#stack rock fort

[wgm-beautiful-world]

Stack Rock Fort - Milford haven Waterway, Pembrokeshire, ENGLAND

#stack rock fort #milford haven waterway #fortress in wales #pembrokeshire #england #united kindom #europe

[emilybeemartin]

Just to tie in my two themes this month----

Additional notes, because poll options apparently limit their characters:

Frodo finds great peace in watching the tides rise and fall throughout each day. He attends all the ranger programs on birds and seashells and fills pages with sketches and poetry.

Sam meticulously selects postcards in the gift shop for each of his friends and spends a whole morning writing and addressing them. He also buys Junior Ranger hats for his kids and a variety of Appalachian jams for Rosie.

Park rangers launch a Missing Person search for Aragorn when they realize his car's been parked at Avalanche Creek for three days. The search runs for almost a week before he comes strolling out the opposite side of the park, supporting one of the SAR techs who twisted an ankle during the search.

Legolas is first drawn to Olympic for the towering, mossy temperate rainforests, but the ground goes out from under him when he steps onto Second Beach for the first time. He spends an entire day watching the light and tides shift on the sea stacks, and he leaves feeling both full and hollow, like a bell that's just been rung.

Mammoth is only Gimli's first stop on a cavern tour, followed by Jewel and Wind Caves and Carlsbad Caverns. Wind Cave is his favorite for the unusual formations. He makes an obnoxious tween boy cry in Carlsbad for breaking off a speleothem.

Boromir is on a tour of military parks. He asks so many questions to the intern working the info station at Fort Sumter the kid has to go find the park historian. His favorite site is Vicksburg because that place was buckwild, though he silently judges one of the reenactors for his clumsy handling of a black powder rifle.

Merry also makes stops in Jurassic and Dinosaur National Monuments. He watches every park video, takes selfies in front of all the fossil exhibits, and earns his Junior Ranger badge at each one. He buys a keychain for Pippin.

Pippin actually gets four citations, mostly for trying to stick his hands in mud pots. He doesn't mean anything by it---he's just so delighted and curious about the bizarre landscape. He winds up with several thermal burns and dumps a king's ransom in the donation box on his last day.

Gandalf gets dinged by rangers for not paying the $5 fee for Trunk Bay, but he acts senile until they eventually decide to drop it. He gets postcards from everyone and responds to none of them.

Faramir and Eowyn are traveling together and do many of the same hikes and rides, but they do have some different preferences off-trail. Eowyn drags Faramir to a rodeo and the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar in Jackson Hole, and he goads her into Ranger Shelton Johnson's living history programs on the Buffalo Soldiers in Yosemite.

Eomer is bike-packing on his sport cruiser motorcycle. He goes to Roosevelt south unit for the wild horse herds but ends up spending half a day watching a prairie dog town. He takes 400 photos of them, mostly blurry, and texts them to Eowyn.

#i actually did legit trip planning for this post #whats my choice? #I'm the ranger in Yellowstone who keeps finding Pippin putting his face in the goddamn paint pots #during office hours I follow the updates of the SAR in Glacier #after that I catch up with Faramir in Teton to hike Paintbrush Divide and casually ask what his brother's up to #oh he's going to be at Fort Laramie next week? #you don't say #when I get back to YELL I put in for emergency days off #do i give a damn about Fort Laramie? no #lord of the rings #lotr #frodo #sam #aragorn #legolas #gimli #boromir #merry #pippin #gandalf #eowyn #faramir #eomer #national parks #31 days of national parks

[morallyinept]

Summary: Joel Miller comes back into your life unexpectedly after a gap of thirty years, and stirs up all kinds of memories and longing. Now, as you're stationed on an outpost for five days alone with the man you stupidly let go of all those years ago, you have a chance to confront him about your past life together and all the things you wished you’d said and done.

But Joel’s different now, and you know you need to tread carefully. Joel Miller is not the same man you once knew in another life.

A slow burn romance set in the post apocalyptic world, approx. twenty or so years after the initial Cordyceps outbreak.

Pairing: Post-Outbreak Joel Miller x MatureF!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. However reader is of a similar age range as Joel; in her late forties/early fifties. Joel is slightly older at 56.)

Chapter Word Count: 5.8k

Series Masterlist

☝🏻See Series Masterlist for full smut warnings & triggers in this story. Chapters that contain smut or triggers will be highlighted in the chapter notes below. 👇🏻

Chapter notes: Slightly longer chapter as we start to get into the meat of this story as you and Joel are finally on your own together. Nothing too heavy to note. Teeniest, tiniest mention of self-harm.

Enjoy! 🖤

Previous Chapter

Sleep evaded you cruelly for most of the night. Lucid dreams that were unbidden, clawed at your subconscious mind and were unrelenting in their droves, and attempt to crush, what is left of your fragile mind.

Joel’s youthful face and his hands, ageing right before you until he was a pile of dust at your bloodied boots, blowing away through your fingers in the wind, haunted the delicate membranes of your sleep void inertia.

The sounds of his shaken voice echoed in your ears as he called your name to come back as you slammed hundreds of different coloured doors behind you. Feeling your heart, as it was pulverised into mush in your chest by a sledgehammer that he wielded, with sharp diamonds pouring out of his eyes.

You’re already irritable when you wake fully; your eyes feeling raw like sandpaper has been rubbed over them all night each time you blink. But you suck it up bravely despite the tension making your stomach ache and churn - you have to. 

Endure and survive...

Once suitably awake and clean, outside in the commune the masses are gathering in a buoyant hubbub about the mission. Horses are stacked with supplies, groups are running over their parts to play in meticulous fashion. 

You pass Tommy speaking with a bunch of guys and he nods, tipping his stark, yet grubby, Stetson as he regards you with a tight look. You’re still rocked by his rupturing revelations about Joel.

They still bite ceaselessly at your ankles. 

You catch up with Kelper and the others, sharing a gentle but lingering hug with Guthrie, who's remaining behind with Maria and her fort going on lockdown, due to his injuries.

Taking your hand, he prays silently for you all to return unscathed and you indulge him in his plea to God out of respect; it carries a bleak, yet somewhat reassuring nihilism to some degree. If there is a God up there - although you're sceptical after the stunts He's pulled over the last twenty odd years - but if there is one, you hope he's really listening to Guthrie right now.

This is your family, and losing them is not an option anymore. 

You squeeze Kelper’s hands in your own, then pull him into a binding embrace, choking back faceted tears that threaten to fall and rip down your face with their own jagged edges. But you’re steely in your grit not to let them.

Endure and survive.

He places a lingering kiss on your forehead and then another on your cheek.

"For God's sake, be careful." You plead, your hands refusing to uncoil from his; twisty, bony knots that crush.

"I'm coming back. I promise. So are you." Kelper assures you, and you know that stubborn bastard means it. 

"I love you." You breathe. 

"I know you do. I'm awesome." He replies, and you smile the way you always do when he comes back at you with that overused quip.

You glance back at Max and Sal - at the remains of your small, tattered clan, before you all separate into your assigned teams. Maybe Guthrie’s faith is rubbing off, but you silently pray to God yourself that they all return safely.

Even if it means that you don’t. It's a fair trade. 

You reluctantly approach Joel, taking a sharp intake of breath that chills your teeth, despite the warmth of the sun this early in the morning. The knot in your gut weighs heavier somehow.

It stalls you for a moment; Tommy’s words rattling around your bruised skull, but you push it all down. If Joel wants you to know, he’ll tell you himself.

He's loading up a couple of horses; his broad back stretching out his green, plaid shirt, boosting up the worn leather knapsacks and belting the buckles tightly to the saddles. 

It's abstractly peculiar to just observe him, how his hands work; how they're deft, yet seem so much bigger now than you remember. The horse brays, snuffling as you approach, and Joel pats it gently with those swamping hands. 

"Easy, easy." 

Joel shifts as he sees you, greeting him with a wary hello that sounds as small as you suddenly feel.

“Mornin’,” he replies dully, carrying on with the task at hand robotically. He doesn't look at you, you notice.

The whiskey he drank in abundance last night was a bad idea; his head feels like crushing lead, and despite fading into oblivion for a few measly hours, he’s still tired and jangled. Yammering thoughts of you kept him awake, staring at the ceiling as he willed them to give him some peace. 

It’s like he could make you out, clear as day, floating above him and taunting him even though your apparition never spoke to him. It just stared at him for most of the fucking night; pulling out all of his demons to side with you, and it’s why he can’t look you in the eyes much this morning. 

“He seems like a good man, Tommy says so.” He juts his chin over his broad shoulder to Kelper, startling you a little with the gruff tincture of his voice. 

“He is." You smile. "Saved my ass countless times. And vice-versa.” You explain watching Kelper fade into the crowd with a heavy gut. “Want me to get that?” You point down at the other knapsack and Joel shakes his head. 

“I got it.” He lifts it up, stepping around to the other side of your horse. 

You pet and stroke the horse’s mane; a black mare that nudges her large head into your hands affectionately and you click and coo at her in return.

"She got a name?" You ask Joel. He shrugs and continues loading up. 

She’s a beauty, and it makes you melt that there are still some things that are left untarnished by the fungal rot in the world. 

“How’d ya cross paths?” Joel asks as he attaches the bag onto the saddle. He seems a little disinterested, like conversation with you is hard. But you regale him nonetheless.

“We had a group. Or rather, he did. And soon it became our group. He trusted me enough to let me make decisions, and mistakes, but it grew. We became a family. There were about sixty of us at one point. And now there’s five.” You remark bitterly.

You swallow thickly as you hear the screaming again inside your ears. The mare butts her head against yours as if she can hear it too. 

Joel doesn’t say anymore, pausing to listen to you before he carries on loading up the tan stallion that’s his to ride. 

But the tidal wave of the screaming, the panic, drowns you. The teeth coming at you as you shoot your way through the hysteria. But there are too many to boldly take on and your gun jams. 

Run! RUN!

You remember Kelper's hand on yours, dragging you away. You grab a hold of Guthrie, exchanging the gun for his hand as you let it clatter to the ground that's filling with blood.

You're scrambling through the mottled tree bark. You spy Max and Sal bringing up the rear; white eyes and red faces, as Kelper takes you all deeper into the woods. Infected follow you, hot on your heels as you run; the oxygen waning and setting light to your papery lungs.

Your legs are giving out. Your ankles on fire…

“That can’t happen here.” You shake your head defiantly as you look around the commune coming back to a bleak reality. “What you guys have built and achieved here? Kelper, he won’t let you lose what we did. That's why he’s a good man.” You conclude, speaking as if in a trance.

“S’not enough of them around anymore.” Joel replies stoically. 

“No. There is.” You say, looking at him and he turns away after he catches your intense gaze like it scalds him.

“Wouldn’t be so sure ‘bout that.” He mutters, leaving you to pull apart his toneless words.

After a time of readying the horses, time spent in awkward silence for the remainder between the both of you, Tommy announces for everyone to move out.

You shoot Kelper a small, reluctant wave and he returns it. 

Five days. You can get through five days without him. Endure and survive.

You realise in all the time you’ve known Kelper, you’ve not once been separated from him, and those thoughts grow teeth and start to chomp with all the other gnarly, unsettling thoughts.

“Y’need a boost?” Joel offers as you attempt to get up on the mare.

“No, I got it.” You hook your foot in the stirrup and swing your other leg up and over, mounting the mare confidently. “This ain’t my first rodeo, cowboy.”

You smirk down at Joel who doesn’t smile back. Just shakes his head full of greying tufts, and mounts his stud with a little bit more of an aggrieved effort to get on the damned thing. 

"Do you need a boost?" You smirk as you untangle the reins.

"Don't be a smartass." He grumbles with a deep frown. 

You used to love it.

You wait, with pursed lips, steadying your horse as Joel hacks up beside you. 

“Ya ready?” He asks you and you know inside that you’re anything but.

“Let's do this.” The weight in your gut still weighs you down in there. You're drowning right before him and he's completely oblivious.

You both watch as the other riders head out the gates first. 

“Listen, I don’t suffer fools easily.” He says it coldly, as though you don’t know him, never knew him; as though you’re a stranger to him and you realise that's exactly what you are now.

It’s how he sees you. And the line couldn't be anymore clear as it is thick.

It’s a frank warning that rolls out of his dull, chapped lips and in a baritone that you don’t think you’ve ever heard in his voice before.

This Joel Miller is a complete stranger to you. He's wary of you, suspicious as he eyes you now, finally. That prominent frown creased in at the centre of his brow with brown eyes, that were once warm and inviting, that now coat a layer of ice over your skin.

You shudder as the prickles tear down your spine.

“We gotta communicate, work together. Don’t be foolish n’ take any risks, y'hear me? Ya do what I say when I say it.”

“I hear you, Joel.” You reply, staring straight ahead, teeth grinding. Your grip tightens on the reins.    

“Just lay it on the line. That’s all I ask.” Joel says. 

You wonder if he notices his double entendre. “Unscrupulous honesty it is then.” You smile.

You gulp. You think that he might regret telling you that.   

“We gotta trust each other out there. I know it's been…" he sighs, or runs out of breath; you're not sure which as he trails off.

Then he looks back at you and it pierces you right down to the very core.

"Y’think you can do that?” He asks, with blown out curls billowing in the summer breeze, and you look back at him; at those deep chocolate eyes that are so familiar, yet so alien. 

“I can.” You always trusted him back in the day when trust seemed so frivolous a thing. “I got your back, Joel. You got mine?”

Joel nods once, a small clip of his chin and starts on forward.

Taking a deep breath, you tap the sides of the mare gently with your heels as she trots forward, following after his tan stallion and out of the gates. 

Riding on horseback it would take half a day to reach outpost three at a steady pace.  

Joel rides slightly ahead; a rifle slung over his shoulder and a pistol in his belt holster. You've been afforded a gun of your own, a Glock, which is tucked in a similar holster on your own belt that Joel had handed to you once out of the gates of the commune.

You remembered turning back, one last look at Guthrie as those wooden gates locked and wouldn't open again until the threat was taken care of. Maria was battening down the hatches. If the infected got past you, if something went wrong, those gates were all that were left stopping them. 

The knapsacks are loaded with supplies; food, water, ammunition, and yours bumps continually against the side of your thigh as the mare trots along. 

The summer heat of a late June beams down on you, warming your scalp and you squint upward, closing your eyes and enjoying the warmth.

Stolen moments like this, a few seconds amongst the bloodied chaos, where you could remember to stop and appreciate the small things, is what kept you going throughout all of the carnage, the constant fighting for survival.

So you breathe in the morning air, feel the sun bake your face and appreciate that you're alive for a few seconds, even though some days you wish you weren’t. 

When you open your eyes, Joel is glancing over his shoulder at you, scrutinising carefully; eyebrows pulled together. He turns away when you catch him.

You bristle, feeling the prickles on the back of your neck rise again and you rub them away. 

“So, this is weird, huh?” You challenge with a coy smile. 

“Ride on my left, will ya? I can’t hear what you’re sayin’ to me when ya mumble under ya breath.” Joel replies and you take up position on his left side.

“Jesus, you’re getting old.” You smirk again.

“Crept up on me too fast.” Joel agrees with a sharper frown. His hips jut forward and backwards, balancing his weight on the stallion as you both ride on.

“I was joking.” You snicker. 

“I wasn’t.” He states rather po-faced. “Besides, gun shots. Not age,” he explains pointing to his right ear. 

“And the scar?” You query gently. You’d noticed it on his temple; a faded, spiky flower in stark contrast compared to the caramel tan of his face. 

“S’a story for another day,” he announces, flatly. His voice is as rigid as his posture now becomes. 

But he didn’t need to tell you, not really. You already know what it is.

You recognised it because there had been a moment when you’d wanted to make it all stop too. You have your own scar hidden away under your sleeve which you now tug around your wrist discreetly.

You hadn’t met anyone yet without a story like that, not really. You swallow thickly, pushing down your own painful memories and carrying on. 

Endure and survive.

"I'd ask ya how you've been, but y'know…" Joel mumbles a little while later.

"You can ask me," you smile.

Joel sighs, his face remaining a harsh angle of lines. "How've you been?"

"Joel, what a stupid question." You smirk and he sighs, shaking his head. Like he knew you would say that.

Like he knew you once well enough to know you'd say something like that.

"Still a smartass." You think you hear him mutter. 

You shrug. "I've been… better. I think we all have, right?"

He nods slowly as the horses clip-clop along languidly, side by side. You don't say anything else. Everything seems futile and pointless.

A little while up the way, Joel's horse starts to bray and resist.

"Easy," he ushers to it, but glances up ahead as yours does the same, to see a shadow on the abandoned route. 

"Infected." You confirm. You skin stands on edge.

"I got it," Joel's already dismounting and drawing his rifle around his front as you reach for his horse's reins and shush it gently. 

"You need a hand?" You call.

"I said, I got it." He growls back as he walks forward taking aim. 

The infected spots him and starts to run. Joel fires, but misses. 

"Shit," he grunts as he takes aim again. 

He misses once more, fingers shaky on the trigger as he glances down the length of the barrel to the rabid screeching coming closer. 

"Are you sure you don't want help?" You tease. "Quit dancing and shoot it already."

"M'fine! Stop talkin'!" He calls back as his lips curl over his teeth. He shakes the irritation off, closes his eyes and then takes aim once more. 

The infected falls to the ground before he can press on the trigger; the loud pop from behind startles him.

He turns to see you now stood a few steps back with the smoking barrel of your Glock at arm's length, and a wily smirk cocked at him. 

"Best shooter in Jackson, huh?" You tease him. 

"I said, I got it!" He bites at you, storming back to his horse. 

"Mmhm," you simply reply, trying not to laugh, but the murderous look clouding his features warns you off. "Just took the shot," you shrug. 

But his glare burns you out from the inside.

"Didn't need ya interferin'. Been doin' just fine all this time without ya!" Joel bites.

He mounts and rides away furiously, leaving you to dissolve completely away under the acid of his snarls. 

Fuck. 

Time rides with you both and you don’t talk.

Just an uncomfortable, suffocating silence that grows bigger, expands wider like a chasm. It hovers around you pushing against your skull. 

You want to fill it with something, anything. But words don’t come.

Everything you want to say sounds stupid, futile even. You wish you knew a good joke to break the ice, but don’t. He probably wouldn't laugh anyway. 

Lips pursed, teeth gnashing, Joel stares icily ahead. A unbroken and insurmountable presence beside you that seems unconquerable.

But then after a while, when it’s been almost an hour since he last spoke to you, or acknowledged your existence, still clearly sulking, you decide to be brave.

Or stupid.  

“Do you… remember?" You begin keeping your eyes on the route ahead.

"'Member what?" He mutters. 

"Us. What we were like back then?” You ask tentatively. 

Stirring up the ghosts of your past probably isn’t a wise idea, but faced with the prospect of being cooped up with Joel for the next five days, as daunting as it is, is a chance to say some things that are so unspoken.

Even if they would re-open wounds long sealed shut.  

Joel sighs and it's a long one. It feels heavy, even to listen to it. It pulls you under, face first and holds you down, ensuring that you won't ever resurface as your lungs fill with swamp water.

"Let's not talk 'bout that. Just get to the outpost." 

"Fine." You say despondently.

Evidently, he's still mad at you for taking the shot. Some primal pride of his was wounded no doubt, but equally you're hurt that he probably thinks you're too gung ho.

And you probably are; gotta get them first before they get you, right? It's the embedded mantra on how you've survived for so long, and what makes you a good shot - you've had plenty of practice.

But then, you always were impulsive to some degree. Slapdash. Making decisions before you'd really thought through any consequence. Even the ones that still haunt your blood now. 

You run your tongue around your teeth and reach for the water bottle tucked in the knapsack. 

"You thirsty?" You ask him as you offer it out to him and he shakes his head vehemently. Again you sigh. 

"I'm sorry, okay? I saw a chance and I took it."

"Stop talkin'." Joel grunts. 

You shrink back, falling a few paces behind as he rides on forward, determined and with a tension that winds his broad shoulders tight, hunched.

You stare at his back, zoning out for a few minutes, your mind wandering in territories that it's not welcome in. Remembering, unwillingly, as you'd nuzzle into his back after he'd had a hard day at work; his hands blistered and sore.

How you'd wrangle the tension and knots out of those shoulders, and he'd throw his head back so you could get to his scalp. Weaving and raking your fingers across his head and listening to all the sounds he'd emit, the low groans and the throaty gasps as he melted under you.

Mmm, just like that, darlin'. Yeah...

Joel would melt like hot butter poured in your lap. 

"Wait here," he says, snapping you out of your recall. He dismounts and you see him wander off the path.

You take the reins of his horse, trekking up beside it. "Where are you going?" 

He doesn't answer. You watch him disappear off the road, bleeding into a small copse of trees until his shadow disappears fully out of sight.

Sighing, you look up to the sky, thinking that being paired up with Joel was probably the worst idea.   

These five days are going to be absolute Hell.

He returns a few minutes later, wiping his hands at the back of his jeans and stepping through the underbrush with eyes focused like a laser beam on the ground.

You both carry on, with your mouth zipped firmly shut. 

But Joel can hear your forced silence like it's deafening his one good ear. Feel you, like you're jabbing him constantly in the gut.

And he can't turn it off.

The same as he can't turn off those hazy, sepia memories rearing their ugly heads as they flood through his aching muscles, feeding them with pink fleshy life.

You've polluted him again, ripped a hole in his head, and he's forced to confront it, even if every compulsion in his body wills him to just ride away from you.

Because it's better than the alternative that pulls at his longing curiosity. Better than letting you seep in through the tiny, hairline cracks.

“Y'were fast." He says suddenly and you glance at him. He keeps his eyes on the road ahead as you continue to trot along together.

"Everythin’ was so fuckin’ fast with ya. I couldn’t keep up."

You smile; a supernova bursting inside your chest and rendering your vital organs to dust.

"Y'were right to leave me behind.” He concludes bitterly.

You feel relieved that he does remember you. It makes that weight in your stomach feel lighter somehow. But the end of his sentence adds salt into the weeping wounds.

“I wanted the world.” You muse. At one point, you believed you would conquer it. You failed. 

“How’s that workin’ out for ya?” He side-eyes you with warm mocha browns that you want to dive head first into. 

“I mean, the world is still here. Just looks different now.” You say, glancing down at dandelions and overgrown shrubs that are slowly taking back the path.

“You’ve not slowed down.” He observes. "Still fuckin' impatient." He rolls his eyes and shakes his head again. 

“Old habits die hard, I guess.” You reply. 

"You’re different.”

You look at him as he looks back at you, studying you carefully. 

"I've gotten old too." You smile.

“No. Not that." Joel says, looking away. "You’re exactly the same as I ‘member, but just...”

“You remember me, huh?” Your breath catches in the back of your throat. 

“Ya kinda made it impossible to forget ya, darlin’." 

The warmth engulfs you and you smile wider at this, cheeks on fire, remembering the whimsy in the pet name that he always used for you. Remembering how it made you feel all that time ago, and how it still makes your chest flutter even now as it rolls off his lips like the decades haven't existed between you. 

How he can carelessly toss affection at you, despite everything.

“You were never mine, back then. Not really." You say flippantly.

"No, I was." Joel corrects as he clears his throat and frowns again. "But we were young n’ stupid.” He surmises with a shrug of his own. He keeps his eyes in front still. 

You nod in agreement. “We thought we knew a thing or two about love, didn’t we? We were arrogant. But it still broke my heart to lose you back then, Joel.” You admit, your voice is a strangled whisper, barely surviving.

Your fingers relax a little on the reins, realising you’ve been twisting them this whole time tightly and your palms burn. "I'm sorry. That must sound weird after all this time. After everything…" 

You trail off when Joel doesn't speak. 

The two of you continue along like the last few minutes of conversation hasn't happened. Both mulling it over quietly. Probably regretting it.

Joel knows he has said too much, and he's frantically wishing he could cram the words back into his mouth and swallow them down again. But he can't. And neither can you. The admissions are out there now, battering you both around the skulls.

"What was it like for ya?" He asks tentatively. "When it happened?"

"The outbreak?" You query.

"Yeah."

"Tough." You reply, willing your mind not to relive it, but it does anyway just to spite you. "I was in Waco, visiting mom. Didn't plan on staying too long, but I got a call. She'd passed before I got back though. Dementia."

"M'sorry."

"No it's… it was better that she went that way, considering. Peaceful... I was packing back up to leave a few days later. And then it all went to shit. It happened so damn fast. I barely got out."  

Joel's question pulls it all out of you with dripping, red threads. 

You swallow hard and you feel it graze. "When I think about it now, it's like… I'm watching someone else. Someone with my face. Someone who did-" You take in a deep breath, catching at the back of your throat before you swallow it down. "-Someone who did some questionable things to get here, to get to today." 

Joel nods, but doesn't add his own recall of that day. From the look on his face you decide not to ask him about it either. 

"But I remember what it was like before that. Life. What it could be again someday." You shake your head despondently. "I remember you." You say with a thin smile offered in repentance.

“We were together n’ sometimes I forget the rest of it.” Joel mutters. 

You feel that heated warmth creep over your cheeks and nose. “Me too.”

A small, tight smile tugs at the corner of his pale pink lips. “Y'could barely stand me in the end.”

“Eh. I can barely stand you now.” You remark with a grin.

He shakes his head, chuckling inward silently. “Don’t matter. You’re here. Y'made it. I always knew ya had some brass cajones.”

Joel glances you from the side, turning his head slightly. Those lips of his stretched a little further, on the verge of a full beam which he keeps restrained from fully breaking free. 

“Bigger than yours."

He scoffs. 

"You made it, too. But, you’re stuck with me for the next five days, Joel.” You tease.

The smile dips back into his cheeks, a crescent moon dimple forms on the left side. “I think I’ll manage. I've endured far worse.”

You smile and continue to ride beside him. Those hot prickles on your neck are covering your whole body now.

“S’fuckin’ crazy world, right?" He mumbles it, sharpshooting the words into the wind as they circle back and blow in your face. 

"Amen to that." You smile and you see the flash of that crooked smirk you remember widening on the side of his mouth as he finally loses all restraint to keep it at bay. 

There he is. 

“Should be there soon,” Joel announces a few hours later. 

The grasses are longer, more unruly and nature has taken back the land fully here it seems.

It's eerily beautiful and your eyes fall onto all the wild flowers swaying in the breeze and getting tangled in the brambles; the scents of them tickling your nose.

You lower your hand through them as the mare crosses through the grasses. Plucking one or two on your way and bringing the petals to your nose to inhale before letting them fall free again. You plant some of them affectionately in the mare's silken mane, enthused in your handiwork.

“Y'always did like flowers,” Joel says, remembering.

He remembers the bunches he would pick for you each week just because they were pretty and reminded him of you; the pink expensive ones he brought on your birthday and you cooed gratefully, planting smackers over his cheeks enthusiastically. 

You throw a soft beam back at him, remembering too.

You travel on the back roads, deserted highways where the forests have encroached over the tarmac fully. Places where the past ills of humanity have been eaten up by Mother Nature and regurgitated into something wildly free and lushly green.

Perhaps the way it was always supposed to have been.

Your journey has remained free of anymore roaming infected. But you’re keeping a furtive look out; scanning the tree lines beside you as you both ride along in some more stoic silence. 

But it seems less daunting and sharp now.

You stop for a while to eat, to let the horses rest. Joel picks around a couple of burnt out cars on the road as he keeps busy and refuses to be still. A constant hurricane swirling. 

But Joel surprises you, a little later, speaking more freely when you probe gently about his life prior to Jackson. Thinking he would shut you down, yet he tells you about Ellie. Mostly about Ellie.

Very briefly and with no detail about someone he knew for a long time called Tess, with a gritted jaw that doesn't unclench, so you ask no further about it. He tells you nothing detailed, and strangely in not so many words. 

But you sense she meant more to him that he reveals. The way his eyes mist over, as he dwells alone in the darkness of his thoughts, pulls at your gut.

He never mentions that night; the outbreak. Never mentions Sarah. And you don’t bring her up either, even though you know more than you think he'd want you to.

It feels intrusive somehow, holding this terrible secret over him, even if he's not aware of it's strength that you unwittingly possess. A part of you resents Tommy for filling you in so dutifully.

Ignorance is bliss, after all.

“Where's Ellie now? Sounds like you two have quite the bond.” You ask as you eat with your legs drawn under yourself. 

“She has a girlfriend. Can’t keep her in one place for long these days. She visits. S’not far from Jackson, in another place they've set up. Think I was startin’ to cramp her style.” The frown returns. “She should have her independence… A normal life.” Joel explains, although you can see it pains him in some way to be apart from her, as his brow furrows further until it swallows most of his face.

“Nothing is normal anymore, Joel.”

“Y’know what I mean.” He lances a stare at you, like you're immature and don’t know shit about this world, just like Ellie doesn’t. And in some ways he’s probably right about that. 

“Young love, huh?” You surmise, wistfully. 

“S'kinda beautiful.” He says, recalling a private memory as he stares off into the distance.

You secretly hope that it’s one of you both together, wondering which one he would pick as his favourite. Yours is when he first told you he loved you; his sweaty face above yours after an intense mutual climax, and he just blurted it out into your face, and inside of his deep brown eyes, you knew he meant it.

He told you again in the morning over breakfast. And when he dropped you off home in his beat up car. 

And everyday after that, until he stopped.

“What about you, have you met anyone special in Jackson?” You pry on with numbing fingers through the dirt. 

Joels snorts rather pugnaciously. “No. S'’better that way.”

He finally approaches and sits on the ground adjacent to you but keeps a subtle distance; you hear his knees creak.

“What ‘bout you? You n’ Kelper… Y’have some history or present?” Joel asks curiously after a while. 

He can’t help himself. Not when he remembers catches you glancing forlornly as Kelper walked away with Tommy that morning, and he feels the stagnant whiskey toss around in his squally gut.

“You’re more Kelper’s type than I am.” You remark back with a wry smirk. “He likes 'em rugged.”

"Ah." Joel nods and you think you see him blush for a second.

You shake your head. “There was someone, years ago now, nothing serious, but it’s hard to hold onto something in this world when it’s constantly trying to rip you apart, right?” 

Joel picks idly at the grass, wrenching blades from their roots with his gnarled, thick fingers. You watch him do it, remembering what those fingers felt like as they danced upon your skin in an era long since departed. 

“D’you believe in fate?” Joel asks later as you’re both saddled back on the horses, and you're taken back by the question that is so out of character for him. 

You recall a memory of you trying to convince him to have a tarot reading at a fairground, and him telling you in no uncertain terms that all that chick, crystal shit was bullshit. We make our own damn fate, darlin'.

You smile, as you can hear him now, echoing somewhere in the back of your head.

You ponder for a second and realise that in this world, a world that has taken so much, that fate and destiny still weave their magic realism through the murk and rot.

How else can you explain finding Joel again like this?

“Yeah. I do. Explains why we've found each other again, right?”

Joel nods back. “Would have found ya regardless.”

“What makes you so sure of that?” You scoff.

“‘Cause, you’re not somethin��� that's so easy to lose.” Joel states, carelessly throwing words at you again. “Broke my heart back then too.”

You stop riding as it sucker-punches you.

The mare slows down as you pull on the reins, and it takes him a few trots to realise you’re not following before he stops and turns back to you on his stallion with a blank face. 

“I looked you up, you know?” You admit with watery eyes. 

“Y'did?” He baulks.

“Yeah. Heard you’d relocated back to Austin. I drove for hours to your house one day. I… I wanted to knock on your door so fucking badly. Beg you to take me back. Tell you that you were right. That I was an idiot. But I couldn’t.” 

You recall it in all its vivid, scaly form; gripping the steering wheel so tightly at the time, amping yourself up to knock and tell him you were an idiot, that you didn’t want the world if he wasn’t in it exploring it with you. 

It had been a while since you’d walked away from him. Calling him immature, indecisive and holding you back. But seven years later and you were the one crawling back, trying to plug that gaping hole where you’d pushed him out of your life, and for what? Everything you’d left him for hadn’t been worth it.

It was all hollow somehow without him.

Your eyes focused on the muscular body that came out of the house that day. A late-twenties, early thirties-something Joel, with darker facial hair; a more stockier build. He'd filled out in all the right places. You'd reached for your car door latch with your blood thumping in your ears. 

And then a small girl, with wild curls, followed out after him. Dancing around his legs with a lilac backpack as he loaded her up in the car after terrorising her with smooches as she squirmed away giggling.

Her laughter still haunts your blood.

Your heart had sank, drowning in your stomach acids and being burned up by them until there was nothing of it left. Joel was a father now and you couldn’t intrude on that.

How could you dare to try to invade his settled life and expect him to put you first? You were so fucking selfish.

You drove away that day, vowing not to look back as hot tears seared your cheeks as they fell in abundance. To let yourself move on. But you never really did. He was the one who got away. 

Correction; the one who you stupidly let go of. 

Joel’s mouth dips. “Wasn’t the right time.” 

“No, it wasn’t. We had our time.” You tap the mare lightly with your heel and she trots forward. You wipe your eyes. discreetly, refusing to let him see. He can't know how it tore you to shreds to see that he’d moved on and was happy without you.

But it was your own doing.

“Maybe I should’ve fought harder to keep ya around. Perhaps if I had, things would've been different…” You hear Joel surmise into the air.

You shake your head. “No, the world was always going to end, Joel.” 

“That’s not what I meant,” he gruffs. 

“I know.” It’s bittersweet, but you know. Even if it lacerates you and leaves you bleeding, dying.

“But y’were happy, ya had a happy life, before all this?” He queries. Something shines inside his own eyes, something hopeful. 

“As happy as it could be.” You confirm. You recall pockets of feeling content for a short time. But it never lasted. No-one could replace him, not really.

“Good. Y'deserved that.” Joel says. 

“So did you.” 

He was the one that you’d let slip away whilst you chased your own idle, selfish dreams. The one who haunted you throughout life. Where was he? What was he doing? Was he happy wherever he was? 

Did he miss you like you missed him?

Joel Miller would have given you the world that you were so desperate for, but you never gave him the chance to. It only pained you now that it was too late. So much time and energy wasted for too long, and for what?

Now Joel was just another rupture in your life, a clot that would be your ultimate undoing. 

He carries on trotting as do you, riding beside him as his broad shoulders obscure the sun that’s blinding you and suddenly burning you up, eviscerating your being. 

“Fate knew somethin’ we didn't.” Joel mumbles. 

You don’t say anything else.

You just ride, feeling more and more empty, as you and Joel both carry on forward in a silent agreement that fate, is indeed, a fucking cruel sadist. 

To be continued...

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Thank you for taking the time to read my story; it really means so much to me. I'd love to know your thoughts, and I'd really appreciate a re-blog so others can enjoy this story too. Thank you so much 🖤

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TAGLIST: If you'd like to be added/removed, please let me know.

Tagging everyone who asked to be tagged & who re-blogged my teaser.

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[minminyoonjii]

please do more little!reader x caregiver skz!! for me my comfort is mostly caregiver!Felix, but you can write any members you'd like 💕 a "sleepover" like scenario with fun activities would be so cute 😭

i actually never thought abyone else had caregiver!skz as a confort before i saw the other ask so 😭 im v happy

❤️Ultimate Masterlist

💜Rules and Guidelines

🧡Stray Kids Scenarios Masterlist

🌹CW

Gender Neutral! Reader|Age Regression|Wholesome|Domestic Settings|Fluffy|Tooth Rotting Sweet|A Whole Lot Of Kisses|A Whole Lot Of Hugs|Daddy! Chan|Mama! Minho|Baba! Changbin|Jinnie! Hyunjin|Appa! Jisung|Mommy! Felix|Dada! Seungmin|Ninnin! Jeongin|Collect Your Caregivers Like Pokemon To Help With Your Fort

💌 This is a work of fiction, I by all means don't force ship anyone. They have the right to love whomever they want.

🍄Wordcount: 2.4K

"Daddy?" you asked, tugging on the back of Chan's shirt. Chan jolted, too immersed in his thoughts to hear you walk up to him. "You almost gave daddy a heart attack, little one," he chuckled, turning around to face you. You frowned, holding your plush close "I didn't mean to," you pouted, staring at your feet. Chan smiled, running his fingers through your hair "Daddy knows, darling," he reassured, kissing the top of your head. "Daddy," you mumbled, burying your face into his chest.

Chan cooed, "Yes, little one?" he asked, rocking you in his arms. "Is daddy busy?" you asked, nibbling your bottom lip. Chan hummed, pressing your lip away from your teeth "Nope, daddy's free today," he said, reaching into the baby bottle sterilizer for your teether. You opened your mouth, drawing a low chuckle from Chan as he place it between your teeth. "Daddy, really free today?" you asked, chewing on the silicone toy. Chan nodded, "Yes, darling. Daddy's free today," he said, stroking your cheek.

You gasped, excitement buzzing throughout your body when a sudden thought popped in "Chan probably wants to rest. We shouldn't bother him," the voice echoed. Your excitement died down in front of him, causing him to furrow his eyebrows "What's wrong, little one? Come on and tell daddy what you're thinking," he coaxed, brushing his index finger under your chin. You pursed your lips, "Wouldn't daddy want to rest since it's daddy's rest day?" you asked, fidgeting with your fingers.

"While that may be true, little one. Daddy would rather spend his free day with you," he reassured, patting your head. You huffed your cheeks "I don't want to burden daddy," you whispered, wrapping his arms around his waist. "Little one, you are never a burden. Who made you think that way?" he asked, cupping your cheeks. You bit into the teether, "Big me has thoughts," you mumbled, averting your gaze. Chan felt his heart ache, "Look at daddy, darling," he whispered, making you face him.

He held your pinky in his "Daddy promises, that no matter what happens. You are never a burden. Do you understand?" he asked, hooking your fingers together. You croaked out a whimper, nodding your head at his word. Chan smiled, holding you close "Well, what does our little darling want to do today?" he asked, booping your nose. You hummed, "Can we make a fort please?" you asked, staring up at him. Chan chuckled, "A fort, yeah?" he asked, brushing your hair from your face.

You nodded excitedly, "Want a fort so we can sleepover together!" you cheered. Chan cooed, "Alright, little one. Daddy is going to find your playmat, we can stack the pillows and blankets over it," he said, releasing his hold. "Thank you, daddy," you giggled, kissing his cheek. Chan smiled, "Go and see if anyone else wants to help with our little project," he said, gesturing to the stairs. You nodded once more, "Otay!" you squealed, padding up the stairs.

You opened Changbin's door, "Baba? Is baba awake?" you whispered, crawling onto Changbin's body. Changbin grunted, wrapping his arms around your body "Is something the matter, agi?" he rasped, blinking open his eyes. "Daddy and I are making a fort, does baba want to help?" you asked, lying on Changbin's chest. "Of course, anything for our agi-ah. Why don't you take Gyu with you? He could protect your plushies," he chuckled, kissing your forehead.

"Otay, Gyu protector of the fort, like baba," you said, snuggling between Changbin's chest. Changbin cooed, rubbing your back "That's right, just like baba," he said, holding you close. You giggled, squirming under his hold "Baba, let go," you squeaked. Changbin chuckled, tightening his hold "Nope, you're stuck here with me," he teased, pampering kisses all over your face. You squealed, loud giggles echoing within the room.

Changbin laughed, loosening his hold enough for you to wriggle out. You playfully glared at him, wrinkling your nose "Baba," you huffed. Changbin smiled, handing you Gyu and your plushie "You're so adorable, agi," he cooed, squishing your cheeks. You whined, holding the plushies close. Changbin sighed, letting go of your face "Alright, alright. Go see if Jinnie's in his room. Maybe you can ask him to help as well," he said, following you out the door.

You nodded, "Otay, baba," you said, walking towards Hyunjin's room. "Jinnie, jinnie," you called out, peeking your head into his room. Hyunjin chuckled, turning around to face you "What is it, lovely?" he asked, setting his pencil between his ear. You tilted your head, staring at Hyunjin's canvas "What was jinnie doing?" you asked, oblivious to his question. Hyunjin shook his head with a fond smile etched on his lips "Jinnie was just sketching tulips, little love," he said, pulling you onto his lap.

You stared at the canvas in awe "It's very pretty Jinnie," you whispered. Hyunjin cooed, "Why thank you, lovely. Now, what do you need me for?" he asked, noticing the plushies in your arms. You gasped, "Oh, right! Daddy, Baba and I are making a fort. Does Jinnie want to help too?" you asked, looking up at him. Hyunjin chuckled, "Definitely. Do you need more blankets and pillows?" he asked, setting his pencil down. You nodded "Yes, please," you said, tucking yourself under Hyunjin's chin.

Hyunjin hummed, holding you close with his eyes shut "My beautiful little love," he whispered. You giggled, kissing his nose "Jinnie, I need to go," you whispered back. Hyunjin shook his head "Just a little longer," he whispered, melting into your presence. "Otay," you whispered, leaning your head against the crook of his neck. Hyunjin sighed, opening his eyes "Okay lovely. I'll go prepare the things," he said, loosening his hold. You nuzzled his cheek "Otay, Jinnie. See you later," you said, walking out the door.

The front door swung open. You giggled "Mama!" you squealed, running towards Minho. "Ah, ah, ah. You know the rules about running indoors, cupcake," he nagged, setting the groceries on the kitchen counter. You whimpered, "I'm sorry, mama," you said, walking towards him. Minho sighed, "It's fine, baby. Mind telling me what's got you all excited?" he asked, taking out the ingredients from the bag. You bounced on your heel "We're making a fort. Can mama help too?" you asked, holding Gyu closer.

Minho nodded, folding the bag aside "Sure, baby. Let mama and appa put back the groceries then we can start," he said, opening the fridge. You tilted your head "Appa went out with mama?" you asked. Jisung grunted, holding the bags in his arms "Yes, sweetheart. Your mama bought me out with him," he sighed, setting the groceries down. Minho scoffed, "You're making me sound like I forced you out. You volunteered," he said, crossing his arms. Jisung stretched his shoulders "Yes, hyung," he said, clearing the groceries.

Minho rolled his eyes, placing the dish soap under the sink. "Your mama is a menace of a man," Jisung whispered, setting the bag to its pile. You furrowed your eyebrows, "Mama what's a menace?" you asked, looking towards Minho. Just as Minho was about to reply, Chan covered your ears "Nope, you don't need to know, little one. Come help daddy with the pillows," he said, redirecting your attention. You nodded, "Otay, daddy," you said, letting Chan guide you back to the semi-finished fort.

"Do you have any other plushies you want in the fort, agi?" Changbin asked, setting Gyu between the pillows. You shook your head, "Nope," you said, popping the 'p'. Changbin chuckled, patting your head, "Alright, baby," he said, making sure the fort was stable enough for you to enter. "I heard something about a fort," Jeongin said, popping his head in the living room. You gasped, speed walking towards Jeongin "Ninnin," you said, wrapping your arms around his waist.

He cooed, "Hello, angel," he said, stroking your hair. You looked up "Ninnin come alone?" you asked, tilting your head. "Unfortunately, no. Felix and Seungmin hyung are here too," Jeongin sighed, holding you close. You giggled, "Mommy and Dada here?" you asked, burying your face into his hoodie. He nodded, "Yup, your mommy is probably plating up the brownies he made as we speak," he said, rubbing your cheeks. Your eyes sparkled, "Mommy made brownies?" you asked, thumping your feet against the floor.

Felix cooed, "How did you know?" he teased, overhearing your conversation with Jeongin. You giggled, squirming out of Jeongin's arms to Felix's "Mommy!" you cheered, nuzzling into his warmth. Felix chuckled, lifting you up slightly "Hey there, sunshine," he said, spinning you around. You squealed, holding onto Felix tight, "Naur," you screamed, joy bubbling within the room. Felix laughed, setting you down, "You're so cute, sunshine," he said, booping your nose. You whined, covering your nose "Don't boop, it's sensitive," you complained.

Seungmin sighed, pulling you away from Felix "Stop bullying the poor munchkin," he said, kissing your nose. Felix rolled his eyes fondly, "Sure," he said, ruffling Seungmin's hair. You giggled, patting Seungmin's hair to its original glory. Seungmin chuckled, "Thank you, munchkin," he said, patting your head. You smiled, "You're welcome, Dada," you said, nuzzling into Seungmin's chest. Jisung gasped, "Why does he get our little sweetheart?" he shouted, pointing at Seungmin. "Maybe it's because I'm the best caregiver in this house," Seungmin sassed, holding you tight.

Jisung fell to his knees, holding his chest "Baby is that true?" he sobbed dramatically. You shook your head vigorously, "That's not true. Baba stop lying," you scolded, hitting Seungmin's shoulder. Seungmin chuckled, wincing "Baba's sorry, munchkin," he said, rubbing your arms. You huffed, "I'll forgive Baba if he gives Appa a kiss," you said, staring at Jisung's faux unconscious body. Seungmin grimaced, "But munchkin," he whined, staring at Jisung's jutting lips. You shook your head, "No buts," you said, getting off Seungmin's lap.

Seungmin sighed, cupping Jisung's face "Get your dumbass up," he whispered. Jisung smiled, "No," he whispered back, puckering his lips. Seungmin scoffed, pressing his tongue against his inner cheek "Fine," he said, pressing his lips with Jisung. You giggled, "Appa and Dada are kissing!" you cheered, causing the rest of your caregivers to turn your way. Felix laughed, clutching his stomach at the sight. Minho sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose "Really? Right in the living room," he said, walking away. Hyunjin snorted, setting up the fairy lights "Naughty little love, aren't you?" he said, staring at you.

You blinked, shrugging your shoulders "Nope, I'm always good," you said, holding a pillow against your chest. Felix chuckled, wiping the stray tears away "Gosh, sunshine. Where did you learn that from?" he asked, pulling you onto his lap. You curled up against his chest, "I don't speak English," you slurred, laying your face on his chest. Felix smiled, "Oh then, 한국어 괜찮아요? (Is Korean okay?)," he asked, stroking your hair. You giggled, playing with the hem of his sleeves "네엄마, 괜찮아요 (Yes mommy, Korean is okay)," you mumbled, furrowing your eyebrows.

Felix cooed, rocking your sleepy body "Don't sleep yet, sunshine," he said, patting your cheek. You whined, rubbing your eyes. Hyunjin chuckled, "Don't you want to see your fort, lovely?" he asked, taking your hand in his. You gasped, sitting up "Fort done?" you asked, looking up at Hyunjin. He nodded, helping you up "Come on and see," he said, leading you to the entrance of the fort. Fairy lights decorate the borders. Pillows and blankets formed an arch with a tent stick in between. "Do you like it?" Changbin asked, cracking the joints in his neck.

You nodded "Can everybody fit in there?" you asked, looking at Changbin. He smiled, "Of course, they can. Minho hyung will bring out dinner in a bit," he said, checking the structure once more. "Dinner in the fort?" you asked, eyes gleaming from the fairy lights. Minho cooed, holding a tray of dishes "Yes, my dear cupcake," he said, setting the tray in the middle of the fort. "Why don't you go choose your spot? We'll join you in a bit," Changbin encouraged. You giggled, "Otay," you said, finding a place near Gyu. "I want to sit next to Gyu," you said, hugging the Munchlax.

Chan walked in, chuckling "Good choice, little one. Boys, it's dinner time," he called out, sitting next to you. Jisung whined, "I haven't held the baby since yesterday" he sulked, trudging his feet. You pursed your lips, "Appa sit next to Gyu," you said, patting the spot. Jisung gasped, "Thank you, sweetheart," he said, sitting down. Soon everyone found their places around the tray. "Your cooking never disappoints, hyung," Felix said, taking a mouthful. Minho smirked, "As it shouldn't," he said, setting some fruits on your plate.

You chewed on your meal, sleep dawning upon you quickly. Chan cooed as you nodded off with your puffy cheeks "Little one, swallow the food in your mouth," he whispered, rubbing your back. You forced your eyes open, clearing the food stuffed in your cheeks. Jisung chuckled, "Is our baby getting sleepy?" he asked, staring at your drowsy features. You shook your head, biting into a slice of watermelon. Hyunjin took a few pictures, knowing well enough that he had to send them into their group chat right after. "Such a cutie," Changbin whispered, drinking his water.

"Channie hyung, lay them down," Minho said, setting the tray by the entrance of the fort. Chan nodded, lightly making you lie down "Cozy up, little one," he whispered, tucking your plush under your arms. Felix hummed, rubbing your sides "Sweet dreams, sunshine," he whispered, kissing your cheek. "Are we going to sleep early too?" Jeongin asked, checking the time. Jisung shook his head "I don't think so," he said, wrapping his arms around Felix's waist. Chan smiled, "The TV is right in front of us. Why don't we watch something?" he proposed.

"Yeah. How about something Disney?" Felix asked, snuggling against Jisung. "I'm fine with that," Changbin said, holding Gyu in his arms. Seungmin nodded "Me too," he said, sitting between Changbin and Chan. Minho grabbed the remote, "Disney it is," he said, looking through the movies. You nuzzled your face into your plush, drawing silent coos from your caregivers. "Let's not put the volume that high, agree?" Hyunjin asked, brushing your hair from your face. "Agree," they said in tandem, staring at you with adoration and love.

#secretmoonlight #✧*̣̩⋆̩☽⋆𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘰𝘯𝘫𝘪𝘪 𝘶𝘭𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳��𝘴✧*̣̩⋆̩☽⋆ #˗ˋˏ°•𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘰𝘯𝘫𝘪𝘪 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴•°ˎˊ˗ #kpop agere #stray kids bangchan #stray kids bang chan #bang chan x y/n #lee felix x female reader #bang chan x you #bang chan x reader #poly skz #stray kids x female reader #stray kids x male reader #stray kids x y/n #stray kids scenarios #little space #age regression kpop #age regression #stray kids x reader #skz x y/n #skz x reader #lee felix x reader #lee felix x male reader #lee know x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #seo changbin x reader #han jisung x reader #han jisung x you #han jisung x y/n #kim seungmin x y/n

[kremlin]

favorite df stone type, for any reason

it’s hard for me to say because i hate it all. it’s the rocks i’m crushed between. there’s way, way too much of it from fort excavation, where it will sit around occupying too much space and too many cycles normalizing its temperature, not fitting into bins, taking forever to move due to its weight, and generally being an eyesore. you always have way too much of it until you don’t which occurs when you urgently need to build a wall to keep a freak out or something similar.

carving it into blocks will at least let it stack up and take up less real estate but inevitably you’ll need the raw boulders for something by the time you’ve cut them.

there’s a shitload of types and they’re all nearly identical in terms of value but for trying to do Geology i’m always having to google whether Fuckneus or whatever is an igneous extrusive stone or intrusive and etc. Big pain.

turning it all into stupid trinkets to rip elves off with is usually people’s move but they forget elves are tiny (and pathetic) (and cretinous) and that rock is cheap so you don’t even get that great of a return on your trade given its weight and their caravan weight limits. you’re better off selling then, like, weird brass music instruments.

despite all of that i like gabbro and olivine. idk. olivine is pretty and the presence of both usually mean something i actually want is close by. galena is a great ore and a vein will shit out silver, which itself is my favorite metal to use (great material properties for projectile ammunition [hard-ish, heavy], overvalued economic value). flexing on your enemies with munitions made out of precious metals causes all sorts of in game and out-of-game delights.

slade is great too but for obvious reasons there’s no need to expand on that

[thewritersplace]

Writeblr Garden Advent Calendar

December 13: Winter

“Rosie, will you help me build a snowman?” Jacqueline asked, hurrying over to her older sister. 

“Yes, of course.” Rose said, smiling at her younger sister. 

“Louis, let's build a snow fort, eh?” Judas said, grinning mischievously at his younger brother. 

“To attack Rose from?” Louis asked, knowing his older brother all too well.

“But of course.” 

Louis thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Okay.” 

“Excellent!” 

While the boys began to gather snow to build the foundation of their fort, the girls worked to build the base of their snowman. Rose made the snowballs that would in turn be the body and head, then helped Jacqueline stack them. 

“It’s so nice to see the children having fun.” Colette remarked, coming to sit on the bench next to her husband. 

“Indeed.” Marius said, nodding his head in agreement. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Rose willingly participate in winter activities such as these.” 

Colette smiled. “She’s been much happier since she married Vlad.” 

“You flatter me, Lady Colette.” Vlad said, appearing behind the couple. 

Rose’s parents turned around in surprise, as they had not heard him approach, and Vlad smiled politely. 

“There we are, Jackie.” Rose said, placing the last of the rocks in the snow to finish off the snowman’s face. 

“Yay!” Jacqueline cheered, then hugged her sister. “Thank you, Rosie!”

Rose smiled and placed a hand on her sister’s back. “Of course.” 

“Let’s build a snow-woman next!” Jacqueline said, and knelt down to begin making the base of the next one. 

“Alright.”

As Rose knelt down next to her sister, Judas threw a well-aimed snowball, and laughed loudly when it hit her square in the back. “Bullseye!” 

“JUDAS!”

“That was très magnifique, no?” Judas said, looking down at Louis, who was hiding behind the wall of the fort.

“Sure, but was it worth it?”

A snowball hit Judas square in the chest as he opened his mouth to answer his brother, and he grinned almost devilishly. “Most definitely.” 

Louis looked mildly concerned by his brother’s devil-may-care attitude, but handed him another snowball anyway. 

“Fore!” Judas called, and launched the snowball at his sister with a strong swing of his arm.

“Judas, you shit!” Rose yelled, while Jacqueline laughed. “I just bought this coat!”

“Let’s hit them back, Rosie!” Jacqueline suggested, scooping up some snow. 

“Yes, let’s.” Rose said, now grinning almost evilly. 

“Uh-oh…” Louis murmured, then ducked back behind the wall. “You’ve really done it now, Jude.” 

“Oh, mon petit frère, this is only the beginning.” Judas said, packing snow into a ball. 

“Why do you do this?” Louis sighed, also making his own snowball. 

“Do what?”

“Piss off our sister.”

Judas grinned. “Because it’s fun.” 

“Fun for you, maybe.”

“Oh, come now, dear Louis. Don’t tell me you’re not having fun.”

“Not yet, I’m not.”

“Here.” Judas said, handing Louis the already-formed snowball. “Hit Jackie instead.”

“No way.”

“Fine.” Judas shrugged, and took the snowball back. “But don’t come crying to me when she pummels you.” 

“She’s not going to pummel me.” Louis said, and Judas snorted. “She’s not!”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, little brother.”

Louis opened his mouth to retort, but found it full of snow instead. Across the way, Jacqueline was cheering, and Rose was laughing. 

“Told you.” Judas said, and threw one back at his sisters. It hit Rose in the face, and she angrily wiped it away with a gloved hand. “Louis.”

“What?”

“Duck now.”

“What?” 

A larger snowball than the others sailed through the air, and knocked Louis to the ground, while Judas merely sighed. 

Rose, who had not thrown the snowball, turned to look behind her, and almost laughed when she saw her husband beginning to make another unusually large snowball. “Darling, what are you doing?”

“Making a snowball.”

“So it would seem.” Rose said, smiling in amusement. “But why the large size?”

“Well, I’m not going to be able to do any damage with those absurdly small ones.”

Rose opened her mouth to say that it wasn’t about causing damage, but Jacqueline spoke up before she could say anything. 

“Hit Judas next!” Jacqueline said, and Vlad grinned. 

“My dear child, it would be my pleasure.” 

Judas, who had now noticed that his brother-in-law had joined the girls, immediately knelt down behind the fort. “We are in trouble.”

“Oh, you think?” Louis said sarcastically, wiping off his front. 

“I don’t think. I know.” 

“Well, you’re the one that got us into this mess, so how do you suggest we get out of it?”

Judas thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Run?”

“Really? That’s your solution?”

“Do you have a better one?” 

“No, I was hoping you did!”

Judas snorted. “You think too highly of me, dear brother.”

“Clearly!”

Vlad’s snowball sailed through the air at that moment, and knocked down half the fort’s wall, which resulted in the two brothers getting covered in snow. 

“We won, we won!” Jacqueline cheered, and Rose laughed. 

“Who says it’s over?” Vlad said, now making a more normal-sized snowball. 

“Are you going to wreck the rest of the fort?” Rose asked, grinning in amusement. 

“I am indeed.” 

“In that case, let me help.” 

“I’ll make the ammunition!” Jacqueline declared, and pulled a pile of snow in to make multiple snowballs out of.

“I think you’re a bad influence on her.” Rose remarked, watching as Vlad threw another snowball at the fort. 

“I hardly see how learning new vocabulary is a bad thing.”

Rose gave him a look. “ ‘Ammution’, darling?”

Vlad shrugged as his snowball hit Judas in the face. “It’ll be useful someday.”

Rose laughed dryly. “God, I hope not. My mother will lose her mind otherwise.” 

“Okay, on the count of three, we’ll charge.” Judas said, and Louis looked at him as if he were crazy. 

“You said ‘run’!”

“Yes, but I didn’t say which direction.” 

“Judas!”

“Move it or lose it, little brother!” Judas said, leaping to his feet and taking off in the direction of his sisters.

“Shit!” Rose swore, and grabbed a snowball from Jacqueline. The snow did nothing to deter her brother, even when she threw several of the snowballs in succession, and soon he wasn’t more than a mere few feet away. “Judas, no!”

“Judas, yes.” Judas grinned, and tackled his sister to the ground, while Louis threw a snowball at Jacqueline, who laughed and threw one back. 

“Get off me!” Rose exclaimed, but Judas merely shoved snow down the back of her coat. “JUDAS, YOU SHIT! THAT’S FUCKING COLD!”

Judas laughed loudly at his sister’s outrage, but quickly got to his feet when she moved to grab the back of his coat. “If you want revenge, you’ll have to catch me first!” 

“OH, I’LL CATCH YOU!” Rose shouted, and scrambled to her feet almost as quickly as he did, but paused to dust off her outfit before starting after him. 

“Wow, Rose sure can run.” Louis remarked, blinking at the sight of his older sister chasing their brother. 

“Indeed.” Vlad said, and knelt down to straighten out Jacqueline’s hat, since it had become somewhat askew during the snowball fight. 

Louis pursed his lips, then held his hand out to his sister. “I’m going inside for some hot chocolate, Jackie. Do you want to come with me?”

Jacqueline thought for a moment, then shook her head. “I want to watch Rosie chase Judas!”

Louis snorted, then withdrew his hand. “Suit yourself.” He turned to walk back towards the house, but stopped before he took a step forward. On second thought… “You know what? I think I will stay.”

Vlad smiled at the two children, who were now watching their elder siblings with interest. “Perhaps I shall make you two the hot chocolate, then, and bring it back out.”

“Yes, please!” Jacqueline said, taking a seat in the snow. 

“If you don’t mind.” Louis said, also taking a seat on the ground. 

“Not at all.” Vlad said, and then departed with a quick bow. As he walked back to the house, he observed the family with a somewhat affectionate and appreciative eye. Colette and Marius were seated on a nearby bench, their heads resting against each other, and their watchful eyes on their children. Rose and Judas were still running around, but he guessed one of them would soon catch the other. His money was on Rose, though he knew that he was incredibly biased due to the fact that she was his wife. “May the best sibling win.” Vlad mused in amusement, then shifted his gaze to the two younger siblings. They were sitting quietly together by Jacqueline’s snowman, and watching their older siblings run around as if they were the younger ones. 

Vlad had not had a winter like this in a long time, and he could say with some certainty that he would likely not have one like it again, because nothing ever remained the same — not even clear constants like family and its dynamics. Still, it was nice to be able to witness such a serene moment in time — even if said serene moment contained a bit of chaos. 

It was then that Judas caught Rose, and they fell into the snow with some bickering and a bit of laughter. Rose was clearly over her outrage, though she still gave him a shove as they got to their feet. 

“Well done, my dear brother-in-law.” Vlad mused, smiling to himself. 

“Children! Time to go inside!” Colette called, and all four of her children began to head towards the house. Louis and Jacqueline ran, while Rose and Judas walked, and somehow the gaits suited everyone perfectly. 

“It is a good winter.” Vlad remarked, holding the door open for his mother-in-law. 

Colette smiled. “It is indeed.” 

“There won’t be another one like it.” Vlad remarked, a somewhat faraway look in his eye. 

Despite her only having lived about forty-odd years, Colette seemed to know how he felt, and what he meant. Still, she placed a hand on his back, and offered him a small smile. “No, there won’t.”

#writeblrgarden #twgcalendar #wtwcommunity #wip: the road to eternity is paved with blood

[gaelic-symphony]

50 Things to Know About Tara Lewis

I have, on multiple occasions, held myself out to be the resident Tara Lewis expert and have spent many, many hours obsessing over her, so I figured I would put together this handy little guide to our favorite forensic psychologist!

Things About Tara Lewis That Are Canonically True

She was (presumably) born in 1973.

She was named after her paternal great-grandmother.

Her middle name is Elizabeth.

She has a brother named Gabriel who is three years younger.

Her father's name is Albert.

She has an aunt named Thelma who may or may not be the same aunt who mended all her clothes growing up.

She was a tomboy.

She loved fossils when she was a kid.

Her father was in the military, and her family moved around a lot while she was growing up. Places they lived include Hamburg, Germany; Okinawa, Japan; and Fort Rucker army base in Alabama.

Her brother began calling her "T" after a boy at school teased her about her name. Gabriel is the only one who uses this nickname for her.

Her father opened an auto body repair shop in D.C. after being discharged from the military, and he taught Tara how to restore antique cars.

She is fluent in both German and French.

She was brought up Christian.

Her mother died of breast cancer when she was 18.

She attended Dartmouth College in New Hampshire for both her undergraduate and graduate degrees.

She has a complicated relationship with her younger brother, and at one point, they were estranged from each other after she bailed him out when he found himself in financial (and possibly legal) trouble.

She was previously married to Daryl Wright, but they divorced as a result of his issues with drug addiction which led him to become abusive towards her.

She and Daryl met at Dartmouth and married young, while they were still in graduate school.

She was engaged to Doug Fuller, but he broke off their engagement after becoming frustrated with Tara's work hours at the BAU.

Before joining the BAU, she worked out of the San Francisco field office.

She counseled parents in the aftermath of the Sandy Hook shooting.

Serial killers she has interviewed include Loren Herzog and Archie Sutton.

She listens to classic rock and enjoys Jimi Hendrix, Led Zeppelin, and The Doors.

She drives a 1970 Opel GT which she spent five years restoring.

Her drink of choice appears to be whiskey.

She is an excellent shot and scored 100 on her firearms qualification.

She wears reading glasses.

She watches Doctor Who.

She doesn't believe in ghosts.

She has given a TED Talk.

Things About Tara Lewis That I Made up Because the Writers Neglected Her

Her birthday is April 22, 1973.

She was born in Fort Meade, Maryland.

Her mother's name was Evelyn.

Her parents were high school sweethearts, and they both grew up in and have deep family ties to Prince George's County, Maryland (the part of Maryland that borders D.C. to the east and contains several of the wealthiest majority-Black communities in the United States).

When she was a little girl, her father's pet name for her was "my little ladybug," and he still calls her that occasionally even though she's in her forties now.

She bears a striking physical resemblance to her mother, who was also a very tall lady, but not quite as tall as Tara.

She's played the piano since she was four years old.

She was on the track team in high school and broke her school's record for the Girls' 800m.

While at Dartmouth, she spent a semester abroad in Geneva, which is where she perfected her French.

She loves dogs, but she's never been able to have one of her own: first because her family moved around so much, then because she was a broke, busy university student, and now because of the long hours and constant travel that comes with her job.

Her favorite color is green.

She loves WNBA basketball and is a diehard Washington Mystics fan.

She's a very good cook.

She met Daryl in the stacks of the library during her senior year of college. They were both looking for the same psychology book. He was immediately charming and sweet, and he let Tara check the book out instead of him, but only on the condition she give him her number so he could come borrow it if he really needed it. Of course, he found some reason to need the book before Tara was finished with it just so he could call her, and of course, when he did, they ended up talking for hours and forgetting about the book altogether. He took her back to the same spot in the library to propose to her.

She joined the FBI right after her divorce. They'd been trying to recruit her for a while, but after she and Daryl split up, she felt like she needed a fresh start and a change of scenery, so she left New Hampshire for Quantico.

She requested a transfer to the San Francisco field office in 2009 because Gabriel was living in San Francisco and having a rough time, and she felt obliged to go out there so she could keep an eye on him. After all, it was easier for her to transfer to a different FBI field office than it would be for her aging father to close up shop in D.C. and start a whole new business in California.

After she and Gabriel became estranged, she applied for the first available opening in the BAU so that she could move back east and be close to her father and the rest of her family again.

She lives in a 3-bedroom townhouse in Northern Virginia. It's a lot of space for just one person, but she found it and fell in love with it when she and Doug were house-hunting before he broke things off and went back to San Francisco, so she just went ahead and bought it for herself when she saw it was still on the market.

She enjoys spending her days off at her father's shop, working on cars with him.

She loves kids and is great with them, but she's never felt the need to have any of her own. She prefers being "Auntie Tara" to Henry, Michael, and the Simmons kids, and regularly offers to babysit when JJ and Will or Matt and Kristy need a night to themselves.

#criminal minds #tara lewis #headcanons #i love tara lewis so freakin much she is so important to me!

[rockstar-pornograffitti]

Life On Tour

Part: I

Billy Sheehan x OC

Summary: Rio is a timid journalist who gets the assignment of a lifetime. Follow around David Lee Roth and the band on the Eat Em And Smile tour and document life on the road. Is Rio up to the challenge? Maybe with a bit of help from a certain blonde bassist, she might be.

I've never been more nervous in my life. I'm shaking. My heart is pounding. I've never been called to see the editor before. I've worked here for six months, and I've never been summoned to his office. What did I do wrong? I'm trying to think of any possible mistakes I've made. This is my dream job, and I've worked hard to keep it and impress everyone. I don't want to lose it. Maybe he doesn’t like my writing or needs to cut someone because of earnings. I hope that's not the case. Yet I can't help but worry when I've been summoned to the big office.

“Warren will see you now.” The receptionist tells me as I get up and follow her to the office, where she opens the door for me.

I walk into the grand office of the magazine. Warren is sitting behind his big wooden desk and looking at the picture of the editor—stacks of articles piled around him.

“Rio, lovely to see you.” He greets, “Have a seat, please.”

He gestures to two chairs in the corner of his office facing the desk. I take a seat in one of them. I’m still feeling beyond nervous. He's being pleasant, but that doesn't mean anything. The sad thing is, even if he does fire me, I know I won't fight for myself. I've never been the type to rock the boat. I'm timid. I always have been.

“I’ve called you up here because I have an assignment for you.” He tells me. That's not what I expected, but it's a welcome surprise. I get to keep my job today.

Now, a whole new set of worries is plaguing me. Assignment? What could he possibly mean by that? This is a metal magazine we cover metal and rock acts. It's not like we do serious journalism here. My forte is reviews of live concerts. I'm too shy to interview any rock stars, even if that's my dream. Am I even good enough for whatever this is?

“Okay, what is it?”

“Well, we want to do a piece on life on the road. We need a journalist to spend the course of the American leg of the David Lee Roth tour with the band documenting it.” Warren tells me.

Does this mean he wants me to be a journalist? Why, though? Out of all the writers, I'm the least likely candidate. I'm the only one with no experience interviewing or interacting with rock stars. I'm also known for being quiet, timid and to myself.

“I’m honoured, but why me?”

“Roth agreed to under one condition, the journalist be a woman,” Warren admits, and this makes a lot more sense now.

I'm the only journalist at this magazine who's a woman. The rest are male. So I'm his only choice. I figured it had to be something along those lines. I'm ill-fitted for this, especially when it's David Lee Roth. One of the biggest names in the genre. He recently left Van Halen, and his album and tour are a big deal. I've listened to it, and it's perfect. This is something that's a huge deal and would sell a lot of magazines. I'm not sure I'm up to the challenge. Yet I don't want to be the reason we lose this chance. That's a surefire way to get fired. I'm so nervous I'm shaking.

“Okay, I'll do it.” I manage to choke out, trying to hide my nervousness, even though every part of me screams this is a bad idea. I must push that fear aside and remember this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance. So many people would kill for this chance. You can do this, Rio, or I sure hope so.

____________________________

I take a deep breath as the tour manager leads me to the tour bus of David Lee Roth and his band—Billy Sheehan on bass, Steve Vai on guitar and Gregg Bissonette on drums. I remind myself so I don't look like a nervous idiot and mess it up. I know who is who. For one, I am a fan of this kind of music, and I also study some photos of the band so I know for sure.

“This is the journalist who will accompany us on this tour.” The Tour manager tells the band, all sitting at the front of the tour bus.

Dave lowers the sunglasses he's wearing down his nose to get a better look at me. That action makes me feel a bit uncomfortable. I'm not used to being examined. I'm used to being invisible, and that's how I prefer it.

“She’s not who I expected when I asked for a female journalist,” Dave comments to the tour manager, sliding the glasses back up.

I look down at myself. I guess I wouldn't be. I'm sure he was picturing some long-legged vixen of a woman, and he gets me. I'd be disappointed, too. I'm not one of those girls. I'm not filled with confidence and sensuality. I don't belong here at all. I'm only here because there were no other options.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Dave asks me, making me make eye contact with the man who insulted me. I'm not offended he has every right. Most people have the same reaction to me. I'm used to it.

“Rio,” I tell him. I waited for him to comment on how Rio sounds like an exotic dancer's name or doesn't match me. I've heard that my whole life. I hate that my parents named me that.

“Have you ever heard of a short skirt Rio?” Dave asks me.

“Yes,” I reply.

“Well, maybe think of wearing one.” Dave suggests, “This is a rock band, not an office.”

“Sorry,” I say, unable to look up; I feel so embarrassed. I thought dressing professionally in a blouse, blazer, pencil shirt, pantyhose, and black stilettos was the right move. I forgot this is a rock band and rockers like sexy women. I don't even own any clothes like that. Most of what I brought were ripped jeans, band t-shirts, leather jackets, boots and sneakers. That's my typical style. What am I going to do now?

I make my way to the only free seat. It's in the corner, out of the way of everyone else, where I should be. I sit down, looking down at the notebook I brought to make notes. After all, this is a diary of life on the road with the band. I wanted to be as detailed as possible. I’m holding back tears. I can't cry and make it even worse for myself. Of course, I'd make a wrong first impression and mess it all up. I should have said no.

“Are you okay?” I hear someone ask from beside me; I look up to see who it is.

It's Billy Sheehan, the bass player in Dave’s band. He has a genuine look in his blue eyes. He's not just asking to be polite. He's genuinely caring. Which, oddly, is comforting. It means maybe not everyone here hates me already.

“I’m fine.” I lie, forcing a smile. He doesn't have to know how much I feel I don't belong here. How I already feel so alone. More alone than usual.

“I'm sorry about Dave.” He apologizes, “He had an idea in his head. He's used to those being made into reality.”

“It's okay. I never live up to expectations.” I tell him, feeling sad at that statement. I wish I did, but I never do.

“No one ever does,” Billy says, “Oh, I'm Billy by the way.”

“I know.” I smile at him genuinely,

“I’m Steve.” Steve Vai waves over at me, “And this is Gregg.”

Steve points over to Gregg Bissonette who's sitting next to him.

“Hi.” Gregg says, giving me a little wave.

“Nice to meet you guys,” I tell them.

“Do you play cards?” Steve asks me.

“Yes,” I tell him, not sure where this is going.

“Do you like beer?” Steve continues to ask me.

“Sure,” I tell him, I'm not much of a drinker, but when I do drink it's usually a beer.

“Great!” Steve says enthusiastically, “Come over and join us.”

“Okay,” I say, sliding in next to Billy and across from Steve. Steve and Billy are tall guys, so next to them, I'm sure I look like a little mouse.

I suddenly feel a lot better though. Yes, it's been a rough start with Dave, but at least everyone else is nice. Maybe this won't be so bad after all.

#the bitchs writing #billy sheehan fanfiction

[frozenwolftemplar]

Writer's Month Day 17: At a Wedding

(oh gosh, 17 already?!?)

Fandom: Tangled: the Series

Rating: G

Summary: Eugene talks to Cass at Trevor's seal wedding and comes to some sobering realizations about the aftermath of the debacle at the Great Tree.

So...I *meant* to write just something fun and silly, but then Cass's Burned Arm showed up and it became Angst. Oops? This plays with some of the themes I touched upon in 'Burned but not Broken' , including societal attitudes towards a disfiguring injury, albeit from Eugene's perspective. This is perhaps one of the pieces I'm most proud of for this month, so I hope you'll give it a glance.

+++

“Ugh!” Cass glowered out at the rapidly darkening sky though the open flap of the tent. “That’s the whole day! I told Raps we could only stay for an hour tops."

“Cass Cass Cass Cass...” Eugene shook his head patronizingly as he leaned back against the cake table, arms crossed casually across his chest. “It’s Rapunzel. At a wedding. For animals that could arguably be called cute by someone who can overlook the fact that they smell like fish. Did you really think you’d be able to drag her away before they started literally kicking guests out?”

Cass stabbed her slice of cake with an asperity previously unknown to desserts in answer.

Eugene edged a little further away from Cass, one wary eye on her fork all the while (because if anyone could turn a utensil designed for nothing tougher than pudding into a deadly weapon, it’d be Cass). “I’m just saying, look at her!” He gestured towards his girlfriend, deep in animated conversation with a dandily-dressed man who, judging by the way he kept pointing at the banners and bouquets and ice sculpture (nice, but it couldn't hold a candle to those giant swans Rapunzel for some reason thought were tacky), must have been the decorator. “Something like this is a Rapunzel paradise!”

"Guess it’s true, then," Cass remarked ruefully, popping a forkful of cake in her mouth. "One man’s Paradise is another man’s Hell."

Hmph. For someone chowing down on sugar-drenched dessert, Cass sure was sour tonight. “What number slice of cake is that for you?”

“Second.”

Eugene arched a brow and glanced at the neat stack of empty plates behind Cass on the table, definitely more than two high, but thought better of it when she glanced out the flap again. If the sky could've been murdered with a look, she’d have done it.

Eugene frowned. Cass had been no stranger to speaking her thoughts on Rapunzel's thousand and one detours, but did she always have to be so huffy about it? Especially when today's detour was a non-life-threatening, magic-free, surprisingly good party considering it was a seal wedding? At the very least she could be grateful Trevor went with a normal, human-edible cake flavor instead of halibut

Showing people how to look on the bright side was usually Rapunzel's forte, but he'd picked up a few pointers over the years.

“Look.” Eugene straightened and moved to stand in front of Cass, slicing the air with his hand and doggedly looking away from the hand holding the fork (because she was punishing that cake and yeesh). “I know you’re eager to get back to hoofin’ it on the road for hours on end and sleeping on bare rock.” (God, he missed the caravan). “No doubt in part because it's been absolutely destroying my hair and complexion. But it’s been a rough trip for all of us, between Pincosta and that whole curse business, not to mention the Hell that went down at the Great Tree-“

At the mention of that latest misadventure, Eugene found his eyes involuntarily drifting down to Cass's right arm, the one responsible for the tremble rattling the cake plate, and his tongue froze. All thoughts of forcing rose-tinted glasses on Cassandra disintegrated as the cake and other dainties sitting in his own stomach soured.

The Tree had been Hell for all of them, but most of all for her.

He hadn’t seen the burn; he’d been pretty out of it when they escaped the Great Tree, and by the time the fog cleared from his head she was already wearing the impenetrable armor that concealed it from view.

Rapunzel had seen it, but the one time he tried to press her for details, she’d uncharacteristically clammed up and said it wasn’t their business (which was odd, because since when was other people’s personal lives *not* Rapunzel’s business?). The only definitive he got out of her that the injury was *Cass’s* fault (which was somewhere odder since he’d seen Cass in battle and it was the one time he would deign to admit she was actually better than him at something).

As far as what lay beneath the armor, he had been effectively kept in the dark by both girls. But he wasn’t blind; when you’re the best thief in the Seven Kingdoms, you learn how to pick up on things. The perpetual wince lurking just under Cass’s carefully neutral mask, the way she fumbled her way through basic training exercises as she tried to force some semblance of her old swordswoman skill into her clumsy (don’t tell her he said that) left, the way she hung back dragging her feet behind the rest of the group instead of assuredly striding out front, snapping at him and Lance to pick up the pace.

And when she, the committed early riser, strode into camp just as the rest of them were getting up? He caught the dampness in her eyes.

It was bad. The sort of injury you don’t come back from, and the thought that Cass, capable, snarky, dauntless, cut-that-out-Fitzherbert-or-I’ll-make-you Cass was now a cripple...

Never in his life had he thought he’d feel sympathy for Cass, or want to hug her of all things, and yet here he was.

Cass followed his gaze, and for a moment he saw something flash across her face. Fear, maybe? Shame? Grief? But it was gone the next minute, replaced by a teeth-baring grimace that sent a passing waiter doing an about face.

“And?”

Her spat remark, a dare for him to say anything about what the armor hid, brought Eugene back. Because of course she wouldn’t want that. Once word got out (and it would, secrets were impossible to keep in Corona), she’d be trapped in a world where everyone looked at her with pity in their eyes, if they bothered to turn them her way at all. Nothing would be as it was, and as much as he wished he could stop that from happening...the best thief in the Seven Kingdoms also knows when things are beyond his control.

But things between them? Yeah, *that* he could make sure stayed exactly the same.

Clearing his throat, he crossed his arms smugly over his chest once again and slipped on a cocksure mask to match her defiant one. “I’m just saying, Dragon Lady, it wouldn't kill you to kick back, relax, and have a little fun.” (That arm might, though- he kicked aside the intruding thought).

The growl he could practically see building in Cass’s throat tapered off and the grimace became a (relatively) tame scowl. “We did that in Hookhand’s caravan earlier today. And even if we hadn’t spending an entire afternoon at a *seal wedding* is absurd!”

...Fair point.

“And as for fun, the last wedding we went to was way more fun than this!”

Eugene blinked, incredulous. “Seriously?!? I was bound and about to marry against my will, Lance was dying of poison, and you all had to fight your way through a crime boss’s pack of goons to get to the altar.”

Cass sighed wistfully, scraping her fork across the plate to collect the last lingering globs of icing. “Good times.”

“What is wrong with you?”

“Not as much that’s wrong with whoever spent all this coin on a *seal wedding.*”

Eugene swept his gaze around the tent, taking in once again the silk tablecloths, crystal stemware filled with forty-year vintage, and the pile of ostentatiously wrapped presents, all of which he’d shaken and none of which held anything worth less than a pouch stuffed with silvers.

“Yeah, that's fair.” Then, as Cass set aside her picked-clean plate onto the stack and gingerly crossed her arms (he pretended her didn't notice the wince), added with a mostly-real grin, "Hate to see what Trevor does for a baby shower."

The sound she made wasn’t quite a laugh, and she didn’t grin like he’d hoped, simply looked a little less severe, but he decided to count that as a win.

There was more that needed to be said, weightier things, quieter things, deeper things than jokes and teases and those little put downs neither truly meant that marked their conversations. He could see that in her downcast eyes as well. But Eugene kept mum.

That’s what Cass would want, after all; she hated people prying into her life, she’d told him so herself. And while placing a standing offer on the table that if she ever wanted to talk he’d be happy to listen (he really would) wouldn’t qualify as prying...well, he was committed to providing her with normalcy, right? Yeah. And touchy-feely soul bearing conversations weren’t what ‘normal’ looked like between them. That was it. This decision was what Cass would want.

(and no, this wasn’t the coward’s way out; *no one* short of Rapunzel and the Captain would *willingly* make such an offer, that’s his story and he's sticking to it).

Still, he might have said something more, he might have...

But Rapunzel appeared, babbling excitedly about the decorator Eugene just *had* to meet because he had *so many* ideas for their wedding, and dragged him away without so much as a glance Cass’s way.

He did, though, looking briefly over his shoulder.

The gaiety of the wedding seemed to shrink from Cass, leaving her in a gray, shadowy hollow, crippled arm curled protectively against her chest, and a pang lanced through his own.

Never had she looked so alone.

+++

Author's Note: I love Eugene; I think we all do. I'm not trying to cast shade on him or anything like that. But for some people, it's hard knowing what to say to a person who's life has just been irrevocably changed for the worst, and that's what I was trying to capture here, while also accounting for his failure to really mention her injury in canon. I hope you enjoyed!

#tangled the series #writersmonth2023 #writersmonth #tts fanfic #cassandra #eugene fitzherbert #in which i write #my writing #fanfiction #tts cassandra

[cambion-companion]

as my favorite hotd writer and furthermore my favorite aemond writer, i must ask you, what would aemond do if his lady wife or a lady he was interested in had a migraine? i can just see some softness of him crawling into bed with her and holding her, rocking her while she sobs because of how much it hurts, lets her tell him how it messes with her vision sometimes, how it sometimes makes her feel sick. and like imagine aemond building a little fort for her since they don’t really have any other way to fully block out light. oh my god my heart.

Aw friend, you're melting my heart over here! Thank you omg! It'd be very much along the same lines if she were sick. He would be overly worried, you'd have to tell him a few times to not worry and no he doesn't need to go ask his mother what he should do. He'd get you anything you need, whether it be a pain reliever, hot tea, cold water, he would do everything in his power to make you more comfortable. In fact, he'd insist on doting on you, his brow furrowed in worry as you gasped and fidgeted in pain.

If it was the light that pained you, he would absolutely stack pillows and blankets around you to help block out the sunlight. Drawing the curtains and calling servants to bring more. If it were alright with you, he'd hold you, massaging your temples and stroking your hair as you curled against him. Oh he'd be worried sick, hating the feeling of being helpless as you struggle against the horrible pain in your head.

Better believe he would study for a way to cure/relieve migraines and ask every Maester in the Red Keep for their input and help.

#aemond imagine #aemond headcanons #hotd headcanon #answered ask #aemond targaryen scenarios

[heta-micronomics]

I wrote this at 2:00 AM because I am determined to give my boy a Stardew arc. So thank you @svenskaghost for convincing me that lighthouse! Sealand (do people even use that notation anymore? /genq) should exist.

A tiny bit of hook for this horrible amalgamation:

Sealand should never have agreed to do a favor for a man he met years ago at a funeral. Especially considering the "favor" would take God-knows how long. A few days, a few weeks, a few months--the only thing more ominous than the potential time span was the location. He'd never heard of Wilkens Island, Maine, and he would still be happily unaware of it had this bastard of a man never found his name in a decaying address book. But he had agreed, so now his eyes burned with foam and salt spray. Acrid wind bit at his face. He could be at home in the comforts of his perfectly cozy fort, but instead he had to force his way over precariously-stacked rock embankments separating churning sea from crumbling sandbanks. He would bet money that he would just as easily drown in that sand as he could the water. Trying his best to ignore the way every other step threatened to send him tumbling, he scurried the rest of the way to the pathetic excuse for a dock. Water-logged and soft even under the harsh sun, each plank whined under foot as he trudged towards his home for the foreseeable future: a decrepit lighthouse that might as well be his personal Tower of London.

#hetalia #hws sealand #hws #hws micronations #hetalia fanfiction

[onenakedfarmer]

BLACK OWNED BOOKSTORES List courtesy of Publishers Weekly

Activists across the United States are encouraging book lovers who want to show support for the ongoing protests against police violence to buy books from black-owned and African American–focused bookstores. PW has compiled a list of black-owned stores for readers.

44th and 3rd Bookseller, Atlanta, Ga.

A Different Booklist, Toronto, Ont.

The African American Literature Book Club, online

AfriWare Books, Maywood, Ill.

Amalgam, Philadelphia, Pa.

Ashay by the Bay, Vallejo, Calif.

Atomic City Comics, Philadelphia, Pa.

Babycakes Book Stack, Online

Between the Lines Bookstore, Baton Rouge, La.

Beyond Barcodes Bookstore, Kokomo, Ind.

Black Garnet Books, Minneapolis, Minn.

Black World Books, Killeen, Tex.

Blackstone Bookstore & Cultural Center, Ypsilanti, Mich.

Book Boutique, Atlanta, Ga.

Books and Crannies, Martinsville, Va.

Brian Lair Books, South Bend, Ind.

Brave and Kind Books, Decatur, Ga.

Cafe Con Libros, Brooklyn, N.Y.

Carol's Bookstore, Sacramento, Calif

Cultured Books, St. Petersburg, Fla.

Da Book Joint, Chicago, Ill.

Dare Books, Longwood, Fla.

Detroit Book City, Southfield, Mich.

Enda's Booktique, Duncanville, Tex.

Eso Wan Books, Los Angeles

Eye See Me, University City, Mo.

For Keeps Books, Atlanta, Ga.

Frugal Bookstore, Roxbury, Mass.

Fulton Street Books & Coffee, Tulsa, Ok.

Harambee Books, Alexandria, Va.

Harriett's Bookshop, Philadelphia, Pa.

Hakim's Bookstore, Philadelphia, Pa.

Loyalty Bookstore, Washington, D.C., and Silver Spring, Md.

Lushena Books, Bensenville, Ill.

Mahogany Books, Washington, D.C.

Marcus Books, Oakland, Calif.

Medu Bookstore, Atlanta, Ga.

MeJah Books, Claymont, Del.

Mocha Books, Tulsa, Okla.

Nubian Bookstore, Morrow, Ga.

Olive Tree Books-n-Voices, Springfield, Mass.

Pyramid Art, Books, & Custom Framing, Little Rock, Ark.

Revolution Books, Berkeley, Calif.

Riches in Reading, Maryland City, Md.

Sankofa, Washington, D.C.

Semicolon Bookstore, Chicago, Ill.

Sister's Uptown Bookstore, New York, N.Y.

Sistah Scifi, Online

Smith & Hannon, Cincinnati, Ohio

Solid State Books, Washington, D.C.

Source Booksellers, Detroit, Mich.

Source of Knowledge, Newark, N.J.

The Dock Bookshop, Fort Worth, Tx.

The Black Reserve, Lansdale, Pa.

The Key Bookstore, Hartford, Conn.

The Listening Tree, Decatur, Ga.

The Lit. Bar, Bronx, N.Y.

The Tiny Bookstore, Pittsburgh, Pa.

Turning Page Bookshop, Goose Creek, S.C.

Willa's Books, Kansas City, Mo.

Uncle Bobbie's Books and Cafe, Philadelphia, Penn.

Underground Books, Sacramento, Calif.

Yoruba Bookstore, Brooklyn, N.Y.

Zawadi Books, Columbus, Ohio

#Black-owned businesses #bookstores #Publishers Weekly

[narrans]

A Tall and Small Collection | S2.31 | Mailroom Promises

The family had just arrived back home after their day at the park. Cloud watching had been a smashing success, but they were all ready to go home and put Mayzie down for a quick afternoon nap by the end of it.

There were no other people nearby when they came into the main lobby, though a couple of kids who were on a playdate came bursting into the elevator and rode up a few floors before running off toward their friend’s apartment. The keys jingled their familiar tune as Ashlynn slipped them into the lock and entered the living room. The warm sun’s light reflected off of the glass from distant buildings, casting an illuminous golden glow in Ashlynn’s home as she made her way up to her apartment.

The Borrower brothers, Mayzie especially, had collected various things while they were out. Shiny pebbles and stones, acorn fragments and their tops which Mayzie found to be a very amusing party hat, and flowers which Ashlynn promised she would help press so they could paste them onto Mayzie’s bedroom wall when the time came.

“When will we get to go back?” asked Rey as he piled up some of the stone fragments he collected into a fort like structure.

“Someday soon I hope. We’ll have to pick another overcast day during the afternoon when other people won’t be around,” said Ashlynn as she carefully placed the flowers into a few pieces of parchment paper and pressed them into one of her thickest books followed by a few clamps she had in her supply drawer.

“Well, let’s make it soon. I want to build a proper fort and build one of those evil catapults you showed me in that book,” said Rey as he stacked the stones precariously.

“You mean medieval? Sure. We can do that,” said Ashlynn. Soren laid Mayzie down onto the blanket fort she had attempted to climb earlier that morning.

“You plan on creating a castle?” asked Soren as he made sure Mayzie was tucked in properly before facing his brothers.

“Well, yeah,” said Rey. “I mean, wouldn’t it be great to build our own castle? We’d have a fortress with all sorts of defenses. Fireplaces and stoves like in ye olde days.”

“Okay, okay,” chuckled Soren as he stepped up and ruffled his youngest brother’s hair. “We’ll see what happens. If you want to make more than a fire pit, you’ll need loads more rocks than what you have now.”

Ashlynn grinned as she listened to the brothers. Rey began talking about all of his grand plans and went over to his notepad and began showing Soren his grand plans and schematics that he’d drawn up. He talked about how to make a drawbridge and how they could use gears from old devices to make things move and turn.

What an imagination and drive he has thought Ashlynn. She glanced over at the door before seeing the time on her phone. She remembered the mail had run already but that she didn’t grab it on the way up since she had the Borrower family with her.

“Well, while you all finish making plans for your fortress, I’m going to go grab the mail really quick,” said Ashlynn. The brothers nodded, Rey not missing a beat in his explanation for what he wanted to create for them, and Ashlynn stood and made her way back out of the apartment.

The elevator ride was uneventful, but Ashlynn’s mind was preoccupied with how to make Rey’s dream real. Was there a lighter material than stones that they could use to build this fort? Obviously, they could just make the outside look like stone, but Rey sounded like he wanted close to authentic.

She’d need to think about it, but something else immediately jarred her out of her train of thought when she went into the mailroom.

Sam.

The young boy was standing in front of his mailbox with the key. Undoubtedly he was fetching the letters and bills as part of his chores, but the timing was fortuitous.

No one else was there.

They were there on their own.

Ashlynn didn’t want to scare the boy, but she wanted to make sure he knew she was aware of their shared secret about the Borrower community living in the building with them. Sam knew her, so this should be relatively easy, right?

Heart suddenly in her throat, Ashlynn stepped up to her mailbox and used her constricting throat as an excuse to clear it with a polite cough. Sam immediately looked over at her and smiled.

“Oh, hello Miss Ashlynn,” he said, eyes twinkling with youthful enthusiasm. “How are you today?”

“I’m doing well,” said Ashlynn. “Picking up your mail?”

“Yep! It’s the last thing I have on my list of things to do before I get to hang out with… erm… well, one of my friends is going to play some games virtually and I’m joining them online,” said Sam. Ashlynn felt a bit uneasy. Why did he hesitate? Why did he change what he was going to say? She decided to press a little.

“Oh? That’s nice. What friend are you going to meet up with online?” asked Ashlynn, carefully pressing her luck. She turned the lock on her mailbox and glanced over at Sam, who was now fishing out his mail quickly.

“Um… well… he’s not from here,” said Sam.

“Oh? Homeschooled? Meet him online?” asked Ashlynn. Sam squirmed.

“Um… yeah,” said Sam. His body posture changed significantly as he continued to avoid Ashlynn’s gaze. Ashlynn knew how to play this, but she knew she needed to still be careful.

“Sam, I know your parents are very careful and that you’re careful, but meeting someone online is dangerous. People aren’t always what they seem like,” said Ashlynn gently. Sam immediately looked up defiantly.

“I didn’t meet him online. He’s a real person. We just…” Sam stopped himself and looked away quickly again. “We just don’t get to… see each other… often… and… um… I need to…”

“Is his name Hero?” asked Ashlynn quietly, eyes fixed on Sam’s body. His body language immediately gave away his surprise that Ashlynn knew the name. His frame went rigid and his eyes widened. It was obvious the young boy was trying to get a measure of Ashlynn too.

“Um….” Sam stammered. Both of them looked around to see if anyone else was around them.

Then, Ashlynn, not wanting to intimidate the young boy, knelt and maintained eye-contact with him, smiling reassuringly.

“Sam, I know,” she said softly. Sam stared at Ashlynn suspiciously.

“Know? Know about what? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I… I need to…” Sam stammered as he tried to avoid Ashlynn’s eyes.

“Sam, you don’t have to keep their secret from me. I know about Hero,” said Ashlynn quietly. With suspicious eyes, he stared at Ashlynn and evaluated her smile until, after several long seconds, the contagious smile spread across his face too.

“You know Hero?” he asked. “Then… then… what color are his eyes?” Sam asked. Ashlynn chuckled to herself. Sam had devised a little test of his own. Clever boy.

“Green. Bright green,” replied Ashlynn. Instantly, the tenseness in Sam’s body dissipated and the smile spread wider across his face.

“Woah,” the boy breathed. “You really do know. But… how?”

“I’ve known for a long time,” said Ashlynn, her voice just above a whisper. “I know we’re not supposed to talk about it, but I wanted to thank you for keeping their secret. It’s very important that we always keep this a secret, okay?”

“Of course!” reassured Sam. “I’d never tell anyone. I’m just… I didn’t think anyone else knew.”

“And it needs to stay that way. Not everyone is as kind and thoughtful as you,” said Ashlynn.

“I’d never hurt…”

“I know you wouldn’t,” interrupted Ashlynn. “But others might, and that’s why we need to make sure we keep them a secret. Okay?” Sam nodded, grin spreading across his face so wide it nearly reached from ear to ear.

“Promise! Cross my heart!”

They shared a smile and then both of them headed for the elevator. Sam acted like he wanted to ask questions all of the way up the elevator, but the same group of kids came back into the lift and rode it up with them. Instead, Ashlynn promised that she and Sam would talk soon as she exited the elevator, Sam giving her a little wave as the doors slid closed behind her.

Ashlynn walked back to her apartment and paused just outside of the door. She hoped that she hadn’t overstepped any boundaries and that Sam would indeed keep his word. All the same, that little exchange told her that he could easily slip up if he was pressed too hard by someone else who knew about the Borrowers.

Silently, she prayed that day would never come.

She slid the key into the lock and clicked it open, sure to knock properly so the others would know she was home. Crossing the threshold, she was instantly greeted with smiles from all of her small companions, pushing aside her uneasy feelings for another time and another place.

For now, the most pressing matter on their minds was what they should do for dinner and what movie they were going to watch after game night.

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

Continue

Previous

A Tall and Small Collection | Soren

ASK ME ANYTHING

#borrower #g/t #g/t community #borrowers #giant/tiny #handheld #giant tiny #tiny #giant #gianttiny #promise #secret #secret keeper #narrans #ashlynn #the borrowers #borrowing #little man #little things #littlethings #little person #gt #gt related #gt romance #gt community #gtoc #gianttiny romance #small #handheld tiny #Soren

[dionysia-does-stories]

The Midwinter Player

Cringetober2023, Day 2: Self-Insert

On AO3

Rating G - 1,282 words - Tortall - Keladry of Mindelan

Summary: Kel reluctantly decides to accept a walk-on roll in Corus's Midwinter Plays

Story:

A massive sunbird flew past Kel. It’s wings were made of fine gossamer fabric dyed in fiery shades of red and gold. When she fell back into a fighting stance at its closeness, the puppeteer made a cawing noise.

Kel laughed and nodded her head to acknowledge the joke (especially since it was at her expense). The puppeteer carried on moving the great bird as though he were a living, flying thing.

Kel turned the opposite direction walking through the busy square. Players rehearsed their lines, committing the words to memory. Tumblers twisted their bodies into impossible shapes. Their costumes were sewn and textured to mimic rock. Kel remembered Lalasa mentioning that a friend of hers was sewing the costumes this year.

Kel walked past a player who was dressing up a live bull calf in a pair of fake horns. The calf was completely uncooperative with the proceedings and flicked them off. Kel caught one mid-air, handing it back to the beleaguered player.

Kel marched on. She had been told to report to the big tree at the back of the event space. She wished she was reporting for duty at a fort. There all she’d be asked to do is bash in heads and come up with military strategies. But no, she was in Corus for Midwinter and she had been asked to appear in the annual Midwinter plays. 

She would have refused immediately, but both the King and the First Daughter of the Goddess’s temple had asked her to at least consider it. She still wanted to refuse but a valid (although extortive) point had been made about how happy all the little girls in Corus would be to see her. She was trying to have an open mind.

Kel had been told the playwright would meet her at the tree, but she hadn’t expected the woman to be sprawled out on the ground. She was surrounded by individual stacks of paper. Each stack had a rock on it, presumably to guard against the wind. There were quills stuck straight into the earth beside ink wells that had clearly spilled some of their contents onto the dirt.

The woman stared off away from the chaos of the rehearsal square and into the distance of the city. Her eyes were unfocused but still sharp. As soon as Kel’s footsteps were in hearing range, the woman whipped around.

“You have good hearing,” Kel called, trying to be friendly.

The woman quirked half her lips up in a sardonic expression. “For every sound except words which is all in all a not the most useful ability.”

“I’m supposed to be meeting someone here,” Kel said. “A playwright named Diot?”

The woman was shoving her stacks of paper and quills into a plain leather bag that looked large enough to hold a small library.

“That’s me!” Diot’s tone was too enthusiastic for the banality of her words. Kel saw her wince. It was the same wince Neal made when he regretted what he’d just said. 

“I got here very early and sat down to do some work,” Diot explained. “If I don’t put a lot of effort into being early than I’m always late. And I’m a huge admirer of yours. And I didn’t want to be late. Because I figured you would be on time what with the military training and all.” The woman fell abruptly silent.

Kel blinked. “I can appreciate using your time wisely. I’m sure you have a lot to get done at this time of year.”

“I do, thanks,” She gestured to the Mithran temple. “I asked the priests if we could use one of the rooms in the temple to talk.”

Diot led the way down a narrow path to the back part of the building. She brought them to a little room, set up with a table and chairs. Diot had already been lingering here before she moved to the tree. The evidence was obvious in the stacks of paper on the floor and heavy cloak draped on the back of one of the chairs.

“So, this year our play cycle will be the birth of Mithros.” She clapped her hands together at the declaration, again followed by that regretful wince. She gestured for Kel to sit and plonked down in the other chair herself.

“The King mentioned that. He didn’t specify what exactly it was that I was going to be doing?”

“Of course! Of course.” Diot reached into the giant bag and pulled out a book of Mithran stories. Several pages had the corners folded down and Kel could see writing in the margins. “Don’t tell the priests that I’ve done this,” Diot whispered, loudly.

“It’s your book,” Kel pointed out.

Diot flipped to a page, showing an illustration of Mithros at a table with the sun, a fire, the scales of law, and a war horn. “We’re looking to offer the roles as the personification of Mithros’s areas of power to notable individuals. War has already been taken by the lord sponsoring the cost of the plays. Which is what it is, even though I doubt he’s seen a war in his life. The Law will be represented by Duke Turomot, the magistrate.”

“I’m familiar with him,” Kel said.

Diot nodded. “With our current casting leaning somewhat toward a conservative direction. I was very hopeful you would be the Sun.”

Kel thought about the many piles of papers she had seen so far. “How many lines would I have?”

“I’ve written some beautiful lines for the Sun,” Diot rushed to grab a specific paper. Kel had no idea how she knew where it was among the many identical sheets. “I wrote an entire monologue that you can—“ Diot noticed the Yamani stone of Kel’s expression. “—You’re asking because you don’t want any lines.”

“Yes. I don’t have any destiny that includes being an accomplished player. I think it’s best to save the fiery speeches for someone else.”

“What about one line,” Diot negotiated. “So, the audience can hear you speak?”

Kel imagined the little girls in the audience and forced herself to say, “Fine. That’ll be fine.”

“Great!” Diot exclaimed, this time without wincing. She was fired up and producing papers at an alarming rate. “I just have to change this one section, but I have an idea that I think will make it work.”

Diot began to scribble lost to the world. 

Kel rose from her chair. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Diot looked up, eyes widening in distress. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ignore you. I really appreciate you coming.”

“It’s fine. You don’t have long before Midwinter.” Kel pointed out.

Some of the color drained from Diot’s face.  “No,” she said. “I really don’t”

Kel left. She wondered out through the main body of the temple. The priests nodded to her as they walked by, respectful greetings of “Protector,” coming from their hushed voices. Being a knight hand chosen by the Chamber of The Ordeal was a venerated title in the temple of Mithros.

She stopped at the Mithraeum, looking into the cave like structure. At the far wall, there was a statue of Mithros. He held his golden shield aloft, a victorious expression on his face.

“Are you happy now?” She asked it expecting no response.

The statue turned to face her and smiled.

A few weeks later, Kel walked the stage as the Sun to thundering approval, an experience that she remained uncertain about until the most popular guising costume that year proved to be the Sun. Little girls ran wild over the streets of Corus with painted faces and sunbeams coming out of their hair.

#Tortall Fanfiction #Fanfiction #Tortall #protector of the small #keladry of mindelan #cringetober 2023 #self-insert #this one was very difficult for me #Day 2

[all-spare-parts]

Stack Rock Fort in Pembrokeshire. It was on Rightmove the other day, I wonder who bought it?

#animation #illustration #ligne claire #isometric #illos #gif #fort #sea fort #Wales #pembrokeshire #subtle

[petersprize]

        ❛ —𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 ❜— ᴘ.ᴘ.

   　　   　　   　　   　             T I N K E R B E L L

 　　   　                   | main rpg | pinterest | skeleton | starters |

   　　   　　   　　   　      INTRO BELOW THE CUT

name: tinkerbell ❛ tink ❜

face claim: jeanne goursaud

alignment: neutral

positive attributes: loyal, witty, can truly understand how one is feeling, passionate, forgiving

character flaws: obsessive, short-tempered, borderline narcissist, aggressive, sarcastic.

ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ

tinkerbell is blissfully aware of the cruel, violent and savagery nature of peter pan but it is for that she dotes on him fondly. getting into the good graces of peter is a feat many assume they have accomplished, but one tinkerbell knows she is part of selective few to have actually achieved. she is crass, sharp-tongued, temperamental, and fiercely loyal to peter and gloats her importance to him whenever she can, particularly at the new lost boys who feel entitled to be by his side. laughter is her strongest form of mockery, and though she is hardly taller than a mossy stone from the lagoon, tinkerbell’s laugh is one that could rustle the branches of trees from miles away. It comes from a place of knowing that as much as peter may use her, throw her around, instruct, nag and prod her… that he would strip the life from anyone who so much as threatened her.

in a empty forest, amongst an orchestra of chirping from lone crickets and the chorus of croaks coming from the frogs mounted up in the branches of oak trees… there is a WHISTLE. the wind carries the sound through outstretched branches, between ominously stones stacked alongside susurrant waters of a bumbling brook, up above the treetops to grace the clouds before diving it back down to drift atop the dampened earth. the whistle’s volume rises and falls, piano then forte, until it makes it’s way to the ears of whomever is listening, except it’s not a whistle; it’s laughter. shrill, piercing, devious laughter. 

though she knows her and peter being together is not something that could ever be, due to her being a small folk and him being, well, peter… it is a fantasy of hers that makes sleeping at night a bit easier. tinkerbell’s love for peter pan borders on obsessive, as she would put anyone in harms way that dare to come in between the two of them or even threaten him. unrequited love isn’t a concept that tink is capable of processing, as her reckless, borderline narcissism convinces here that the real peter, HER peter, loves her more than anything… and she knows that everyone else is merely a puzzle piece in this never ended game the two of them are playing together. she would give her life for peter if it came down to it, and she would die happily knowing that her death would save, and yet simultaneously, destroy him.

ᴀ ɢʟɪᴍᴘꜱᴇ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛɪɴᴋ'ꜱ ʜᴇᴀᴅ…

the treehouse was quiet, the wind gently brushing through the tufts of sprouting spring leaves and the sun shining through the crack in the oak’s exterior creating a relaxing and peaceful ambiance. peter and the lost boys were out, training perhaps, the the small fae was curled up atop peter’s pillow, blissfully stretched out on the fabric, lids shut and lips pulled into a lull of a smile. the smell of musk, sand, and cypress tickled her nose, the scent of peter relinquishing a sigh from her as she further nestled her head into the plush, worn headrest. every so often, tinkerbell yearned to tag along with peter and his lost boys, and on the rare occasions she did, she’d be flying right alongside peter and securing a spot on his shoulder (like an obedient PET) to remind him, to remind everyone, just how much importance she believed she held. today, however, she was particularly exhausted. the island was thumming with a rhythm she had felt many times before, a signal that peter was feeling a bit more like himself, today. the buzz comforted her, like she was being rocked in one of those bassinets she noticed human children were kept in when they were young, and so here she laid; breathing in the smell of peter, cradled in the warmth of his pillow, feeling his essence in the hum of the island beneath her. however, her peace was quickly disturbed by a familiar crow sounded outside of the door, followed by a chorus of enthusiastic cheers and whoops. slowly, the fae sat up, rubbing sleepily at her eyes and pouting theatrically at the disturbance to her daydreaming. ❛ damn those LOST BOYS, ❜ tink had grumbled, stretching her arms up above her head as her wings flittered to life behind her, preparing to seek refuge in her own ‘room’ and hide from the rambunctious field day that was occurring outside. as she slowly rose to her feet, shaking out the sleep from her body, she heard the familiar voice… one that immediately made her face turn red. it was a girls voice, but not just any voice… HER voice. tink’s face fell, shock settling in her tiny chest as her pin-sized heart began to rattle the confined cage her ribs kept it trapped in. her breathing increased, lungs rapidly taking in and releasing air as she found herself scrambling up in the air, wings beating behind her, flying quickly to a crack in the wood, pressing tiny palms against the wall and peering through to see if her mind was deceiving her. upon realization that it wasn’t, tink floated backwards, shaking her head; ❛ no… no, no, no…❜ anger swelled up inside of her, steam just about pouring out of her ears, hands flying up to her hair and resisting the urge to pull every single last strand from the root. in a panicked rage, she pushed her weight towards her little hideaway and disappeared behind the leaf flaps just in time to beat the entourage as they barreled through the door. hot, rage-infused tears lined the fae’s eyes as she rocked her fist back to slam against the wall, her weight falling to the ground as she collapsed to her rear, knees coming to her forehead as she buried her face in her hands. she had finally gotten her peter back, after all this time, he had doted on her as he had once before and held her up and now?? all over again… his attention would return to that wretched BEAST of a girl who had left him once before, and surely would again. tinkerbell LOVED peter pan. she would do anything for him- she HAD done everything for him. she kept his secrets, she held his pain, she stayed by his side even when he made efforts to cast her away… and now, here she sat, balled up in the small, hollow room peter had hand carved for her in the treehouse, wishing only for silence and for the thumming of the island to STOP.

ᴏᴏᴄ

name: harp/harper

age: twenty three

timezone: est

pronouns: she/her

triggers: n/a