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shirefantasies · 18 days

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Little Flower- Beorn x F!Shy!Reader

A request from @peachpitpoisonlips! Always down to write more Beorn 😁 where my Beorn girlies at?

Warnings: angst at the beginning (fluff later I promise!!!), canon typical peril

Perhaps you were simply a fool. Would anyone but, after all, have set out into the woods so late and with so little? But what choice did you have? Homeless, you were little more than a nomad. Some towns welcomed you in, but it was clear when the novelty wore off and your lack of coin impeded. Selfish as it may have been, it rent your heart to see families walking hand in hand together, even couples sitting side by side or the occasional set of twins playing a game of hopscotch or arguing over some book. Everyone with some outward tether practically built into their lives by some divine craft, a gift from the Valar you could not resist sometimes feeling had been wrest from your hands. But did you know any better?

The woods felt thick, leaning and pressing down upon you as though you held something they greatly desired tucked close against your chest, just out of reach. Every sound had your head darting this way and that. Were something to come for you, you had a small knife to your name to fight with and that was that. No fine weapon of iron, no great wooden shield. At least you were a fair climber. Getting up into the trees would help against a wolf at least if not a-

Rustling startled you out of your own mind, jarring your vision back into focus of the fading light filtering between the trees. Soon it would be nightfall. Things were moving in the gathering shadows. Stepping slower, more carefully, you swung your gaze back and forth but saw nothing and pressed on.

Dodging a jutting stone, you almost startled yourself kicking up some leaves, let loose the faintest of nervous chuckles before hearing a distant scrape. Taking hold of the next tree trunk ahead of you, you peeked out, scouting the horizon. There!

A great black bear, the most massive one you’d ever seen, lumbered closer to your place, huffing. Dread slid down your throat like cutting icicles as its eyes slid right to yours. This was not how you wanted to die. You’d always imagined it more as a release, giving up from the defeat of shivering cold beneath surrendered blankets. And yet what anticipated you? A life of brief antiquity, no hearth or fields to call your own? Not a soul to call your name once you were not there speaking it?

This, too, could be a release. Inhaling deeply, you stepped from behind the trunk and closed your eyes, waiting, waiting…

No pain, no sound, not a single thing befell you, and there you were finding yourself frowning, your eyelids peeling back open just in time to see the bear’s form melt and shrink, becoming a man before your eyes. Gaping, you studied his sturdy, bearded form, the pair of brown eyes looking you over, then softening. He reached out a hand and you flinched back.

“I have no reason to hurt you, little flower,” he said, voice low, accented, and for emphasis raised his hands up and away from you, palms out.

Something about the nickname, even from a tall, imposing stranger, brought a shaky smile to your lips. Heaving breaths came a bit slower to your aching chest. Completely frozen at their shaky hold upon twisting roots, however, your feet did not cooperate.

“Come on,” he took one step closer, “you cannot stay here. Come with me, please.”

Please. Eyes widening, you finally shook out of your stupor and slowly gave a tiny nod, stepping forward to his side. Who was this man? How had he transformed before your very eyes? As your gaze drifted over his form, dodging quickly over his bare chest with heat creeping to your cheeks, you caught sight of the broken manacle still binding his left wrist. Perhaps it would be rude to ask questions. Maybe he would change his mind about guiding you.

At least you could learn his name. Thus, you asked it, voice still quiet as air returned to your lungs.

“Beorn,” the man said, “And you need not be afraid. These are my woods. It is the elven woods you must be careful of. But these borders are far. You will not wander there.”

Taking his pause as an invitation whether it was one or not, you supplied your name. “So you… guard this place? Who else lives here?”

A wince cut across Beorn’s face at that, softening his severe features into something more timid. Something that had hurt. That must have been how you looked to him, too.

Just as quick, though, that vulnerable look was gone again, gone completely stoic. “My animals and I call this place our home.”

“Are- are they…?” How could you put it? Do they turn into people too? Are you an animal? What strange magic lives in this place.

“Just animals, little flower. There are no others like me. I live alone.”

Perhaps you had more in common with the bear-man than you’d have thought. You shook your head at his last comment, though.

“If you have them, you are never fully alone. …I- I love animals,” you admitted quietly.

“You might see them, then,” Beorn replied, “but first you need a meal and a rest. Perhaps a bath.”

You could have argued, but he was right. Even if he had not been, he could have mauled you. The more you observed the way Beorn looked at you, how he took much shorter, slower strides to stay at your side and hovered a hand by your back, though, the less you could picture him attacking without grave cause. The same part of you that had resigned to Beorn’s being the end of your life now gave a faint, internal laugh.

Another temporary home. This time a cottage a ways deeper in the woods, doors and windows lined with intricate woodwork and stone. A rocking chair rested upon the porch, welcoming you to a small, cozy home with pillars as beautifully carven as its exterior. Beorn settled you down in one of the great chairs at the dining table, a table you could not help wondering at given his solitude.

"Stay right there. Lucky for you I already had broth warming. Care for some bread?”

"Sure," you agreed, nodding faintly.

Back to another house of novelty. One more night of entertaining a stranger, this time one who almost killed you. One who was an even greater rarity than yourself.

From the stove across the way, Beorn looked over his shoulder at you, and you felt a flush of heat rise to your face.

"So..." You wrung your hands. "Get many visitors?"

"No," he shook his head, "And I do not try to. Though I confess some days I tire of my voice being the only one heard. I like yours well enough."

Well enough. Well enough for what? For one night? To tolerate? To keep? No. You shook your head, feeling an even redder hot glow about your face.

“Thank you,” you answered quietly.

"Here."

Crossing the room, Beorn approached you with a large pot in hand. Sliding a bowl and spoon in front of you, he ladled you up a serving of steaming brown broth and set a slice of bread at its side. You hesitated, staring down at it until you noticed his expectant look and took up your utensil. The broth slid warmly down your throat, bringing a glow back to your body you hadn't realized you lost.

"Good?"

"Good," you nodded, taking a bite out of the bread, the softness of which was equally warm.

You spoke very little during that meal, both of you, and though you could not speak on Beorn's behalf you simply did not know what to say.

Waking up was the only thing that brought you realization of your sleep, a state you were not sure when you entered. Large, fat bumblebees drifted lazily about the air above your head, one landing upon your knee and butting its head up against it, which brought a shaky chuckle to your lips. All uncertainty was forgotten in that little moment of levity, bringing you to throw off the thick woolen blanket you had no memory of even laying eyes on.

Your location? Still within Beorn's cottage, that haven of warm hearth and hanging candles and those gorgeous pillars you'd begun to wonder if the man had made himself. Could hands so large create something so beautiful? Stranger things had happened. You'd seen them turn from a bear's paws in the blink of an eye, after all.

Rising scents distracted you, pulling you fully onto your feet. Softly you padded across the floor, still chilled from the night's air.

Across the room Beorn stood and gently slid a pair of softly-cooked eggs onto a plate aside sliced apples and some sort of honey-drizzled cakes. Eyes darting your way and back down to his work, he spoke.

“For you,” he said, nodding toward the plate.

Simple enough, but a beautiful and comfortable sight. Taking the seat across from Beorn, you ate, sneaking glances at him. This time, though, he did not allow for silence long.

“So what brings you here, little flower? Where do you belong?”

Little did he know how the little flower before him wilted. Wincing, you replied in a voice barely more audible than had you whispered. “Nowhere. I have no home.”

Brown eyes widening, Beorn softened again, a rare lifting of his stoicism that moved your heart faintly beyond the borders of your pity.

“I understand,” he told you, gaze dropping, “I am the last of my people. Sole carrier of a legacy of hunted people. I belong nowhere but with myself.”

“Do you never wish for more?” You blurted out before you could stop yourself, leaning forward in your tower of a chair. “Have you never desired that someone would stay?”

“Who would?” Beorn shrugged, venturing another glance into your eyes. “What have I to offer if I am not game?”

“To me,” you replied, feeling a flush rise to your cheeks, “You have offered kindness. The most beautiful home I have seen. Realer company than the pity nights often given. Your heart is worth far more than your pelt, Beorn.”

At that, it was the great hulking man’s turn to be speechless.

You were taken out into the yard, crunching across the crisp green grass at Beorn’s side and handed a dented metal pail. He nodded encouragement and watched closely as you shakily milked one of his cows. Brushed one of the longer-furred ones, a smile crossing your lips. Repeated every animal’s name softly. The skin-changer, as he called himself, all but started at the welcome one of his horses gave, butting her head into your hand.

“She was the most difficult spirit to tame,” he explained.

“Kindred spirit to you, then,” you teased, shyly handing him his brush back and smiling when he did not recoil, mirroring your expression and shaking his head as his fingers closed over yours.

“Yes,” he said, “Perhaps so.”

It was at Beorn’s bidding that you returned with him for dinner, this time a roast with savory brown gravy and a variety of vegetables nestled at its side. How all things looked nicer out in nowhere escaped you, but it charmed your soul nonetheless.

The next words spoken cut into your thoughts with a heavy realization: leaving it all would engrave the deepest wound yet.

“Where will you go next?”

Your face fell, fork dropped at your side as you inhaled deeply. “I… I do not know.”

“Nowhere you particularly care to see?” Beorn prodded.

Your breaths sped a bit, bringing you back to the sinking black water of despair that had swallowed you in the woods. Darkness closed in on your vision. “No. I travel only where I have not yet been sent away.”

“And that,” Beorn's eyes were your anchor, the only points of focus remaining through the haze, “Is not what I mean to do.”

You frowned. You looked up from your sticky white sea of oats, the golden ooze of egg yolk spilling onto its borders.

“The decision is your own. I know the feeling of the cage. But the animals…they would miss you. I would miss you. Perhaps I have been alone for too long.”

A bumblebee lazed past your head. One buzz sounded, two, three. Beorn swallowed, stared at you like he had never seen you before. You smiled. His hand crept to rest over yours across the surface of the table. For once, you did not feel like a novelty.

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @kilibaggins @filiswingman @ibabblealot @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia @datglutengoblin @letmelickyoureyeballs @mossyskinn @wordbunch @tiny-and-witchy @th3-st4r-gur1 @fleurdemiel-145 @mistresskayla-blog1 @misabelle717 @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @evattude @noodlesduck @kpopgirlbtssvt | Reply/Message/Ask to join 🖤

#the hobbit #the hobbit imagines #the hobbit x reader #beorn #beorn x reader #beorn x female reader #female reader #shy reader #peachpitpoisonlips #requested

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handweavers · 4 months

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i see this issue come up often even at antique malls/markets where the dealers read all these books so they can analyse the worth of various objects and furniture they come across and price them effectively to make a profit, but implements regarding textile production are usually completely mislabeled. weaving pirns (an antique style of bobbin that would be wrapped in yarn, mounted to a shuttle, and used to add the weft when weaving cloth) are always mislabeled as 'wooden stick' lmao and i regularly find antique hand carders that are labelled 'horse brush' or something like that. spinning wheels in total disrepair labeled wrong. the primary motive at these places is profit so 'understanding craft' doesn't matter to them at all but i always find it funny

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thegothicalice · 2 months

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Time lapse of one eye and finished product! Earrings were originally $1 from a local antique mall with the wooden charms I painted from a thrift craft place; done in acrylics and eyes based on Juliet Landau.

#my art #diy projects #time lapse #hand painted earrings #juliet landau #diy jewelry

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desertdollranch · 6 months

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Kirsten's bedroom renovation

It's a sunny spring day in Minnesota Territory, and Kirsten is stuck indoors, helping with the spring cleaning. Her first task is to sweep the upstairs bedrooms--she shares one with her three siblings, and so it gets messy very quickly. But Kirsten doesn't complain--she remembers her previous home, a one-room log cabin on her aunt and uncle's farm. That was easier to clean, but it was hard sharing such a small place with six people. After a fire burned that cabin down, the Larsons bought a much larger house, the beautiful home they dreamed they'd have when they left Sweden two years ago.

As for my part in this, I created a bedroom for my Kirsten doll a few years ago, but I recently renovated it to make it look more like the illustrations in Kirsten's sixth book, Changes for Kirsten.

The walls in this illustration look like they've been finished with plaster, which was common in houses at the time. The light color would have come from local sources of limestone.

So most of the changes I made were to the walls and windows. I used printed photographs for the windows, and added the twelve-pane window frames over the images before printing. For the walls, I took down the boring white wood paneling. I imitated that plastered look using tissue paper stuck to the first layer of pale yellow paint, and then I painted another layer over the tissue paper.

The furnishings are basically the same, except for the trunk on the right side of this photo. She used to store her clothes in the top half of Felicity's clothes press, which I mentioned in my recent post about moving the clothes press into the parlor for Caroline to use. After I did that, I knew Kirsten would need a place to store her clothes, and what better piece than a smaller version of her trunk?

Most of the things in the above picture are not from Kirsten's collection. The bed was made by my grandpa when I was eight and first got my Kirsten doll. My mom made the quilt on the bed and the one on the rocking chair, the pillow and mattress on the bed, and the two darker gray cats. The foot stove next to the bed is Pleasant Company, and so are the shoes (including snow shoes) lined up next to the trunk. The rocking chair came from an antique store. I made everything else: both rugs, the cradle, the nightstand, the candle and book and stuffed cat on the nightstand, the cross stitch hanging on the wall, the shelves and everything on them, the painted round boxes at the foot of the bed, baby Britta's dress, and Kirsten's quilt square in the embroidery hoop.

This is a little wooden trunk I found at a craft store. I painted it blue and then painted on the decorative designs using stencils.

That's Kirsten's straw hat hanging on the wall, from her collection. My mom made the two sunbonnets.

I gave it a weathered look by lightly brushing on white and red paint.

The trunk can hold all of Kirsten's clothes. It has room for a few more dresses too. I have almost all of Kirsten's clothes; I'm only missing her baking outfit, skating coat, and promise dress.

I also made the gingham curtains for the windows. There's a lot of blue and white going on in here, so I wanted them to match the color themes.

Next to Britta's cradle are the round boxes I made to hold Kirsten's socks and ribbons, which are all Pleasant Company things. Her lunch box and bucket are from craft stores.

I remade her honey crate and the jars of honey. They now contain clear glue dyed with food coloring. I made her little gnomes too.

The rocking chair was an antique store find. It's perfect for her to sit with her baby sister Britta.

I also painted a little flourish on the end of her bed.

This definitely isn't all of Kirsten's collection--I have a few pieces hidden away underneath her room that won't fit here. That includes her actual big trunk that my grandpa made, her Saint Lucia wreath and tray that I made, her dishes set from her official collection, and some other small things that she doesn't need in her room.

#kirsten larson #changes for kirsten #kirsten's room #kirsten's bedroom #kirsten's cabin

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sea-salted-wolverine · 1 month

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Watercraft restoration is one of those things that seems like it would be cool and fun and rewarding and maybe even lucrative and its just fuckin not.

Its not like auto restoration. No one gives a shit about old boats unless its a six or seven figure solid wood mint condition antique and even then its kinda a crummy boat because it's a damn antique and you have to treat it like one. Not to mention, 6 figures worth of wooden antique is like, an open bow 18ft pleasure craft while that same money buys a brand new 40ft fiberglass yacht.

and while you would think that the actual act of restoration would be satisfying, 60% of a boats value and 95% of a boats problems come from the power systems so most of what you're actually doing is engine work, which is fine by itself but the damn engine is in or on a boat which makes every twice as difficult and magnitudes more disgusting. You think rolling around under a car is bad? What's a little road grime compared to slithering around in a couple inches of filthy stagnating contaminated bilgewater? Or even better, fucking around with outboard units until someone's spine gives out.

Then it's just hunting down issues while convincing yourself not to hunt the previous owner for sport, because the majority of those issues will be either bafflingly stupid decisions, (built in 12 volt charger spliced to a pair of alligator clips and hooked into the fuse panel, in a berth, under a cushion) or straight up neglect. I have now composed a song, a modern sea shanty of sorts, called, never let a man take care of your boat. If he says, it's a good boat, he's never done annual maintenance. If he says, the annual maintenance isn't bad, there are places on that vessel that have never been cleaned.

Not to mention, if the boat is larger than a canoe and small enough to fit within highway oversize restrictions, there's. A Fuckin. Trailer.

Which is actually the point of this post. Somebody bought a trailer out from underneath a junked up 12ft sailboat and I got a new project for free.

#wolverine warbles #Boats #Restoration

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archaeologicalnews · 2 years

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Smooth wooden phallus found at a Roman fort was likely a sex toy

A wooden phallus found in a ditch at Vindolanda, a Roman auxiliary fort in central England, may have been used for sexual purposes, new research suggests.

Archaeologists unearthed the roughly 7-inch-long (17 centimeters) phallus in 1992 and suspected that it could have been used a number of ways, including as a pestle or a good-luck charm to "ward off evil." However, a more recent analysis using 3D scans of the object revealed that both ends were worn smooth compared to the rest of the piece, indicating that it had been touched repeatedly over time, according to the study, published Feb. 20 in the journal Antiquity.

The object is likely the "first known example of a non-miniaturized disembodied phallus made of wood in the Roman world" and was one of numerous items discarded in a second century A.D. ditch, including shoes and dress accessories, small tools, and craft waste items, like scraps of leather and worked antlers, according to a statement. Read more.

#archaeology #phallus #arheology #vindolanda #england #wooden phallus #roman

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bestiarium · 3 months

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The Grand'Goule [medieval French story]

The French former province of Poitou has a local legend about a horrible dragon. The beast made its home in the subterranean corridors underneath the Sainte-Croix abbey, and any nun who ventured there was devoured in an instant.

Named after its giant maw, Grand’Goule had four legs equipped with horribly sharp talons, a pair of wings and a long tail that culminated in a three-pointed stinger. Though details about the appearance of the beast seem to differ. The most famous depiction is a 1677 statue by Jean Gargot (see image).

According to the legend, the beast was eventually slain by Saint Radegonde (which would put the story in the 6th century A.D.), who vanquished the monster by reciting a prayer to it, which banished it to the Clain river. A more recent version has the holy Radegundis stun the beast by making the sign of the holy cross and then throwing a piece of bread in the dragon’s maw that was blessed by a priest. I suspect this story was derived from the practise of throwing baked treats at the wooden dragon at the Rogation procession.

After the dragon was slain, a local woodworker crafted and painted a statue in the likeness of the monster that was stored in the attic of the Sainte-Croix abbey. Every year, the statue was displayed triumphantly at the head of the Rogation procession, as the victory over the beast had become a reason for celebration and festivities among the locals, until Grand’Goule eventually became the main focus of the procession. People would adorn the statue with ribbons and gold, and rub its scales with rosaries while saying ‘Bonne Saint Vermine, pray for us!’ This nickname translates to ‘Good Saint Vermin’.

There is a related story about the abbess Isabeau de Couhé: somewhere in the 1460’s, when a group of clerics claimed that it was against nature that their superior was a woman, Isabeau responded by unfurling a banner with the likeness of the dragon, thereby reminding the clerics that it was a woman who defeated the monster and saved the region.

Supposedly, in 1666, the Palais des Comtes displayed a stuffed crocodile which they claimed was the conserved carcass of the Grand’Goule. According to Lord Fountainhall, the creature was originally much larger than the supposed carcass on display, but it had shrunk throughout the centuries, or so it was claimed.

Sources: Poitevin, F. et al., 2017, Les Contes et Légendes du Poitou, Passeurs de Mémoire, CPE Éditions. Dailey, E.T., 2023, Radegund : The Trials and Triumphs of a Merovingian Queen, Women in Antiquity, Oxford University Press, 213 pp. (image source: statue crafted by Jean Gargot, 1677)

#French mythology #dragons #monsters #mythical creatures #creatures

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jcthecrafthome · 1 year

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Pure silver elephant with beautiful carving on it

Pure silver clad on teak wood.

Size and design can be customised.

#jcthecrafthome #puresilverelephant #puresilvercladelephant #silverelephantpair #silverelephantdesign #silverbigsizeelephant #bigelephantdesign #chandikaelehant #silverenugu #silverhathidesign #silverwoodenelephant #silverhathi

#luxurysilverfurniture #silverfurniturehyderabad #silveritemsnearme #bestqualityweddingfurniture

#silver furniture #silver elephant #pure silver hathi #pure silver clad elephant #chandi ka hathi #silver big size elephant #silver elephant design #silver enugu #silver antique elephant #silver antique hathi #luxury silver furniture #silver furniture in hyderabad #silver antique furniture #wooden elephant design #jc the craft home

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lambtotheslaughterr · 3 months

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Summit : Chapter Two

A Ransom Drysdale Series

[THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN THEMES OF NON-CON/DUB-CON, MENTAL-EMOTIONAL-PHYSICAL ABUSE, ETC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 18+. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

WC: 4.3k

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

CHAPTER ONE | MASTERLIST | CHAPTER THREE

all AI images are created from prompts i wrote. they are not real images.

A sharp pain woke you from your deep slumber. You blinked your eyes open & moved to sit up groggily. As you did, your eyes began to blearily take in your surroundings. You were in a bedroom. It was an extravagant one at that, too. With large windows that let in the summer sun, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves piled with antique appearing books, & finely crafted wooden furniture placed throughout the room.

Before you could react to your sudden change in environment though, you winced again as your hand pulsed under the covers. Pushing the covers down, you revealed your hand, noting how it was bandaged & wrapped.

The snake.

That’s right, you had been bitten. But all you could remember after being bitten was rushing back to your campsite & the vague memory of panicking. Inspecting the bandage of your hand, you felt yourself frowning.

Who…?

Before you could finish the thought, the door to the bedroom opened, revealing a man in his 30’s as he entered the room. His eyes fell to you, a mixed look of surprise & relief on his face.

Instincts took over & you found yourself launching out of the bed, across to the opposite side of the room from him as he closed the door.

“Hey, hey… you’re okay.” He held up his hands in reassurance but you felt very little reassured.

When he took a step further into the room, you jolted backwards, knocking painfully into a dresser as decorative objects fell over & clattered on top of the dresser.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” He told you, his voice even & soft.

But you ignored him, pressing yourself against the wall as you felt blindly behind you for the window. When you felt the cool touch of glass against your fingertips, you spun around to look for a way to open the window & jump free. But your escape attempt was thwarted when the window proved to only be a set of panes with no access to open them.

Spinning back around, knowing having your back to a potential threat would work against you, you spotted that one of the decorative objects that fell over was a metal statue of a man, about two times larger than your own hand. Snatching it, you brought the head of the statue down against the edge of the dresser, causing the head to snap off, ultimately leaving a jagged edge that could do enough damage against the man should he choose to attack.

“Whoa! Okay, hey, hey!” He held up his hands higher when he saw you raise the makeshift weapon. “You need to calm down. If you raise your blood-pressure you’re only going to make yourself sick.”

But you ignored him, still holding the weapon up towards him in defense as you shifted along the edges of the room.

“Look, okay, my name is Ransom. This is my family’s home. I found you in the woods. You were bitten by a copperhead & I brought you back here.” His eyes fell to your hand holding the weapon before returning to your own. His eyes were filled with concern as he stared at you wide-eyed. “You passed out & I supplied you with some antivenom but if you get your heart rate too elevated the anti-venom will work slower.”

You had your teeth bared but glanced at your bandaged hand. It was a professional wrap, but that meant nothing. You didn’t know this man, didn’t know why he helped you or what he would expect in return, or even worse, if he had other insidious intentions.

Thrusting the weapon his direction yet again, the man, Ransom, nodded in understanding, “Okay, okay. I’m not keeping you here. I just wanted to help. If you want to leave, you can leave. Your things are in a closet in the hallway.”

You peered behind him towards the door. He followed your line of sight before looking back at you, nodding, “All I’ll say is you really shouldn’t be out there on your own until you’re fully recovered. You could have a negative reaction to the serum. Let me help you.”

You felt your body shaking with adrenaline & as your eyes glanced rapidly back & forth between Ransom & the door, you felt your vision begin to swim. Then, without your consent, you felt your knees buckle. You managed to catch yourself on a nearby chair & forced yourself to stand.

“Please, you’re overdoing it. Your body is already trying to collapse.”

Ransom glanced concerningly at your body as you felt it shake beneath you. He was right, at least in that regard. You could feel your strength & energy quickly depleting.

“What’s your name?”

But you pressed your lips together, narrowing your eyes towards him, grunting in response.

“Okay.” He gave a brief apologetic smile before frowning, “No names. Got it.”

He swallowed & you saw his Adam’s apple bob as he did. Ransom than pointed at the weapon you held, “Just take a seat, right there is fine. I’ll get you some water & food. I promise you, I’m just trying to help.”

That didn’t matter though, you needed to leave as soon as possible. You’d have to take your chances back out in the woods. As far away from him as possible.

Ransom began to back away, back towards the door. When he opened it, his eyes never left yours, “I’ll be two minutes. Please, just…wait.”

He left the door open as he left, & you waited for a moment, listening as his footfalls carried further away. You took that opportunity to run towards the door. Bursting into the hallway, your weapon still gripped tightly in your hand, you looked down either end. There were an endless amount of doors, causing your dizziness to worsen.

You rushed to the nearest door & opened it. Just another room. Then you moved to the next. A bathroom.

As you opened another door, you braced yourself against the doorframe, your vision beginning to sway harshly. Your heart was racing & sweat began to form on your upper lip.

Damnit! You’d have to leave without your things. At least for now.

Running as quietly as possible down the hallway, you came to the top of a grand staircase. But just as you made to move down them, you saw Ransom at the bottom of them. He held a tray in his hands.

“Hey, I told you—”

But before he could finish his sentence, you scrambled down the staircase, intentionally knocking him, shoving him against the wall. Launching off the last set of steps, you raced towards the front door & swung it open, the door slamming against the wall. You burst outside & ambled down the porch steps & began to race forward. However, you didn’t get very far as the sudden change in brightness blinded you & you felt your feet begin to tangle as your energy disappeared.

The weapon fell from your hands & you along with it. Falling to your knees, you felt your heart pulsing rapidly within your chest. You attempted to crawl but your arms gave out next as you did.

A frustrated groan left your lips as you gritted your teeth against one another, willing strength back into your body, but it never returned. Rolling onto your back, you stared up at the blaringly bright sun, the heat overwhelming you.

Footfalls sounded & you blinked rapidly as Ransom appeared above you. A needle in his mouth as he shifted you into his lap.

“I told you to stay calm.” He breathed out as he moved the needle towards the ditch of your arm.

“This will make you feel better.” His eyes met your own as the lining of your vision began to blur, “I promise. And when you wake up, we’ll try again.”

You felt a pinch in the ditch of your arm & winced slightly but immediately felt yourself begin to calm down. Your head lolled back, but Ransom caught your neck to hold you hope. He rubbed his hand over your hair, peering down at you as if he feared greatly for your well-being.

It was the last thing you saw before you passed out.

The sound of music lulled you awake. You frowned in your sleep before opening your eyes. What A Wonderful World by Louis Armstrong sounded from far away but it was there. It was real. You leaned up but didn’t get far when you discovered your wrists tied to the bed posts.

Panicked breaths escaped you as you tugged on your restraints.

“Hey, hey!” Ransom appeared in the doorway & rushed forward.

You attempted to scoot away from him but were unable to go far due to the leather biting into your skin.

“Sorry ‘bout this.” He placed one knee on the bed as he undid your restraints. They had been done with belts. “You were having fits in your sleep, clawing at yourself.”

You angled your body as far as possible away from him as he finished undoing the restraints.

“I swear, I’m not trying to keep you here.” He noted how you backed as far away form him so he mirrored you, stepping a few feet away, “You collapsed in the front yard. I had to bring you back up here.”

You rubbed at your wrists, glaring towards him.

He offered a half-hearted smile before reaching for a mug on the nightstand beside the bed, “It’s tea. Caffeine-free.”

You only kept staring at him, ignoring the mug he held out to you.

“Okay, that’s okay.” He placed the mug back down before moving to sit in a chair nearby.

“How are you feeling?”

Your lips shook as you watched him warily, briefly eyeing the open door. You were closer to it then he was.

“Like I said,” he began, “you can leave, but I can’t guarantee you won’t pass out again out there. If you give it just another 24 hours you should be in good shape to leave.”

Your brows furrowed. You wouldn’t be quick to trust him despite his helpful intentions.

“And, oh, yeah, I brought these for you.” He stood up & reached for something on the floor at the foot of the bed. He raised up your backpack & personal items.

Rushing forward, you snatched your things from him & clung them to your chest before crawling backwards to the headboard.

“I know you probably don’t trust me, shit, I wouldn’t trust me either if I was you.” He chuckled lightly, standing with his hands in his pockets.

When he noticed your look of worry on your face, he shook his head rapidly though, “Not like that. I just mean, I don’t know your story, what you’ve dealt with out there. Plus, you’re a woman. A world like this isn’t really meant to be gentle towards someone like you.”

You continued to not say anything, like you had for the last three or so years.

“So, anyway.” Ransom backed up & resumed his spot on the chair, “How are you feeling?”

You pressed your lips together, answering in your head.

You felt…fine. Better than before. Your hand still ached but not as bad as it had before.

“You don’t want to talk, that’s fine.” Ransom leaned back & eyed the window.

You took that opportunity to the eye the door, though your focus was on the music playing in the distance. How was there music?

Grunting, you gained his attention before gesturing towards the door.

“Hmm?” He gave you a questioning look.

This would be frustrating for you.

Using your hands, you signed to him about the music playing. Ransom watched your hands, a frown appearing on his face.

“Oh…you’re deaf. I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” He sighed.

You shook your head, biting your lip.

With your hands, you mimicked writing.

“Right, right!” Ransom stood from his spot & began searching the drawers of the only dresser in the room.

He found a pad of paper & pen before placing them at the foot of the bed.

Once he stepped away, you leaned forward & grabbed the pad & pen.

Music?

You turned the pad over so he could read it.

Ransom’s eyes flashed to yours.

“You can hear it? But I thought…”

You quickly wrote again.

Mute, not deaf.

“Right.” Ransom cleared his throat before nodding, “Yeah, it’s a record player. Belonged to my grandfather. Want me to roll it in here? I try not to listen to music too often, might draw unwanted attention.”

No. You have electricity?

His eyes read the words. “Mhm. I mean, it’s a generator in the basement. Again, try not to use it often. But it means I can make you some food. Real food. Not the survival shit you have in your bag.”

That gave you pause. He looked through your things?

Ransom noted your hesitation, “I was just curious.”

You hummed in response.

“Anyway,” Ransom moved towards the door, “Ya hungry? I can make you something.”

Your stomach growled in response at the thought of something real. It had been so long since you’ve had a genuine meal.”

“You can come with, if you want.” Ransom smiled softly, “So you know I’m not doing anything weird.”

Biting your lip, you turned back to the pad in your hands.

Don’t try anything stupid.

Ransom laughed at that but nodded, “Scout’s honor.”

Slowly, you moved off the bed but didn’t take a step forward until Ransom exited the room & waited in the hallway.

Bringing along the pad & pen, you quickly wrote.

You first.

“Right.”

Ransom led the way as he led you down the same hallway as before. You kept at least six feet between the two of you as he walked towards the stairs. Your eyes were watching his back the whole time.

At the bottom of the stairs, you were in the foyer you had ran through once before. Much like the bedroom, the foyer was beautiful. From what little you had seen of the house so far, it was an extravagant home. You briefly recalled Ransom saying it was his family’s home. As he led you through the foyer, you thought that he must’ve been well-off before the world ended. Much unlike yourself.

Ransom brought you into the kitchen & you paused in the doorway as he moved towards a door in the corner. As he opened it, you eyed the space ahead of him. It was a pantry bigger than your room back on the farm.

Well-off indeed.

“What are you in the mood for?” Ransom asked over his shoulder as he began grabbing random food items. You watched in mild curiosity as he began placing boxes & bags of options on the island.

“Chips & cereal will be stale but I’m sure it’s better than what you’ve had.” He commented as he kept grabbing things, “Got some unopened noodles. I could make you alfredo or spaghetti, without the meat, of course.”

You stepped further into the kitchen, eyeing all of your choices. Your stomach twisted at the sight.

“I have some fruits & vegetables in the garden, too, if you want a salad.”

Oh?

Turning over the pad, you wrote.

Garden?

Ransom smirked, “Yeah, out the door here.”

He moved towards a set of double doors & opened them. You waited until he stepped out before you followed after him. An intrusive thought filled your mind then, about locking him out of his own home, but he knew this place far better than you. Knew of other entry points, perhaps had keys hidden outside. Attempting to lock him out would only upset him. You needed to play this safe until you could leave. If he made good on his promise.

Stepping outside, you were greeted by a magnificent garden.

“That’s the greenhouse over there.” Ransom pointed at the only building in the backyard, “Want a salad?” He looked back at you.

You simply nodded.

“Alright, well, go ahead & take a seat inside, or come with, up to you. I’ll be two minutes.”

You did neither, just remained standing where you were as Ransom traversed through the garden to the greenhouse. You took that opportunity to rush back inside & begin throwing open drawers. Your things had been left upstairs. You needed a weapon in case he returned with his own.

Fortunately, you found a heavy-duty tenderizer. Gripping it, you moved towards a stool perched beside the island & sat down, the mallet on your lap. Ransom appeared a few moments later, his hands holding a plastic bag filled with garden goods.

“All I have is Caesar for dressing, I hope that’s good enough.”

You offered an agreeable smile.

Ransom got to work then, whipping up a salad. You watched him acutely, ensuring he didn’t slip anything questionable into the mix. But as far as you could tell, he was simply making a generic salad, no funny business added.

As he focused on the salad, your eyes slipped to the pantry goods on the counter near you. Your eyes fell onto a box of granola bars. Snatching the box, you tore into a wrapper & brought the bar to your mouth. It was indeed stale, no longer chewable, but the flavor was better than anything you’d had in the last two years.

You ripped open another one.

Ransom glanced over his shoulder & laughed lightly, “Good. I’m glad you’re eating.”

You stopped chewing like a wild animal at that, swallowing what was left in your mouth. Scribbling onto the pad of paper, you slapped the countertop to steal his attention.

Water?

“Yeah, of course.” He moved back to the pantry, bending at the waist to lift up a 40 flat of water.

Your eyes widened. You had been fortunate enough to have had access to water quite easily in your travels, but bottled water was another thing.

Against your better judgement, you leaped forward to snag a few bottles, but the tenderizer in your lap fell to the floor with a resounding clang.

Both you & Ransom paused. His eyes fell to the tool.

Before he could react, you quickly bent down & grabbed the weapon, holding it up towards him in defense.

“Oh, fuck, not this again.” He sighed & backed up, holding his hands up, “I’m not gonna do anything, alright? All I’ve done is help you.”

You narrowed your eyes, the tenderizer in your hand lowering slightly.

“Hold it, keep it, I don’t care!” He told you frustratingly, “But I’m gonna finish making your food so can you at least not fuckin’ jump me when I have my back turned.”

Lowering the weapon entirely, you sat back down but kept it in your lap.

“Okay…�� He sighed relieved. “Here.”

He tossed you a water bottle & you were quick to catch it.

Ransom gave you a distrustful glance before returning back to the salad, though this time he moved the bowl & chopping board to the island so he could face you.

“You’re a little jumpier than I’d like.” He commented, referring to his change in positioning, “While I understand, I also don’t want to get taken out by a little thing like you. That’d be embarrassing.”

Unscrewing the cap of the water bottle, you chugged the contents, emptying it out within seconds. Then you reached for another & did it a second time.

Ransom nodded, “Good. Drink as much as you’d like. There’s plenty more where that came from.”

After emptying the second one, you tossed the empty bottle away from you. Ransom watched the plastic bounce across the counter before rolling off the edge.

“There’s a garbage, ya know.”

But you only watched him silently.

You couldn’t afford to be too polite despite his help.

He sighed, moving to pick up the plastic before shoving open a built in garbage within one of the bottom cupboards.

“Here.” He gestured to the cupboard, “Garbage.”

He threw the bottle in before shutting it, returning to the salad.

As you watched him, you could see that he was tense, likely irritable because of you.

Swallowing your distrust, if only for a moment, you scribbled once more on the pad of paper.

Thank you.

Ransom’s energy softened as he read the words. His eyes met yours.

“You’re welcome.”

It was nightfall & you were alone in the bedroom Ransom had you set up in.

He had turned the generator off before sunset, not wanting any source of electricity to be obvious in the dark woods.

So, with the heavy curtains drawn & a few candles lit, you stood on the chair in your room to eye the plethora amount of books on the built-in bookcase. As you fingered a few of them, the door to your room opened. You quickly got down from your perch & faced Ransom as he entered the room, holding a few folded clothes.

“In the morning, you can bathe if you want. There’s a well on the property that I can get some water from, heat it up & fill the tub for you. But until then, here’s a change of clothes.” He placed them on your bed, “If you want. They were my mother’s.”

You eyed the clothes before meeting his eyes.

You signed your thanks to him.

“That ‘thank you’?” He guessed correctly.

You nodded.

“How do you say, ‘you’re welcome’?”

Memories of the woman on the run flashed through your mind. How do you say, ‘thank you’? she had asked. Now, this strange man, who had thus far upheld his promise of helping you, asked how to say, ‘you’re welcome’.

You signed to him.

He repeated the movement.

“Cool.” He offered a small smile, “Well, sleep well. And like I said, if you want to leave tomorrow, you’re free to. Have a good night.”

He made to leave the room, his hand on the door to close it behind him, but before he did, he paused, looking back at you once more.

“Oh, & sometimes the house makes noises at night. It’s old. Just thought you should know so you don’t go Rambo in the middle of the night.”

For the first time in a long, long time, you laughed once in response.

Ransom smiled at that, “Alright. Oh, & this,” he swung the door slightly, “locks, by the way, so. If you want.”

You nodded, relieved for the information.

“Goodnight.”

Then he shut the door.

You listened as his footfalls carried away before crossing the room to lock the door.

Inhaling deeply, you then approached the bed & eyed the folded clothing. As grateful as you could afford to be towards Ransom, you ultimately moved the clothes off & put them on the dresser, choosing to sleep in your two day old clothes. You had slept in clothes that you had worn for longer before.

Crawling into bed, you reached for your backpack on the other side of the bed & pulled out Blood of the Lamb. You were only a quarter of the way through it, but it was about your fourth or fifth time reading it. It was your comfort novel.

Opening up the pages to where you left off, you shifted to get comfortable when something hard pressed into your hip. You had forgotten you placed the tenderizer there. Moving it out from under you, you then placed it under your pillow. Though Ransom had proved to be as trustworthy as he could be, the night often brought out the dark in others. You wouldn’t take any chances. And despite his passive offer for you to stay, you would be leaving in the morning.

Getting ridiculously comfortable under the covers, you brought the book to your face & read the words closely. But as you turned over the next page, you began to feel your eyes flutter close. Before you knew it, your first night of decent sleep came for you. And you slept soundlessly through the night.

In the morning, Ransom already had the bath ready for you. You signed your thanks to him & took the bath, nearly falling asleep again as you lied in the tub, admiring how the sun cast itself through the windows of the bathroom. But when he knocked on the door about an hour later to check on you, you forced yourself to get out & get dressed in your own clothes.

Now, an hour later, you found yourself standing in front of Ransom’s family home. He stood on the porch as you faced him from the front yard.

“If you change your mind,” he began, “I’ll be here. Been here since the beginning, don’t plan on leaving.”

You nodded, signing your thanks.

He signed back.

“Be safe, okay? And try not to get bit again.”

You smiled small at that.

“But if you do, I put a bite kit & anti-serum in your bag. Hopefully you won’t need it.”

Nodding, you began to walk away but before you could, he hollered after you.

“And this.” He ambled down the stairs, a box in his hands.

You took a few steps back & he stopped immediately before holding up the box. It was the box of granola bars.

“Not really big on granola, myself, so.” He wiggled the box.

Trusting him for the last time, you closed the distance between the two of you, accepting the box. Ransom backed up once you had. And you were thankful for it.

“Good luck.”

Quickly finding a place for the bars in your backpack, you swung it onto your back & nodded once, signing ‘you, too’ back to him, though he wouldn’t understand.

Then you departed. As you reached the tree line, you turned back to face Ransom & his extravagant family home. He remained standing where you left him.

He waved once.

You returned it.

Then you disappeared, back into the jaws of the apocalypse.

chapter two!

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spectralsleuth · 1 year

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You mentioned that the Hamato household in LSoW and LSoE looks like a wizard's house and that it is filled with furniture that Yoshi inherited from his family... Can you imagine how much historians and antique collectors would be just going gaga about all the priceless stuff in the Hamato home. Like every room has original hand-crafted tables, desks, etc. that can be dated back hundreds of years, the walls have scrolls and weapons crafted by famous masters from 300 years ago. I can just imagine that Yoshi agreed to an interview in his home and, never mind his turtle kids, someone points out the furniture and wall art and people go nuts! This aging action star is just casually mentioning how his sons used to teeth on the chair legs and antique collectors around the world die a little, all while he is sitting on an old chair that was made from a rare tree in Japan worth as much as a down payment on the house and just sipping tea like it's nothing.

Yoshi tapped his foot irritably.

"I really don't understand what the problem is- you sound like my Grandfather." Not a flattering comparison.

"You're not even using a coaster." The camera man looked as if he was in pain, and Yoshi could honestly say that he had not had this much chit-chat from any crew member he'd ever had in his home.

The house was still in a slight state of disarray from the move- there were boxes in the master bedroom stacked to the ceiling, and Blue and Purple had not been separated long enough to be convinced of the benefits of their own bedroom. As a result, both of their bedrooms were half unpacked and mixed together.

Yoshi wasn't particularly passionate about separating the two, but considering every single day it seemed they broke into screaming matches and biting, you would think they would enjoy having their own space as much as Orange and Red did.

It was not so. He could barely get them to sleep in their own bed at this point, but since they were only eight he thought it was prudent to take the separation slow. (At least that was what Dr. Harper had said, when he had floated the idea of encouragement via booby traps and spray bottles by her.)

"It is a piece of furniture- it is meant to be used." It wasn't often that Yoshi thought he was mistranslating English- but he thought this might be one of those situations. The confused looks the Vanity Fair reporter was giving him was selling that impression, and he did not much care for it. "I set things on it? I put- items, in the drawers?" What was the other word for items- funny words, like, oh what was it. "Knick knacks." Sounded like a word for underwear if you asked him.

"This is from the Meiji era." The camera man explained, reverently removing Yoshi's coffee mug from the polished wooden surface. A lost cause, since there was already many overlapping rings of differing shades of brown covering the surface.

There were chips and scuffs covering the top, small marks where Red had rolled over the top during chases with his brothers and left shell-shaped divots, and where Blue and Purple had scratched with idle claws while watching the Mr. Nye TV show. There were crayon marks on the sides, where Orange had run off of his paper with his crayons. He was a good boy and did not draw on furniture on purpose, but accidents happened, and Xander often could not keep up.

"Yes, my great great grandfather commissioned it. I believe from the Emperor's carpenters, to celebrate the new constitution and property they bought in- well, I honestly do not recall. Is this relevant?" Yoshi asked wearily, feeling a twinge of displeasure at even starting to sound like his Ojii lecturing on history.

"There's only about fifty pieces made total in this style- there's no nails in the construction, look it's all joinery on the shelves-" The camera-man was saying, and to Yoshi's displeasure the reporter was still recording using the small device in her hand.

"I thought we were discussing my new movie." Yoshi pointed out, not plaintively, because he was a grown man with four children. "I mean, I have older furniture than that in the bathroom."

The camera man paused, and stared at him. "... Sorry?"

"The bathroom." Yoshi pointed out, and (sensing another translation issue possibly), said "It is where you piss."

"Piss!" Orange yelled from the hallway, where he went sprinting by with the tap-tap-tap of feet.

"DO NOT REPEAT THAT!" Yoshi called out. He was drowned out by Blue and Red fast on Oranges tail, screaming with laughter. It was nice to hear Red's laughter for a change, but since his eldest was also chasing his brothers with a stock pot and a spoon, Yoshi thought he should intervene. "Excuse me, one moment."

Red was only willing to trade the stockpot for a yardstick, which he began beating on Blue and Orange's shells respectively. Since his two youngest were giggling wildly, Yoshi left them to it and turned on cartoons in one of the bedrooms for them to watch when they grew tired of hitting each other.

By the time he got back to the Vanity Fair crew, they had gathered in the hallway, and were being shown the bathroom by a very pleased looking Purple.

"Ah Purple, excellent work my son- ah. I was kidding about the furniture-"

"No you weren't." The cameraman accused, looking frantic and pale. "This is a silver backed oriental mirror from under- oh I don't know. Kōmei? Ninkō?

"Kōka." Yoshi corrected, hating himself. "So, both probably."

Purple tugged on the cameraman's sleeve, and (looking hesitant) the camera man bent down to listen as Purple cupped hands around his snout in order to whisper in his ear.

"YOU WRITE ON IT?" The man gasped, looking appalled.

"I have raised a tattle-taler." Yoshi said mournfully, as Purple looked smugly at him from behind the reporter's legs. "Why don't you go help smack your brothers you snitch?"

Purple's tail started thumping against the cabinet at the idea, and he dropped to all fours to put on speed as he darted out between Yosh's legs and down the hall.

"Why are you so obsessed with furniture anyway?" Yoshi asked the cameraman after Purple had disappeared down the stairs, and he heard Blue and Orange start squealing in delight.

"My parents own a museum exhibit." The camera man said idly, pulling the mirror back from the wall enough to peer behind, and make a wounded noise. "It has the manufacturer seal on it still."

"Oh course it does. All Hamato furniture is authentic."

"It has crayon on it." The camera man looked close to tears.

"Yes?" Yoshi didn't understand the question. He looked at the reporter, who was still recording and writing furiously. "You are going to want to put this into the article, aren't you?" Yoshi sighed.

The reporter gave him a winning smile. "I think our readers would enjoy this very much Mr. Hamato."

#LSoW #my writing #anon ask #ask #rottmnt #tmnt #tmntau #snippet #me purposefully not naming the OC's so i don't get attached #send me asks guys i get bored

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