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vintagehellfire · 1 year ago

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Life Eternal | E.M

summary: You'd promised each other your souls forever, that you'd be with each other forever...

warnings: angst, hurt/no comfort, grief, major character death, graves, death, no seriously there is no comfort... okay maybe mayyyyyybe if you squint, but tbh just pure hurt, based on Life Eternal by Ghost

18+ MDNI

There was no denying the pain that came with having someone ripped from you far too soon, but what was worse was being unable even to have one last goodbye, being unable to see their face one last time before their soul departed from their body and before the rot settled in. There was something akin to a knife being driven through one's chest repeatedly when the devastating news of a loved one taking their last breath was delivered, and it was made much worse when the two parties touched each other’s souls in a way that no other had been able to.

Tears fell onto the dampened earth, the lot still fresh, disturbed. The cold granite of the headstone felt glacial and yet unreal. It was a physical manifestation of devastation and yet its existence felt completely ersatz. Not only because the stone was clean for the most part - barring the red spray paint that refused to be removed, another permanent mark on the memories of that which is lost - but also because stuck out like a sore thumb in the old and run-down cemetery, a symbol of the young loss.

Sobs wracked your body and your breathing uneven, but how could it ever be even again? It wouldn’t be, not as you sat at your kitchen table to receive the news, not as you received the devastating emotional blow of finding out that there wasn’t a body to be recovered, and not when you were in front of his grave, knowing that he wasn’t even beneath the earth below your feet. How nobody was able to find him left your mouth drier than the Sahara - you weren’t able to hold his hand one last time, no matter how cold they would be, unable to see his button nose or hug his dying body to you as you lost him for what felt like the second time in the span of a week. You choked on your breath for what was probably the hundredth time, the hundredth time you breathed your soul out through earth-shattering devastation.

With nobody but the sodden cemetery ground to turn to, you fisted the earth and let out a heart-shattering sob into the open air, nobody to hear you or to console you through the pain. The one person you wanted most was the one person you would never see again. The lump in your throat silenced your voice, vocal cords worn thin from the sleepless nights that you sobbed into the infamous Hellfire shirt he wore. His scent was quickly fading from it and once you had realised that you were left an even bigger wreck than you could have imagined - the last tether to him slowly fraying, the last little fibres unravelling themselves in tune to your own emotional demise.

Your whole body shook with anger and heartbreak - you wanted to get out of this god-forsaken town, but he haunted you and this cursed place was the only thing keeping him alive. You could swear that you’d feel his hands on your shoulders while you tried to cook - the first time it happened, you called his name before the sensation disappeared into thin air, leaving you heaving for oxygen. Your food was forgotten and left to burn while your wails carried through your apartment and your eyes stung from the tears. That night you sobbed until there was no longer any breath left in your lungs, until the walls of your home felt cold and unwelcoming.

The second time it happened, you were walking past the arcade and you could have sworn you felt his hands on your hips and a laughter-filled call of your name. That time you spun around so quickly you nearly lost your balance, head whipping around to see who it was behind you, but his voice haunted you and so you pushed past everyone in your way, trying to hold yourself together enough to break down the moment you reached your car. You didn’t make it and instead, you found yourself sitting by your car’s front tire as you bawled, your body wracked with tremors. They felt never-ending – the tremors – terrorising you when you would least expect them. You longed for his arms around you again, to hear his laugh, to dance with him in your little kitchen as you did on the first night you had moved into your place. The memory only served as a painful reminder of that which you no longer had. Your body had memorised the way he held you to him, his quivering voice that told you that you’d touched his soul forever before leaning in for the most gentle kiss. The way his kiss seared into your skin was like a burn that would flare up when you least expected it, and it was clear that he too had touched your soul in a more permanent way than you had ever expected him to.

“Eddie…” You sniffled, managing to find the capacity to croak out his name for the first time in months but the assault of tears that came immediately after you breathed life back into his name was too painful, your chest seizing, lungs collapsing on themselves as if you’d just been plummeted a thousand leagues under the dark ocean. Your life certainly felt much darker with him gone. You longed for him, even while he was around, you longed to spend time in his arms, to hear him ramble about his campaigns, about his little sheep, but now that he was gone you couldn’t help but yearn for all that you used to have with him.

It had been months of this, of showing up to his gravestone and having to clean it from the obscenities that adorned it, a painful reminder of how little love he received for how much of it he had in his heart. You spent agonising hours scrubbing the red paint off with cleaning products and salty tears, leaving flowers and letters to him in hopes that they would somehow reach him on the other side, and yet with each passing day, the fire that lit your soul grew darker, and the yearning only grew stronger. Your jaw was in a state of constant pain from how much you were trying to hold yourself together, clenching it in both your waking hours and the moment sleep consumed you, trying to keep your very being from shattering.

“Can you hear me say your name? Can you see me longing for you?” Your voice was hoarse, unused for far too long. You barely recognised it yourself, as if it was a third party speaking for you, projecting your thoughts for you. The moment you realised you had spoken, another wave hit you, knocking you down further than you had been before. You dug your hands into the graveyard dirt and let out a shaky breath, unable to fathom the reality that wrapped itself like a noose around your neck, slowly suffocating you. You wanted nothing more than to scream but the cry never came - your last breath was spent, it seemed, and all you could muster was a weak whimper. How could he be gone? You wondered to yourself, unable to come to terms with the devastating passing of your boyfriend. You refused to believe it, the lack of a body, he couldn’t be gone, could he? But as the days passed, your hope dwindled, and you had to resign yourself to the reality that he was gone. You had to just let go… Or so everyone seemed to preach.

The promises you both whispered to each other in the dead of night, when the witching hour struck, and you had nothing but each other, haunted you. Sometimes you swore that you could hear whispers of his voice when you couldn’t fall asleep but ultimately it was most likely your delirious conscience that plagued you, making you hear things in the dead of night.

“You promised…” Your sobs wracked your body, shuddering the more you tried to contain your tears, your voice completely breaking as you let go of the last ounce of strength that held you together. Your mind wandered to the sweet nothings that Eddie would shower you with, and that is what they amounted to in the end, wasn’t it? Nothing. With him gone, you didn’t have any options but to let go of those feelings, those sweet words, those promises of being yours forever. His romantic monologues and ramblings of being yours forever, and if death chose to do you part, how he’d find your soul once again from the afterlife, you had to let them go for they found themselves amounting to nothing. Death did you part, except it didn’t take you as well.

You danced slowly in the candlelight, your hand on his shoulder, his on your waist, and his soft lips right beside your ear. He pulled you close to his body and while he was warm, his hands were cold against yours, as if he’d just come in from a cold winter’s night, but all he had done was share a joint with you, something that loosened you both up after your long day. His wild curls tickled your soft face and you giggled at some ridiculous line he was feeding you but soon the suave facade fell and his voice dropped to a low murmur.

“Sweetheart, I love you.” His voice rattled, rattled like old windows in a summer storm, sturdy, protective, and yet stable, protecting that on the inside. “I would rip the heavens apart to find you again. I’d search for you in the afterlife if it meant I could be with you in lifetimes to come.” And while this sounded like standard Munson drivel, there was a certain intonation that inclined you to believe him.

“I don’t think God would be too happy with you, Munson, nor the devil himself for that matter.” You tried to joke with him but it fell on deaf ears. Eddie was unrelenting with his honesty. His voice was earnest and thick with emotion when he answered you, a conviction you’d never heard before lacing itself into every word.

“I don’t care, sweetheart, I’d fight Gods and devils alike… I’d fight Satan himself for you if it meant getting to be with you in the next life.” You couldn’t do anything but hold him closer in this moment, your words dying on your tongue. How were you to answer him when his emotions were so raw? How could you even muster up something as eloquent to say to him when he opened his heart up to you in such a vulnerable way?

“I’d raise armies to rip hell apart to find you, Eddie. I’d be longing for you forever…” You whispered to him as you both slowly danced together, the candles flickering softly, illuminating both your features in a warm glow - there was nothing more beautiful than the love you both shared, nothing more pure.

Your forehead fell to the dank earth, lungs set ablaze by your dry heaving. You couldn’t find it in you to make this the moment you just let it go. Your soul called out for him as you longed painfully for his touch, his soft words of reassurance, but you wouldn’t get them, never again. The most you had was the little love notes he left you, his DnD notebooks… There wasn’t all too much that was left of your boyfriend, and you cherished every last thing that you had in your possession. He had touched your soul forever, whether he knew it or not.

Your eyes burned painfully as sobs tore through your raw throat, your fingers digging further into the fresh dirt of the uprooted grave. The further you stuck your hands in, the more you prayed you’d hit something, anything, but you never would. Your hands would grow cold, and there would be a story in your heart - yours and Eddie’s - but your hands would never again find his body, never again hold him to you. They would never run through his tangled curls, or feel the plush of his lips, no, instead they’d feel the humidity seep into their bones and devour them from the inside out the longer you kept them buried, and the dirt would surely cake your fingernails to the point you wouldn’t be able to get it out from underneath them. The scent of petrichor would overtake the smell of weed, cigarettes, and his cheap musky cologne. You’d never feel his callouses graze across your soft skin again, and that small detail, the one that made Eddie so… so him, would in a year escape you, fading into nothingness as you were forced to let go of him.

You wanted to dance with him once again, to feel the chill of his long fingers against yours but that was something that wouldn’t ever come back. Not even in the ghostings of touches, the whispers and bumps that came in the night. No matter how much those moments shattered you, no matter how much pain they brought on, the most painful would be the moment you forget the feeling of his lips or the way his hands splayed across the small of your back - those moments would disappear one day… or one day until someone came along that made you remember it, and that day would be one that would make every other touch but Eddie’s feel wrong. Nobody would have the honour to touch you in the same ways as he did.

As you bawled into the graveyard dirt, you could have sworn there was a weight on your upper back and while it wasn’t pushing you into the dirt itself, it might as well have been. Part of you hoped it would be Eddie’s arm around you but when you turned, your body was violently assaulted by an onslaught of sobs at the realisation that your boyfriend wasn’t there to hold you while you cried. You were choking on each short breath, unable to calm yourself down. The one time you needed him more than anyone, he wasn’t present.

I’m here. Just breathe, sweetheart, thassit, I’ve got you.

There was something so off about the whole situation, about how clinically everything was treated, about how none of his “friends” seemed to show up. The funeral was quick and dirty, arranged by Wayne and yourself in the best way you both knew and after everything was said and done, you hid away, isolating yourself from the world itself. You barely left the house. The only time you breathed the fresh Hawkins air was when you went to visit his grave or the once-a-month trip to get groceries. You should have gone to see Wayne but he reminded you too much of everything that was ripped away from you and while you yearned to visit the man and sit down with him, to speak Eddie back into existence through memories and laughter, you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. You couldn’t bring yourself to break your heart over and over again even though you knew that in some capacity you both needed each other in order to sew together your broken hearts.

“P-please Eds…” You choked out, your emotions were getting away from you, the more you thought about it, about him, the more you felt like you lost your family. He was your rock, the love of your life, in your own ways you’d sworn yourselves over to each other, sworn yourselves to life eternal with one another, and so having him ripped from you so suddenly left a dark pit in your chest, deeper than the ninth circle of hell would ever reach. You didn’t think it would have been possible for

I’m right here with you, sweetheart.

The wind blew colder and you shivered, but you didn’t dare move, not an inch, because it meant moving from the grave you’d come to memorise - your muscles, your fingers, your heart, even your nose, all of you had come to memorise his grave - it was ingrained in you, and the epitaph was one that burned across your vision every single time your eyes closed – another ghost haunting you as you tried desperately to soothe your aching heart. People who say breakups would be easier are liars, you decided in this moment.

They’re not… I promise you they’re not easy. At least nobody can compete with the dead.

They’d be easier because maybe on the off chance you’d get to have the person in your life, in your heart, you wouldn’t lose all the meaningful quirks the person had, you wouldn’t forget them in due time. You wouldn’t have a dead-end trail left of them, and yet… and yet it wouldn’t be easy either. Part of you wished you could have been the one to see the light disappear from his eyes, to have this confirmation of his departure from the mortal realm, another part of you didn’t even want to think of the darkness taking over his eyes, the reflection of the light fading to nothing, his breath stopping, and his brain giving out. You simultaneously wanted and did not want to be the one to witness his last breath, you did and didn’t want to be the one to watch the light behind his eyes disappear as he croaked, you did and did not want him gone because you weren’t sure which would wind up being easier to deal with.

Neither would be easy, sweetheart.

“I wish you were here, Eds.” You sniffled the moment your sobs slowed, your body taking too much stock into keeping you alive and warm. You had exhausted yourself and cried every last tear you had in you for today, leaving a dry husk - a shell of a human – until tomorrow when you’d replenished your tear ducks.

I’m right here with you always. I’m not going anywhere, I promised you that not even death could do us part.A cold gust of air pushed your hair from your face and you couldn’t contain your shiver, the cold was becoming as unbearable as your boyfriend’s passing, every waking hour haunted by memories of him, every corner of Hawkins harbouring his ghost, and every unconscious moment plagued by nightmares of his last moments, twisting memories, contorting them into grotesque scenes of abject horror. With a deep breath, you pushed yourself up to your knees and swallowed down any emotions you had, bringing your soiled sleeve to your face and wiping away the tears that threatened to spill. You were sure you looked like you had just crawled out of the grave due to the amount of dirt that caked your body and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to care, not when he was gone.

With a shaky breath, you leaned over and kissed his gravestone, your eyes fluttering shut, and at that moment you swore you heard his voice calling to you, you swore you felt the warmth of his hand on your puffy cheek, his thumb brushing across the damp valley of your eye. You kept your eyes shut for just a moment longer, longing to feel this small moment of reprieve despite the fact that it probably did far more harm than it did good.

“I’m with you always, sweetheart.” Your eyes snapped open and your head dropped against the headstone, lip trembling as you tried to bite into it from the inside of your mouth - you couldn’t stop the heavy squeezing around your heart nor the feeling of a dark pit opening itself up in your stomach. When you lost your boyfriend a chasm had ripped itself through your chest, leaving you empty and numb to everything but the onslaught of pain that each waking moment brought you. Each waking moment was plagued with the knowledge that Eddie was gone before you were even aware of it. You hadn’t even been in town when the manhunt had begun, having been away to visit your mother’s side of the family, only to come home to find out he was in hiding - ripped away from you once, then twice.

The fresh torrential downpour of tears was unexpected but they kept you at his grave, they kept you closer to him, they kept him alive even by some fucked up means. If crying for him meant that his memory was kept alive then you’d cry for him into the next lifetime, and while you thought you’d cried them all away, it seemed that neither love nor grief had limits.

tags: @munson-blurbs @rip-quizilla @the-unforgivenn @littlesubbyflower @hellfire--cult

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #eddie x y/n #eddie x reader #heartbreakeddie munson angst #hurt/no comfort #eddie angst #reader insert #life eternal #ghost #ghost bc #life eternal - ghost #songfic #angst #pure pain tbh idk what you expected

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warrioreowynofrohan · 7 months ago

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Reading The Travels of Marco Polo:

In the same mountain occurs a vein from which is produced salamander. You must understand that this is not a beast as commonly asserted; but its real nature is such as I will now describe. It is a well known fact that by nature no beast or other animal can live in fire, because every animal is composed of the four elements. For lack of any certain knowledge about salamander, men spoke of it, and still do, as a beast; but this is not true. I will now tell you the real facts.

First, let me explain that I had a Turkish companion named Zurficar, a man of great intelligence, who spent three years in this province, in the service of the Great Khan, engaged in the extraction of this salamander and odanique and steel and other products. For the great Khan regularly appoints governors every three years to govern this province and supervise the salamander industry. My companion told me the true facts and I have also seen them for myself.

When the stuff found in this vein of which you have heard has been dug out of the mountain and crumbled into bits, the particles cohere and form fibres like wool. Accordingly, when the stuff has been extracted, it is first dried, then pounded in a large copper mortar and then washed. The residue consists of this fibre of which I have spoken and worthless earth, which is separated from it. Then this wool-like fibre is carefully spun and made into cloths. When the cloths are first made, they are far from white. But they are thrown into the fire and left there for a while; and there they turnas white as snow. And whenever one of these cloths is soiled or discoloured, it is thrown into the fire and left there for a while, and it comes out white as snow.

Me, reading:

– Hey, that sounds like - but there’s no way it is - there’s no way that’s asbestos?

Wikipedia: Yep, that’s asbestos

#this is WILD #marco polo #literature #history #plenty of the stuff in his travels are stories but this is detailed and specific

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geminil0vr · 1 month ago

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french navy | peter parker

i wanted to control it, but love, i couldn't hold it.

SUMMARY | Finding themselves forced to share an apartment for their first year at MIT due to an error in the listing, Peter and his relentless new roommate forge an unlikely partnership.

Whatever she was expecting, it wasn't this.

He's hunched over a black suitcase right in the centre of the living room, throwing items astray, looking for something. She can tell just by a peek over his shoulder that he didn't pack with anything but survival in mind: his toothbrush is nestled between two crumpled t-shirts. She's standing in the doorway, brows knitted, eyes inching away from him every now and then to check the number on the door. This can't be right.

She'd gotten lucky when she discovered that her college had set up a program to organise struggling new students into (barely) furnished apartments together. But while she'd love to take a moment to appreciate the space, the sofa set in the centre of the cramped but homey flat, the wall boarding the living room from the little kitchen and its counters with coffee rings burnt into the laminate, even the painting left askew on the wall by the inhabitants before her; the boy right in the middle of it is proving a distraction.

Even with the door flung wide open like the few others down the hall, she opts to rap her knuckles against it. His grip tightens on a half-empty shampoo bottle, turning in surprise. After a moment, he goes to speak, but then holds his breath; tilts his head.

"I don't think..."

"Have you got the right room?"

"As I previously mentioned, there's really nothing we can do for you here at MIT. Unfortunately, there was a mix-up with Mr. Parker's name," Peter's roommate stifles a smile by pressing her fingers into her lips, "And we've already assigned you two to the same room: legally, contractually, however you'd like to call it. Every other student in this program is already in a pair or, for respective reasons, on their own. You two are just going to have to grin and bear it, I'm afraid."

She inhales, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth, and Peter shuffles in his seat. The vice-principal leans forward, elbows pressing into the polished wood; he looks like he's been pulled straight out of a magazine, every short coil of his hair finger-spun, hands folded and pleading just a few inches above his desk.

"Look, you two," They glance at each other, "I know this isn't how you expected the move-in to go, but as far as I'm concerned, you have the most spacious apartment out of any of the other students, as well as two separate bedrooms, decent rent... God, the last people who stayed there even left you that little TV set. You got lucky," Peter couldn't be more tired of that word if he tried.

"Even if this isn't the gender-sorted accommodation you'd hoped for, I am certain that you can learn to live with each other." He smiles in that way that lets them know the conversation is over, and a tense beat of silence permeates the room before the new students lift reluctantly from their seats.

"Thank you, Sir," Her new roommate flattens his lips together with a weak attempt at a smile. She chews at her tongue. The man grins like a politician, a great-white, teeth bright and gleaming.

So, they've pushed back the furniture (spare as it is) and are sat cross-legged in the middle of the carpet, beige fibres scratching at their skin. It's far too hot for the start of September. Yet as the evening sets in on them, the windows, littered with fingerprints, begin to let in a gentle flow of air. She rolls back her shoulders, feeling the joints click, and twiddles a pen between her fingers.

"Okay. If we're doing this, we're gonna need some ground rules."

Peter nods fervently, voice cracking with uncertainty, "Yeah, of course."

"Alright! One. I get to pick my room first..."

His arms uncross from over his chest, "Wait, how is that fair?"

"I thought it was ladies first," She lifts her eyes.

"Yeah, on airplanes."

She frowns, "No, that's not... okay, whatever. Apparently chivalry is dead," He frowns back, and she scribbles out Rule One in her notepad, "So we'll toss a quarter."

She's back at half past 8, shoulders heavy. Without replying, she lets the door swing shut behind her, drops her bag right in the middle of the walkway and slumps down onto the side of the couch. She buries her head into her hands to muffle a scream.

Peter straightens anxiously from his place at the kitchen counter, "Uh, hey... are you okay?"

"Customer service is going to kill me. I am going to die, and it is going to be at the hands of customer service," She drops her head back into the cushions, "And no one even cares."

"Oh, God, I thought something was wrong," His shoulders relax briefly, "You scared me."

She drops her hands to the couch, head tilting lazily to her roommate of 6 days, lamenting, "This is my swan song, roomie. This is serious."

His brows raise, and he rolls his lips into his mouth, voice pitchy, "Yeah, no, I know that, I understand," He anticipates anger, but she hasn't got it in her after an 8 hour shift. Instead, she moves to lean her head against the armrest, staring at the TV with an almost childish level of desperation.

"Peter?"

"Yeah?" He wavers cautiously, eyeing the back of her head. Such an uptick of emotion isn't his forte, and certainly not with the roommate he's only just getting used to.

Her lips blow out, eyes closing. She speaks quietly. "Do you know how to put on Hell's Kitchen?"

His eyelids flutter, "We don't..." He clears his throat, "We can't do Hell's Kitchen on there. It's like three thousand years old."

"Just find a way."

They've gone two weeks without any real problem. Minus the toothbrush, and the chore sheet, and the recycling. I mean, something was destined to happen half a month into their roommateship, some earth-shattering discovery bound to be made: Peter can't be trusted in the kitchen.

"How did you... Peter, how did you even manage that?"

They both stare dumbstruck at the charred remains of two chicken breasts, sat right in the middle of their brand new frying pan. By some miracle, the fire alarm has finally stopped blaring. She carefully leans over to click the stovetop off.

"I feel like I gave you one job."

"You did, yeah." His voice is breathy, tongue pushing against his cheek.

"Just to cook the chicken. Like, just keep an eye on it. Flip it."

"Yeah."

"And... how..."

"I don't know."

"I don't think this is gonna work," She sighs, hand flat on her forehead, the other at her hip, "We need to redo the chore sheet."

His expression grows desperate. They engage in a staring match, and Peter's always had a knack for knowing when he's lost a fight (apart from that one time, and the other few).

After a few moments, her eyes catch the stove again, "Oh, the pan is fucked."

"I'm sorry."

"I feel like I'm on The Bear right now, and you're the guy doing meth in the back alley."

He pauses, "When did that happen?"

"Oh my God," She gasps, turning, "I'm not surprised you can't cook for shit. You haven't even watched season two."

"Was I supposed to?"

"Put the pan in the sink," She taps on her phone, engrossed, "Hey, we have apple cider vinegar, right?" He blinks, and she breathes out with a huff. She begins to inch around the corner, but turns back, "And you're buying takeout. You know how much chicken costs these days?"

"Did you use my conditioner?"

"No, did you?"

"What?"

"I'm sorry."

Peter is stood in the doorway of the bathroom, dressed in jeans and a loose tee, hair dripping onto the carpet.

"You're getting the carpet wet." She points downwards.

"Why would you use my conditioner?" He sounds almost heartbroken, or bewildered, or both.

"I'm sorry, okay! I didn't have anything to shave my legs with," He closes his eyes, composing himself. When he gains some sort of balance, he reopens them and looks once more to his roommate of 4 weeks, standing like a deer in headlights by the TV. She'd been adjusting the antenna before he burst in.

"I'll fix the TV if you buy your own conditioner. Deal?"

"Deal."

6 weeks, and she's bursting through the front door, "Petra!"

"I told you to stop calling me that," He calls from his room, the wall of privacy soon shattered when she pushes open the door, jumping up and down.

She's breathing like she's in cardiac arrest, and for a moment he really thinks she's about to collapse, which would be an awful affliction for him considering it's her night to do the dishes, and he's grown rather fond of her. She's invading every inch of his space, cramped with furniture and cluttered with papers (letting out little noises incessantly) and he finds he doesn't mind it much. Her energy is boundless. As is her use of the name MIT gave him; the one that got them stuck here in the first place.

"I'm doing my paper."

"I didn't have anyone else to tell," She bounces right into his spinning desk chair, facing him where he's horizontal on his bed (laptop burning into his thighs) with her legs kicking.

"What is it — that old gift card of yours finally got stuck and now you're getting free coffee for life?"

"That's an unfortunate no," She pauses, "Do you think someone can do that for me, though?"

"Dude."

"Whatever: I got asked out by someone in my class. I don't know what to wear. Should I look smart?"

"Oh." He nods, confused. "Uh, maybe?"

"Why aren't you as excited as me?"

"I mean... is it that out of the ordinary?"

"I don't get dates, Peter. Apart from that one time in junior high at the carnival, and they came up to me, and they were like 'hey', and I was like 'what's up', and then they asked for my number."

"Romance is alive and well, then," He gives her his best attempt at a smile.

She hops up, still buzzing with energy and nearing the door, one hand on the frame of it. "But not chivalry. I can't believe you made me take the bad room."

"What do you mean? Your room is the biggest one," She rolls her eyes, "And we tossed a coin."

"But do I have any of this beautiful, natural light? I don't think so!"

A day later, she's stuffing toast into her mouth at the counter, hair messy and eyes heavy with sleep. The weather's been getting colder lately, and the floor chills through her socks. He sits across from her, elbows against the laminate as he shovels down cereal, "God, Peter, that sun is blinding in the morning. Holy shit."

"Fucking... piece of crap."

Peter creaks open the door, eyes tired and a touch bloodshot. He'd been working late on another Biochem paper when he heard her swearing to herself, trying to get the keys in.

"Jesus, are you okay?"

She looks up at him from where she's crouched, stumbling slightly with her key in her hand. She stands, "Oh God, did I wake you up?"

"No, I..." He watches as she moves past him and into their apartment, throwing her keys onto the sofa and sniffing, "Did you... how was your date?"

When she turns to look at him, he can finally see how drunk she is, hair pinned up, only a few tendrils cascading down the neckline of her nicest dress. As she shrugs off her jacket, he finds that her eyes are bloodshot, too. "Oh, yeah." She smiles bitterly, but it's weak.

"What happened?"

"Nothing, Peter. Thanks for the... for opening the door. Just go back to sleep."

He frowns, shaking his head, "I wasn't sleeping. What's wrong?"

She laughs thickly, tilting up her head: this was the very last thing she wanted. She swallows and eyes the ceiling, "They stood me up. So I had a nice few drinks for one," For emphasis, she sticks out her index finger.

His lips turn down, eyebrows rising. "A few?"

She licks at her lips and finally looks back at him, "A couple, yeah."

She sucks at her teeth as he stands, unsure what to do, "Maybe... just stay there, I'll get you some... water."

Her nostrils flare and she flops down onto the sofa. She just wanted to go to her room and pray that her mattress swallowed her whole, but instead she hears the tap, and the footsteps of her roommate of 7 weeks plodding towards her in fuzzy slippers she would make fun of if she could gather the energy. She takes the cold glass and he watches carefully as she downs half of it, setting it onto the coffee table.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be; wasn't your fault, Parker. Unless they're in your bedroom. Then tell 'em I said go —"

His mind is frantic, searching for something to stop her face from crumpling; she wakes the next morning, blanket-covered on the sofa with a pounding head, her phone out of charge and his propped up against an empty glass, still playing an episode of Hell's Kitchen. From here, she can see him through a crack in the door, curled up in his desk chair. He's drafting an email to his Biochem professor pleading for an extended deadline on the paper. They never talk about it, but she stops using his conditioner; starts making every dinner for two.

"Get your ass out here, Parker! Halloween is slipping through our fingers!"

"I feel stupid."

"You are stupid, but that doesn't change anything," He emerges from his room in a half-assed, Craigslist Batman costume. She claps a hand over her mouth.

"Stop laughing! I'm only gonna wear the mask."

"I'm not laughing," She laughs, "You look like a real superhero."

He blanches, "No, I don't."

She grins, teeth clamping down on her bottom lip, "No, you don't."

They're tipsy at the MIT Halloween bash, surrounded by classmates and for whatever reason, sticking to eachother. Two months into the school year they've found their stride, making a few friends here and there and finally having something to talk about over their occasional shared dinners; a new rival or group project. But in the heat of the crowd, they just seem to pull back. Moving and hoping as if underwater.

They blink away the blur of the strobe lights, "Petra?"

"What?"

"I feel like it's either get drunker or go home."

"Should we toss a coin?"

"Oh, fool me once, Parker."

"You got the room you wanted in the end, didn't you?"

She hums, avoiding his eyes.

'You have to be kidding me."

Soon, they're drunk out of their minds and pushing furniture from one room to the other. It's 3 am, and their neighbours want them dead. She groans, giving up on his chest of drawers and rolling onto the floor.

"You are not pulling your weight, here."

"Eat shit."

He slumps down, legs splayed out on the carpet of the cluttered living room.

"Where's my bed?"

"Your room. No. My room." Her head lolls to look at him.

"Our room?" He opts.

"We should get bunk beds."

He leans back against his bedside table, thinking, "Don't laugh."

"What? Why?" She grins lazily, pulling herself up with her hands behind her. He grins back.

"I have a bunk bed, back home."

"Now it makes sense." She leans forward.

"What makes sense?" His brows furrow, still smiling.

"Why you're a virgin loser."

"Maurisz is coming in 5. I could cancel right now."

"No, Petra, please, I need this food more than I need to pass the semester."

"Oh, wow, you really need that," He nods with false sympathy, slowly lifting the phone over his head. She watches frantically as the little illustration of the courier gets closer.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He doesn't cede, "You get girls, you're a playboy!"

"Playboy?" Here, she cries out, and begins to wrestle for it.

"You have... you have notches on your bedpost, please! I'll do the dishes forever!"

He yelps and they're a tangle of limbs, bitch-slapping eachother and giggling like idiots, both losers within their own tug of war and rolling away in order to surrender.

For a moment, they take a breath, snickers growing few and far between. He eyes her with another laugh, tilting his head in an attempt to capture her in the blur of his vision, "You really think so?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Just don't be weird."

"Why would I be weird? Do you think I'm weird?"

"Ned, just..."

"Hi, guys!" She comes beaming around the corner, speaking with her mouth full until Peter gives her a look. She swallows, "Hello. You must be Ned!"

Ned smiles wide, mouth open and looking from Peter to her for a moment too long. Peter's head drops. "Yes, I am."

"I've heard great things. I made cookies! They're really dry, too much flour, but if you sandwich them with Nutella it works, I swear."

Ned's grin grows impossibly larger, "You're a genius."

A couple hours later, and, "See, this is why I didn't want you guys to meet."

"We're just playing Mario Kart!"

"Yeah, on your phones, without me."

"You always crash!" Her and Ned exclaim at the same time, exchange the look of two soulmates who've finally found eachother. Peter appreciates his roommate of 2 and a half months, but cannot wait for her to leave for her shift.

"I can't believe you'd gatekeep the second most wonderful person in your life from me like this." She says, proceeded by a string of hushed curses when she falls back into fourth place.

Ned turns with wide eyes, controlling his car from his peripheral, "Second?"

She doesn't look up, "Always have to look out for number 1, babe."

He pauses, looks up, nods. "You're so right."

"Don't make this Craigslist Batman Costume all over again. I'm not waiting another twenty minutes."

"I'm not! I can't get my tie right," His voice cracks.

"Let me in."

"Just... wait."

"Open the door, you big dummy." She's found the courtesy not to barge in after multiple embarrassing incidents that she's still struggling to shake out of her head. Seeing your roommate in only his boxers isn't weird. Thinking about it isn't weird. You're weird.

He groans in exasperation and finally just swings it open, clad in a rented suit, his blazer strewn across the bed.

"Very fancy."

"Stop making fun of me."

"I'm not!" She grins, "You look fancy! All for your smart people dinner."

"It's not a smart people dinner."

"Oh, yeah — what is it, then? Enlighten me."

"It's a..." She puffs out an exhale, "Dinner for excelling students in order for them to discuss their interests as well as... get connected with specific people."

"So..."

"It's a smart people dinner."

In the midst of all this, she's already snatched his black tie and wrestled it out of a knot.

"Come here, Petra."

"Peter."

"Or should I say, Mr. Parker? Sir Lord Parker?"

"Actually, you can stick with Petra."

"May I please do your tie, Sir, because you can't do it to save your life, Sir?"

He's fighting a smile at her attempt at a British accent, and simply turns around and towards the mirror. She's standing behind him, and wraps it underneath his collar, efficiently tying and tightening it to her liking as she glances back and forth from the mirror to over his shoulder. She pauses with a frown until she identifies the problem, going to unbutton the very top of his shirt, wholly unprepared for how her knuckles brushing against his collarbone would make each hair on the back of her neck rise.

"You looked uptight. That's better," She inhales shakily, unsure of where this feeling started or where it ends; she'd rather not find out. She clears her throat and they lock gazes in the mirror. His shoulders unwind. They both take a breath, and smile.

"Oh... thanks. Thank you."

"No problem, Batman." He smiles despite himself, turning to face her. She pats his tie. "You're gonna kill it. Make 'em wanna go home, quit their degree and move into the basement of their mom's house. Or aunt's. My bad."

"Shut up."

She's humming along to Camera Obscura the same night when she hears a laugh that isn't Peter's, and the clink of his keys in the door. She holds her breath to hear better, listens to hushed whispers and finally his bedroom door clicking shut. The next morning she's skipping her first class and reading one of Peter's books, avoiding him until his new friend leaves, and until he's out the door too.

It has been three days, closing in on the start of December, and she's cursing herself out when she hears the front door creak open. She's successfully stayed out of his way this far, for a reason she can't quite place: maybe it's that she didn't want to look him in the eye, wanted to leave the discomfort and the misplaced anger be, to stale at the bottom of the pit she'd dug for herself the second she thought she could play pretend. And she could've sworn she'd had his schedule down pat, but he's home far too early and she can't leave his leftovers for dinner in the fridge anymore.

He's just as surprised to see her. He doesn't understand why it feels like something has shifted.

"Oh, hi." He's standing in the entryway of the kitchen, bag slung over his shoulder and she's chewing at her lip.

"Hey, Parker!" She smiles, but it's more of a grimace, and she clears her throat, looking into the pan of broccoli she's steaming. "I'm making dinner."

"Yeah, uh, thank you." He swallows, putting his bag on the counter, staring at her like the moment he doesn't she's going to disappear. That's how it's been, these past few days. He takes a bottle of water from the fridge. For once, she isn't speaking, just silently cooking, and he can't help himself, "Are you okay?"

She stills for a beat, then continues stirring the food, back turned to him. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"No, it's just... I don't know. I haven't seen you in a while."

Guilt knaws at her. She glances at him briefly over her shoulder, "Sorry, Peter. Been busy."

"No, it's... it's okay." He chews at his cheek, taking another sip of water, "Did you, uh, wanna watch The Bear tonight?"

She whips around to face him. "You what?"

He rolls his lips into his mouth, "Did you..." he starts.

"Yes." She grins, looking straight at him for the first time in what feels like forever as she hastily stirs, and the knot in his stomach eases away.

They don't talk about it, but that night, watching him sing along with Ritchie to Taylor Swift with only the light of the TV shadowing his features, she knows. Knows there's something inescapable about this; she couldn't hold a grudge against him if she tried.

"I can't believe you got laid, Pete."

He chokes on his ice cream. Composes himself, ears beet red. "What are you... what are you talking about?" His voice is breaking.

She looks at him, knowingly. "Come on. You even broke the no being loud after 11 pm rule. I can't believe you, you dog."

He's burying his face in his hands. She snickers as he folds deeper into the sofa, his apology muffled against his skin.

"Oh don't be," She grins, eyeing him and ready to strike, "I'm just so proud of you for finally losing your V-card."

"Shut up!"

"It's a really important time in a woman's life."

He squeezes his eyes shut, hands going to his forehead, voice turning quiet, "I'm not a virgin."

"Not anymore you're not."

"I hate you so much."

"A little to the left. Wait, no, up. Right there. Beautiful."

"Why are you making me decorate the tree when you're the one who wanted it in the first place?" When he successfully places the golden bauble, he steps back to look at their pathetic, last-minute version of a Christmas tree. It's lopsided, plastic, and discounted due to a few missing faux-pine needles.

"You deserve to do all the hard work, considering you're the one abandoning me to go spend Christmas in New York with your hot aunt."

"Stop calling her hot. And I'm not abandoning you. You have me the morning of Christmas Eve!"

"How is Santa gonna find you if you keep leaving all the time?"

He gives her a look and she cedes, with a small smile playing at her lips. He hangs a red ornament this time, and she hums in appreciation. He stretches his arms overhead, and she ignores the strip of skin that exposes itself, instead lifting his mug of hot cocoa from the coffee table and taking a sip. He'd been expecting her to steal it, though he thought making them one each would sate her at least a little bit.

"Hey."

"Yeah, Petra?"

"Are you... Gonna be okay, you know, on your own?"

Her eyes rise to meet his, and she clears her throat, "Yeah, Pete. Of course. I mean, you know they pay twice as much just to work on Christmas, so... it'll be worth it."

He frowns, covers it up, "Yeah."

"And plus, I get to play Christmas music at full blast no matter what time it is when you're gone. I'm living the dream life." She smiles teasingly, tilts her head, tries and fails to reassure him.

"I'll be back the day after Boxing Day, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah, Parker. Bring back a nice little polaroid of Aunt May for me, won't you?"

"Absolutely not."

When Peter leaves for the airport on Christmas Eve, she gets loneliner than she'd like to admit. She glares at the space under the tree, stands in the doorway of Peter's room, moves all of his furniture an inch away from the wall so he gets freaked out when he comes home, moves it back again because she feels bad, watches a vine compilation, wallows on the couch. If she can't survive 16 minutes, she has no idea how she'll survive the next two days. She nearly has a heart attack when she hears the keys in the door. Peter rushes through, entirely out of breath, suitcase rolling to a stop beside him.

"Do you wanna come with me?"

She looks back at him, wide eyes to wild ones, "What?"

"Do you wanna come with me?"

A moment passes. Then, "I'll call work."

At the bus station, they put savings together to buy the cheapest and sketchiest last-minute seats they can find. Peter spends an hour and a half on the phone trying to get a refund for his plane ticket, and they spend most of the coach ride getting their seats pummelled in by two 5 year olds. When things begin to quiet down, she falls asleep, head dropping onto his shoulder and hair tickling the nape of his neck. He doesn't say it, but he's glad he asked.

Looking back, he probably should've told May. In the rush of it all, getting the taxi to turn back, he wasn't really thinking straight. But, although at first she's mildly irritated and overwhelmed, his roommate seems to charm it out of her. When she's off, having insisted to wash the few dishes in the sink, May leans into him.

"I like her, Petey."

He rolls his eyes, "Yeah, I know, May."

"You didn't tell me she was so pretty."

His ears are turning red, voice rasping, "I didn't think of it, I guess."

"You're telling me you haven't thought about it? At all?" She grins like a cheshire cat; but she only wants what's best for him. Always has.

"No, May, God!" He's lying. This only rubs it in, brings every smothered feeling back to the surface. It wasn't his intention: he just didn't want her to be alone.

She reenters, wiping her hands against a dish towel, hair mussed and slightly static from resting her head on the fibres of his sweater on the ride over, and May jumps up.

"Thank you so much," May places both hands on her shoulders, and proceeds to pull her into a hug. Her eyes widen, but after a second she lets out an airy laugh, wrapping her arms around May's frame. "You're an angel."

Peter locks eyes with her, heart pulsing in his chest, and they smile softly at eachother like a well-kept secret.

"Aw, is this you and Ned?" She's grabbing everything she can, trying to get a real sense of Peter, Peter as a preteen, Peter as he was then, Peter as he is now; she finds it in his packaged figurines, the clutter on his old desk, the pictures pinned to the wall. It's all exactly as he left it.

"Yes, yes it is." His brows curve upwards in exasperation; she nearly took his most prized action figure out of its packaging. He's fighting for his life, here. When she sees how nervous he looks, she sighs, finishes up her snooping for the evening and opting to clumsily make her way up the ladder, flopping on her back on the top bunk and stretching her legs out like a satisfied cat.

"Your aunt's really nice."

He tilts his head up as if he can see her from where he's lying, head propped up on the frame of the bottom bunk, and quits fiddling with his old Gameboy, "Yeah. She is."

"And she likes me more than you. That's a plus," She's staring at the ceiling, hands laced across her stomach.

"I don't blame her," His eyes crease in the corners, thinking of Ned's visit over a month ago now, but he regrets the words as soon as they leave him. If she's taken aback she doesn't show it, but she turns her head and begins to trail her eyes over the movie posters taped haphazardly to the wall. A silence passes between them, amplified in the late evening.

"Why did you invite me here?" She says, softly.

He blinks, lips pursing slightly, "I don't know. I think... I think, I just didn't want you to be alone. And it's nice to have you here."

"I would've been okay, you know." There's something desperate in the way she says this, like she can make the both of them believe it.

"I know."

Her gaze drops down to their suitcases, leaning against each other on the rug. "But... I'm happy I'm here." This is the most that she'll admit, tonight.

"... I know," He pauses again, "I'm happy you're here too."

She chews her lip at the quiet rasp in his voice, smooths her hands over his Star Wars covers, twitches her nose.

"Enough of this sappy stuff. You're destroying my reputation."

"Your reputation? As what?" He smiles. A feeling settles between them like the snow outside.

"As a cool, unfeeling person. You know: playboy, notches on my bedpost."

"Would you just go to sleep?"

"Not until you tell me how you managed to bag the smartest girl at your high school with these sheets."

"Oh, that's simple."

She abruptly swings her head over the side of the bed, looking down at him and raising her brows, "Oh, yeah?"

He meets her eyes and shrugs. "Well... we went to her house."

She gasps, "Peter Parker, you animal!"

"To do homework!" He exclaims, eyes widening as he sits up, "Not..."

"Not any rule-two-breaking, single bed shenanigans?"

"Please don't bring that up again."

"Did they find it hot that you both enjoy Physics?"

"Stop," He lies down again, clasping his hands over his ears.

"I mean, they must have: you two were going at it so hard I couldn't even send in my assignment." This was an exaggeration.

He frowns, red, "Didn't you have, like, three weeks to do it?"

"Mind your business," She lies back down too, "I don't wanna talk about this anymore."

They smile to themselves. They whisper goodnight, but he can't fall asleep.

"Dude, Santa came so hard."

"Please don't say it like that."

They're on the coach back and she's fiddling through her bag, fingers sifting over the boxes of chocolates and pastries May packaged up for her, just so she'd have something to open on the day.

"I love your aunt. I wish she would adopt me too."

"Hate to break it to you, but you're gonna have to go through some really messed up stuff before you unlock that option."

She turns her head to him against the seat, giddy and grinning, "Well, teach me your ways, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"You know that's not the quote."

They're getting through the door the night after Boxing Day, feeling heavy from grabbing fast food before getting home, and an afternoon of travelling. When she's slipping off her shoes and rolling her shabby suitcase through the door to her bedroom, Peter stops her.

"Hey, uh..." She turns, one palm wrapped around the handle of it, the other pressed against her doorframe, "I actually did get you something."

Her lips curve upwards at the edges, brows lifting, "For Christmas?"

"Yeah." He looks like he's about to take something out of his pocket, when she rushes into her room, slamming the door behind her. He's about to question whether he's being rejected when it's flung open again, and this time, she's holding something poorly wrapped in both hands. She's out of breath.

"Me too. But I forgot to bring it with me. I was just gonna leave it under the tree."

He bites at the inside of his cheek so he doesn't break out into an ear-splitting grin. They fumble awkwardly with their gifts, handing them over.

"You first, Parker." He hesitates before sinking his finger into the gap in the wrapping paper, listening to the clink of light metal as bright-coloured keychains spill out onto his palm, and he catches them before they can fall. "Sorry, it isn't much, it's just... you said you never had many keychains or badges and stuff as a kid." He stares in awe at the little Tardis in his hand, the Yoda, the Lego memorabilia, everything he's ever ranted about or forced her to watch. His eyes lift to hers.

"No, I..." He clears his throat, wraught with unexpected emotion, "I love it. Thank you." She shrugs with a bashful smile, caught in the act of caring, and looks down at her own instead of facing the tenderness between them. "Mine is... it's nothing, really."

"Oh, quiet, you." She's never been one to gingerly unwrap gifts. If she could tear them apart with her teeth, she would, but this time, it feels delicate. The space between them is made out of something fragile. So she takes her time, slides her finger under the tape and true to style, lets the wrapping paper fall to the ground when she gets too impatient.

"No, you didn't. No, you did not." Her jaw goes slack, looking from it and back up to Peter, down, up again. He smiles bashfully. "Is it hacked?"

"You can't hack a gift card."

"You know what I mean!"

"Yeah, I mean, Ned and I tried..." She jumps, wrapping her arms around him in a bear hug and squealing.

"Free coffee until I get caught!" She pulls away with a toothy grin, staring down at the card again.

He clears his throat and can't help but smile too, "Free coffee until you get caught."

White dress. Maya wanted all her bridesmaids to move as one, an organism of pinned-back hair and delicate black shoes. It was unorthodox, as much as the institution of marriage could be, but her cousin didn't mind; she was too busy trying not to be late.

Picking up her sneakers by their heels, she jams them into the tiny gap of space left in the boiler closet by the door. "Peter!"

He's hurrying out, slipping on the blazer he found last minute at the thrift store, a little too cuffed at the wrists. "Remind me why I'm coming again?"

"You invited me to your thing. It's only fair." She shrugs on her jacket to brave the cold outside, stuffing the apartment's keys in her pocket and tapping her heel against the floorboards.

"And?" He eases through the flat, voice moving from room to room, hands gripping doorways as he flicks off every light his roommate typically leaves on, halting at her bedroom and disappearing inside to switch off a lamp.

"And I hate weddings, dude! Hurry it up!" She whines, pressing her forehead against the smoothest section of the peeling wallpaper.

He peeks his head out, clicking the last one off and finally moving to meet her, one curl out of place and falling over his forehead in the exertion it took just to be ready on time, "You've never even been to one."

"I thought I'd manage my whole life without it."

"Not even your own?"

"Peter," She eyes him like he's the one barely handing in papers on time, "Let's be serious. Now, come on. This thing is gonna be a funeral if I don't get Maya her something borrowed."

"Something borrowed?" They step out and he helps hold the door closed tight so she can twist the key, get the lock to truly slip through. She turns to face him, checks her phone and gives an impartial grunt. They'd be fine. She finally registers his words, and dips back into her pocket, coming out with a rusted hair-pin and holding it up for him to see. It isn't real gold, but it looks well-loved, well-worn.

"It's her mom's. Snuck it back in the day, nearly forgot I had it," She smiles weakly, shrugging.

"It's pretty," He nods, watching as she puts it back, "She'll like it."

"You think so?" It's rare when she looks vulnerable, and it takes him off guard, a small opening where her eyes clear up, her face sincere, unguarded. She hardly notices as she walks ahead of him for the elevator, and he follows behind.

"Yeah."

They manoeuvre through bodies, what should've been a smaller gathering amassing easily to just under a hundred: family, friends, plus-twos. He's greeted with fervour by everyone that loves her. She said her family hadn't been close, a little dysfunctional, but those he meets embrace him like kin. It feels foreign. So does she, watching her cousin, newly-wed and hugging Peter tight, "I've heard so much about you!"

Peter is surprised. His roommate is too, considering they'd had approximately two, 6-minute conversations over the phone since she'd made it to Cambridge, none of which included more than his name and age. "You too!" he says, and it's a half-truth: he'd heard distant anecdotes, begged for more on the subway ride over just to save embarassment. His voice pitches higher as Maya shifts away, tipsy and beaming. With a short exchange, she's gliding through the rest of the attendants, grabbing appetizers and receiving kisses on the cheek. He jolts when his roommate leans in, quiet against the music.

"You were right."

His brows lift just slightly, "About what?"

"She loved it. Nearly ruined her makeup," She watches after her cousin, "God, what a relief."

"A relief?"

"Yeah. I mean, I'm surprised she didn't throw it in my face. She hated that woman." She sips on a flute of champagne, winces and hands it to Peter without a glance. When she finally meets his eyes, wide and innocent, she gives him a small smile, "What?"

"No, I just... I thought it was sentimental."

"No, you're right, it is," He waits for her to continue, tipping the glass back a little and letting the froth gather on his tongue, "I took it after they'd had this huge blow-up. I guess she found it sweet. Better that, than..."

"A permanent wedding ban?"

"Yeah; from all her next ones," She grins, crossing her arms over her chest and staring into the crowd again, finding Maya dancing with her husband, "No," She softens, "I think this is for good."

A quiet fills the air between them.

"You changed your mind on weddings?"

She eyes Peter suspiciously, then looks to the overcast sky, "A little. Did you expect me to?"

He takes a moment to think, "No. I just thought you were worried."

She echoes him, "About what?"

"I don't know. Maybe that this was gonna be some big event that made you feel alone. Or that things were gonna be weird with your family," She watches him, "Isn't that why you asked me to come? Of course, I'm happy to, just..."

"Yeah," She nods, brow furrowing, "But it's not just that. I don't know. It feels weird to go places without you, these days," She laughs off the gravity of it, although it's sincere. They don't talk about it: the comfort they've eased into, the soft and eager friendship. It flits away when acknowledged, they know that. It's safer to keep it close to the chest.

"We should do a bat-mitzvah next, right?"

She nods fervently, "Please."

They're shuffling through the door and into the dark of the apartment, lit only by the dull street-lights outside the window, casting silver shadows onto the walls. She goes for the light above the stove, already blinded by the elevator ride up. Her feet are blistered and she leans against the counter just to slip off her heels, skin sticking to the tiles. The low noise of the apartment thrums in her ears. Peter is unlacing his nicest shoes, a touch scuffed from being dragged to the dancefloor every time a Wang Chung song came on, and when he makes it to the kitchen the quiet is only amplified by her slow breathing, the tick of the fridge. Her eyes are closed, head throbbing in the absence of sound and the chaos of the rooftop. Peter swallows and her eyelids flutter open, heavy. The little alcohol in their systems is starting to fizzle out, leaving a buzz just warm enough to make their limbs weak.

He whispers like they have to keep quiet, "That was fun."

"It was," she says. Then, with less conviction, "Thanks for coming. You didn't have to."

He offers a tired smile, "You knew I would." She doesn't argue, there's no need to; just pushes gently off the counter with a stifled yawn, struggles to nod in agreement.

"I knew you would. You're always doing that kind of stuff for people," He waits, hands stuffed in the pockets of his blazer, picking lint, "Taking a weekend to do shit you don't really care about. Nice things. Weddings."

She's softer past her curfew, bathing in the sincerity she can afford with the darkness between them, "I care about them," He defies.

"I know. It just surprises me sometimes, the..." She thinks, eyes flitting over his features, down to the knot of his tie, "The good you're capable of."

His brows dip, and the look is so earnest it bruises her, "I wanted to go with you."

"That too," She nods, head heavy, a weak and lopsided grin finding its way to the corner of her mouth. It's bittersweet, "That's nice."

"You say that like you wouldn't do the same."

She shrugs, tucking her hands behind her back, holding her wrists and rolling her shoulders back, "Maybe."

"You do nice things," He presses, eyes finding the ceiling as he runs it through in his head, "You make people feel comfortable; you make them laugh. You make me feel comfortable." Her nose twitches, confronted, "You do all the stuff I'm shitty at, just because you want to."

When she doesn't speak, he goes on.

"Whatever's good in me, it's... it's in you, too."

Her eyes are glossy with fatigue, and they share the quiet for a moment. She isn't sure that anyone has ever said anything that nice to her before, and she says as much, prompting another wounded glance from her roommate, "Oh, don't look at me like that."

He blinks, caught off guard, "Like what?"

"You know how," Her brows furrow in amusement as she searches his bewildered eyes, "Like you're a puppy who just got abandoned at a gas station."

"I am not looking at you like a puppy who just got... abandoned at a gas station."

"Could've fooled me. I can almost see it: you pity me," She teases, but a part of her feels raw.

"I don't pity you."

"Yeah, yeah, Parker. Enough out of you," She grins.

"I don't." He frowns, grabbing her gently by her upper arm as she turns for a distraction. Her eyes come down to his hand, then back to him dubiously, "I don't."

When he lets go, palms clammy, she keeps eyeing him and smiles to herself, lips pursing to the side.

"What?" He watches her step back to lean against the counter again, one foot across the other, arms threaded across her chest now as her eyes move around the room.

"You know, a little while back, uh... Morgan, the vice-principal, he emailed me. Something about an apartment that had just freed up." Peter stills, "And I almost thought about it for a little bit, you know; I still didn't know you too well. You kept burning the food," She laughs, "I was thinking tonight, when Maya dragged you to the dancefloor, and you were just standing there like a newborn fucking calf, and I thought... I'm glad I never did."

It's then that he kisses her.

A / N | I started writing this a year ago, coming back every now and then to polish it until I realised it's fun and it's imperfect and who cares. Hope you enjoyed.

#peter parker #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fanfiction

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trashpandacraft · 10 months ago

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I have a question if you'd be willing to answer

I'm very much a beginner with spinning, but I recently decided to make my first project using my handspun yarn. I know it's wool, but I don't have any information on what type, as it was given all to me as gifts.

My issue is that it feels very sticky. Which I am assuming is because of the lanolin, and would be helped by washing it. I can't seem to find any resources on that though, so I was wondering if since you talk about it a lot if you could point me to any? Just normal washing in water (and soap?) seems like a recipe for felting.

I'm not sure how relevant this is to the washing process, but just in case it is I haven't plied any of this, mostly because it is already much more thick than I would like (definitely need to work on that!)

Thank you for everything! Your blog has been a huge help to me with figuring out what exactly I'm doing (or in many cases, what I'm doing wrong)

i'm gonna answer this, but i have to be honest that i've tried spinning without washing the fibre first, and i don't love it, so have very little experience with this specific thing. i'm going to give you my best guess, and then probably people who are more experienced with this than i am will tell us both why i'm wrong. (this is an invitation; i am comfortable being wrong.)

i'd wash it the first time the same way you do for washing fleece, which is going to sound scary, so before i go any further: felting needs heat, water, and agitation. you've gotta use water and heat to get the lanolin out, so all you can do here is control for agitation. don't manhandle the yarn in the water, don't run the water directly onto the yarn, don't go from hot to cold water, etc. it's honestly not that bad—once the yarn has been spun, it takes at least a little more effort to felt it. think about how heavily some people finish handspun yarns—shocking it, thwacking it, snapping it, etc. i (intentionally) fulled a singles skein a while back and went at it for several minutes with a (clean!!) toilet plunger in a bucket of hot water, and even after that, it's lightly fulled, not felted.

so to wash your yarn: soak it in water to get it fully wet, then toss it in a bath of hot (like 60c/140f) water and dish soap. dump the water after twenty minutes, and repeat until the water you're dumping is at least mostly clear, then do one more water change without soap for a rinse. i'd expect this will take several water changes—this blog post has great visuals of what it looks like as the lanolin washes away, and what kind of changes to look for in the water. you could follow their entire process, if you wanted, though it's more effort and maths than i find my situation necessitates.

which is to say that i'm sure that they're objectively correct, especially if you're working with very greasy fleece and/or hard water, but i have neither, and have chosen to go with the 'blurp some dish soap into hot water' method, which has worked fine for my admittedly very low-key uses.

so that's my best guess for how you'd wash it. i think the next question is probably when you'd wash it, and my vote for that one is going to be after you've plied it.

i have two big reasons for it. first, if there's enough twist in the yarn to ply, i think you're going to have a tangly mess of woolen spaghetti if you wash it without plying first. i'm sure that someone will suggest that you could wind the spun yarn onto some sort of Contraption that would keep it under tension and wash it like that, but: it sounds like such a monstrous pain in the ass that while you could pay me to do it, you would need to pay me an amount of money that has at least three digits in it.

the other reason is that washing will help set the twist, but my feeling is that you want the twist active for plying. i've plied yarn that i'd, uh, 'rested', we'll call it, for six-plus months between spinning and plying, and it plies...ok? not great, though, and i found it harder to get a balanced yarn. i'm guessing that washing will give similar results—yarn that's just a little more resistant to plying than it should be, and requires more management to get it to ply nicely. i don't think that it'll totally destroy your yarn or anything, but i do think that the finished yarn is likely to be less nice than it would otherwise be.

i feel like this is sort of a half-assed answer, for which i'm sorry—i'm not really my best or brightest self right now, but didn't want to let this sit.

i'm also sure that there are people here who've actually done this exact thing and can speak from experience rather than semi-educated guesses, so hopefully some of them will chime in.

#handspinning #hand spinning #smartest raccoon i know #sorry this is a little scattered!#i am...not so bright lately #like even by my own admittedly rather generous interpretation of 'bright'

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honourablejester · 6 months ago

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Thinking about homebrew deities for ttrpgs, I’ve been pondering deities that are not default humanoid. A while back I made a post about D&D 5e’s version of Spelljammer, where the Astral Sea is littered with the corpses of dead gods, and I posited what some of those vast corpses might look like:

“These are the deities of a thousand worlds and a thousand species and a thousand forgotten realms. They might look like anything. Shaped by the echoes of the god’s nature and its domains and its species. The dead sea god that looks like a vast alien whale, whose gut is filled with strange waters and strange creatures, and into whose belly the party must venture. A forgotten deity of knowledge whose vast skull now contains a calcified, crystalline ‘library’ with aeons of knowledge written in light onto spun fibres of crystal. A deity of madness, darkness and despair whose corpse is a labyrinthine maze of passages that leech will and soul the further you venture into them, a lingering undead malice that doesn’t want you dead so much as maddened and undone.”

And I’m coming back around to that now. Particularly the sea god who’s a vast alien whale, because space whales, but I’m thinking about gods that are not mostly humanoid figures a-la the RL Greek or Norse pantheons, but are fully alien or weird or just non-humanoid. (I’m including elves and dwarves and most broadly human-shaped fantasy races under ‘humanoid’ here). Gods that do not appear in humanoid form. Gods whose primary worshipers are other forms of life. Gods who are weird.

I do have a couple of homebrew deities that don’t appear in humanoid form already. Nuissas, goddess of primal darkness, who usually appears as a vast eyeless abyssal fish. Ket, the First and Formless, deity of primal evil, who as the titles suggest is formless and possibly doesn’t actual exist at all. And while I was looking at them, I did notice a little … A little mental bias maybe. Because both of them are primal deities. Primordial. The first and the formless. Nuissas is likely the oldest deity in her cosmology, the primeval darkness that existed before all things. Ket is the first and formless evil, the first malicious whisper of a thought a sentient being ever had. They’re primal. Elemental.

Which made me wonder … Do I consider non-humanoid forms to be more primitive than humanoid ones? Not consciously, but just instinctively? Looking at it, gods of civilisation, knowledge, invention, law, are they usually humanoid? What sets humans apart from beasts? Fire. Science. (Possibly also thumbs). Is there a bit of post-Enlightenment bias at work here. Heh.

Although, to be fair to myself, Ineia, my goddess of city and civilisation, is also a spider as well as a humanoid woman. But she’s still humanoid, she just needed extra arms for all the work. So. Not quite enough to count, methinks.

This is only an idle thought, I want to mull on the idea of non-humanoid deities some more. See what I come up with. I just wanted to note to myself, while I’m considering, to look beyond just the primal sorts of domains while I’m at it.

That said, I do still want a sea god who’s a vast alien whale with innards full of strange waters. Being eaten by a vast divine whale-god is just too entrenched an image, you know? Maybe also a deity of light and twilight who is a vast beautiful bioluminescent jellyfish. No, I’m not stuck on sea creatures over here, absolutely not. But if you had a waterworld setting, you could have a LOT of fun drawing up a fishy pantheon. The deity of invention and adaptation is a cephalopod. The deity of war is a mantis shrimp. The deity of trickery and hunger and malice is an anglerfish.

But even in a standard fantasy world, some deities that are not and have never been humanoid. A dwarven knowledge deity who is the stone itself, a vast tracery of mineral veins across the world that carry thoughts and dreams and memories. A deity of trickery and magic who turns out, at the base of all its million forms, to be a simple mote of potential, something that looks visually a bit like a will-o-wisp or a soot-sprite made of light, a thought given vaguely physical form. A forge-god who built themselves, a machine-thing of metal and magic that built itself limbs and systems and housing as it required them, a monument to self-expression and self-construction, function over form, with no care for the aesthetic sensibilities of lesser forms of life. A black hole that is the deity of absolute law, remorseless and inexorable and pitilessly even-handed. A deity of remorse and sacrifice and healing that formed from the regretful blade of a monstrous killer, given life and divinity by their final act of self-murder. Gods who are dark moons and balls of mangled flesh and rivers of space time and tiny trembling animals and perfectly mundane objects and abstract shapeless things. Gods who are weird and funky and abstract and just do not deign to appear in familiar form for mortals. If I must look like you for you to worship me, you are not worth my time. I shall appear as I am, or as I choose, and you must simply deal with it, or shatter, as you so choose. Heh.

Non-humanoid deities, is my point here. I need to think on it some. Heh.

#ttrpgs #fantasy #deities #non-humanoid deities #science fiction #random thoughts #ocean

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agirlwithdemonblood · 2 years ago

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The Broken Fan - Chapter 6

Pairings: Jensen Ackles & Reader (Read as first person!)

Series Summary: Always a nobody, always invisible, will this convention change things?

Chapter Summary: Jensen and I face some hardships that shouldn't have occured, and he gives me a wonderful surprise.

Warnings: Fighting, mentions of physical assault, descriptions of physical assault/fight, swearing, mentions of injury and blood.

Series Masterlist here! Main masterlist here!

Jensen's POV

The auditorium was filled with people who were cheering and screaming my name, but the only sound that came out clearly was that of my own heart pounding loudly in my ears, like a heavy drum or the rain beating on a window pane.

The memories of our previous conversation was on loop in my mind, the excitement nearly overtaking my body. I couldn't wait. But it was also terrifying at the same time, maybe more in a good way.

You know when you go to the fair and you see a ride you really want to go on, but the fear nearly talks you out of it? Your hands shake, your legs feel like jello, your heart almost skips right out of your chest and for a second you feel like you can't do this, you just want to leave, run away screaming, hide.

But whenever you finally get on that ride and it starts, the fear starts to dissipate and turn into adrenaline instead. Your grimace turns into a smile, screams into laughter, fear into fun.

That's what I was feeling. So excited, but so fucking scared of the uncertainty. What if it goes wrong? What if I ruin her? What if she ruins me?

Sitting next to my best friend, I couldn't help but wonder what he would think of all this. Was I being crazy? Was this too fast?

Either way, if this was wrong, than I never wanted to be right.

Back to me

It's only been an hour and a half since Jensen left for the panel but I already missed him with every fibre of my being. Was he thinking of me too? Was he okay?

I had to admit, as soon as he left I felt like I was suffocating. I couldn't understand how this is real life, how this is happening to me out of all people. Why would he ever want me this way?

My thoughts were heading straight into overdrive as I sat there, alone, and I couldn't handle it anymore. I had to get out of this stuffy hotel room, away from the silence and the scent of him that drove me crazy.

Quickly grabbing my purse, I headed down the hallway to the elevators, thanking Jensen ahead of time for having a private floor so I wouldn't be caught by any superfans up here.

I wasn't ashamed in any form, but I knew how it already looked by us being together, and I haven't even spoken to him about how this could affect our personal lives when word gets out. I couldn't do that to him, so I'd be as careful as could be.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, my chest tightened with anxiety. Fans were everywhere, crowding around the lobby, nearly pressed into each other. I checked the time and realized quickly why, the panel just ended and Jensen was going to be signing soon.

I walked around sheepishly as I stared at the booths set up, trying to stay calm in the sea of voices and screams. I never really was good with crowds of people, and this... well this was my nightmare.

Suddenly, a warm feeling rushed over me, one that I've only ever felt when Jensen was around. The exact same feeling I had when he stared at me from the stage on the day we met.

I lifted my head up as my eyes scanned the room, falling straight onto my person. He was standing at the back of the room in front of his table, a wide smile spread across his face as he waved gently. I smiled and waved back before walking towards where he was.

I was so distracted by his eyes on mine, I didn't notice the same two girls from the other day approaching me from behind. I didn't notice Jensen's smile fading as he tried to move, but was asked to sit down.

Vanessa's rough grip on my shoulder pulled me out of my thoughts as she spun me towards herself and Amber. They smirked mischievously and I returned with a roll of my eyes, sick of their drama and pettiness.

"Y/N, Wow I didn't expect you to be back after you completely embarrassed yourself in front of Jensen yesterday." She stated smugly.

I laughed underneath my breath and turned to continue walking towards Jensen's tables, as I called out over my shoulder, "The only one embarrassing themselves is you, sweetie."

I was so close to him, only a few feet away but Vanessa wouldn't let up. She grabbed me once again and pulled me closer to her. "Are you one of those crazy fans? The ones that try to pry their way into Jensen's life?"

I scoffed in response, "Not that it's any of your business but you have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh really?" She hissed, as she pulled her phone from her purse, a picture of Jensen and I at the bar last night facing me. I swallowed hard and kept my eyes down, avoiding giving any information out.

"Explain this than."

I yanked my arm from her grip and backed up, "I don't owe you anything, leave me alone Vanessa."

I managed to walk away and get closer to the table, my eyes catching Jensen's worried and concerned expression spread across his face. I offered a reassuring smile, hoping that he could relax and have a good time, he didn't need to worry about this, not now.

I took a deep breath as I tried to push the anxiety out, but as soon as I felt her standing behind me, my nerves only grew. I rolled my eyes and turned towards her, "Listen Vanessa, I understand that your obsessed with Jensen, maybe a little too much, but your not his mother. You aren't his type either so maybe just worry about yourself rather than worry about an actor that doesn't even know you exist."

With that, I turned towards Jensen and gave him a smile before walking back towards the elevator, but unfortunately only made it two steps before a rather large impact hit my back and I quickly fell to the floor.

I turned on my back and before I could react, Vanessa jumped on top of me and started throwing punches, one after another. I held my hands up to block the hits but the little bitch was quick, she threw punch after punch before somebody finally tried to pull her off of me.

I could feel my face bleeding as she kept hitting, kept fighting to attack me, for god knows what reason. I could have easily defended myself, hell I've had fights with people three times bigger than her, but this was Jensen's convention I wasn't going to stoop to her level, I wasn't going to cause a scene here, not in Jensen's place.

Her weight was lifted off of my body and a breath of relief filled my lungs when I realized security pulled her off. My head lulled back onto the floor as I tried to keep calm, praying that I didn't look as bad as I felt.

I turned to face Jensen who was standing only a few feet away, a deep look of heartbreak and desperation covering his face. He tried to come closer, but another security guard had their hand up, blocking him from leaving. I watched as he leaned closer, whispering something to the woman before he disappeared out of my vision.

She came closer to me, slowly helping me stand from my spot before grabbing my arm to lead me out. I was convinced she was kicking me out when she brought me down the hallways to a securely locked door, but when I looked at her with surprise and she offered nothing but a reassuring smile, I figured out what Jensen told her.

Before I knew it, we walked through a door with his name on it and I was in a room that looked like a lounge. She kindly helped me sit before offering to clean my wounds but I politely declined, all I wanted was to see Jensen. He would help me.

She left as soon as he walked in and he stilled at the sight of me up close. A look of dread and heartbreak covered his face as he rushed over to my side, crouching in front of me. "Jesus honey, are you alright?"

I nodded sadly and shrugged, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for that to happen."

He shook his head and leaned upwards, laying a deep kiss to my temple. "Don't apologize." He reassured as he grabbed a towel to clean the blood off, "Why didn't you hit her back?"

"Because I knew if I did, in the long run that would look horrible on you. If we ever became public people would know me as the girl who got in a fight at the convention. That's not fair to you."

He scoffed as he gently wiped the blood from my eyes. "So you just took a bunch of hits to protect my image?"

"Yes." I stated as I shoved his hand down, "And I would do it again in a heartbeat Jensen. I've been hit before, it's no big deal."

He flinched as soon as the words left my mouth and his head dropped, the image of me ever being hit tearing at his soul.

He shook his head and sighed deeply, "Sweetie, I appreciate what you were trying to do but I want you to defend yourself when somebody hurts you, I don't want to be the reason you get the shit beaten out of you."

I smiled and leaned closer to him, reaching my hand to his chin and bringing it up to face me, "Trust me, in another place I would have kicked her ass but not in a convention-your convention, not when we are about to start our life together."

He frowned as the towel dropped in his lap, his head falling slightly. Guilt filled me as I watched how sad and broken he looked, "Listen, I know you don't understand. But I promise, I'm fine. If I felt like that bitch was going to kill me, I would have 100% defended myself but I knew she was pissed off and was going to get stopped by security, and she did."

"I just..." He whispered, "I hate the idea that you have been hit before, and especially seeing it for myself today. I wish I could have helped."

"I know Jensen. But the way I've grown up, I've had to learn how to defend myself. I know how to handle it and when not to say or do anything. Today, I shouldn't have said anything but I did because she was insulting us. That was my bad so whatever happened after that was my-"

His face shot up as a stern look appeared on his face, "Don't you dare say it was your fault."

I couldn't help but smile at the protective side of Jensen, it was hot and cute at the same time and it made my heart melt knowing he cared this much about me.

"I promise I'm okay." I spoke softly, leaning closer to him.

"Okay." He smiled softly. "I trust you."

"Okay, well you have to get back out there before the fans start busting down the doors trying to find you."

A whole hearted laugh escaped his lips as he shook his head at me, "I will but first let me clean you up."

The room was filled with a comfortable silence as he worked on getting the blood off of me, occasionally placing bandages on the bigger areas that were still bleeding, and by the time he was done, I knew I was even more in love with him than I've ever been.

He smiled and leaned closer, capturing my lips with his in a passionate and meaningful way. I smirked against him as he seperated, standing to help me up off the couch and into his arms tightly.

“Okay I should go.” He sighed, walking back towards the door but stopping before he could turn the knob. “I’ll be back soon. Can you try not to get punched by any more crazy fan girls while I’m gone?”

A loud giggle escaped my mouth as I rushed towards the door, leaning on my tiptoes to peck his lips over and over. I couldn’t get enough of him. I smirked and pulled away, “I’ll try but no promises. Being with you might mean I piss off more people than intended.”

A loud chuckle filled his throat as he shook his head and I swore I’ve never heard something so beautiful in my life. He winked before opening the door and quickly shutting it behind him, leaving me in the room to wait patiently, if I could do that.

It’s been a good two hours since he left and the separation was already tearing at my soul. It was ridiculous, I should be able to get through a few hours without him, I lived years without even knowing him. What the hell kind of hold did he have on me.

I walked towards the mirror and froze at my reflection, laughing lightly at the site of the bruises and cuts all over my face. I’ll definitely give her this, for a small girl she could really hit.

It amazed me more than pissed me off, the fact that I allowed somebody like her to even try to hurt me like that, was a shock itself.

I’ve been in a few fights in my lifetime, I mean you kind’ve have to be ready for one when your living on the street and the more I ran into people who wanted to start something, the more I learned about self defence.

I wasn’t an animal, I didn’t want to fight or even learn how to, but being a young woman living in a car I’d occasionally run into the stray drunk men who didn’t want to take no for an answer, and local crackheads who wanted to steal my home.

And not once have I ever let somebody attack me or say the things they’ve said about somebody I cared about without hitting back but Jensen was worth it. He was worth everything.

A ping on my phone interrupted my thoughts and an instant smile erupted on my face when I saw his name.

>>Meet me in the back alley in 10 mins, I have a suprise for you.<<

My heart was pounding as I stared at the message, a deep confusion spreading throughout me.

I’ve never gotten a surprise before and the idea of Jensen sneaking around planning something for me, well it made me feel like an excited little girl on her birthday.

I made my way out the hallways and found the exit, stepping outside before my eyes fell on him. He smiled and pushed himself off the wall, towards a large item hidden underneath a tarp.

“What’s going on?” I smiled nervously as he led me towards the covered mystery. His smile was bright and filled with joy as he led me towards the mystery present, hands holding mine tightly in his own.

“You know how yesterday you told me that you had no life here except for me? Well, I realized that this wasn’t the full truth. You do have a life here. One that you can bring with us.”

I titled my head quizzically before he moved towards the tarp and pulled it off, instantly filling me with shock. I gasped as I backed up, tears filling my eyes at my most prized possession. The home I thought I lost.

My car.

My eyes darted between my baby and him as I struggled to find the words. “Jensen… what did you… How did you…?”

He chuckled and stepped closer, hands resting on my shoulders to bring me back to earth. “Amber. When I went back to the signing, she came up to the counter and apologized for Vanessa, than she told me that she was the one who called the tow truck because Vanessa made her. I asked her what type of car, got the info and sent one of my handlers to go get it for you.”

The tears started rushing down my cheeks as I realized how much I really adored this man. He didn’t have to do this and he knew it, but he wanted to. This had to be the most thoughtful action somebody’s ever shown me.

“Jensen..” I whispered as I leaned my head against his chest, holding him tightly against me. “Thank you..”

He nodded, a gentle yet firm kissed pressed on top of my head as his arms tightened around me. “Of course. I know she’s a big part of your life, and she was your home before you met me, so I was wondering if maybe you wanted to take a road trip back home tomorrow. It’s a long drive so of course only if your up to it. We could always get her shipped out to Texas.”

My smile spread across my lips as I lifted my head to face him, “I’d love that.”

He leaned down gently before pushing his lips against mine, slowly leading me against the wall. My back was pressed as his hand move to my cheek, deepening the kiss with such love and passion I was seeing stars.

A loud clang interrupted our movements, and we quickly stood straight, trying to focus on where the source came from.

His face dropped when he noticed, his hand moving to my arm to grab mine and pull me away. I froze when I spotted what he was staring at, Vanessa.

Jensen tugged on my arm and I shook my head before pushing him gently behind the car to hide him away from her sight. I leaned against the wall and shook my head, “What do you want?”

She scoffed and stepped closer, inches away from me. “You got me kicked out of the convention you bitch.”

I all but laughed as I kicked off the wall, standing directly in front of her. “I actually didn’t do anything, your the freak who jumped me in the middle of the room.”

“Yeah! Because you are some sort of stalker fan girl who tricked their way into Jensen’s life. You have to be an idiot if you’d ever think he’d fall for a ugly homeless chick like you.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, footsteps started approaching us and I sighed. Clearly Jensen heard enough and was about done with this conversation, as was I.

The look on her face when she spotted him was nearly hysterical, yet aggravated me to the core. She was staring at him with such fake love in her eyes and it drove me crazy. She thought she loved him but she didn’t know a single thing about him, she didn’t have what we did.

“Actually Vanessa” I spoke, interrupting her trance. “He fell for me without even knowing I was homeless. Your attempt to break us apart has failed, it only brought us closer together.”

Vanessa rolled her eyes as she pushed passed me, nearly knocking me on my ass. I bit my tongue in anger as I watched her step inches from Jensen, her hand coming to his chest. “Jensen, I can offer you so much more than this piece of trash, dump her and let me show you how happy I could make you.”

Before Jensen could react or even respond, I lost my cool. I rushed towards her, my arm wrapping around her waist as I spun her to the ground. She fell on her knees and looked up at me with such anger and aggression I nearly felt bad for her.

She quickly stood and came closer until she was merely inches from my face and I instantly knew where this was going. I’ve been in this situation before and the two things I learned were to never show fear, and never back down.

Jensen grabbed my hand and shook his head, “No, this isn’t happening. C’mon.” He tried to pull me away but before we knew it, Vanessa jumped on top of me and pulled me to the ground, just like she did inside the hotel.

Jensen tried to jump in but my hand quickly rested on his leg, pushing him back. The last thing we need is for her to claim assault against him because he was defending me. No, this was my fight and I was going to end it.

I let her get a hit in before my arm came up behind her head, swinging her downwards until she fell directly beside me, causing me to jump on her and lay one hard hit onto her face. I stood up quickly and walked back to Jensen, nearly laughing at the way Vanessa was staring into space with such a confused look on her face.

I leaned closer to her and sighed, “You know why Jensen chose me? Because I don’t act like a crazy fucking bitch like you do. I don’t attack fans based on the fact that they got closer to the man they think they love. You don’t know him, I know him. The only damn reason I let you beat the shit out of me in there was because that was his territory, his place. It wasn’t mine to cause a scene, but you did that yourself. The only reason why I haven’t completely kicked your ass right here and now is because you are not worth it. So get over it. Get over the fact that Jensen fell in love with me and not with you and god damn it Vanessa, grow the fuck up.”

She stayed silent, a look of anger and defeat on her face as she stood from her spot and walked away, leaving us alone in the empty alley.

As soon as she left, I let out a shaky breath I didn't realize I was holding in, and swayed against the wall, head resting against the brick to try and keep my composure.

Jensen's hand immediately came to my shoulder as waves of adrenaline shook me to my core. His hand rubbed gently, easing some of the nerves I was still holding onto.

"Are you okay?" He spoke gently.

I shook my head and turned towards him, tears threatening to pour out at any second. "I will be."

His eyebrows furrowed in concern as he looked me up and down, "Did she hit you hard?"

"No, that was just.. really scary." My voice cracked as the tears started to fall.

For a second he looked surprised and it nearly made me laugh, but also made me feel so stupid. His arms pulled me closer into his chest and I breathed him in, the scent of his cologne relaxing me in a way I didn't know could happen.

"I didn't know you were scared baby."

I nodded against his chest, "Of course I was scared, I'm not a heartless monster. I hate fighting. I just do it because I have to, but you never know how it's going to end until it's done, and when it's finally finished, god it shakes you."

He nodded understandably as his lips pressed deep onto my forehead, hands rubbing my back in reassurance that he was here and I could finally breathe easily.

The silence was comforting and relaxing in a strange way, the sound of his heartbeat in my ear calmed my tense muscles and I swore I could just live in this moment with him forever.

His chin rubbed against my head as he sighed contently, lifting to take a look at my state. He smiled gently when he noticed the relaxed look across my face, a kiss being pressed gently against my lips. "Are you okay now?"

I nodded, "Mhm, i'm good. Thanks Jensen."

He broke the distance first, backing up and grabbing my hand tightly in his before he stopped to turn towards me, "I do.... you know?"

I stared back quizzically which made him chuckle, a deep red colour spreading across his freckled cheeks.

"Love you... You told Vanessa that I fell in love with you. I think you were saying that to piss her off but you know I do right?"

My heart pounded in my ears and I could feel the blood rushing to my head as those three words I haven't heard before fall from his lips. He... loved me?

"You do?" I questioned nearly inaudibly.

He nodded and this time he was the one who was filled with anxiety, he was the one who was scared. I smiled wide and jumped in his arms, loud laughter erupting from both of us.

"I love you too Jensen."

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Like, comment & reblog -feedback is my fuel ❤️

The Broken Fan taglist: @magssteenkamp @creative-writing92

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #dean x reader #supernatural one shot #jensenxyou #spn fic #jensen x reader #jensen's smile #dean

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eleanorblythe · 1 year ago

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Romantic Homicide - Anton Chigurh x Orginal Female Character - One Shot

This is a supplemental to my first three chapters and explores Anton and Her before the events of Romantic Homicide.

This is how she died.

Also on Ao3 with author notes and translations - here

Winter of 1978

She just needed to hold on a little longer.

She needed to move.

She was starting to feel numb. And cold.

She couldn’t remember the last time she was this cold. A bone deep chill. Her mind flashed to a morning from her childhood. The first time she had ever seen snow. Her nose, touching the window feeling the wet of the condensation. The distant voice of someone calling her.

The irritating rustle of polyester as she sprinted through the house in her winter coat, with the speed and determination that only a child can possess. A woman’s voice scolding her about inappropriate shoes as she whizzed past and out into the garden.

The snow was dancing.

She danced with it.

She remembered trying to move around the snowflakes, tasting them. She remembered allowing herself to fall face first into the snow, trying to be as quiet and as still as possible - wanting to be enveloped by it. Buried under it. Consumed by it.

Strong arms lifted her out of the snow and spun her round and round. She had never felt as free and as happy as she had that day, in the snow.

She felt like she was face down in the snow again, feeling the cold slowly starting to seep into every part of her being. Only instead of the peace and stillness of the earth, she was staring at mineral fibre tiles with yellow damp stains and watching a rickety ceiling fan stutter as it span slowly above her.

She just needed to hold on a little longer.

But, hold on for what?

She had other flashes of a life that felt so long ago and so removed from the person she was now, they didn’t feel real.

Family dinners with faceless parents, holidays in towns she couldn’t name, losing her virginity on an unexceptional Tuesday, graduating with classmates who must have assumed she died years ago.

Her first kill.

Sitting in the aftermath, watching the blood drip and spread over the linoleum. Feeling the heavy weight of the kitchen knife clenched in her hand. Staring as her panic and pain turned to curiosity and pragmatism.

Her first contract.

Sitting in a waiting room filled with older, hardened and grizzled men, waiting to be called into the nondescript office. Feeling a great sense of pride. Knowing she was better than any of them. Praying one of them looked at her funny so she could prove it to them.

The first time she nearly died.

She remembered a beach, from the ever distant memory of her youth. Those same strong arms hoisting her onto their shoulders and wading into the ocean, feeling and tasting the foam and salt on her skin. She had nearly drowned that day, but she remembered an overwhelming sense of peace as she dipped beneath the waves that final time - before being yanked out of the water and her name being called out, over and over, in panic. A scratchy terrycloth towel being wrapped around her and being shaken until her eyes opened and she saw the blurry faces of her mother and father leaning over her.

This time she knew she would not be so lucky.

As she lay on the nondescript floor of the nondescript office, staring up at the speckled ceiling tiles, she tried desperately to remember the faces of her parents.

She couldn’t.

She would die soon, and they wouldn’t be there to save her.

She tried to look down at her sticky red hand clutching her side, but her body was starting to shut down. She could not move.

She had been gutted, like a fish and left for dead.

She could live (and soon die) with the physical pain, but she could not accept the betrayal. The greed. The dishonour of it all.

She never claimed to be an innocent, or even moral. No one in her world was, but there was an unspoken code within her world.

1. Don’t interfere with others’ contracts.

2. Settle your debts.

Sometimes the first was unavoidable, with as surprising many operatives and agencies as there were in this little underworld - mistakes could happen. In her experience sometimes happy accidents.

But the second rule.

If you were prepared to break the second, then prepare yourself to be hunted to the ends of the earth. By everyone. You would be found. No matter where. No matter how long it took. You would never know a single moments’ peace ever again.

It was unfortunate that she would not be the one to do the hunting. She had done everything she needed to do. She had completed the job, she had extracted the information she needed. She delivered in a timely manner. Yet she was killed for it.

She was deemed a ‘liability’ and needed to be put down, ‘like a bitch’. She remembered thinking, as two men held her down and her former contractor sliced her open; “You’ve damned yourself, for money that was never yours anyway…”

She could still hear the distant voices of her betrayers, drinking and laughing in the next room. Toasting her demise. She supposed the plan was to wait for her to bleed out and then go and have a celebratory dinner. How inconsiderate of her to die slowly. Eventually they got bored of waiting and left anyway, leaving the lackey behind to make sure she died.

She was unsure how long she lay there. If she were in a better mood she might have scoffed that they couldn’t even kill her properly. Then again, a slow death may have been part of the design.

Her breathing became more shallow and the cold sensation had now fully enveloped her. A tear escaped the corner of her eye as she lamented that her last view would be of this stained ceiling in this tired looking office in the middle of the desert. She’d always hated the desert.

Her vision was starting to darken and she finally let her hand that had been desperately clasped at her side, drop to the piss and shit stained carpet.

She thought about praying, but who should she pray to, who would listen? Instead she thought about those who she would miss.

Not a long list.

She thought of her parents and wondered if wherever she ended up, she would see them again. She had friends, she supposed she would miss them, but they weren’t true friends, she had shown them only a fragment of herself and as a result, her friendships were mostly surface level.

And then there was Anton.

Anton was the only person who really knew her. Her only ally. She wondered in another life, if she might have married a man like Anton, found a normal job, bought a house, had a few children, got a dog that would bark at everything. Live.

But life was not a Norman fucking Rockwell painting and that life was something she could never have. Was it even something she would ever want?

Too late for that now.

What little of a life she had started to build with Anton- late night drives to nowhere in particular, weekends away exploring everything like tourists, leaving each other’s personal items at each other’s houses, tentative and disguised discussions about the future - ended here.

She felt a shadow pass over her and the blurry figure of a man standing over her. She wondered if her father was finally here to take her away.

For the first time since this ordeal, she smiled. A small, weak, smile. She was finally ready to admit defeat. She was ready to go.

With what little strength she had left, she lifted her bloody hand up to reach for her father.

“Is it time?” Her voice was barely there. She continued to reach, but her father would not take her hand. Maybe he could only take it when she finally crossed over.

__________

Anton stood over her body. He thought she was already dead until her glassy eyes moved over him, she smiled and her hand stretched out towards him.

“Is it time?” She whispered.

His gaze flicked to her wound, despite the thickness of the carpet, her blood had spread everywhere. She was still alive, but barely.

“Not quite.” He responded.

Her eyebrows furrowed slightly and she blinked in confusion.

“Where’s mom?”

Anton titled his head, before replying,

“Your mother’s dead.” He said.

“So are we,” she strained “aren’t we?”

“No, we’re not dead,” he said quietly, still observing. He didn’t want to think about the tightness of his throat. He saw death everyday. He dealt death everyday. Why should today make him feel any differently?

Because it’s her.

He had enjoyed himself this last year. She was fun, he found that he actually quite liked having her around. He had even humoured her and gone on a few trips and played the part of a regular person who takes vacations and goes sightseeing. He would never admit, that he really enjoyed those trips and would wait patiently until she brought up planning the next one.

The company was good and the sex was great.

That’s all this was meant to be.

So why did he have her birthday memorised?

Why did he make sure he always had strawberries in the house, just on the off chance she came over and wanted some?

Why did he once drive to three different florists to get her favourite flowers? For that matter why did he even know what her favourite flowers were?

Why did he never sleep peacefully on nights when she was away in jobs?

Because it’s her. Because you-

He knew why. It was that same ‘why’ that told him to come out into the desert.

Earlier, his relatively mundane evening was interrupted by a phone call. As soon as he answered and heard her signature “hey handsome” the corners of his lips turned up and he relaxed into his seat. It had been a couple of weeks since they last saw each other and she announced she was staying at his place once she had turned in her latest assignment. Three hours later and she still hadn’t arrived. Anton inexplicably felt something wash over him. Dread.

And now here she was. Dying. Her outstretched hand had lost its strength and it hit the carpet with a quiet thud.

“Is it snowing at the house?” She murmured. Anton finally knelt down and took her hand. He watched her eyes refocus and scan his face. “Oh. It’s you,”

“Who did you think it was?” Anton asked, genuinely curious.

“My father…hey handsome,” she said weakly.

“Can you feel my hand?” He said giving her hand a small squeeze.

“No.”

“What can you feel?”

“Cold.” Anton only managed to catch the first sound, she was fading. Her watery eyes found his. “Can you end it, please? It hurts.”

Anton wasn’t unfamiliar with people begging him for death, he was usually happy to oblige. It made the job cleaner, more efficient. He didn’t like the idea of doing it to her.

As if sensing his hesitation, she used the last reserve of strength she had to squeeze his hand.

“The coin will tell you.” Anton’s eyes snapped to hers where they had previously been staring at her hand clasped weakly in his. He shook himself out of his thoughts and took out a coin. She had never pretended she was fully on board with the concept of fate and the way Anton chose to strictly adhere to the coin face, no matter what, but she knew it was important to him. She knew it would help.

She knew it would show the right choice.

Anton made his choice.

Heads, he kills her.

Tails, he holds her hand until she dies.

He flipped the coin and let it land on his open palm.

Heads.

He quickly shoved the coin back into his pocket and turned his gaze back to her. She gave a pained smile.

“It’s okay, Anton,” She mouthed.

The choice was made for him. Every choice they had both made brought them to this. The end. He nodded and leaned down to kiss her clammy forehead. He spoke her name against her skin and whispered an apology.

He had made his choice.

He leant back and ripped a strip of fabric off of the end of her dress and pressed it hard into her wound. He heard a stuttered gasp of pain, the biggest sign of life she had shown thus far. He ripped more of her dress to fashion a tourniquet. He wrapped it around her waist and secured it tightly. She jolted up from her prone position with an agonising scream. He kept murmuring apologies and kept talking over her cries of pain- for her sake or his, he wasn’t sure.

Eventually the catastrophic bleeding finally stemmed and Anton was able to scoop his arms under her and pick her up. He carried her out of the nondescript office, past the nondescript lobby (over the dead lackey), and out into the desert night.

She twisted her head from Anton’s shoulder once she felt the night breeze on her face. She looked up to see stars, every one of them glittering and bright. She gasped and wept. She wouldn’t die staring at a stained ceiling, she would die surrounded by millions of stars, swirling and circling around her.

Like snow.

Her eyes fluttered closed and she felt the pull of darkness, carried in those safe, strong arms.

#fanfiction #anton chigurh #no country for old men #anton chigurh x reader #ncfom #anton chigurh fanfic

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ltwilliammowett · 2 years ago

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Spinning Yarn

Spinning Yarn is the art of fictional storytelling among seafarers who could not just stay on board a ship. There were also good stories that were carried ashore and spun or even written down and printed.

Origin

The term “spinning yarn” has not existed for very long, it has only been known in writing since the early 19th century. It was James Hardy Vaux who, in his work of 1819, reported not only on his experiences as a criminal in England and later as a convict, but also on the storytelling on board the ship that transported him, which he called spinning yarn.

Saturday Night at Sea by George Cruikshank (1792 -1878)

In the 1820s this kind of art was also carried out by Greenwich pensioners and some of them were even published in newspapers under the term Spinning Yarn. But where does this term come from? Seamen often had to spend time repairing ropes on board ships. This is a time-consuming job of twisting fibres together, which was supposedly called "spinning yarn". While repairing ropes, sailors often told each other stories to pass the time. Over time, these stories came to be called "yarn" and the telling of a story came to be called "spinning yarn". Presumably, however, this practice goes back to the Middle Ages, but it is no longer possible to say for sure.

The reason for these stories

First and foremost, they were told to escape boredom and fill the hours of idleness. But the stories also fulfilled other tasks, for one thing they were there to create a bond among the comrades. For although these stories were largely fictional, they contained elements of everyday life, of the family or of one's own life story. Things that everyone on board could relate to and that created a bond.

(x)

The better the story, the higher the reputation and the higher the listenership of the narrator, which in turn could cause some discomfort on the part of the narrator, as the comrades would sometimes give him something extra to tell them an exciting new story. And it increased the likelihood that the story would be passed on ashore, which could also have positive effects for the storytellers. But the stories also had hidden messages in them, so they could contain a warning about the behaviour towards some officials or criticism of them. But also parts about tired men and extraordinary phenomena. The ghost stories are particularly noteworthy here. They entertained but also had a lasting effect and elevated the narrator a little higher in his position among the men. after all, he was a good man for having experienced it, even if the older ones knew that it was fiction. The younger ones who had not yet had these experiences or were still too young to distinguish fiction from reality.

Yarns that were printed

Some of the stories made it into print for others to enjoy. It is important to distinguish whether the book was written by a Sailor, an author pretending to be a Sailor or an exsailor. Today we would simply put it in the category of adventure stories. But at that time Sailor adventures were something special. Etchings of a Whaling Cruise, by J. Ross Browne 1846 is a hybrid of a logbook, journal, travelogue and yarn. For there he tells the story of a sailor and his journey on a whaler, later on a whale, and that alcohol is not a friend.

Etchings of a Whaling Cruise, with Notes of a Sojourn on the Island of Zanzibar. by John Ross Browne (1821-1875) - here the ride on a whale

The book was also read with great favour by Herman Melville. Richard Henry Dana Jr. also addresses spinning yarns in his work Two Years before the Mast.

And The Narrative of the Remarkable Occurrences in the Life of John Blatchford by unknown,18th century, but probably Blatchford himself, recounts his life as an American Sailor during the Revolution and his sacrifice for the fledgling US Navy.

Owen Chase (1797-1869), first mate of the Whaler Essex, also tells a story about the famous incident of the Whaler and its tragic fate in his book The Wreck of the Whaleship Essex. In particular, however, he emphasises the cruelty of cannibalism in his book and reports so matter-of-factly that it must have sent shivers down the reader's spine. Whether this is a classic yarn is questioned in research, but the book does not seem to have been written by Chase himself. Rather, it seems to be based on his reports and journal, which makes parts of the whole thing a yarn again, as they probably did not happen as portrayed. The same happens with Moby Dick by Herman Melville, 1851, which takes up the Essex and her story but spins his own adventure out of it.

All these stories had their subtleties, their depths and their morals or even warnings, but a good story brought men together. It relieved boredom and caused astonishment, joy or even goose bumps. Just as we experience today when someone tells us a good adventure. At this point, however, a small warning from me, if you read stories about sailors, be prepared, it could just be a yarn and therefore not necessarily real.

#naval history #spinning yarn #age of sail #age of steam #modern

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idiotwithanipad · 3 months ago

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Stolen

(Set in my Gore Au. Shortly after @shebeafancyflapjack’s A Slip Through Wolrds series. Ft her OC Silver)

The witch didn’t know she’d be in for one of the biggest horrors she could ever imagine that foggy morning. The cornflower bed for her daughter was vacant. It shouldn’t be vacant; there was still two days till the spritely girl should wake, grace her with the adorableness she craved all month.

She’d made a huge mistake. Two. The first being, bringing her fury down onto her beloved ally. He’d stayed by her side ever since her fiery death, opened up his rightful home to her, offered her assistance in time of madness. He asked for so little, nothing but a small relief from his own brain, which sizzled and hissed with the terrors of his past.

All he’d done was try to put an end to her madness, the madness she had inflicted on others and even the universe around them. The biggest thing that pushed him to rebel, the three girls, pathetic and defenceless against her power. A rare glimmer of pity and a deep yearning to make this all stop, for it all to go back to normal.

Then she had done what she’d promised she wouldn’t. Cause him pain.

She’d been remorseful. Wept at his feet for forgiveness. Stroked and petted at his morbid face until he’d given a soft grumble and settled her upon a tree stump. He held her hands, almost like a man, and pressed his brow to her charred knuckles. Reassurance.

No cry. No tears. Not hurt anymore.

“Buts thou shoulds have seen them, ally. All three little’ens, so small and full of lifes. Even t’other Bone girl did smile with a twinkles in her eyes” She gushed, gazing at him in wonder.

“My darling girl and her healthy twin. I wanted dearly for thems to both be mine. Thou woulds have caved, I tell thee” She smiled.

She had given him another gift that night. One that brought him more than relief from his endless pain. One that haunted him for weeks, wriggled its way under his skin and made him crave something he’d forgotten for far too long.

She allowed him a peek into her minds eye, a glance at her memories, let him watch the exchange with the cubs in the unseen land of the mind. All three, tiny, happy, lively and innocent. They reminded him of others, many others. They aren’t his cubs. But who’s to say they couldn’t be?

He had been the entity to stumble upon them both first. The dancing girl when she had arrived and attracted his attention that moonlit night during her celebration. The dark haired girl when she came along with that ugly, cruel woman with the bad words. That’s been the way of his land for eons; the first to find a cub must be the first to welcome it to the land and keep it safe.

Bitterness and regret for not being able to care for his rightful cubs had pinched at his black heart, forced him to turn the new cubs away and hoist them onto the next person to protect. He’d broken his own code. The code of his tribe and family. His mother and father, sisters and brothers, cousins and friends would be ashamed.

The witch was right. He DID cave. And it hurt him. He knew what must be done, for the sake of his own sanity and code of morality. It had to be done.

—

Amy, the dark haired girl, fiddled with her white leg warmers, picking at tiny little fibres. Her father’s head, which had been awake all night, slept behind her on a cushion, softly snoring. A soft breath alerted Amy of a guest. Her pulse fluttered as she spun, one of her eyes falling down to her cheek from the sudden swish of her head. She fumbled to push it back in, her vision clearing and seeing the form of the witch’s furred ally standing by the door, his back hunched, his knuckles cracking and reaching towards her.

Her brow furrowed, confused. He rose a digit to his lips and urged her to be quiet so she wouldn’t disturb the sleeping head behind her. There was an odd calmness and gentleness in his eyes, his face wasn’t contorted into an exasperated grimace. He nodded down to his outstretched arm and gave a tiny grunt.

Amy rose her hands, gesticulating.

‘What…Up?’

He understood. Bringing his finger up to point at her before pressing it to his shoulder, dragging it across the width of his body till it stopped at the other shoulder.

‘Your…friend’

Her friend?…Silver? Was she missing again?

He beckoned her to follow, and turned on his boots, not lowering himself back to his knuckles. Odd.

Amy reached behind her to wake her father, but the creature gave an urgent and panicked huff. Amy glanced back at him, watching with confusion as he quickly shook his head. Amy gave an unsure and concerned glance to the creature. She’d felt peer pressure before, and this was high up there.

Reluctantly, she gave one final look to the sleeping Tudor’s head and followed the creature from the room. She watched as he seemed to be surveying the East Wing hall. Amy was about to reach over to him and click to get his attention, but he’d turned and crouched to chest level with her, bending his arm and gesturing to his back.

He steeled himself and waited, glancing down at her large boots, waiting for her to move. Amy gesticulated in her unique sign language that he’d been getting the hang of recently.

‘What…you…doing?’

The creature gave a frustrated huff and patted his back again, roughly. Oh, he wanted her to climb on. But why? Amy cringed and, with shaking knees, clambered onto the creatures back, trying not to squeeze him with her uncomfortably boney knees. Finally. Silly cub understand.

The creature rose to his knuckles again and began slowly skulking through the house. He hadn’t formed a close bond with the body of the girl’s father, but he’d observed it’s behaviour. It seemed to be able to distinguish the difference between a stranger’s footsteps and its daughter’s. So, the logical thing to do? Take the girl off the ground all together, make sure the body, wherever it may be, can’t feel her footsteps and track her down.

Although just a precaution, much to his luck, he didn’t spot the wandering husk at all as they made it outside. Amy groaned sheepishly above him, taking her hands from his shoulders to sign again.

He glanced to the side to catch her gesticulated words.

‘Where…we…going?’

Although he couldn’t hear any nervousness from her, he could see it, and feel it; the trembling in her fingers and the shudder in her legs was all he needed. He’d have to brush up on his acts of comfort, but that could wait until he got back to the old ivy strewn cave that even his mistress didn’t know about, where the other cub lie sleeping.

The lack of any sort of response was always the worst. Amy glanced over her shoulder, contemplating climbing down from the creature-man’s back and running home. But every time she moved her leg, even a fraction, the creature glanced back up at her and tightened the muscles in his back, a warning growl following suit.

Nevertheless, the creature continued to knuckle-walk on, completely bypassing the woods and heading west into the direction of the lake. It strode in a rehearsed and certain manner, it wasn’t lost at all. The surroundings were new and foreign to Amy, who kept glancing back over her shoulder at the quickly disappearing Estate.

Amy felt the urge to duck and cover as the creature ploughed through a dense bramble hedge, followed by what could only be called a briar patch, nettles and finally rock. Stone, dirt and flint. A shallow little cave had been hidden back here all along without anyone knowing. No bigger than the kitchen back in the house, perhaps smaller?

One he reached the perimeter of the little opening, only then did he allow her to climb down. Amy slid from the creature’s back and staggered back slightly, looking at him like he’d gone loopy. He just stared at her, oddly settled and unbothered. Lacking the indifferent glare he usually sported.

Amy gesticulated.

‘Where…are…we?…Where’s…Silv?’

The creature grumbled quietly and nodded to the ground behind her. Amy glanced over her shoulder to where he nodded. Lying on her back, sprawled out over the rough ground, Silver was dead to the world. Her eyes closed, her nosebleed temporarily paused, her lips slightly parted. Luckily, the steady rise and fall of her stomach reminded Amy that her sleeping friend was in fact just sleeping and not dead; It’s easier to forget than you might think.

Amy rushed to Silver and dropped carefully to her knees. She clapped, hoping to rouse the witchling from her nap. No response. Not even a twitch. She clapped again, louder. Nothing. Confused, Amy turned her attention back to the wild man behind her.

She signed.

‘Full…moon…yet?’

The creature shook his head. Then why are we here? Amy glanced back at Silver’s sleeping face, wondering why she’d been moved at all. To here of all places; it wasn’t exactly remarkable. The damp, jagged rock strewn with ivy and moss was hardly anything whimsical, especially when comparing it to Silver’s usual bed.

During Amy’s brainstorming, the creature hand crawled closer and put his hand on Amy’s back, pushing her down, causing her to topple, landing on her side. Amy nearly yelped, managing to clamp her lips shut. She gawked over at the creature, crouching before them. This time, he signed.

‘You…stay’

Amy’s wide eyes flicked in any direction but his. She’d only ever felt fright towards him once in the past; when the witch had sent him to kidnap her for an interrogation. Awkward days. She didn’t think she’d go back to feeling that way about him, especially after he’d conceded to allow her to teach him sign while they waited for Silver to awaken.

She couldn’t tell if his signed words were a suggestion or a threat, but his face held no malice or hatred. Actually, he looked almost- happy. His bottom jaw slowly jutting forward and his top lip twitching upwards, his eyes calm and gentle. She’d never seen him like this, she felt silly for feeling uneasy, but how are you supposed to react when someone who’s shown you nothing but a fifty-fifty chance of hostility suddenly does a complete one-eighty?

‘Where’s…Mary?’ Amy signed.

The creature’s face broke suddenly, a slight pull in his cheeks, his eyes blinking slowly. He shuffled back and itched clumsily at the gashes of bear claws on his chest. He suddenly looked full of guilt. Shame?

Amy gathered herself and sat cross legged, the sleeping Silver being the only barrier between them, staring at him. Her gut dropped.

‘Has…she…gone…up?’ Amy signed, pointing to the uneven roof of the cave. Quickly, he shook his head and gave a series of gentle huffs. He reached over Silver’s body and- patted the side of Amy’s head. Weird.

As long as the not so evil witch hadn’t gone, everything would be okay. Wouldn’t it? She probably sent him to bring them here? She’d find them when the time was right?

It took her longer than a few seconds to realise that the creature hadn’t yet drawn his hand away from the side of her head. Snapping back to reality, she cleared her throat, the best she could, and shuffled back. The creature merely tilted his head slightly, looking truly confused as to why she’d shy away. He leaned closer. Glancing down at Silver, who his knees nearly bushed against, he gently swept her pink fringe from her brow, a tender gleam in his eyes that looked somewhat dazed, like he wasn’t the one in control of his actions.

This was beyond strange now, what the hell happened to turn him into a faux version of himself? It’s like he’d turned into the ‘nice’ version of him Silver had come across in the other world, the one she called ‘Robin’.

Amy threw caution to the wind and got up, clambering to her feet and making a swift step towards the cave mouth. But the creature merely grabbed her ankle as she passed him. She twitched around to look at him, horror in her bulging eyes.

“Mmm!” She groaned, her Monster filled throat burning as her vocal chords were forced open. The creature shook his head, that sickeningly calm look on his face like this wasn’t suspicious at all. With a force that hardly matched the look in his eyes, he yanked Amy to the ground, gathering her closer and practically dropping her on top of Silver. She rolled off and tried to sit up, but he clasped her shoulder and pushed her down again.

“Mm! Mm-mm!” Amy demanded, her tightly shut mouth still slightly overflowing with liquid. She creature rose his hand, answering in the way Amy taught him.

‘You…cubs…you…sleep’

How long until the next full moon? Weeks? Days? Hours? How long until Mary notices Silver is missing and comes looking? How long until the headless body senses her absence?

Amy’s only hope is that Silver wakes up sooner rather than later.

#bbc ghosts #gore au #au #robin the caveman #original character #amy #amy bone #mary guppy #humphrey bone #other’s oc #silver ravenstar #silver guppy

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anipgarden · 1 year ago

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ive done some spinning with milkweed fluff!! it stayed together but i had to keep it super wet to do the actual spinning. i made it into a little square and its so soft and fluffy!! but yes its very difficult to spin as the fibres are very short [i spin with a top whorl drop spindle]

Oooh, cool! Honestly I feel you're not the first person I've heard of on Tumblr spinning milkweed fluff, which makes it feel all the more wild that most online sites that mention it say its impossible???? Wild.

Out of curiosity, asides from the square, what would you find spun milkweed useful for making? I ask this not as someone who's ever spun thread or someone interested in taking it up, just as a curious passerby lol.

#out of queue #ani rambles #answered asks #this ask has been sitting in this inbox for a hot minute now and I Kept Forgetting To Answer It #I'm 90% positive its in response to my 'how to collect milkweed seeds without the fluff' post #bc i mentioned in the tag that i saw people spinning but all the online sources I stumble across when searching stuff #say 'oh its too brittle to be spun'#maybe its because a lot of the sources I'm looking at are focused on the gardening/growing of milkweed and not like #making cordage out of it or spinning the fibers or anything like that. different worlds I guess.#i have rambled on in the tags long enough so allow me to just say #i think its cool as hell that you're spinning milkweed fibers you go you funky little pogchamp you

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specialagentlokitty · 2 years ago

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Saul silva x reader - the perfect day

Looking at the man from across your classroom, you huffed and went back to the papers in front of you and you heard him sigh.

“Go away Silva.”

“Just talk to me (Y/N), please? It’s been days.”

“I don’t want to talk to you. So, go away.”

You stood up, putting some of the papers in your desk you walked to the side of the classroom and started to look at some jars of herbs.

Saul walked over and placed his hand over yours, setting the jar down before he took your hand and held it between his.

You didn’t look at him, you just stared out the window.

“I never said I didn’t want to get married, I just said I hadn’t thought about getting married.”

“Well it’s basically the same thing Silva. We’ve been dating for years, and we’re not getting any younger, I’ve always wanted to get married, to you. Clearly you don’t want the same thing.”

You looked at him, pulling your hand from his.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to get married (Y/N)!”

“Saul we’ve been dating since we were teenagers! We’re both in our 40s now! That’s over 20 years! That’s a good chunk of time to think about this don’t you think?”

You spun around and he grabbed your wrist, turning you back around.

“Then why didn’t you say anything until now? Why now?” He asked.

“Because you nearly died! And I realised if you died I would just be known as your girlfriend and nothing more! I want to be known as your wife! Not just the girlfriend who you apparently didn’t care enough about to marry!”

You pushed him away from you and walked over to your desk, pulling your jumper over your head and you looked at him.

“I’m tired of waiting for something that’s never going to happen. I love you with my whole heart, with every fibre of my being, but we have been at the same stage for years, not going anywhere. I don’t want to just be dating. I want you for my whole life and after, and if you don’t want that then that’s okay. You should’ve just said something to me.”

You walked out of the classroom and he chased you down, calling your name.

When Saul reached out, he grabbed your hand and made you stop walking, and he walked in front of you.

“I love you. You and only you. I don’t want anyone else in my life (Y/N), I’ve loved you since we were kids. And when you agreed to go on a date with me I was so excited, when you agreed to be my girlfriend I bragged to anyone who would listen that I had you and no one else could. I was so happy because you were mine, I don’t want that to go away.”

“Then what are we Saul? Because at this point I don’t know. I love you, I do, but I don’t want to stay in this same position not going anywhere.”

Saul took a step back, and he ran his fingers through his hair, looking at you with sad eyes.

“Exactly. We both deserve what we want, and if you don’t want to be married that’s okay.” You whispered, “but I do. And it’s not fair either of us staying in this position.”

You turned around to leave again.

“I’d marry you in an instant!” He rushed out.

You turned around in shock, wide eyes looking at him.

Saul walked over, taking your hands in his, bringing them up to his lips to carefully kiss them and he looked at you.

“I will marry you right here, right now.” He whispered.

“You would?”

Saul nodded, holding your hands to his chest and you stepped forward, looking up at him.

“I want to spend my whole life with you, I want to marry you I promise you I do. I just.. I never knew how to ask. I suppose part of me was scared that if we ever got married people would know I loved you, and anyone after me would come after you.”

“It’s okay to be scared Saul, but this whole school know we’re together. I don’t care if people come after me, because I’ll fight them.”

You took one of your hands from his and placed it over his heart.

“I’d fight anyone for you, with you. I don’t care who. You are my first priority in everything, okay?”

Saul smiled and nodded his head.

“Then marry me darling. Say you’ll marry me here and now, tell me you’ll marry me, please.”

You smiled a little, giving a small hum.

“I don’t know, I was kind of hoping to marry someone else.”

Saul rolled his eyes at you and brought his hand up, placing it on your cheek.

“Marry me?”

You smiled, taking his face between your hands you pulled him down and kissed him slowly, and when he smiled into the kiss you smiled back.

You pulled away slightly.

“Of course I will…”

Saul captured you in another kiss, and when he pulled away he brushed his nose against yours.

“Two weeks.” He said.

“Saul that’s not enough time.”

He grinned at you as he stood up fully once more, and he ran his thumb along your cheek.

“Just trust me.”

You nodded and he smiled, leaning down he kissed your hairline and pressed his forehead to you.

“I’ll make it the most memorable wedding ever.”

With that, he walked away and you smiled as you watched him leave.

Saul knew what kind of wedding you wanted, he remembered a conversation you had years ago with one of your friends while you were having a double date.

He knew you wanted something simple, lights, good food, music, you wanted everyone to be involved, students and teachers alike.

You wanted him to wear all white, and you wanted to be wearing all sky blue, you wanted white and blue flowers.

He knew how you wanted your wedding to be, so he immediately went to Farah for help with it all.

“You asked (Y/N) to marry you?” She asked shocked.

“Yes. Will you help?”

Farah smiled and got up, hugging her friend tightly.

“Of course I will.”

When you woke up the next morning, you found Saul sitting on the end of the bed, legs crossed, messing with a small box in his hands.

Sitting up, you stretched a little and looked at him, and you picked up a shirt from the floor and tossed it at him.

“Don’t just sit there half dressed, that’s weird.”

Saul rolled his eyes, tossing the shirt back on the floor and you laughed, crossing your legs as you looked at him.

He opened the ring box and held it out to you, and you gasped softly, looking at the beautiful ring, it wasn’t diamond like most people, you noticed it was your favourite gem.

“Marry me?”

You smiled.

“Yes.”

Saul beamed and he took your hand and the ring, and he slipped it on to your finger, then kissed your knuckles.

You smiled and shuffled over, wrapping your arms around to hug him, and while you were doing that, you grabbed the blanket from behind him and pulled the blanket over his head as you stood up.

“Why are you so mean to me?”

You turned around and shrugged and watched as he stood up as well, making the bed while picking up the clothes on the floor to dump them into the laundry basket.

“See why can’t you do that when you take them off?” You asked.

“Because they’re still going to be there in the morning.”

“Not the point.”

“It is the point. Are you going into the bathroom because if not I’m going in there.”

“Not before me!”

You ran to the bathroom and slammed the door on him, locking it with a little grin of victory.

You went about your day like you normally would, and you noticed if Farah, Sky or Ben saw you they would quickly walk away.

And as the next week passed you noticed that with more and more people.

You were growing suspicious as to how many people Saul had managed to coax into this, but he wouldn’t tell you, and when it was the day before the wedding he stood in the room, your hands in his.

“Farah will come by in the morning, bringing everything you need, and she’ll take you to where you have to go.”

“Why do you have to leave now though?” You pouted.

Saul smiled, kissing the corner of your mouth.

“Because it’s bad luck if I see you before the wedding itself. I’ll call you though, I promise.”

You poured a little more.

“Okay…”

Saul laughed, leaning down he connected your lips in a soft and gentle kiss, and you kissed him back but he pulled away after a few seconds.

“I love you.”

“I love you too Saul.”

He kissed your head and left the room, and true to his word he called you a few minutes later, and you stayed on call until you woke up in the morning.

Not long after you woke up Farah came in, holding up two bags.

“Dress or suit?”

You looked between them, and finally you chose the one that you felt more comfortable in.

“Right, change in the bathroom.”

“Ooo bossy. Okay.”

Farah rolled her eyes at you and you grinned, changing into the one you had chosen and when you came back out you found some of the students in your room.

“Hair, and makeup if you want it.” Stella beamed.

You smiled and sat down in the chair while she did your hair, and Terra handed Farah a flower.

Once Stella was finished, Farah tucked the flower behind your ear, in your hair, and Terra used her magic to make it bloom and you gasped softly at the soft blue colour.

“Oh it’s beautiful Terra thank you.”

“You look amazing Professor.” She smiled.

You smiled softly as you looked up at her.

“Thank you so much, all of you.”

“Don’t thank us yet, we’ve got more.”

You looked at Farah confused and she gestured for you to go to the door so you did, and you opened it to find Sky standing in the other side, a bouquet in his hands.

“Sky..” you said softly.

“Congratulations (Y/N). I’m so happy you two are finally getting married. It’s about time.”

You laughed softly, nodding your head.

“It really is.”

He handed you the bouquet and you took it, and he held his arm out to you.

“I know you’re dad can’t be here, so I asked Silva if I could walk you down the aisle. Is that okay?”

You linked your arm with his.

“I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect person Sky.”

He smiled and the three others walked in front of you, leading you towards the quad where Musa, Bloom and Aisha were waiting.

Aisha took a photo and you smiled.

“You look stunning miss!” Bloom grinned.

“Thank you all.”

You heard music start up and they all walked us die, leaving you and Sky standing outside and he looked at you.

“Are you ready?”

You took a small breath, looking at him.

“I am.”

He began to slowly walk you in and you gasped at the sight of all the students and teachers, lined up waiting, it was covered with orbs of lights, and flowers growing up the walls.

And when you looked to the front, you felt your heart skip a beat.

Saul had his eyes glued to you, a smile on his face as he took a shaky breath as he watched you walk down with sky.

You looked so incredibly beautiful.

And your eyes were glued to him, standing in a pure white suit, hair neatly combed, face shaved to just stubble, and a blue flower in his suit pocket.

When you reached the front, you turned to sky and kissed his forehead.

“Thank you sky..” you whispered.

He smiled and passed you over to Saul, who walked you the rest of the way and he stood behind Saul, and Farah came to stand behind you.

“You look so beautiful…” Saul whispered.

“You remembered everything I said..”

“Of course a did…”

You reached up, wiping a tear from under his eye and he laughed softly, ducking his head a little bit as he sniffled.

“God I’m sorry. I said I wouldn’t cry. But.. god you look so beautiful (Y/N).”

“You look pretty good yourself.”

He laughed softly and you both turned to ben who smiled at you both, starting the ceremony.

“Saul I believe you have your vows prepared?” Ben asked.

“Hey that’s not fair you never told me that.” You pouted.

Saul rolled his eyes.

“You’ve had them prepared for years I asked your friend.”

A few people laughed and you grinned at him.

Saul took your hands in his, and held them softly in his.

“I’ve been in love you you since we were kids, I always thought that you were never interested in me, so when you agreed to go on that first date I was so excited I couldn’t sleep. When you became my girlfriend I promised myself I would do anything to keep you in my life. I’ve been told your first love never lasts, but I still you even more than I did back then, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you (Y/N), you’re so beautiful, so caring, so perfect. I love you, and I hope you know this means I’m making you actually change your last name, not to some random name you did last year when you told me you were going to change it.”

Everyone laughed and you laughed at the memory.

“What can I say? Banana-llama was a great name. And I was so, so drunk, they really shouldn’t let you change your name when you’re that drunk.”

“I know, I was there with you. I was the one who told you to change it.”

Everyone laughed again and you playfully hit his shoulder and he grinned down at you.

“(Y/N)?”

You took a small breathe and held his hands tightly.

“When you asked me to be your girlfriend, we climbed up a mountain and I always wondered why you wanted to do that. But when I saw the look on your face that day, I knew one day I wanted to marry you, to take your last name. And I really am sorry I changed my last name to banana-llama, but I’m not saying I wouldn’t do it again. We’ve faced everything together, the good, the bad, the near impossible. I can’t picture a life without you, you were there for me when I was little, just a year young than you trying to run after you through the fields, and you’ve been there for me ever since. And I’ve been there for you. I love you Saul, and from the start of my life to the end of my life, I want to spend every single moment of it with you.”

A few peoples cheered and clapped, and ben smiled.

“Is there anyone who objects to this marriage, if so speak now or forever hold your peace.”

After a minute, he nodded his head.

“Than I pronounce you husband and wife, you may now kiss the bride.”

Saul wrapped an arm around your waist and he swiftly pulled you into him, connecting your lips with his and you wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him beck.

People cheered and whistled and you pulled away, pressing your head to his.

“I love you so much Saul.”

“I love you too sweetheart.”

He quickly kissed your again and held your hand, and he looked at you.

“There’s one more surprise.”

You looked at him confused and he laced his fingers with yours, leading you outside and you gazed in amazement and how beautiful it was outside.

“Just like our first dance.” He smiled.

“It’s exactly like our first dance…”

Saul stood in front of you, walking backwards as he pulled you with him, and you stood in the middle of the patch of grass.

He placed his hands on your waist, and you wrapped yours around his shoulders, both of you softly swaying from side of side.

He leant down, forehead touching yours and you closed your eyes, smiling softly.

“You’re so perfect..” he whispered.

“I know…”

Saul laughed loudly, shaking his head at you and you laughed a little, looking up at him.

“You can’t go one day without sarcasm can you?”

“Sorry. Sorry.” You laughed.

He shook his head again, and looked down at you.

“No you’re not.”

“No you’re right. I’m not, but you love it.”

“Yeah. I do.”

It was peaceful as you guys danced for a while by yourself, and slowly everybody else came outside to join you both and you loved it.

It was the perfect wedding.

Just like you always wanted

#fate the winx saga imagine #fate the winx saga x reader #fate the winx saga #fate the winx saga x you #saul silva imagine #saul silva x reader #saul silva x you #saul silva

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