met in my entire life - and I was on a damn date with you. After all those years of wanting you? Shit I was a god damn nervous wreck, Hell, both dates. The first one you didn’t touch me much so you didn’t see that anxiety-ridden ball you got to experience during an okay, but generally shitty ripoff of a saw movie (that Rob Zombie only came up with between other jobs). And I wanted to woo you. I wanted to take you out and show you all those feelings I’ve been having to hide for so long. I wanted to show you how a woman deserves to be treated, especially now, this fantastically ever more radiant beyond goddess-like woman that you’ve become, and you tell me the most heartbreaking and odd thing I’ve ever heard “I just don’t feel anything”...oh.

I mean it does change things if that’s really the case. 10 years of unrequited love...fully unrequited. Energy, after all this time has lied to me. I’ve had to hold these feelings down since before high school, before going through THAT bull shit, then college and the partying that followed and all our bull shit, rapes and abortions and meth? Shit...what the fuck did we do...and yet all of it this, this entire time has always been to try and keep away this lingering thought of you that just can’t seem to break beyond being so trapped by my own inadequacy...

But here’s the real kicker, is that so much of me wants to just let it go. I crave nothing more in this world, especially because you don’t want me. I’m not enough for you, and thats simple. I’ve already been through that hurt, Hell I was even surprised I captured your attention to actually get a date. That alone meant I was good enough for that much. Possibly just attractive enough to get a date with this one woman I couldn’t even begin to compare to any beauty ever mused about prior, because god damn there’s just this thing about you. And you know you have that charm, no doubt about that. It’s what makes you so irresistible to so many other people.

But every time I try and let ALL of this feeling swirling around inside of me go, especially so that maybe I can move on, maybe to have a girlfriend worth loving and actually give my love to, I have these dreams. And they’re weird. I’ve never had such vivid dreams unless you’re in them. It’s like you’re there. You used you not even look at me in them, most of them I’d be watching over you at a party, no doubt I’m sure when you needed a guardian or some shit to get you home safe, but as they’ve developed over the years I watched as you noticed me in my dreams and in real life more. You started actually touching me, just softly, in the dreams after we dated. But now they’re odd. They occur where you just wisk me away somewhere, dancing around with me or pulling me along to do something. And I’ve just never seen you with a smile so big and so beautiful.

And that’s all I’ve ever wanted was to be able to give you that smile. Be that reason and that long standing history of watching all the shit you’ve gone through happen, as I deal with my own shit too, but look back on it and look at this person you’ve become out of all that? Out of every trauma you’ve experienced yourself, I’m sure even some actually unbenounced to me and it wouldn’t surprise me, but I’ve still watched you come out of it. Seen this beautiful soul, still capturing my heart after a whole decade, go through everything...Meanwhile I’d still be here thinking the exact same thing I thought 10 years ago in 8th grade...this astounding radiance that even a passing poet on the night of a singular concert session through Seattle could see this fire that’s inside of me. He knew. He asked if I was a fire sign, and I said no I’m an air, to which he said “but I see a fire inside you” I could only answer him with...”passion”.

I think I just god damn, unequivocally, irrevocably and unwaveringly am so beyond in love with you. And always will be. And I just don’t understand how else to put it because I’ve always felt the same way for you before dating, after dating, even now. It’s the exact same feeling.

It’s a good thing I’ll be moving to Colorado at the end of May. I’ll be back with my best friend and far far away from all this.