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ptergwen · 3 years

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call me cupid

w/c: 3.5k

warnings: very mild angst and a few swears

summary: despite your hatred for valentine’s day, peter attempts to make you a card

a/n: happy valentine’s day my loves!! i hope y’all get to spend some time with your people today and eat lots of chocolate <3 love you & enjoy mwah

it’s no secret that peter is terrible with words. he gets so flustered he can’t talk or forgets what he wants to say altogether. school presentations are torture. ordering food out is impossible. he’s accepted it at this point, that speaking just isn’t for him.

the one place it doesn’t come across is on paper. peter is ridiculously smart, and he knows all the right words to string together, which is why writing you a valentine should be no trouble at all. should be no trouble at all.

to tell the truth, he’s been sitting at his kitchen table with a blank sheet of paper in front of him for what feels like hours. nothing is coming to him. he’s not sure why this is so hard. you’re his girlfriend, he loves you, he’s said it so many times in every way he could think to. what’s different about it now?

everyone puts way too much pressure on giving the perfect gift when they should really just be enjoying each other’s company on a holiday about love. or, in your words, a meaningless holiday that was created by capitalists as another excuse to take people’s money.

alright, you aren’t too fond of valentine’s day.

it makes anyone who’s single feel like shit and anyone who’s in a relationship lose their shit.

only mj agreed when you shared your criticisms. ned and betty gave you looks like you were insane, and flash muttered something about you being undateable. peter had laughed and swung an arm around your shoulders, but he didn’t fully agree.

although valentine’s day has its flaws, peter likes to see it as twenty four hours of extra appreciation for the people in his life. you can buy chocolate for your friends and family. it doesn’t have to be a significant other, really. him and ned would do it before he had you and ned had betty.

peter wants to remind you how loved you are even if you’re not into the festivities like he is, that bringing him to writing your card. it’s a simple and clinically underrated way of expressing his gratitude. he’d write you love letters every day if he didn’t suck at them.

may comes out of her room to see peter in the same place he’s been since he got home from school. she looks at him through her glasses, smiling as she comes into the room. he’s tapping his pencil on the table, eraser down, searching his mind for anything to write.

“still nothing?” may asks him, making her way over to the cabinets. peter puts down the pencil and sighs. his shoulders slump. “nope. i haven’t gotten past the intro.” “intro, huh?” she teases her newphew and grabs a jar of sauce. “y/n isn’t your teacher, kiddo. you’re not writing her an essay.” she looks at peter over her shoulder. a sheepish smile creeps onto his face.

“you know what i mean.” he reads over the only words on his paper at the moment. dear y/n. he’s starting to feel like spongebob the one time he wrote a paper. “what are you making?” peter asks may so he can temporarily take the focus off his unwritten valentine. “pasta,” may shakes the box in her hand. “and meatballs.”

“should i dial 911 now or wait until we’re in flames?” peter jokes about her awful cooking skills. may shoos him off and puts the box of pasta on the counter. “worry about your own kitchen nightmare.” she nods at the sheet of paper tormenting him. frowning, he glances back at her. “i’m the worst, may. i really don’t know what to write.”

may struggles to open the jar of sauce as she replies. “i thought you said- jesus.” it pops off. “y/n doesn’t like valentine’s day.” she slides over a pot from the stove and dumps the sauce in. peter stares up at the ceiling. “she doesn’t.” that’s probably why he’s having such a hard time. “why are you writing her a card, then?” may questions, turning on a burner.

“because, i dunno, it’s nice? it’ll make her happy? she might not care, but i do.” he mumbles the last part. he’s a bit of a hopeless romantic, so he hasn’t quite adjusted to the idea you had of not getting each other presents. you’re treating it like a regular day. some takeout and cuddles is all you’re doing.

peter would rather buy you things until his pockets are empty. not that there’s much in them, anyway. the point is that you deserve proper spoiling instead of corny words in his shitty handwriting.

“peter, honey. it might be better to stick with what y/n wants,” may suggests while stirring the sauce in the pot. she’s well aware that a few paragraphs from peter won’t change your mind. your opinions belong to you, and there’s nothing he can do about it, though he does have good intentions.

ignoring what may just said, peter makes a request. “what if you help me write it?” she faces the stove again. he can picture her playful smile when she quirks back, “she’s not my girlfriend.” “no, but you’re a girl... a woman,” he corrects himself, earning a scoff from may. “you’d probably know what sounds good.”

“you know y/n better than me, peter. do it on your own,” she exhales and turns back around with the wooden spoon in her hand. “it’ll be more... heartfelt.” peter hates that may is right because he’s completely stuck. his heart is being stupid today. “okay. i’ll try.” he gives her a slow nod. “why don’t you take a break? come stir the sauce. i’ll start the pasta.”

peter gets up from the table and grabs the spoon from may. she pinches his cheek on her way to the sink, getting a tight lipped smile from him.

this is not good.

the next day at school, peter asks around the lunch table for advice while you’re on line getting food. he feels guilty about it because may told him not to. he’s never going to get your valentine done if he doesn’t, though. it isn’t the worst thing in the world to bring on some co-writers.

“ok, what do you have so far?” betty asks, fully invested in the situation. she’s hoping this will switch up your views on valentine’s day. peter pulls out the same piece of paper from last night and says verbatim what’s on it. “dear y/n.” he looks up at ned and betty, the corners of his mouth twitching down. ned motions with his hand for peter to go on.

“that’s it,” peter confesses and folds the paper back up in shame. “dude, you told us it was a work in progress,” ned winces, betty taking his hand that’s resting on her shoulder. “where’s the progress?” betty patronizes him. they’re making him feel worse than he already did. what great co-writers he’s collaborating with.

peter throws a hand up, an eye roll included. “yeah, it’s terrible. can you help me or not?” mj narrows her own eyes at peter from the other end of his bench. she’s not interested in participating when the conversation is about forcing you to celebrate a holiday you don’t like.

“ooh!” betty squeals and squeezes ned’s hand. “you should make a list.” ned grins, leaning his head on hers. “genius, babe.” “a list of what?” peter furrows his eyebrows as he looks between the two of them. “what you love about y/n,” she explains, ned adding on, “stuff you do together, or you appreciate.”

“put whatever you come up with into sentences and voilà,” betty says in her best french accent. “oui oui,” ned agrees, both of them giggling. that doesn’t sound half bad. peter could manage a list about you. “thank you so much, guys. you literally just saved valentine’s day,” he confidently tucks his paper into his pocket. “it’s what we do,” ned tells him coolly.

“you never asked what i think,” mj cuts in, staring down her friends, who reluctantly meet her gaze. she pushes her bag of goldfish aside and raises an eyebrow. “mj, we know how you feel about valentine’s day.” peter presses his lips together. “y/n feels the same way,” mj reminds him dryly.

it’s true, but he doesn’t want to hear that right now. he’s having a breakthrough.

like clockwork, you appear at the table. you slip into the spot next to peter and put down your lunch tray. “what’d i miss?” you comment on the obvious tension, eyeing betty for an explanation. mj gives it to you. “valentine’s day discourse,” she tells you knowingly. peter shifts in his seat, uncomfortable, like he’s been caught doing something he isn’t supposed to.

he technically has.

“yuck,” you murmur, winding your arms around peter’s neck. “yuck, yuck, yuck.” he finds your words ironic because you then kiss his cheek, and peck his lips when he turns his head. peter puts a hand on your side and lets his eyes go up and down your face. a smile spreads across it, which he returns without thinking about. mj huffs in disapproval. she’s seen enough pda.

peter makes his list later that night. he decided he isn’t being inauthentic because he’s coming up with everything himself. he breezes right through it, jotting down what he loves most about you across the paper. it’s a mess. scribbled out misspellings and shreds of eraser, single words and whole phrases covering both sides. he’s proud of his actual progress.

he’ll write the official letter tomorrow since you’re coming over tonight. he at least has his material. the next, thankfully final, step is to reword it.

you’re ranting to peter about some drama with one of your teachers. he listens intently as always, chuckling when you crack jokes and grinning the entire time, feeling so lucky to have the most passionate, say whatever is on her mind girlfriend ever. seriously, it’s inspiring to watch.

“no, like, i never know what’s going on in that class,” you snort, peter snaking his arms around your middle from behind. “because you don’t pay attention,” he hums with his face nuzzled into the back of your neck. “because it doesn’t make any sense!” you defend yourself. his lips brush against your bare skin, drawing a giggle out of you.

“back to what i was saying,” your voice drips with sarcasm. the two of you naturally gravitate to his room, you walking in first. “she called on me, and i- what’s this?” you escape peter’s arms and head over to his desk. crap, he was working on your valentine and forgot to put it away. it caught your attention because it’s surrounded by crumpled papers and glitter.

peter was... experimenting... with designs for the front of the card. he’s learned that he isn’t too artistic either.

“wait, don’t read that,“ peter tries, but you’ve already got the list in your hands. he anxiously sucks his lower lip into his mouth and comes to stand next to you.

you first see the ‘dear y/n,’ then focus in on a few other words. my person forever, which makes you coo at the paper. insane (in the best way), which makes you gasp dramatically. i know you don’t like valentine’s day, but...

you drop the card back on the desk and let out a breath, shutting your eyes as irritation creeps in. it wouldn’t be fair for you to be mad at peter because it’s a sweet gesture, it really is. just, not for you personally. you’re on opposite sides of the valentine’s spectrum. you despise it, he sort of loves it. you’d hoped to meet somewhere in the middle.

“i thought we said no gifts,” you keep your voice level and spin around to look at peter. his face is painted with guilt. “it’s a card,” he murmurs, then meets your eyes with his brows knitted together. “i can’t even give you a card?” “i mean...” you shrug and shake your head. “look, peter. we had an agreement. i’m not doing valentine’s day.”

his disappointment comes out in the form of hanging his head. “yeah, you’re right. sorry.”

may tried to tell him this would happen, mj tried to tell him, and now you’re telling him. he should’ve expected it. he isn’t sure why he’s being so mopey about it because he was fully aware of your hatred for anything with the word valentine in it. it still hurts. peter just wishes you’d let him have the one day to love you and only you, give you some special attention.

“it’s nothing against you, babe,” you reassure him, noticing the shift in his mood. you put a hand on his shoulder. “i really just don’t like valentine’s day. it feels so... fake to me.” peter musters up a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. it drops when you loop your arms around his torso.

“if i celebrated, you’d be the first person i’d wanna spend it with.” you punctuate your words with a kiss to his cheek. he rests his chin on your head, you nuzzling your own cheek into his sweater. he’s feeling a bit better now. it’s not about him, that’s what he needs to remind himself. “thanks, baby,” peter speaks lowly into the air. you hum as if to say no problem.

scratch literally everything he’s done.

peter rolls over in his bed, rubbing at his eyes as his alarm goes off. it’s today. happy valentine’s day to... himself. he doesn’t think you’d want to hear it.

he’s not as broken up about everything as the other day. you have your reasons for not celebrating, and peter accepts them. hey, he still gets to spend the whole day with you. you’re technically having an unspoken valentine’s date.

he gets up from his bed with a yawn and starts to dig through his drawers for an outfit. you should be over soon.

before you head over to peter’s, you decide to make a quick stop at cvs for a few things. you ended up feeling pretty terrible about snapping on him essentially for loving you. it was over a harmless valentine, something to make you feel good and be an outlet for the hundreds of romantic bones in his body. basically, you were bitter about having a thoughtful boyfriend.

you want to make it up to him by giving him gifts instead. you’ll never be down with the whole exploitive and capitalistic side of valentine’s day, but there’s a deeper meaning to it than what you give it credit for. you see that now. peter was able to show his love for you through a homemade mess of a card, and you felt it. the price tags don’t matter. the meaning does.

dressed in his nicest sweater with his hair all styled, peter answers your knocking at his door. a grin instantly paints his face as he takes you in. you’re bundled up in a coat and holding a bag by your side. “hey,” he greets you and lets you past him. you shut the door behind him, returning the smile and winding an arm around his neck for a hug. his drapes around your back.

“hey. happy valentine’s day.” “happy valentine’s-“ peter realizes what he’s about to say and what you just said, then stops himself. “what?” he breaks the hug, squinting at your odd behavior. you’re the last person he’d expected to hear that from. “it’s valentine’s day. so, happy valentine’s day,” you tell him like it’s nothing.

he stays quiet while you shrug off your coat and throw it over one of the kitchen chairs. you bring your bag along with you, peter following you in. he’s suspicious. intrigued, and suspicious. it’s been less than a day since he last say you. you had a change of heart that fast? you aren’t the biggest valentine’s day anti he knows anymore?

“where’s may?” you wonder aloud, taking both of peter’s hands in your now free ones. he eyes the shopping bag you put down while you lace your fingers together. “with happy. they’re getting brunch.” he’s never particularly psyched to talk about their relationship. it’s always been in a joking way, though. now, he sounds genuinely upset to go over may’s whereabouts.

“they’re so cute,” you comment, tugging on peter’s hands so he looks at you. “you good?” “great,” peter half lies and nods, then presses a reassuring kiss to your cheek. he’s not bad. puzzled is the word. what you say next only adds to it.

“good. i have a few things for you,” you beam at him and grab your shopping bag off the chair. that’s what that’s for? peter isn’t fully sure what you’re up to. it doesn’t stop a smile from stretching across his lips, though.

“what happened to no presents?” he tests you as you reach into the bag. “well, i feel bad about how i acted the other day.” you pull out a heart shaped box of chocolates. “the card was really sweet, and i was too caught off guard to appreciate it. i’m sorry, pete.” peter’s eyes twinkle at you, gazing as you give him a smile with a hint of shyness behind it. you’re leaving your comfort zone and entering his.

“i was wrong and cynical and just, yeah. happy valentine’s day,” you add on and shove the box into his hand. he finally grins, so wide and then lets out a breathy laugh. “thanks, y/n. i know it was probably hard to shop being surrounded by this stuff.” he holds up the box. he’s right. you’ll unfortunately be seeing pink and red for weeks. “it was, but i did it for you.” you happily open up your arms for him.

peter puts down the chocolates and pulls you into his arms, his cheek squished against the side of your head as he hugs you to his chest. “oh my god, i love you so much,” he mumbles out, you squeezing him in response. “i love you, pete.” you press a quick kiss to his neck and hold him at arm’s length so you can see him. “i have something else for you.”

“baby,” peter coos, a pout on his lips. “you don’t have to do all of this. i would’ve been fine without the chocolates, even.” “stop, you deserve it,” you shut down the part of him that’s way too nice and selfless. “you’re my real present,” he says lower and with a toothy smile. shaking your head, you reach behind you and into the bag.

he can’t believe you’ve switched stances on valentine’s day. you’re the present pusher, and he’s refusing them. peter thinks it’s some sort of miracle that you’re not only acknowledging the holiday, you’re also partaking in it. his hopeless romantic side tells him it’s actually love, and it is. that’s the cheesy, hallmark movie truth. you suffered through shopping at a heart themed cvs because you love him. simple.

you return with a pink envelope that you place into peter’s hand. his face softens as he closes his fingers around it. “y/n, you made me a card?” “kind of,” you laugh at his overstatement. it’s obviously pre-made. you’d used a pen to fill it out in the store, scribbled a few words and tucked it into the envelope.

“it really doesn’t compare to yours, though,” you simultaneously warn and compliment him. peter dismisses you with a lighthearted click of his tongue. “oh, shush. that was only a rough draft.” “which proves my point even more. open it.” you grip onto the bottom of his sweater and grin.

he keeps his eyes on you while ripping open the envelope, then looks down and chuckles at the gag of the card. it has r2d2 and r4d4 from star wars on the front. inside is already written, “r4 is red and r2 is blue. if i was the force then i’d be with you.” you giggle to yourself, watching him read what you wrote next. i love you more every day, especially on valentine’s. xo, y/n.

peter holds the card to his side and slings an arm around your waist. “they make star wars valentines?” he murmurs, another smile breaking out on his face, one that you of course return. you use his sweater to pull him closer. “apparently. perfect for you.” peter tosses the card down next to the chocolates, both arms now holding you.

“thank you so much, baby. you’re an angel,” he sighs and pecks your lips after. “call me cupid,” you answer.

you give him a longer kiss back, tilting your head up to deepen it. your hands find their place on his biceps, earning a hum from peter as he moves his lips against yours. you can feel his love in every little movement, how he hugs your waist like you’re made of glass, rests his forehead against yours. when your lips mutually detach, peter speaks first, voice slightly husky.

“happy valentine’s day, cupid.”

you breathe out, peter closing his eyes in content.

“happy valentine’s day, r2.”

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland smut #peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker fluff #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker smut

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rune-writes · 3 years

Text

Follow the Yellow Flowers

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

@aerith-week » Day 4: Yellow Flowers

Word count: 1959

Rating: T

Summary: A glimpse into Aerith's childhood back in Shinra's lab and what meaning the yellow flowers hold for her.

Note: A little late for Day 4′s prompt, but I hope it’s okay^^ I was inspired by the Remake’s line: Follow them, the yellow flowers, so this is one of my takes on it. Hope you enjoy!

Part 2 of Follow the Yellow Flowers: Aerith Week 2021

Read on AO3.

~*~*~*~*~

Follow the yellow flowers. That was what her mother had said. Not Elmyra, no. Her biological mother. Back when they’d lived within a wall of steel, where the lights shone a cold bluish hue. Men in white coats would come in through the sliding door and take her mother away every morning, and every morning they would leave Aerith alone in that room with what toys and books they’d thought appropriate for children. Not that any of them had been anything children could read. Astronomy, Biology, Planetology. Nothing she had understood, what’s with all the technical terms. But Aerith had loved seeing the pictures, so she would take a book out everyday, then sat down to read.

Aerith’s favorite was a flower encyclopedia tucked between those difficult books—small, thin, more like a notebook than anything, or a botany journal. On every yellowed page were indiscernible scribbles with a picture of a flower or plant attached to it. Aerith loved looking at the beautiful, cursive writing, so on days she’d been left alone in that room, she would sit on the bed she shared with her mother and tried to read. Like deciphering ancient codes that would unlock a treasure hidden deep under the sea. That was the sort of glee and excitement Aerith felt every time she opened that book. Every time the door slid open and someone came—because someone always came, be that the white-coated men with the needles or scans, or the men in black tasked to guard her—Aerith would hide the book away, tuck it under her pillow or behind the bed. Because the book hadn’t seemed like it belonged in that immaculate room, just as Aerith had never felt like she belonged anywhere. She hadn’t wanted them to take it away from her.

“What are you reading, Aerith?” her mother asked one night.

Her mother would sometimes have Aerith sit in front of her as she combed her hair with her gentle fingers. The movement was slow, rhythmic, with a soft melodious hum accompanying it. Aerith often wondered if it gave her mother a peace of mind. Each night they returned her to the room, Aerith always found her mother with a shortness of breath, her shoulders drooping as her chest heaved in labored breathing. But she'd always smiled, even as exhaustion leaden her features. So Aerith let her comb her hair. At the very least, she hoped it distracted her mother from whatever she had had to endure.

“It’s something I found on the bookcase,” Aerith said. “A book about flowers. Look! I think whoever wrote this had documented every plant this Planet has.”

She lifted the book for her mother to see, and as Ifalna’s gaze fell upon it, her green eyes visibly widened in a stunned surprise.

“Where did you get this?”

“From there.”

When Aerith pointed at the stack of books beside their bed and her mother followed her gaze, she could tell that a sort of unease had settled in her mother’s heart. Her brows had furrowed and a little frown had pulled at her lips. But Ifalna remained silent, eyes fixed on the books as she muttered something under her breath.

“Mom?”

It was like waking up from a trance, the way she jerked and shook herself. She pulled her gaze away from the books and into Aerith’s inquiring eyes. The unease was gone. In its place was a small, gentle smile.

“Is something wrong?” Aerith asked.

But her mother only shook her head and tightened her arms around Aerith. “Nothing, just—it reminded me of something.” Even as she said it, Aerith did not miss the way her mother's smile faltered, the green in her eyes dimming as they gazed into something Aerith could not see.

Aerith never dared ask why. If only because the first time she had seen it had been when a gaunt-looking man in that despicable white coat had entered their room, sauntering like he had owned the place. There had been something off about him, something ominous that had made her mother hide her behind her back, her grip hard around Aerith’s arm.

“What do you want?” her mother had said.

“Nothing, nothing, no need to be so up in arms. I’ve come in peace.” His light, greasy chuckle had grated against her ears, even as he’d held himself in a way that betrayed his high status. Aerith had immediately hated him.

“The last time you came in peace, someone ended up dead.”

The man had blinked, then raised his brows. “Now, is this something we should talk about so casually? In front of your daughter no less." When her mother had shown the littlest sign of hesitation, he'd barked a laughter, his gray eyes glinting behind his thick round glasses, the thin ponytail hanging from the back of his head swaying with the movement. “You’re weak, and your husband was weak. He got what he deserved after escaping with my specim—”

“Get out.”

“I only want to have a chat with little Aeri—”

“Get out!”

The lamp over the man’s head had shattered. Sparks flew and the room plunged into darkness. One of his guards had rushed forward, shouting, “Professor!” But this professor had only raised an arm and ducked his head. Shards of glass had showered him, a piece grazing his cheek and cutting his skin.

“So predictable.” He had clicked his tongue, fishing a handkerchief from his chest pocket to wipe the blood dribbling down his cheek. “We’ll visit some other time.”

The professor and his entourage had left, but Aerith could never forget the tearful rage she’d seen on her mother’s face.

"Who was it?" she dared ask now. She'd moved to her mother's side as her mother held the book on her lap, flipping one yellowed page to the next with utmost care, as though one wrong move and the book would disintegrate. Her mother glanced at her, brow quirking in inquiry. Aerith gulped past the lump in her throat and pushed forward with the question. "The person who wrote the book. You know him, don't you?"

Her mother didn't look surprised, or pained. Just a small smile, tender if Aerith could call it that, laced with nostalgia. "Your father."

Aerith had guessed that. The first time her mother had ever shown that expression had been when the professor had mentioned her husband. Aerith's father. She shouldn't have been surprised, but her heart still gave a little twinge of pain at the confirmation.

"I don't know how this book got here, or if this is some sort of sick play Hojo is playing, but… yes, your father wrote this," her mother went on. "We wanted our future daughter to have a love for nature, so he wrote the book, in the hopes it could cultivate it. That's why he named you Aerith. For earth."

Earth…

Tears pricked her eyes. Aerith had never heard her mother talk about her father before. They rarely ever talked about her mother's past at all. So to receive this much information at once… A smile blossomed across Aerith's face as she shifted her gaze back toward the book, her heart set on keeping it safe at all cost.

She flipped the book to the next page and a familiar flower drew her attention.

“Wait, Mom, look!” On the page was a picture of a single yellow flower, its six petals long and curling outward. “That’s the one I saw in my dreams!”

“Yellow Lilies,” her mother said, reading the name written above the picture. Beneath it were more incomprehensible scribbles that her mother had no trouble reading. “They mean reunion.”

“Reunion?”

Her mother nodded.

“What kind of reunion?”

“Any kind, I would guess. Like reuniting with a friend, or a loved one.”

“Loved one?”

Her mother nodded, slipping her arm around Aerith's shoulders and drawing her close. “Say if we are ever separated, if you follow the yellow flowers, they would lead you back to me.”

“Would we be separated?” The thought had never crossed Aerith's mind, and now it set her heart anxious.

“If, my darling,” her mother repeated, giving her shoulder a comforting squeeze. Her gentle smile tried to convince Aerith that it was an impossible future, yet Aerith could not find it in herself to believe her words.

She had been having dreams lately. Of a flower field under a midday sun, the sky bright blue with wisps of clouds drifting past. Beneath her feet were those same yellow flowers, stretching as far as the eye could see, past the rolling hills and into the distance. Aerith would stand there, her hair and dress flapping against the billowing breeze, watching the far horizon as she waited, and waited…

For what, she never knew. But now that her mother had mentioned something about being separated, Aerith could not get the thought out of her head. Because every time the dream visited her, her heart would seize, heavy and suffocating. Like the yearning for someone’s presence. Or the fear of something that had yet to come. The clear sky always taunted her with its vast beauty, tempting her to step forward and reach out. Follow the yellow flowers, a voice seemed to say. Soft and lilting—familiar. They’ll be your guidepost. But Aerith’s feet were always frozen to the spot, fearing that if she were to make the slightest movement, they would take away something dear to her.

Her mother was still smiling, so Aerith smiled back, burying the dream deep in the farthest reaches of her mind. Yellow lilies, she spoke to herself, tracing the picture on the book. Reunion.

***

Can you hear me, Mom?

Sometimes, after watering her garden, Aerith would sit in front of her flowers and tell them stories. Mostly about her day. What she did and whom she met. Helping children at the orphanage or doing odd errands around the slums. Sometimes, the flowers would speak back, like a gentle caress of the breeze or the little sways of those petals. Their words would seep into Aerith’s heart without her ever hearing their voice. Most of the time, they would remain silent.

Today was one of such times. In an isolated alcove of a rocky outcropping, Aerith crouched before her flowerbed outside Elmyra’s cottage. Sunlight slanted in through the gap between the metal plates in a shade of deep orange. The water rolling down the cliff face usually soothed her ears, but now they were like a clog, muffling her entire senses and barring her from hearing what the flowers had to say.

Mom, she called again, inwardly.

It was silly; she knew. They were only flowers, and they couldn’t speak. It might have only been her parents’ promise to reunite with the yellow flowers. Aerith never did ask where her father had learned the flower meanings. Had he compiled it from his travels across the Planet? Or had he gotten it from her mother’s Cetra knowledge? She never knew, nor she’d ever cared. The book she’d taken with her on her escape from the Shinra lab over ten years ago now lay in her room, safely tucked in a drawer along with everything her mother had left her.

You said these flowers would reunite us.

Aerith stroked the yellow petal between her fingers and let out a quiet sigh. It might have been her own wishful thinking—planting the flowers and hoping to hear her mother’s voice. But she’d known, always, that her mother wasn’t there. That she’d left for the Lifestream, and the voices Aerith often heard were never hers. No matter how many times she called, her mother never answered. Like screaming to a void, where all she heard back was the echo of her own voice.

~ END ~

#aerithweek #aerithweek2021 #aerith gainsborough #final fantasy vii #ff7 #ffvii #ff7r #final fantasy #fanfiction #ff fanfic #ff7 fanfic

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detectivejigsawpines · 4 years

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Relatively Relativity-part 2 (Some adjustments required)

Eventually, the worst of the noise subsided.

Only for Mabel to take another look at her boy grunkles, and make them nearly jump out of their skins with her amazed and delighted squeal of, “Oh my gosh, you guys are so CUUUUUTEEEE!!!!”

“Gah!” Stan saw the impending doom, and tried too late to escape from one of her arms snatching him up into a hug. Seconds later Ford was grabbed by her other arm, and made a strangled noise as he had what felt like all of his air squeezed out of him.

Mabel actually lifted both of them off their feet in her enthusiasm, swinging them back and forth with far more strength than someone her age should have been capable of when they hadn’t spent years living on the streets or traveling the multiverse. “You guys are just the most precious little pair of sweeties I’ve ever seen! As soon as we get home I’m making you both tiny sweaters and taking a hundred pictures!!”

“Mabel-leggo-we need air-” Stan struggled, and finally just rolled up her sleeve and licked her arm. Even though she was more often than not guilty of using the same tactic, it was enough to make her release them.

Dipper was by now curled up in the fetal position against a tree, rocking back and forth and gasping, “Not again, not again, this can’t be happening again!” He glanced down at himself. “I mean, at least I’m still in my own body, so that’s nice.” He resumed rocking. “But this still can’t be happening!”

“Okay, okay, everybody STOP!”

Ford waited until all eyes were on him, and then climbed up onto a nearby convenient tree stump. He adjusted his glasses in a way that looked soothingly Ford-like even in his tiny child body and higher-pitched voice. “Let’s all just calm down for a second.”

He glanced over at the flower, and saw with concern that it had wilted, with all the petals lying in a heap around the stem.

That can’t be good.

“...I think we all need to go home so I can examine that-” he pointed to the remains of the flower- “and figure out what kind of spell it cast on us. This is nothing to panic over.”

“Nothing to panic over?!” Dipper demanded. Fascinating; even with his voice fully developed he still managed to make it crack to an astonishing degree. “Look at me, Grunkle Ford! I’m old!”

“Yeah, and if ya don’t figure out how ta calm down you’re probably gonna start giving yourself a heart attack!” Stan said.

“Stanley! That is not helpful!” Ford snapped, hopping off the stump and going to his nephew’s side.

“...Sorry.” Stan joined him, and Mabel crouched down on Dipper’s other side. Three hands rubbed his shoulders as he pushed his head between his knees.

After a minute Dipper took a few deep breaths, and then slowly got to his feet. He still looked shaken up by the situation, but at least he had calmed down a little. “Ugh, ow. Do your guys’s joints creak this much when you have to stand up?”

“Oh yeah. It’s even worse first thing in the morning.” Stan stretched his back, and then his eyes widened in delight. “Whoa, wait. It’s been years since I’ve been able ta do that without it feelin’ all messed up!” He looked down at his legs, and a wide smile stretched across his cheeks.

Before Ford could stop him, he took off running back down the trail with a whoop.

“Stanley! Stanley, get back here! We have to-”

Stan was already practically out of sight. Ford groaned, and shrugged off his now-giant backpack which he had barely realized he was still wearing. He glanced at the-well, technically the children, they still had the minds of thirteen-year-olds. “Find something to put that flower in, would you?”

Then he chased after his brother.

****

Ford was disconcerted when he realized, very quickly, that his body had reverted back to the physical limitations he had possessed at this age.

Back then, while it was all well and good to go running around on the beach with Stan, chasing the waves or the sea gulls or each other, he had hated exercise when there were far more enjoyable options available, like reading his books or just sitting and drawing something. He hadn’t gotten into the habit of going for long walks in the woods, or been forced to spend a lot of time running for his life from interdimensional bounty hunters.

Soon enough Ford was forced to slow down because of the stitch in his side, and double over gasping with the need to get more air into his lungs.

He clenched his fists against his knees in frustration, because he knew that he was capable of running faster than this, at least when he was in his regular body, he’d done it a million times, and now he couldn’t.

A few moments later he heard the thud of boots pounding against the ground, and a familiar out-of-breath voice.

“Whoo! What a rush! If I tried doin’ that when I was old I’d have ta sit on the couch for a week afterwards! Ha! Who’s an old fossil now, Mabel?”

Coming from the man (boy? Shoot, that was going to get confusing pretty fast) who was capable of punching out giant squid monsters and outrunning angry leprechauns while carrying a heavy treasure chest, that was definitely an exaggeration. But Ford was too busy trying to stop wheezing to call him on it.

“...You okay, Poindexter?” Stan asked, reaching out and touching his shoulder.

Ford lifted his eyes until they met his twin’s. “W-We...should probably...go back to the kids. I realize...you’re excited...about rediscovering your youth...but they’re not enjoying this as much as you are.”

Stan gave him a chagrined grimace. “...Oh yeah. Sorry.”

Ford patted his arm as he straightened up. “‘S’ okay. I get it. It feels good to get some of those aches out of my bones.”

“Yeah, no kidding!” Stan looked down at his arms with wide eyes. “Can you believe these things were ever this skinny?”

Ford snorted. “Your face is back to being mostly nose, though.”

“Hey!” Stan slugged him in the arm. “Take a look in the mirror, genius-you’re not much better off!”

Ford punched him back, giggling.

He was a little surprised by how natural a sound that felt to make, now that he was no longer an old man.

****

It turned out that Dipper had emptied out part of one of the water bottles, and then dug the flower out-roots and all, just in case-before placing it and its petals inside. He’d even managed to get some pollen samples and add them to the inside of the bottle.

“Good job, Dipper!” Ford praised him, accepting it and slipping it into his backpack. Then he straightened up, puffing out his chest. “Okay, let’s get this back to the lab, and turn ourselves back to normal!”

Mabel cooed and clasped her hands together at her chin. “Awww, you sound so adorable when you say stuff like that now!”

...Ford couldn’t help feeling like she was spoiling the gravitas of the moment. He tried to ignore Stan’s wide smirk, and adjusted his coat collar with a cough before he started marching back the way they’d come.

****

A new problem arose when they reached the car.

Stan dug into his pocket and pulled out the keys, and just as he was unlocking the car Dipper grabbed his shoulder.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Stan raised an eyebrow at him, in a way that was still very grunkle-like despite his young face. “Gettin’ ready ta drive us home.”

“Grunkle Stan, you’re thirteen now! You can’t be the one driving!”

The boy folded his arms. “Uh, last I checked, you didn’t exactly have a driver’s license, kid.”

Dipper faltered. “I-I know how to drive the golf cart!”

“Not the same. Besides, remind me how many times you crashed it last summer?”

“Oh, like your driving is any safer!” Dipper lunged for the keys.

Stan jumped out of reach. “Fair point, but this is still my car! And nobody but nobody is allowed ta drive it but me!”

Dipper chased after him, meaning that they were suddenly running around the car, with Stan defiantly holding the keys out of his elderly nephew’s reach. “We’re gonna get pulled over if the cops see you behind the wheel, Grunkle Stan! Be reasonable!”

“Never! I’m not lettin’ you scratch up my car cuz you-”

Mabel finally stepped between them. “Boys, boys! I have a solution that’ll fix everything!”

****

Five minutes later, Dipper was in the driver’s seat, with Stan sitting on his lap, head tucked against his shoulder. Dipper’s feet worked the gas and brakes at his grunkle’s command, while Stan did the steering and watched the road with his newly improved vision. Neither of them looked pleased with this solution, but they’d had to admit that they hadn’t been able to think of a better one.

Mabel and Ford sat in the back, with the water bottle containing the flower clenched in Ford’s lap. He stared at it thoughtfully, scribbling notes in his journal and thinking about other experiences with enchanted plants, and how they might compare to this one.

Unnoticed by him, Mabel had pulled a cloth tape measure out of her pocket and was taking his measurements; already she was thinking about what kind of sweaters to make him and Stan. Because on the one hand, both of them seemed to like the color red, and looked pretty good in it; on the other hand, this was a special occasion, and maybe she should make something in blue, or green, or gold. Maybe all of them together? Decisions, decisions…

She was still thinking about her options when the car pulled up in front of the Mystery Shack. Stan turned the engine off, and unbuckled himself and Dipper.

“Geez you’ve got bony knees,” he said dryly as he looked up at his nephew.

Dipper snorted. “Now you know how I feel.”

Fortunately Stan’s mood had improved enough for him to grin before opening the car door and bounding up the steps of the porch.

“Soos, we’re home!” he called as he opened the door.

A few seconds later there was a startled yelp, and a thud.

A little bit after that, the front door opened again, and Stan peered uneasily out at his family.

“...Guys? I think I just killed Soos.”

********

Don’t worry, I didn’t actually kill Soos.

I’m not that much of a monster.

Usually.

#relatively relativity #gravity falls #grunkle stan #grunkle ford #young stan #young ford #old dipper #old mabel #precious boy #stan is enjoying this #ford and dipper not so much #gravity falls soos #dipper pines #mabel pines

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florrickandassociates · 4 years

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TGF Thoughts: 3x10--The One About the End of the World

I did it, I wrote recaps for all of season 3.

Oooh, this ep starts off with the credits.

This is the season 3 finale, but it’s not written by the Kings. Maybe they were busy with Evil at this point? As I’ve mentioned before, Evil is very good. I am NOT a fan of horror, but Evil works for me for several reasons. If you haven’t seen it, you might be imagining it’s full of jumpscares and gore. It certainly has its fair share of jumpscares and gore, but they’re not the point. The show’s definition of evil isn’t just demons… it’s radicalized misogyny and slavery and racial inequalities. And, as you might expect from a show written by the Kings, evil manifests itself in misuses of technology quite frequently.

Honestly, I think I laugh more than I cover my eyes while watching. And, to be clear, I laugh because the show is funny. It’s quirky and bizarre, serious enough to be dramatic but light enough to be watchable.

It’s also got a central myth-arc (way more serialized and puzzlebox-y than TGW/TGF/Braindead) that’s as complicated as you want it to be. If you want to look for the hidden puzzle pieces (literal puzzle pieces!) you can. If you want to be an attentive but univested viewer, you’ll be able to follow the arc just fine. The arc itself is pretty simple and the Kings use recurring guest stars to build a web that pays off over the course of the season. So if you’re used to following a TV show with lots of guest stars-- and you all are, since you’re viewers of TGF-- the mytharc isn’t going to demand a lot of effort to follow.

Speaking of guest stars, you WILL recognize at least one familiar face per episode. And if you pay attention to the credits, you’ll recognize the names behind the scenes, too. I love it when showrunners collaborate with the same people over and over-- it makes me think they’re good to work with and look out for their friends.

Just finishing up the most recent season of Younger before I jump into writing this and there was a Liza/Charles scene giving me MAJOR Alicia/Peter in Death of a Client vibes, mostly because of her hairdo. Then I realized: both scenes were DEFINITELY filmed in the same place. I love it.

Confession: I don’t actually remember anything about this ep, except for the very end.

Kurt was working from home! He was prepping for 2020.

Oh we saw Julius leave the firm to become a judge? And here I thought it was a spoiler he was in a robe in the s4 trailer.

There is talk of making Lucca a partner! Yes! There’s also discussion of someone named Rosalyn, who I’m sure is great but also, have you met Lucca Quinn? But in all seriousness, if the writers want me to truly believe there’s another associate who can rival Lucca, they have to show it to me.

I do believe the partner who says Rosalyn would be better for the culture of the firm than Lucca, though. Lucca hasn’t shown herself to be that invested in getting to know her colleagues (aside from the two white girls), and I think (not sure though) Rosalyn is the one we’ve seen speaking up the last several episodes.

Jay is going to dig into Book Club more, and I cannot wait until this is gone.

Cookies shouldn’t have photorealistic faces on them.

Did they REALLY hire white guys for the mailroom because that consultant said to?

There is a very angry former client of RBL asking for more money from Julius. Blum put him up to it. Go away, Blum!

Now there’s a lawsuit to make it seem like RBL is exploiting all the police brutality victims they’re represented. This is part of Blum’s plot.

Diane accidentally answers a call from Marissa, so Marissa gets to hear all the gossip about salaries and partnerships.

Now there’s weird lightning. Not in the clear yet!

Oh RIGHT, there was that FaceTime defect. I forgot about it.

Lucca doesn’t want to know what Marissa heard, but she’s happy to hear more once Marissa’s started the conversation.

Is it possible for a man to say “ladies, we’ll get to you” in a work setting without sounding sexist? I don’t think it is.

Casually sexist judge likes Blum.

Oh hello Maia. Blum says Maia became “disgusted and quit” after seeing RBL’s methods. Well, that’s a lie. You’d know it was a lie even if we hadn’t seen Maia get fired, because in order for Maia to know the firm’s methods she would have to do work. (OKAY I WILL STOP BUT THIS IS THE LAST EPISODE WHERE I CAN MAKE JOKES AND I’M GONNA MISS MY PUNCHING BAG A LITTLE BIT)

Maia is using her mom’s name and carrying the portfolio Diane gave her, just to throw Diane off.

Diane confronts her about it and asks if this is retribution. Maia says it’s just “lawyering.” Maia could have gone to any other firm-- like, even Canning’s firm-- and I would’ve thought she had a point. I would say trying to throw Diane off is mean but no worse than what others have done. But Blum is so hateful and malicious Maia has no ground to stand on.

Maia says she’s coming after RBL because they’ve done wrong. She sounds like she’s convinced herself-- or maybe she’s gotten that good at lying. (It is telling that so many former clients would be willing to join this suit, though-- Maia isn’t wrong about that)

Show title spoken alert!

I am pretty sure the Diane/Maia scene right there is one I would have ripped Diane to shreds for if it had been her vs Alicia, and Blum wasn’t involved, because Maia’s being very practical (Blum is out to screw you; I am here for the clients) and Diane is on her high horse. Hell, maybe I’d even take Maia’s side if we got Blum out of the picture. But I hate him. And Maia’s on this case because Blum said so. She’s running his firm and working with all his clients; this one just happens to have a way to spin as doing good.

Kurt has to intro 45 and is drafting a speech. Diane doesn’t know yet, so she thinks his scribbled “the last two years have been amazing/brought me a new optimism” are about her. She finds out the real meaning for the scribbles and leaves the room.

Blum’s here again. I hate him.

Also RBL may have caught Blum and turned him in to the ACDB but Blum got disbarred all on his own by doing disbarrable shit repeatedly and knowingly.

Lightning balls. Weird.

Lucca asks Jay how she’s thought of. I feel like if you have to ask that question you’re probably not thought of as an integral part of the culture. This is a smart thing to show as Lucca’s weak spot. She’s never liked making friends. Lucca also worries she’s “not black enough” for the firm.

“Everyone likes you. Just, a lot of the associates think you never hang out,” Jay says. “So it’s high school? I don’t care about being popular. Who has time to hang out?” Lucca responds. That’s the problem, right there! Maybe this isn’t such a thing at RBL, but where I work, the partners always make a point of greeting everyone, sticking around at happy hours, etc. Part of their job is to create the culture. RBL doesn’t seem to have that culture, but I absolutely understand why some of the partners want it to.

And the “not black enough” comment is coming at least in part from Lucca’s tendency to surround herself with all the white characters when she does socialize.

“I do not have to prove myself to anyone, or perform what they think black should look like. This is 2019. I’m not playing this stupid fucking game,” Lucca responds. She’s right, I think, but I would also be curious to hear other perspectives. This situation feels pretty nuanced to me in that I think it can simultaneously be true that Lucca can act however she wants and shouldn’t be judged or typed for it AND that there’s a somewhat strong case against Lucca as a partner because of her engagement with her coworkers.

Does the fact that I like Evil!Maia so much mean I secretly liked Maia all this time???

Jay asks Marissa to help him create more diverse happy hours. And then it’s time for them to confront Book Club. Jay’s got some intel on Rochelle, who’s legit enough to have done polling for Eli. Overcharging a client 30% for a focus group seems like maybe not a big enough deal to blackmail someone with, but Jay tries!

Rochelle isn’t having it and tells Jay and Marissa, basically, that she’s going to escalate things.

Oh there are very many guns in Diane and Kurt’s bedroom suite thing.

Diane winds up writing Kurt’s speech for him by bullshiting. Kurt knows it’s bullshit. Diane’s writing a parody but it’s also not parody at all. “A parody but it’s also not parody at all’ is also true of the mindfuck that’s been the last four years.

Jay ends up doing drawings of cartoon animals to be used in court because the judge can’t understand anything complicated. One cartoon is Judy Giraffe, who may share a name with the toy Andrew Wiley’s kids had in late season 6 (but I’m too lazy to look it up and see if I’m right about that).

This also may just be Zootopia.

LOL there’s ASMR happening now. I could explain why but it’s more fun if I don’t.

This scene is hilariously over the top.

Maia was 12 in 2000. I feel like that’s inconsistent with other timelines we’ve been given but whatever.

Lucca awkwardly tries to socialize. Lucca immediately misspeaks by saying she thinks Obama probably wished that for one day he didn’t have to be “the black president” and her colleagues freeze up and push back.

Marissa then shows up and the scene ends. Awkward.

Now Blum’s hired actors to be disruptive in court. Ridiculous. I hate Blum. That said, this isn’t really any lower than Diane’s ASMR shenanigans.

Blum is singing now, goodbye.

I FORGOT ABOUT THE CORRUPT JUDGE ADRIAN WAS FUCKING.

So much COTW in this ep. Remember how it used to have meaning when the regulars got called to the stand? Like, I know this is technically character driven drama but it’s nowhere near as engaging as last episode’s internal investigations.

Rosalyn comes into Lucca’s office: she knows they’re up for the same partnership, and understands that’s why Lucca came to drinks. Rosalyn was informed by one of the partners, and as much as I like Lucca, Rosalyn is making quite a good case for herself by handling herself so professionally here. She comes to Lucca once she realizes the partners are pitting them against each other, “because that’s what people do to the black girls.” I want to hear more of what Rosalyn is about to say, but she’s cut off by BALL LIGHTNING. What the fuck? Now the power is out.

Rosalyn thinks it’s the end times. The red skies do suggest that. Lucca is unconvinced.

Diane pays Maia a visit. “So, you got what you wanted. A corner office,” Diane says. Had Maia expressed this wish? Or is Diane mocking her?

Maia says she knows what she’s getting with Blum, and “sometimes that’s better.” She isn’t wrong. But it’s BLUM.

Diane offers Maia her job back. No, PARTNERSHIP at RBL. HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. It’s hilarious enough in isolation, but the thought of Maia getting partnership over Lucca or Rosalyn (who both seem very deserving) makes it even worse. I think half of their staff would quit if Maia was made partner.

It’s more money and Maia is skeptical. She (wisely) guesses that she’d be forced out after six months, but Diane (has she talked to any of the other partners about this?) says that wouldn’t happen. “You’re trying to buy me out of my case,” Maia FINALLY realizes. Well, I guess it makes sense she’d believe she was actually deserving of a partnership after two years of half working.

Diane says it’s also because she impressed Adrian. Lol, okay. If that’s what it takes to make the suit go away.

Maia says she’ll think about it and asks Diane if it’s weird that they’ve ended up in this spot. Diane says yes and smiles.

Blum overheard the whole thing, naturally. He tells Diane that Maia won’t go with her. Now he is singing. Why is he singing. Why won’t he stop singing.

Liz does not like that Adrian and Corrupt Judge are friends. Why is Corrupt Judge here?

Diane watches Kurt awkwardly avoid clapping while standing directly behind 45. It is very funny and Diane enjoys it. Kurt is then removed from the audience, which leads Diane to say “Kurt, my God, I love you.” The incident makes the news almost instantly.

This Good Fight short has the characters in it. I imagine there’s a non-zero chance we get an animated, musical S4 wrap up given that they had to halt production.

It’s weird there’s a short that says the season is over, followed by another scene.

Lucca and Marissa discuss how Maia got the partnership offer. Why would Diane or any of the partners let that slip?! “Two black girls are up for the job and they give it to the white girl,” Lucca says. Marissa’s surprised she’s not angry, but Lucca explains-- she knows Maia’s not going to take it. Marissa thinks Maia will, but Lucca understands that Maia’s moved on.

Lucca no longer cares about the partnership because she’s realized “the best thing is to not care.” It’s almost like she was friends with Season 7 Alicia, who said this like twice an episode.

Then Marissa and Lucca drop acid in the office because the world is ending, I guess.

Didn’t the s1 finale also do this end of the world thing? A less apocalyptic version.

I think this Diane and Adrian scene may be a callback to that finale.

Diane posits that love and hope will get us through the endtimes.

Aaaah the case is still happening but I’m SO CLOSE to being done with season 3. I still love what TGF is doing, but its central devices and plots for season 2 worked so much better.

RBL wins! Diane notes that Maia hasn’t responded to their offer. Does that mean someone is still considering giving Maia a fucking partnership even though the case is closed? HA.

Maia points this out and Diane insists they really want Maia home. This is probably the worst judgment I’ve ever seen Diane have? She wants to bring her goddaughter who is three years out of law school on as a partner at her firm, OVER two extremely qualified black women? Even if Maia were truly the best lawyer ever, the optics alone are bad enough to make Maia a terrible choice.

Maia decides, instead, to head for D.C. with Blum. She gets in an elevator and sucks on a fentanyl lollipop, which, sure, why not? I think they offer her partnership purely so we the viewers can see she’s choosing to emulate Blum and she likes it.

BYE BLUM!!!!!!!!!! BYE MAIA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I won’t really miss either of you, but also, what am I going to write about when I can’t complain about Maia?

And we’re back in the opening moments of the premiere, which, as it turns out, were a flashforward to this moment in which Kurt and Diane get SWATted seconds after Diane announces she’s happy and Kurt asks what could go wrong. I hope they’re both ok because I won’t be able to deal if they do anything to Kurt. (Or Diane but I’m less concerned about them killing her off lol.)

That’s a wrap!

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thepatchworkcrow · 5 years

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Witchcraft Asks #1-105

So, just for @dearpenumbra and because I’m wide awake and bored and want to answer them: Here is the list of the 105 witchcraft questions I just finished answering. I answered one each day but feel free to answer them all at once or however you want to do it. Tag your it!

1. Are you solitary or in a coven? I am technically a solitary, though I have friends with whom I occasionally celebrate the sabbats and do other witchy things with.

2. Do you consider yourself Wiccan, Pagan, witch, or other? I use ‘Pagan’, ‘witch’, and ‘Druid’ to describe myself. My path of Druidry is inherently pagan because of its reverence of the earth and all life, and it contains practices that are part of witchcraft.

3. What is your zodiac sign? I am a Cancer!

4. Do you have a Patron God/dess? I do, for sake of Tumblr, I call them The Hunter and The Lady of the Lantern. They’re deities I’ve not found in any mythology- sort of my own unique perspective / interaction with the divine forces of the universe, and so I keep the names I call to them in ritual private.

5. Do you work with a Pantheon? I do work with other deities beyond my patron god and goddess. A lot of them are from the various Celtic pantheons and include: Brighid, Gofannon the Smith, Cerridwen, Mannanan Mac Lir, and Gwyn ap Nudd.

6. Do you use tarot, palmistry, or any other kind of divination? I read tarot, runes, and ogham. I own an agate scrying mirror, but it’s very finnicky and I’d love to learn palmistry some day.

7. What are some of your favorite herbs to use in your practice? (if any) I use sage for cleansing, mugwort for a couple of blends of incense for divination, and lavender to cleansing, peace, intuition, etc.

8. How would you define your craft? It’s a path of Druidry dedicated to the Wylde Hunt.

9. Do you curse? If not, do you accept others who do? I have cursed- only in extreme situations, and the curse I used was aimed more at making the target realize how negative and toxic the bullshit they’ve been spewing/causing is. Sort of a “You’re going to realize the full horror of your actions” kind of a thing.

10. How long have you been practicing? The summer solstice will mark my 13th year.

11. Do you currently or have you ever had any familiars? I have familiar spirits: a black dog that goes by the name Yew, and a raven with a gold stripe on its beak named Gildenbeck. I’ve never had a familiar in the sense of a pet who does witchy stuff with me though.

12. Do you believe in Karma or Reincarnation? I believe in reincarnation and that our cations in one life affect the next. I’ve done a past life regression before, but that’s a story for a post that isn’t QUITE this long.

13. Do you have a magical name? I used to. I’ve got through a number of them over the years, changing them out as I see fit. My most recent one was actually the name I started this blog under: Brenna Adaira, but I’ve since outgrown it, and don’t really feel the need for one.

14. Are you “out of the broom closet”? Yes. I have been from the very beginning.

15. What was the last spell you performed? Shit. I don’t even remember. I’m not super big on spells. Anything more complex than carving a candle and charging it with intention to leave burn on my altar is usually not something I bother with.

16. Would you consider yourself knowledgeable? This is a silly question. As I’ve been practicing 13 years, and as someone with a bachelor’s degree, I’d say yes. I am knowledgeable about a number of things. However, I recognize there are many things I’m not knowledgeable about and there is always room for growth and learning.

17. Do you write your own spells? Since they’re very slapdash? Yes. They get written as I’m throwing spell components together to just DO THE THING.

18. Do you have a book of shadows? If so, how is it written and/or set up? I have recently started compiling a more formal grimoire of my path and all of its integral components. My working book of shadows however is always a sketchbook that gets carried around with me literally everywhere. It’s got drawings, scribbled poetry, journal entries, cut and pasted pictures, ritual outlines, musings, research notes, etc. and it’s all pretty out of order and chaotic. But I love the freedom of not having to be too careful with how I structure things and just let everything happen organically.

19. Do you worship nature? I do not worship nature. I honor the forces of nature; I treat them with respect and work to do my best to live in harmony with them. We are part of nature, not separate beings.

20. What is your favorite gemstone? Oof. This is a tough one. Moss Agate or Moonstone... but also Citrine and Opal. xD

21. Do you use feathers, claws, fur, pelt, skeletons/bones, or any other animal body part for magical work? I have a pheasant wing fan I use for smoke cleansing. I also have a small set of antlers that I’m still meaning to make into a proper headdress for ritual wear. Right now, they sit with my statute of The Hunter and the rest of my Wylde Hunt stuff.

22. Do you have an altar? Usually, yes. At the moment I don’t because I’ve been sort of in-transit for months. I’m moving back home at the end of the week though, and setting up an altar is the FIRST thing I intend to do.

23. What is your preferred element? Air. I love wind, stars, storms, gentle breezes through the forest, music, singing, the power of words.

24. Do you consider yourself an Alchemist? Not even in the slightest. XD

25. Are you any other type of magical practitioner besides a witch? Already answered above, but I’m a Druid! ^_^

26. What got you interested in witchcraft? I answered this in my previous post.

27. Have you ever performed a spell or ritual with the company of anyone who was not a witch? Yes! We used to frequently invite non-pagan friends to celebrate sabbats with us. One year, we actually erected a Maypole in my backyard and did a maypole dance.

28. Have you ever used ouija? Nope, and I would never. I don’t need it to speak with my guides, I don’t wanna poke at the dead, and I don’t trust them as reliable tools.

29. Do you consider yourself a psychic? I have strong intuition, but I wouldn’t call myself a psychic.

30. Do you have a spirit guide? If so, what is it? I have a couple, but the main one appears to me as a sort of elven / druidic entity (kinda Tolkien elf-ish with the blonde hair and all that). He goes by the name of Brannan and has been sort of my Druid guide both before and during my OBOD studies.

31. What is something you wish someone had told you when you first started? I wish someone had taught me really basic grounding and centering exercises and energy work first. Instead, I jumped right into gods and spells and rituals and all sorts of silliness early on in my path.

32. Do you celebrate the Sabbats? If so which one is your favorite? I haven’t this past year or so because I’ve been trying to get my bearings post-college again. But my favorite is Midsummer. It’s closest to my birthday, marks the anniversary of my dedication to studying witchcraft, and is just always a super heightened time for me spiritually speaking.

33. Would you ever teach witchcraft to your children? Yes. There’s another, longer blog post coming about my thoughts on this, but the short version of it is that I would rather give them some manner of religious context and collection of traditions and heritage than leave them completely on their own to consider the big universal questions religion is supposed to answer.

34. Do you meditate? Not nearly as often as I would like, but at least a couple of times a month.

35. What is your favorite season? Autumn. I love the gloom and the smell of the leaves, and the rain and how windy it gets, and the colors, and of course all of the things like pumpkin spice and Halloween. It’s another time of deep spiritual work for me. This is when the Wylde Hunt rides, and I mark my progress on my path in devotion to them.

36. What is your favorite type of magick to preform? I don’t actually like doing magick other than charging and burning candles. I’m sort of a lazy witch and usually find it more necessary to do inner work to get through a problem than to try and effect change in the world around me.

37. How do you incorporate your spirituality into your daily life? I take actions that align with my spiritual goals: living in harmony with the natural world, creating beautiful things, never stopping my own growth and learning, and compassion for others. I recycle where I can, try to reduce waste and reuse things. I take walks in nature and spend time in the woods. I stay informed so I can vote in ways that put people in power who care about our world. I take time to notice beauty in small places: a bird flying over head, stars in the winter sky, the way the sun is coming in through a window. When all of life is sacred, the spiritual path is not separate from the rest of your life. It becomes the lens through which you frame your life.

38. What is your favorite witchy movie? If I had to choose.... damn. I really can’t. The triad of Hocus Pocus, The Craft, and Practical Magic kinda take that place. I love them all in different ways.

39. What is your favorite witchy book, both fiction and non-fiction. Why? My favorite witchy books... Non-fiction: Living Druidry by Emma Restall-Orr, because it’s a look at Druidry through a Druid’s eyes. It introduces Druid concepts without the formal textbook layout, and I love reading about her experiences. Fiction: The Tree Shepherd’s Daughter and the associated series by Gillian Summers because who wouldn’t love a book about an elf who talks to trees whose day job to hide among humans is to make furniture to sell at Renaissance Festivals? Like... It’s just good, okay?

40. What is the first spell you ever preformed? Successful or not. This got answered in my last post.

41. What’s the craziest witchcraft-related thing that’s happened to you? And so did this one!

42. What is your favourite type of candle to use? I typically use those cheap chime candles or tealights. They burn down quickly and are easy to get ahold of.

43. What is your favorite witchy tool? I would have to say my drum. I love love love love raising energy with it or doing trance work while drumming.

44. Do you or have you ever made your own witchy tools? All of my wands have been handmade and my altar statues are all sculpted by hand. My ogham staves are handmade, and I’ve made a set of runes in the past, but they weren’t fond of me. XD

45. Have you ever worked with any magical creatures such as the fea or spirits? Ohhhh yes. Lots! The Wylde Hunt is one such example, but I’ve also worked with goblins and other various fae.

46. Do you practice color magic? I use color associations loosely, but don’t adhere to them too much.

47. Do you or have you ever had a witchy teacher or mentor of any kind? I did, sort of. My mom’s best friend was the one who bought me my first tarot deck, taught me how to read, etc. She gave me witchy homework now and then, but it wasn’t really a formal mentorship. She’s like another mother to me though, and I love her lots. <3

48. What is your preferred way of shopping for witchcraft supplies? Unfortunately, my preferred way is no longer possible. My local shop closed down in Feb of 2017 and I have been super sad ever since. I’m still trying to find a suitable alternative.

49. Do you believe in predestination or fate? I believe that we have free will and that the Universe sort of fills in the gaps. I think somethings are sort of “meant” to happen, but I don’t think everything is set in stone.

50. What do you do to reconnect when you are feeling out of touch with your practice? I light candles at my altar and just open myself to the energies, or I go on a walk with my friend, Mark. We always get into super deep conversations that get me back in the vibe.

51. Have you ever had any supernatural experiences? I could fill an ENTIRE post just on this alone, but yes. Plenty.

52. What is your biggest witchy pet peeve? Answered!

53. Do you like incense? If so what’s your favorite scent? I love incense! I tend to burn a lot of Dragon’s Blood, though I’ve recently discovered one called Mountain Heather that I am ALSO in love with.

54. Do you keep a dream journal of any kind? I keep weirdly vivid dreams in the notepad function on my phone. It’s usually right near my pillow and I just tap what I remember in there and try to go back to sleep.

55. What has been your biggest witchcraft disaster? Man, I can’t really think of a time things went horribly wrong to be honest.

56. What has been your biggest witchcraft success? Maintaining my practice and developing it into something uniquely my own.

57. What in your practice do you do that you may feel silly or embarrassed about? I know some people would say having spirit guides and such is silly. There are others who would say that energy work and psychic vampirism and the like are kinda woo-y and weird too.

58. Do you believe that you can be an atheist, Christian, Muslim or some other faith and still be a witch too? Anyone from any religion can be a witch. Witchcraft is a practice, not a religious path. Anyone can learn to raise and manipulate energy regardless of which deity they do/n’t worship.

59. Do you ever feel insecure, unsure or even scared of spell work? I just don’t usually feel a need for it. It’s usually able to be solved by mundane means or by doing inner personal work.

60. Do you ever hold yourself to a standard in your witchcraft that you feel you may never obtain? Don’t we all have perfectly aesthetic rituals that leave us feeling profound as a standard which we don’t ever quite meet? Aren’t we all secretly pining for Tumblr/Instagram worthy altars?

61. What is something witch related that you want right now? I actually really want to get a Tarokka deck, which is a tarot-esque oracle used in the D&D Curse of Strahd campaign. I want them for the campaign, but also to use for actual divination because it sounds like fun to try.

62. What is your rune of choice? I’m very partial to Kenaz (light, illumination, guidance), and Laguz (movement, water travel, magic, intuition).

63. What is your tarot card of choice? The 8 of Cups, The Star, and the 3 of Swords are all sort of cards I look at to determine if I’ll love or hate a deck.

64. Do you use essential oils? If so what is your favorite? I do use some, albeit sparingly. I’m rather fond of patchouli, sage, and a heather one I found.

65. Have you ever taken any kind of witchcraft or pagan courses? I’m currently wrapping up the Order of Bards Ovates and Druids’ Bardic Grade Course.

66. Do you wear pagan jewelry in public? Right now, my everyday necklace is a nine-pointed star which is supposed to represent the 9 sisters of Avalon, of whom Morgan le Fay was one.

67. Have you ever been discriminated against because of your faith or being a witch? Yes. Once, in early high school by a teacher. And once in college by some preppy sorority girl who wandered over to the LGBT clubs’ table at a Campus Life event looking to cause an argument.

68. Do you read or subscribe to any pagan magazines? Not magazines, but I follow a number of blogs both on Tumblr, Patheos, and Wordpress.

69. Do you think it’s important to know the history of paganism and witchcraft? Yes. Absolutely. The Burning Times weren’t about real witches. Modern paganism is not ancient paganism, and the context of myth, traditional practices, etc. are important.

70. What are your favorite things about being a witch? The language and tools I have with which to describe my experiences and think about and interact with the rest of the universe.

71. What are your least favorite things about being a witch? Being a conscious being and co-creator with spirit is freaking hard, yo.

72. Do you listen to any pagan music? If so who is your favorite singer/band? My absolute fave is Damh the Bard, but also give S.J. Tucker and OMNIA a listen. <3

73. Do you celebrate the Esbbats? If so, how? I used to do Dark Moon tea and meditation time with the Dark Goddess. Usually if I do something for any of the moon phases it’s sort of spur of the moment these days.

74. Do you ever work skyclad? I don’t, because I currently lack private space to do so.

75. Do you think witchcraft has improved your life? If so, how? Well, I am an empowered being with knowledge and love of the Universe and the divine connections between us all. I’m also equipped with various techniques for performing inner transformative work as well as affecting change in the world around me. What’s not to love?

76. Where do you draw inspiration from for your practice? My practice is a lot of “Solitary Wicca” meets OBOD druidry, meets a sort of Dragonheart ‘knights of the Old Code’ sort of feel. It’s about nature, creativity, and living honorably.

77. Do you believe in ‘fantasy’ creatures? (Unicorns, fairies, elves, gnomes, ghosts, etc) I do. I don’t believe they exist corporeally in this plane of existence though.

78. What’s your favorite sigil/symbol? I’m not sure I could pick one... but if I had to, I’d say the symbol for Awen.

79. Do you use blood magick in your practice? Why or why not? I’ve used blood in magic exactly twice. Once was in a dedication rite to The Hunter, and the other was to the Wylde Hunt. Both times it was blood from something like a paper cut or popped blister, whatever that was already available. I used it as a potent source of energy but also as a sympathetic tie to myself. Since I was dedicating myself to said entity, using it as a taglock made sense.

80. Could you ever be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t support your practice? Absolutely not. Thank you, next.

81. In what area or subject would you most like your craft to grow? I’m looking to pursue the OBOD’s further courses. I want to become a celebrant for the order and perform marriage, death, etc. rites for others within the order as well as those in the pagan community.

82. What’s your favorite candle scent? Do you use it in your practice? I love candles that smell like mulled spices or coffee or pumpkin. I don’t use them for magic, just for ambiance.

83. Do you have a pre-ritual ritual? (I.e. Something you do before rituals to prepare yourself for them). If so what is it? I ground and center before every ritual. Beyond that, I’m usually doing magic on the fly.

84. What real life witch most inspires your practice? Emma Restall-Orr, whom I’m not sure would identify as a witch. She’s technically a druid and author of various books and I love how gritty and honest and earthy what she shares is.

85. What is your favorite method of communicating with deity? I like to get somewhere quiet, and channel them through sort of automatic writing. I also frequently use visualization / meditation techniques to go to my sacred grove and speak with them there.

86. How do you like to organize all your witchy items and ingredients? What is this... organize you speak of? All spell components are in wee jars in a drawer. xD

87. Do you have any witches in your family that you know of? My mom was a practicing Wiccan when I was little, and my sister has interest in witchcraft.

88. How have you created your path? What is unique about it? Answered in my last post.

89. Do you feel you have any natural gifts or affinities (premonitions, hearing spirits, etc.) that led you toward the craft? If so what are they? I have a strange knack for vibing with plants/crystals/etc. and just knowing what they can be used for. I’ve also always had the ability to sort of see/hear things not there: spirits, fae, etc.

90. Do you believe you can initiate yourself or do you have to be initiated by another witch or coven? To be initiated implies you are entering into a group. The OBOD gives you the opportunity to initiate yourself if you aren’t close enough to a grove, but the point stands that it’s a ritual given to you by someone else. You can dedicate yourself to a specific path, but initiation implies you’re being included in something you once were not included in.

91. When you first started out in your path what was the first thing or things you bought? I’m pretty sure it was a new tarot deck, tbh. It’s been too long. I don’t remember.

92. What is the most spiritual or magickal place you’ve been? Answered in the last post: but Avebury, England.

93. What’s one piece of advice you’d give someone who is searching for their matron and patron deities? They aren’t necessary for a balanced and successful path. I know it can be weird not having a specific god/ddess but it’s really really really not necessary to find one right away to be able to have a successful practice.

94. What techniques do you use to ‘get in the zone’ for meditation? I dim the lights, drink some coffee or wine, get somewhere comfy, and put on some quiet music.

95. Did visualization come easily to you or did you have to practice at it? It used to come a lot more easily to me. I realized I was using it as sort of escapism and stopped, and have been building it back again.

96. Do you prefer day or night? Why? I prefer night. Everyone else is asleep and it gives me time and space to think and work on things without being disturbed.

97. What do you think is the best time and place to do spell work? The best time and place is when and where you need it most.

98. How did you feel when you cast your first circle? Did you stumble or did it go smoothly? We forgot to include a means of opening the circle in our first ritual’s notes. So... sort of a stumble.

99. Do you believe witchcraft gets easier with time and practice? Yes... and no. Because with time and practice, you come to find deeper things, and bigger truths. It builds upon itself.

100. Do you believe in many gods or one God with many faces? In my belief system, all gods are separate beings, but all a part of the Great Song of Creation that gives life to the universe.

101. Do you eat meat, eggs and dairy? I do! No restrictive diets here.

102. What is your favorite color and why? I can’t truthfully pick one. I’m fond of burgundy lately.

103. What is the one question you get asked most by non-practitioners or non-pagans? How do you usually respond? “I really like your necklace; what does that symbol mean?” To which I say “I got it at a renaissance festival; it’s supposed to represent the nine sisters of Morgen LeFay.” which seems to be an acceptable response.

104. Which of your five senses would you say is your strongest? Probably my sight.

105. What is a pagan or witchcraft rule that you preach but don’t practice? “Always cast a circle.” I recommend it for new folks, but I rarely ever actually cast one myself.

#about me #asks #questions #witchy questions

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write-havoc · 5 years

Text

Of Sons and Daughters Ch 6

Summary: Arthur is tasked by Dutch to watch over a young woman who had just lost the last member of her family she had left. That young woman just so happens to be the daughter that Dutch told no one else about.

This is a non canon AU with no major spoilers

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character

Status: Ongoing

Contains: swearing, PG 13 smut

Intended for readers 18+ of age only

Masterlist in my bio

While Arthur was gone, Emmeline’s sleep was far from restful. She found herself waking up at all hours instead of sleeping until morning. But with him sleeping in the room next to hers again, she sleeps soundly.

When she wakes with the sun, she feels refreshed. She gets dressed quickly and goes out to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Arthur’s door is still closed, meaning that he must still be sleeping. She figures that whatever Uncle Tacitus had him doing must’ve worn him out. As she puts the kettle on for coffee, she sits down at the table.

Figuring that she could probably finish the story she was writing last night while she waits for the water to get hot, she pulls the leather book over to her and opens it. To her surprise, she doesn’t see her own handwriting, but a sketched picture covering both pages. She realizes very quickly that it’s of her standing in the creek washing clothes. The details are all there, perfectly rendered in beautiful pencil strokes.

“What are you doing?” Arthur’s gruff voice booms from beside her, causing her to jump since she thought he was still asleep in his room. He had apparently woken and gotten dressed at some point because he is now standing right beside her looking none too impressed. Quickly he pulls his journal away from her and snaps it shut. Not before seeing what page she had it open to, though.

“I’m sorry. I thought it was my book.” She gestures to her notebook still sitting on the table. It and Arthur’s journal are very similar looking, so she hopes he will realize her mistake. “I didn’t mean-“

“Did you read it?” he barks out.

“No,” she answers quickly. “I just opened it. I swear. I-I wouldn’t have read it.” She looks up to him with wide eyes, willing her tears not to flow. She really doesn’t want Arthur mad at her, especially for something that was just a mistake.

He can see her eyes misting over and it causes his chest to tighten. With a shake of his head and a sigh, he says, “Don’t be upset, Emmeline. I ain’t really mad atcha.”

“No. It’s okay. I understand. I’d be mad, too, if I thought someone was reading my private thoughts.”

“You really didn’t read none of it?”

“Not a word. I just saw that picture of me. But only for a moment.”

He looks away, embarrassed that she saw pretty much the only picture in his journal he wouldn’t want her to see. And that she realized that it was of her. “I’m real sorry about that,” he says without looking up. “I’ll rip it out.”

“What?” she asks in confusion.

He finally looks at her. “I’ll get rid of the picture. I shouldn’ta drawn it.”

“Why not? You’re a very good artist.”

Now he’s confused. “You ain’t dressed in it. It weren’t proper for me to draw you like that.”

She thinks about it for a moment, not really understanding why it’s a big deal. “I don’t mind. I mean, I wasn’t about to step in the stream with my dress on.”

He stares at her for a moment. “You don’t mind that I drew you?”

“No. I think it’s beautiful. Maybe it’s vain to say that because it’s me in the picture. But you have a lot of talent.”

He looks away bashfully. “Aww. I ain’t really that good. I just scribble, really.”

“Do you have any drawings of yourself?” she asks. “Don’t artists do self portraits?”

He chuckles. “I ain’t no artist. And I ain’t gonna draw myself when there’s far more interesting things out there to draw.”

“Do you have more drawings in your journal?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I see them?” When he doesn’t say anything right away, she looks away, shaking her head. “You don’t have to. I just... I really like the way you draw.”

He can feel the blood rushing up his neck to his cheeks. “Maybe some other time. I should really be heading out.”

“You’re leaving again?”

“Yeah. The camp needs me back, so...” He clears his throat. “I’ll come check on ya in a few days.”

“Oh.” She can’t keep the disappointment out of her voice. “Okay. I’ll see you then.” She gives him a tight smile, though she’s not exactly happy about being left alone again.

“Alright, Miss Emmeline.” He tips his hat and heads for the door.

“Please, call me Emma,” she calls out.

He stops and turns back to her, mulling it over for a moment as a smile creeps its way into his face. “I’ll see you later then, Emma.” He tips his hat again then is gone.

Even though she’s not happy that he’s leaving, the fact that he used her less formal name makes her smile. She doesn’t want him to see her just as a job or a responsibility someone else tasked him with. She wants him to care about her the way she cares about him. At least a little bit, anyways.

In the few days that Arthur is gone, Emmeline tries her hand at drawing. She used to draw a lot as a kid, and she was pretty good at it, too. After her father died, though, she stopped. He had always encouraged her to draw more, so when he passed, it reminded her too much of him. Seeing Arthur’s drawing made her want to pick the pencil back up again, though.

She draws Miss Susie, the creek, some trees, a squirrel, and anything else she sees fit to. The drawings are a little unrefined, especially compared to Arthur’s, but she finds that she rather likes the act of putting what she sees down on paper.

After being alone for a couple days, Emmeline finds herself missing Arthur quite a bit. The chores and practicing drawing have kept her occupied, but that loneliness still seeps in more and more. Before she can even think about it, her pencil is sketching Arthur’s face, as if just seeing him, even in illustration, would somehow make her feel better.

That first drawing doesn’t come out quite right. She shifts to drawing his form as he leans against a tree, his wide shoulders accentuated by crossed arms, narrow hips popped out to one side, and long legs, one crossed over the other at the ankle. She’s marginally happier with this attempt, finding the general pose easier to draw than a highly detailed face. She attempts his visage again, though. Over and over she tries to commit the memory of his expressions to paper. After a while, she’s happy with what she’s been able to accomplish, the face on the paper actually looking like more like Arthur than anything else.

Meanwhile, Arthur is busy trying to provide for the gang, since that Blackwater money is forever gone. He spends much of his time upon getting back hunting to build up their food stores and selling the pelts for profit. Then, there’s the homestead he and Javier rob, which goes pretty smoothly. The stagecoach job he gets roped into doing with Micah goes a little less smoothly, however. Arthur’s lucky to come out of it free of bullet holes, but they do manage a good take on it.

He also receives a letter from Mary asking him for help. He goes, of course, and does what she asked, saving her brother from getting himself killed. For a moment as he’s talking with Mary, he thinks that maybe she might ask him to run away with her, to start things up again. But she doesn’t. And on the ride back to camp, he realizes that the part of him that used to want to leave his outlaw life to be with her wasn’t there any more. He still cares for her in a way and the hurt she caused him with her rejection would always be there, but he realizes he’s closed that chapter of his life, well and truly.

Once he gets back to his tent at camp, he takes the picture of Mary he always kept beside his bed and puts it away in his trunk.

After a few days of solid work for the gang, he knows he should check on Emmeline. He’s planning on spending at least a couple days with her, recuperating from how hard he’s been pushing himself to keep everyone fed and healthy at camp. He figures he’ll leave first thing in the morning to go to her house.

As Arthur walks toward his tent to turn in for the night, he’s stopped by Dutch.

“Arthur, my boy,” the dark haired man calls out jovially.

Arthur comes to stand before him. “Hey, Dutch.”

“You’ve been doing fine work out there.” He claps Arthur on the shoulder. “I’m real glad to have you back.”

“It’s, uh, it’s good to be back. Helpin’ out.” Arthur looks down and scratches the back of his neck. “I’m plannin’ on heading out tomorrow.”

His eyes are cold as he responds, “Where to, might I ask?”

Arthur doesn’t much like the scrutiny in Dutch’s expression, knowing what he must be thinking. He recalls the last conversation he had with Dutch concerning Emmeline and what he implied about Arthur’s feelings toward her. He’s technically not wrong in that assumption, but Arthur isn’t planning on acting on his feelings, so nothing will come of it in the end. Still, it surprises even himself when the lie starts to pour out from his own lips. “Heard from this trapper feller about a wolf up north in Ambarino, Cotorra Springs. He says the pelt is worth a lot of money. Thought I’d try to bring it in.”

Dutch nods, knowing full well that Arthur isn’t telling the whole truth. “I know what this is about,” he responds lowly.

Arthur just looks back at Dutch, not knowing what to say in defense. He was surely caught in his lie, he figures.

Dutch lays his hand softly on the younger man’s shoulder. “I know you went out to help Mary. And I saw you take her picture down when you came back. That woman tore your heart out once. Ain’t no shame in admitting that, son.” He moves his hand up to Arthur’s cheek and gives it a pat. “If you need a few days to yourself, go on and take ‘em.”

Dutch had misread the situation. Thankfully for Arthur.

He gives the man a tight smile. “Thank you, Dutch.”

Once Arthur is back in his tent, he lets out a sigh of relief then brings out his journal.

I’ve been working hard to make back the money that we lost when the Blackwater take burned up before my eyes. Running myself ragged. But the gang needs money. So Dutch says. Every day since I came back he’s said that to me. So every day since I came back, I’ve been making him money.

Even though I’ve been busy, I still think about her. Miss Emmeline. Emma. She asked me to call her Emma. I know she said once before that’s what her parents called her. I admit, I rather liked the idea of calling her something more personal. I guess maybe I should’ve done it sooner. She’s been calling me Arthur instead of Mr. Morgan for a little bit. I just wasn’t sure if I really should be so friendly.

I probably shouldn’t. I should be keeping her at arm’s length. But I just don’t want to. For the first time in a long time, I feel that pull. But it ain’t right of me. Mary is proof that I can’t be that kind of man. And I don’t want to keep Emma from finding the kind of man she really deserves.

Mary. I saw her again after all those years. She wrote me a letter and I ran out to her. But it felt different than what I thought it would. It still hurt, but it was less like a fresh wound and more like the memory of it. When I looked at her, I did see that woman I fell in love with, but it just felt different than I remembered.

I don’t know.

She asked me if I found someone else. I said no. She didn’t believe me. Said I had the look, whatever that means.

I guess deep down I do know what that means. It’s just hard to admit that I have feelings for someone again. I lied right to Dutch’s face about it. First time since I got into my twenties, probably. I didn’t know how to tell him that I needed to see Emmeline. So I didn’t. Spun some tale about hunting a rare wolf for a few days to cover it.

I don’t think he’d react very well if I told him how I feel about his daughter. Though he ain’t exactly a father to her, but it seems to matter to him all the same. I guess it don’t rightly matter anyway. I ain’t gonna act on it. I just want to make sure she’s doing fine. And when she finds a man that can take care of her, I’ll move on.

He lets out a sigh at the thought. He knows that’s what’s right for her, but it still leaves a pit in his stomach to think about her being with someone else.

The next morning, he tries to head out early. The problem is, Miss Grimshaw all but orders him to take the girls into town for some supplies. Once he gets back into camp it’s about noon. He wastes no time in getting Sparrow saddled up and ready to go.

“So, going off on a hunt?” Hosea’s voice comes out from behind Arthur as he brushes his horse.

He turns back to him. “Yup. Dutch tell you that?”

“He did. Though he thinks this impromptu trip has more to do with a woman than a wolf.”

Arthur just nods and looks away.

Hosea leans in closer. “But I think he’s wrong about which woman,” he whispers.

Arthur turns back to him. Lying to him is useless. It’s hard to get one over on Dutch, but it’s impossible to pull the wool over Hosea’s eyes.

“Did you tell him?” Arthur asks.

Hosea shakes his head. “No. Ain’t my business, is it? Who am I to say what you do with a girl I’m not supposed to even know about?”

“Dutch don’t want me to get close to her.” Arthur hangs his head. “But I ain’t gonna do nothin’ with her.”

“Because he told you not to?”

Arthur meets his gaze. “Because she deserves better than me.”

Hosea gives him a smile. “I don’t know this woman, but I’m inclined to think that she is capable to make her own decisions, including who she wants to be with. And I think it would do her a great disservice to take that choice away from her.” With a final pat on Arthur’s arm, he turns and walks back into camp, leaving Arthur to mull over their conversation.

Hosea and Dutch have worked together well for years, but they’re complete opposites in a lot of ways. Where Dutch could say nothing with a lot of words, Hosea could say everything with just a few. Most of the time, both of them left Arthur trying to discern what they mean from it. This time, it seems like Hosea is telling Arthur to be with Emmeline, in stark contrast to what Dutch wants. That only adds to the conflict already raging inside him.

When Arthur pulls up to Emmeline’s house, he finds her outside chopping wood. Or at least trying to. She’s been at it for two hours at least and has very little to show for it.

“Emma,” he calls out after dismounting. “Miss Emmeline, let me do that.”

She turns to him with a huge smile on her face, though her cheeks are red and her forehead is sweaty from the combined temperature outside and the work she’s been doing. “Arthur. How are you?” She’s a little breathless from the exertion of her chore.

He takes the axe from her hands. “What are you doing chopping wood?”

“It needed done. I figured I should do it.”

“This wood’s too thick for you. You shoulda found smaller sticks.” He places one of the logs on the stump then pushes her back a little bit to give him room.

“You made it look easy. I thought it wouldn’t be so hard.”

As if to demonstrate this point, he brings down the axe and cuts the log in two with one chop, a feat that had alluded Emmeline for the past two hours. “I’ve chopped a lot of wood in my life.”

“I was getting it.” She points to her meager pile off to the side. “It just took a while. And more chops.”

“You’re gonna wear yourself out.” He chops another one easily.

“Well... Did you eat lunch?” she asks excitedly. “I can make you something.”

He looks back to her. “That sounds nice,” he agrees then brings the axe down again.

Emmeline rushes into the house to start the food. Before she decided to chop the firewood, she had gone out to catch some fish, which she’s now cooking. She’s excited to show Arthur that she can catch good sized fish on her own.

By the time she calls him in for the meal, he’s just about done with the wood. The hot weather caused him to remove his jacket and shirt, leaving him in his red union shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the suspenders dangling from his waist. She tries not to stare at the sweaty skin of his chest exposed by the open buttons at the top of his shirt, but she finds the sight very appealing.

Once he sits down at the table, he looks over the plate. “That looks like a nice fish,” he compliments. “You caught it yourself?”

“Yeah. I actually kinda like fishing,” she admits. “I’m not too fond of the killing bit, but the rest of it is fun.”

He cuts himself a bite and eats it. “I’m glad you took to it. I’m gon hunt for ya tomorrow to get you some other meat though. Can’t live on just fish.”

“I got a few eggs out of the chickens already,” she explains excitedly. “I’ll use them for dinner tonight.”

“That’s great, Emma.”

She smiles at him. “If you get some meat, I’ll make us a stew tomorrow.”

“You’re a good cook,” he comments, his fish all but gone. “Real good. I sure missed your cooking back at camp.”

She blushes at the compliment. “Oh, thank you. You can always come in for dinner anytime. I won’t mind.”

Later that night, after dinner, Emmeline finally works up the nerve to show Arthur what she had been working on while he was gone. “You remember, the last time you were here, I saw one of your drawings?”

“Yeah,” he answers, embarrassment already building inside him for what she might say next. Maybe she thought it over and realized it was weird that he drew her. Maybe she wanted him to destroy the drawing.

“Well,” she picks up her notebook and sits in the chair beside him at the table, “I thought I’d try to draw, too.” She opens the book to her first set of drawings.

“Oh.” He lets out a sigh of relief that she didn’t bring up that picture again.

“I know they ain’t good. But I think I’m getting a little better.” She pushes the notebook over to him to see.

“They ain’t bad,” he comments. She needs a little more practice, but it seems to him like she has natural talent. He flips the page and sees a few animal sketches, some flowers, a deer, a few trees. When he turns the page again, all the breath leaves him as he’s met with his own face staring back at him.

“That one’s not good,” she immediately says. “Not the face, anyway. I don’t think I did too bad with this one.” She points to the sketch of him leaning against a tree.

“It ain’t bad. Don’t know about the subject matter,” he says in a half joking way. “I really look like that?”

She giggles at his reaction. “I drew one of me and you.” She turns a few pages to a picture of the two of them fishing. Off to each side, there are bigger sketches of their faces, so she could be more detailed with them. “I kinda like it.”

He looks it over. It actually is pretty good, though it’s a little rough. But the proportions are right and the expressions on their faces are convincingly happy.

“You drawn before?”

“I used to a lot when I was a younger. My father really liked my drawings, but when he died,” she shrugs a shoulder, “I stopped.”

“I’m sorry about your father. But you’re good at this.” He gestures to the book. “If you keep at it, you could make money off of it.”

“You think?”

“Yeah. And if you pick better things to draw,” he chuckles a little at his self deprecating joke.

“I like drawing you,” she replies easily.

He hangs his head sheepishly. “Aw, I’m just an ugly old man.”

“You ain’t ugly.” She takes his chin in her hand and gently pulls his head up to look at her. “You’re handsome. I think you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.”

“I think you ain’t seen a lot of men.”

She laughs, taking his statement as a joke. As she pulls her hand away from under his chin, she notices something. “I got your scars wrong in the picture.” She lightly traces the marks on his chin with her thumb.

He doesn’t pull away, though there’s a voice inside him telling himself to. Instead, he’s transfixed, his eyes taking in all the details of her face as she looks over his own.

“How did you get them?” she asks as she flicks her gaze from his chin to his eyes.

“Horse threw me into a fence, years ago,” he tries to answer as normally as he can, though his heart is pounding in his chest at her proximity to him.

His close closeness is affecting her, too, giving her a giddy feeling. She moves her hand from his chin to cradle his cheek then brings her other hand up to trace her finger over the small scar on the bridge of his nose. “And this one?” she asks, leaning closer to him.

Instead of answering, all resolve in him falls away and he pushes himself forward to place his lips on hers. The action is a surprise to her, but it certainly isn’t unwanted. She’s never done this before, but her body instinctively follows his in its movements as if they had done this a thousand times before.

Time seems to stand still and speed up simultaneously, the flow that normally would be constant is anything but. Getting into Emmeline’s bedroom and undressing goes by in a blur, but exploring one another’s bodies for the first time seems like slow motion.

Emmeline had never been with a man before. She’s read some things in books and her mother told her some, but she’s completely inexperienced. It doesn’t stop her from being an enthusiastic participant, though. Being with Arthur feels so right to her, like they belong to each other.

To Emmeline, it’s such a beautiful act sleeping with Arthur. He’s gentle and patient as he makes her feel things that she’s never experienced before, soaring to a high she didn’t think possible. As she comes down from that high, she feels such a connection to the man beside her, more so than with anyone else.

“Arthur,” she says breathlessly.

In response, he wraps his arm around her, pulling her to lay on his chest. It’s only a moment after he places a kiss to her head that the both of them fall asleep.

The next day as the morning sun shines through the window, Arthur is aware that he’s a little overheated as he starts to wake up. Once he becomes more conscious, he realizes that the heat isn’t coming from the sun, but the warm body partially laying on him. Just then, all the memories of what had transpired the night before come into focus. They’re pleasant thoughts, but as the realization of what should come next dawns on him, his face sours.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, he thinks. He was supposed to push her away, keep her from getting close to him. She shouldn’t be with him. Not with the kind of life he leads. He’s a bad man an he doesn’t deserve this good woman. He’ll just get her hurt. Or worse, even.

He lets out a heavy breath and looks down at Emmeline, her hand sprawled across his torso as her head lays delicately on his chest. Only giving himself a moment to revel in the feeling of her in his arms, he slides out of the bed from under her, trying not to wake her. After getting his union suit and pants on, he looks back over his shoulder at her. To his surprise, he’s met with her sleepy eyes looking back at him.

“Good morning,” she says quietly, her voice still heavy with sleep. It doesn’t detract from her wide smile, though.

Arthur looks away and bends down to pick up his shirt, saying nothing.

The smile falls from her face as she sits up. “Is something wrong?”

“What happened last night won’t happen again,” he says lowly as he faces away from her and pulls on his shirt.

Emmeline gets out of bed, not caring that she’s still naked. “Did I do something wrong?”

He turns to face her, but averts his eyes when he sees that she’s standing bare before him. “Will you please get dressed?”

“If I did something wrong, I-I can be better,” she states quickly.

Realizing that she doesn’t care about putting any clothes on, he pulls the blanket off the bed and wraps it around her. “You didn’t do nothing wrong,” he finally replies. “I did.”

“What do you mean?” She takes a step toward him but he takes a step back away from her.

He hangs his head, not having the strength to look at her. “I shouldn’ta done that. Laid wit ya. I shoulda stopped it.”

“What? No, I-“ She doesn’t understand why he’s saying this. How could it have felt so right to her but so wrong to him? “You didn’t do any wrong. It was beautiful.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t do this, Emma. We cant do this.”

“What? What do you mean?” She reaches her hand out to touch him, but he turns away to gather his satchel and holster.

“I’ll check on ya in a few days.” He practically runs out of her room, but she’s right behind him.

“You’re leaving?!” Now her vision is quickly clouded with tears. “Arthur, what’s wrong? Just tell me!” She rushes to him at the door and pulls on his arm. “Please.”

The action gives him pause, but he’s resolute. “I can’t-“ He shakes his head and gently pulls his arm away without fully turning to face her. “Goodbye, Miss Emmeline.”

As Emmeline watches Sparrow gallop away with Arthur in the saddle, she is left confused and completely alone.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x oc #arthur morgan / oc #arthur morgan x original female character #Arthur Morgan / Original Female Character #Red Dead Redemption #red dead redemption 2 #writehavoc Of Sons and Daughters #of sons and daughters #RDR2 #rdr #writehavoc writes

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minijenn · 6 years

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Universe Falls Preview 3

Damn, the girl be on a fuckin roll tonight. But yeah one more preview for ya, one that comes hot off the heels of that last one I posted a while ago. Its cute. Like I said, the whole chapter at this point is kinda cute. I haven’t brought Giffany in yet so it won’t start to get fucking worrisome and horrific until I do ahahaha.... anyway, enjoy!

After deciding to split up with Steven and Dipper, Mabel and Connie wasted no time in rushing up to the temple, both of them more curious to know what Jamie’s letter said than anything else. They knew it would have been wrong to simply open it and read it themselves, which was why they hoped they could catch the Gem leader before she headed off on another mission. Which fortunately enough, they did.

“Garnet! Garnet! Garnet!” Mabel shouted, bursting into the house with Connie following right behind. “The most unbelievable thing just happened! You’ll totally die of shock!”

“Well, I don’t know if its that shocking…” Connie mused. “But it is kinda surprising.”

“Sorry, you two,” Garnet interjected calmly as she summoned a pair of goggles over her usual visor. “I’m busy.”

“B-but you got a letter!” Mabel halted the Gem leader before she could leave.

Garnet paused, her expression as unreadable as ever as she turned back to the girls, lifting up her goggles as she did. “Read it.”

The girls exchanged a quick glance at this, but even so, Mabel wasted no time in opening the letter up and reading the heartfelt message Jamie had written. “To Garnet,” she began, mimicking the mailman’s knack for theatrics as she read it as dramatic and passionately as she could. “When I saw you emerge like an ancient forest nymph, a white hot steel pierced the deepest artery of my being. You—you are a cardiac surgeon and I am your transplant patient and you stand poised over my chest, holding still my beating heart; hesitating, waiting, wondering—Ohhhh, this is so steamy!” Mabel interjected with a girlish squeal before continuing. “So I implore you to join me for dinner or maybe lunch if you wanna keep it casual, next Friday at The Club! I await your response, as the camellia awaits the rise of the moon! Cause, you know, it only blooms at night and stuff. Love, Jamie.” As soon as she was finished, Mabel let out another excited gasp, hugging the letter before letting out a wistful sigh. “Oh, how romantic! I wish a cute guy would come along and write me a little like this! I’d be his in a heartbeat!”

“Whoa, wait a second…” Connie said, glancing up to the Gem leader. “Garnet… I think Jamie is asking you out… on a date!”

A beat of somewhat awkward silence passed at this revelation, the prospect of such an idea only left hanging in the air for a moment until Mabel spoke up to stanchly shut it down. “Oh, well, that ain’t happening.”

“Nope,” Garnet readily agreed, hands on her hips.

“Why not?” Connie asked with a confused frown.

“Because Garnet can’t be in a relationship, silly!” Mabel grinned knowingly. “She already is a relationship! And a really, really cute one too, might I add.”

“Why, thank you,” Garnet said with a soft, amused chuckle.

“Ohhh, you mean cause she’s a fusion,” Connie mused in realization.

“Ruby and Sapphire are already so perfect together; it just wouldn’t make any sense to tear such an adorable couple apart!” Mabel quipped, clearly gushing with zeal by this point, though she hardly cared.

“Hm… So I guess this date with Jamie is out of the question, then…” Connie assumed, glancing back at the letter as Mabel handed it off to her.

“Three’s a crowd,” Garnet remarked, adjusting her shades.

“But guys, Jamie but so much thought into this letter,” Connie contested sympathetically. “It would be rude not to reply!” Despite her lack of enthusiasm with the matter, Garnet dryly agreed to this and in no time at all, the trio had taken a spot on the couch so to formulate some kind of response. “Ok, Garnet,” Connie began as she prepared to write out whatever the Gem leader dictated. “It might be best to play off the tone of his letter.”

“Oh! Good idea, Connie!” Mabel exclaimed brightly. “You can use lots of big, fancy words, just like he did! And maybe even throw in a few smiley faces or a drawing of a kitten, just to show there’s no hard feelings.”

“And we should probably start off with something like… ‘Dearest Jamie’…” Connie wrote before glancing up at the Gem leader herself for more. “Ok, go for it, Garnet!”

“Start with the letter ‘n’,” she instructed right off.

“Um… ok…” Connie frowned, slightly confused as she wrote this first letter down. “What’s next?”

“Uh, the letter ‘o’.”

“…Ok…” Connie raised an eyebrow as she tried to understand what the Gem leader was doing here. “You can just say the whole word instead of spelling it out, you know.”

“Period.”

“Hm… so… N-O-period?” Connie read, immediately understanding Garnet’s intention as she did. “Oh…”

“Uh… well, at least its to the point?” Mabel said with a small shrug. “Still, I think we’re gonna need a little more than that…”

“‘The end. Forever. And even after that’,” Garnet added succinctly.

“‘Sincerely yours, Garnet’!” Mabel finished effervescently, finishing the letter off herself before scribbling a picture of a cat onto it. “Aw, so cute! This’ll be the most adorable rejection letter Jamie’s ever gotten, for sure!”

“Well, at least it’ll be that if nothing else…” Connie said, somewhat worried. “Garnet, do you want us to find Jamie and give this to him for you?”

The Gem leader simply shrugged, showing her general apathy towards the situation as a whole off in her response. “Sure.”

“Well, then let’s get going!” Mabel hopped off the couch, pulling Connie up along with her as they began to head out. “It’s time to be the mailmen to the mailman! Well, technically, we’re mailgirls, but still. To mail and beyond!”

#mmmm i was gonna give you a preview of stan's subplot but meh #ill save that for the actual chapter itself #jen writes #universe falls #uf preview #soos and the real girl

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singingcookie · 7 years

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Blinding White

“These are for you.” The girl stared at the plain white box that was held out to her by the man in red. She hesitated in taking hold of it, resulting in his orange eyes to narrow, forcing it in her grasp. “It’s polite to accept gifts from people when they’re offered.”

“R-right.” She lowered her chin, trying to steady her trembling hands. If being too slow elicited that kind of reaction, she did not want to find out what dropping the ‘gift’ might result in. If she had learned anything with her last caretakers—it was nothing pleasant. “Of course.”

She pulled on the top of the box, opening it to reveal a short string of colors. She looked up only to find that DiZ had turned away, making his way toward his staircase. She took out the one that matched his deep robes, examining it. “They’re…crayons.”

“You said you required new utensils to continue your work, did you not?” There was a terse edge to his voice she could not help but notice. She had been using colored pencils since the beginning of her work. She could switch, in theory, but she possessed no talent with these.

“Yes…thank you,” she mumbled, putting the waxed object back in its place. She waited until he had crossed the threshold to his side of the mansion before giving a quiet sigh, looking over the box’s contents again as she made her way toward her own space.

Everything lay exactly as she left it. Some pictures from…before resting upon the floor. Her notebook wide open, an unfinished drawing residing on the visible page. Not to mention her old art supplies. Her colored pencils reduced to mere nubs in the last few months. She had made so many drawings with them. And now she had…

The box practically blended into the table. Which meant it blended in with the chair. The curtains. Even the flower vase—and that was including the flowers. He seemed to be convinced that she held a fondness for the color. Why else give her a room like this?

But in truth, she deeply disliked it. It made her think of the castle. And that made her recall her manipulation, of her guilt. But maybe that was the point, she thought to herself as she took her seat, pulling her notebook toward her as she did. Maybe he wanted her to think of her guilt—how easily she became the Organization’s marionette toy. To dissuade her from thinking of anything but the task at hand. But did it work?

She would like to think that she was guided by her own thoughts rather than someone else pushing her along the path. But it was truly hard to know for sure. She took out the brown, wax instrument and continued on the subject’s hair. How could one know the difference when it was all they had ever known?

She finished the drawing. And then another. And another. But after the fourth, she had to take a moment’s pause. She set down her crayon, stretching her tense fingers. The shadows in the room had grown longer. How much time had passed? Well, did it really matter?

“I was starting to think you would never take a break.” She jumped slightly in her seat, shaken by another presence. He stood out starkly in her domain. The dark of that familiar coat and the cloth over his eyes making him almost hard to look at for too long. But the unique silver hair helped to alleviate the issue. However slightly.

“Sorry,” he raised his gloved hands at her movement, brow creasing beneath his blindfold. “I didn’t mean to scare you, Naminé. I thought you would sense me or something.”

She shook her head, tearing her gaze away from him, looking back at her previous pictures instead. “If I’m really focused, everything else just sort of…falls away.”

“I see…”

She heard him step deeper into the room, close enough to her table to see the drawings thus far. It made her wary. “Did DiZ send you?” she wondered, trying to keep her tone casual as she picked up a crayon again. It felt like DiZ had recruited the teenager as his “muscle” and she was not sure whether that role would also relate to herself or not.

“No.”

She began to scribble out the hair. Before she had a process to texture people’s hair. A feat she had discovered, today, was very difficult with the things DiZ had given her. “Checking on my progress with Sora then?” She did not forget their previous discussion. About Sora’s Nobody and the third person. She would not entirely blame him if that was why he was here. The process was so much more slow-going than it was supposed to be…

For a moment all that could be heard was the crayon running across the paper. “…No.” That was very hard to believe. Even if he had not hesitated. “I just thought I should check on you. With how things were before—well, I thought you might like some company.”

Her hand slowed slightly, caught off guard, but folded herself closer to her notebook nonetheless. “Talking is distracting. I don’t think he would be happy if he came in and saw us.”

“We don’t have to talk,” he noted, his words slow and inviting. “I just thought having someone else around might…feel nicer.”

She halted, her eyes glancing in his direction but still keeping hunched over the table. Did he really care how she felt? “If you really want to,” she began before raising her free hand and gesturing at the opposite end of her surface, “but you have to sit over there.” No. It must be because of Kairi. Or Sora. Maybe both. After all this was only their third—well, fourth, technically—conversation; there was no reason to care about how she felt.

Yes, that made sense.

His footsteps echoed as he made his way over to the other seat but once he had sat down, it was as though he was not even there. True to her request, he did not speak. And whenever she looked up, he was either staring toward the window or down at the table. It was appreciated, though she did not say or do anything to show it.

Dealing with the chains of memory was difficult work. It was not as simple as ‘just think about it and it will happen’. She had to really connect with the memories she was handling in the moment: what it looked like, what it sounded like, how it made Sora feel. She was pouring her entire being into recalling even the most subtle nuances in each one. Drawing helped her to focus on one aspect in particular, whether that were a place or perhaps just a person who was important.

And then once she had a memory captured, she would have to link it up to what progress she had already made. And then move on to the next. The process was much more difficult now though. There were memories she remembered seeing before. But now they were just gone. She told Sora she did not erase memories, and that was true! But they seemed to be misplaced, no longer unhooked beside his memory’s chain. But absorbed and linking with someone else to whom they did not belong instead.

She paused in her drawing, looking down at the familiar face. Naminé had been trying but no matter how many drawings she made, she could not regain focus on anything surrounding that girl within Sora. She was someone very special to Sora; but no matter how hard she tried, she could only bring up memories of her arriving on the islands. Like she was any other girl he had known. Her work back in Castle Oblivion was truly coming back to haunt her.

She set down her crayon again before she began to stand, grabbing some of her papers along with tape from the dresser behind her seat. “DiZ is going to be very upset if this continues for much longer,” she noted as she hung the pictures of scenery upon the wall. “He’s already mad enough…isn’t he?”

She looked back to her guest when he did not immediately answer. “So I can talk now?” He lifted his head, turning it more to one side. She decided not to answer such an obvious question and so he eventually continued, “Well, DiZ is…always that way. He seems to be consumed by something or another. And he doesn’t think of others very often.”

“Mm.” She decided not to say any more than that, unsure just what exactly was safe to say around DiZ’s “hired help” and what was not.

There was a wide pause as she hung up one of the pictures she had grabbed—a portrait of the fountain in Hollow Bastion—and placed alongside some other setting pictures. “Is this how all of your days go?” Riku wondered. “Stuck in this room, making picture after picture?”

“Sometimes I have to go down to the pod. Check Sora’s status on the monitor,” she said, smoothing one of the pieces of tape down as she did. It was nice to see him, though she found herself wishing that he was awake. “Make sure everything is going as it’s supposed to.” She left her hand upon the wall. It felt as though the white was leeching the warmth right out of her. “Or I’ll go to one of the other rooms if DiZ summons me…”

“Do you ever go outside?”

Her hand recoiled from the surface, remembering that first time she came here. So excited to finally be outside of those stifling white walls. Seeing trees for herself for the first time, admiring just how vivid a green they were. And then she was led to the mansion gate, told this would be her new home.

She should have known after passing through that to the entrance how it would be. All those crumbling statues before the house; DiZ had acted as though they were not there, his orange eyes staring straight ahead. And then inside. The bare foyer. The decimated dining room…

It was not any different than her previous “home”. Just as empty. Just as cold.

Yet again she was shoved in with that wretched color. She wanted so badly to scribble along the walls the longer she stayed in here. Manipulate its shade. That was what the color was for. Was it wrong that she try to help that along the best she can? But she never did. All she could do was put up her pictures. Her quiet rebellion.

She bowed her head as she began to make her way back to her seat. “No. I don’t.”

“You don’t want to?”

Of course she did. But just because she wanted something did not mean she had the ability to do it. She was not like Sora or Riku. Who could fight for what they wanted. She was not like Kairi who had people she was willing to fight for, weapon or not. All she had was herself and Sora’s memories. What could she do? Hold his memories hostage so DiZ would let her be free? No. That was not fair to Sora. She made him a promise. She would keep it.

She only sighed, reaching for another crayon as she did. “I’m going back to drawing now.”

“In that case,” Riku stood up from the chair, the legs making a noise as they scuffed along the floor, “I’ll leave you to it.” She said nothing as he made his way to the door, trying to decide on what she should do next since her last drawing did not work. But the door never opened. She looked up to see him stopped in front of it. “If you need anything, I’ll be in the back.”

The door creaked open. “The back?”

Riku turned his head slightly, his blindfold just visible behind his silver bangs. “The back area behind the mansion—I guess you could call it a garden but it’s not exactly in the best condition.”

Oh, through those glass doors in the foyer. She had seen it from time to time, but never really paid much attention to it. She looked back at her blank page once she had heard the door close behind him. What should she do now? None of the most important memories with Kairi were surfacing. She had minor ones ready to connect, but without all of them…things were a lot more difficult. Especially since that was the main portion of her work.

The orange light of the sky tinted her white curtains. It might be dark soon. She had been at this for a long time now… Maybe a break was needed. She pushed her notebook further away, setting her crayon down beside it before she made her way into the foyer, heading toward the first floor. She rounded the end of the stairs to see the glass that led to the back area.

The hues from the town’s famous sunsets painted the whole scene. Trees and bushes littered the area, and there in the middle sat a broken down fountain with a unicorn statue. Her fingers stopped, just for a moment, before they came in contact with the door and then she forced herself outside.

Riku was there, too, sitting on the rim of the fountain. His head perked up the slightest bit at the door closing. “That was faster than expected.”

She made her way through the grass, her sandals crunching the blades beneath her as she went. “You knew I would come out here?”

“No,” he replied, turning away again. “Was just hoping.”

She brought her hands together as she observed him. That seemed…familiar. She walked over, sitting on the fountain as well, but maintaining a distance between them. It was like her offer back in the basement of the castle. That said, perhaps getting her some feeling of freedom was his goal all along. They sat together in silence for quite a while. With only the sound of birds, the wind rustling the leaves, and the beautiful tints that danced along what she could see of the horizon. It was so…peaceful.

“Why did you decide to come spend time with me today?” She finally voiced the question that had been bothering her. She had tried questioning his motives earlier but he insisted those to be wrong. And it did not feel as though he had lied about that. “You said it would be ‘nicer’, but I feel like that’s not all of it.” She held her hands together tighter than before, resting them in her lap. She did not have the strength to ask him if it was simply because of his best friends and her reminding of them.

He did not answer immediately. His hands were placed beside him upon the stone, his chin lifted up as though he was gazing into the sky. She had never really thought to ask if he actually could see through that thing, even a little bit. It sure seemed that way, sometimes. “DiZ,” he eventually began, his words slow to come, “seems to think that you should be left alone to concentrate. But as far as I can tell, alone or not, you get just as much done. Not to mention, you’ve already touched on the big problem you’ve been having with this task.”

He pushed himself up off of the stone, taking a few steps away, with his back towards her. “And DiZ can’t be bothered to notice just how much he resembles those people with how he treats you.” He shook his head, adding, “He wants my help, and I will. For Sora. But—” He turned back around, crossing his arms. “I don’t think that means I need to treat you the way he does. Nobody, witch, or whatever you want to call yourself—you’re still a person, Naminé.”

“But—” She really was not expecting this. But what he was saying. It just was not true. By all accounts, she was not a person! “But I’m not really—”

“Listen, I’m new to all these things. But my thoughts on the matter are this: you deserve respect. Just like anyone else.” She really did not know what to say to that; and after a few moments, he seemed to tense up at her silence. Riku turned away, brushing a finger under his nose. “Look, I’m just saying…if you’re ever having a hard time. I’m here to help. In whatever way I can. That’s all.”

He seemed to try to immediately head back to the door after saying that, forcing her to stand, a hand raised, as she called after him, “But, Riku, why—why help me so much?” He did not need to offer that kind of help surely. It was not as though they had spent enough time together to warrant him having any care for her. Especially for what she had done to his best friend. How could anyone look past that?

One foot was already inside the mansion while the other anchored him to the garden, her question insisting an answer. His head was ducked down, not allowing himself to look back as he quietly replied, “Because you helped me once.”

She remembered feeling his light fade while interacting with Zexion. How he was so distraught over his friends and what he assumed they thought of him. She had needed to communicate how wrong he was. Tell him what they truly felt from what she had seen of Sora. What she felt of Kairi. But the words would have meant nothing coming from a stranger. So she disguised herself. But he later knew it was her, in spite of that.

“I was in a pretty hard place,” he continued. “It seems only right that I…try and do the same.” He lingered for only a moment, flicking his head over his shoulder briefly, before disappearing back into the building.

She could only stare at the see-through doors as his silver hair streaked out of sight, before her lips turned up in a smile. A tear rolling down her cheek as she murmured, “Thank you…”

#the cookie sings #Namiku #Naminé #Riku #it's been so long since I've written anyyyyything #fanfic #also I LOVE Naminé??????#she's just so good precious baby needs love #and while I tried not to be intensely shippy in this #Namiku is just such a good ship I love #but this was fun to write I kinda want to write more on stuff that went on in that like #hundred days between Riku being taken on by DiZ and Sora's memory stopping #OTP:You Won't Fade

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