and then there will be no more river

where will they live?

inspired by this post

a while ago i wrote this as a thank you to someone who was very kind, and helped me out when i was in a tough spot. they were nice enough to give me permission to share it with all of you, so -

a fish may love a bird, but where will they live?


when runhilda was just a hatchling, a little boy with big eyes fed her bread and called her pretty even before she was. he always had bruises on his face and arms, and his clothes hung off him, but he always had soft words for her, always gave her his bread crusts even though he needed them more than she did.

when runhilda is older, and goes by runa, she throws off her coat of feathers and steps from the river onto the land. she towers over the teenage boy, stretching past six feet with flowing white-blonde hair and her arms and thighs like tree trunks. “you need this more than i do,” she tells him generously.

he looks on in confusion as she takes her coat of feathers and wraps it around his shoulders. he transforms into graceful, powerful swan. he transforms into a something that can fly away from his miserable life.

“give it back to me one day,” she says, “when you don’t need it anymore.”

she pats him on the head, and he gently nips her hand before he opens his wings and takes to the sky.

runa watches him go wistfully. she’ll miss her wings, but she’s never had legs before and she’s eager to take them for a spin.


she tracks down the boy’s mother who’d been so cruel to him, and no one is ever ready for a giant naked woman to burst into their pub and start yelling at them, but runa still thinks she screamed too much. she’d threatened the woman with everything from a sound beating to dire legal action, and she and her husband leave town with nothing more than the clothes on their backs.

this has worked out for runa nicely. she thinks running a pub could be fun. she goes upstairs, and none of the tiny woman’s ridiculous clothes will fit her, obviously, so she goes through the husband’s closet. she thinks she looks rather dashing in trousers and suspenders and a crisp white button up. she puts a newsboy cap over her curly mass of hair for good measure, and winks at herself in the mirror. this being human thing is off to an excellent start.

then she goes downstairs and realizes she’s scared off the staff and patrons. the patrons she’s not too worried about this. this is dublin, and no one even died. as long as the alcohol keeps flowing, they’ll be back.

as for the staff ….

she goes to the river and recruits as many curious sisters as she can. she walks back to her pub with her arms laden with feather coats and a dozen gorgeous naked women all as tall as she is trailing behind her.



the seamstress adores them, since most of her sisters prefer the pretty, full bodied dresses that many of the human women wear, and they all have to be custom made to fit their large shoulders and thick waists. runa sticks to her trousers and shirts, and acquires a collection of newsboy hats.

her pub quickly gains a reputation, as it should. it’s staffed by beautiful women who have no problem with ending a bar fight personally, and physically throwing the offenders on to the street. there’s a strict look, but don’t touch policy that all of the patrons take advantage of, running their eyes over the beautiful barmaids. of course, quite a few human men and women catch her sisters’ eyes, and more than one dazed and pleased human has left their pub half dressed in the mornings.

no one catches runa’s attentions, until a slim woman with dark skin and dark eyes takes a corner table in the pub. she’s in an opulent grey dress, and her hair is carefully pinned into an elegant style, with a glittering necklace around her throat. no woman as wealthy as this one should be in runa’s establishment, or if she is she shouldn’t look miserable about it.

“here,” her sister pushes two mugs full to the brim into her hands. runa glares at her, but she’s already turned away. she resents the implication that she’s that transparent.

she still walks over to the woman and sits across from her, pressing the drink into her hands. she looks startled, but not upset, so runa leans her elbow halfway across the table and asks, “What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?”

she smiles back, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. runa’s filled with a determination to have her smile like she means it.

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anonymous asked:

Just had a death in the family. Do you have any fluffy adventure fic recommendations? I need something happy and long to take my mind of things.

i’m sorry for your loss <3

you should definitely try our Roadtrip tag! i also have a few adventure recs, although some are quite plotty and angsty? but they are all very well written  :)

Dead Memories by Scyllaya

Battling destructive forces with The Avengers forced Steve to stop his search for Bucky for much longer than he would have liked. Despite all odds they find him again, but in unexpected company and in a very different state of mind he was the last time Steve came face-to-face with him. Soon there’s a lot more at stake than his long lost friend, but Steve simply cannot give up on him, not even when everything but his heart is telling him to let go.

Not the Same River at my Fingertips by giselleslash

Steve desperately needs a ride home for Christmas but the last person he wants to take help from is Bucky Barnes. There’s a one night stand gone badly and four years of hurt feelings and misunderstandings between them.

Of course there’s a road trip home that goes perfectly smoothly.

you’re gonna have it your way or nothing at all by biblionerd07

Steve and Bucky aren’t really much of a Steve and Bucky anymore these days. Steve’s sure it’s because Bucky doesn’t see himself as the same guy who used to love Steve. In a desperate attempt to prove him wrong, Steve begs Bucky to go on a road trip together, the way they used to dream about, and does his best to remind Bucky of who he is.

In This Life and the Next by ScootyPuffJrSucks

In 1926, when Steve’s friend Tony presents him with an interesting artifact from an ancient city that isn’t supposed to exist, Steve hopes his days as just a librarian might be over. The artifact leads him to Bucky, a mysterious man with a strange golden arm who was found in the desert with no memory. Steve and Bucky immediately feel a connection to one another that leads them on an adventure to discover the past and save the future. Together, they travel to Hamunaptra, the City of the Dead, unleash a cursed Mummy with a grotesque red face, and do everything in their power to stop him from destroying the world.

Indiana Barnes and the Curse of the Tesseract by follow_the_sun, SulaSafeRoom

It’s 1943, and art history professor Steve Rogers has been hired to help wealthy industrialist Tony Stark find his father, who went missing while searching for the fabled Tesseract. It sounds like an easy job until Steve finds out that his old flame, Bucky Barnes, is also part of the expedition.

The Saughteling by Claudia_flies, Hopeless–Geek (wuzzy90), SD_Ryan, zilia

James Buchanan Barnes and Steve Grant Rogers arrive at the Jedi Temple just over twelve months apart.

Many years later, a disillusioned Jedi Knight Steve Rogers returns to the Core Worlds at the summoning of the Jedi Council. Instead of following the will of the Council, Steve chooses a different path. His quest will lead Steve to confront a specter from his past and finally open himself up to the will of the Force.

Fanfiction - Outlander Secret Santa 2017

My girl @marlosbooknook had her birthday a couple of days ago and I couldn’t leave her without a wee gift. You deserve everything that is awesome, sweets! Also, thank you @moghraidhjamie, the person responsible for more craziness from me this Christmas.


Scotia (III)

“Ride North,” Maisri Wise-Eyes had said, her voice filled with the clarity of prophecy. “Until ye find the tree broken by the roar of thunder. There springs the river with no end. Follow it where it leads.”

“This must be it.” Jamie looked around, adjusting the hood of his cloak, sheltering himself against the coming of night’s frosty kiss. “I was here two moons ago, hunting, and this tree was standing straight – it must have been stricken by lightning since then.”

“Aye.” Murtagh nodded, blowing against his palms to warm himself. “This far north the air is freezing like Xaphan’s own toenails. Maisri better be right, or I’ll throttle the bloody seer.”

They had been riding hard for the last couple of weeks, barely giving time for man or beast to gather strength – a powerful urgency had taken over Jamie, a fever burning steadily, brought on by the knowledge of darkness lurking. His sleep was agitated, filled with dreams he couldn’t recall after the sun had risen, and the deep dark circles around his eyes spoke of the burden consuming him.

He had accepted Scotia’s crown and in his scabbard now slept her sword, its hilt engraved with runes which told the story of the birth of light. Following his strange conversation with Maisri – if her riddles and premonitions could actually be called a conversation -, Jamie had squinted through dozens of old tomes in the archives, searching for any mention of An Lia Fàil. The name sounded strangely familiar, annoying in the constant sensation that he should remember it clearly – as if he had heard of it a long time ago, when his years were yet too young to recount the tale. The knowledge of the old days – specially the ones right after the end of darkness - was scattered, passed along by imperfect human tongue; very few dedicated enough of their time to committing the relevant events of their lives to written word – much had been forgotten and, undoubtedly, distorted by the rushing of years.

“Shouldn’t the keeper of the furnaces of hell preserve his toenails warm, like the rest of him?” Jamie gave his godfather a lopsided smile, amused with the ramblings of his fiercely protective mentor.

“No one cares for toenails.” Murtagh shrugged, distractedly patting the powerful flank of his horse. “But I dinna see a river with no end – no river whatsoever, for that matter.” They both looked around, as if expecting to suddenly catch sight of a mass of moving water.

“We’ll have to look in the forest around this place.” Jamie suggested, sounding resigned. “We’ll do it first thing in the morning, aye?”

“When ye find this An Lia Fàil,” The older man said, careful to pronounce it correctly – for names held power and could summon unseen things. “What are ye supposed to do with it?”

“I dinna ken.” Jamie admitted, starting to collect branches to build a small open fire. “Maisri dinna have much to say about it. Only that the dragonfly mark is somehow linked to it.”

The silver doe with honey-eyes runs to meet the dragonfly. Jamie hadn’t told his guardian about that particular bit of the seer’s predictions – for some unforeseeable reason, the silver doe seemed like a private matter, something precious which would lose its power by being shared with another’s ears.

They ate with parsimony from their provisions, talking idly over the soft roar of the fire, until they were lulled by the sound of green branches crackling, so fiercely loved by the hot flames they couldn’t avoid being turned into ash.  

When Jamie opened his eyes, running away from the arms of sleep as if someone had whispered his name against his resting ear, a doe – her fur silver as a moonbeam, her eyes the color of fragrant honey – was standing over him.

He waited, motionless, as she – for there was no doubt in his mind that this creature could be anything but a female – inspected him, sniffing softly to taste his scent, not yet aware of his wakefulness. Irrationally attracted by the shimmer that seemed to irradiate from her, Jamie raised his trembling fingers and touched her neck.

She squeaked, a sound utterly human, and a mighty thunder boomed above. A cloud of mist surrounded her – coming over the clearing like a swift blow on a candle - and, within the time that took Jamie to blink his eyes, she had transformed into the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

“How dare you touching me, mortal?” The shapeshifter woman roared, and the skies wept with her rage.

clear like this midnight

i leave the metaphysical landscape to her all her gods and stones return to this heart when

i get hungry i eat when i feel tired i sleep then walk into the ocean no magic trick no ace up—

my sleeve everything is out on the table more is revealed with less i was what i am but still i

always wait for her she sits beside me takes my cold hand and puts it inside her river leads me

into her garden i draw life from her i taste her talk to her but i am her nothing in nowhere—

shitfacedanon  asked:

do you have any headcanons for falmeri culture and government? as well as what their views on lorkhan and the creation of mundis and nirn were?

The Falmer are fun because they’re largely a blank slate. The Falmer are also hard because they are largely a blank slate. 

Here’s some random thoughts: 

The Classical Falmer were, in many respects, similar to the Ayleids, the Direnni, or any other number of Tamriel-based Aldmeri offshoots. A loose confederacy of largely independent city-states, more-or-less coexisting with the Dwemer and what few mannish settlements existed in Skryim at the time. Unlike their heartland cousins, the Falmer did not have an extensive culture of slavery, largely because, unlike Cyrodiil, there just wasn’t much need for it. Cyrodiil had plantations and trade networks and extensive cities - Skyrim had cold ground and smaller, more isolated settlements.

Falmeri settlements were largely located along the rivers of Skyrim, particularly in the east, and had, for much of their history, a cooperative relationship with the Dwemer, who occupied much of the same territory. The Falmer thought that the Dwemer were heretics, the Dwemer thought the Falmer were backwards provincials, but neither had a reason to get up in each other’s business. Their relationship with the Nedic tribes to the south and the Velothi to the west was more tumultuous, but, ultimately, the holdings of the Falmer were never worth enough for outright war. Until Ysgramor, of course.

As for the religion of the Falmer, I’d assume that they were closely aligned to the original elven pantheon of the Eight Divines. The aurora borealis - and therefore the Magnus and the Magna Ge - likely played an emphasized role. The Falmer would also have been the ones to consecrate Snow-Throat, and would have had a special relationship with it (certainly one that would have put them in ideological conflict with the Nords). Perhaps they worshiped and valued the starts and night, unlike the Ayleids, to whom light was the most important element? 

Their buildings were not made of ice. Rather, their lack of ruins is due to a much simpler reason: lacking the fear that others have of elven ruins, Nord settlers cannibalized them for building materials. They may have been the first to manufacture glass, which may have lead to the the myth. Their temples and ceremonial sites had the classical merish arch look, but their actual settlements would have been more practical. Bare stone is cold.

Plot Bunnies: Fiona Jones

Fiona was many things. A sister. A daughter. A student.

To be more specific: The twin sister of self-proclaimed “weirdo” outcast, Jughead Jones. The eldest daughter of FP Jones, fearless leader of a gang called the South Side Serpents. A student of Riverdale High School, where shit constantly hits the fan.

This summer has been no exception when it comes to that last part. Golden boy, Jason Blossom, has drowned in a terrible boating accident, leaving his twin sister, Cheryl, as the sole survivor. But Fiona barely has time to focus on that when her own life has been on the rocks. Her mother and younger sister have moved to Toledo to live with her grandparents for a while and her brother would rather be homeless than live in the same trailer as an unemployed drunk like FP. So, it’s up to her to help her father stay above water and help make ends meet.

Of course, she wasn’t expecting for her dad to have a younger member of his gang, Joaquin, walk her home from work after Jason’s drowning. She never imagined that Joaquin would start bringing his tall friend, Sweet Pea, along. And she certainly wasn’t prepared for the discovery of a bloated Jason to float to the edges of Sweetwater River at the beginning of her sophomore year, a bullet hole in his head.

Scars | J. Blossom

Originally posted by dontjokeaboutjasonblossom

Pairing ; Jason x Reader

Timeframe ; Pre-Season One

Summary ; In which Y/n is ready. Jason, on the other hand, is a different story.

Part One

A/N ; Day 16 of 31 Days of Christmas

There will be one more part to this!!!

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This is the last thing i’ll be posting om tumblr for a while. If you want more useless doodles tho, you should check out my instagram —–> @queenbiinee
'Giant cage' to save Mackintosh landmark
The National Trust for Scotland plans to dry the building and protect it from the elements.

On December 10 1868 the artist, architect and designer Charles Rennie Mackintosh died.

Mackintosh was born in Glasgow in June, 1868 and lived in the city for most of his life. In 1890 he won a student award, allowing him to study architecture and design. Between 1899 and 1913 he worked in a local architectural practice. Along with his wife and two other designers, he formed an artistic group known as the Four. The Four was mistrusted by the public because of their unusual designs and the group was sometimes known as the Spook School. They designed furniture, metalwork and book illustrations.Mackintosh’s designs were more appreciated in Austria and Germany than in the UK. He exhibited his architectural designs in Moscow and Berlin and was asked to design the Warndorfer Music Room in Vienna.

Mackintosh’s Hill House sits high above the Clyde in Helensburgh, commanding impressive views over the river. Walter Blackie, director of the well known Glasgow publishers, commissioned him to design not only the house but also the garden, but much of the furniture and all the interior fittings and decorative schemes.

The Hill house has been deteriorating over the years and moves to save it have recently been announced which includes enclosing the property in a large glass cage which will allow visitors to view the house from above as well.

Moodboard - Jodie Rivers

a struggling artist who functions on coffee and croissants; a minimalist who lives by the “less is more” mentality (her paintings reflect this); never finishes her paintings and leaves them scattered in her studio

Bittyswap (part 17)

Bittyswap concept by @staxurst (Blog contains NSFW content).

My version of Bittyswap involves full-sized bittybones (and other monsters) living in the Underground and getting miniature humans as pets.

Once again, I tucked myself deeply into Brassberry’s pocket. He promised we’d be going somewhere warm, but in the meantime, I’d like not to be a bitty-sicle. On our last excursion, we’d walked, and the steady rhythm of Brassy’s footsteps had lulled me to sleep. Today our mode of transportation seemed to be of the boat-down-a-river variety, and our driver, whom my life depended on hiding from, bore the very fitting name Riverperson. Ah, an enlightening journey already! 

Some monsters use expletives as filler. Some monsters use “uh” or “um.” Riverperson though? Tra-la-la. Every few minutes. I wished Brassy was one of those elderly monsters who picked up random rocks and shoved them in his pockets because I wanted nothing more than to fill my tiny ears with gravel right now. Or bash them off. Tra-la-la. 

As if the unending “tra” and “la” weren’t enough, it turned out the boat could only be considered a boat in a vague and general well-it-travels-by-water sense of the word. The boat bucked and jerked like a rodeo bull, and after less than eight seconds, I already wanted off. I hoped I could wait to barf until I was outside of a confined space. Thankfully, the ride didn’t last long, and the contents of my tiny stomach settled as we disembarked the good ship Never Again at our destination.

We were at Waterfall, but not the Temmie Village and Garbage Dump Waterfall I was used to. Instead of sadness and despair, everything here radiated a sense of calm. Maybe it was the ambient blue light, the soothing sounds of moving water, or the softly glowing flowers, but I’d never seen anything so beautiful in my life. Brassberry just stood there quietly, letting me soak in the wonder with my little mouth agape.

Finally, he spoke. “I know you’ve been keeping secrets.” Yeah, well, I’m a terrible liar, so…

“Tra la la?” I said evasively. Brassy’s massive frame shook with laughter, causing a mini earthquake in my pocket sanctuary. He ruffled my hair as gently as he could; I felt like I’d been tossed into a tornado. Brassberry was a one-monster human!bitty natural disaster.

“I told you before, it’s your choice whether you tell me things or not, Vex. You shouldn’t beat yourself up over it.” Oh.

“Thanks, Brassy,” I murmured.

He shushed me. “Do you trust me?” What an odd question! Brassberry waited while I considered my answer. The skeleton monster could have killed me easily at any time. He could’ve let Cap crush me. He could’ve let me die after the Oatmeal Incident. He could’ve drowned me in the river for concealing information from him. He hadn’t. He’d protected me and taken care of me. I nodded.

“Close your eyes and don’t say anything until I say so, ok? I’m taking you somewhere very special, but it has to be a surprise.” I nodded again, not sure if the no-speaking clause was already in play. I felt the measured up-and-down motion of Brassy walking quickly through the twists and turns of Waterfall’s paths, but, true to my word, I didn’t peek.

When Brassy spoke next, he whispered, so quietly that even my human!bitty ears could barely hear him. “You can look now.” Curious, I opened my eyes to darkness, broken by the faint diamond glimmer of stars. I gasped softly.

“This is a special cave,” Brassy whisper-informed me. “The mica chips here look just like the night sky on the Surface.” I could see him smiling warmly at me in the dim light of hundreds of luminescent Echo Flowers. How had I ever been frightened of that smile?

“It’s beautiful!” I exclaimed happily in my very small voice. The Echo Flowers picked up my words, repeating them over and over until suddenly my barely audible voice swirled around the cavern, full and loud and BIG.

“Surprise,” whispered Brassy, his deep rumble almost drowned out by my now full-sized words as they bounced and reverberated through the enclosed space.

I’d never felt so strong, so significant, so REAL.

I giggled. I shouted. I sang. I vibrated with a sense of life and validation I’d never experienced before. Brassy gave me the stars. He gave me a voice and a home, and he didn’t ask me for anything in return.

What more could a human!bitty ask for?


It was easy enough for Papyrus to slip into the True Lab while Undyne was busy. He didn’t know Undyne’s passcodes, but that didn’t really matter. Dr. River’s old overrides worked just as well. He was a little surprised he still remembered them after all this time. Maybe it was just because she insisted on making sure he had them memorized, just in case.

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the idea of two aromantic platonic partners having a “convenience marriage” is like my favorite thing right now I’m both getting really excited and cracking up over the possibilities I mean just imagine:

  • “we got married because of tax benefits”
  • “we got married because it gave us an excuse to have sleepovers every night
  • “we got married because it seemed convenient to ‘pool our assets’ (aka our library is now twice as big, as is our collection of Disney movies)”
  • “we got married because it gave us an excuse to ask for toasters from people as wedding gifts”