As far as the eye can see, green dense forests fill my vision. The sound of bells catches my attention as my eyes dart around.

'Where is it?' The light sound is joined by deep laughter as I look around more. My feet take off, adrenaline propelling me forward as the noise moves further into the forest. The feeling of thorns and flowers brushing against my legs reminded me of the urgency of the chase. The faster I pump my legs, the further they run, and my breathing grows heavier as I try to keep up. My chest feels tight as my brain grows fuzzy. The forest grows darker the faster the sound runs and my vision grows fuzzy at the edges. But I refuse to give up. “Please wait!” I call out, my voice echoing in the void. 

   I call out in the darkness for the light, my voice echoing in the void. “Don’t leave…” The words hang in the air, lost in the darkness. 

A dark fog encircles my eyes as the light flees farther into the forest. With each stretch of its limbs, I feel life and joy fading. 

The verdant forest fades away as darkness turns bright red and orange. A steady rumble pulls my thoughts into the present. I open my eyes to find Lugh sitting on my chest, his glowing eyes peering into me. His presence brings a wave of relief, dispelling the lingering unease from the dream, like a warm blanket on a lonely night.

“Good morning, my boy.” I smile as he butts his head softly into mine, his usual greeting drawing a laugh. A silent plea for food, “Alright.” I get up from the bed, feeling the cool floor beneath my feet, and head to the kitchen to prepare Lugh's breakfast. 

I pull my arm out of my comforter, slide it under his belly, and ease him to the edge of the bed. His tiny meows of protest fill the quiet air as he jumps down. The rest of my achy body was going to be a challenge. 

“Why?... Do my legs hurt?” I toss the question and push my leaden legs out of the covers. My legs ache as if I've just run a mile, a sensation I haven’t felt since high school. As my legs untangle from the covers, I look down to expect some redness or rash, only to find cuts, a painful reminder of the dream I just had.  

Like the cuts, I used to get from running in the forest. I look down in confusion, but that must be dealt with later. 

Food comes first. I stand on my marked legs and walk out of my tiny bedroom into my living room. The dark walls make finding my way through the silent home harder. Lugh calls out behind me as I use my hand to feel out the wall for the switch. Once my hand makes contact, I flip the cold plastic lever up. A bright artificial light floods my small living room, pulling a groan from the bottom of my soul. Lugh meows his disdain as well, complaining loudly. 

“Ha, and you're telling me?” I walk over to the conjoined kitchen and pull out a can of wet food. I quickly pop it open and drop it into a slow-feed bowl. Lugh trots over to the bowl. The enthusiastic sound of him chowing down fills the air as I take care of the can and wash my hands. I turn to the small window to see pink and purple dance across the sky as they welcome the sun to the dance. Its presence just peaking above the horizon. The gentle glow of the soft light envelops the room, casting a soothing ambiance that eases the strain on my tired eyes. I shiver slightly, feeling the frigid air prickling against my skin, causing it to tingle and bristle with goosebumps. But now, I feel a deep connection to the natural world, a sense of tranquility and harmony that only the dawn can bring.

A feeling of peace lingers in the air as I look on at the rising sun. 

“Maybe I should take a day off.” I look down at my rough hands, used to handle papers continuously.

 They used to be rough from climbing trees. I look back up to the sun and stop when the first rays of sunlight shine down onto a golden coin placed on my windowsill. 

“When did? I raise my arms, feeling the chill in the air as I place them under the window hatch and exert upward force. As I lift, a burst of cold air rushes in, carrying with it the distinct scent of damp peat and a tinge of ozone, like the aftermath of a thunderstorm. The smell instantly transports me to a vivid memory of my grandmother standing on the rugged cliffs. Her lips curved into a wide grin, her eyes gleaming with untamed excitement. My fingers close around the coin, and I can feel its warmth seeping into my palm, akin to the comforting touch of the sun's gentle rays. I smile as my decision is made; I turn around with a bright smile to Lugh. “Looks like we're going on an adventure, my boy.”  

Second ever post in here I’ve been obsessing over Sweeney for the past several months and I have already read a majority of the posts in here about him, so here’s my try at it! Hope you enjoy!

"Ugh, too much damn paperwork..." I state as I go through the seemingly endless slog of articles that are balanced precariously on my cramped desk. I press the heel of my hands into my washed out eyes, The lack of feeling makes my shoulders sag. as i should be angry with the co-worker who dumped all of their paperwork for their case down on me. It was an 'easy case' and a cheerful, 'you'll have it done in no time!' That drained all of the energy I once had when I walked through the steel, double doors. I stand up with effort and sigh in relief as my knees and ankles crack into place. My eyes widen as I look down at the small alarm clock on my desk, I had worked through two of my breaks and my lunch.

'Great.' I walk over to the door of my office and out to the break room where a few stragglers remain after their breaks. The intense smell of cigarettes and something else foul smacks me in the face as I open the doors. All of the people look over and give a forced smile. None of my co-workers liked me, not even the supposed 'yes' man, Rodney. The looks they give me feel like knives were driven into my back, I know why they hate me. I've heard the whispers, 'Lawyers slave', 'Firms pet', and many more. I walk over to the only fridge in the entire building and pull out an empty container with my name written on the lid. I was looking forward to my lunch today. I had a self-made Alfredo that I had the night before, not the kind one can buy in a jar, a homemade Alfredo sauce put over homemade noodles with chicken. I stand there looking at the container in a blank stare, I was always taught not to say anything if I had nothing good to say. But the flood of anger and contempt for my peers was growing faster than my own thoughts. My grip tightens on the container, as I look back at the people I share the same room with.

"Oh, sorry. I thought that was what my wife packed me, she has very similar hand writing." It was Samul that spoke up, his Boston accent lilting as he spoke in mock sympathy. His mouth is quirked up in a prideful smirk as he walks closer with a swagger in his step, as if he fell a deer.

My breathing picks up as my thoughts swirl in my head, my overactive imagination, imagining what I could do to him. Strangle him with his tie, tackle him and stomp his face in, gouge his eyes out with my spoon. Something primal falls over my mind as I take a step closer towards him. My eyes must have gave something away as he takes a step back with a strange look on his face, all of that arrogance gone and is replaced by a outward look of fear.

I take another step forward. 'I could stab my fork into his throat, it would shut him up.'

"Hey, are you okay?"

The sound of my employers voice stops the thoughts and pulls that primal blanket of feeling off of my head and I look over towards the older man. He is the nicest man in the business, the man who saw potential in me while everyone else only saw a woman with nothing. "Uh, Sir?"

"I asked if you were okay?" The worry in his voice is evident, as he knows how my peers treat me like a personal rug. His wispy hair and old blue eyes ooze comfort and remind me of my grandpa.

"Um, No Sir. I feel Ill, do I have permission to head home?" I needed to head home before I did something I regretted.

"Yes, you can head home, just don't forget to double check you logged in everything."

His voice helps to ground me to reality and I nod my head. I rush out of the break room to my gate as the need to move pushes me forward. I walk back to my cramped office and back to what was supposed to be my lunch in my bag. I sit back down and check all the information before logging off. The chair groans as I stand up from it. I take a breath as my head falls onto the desk. I feel so tired, yet so pumped. My body itches to move, to run.

Yet my head feels like a pound of lead. Maybe I am getting sick…

I huff as I stand up with my bag. I ignore all the looks I’m given as I walk right out the door to my car. The sound of the ignition turning lit my heart on fire as the old engine roared to life. A thrill I lost long ago fills my head, and I grin maniacally. The music turns on, and the song ‘Iron’ by Woodkids fills the car. The percussion takes my heart as I put on my seat belt, shift the gear, and rip out of my parking spot. I floor the pedal as I rush to the exit onto the highway. My breathing picks up as I watch the other cars whizz by. I catch a clear spot and gun my old baby down the highway. I gasp as the speed picks up fast. I can feel my heart thrumming as euphoria fills my head. A loud smile crosses my face as I revel in my new feelings.

The drive back to my house was much faster than usual and was a happy blur. It felt good. I turn into the courts of my apartment complex, drive slowly down the street, and turn into my driveway. I park my car, grab my things, and head inside in a tired daze from my drive and the emotional rollercoaster I was on. I open my door and lock it behind me.

The sound of a meow pulls me out of my daze; I smile as I see my black cat strut his way over and rub against my legs. His green eyes stare up at me and blink slowly.

“Hello, my Lugh.” I reach down and pet him with a smile. “You’ve kept the house safe?”

He meows back as he walks back to his sunny spot.

I hang my purse and coat on the hooks and strip my heels off. I groan in relief as my feet hit the floor. “God, I hate those things.”

I walk over to my small bedroom, pull my fluffy pajamas out of the drawers, and walk over to my bathroom; I strip down and take a nice, long, hot shower. I quickly dry off and change into my pajamas. I walk out while brushing my hair, walk into the kitchen, and grab a bag of pumpkin seeds. I reach into the higher cupboards and pull down a bottle of aged Redbreast whiskey and a large glass. With my prizes, I settle down into a plush armchair. I set my liquor to the side and reach for my favorite book. Its cover is worn with age; the pages are yellowed and bent from the continuous dog-earring. The cover is worn green, and the gold lettering fades but can still be read. ‘Irish Folklore And Fairytales’.

I reach over, pour myself a glass, and open the book to my previous place. The book starts with a new chapter labeled ‘Leprechauns.’ The night flies by as I lose myself in the emerald groves and wistful magic. A feeling of peace overtakes my whole body as I linger between the two planes of dreams and reality. I jump when I hear my cat purring beside me. I look over and close the book in my lap. The glass in my hand is now dry, so I set the book down. I smile as I reach down and pet Lugh. “I love you, my boy.”

"…I love you too, my human." "Alright, it's time for bed." *I stand wobbly on my legs as I trudge to my room. I walk into the bathroom and brush my teeth as my mind replays the myth of leprechauns. They loved cream and bread; humans left a plate of freshly baked bread and a bottle of cream on their window sill. If a leprechaun saw it and liked the bread, it's said they would leave a lucky coin on the window sill. An image of my grandmother leaving a loaf of bread and a bottle of cream on the sill flashes. In my tipsy haze, I tell myself, "Why not? I could use a little luck." I finish with my nightly routine and walk back down to the kitchen. I grab a loaf of rosemary and cheese bread I had made the day before and one of the bottles of half-and-half I have in my fridge. I walk up to my room. I open my window and set the load of warm bread wrapped in aluminum foil on the counter. I can feel my family's warmth wrap around my neck and back as the image of the bread and cream brings to mind my late grandmother's kind smile. She always swore up and down that she had seen the great Tuatha de Danann when she was a child. When I was a child, I believed her stories of the children of Danann, of seven-foot giants and grisly warriors of old just beyond the veil. I believed in the faeries and the kings of old. I thrived on her stories; they brought me joy and a sense of wonder that I lost when she left. It was replaced with my father's misery and my mother's hope. I stopped looking in the forests for the little faery lights of my grandmother's stories and looked at my feet. My feet took me across the sea to America, where I started working in the firm as an errand girl.

Tears fall down my face as I think of my grandmother, the loss of wonder, and my path. I lean down and pry the window open a bit.

“deonaigh dom ádh, a anamacha na sean.”

The prayer that my grandmother used to whisper falls from my lips in a tone of reverence, as if I were reliving a memory. I turn to my bed, dress myself for bed, tuck myself into my thick comforter, and close my weary, heavy eyes.

Heyoo, this is my first fanfic on tumbler, hope you like it! Let me know if I should post more of this!

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Working for the government. Bent over a gray desk stacked to the ceiling with files about the paranormal isn’t what Louisa had in mind, what she thought of the future as a child. But it's what her cards have dealt her. One could say that Louise directed it to this, though, with a degree in the paranormal and a minor in mythology. She would never admit it, with her Louisiana blood and a stubborn side the size of a 3,000-pound steer. She raises her head, her teeth grit as she arches her back forward and a loud crack makes her sigh in relief as she straightens her back to a normal posture. Her eyes are extremely dry from the sheer amount of paperwork she has done already, she looks down at the small alarm clock on her desk to see that she has already given over fifteen hours to trying to make a dent in the mountain of paperwork only for it to look as if all of that work is worth nothing. She stands up and groans from the stiffness of her joints. “Shit. Need a cup of coffee.”

At the sound of a cup of coffee, her stomach grumbles. Her eyes widen as it hits just how long she has spent at her desk. Slowly, she makes her way to the single-cup coffee maker and takes hold of a dark blue bag featuring a picture of a yacht and the words 'SEAPORT Dark Roast' written boldly in white. She slowly drifts over to the single-cup coffee maker and grabs a dark blue bag with a picture of a yacht with the words ‘SEAPORT Dark Roast’ written in bold white lettering. With three spoonfuls of the ground and a bottle of water in hand, she loads up the coffeemaker. She runs her hand through her oily hair with a depressed sigh. The sound of the coffee maker starts, and she paces around the room to try to relieve the ache in her joints.

She looks up at the gray walls and sighs. Her eyes look around and land on the only poster in the room of a desert area, with the sun high in the sky and a cactus in the foreground. If she stared long enough, she could almost feel the searing heat of the burning sun on her back and the smell of the red dirt.

A small ‘ding’ pulls her out of the reverie. She looks back down at the small coffee pot to see a full cup of coffee pulling the pot out of the slot and pours it into a beige coffee cup. She takes a good long whiff of the blackened liquid nectar and, with a deep breath, downs the scalding liquid in one cup.

“Hissy’s fits.” She gags out and walks back over to the desk and sits back down at the desk.

“Just ‘nouther hour.” She groaned out as she picked up the next document that was marked with the bold letters of ‘B.P.R.D.’ written on the front of the manilla folder. Flipping through the booklet, you can see several blacked-out lines and some notes written on the sides in a disorganized fashion. Looking a little deeper, you can see the name ‘Hellboy’ in between the blacked-out lines. Her eyes widen as that name clicks, she had always thought ‘Hellboy’ was just a fiction made up by a comic book artist. In hindsight, she should have expected that. With the jackals in the past that her father taught her to hunt. Her face scrunches up at the thought of her father, and she shakes her head to rid herself of the thought.

Knowing that the file is way above her paygrade to even sort. She picked up the file and walked over to her door to talk to her supervisor, who is the archivist of the massive storage department. Knocking on the door just across from hers, she is met with one of the major scientists, Dr. Halibert. With a stony face and a demeanor that reeks of entitlement, he brushes past her, pushing Louise’s shoulder. She looks back at the man with annoyance, her lip curled in aggravation. “What are you, five?”

“What did you just say to me, paper pusher?” He looks back with a look of daring as he waits for the possibility of getting Louise fired.

Not wanting to poke the proverbial bear and have a very real chance of being fired, she turns around and starts walking towards the woman behind the large desk. “Nothing, sir.”

"That is what I thought." He turns back around with the look of having a bad taste in his mouth as he walks off.

“Ah, Louise. What may I do for you?” the brown-haired woman with thick bifocals. Her tiny voice made Louise smile as it reminded her of her mother.

“Hi, Mary. I have a file here that seems to be sorted in the wrong place.” She sets the file on the desk for her to see.

“Ah, that file.” The older lady’s blue eyes narrow as she regards the file in scornful disgust. "And to think, I was just starting to like you, Louise."

“I’m sorry, but I don't think I’m followin’ ya here?” Louise looks down at the file once more and back at the lady, her accent becoming stronger with each passing second.

“You, my dear, have just gotten a promotion.”

Louise’s eyes widen in shock as she looks down at the woman. She shakes her head with an unconvinced smile. “I’m sorry, Miss Mary, but could you run that by me again?”

"For finding this metaphorical needle in a haystack. You have received a promotion. Just finding this document made you eligible for the promotion, but the signifying move is to bring this document to me.” She explains as she turns her chair, picks up the black phone given to all of us, and dials a few numbers.

“What kind of promotion? Like a new chair, or a pink stapler?” Louise quips back with a smile as she sets her hands on her hips.

“Haha, not quite deary.” She laughs at her quick wit as she picks up her phone. After a few seconds, a suave voice emerges from the other side, but the voice is garbled so that it cannot be understood.

“Yes, her name is Louise Holt. I believe she would make a fine addition to your team. Alright, I will tell her.” She hangs up the phone and looks up at Louise.

“Now, Louise, I apologize for my evasive answers, for I am not authorized to talk to you about your new position, but just know I think you will like your new job.” Mary’s smile is full of mischief, but not the kind that made Louise worried.

“Now, what are you gettin’ me into, Mary?”

“Nothing you can’t weather. Now, go on. You’ve got a lot of packing to do.”

“Wait, I’m leaving?” Louise questions, with a bewildered look.

“Yes, your new co-workers are going to be picking you up in half an hour. Let me know if they don’t treat you nicely.” Mary states with a protective look in her lively eyes.

“Sure will, Mary,” Louise states as she turns back around and walks back to her room and closes the door behind her. Her mind was in a kind of fog while she did as Mary told her, and starts packing.

Starting with her clothing. It’s only when she finishes folding her last pair of blue jeans that it clicks. She was leaving. Leaving for a new job at a new place, with unknown tasks, and with no interview, just a promise of an old lady.

“What the flying fuck, just happened?” She tilts back and lands on her bed, confusion on her face and frustration in her yellow eyes.

‘There goes flying under the radar, I’d thought they’d never find me.’

“Well, no use in overthinking it now, they may not even know.” She sits up and goes back to packing. Soon all but two of her most precious belongings are packed away in one medium sized rolling suitcase. Those two items are two old-action rifles. Each has their own carrying case, so transporting them isn’t the problem. Being seen with them was. Especially with newer folks.

“This is going to be interesting.” Most people that know her, know that the rifles are memorabilia. Rather than actual shooting rifles. But her new co-workers/employers? Don’t. She looks up at the time to see that her ride will be over in five minutes, to take her to an undisclosed location. She knew how this stuff went, it wasn’t her first rodeo.

So with no better idea she grabs the two rifles and slings them over each shoulder, grabs her bag and walks out of her quarters for over three years, off into a new life.