#sterrups

crouched near the fire, he feels the october bite. thankfully, the moth-eaten blanket across his shoulders eases some of it. they had themselves an adventure today. 

easy does it, accepting

frosty hands cradle his flushed cheeks. for some reason, duck sounds real, real funny. kinda far away. (why – august’s head lolls like he’s underwater – right in – his fingers dart over a pebble in his pocket – tell me?) 

well, august hates being ill. and admitting it to others. you tell someone, you better kiss your day goodbye. rest and medicine and no damn fun. 

memes, accepting  

august lays the ax down and rests a sticky palm against his forehead. he gauges his efforts: ten pieces of firewood chopped and stacked. arms raise in a stretch. his teeth grind together. sore as all hell and the day’s only starting. (maybe one break won’t hurt? besides, breakfast sounds good.)

slowly, he makes his way inside, wiping sweat from his eyes. 

the smell of food circles him as his foot squirms out of its boot. mouth watering, he swiftly washes his hands and scrubs his face. back at the table, he tucks a knee under his chin. an apologetic smile replaces his eager grin. 

“ a cal-what-now? ” august doubts he’ll ever understand the man’s knowledge of, well, everything. “ forget it. if it’s good, i’ll try some. ” he follows behind duck and removes his boots, stores them away for another day. his feet carry him into the kitchen, where he sits and tugs his hat from his head. careful hands palm the brim, near hugging it. (a distraction of sorts. the makeshift bandage, bound around his arm, itches. don’t scratch, don’t scratch.) 

@sterrups​ (duck)

        “I appreciate the company. I don’t know what I would do if someone caught me out here, and I only had little old me.” Elise’s smile has self-deprecation in it, a clear glimmer of humor. She doesn’t quite mean it--not the little old me part, at least. She can take care of herself. She does mean the appreciation.

❛No.❜  

Diana had a friend once who’d come from the Sea but was chained to the Mountain for all time after he touched godhood. He walked barefoot. His silver talked more than he. It pendulumed on his chest and clinked in a row of glint so dense in his ear you couldn’t count the pieces.

People would call and he’d answer. He would answer the sick, the dead, the lonely in bed, you. And the tax was none. They'd have him and he’d have the Mountain.

Sometimes she’d see the tattoo on his back swell like it wanted to leap off. This happened the most after rain.  

People’s wants tasted repulsive to him because they were repulsive about them, but this one he would have liked.

❛Tell me what it looks like and I’ll have it returned to you in time for wherever it is you’re going.❜

Tully, accepting.

They’re both a few drinks in, and Bunny isn’t handling it as well --- or, she drank too fast and lets herself play it up.

Bunny’s flat on her back, lazing about in the dry grass like they’re having a picnic in the park. She’s early, the score’s late; there’s nothing she can do but sit here in the dirt and grumble about it.