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owillofthewisps · 4 years

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beckoning light - part one

notes: i saw the witcher once and immediately couldn’t leave this alone. i know nothing about anything save for the netflix show and even then, who knows. but i am nothing if not self-indulgent. this will be two to three parts. it was supposed to be one but i’m incapable of shutting the hell up.

rating: teen on the edge of mature, i suppose.

pairing: geralt of rivia/female reader

word count: 4,309

the wisps have never lead you astray, but you did not expect them to lead you to him.

There is a light in the forest.

It is not a torch beyond the branches, you know. The light doesn’t flicker and undulate the way a consuming fire would, and it’s soft at the edges, like gleam of the moon streaming through the clouds. It is a familiar sight.

Dusk has not yet fully descended; there is a glow to the sky still, a kiss of orange and pink against the encroaching night.

The light in the forest moves, an odd sort of bobbing motion, and you heave a sigh. “No,” you tell the wisp, as though it can hear you from inside your home. The wisps have spent many an eve dancing at the edge of the clearing, just peeking out from behind the trees and beckoning, but you have no qualms with letting them be lonely sometimes.

The wisp - one of the bigger ones, heavy with light, like the rounded belly of the full moon - pulsates. You pause. It pulsates again, more rapidly this time.

“Fuck,” you say, and scramble for the trousers you’d left draped over the bed when you’d changed for the night. You pull them on as quick as you can, not bothering with a real shirt, just haphazardly tucking in the nightshirt you’re wearing. You make fast work of your boots as well, tugging the well-worn leather up over your bare feet, knowing it may well rub your skin raw.

Your cloak, your dagger, they fall into place in a whirlwind of movement, and then you are out in the chill of the settling night. Asha plunges out of the small garden by your home - half-wild, the sighthound is loathe to come inside while there is still light in the sky and you suspect she’s been harrying the partridges nesting in the back of the clearing - her powerful haunches making quick work of catching up to you.

Together, the two of you hurtle into the forest’s edge, dipping around saplings and tangles of old, old roots. The wisp flitters in front of you, darting along the path that only it knows, and you follow as best you can. The forest floor is slippery still, though the last rain was a few days ago, but you have long learned to keep your balance. Here and there, as you draw close to it, the wisp drops out of sight, and your stomach always drops with it as the forest goes dark around you, barely lit by what dying light filters through the canopy. Then the wisp flashes to life ahead of you once more, marking the path.

You are panting by the time you break into the clearing that the wisp is hovering in. You take in the horse, docile now, but with hoof prints all around it that indicate she had been wildly frightened earlier, and see no rider. The wisp flutters beyond the clearing, weaving and wavering.

“Stay,” you tell Asha. You do not need to tell her to guard; she settles near the horse, her muscles rippling with barely contained energy. You slip out of the clearing.

It is not long before you find the rider. His white hair shines almost silver beneath the light of the wisp, marking his place even though he is tucked into a small hollow between the roots of one of the large trees. He has managed to drag his large frame partially upright, but his eyes are closed, and there is a great gash across his chest, blood flowing from it in small pulses. From the pale sheen of him, he has been losing blood steadily.

“Shit,” you mutter. “Shit.” In your flurry, you had neglected to take even the most basic medical supplies. You are an idiot twice over, you suppose, but nothing can be done now.

You settle onto the roots he is propped against, and as you reach for him, you register the brute power of his form. He is built formidably. Formidable, however, has never deterred you, and there is often softness to be found beneath it, no matter how slight. You are intent on gauging his wound - this close, you can see that it is nastily edged, flesh torn ragged instead of cleanly cleaved from a sword’s edge, and you hope that he has left a corpse in another part of the forest, because you could not defend against something able to do this - and just before your fingers rest against his skin, he moves.

He catches your wrist. His large hand encircles your wrist entirely. The grip is strong, just on the edge of bruising. In spite of the situation, you flash upon what it would be like to have that large hand between your legs, prising your thighs apart - because, as Hadrian often tells you, you are shameless - before you glance up to meet his gaze.

Ah, you think. Hello, Witcher.

“Live or die?” you say, your voice mild.

His brow - gleaming with sweat, with patches of blood and dirt rubbed into his skin - furrows. His grip tightens.

“I cannot help you without my hand,” you tell him. You wiggle your fingers at him, the very tip of your middle finger brushing against his leather armor.

He considers you for a moment, those amber eyes keenly picking you apart, and then drops your wrist.

You shrug off your cloak. It’s a poor replacement for supplies, but it is all you have. You fold it until it is a decently thick square, and press it against the gash. The Witcher’s chest heaves, but only a small hiss of breath indicates the pain. You wrap your hand around his. Gently, you press it to his chest, to the rudimentary bandage you’ve created. “Hold it as tightly as you can,” you say, even though he has done so from the moment you placed his hand there.

For a moment, you think you see a gleam of something cross his handsome, stoic face. It might be irritation, and you cannot help the smile that flickers to life across your lips.

“Asha,” you call quietly.

The hound breaks through the brush with a bound. The Witcher tenses at the noise, but you lean to the side just enough that he can see her. Once he knows what has made the sound, his golden gaze returns to you. This evaluation is different. You pay it little mind as Asha noses against you, her blocky head pressing against your side, the warmth of her seeping through your thin shirt.

“Get Hadrian,” you murmur. She perks up, her tail wagging. You click your fingers twice, and she slinks into a predator’s pose once more. “Go.”

Asha takes off like an arrow flying from a bow. You return your attention to the Witcher and place your hand over his, adding your own strength to the pressure against the wound. He grunts. It’s a gravelly sound, reverberating through his chest. His hand is warm underneath yours, but he shifts his hand lower after a moment, out from under your touch. You do not comment, only push your own hand higher to give him more space from your skin.

“Can you stand, Witcher?” you ask. You are not sure what you will do if he cannot; you are not strong enough to get him to the horse alone, let alone on top of it.

He takes a moment. “Maybe,” he grates. His voice reminds you of river rocks tumbling against each other.

You pull back from him. “We’ll try.” True night is coming, settling over the forest like a blanket, and you know that you are running low on time.

If the Witcher has thoughts about your use of we, he doesn’t indicate it. You’re not sure he indicates much. Still, he does not protest when you slide deeper into the hollow with him, shuffling against his side and lifting his arm so that it drapes over your shoulder. He’s chilled against you. The blood loss, you think. You aren’t sure how he’s survived this long.

“Fuck,” he says as you push to your feet, his fingers tightening on your shoulder. He’s heavy. Despite his wound, he carries a good bit of his own weight. You can feel his powerful thigh flexing against you. You brace him with everything you’ve got, winding one arm around his waist, careful to avoid the tail end of his laceration. The movement seems to open the wound again, blood blooming in crimson patches through your cloak. He presses harder against the fabric. You think you hear another curse tumble from his lips.

Between the two of you, you manage to stagger back to the clearing. His horse nuzzles against him as you draw close. The Witcher’s fingers flex on your shoulder. You pat at the mare’s neck with one hand.

Getting him up on the horse is a struggle. By the end of it, your nightshirt is sticking to your skin, wet with sweat. You shiver in the night air. The Witcher looks worse for the wear. You suck at your teeth, trying to decide how best to ride with him. He’s broad enough that you would have difficulty peering around him, but his fingers had been clumsy as you had tried to get him on the horse. He may not be able to keep a good grip on you. Still, it seems the better option. You keep a hand on him as you mount up, wary of the slight sway of him.

“Hold tight,” you warn him. “And do not dare fall asleep on me.”

He grunts an acknowledgement. His arms wrap around you - you think you hear a hiss of pain - and if the strength of him is diminished by the wound, you cannot tell. The band of his arms is steel around you, his fingers biting into the flesh of your hips. It should perhaps hurt, but it does not bother you.

The wisp flits back into view as you gather the reins. The Witcher is leaning heavily against you now, his chest flat against your back, a solid wall against you. You can feel the wet of his blood starting to soak through. His breath stirs against you, warm and slow. You can just see a few strands of white hair flowing over your shoulder.

The wisp bounces forward, and you guide the horse after it. She’s a nimble thing, placid and unbothered by your inexperienced guidance as you try to learn the rhythm of her. The wisp floats near, just beyond you in the distance. Always guiding. The light stirs the Witcher into straightening in the saddle.

“A wisp?” he rasps. One hand comes free from around your waist. He reaches for the reins, but you evade him as best you can. He can’t quite manage to get the reins. That large hand envelopes your wrist instead. A weaker grip than earlier. Something you might even be able to shake off if you tried hard enough. “You cannot mean to follow.”

“I can and I do,” you say.

“If you wanted me dead,” he says dryly, “you should have just left me back there.”

“The wisps have never lead me astray.”

He grunts, reaching for the reins once more. “They never lead to anything good.”

“They lead me to you,” you say.

That gives him pause, you think. His grip on your wrist loosens. You are more and more aware of the spreading damp against your back. You spur on the mare. The wisp picks up its pace as well.

He is leaning heavily against you once more. You try to glance back at him, but with his form draped over you, it’s hard to make out his face. To see if his eyes are open or shut.

“Do not sleep,” you say.

He grunts.

“I mean it.”

He does not make another noise. You jostle him as gently as you can, and are rewarded with another grunt.

“If you’re going to sleep, Witcher,” you say, “you had best give me your name so I know what to put on your tomb.”

He shifts against you. “Geralt of Rivia,” he finally says.

You blink. Oh, you think. Even you know that name.

“I’d say it’s a pleasure,” you murmur, after giving him your own name. “But I do hate to lie.”

He huffs against your back.

You talk at him over the pound of the mare’s hooves. He is quiet the whole time, save for a few gravelly hums, but he shifts behind you when you speak to him, and you use that to your advantage. If he sleeps, you know, even Hadrian might not be able to save him. You talk at him until the horse breaks through to the forest’s edge. The wisp burns out once you can see the gaps in the trees. It has done more than its part, you know, had flared bright enough to hurt at a few points along the path, something you have long thought might be an odd form of protection for something lurking beyond your sight.

Getting Geralt off the horse is as much of a trial as getting him on was. Still, you manage it and stumble through the door with him. You settle him upright, so you can look at his wound in the light shed by the fireplace. He grunts. He’s wan in the firelight, sweat beading on his brow. You loosen his armor as best you can around the cloak before you have to peel it away. He winces when you do, but only a bit of blood wells in the gash.

Geralt’s chest is as broad as the rest of him. In another setting, you think, you would be glad to map it out with questing fingers. Instead, you scoop water from the bucket by the hearth with a wooden cup and kneel before him. You flush the wound out carefully, sending rivulets of watery blood running down his chest.

“Fuck,” he grits out.

You pay him little mind, using cup after cup of water until the wound is clear of dirt and debris. The water runs pink down your arms, dripping from your elbows to dampen your trousers as well.

Your touch is careful but firm. You can feel those eyes on you - golden and molten in the dancing firelight - as you do not shy away from him. You keep your fingers off the raised shine of his scars, focus only on the sundered flesh.

There is little you can do beyond rinsing the wound. Healing is not your strength, and not for the first time, you consider that you should learn more. You have salves that Hadrian has gifted you throughout the years, but you often forget which is what, and you know that some of them have more poisonous aspects that you would not want on an open wound. You gather a clean nightshirt and fold it. Like your cloak, you lose it to Geralt’s wound, as you press it into place over the cleaned gash. The blood is less now, but with the amount he might have lost, you would like there to be none.

This time, you do not bother to tell him to hold it in place. He presses it hard against the wound. His chest rises and falls more heavily now, and you wonder at how much pain he is enduring.

“Here,” you tell Geralt, handing him a wooden cup, this water scooped from the cauldron by the fire. “Drink.”

He drinks deeply. You retrieve the cup when he’s done and fill it once more, this time with ale. It will help with the pain, you hope.

“You chose an unusual way to get a woman out of her clothes,” you tell him. Honestly, it’s a miracle that you hadn’t needed to peel off your nightshirt in the woods. He pauses mid-swallow before gulping the mouthful down. Still, you think he is amused, think it shows in the softening of his tight fist, think there might have been the slightest tilt to his lips. You wonder what it would take to make him laugh.

Asha bays outside. You get to your feet and stride to the door. The hound comes barreling in when you open it, her tongue lolling. She stops at the sight of Geralt, but her hackles stay down, so you turn your attention to Hadrian.

“Your hound,” he says to you, stepping through the door, “is a menace.”

He pauses, then, likely because Geralt’s blood has crept around to the front of your nightshirt on the ride, staining the fabric crimson.

“Shit,” he says, taking you by the forearm, already pulling at your shirt to get to the wounds.

“Stop,” you tell him. You manage to catch your shirt just as he starts to slide it off your shoulders.

“How much blood have you lost?”

“Hadrian. It’s not my blood.”

His hands go still against you. He lets out a breath that sounds perilously close to a whimper. “Good,” he says. “Good.”

“Hadrian.” You nod towards Geralt. The Witcher has his eyes closed, his head back against the side of your bed.

“Hell,” Hadrian says, his quick eyes already measuring the length of the cut and the shallow breaths of his patient. “Alright.”

Geralt’s eyes flicker open as Hadrian takes your place in front of him. The other man recoils, just slightly, at the sight of those amber eyes. From the way Geralt’s mouth pulls, it is a familiar reaction.

You pay little attention as Hadrian sets to work. Asha presses against you. She is dirtier than usual, dust collecting in her deep brown fur. You sigh and nudge her to come outside with you. You glance up at the doorway, and Geralt’s eyes are on you. Hadrian swipes a salve over the cut and the Witcher’s jaw tightens. His head tilts back once more. His neck is a thick column, and you consider what it would be like to set your teeth against it with his hands firm on your hips, holding you down on his lap.

Asha whines and you step through the door. You leave it cracked despite the chill of the night air. The fire warms your small house quickly enough. “Come here,” you tell Asha. You brush your hands through her coat, shaking as much of the dust loose as you can.

It takes longer than you expect. Hadrian is a careful healer, you know, and the wound had been severe, but you find yourself biting your lip as the moon climbs higher in the night sky. You busy yourself by taking care of the horse, who shies away for only an instant before letting you care for her. When you see Asha circling, ready to curl up on the dirt, you return inside.

There’s a little more color in Geralt’s face now. He is still wan and has a sheen of sweat covering him where he is not swathed with bandages, but Hadrian’s brow has smoothed out of the pinch it had gathered into when he’d laid eyes on the Witcher.

Though you are almost silent as you enter, the Witcher’s eyes open, his head rising. His eyes flicker down for a moment, and you realize that in the chill night air, your nipples have tightened into peaks, just visible under the thin nightshirt. He meets your gaze steadily when his eyes return to yours.

Hadrian’s grey eyes dart to your chest too, but that is much more commonplace. You cross the small room to peer down at Geralt. Even seated, it feels like he towers over you, but you have lived too long at the edge of the forest, where the trees dwarf even some of the largest of creatures. “Live it is, then, I suppose?” you ask him.

“So it appears,” he says, the slightest tilt at the corner of his lips. You wonder if the blood loss is why he seems to find you amusing.

“You’ll take him back to town then?” you ask Hadrian.

The healer shakes his head, picking at his long black braid with nervous fingers. “He can’t ride yet.”

Geralt makes a noise that expresses his clear disagreement with that assessment.

Hadrian quails a bit in the face of Geralt’s thunderous brow, but he rarely backs down when it comes to recovery. “The wound will open again. You need to limit movement. In the very least for the night, if not longer.”

“I can ride.”

You heave a sigh. “I did not drag you out of the forest so you could manage to kill yourself in a quest to return to a small town.”

The tendons in Geralt’s jaw flex.

“Do you need to stay?” you ask Hadrian. It could be foolish, you know, to stay alone with this strange man, but the wisps would not steer you wrong. You think. You hope.

His eyes flicker between you and the Witcher. When Asha shifts in her place by the hearth - even curled up, she is a solid, barrel-chested beast and wounded as he is, you do not think Geralt could stand long against her - drawing his eyes, he huffs out a breath.

“No,” he says. “The bandages should hold. But I will come first thing in the morning.”

Geralt, you notice, has leaned his head back again. His eyes are closed, his white hair spilling over the coverlet like a fresh snowfall. Except not quite, since the forest hollows are not the cleanest, and there is grime streaked throughout his locks.

“Up,” you say with a sigh, bending down to levy him to his feet. Hadrian bends with you, thankfully, as you’ll likely need his strength as well. “Let’s at least get off the top layer of grime.”

Geralt comes to his feet with a grunt of pain, and then you have to press against him as he sways. Hadrian braces him from the other side. “‘I can ride,’” you scoff under your breath - from the look you get, Geralt hears you just fine - before handing off most of Geralt’s weight to Hadrian.

You strip off the rest of the Witcher’s armor methodically, undoing the ties nimbly as you find them, sliding the studded leather free. He watches you steadily as you work, his gaze unwavering as you touch him here and there. Much of the grime is contained to the leather, luckily, so you leave his trousers in place.

Geralt takes the dampened rag from you when you offer it. As he wipes some of the sweat and dirt from his neck and face - Hadrian keeps him balanced with a healer’s detachment, only sharpening his gaze when a noise that could be pained issues from Geralt - you finish a few of your nightly chores.

The Witcher settles onto your bed. The frame creaks under his weight, but it’s big enough for him with some room left over.

“If you’re leaving, you should go,” you say to Hadrian. “It’ll soon be too late to even travel the main road safely.”

He glances between you and Geralt, those nimble fingers plucking at his braid once more, but nods. You bid him farewell at the door.

Geralt watches as you take the rag he’d used and dip it back into one of the buckets. You wring it out a few times, until the water is clear again, and then sling it over your shoulder.

“I would ask if you’re always this quiet,” you say to him, “but I think I already know the answer.”

“I would ask if you always talk this freely,” he says, “but I hardly think you need a question to keep talking.”

“The price of my inn is that you must hear me chatter as I would if you were not here.”

He grunts. You bite down on your smile.

You strip off your nightshirt - it’s gone stiff with blood now, crackling unpleasantly as you pull it over your head - without a care, though you’re turned just enough that he cannot see the entirety of you. You run the rag over yourself, wiping away the remnants of the forest and of his blood, the water soothing against your skin. Gooseflesh prickles at your skin as the air brushes across your damp skin, cooling you.

The bed creaks. “Do not bleed on my bed,” you warn, glancing over your shoulder at him. Geralt has turned to better face you, propping himself up on his side. You can see the bandages straining across his muscular chest.

“You cannot expect me to not turn towards such a sight.”

You pull on your shift before padding over to the bed. It is your bed, and you will sleep in it, whether he is there or not. “You have a neck,” you remind him. “I hear they turn. Without the risk of opening a dire wound.”

He grunts. It’s clearly his most fluent language. He turns onto his back when you push lightly at his shoulder. The bed creaks under you as you put a knee up on it. You consider swinging your other leg over him, to straddle his thick thighs, but there’s little point in tormenting yourself. Instead, you peer down at the expanse of bandages.

There’s no blood blossoming, so you assume the wound has not opened once more. Geralt is pallid in the dying firelight, the embers’ soft glow doing little to hide the effect of the blood loss. His eyelids keep fluttering open and closed, long, sooty lashes dark against his skin.

Still, he drags a finger over the crease of your hip as you climb over him to get to the remaining bedspace. Through the thicker material of your shift, his touch is almost ghostly. You sink into place between him and the wall.

“Sleep, Geralt of Rivia,” you say. “And let us see what the morning brings.”

#geralt of rivia x reader #geralt x reader #geralt imagine #the witcher x reader #the witcher imagine #story: beckoning light

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ahatintimepieces · 4 years

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Wake of Stardust

Got a drabble request from EclipsesEnd on AO3! The request was for the song “Boats and Birds” by Gregory and the Hawk! :D Hope this was something you were looking for and thanks so much!

There was something Snatcher couldn’t articulate. But it manifested in the art hanging on the walls of his tree.

There was something Moonjumper couldn’t articulate. But it manifested in the sheets of music with quarter notes dotted with hearts.

Treasure or cherish; there wasn’t a word that measured how much each picture or each song meant. The prince knew, painfully so, how fragile love could be. How even the most careful of nurturing could fail to prevent a sudden break.

The prince knew that holding something too carelessly or too desperately both risked tearing hearts asunder. He knew. But it was so hard to find that balance. What did he need to do? How did he find the textbook, how did he craft the perfect contract, that would ensure his love could only be whatever she needed it to be and nothing more and nothing less?

“Whatcha got, Kiddo?” Snatcher asked as Hattie popped out of his coil, revealing her latest drawing.

It was a family portrait of her sandwiched between him and Moonjumper, holding their hands. It was nighttime in the image, and the moon shone a spotlight on them, making it easier to see Snatcher’s ghostly image against the backdrop of a galaxy pinpricked by bright stars.

“I tried to pay attention to light, like you said!” She beamed, her blue eyes shining. She pointed at herself and Moonjumper. “See? I added shadows away from the light. But I didn’t know how to do that for you.” She furrowed her brows, pensive.

His golden smile stretched, and he let out a cackle.

“Probably because I am all shadow!” He flicked her hat brim, causing it to shift over her eyes.

Giggling, she pushed back the brim.

“Can we hang this one up too?” She pointed at the tree hollow wallpapered with her drawings, each better than the last as Snatcher gave her tips and pointers from his days as a painter.

“Well.” He leaned back and gingerly took her picture in one talon as he ran the other through his mane. Attempting to look serious as he appraised her work, he continued, “The halos of light around the celestial bodies is a stellar effect and brilliantly executed. Drawing the hands as circles is a bit of a shortcut but you’ve gotten better at the arms and legs. And,” he released his mane and held up a talon pointedly, “you did get my good side so it’s a masterpiece.”

Hattie laughed as he scooped her up. She immediately leaned against him, balancing on his arm as he snapped his talons and summoned a new thumbtack. Returning her picture to her, they both examined the walls.

“There’s a spot!” She pointed towards the stretch of bark by the clock.

“Hmm.” Snatcher felt that was too far. It was a rather special portrait… after all. Of his family. He wanted… he wanted to see it. Every time he looked up. “How about we swap it with this one? Of the hourglass?” He floated over to the space directly across from his chair. She seemed a bit confused and he added, “And the hourglass can go by the clock.”

“Okay!” She nodded, letting him hold her up so she could trade the hourglass for the portrait. Once the drawings were in the right spots, Hattie cheered and threw her arms around his neck.

“Whoa!” He stiffened from surprise before relaxing in her embrace. “What was that for?”

“I’m just happy,” she mumbled. “I love you, Dad.”

The ghost’s golden mouth thinned into a tight line. He blinked rapidly, to keep the rising lump in his throat at bay.

“I love you too, Kiddo,” he whispered, hugging her close.

They remained, and Snatcher worked to not let his fear of losing this love cause him to hug her too tightly. Gentle. He had to be ready to let her go.

Moonjumper taught her to read music, later that evening, while Snatcher cooked dinner. They sat perched on the left side of the ramp, and Moonjumper used his violin to play the notes on the page.

“This is a dyad,” he explained in a breathy voice, pulling the bow across the strings.

“Can I try?” Hattie beamed, reaching out. Moonjumper chuckled before handing over the violin and bow that were a touch too large for her. Unperturbed by the size, she tried to mimic the clear sound he had made but it came out as a pained screech.

“Straighten your back and lift your arm,” he instructed, gently guiding her arms into position.

She tried again and managed to draw out a better sound, but the dyad was still shaky. He encouraged her to strengthen her hold on the strings and her next attempt was even better than the last.

“I’m learning!” She perked with excitement and Moonjumper grinned.

“You are!” Moonjumper agreed. “I’m very proud of you, Little Heart.”

“Will you teach me how to play our lullaby on the violin too? And the other songs you wrote?”

“I can,” Moonjumper promised, “though it might take a while.”

“That’s okay!” Hattie preened, puffing out her chest, “I’ll practice a whole lot! We have all the time in the world!” She handed the violin back. Her comment made him pause.

All the time in the world?

“This is an E, right?” She pointed at the sheet music, tilting her head.

“Mmhmm.” Moonjumper played the note on the violin to demonstrate.

She continued studying the music and Moonjumper watched, lowering his arms.

He wondered, vaguely, about the day she might want to go where he couldn’t follow. She would grow up—how special! How grateful he was that his darling daughter lived and could grow—and growing up might mean she would want to set sail beyond the reaches of this planet, further than even the horizon. No doubt she would thrive in any world or time.

But he would miss her. He would miss her so much.

“Papa?” She frowned, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Leaning over, he brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. He gave her nose a boop for good measure before pulling back. “Shall I keep playing? Or, if you want to stop, that’s okay too.”

“Keep playing!” Hattie propped her chin on her hands and kicked her legs in the air behind her.

He felt relieved.

Later, that night, the trio sat in the observation deck, stargazing. Hattie had set out a blanket and leaned back against Moonjumper who leaned against Snatcher who curled his tail around Hattie and she held it in her lap, petting its soft fluff absentmindedly.

“That’s the goat constellation,” Hattie pointed to the only star pattern she recognized. “She found enlightenment, right?”

“That’s the story,” Moonjumper hummed.

“Do you think she’s lonely?”

“What do you mean, Kiddo?” Snatcher prompted.

“Well,” she huffed, snuggling deeper into Moonjumper’s chest, “she just… became part of the sky. Didn’t she have friends or family?”

“Maybe,” Moonjumper offered slowly, “but I think the idea of enlightenment is finding your own path. Her curiosity and awe outgrew what the planet could offer.”

“She became a series of stars, with more room to fly,” Snatcher explained, propping his head on his talon.

“But… doesn’t her family miss her?” Hattie’s nose was crinkled, like a sour taste was in her mouth.

“I’m sure they do.” Moonjumper lowered his head onto hers, hugging her gently.

“But part of loving someone is letting them go,” Snatcher whispered.

Silence hung over them for a moment. Each thought about the silence of a cellar, cold and fraught with chains.

Yes, part of loving someone is letting them go, but…

Snatcher and Moonjumper startled when Hattie sniffled.

“I-I don’t want to let you guys go,” she said, voice cracking and ending in an unsuccessfully stifled whine.

“Hattie—”

“Oh, Dear Heart—”

“I’m sorry!” She sobbed as both halves of her father wrapped around her.

“We’ll always be here for you,” Moonjumper muttered, keeping one arm around her while he used his other hand to cradle her cheek, wet with tears.

“We aren’t going anywhere, and we don’t want to,” Snatcher added, lacing the tip of his tail through her fingers while pressing his forehead against hers.

“We just meant,” Moonjumper sighed, unsure what to say.

“If you ever wanted… more than what we could give,” Snatcher finished, “then we would support you.”

“But, being with you,” Hattie blubbered through tears, “was all I ever wanted. You’re my family. I’ve always just wanted to go home. And now I’m here. You’re my home.”

“Kid.” Snatcher smiled, genuinely, as his form relaxed.

“You’re our home too,” Moonjumper finished, the tension falling from his shoulders.

Hattie could only nod, lip quivering as she tried to hold back her tears. The two halves of her father held her, waiting patiently for her smile to shine again.

One day, she might change her mind, as all living and growing things tend to do. She might go on journeys in galaxies farther than the prince would have ever fathomed. But her home would always remain, tethered to her by a wake of stardust. There, she would always be loved and there, she would always love. There, she could always return.

Because the other part of love is returning.

#a hat in time #ahit snatcher #ahit moonjumper #ahit hat kid #song lyric drabbles #my writing #EclipsesEnd #let me know if you'd like me to tag your tumblr! If you want!#Also thank you so much for your comments! I usually just wait until i update to respond on AO3 #BUT I see them and appreciate them always <3 #also this is one of my favorite songs so I hope the drabble captures the softness!#Please enjoy and let me know what you think!#Okay now i must go to bed #night everyone!

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

Text

All in the Family

Chapter 31: The Very Secret Diary

Remus felt a deep pull on his core, one he instantly recognized that had nothing to do with once again blinking into new surroundings they had not been in moments ago. Moonlight glinted in through the arched windows of the Gryffindor dormitory, but he cared not what or who he stumbled over as he lurched to the ledge and peered out helplessly beyond. The clouds were wispy, the moon bright and high in the sky, but not full. Two, perhaps one day tops.

He pressed his sweating brow to the glass with gratitude, already sensing the others getting much more slowly to their feet and recognizing Sirius placing his hand on his shoulder before he even looked over to check.

"You have got to be kidding me!" James began loudly causing a distraction. "We get blocked from entering the Slytherin's dorms, but we just get plopped into ours! Who's controlling this mess, I demand a refund!"

"I wasn't aware you were paying for this ride," Peter huffed as he rubbed his forehead against the offending trunk it had crashed against. "Mind if I get my share back?"

"Urgh, I don't know how on Earth we're going to find the book in this mess," Alice scowled about the place as she brushed a sock from her head.

"Charming little place," Frank agreed, having half landed under a bed and getting the joy of a toad leaping away from his face in surprise. Trevor, if he recalled correctly.

"Don't know what you lot are complaining about, we've finally got some beds!" Black cheered, pulling his friend away from the window and collapsing on the nearest one with an exhausted look in place that, to be fair, likely was not faked.

"How long have we been at this?" Potter agreed, flouncing on the floor and yanking the blankets off of the perch his friends had claimed. "I say we don't even bother looking for the next part of this mess until morning and get some shut eye!"

"Well I'm glad you lot can get comfortable," Lily sighed, staying where she'd landed at the foot of the available mattresses, eyeing it as if fearing it was going to consume her in her sleep. Even in the familiarity of being back up in her tower, if not the girls portion, she could not shake the feeling this castle seemed to be clutching even without the mass of students present. There was something going on she'd never had to fear even in her own time.

Regulus watched silently as, to his surprise, Potter actually ignored her and kept chatting up his three friends in their one space. Alice and Frank blushed scarlet at the sudden implications before them and went to separate beds, Regulus stayed where his was nearest the door, and Evans realized after a moment she was going to be ignored and tentatively began trying to organize the blankets into a more suitable position. Regulus found it quite clever. The last thing Potter could have done to force Evans to sleep in a bed was going all chivalrous and making a space for her. Now she was settling into one with orange drapings all along it silently while just as thoroughly ignoring him.

He decided to take the suggestion himself and stretched out on the last one, the canopy of which had shamrocks dancing along the perimeter and a few pictures of a sandy haired bloke and a tall black kid laughing. He didn't know which was the beds owner, and he didn't care as he closed his eyes and rolled over, trying to get comfortable. It took quite some time to fall off to sleep, though he was surprised Sirius still whispering incomprehensibly was helping. It reminded him of home, where he could often hear Kreacher going about the place at all hours, and the portraits whispering, the wind ripping through the old house.

It didn't take that long before Peter decided to risk it, transforming into Wormtail and creeping along to each bed and checking carefully to see all others asleep. He went so far as to give their noses little licks, but the worst reaction was Longbottom tossing violently over in his sleep and muttering, his snores nearly knocking Wormtail off the bed. Then Peter popped back over to his friends, who all had heavy lidded eyes themselves, but were grateful to stop whispering about Quidditch statistics for once upon his nod.

"This is getting too close guys!" Remus managed hoarsely. He couldn't even pretend to not be holding painfully tight to Sirius' arm, he desperately needed some anchor to those around him instead of the death threat hanging just outside this window in the night.

"Relax Moony, I told you I had a plan," James promised, the others having to almost read his lips in the poor light. They wished they'd had this conversation back out in the zoo where no one had been around, but they'd been too afraid of risking their conversation being carried through magic. Regulus hadn't once questioned what all had transpired when they'd been out of sight, so they'd just have to run on the assumption they'd have to watch every word they said no matter the location. They may not get another chance like this for awhile.

"And what, pray tell, would you lot have done in such a confined area if I'd transformed and began trying to kill everything in sight?!" Remus' voice only restrained from screaming by doing the opposite, the words horribly jumbled together and barely intelligible to those around him.

"Easy, we pin you down, Peter would get through the chapter like all our lives depended on it. Then, when we flashed out of here, we'd just have to erase their memories of what happened, reread the chapter they all missed, and poof, problem solved!"

Remus wondered how long his friend had been certifiable without him noticing. Possibly back when they'd decided to keep hanging around after learning his secret and he'd ignored it.

"That is the stupidest thing I've heard in my life." Peter thankfully agreed with him.

"I'm not hearing you two come up with any better ideas," Sirius snipped, but the uneasy frown on his face told enough, he was no more sold on this.

"Prongs, remember when you got electrocuted at the Dursleys?" Remus tried to remind him, straining not to inflect in his voice how idiotic his friend was.

James clearly did as he flexed the digits uncomfortably. His hand still hadn't seemed to fully heal from the event, even if he did seem to have it back in working order. It was mending, slowly.

"The words from the book vanished until you came back around. Merlin knows what would happen to it if one of us died, we'd probably be stuck in that spot forever! I don't think erasing knowledge of the book will help anything!"

"We wouldn't be erasing knowledge from the book, I told you we'd reread the chapter and give it back, just not certain unavoidable events that happened," James insisted with confidence.

Remus licked his lips and again looked nervously out the window.

"Thankfully, time still seems to be on our side and it hasn't been a problem yet," Sirius said with just a touch more confidence. "At least we have a starting point for a plan. Let's get some shut-eye while we can."

Remus slumped against the headboard, knowing even as exhausted as he was he wasn't going to sleep a wink. He felt colder every second, helped nothing by Sirius sliding off the bed and joining the other two in a sort of pile along the floor.

His stomach kept twisting into painful knots, and every single time he managed to unravel just a bit by the reminder his friends wouldn't let anything happen to the innocent people around him, it only went even more taught at the idea he'd kill one of them in the process. He curled into himself and kept looking blearily out the window, the reflective surface tormenting him as it grew brighter every second.

"Moony?"

It had to have been hours later, he'd watched the slow process as it trickled across the sky in his mind's eye, but he couldn't so much as let one finger free of the cramped position he'd set himself in. Sirius slid up on the bed beside him again, wriggling his fingers in until he'd unfastened both his hands and then finally pulled those apart. Remus finally rolled his head around to see the dark silver of his eyes. They were nothing like the bright color he so feared.

"I decided to take Prongs' advice and have a chat with you while we could," Sirius crawled up and laid along his back, so that he was whispering in his ear, one hand still gripping his to make sure he couldn't pull himself back away. "Don't worry, they're both asleep. I'd say I'd know after nearly five years." He added on when Remus didn't respond.

"What did you want to talk about?" He muttered back, his own voice sounding like a strangers it dragged so badly.

"Don't know," he admitted. "Just couldn't sleep."

Well that was a lie, otherwise he wouldn't have 'wanted a chat' when the other two were out. Remus kept himself quiet and let Sirius build up whatever was on his mind. When he finally got it, it wasn't quite what he was expecting.

"I think Peter knows."

"Eh?"

"Hmm," was his only mutter for a moment, before he kept going in a soft whisper right into his ear, "he's been watching us. Course, he watches everything, but still."

"If this is your idea of pillow talk, it's lacking," was all he could think to say.

"Remus, I mean it," Sirius muttered, trying to draw his legs up to him but instead just knocking them into Remus' knees. He kept them there instead, Sirius now entirely along his back as much as he could.

"You want to tell them?" He finally asked. If Sirius had been trying to give him something else to think about, it had worked.

"I don't like keeping things from either of them. I get the feeling they're going to know sooner rather than later, and we should tell them before that."

"We haven't even told each other what we've been doing." He huffed as a get around. He flashed back to the moment he'd started this by kissing Sirius back. He'd justified it to himself at the time as a way to draw Sirius back to him and find some way to stop the fighting, the panicked look across his mates face when he'd first done it clearly meaning he hadn't any more to go on. Now he was worried he'd jumped the gun on the right way to do that, even if he couldn't regret it as he finally started to relax along the warm body. "Can't we at least wait until we get out of this crazy mess?" He asked more quietly still, worried Sirius had nodded off in the silence as he went through his mind for an answer.

"Yeah, yeah that's fair. This has got to stop eventually. As much as I'm not enjoying living through Prongs' sons crazy life and all."

Remus snorted quietly in agreement to that. "Think there's really some monster running around this castle?"

"I'm thinking it more likely with every passing event in this kids life. I just can't put my finger on what."

Remus hadn't let himself think on it himself, so invested in everything else going on. He finally let himself fall into a fit of uneasy sleep as the silvery moon finally faded behind his heavy eyes. Sirius smiled, and slowly as he was capable of, inched himself away from Remus until he slid back between James and Peter on the floor. Remus still slept on.

Alice had suffered quite a few abrupt awakenings. One when her cousin came over for the summer and thrown her things all over Alice's bed in welcoming, another as her dorm-mates cat pissed on her, but none quite so memorable as Frank kissing her good morning. She smiled up at him and curled tighter into her warm bed as he brushed at her hair before some part of conciseness returned and she murmured, "what are you doing in here?"

"I'm pretty sure we've yet been able to fully answer that," Frank reminded her kindly. She blinked the haze away and finally realized she was not in her own dorm, but still up in Gryffindor tower. There was water running somewhere in the background, she realized as she sat up slowly. She found the Marauders all awake and moving about, much quieter than she would have given them credit for, though still being their usual selves and going through all the available school trunks. Pettigrew was at the foot of hers and tossing things around, a football of all things bouncing against the opposite wall.* It was noticeable they all had slightly damp hair, and their clothes looked just a bit less worn.

She looked properly around her own setting for the first time, some glimmers of unease still present she'd slept in a stranger's bed. This boy was either a muggle-born or had a clear love for them, as he had a poster of one of their sports up that wasn't even moving, though a few pictures scattered around of a tall, dark skinned lad and a sandy-haired boy in someone's backyard messing around with the same football that had just been tossed around.

"They claim to be looking for that," Frank stage whispered as he gestured to the book that was sitting clearly on the bedside table of the bed Frank had been sleeping in.

She stretched as she got out from under the covers and went over to it, sitting down there instead as they'd clearly already been through this place, in far too much detail. There was a pair of pants with all the pockets turned inside out right near the foot of the bed. Frank followed and put another easy arm around her, gesturing before she could grab the book, "had you been wondering what Neville looked like?"

She had, admittedly, and was just as pleased as she was shocked when Frank reached into the bedside cabinet and pulled out a moving picture. It was a family portrait. Frank began pointing out people clearly from his side of the family, but she couldn't spare a glance for any of them, even her future mother in law with a vulture for a hat. Her son, the youngest by far, was standing half behind her in the photo, his little face only peaking out every few seconds the brightest spot.

At first she thought her son had inherited all of his fathers looks along with just his family, with that light blond hair and kind brown eyes. It wasn't until he peaked out again she could spot her own face inlaid with her child's, the kindness she felt pouring from him.

Smiling with pride and very carefully keeping the picture in her grasp as she moved to take the book, she vowed to keep this with her as long as she could get away with. First she couldn't help but stop and look around herself once more with an uneasy feeling. This bed then, her sons, was the only one without any sort of defining marker. She locked eyes with Frank, the worry passing between them as real as Potter flinging textbooks about with abound.

"Aren't all diary's very secret?" The elder Black laughed as he strolled by, checking carefully under each bed for something that was beyond both of them.

"Shouldn't you wait for Regulus to get out?" Pettigrew called over.

In answer, the water stopped, and the younger Black stepped out, toweling his hair and straightening his shirt.

Alice and Frank looked relieved, and Lily reluctant, but they all took turns in the second years boys bathroom. It was simple enough, everything done up in silver and gold of course, with lions embroidered into all the linen. Thankfully the plumbing was working just fine, the settings for the taps were the same in their respective bathrooms, and the laundry shoot still magicked their clean clothes back to them by the time they were all freshened up.

"I'm not surprised the school would think Hermione got attacked," Evans said as she came over to sit beside them on the edge of the bed, taking a brush to her long locks, finally. It was amazing how relaxed they all felt after a little hot water, and the schools magic still somehow managed to know what products each of them used.

"I'm just hoping it makes all those kids realize how stupid it is to think Harry's the one doing this, attacking his friend." Potter seemed to agree with her, stopping his shenanigans of tossing bed sheets around to smile winningly over at her.

She turned away, not taking notice of the water dripping upon the bed, but her nose didn't go quite as high in the air as usual when he talked to her.

"I still don't find it a particularly brilliant idea for Harry to be back around that bathroom," Remus muttered as he sorted through the third trunk.

"Hasn't done anyone any harm," Sirius shrugged as he passed by, tapping his chin as he eyed a pair of trainers. He held one up to his foot, then tossed it away without satisfaction.

"It can't be coincidence this place now has two random events like this," Remus insisted, abandoning a magazine over Great Locations of Kenmare.

"Myrtle floods her bathroom a dozen times a year," Sirius continued trying to ignore him. "Just because Harry found a ruddy book in there some broad wanted to flush away shouldn't mean anything- Oi, Wormtail! Stop sniffing the damn Fudge Flies and come here!"

Peter left Ron's bedside and came over with a harassed expression in place. "Whatever you want to try out on me this time Sirius, the answer's no."

"Why do you always assume it's that?" Sirius asked innocently, then kept going before he could retaliate. "Nah, Moony thinks something's up with this book Harry found, and I want someone else over here laughing at him with me. Cause more of an impact."

"You two are horrible to each other," Peter told him pleasantly. "That wouldn't work anyways, because I'm on his side, listen," he insisted when the background noise of Harry's Valentines settled down and he realized something was odd about it.

James was still snickering about the Valentine his poor son had received, while Evans was looking mortified about the same and desperately wishing that book wasn't giving Potter ideas. Regulus had been spending the whole time in the windowsill, admittedly enjoying the high view. Everyone froze as Alice went on to describe the sentient book.

"Do you think it's in here? Now?" Alice hissed as if she feared it would hear her.

"No," Potter said at once with confidence, taking a cautious step away from Harry's part of the room anyways. "No, we've been looking through this stuff all morning, haven't seen a trace of it."

An awkward silence still hung as Smith forced herself to continue, which only grew worse when Harry was sucked right into the pages.

Everyone remained frozen until it became clear Harry was in no immediate danger, as no one in this odd memory from the diary could see him. Potter, clearly trying to act as always as if this were all casual news, went back over to his sons things and began looking around with even more vigor.

The rest of the Marauders seemed to decide this same tactic, while the three still on the bed drew closer to each other. Alice's voice only shook a bit at reading of something like this, and it only grew more confusing as she reached the end and this Riddle seemed on the verge of finding the true culprit.

"Aha!"

Alice looked over in surprise as Potter quickly stowed something out of sight with a sheepish expression, clearly regretting his outburst. He'd been spending an inordinate amount of time at Harry's trunk and around his bed, and she found it almost sweet if a little obnoxious that's how he was trying to learn about his kid instead of paying attention to the book about him.

"What was that?" Frank asked as politely as he could manage.

"I, ah, found one of Lockhart's signature books Harry got! Bet that's going to be worth a fortune, I'm going to nick it!"

She and Frank exchanged a look of how much they believed that, but Alice hoped this creepy memory was almost done with already and ignored them.

Sirius wasn't listening, he'd finally found a pair he was sure would fit.

"Here Reg, put these on," Sirius said while tossing a pair of boots at his head. Regulus caught one, the other landed on top of his bare foot. A pair of socks quickly followed the same pattern.

"I don't need your help," Regulus snapped as he pushed both away. "I could get some on my own if I wanted to."

Sirius scowled down at him. "You want to wind up back in the Forest or some nonsense barefoot, fine."

Peter watched Sirius strut away, as much as he could in such a small space, back over to James. The two started up a whispered conversation while James kept patting his pocket, and Peter rolled his eyes. He instead turned his attention to Regulus with a sympathetic smile. "He means well."

"I'm not going to bother responding to you if you're just going to defend your mate over there," he huffed.

"I'm just saying," Peter put his hands up defensively. "He bosses me around all the time to. Think that's how he shows he cares."

"And he claims he's nothing like our parents," Regulus rolled his eyes and looked back out the window without further comment.

Sirius had watched the whole thing, and blew a frustrated breath when Peter joined them. "Little idiots going to get a toe cut off or something and I'm just going to laugh at him."

"Souvenir?" Remus offered, before all four burst out laughing just as they were transported away again, none having the chance to realize just what exactly Alice had said before it was too late.

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #Reading the books #Marauders #Wolfstar #Jilly #CoS #Alice Smith #Frank Longbottom #Regulus Black #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #James Potter #Peter Pettigrew

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ofwaking · 3 years

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( an unforgettable birthday | @oathtides )

at some point in the festivities, kairi finds a moment to steal him away, pulling him away from their friends & to the seaside shack. ❝ okay, close your eyes ! ❞ she orders after closing the door behind them. ❝ & you’d better not peak ! i’ll know if you do. ❞ once she’s certain his eyes are closed, & she’s committed his face to memory for the umpteenth time that day, she sets to work on moving aside bags of bait & boxes of fishing gear. her goal : a simple, shoe-sized box with his name hand-crafted across the top & surrounded by pasted-on, multicolored stars & hearts & little planets vaguely reminiscent of all the worlds he’s gone to. she guides it into his hands. ❝ you can open them now. ❞ as he does so, it’s clear to see that she’s a little nervous, hands wringing at her front & gaze fixed on this modest, little box. ❝ i wasn’t really sure what to get you this year, ❞ she admits. ❝ we’ve missed so many birthdays together. i wanted to celebrate them all now, that you’re back, but nothing seemed right for that, so i— well, maybe it’s best you open it, first. ❞ now she looks anywhere BUT the box. she doesn’t need to, she already knows exactly what he’ll find inside. among the contents are seashells & pretty stones of various shapes & sizes, a flat rock with a smiling sun painted on it, small crown figures made of clay & wood among various other trinkets, drawings of him by namine,a recipe given to her by his mother, pictures, pictures, pictures galore of beautiful places with the sun sitting high in the sky, pictures of them, together, on that final day, & finally, a neat stack of envelopes nestled at the bottom, all of which bearing his name in her signature script —— letters. some old, & some new. ❝ forgetting you was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, ❞ she begins explaining, ❝ & i was so scared that it was going to happen again, especially after you disappeared. i started building this box to make sure that i would never ever forget again. ❞ it’s only then that she finally looks up at him, eyes alight in intensity, ❝ this box is full of everything that reminded me of you, even when i couldn’t see your face. this box is every birthday celebrated, even when you weren’t here. this box is everything i wished i’d said when i’d still had the chance. but i’m not afraid of forgetting anymore, sora, so . . . i want you to have it. ❞ she takes the lid & closes the box, before taking his hand to hold it over the top of it, expression softening. ❝ if for no other reason, i’d like for you to see the way that i see you. happy birthday, sora. ❞

he was EXHAUSTED, but in the very best kind of way–––– the ate too much cake, ran around too much, laughed for far too ling kind of way. there was a different sort of ache in his muscles than he got from fighting, the kind that came from too many pats on the back & smiling too wide for too long instead of swinging & blade & tumbling against the ground. the time with his friends had been long overdue, & he relished in their energy & laughter almost as much as he did his very own. the energy was still high, but the focus was turned away from him when an arm hooked into his, pulling him across the beach. before he could even ask where they were going, he was receiving instructions, & he’d had enough surprises in his life to know that a good one was coming.

❝ okay, okay! no peeking, i got it! ❞ & thus he stood, just within the seaside shack, awaiting the moment when he could open his eyes & see the gift that kairi was so clearly proud of. the box was placed in his hands, & he had to resist the urge to shake it, to TOSS the contents around & try to guess just by the sound–––– but, they were older than they had been the last time they had celebrated his birthday ( anyone’s birthday ) together, & he had learned that as the years advanced the gifts became more breakable, & he would never forgive himself for putting so much as a dent in a gift that came from such a dear friend. besides, he wanted to keep the surprise just that. a surprise!

& what a surprise it was. even just the box was something to marvel at. he wasn’t ashamed of the little sound of awe that slipped from him as he examined it. it wasn’t wrapped, but it was clearly much better that way. his name had been carefully crafted on the lid, & he found one of his fingers trailing over the hearts & stars & planets, weaving through the spaces between each one, getting lost in it’s likeness to travelling through space in the gummi ship. the reminder of how many birthdays, holidays, how much time together they had missed, made his heart ache, & his gaze drifted back towards her, watching her expression closely. what he found surprised him, he could admit.

she seemed...NERVOUS. he couldn’t remember ever seeing her nervous to give a gift before ( maybe the very first birthday they had spent together, when their friendship was still new, though it was never fragile, but he had been to excited to receive something from her that he hadn’t really noticed ). a part of him wanted to make a joke, laugh, lighten the mood, but a larger part recognized the seriousness of the moment, even one so filled with something sweet. he lifted the lid off of the box with a slow, gentle motion, his eyes moving back & forth between kairi & his gift as he uncovered it.

the first thing he noticed was his mother’s handwriting, a gentle scrawling script that had adorned so many notes around his home that he couldn’t help but notice it. it was a recipe for something–––– cookies? cake? mango salsa? he wasn’t sure, & his gaze didn’t linger long enough to find out, for the light drifting through the cracked door behind him reflected off of a few of the stones & gathered his attention. his hand reached for one, only to be diverted the moment he noticed the crown shaped trinkets. his fingers brushed against drawings, seashells, & photo after photo after photo only to bump gently against an envelope. several, in fact. they were stacked so perfectly that he didn’t want to ruin them, but he couldn’t help but lift one, staring at his name written in her handwriting, one that he knew well from staring at a letter that had once saved him tucked & hidden in his room for SLEEPLESS nights ( it had been waterlogged upon the return to the islands, but he had grown up amongst the water, & nothing was too doused for him to save, though he found himself much more delicate with it afterwards ). the envelope beneath it bore the same name in the same script, & he would bet all the munny in his magical pockets that the one underneath held the same.

letters. all for him. the thought had his heart beating a little faster, his lip TREMBLING as it struggled for a proper purchase on his words.

❝ kairi––––. ❞ he couldn’t find the words. though he had so much to say. there was pride building up in his chest ad her confession, that she was no longer afraid of forgetting, & a part of him allowed himself to be HOPEFUL that she trusted him to remain at her side even when he struggled to have that faith himself.

❝ i don’t know if i’ll ever be able to see myself like you see me. ❞ he wasn’t sure if he would understand how she could compare him to perfectly intact shells on the beach or light reflected on the water or the sweet & savory snacks of their childhood ( but couldn’t he, a voice asked, when he knew that he could compare her to the feeling of warm sand on his skin, to the moon rising from the sea on the horizon, to finally getting something cold on a hot summer’s day ), but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t TRY.

❝ but, i know there isn’t a single thing in this box that i won’t treasure. ❞

his smile grew for her, bright & warm & a sure sign of the happiness a gift from the heart brought him. he would keep every item close to his HEART, a reminder of the strength of their bond.

❝ thank you, kairi.❞

#oathtides #『 message in a bottle –––– asks 』#『 mind’s made up –––– sora answers 』#﹄you will always be found when you are lost –––– verse 10 ﹃

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aria-raven · 4 years

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OC-tober, Day 27: Midnight

A late night conversation between a few friends. @oc-growth-and-development

Miriam awoke with a start, wondering for a brief, but terrifying moment, if something was wrong. An attack, perhaps, someone creeping up on them while they slept. Fortunately, one quick look around told her that everything was fine. She did, however, notice one thing of: Benedict wasn’t there. He’d been sleeping just a few feet away from her, but he was gone. Frowning, Miriam sat up.

She stood up carefully, doing her best not to wake anyone up, especially not Sophie, who was curled up beside her. The sky was nearly pitch-black, except for the stars twinkling down at them, and the moon in its crescent phase. Miriam knew how late it was, and she wondered just what on earth Benedict was doing up. She blinked a few times, allowing her eyes to slowly get adjusted to the dark, and began to wander away from the rest of the group, looking for him.

As it turned out, he wasn’t too far off. He was sitting near the edge of the hill, and he barely reacted when Miriam approached and sat down beside him. “Why are you up so late?” she asked him softly.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he answered. He sounded more subdued than usual, and she couldn’t help feeling a bit concerned.

“Something on your mind?” She scanned his face for any signs of distress, but found nothing.

Benedict shrugged. “Not really, I guess. I just couldn’t fall asleep.” He glanced over at her and gave a little half-grin. “Your hair looks like it’s glowing.”

Miriam snickered and tugged at one of her silver locks. She knew what he was talking about, her hair always stood out against the dark. Before she could joke back, a noise startled her. They both turned, and saw two more of their friends approaching. Anton and Felicity, who both looked as if they’d just woken up.

“What’s going on?” Anton questioned wearily, glancing between the two of them.

“Nothing, we’re just talking.” Benedict gestured towards the space beside him and invited “Come and join us, if you want.”

Anton sat down next to Benedict, and Felicity sat on Miriam’s other side. They must have looked interesting together, Miriam with her silver hair and Felicity with her vibrant red. Anton made quite the contrast with Benedict as well, dark brown against a light shade of blond. Just another example of just how different their little group was. One thing you had to admit, they all stood out in some way. If one of them was missing, everyone immediately noticed.

“So, what exactly were you guys talking about?” Felicity wanted to know.

“We didn’t get much of a chance to talk before you guys interrupted,” Benedict informed her with a little smirk. “I was just telling Miriam that I can’t sleep.”

“I guess I couldn’t either,” Anton admitted. “I’d go to sleep, but then I’d wake up an hour later.”

“And I can’t possibly sleep when people keep getting up and wandering around,” Felicity teased. “Still, I guess this is fine. Having a midnight chat with friends.”

With a nod, Anton agreed “There is something peaceful about this.” He turned his face up towards the night sky. “You know, I’ve never quite learned how to find the constellations.”

“Me neither,” Miriam replied. “I just can’t picture how they’re supposed to look.” She squinted up at the stars, then pointed. “But I do think I can see the north star.”

Felicity looked up where she was pointing and nodded. “I think you’re right. I can see it too.”

“If you can find the north star, then you can see the Big Dipper,” Benedict told Miriam. He lifted up his arm and pointed in the same direction as her, and moved his hand to draw out the constellation. “Do you see it?”

Miriam tried to follow his movements as best she could. “Yeah, I think so.”

“The stars are wonderful to look at, but I always love the nights when you can see one of the planets,” Felicity said. “I can remember when I saw Venus for the first time, it was incredible.”

Anton smiled. “Oh yeah, it’s amazing when you can see the planets. I remember when I saw Venus too. That night went from ordinary to special in just a second.”

“It’s hard to believe, sometimes, that what we see is only scratching the surface of the universe,” Benedict remarked. “Just think about everything out there that we can’t see.”

“I try not to,” Anton told him, shivering a bit. “It makes me feel really small.”

Benedict smiled at that. “Understandable. Sometimes, when I think about my place in the whole universe, I can’t help but feel like nothing but a speck of dust.” The others nodded thoughtfully. “But I guess I just try to remember that my life is here, not out there. So I should make the most out of it, and not worry too much about my own insignificance,” he added.

“Very inspiring of you,” Felicity praised him. “We should have more conversations at midnight if this is how you talk.”

“Maybe so, but just wait until you have to interact with the sleep-deprived version of me, then decide if it’s worth it.”

They sat up for a while longer, looking at the stars and talking, before slowly making their way back to bed, one by one.

#My writing #OC-tober

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theyearoftheking · 4 years

Text

Book Thirty-Nine: The Green Mile

Hoooooly crap, y’all! This is the halfway point of this project: I’ve read thirty-nine books, and I have approximately thirty-nine more to go (depending what Steve releases before the end of the year). And honestly? If it wasn’t for COVID, and quarantine, and lots of time traveling (pre-COVID, of course); I wouldn’t have reached the halfway point. This probably would have turned into a two year project. But here we are, diving into The Green Mile!

Of all the Steve books, I dreaded re-reading The Green Mile the most. I had originally read it when it was first published, and it came out in chapters every few weeks. I’d breathlessly tear through a chapter, only to have to wait for the next one to be released. It was a pretty fun format, and I really wish I still had my original chapters. Oh well.

But this time around, I didn’t think I was in the right head-space to read it, and the world sure as hell isn’t in the right head-space. The Green Mile was published in 1996, and takes place in 1932. It could very well have been set in our current climate. Just a few quotes for you...

“He got (his sentence) commuted mostly because he was white...”

“I think we have to be humane and generous to solve the race problem. But we have to remember that your negro will bite if he gets the chance, just like a mongrel dog will bite if he gets the chance and it crosses his mind to do so.”

“John Coffey is a Negro, and in Trapingus County we’re awful particular about giving new trials to Negros...”

NOTHING HAS FUCKING CHANGED SINCE 1932!! We are still hearing these same sentiments from people claiming, “I’m not a racist, but...” Our judicial system is still biased against POC, and the rate of incarceration for POC compared to whites is staggering.

NOTHING HAS FUCKING CHANGED. And that’s the part that makes me the most sad. So, yeah, I wasn’t looking forward to cracking The Green Mile in our current climate.

Few Steve books have touched me the way this one did. A fellow Constant Reader pointed out, “This is one of the only stories where he showcases the forces of good. We usually get ghosts and demons, but John Coffey may be the closest thing he has ever wrote of an angel...” Hot damn, Sam Beall, you’re not wrong.

But in addition to forces of good, we’ve also got Percy Wetmore; who I feel is the nastiest Steve villain ever... he makes Randall Flagg and The Crimson King look like dudes who drink matcha lattes at a cat cafe, and compare notes on their polarized sunglasses. Percy Wetmore immediately activates my, “must kick hard in the junk” reflex. He. Is. The. Worst.

The Green Mile is told from the POV of Paul Edgecombe; a prison guard on “the green mile;” which is where convicted killers awaiting the death penalty are housed. “The green mile” refers to the long hallway inmates have to walk down to get to the electric chair.

The story kicks off when John Coffey (like the drink but spelled different) is accused and found guilty of brutally raping and murdering two little blonde twin girls. He’s found on a riverbank, clutching their bodies, and crying, “I couldn’t help it, I tried to take it back, but it was too late...”

So, Coffey makes his way onto The Mile, and shares space with Eduard Delacroix and his pet mouse Mr. Jingles; and William Wharton (Billy the Kid, or Wild Billy, depending on the day). Delacroix is French southern gentleman found guilty of murder, and then arson to hide the murder scene. He’s a bad guy... don’t get me wrong... but there’s something intensely likable about him. Maybe it’s the pet mouse he’s trained, maybe it’s his meek nature that Percy (another prison guard) takes advantage of... I don’t know. But you grow to like him, and the relationship he has with Mr. Jingles. Mr. Jingles randomly showed up one day, and the guards (except Percy) were all taken with him. After Percy attempts to smash him with a club, he takes to Delacroix and whispers in his ear that his name is Mr. Jingles.

William Wharton is another story. He’s a wild card, who upon his arrival, promptly tries to strangle a prison guard. He also spits masticated Moon Pie at another guard. Sooo, he’s a lot of fun.

The three of them live on the wing, and the first up for execution is Delacroix. Percy has a particular hatred of him, he claims he tried to grab his junk once. It didn’t happen... Del just got yanked along when he was in handcuffs and fell in Percy’s lap. The day before his execution, Percy thinks it might be fun to kill Mr. Jingles. Like I said... total fucking asshole. He stomps on him, and Del loses it. Mr. Jingles is the only thing he loves in the whole world... and maybe the only thing that loves him back.

Thinking quickly, Coffey asks for Mr. Jingles little mousy body. Speaking of junk grabbing, he grabbed Paul and cured the UTI he had brewing for weeks. So, Paul is hopeful Coffey can use his miraculous healing abilities to do it again. And he does! Mr. Jingles lives!

But Percy’s not done being a scab on the balls of society. The night of Del’s execution, he tells him Mr. Jingles isn’t going to Mouseville like Paul promised he was (total lie- like telling kids a dog is going to live on a farm). And then, Percy doesn’t wet the sponge before placing it on Del’s head prior to his execution, so it’s horrible, painful and just horrible. So, Del is dead, Percy plays the, “I don’t know what happened!” card, and Mr. Jingles is gone. My heart. Of all the scenes in the book, I was dreading this one the most.

Meanwhile, the prison warden, Hal Moores is struggling with the fact his wife Melinda has a massive brain tumor, and it’s starting to change her personality. He doesn’t know what to do. Paul thinks they should pack Coffey up, and take him out to the Moores’s house and have him heal Melinda.

It’s a crazy idea, but it ends up working. The other prison guards drug Billy; and put Percy in a straitjacket and throw him in the supply closet so he doesn’t notice anything is amiss. They tell him it’s payback for how Del’s death went down. So, they race out to see Hal and Melinda, and Coffey does his thing. They race back to the prison, and no one notices they’ve been gone. However, Coffey is in a bad way. This was much more healing than he’s used to doing, and he’s mentally and physically exhausted.

After they release Percy from the supply closet, Coffey grabs him and “kisses” him: which transfers the sick energy he got from Melinda into Percy. Percy then turns around, and shoots Wild Billy/Billy the Kid dead; and then becomes catatonic.

He’s then carted off to the psych ward, which is too good for him. Fiery pits of hell would have been better.

But wait!

Plot twist! Billy the Kid had briefly touched Coffey, and Coffey learned HE was the one who had killed the two little girls. Paul puts this together as well, and tries to fight for Coffey’s release. He realizes Coffey’s words, “I couldn’t help it, I tried to take it back, but it was too late...” were about his inability to heal the girls, not his guilt.

When I had read the revelation the first time, I flew through the end, hoping and praying justice would be served, and Coffey wouldn’t be executed. Bad things didn’t happen to good people like John Coffey, right? Oh, how naive. There were A LOT of tears.

But Coffey is at peace with his upcoming execution. He tells Paul, “I’m rightly tired of the pain I hear and feel, boss. I’m tired of bein on the road, lonely as a robin in the rain. Not ever havin no buddy to go on with or tell me where we’s comin from or goin to or why. I’m tired of people bein ugly to each other. It feels like pieces of glass in my head. I’m tired of all the times I’ve wanted to help and couldn’t. I’m tired of bein in the dark. Mostly it’s the pain. There’s too much...”

That right there makes me cry every damn time I read it.

So, Coffey is executed, and life continues on; as it always seems to do. Paul is actually writing this story in his old age, at the Georgia Pines nursing home. There’s an orderly there who’s just as evil as Percy, and he keeps trying to follow Paul on his daily walks outside. Where’s Paul going???

TO SEE MR. JINGLES!!!

Yes! He’s still alive! It seems when Coffey healed people, it added onto their life expectancy. Mr. Jingles was still alive, and Paul was one hundred and four years old. But he knew his time was coming. He reflects on the loss of his beautiful wife, the people he knew on the Green Mile, the guards he worked with, and that mile seems LONG.

Such a sad, beautiful end to an incredible work. This is another one I recommend to people who tell me they don’t like Stephen King. Try it... you’ll like it... when your heart is done breaking that is...

Total Wisconsin Mentions: 27

Total Dark Tower References: 38

Book Grade: A+

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books

The Talisman: A+

Needful Things: A+

The Green Mile: A+

Rose Madder: A+

Misery: A+

Different Seasons: A+

It: A+

Four Past Midnight: A+

The Shining: A-

The Stand: A-

The Wastelands: A-

The Drawing of the Three: A-

Dolores Claiborne: A-

Nightmares in the Sky: B+

The Dark Half: B+

Skeleton Crew: B+

The Dead Zone: B+

Nightmares & Dreamscapes: B+

‘Salem’s Lot: B+

Carrie: B+

Creepshow: B+

Cycle of the Werewolf: B-

Danse Macabre: B-

The Running Man: C+

Thinner: C+

Dark Visions: C+

The Eyes of the Dragon: C+

The Long Walk: C+

The Gunslinger: C+

Pet Sematary: C+

Firestarter: C+

Rage: C

Insomnia: C-

Cujo: C-

Nightshift: C-

Gerald’s Game: D

Roadwork: D

Christine: D

The Tommyknockers: D-

Next is Desperation, which I know nothing about, other than it’s a real chonk of a book.

Do me a favor, please? Stop being ugly to each other. Stop hurting gentle people like John Coffey. Please and thank you.

Until next time, Long Days & Pleasant Nights,

Rebecca

#the green mile #stephen king #constant readers

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aniamajewska · 3 years

Text

Illusion - analyse images creative manipulated

25 January 2021

1. Brooke Shaden

Brooke Shaden is American modern self - portrait artist who explores the darkness and the light in the human beings. She creates dream like images inspired by childhood of intense imagination and fear. She follows her curiosity into the unknown to confront with the darkness and control the fear. She finished studies with B.A. in Film in 2008 on Temple University and in that time she discovered a passion to photography and storytelling and quickly became successful in photo competitions. Brooke is well known photographer and high skilled in Photoshop creator with amazing portfolio. She had many group and solo exhibitions and numerous publications of her works in the magazines.

All her images are linked together by the foggy background setting in the field. It's a kind of visual theme that creates the images and what's beyond the image is the theme human vs nature and how they interact together and the tension in between them.

The image I want to look a little bit closer is one of her images that come from the Levitation series. The girl wears blue dress and levitate in a middle of nowhere, foggy field at the dusk or predawn. The girl is in the centre of the frame and I can notice a kind of triangles and diagonal in this image composition in position of her body and arrangement of her dress. The overall mood is quite dark and colour tones in dirty beige and grey in the foggy background doesn’t create visual contrast with the colour of her dress which is kind of navy-grey rather than blue, I would say. Those colour tones are mixed warm and cool tones as a juxtaposition of two opposites. It can indicate serenity or tranquility. Earth, nature as something strong and stable. And the human that maybe is looking for the balance and inner peace.

To create this surreal image Brook has combined multiple photos. At first, she made a photo of the model, lying on the chair in her studio in the front of clean black background. She took the background and floor shot without the chair and the model. Then combined taken images as layers in the Photoshop, removed chair and other unwanted objects, to make the model looks like she levitates. Next step was change the background and colour modification, increase highlights, shadows enhancement to add more dramatic expression. Thanks to Brook, she makes behind the scene videos and photos, so we could see how she creates such an amazing images and learn a lot from her.

Image source: https://www.creativelive.com/blog/compositing-brooke-shaden/

2. Sarolta Ban

Sarolta Ban was born in Budapest, Hungary in 1982 and she was jewellery designer before she discovered digital photo manipulation and that’s became her passion and activity. By combining ordinary elements, she gives them personalities and creates meaningful stories.

She had a great idea to photograph shelter dogs to help them find new homes in her ‘Help Dogs Project’. Using photoshop, she created amazing images, combined a dog portraits, beautiful landscapes and eye catching objects that create surreal atmosphere.

Patti, that’s the name of a dog in this image. Patti is a cross breed puppy with long waggly tail and black coat with biscuit beige markings on face, chest and all paws. She lies on the dry like a desert ground in the centre of the frame and keeps the moon like a ball in the front of her lying on or in between the paws. The moon shines and creates atmospherical glow around Patti and leaves the full of stars but dark sky in the background well behind. It makes me feel like the dog has a super power and cheerful personality and invites me to play. Patti will offer love to the moon and back in return for care, warm corner in the house and human attention.

I suppose that Sarolta used at least 4 different photos to make this image, portrait of a dog, the moon, desert and the sky at night. She removed dog tag and added glow to the moon and areas around the moon and the dog, and used the dodge tool to lighten some areas on the dog’s face. I think she has used vignette to darken corners and to draw viewer’s attention to the centre of the image. This dog looks like is out of this world, magically. Who wouldn’t offer a home to the super dog like Patti?

Image source: https://www.demilked.com/surreal-photos-shelter-dogs-sarolta-ban/

Sarolta Ban: https://www.saroltaban.com/home

3. Staudinger+Franke

Staudinger+Franke awards winning commercial photography studio, specialise in motion, CGI (computer generated imagery), retouching, animation - lifestyle, conceptual, portraits, still life and landscapes. Staudinger+Franke is creative crew existing of different kinds of artists to realize visual ideas. Everything is going under supervision of 25 year experienced Vienna photographer Andreas Franke.

They create very impressive images in Photoshop. Their portfolio is impressive. All images are very dynamic in colours and clear in the message.

I picked one image that looks simple, but is so powerful. The background colour and the overall tones in pool green are very calming and relaxing. In the centre of the image is a glass of pure water where the dolphin lives like in the purest ocean under the sunny blue sky with very little clouds so we could find a bit of shadow of a palm tree lying on the beach in paradise island. And the composition of a hint of fresh herb, probably mint next to the glass completes this image as a whole. It makes me feel so calm and relaxed when I look at this image and I want to be there, feel the refreshing cool ocean breeze when I got too warm by the sun. I would love to see the place like in this paradise island in a glass of water in a real world, so pure, without pollution, far away from urban agglomeration.

I think that photo of the glass of water was the key to create this image. There is no any incident light reflection in the glass. Very soft almost imperceptible shadows. I think the shot was taken at small studio set up on the white background, perfectly lighten with soft light. Then, the rest was done in Photoshop, maybe that plant was shot in the studio as well as the glass of water, but dolphin, island, sun and sky were combined as layers blended together in post production.

This image was done for General Electrics, a company that is characterized by a culture of integrity, compliance, safety, and respect for human rights, while reducing our environmental footprint by investing in carbon free, renewable energy that will help the environment.

The other image from Staudinger+Franke is minimal and totally uncanny. The kids slider on a sandy playground in combination with a grater. Both of these things contradict each other. One thing brings to mind a place full of carefree fun and enjoyment. The second is reminiscent of discomfort, pain, and unpleasant fear. Both things are perfectly merged together. The composition is based on a point of view and directs my gaze from the top of the slide towards the bottom of the slide at an angle towards one-third of the frame on the right. It looks as the light is falling from above towards the slider. The colour of slider and grater is the same shade of grey with metallic highlights on sides of the slider where the grater eyelets are being reflected. This creates the impression of a dimensional space.

4. Erik Johansson

Erik Johansson was born in 1985 in Götene, Sweden. He is the master of photo manipulation. In 2005, he moved to Gothenburg for college where he studied Computer engineering at Chalmers University of Technology and got a Master degree in Interaction Design. He was nature lover from the early age and fascinated in computing games, that inspired him to create images later on when we discovered manipulation of reality in Photoshop. He got inspiration from all things around, music and other artists like Dali, Magritte, Yearka and Gonsalves.

Currently he is a visual artist based in Prague, Czech Republic and creates surreal photographs personal and commission projects with exhibitions and clients from many countries in the world. He combines different images to make them look as much real as possible, finding a way to illustrate the impossible, to capture the idea. And he says that we are only limited by our own imagination.

The Comfort Zone image illustrates a girl sitting in a greenhouse on the backyard like in a small cage. The light that comes from the greenhouse creates lovely golden glow around it like in the sunset and lit the nearest greenery. The sky in the background is at the same time ominous and beautiful, where the blue of the sky breaks with the warm colour of the clouds of the setting sun. It makes me feel that the girl in the greenhouse is comfortable in her small space, like in a kind of shelter, but also it may be a kind of a trap, where she can’t be free. And I think that was the idea behind this image, to illustrate the ambiguous of situation.

This image required a lot work to be done and Erik is very experienced photo editor and retoucher. This image is refined in every detail. He had everything well planned, sketched and designed to create the image. The greenhouse was built exactly as designed. At first I thought that the girl was photographed in different place and the image was combined in the Photoshop to put her inside the greenhouse, as it looks quite impossible for her to get in. To my amazement, girl was really in and Erik’s team attached top part of the greenhouse and he could capture a lot of images at the scene in different exposures. He combined plenty of images and layers in the program and used many editing tools like healing brush or patch tool to apply a similar texture in the areas that required to be covered and removed some objects and drew others. He enhanced shadows and highlight areas and create new shadows to make the image look more real, dimensional, not flat.

Image source: https://www.erikjo.com/news/comfort-zone

youtube

5. Christine Ellger

When I look at this image I can feel the positive energy that comes through it.

The girl who popped out the book looks like she has some superpower and she flies straight to heaven and appears extremely light. As if she broke away from reality and swung carelessly in the clouds together with birds.

I couldn't find enough information about this Christine on the google search, so I decided to ask at the source by sending a message via messenger.

I’m more than thankful for such an exhaustive answer 😊

Christine is true inspiration and an extremely talented person whom, as she wrote to me later, photography is a vocation. I really recommend to have a look at links below and meet fantastic body of work!

https://www.tuttartpitturasculturapoesiamusica.com/2016/02/Christine-Ellger.html

6. Paul Fuentes

Paul and Ilse Fuentes are commercial Spanish photographers who works together as Fuentes Design and their mission is to remind people how fascinating the world is by create images of food, animals, and objects in a minimalistic mash-ups with pastel backgrounds and everyday objects that they merges into a surrealistic, humorous whole. We can see the world through a colourful lens. They take many travel photographs and creates a surreal and unexplored places by combing them with other things in photoshop. They combine two artistic movements and transform them into pastel-colored compositions. French surrealism and the culture of Pop Art form elementary the lively proposal of the young artists and define what they themselves call "The new pop art". Their goal is to see the smile on people faces.

Thirsty Giraffe

I like the sense of humour in this image. Combination of giraffe wearing pink heart-shaped sunglasses and having a swirl pink straw wrapped around its neck and looks like it is drinking through this straw. Background is very light pastel pink and it’s working together with pink colours of the straw and sunglasses. There must be used several layers to create this image and different blending modes, so we could see patches on giraffe’s neck through the straw and her eyes through sunglasses. The light is coming the right as the highlights are visible on the straw on the right. There is a great job done on the selection and refine edges. The image as whole looks illusive and surreal.

Lemon DJ

Lipstick bullet

https://www.paulfuentesdesign.com/artworks

#illusion #preproduction

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honestlyhufflepuff · 4 years

Text

A Different Kind of Fight

Fic request from @im-just-like-other-girls. I got a little emotional writing it, as the premise to the request was pretty intense, but I like where it ended up. Warning for suicidal thoughts and some swearing.

***

Steven’s knuckles were bone white as he gripped the steering wheel, so tight that Connie thought the wheel might break in half. He turned off the music when a song by Sadie and Shep came up, and now the only sound was his uneven breathing, and the accelerating roar of the old engine.

“It’s a nice night,” Connie muttered, glancing up at the full moon hanging in the sky. The forest and the ocean blurred by either side of them up the curving mountain road.

Steven gave a curt nod, gaze fixed straight ahead.

“Thanks for letting me come with you. I know you wanted to be alone, but you’ve been alone so much lately.”

Another nod.

She wanted to press more. She wanted to demand that he tell her everything, but she knew to tread carefully. If she pushed too hard, he would shut down, like he’d done many times over the past few months.

“So, where are we going?”

He shrugged. The motion was stiff.

“Ok, then why are we going?”

“Why?” he glanced over at her for the first time since she’d gotten in the car, “I needed to get away from them. I’m no good for them anymore.”

“Steven, they’re your family! They love you and-“

“I hurt him, Connie. I hurt my dad.”

Steven’s voice and his hands shook now.

“And then you healed him,” Connie said, offering a weak smile.

“The van wasn’t so lucky. That was his home.”

“That van was older than you. It didn’t have many miles left, anyway. And he can afford a-“

“Argh! You don’t get it!” Steven’s skin flared pink, casting an otherworldly hue on his dashboard. The car lunged forward as the gas pedal hit the floor and they swerved as he overcorrected for the curve in the road.

“Steven, be careful!” Connie gasped, bracing herself by placing her hands on the ceiling of the car.

Her breath caught in her throat as his breaks screeched, whipping into a gravel margin at a scenic overlook.

“Get out,” he said in a low, shaking voice. His pink skin faded in and out, struggling to return to its normal color.

“What? Here?”

“You were scared of me just now, right? That’s probably smart.”

“I’m scared of reckless driving, yeah! Why don’t you let me drive? We can go anywhere you want.”

Steven shook his head violently, tears spilling over his eyes. He was shouting now, “I shouldn’t have brought you. Get out of the car!”

“Like hell you shouldn’t have brought me! You’re gonna kill yourself driving like this.”

“And?”

“What do you mean ‘and?’” Connie demanded, and when Steven said nothing added, “What are you planning on doing when I get out of the car?”

“You know I’m stronger than you, Connie,” he stared straight ahead, refusing to look at her, “I’m asking you to get out of my car. If you don’t do it on your own, then I’ll carry you out.”

“And then what if I do get out?” she demanded, “What are you gonna do, crash the car off the mountain?”

“I,” his voice cracked and he cleared his throat, “I need to do this before I change my mind. It will be better for everyone. I wish you could see that.”

Connie felt her throat swelling, and her tears came so quickly that everything looked like she was underwater, sinking into the ocean.

Steven’s blurry form reached for her hesitantly and stopped just before touching her.

“I shouldn’t have brought you with me,” he repeated. His voice was softer now, in a way that was more broken than gentle, “I thought maybe with you here I wouldn’t want to- I thought that- Connie, all I do is hurt people. Even now I’m hurting you.”

“That’s not true, Steven! You saved my life the first time you met me! I said you were incredible, remember? I still think that.”

“That was then. That was before I was so messed up! I’m no good at helping people anymore. I’m not incredible, I’m not anything good. That’s why you have other friends at school that you see more than me. That’s why you’re going to be leaving for college. Because it’s better for you that way to get away from me!”

“Shut up!” cried Connie, flinging her arms around him and curling up in his lap, soaking the shoulder of his jacket with tears and snot. Steven’s hands froze in the air until they gradually lowered down to touch her back. Instead of embracing her, he plucked her off of him and placed her back in the passenger seat.

“I’m sorry I made you cry. I’m sorry for everything.”

“You’re my best friend, Steven,” she whispered, “You don’t have to be saving an entire species or galaxy or person to be worthwhile to me! I just want to keep growing up with you. Time may change how often we see each other, but it won’t change how much I love you.”

Steven did not act shocked at her love confession. It was said between them countless times over many years, albeit mostly from him since he was the sappier of the two. The word “love” had grown a few more layers of meaning than it had from their childhood, although neither of them knew the moment the transition took place. Maybe it was in the days locked inside Pink’s tower, not knowing if they would make it out before starving to death. Maybe it was after he had his gem pulled out by White. Maybe it was when he returned from space- a broad, strong teenager in place of the cuddly child.

“I love you, too,” he croaked, “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing!”

“Ok, I’m sorry for apologi-“

“Steven!”

“R-right,” he choked out a weak laugh and stared at his lap, “It’s hard not to when I’ve felt like I’ve had to apologize for my existence my whole life.”

“Some parents bring kids into the world without thinking about the consequences,” she thought of Rose Quartz with her saintly image now eradicated from Steven’s house, “That wasn’t a choice you made.”

“I know.”

“And some parents,” she paused, choosing her words slowly, “don’t really know how to parent, even if they love their kids more than anything. Especially if these parents are traumatized aliens from space all dealing with their own shit.”

He nodded.

“I think they’ve taught you- unintentionally- that you had to put everything you felt on the back burner in order to be a Crystal Gem. You had to be useful in order to spend time with them. It was like you were filling a bucket for years, and now it’s overflowing.”

Steven started crying then and continued for several minutes. When Connie’s delicate hands wiped away the tears, he didn’t stop her.

“You’re not going to get out of the car, are you?”

“Not without you.”

“I figured as much. Stubborn.”

“Like my mother,” she said proudly.

“Does it bother you,” he asked in a small voice, “that I still want to do it? That I think about it every day now? About how nice it would be to not worry about the future? To not have to deal with all this change?”

“It does bother me,” she took his hand, “But you know, everything changes. And this will change, too. You won’t always feel like this. So please, just don’t give up. You are still my first and my best friend. And I would never be the same in a world without you in it.”

Steven sank his face into his hands, and all Connie could do was hold him. She didn’t know how long he sobbed for, but it was long enough that her arm he was leaning on fell asleep. She couldn’t stop marveling at how this boy who was stronger than any human on the planet could seem so small.

Once Steven’s breathing was steadied again, she said “I’m sworn to be your knight and fight by your side. That includes this kind of fight, too.”

He nodded, burrowing into her soaked shirt. His arms entwined around her tightly, pulling her closer, and he let out a shaky exhale she hadn’t realized he was holding in.

Connie pulled Steven’s chin up to meet her eyes, giving him a little smirk, “And if you shut me out again, I’ll fight you.”

This earned a little laugh out of Steven, and it was like music to her. There was a time when they were even sparring partners, but with Steven evolved into his full powers, Connie couldn’t hope to catch up to him with any amount of training due to her 105-pound wiry human frame. Luckily she had learned other ways to contend with him when needed, and she felt she’d won their match that night.

Steven straightened in his seat, grabbed a bottle from the cup holder, and splashed some water in his face. He wiped himself off with the sleeve of his jacket. His eyes were still red and puffy, but there was a life back in them that Connie hadn’t seen in sometime. Then he got out of the car.

“Steven,” Connie rushed after him, “where are you going?”

“It’s ok, I’m just getting some stuff.”

He walked to the back of the Dondai and creaked the trunk open, “I can’t go back there tonight. I need some time. I’ve kept all this camping stuff in my trunk for a while now, just in case I needed to get away. It’s really kept me sane a few times.”

Connie looked into the large pack stashed in the car. There was a sleeping bag, a lantern, freeze dried food, a large jug of water, a knife, some extra clothes, and a filter to get more water from the river.

“I can go ahead and take you home. I’m sorry I was telling you to just get out earlier with no ride. I wasn’t thinking straight. I promise you that I won’t do anything rash tonight, ok? I’m just going to camp. And I will call you first thing in the morning to let you know I’m still here.”

Connie crossed her arms, “No way in hell am I leaving you alone tonight.”

“B-but I promised I would-“

“Nope, not doing it,” she struggled to sling the pack over her shoulders before Steven easily lifted it from her, “I’m camping with you.”

“Well, the only problem with that is that I just have one sleeping bag.”

“And? We’ve literally shared a body before. You think I draw the line at sleeping bags?”

Steven’s cheeks flushed a deep red, and it sent a thrill through her to see him get so flustered, “That was when we were kids.”

“Well, if sharing a sleeping bag sounds crowded we could fuse.”

His eyes snapped up to hers, wide and hopeful, before they fell again, “I don’t think I’m ready to fuse right now. With anyone. I’ll just let you have the sleeping bag. I’m ok without it.”

Connie rolled her eyes, and they began their hike into the forest.

Steven lightened up little by little as they walked, pointing out his favorite spots to her, and wild plants he’d learned to forage from. His mind became clearer as the air did, rising above the pollution of the city and its inhabitants.

He shrugged his jacket onto her shoulders as she shivered. The mountain got a lot colder than the beach did at night.

“We’re almost there, Connie. There’s the perfect spot right up ahead.”

She could hear babbling water as they approached a clearing right by the bank of a mountain stream filled with wildflowers. The water glittered in the moonlight, and a herd of deer stared at them cautiously from the trees.

“So, this is home for the night,” he said.

She watched him as they set up camp, conversation not coming as easily as it used to. There was a tension in the air that didn’t used to exist between them, and Connie felt like she was studying him to see how much of his calmed mood was genuine.

They gathered wood, built their fire, and ate re-hydrated mac and cheese with canned vegetarian chili for dinner. Only the occasional phrases passed between them to relay needed information for the tasks at hand. Connie got the impression that he did appreciate the company, but that he was also relieved they weren’t talking too much. She figured it was fine to go at his own pace in opening up, as long as he was safe, and eventually the silence became serene and welcome.

“It’s so quiet,” she said as their food settled.

“It’s not,” he said, eyes staring at the dying embers of the fire, “Listen.”

When she stopped focusing on their lack of words, the sounds of the forest filled her awareness. Crickets sang, water ran, leaves rustled, fire crackled, and wind whistled. She closed her eyes, taking it all in.

“You like listening to everything out here?” she said, smiling.

He nodded.

“Do you come out here as a kind of grounding technique? I was reading about those in my psychology textbook.”

“I guess you could call it that. Talking is hard for me right now. But the sounds out here talk to me, and they don’t expect me to talk back. They’re not disappointed if I don’t say anything at all.”

“I’m not disappointed, Steven.”

He blinked and stared at her with wide eyes, “I’m glad.”

Connie was trying to put together something else to say when Steven stood up suddenly and furled out the sleeping bag.

“I’m going to go to sleep. Goodnight, Connie.”

“Oh, goodnight…” she wiggled herself into the sleeping bag and watched Steven lay on the grass.

“You sure you don’t want to come sleep by me?”

“N-no, that’s ok. It’s a nice night,” he said, despite that he was visibly shivering.

Connie was glad he could not hear how hard she rolled her eyes.

“It’s kind of cold tonight,” she said.

“You’re cold?”

“Yep, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

She gave a fake little sneeze and grinned as she heard Steven sigh and get up. She rolled over and looked at him standing above her, clutching one arm and averting his eyes.

“I have a feeling you’re manipulating me,” he said.

“Don’t worry, Universe, I won’t take advantage of you.”

“I guess it would make sense. To keep warm,” he said slowly.

“Sure would. Now shut up and get in.”

She unzipped the bag and let him sidle in beside her before closing them both in like a toasty cocoon. She twined one arm around his waist and the other tangled in his soft pillow of hair, stroking his scalp to make his body soften and relax like her mother use to do for her when she had a nightmare.

She stopped when a sharp point pricked her hand, and looked down to see a small horn barely protruding out from his curls.

‘Great,’ she thought, ‘yet another new and mysterious thing about my half-alien best friend.’

She considered telling him about it only for a second before deciding whatever the horn meant could wait until morning. They had both been through enough, and Steven looked so peaceful.

She laid awake for much longer than he did, repeating in her mind what Steven wanted to do to himself just a few hours before. Her entire chest ached even considering a world lacking Steven. Laying in the forest with him, she knew the night had ended in a small victory, but they were not out of the woods yet. She had a feeling the new pointed growth on Steven’s skull represented that.

“Connie?” he said in a bleary voice, thick with sleep.

She startled, “Yeah, Steven?”

“I was a little cold, too. Thanks.”

Connie smiled and kissed his forehead as he drifted back off. A small victory was a lot to be thankful for.

#tw: suicide #suicidal ideation #fic request #angst #hurt/comfort #fluff #connverse #lizzywrites #suf fic #su fic #steven universe future #su leak

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sweet-marie · 4 years

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excerpt of memoir from last year which i kinda hate now<3 but it has its moments

I decided I was going to drown myself. There was no plug to the bath, but that was easily solved by stuffing the washcloth down the drain. I climbed in and waited as the water rose pleasantly warm over the cold gooseflesh of my legs, short hair starting to prickle over them. This felt good. I didn’t remember exactly what Sylvia Plath had said, about baths, but I tried to remember it as the water closed around my ears.

In water I always felt calm as a whale. My swimsuit was like a fine blubber. My limbs would float, my cells swam around me. The microscopic composition of my body, narrowed down to those precise and perfect details, was invisible to me, an unknowable pile of nerves and jelly membranes. I can’t see my own eyes, of course, that’s a secret to me forever; the same way I can’t go looking around in the dark for my sight… I can see me in your eyes! I told a stranger, delightedly. I was four and the man was bobbing in the community pool across from me. I can see me in your eyes, he replied from behind his sunglasses.

I had a dream about a pool, said Leona, so large-eyed and beautiful, vulnerable, almost alien. So blue. It was—pristine. She loved to say the word.

She loved to make collages about the Holocaust.

Blood chased my feet in the shower at home—they were a pair of moon-white fish, speared by something, circling, dying…

Blood oranges water, not pinks it!

Thom told me this under the grim sky of the schoolyard, gray clouds pressing down on us. We had both refused to change our clothes to the PE uniform, and the others flocked around us in gray shirts. Blood oranges water—I thought to myself this was a good description and I had to remember it. She was right.

The warm bathwater was crowding in on me. Sylvia Plath had said something, I knew, in The Bell Jar—something about remembering the ceilings above the bath, maybe.

Water made such mysterious sounds inside my ears. I always liked it. I tried to breathe in, to gulp down the warm water and fill my lungs but I couldn’t manage it. I had already decided not to drown myself, after all. I didn’t want some nurse to find me naked anyway. I took a breath.

At home I had once tried to choke myself in the shower, my hands grasping my neck as I sobbed and spat into the water. You look fucking stupid, I thought, watching my face contort with tears in the foggy mirror. It was extremely satisfying to watch my eyes turn soft blobby pink, quavering with light. Yes, I was so sad. Yes! All these plans I knew wouldn’t work.

Well, it didn’t. And now I didn’t have a clean washcloth. Stupid.

I enjoyed it and decided to take a lot more baths from then on.

///

Leona, Happy, and Jennifer spent a lot of time on their collages. We were shepherded from C Unit to the art room through the soft winterlike light of the hospital halls. We passed the adult ward quietly. We never saw the adult patients, but they left some of their projects hanging in the art room, charcoal drawings mostly. They looked like self-portraits of ghosts. There were lots of National Geographics for Leona, Happy, and Jen: plenty of atrocities to choose from. The snowy black grain of dead bodies piled into a twisted unfathomable geometry of limbs; the sick, the starving and murdered. A headline about the heroin epidemic also. Jen was only allowed to post the word heroin on her wall if she added an e, which we all thought was hilarious.

What is so bad about methamphetamine? Happy asked. The conversation frequently became about drugs. All of us laughed a lot about the question. I didn’t know anything about drugs. Jen and Happy were busy one night making lists of the good drugs and the bad ones and they’d tried most of the things I’d heard of and some I hadn’t.

What is so bad about methamphetamine? It was a joke that was then repeated often.

One of the nurses said something like, Please change the subject, or, That is inappropriate.

Leona, Happy, and Jen were seventeen, the oldest of our friends; older than many of the children on the unit, young enough that they sometimes forgot to care what the little kids heard.

Johny, our youngest friend, was fourteen. He seemed the saddest. He had very long, skinny fingers like an old man. He told me that I had pretty eyes, sometimes blue sometimes green—when had anybody ever liked me this much, outside of this awful place. He said, My eyes are shit brown. I just laughed along. It didn’t occur to me to say anything nice, even though I would have meant it. My voice was tired; I’d fallen out of the habit of saying what I thought.

When Thom visited she talked enough that I didn’t have to say a lot. That was how it often was with us. She brought me a huge bag of my favorite sour candy, and flaming hot Cheetos for Esmeralda, my ten-year-old roommate. It wasn’t allowed, but we invited her to stay with us while Thom put makeup on me.

A muscle in Esmeralda’s cheek jumped, not working towards speech, just a violent, repetitive twitch I’d never seen before. I didn’t understand, somehow.

What? I said.

She covered her cheek with one hand. It’s a tic.

It didn’t go away even after we got her to laugh—a hesitant few syllables—at something, some joke. Thom’s hair was blonde and blue now. Sometimes, when she laughed the hardest, she used to press her face into my shoulder. I never knew what to do when people touched me. The first time she put her head on my shoulder we were watching Bolt on TV at her house and drinking bottles of orange Fanta, a blanket spread over our laps. She didn’t say anything, just leaned on me. I sat extremely still, so still it hurt. What do people do? I still haven’t learned.

Do you think I’ll go to hell if I kill myself? I demanded of my father.

You could, he said. You don’t know.

He held me and sobbed. You can’t. I couldn’t. Live without you.

I was so angry I didn’t know what to do. Anger rose in my mouth, made my spit sour. I needed him to let go of me. He was too warm, and his coat was too big. For the first time my mother had started looking so old. In some quieter country of myself, maybe, I have been saving up facts, how to recognize this look, how to gently handle remains.

///

The only outdoor part of the hospital was a courtyard sealed in glass, like an aquarium. It wasn’t much, but we were always begging to be taken there anyway, into the real gold light of the sun instead of our usual, indoor wintry fluorescence. And it got tiring to breathe the same dull air and pace the same few rooms, especially that day we were locked in for hours, while some men came in to do something about the mysterious dark stain spreading on the ceiling of the day room.

Everyone loved to go out. Even Celsa went sometimes, and she was so doped up on lithium she barely did anything, even breakfast. Bribes and threats did not work on her. I witnessed it firsthand in my brief duration as her roommate. She was always drowning in bedsheets, drowning in sleep like wet sand. Her eyes were dark with it. My friends gently urged her to come outside with us one night. Celsa gave a tired smile, peered out from under her hair, and agreed. She laughed a little when she played tag with the kids in the dark. She never really said a word. It is good to be with other people, it is not always easy to do. But—it was beautifully possible to have friends in this small, suspended space. I had not often felt when I was very young that I had friends. I felt too tall and serious to be a real child. Here, with our usual secrecy stolen from us, we met each other with our faces plainly lit and open, four floors above the real world.

It was possible to have friends. I’d been so sad. I never knew how to smile with my face leaned toward burning-down candles, opening my brightly-colored birthday presents. There were days, it was decided, you were supposed to be happier on certain days, and I just wasn’t.

A man with the bluest eyes I’d ever seen asked me, in the emergency room, what was wrong. I didn’t want my parents to overhear. I explained quietly about the stupid incident in the bathroom stall at school, the knit gloves over my wrists, and the thing with the Tylenol, and I did—other things… I started to cry. Sometimes I forced sobs out to get rid of the rising bad feeling, an intentional purge; and then there was this other kind of crying, which was different, and took me by surprise. I never knew it would happen until I had already started.

The psychologist with blue eyes looked very sad for me. All I wanted was sympathy; I was intensely hungry for sympathy almost all the time, from anyone, but this somehow made it worse, and I didn’t even know whether he meant it.

I was wheeled up in my hospital gown. I tried to walk, but they explained it didn’t work that way.

Up an elevator, through security gates, through locked doors; a woman’s hands flitted under my clothes, checking for blades, mapping injuries on a piece of paper. There was still cold glue on my chest from the EKG. They’d wanted to examine my heart. There was nothing wrong with my heart. I just couldn’t stop its sickening, wild beat.

It was night, but I was allowed in the day room, wide and silent and dark. I opened the refrigerator—mostly juice. A few months ago, my mother and I had fought, and as I bent my head over some homework that night she silently moved my glass of cranberry juice away from my textbook, so it wouldn’t spill on it. And horrible hope and guilt rushed through me, because I knew she loved me.

I didn’t even like juice. I closed the door and went to a table.

I started drawing pictures because I didn’t know what else to do. I liked to keep my hands occupied, all the time. At first, no one was there, but then there appeared a small gathering of curious children, and Johny.

All the children began to ask, Will you draw me? Will you draw me?, and Johny smiled and cast his dark eyes down.

I asked Esmeralda if she wanted me to draw her, but she started shaking her head before I could finish the question.

Draw me, demanded Rain, a little girl in pajamas and gym shoes.

I did, I did draw most everyone, lots of times. It has been my impulse to give myself away freely, without thinking. I tell people nearly all of my secrets. Here: I won’t need this. I will be going away.

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xxbyimm · 5 years

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The brave and little lion

This a diamond in the rough, but I still hope you like it. xo

The brave and little lion

Summary: Fíli tells the tale of his first dagger.

Tags: @theincaprincess @fizzyxcustard @soradragon @deepestfirefun and @legolaslovely @yes-captainstark @burningcoffeetimetravel Let me know if you want to be added to or removed from my taglist!

Warnings: Protective Fíli. Mild violence.

A full moon shone on the hastily set up camp, the distant light illuminating the unlikely group of dwarves, a hobbit and a wizard gathered around a fire. Although the crickets were chirping loudly and leaves rustled as a light breeze of wind passed through, it was a quiet night. Everyone was fast asleep. The only sounds within their settlement were the crackling flames and the occasional snore.

The eldest prince of Durin’s folk was the only one awake, for had taken the first watch. Settled in front of the fire, he drained the last of his ale that Bombur had provided him with. He stretched his back and went back to watching his comrades. It had been a long and tiring day. When uncle Thorin finally had ordered them to set up camp, everyone had breathed a sigh of relief and quickly started executing his demands before the king could change his mind.

Speaking of which… Even uncle, the seasoned warrior who usually remained in a semi-vigilant state whether someone else had watch duty or not, seemed to be sleeping soundly. Fíli smiled softly. Although uncle wasn’t that vocal about his emotions, the prince knew the brother of his mother was proud of the dwarf he had become, and he trusted his nephew with his life. The fact that he let his guard down, was speaking volumes.

Fíli reached for a freshly cut log and just bent forward to put it into the fire, when a sharp, tearing pain hit him in his lower abdomen. A low his escaped him. His instinct took over and he jumped to his feet, while drawing the first dagger he could get his hands on.

All was quiet.

Fíli scanned his surroundings and crept towards the edge of the camp. Everything remained silent. When he finally was absolutely sure there was no luring threat, he sat down near the fire again. For a moment there, he had expected to find an arrow or knife sticking out of his gut, but his clothing was still intact.

What the…

Did he just make a rookie mistake? The prince reached in his coat, in search of the culprit. All the knives he had on him seemed to be in place, except for… He smirked when he discovered the tiny pointy blade that up until recently had been safely tucked away in the seam of his coat under the belt. His fingers working carefully not to tear the hole it had made any further, he retrieved it from its’ hiding place.

Lesson number one for warriors: make sure any lethal weapons you carry on you, are safely wrapped up for transport. He thought he had been careful, that his safety knife wasn’t that dangerous, but there he was, being stabbed by his own dagger.

He smiled and watched the blade as it lay in his hand. This was the first knife he ever owned and it meant a great deal to him. But he must have been about eleven (or twelve, tops) when he finally learned about its’ special origin. He remembered it like it was yesterday…

It was a typical summer afternoon in the Blue Mountains. The sun stood high in the sky, burning on the backs of the villagers who were venturing outdoors. The wind had been surprisingly gentle today, which led to an unpleasant, humid atmosphere in town. Nevertheless, it was market day and despite of the warm weather, life went its’ usual course. The community was bustling with merchants selling wares from their stalls, the bleating of unwilling livestock and the lively chatter from the dwarrowdams who had come to buy necessities.

The only difference was the absence of the village kids. Usually they were out and about, exploring the market, but today most of the little dwarflings in the village had set out to the river, in an attempt to find some cooling. Most the time the group of kids were led by two mischievous princes, but today both of them were clearly absent.

Little Fíli had been sent on a mission by his mother. It was a very important one, and he was determined to carry it out as soon as possible.

You see, it might have been a hot summer day, it also happened to be bath day. Kíli hated bathing almost as much as he hated girls, and that said something. The little rascal had run off as soon as he saw his mother preparing the tub, and now Amad couldn’t find him anywhere.

‘Can you tell me where your brother is hiding, Fíli?’ she had pleaded to her eldest son. ‘Uncle Thorin is coming to dinner tonight and I don’t want his nephews to look like two little orcs.’

At first, the little golden lion had been torn between his mother and brother. He really didn’t want to disobey Amad, but betraying his brother by telling her his hiding place almost seemed worse. After a short contemplation, Fíli had told his mother that although he couldn’t provide her with an answer, he would try his best to retrieve Kíli for her. His mother had smiled and promised that she would ask uncle to tell one of his exciting war tales tonight, and eventually, that was what had persuaded the prince of Durin’s folk on his chase. Amad did not allow her brother to indulge her offspring with vicious stories too much, but when she did…

Once Fíli had left behind the outskirts of town and neared the waterfall, he stopped running to catch his breath. He leaned against the stone and closed his eyes, like he always did. His father had shown him this hiding place long ago, when Kíli had been nothing more than a little babe. Víli had told his eldest son about the horrific tales of the waterfall that swirled around the village, and how those rumors were just that. There were no fairies, no evil little goblins that lived under the surface. All those stories, Víli had said, were made up by a simple man who wanted a quiet place for himself to reflect on life. That man happened to be Víli’s grandfather.

When Víli died a few years ago, Fíli felt obligated to keep up the family tradition and tell his brother about the place. After that, they used it as their secret hideout, a place to play when they wanted to be alone. But of course it was more than that. It was the last tie to their father, the last thing they had left of him. This place was sacred.

Fíli was about to enter the cave when he heard it. He prickled his ears. It were no more than echoes, but it was there. Voices… Had Kíli brought friends to their secret lair?

The prince frowned and disappeared behind the stream. He hopped through the small cleft and took a right turn, which gave him access to the largest area.

His brother was huddled away in the farthest corner, trembling like a leaf. One of the town’s bullies, an oafish darkhaired troll called Yanmoth from the Hardgrip family, was towering over him. Yanmoth was known for chasing the little ones through the village, and scaring them to death with his ugly demeanor. The golden prince clenched his jaw and stepped through the room.

‘Stay away from him.’ He growled softly while balling his hands into fists. The Hardgrip kid quickly turned and laughed when he discovered who was challenging him. ‘So, here we have the other favored prince!’ ‘What has my brother done to you for you to be this mean?’ Fíli challenged the boy. The kid shrugged. ‘Nothing. He’s just such a crybaby, aren’t you little Kíli? ‘He followed me.’ Kíli muttered angrily. ‘And then he found our knife and he-’

Fíli bared his teeth when he discovered the blade that was lying in the Hardgrip kid’s hand. It was a beautiful design, with a roaring lion carved into the handle. The brothers had found it the first day they had entered the cave alone, and it had remained there as their little secret. That someone just discovered the cave was one thing, but he wasn’t about to give it up their most prized possession.

‘That’s ours.’ He said haughtily. ‘Give it back.’ ‘Finders keep it.’ The boy replied solemnly. ‘I could come in handy. It’s still sharp…’

Kíli started crying and it was then that the golden prince discovered the red streak in his brothers face. His stomach turned. This bully had been hurting his brother and Fíli hadn’t been there to protect him.

‘You hurt him.’ He hissed angrily. ‘You had no right.’ ‘Oh, I’m so sorry my prince.’ Yanmoth mocked while swinging the knife in front of the prince’s eyes. ‘Mind if I do it again?!’ ‘Get your STICKY PAWS OFF MY BROTHER!’ The little golden lion roared.

He leapt forward and crashed against the kid, causing them both to fall over. Fíli snatched the knife from the burly hands and threw it across the room. Uncle had once taught him not to bring weapons to a fistfight, so with that rule still ringing in his ears he landed his fist on the kid’s jaw. Then another one punch went into the stomach. Although the boy fought back, Fíli quickly discovered that Yanmoth might come across as big and intimidating, he so far had little experience in real combat. The prince easily best him and although there were a few close calls, he managed to wriggle himself out anyway. Then Kíli threw himself into the struggle, pulling on the kid’s long, dark hairs and shrieking: ‘LET. MY. BROTHER. GO!’

‘STOP! STOP!’ Yanmoth cried out and Fíli reluctantly let him go, urging his brother to do the same.

Rule number two in combat. Never lose your mind.

The kid scrambled himself together and the princes watched him running towards the entrance.

‘Who’s the crybaby now?!’ the prince yelled after the fleeing boy. ‘Don’t you ever come back!!!!!’ Kíli screamed.

They listened as the sound of sobbing diminished, until only the vague echoes remained.

‘Kíli, we have to go.’ The golden lion finally nudged and he held out his hand. ‘Amad has been searching for you for hours.’ ‘I can’t.’ his little brother protested, tears streaming from his dark eyes. ‘I can’t go home!’ ‘Why not?’ Fíli asked while walking across the space to retrieve the dagger. ‘Because I wt m pts…’ murmured the youngest prince of Durin, deliberately swallowing half of the words. ‘What now?’ Fíli demanded. ‘Because I wet my pants…!’ The golden lion grinned, understanding the shame his brother must feel, but it was too funny to let the moment pass without notion. ‘Well..’ he sniggered. ‘Lucky for you, it’s bath day anyway…’

‘So… Your mother told me you’ve been very brave today.’ Uncle Thorin spoke as he tucked in his nephew into bed. ‘What happened?’

Little Fíli told him all about how he had saved Kíli from that mean bully. And because uncle Thorin was a good listener, the golden lion totally forgot to lie about the origins of the knife, that it was actually already in the cave rather than in Yanmoth’s possession. He then explained how he had disarmed the Hardgrip’s kid, because he remembered what uncle had taught him.

When Thorin asked to see the dagger the little prince had been ranting on about, Fíli hesitated. Thorin gave him a stern look and his nephew quickly obliged, reaching under his pillow and retrieving the blade.

‘This is one of your fathers’ daggers.’ Thorin gasped. ‘Do you know how I can tell?’ Fíli shook his head. ‘He always had this specific handle, with the lion.’ Uncle explained. ‘See?’ Fíli gripped the handle firmly and gave his uncle the puppy eyed look. ‘You won’t tell Amad, will you?’ he pleaded. ‘If she knows, she will take it away from me!’ Thorin smiled and his eyes twinkled. ‘No, I won’t tell your mother. It’s all that you have from Adad.’ The prince heaved a relieved sigh. Thorin placed a gentle kiss on his nephews’ forehead. ‘But it’s not safe to keep on your person anymore, understood?’ ‘I’ll put it away, I promise.’ Fíli said reluctantly. His uncle smiled and made his way towards the door. ‘Fíli?’ he said, with his hand on the door handle. ‘Yes, uncle?’ the prince answered sleepily. ‘Keep it under the loose floorboard under your bed.’ Thorin told him. ‘It’ll be safe there.’ The young prince frowned, wondering how his uncle knew of this secret hiding place. But when he wanted to open his mouth to ask, Thorin already had disappeared.

He would never know.

#the hobbit #fíli #fili #golden lion #prince of durin's folk #fili appreciation week #fili fanfiction #fili fics #xxbyimm writes

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popculturebuffet · 5 years

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Giant Days (Boom) #1 “Like A Sexy Moon”

In honor of Giant Days grand finale one-shot this week, we go all the way back to the beginning of it’s long and storied ongoing where three first year university students consisting of a flighty energetic goth, a hardboiled detective metaphorically in the body of a med student, and a cheerful and naive small town girl whose mostly hair try to make it through lunch without chaos ensuing. Spoilers: Chaos ensues. Class, and a heartfelt mega-paragraph about my love of the series, is under the cut.

A few years ago, i’d say about 2016, my mom had her annual oscar party. This isn’t all that relevant to the story, and reveals that even at 27 (I kept forgetting to correct my age on my blog), soon to be 28, I still live at home, but it’s important because it’s where I first read giant days. Buying the first volume during a comixology sale that had it for all of three bucks, I lapped up the series almost immediately, then when I got home got my hands on every issue that had been out at the time and caught up asap, following the series since then to it’s conclusion this week. , only missing the “Where women blow and men plunder” special. For the past few years, in an ever changing comic book landscape where titles come and go, start strong and peter out or are just plain great or foul from the start but leave all the same , i’ts been my rock. My mountain in a sea of ever changing titles... and Wednesday said mountain breaks off and floats off into the either, maybe to become a new campus for the university of north carolina in the sky I dunno. The point is the series means a lot to me and it’s sad to see it go, even if it’s writer John Allison probably won’t leave my life and knowing him our heroes probably will return, or at least one or two of them will, someday, it’s still a sad end to a heartfelt, ungodly hilarious, sometimes rediculous but always intresting journey. My intrest may of waxed and waned, as is expected when a book runs 4 years, but it never left my heart. So join me won’t you as I go back to where it all began.. not with the whole volume, but with the first monthly issue of giant days.

------------------------- Giant Day is the creation of John Allison, who before creating this and other print works By Night and Steeple, which having not read past issue 1 or read it yet respectively will certainly pop up here eventually, was the creator of a large number of web comics, all of which I discovered thanks to Giant Days, in part because Giant Days itself is a Spin-Off from Allison’s second comic strip, and his most famous work pre-Giant Days: Scary Go Round

Scary Go Round itself was a spinoff/sequel to Allison’s previous comic strip Bobbins, originally following two minor characters from that strip before they were slowly shoved out of the strip in favor of Shelley Winters... and yes the name i intentional, not the actress from Cheers but a bubbly red head with a skewed sense of reality and a can do spirit and her two best friends: local layabout with a heart of gold Ryan, one of shelly’s old friends and Amy, the daughter of Shelley’s ex-boss, a sharp tounged young woman with a healthy libidio who grows from a spoiled princess to a responsible buisness owner. The three deal with relationship issues, wacky shenanigans.. and the supernatural stuff that happens in their town of Tackleford because it’s a hub of spoopy shit Just in case you thought it was just his other print works that were kinda weird in comparison to the mostly grounded Giant Days, nope. While his stuff post the original bobbins is well grounded in character work, it’s all got a tinge of weird to it. If you have the time check it out. While some things may fly over your head unless you read the original bobbins, and I strongly suggest you don’t, it’s otherwise a very good read and very much the blue print for his stronger later stuff.

And as noted it’s from this weird and wonderful early goop we get the protaganist of this book: Esther DeGroot, a perky goth girl who intitally showed up with her best friend Sarah and their muscle Big Lindsay to have LIndsay beat amy into the ground for chatting up a singer they liked. Thankfully she quickly grew out of having her friends beat up college drop outs and instead became a weird, snarky goth and rival to Shelley’s snarky buttoned up sister Erin for the heart of local shy awkard lab assitant Eustace “The Boy” Boyce, himself introduced as fumbling assitant to local inventor and longtime pal of Shelley’s Tim. And you can now see why I had to get into everyone else as SGR’s characters tend to intersect and that web only widens.

Esther would eventually win, and Erin would eventually end up in hell then forgotten from everyone’s memories shortly after, with Esther and Eustace staying together for the duration of the strip and through many shenanigans and were actually a rather adorable couple. By this time Esther and Eustace were just as much leads as the main three and Esther was a close friend of Ryan’s to the point he and Sarah went out briefly in their Senior Year.. when Sarah was 18 thankfully. Though Ryan did get punched over it by a drunken awkard teenager so things sorted themself out. Big Lindsay quitely disappeared and was revealed to have gottten pregnant. Both would later show up in Giant Days. The strip ended, after a soft launch for the next strip which we’ll get to in a second, with Esther and freinds graduating, Ryan and Sarah breaking up, Shelley leaving town (She’d later return but story for another time), and Ryan and Amy, who had a whole will they or won’t they thing, getting together.

Allison did this for a reason: He felt Scary Go Round was collapsing under it’s mound of Continuity and thus decided to switch to a fresh cast. Same continuity but with less ties to the old so new readers wouldn’t be turned off. Thus came Bad Machinery. Set up during the waning days of SGR, it followed Sarah’s weird sister Lottie, her sluthy best friend Shauna and a bunch of other bright young kids i’m only not getting into because i’ve introduced enough characters and most of the ones i’ve introduced are either vital to SGR or show up in Giant Days , but are all fantastic, focusing more on the mystery while also having some coming of age stuff of it’s own as by the series end years later, the characters all grew into their late teens. It’s an excellent read and again worth checking out if you haven’t and unlike SGR is in print with the print versions adding more pages to the story and revising bits. I haven’t read them but I intend to eventually because of the revisal, but if you can’t afford them the entire originals are online free.

Bad Machinery would later be a hit in it’s own right, as the print collections show, but in it’s first years it was actually a shaky proposition to uproot everything, replace almost the entire cast (Though Ryan and Amy, now married, stayed around as supporting cast, with Ryan being the kids teacher and Amy eventually mentoring Shauna), and change the genre from 20 somethings and teens slice of life to a bunch of 11-12 year olds coming of age and solving mysteries. And at first things dipped a bit apparently and Allison panicked and started working on a backup plan. And that backup plan was where Giant Days comes in: A Spinoff following esther and two new characters as they navigate college. He did three self published issues of it, the first put online, before focusing back on bad machinery as it picked up, and many other projects we’ll cover some day. Esther as a result was kinda left in limbo while Erin and Eustace’s stories moved forward. It seemed Esther and her new pals Daisy and Susan were lost to time...

Until 2015 when Allison agreed to do a mini-series for Boom! Studios that picked up where the original series left off, eventually getting picked up as an ongoing that lasted all the way to last month, with 2 winter specials, a one shot trip to Australia, and a final one shot finishing the series Wednesday. As for said series I do own it, Boom has since republished it, and we will get to it.. but I felt given this is where I and probably most other fans of the series came in, it was the best place to start and issue #1 of the boom series recaps what’s come so far and re-introduces the cast well. Kinda like the second episode of a series after the pilot: some things have changed, including the series now having Artist Lisa Tremain on board to draw instead of Allison himself, some new characters have been added, but it’s still the same show and still a good point to start. And with ALLL that exposition out of the way, including exposition to set up characters for ISSUES down the line, and a little more to go, let’s dig in. As seen at the top, the first cover is great. The yellow and red works well, as does the simple image of a morose Esther fiddling with her phone, boxing gloves on the back for reasons we’ll see shortly. A good genre setter and an excellent cover, something the series always delivers with.

We open on our three Heroines, on their third week of college, with a helpful narration that does a good job summing each up, so I don’t have to and you know how I like to jabber, the giant barrage of paragraphs before should be proof: Naive cheerful Daisy, dramatic and funloving esther, and serious and sardonic Susan. There will be, and already is, more to each as they grow and we learn more, and Esther of course has a few years of comics behind her to start, Giant Days even being named after a Esther and Eustace centric arc from Scary Go Round, but not something I could fit into the exposition wall.

As you can see the ladies are having a nice talk about if they would be friends without living in the same hall, with Susan bursting Daisy and Esther’s bubble.. but it fits her personality. Susan is a realist, she sees the world how it is. Daisy is an optimist seeing the world how it SHOULD be and Esther navigates the space between, as she can be realistic once in a while but mostly tries to avoid reality like the plauge in this series. She had a tad of this in Scary Go Round but it’s really dialed up here, but there’s a good reason for why i’ll get to after Susan helpfully outlines the indie issues for me and new readers.

See this is why I went here first: while I will cover these issues, themselves covering their first three weeks of college, eventually, it covers most of what happened pretty well and makes it easy to fill in the blanks that it glossed over. The first issue did indeed turn into a scott pilgrim style brawl where Esther boxed her way to victory, Susan set someone on fire and Daisy tried to use meditation to fight but Paul Mcartney’s ghost said no. It’s not a bad issue but tone wise the series would be something much more diffrent.

Issue 2 is where I need to go into more detail: Esther cheated on Eustace with the douchebag you rightfully see in a heap above, who then spread their night around and got his commupance. Esther told Eustace.. who dumped her over it and drove her into a depressive state, a weird heavy metal society, and booze, which she can drink because you can drink at 18 in England. She was saved from it by her new galpals.. and Erin, who was supposed to likely be a recurring character, possibly on the same level as two we’ll get to soon, and definitely figured into a major plot with Daisy, as Allison admitted. But with the gap between issues and having other plans for Erin, he decided to write her out. Susan pegs Esther as a drama queen soon after, a “sodding drama magnet”, attracting attention like I attract X-Men comics and Kirk Cameron attracts terrible Christian movies designed to stroke his own ego. She proves this by handing her a piece of paper and well....

Well look on the bright side Esther, you have a good career as the bride of dr.doom with those skills. I mean he’s single, has a spooky castle, does magic.. he’s basically a goth’s wet dream he just needs to black up his uniform a bit. Or put on that awful leather made out of a human armor he had. Yes that was a thing. Comics are weird.

The rest of the group chase after an angry Esther who after this immortal line, challenges Susan to a bet: if Susan wins she gets a nice massage, if Esther wins she gets to dress Susan up however she likes to torment her.

And somehow DAISY is the one who has a coming out story in a few issues. Jokes aside I do like the friendship here: They’ll razz each other, give Daisy time, and poke at their flaws gently, or be brutally honest, but their truly and honestly friends and it shows. It feels real and it’s one of the series big draws. The girls run into Esther’s friend Ed. Ed has a huge crush on Esther, even when she had a boyfriend something to the series credit he was called out on, but not the nerves or charisma to actually try and ask her out. Shockingly, I liked, and still liked, Ed a lot as he reminded me of well.. myself in college. Pining after girls or starring without actually going anywhere and the series will deconstruct this as we go. He’s also basically the fourth main character, getting issues focusing entirely on him and arcs of his own, but the girls are still the main focus. Susan freezes however upon seeing his friend...

This is our fifth lead, McGraw. Basically a more emotive and british Ron Swanson who as you can see clearly has a history with Susan and Susan splits before they can say more. While McGraw falls back on the old men streotype of “We don’t have to talk about it”, though unlike say Tim Taylor it’s less “I genuinely believe this nonsense, as well as that men are incapable of commuincating unless my neighbor tells me otherwise and all loves sports. I unsuprsingly got divorced once the kids all left the house, aug aug aug” and more “I don’t want to talk about this nor do I want to force my new friend to talk about a touchy subject yet. “ Susan is likewise closed off but in her own special Susan way and Esther reveling in Susan having drama after accusing her of being a drama queen. This ends about as well as you’d expect.

Daisy has had best friends for all of three weeks and she’s already figured out lies are a key part of friendship. Good for her. Esther heads off for the Gym, and while Daisy declines due to, and i’m not making this up this is a genuinely good joke of john’s, worrying she’ll become a killing machine. Esther however needs it to work out her feelings over Eustace because punching shit is better than wallowing in her misery over loosing the love of her, at this point, short life.

That panel on the right... that’s a blessed image. And really this image showcases the true heart of the series: as I said the girls are there for each other but it dosen’t feels schmaltzy or forced, it feels real and has plenty of great lines to add to that. Daisy goes back to try talking to Susan, but Susan takes a bit and when she finally works up the energy to visit daisy.

I I understand that feeling. It’s like the realization Mr. Rogers had sex at least once. You don’t WANT to know something that pure and innocent is capable of fucking, but you do now and it will haunt you like that ghost that won’t stop stealing my soap. BUY YOUR OWN SOAP JEREMY I’M BROKE SON. Of course this wasn’t actually sex stuff as Susan soon relays to Esther as she fears she upset the poor humanoid afro lesbian.

Side note I love the phrase having a fiddle and will save it for future use. But yeah with Susan somehow spooked, she suggests Esther change the subject as soon as they get in there.

Susan.. ya brought this on yourself. Naturally she tries to avoid getting into the subject until eventually this happens.

I’ll be saving this for future reference of course. And Susan gives us a LITTLE to go on... about two panels worth of ominus foreshadowing to the eventual reveal without any actual info about what in the bloody hell actually happened.

Of course Susan calls for dinner time and says they’ll have to earn the rest later. Naturaly McGraw is also going in for dinner and Susan once again tries to deflect as her friends bascially call him a snack. I mean he is ron swanson crossbred with berkely brethead. who wouldn’t?

I love the line above.. especially since really the comic DOES pass. While there is boy drama, and girl drama for Daisy, this issue has plenty else going on besides wanting to bang someone, though given Esther won’t shut up about McGraw while talking to the human equilveant of an active volcano..

She’s lucky she didn’t instead bash her face in with a tray, but she’s a friend after all. Susan saves the savage beatings for her enemies and McGraw is wise enough to not let his tray anywhere near her and to duck if she tried her own. Natrually given her Drama Magnet powers Esther somehow finds the one cowboy in all of England.

His chivlary, genuine or dudebro wise unfortunately causes a chain reaction.

Naturally Susan was hoping for something like this, loudly gloating at activating the drama field and at having won the bet and tries to use the high that being right gives a person to run McGraw out of town.

Unfortunatley for her, while her speech is awesome i’ll admit, it’s also entirely unfair: She expects him to change schools, and given his focus on architecture and general no nonsense nature he choose this one for a reason. Just because you two have a history dosen’t mean you can just make him leave and McGraw, as seen above, isn’t taking it. And he responds just as badassly.

Gross? A little. But worth it to basically win the argument without even invoking the fact you have the moral highground. Yeah he had to know she was going here too, but again he came her for a reason and has no reason to leave. She can be an adult about this and work past it or just avoid him, also like an adult. Esther, not wanting to deal with Susan’s smug or her rage both of which are probably ping ponging back and forth, sits with Ed and talks about her dramatic nature. She really dosen’t intend to call it on herself, but does like not knowing what will happen every day.

This really sums up Esther’s character to start: She enjoys life, loves the hell out of it, but often fails to see the consequences of her actions. The drama field sometimes is just shit happening to her because she happens to be young, attractive and entergetic, but other times it happens, like with the blow up of her relationship, because she does something impulsive and it blows up in her face. Speaking of character insight we get a character defening inner monologue from ed.

And that’s Ed’s pain: To Esther she sees it genuinely as him just being her friend. And I do think even with his massive crush he genuinely cares about her more than just wanting to be with her, but worried she’ll reject him, as I can again relate. And even worse is the worry of not wanting to make their friendship weird. And i’ve had crushes on female friends that have gone both ways: it’s made things toow eird to continue, but i’ve also had plenty where I was gently turned down and we’re still on good terms to this day. One of my best friends was a result of this. What makes it work, when we’ve seen this plot a thousand times before, is that both the narrative and Ed don’t think he’s ENTITLED to Esther. Yes the above has him asking god to make her love him.. but it’s not in a forceful sense.. it comes off more as a desperate want for them to end up together or for him to be able to move on. It’s what seperates ed from a “nice guy”: Sure he’s into Esther, but he dosen’t think he deserves her, or that because their friends he’s earned her or any such nonsensical bullshit. He’s just hopelesly infatuated with the first girl he met in college and wants to either see where it goes, or have the feelings end so he can move on with someone he does have a future with. I”ve been there. Shit sucks and Allison handles it well without falling into entitlement territory, and given just HOW many geek gets the girl storylines have been written, having it treated realistically with it being treated with him having to get over her instead of her just being oblvious is refreshing and I wish i’d had a narrative like this when I was Ed’s age to smack me in the face and tell me “No it dosen’t work that way, say something or move on man. “ With that monster of a pargraph done let’s check back with the girls.

Again, I love the character interactions and how that’s the focus here over anything else, even my word sandwitch up there. But speaking of things, Esther just up and asks Daisy what she was watching. Turns out...

Yup, Daisy just likes ASMR, which I now know just what it is, just a static reflex people get. Susan tests it to prove Daisy is normal and it’s just good clean fun. Esther tries to put nosepicking under the same, Elbow’s susan over it and we get this to close out our main trio for the issue.

I am glad he showed off more lady friendships, but they would’ve been a hell of a couple had Allison went that way. Could be an intresting AU, especailly if you keep Daisy gay and have their being bi or pan, dealers choice, affect things. HOw would that effect their relationshpis, how long would it last, would the McGraw thing impact stuff.. it’s some food for thought is all i[’m saying. We close however on Ed and McGraw as Ron Jr. unpacks his stuff and helps ed with his key sticking by rubbing a pencil on it because Graphite is a lubricant. Huh. Neat. And then we end on this.

And on that note, we end issue 1. No write in contests though i’m damn sure given he’s mentioned he’d want a ROM/Giant Days crossover for the absurdity John Allison would love that.

Final Thoughts; An excellent start to the BOOM! series and a good second pilot. It’s clear stuff happened but the series helps you get the gist well enough to not have to buy the collection of the first three issues, and the characters are all dynamic with plenty of laughs as well as genuine moments. Susan and Esther’s banter is hilarious and both Esther and Susan are given plenty of layers: Esther’s grappling with her sorrow over her nuking her first romance and Susan being sharp witted, quick to be smug with Esther, but still gentle with Daisy and trying to careful with her given her sheltered life before College. Daisy isn’t given much layers in this issue, but is sitll shown to be incredibly sweet and realstically naive. McGraw is a welcome addition, his past with susan providing an intresting mystery for what was intended to be just 6 issues and solved by the end, while also having some intresting swagger to him enough to not make him JUST her love intrest or Ed’s best friend. Tremain’s art is also great, diffrent than what most of the series would end up being, a bit sketchier with more dot eye, but still nice and stylish. I’ll also confess the cafeteria scene is what let me know the book existed as I read it in the back of another boom title, I can’t remember which honestly, wher eit was featured as a preview and was intstantly intrigued. Overall a strong start. There’s a reason the series both caught on and lasted as long as it did and i’ll miss it terribly. I won’t be reviewing as time goes by this week, though I may post some quick thoughts on it, but I intend to review the full series, including the 3 indie issues and specials, so i’ll probably get to it at some point. An excellent series that I can’t recommend enough.

If you liked this review, feel free to reblog it, follow me for more, or comisson one for a comic of your choice for just 5 bucks. Until then, have some giant days of your own.

#Giant Days #john allison #slice of life #esther de groot #susan ptolemy #daisy wooton #ed gimmel #McGraw #scary go round #bad machinery

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2019grimoirecchallenge · 5 years

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May Week 2: The Planets

Hello witches! Let’s dive in to this week with some positivity, cause it’s gonna be packed! This week is all about the planets! Their movements, their placements in astrology, what they symbolize, and how they can influence us and our magic! Each of the days this week will encompass multiple planets, and you’re free to make a single page for each one, and add the overall chat and list to your general astrology page!

So let’s open with the origin of planetary correspondences! Look up the astronomer Agrippa, and his insight and all he did for modern concepts and ideas regarding planetary correspondences. Are there other astronomers or scientists through the years who have helped and added to these?

Monday: Mercury, Venus, Earth

Research/ New Page(s)- Alright these prompts are gonna be packed with research, so buckle up friends. Look up the science of each planet, their chemical makeup, physical properties, colors, their orbit times and rotation times, how many moons they have. Now think in the metaphysical, magical, mythical and astrological aspects. Are these planets related to any deity? What role do these planets play in astrology? What types of magic, myths, legends, stories are associated with this planet? What is the planet named for? What does this planet represent within your beliefs and practice? What is your personal relation to this planet? Are there herbs, stones, tools, or other things that are typically associated with this planet? What, if any, are the negative aspects of the planets (scientific, magical, and myth and legend)? What does each planetary house represent?

Meditation/ Journal- If you haven’t done so already in the earlier prompts where it was mentioned, look up your natal chart and all of your planetary placements. Meditate on all of your placements and planetary connections. Look deep, do you feel these are all accurate representations of the various aspects of yourself?

Practical- After each day, look up at the sky and look for each planet! But Basil, how do I do that? Well my friends... there’s an app for that! (or if you don’t have a smart phone or tablet, just enjoy this website. The app is called Night Sky and it shows a great deal about the planets, constellations, and lets you look through VR/ AR where they are.

Tuesday: Mars, Jupiter, Saturn

Meditation/ Journal- Think about the planets, the way they move, how and why they represent what they do, do you connect more strongly with one planet or another? What is it and why?

Practical- Once again, with or without the app or website, just go look at the sky. Appreciate your place in it all. Your connection to it all. All those lights you see are MILLIONS of miles away, yet even from that distance we can see them. How does that make you feel? Add to your pages! Draw or sketch the planets, their symbols, anything that relates to that planet!

Wednesday: Jupiter, Saturn

Practical- Again, look up! Magic is everywhere. We’re as connected to the planet we’re on as to the ones so far away. Today, think about any of the planets. If you work with them in your craft, write a chant or invocation to ask for a specific planet’s aid in your working.

Thursday: Uranus, Neptune

Practical/ Journal- STARE AT THE SKY! If you live in a place with too much light pollution, take a walk, or a drive. Go somewhere safe where there is no smog or cloud cover, or light pollution and you can just really look at the sky. Just breathe deep, slow, even breathes. Relax. Let the starlight, the moonlight, the planets and everything out there feed your soul. After you do this, journal about it. Think about ways to incorporate the planets and stars and everything into your practice.

Friday: Pluto (Planetary wrap up)

Research- If there’s anything else you can think of to add to any of the pages for any of the planets, look it up! Research as much as possible! Animal associations, historical facts, pictures, anything! The more you know, the better your connection to the planet. Look into the movements of the planets in relation to each other and how they might effect one another, both physically or metaphorically. How do the various planets interact, through their myths and legends, physicality or even just in relation to each other in an astrological sense. How do they influence each other, as they influence us? How do they work in conjunction? How do the planets relate to the zodiac signs?

Whew! That’s a lot. But hey, there’s a lot to learn about the planets in any sense that you begin researching them in. There’s more out there, in space magic and in astrology and we will be looking into those in later weeks!

Good luck and Happy Casting Witches!

-Mod Basil

#may week 2 planetary magic #may week 2 #2019 grimoire challenge may week 2 #2019 gc may week 2 #2019 grimoire challenge #grimoire #grimoire challenge #the planets #planetary magic #magic of the planets #planetary houses #2019 gc may wk 2

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alphawave-writes · 5 years

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Evil actions and good intentions chapter 4: One day, three autumns Sigma x Harold Winston

Synopsis: Harold desperately tries to hide his secrets from Talon, all the while pining over Sigma. He also gets a pretty sweet shoulder massage.

Read it here or on AO3. If you want more Sigma, check out my series ‘The universe sings’. If you’re hankering for fluffy Sigma x Harold oneshots, check out my other two fics ‘It’s lonely at the top’ and ‘Under the milky way’

It’s hard for Harold to convince everybody that he’s fine when all known logic dictates that he shouldn’t. Given the extent of his injuries, he should be bandaged from head to toe at the very least, unable to walk or move. Yet he runs and smiles without so much as a hair out of place, no scar or wound to be seen. The biting stares once reserved for Siebren are now given to him as well. They glare at him like he is a ticking time bomb, or an omnipotent god walking amongst mortals. A freak of nature. If only they knew he would never put anyone in harm’s way. If anything, he puts himself in danger by using his abilities so brazenly.

If someone were to ask him if he regrets his decision to save Siebren, the answer would be a resounding no. He is used to sacrificing himself for others.

He goes by his day, trying his best to get used to the eyes constantly pressed on his back. Siebren does his best to make him feel comfortable, and he appreciates the gesture, but it’s hard to shake the feeling that they’re searching him for something, stripping him down to the molecule until they find the answers they are looking for.

At least Siebren is by his side, laughing and smiling easily, grazing light touches over his skin like time doesn’t exist. Harold grins warmly as he looks up into his ocean blue eyes and feels years and years of affection well up to the surface, waiting to spill out of his lips.

One day, three autumns, his mother told him when he was young, obsessed with idioms of her homeland as he was obsessed with books. His father had flown off to America again, leaving him and his sister to stay with his mother’s family in Lijiang. She’s proud in that typical Asian tiger mom way, but beneath the surface, she missed her husband greatly.

Yí rì sān qiū, she repeated in her native Mandarin. When you miss that special someone greatly, you say this. When they go away, one day feels like the passing of three autumns. You stare out the window because every single second they are gone is too long. You cling to their memory, hold it close to your heart, and eagerly wait for their return. She clasped him on the shoulder and said, Do you miss your papa?

That was her word for his father, ‘papa’. She was mama, and he was papa—a compromise between her Chinese culture and his father’s American culture. He nodded eagerly, as all young boys did. I miss papa.

She smiled with grave melancholy. Yí rì sān qiū, she said. I miss him too.

If one day is three autumns, he cannot imagine how many eternities have passed since he lost Siebren all those years ago.

After Harold woke up from his coma, Siebren doted on his every whim and need, following him around everywhere. He makes Harold breakfast in the morning and reaches for the mugs in the high cupboard. It's all rather unnecessary but Siebren does it anyway. “You can never be too careful,” the astrophysicist tells Harold, the astrobiologist with an expert understanding of gorilla and human physiology. “I don’t mind helping you. It’s the least I owe you for saving my life.”

In the past, perhaps Harold might have told Siebren that he can handle himself quite fine, but present Harold is smarter and wiser and he also has the added knowledge that Siebren is an adept masseuse with strong fingers. A few stray thoughts of how Harold came to know this filtered into his brain and drew the heat up to his cheeks. He thinks he sees Siebren make a similar reaction when he makes the request for a massage, back when they’re alone in his bedroom, but it’s lightning fast, too quick for him to catch. Siebren quickly rounds up behind him and presses his fingers firmly into Harold’s wound flesh.

Even after all these years, Siebren’s touch is familiar. Comforting. Delicate.

Maybe he likes to get pampered, Harold convinces himself as Siebren undoes a knot in his back, drawing out a soft groan. Maybe he likes how easily he unravels by Siebren’s touch, transforming all the stress and guilt that rests on his shoulders into radiant heat. Maybe he likes the feel of hands on his body, the touches forbidden to him for so long, lighting a long dormant fire in the pit of his stomach.

After a few minutes, Siebren speaks, curiously out of breath. “You’re enjoying this.”

“And you’re not?” Harold smiles knowingly over his shoulder.

Siebren clears his throat loudly behind his back. Harold smiles mischievously.

“I’m an old man now, Siebren. I can enjoy a massage every now and then.”

“Yes, well at our age, I think we’re entitled to it,” Siebren chuckles. “Not that I would ever force someone to massage me.”

“Why not? I basically made you do it now.”

“It’s different when it’s you,” Siebren admits quietly.

Harold’s eyes widen. There’s a spark in Siebren’s voice, a breathy quality Harold catches that conjures memories of silken sheets and soft pillows and warm skin, all made more potent on the dark expanse of the moon. Harold keeps his gaze forward, a dark blush betraying his otherwise neutral expression.

Siebren uses the silence to concentrate further on the massage. His fingers tap out rhythmically on Harold’s skin, a piano tune playing on pliable skin. Siebren begins to hum under his breath, a ragtag jumble of discordant notes that make no sense on their own but nevertheless sounds beautiful from his lips. It’s strange yet haunting and very very Siebren.

“What song is that one?” Harold asks quietly.

Siebren stops humming altogether. He coughs loudly. “N-nothing.”

“I’ve heard you hum that one before,” Harold comments. “New song or new formula?”

Siebren goes unnaturally quiet as his hands retreat from Harold’s shoulders. Harold turns towards him only to find Siebren staring at the dust molecules in front of his face. His lips are pursed tight. He’s floating higher, eyes wide and haunted.

Harold cups Siebren’s face, steadying him as he floats down to the ground. He sees the clarity dawn slowly upon Siebren like the birth of a sunrise, gravity shackling him once more to Earth. The expression Siebren gives him is not a familiar one. His face speaks of ghosts, nightmares, and sleepless nights.

“Harold…do you trust me?” He asks slowly.

“Of course I do.” Harold doesn’t even hesitate. “Tell me.”

Siebren gazes deeply into Harold’s eyes for any signs of doubt but finds nothing but warm and summery emotions, kept tempered and dormant by the forces of Harold’s willpower. With a final nod, he summons the hyperspheres.

They float idly around his right hand, spinning in circles before fusing into one being. The dark matter within has coalesced into a bigger sphere, the components that hold them together crumbling away like dust in the wind. Harold stares into the void, sees time and space fold into itself.

Harold frowns. “What am I looking at?”

“Sshhh,” Sigma hushes. He brings it closer to Harold’s ears.

It’s only then that he hears the music, a violent clash of thudding pianos and dark whispers and Shepard tones constantly rising to the heavens.

“What…what is this?” He gasps.

“The universe’s melody,” Siebren replies. He stares at the orb, watching it hover above his hand. “Magnificent, isn’t it?”

It is, Harold admits to himself, but not as magnificent as Siebren right now, vulnerable and gorgeous at the same time, familiar and unfamiliar in every right way. “Is this what you hear all the time?” he asks.

Siebren nods. “This was all I heard after the accident. For years I thought it was the universe taunting me, enslaving me to be servant to its whims. Alone in my own mind, I was trapped, fighting for release. And then one day I saw it. The bridge between time and space, a wormhole tearing the fabric of reality apart wide enough that I may glimpse through. And there I saw infinite realities, infinite versions of myself warped and changed through the efforts of infinite realities. But it was only for a second. And it never happened again.”

Harold stares at the dark orb in front of him, his breath disappearing into the mist. Slowly, shakily, he raises his fingers to touch it. Pain spikes when he touches it, fading away rapidly when he retreats his hand.

The orb harmlessly floats from his hand into Harold’s. Siebren tilts his head to the side, eyes wide in rapturous adoration. “So you see what I have to do, right? If I can just figure out this melody, if I can just find the formula, I might be able to prove the existence of multiple realities. I could see far into the past and future, and glimpse at the beauty the universe hides from us. I could learn so much more.”

It’s times like this that Harold wishes he shares Siebren’s passion for the mysteries of the universe, but their ultimate goals always differed. Siebren searches for the unknown far off into the galaxy, while Harold searches for the hidden potential lying dormant within all living creatures. Siebren sees the beauty in everything that he can’t see and touch, but Harold sees the beauty in the present, the sunlight in an excited grin, the dazzling stars behind sky blue eyes, the supernovas that explode from a gentle caress.

It takes Siebren a moment before he catches himself. He hides his shy smile behind a closed fist. The orb dissipates into thin air. “I-I know this sounds like I’m insane. I know my mind is no longer whole, but I just know the answer lies here somewhere.” He stares forlornly at Harold. “I understand if you don’t believe me. It sounds ridiculous.”

Harold smiles as he places a hand on Siebren’s shoulder. “Of course it sounds ridiculous," he says before chuckling. "But then again, people thought Copernicus was ridiculous when he said the Earth revolved around the sun back in the day.”

“So you believe me?” Siebren asks, hopeful.

“If you believe it, I believe it,” Harold says. He squeezes Siebren's shoulder lightly. “I trust you.”

Siebren takes Harold’s hands into his own, gazing down with childlike eyes. Harold can feel the gentle hum of power within Sigma’s palm, waves pushing and pulling at invisible strings. He doesn’t pull back when Siebren places a quick kiss on his cheek. The patch of skin where his lips left their mark fizzled pleasantly with electricity.

“I needed to hear that,” Sigma admits with a whisper. “Verdante, Harold.”

Harold blushes as he glances down at their entwined hands. He wants more—tender kisses, small touches, soft words—but he doesn’t have the courage to ask for more. He sees the way Siebren brightens in his presence, the joy and relief of knowing a long-lost love has been resurrected. He doesn’t have the courage to commit and break Siebren’s heart again when he returns to the grave, even if it means he must deny himself his own selfish wants.

He is used to sacrificing himself for others. It’s familiar. Normal.

“Come on, tough guy,” Harold smiles. “I think I owe you a massage after all that.”

Siebren protests loudly, but it falls upon flat ears. He isn’t going to get away that easily, Harold smiles to himself.

Moira catches him when Siebren is away on a training exercise. An additional check-up, she claims, though Harold is quick to narrow his eyes. It’s been more than a week since that fateful mission, and she only approaches him now when Siebren must temporarily leave his side. The timing is almost a bit too convenient.

He’s not usually a cautious person, but Moira rubs him in all the wrong ways. There’s a coldness in her stare that speaks of cold clinical data and complete detachment. Years ago, he wouldn’t have thought anything about it because he intrinsically trusted people to be benevolent and kind. A lifetime’s worth of betrayals have finally taught him otherwise. Not a day goes by when he wishes to see the world in rose-tinted glasses once more.

“All my medical tests have been up to date,” he says slowly. “My last checkup was two days ago.”

“Ah, yes, but this is a psychiatric examination,” Moira says. “You have been through a rather unfortunate accident. It is standard practice here in Talon to perform psychiatric examinations of all our personnel after any traumatic event.”

“Siebren hasn’t had an examination,” Harold points out.

“He shall have one after you. Now, if you will please join me?”

He’s got no choice but to follow. The choice she gives is an illusion, he thinks morosely.

She doesn’t take him to the medical bay where Dr. Irvin Laszlo’s office is. She doesn’t take him to her own office next door, pristine and professional apart from a few anime figurines on her shelf. Instead, she leads him down to the lower levels, past keycard-encrypted doors to a single, dark room.

It smells of decay and disuse, bringing back memories of Horizon One and the torturous loneliness he felt at Horizon Two afterwards. There are no windows, the only light coming from LED lamps above. The only items in the room are three plastic chairs, two facing the third, which stands beneath the spotlight. Moira takes her seat on the first. The second is occupied by a man he’s never seen before with sandy skin and a short spiky haircut similar to Harold’s own. She gestures for him to sit in the third, already scribbling notes on a clipboard with her other hand.

He glances into the shadows and thinks he spies a pair of eyes gazing upon him, but Moira clicks her fingers impatiently at him. The mysterious man presses a button on an old tape player. It’s analogue. Antique. Untraceable.

“This is the psychological examination of Subject: 31,” the mysterious man speaks with a British accent. Tones of his native Indian can be faintly heard. “We are here to examine his mental wellbeing after the failed mission at Cape Town.”

Moira steeples her fingers. “Tell me, if it’s not too much for you, what happened that day?”

There’s something wrong about all this, but he’s not sure what. Is it the stranger, Moira, or that insufferably dehumanizing nickname? He suppresses a frown and wills himself to sound calm. “I was on the mission with Siebren. The men in our contingent had killed all the poor omnic soldiers.”

“You feel sympathy for them?” She asks.

“Well, they are people, even if they’re not necessarily living.” His lips pull tight as he remembers the explosion. “Even if they are criminals, they didn’t deserve to die like that.”

Moira makes a note, scowling to herself. The stranger perks up. “So what happened after?”

Harold frowns. “I would think that’s common knowledge. The omnics all suddenly blew up after a countdown. If Siebren didn’t react fast enough and shielded the both of us, I would’ve probably perished with the rest of the team.”

He hopes his lie goes through undetected but the stranger glares with the intensity of a solar flare. “Surely that wasn’t all that happened, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, thinking about it logically, the omnic corpses were found scattered all over the base, meaning you would have been engulfed by flames on all sides. And even if you happened to be in an area where it can be easily blocked in one direction, that doesn’t explain how you got all burned up and Sigma escapes without a scratch.”

“I can’t answer that,” Harold lies. “I’ve never been in combat before. I was disorientated to say the least.”

“So why did you offer to go anyway? Talon gave you no combat experience. You had no reason to go.”

Harold bristles. “Siebren could have been in danger.”

“So could you.”

“Rather me than him.” Harold feels his face go flush with worry. He lowers his head. “Or anybody else for that matter," he quickly adds. "I know I’m living on borrowed time. I might as well give that time to someone who needs it.”

The stranger leans back in his chair, his posture casual but his eyes firm. Moira scribbles something. “We have reason to suspect Subject: 31 has been involved with Sigma in the past, Sanjay,” she tells him.

The stranger known as Sanjay smiles, as fake and plastic as the chair he sits upon. “So that’s what it is.” He turns to Harold. “Is this true?”

The realization dawns upon him far too late. He stands up from his seat, eyes wide. “This isn’t a psychological examination, this is an interrogation!”

“Sit down, please,” he orders.

In the darkness, a shadowy figure is disturbed from their place by the wall. The dark shine of a pair of shotguns stares back at Harold, crossed menacingly over the figure’s chest. In the back of his mind, Harold recognizes something about this person, but he doesn’t want to test his luck. He lets out a breath and slowly sits down, keeping his gaze firmly on Sanjay.

“Would you like me to repeat the question?”

“It’s fine,” Harold sighs. He glances at the section of the wall where the dark figure once stood, now gone without a trace, a dark whisper in the wind. He turns his head to Sanjay, his eyes still fixated on the wall. “…A long time ago, before the incident at Horizon One, we were…in a relationship.”

“Could you clarify?” Sanjay asks.

“Do I have to?”

“Only if you want to.”

Harold takes a quiet breath. “A romantic one,” he admits. “But that was only back then. Not anymore.” The words sting far more than any flesh wound.

“But you would say you are still close?”

“I think so. We are friends.”

“And you’re sure Subject Sigma—sorry, Dr. Siebren de Kuiper—” Sanjay says the name like it’s a foul aftertaste, “—you're sure he feels the same?”

His whole life has been built on him being observant and perceptive; he’d be a fool not to notice Siebren’s actions recently. He notices the secret little glances when Siebren thinks he’s not looking. He notices the soft smiles, sweet words desperate to escape a warbling throat. He notices the tender affection in Siebren’s touches, full of love and hesitation. He knows Siebren is falling for him again, but he doesn’t do anything about it. A part of him wants to be the one to capture Siebren’s heart all over again.

“I’m sure he does,” Harold says finally. As something more than friends, he wordlessly adds.

They ask him a few more basic questions about his stay, but everyone knows they won’t get anything out of him. He’s given a short debriefing, which is essentially an official reprimand for illegally accompanying Siebren on the mission. Fortunately, Moira has mercifully handwaved the incident away, not that Harold feels very fortunate. He really doesn’t want to owe anything to her.

He slowly stands up from his seat and is escorted out by Sanjay. In the middle of the hallway Siebren leans besides a wall, wearing a blue and black bodysuit that clings to his form. It’s athletic gear, Harold’s mind explains, even as his eyes inevitably trail downward. The bodysuit leaves very little to the imagination. It takes all of Harold’s willpower to keep his gaze level on Siebren’s face.

“Did it go well, Harold?” Siebren asks expectantly.

He wants to say something, but Sanjay is next to him, and the door is still open behind him. Moira waits within the room, pen primed in her hand. Harold forces a smile. “Nothing special,” he lies. “Just a standard psych examination.”

Siebren smiles, none the wiser. “Good to hear. I’ll see you for dinner after, correct?”

Harold smiles back, faltering when he feels Sanjay’s presence beside him. He turned to him. “Could I have a word alone with Siebren? Just for a second.”

Sanjay gives a look to Moira, who only tilts her head. He nods slowly. “Take your time,” he says, before returning to the room, closing the door behind himself.

Siebren frowns when he sees the stern expression on Harold’s face. “What happened?”

“Don’t…” Harold pauses, before adding, in a whisper, “don’t tell them how I saved you on the mission. Just say you put your barrier out. I did nothing.”

“Harold, you want me to lie?”

“Please, trust me,” he pleads.

Siebren’s eyes search Harold’s, for what he doesn’t know. Answers, Harold guesses. Clarification, Harold hopes. Whatever Siebren sees, it’s enough to make him frown. “If you say so,” he whispers, patting Harold once on the shoulder before opening the door. He takes a step forward, pauses in the doorway, and looks over his shoulder. “Take care, Harold."

Harold lets out a breath he doesn’t even realise he’s holding, brushes his hands on his clothes, and heads for the elevator. He presses a button on the wall, waits for the door to close. His heart pumps wildly in his chest, not in excitement or love but in fear. Thinking back on the previous few minutes during the interview fills him with a deep feeling of dread, but even he could not point out what made him feel this way.

Harold waits patiently in his bedroom. He sits on the edge of the bed, staring into his worn and wrinkled hands. He pulls the sleeve higher, gazing at the veins and arteries that runs down his arm. He flexes his arm, squeezes his fist tight, and watches as his blood vessels begin to glow. He stretches his hand out wide, shaking with effort, the glow dripping up his palm to his fingertips. He tries to maintain the light but the cold chill crawls under his skin as fatigue sets in. After three seconds, his arm drops limply to his side. He props his left arm up with the right and tries again and again to maintain it. With every attempt, his flesh loses a bit more colour. After the tenth attempt, he's forced to stop.

He asked Siebren to meet him here after dinner—to talk, he said. To tell the truth of his abilities and give some clarity for what happened that day, Harold wanted to say, but he feels the eyes on his back with every step he takes. It has to be here, where privacy is as assured as it can be.

Maybe while he’s at it, he can tell Siebren that he knows how he feels about him. That he feels the same way. That maybe they can start their romance anew.

The time that they agreed upon came and went, and Siebren was nowhere to be seen. The clock ticks on and Harold can’t help but wonder what happened. Siebren is usually a punctual person, and always leaves a message of his whereabouts on the few occasions he is late. Impatient concern grew in his lungs. His mother’s words flutter in his mind. Yí rì sān qiū, she whispers to the wind. One day without him feels like three autumns. You miss him.

I love him, his own voice corrected. He’s surprised by the conviction in the tone, like it's an assured fact. A universal truth.

Half an hour later, the door slides open. Harold sits up expectantly, his heart leaping out of his chest. Siebren’s smile is soft and full of relief and breathtaking. Harold is ready to hold Siebren tight and kiss him fully on the lips, but he falters when the door opens fully to reveal the forms of Moira and Sanjay.

“Subject—Dr. Winston,” Moira corrects, “we’ve been looking at your scientific work, and after some discussion, I think we can offer you a full position in one of our sister organisations.”

Sanjay pulls a piece of paper from a folder and hands it for Harold to read. It’s a pamphlet for a shining metropolis. Young adults frolic about, carrying books and computers as they sit in the shade of a tree or walk by the many stone paths. They smile widely to the camera, the rest of their faces hidden behind intricate golden masks. The writing is all in Arabic, but he recognizes it to be a university.

“The Ministries of Oasis have been looking for new scientists to join its legion. After seeing the research you two have been producing here both in the present and the past, I think you both shall be a good fit.”

“Both?” Harold asks.

Siebren smiles. “There is a position open for me at the Ministry of Physics. Who knew that Dr. O’Deorain is the Minister of Genetics for Oasis? How funny the world can be sometimes,” He chuckled. “I must say, I’ve always wanted to visit. And it certainly beats being holed up here, does it not?”

Harold cannot respond. Sanjay is staring at him intently with the kind of withering gaze that unravels weak men. He turns his head to Moira, forcing a polite smile on his face. “I'm afraid you have a misconception about my career. Though I also have a background in physics, my specialization is in biology and animal science.”

“The Ministry of Biology is also looking for new recruits. I believe you will work quite well there,” Moira states. “Of course, these positions I’m offering are not for free. You will have to compete with other scientists with equal pedigrees for these positions. It is highly competitive. I can give my recommendations to help you out, but the rest is up to your skills and intellect, and of course how well you do the interviews. But I can safely say you have a very good chance of getting in should you take this opportunity.”

“It sounds too good to be true, doesn't it?” Siebren smiles.

Harold cannot smile back. In the past he would leap at the opportunity, but he’s not blind to the world anymore. He sees the glimmer in Moira’s eyes, the tight jaw on Sanjay’s face, and knows they see something he doesn’t. They see the bigger picture, the grand scheme of things. Him and Siebren, they are just cogs in a machine, chess pieces in a game.

Every bit of self-preservation tells him to refuse but one glance at Siebren quells their reservations. If this really is danger, he won’t let Siebren go alone. He will protect Siebren however best he can, even if it means going into the belly of the beast. He’s spent a lifetime away from Siebren, and he can’t bear to be apart from him. Not again.

“A wonderful opportunity,” Harold says blankly. He turns to Moira. “Do I need to prepare anything for the trip?”

Moira smiles genuinely for once, her eyes crinkled with what appears to be amusement.

It's not long before Moira and Sanjay finally leave. As soon as they’re gone, Harold shuts the door behind Siebren. He opens his mouth to say something, but Harold approaches him swiftly and holds him in a crushing hug. He feels Siebren stiffen for a few seconds before relaxing. Harold feels a hand trails tenderly over his upper back, mapping stars and constellations. His eyes flutter from the sensation.

“What’s with you, Harold?” Siebren asks, concerned. “Are you alright?”

Harold doesn’t respond. He just clutches tighter, burying his face into Siebren’s shoulder, inhaling that deep scent of sugar and pine nuts that clings onto Siebren’s clothes. As Siebren chuckles quietly, a ditty hummed under his breath, all Harold can think of is the strength of the arms holding him, safe and strong and warm.

Just this once he’ll be selfish, he tells himself, as he nuzzles into the junction between Siebren’s neck and shoulder and feels a lifetime of autumns shed their leaves beneath his feet.

#Overwatch #Sigma #Sigma overwatch #Siebren de kuiper #Harold Winston #Sigrold #This chapter's fluff and pining with a heavy sprinkling of ANGST #I'm building up Harold's lore as I do this #My Harold Winston lore research is paying off I swear #He's hiding a secret that could be potentially dangerous but you gotta wait for that reveal #On a completely different note Sigma gives GREAT massages #Gravity powers + pianist fingers = perfect masseuse #Harold is...OK #He's too gentle #But very enthusiastic about massages #Harold Winston is half Chinese I stand by it

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