rat creature

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63325795/chapters/224005901#workskin

Big brimmed hat sits on the crown of my head, shading us both from the harshness of the mighty sun, my arm slung over you, you're telling me something, whispering something only I and the creek can know, sitting leaning in my lap against me, while I'm sat criss-cross in the lap of the earth, on a rock of the streaming flow, the water rushes over our feet, brushing up the thin hairs on our legs, pushing past us, not unaware, but unconcerned and uncontrollable, it's a little matter, though you are absolutely inconsolable, the thing the creek has heard and disregarded will haunt us, you and I, though you do not move from the shade you're in laying against my chest, and I do not shift the angle of my wrist, and the water does not ignore us out of malice, but what could droplets from before even light rays have to say about the failings of the modern day? Put a hand over mine to still my nervous tippy-tapping, interlock our fingers and speak with breath, with wind-like whispers, tell me again that it is all going to end soon. Adjust my hat to shade my eyes in darker lacking, avoid them at all cost to avoid your desire not so far left behind in your new life, the woods and mountains are full to bursting with crooked lines and unnamed things, I won't convince you, but I've found you, I think you won't find a way to hide, the birdsong echos overhead, bouncing off the rocks and bubbles, broadcasting to all the stars that, even now, back pressed to heart, you wish you were not still as you are. I find your eyes, a taxing effort, and hold gently in your face the time we don't have left, I mourn that you cannot let it be, I wonder if I can tell you that we are not birds or bees and we don't have to be. The way the creek flows indicates, well, something, I don't know, I move my hand, I will give you space, I can pretend that the whole earth isn't shaped very much like your face, I plop my hat on your head, for some way to still touch you, and I squint at the sun, suppose that's why I've teared up, push you off more gentle than I should, and I'll run in the water, I'll scare the frogs and squirrels off, as they now know me too well, they know you've now ignored yourself. Brush the edge of my wet eyes with the hem of my half-dry shirt, under my lashes see you very much not look at me, expose my sensitivity one last time, to make you tell me clearly and exactly with your eyes, I memorize the exact curve of your eyelids and the colors held in, I find a rock, with flecks of gold, fingers closed around it, removing it from home, I pry open your clenched hand, I drop the stone, now dead and boring, and I resign to pretend I understand that you can't.

is barty crouch jr basically just the archetypal gothic hero/ine. discuss

in my head you're alive and we sit down for dinner and talk it all out

declan looking pathetic as ever

Ronan's second secret was Adam Parrish.

Starting a collection of subdom Rovinsky