#like a cabin on a mountain somewhere in the wilderness

[lesdeuxxx]

I haven’t talked on here in a while lol. I was on shamey twt primarily but I fear I burned some of those bridges (for good reason) alongside trying to find something to do with myself.

I spend way too much time alone at home and I hate it. I’m trying to learn to drive, but it’s exceptionally difficult when my mother is neurotic asf, dosent have any trust in me, and is the only person I can ask to teach me. I spent the past few weeks tuning up her husbands old bike, but the thing keeps falling apart on me because it’s older than I am and as a gay, I know nothing about mechanics. But im sick of being home all day bed rotting, and biking is sort of an okay release. If only I could afford to buy myself one…

I’m still not working. 20 applications, four rejection emails, and that’s it. I’m lucky I saved so much money up, but right now things are just rough. I’m trying to find some way to make money online, maybe selling my art online, or doing something else creative, and as of this moment I’m going down the “Kat Hernandez” route and it’s no where close to paying off. I haven’t found my audience yet. It’s not fun, and I’m stressing myself out trying to find some way to side hustle or something and nothing seems to be working. Im nervous about the day I run out of money in my checking account.

I haven’t really done anything artistic in a long time. The writing I do, I’m stuck on. I haven’t even wanted to draw anything in a while.

Also I keep getting my profiles on various apps taken down. Which Apps I won’t disclose, but I keep getting banned from things. It’s starting to really piss me off. The internets the only way I can communicate with the outside world and socialize. There aren’t rules in real life, there shouldn’t be rules on the internet either.

I’m in a really bad spot. I don’t know where to go from here. I feel like being at home instead of a school building or something is really contributing to the problem. I associate home with relaxation, you don’t do anything you don’t want to do, because you’re in absolute control. The only problem is i literally don’t want to do anything.

[beloveds-embrace]

(poly 141 x recluse reader)

I wrote this in a rush sorry yall 😔

The wind howled through the valley, carrying flurries of ice that bit at your skin as you trudged through the knee-deep snow. This high up in the mountains, winter never truly loosened its grip. It had been a quiet season, with little to disturb the peace of your secluded home.

Until tonight, that is.

You first saw the blood, stark against the pristine white. Then the trail- a jagged, uneven path of someone desperate and wounded.

And then him.

A man, half-buried in the snow, shivering and barely conscious. His beard was flecked with frost, tactical gear dark with blood. You crouched beside him, pressing two fingers to his throat. His pulse was weak but steady.

A survivor.

It wasn’t the first time the wilderness had delivered a lost soul to your doorstep, but at least it wasn’t a dead one. With a sigh, you hoisted his near-dead weight onto your back and carried him home.

It took a week and a half before he finally woke up, time in which you spent tending to him and his injuries.

John awoke to the smell of burning wood and the distant sound of a knife slicing through something firm. His head was still heavy with fever, but the warmth wrapped around him was unlike anything he had felt in what seemed like weeks.

He shifted, and immediately, a voice cut through the quiet.

“Don’t.”

His eyes flickered open.

You stood over a table, back turned to him, methodically cutting strips of dried venison. You didn’t look at him, but your tone was firm, yet still kind.

“You’re not strong enough to get up.”

John blinked, sluggishly taking in his surroundings. The cabin was small but sturdy, the stone fireplace crackling with warmth. Fur-lined blankets weighed down his aching body. He had been stripped of his heavy gear, left in a thick knit sweater that was definitely not his. It smelled faintly of vanilla.

He tried to sit up anyway. As a result, sharp pain lanced through his ribs, and he bit back a curse.

“See?” you said dryly, finally turning to look at him fully. “Told you.”

John exhaled roughly, running a hand over his face. “Where- ?”

“Somewhere safe.”

That was all you offered.

John studied you in the firelight, his tactical mind still sluggish but observant. You weren’t military- your clothes were practical, but not issued. You moved with practiced efficiency, your cabin well-kept, stocked with supplies only someone used to self-sufficiency would have.

A recluse.

He had met people like you before. Ones who chose to live outside the world. And your cabin reminded him of an emergency hut that belonged to Nikolai, though yours was definitely far more lived in.

But what struck him was the quiet steadiness in which you handled him. Not fearful. Not overly kind. Just… there.

And that, more than anything, settled something deep in his bones. Warm and deep- and far better than the fever plaguing him at the moment.

Said fever that when broke, the first thing he asked for was his team.

You hesitated, watching him from where you stirred a pot over the fire.

“Did they know where you were?” you asked.

John exhaled through his nose. “They knew we were in the mountains. We got separated when the things went sideways.” His jaw clenched. “They’ll be looking.”

You nodded once. “Then they’ll find you- I have a flare gun that can be used.”

And true to your words, they did.

It started with footprints. You noticed them even before John did, your senses tuned to the quiet of the land.

Then the feeling. A weight in the air. Something watching, watching, watching- until they decided you were not a threat.

John was already moving- slower than he would have liked, but determined. He stepped onto the porch, breath misting in the cold. His sharp eyes scanned the tree line.

Then-

“Price!”

A flash of movement.

The first one to break from the trees was- as he-d later introduce himself- Soap. He moved fast, determined, boots crunching through the snow.

Price barely had time to brace himself before the Scot barreled into him, gripping his shoulders in an almost bruising hold.

“Steamin’ Jesus, Cap,” Soap breathed, eyes scanning over him, searching for injuries. “You- bloody hell- we thought-“

The others emerged next, more controlled but no less frantic. Gaz exhaled sharply, tension visibly draining from his shoulders. Ghost had an unmistakable tightness in his jaw as he stopped beside them.

(Strange military callsigns, you’ll think to yourself later).

Price huffed, patting Soap’s arm. “I’m alright, Johnny.”

Soap didn’t look convinced. Neither did the others, and that’s when their attention finally shifted- to you, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, watching the reunion silently.

The weight of their collective scrutiny settled heavily, and John noticed the way their stances changed- protective, defensive. And then, realization.

It wasn’t just that they had found him. It was where they had found him. With you.

“You took care of him.” Gaz finally said.

It wasn’t quite a question.

You met his gaze, steady and unflinching. “He was half-dead on my doorstep.” A pause, to give them just enough time to understand that you weren’t a threat. “Seemed wasteful to let him die.”

A muscle in Ghost’s jaw twitched. Soap was still looking at you like he was trying to solve a puzzle, and then coming up empty-handed when he realized there were lost pieces.

Then John chuckled, low and warm, and that shifted the tension. “She’s got a point.”

Their Captain was alive. That was what mattered.

For now.

You thought they would leave, truthfully.

You had done your part; John was healed. He had his pack again. The logical thing would be for them to disappear back into whatever world they had come from, far away from your life of safe, quiet solitude. The snow would cover their footprints and their presence eventually.

But they didn’t.

At first, it was excuses. John still needed time to fully recover. The blizzard made travel dangerous. They needed a place to regroup fully.

Then, it was something else.

John started reinforcing your cabin’s defenses- setting up more tripwires than the ones they’d ruined in their pursuit of finding John, repositioning the perimeter to make it more secure. “Just in case, lass. Ya can never be too sure.” He’d said with a grin.

Gaz took to handling supply runs. He was always attentive, always watching. He learned your habits, how you did your things, quicker than you expected, somehow always anticipating what you might need before you asked.

Ghost was quieter, but his presence was constant. He lingered. Observed. You often caught his gaze on you, sharp and unreadable beneath his mask. And then he’d silently picked up the duty of hunting.

And John acted like he had always been here.

He had an ease about him that made it hard to argue. He helped where it was needed, spoke when he had something worth saying, and settled into your space like he belonged. And simultaneously had such command about him that you’d find yourself tongue-tied when you’d truly attempt to argue and kick them out.

It was unsettling.

Because you knew what this was; they weren’t just staying.

They were claiming- even if they’d have to leave for their military job, eventually. Claiming your time, your space, your presence.

You saw it in the way they positioned themselves- between you and the outside world. The way their sharp gazes tracked any movement that wasn’t theirs. The way they subtly adjusted to your routines, not forcing their presence, but weaving into your life as if it was inevitable.

You weren’t stupid. You knew how wolves like them worked.

John was the leader. Their Captain. And where he went, the others followed.

And now, they had set their sights on you.

[archivesctrccio]

CAN'T CATCH ME NOW. † traviz martinez.

ᓚ͏͡͏✦ where in the doomcoming, reader saves Travis from the girls, but instead of them dropping everything - they hunt her down instead.

ᓚ͏͡͏✦ warnings.. pure angst.

ᓚ͏͡͏✦ words.. 384.

✎ᝰ.jinx notes.. kinda sobbed while writing this omgg. hope you like it <3

Travis still remembers how quickly it all happened. - Jackie, the girls, you saving him. 

But he remembers in details what the girls did to you.

The cut they made in your throat wasn't enough to kill you, since you managed to run away. He remembers how they ran after you as if you were an animal. How you fell off a cliff. How they just watched, terribly drugged, and started laughing.

The next day, it was Travis who picked up your body. He just stayed by your side for ten minutes, observing how different you looked after the fall, but it was still you. 

He took your body back to the cabin, and the girls decided to bury your body with those who didn't survive the plane crash, as if you hadn't survived along with everyone else, as if all the memories he made with you in the short time you were with him after the plane crash were going to disappear completely.

But he still remembers, even twelve months later.

He remembers how you were the only one who laughed at his unfunny jokes. How sometimes when you realized he was feeling down, you'd start humming a song you knew he liked and ask him to dance. He remembers it all too well.

The ghosts of the two of you were still there every time he passed somewhere in the forest where you used to go to spend time alone away from the girls' gazes. You didn't go away from his mind, you probably never would.

Sometimes, when Lottie managed to convince him that there was a spirit greater than them in the wilderness, he imagined it was you. Still there. Still trapped in that place because your death was unjust and cruel. Still watching them, and somehow protecting Travis. And he can still see blood on the side of the mountain. Maybe it was your greater spirit never letting them forget what happened.

Some people say grief makes you kinder, others say it makes you angrier. He doesn't dismiss both ideas, he sees how grief has affected Shauna. He also feels angry every time the girls wear any of your clothes, as if it wasn't somehow their fault that you were dead and buried. But mourning has left him empty, without purpose.

[senka-mesecine]

So, what if...and hear me out on this...the authorities got involved? The reader can either be a missing hiker Barnes took, someone he kidnapped, someone he rescued and whisked away, imprisoned with him up in the mountains. Doesn't matter. What's important is that the cops are hot on the trail of this missing person's case and it leads them to Barnes's cabin up in the hills after a year or maybe even two after you dropped off the radar. I don't know, but I just really enjoy the notion of people from outside reacting to Barnes' and the reader's relationship.

Bride Kidnapping in the Appalachians.

---

Robert Barnes x Reader.

---

― Kidnapping, which is forcibly taking a person against their will for the purposes of a felony, is usually a multi jurisdictional matter involving multiple agencies and usually involving the Feds. The classic kidnapping for ransom is pretty darn rare in the US these days actually.

It was 1973, after all.

Not in this neck of the woods, though.

In this particular neck of the woods laws were ageless, in effect, time having stopped moving in many a ways, or rather, if it moved it moved in a way it choose to move, winding around like a snake, all clever and elusive, having a mind of its own rendering whatever happened down there, in the towns, villages and settlements lining the foot of the mountain obsolete the further one moved up the top, beyond the barrier of the mists and the clouds and into the bosom of the evergreen mountains, Officer Jackson knew as much, having been born and growing up around The Smokies, being just as aware it was always a particular kind of people that chose to be isolated and lonesome in the wilderness; the hermits, the moonshiners, the smugglers, crazed hunting enthusiasts, folks up to no good and in this case, them Vietnam war Vets; the way people in the village located in the woodsy hamlet at the end of the junction road riddled with parked trailers, trucks and truckers taking a brief rest before hitting the highway, benches and the cars of so many campers leading up the hills spoke about Robert E. Lee Barnes like he was the damn Yeti or the Sasquatch — in strictly fantastical terms. Heck, even the asshole’s full name sounded fantastical and worthy of an eyebrow raise. Now, he’s heard folks give many a questionable name to their offspring ‘round these parts, but going as historical as this eluded even him. He scarcely believed the man was real until the Detective’s secretary, seated next to him grimly on the passenger’s seat pulled up this big fish’s service record and just looking at his picture caused him an unease not unlike looking a photographic evidence from the sense of a car crash would’ve.

One scarred, ugly ass motherfucker with dead, killer shark eyes.

A facial scar that sent a jot of phantom paint down Jackson’s own cheek.

If anyone was responsible for disappearing you?

It had to have been him.

The case so ridiculously one note, transparent and black and white it almost solved itself.

He, this Barnes figure, lived up there; the only one who lived up there, in fact.

 — Your trail was lost there approximately two years ago now.

Somehow, it clicked into place like a perfectly God-given puzzle piece.

This Barnes fella’ — he undoubtedly took you, had his fun as was to be expected from some anti social mountain dwelling type, stuffed you into several bags once he was sated, dug you into some overgrown, wild, muddy ditch; somewhere where only the wolves would roam over the soil of your unmarked tomb and called it a day. Jackson almost gulps wondering what a man like that does to some deluded little woman like you roaming these mountains with a backpack on her shoulders thinking she’s in charge of anything out here where everything that can go wrong will go wrong within the blink of an eye; if Jackson could have his way, in fact, he’d make roaming up the Appalachian trail illegal or at least put up signs that say ‘Enter at your own Risk’. Make it illegal for womenfolk, if nothing else. Pretty thing too; Jackson had your face from the missing posters committed to memory — the old case has been circulating in the newspaper for so long they could had to put something in the unfinished, now dusty report and putting something in the report meant going up there, into the mountains and actually looking at the situation, up close and personal; Detective Campbell clears his throat, search warrants and documents in a black leather briefcase on his lap, a navy blue rain jacket, a matching sweater, a white dress shirt and a tie underneath it all; the higher ups have been on his ass over the unresolved story for six months now; said it tampers with tourist prospects. Ain’ nobody gonna be climbing up that mountain anymore if a reputation for unsolved disappearances gets tied to it — nobody but the loonies who are drawn to the mystique of that sort of thing, but that wasn’t the type of crowd honest folk here wanted to attract anyway; so here they were, their vehicle jumping suddenly, the dusty trail becoming rocky, violently jolting up and stopping, disappearing behind the pine tree. Couldn’t keep driving even they wanted to. They would have to leave the car here and continue on foot. Any attempts to actually navigate this from behind a steering wheel would result in their engine falling out like a fistful of shit.. -"Well, reckon that’s it, Detective —"- Jackson remarks, shutting the motor off and removing the key. -”No driving up that monstrosity.”- He points the point of his nose vaguely, in front of them and the wilderness that enveloped the eternity of their front windshield; no road and all woodland — dark green, vast and wild. -"Should be some an odd mile up that steep slope; We can try our luck on foot."- He points only to look down, by instinct, at the choice of Campbell’s footwear; a pair of those hoytie-toytie half boots gentlemen around Nashville tended to peacock themselves in. Could do the job. Not ideally, though. -"Hope those are up to the challenge."- He asks, half in jest, halfway entirely serious, but by then, Campbell’s hand was already grabbing the interior handle of the car’s door, showing himself outside, adjusting his own jacket, making himself all official like while he was slamming the door behind him. Fair ‘nuff. Jackson was only tryin’ to be practical and sound of mind. Never understood city folk who refused to dress for the occasion.

-"What sort of man lives up here willingly anyway?"-

Campbell remarks, deep in thought, staring up, towards the ridge of the mountain.

Contemplating.

He didn’t really know how to answer that in simple terms.

What sort of man indeed.

Anyone who’s ever caught a glimpse of Barnes driving down into town to stock up every other month or so, Jackson supposed, would understand that this place fit him like a glove fits a hand.

-"Used to be an old mining town up those parts —"- 

Jackson rubs his fingers together, attempting to ward off the chill.

-"Coal, you see."-

He adds, walking around the car, joining Campbell in the act of sightseeing; scoping the territory out.

-"Didn’t even have no name — just a serial number."-

He explains things he’s heard others say, things that were fact, things re-constructed from memory; one thing being certain — he always believed there was basically something wrong with never naming a place where flesh and blood people once dwelled and made their hard earned work, toil and lives; like having a child and refusing to Christen it. Not unlike summoning the devil to one’s doorstep. No wonder the place went and got depopulated. Not that a Nashville boy like Detective Campbell would believe such superstitions and Jackson didn’t expect him to; he figured he just wanted to paint a picture. Try and portray the type of people that inhabited this place. -"Died out around the 30’s. Left nothing but a ghost settlement behind and the scattered bones of infrastructure once there was nothing to dig."-  He continued, the distant, echoing cry of the Loon bird interjecting with his speech, causing him to shiver. -"But, some folks sure are stubborn, keen to cut off their noses to spite their faces."- Jackson shakes his head, crossing his arms around his chest, settling deeper into his insulated puffer jacket for heat. -"When I was a kiddie himself, there was some five families still up there, ah, but that was a long time ago. Then, it was down to two. Then one."- He asses anecdotally, remembering it like it was yesterday; people refusing to move when the government made efforts to landgrab and clear out that side of the hills, shutting down mining shafts, clearing it off scattered, old equipment so hikers could move around uninterrupted; couldn’t say he blamed them for digging their heels in and standing their ground, refusing to be chased out of their homes built with the sweat and blood of their coal miner grandfathers. Even if the surrounding soil was said to be contaminated from all that digging. -"Now, last I heard, it’s that Barnes fella went as far as digging himself even further away from the mining facility — downright turnin’ hermit like he’s Grizzly Adams."- Jackson waves his head, vaguely, in the direction of the summit of the pine tree riddled mountain; they say there was a cabin up there and that he resided up there even when the whole damn place was six months under the blanket of snow, all roads, natural or otherwise cut off. Detective Campbell turns his scrutinizing, watchful eye from the precipice of the wilderness enveloped in a thin, scattering mist and looks knowingly at him, fishing a cigarette out one of those fancy pants cigarette boxes, pushing one into his mouth; this was a job for homegrown, country cops who knew their elbow from their assholes, not these slick, dandy Nashville birds, but Jackson was willing to take whatever and however was given to him.

On the subject of Barnes:

 -"So, he can’t be sane."- 

Campbell quips simply, tilting his head, giving his diagnosis with an air of absolute conviction.

Like the good sir believed a man’s close proximity to nature rendered him abnormal.

Jackson’s almost offended, being a backwoods kid himself.

Choosing to hide the ache of the jab.

Fucking city slicker.

-"He’s sure’s sumn’ frightenin’ to behold."-

Jackson retorts back, shrugging his shoulders, trying to joke and make light of the situation but being unable to deny the nervousness starting to seep into his pores as he watched the man flick his lighter, dragging in the smoke, letting it coil from his mouth; Thank Christ almighty they’ve been greenlit to bear arms. The devil himself couldn’t make him come up here and stand at the precipice of the steep, jagged, rocky path that led further into the forest with nothing but a warrant against someone who’s service record, for all intents and purposes, described him as a virtual killing machine who’s survived being shot in action anywhere from seven to nine times. Seemed almost Biblical. Mythical. Something a snake handling, Strychnine drinking Preacher would describe someone from the Good Book do during a Sunday sermon.

-"Cigarette?"-

Campbell offers, pushing the shiny box his way; one for the road.

-"Don’t mind if I do, sir!”-

Jackson reaches forward almost immediately relieved, glad he was given something to alleviate the growing trepidation in his nerves.

—

The fog only manages to thicken instead of dispersing around approximately ten o’clock.

Ten o’clock in the forenoon and the mist became as white as milk in certain places, drifting through the pine trees like smoke, saturating the visibility with a sense of something that could only be referred to as the fog of war and Jackson knew all about that term; he had men on his force who served — in Vietnam and Korea alike. Good men too. Well adjusted. Proper. He respected the veterans. Any man willing to put in the time to shed blood for his country was alright in his book, but something about this fella’ didn’t sit quite right with Jackson —- all this eerie silence, all this desolation, hell, he believed that if either of them dropped a needle right about now it would just about echo all across this mountain like fireworks going off  — with each step taken, a sensation that only settled in deeper and deeper into his belly like a heavy, heated anvil; a notion he had to begrudgingly agree with city slicker Campbell, not that he’d ever admit to outloud under pain of death — no saneminded, healthy person would ever choose to live here, in what was effectively a graveyard — the amount of old, rusty mining carts, steel beam pipes overgrown with moss and packing crates with lids that have collapsed in on themselves exposed to the elements that they’ve bypassed being something Jackson’s lost count of. At one point, what could’ve only been a diner in better times, now with bricked up windows and a heavy, metal lock on the door is one of the many attractions they bypass and Jackson semi-expected the ghost of a dead miner to saunter past them at the end of his shift and off for some egg and bacon, tip his working helmet charred black and greet them with a stout Howdy. 

An old ramshackle collection of overgrown sheds.

A rusty Ford pickup truck with the paint peeled off dotted with dried up bird excrement. A wooden house that had a tree growing through its dented roof; the foliage disappearing in the mist. A pheasant crossing their path in a haste, running from one bush to another, startling the living daylights out of them.

After a while the road that seemed like it was freshly walked upon, beaten in by the soles of a well worn set of boots clears out, devoid of the populated junk, leaving nothing but the woodland slope behind, moving upward, always upward and they genuinely use whatever was on hand, the occasional branch, shrubbery, boulder rock as makeshift armrests to avoid tumbling backwards and losing their balance, the occasional slip-up of their footwear scraping against the soil, sending pebbles flying back, towards the bosom of the abandoned colony behind them  — God never created such a wretched place. And this Barnes fella was downright spawned there or so his birth certificate claimed, every bit of information on this man sounding more fake than the previous, but somehow in his heart of hearts once the edge of the horizon breaks and what seemed like the top of a smoking chimney and a roof appears in the distance through the fog Jackson knew it was all true. Detective Campbell halts for a second, catching his breath in his hoytie toytie gentleman’s straight city asphalt walking shoes, taking in the sight, reaching the end of the road connecting to a clearing in the forest where a homestead stood — not at all a shabby affair to behold by the looks of it. Sheds, a path that led to it, a garden in the distance, some laundry drying on a string — heck, it even had a little fence. Funnily enough — even a singular electrical poll leading up to this very house — the last one, attached to the building like the end of the line and all civilization. A stack of wood for the stove as tall as a wall adjoined to the side of the house; the sound of thumping, muted by the mountain’s echo. There was someone at home. Cutting firewood, perhaps? He and Campbell give each other meaningful looks, proceeding further up the property, cautiously, leisurely, yet threading warily. It was like stumbling upon the lost land of Lilliput hidden behind the rainbow; still difficult to wrap one’s head around the notion a living person actually lived here, especially when taking into consideration the ghost settlement they had to pass through first; the fence squeaks a little as they open it, stepping into what was effectively a front porch, a man with his back turned, slick with sweat is the backyard working an axe, chopping stumps — skin rust colored and riddled with scars — he turns, just as leisurely as they’ve waltzed in and even if Jackson doesn’t see it, it’s like he feels, second-hand, the tension caught in Campell’s throat in spite of the confidence he puts up as a wall once the zig-zag scars of the man’s face are facing them even if from afar. Straightening out his form he looked like the type of thing you only hear old folks talk about showing up in the mountains, with no confirmation of anyone actually seeing it.

-"Robert E. Lee Barnes?"- 

Campbell calls out, questioning, holding his badge up. The man sets down his axe, lodging it into a stump, grabbing a rag and wiping his hands. Approaching them slowly, like he wasn’t at all in a hurry. Only when he’s close enough does Jackson notice he had a cigarette hanging from his mouth. He supposed he was too distracted by the scars to notice.

-"We’ve a search warrant for this property. Mind if we took a closer inspection of perimeters?"-

Campbell explains and Barnes’s mouth moves, almost in confirmation, mouthing a ‘eyup’. Never actually uttering it out loud, throwing his jaw out instead, eying the piece of paper. Jackson could almost swear the man looked halfway haughty, like…like he’s been expecting them. Might’ve even heard them too — ever since they parked the car at the foot of this rocky peak.

In any case, his file didn’t do him justice where appearances were concerned.

This had to have been the most singularly frightening man he’s ever seen up close.

 -"Sergeant, we’re looking for —"- 

Campbell starts verbally unfolding their reason for being here, Jackson’s hand instinctively flinching to go and reach for his firearm, never actually doing it, tensing up from the man’s deep abiding, self contented silence, only for the detective’s words to be cut off by the sounds of footsteps on a squeaking floorboard from inside translating to activity on the front porch once a smaller figure emerges from the shadowed darkness of the doorway’s threshold. A woman. The woman. Startled, and then partially surprised. Then smiling. It was you. You. -"Hello?"- You say, acknowledging them like a hostess would acknowledge her guests. What in the great big balls of fire — he and Campbell exchange looks for the second time, quickly, in a panicked haste, quickly regaining their footing; Campbell’s hands fly to his hips in a visible state of exasperation he couldn’t, no doubt, express any other way. -"Good day, ma’am; Detective Campbell and Officer Jackson; Care to identify yourself?"- The detective spits those words out cordially yet with the quickness of a firing bullet, Jackson’s eyes catching the gesture of your hand coming protectively over what was the swelling curve of a belly peeking from underneath you dress and before he could even register the thought and conclude what he was looking at a toddler scampers past your feet and then another, dragging itself, still not having learned to walk. Barnes’s head was so high up now from the sidelines one could only deem him unbearably proud.  -"Now, whose children are these?"- The Detective goddamn nearly stutters, caught entirely off guard, eying the younguns. -"Ours."- You chuckle, answering almost immediately, picking up the toddler and holding it in your arms with a little smile, then growing a glance at the offending mountain man who’s made himself decent in the meantime, putting on a shirt as oily greyish green as the rest of his outfit; something very army-like about the way he was dressed. Like he didn’t change much about his looks from the very day he was deployed to the very day he arrived back home. -"Mine and Bobby’s."- You add and that nickname, however inconspicuous, causes the hairs on the back of Jackson’s neck to stand. Bobby? Calling a man like that Bobby was like naming one of them bloodthirsty hellhound Pitbulls Baby.  -"Are you police officers?"- You ask downright sweetly, your gaze travelling between the Barnes fella and them like someone looking for comfort; Jackson immediately catches the detail and he knew Campbell did too. You fidget a little, hiccupping baby in your arms, stepping aside only slight, the passageway to the front door on the porch open to them --- welcoming. This was one surreal bitch of a situation. They didn't even expect to find you alive, least of all ---

-"Do you — do you want come inside?"-

You inquire, somewhat shy seeming, your eyes on Barnes once more.

-"Bobby, we should invite them inside."-

You try for courtesies and the man who hasn't set a word since they've arrived him nods only barely, behind them the entire time as you led the way forward with a small smile, children in tow, one in your belly, two around you --- Three in two years? A set of twins? What the fuck was going on here? How'd that even function? Barnes would've have to work overtime to...gosh almighty, he would've had to keep working at it one after the other, when you were barely healed and shit. That animal, Jackson thinks bitterly, seated at the man's own dining table, inside of the man's own kitchen, all brown wooden paneling and brown wooden colors. -"Now, Ma’am, we won't bore you long; I’ll cut right to the chase —"- Campbell begins, before he's even properly plopped down into his own chair, clearly impatient to start, wanting to get to the bottom of this real bad, Barnes seated at the head of the table, fishing a cigarette out of his pocket somewhere, your diligent hand there to wordlessly light it for him. This was...like some sort of circus or other; they came here searching for the carcass and the remains of an abduction victim and they found...a pliant wife playing house up here with this man who's very presence caused all the air to seep out from between the hold of a four wall kitchenette. Campbell starts opening his briefcase and it's only then that Jackson remembers to breathe properly. The Detective produces the necessary paper, flicking through his folders and files. -"You realize there’s been a whole hoo-ha and that your face has been in every newspaper for the past two years now? That you’ve been pronounced missing? That your hiking group —"- He throws his glance down on all the signed testimonials; some several of them in total, only to shrug it off curtly. —"Well, I won’t read out their names —"- He clears his throat, shrugging quickly. -"But, rather the point is that they reported you missing, on November 14th, 1971?"- He looks at you, no doubt searching your face for any and all confirmation as you set next to what you deemed your husband who's face was semi-enveloped in the haze of tobacco smoke curling and coiling around his face like a veil. Not a shred of fear on that one. Not a shred of fear. Robert Barnes looked like he was a man just about ready for a cookout, legs and thighs spread out under him on the chair that seemed too small for his form. Campbell doesn't like that, Jackson knew, so Campbell ups the ante --- there was a display vitrine of firearms and shotguns hanging off the kitchen wall. Repeating Winchesters and Carabiners. Jackson feels caught looking at them, Barnes noticing that he noticed.

The threat is vague but ever present.

-"That some of them speculated you dead or a victim of a serious crime?"-

His tone of voice was harsher now, accusatory, impatient.  

-"Now, there’s no law or regulation against a kidnapped person hiding from those searching for her, but I must say this is wholly unethical —"-

He begins, only to be cut off.

You chuckle, not unkindly.

 -"Sir, I’m not kidnapped."-

You correct.

 -"I’m married."-

You explain, the weight of that one word rendering this entire thing obselete.

 -"This is my husband."- 

You add, throwing a fond look at the quiet, shit-your-breeches frightening man beside you.

—

-"Now, what in the blazes is the whole shit here!? What sort of wild goose chase is this anyway!?"-

One marriage certificate later and two weddings bands being produces as confirmation, Campbell paces angrily on the back porch overlooking a tree lot of pines, hand running through his hair, tightly pushed together lips practically seething venom. -"Married!? She's married!?"- He whispers, wide eyed, lowering his voice even further like he was careful to ensure the walls didn't have ears. -"To him!?"- He almost mouths those words instead of uttering them out loud causing Jackson to shake his head, staring out into the misty, overcast woodlands embracing the back of the house like a mother's warm, green bosom. -"M’fraid we can’t arrest a man for puttin’ a ring on a woman’s finger and settlin’ down’n’ popping out a litter; not even out here."- He crosses his arms over his chest; shoot, he expected this situation to turn out in a million different ways but this one sure wasn't one of them; seems like all they did is butt into someone's home, disturbing their routine and shit. -"But, it’s a clear case of coercion! Hostage infatuated with the captor! "- Campbell pushes his face towards his own, pointing with his whole hand, vaguely towards the front of the house; yeah, figured this wouldn't look good on them papers --- hiker found over two years later, married to local loose screw weirdo, more on page six. Might just be bad for tourism and marketing and deter people from climbing up here. Or it could do merely well to inspire them to hike around these mountains lookin' for freshwater babes that'll coax them into the woods too and whisk them away to some forest wild hamlet somewhere, never to be seen again by no living eyes. Jackson chuckles into his own chin at the notion. -"He sits there, saying nothing. Just watches with those beady eyes."- Campbell paces, back and worth, back and forth, only to turn on his heel with a newfound, firm determination. He halts suddenly, shaking his index finger vehemently. -"I’m getting to the bottom of this."- He saunters hastily and it takes a near Herculean effort for Jackson to keep up, nearly running after him on the circular porch that wrapped around the whole house, following the Detective back into the house to at least be present and de-escalate from anything batshit happening; sure, he was here doing his job, but he sure as heck wasn't willing to die retrieving some crazy broad who's gone and tied the knot with some white trash with a chewed up face; that same man's eyes on them in an instant, already poised towards the threshold before they even cross it properly, staring them down from where he was seated at the table, your back turned towards the counter, minding the meal cooking on the stove. Instinctively, the Barnes fella stands up, some would say like a gentleman of courtesy, but Jackson knew, it was much rather like a man ready to pounce and fight. -"Now, don’t get up on my account, Mr. Barnes."- Campbell gives him leave with a hand raised, focusing his attention on you instead. Why, Jackson hasn't heard a thing out of this Sergeant Robert E. Lee's mouth since they've arrived, yet somehow, he figured they didn't have to hear anything out of him, almost like he said everything by merely being silent, more so when the Detective addresses you and the man's eyes get sharper, unblinking. You wipe your hands into your apron. Removing it and hanging it on a nearby chair.

-"Ma’am, would you mind if I had a private consultation with you; just a standard issue interview one on one. Maybe in of these little rooms here."- 

Wounded pride Campbell gestures and you follow.

—

The first thing that catches Jackson's attention are all the photos.

Framed pictures on the nightstand, the occasional one hanging on the wall, commodes lined with what seemed like pictures of a marriage, uniformed affairs of some circumstance, the birth of children or simply put --- just you; Campbell leaves the door of what he could only deduce was a bedroom half ajar, just enough for Jackson to stand on the threshold leaning against the frame with his arms crossed and to conclude that if this Barnes fella had a favorite thing in the world to look at it sure was reflected in the subject of the polaroid's picked to display. For all he was concerned, their business here was long since settled. He saw the way things were. Just a man loving on his woman, is all. But, the Detective? He persists. Sure a stubborn mule, that one. -"Now, is he keeping you here by force? Has force been used in your settling here? Maybe some sort of blackmail? A threat of violence? Against you or the children?"- Campbell leans his head down, neck bending in order for his eyes to be on an equal eyelevel with your own; a common interrogating tactic when playing the Good Cop; make the subject feel like they could trust whoever it was interviewing them. Bet the man's ego took a bruising; the fact that they'd climb down from here empty handed, looking the fools. Jackson could live with being a fool; he wasn't paid enough to be Elliott Ness-ing all over Appalachia. Not with that man still seated at the kitchen table, smoking, staring daggers at him from across the corridor, causing a chill to run down his spine. -"See, your hiking team seemed to have reasons to believe your disappearance was nefarious in nature and not a mere mishap."- Campbell says, pushing on once your silence yields no results and you look away, body language tense, putting up walls, staring through the veil of the lacey curtain keeping the shadows detained within the hallowed intimacy of the bedroom --- felt weird being here in the first place, just merely standing on this threshold now --- resembled standing on the precipice of a swampy creek populated by alligators, dangling a bleeding hand over the deathly still, green murky waters, tempting fate. Campbell's exasperated at your lack of cooperation, clicking his tongue in annoyance --- try as he may have, he was attempting to put words into your mouth but said words just wouldn't stick. -"Ma’am, I can’t do anything to help unless you’re honest with me and I understand a victim isn’t always willing to speak in front of —"-

-"I am no victim."-

You finally interject.

-"I hiked up here and I met a man."-

Adding immediately after, all matter-of-factly and straight to the point.

-"He offered me shelter. We fell in love. I stayed and never climbed down the mountain again. That’s the whole truth."-

You shrug, simply, nothing else to declare, hitting a verbal bullseye.

-"But why did you at no point attempt to get in contact with the local authorities? Try and go home?"- 

Detective Campbell looks at you square on.

You maintain his gaze firmly. Calmly.

-"This is my home."-

Is all you say.

All you needed to say anyhow, thought Jackson, happy he was going to leave here alive.

—

The march back to the parked police car is a strenuous one.

Peppered with hushed, venomous seething.

This time around, Campbell leading the way in spite of his ill suited footwear.

Trudging through dew drenched soil, the occasional twig snapping beneath him.

Almost like his ire guided him forward, past the tree line, the colony.

Down the steep, rocky pathway of the hill going down.

Fact was, Jackson could only barely keep up.

Hell hath no fury like a Detective who came all the way from Nashville for nothing.

-"Heard about bride kidnappings in the Caucasus, heard about bride kidnappings in the Stans, Africa, heard the VIkings doing it, heard the Comanche back in the days off and riding away with the women, even heard of it happening south of the border, but never in my life did I hear shit like this unfolding under my very nose!"-  

The man mutters in stride, more to himself than Jackson, huffing and puffing all the way to the vehicle still waiting for them where they've left it, the man practically yanking the car door open and throwing himself down on the seat, his ears practically red with what Jackson could only assume was anger breaking out of his pores like wild fire once he's plopped down next to the man, in front of the steering wheel, thanking his lucky stars the Barnes fella didn't stuff them and hang them over the mantlepiece and that it all wrapped up in a vaguely civilized manner. That they didn't have to reach for their guns at any point in time. Especially not with the displayed arsenal that guy had in his goddamned dining room. Nonetheless, the Detective's scowling, displeased mouth plops open, eyes outraged, nose pointing at something back in the forest from whence they came, through the curtain of mist.

-"Look."-

He extends his index finger accusingly and before Jackson could ever properly register which direction he should be looking at or what he was searching for exactly in the disorienting vista of wilderness the man was there, standing on a cliffside overlooking the dented valley where their car was situated, nestled into the bosom of the forest. Arms crossed behind his back, legs akimbo, Jackson was either hallucinating things or this man was actually...smiling. Down at them. -"Look at that redneck hillbilly asshole, taunting us. Knowing we can’t do shit against him."- Campbell was as infuriated as a caged bulldog, hand practically gripping his own knee as Jackson started pulling backwards with the car, slowly, trying not to hit some stray rock with his tire on his way back; the Barnes guy in the frame of their eyesight, scarred face distorting at the seams under the pressure of his lips unfurling, his pale eyes almost like a pair of hollows from this distance. Funny how a man could witness the most harrowingly scary image in his life and he still had to mundanely keep doing his job, maneuvering his vehicle backwards, trying to keep a cool head; truth was, Jackson could feel his legs shake on the pedals, goosebumps erupting all over his skin. If anything, this was a wordless sign relayed back to them through a singular action; Stay out of my territory. You'll wont set a foot out here again and I know it. I'm taunting you with. -"He’s really, honestly there with that shit-eating grin of his face. Piece of shit smug bastard."- Campbell murmurs icily as the mossy, ancient cliffside got smaller and smaller, further and further away from them, Barnes's presence no less strangling --- just standing there, watching them pull out what could effectively be the equivalent of his driveway. Jackson, for one, couldn't wait to be back at the Station sifting through boring old speeding violations, the odd case of vagrancy or petty theft at the local Piggly Wiggly. Was certainly infinitely less stressful. -"Best let sleepin’ dogs lie, chief."- He manages with the faintest bit of optimism, his voice shaking in his throat as he gives the steering wheel a sharp tug, turning away from the mountain and towards the dirt road, borderline overtaken with the desire to chuckle as he turned the car, driving away from this godforsaken, incomprehensible, baffling bit of back wood. And so he does, the tires thudding, bouncing and screeching on uneven, untamed terrain, but never was there a marrier sound to these old ears. -"I for one I am lookin’ forward to a steaming pitcher of coffee back at the office to wash off this whole road trip. Hope I never have to drive out here again, so hear me God."- He remarks hopefully, relieved like never before, the looming forest speeding away in a blur all around them like a fever dream he'd like to forget, glancing at the side review mirror next to him, reflecting the colossal, imposing cliffside back to him.

Barnes was no longer standing there.

The steep, jagged, green mountainside held an empty vigil at their departure.

The mist has cleared, replaced by a soft drizzle.

—

A week later, Jackson knew Campbell began typing away furiously, the itch stirring in him once again like a badly digested lunch, fingers working the typewriter loud enough for half of the Station to go echoing with the noise and causing him to be getting as far as the name of his report that was titled as follows; Bride Kidnappings in the Appalachians --- Jackson saw the man ruminating over the unwritten bit of document on a pristine, white piece of paper for a good half an hour or so, the secretary bringing him one cup of coffee and then another while he sat idly in his chair like he was at a loss for words or weighing his options in his mind --- whether it was wise to proceed or not; by the end of his shift and his last day at the smalltown Sheriff's department, he ripped the paper out just as discontent, crumpling it in his hands and throwing it in the nearby garbage bin, leaving for Nashville the next day, saying goodbye to nobody.

Never was Jackson more unburdened in life.

[docdetective]

In The Woods Somewhere

Although Logan had initially found a sense of safety, not from others, but from himself, and now that stillness was turning sour, quickly. The books left behind in the cabin had offered him a brief distraction, something to occupy his mind, but they weren’t enough to keep the edges from fraying. The nightmares had lessened in frequency but not in their intensity. He could manage a few hours of sleep now before jerking awake, heart racing, sweat dampening his skin. When they did come, they were brutal; Jean's face flashing before him, her nightdress soaked in crimson, Marie, her wide, terror-stricken eyes staring up at him as his hands— his hands—coming away wet with her blood. Those memories wrapped around his brain like barbed wire, tightening each night until he could barely breathe.

The wilderness here had been a refuge, a place where the world couldn’t reach him, where he couldn’t hurt anyone else. The icy, vast landscape mirrored the cold inside him, a perfect place to vanish. No one asked questions here, no one pried. He remembered his meeting with the forest ranger, Andi, but she had not bothered him in the two weeks since, so it was just him, the mountains, and the snow. Out here, he didn’t have to think, didn’t have to remember.

He knew he could leave. Any day, he could walk down to the town, catch a bus, and disappear back into civilization. But that thought terrified him more than the isolation. Because Logan knew, deep down, if he went back…what if he wouldn’t be able to control it. There was no hiding in towns, cities, full of cell phones and mutant hating people. He had come out here to get away, to keep the world at a distance, to stop himself from hurting anyone else. In the city, it was only a matter of time before something triggered the rage inside him. A wrong word, a bad memory, and he’d snap. He could already see it; fists flying, blood splattering, faces twisted in pain. The regret, even if they had deserved it, knowing he would be hunted himself.

The wilderness had given him space, a way to control himself. Out here, there was no one to hurt, no one to accidentally destroy, and he could let loose when he needed. He found satisfaction in hurting those that were breaking the law, and there was no telling on him. But it wasn’t enough anymore. He could feel it growing again, the old anger, the old instincts. It scared him—how easy it would be to fall back into it. To let the claws come out and feel the rush of violence take over. He’d lashed out at trees more than once, the feel of his blades tearing into wood, bark splitting under his fists, just to stop the tension from overwhelming him. But even that was losing its edge.

He paced the cabin, hands itching to draw the claws, to do something to stop the restless energy from spiraling out of control. Staring out the frost-covered window, he knew it wasn’t just the wilderness trapping him. He was trapped by his own fear, by the knowledge that he was a ticking time bomb that simply couldn't die, as much as he may want it. 

He snatched the small radio off of the bedside table and ran into the woods, stopping at the edge of a riverbank and stripping his shirt. The icy water shocked his head and instantly he felt relief. He lay down on a shallow rock and let the cold fill his senses as the northern lights danced above.

The nights stretched endlessly as winter dug its claws deeper into the wilderness. For Andi, the isolation wasn’t a punishment—it was a blessing. The cold, the snow, the silence all felt like home. 

As the dark winter months passed, Andi settled into the routine of nights that reached far below freezing temperatures and days with no sun. It was so highly unlikely anyone would ever survive without a set shelter, she thankfully put humans out of her mind and got to focus on the part she loved most, nature in its most unblemished state. This was when she felt true peace, stepping outside and filling her lungs with the crisp air that came with the negative temperatures. The only sounds were the soft thumps of the snow falling from the branches, the swoosh of a bird’s wings, and the rush of water flowing down the river. 

She stepped carefully through the snow, her breath misting in the freezing air, as the colors of the Aurora flickered above her. The energy in the lights danced across her skin, teasing the edges of her control. She could feel it building, the same way it always did, a pulse in time with the shifting lights in the sky.

Suddenly, she stopped. Her heightened senses tingled, and she turned in a slow circle, scanning the trees around her.

Her heart skipped a beat when she saw him, the hulking shadow that was undeniably familiar- the man she had met a few weeks prior, Logan. He stood at the edge of the treeline, half-hidden in shadow, his bare chest catching the faint glow of the lights above. 

Andi blinked, caught off guard, not sensing immediate danger, but taking in the scene for a second. The man radiated a primal kind of intensity that made her skin prickle—not fear, but something else entirely, as he looked at her through his eyebrows. He could be dangerous, she could tell, but not the same kind of dangerous as humans usually were.  

“Didn’t think I’d see anyone at this time of night,” Logan said, almost apologetically, his posture relaxing as he stepped towards her. 

Andi took a breath, forcing herself to act casual despite the thrum of energy buzzing beneath her skin. “I wasn’t expecting to see anyone either,” she said, her voice steady. “But that seems to be a running theme with our encounters, because nothing screams normal like someone shirtless in freezing temperatures.”

Logan huffed, his breath coming out in steamy clouds in the cold air.  “Normal? I think you’ve got the wrong guy for that. Let’s just say I’ve got a high tolerance for freezing my ass off.”

Andi gave a little laugh in return. The guy was funny, too. Certainly didn’t explain how it was physically possible to ice bathe in the winter, but he definitely wasn’t a greasy poacher. 

Logan's gaze was intense, sweeping over her like he was trying to figure her out, too. “And I could ask you the same thing, you’re walking in the woods, alone.”

Andi shrugged, pulling her jacket tighter around herself, though it wasn’t the cold she was trying to guard against. “I like the quiet. The sky’s beautiful tonight.” She glanced up, letting her eyes flicker toward the Northern Lights. 

“Yeah,” he muttered, following her gaze. “It is.”

For a moment, they both stood in silence, watching the lights shimmer and pulse in the dark sky. The colors twisted and bled into each other, casting faint reflections on the snow around them. 

She turned back to him, studying him for a moment. “You live nearby? I’ve only seen one other cabin from my plane, and it's about 5 miles north of  here.”

So she’s the one with the damned plane. “That’s mine.”

“Hmm,” she said, her curiosity piqued. She couldn’t help but be intrigued by him. There was an air of mystery, something deep that he wasn’t saying. And despite herself, she wanted to know more. “Seems like we’re neighbors then.”

“Guess so,” Logan replied, and let his lips twitch into the barest hint of a smirk, surprising himself. It was fleeting, but it caught her attention. He had a nice face when he wasn’t scowling.

Andi studied him for a second longer, her eyes flicking over the hard lines of his shoulders, the rough edges of his jaw. She caught herself, her face warming in spite of the cold. He was handsome in a wild, dangerous way that she hadn’t let herself notice before.

He shrugged on a flannel and started buttoning, his large hands surprisingly nimbly doing up the buttons, too fast, in Andi’s opinion. She had no company up here, and especially no views like that.

He finished and nodded in her direction, the scowl back. “I’ll leave you alone.” 

The words resonated with both of them, him, realizing he couldn’t get attached, and her, sad to see him leave. It had been some time since she had had a conversation with someone other than a sketchy hunter, and although their interactions had been short, she found herself hoping they would run into each other again.

Previous Part Next Part

[galaxysupreme17]

Mother-Daughter Vacation

Y/n = Your Name AgathaRio x daughter!reader

Autumn had settled over the mountains, bringing with it a crisp breeze that smelled of pine and earth. The trees, now ablaze with shades of red, gold, and orange, created a natural mosaic that surrounded the small cabin tucked away at the base of the mountain. For Y/n, Agatha, and Rio, this trip was more than just a break—it was a chance to reconnect and escape from the pressures of magic, duty, and the constant rush of their lives.

The drive up had been filled with quiet excitement. Y/n had managed to convince her moms to take this much-needed vacation after weeks of watching them juggle the demands of being powerful witches, protectors, and parents. The cabin, with its rustic charm and promise of peace, was the perfect retreat.

“Okay, no magic for the weekend,” Y/n announced as they arrived, stepping out of the car and stretching her arms wide as if to embrace the wilderness. The cold mountain air was a refreshing contrast to the busy, magical world they were used to. “We’ll do everything the human way.”

Agatha smirked, raising an eyebrow at her daughter’s declaration. “No magic? You sure you can handle that?” she teased, her tone light, but there was a playful challenge in her voice.

Rio, carrying their bags, grinned as she joined them. “Oh, I don’t know, mi amor, I think she’s onto something. It could be fun,” she added, looking at Agatha with that mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “Think you can survive a few days without spells to light the fireplace or make breakfast?”

Agatha rolled her eyes, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. “Sure, sure. We’ll see how long this ‘no magic’ rule lasts.”

They stepped inside the cabin, and it was as cozy and welcoming as Y/n had imagined. The wooden walls were lined with bookshelves, a stone fireplace sat at the heart of the living room, and large windows gave a perfect view of the forest outside. It was small, intimate, and filled with the scent of pine and the promise of quiet moments.

Y/n dropped her bag by the door and flopped onto the large, overstuffed couch, pulling a blanket over her lap as she looked around. “This is perfect.”

Agatha and Rio exchanged a look, their hands brushing as they stood together, surveying the cabin. It was rare for them to take time like this—away from responsibilities, away from magic—and they both knew how much they needed it.

Rio wrapped her arms around Agatha’s waist, pulling her close. She pressed her face into the crook of Agatha’s neck, sighing contentedly. “It’s nice to be somewhere quiet for once,” she murmured against Agatha’s skin.

Agatha leaned back into Rio’s embrace, her eyes closing momentarily as she relaxed into the warmth of her wife’s arms. “It is,” she agreed softly. “No spells. No chaos. Just… us.”

Y/n peeked over the back of the couch and smiled at the sight of her moms. It wasn’t often that she saw them this peaceful, so relaxed. Normally, something needed their attention—a spell gone awry, a magical emergency, or something demanding their magical expertise. But here, in the mountains, it was just them.

“You two look like you belong in a painting,” Y/n quipped, pulling her blanket tighter around herself. “Maybe I should paint it when we get back home.”

Rio smiled and kissed the side of Agatha’s neck before turning to Y/n. “Maybe you should,” she said, her voice warm. “I think it’d be a beautiful reminder of this weekend.”

Agatha chuckled softly. “Alright, before we all get too sentimental, how about we unpack and get settled in?”

After unpacking, they ventured out for a hike. The cool mountain air invigorated them as they followed a trail that led deeper into the woods. The sound of leaves crunching underfoot and the occasional call of birds filled the quiet spaces between their conversations.

Y/n, walking between her moms, couldn’t help but smile as she watched them. Even without using magic, there was something magical about how they moved together—Rio’s lighthearted teasing, Agatha’s sharp wit, and the way they balanced each other out.

As they hiked, Y/n and Rio exchanged knowing glances, the mischief clear in their eyes. They had been plotting something ever since they left the cabin, and now seemed like the perfect moment.

With a quick flick of her fingers, Y/n whispered a small spell under her breath. The leaves at Agatha’s feet suddenly swirled into a small whirlwind, twirling around her ankles and dancing through the air. Agatha stopped in her tracks, raising an eyebrow.

“Really?” she asked, her voice laced with amusement.

Rio grinned, unable to contain her laughter. “What? We’re just getting into the spirit of the season!”

Y/n, giggling, added, “You said no big magic. This is harmless fun.”

Agatha sighed dramatically but couldn’t suppress her smile. “You two are trouble.”

As the leaves continued to swirl playfully around, Agatha, Y/n, and Rio added to the mischief—casting small spells that sent pinecones bouncing along the trail and making the breeze carry their laughter through the trees. Eventually, Agatha gave in, casting her own lighthearted spells, sending the pinecones back at them as they continued their hike, laughing and enjoying the freedom of the moment.

That evening, back at the cabin, they gathered around the fireplace, the crackling fire filling the room with warmth. Y/n, bundled up in a hoodie and blanket, curled up on the floor before the fire, her eyes reflecting the dancing flames.

Rio leaned back on the couch, pulling Agatha into her lap, arms wrapped around her waist. Their hands intertwined, and the peaceful silence between them speaks volumes. The weight of the world—the responsibilities, the magic—seemed to melt away in the glow of the fire.

“This was a good idea,” Agatha said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She looked at Y/n, who was resting her head against the base of the couch, staring into the fire. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”

Rio smiled, resting her head against Agatha’s shoulder. “You’ve been carrying a lot,” she said gently. “We both have. But it’s nice to just… be here. Together.”

Y/n glanced up at her mom, feeling a warmth in her chest that had nothing to do with the fire. “I’m glad we did this,” she said, her voice soft. “It’s nice to see you both relaxed.”

Agatha squeezed Rio’s hand and nodded. “It’s hard sometimes to find the balance. Magic and life… they’re always tangled together. But moments like this remind me that we can have both—if we’re careful.”

Rio chuckled softly. “It’s a good reminder. And maybe, next time, we’ll take an even longer vacation.”

They all shared a quiet laugh that comes from being at peace with the world around them. Outside, the stars began appearing, and the night sky was a blanket of twinkling lights.

As the fire crackled and the warmth filled the room, Y/n wrapped her blanket tighter around herself, feeling the comfort of the moment sink in. For once, there was no rush, no need to hurry. Just the quiet rhythm of their breaths and the occasional pop of the firewood.

“You know,” Agatha said after a long stretch of silence, her voice thoughtful, “even when we try to leave magic behind, it still finds its way into our lives.”

Rio glanced at her wife, smiling softly. “That’s because magic isn’t just in the spells we cast. It’s in everything we do. It’s in the way we live, the way we love. It’s always there.”

Y/n listened to her mom's talk, her eyes growing heavy with the day's weight. As her eyelids fluttered, she felt a sense of peace settle over her. Magic wasn’t just about power or spells—it was in the small, quiet moments like this. Moments where family was all that mattered, and everything else could wait.

Rio gently brushed a strand of hair from Y/n’s face, smiling as she watched her daughter drift off. Agatha, noticing the softness in her wife’s expression, leaned in and gently kissed Rio’s cheek.

“Magic or no magic,” Rio whispered, “this is the best kind of life.”

Agatha smiled, her heart full. “I couldn’t agree more.”

And as the night deepened, the three of them—mother, daughter, and wife—remained by the fire, wrapped in the warmth of their love, their magic, and the peace they had found in each other.

[cityandking]

🛏️🎮🌳🎭 for minah, bran + dai!

xoxo thanks babe // yet another oc ask game

🛏️ What does your OC’s bed look like? What would they like their bed to look like?

MINAH — currently her bed mostly looks like a pallet laid out on the floor or a cot or a barracks somewhere around western thedas. she's got the bedroll (fairly recently restuffed I think) and a few blankets—from the troupe, from the wardens, and I think she miiiiight have "borrowed" one from the Leroux household in Serault (look, it's winter, she's cold). She'd like her bed to be an actual mattress in a private bedroom with actual pillows and an actual comforter and freshly-washed sheets and maybe a bed warmer (either of the "hot water bottle" or "fun nighttime friend" variety, depending on her mood)

BRAN — has a big cozy inset berth in her cabin that's honestly more nest than bed—loads of pillows and blankets, pretty much never neatly made. it's truly her perfect idea of a bed and she loves it. it can be a bit tricky when the seas are extra rough, but usually if the sailing is bad she's up on deck anyway.

DAI — at his dad's house he's got a very simple bed a little on the narrow side (it's a bit of a squeeze with zaref) with many many blankets because the mountains get Cold. in selto he's got the opportunity to set things up exactly how he wants, so he has a bigger bed (better for sharing) with fewer blankets but of far better quality—izzy turned him onto high thread count sheets and now he can never go back :( (he probably steals a throw or something from back home when he settles in selto as his home base — nice to have a little piece of home with him)

🎮 If your OC lives or would live in the modern world, would they like video games? What would be their favorite game?

MINAH — ok well I was going to say she'd enjoy a casual mobile game and that's it, except then I was overtaken by the vision of minah hunched over a controller and swearing over mic at some mindless multiplayer shooter so I think I have to say she's like, an overwatch girlie. I don't think that she'd enjoy single-player campaigns very much and she wouldn't have the patience for steep learning curves of anything technical but she'd enjoy a multiplayer. she'd rather play a tabletop, though (easier to palm the pieces when nobody's looking)

BRAN — I think bran would enjoy a single-player rpg every now and then because she loves to live out big and impossible stories, but she doesn't always have the patience for finishing them (she should play uncharted. bran would love uncharted.)

DAI — dai would definitely game. he'd enjoy intense stuff that requires a lot of focus and strategy and ambient worldbuilding; he likes having a concrete problem to solve and things to uncover and I think gaming would really scratch that itch for him. I feel like he'd get really into the soulsborne games? or simulation/strategy games maybe

🌳 Would your OC survive for a week on their own in the wilderness?

MINAH — it depends on if she can prepare in advance or if it's sort of a naked and afraid situation. if she could prep food/water/etc. she'd be fine; if it's more of a hunting and foraging situation she could make it but it wouldn't be pretty. she's got crazy survival drive but she's really not made for roughing it, at least not solo. she's a city rogue, y'know?

BRAN — depends on the wilderness, but unless it's some richly vegetated tropical island with fresh groundwater I'd say no. she's made for cities and trading and being able to buy provisions and having other people around

DAI — as a level 20 demigod, yeah no problem. without magic he'd find it tricky but I think his soldier training probably included a survival course so he's got the basic skills (plus a +6 to survival) so he could make it work

🎭 What is the one thing your OC regrets most? Would they undo it, considering how their life turned out?

MINAH — oh god where to start. top 10 questions to haunt her when she can't sleep. she wishes she could have stopped it. she wishes she'd known. her biggest regret is leaving, but there was no way she could have stayed. there was no choice. she had to go. she had to.

BRAN — leaving ellis alone in that big house with the burden of the family name and obligation. sometimes she wishes she'd taken him with her, but on the run and on the water is no place for a child, and she'd been barely more than a child herself. she still regrets it, though

DAI — the hurt he put his friends through when he sacrificed himself to close the portal to the Abyss. wouldn't change it and stands by the decision. but he'd have spared them the grief if he could.

[practically-an-x-man]

I'm back with an OC ask :3

What would your characters bring for a week long camping trip? Who's actually prepared and has done this before? Who's running out of food on day two? Who's saying 'fuck it' and disappearing off into the woods, never to be seen again?

Ooooh thank you!!

Rae: Hasn't been camping before, but she grew up in a rural town and has spent a lot of time traveling internationally. She'd do some research, bring some decent supplies (but might overpack a little out of first-trip anxiety), and would have a decent if not perfectly streamlined week.

Robin: Probably ends up underprepared and has to send Peter out for a quick resupply halfway through the week, but they have a really good time despite the struggles and hitches.

Madison: Dude, she LIVES for this! She grew up camping, and at one point spent five years living out in the wilderness, so she's absolutely golden here. If she's on her own, she's probably just bringing her knives and the clothes on her back, as a challenge to keep her survival skills sharp. If she's going with her family or friends, she'll bring some more typical camping supplies (and a lot of marshmallows) so it's actually fun and decently comfortable.

Ophelia: Nope. She is a city girl, has been her whole life, even getting her to agree to a camping trip in the first place would take an act of god. If she has to go, she's picking a camping resort with cabins and dedicated trails and organization, and she's still a little miserable with the spiders in the shower stalls and the mosquitos and the lack of technology.

Gia: She's a tough one: she'd enjoy camping itself, and she'd have fun hiking through the forest and looking at all the plant life (especially the interactions between species, like parasitic vines on trees and that sort of thing). However, getting her to leave her shop, and the clover that holds her life force, is a very difficult task even just for a few hours, so it would be hard to convince her to leave for a whole week. In the end, she brings a pot of her clover with her for security, and is anxious and jumpy the first couple days, but eventually settles down a little and learns to enjoy it.

Jasper: Grew up out in the boondocks on the outskirts of New Orleans, so stuff like bugs and wildlife isn't going to bother them. Kyle gets a little uncomfortable (the humidity makes his scars itch, and some of it reminds him of Misty from when he was first brought back), and they end up calling it quits halfway through the week and spending the second half of the trip at a hotel, but it was kind of a nice break from their usual chaotic lives.

Kestrel: Is just disappearing into the woods. I mean, they're a changeling, they already live in a cabin on a magical wildlife preserve, a camping trip would most likely just be a mission to another preserve for them, which they've done hundreds it not thousands of times. It's easy, it's familiar, it's not even a big deal.

Katherine: Has been camping a few times as a kid, but never as long as a week. I could see her taking a little trip upstate with Jace and Emily and turning it into a little friends-trip, but they'd definitely rent an RV and go to a campsite somewhere instead of just going out to the middle of the wilderness. It would be fun! Definitely becomes an annual thing, though not any more than an annual thing, if you get what I mean.

Quinn: Please god no. She would probably die. She's lived in cities her whole life, sleeping on the ground would be an absolute nightmare for her joints, and there's just... really not much for her to do? If there's water nearby, she could swim, but she's not going hiking up a mountain any time soon. If it was some cosmic curse where she has to go camping Or Else, they'll book a camping resort somewhere and spend most of the week just killing time in the cabin they rented.

Eris: Probably brings a few basic supplies, but could also just live off the land if they had to. They honestly don't enjoy camping very much (it's just so quiet, and they've gotten used to the comfort of the modern world), so it's kind of a dull week for him, but he doesn't run into any serious trouble... unless she tries to fight an alligator or mountain lion just for the hell of it, because she would.

Nikoletta: She's a tough one. She knows how to survive on her own, but only in an urban setting, so there's pros and cons to all of this. Pro: she doesn't have to deal with people or social situations or anything like that. Con: she would really rather be back at her apartment, in her bed with her cats and Abner, instead of a sleeping bag in a tent. Pro: she's never been camping before, and finally has the freedom for new experiences like this. Con: she's never been camping before, and has no fucking clue what she's doing. Pro: she could bring Abner and turn it into a nice bit of alone time for the two of them. Con: that just reminds her of Corto Maltese, and he's even more uncomfortable with the bugs and the mud than she is.

Jimmy: I mean... he's a ghost. He doesn't need to eat, drink, or sleep, he can't get hurt by any animals or toxic plants, a camping trip for him would really just be him wandering through the woods for a while and hoping he doesn't get lost. It probably turns into more than a week... he's a city boy in his life and his death, and he definitely doesn't know where he is.

[domesticatedanimal]

FFXIVWrite2024

Prompt 25: Perpetuity

Implied sexual content. Dawntrail Spoilers

At Dusk

“Do you ever miss it?” Sif asked, breaking a long silence. “Living like the Shetona, I mean.”

“I do.” Erenville seemed to consider something. Sif had learned to recognize the look he had while he was turning something over in his head. “Not all of it. And not all of the time, but when we’re out here, so close to home… I do.”

Sif followed his gaze. The pair were sat on the top of a dry hillock, trying to make camp on some borrowed ragged carpets. A great valley of golden grass stretched out beneath them, pockmarked with Shetona yurts and cabins. A dozen thin strings of campfire smoke rose up into the sky, each surrounded by a tiny cluster of life.

If she was honest with herself, Sif wasn’t entirely sure why they were still traveling, or where they were trying to go. Any semblance of a “northern tour” had run out of steam weeks ago. Now they just wandered, following streams until they ran into the foothills of jagged mountains unlike anything she had ever seen. Sometimes they would join up with migrating locals for a few days. Usually they were alone. At first, they shared stories to pass the time. Erenville held a surprising library of close calls and exotic adventures behind his mild demeanor.

But now they rode in silence, taking in the sounds of the plains. Wind sweeping down from the mountains to rustle the tall unkempt grasses. Giant hawks that would swoop down to inspect them, kicking up dust and letting out cries that made your ears ring. The energetic crackle of ceruleum burning in the distant cenotes that covered the wilderness with hundreds of tiny blue sparkles every night. On days when the ride had been easy, they would end the night mating, reveling in the open emptiness of it all. Wearing nothing but the moonlight on their skin, staring up into the impossible blanket of sky that stretched out forever, in every direction.

There was something they found in those moments that neither could really explain. It wasn’t boredom, nor stress, that they were seeking release from. Sif sometimes thought it was the air. The breeze was thick with the smell of grass and untrod soil, and it seemed to awaken some bestial craving in the pit of her stomach. Whatever it was, she found herself loving it. Erenville’s was the first male touch she had known, and that newness was intoxicating.

That day had been quiet and calm. A leisurely ride down an old hunting trail that the native Shetona kept clear and wide to make their valley more welcoming to outside trade. The sun was sitting on the horizon like a fat drop of honey. Sif was nearing the bottom of a waterskin she had filled with cheap and cloudy red wine bought from a farm they passed that morning. Her head swam deliciously in the alcohol, and she ached a bit, thinking of what would come later that night.

“How would you describe us?” Erenville asked suddenly.

The question hung in the air between them. Sif hoped it would just float away on the breeze.

“What do you mean?”

Erenville sighed. He knew she was deflecting. “I know what we are both like. I know that you are not planning on settling down somewhere and hanging up your swords. I do not necessarily want that either. But I need to know what your expectations are. I do not wish to give you false impressions.”

It was Sif’s turn to sigh. “Does it need to be so complicated?”

“No. But it cannot be nothing. We can stay out here for months, for years. But there is still a world out there, and we have a place in it. I need to know where we still stand when we get there.”

“I don’t know,” she exhaled, barely above a whisper.

“You don’t..?”

“I don’t know!” She felt tears in her eyes, and she hated herself for it. “I don’t know what happens after this. I don’t care what happens. Can’t we just take this for what it is? Damn it all! Just once, I want this to be easy. I don’t want to think about what could happen. I don’t want to think about the rest of the world.”

She jammed her palms into her eyes, feeling humiliated at the loss of control. “The rest of the world can burn for all I care. Fuck! Don’t I deserve to be a little selfish, for once? Don’t ruin this. Please, don’t ruin this.”

“All right.” His voice was calm. No hurt. No disappointment. “As long as we are out here, as long as this lasts, there is no ‘next.’ Only now.”

“Is that OK?”

“That is OK.”

Sif scooted across the threadbare carpet and leaned into him. Erenville held her, and let her cry out the rest of the tears. He didn’t know how many years of frustration were bubbling up, but he knew enough to let it happen. He spoke gently, describing what was probably happening among all of those tiny campfires in the valley. Making up little fantasies for each of the families, and creating simple dramas she could laugh at.

Despite Sif’s wishes, something changed between them. It had to. Erenville had asked the question, and brought complication into their little escape. When they came to each other, after sunset, the joy was still there, but the movements were different. The carnal and animalistic lust had given way to a hedonistic comfort.

He would always regret asking, but needed to be sure. In the end, they were both just running away. And neither wanted to confront what it was they were running from.

[gaytotaldrama]

gwens nonbinary crisis

hi i'm sorry this is so late! i've been pretty sick this week and then i started writing this and lost all my progress when my computer crashed </3 hope u enjoy

also on my ao3!

When they were dating, Duncan used to call Gwen my girl. She'd let him do it without complaint, resolutely ignoring the feeling that he only used it as it was a less exciting alternative to Princess. Gwen's never been much of one of those, so it's not like the nickname would have worked for her in the first place at all - but she never loved my girl, either.

Trent had called her babe, which was basic and cliché and, overall, more welcome. Maybe a part of Gwen had always wanted, loath as she was to admit it, for a boy to smile and tell her she drove him crazy. It would have been direct. A sign she really wasn't on her own any longer. But now, even though Total Drama is done and Duncan's in jail and Gwen is finished with it all - she still feels off-kilter. Unbalanced. Wrong.

She's not part of her cousin's wedding party. She and Stella have never quite gotten along the best out of everyone in the Kaczmarek extended family. Stella was Prom Queen; Gwen stayed home. Stella led the volleyball team; Gwen stayed in the shadows. Stella, the perfect movie star looker that she was, never got famous; Gwen did, and wishes she hadn't.

She'd love to skip out on the wedding entirely, but that would be sure to prove more trouble than it would be worth, having her whole family all pissed at her. So Gwen resigns herself to going, rents an AirBnB on the North Carolina coast just a few miles from the beach where the wedding will be held. The beach - Gwen would rather Stella be marrying this weirdo boot Marine guy in your stereotypical Christian chapel, as long as it meant Gwen wouldn't get sand blown in her eyes and spend an hour trying to forget the crackle of Trent's voice on the walkie, inside the small glass box.

But, she supposes, only slightly scornfully, it isn't her wedding.

The ceremony itself goes fine. In all honesty, she doesn't pay it much attention. When the newlyweds kiss, she claps. When the party begins to relocate to the reception hall, Gwen quietly migrates with them. She's already been made to talk about Total Drama to about fifty odd relatives, their reactions ranging from genuinely interested to sniffily labeling Gwen as a slut. At the afterparty, she drinks heavily and wakes up back in her AirBnB the next morning, head splitting in two and left wondering which poor bastard took it upon themself to see her safely home.

Her flight's in a few hours. Time to get the hell out of dodge, get the hell out of the States, go back home to her studio full of paint splatters and sketchbooks full of old dreams. Instead, on a whim, she extends her time with the rental car. Intent on finding someplace where she can just have a moment of her own time to think and breathe, Gwen heads to the west, unsure exactly of where it is she's going. When she sees the rolling Appalachians through her windshield, she might gain some semblance of an idea.

No food, no firewood. Not even so much as a sleeping bag, but still Gwen rents the cabin. She can worry about the essentials later; right now, she's too busy gazing off the mountain into the valley of gold below. 

The air smells fresh. A strange, secret part of her finds familiarity in the cabin and its wilderness furniture. She sits out on the front porch, feels the crisp autumn air nip at the tips of her ears, her nose. The dead leaves rustle softly against each other in the breeze. Somewhere, not too far off, a stream babbles.

Gwen should visit Duncan in jail. Gwen should shoot Trent a quick text, or something, see how the guy is holding up. She should check in with Courtney, too, while she's at it. Make sure she's all right.

Instead, Gwen simply breathes. In and out, in and out. Centers herself. Closes her eyes. Thinks.

After opening them to drink their fill of southern sunset, Gwen's fairly certain they've got the inklings of an idea about something important beginning to blossom in their mind.

[themculibrary]

Nature Masterlist

dates that include picnics, walk in the park, beach dates, etc...

A beautiful afternoon (ao3) - whiteleander loki/mobius T, 4k

Summary: Loki takes Mobius on a brief summer vacation after they succesfully save the TVA, and they spend a lovely day on the beach.

Jet skiing, romantic beach picnic, stargazing, piningly staring at your friend and wanting to offer him the world are mandatory, of course.

A cabin in the woods (ao3) - Bacner daisy/grant M, 1k

Summary: Grant and Daisy alone, in a cabin in the woods. Nothing more.

A Day in Spring (ao3) - ros_bui G, 3k

Summary: "So, as he did a hurried inspection of his immediate surroundings, he was honestly surprised to find this initial prediction to be entirely wrong. For, he pleasantly saw he was most certainly not alone...For underneath one of the few trees, scattered amongst the intricate stonework of the main courtyard, sat Doctor Stephen Strange."

A moment of friendship and lightness between true friends.

A Question at the Top (ao3) - endlesstwanted sharon/steve G, 626

Summary: Sharon and Steve take a hike to the top of the mountain, where Sharon is ready to pop the question.

A Temporary Reprieve in a Tropical Paradise (ao3) - Anonymous3013 steve/tony E, 3k

Summary: Tony Stark and Steve Rogers enjoy a day out on the beach. They walk hand in hand, the waves lapping at their feet, and the scent of coconut oil and saltwater mingling with their sweat from their recent bout of sex.

They sipped their drinks and talked about everything and nothing, their conversation filled with intimacy. The tension between them grew as the day went on, a slow burn that seemed to intensify with every shared glance and brush of skin. The promise of more passionate encounters called to them.

Doom & Bloom (ao3) - titC matt/elektra T, 5k

Summary: Danny suggests the team do something together, for fun. Why not a day out at the NY Botanical Garden?

for whom the elk bugles (ao3) - starksnack steve/tony E, 7k

Summary: Pepper forces Tony to spend a week at Yellowstone connecting with his natural side. He connects with Park Ranger Steve Rogers instead.

Hairless Monkeys (ao3) - Palacsinta steve/bucky E, 789

Summary: Steve and Bucky takes a vacation on a lake side. Well, sex endures.

I hold Death's hand in mine (ao3) - OctaviaRansome agatha/rio G, 433

Summary: Agatha takes Rio for a walk in the forest surrounding their cabin

i will follow your trail (ao3) - steviepie steve/bucky E, 33k

Summary: Honeymooning is supposed to be the easy part, the most relaxing, the most enjoyable, the part where they can finally let loose— and yet here they are, a week and a half after the wedding is over still sitting at the kitchen table staring down at a spread of brochures so wide that it probably took out a couple of trees all on its own.

Maybe Natasha is right. They should have just eloped and spent a month in Vegas.

(alternatively: steve and bucky decide to spend a month in the wilderness for their honeymoon)

Look at my eyes, Don't even know who I am. (ao3) - Perlmutt steve/tony T, 30k

Summary: Deciding to take a break from the bustling city life, Tony found himself on a deserted island somewhere near the South American coast. Only JARVIS and DUM-E accompanied him here. This was the perfect place for him to clear his head and focus on his studies. The sun was warm, the sea beautiful and the animals peaceful. But in the jungle around him waited an adventure for him that he couldn't have dreamt of. Because he was not alone. Blue eyes watched him. A man as wild and untamed as the jungle around them...

Oh, what a world (ao3) - NamelesslyNightlock loki/tony T, 2k

Summary: Tony had never liked the outdoors, and the outdoors had never liked him. But maybe, with the right person, even a trip into the forest can become something magical.

Picnic (ao3) - MedeaV bucky/natasha E, 4k

Summary: (Buckynat) total fluff, out having a picnic at a beautiful, secluded location and sex outdoors

Pine Cones (ao3) - bardocksheadband (orphan_account) namor of talokan/shuri M, 1k

Summary: Three years after the alliance was made, Namor and Shuri take a nature walk together.

Spring Break At the Beach (ao3) - FemSanzo291 clint/phil T, 1k

Summary: Phil Coulson even after a year of dating Clint Barton couldn’t believe that he would be going to spend spring break at the beach for free due to his boyfriend knowing the richest guy in school.

Sun, Sea, And Sand (ao3) - Marv_aka_Kitten_Writes yelena/kate T, 5k

Summary: A day at the beach with Kate turns out to be surprisingly fun for Yelena. After all, what’s wrong with sand, sun, surf and saying I love you?

The Darkness Within (ao3) - fluffy_miracle loki/mobius M, 32k

Summary: Mobius lives a simple life-- a woodcutter living on the outskirts of a small town, on the edge of the dark woods. The dark woods that feel far more like home than the village. Their small community gets along fine until something starts attacking them. First the animals and then the people who call the village their home.

It probably doesn't have anything to do with the stranger Mobius finds in the woods-- a scared, bedraggled, shadow of a man escaping the rich landowner on the other side of town. A man named Loki.

Mobius has no desire to help Loki other than to ensure he makes his journey to freedom, but the bloody events unfolding leaves them trapped for longer than either of them intended, with consequences neither of them saw coming. A werewolf is hunting them all, but so is fate, and Mobius is starting to realize that maybe he'd like Loki to stay forever.

(basically a Lokius werewolf murder mystery love story).

This Isn’t Fun (ao3) - buckybarnesdeservestobehappy (hutchabelle) steve/bucky T, 1k

Summary: While attempting to try out new hobbies, Bucky, an avid city boy, decides to go camping. After a disastrous start to his trip, he’s ready to cut his loss and go home—until Ranger Steve Rogers finds him.

[estacadaattentivestays]

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[senka-mesecine]

Could you write something for yandere Barnes saving a lost/injured hiker, who he decides he’s not willing to let go? Thank u!

Finders, Keepers.

Robert Barnes x Reader.

---

Should've been anywhere between six and eight weeks.

That's how long it usually took.

The basic amount of time required for a broken leg to heal.

Worst case scenario imaginable, a year, if the fracture was truly severe.

Month six and you were still here. Over nothing short of peskily anticlimactic as a sprained ankle could prove to be. Not even fractured bone. You tripped enough times on your trails to know the difference. Feel the difference. And this whole entirety of everything? It was like something out of a fever dream that just refused to end so you could wake up, back at home, with your luggage unpacked and this whole thing over and done with. You tripped and fell climbing up a steep, rain soaked, slippery slope and landed uncomfortably, straight on your knee pressed against a rock tucked away somewhere beneath layers of grass, mud and wet foliage, the luggage and the heavy rucksack on your back only serving to add further pressure on an already tense maneuver off the ground and you never figured an actual fire brigade would come to your rescue up in the Appalachian wilderness, that's for sure. As you yelled and shouted for even the smallest vestige of help or the hope someone somewhere decent enough would hear you once it started to rain down on you, dragging yourself along the soil when standing up and actually staying up proved to be too painful, giving up after a while, you never counted anyone at all would come, as for that matter, least of all not a man like Barnes. You thought he was part of an exhausted fever dream when he found you half way unconscious in the fog of a high temperature --- something your brain conjured up after you've given up all hope for survival. Your first instinct almost shouted at you from the recesses of your brain that it was preferable if a bear came down from the mountains and mauled you rather than whoever this was, because judging by his scars, something or someone already mauled him. And, oh, the retrospective of it all.

-"You tampered deliberately with it, didn't you?"-

You accused from the bed you were staying in for months now.

In an isolated cabin in the woods, far away from everything.

He critically dislocated something. You just knew it.

Seemed like the kind to know how too.

-"Messed my whole leg up."-

You add for the umpteenth time undoubtedly, and he gives you a look from next to the fireplace where he sat on a stool slightly too small for him, back bent, immersed in the task of silently smoking. What you learned about him was that he was the quiet type. He could be inculpated for anything and he wouldn't even bother denying he was guilty. In fact, there were moments where you caught a sheen of pride in his gaze, peppered with mockery, sparkling like a red amber. Like he was gloating over the fact it took you this long to figure it out. -"Answer me!"- You shout suddenly, fingers gripping the sheets beneath you, your whole leg jolting in a burning sensation under the wave of sudden movement where it was propped up on a collection of pillows. Whatever he did to you ached unimaginably even after all this time when reasonably, the consistently gnawing throb should've been subsiding. -"You owe me at least that much."- You hiss once he proceeds saying nothing, mouth pursed into a hard line as he took another long drag out of his cigarette, deep in thought by the looks of it, smoke engulfing his face. He could've very well crippled you outside of keeping you a virtual hostage far away from everything and he wouldn't even have the decency to vocalize an admission. Somehow, that notion settles in, causing you primal terror. It's reflected in the way your voice comes out sounding the next time you decide to part your lips and speak. -"It's my leg we're talking about."- You almost plead. A stare as cold as an icicle hits you from the other side of the room. Your short lived courage falters. His dog tags hung from his neck. Part of you almost craved for him to get pissed enough to simply snap your neck as much as you dreaded the outcome. -"When can I leave?"- All bravado melting away as quickly as it bubble up, you knew you were half a word away from begging.

You were here so long, the seasons themselves changed. It was the beginning of autumn and the end of summer when you climbed up here with your group, getting promptly separated.

Now, it was the dead of winter.

Knee-deep snow.

Yet you would've been content if you could just try and limp down the mountain.

Drag yourself by your nails to freedom if you had to.

Wouldn't have surprised you that down there in civilization, you were long since declared dead or missing. Body never found. Authorities actively looking for a carcass and failing due to heavy snowfall. And all of this. Thanks to a damnable rock. If Barnes, if that was really this hick's real name, wanted to kill you by now or do worse yet, you imagined he would've done so by now. He certainly had ample opportunities instead of feeding you, lifting you, putting you back down. So, why the fuck was he keeping you around for? Target practice!? Human compost!? Pure amusement? Did you trespass his imaginary fictitious territory without permission and he was convinced this was the penalty or some hillbilly crap!?

-"When can I leave?"- You try again, tenderly, hoping to instill empathy.

You needed an actual hospital. You needed to get this shit fixed.

-"Y'ain' never leavin here'."-

He states matter-of-factly, surprisingly patient.

Doing so with the simplicity of someone merely commenting on the weather.

And not a statement assuring you you're stuck here forever.

-"Why not!?"- You flare up, outraged, frightened, desperate.

Please, please, please, your brain goes into overdrive.

-"Finders, keepers."-

He assesses like he almost owned you through the very fact he saved you in some convoluted way of his, not unlike a hunter feeling entitled to game caught in his trap, crushing the remaining stump of his cigarette in a nearby ashtray, standing up and tilting his head, blue eyes heated and terrible. That looming stare told you everything you needed to know.

God.

He was never going to let you go, was he?

[richardfrancis]

Green and Remote: Sustainable Travel Adventures Beyond the Beaten Path

The places that leave a mark aren’t always the ones with the best reception. They’re the ones that challenge your comfort zone—then replace it with something real.

In 2025, green travel doesn’t mean compromise. It means choosing differently. Choosing quiet instead of convenience. Wilderness instead of Wi-Fi. And destinations where sustainability isn’t just a bonus—it’s the baseline.

These off-grid adventures don’t just take you somewhere new. They take you back—to a slower, wilder, more connected version of yourself.

Karijini National Park, Australia

The red dirt cuts deep here—into canyons, gorges, and time itself. Karijini, located in Western Australia’s Pilbara region, is wild in all the right ways.

You hike between billion-year-old rock formations. Swim in deep natural pools beneath sheer cliffs. Sleep under stars so sharp they look close enough to touch.

Eco-camps operate with solar power, composting toilets, and minimal waste. Most don’t offer Wi-Fi. Which means the only connection is the one you’re building—with land, sky, and silence.

Valle de Elqui, Chile

High in the Andes, this valley is a sanctuary of dry air, clean skies, and a calm that settles in slowly. It’s famous for stargazing—observatories sit like quiet sentinels across the hills—but the magic runs deeper.

Retreats here are small. Organic farms, solar-powered cabins, yoga under canvas canopies. Days are spent hiking. Nightsstretch under skies lit with constellations.

This is the kind of place Condé Nast Traveler writes about when they talk about travel that doesn’t just refresh—but reshapes. It’s not loud. But it lingers.

Raja Ampat, Indonesia

Some of the most biodiverse reefs in the world lie scattered among the islands of Raja Ampat. They’re not easy to reach—and that’s the point.

Staying here means sailing between islets, snorkeling over untouched coral, and waking up in overwater bungalows that run on solar and rainwater.

Tourism here is kept intentionally low-volume. Lodges follow strict sustainability codes. Local communities manage conservation zones. You’re a guest—not just in the resort, but in the ecosystem.

Travel + Leisure features Raja Ampat often as one of the world’s last truly wild marine experiences—and one of the most responsibly managed.

Lofoten Islands, Norway

Imagine jagged mountains plunging into teal-blue fjords. Tiny fishing cabins turned eco-lodges. Cold, clean air. Silence that echoes.

The Lofoten Islands are remote but reachable. Once there, they offer hikes that stretch for miles and evenings that don’tend—especially in summer when the sun never sets.

Local guesthouses operate seasonally, often using geothermal or hydro energy. Fish is caught feet from the kitchen. No buffets. No clubs. Just nature, unfolding at its own speed.

Zanskar Valley, India

Tucked into a corner of northern India, Zanskar is hard to reach—and even harder to forget. There are no resorts. No malls. Just winding trails through high-altitude desert, villages carved into cliffs, and rivers that freeze into walkable roads in winter.

Travelers here stay in homestays powered by sun and firewood. Meals are slow, simple, and shared. Most homes are multigenerational. Technology is limited. Warmth is not.

The experience isn’t easy. But it’s real.

What These Places Share

They’re not loud. They don’t advertise. But they offer:

Clean water and cleaner thoughts

Energy from the sun, not the grid

Adventure shaped by weather, not itineraries

Simplicity that feels like a luxury

They don’t ask you to escape. They ask you to return—to curiosity, presence, and place.

Why It Matters

Sustainable travel isn’t a checklist. It’s a mindset. It’s choosing the trail that’s harder to find. The cabin without a plug. The boat that uses wind instead of fuel.

Stanislav Kondrashov often writes about how intentional travel mirrors intentional living. The kind where less really is more. Where slowness becomes clarity. And where you return not just rested—but changed.

Final Thought

The further you get from the familiar, the closer you get to something meaningful.

Green travel isn’t about ticking off destinations. It’s about choosing experiences that care—for the planet, for the people, and for the parts of yourself that don’t get much attention at home.

So take the longer route. Skip the reception. Go where the air is cleaner and the questions are better.

Beyond the beaten path is where the real adventure waits.

[jaydeemedia]

[ad_1] In our chaotic, loud and globetrotting modern world, you rarely reach somewhere and feel truly alone. But when you do, it can be absolute bliss. Whether you want to recharge in a remote place, get away from it all on an isolated island, or search for a sense of serenity on a secluded wildlife vacation, sometimes seeking solitude is one of travel’s greatest joys. From specks of sand with few footprints to vast empty deserts and untouched wilderness, there are still some pockets of our planet where nature is protected and preserved. Perfect for a reflective getaway, these quiet destinations are dreamy for their silence and, for the most part, lack of other travellers. If you’re looking for one of the best places to get away from it all this year, be it on a small group hiking tour, to a remote yurt, or alone with no one but penguins for conversation, these are some of my favourite destinations for a true escape. Patagonia, Argentina and Chile Best for jaw-dropping landscapes and epic exploration Straddling Argentina and Chile, Patagonia is the narrow tail-end of South America and the continent’s ultimate remote playground. Providing an isolated escape among cinematic mountains, gorgeous glaciers, and never-ending expanses of unadulterated wilderness, there are few places in that world where nature humbles on such a seismic level. Whether you’re exploring the otherworldly turquoise lakes and mammoth ice blocks on a remote trek or taking it all in through the window of a secluded cabin, this corner of the world can be blissfully silent. Yet, as tempting as taking a vacation in Patagonia alone could be, these vast, lonely landscapes are mostly better tackled supported than solo. Something an ever-growing cohort of adventure travel companies offering small-group hiking explorations can help with. And it figures. Kayaking alongside Humpback whales is a memory worth sharing, and you’ll undoubtedly want to learn from a local gaucho when horse riding. Plus, with remote backdrops like these, there are plenty of reflective moments to be had, even when travelling in a small group. Walking amongst the now (mostly) dry Aral Sea in Karakalpakstan Karakalpakstan, Uzbekistan Best for endless nothing and yurt camping alongside a retreating sea Covering a vast expanse of west Uzbekistan, the Republic of Karakalpakstan is the ‘Stan you might not have heard of. And while it is very much part of Uzbekistan, there are a few differences culturally and linguistically between Uzbek and Karakalpak people. However, in a country that is around three-quarters desert, the reason Karakalpakstan stands out as a secluded getaway is its lack of magnificent Silk Road cities. Millions flock to see the Islamic architecture and tileworks of Bukhara and Samarkand, yet just a fraction of those travellers make it out this far. Those that do, however, are rewarded with a barren landscape dotted with fascinating historical sights. Once you’ve left Nukus, the regional capital with its Soviet architecture and “secret” art museum, behind, you’ll be pretty much alone as you gawk at Karakalpakstan’s mud-built Kalas. These ancient fortresses, some of which pre-date Christ, are a beguiling sight when they crop up alongside dusty dirt tracks. Zoroastrian monuments, where the deceased were left to be pecked by birds of prey, are equally as fascinating. But it’s the more modern death of the fast-retreating Aral Sea, once one of the world’s largest lakes, that screams its silence loudest. Drive for some six-odd hours across nothingness to spend a few nights in a traditional yurt camp on the water’s edge, filling your days with little but staring and strolling, and you’ll start to feel like you’ve left Earth entirely. Alone with penguin friends in the Falkland Islands Falkland Islands Best for penguin and marine life encounters without an expedition Nowhere have I felt more alone than in the Falkland Islands. This barren,

isolated and often overlooked archipelago in South America is perhaps best known for the British-Argentine war. Yet, with all mines recently cleared thanks to a team of hardworking, mainly Zimbabwean, demining experts, the scars of the war are mostly long gone. Instead, you’ll be greeted with sheep, penguins, seals and seabirds who, after a few days “out at camp” – any location away from the 3000-person capital city — you’ll almost certainly be trying to converse with. Yes, this is one of the best places on the planet to get away from it all. Especially if you want to photograph the four types of Falkland penguins without the need to board an expedition ship with others. But you need not be completely alone on your secluded vacation. Most accommodation on the outer islands are spare rooms in the owner’s farm, where breakfasts and dinners can often be enjoyed family-style. But, whenever you want a remote place to be amongst untouched nature, it’s only a short stroll to the nearest pristine white sand beach where seals might be sunbathing or to a craggy corner where penguins and sheep are the only souls you’ll see. Pin it! Top: Falkland Islands | Bottom: Great Smoky Mountains Great Smoky Mountains National Park, USA Best for glamping and reconnecting with nature closer to home There’s no need to travel too far for a remote escape. The Great Smoky Mountains – a 522-odd acre National Park that straddles North Carolina and Tennessee – is an excellent option for a secluded vacation at home in the USA. This is an excellent get-away-from-it-all retreat with ridge-upon-ridge of forest, endless hiking trails, a cluster of tumbling cascades, and abundant wildlife spotting opportunities.  Sure, some of the more famous hikes, such as the Chimney Tops Trail might see its fair share of footfall, but you won’t struggle to find more secluded tracks to tackle either. And when it comes to sleeping far from the noise, you’ve come to the right place, as glamping in Tennessee is top-notch. Truly, this State has got that going-off-grid feel nailed with plenty of tree houses, isolated log cabins, and even the odd dome-tent to make the most of stargazing. Check-in for just a weekend, and you’ll come home feeling refreshed by nature. Raja Ampat: Come for the scuba diving, stay for the simple life Raja Ampat, Indonesia Best for scuba diving and basic island life  Raja Ampat was the best scuba diving of my life. And in fact, it might have been the best week of my life overall – this is paradise on earth. However, the journey to get here is a little long and arduous, as you need to transfer through West Papua to take an onward boat connection. As such, this is very much a place to come for underwater life; Indonesia has plenty of other islands that are just as pretty and remote if you just want beaches and palm tree photoshoots. Instead, Raja Ampat – when done at a local, community-organised island stay rather than a liveaboard– is a blissful lesson in letting the modern world fade away. When you’re not scuba diving some of the most diverse concentrations of marine life on this planet, days are spent eating repetitive meals, relaxing on silky sands, relishing the lack of phone signal and perhaps managing to chill a few evening beers during the short period the island’s generator is switched on. Staying at one of the locally-run simple wooden cabin-style “resorts”, such as Kri, will ensure you respect Raja Ampat and her people when visiting and inject any money spent into local pockets while you embrace a true tropical escape. Wild camping in Oman’s Wahiba Sands The Wahiba Sands, Oman Best for silence amongst the sands without straying far The two weeks I spent road-tripping around Oman were unforgettable. Unlike Dubai, I found Oman to be one of the most real, raw and friendly places I’ve ever travelled to. There was no shortage of meals, dates and conversations shared with friendly locals, whether in a market or on top of a mountain.

But what made Oman really stand out for me was the liberal wild camping rules. Three of us piled into a car, chucked out tents into the boot, and embarked on the road trip of a lifetime. The best place we camped? The Wahiba Sands, or Sharqiya Sands. While driving out into the desert and camping alone might not be the wisest decision, we felt safe when the three of us were camping in the Wahiba Sands. It also helps you don’t have to go too far off-road to be in a secluded location to pitch up. Plus, you won’t be totally alone. There are some camels, beetles, snakes and maybe even wolves or wild cats. These are all things to remember when planning if and how you want to camp. There are a few official desert camps if you’d prefer. But for me, waking up alone in the desert was absolutely magical and trumped the more organised experience I had in Morocco’s Sahara. Especially when a group of Bedouin women, clearly surprised to see us, stopped to offer us some tea the next morning.  It’s easy to find a quiet corner in the Faroe Islands The Faroe Islands Best for an isolated island escape without giving up comforts The Faroe Islands are something of a contradiction. On the one hand, these eighteen main islands alone on the North Atlantic are remote, ragged and seriously inhospitable. On the flip side, they are well developed (where developed), have decent infrastructure, and plenty of family-style hospitality. As such, they provide a perfect, wind-whipped, secluded escape for those who might not want to give up all their home comforts. Away from Tórshavn, the compact and colourful capital city, you can soon disappear into your own world. Better still, take one of the regular ferries to an outer island and stay in a small, family-run guest house or rent a little turf-roofed home. And while it might seem like one of Europe’s hidden gems, it’s delightfully easy to get around with decent roads and good bus connections. Still, when you’re standing on the edge of a cliff with the fierce waves crashing below or circling around a sea stack with puffins clinging to the side, you can easily close your eyes and imagine there’s not another soul around for miles. Australia’s vast Outback blends seclusion with Aboriginal art and culture Australia’s Outback Best for being in the middle of nowhere yet surrounded by ancient culture  Arid, never-ending, and awe-inspiring, Australia’s ochre-hued Outback is perhaps best known for Uluru, the sacred sandstone rock that soars from the dirt in the UNESCO-listed Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park. Yet, as you’ll discover if you also ride The Ghan – Australia’s desert crossing train that I felt I’d never get off – the Outback is endless. For hours and days, all I saw was red sand, red dirt, and very little else. If you want to get away from it all in Oceania, I don’t think there’s any better place to get lost. Sometimes literally. So be sure you’re planned and prepared before a big adventure out here. Some of Australia’s best experiences are out here: marvelling at Uluru, walking amongst Kata Tjuta’s towering rocks, and learning more about the Anangu culture of Yankunytjatjara and Pitjantjatjara people. But once you’ve had your fill of the headliners, there are plenty of opportunities for a secluded escape. Whether you spend some time on a farm, seek out one of the simple camps, or set out on a road trip of almost nothingness, this big, empty, copper-coloured world is arguably one of the world’s most isolated destinations.  [ad_2] Source link

[elpida]

"no." she answered truthfully, she was still acting very sparingly with food.. the big city it was harder to come by, so she rationed and made what she had work and she still worried she'd be left with nothing if she indulged. honestly she looked like she could do with a good meal too, only shelter came first, she had to fix that leak, especially since she was someone who felt the cold in her bones so easily come night time. breakfast. breakfast was what she had to focus on now and his offer was a kind one. "fresh eggs?" her face suddenly lit up, this pearly white smile showing briefly. heaven forbid she allow herself to be happy over the simple things. "that sounds like a great plan."

"a bit up the mountains, i don't know if you know it but there was a cabin off one of the hiking trails and thankfully nobody had claimed it, it was once in my family." ben had loved the mountains, he'd loved escaping out to the wilderness so being somewhere she knew he'd have loved made her feel.. safe. "it's just... a little bit run down, it needs work and i need to make it work." because she had nowhere left to go, she couldn't go back to the city, the way of life there was miserable. "as for how long it's leaked, no clue, the wood still looks good! I did haphazardly put a sheet of plastic over it just to stop more water getting inside." oh, she was clueless. "have you been here from the start or?" suddenly she realised how rude she was. "i'm eden, by the way. sorry, was rude of me not to introduce myself just.. i was in the city and i guess people still make me nervous, they're very different, the people that are still in the cities and towns."

had the woman uttered any other name, he would have been suspicious ⸻ but that sounded like something one of the campbells would do. mention only in passing that they all met up to trade once in a while but not offer specifics as to the when. the numbers in their dispersed community grew every once in a great while so it wasn't exactly odd that another had joined their ranks.

arms crossed, james is silent as he listens to her stutter along and offer her explanations ( though his interest is immediately piqued at the sight of bread ⸻ it's an art he himself has yet to master despite multiple attempts and he's taken to relying entirely on trade with mrs. jefferson a few miles over ). "you eaten breakfast yet?" he asks, though the man would be surprised if she had. suns barely risen at this point. "got some fresh eggs last night. c'mon. i'll make you something to eat. my eggs, your bread. it'll make a nice meal and you can tell me about where you're at and what else needs updating at the place. might have the tools lying around you can borrow but its roofing material you'll need to worry over. that and how long it's been leaking. if it's rotted your rafters you might be better off movin' elsewhere."