terminalberserker

[terminalberserker]

falman ftuesday✨sending him out into the cold with a very big toddler strapped to his front (he volunteered)

[terminalberserker]

invasion

[terminalberserker]

[terminalberserker]

"I can't remember. I feel like I lost something dear to me..."

ダンダダン Ep. 07: To a kinder world

[terminalberserker]

for beloved @lieutenantpetdog ✨

[terminalberserker]

YOU THINK I’M JOKING BUT I’M DEAD SERIOUS

[terminalberserker]

[terminalberserker]

The highest quality lieblingsfach you’ve ever seen

[terminalberserker]

[terminalberserker]

ロイアイの日2025 🕊️

(text below I know tumblr crunched the hell out of it)

R,

The swallows have returned. Hundreds and hundreds of small, jewel-bright flashes of blue and black that dart around the yard, catching garden insects on the wing before flitting back into the little nesting box above the back gate. Do you remember that old thing? It was one of the first things you ever made for the house.

You might not remember after all this time, so I feel comfortable in this confession: I hated you for it. You, with your haughty smile and father's affection hanging so loose and bright and easy about your shoulders. You shoved it into my arms and you said, “Here. You're always watching those birds,” before retreating into the study.

You were right, I was always watching them, but it wasn't affection that drew me to them, coaxed me to stand in the garden and stare as they danced around me. Some part of me hated them, too.

Small, delicate, beautiful things. They'd arrive in late spring, bringing with them the lush green heat of summer, and just when I'd grow to appreciate their arrival, they'd fly off again–south, to Aerugo, to the world beyond–leaving just me in my garden in my house where I was so alone despite the present company. Why on earth would they choose to return here of all places when they could fly anywhere?

But I hung that nest box. I made sure it was safe and secure. And every year I watched them return and leave once more. As I grew up, I learned that it is the nature of this world for people to leave. They left. You left. Eventually, I left.

I’ll tell you I was happy to see that the box still secure when I came back to set up the house. You'll think this is silly, and maybe it is, but I'm allowed at least one silly thing a week, and that box was one of the first things I looked for once I arrived.

The work is going well, though I (begrudgingly–please imagine my eyes rolling, perhaps a weary sigh) admit I could use your help. Why replace the kitchen beams myself when you could do it with a clap of your hands?

No. I'm glad to do it on my own. It is a blessing beyond imagination to have spent most of our lives rebuilding, using our blood-stained hands to fix and uplift in whatever small way we can. Fitting as well, I think, to spend the rest of our civilian lives here in the house that brought us together all those years ago.

I've spent the last few weeks airing it out, painting, and making it bright and cheerful in a way I could never have imagined as a child. I doubt you'll recognize it. In fact, I'm glad you won't. It's a blank canvas now, one last thing for us to build together.

I don't envy the work you're finishing up in Central. I hope it's going well, and I'm happy it's almost over. I'll ask you not to rush, though I know that's what we'd both like. Only a few more weeks, now, until your uniform can forever join mine in a box in the attic.

As for me, I think I’ll finish up in the garden, maybe hang new curtains in the study. (Your books arrived just yesterday. I'll let you sort through them.) I'll make tea every afternoon and sip it on the swing just outside the kitchen, right as the sun begins to set over the mountains, and the summer breeze surrounds me with the scent of earth and wildflowers. I'll wait for the sound of your boots coming up the drive; the dog’s excited barks as she realizes it's you; your laugh, weightless, effortless, once she reaches you. Mostly, though, I'll sit and watch the swallows dive in and out of the sunlight.

How could I ever hate them? I understand now.

Yours always,

R

[terminalberserker]

still being active on tumblr is camp

[terminalberserker]

Write it shitty, write it scared, write it without a clue but don't you be so spineless and have an AI write fanfic for you.

[terminalberserker]

obsessed with this song as a kid

[terminalberserker]

trigun is a show about how free jazz saxophone can inflict physical pain

[terminalberserker]

Nobody else in this Panera can sense the witch realm

[terminalberserker]

what does she have against fun and comfort

[terminalberserker]