#Skinny Signal to Burn

[wh0rezs]

MIRRORBALL

PAIRING: SULLIES X HUMAN ADOPTED DAUGHTER/SISTER! READER

SUMMARY: Being the Sullies only human child is much more difficult than most realize described by Taylor Swift’s “Mirrorball”

WARNINGS: angst, mentions of parents death, abandoned issues, seeking comfort in anyone, major character death (not Neteyam)

“And they called off the circus”

“Burned the disco down”

Your family at the RDA was something you called a circus. Not all only was it your soldier mother and your scientist father but Grace Augustine and Max Patel. Parker Selfridge even took you under his wing, and your mother’s team lifted you onto their shoulders.

Trudy took you flying, Grace gave you piggyback rides on her avatar body, Colonel Quaritch would let you fire a gun, Lyle once let you glue a wig onto his bald shiny head. Your own circus. You were even deemed “honorary sister” to the child growing in Paz’s stomach. The RDA was like non-stop disco but everything good must come to an end.

And the end came with Jake Sully. You liked Jake, he was buff soldier surrounded by a bunch of skinny armed scientists, and he raced you in his wheelchair. But something changed when Jake got accepted into Omaticaya.

The scientists left RDA, moving to remote location and along with them went your father. Your mother cursed his name, saying he had gone soft hearted on the animals which plagued this earth. You felt trapped but you still had some of your circus left.

But then it burned down. A war came with both of parents fighting on the opposite sides of it. Your father in his avatar body and your mother in her helicopter. You were left alone with Max Patel, praying that they would both come back to you. Neither of them did.

Your mother had been taken out by Ikrans and your father was shot repeatedly in his avatar and then choked on Pandora’s air.

So your circus was called off and the disco burned down.

“When they sent home the horses”

“And the rodeo clowns”

After the war, humans were forced to leave, expected you and MJ. You watched as Jake, Norm and many other Omaticaya guided your family into the ship.

You had hidden out of sight but Parker Selfridge had seen you. You liked Parker. He had sure you were entertain expect that one time he forced you into school. Your parents often describe him as a clown, so you did too. But you mentioned right in front his face.

You remember everyone in the room going silent, waiting Parker’s reaction. He laughed, saying that you had spunk. Oftentimes when he was taking care of you, he would carry on the circus theme by calling the workers under him horses.

Yet here they were leaving you. You knew they did terrible things but they were your circus. Parker nodded his head for you to come out, so you did, running to him for one last hug.

“You gonna be alright,kid. I am giving you my number in case you need to call but I heard that Sully has adopted you, per your father’s request.” Parker spoke as he wrapped his arms around your back. Parker would never admit to it but he really thought of you as his kid.

A large blue landed on your shoulder, pulling you away. Jake stood way above you and signaled for Parker to start walking again. Once he reached the plane’s entrance, he waved and headed inside. You turned into Jake’s legs and cried.

They had sent home the horses and rodeo clowns.

“I’m still on that tightrope”

Before your father met his untimely demise, he asked Jake to watch over you if he died. Jake honored his promise. He had spoken to Neytiri many times about you and Neytiri knew your father’s avatar, so she agreed.

The whole adoption process was like walking on a tightrope. You had to balance out, carefully staying on that thin line. Most Omaticaya couldn’t say stuff to you, due to you being the Olo’eyktan’s daughter but you didn’t want to lose your balance, tipping off any of them. Omaticaya would never really accept you as human, especially after what they did as Hometree. Many of the People would send glances full of fury with their hands tightening around their bows.

Your adopted parents took care of you but soon they were welcoming a son. An Na’vi son. One who looked like them.

So you remained on that tightrope once Neteyam, your brother, was born.

“I’m still trying everything to get you laughing at me”

You found yourself in Parker’s position, a mascot. The human mascot for the growing family of the Sullies. You liked your baby siblings but they couldn’t tell you how proud they were of you.

As the mascot, you tried to keep your family happy. Trying to get them laughing even on the days when your adopted mother would send hateful gazes towards you.

Soon you realize that you just power through those days, and still make sure your family was laughing.

“I'm still a believer but I don't know why”

You liked to believe, considering yourself a believer. You liked to believe that you were the first born Na’vi daughter of the Sullies, a profound warrior like your mother or future Tsahík like your grandmother.

Yet you were pulled back into reality as you peered at your reflection in a stream. You had your father’s eyes with your mother’s hair. You shared their skin color, which wasn’t a blue.

You like to believe that they were still alive,too. You and them had nice little cottage inside the forest along with your human brother, Spider. Your mother help teach young Omaticaya fighting while your father took care of injuries. Spider and you grew up close with the Sullies, and at night your small family would join them, then walk to the cottage.

Yet once again you pulled back into reality as you heard Jake shout your name, calling out it was lunchtime.

You were a believer yet with painful stuff to believe and you didn’t know why.

“I've never been a natural”

“All I do is try, try, try”

Contrary to what any people believe, you couldn’t do anything relating to Na’vi training.

Unlike your siblings, you couldn’t shoot an bow nor climb a tree under 3 minutes. You couldn’t fish, hunt or fight. You were useless. Your father would tell you nonsense, saying you helped Mo’at and Kiri with healing and injuries but you couldn’t help your feelings.

So all you did was train but you were no natural. Even Spider could do more than you, but you tried. And tried. Tried again but your abilities never honed.

You weren’t a natural at anything but you did try, try again and try.

“I'm still on that trapeze”

Many years had passed since your adoption and you finally made it off the tightrope, yet now you were on a trapeze. Swinging from being a honorary Omaticaya to trying to catch onto being a human. Luckily, this time you had Spider being your trapeze partner.

Spider knew the pains of being a human in a Na'vi world but sometimes he felt closer to the Omaticaya unlike you. You felt at home with humans considering 7 years of your life you were raised by the RDA. So you lost your trapeze partner, flipping onto one bar waiting for the other one to come without the force of another.

So you were still on that trapeze.

“I'm still trying everything”

“To keep you looking at me”

In the forest, you had always tried to have someone’s eyes on you but in Awa'atlu you can’t get away from watchful eyes. As your family settled into the ways of Metkayina’s, you remained a stranger.

Strange and dangerous creature is what the Metkayina would tell their children, as they glares bullets into your skull. Then after a half of year living with them, the RDA found your family again.

Everything after that point was a blur, you can remember Lo‘ak leaving to rescue his ‘brother’, your siblings and you with the help of the Metkayina children pulling off the tracker off of Payakan.

Then the ship came and some of your siblings were taken but you and Neteyam saved them. Lo'ak convincing Neteyam to rescue Spider, which you three did but then every stopped.

You had pushed your three brothers into the water, has you held off the avatars. Just you were about to jump into the water, a searing pain flared in your chest— a bullet had hit you. Stumbling into the water, your brothers cheered until you announced you were shot.

You were brought to an rocky island where Tsireya began to address your wound while your brothers comforted you— Spider holding your hand as he talked about your childhood with him— as your parents arrived. Your final wish was to see home again— your circus, rodeo clowns and horses. To stop believing, and trying. To finally come down from that tightrope and trapeze.

You felt peace as you walked through the forest,reveling in your new home with your father and godmother Grace.

Jake and Neytiri were brought to first time you three were a family. Oftentimes, you would flicker in between you as child to you as an adult. Though you would always mutter the same sentence.

“I tried everything to keep you looking at me.”

[allwaswell16]

[4 pics, 4 quotes, 4 iconic 1D fics]

Iconic Fics by...

- reminiscingintherain -

[1]

“Move down through the bus,” the driver harshly snapped out a demand over the tannoy. “There’s plenty of room, show some consideration for others.” He continued to mutter under his breath, his frustrated mumbling and swearing just audible over the speakers.

Louis rolled his eyes at the driver’s lack of manners, but followed on down the centre and reached up for the overhead strap when there was nowhere further to go.

“Why is it such bad etiquette to ask for a lap to sit on when it’s so busy?” he pondered aloud, a little sulky at the thought of standing for the whole of the twenty five minute journey to his flat.

“Um, you, uh, you can sit on mine?” a low voice stammered out beside him.

Louis looked around in surprise, partly because no one ever responded to his mumblings as a rule, but also because someone had actually accepted his suggestion. His eyes widened further as he took in the stranger.

[2]

He was just getting his groove on to a bit of classic Bee Gees, when the bell over the door jingled, signalling the presence of a new customer. Harry turned with a cheerful smile, almost missing a step as he caught sight of the man who'd just entered his shop.

Wearing a black vest that revealed inked collarbones and arms, with the tightest skinny black jeans Harry had ever seen, and a pair of scuffed up Vans, the man stepped up to the counter and slammed down his credit card.

"How do I passive-aggressively say 'fuck you' in flower?" a soft clear voice demanded.

"U-uh," Harry stammered, caught by a pair of bright blue eyes, and taking a few moments to register what had been said. "Wait. What?"

"I just found out that my supposed boyfriend is fucking the girl next door," the customer glared. "I've already burned his favourite books, snapped all of his vinyl," Harry pressed a hand to his chest at the mere thought, "and had the locks changed. Now I wanna send the girl flowers. I want a 'with sympathy' card. And I want 'fuck you' flowers. Cos she was supposed to be my friend."

[3]

“Yep. I’m hoping I get some kind of award for being the most awesome best friend in the world.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” Adam nodded. “We’re the ultimate gift, specially Styles over there. He’s been fussing over his outfit for two days. Trying to decide the right level of ‘acceptable wedding tit’ or something.”

Louis burst out laughing, letting out a snort and choking on it as he caught sight of Harry’s attempt at looking insulted.

“Did… did you decide on an appropriate level of wedding tit?” Louis eventually managed to ask.

“Not yet,” Harry replied primly.

[4]

"I'd like to take a look around the island," Liam added. "The scenery and art is supposed to be amazing."

"Yeah, that's boring Payno," Niall rolled his eyes. "I may try a bit of surfing? Ooh, I wonder if they have those inflatable rides. Y'know the ones where you're tugged along behind a speedboat and you gotta try and stay on? I wanna try those."

"Okay, calm down," Harry chuckled quietly. "I like the sound of the scenery and art, Li. I've brought my camera, so maybe I can get some --"

"If the next words out of your mouth are 'get some work done', I will throw your Saint Laurent boots in the Mediterranean," Niall threatened.

"Let's not get hasty," Harry said quickly, paling slightly.

- answers below -

1 - On This Winter's Night

When a random bloke offers his lap for a seat on a busy bus in December, Louis' Christmas ends up being much different, and far less lonely than he was expecting.

2 - Say It With Flowers

From the prompt: Person A owns a flower shop and person B comes storming in one day, slaps 20 bucks on the counter and says “How do I passive-aggressively say fuck you in flower?”

3 - Latching Onto You

“Wait a sec,” Harry interrupted. “Zayn and Liam?” “Yeah, my best mates, who are getting married?” Louis said slowly, slightly baffled at the question. “This is a gay wedding?” “Is that going to be a problem?” Louis asked, his voice losing its friendly edge and taking on a decidedly icy tone.

Or, the one where Louis wants to book Harry Styles to perform at his best friends' wedding.

4 - Can't Help Falling

"I like the sound of the scenery and art, Li. I've brought my camera, so maybe I can get some --" "If the next words out of your mouth are 'get some work done', I will throw your Saint Laurent boots in the Mediterranean," Niall threatened. "Let's not get hasty," Harry said quickly, paling slightly. "No work, Styles," Liam reinforced. "At all. We promised Anne we'd get you to relax." "We're gonna go see Li's mate," Niall offered. "He works in a bar out there, right?" "Yeah," Liam nodded. "You remember me saying a while back about Zayn from school?" "Uh, he sent you a friend request or something on Facebook, right?" Harry guessed. "And you were surprised cos you've not seen him for like, ten years or something." "Right," Liam agreed. "He and a mate from uni went over once they'd graduated and opened up their own bar. Apparently it's doing pretty well, and he wanted to let me know where they were." ~~~~ Or the one where Harry's a workaholic, until best mates Liam and Niall drag him away for a holiday to Ibiza.

@reminiscingintherain

[smuttyassholes]

To See is to Want 🔞

by Asshole #6

~voyeurism, supernatural, dark, dangerous Jimin, human partner, self- insert, lustful ogling, will eventually be NSFW.~

The moon is full and high in the sky, the sea waves lapping at the shore. There is the slight breeze of September signaling that the summer may be over but it still lingers in the not yet freezing touch of the air. Normally, I would enjoy the beach at night but tonight was not an ordinary night. Tonight I was essentially a stalker. It wasn't my fault not really. But after that one time he had implied that he enjoyed skinny dipping, curiosity burned in my mind. What did he look like under the moon, emerging from the waves, only the dark shape of him visible? And this was the night to find out. There was a bonfire for all the guys at our dorm in the middle of the beach. Everyone had already cleared out at least an hour ago, the sand only littered with a few beach towels some had forgotten.I WAS supposed to be on my way back with my best friend Jen but I waved her off, instead hiding behind some rocks. Waiting. Would he actually be tempted and take a swim now that everyone was gone?

Jimin was sitting by the rapidly decreasing flame, smoking a cigarette. It seemed like forever, waiting, when he stubbed it out rising and towing off his Converse. He pulled his t-shirt off then bent to strip off his jeans.Like he knew he was being watched, he peeled them off achingly slow along with his boxers. I choked on my breath as the long hard lines of his body were revealed, accented by the glow of the dying bon fire, a tattoo barely visible along his spine.Were those the phases of the moon? His ass was even more perfect than I dared imagine, now no longer hidden by the jeans he usually wore on campus. His steps were quick as he walked to the edge of the shore, walking into the dark water, letting it cover all that glorious skin I wasn't even done admiring. I stepped closer, by the bonfire, still able to see him submerge himself completely. I thought he would drown, he was under so long but he rose, silver ringed hands running through his inky dark hair.

Jimin made his way deeper into the ocean, swimming fast and efficiently, enjoying the caress of water on his skin. He dove more than once, his speed increasing. I was curled down on the sand by the fire, mesmerized by him. I knew I shouldn't be watching him like this but he commanded my gaze. My mind. I had wondered over weeks what lay under those clothes and the reality didn't disappoint. I was so deep in my own thoughts of admiration and emerging lust that I missed the man himself emerging from the depths. Except….was he larger? Bulkier? I frowned, trying to understand what I was seeing. As he approached, long fingers with longer nails ran through his black hair, his face more visible. He grinned, full plump lips parting to reveal sharp….fangs? Glinting in the moonlight. Was I hallucinating?

I should get up, I shouldn't be here. I should run. Why couldn't I? His voice, when it came, was a rough hiss, totally unlike the Jimin I had met. I was arrested by the sight of his wet body, the ink adorning his rib cage, the line of his throat when that voice commanded my attention. "It is rude to stare you know." I crawled back just as he knelt bare on the discarded towel by my feet. My voice was a croak as I muttered "I…I wasn't..'' "What, lingering waiting to see me naked? Come on sweetheart. Don't you think I have seen you look at me?" He leaned closer and I could really see those fangs, long and sharp but also his eyes. All black, no pupil. I was terrified and yet still couldn't move. He smelled like the ocean, his wet hair dripping on my shoulder and collarbone. Could he hear my heart hammering? His breath was hot as he whispered in my ear. "Don't you think I can tell…how badly you want a taste? Aren't you afraid?" I couldn't utter a word. Instead, my mouth open and shut a few times, just as he pulled back, my tongue darting out to lick my dry lips. His gaze was fastened to my mouth as I finally shook my head and said "No…" and I heard that same unnatural chuckle that this time made something low in my belly clench in heat.

I cleared my throat, forcing myself to look at him. Really look. He looked unnatural, dark, something that belonged in the depths of the ocean he had just emerged from. Something that hunts and captures. And devours. Before I realized I had spoken, my voice came.

"I want…a taste. Of you.''

Jimin slowly crawled closer, his mouth inches from mine, his breath hot. The closer he got, the more intense the smell of salt water was to me. I was rooted to the sand, my breathing ragged, my eyes glued to his, occasionally drifting to that full mouth. Had I fantasized about feeling that mouth on mine? Yes. Numerous times in class, alone in my bed. But never in my wildest dreams had I imagined this. That the Jimin that was about to kiss me was…this. I licked my lips just as he stopped, what he said next taking me by surprise "are you sure?" I blinked. "what?" He continued, his voice lower but still the same unnatural timbre as before: monstrous but not really. A hint of my dorm mate still there beneath the surface. "Are you sure it's me you want to kiss? Or that boy you see every day at campus?"

It was as if the fog lifted from my mind as I took my second proper look at him that night. His black hair the only thing that remained exactly the same as before. The rest was completely different. His eyes were still flat black, no pupil, his skin was pale and his hands… his hands had long black talons which was all I could see. Before, I wouldn't have known the answer. But now, as his question drifted between us, it took everything in me to look him solidly in the eyes, holding his gaze and whisper as clear as I could "It's you. Here. Now. Unless…" A perfect eyebrow rose in question as he replied "Unless what?" I flush as I reply "Unless you are just toying with me."

That made him laugh aloud, the sound ringing off the rocks, carried away by the currents and breeze. He reached out, those taloned fingers tucking a lock of hair behind my ear, the touch gentle in spite of his tone earlier. "You'll know if I'm toying with you pet. Trust me." To prove his point, he leaned in his lips finally capturing mine. My eyes closed, immobile, my lips frozen until finally his coaxed them to move. The rhythm I find is something I didn't need to figure out. It comes naturally, my lips parting to let the taste and feel of him flood my senses. My own hands, itching for so long to bury themselves in dark inky hair came to his neck then threaded in the inky strands just as his tongue stroked along mine. I groaned, the taste of the sea somehow stronger, his hands suddenly at my waist almost tentative in their grip, feather-light, a stark contrast to the way his tongue and lips worked me. The heat low in my belly was stoked as Jimin seemed to make up his mind, his fingers tightening on my waist pulling me flush against his chest.

His wet skin seemed to sear mine right through my shirt and bathing suit beneath it, my nipples hardening immediately, embarrassingly so. He growled, his hands suddenly moving snake like down to my thighs pulling me flush on his lap. He must have sensed me stiffen because his mouth drifted to map along my jaw, up to my ear, his voice more rough than before, his breath coming shorter as he whispered "stop?" I immediately shook my head as my fingers did what they had been wanting for all the months I spent ogling Jimin: they burrowed deeper in his wet hair and tugged. The growl that erupted from him was less human and more feral than anything I had elicited from him so far. His fingers hardened, talons almost digging in my flesh as I felt my full weight settle on his lap. I don't know what prompted me to say what I did next but I did anyway. "how about you kiss me like you really want to instead of treating me like I'll break?"

TBC

[raspberryjars]

It’s You. (Miles’ POV)

word count: 1,328

summary: miles is on the subway when he sees the most beautiful guy he’s ever laid eyes on. unfortunately he doesn’t get his number, name or even to talk to him. but, what if they meet again?

tags: miles morales x hobie brown, miles morales & gwen stacy, hobie brown & gwen stacy, no powers au, subway meet-cute, but also introduced by a friend, they’re all around 20

tag list!! (lmk if u want to be added/removed)

@spo0kypigeon @not-gifted-but-burned-out

His old headphones had broken the previous day, so he’d been out to pick up some new ones. Fancy, high tech ones that he’d seen a few people on his feed wearing. They were pretty cool but he definitely needed some stickers or something, they were just kind of plain and grey, not exactly his style. They had amazing sound quality though. It was almost like someone was actually singing into his ears. Fucking expensive though, so if they broke like his others he’d actually lose it.

He was in the middle of texting Ganke about his headphones when the train stopped, signalling he should get off. And as he stood and walked to the sliding doors, something, well someone really, caught his eye.

An absolutely beautiful, and, like, he means beautiful, guy was sitting right there, across from where he’d been sitting literally not even two seconds ago. Like, this drop-dead-gorgeous guy, was sitting there, and it looked like he was looking at Miles. Or at least in his general direction. This guy, with beautiful dark eyes, like seriously beautiful eyes. And like a million piercings in his face that made Miles’ skinny little nose ring look practically invisible. And also, like, his whole look was really cool. He had boots that looked like they could smash someone’s face in, and probably had based on the blue ladder lacing on one, but like, this really cool, really really hot guy had just been staring at him on the subway? And he could do nothing about it but just walk away from him because by the time he’d finished his train of thought about the guy's style and eyes and everything, he was already walking up the stairs away from the platform and the train was long gone, along with the amazingly beautiful guy.

Fuck.

*

The guy from the train had been stuck in his mind since that day and had not left. He’d probably told everyone he knew about him by now. Ganke had been the first to hear about him, given that they were in the middle of a conversation when he saw the guy. Then Gwen, because he really just had to tell her every detail about his life. Then he’d accidentally told his Mami because she’d been talking about the subway and then he’d remembered the guy and then she’d asked what he was thinking about so then he’d ended up telling her. And once he’s told his Mami it’s only a matter of time before he ends up telling his dad too, and yep he’d found himself telling his dad all about the guy and the fact that he hadn’t even said anything to him. So he’d pretty much told everyone in his life, which was actually kind of sad thinking about it because he’d only told four people, one was his roomate, and two were his parents. So yeah, kind of sad.

But if he had actually said something to the guy, then maybe he’d have one more person to add to his contacts. They’d probably become fast friends, Miles would take him to see some good graffiti spots, he seemed like he’d be into that sort of thing, maybe they’d go for drinks after classes and smoke together. And they’d tell each other their problems and dreams and thoughts until eventually they confessed to each other and then they’d live a life of going to concerts and clubs and art shows and loads of other cool stuff.

Oh Jesus, he was going crazy. He was actually daydreaming about a life with a stranger that he hadn’t even spoken to. He really needed more friends.

(23:38) FROM: Gwen :p

hey dude do you want to come over tmrw?

my friend hobie might come too.

hope u can make it.

It was almost like an answer from the heavens. He had literally just been saying that he needed more friends, and his best friend was asking him to hang out with her and her friend? Definitely a sign.

(23:40) TO: Gwen :p

yes defo!! cant wait see u then!!

just tell me whenever time im free all day!

He watched as she read the message, typed for a few seconds and then went offline before discarding his phone on his bedside table. This was absolutely a sign that he and this Hobie guy were going to be good friends. It would definitely be good for him to have more than two friends.

*

He woke up to the noise of his phone ringing really, really loudly and for a split second he wondered if it had gained consciousness and learnt how to scream.

However the computer uprising had not started and it was actually just his father.

“Miles where have you been? Me and your mother have been calling you all morning!” Okay well he was fucked. He may be moved out and all that, but that wouldn’t stop his parents grounding him somehow.

“Sh- Sorry! Sorry Dad! I just forgot to set an alarm last night, and I didn’t know you were going to call and yeah.”

“Right well, your mother and I were wondering if you’d like to come for lunch today? We haven’t seen you in awhile and you know how she gets.” He could hear his mothers muffled voice in the background and he laughed slightly.

“I promised Gwen I’d see her today but I can probably make it for lunch.”

“None of this probably, you can make it for lunch. We miss you Miles.”

“Yeah miss you too dad, I’ll call you later, text me when you want me to come?”

“Will do son, I love you.”

“Love you too Dad.”

He had a complicated relationship with his dad at times, recently they’d been doing a little better, and he didn't want to mess that up by skipping going over for lunch so he sent a quick text to Gwen telling her he could probably come by around two or three and flopped back down into bed.

*

Thankfully lunch hadn’t taken too long, occasionally he’d been known to get sidetracked when at his parents and end up staying almost the whole day. But his mother had bought tickets to see some movie later that day so it wasn’t just him that had other things to do. It was nice to his parents though, plus it had taken his mind away from the guy from the train for a while.

As he neared Gwen’s apartment, her place not being too far from his parents’, he found himself wondering what type of guy Hobie would be. If he was a friend of Gwen’s he’d definitely be pretty cool. But maybe not from New York if he hadn’t heard of him before? Who knew honestly.

He ran up the last few steps to Gwen’s door and buzzed the doorbell. Hearing his name yelled from inside, he was laughing when Gwen opened the door.

“Miles! Hey man, how’ve you been?” Gwen asked as he walked in, slipping off his shoes as he did so.

“Yeah I’m good, you?” He smiled as he followed her to her front room.

Just as she opened her mouth to answer him, Miles quickly cut her off at the sight of her friend Hobie. “Holy shit, I saw you on the subway the other day right?” There was no way, Gwen’s friend was the hot guy from the train?

“Yeah I remember, you were texting!” So the guy from the train, or well, Hobie, had been looking at him, actually looking too. Like, looking enough to see what he was doing, which meant that he could’ve been checking him out, maybe.

“Shit wait, Hobie’s the hot punk you saw on the subway the other day? Man if I’d have known that I would’ve set you two up or something.” Gwen laughed, making him blush furiously.

Well that wasn’t embarrassing of her to say at all.

lmk what you think and also check out my ao3!!

[jazztag]

An Encounter in the Snow VII

The Captain finds Weapon as he left him, seated on the floor and fidgeting with the dust. His prisoner looks up when hearing him step inside. He grins a little bit and then, as if remembering the last time, he retreats from his place and steps as far as his chains would let him, hiding in the shadows and away from the dim light on the ceiling. Knowing Hero may be mad at him, he turns his back toward the Captain and tries to look inconspicuous while doing so, hyperfocused on the wall.

Hero scoffs.

His prisoner remains facing the wall, but something is different. While Hero stops, hands in pockets, he observes Weapon getting more and more unrested. His prisoner seems to be smelling the air, as if something has changed.

“I brought you something,” says Hero, and Weapon turns around at last, still sniffing the air like a dog. The Captain reveals the old blanket, something that can merely cover Weapon’s skinny body but thick enough to look comfortable.

Hero waits for his reaction, but Weapon is frozen in place, caught between an expression of confusion and agitation. So he decides to try something he has been rummaging about for the last few hours.

“Come here,” orders Hero. Weapon doesn’t move at first, but when he sees Hero signaling for him to approach, the prisoner complies. He stands up, still with his back ached and head down, and gets in front of Hero.

The Captain scrutinizes him for the first time since the prisoner arrived. From head to toe, he finds it funny that the two of them may be of the same height, or at least it may seem so if Weapon stood straight. His prisoner keeps looking at the ground, suddenly docile and weirdly calm. He still has his grin plastered on his face, but his expression is more sober.

Hero observes how he still clutches at his side and pays attention to his bony wrists, ankles. His skin, calloused and burned from severe exposure to the sun. His hair, which falls onto his eyes, only letting his smile shine from under the messy dark waves. He lacks some fingernails, both on each hand and foot. It may have been because of torture, who knows. Lots of bullet wounds, cuts. His hips bend at a weird angle, and his underwear, clearly old and not once washed, just adds to his overall pitiful state. And the way he twitches. Now that’s scary, adverts Hero. He grins constantly, and his fingers seem to grab something invisible in the air from time to time. Signs of PTSD. There’s one twitch that specifically puts him on edge. The index finger on his left hand, which curls inward subtly. As if pressing the trigger of his firearm, shooting, and killing as a first instinct.

He’s absolutely and utterly a machine made to kill. Hero looks down at his prisoner, trying to see underneath the other’s matted hair. Two gray eyes return his gaze. He steps back again and decides to try something with the blanket.

“Now, eyes on me, you dog,” signs Hero. Weapon looks up toward him, and his hair falls back a bit, framing his face. He has huge eyebags, and he looks tired. He always does.

“Is this yours?” asks him Hero, showing him the folded blanket. Weapon looks briefly at the item and then pouts. He looks as if he’d like to tear it out from his hand but can’t. As if now, Hero has the upper hand, at least for the first time.

“If you want it back, you’ll follow what I say,” tells him Hero. The Captain is still feeling a little bit skeptical about the whole ordeal. Weapon furrows his brows but doesn’t move from his place. He is now listening. “Ok, it seems I have your attention. Now, put your right hand up.”

Weapon seems to have heard him, but grinning a bit, he looks like he doesn’t understand what is going on. Hero, with the hand which isn’t holding the blanket, puts it up, palm open and toward Weapon. “Here,” motions. And Weapon ends up copying him as well, pulling his right arm out and opening his palm toward Hero a bit. His fingers are long and bony, and the skin on his knuckles is red and raw. His hand trembles. Actually, all of him seems to subtly tremble. Hero waits a bit. The chains dingle.

“Ok,” says Hero, lowering his arm. Weapon copies him as well. Hero then says, “now the other hand,” while pulling up the very same hand as before… Just as the Captain thought, Weapon raises again the same right hand, mirroring him again.

Hero repeats himself using a monotonous voice, “no, the other. Left.” He doesn’t move, though, keeping his hand still up. Weapon doesn’t hesitate to change sides; he keeps his right hand up in the air.

The Captain finally pulls his arm down, and Weapon copies him again. “So I was right,” mutters Hero to himself. “You don’t really understand me.”

Weapon smiles again, looking absentmindedly at his blanket, still in Hero’s grasp. His arms gravitate towards it, but Hero pulls away from his grab.

“Before that, one more thing.” Weapon looks at him again. ‘He seems to get the tone of my voice,’ notes Hero. He signals down to the floor.

“Sit down.” Weapon looks at his index and then at the floor, and without a word complies, crouching down. He lets his hands rest on his knees, fidgeting again with his fingers. The chains on his arms and feet rattle quietly.

Hero crouches down to his level as well. He makes a mental note to clean him up when possible, and with caution, reveals a key from the inside of his coat inner pocket. Weapon watches closely as Hero grabs one of his chained wrists and unlocks the link between the handcuff and chain. Silently, Hero does the same with his other wrist and ankles, releasing him from them all except the one on his neck, still bolted to the floor. His prisoner doesn’t move at all. He looks around meanwhile, lost in thought and not quite there. Finally, Hero grabs the blanket again and unfolds it on him. Weapon doesn’t move while getting covered with the soft fabric, and when the Captain gets up again on his feet, the prisoner caresses absentmindedly his item.

He sniffs the cloth, and there’s a peak of weirdness in his eyes. Weapon looks up at Hero, questioning.

“I had to wash it, you dog; it was disgusting,” tells him Hero. The Captain kicks away the detached chains to the back of the room, away from Weapon’s reach. Last time it was a pair of tweezers stabbed onto a Colonel’s leg, who knows what Weapon would be capable of with those.

Hero stands in front of his prisoner again. It’s useless to talk to Weapon. He won’t understand a word, and he doesn’t seem too eager to acknowledge even his tone. But talking to him has proved from time to time to calm Hero’s thoughts, maybe as a way to free them off his mind.

“I’ve seen your eh… room, the one back at your last base,” speaks Hero. His tone is harsh, authoritarian. Weapon looks up, not really understanding a word from a language he hasn’t been trained to understand. “Seems to me you are considered useless if not owned and directed. At least that’s what they say in your homeland.”

Hero starts pacing around the room, hands behind his back. Weapon, seated on the floor and caressing his blanket, smiles devilishly at the Captain. Who knows what might be he thinking about. He sits, cross-legged, fiddling with the cloth but without taking his attention off Hero. ‘He’s waiting,’ realizes the Captain.

Hero stops again right in front of his prisoner. Weapon looks up, defiantly. They stare at each other.

“I know you don’t understand a word I’m saying,” tells him Hero. “But I don’t fucking care.” He crosses his arms, looking down at the other severely. “You are now under my orders. You rest when I tell you, you eat what I’ll give you, and you, in no circumstance, move a finger without me knowing it beforehand.”

Weapon says nothing, as usual. His smug smile widens under his matted hair.

“I,” repeats Hero, pointing at himself, “own you,” and follows by pointing at Weapon. Weapon looks at his finger and licks his lips. Hero’s not too sure the other is getting the idea. He then crouches on one knee and gets really close to the enemy. Weapon doesn’t mind the sudden movements of the other. He watches defiantly how Hero grabs at the only chain still binding him to the cell floor, the one around his neck. The Captain pulls it up toward himself, obliging the other to face him, unable to resist the restraints around his neck.

“You are now my dog,” tells him Hero, and suddenly, it appears to dawn on Weapon what those strange words he can’t identify mean. He loosens his smile, and his gaze becomes darker.

Hero lets go of the chain, and Weapon sits back again, still looking him in the eye.

“Hope we can get to an agreement,” says Hero. Still kneeling on the floor, he slips out from his inner pocket a metal canteen, full of water. The Captain unscrews the cap carefully, watching Weapon’s eyes following the action. His prisoner’s mouth opens slightly, his gaze now pierced onto the bottle. He stops fidgeting with the blanket, leaving it aside, and starts to crawl toward the canteen.

“Ah, ah. Stop there.” Hero motions for Weapon to stop dead in his tracks, and the monster complies, looking thirstier by the minute. The Captain leaves the bottle right in front of Weapon and crosses his arms. He waits patiently, observing how Weapon grows more restless from the sight of water.

“I heard you weapons could stand almost a week without taking a drink. But looks like even you have limits when bound.” Weapon grows more nervous each second that he isn’t permitted to get his hands on the canteen. He starts struggling with breathing, and he starts to scratch at his left arm, drawing red lines onto the dry skin. The Captain observes the sight, finally taking some pity on his new pet.

“Ok, stop scratching. Drink already,�� he finally allows. Weapon looks up to him, trying to understand if that was a yes. Hero motions toward the water and points at his prisoner. “Go on.”

His prisoner grabs the bottle as if there was no tomorrow and in practically seconds gulps down the entire contents. Hero motions for him to return the water flask, and Weapon complies when finished. He looks more relaxed and docile after that, and so, Hero stands up on his feet again.

“Good boy. Surely we can manage to understand each other.” Weapon dries his mouth on his arm, and the Captain looks absentmindedly at his still fresh bullet wound on his chest, alongside all the other scars and older bruises on his skin.

“I’ll take a look again at that if you let me,” and starting to head toward the cell door, adds, “Now rest.” Weapon looks at him from his spot on the floor. Hugs his blanket and falls on his side, closing his eyes and rolling until finding a comfortable spot on the concrete. Hero watches him for a bit before locking again the door. He can’t keep away the thought, though. This cell looks as sad as the one Weapon inhabited before.

Taglist: @whump-blog @bitchaknso @pumpkinsncoffee @scrumpledumple (comment to get added/removed from the list!)

[tonberry-yoda]

OMG HIII its saya helicopter anon!

heres another request for crocdad i hope this will be fun for you to write

What if we have caiman as a teen

Who is now shy to express his love like other teens unlike before :')

AYO BRING IN THE SCENARIO

✨kabooms✨

Reader is sad and is experiencing burn out so croc silently tries to comfort her, he is facing the open door from their bedroom and y/n is facing the other side and they are just hugging in silence standing

Awkward teen caiman walks past and sees the whole thing and is concerned for his mom but doesnt know how to help and he was about to sneak away to give them moment, he accidentally held eye contact with his dad

They doing the eyebrow and eye communication yu kno

Croc asks him to stay and comfort his mother andden

Caiman says hell no i can't, ill help you later and was about to walk away when croc goes "CAIMAN?"

Bro dashed away to reply to appear like he wasnt there and was chilling in his room

"YEAH?!"

"GET ME A GLASS OF WATER"

And boom from there croc silently guides caiman to act like a gentleman silently and guides him to comfort y/n

Like get her flowers, hug her, cook her something or something

What a gentlemanman :')

Again, you can take 1% of this idea, maybe it sparked smth or not take this request at all

HAVE A NICE DAYYYY

Just know that Im proud of yu ✨ :)

-🚁

Croc as a Father - Part 8

notes - I AM SO HAPPY THAT I KEEP GETTING THESE! I really love this series and I am so glad that a lot of people really love it too! Helicopter anon, thank you for the amazing idea! I am really glad I am here to write it for you <3 Have a super day and stay hydrated! EDIT: I just finished the fic and this has to be my best one yet! I really need to keep writing this series it is too damn fun! word count - 774 tags - @bari-saxxy

Caiman grew up to be a handsome young man. Dark hair just like his father and eyes just like his mother. But growing up made him harsher too. His goal was to become a warlord, like his father had formally been, so he toughened up a bit. He was tall and skinny, unlike his father, but he dressed just about the same and even slicked back his hair. Rings covered his fingers and through teenage rebellion, he even started smoking cigarettes.

He was a bit more to himself - his only real friend being the bananagator you and your husband had given him for his birthday so many years ago - but he didn't mind because in the end, he was working now and he would always be working to get his goal, no matter what.

None of the changes of your sweet boy bothered you - though you wish he wouldn't smoke in the house so much. But he definitely was his father's son, that was for sure.

What was bothering you, however, was the burnout you had been experiencing lately. Work had really taken a turn for the worse as you and Croc got older and both of you could barely keep up, especially since you were wanted by the Marines. Running and running without a break, you could barely see how your son was doing anymore.

Finally, you had enough.

"Crocodile, I don't want to live like this anymore." you cried, hiccupping on your own tears. You sat on your bed with your face buried in your hands while Crocodile sat on a chair in front of you.

"Darling," he placed his hand on your back and rubbed in circles. "I know you don't. And I don't either, but right now, we don't have a choice."

Caiman was walking past the door to get some breakfast when he heard your sobs coming from the room. He stopped at the door and peeked in. He didn't know what to do. The old Caiman would've immediately ran to your side, but something in him couldn't do that anymore. So he just watched, trying to hide that he was slightly tearing up from hearing you cry. Now that he thought about it, he had never really seen you cry before.

While Crocodile was comforting you, he looked up and made direct eye contact with Caiman, who jumped back a bit. Croc signaled with his eyes for Caiman to come in, but he shook his head.

Before the boy could dash away, Crocodile shouted, "Hey Caiman?!" And smirked.

Caiman ran off and from the other room yelled back, "Yeah?!"

"Could you bring me a glass of cold water please?!"

Caiman groaned under his breath, but reluctantly called back, "Yeah!"

A few minutes later, Caiman came in with a nice glass of cold water and Crocodile pulled up a chair for him. He handed you the water and you thanked him, sniffling.

As you were taking a couple of sips, Crocodile leaned down to Caiman's ear and whispered, "I'm going to clean your mother's work-space so she doesn't feel overloaded. Comfort her, okay?"

"But I don't know how to do that!" he whispered back.

"Make her something to eat. Ask her how she is. You know exactly what to do, Caiman, but you're just too scared to do it. Nothing makes a warlord like a gentleman, okay?"

Caiman just nodded and watched his father walk out of the room. He took a deep breath and ran his hands down his face.

You looked over at your son and went to apologize for crying, but he stopped you.

"What's wrong, mom?" he asked, wrapping a blanket over your shoulders.

"Just a lot going on," you chuckled, wiping your own tears. "Being out on the seas isn't easy."

"Yeah, I know." he laughed.

"Are you sure you're prepared to live like this?" you asked.

"Of course I am. And I am more than willing to help, mom. I don't want you or dad to be stressed out. Just let me know if you need anything. I can't become a warlord without you guys. We're family. I need you."

You teared up. Your son had grown up to be so beautiful.

"Thank you, Caiman." you said, pulling him into your arms.

"Do you want something to eat?" he asked, standing up.

"That sounds wonderful, baby."

He pressed a kiss to your forehead and told you that he loved you all while his father watched with a proud smile through the crack of the door.

You both raised an amazing young man who was bound to do great things, you just knew it.

~~~~~

papa croc masterlist | pinned post

2023 @tonberry-yoda – do not repost or claim ANY of my work as your own! likes, reblogs, and comments are not only welcome, but appreciated

~~~~~

[changelingsandothernonsense]

Been discussing OC disabilities and thought I'd throw Joshi's in a list.

-Suffers from night terrors from an early age. Eventually he finds out that these are prophetic in nature. Though that happens too late for him to do anything about it. Dreams get high jacked by gods having lovers spats and gets further complicated by his ascending. He frequently suffers insomnia and sleep walking. Sometimes the Sleeper Dreams turn him into…well a sleeper.

He's heavily ADHD/ODD coded and there's a large dosage of c-ptsd and a lot of abandonment issues that colour his interpersonal relationships. The trauma just compounds over time and he tends to act aggressively when frightened. This has led to callous actions when he's desperate.

He falls into a very deep, prolonged depression after the events of the turn of the age.

Self medicates…a lot. Mostly with alcohol but has had a few stints with recreational drug dependency. One being skooma and gods know what else during his time as a Priest of Sanguine and later Sleeping Tree Sap during the Dragon Crisis. Drinking habit started when he was in service to the Camonna Tong. (19 but think 15 year old maturity wise). He's a functional alcoholic most of the time.

He has a severe tobacco habit that started when he was working on a tobacco plantation. He ran a smuggling ring out of that labour camp. Garnered the skinny kid protection… well mostly. The smoking has given him a cough over the years. Though that's most Dunmer who come from Morrowind. Smoking being a cultural practice. Especially amongst Ashlanders.

Deaf in his left ear due to a particularly hard hit to the side of his head that burst his eardrum. Since he was in prison at the time, it was never properly healed. So now he struggles with triangulating the direction of a sound, separating different sounds and can't pick up particularly high or low frequencies. Don't whisper, he won't hear you.

Has a severely limited magicka reserves due to the prolonged use of magicka drain shackles when he was meant to still be developing his magic talents. He still has a lot of raw power but he's easily fatigued. He developed a reliance on potions to boost his stores.

Briefly gets a heart murmur after getting hit directly in the chest with lightning during a fight. Causes his heart to stop and then beat irregularly until…

Corprus and how it's ravaged his body. He's covered in burn scars and they tend to cause him discomfort. He's wearing compression style bandages under his armour. The scars are often itchy and he finds relief with bathing and specific fabrics. His heart slows significantly after this and actually beats to the rhythm of the Heart of Lorkhan now. Even after its been destroyed. He also suffers from balance issues due to having part of his right foot removed. He starts using crutches to get around before he makes himself a prosthesis. A similar issue happened to his right arm. He lost a lot of strength with the removal of his pectoral on that side. He's lucky he's left dominant.

Joshi eventually needs some sort of support to walk after subsequent crush injuries. Firstly being his pelvis- he can no longer swing his legs outwards so no riding mounts. Or his hip freezes. Later his leg gets crushed. It takes a lot of magic to fix it and now that whole side is unstable. He starts relying on magic a lot more. He's pretty much always wearing splints or using a crutch or stick in private. Josh designs himself a bit of a mechanical exoskeleton to take pressure off his hips and leg after his kid goes to college.

Nerve damage- Josh can't pick up on his body's signals after Corprus. So he can literally forget to eat amongst other things. He's got to stick to a "every 3 hours check" routine. It's hard to keep up with at times. Later he suffers significant damage to the nerves in his face from a Dragon attack. This affects his ability to form facial expressions and emote as well as causing him to struggle with speech now that half his face is paralysed.

[michverdun]

He winced as he felt another sharp pain in his legs, a signal that they were still growing. the serum that he had used promised some modest gains, maybe even getting huge if you were lucky, but he hadn't heard of anyone growing like this. Within days his still skinny torso was on top of legs that even a champion bodybuilder would kill for. He had to stop going outside, both from the stares he got with his lopsided muscles and the fact that even walking around town pushed his legs to grow even further.

Even his precautions couldn't stop his growth, as dozens of pounds were stuffed onto his legs. His knees had completely disappeared, covered up by the over hang of his massive quads and bloated calves. Each quad had to weigh at least one hundred pounds alone, maybe even closer to two hundred, as the skin on his quads was fit to burst. He cried out, worried that his legs were going to explode, when the pain...stopped.

He looked down, feeling odd to have a body that didn't constantly burn, and saw two massive pillars of muscle, bright red, with striations and veins clearly visible due to his skin being stretched to the limit. They were massive, bigger than he had ever seen before, but they weren't growing. It was over.

He breathed a sigh of relief, before immediately doubling over and falling to the floor. The burning sensation resumed, this time in his upper body, eager to grow to match his massive legs.

[xalygatorx]

Worthy (2015) | Chapter 18, "His Clarity"

Disappearing sporadically in public spaces quickly becomes Cora Dempsey's least concerning problem when suddenly she captures the attention of the forming Avengers Initiative, the World Security Council, and Asgard's fallen prince all in one week. And the universe is only just getting started with her.

Worthy is a slow-burn SFW Marvelverse (films) romance between Loki and a female OC. For additional details on what canon is used, see the Prologue post.

Summary: Thor brings Jane to Asgard following her strange disappearance from Midgard during the Convergence. Frigga and Cora both continue to visit Loki in the dungeons, still hopeful they might reach him. An attack is launched by alien ships upon Asgard’s gates.

Pairing: Loki x Fem!OC

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.7k

"The Convergence?"

Heimdall nodded briefly. "It is a thinning of the realms and their boundaries. It allows an easier passage, sometimes unintended. Gravity shifts, voids sometimes open… It only occurs once every five-thousand years and this is the first since I took my place as Asgard's gatekeeper."

Cora tilted her head a little as she peered at the stars beyond the BiFrost's window panes. "Is it visible?"

Heimdall chuckled. "To some, yes. Do you see it?" Cora shook her head. "Do not let that bother you. Very few can."

"What does it look like?"

He smirked. "What makes you think I can see it?" After she gave him a pointed look, he laughed and said, "It is chaotic. But it is beautiful chaos."

"Will you get fired for straightforwardness or something?"

"Just as you would for not being—as your people say—a smart-ass."

Cora was caught entirely off-guard for a moment before she cracked up laughing, that having been among the last things she would have ever expected the uprightly formal gatekeeper to say. Heimdall laughed some, too, his smirk lingering afterward when he turned back to the sky. She followed his gaze and asked more seriously, 

"Do you think she's okay?" Cora had walked up at the tail-end of Thor's conversation with Heimdall just before Thor had left for Midgard immediately when Heimdall noticed something was wrong with who she’d put together was Thor’s girlfriend, Jane.

"I do not know; I simply know I cannot see her. And that means she is not in Midgard."

"How could she have left the realm?" Cora wondered before answering her own question. "Do you think it has to do with the Convergence, too?"

"I know not, but the prince will find her," Heimdall said with confidence. "And he will be back soon enough."

Cora nodded and spent a while longer talking to Heimdall about the stars and other realms before going back to the palace, running into Sif almost immediately after crossing through the glistening foyer. Word had spread around the palace by then about Thor's departure, though Cora wasn't sure why Sif looked a little cross. "Everything okay?"

She glanced at Cora, a bit startled. "Oh, yes, why?"

"You don't look very happy about something."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, you're kind of pacing," Cora said pointedly and Sif stopped in her tracks, looking a little sheepish. They stood in somewhat awkward silence a moment before Cora suggested, "Wanna do some training?"

Lady Sif let out a breath and smiled faintly; it always struck her how much Cora seemed to understand her. "Absolutely."

Sif was helping Cora perfect her form while wielding a sword when they saw the familiar bolt of raw energy connect with the BiFrost terminal, which signaled Thor's return. Cora looked toward Sif, who had paused to watch as well before the goddess of war returned to what she'd been saying about squaring one's shoulders. When Thor passed by around ten minutes later, he was with a petite woman in skinny jeans, boots, and a grey jacket with a scarf around her neck.

Cora's eyes widened at that—those were Midgardian clothes. So she was the girl he was missing? They hadn't gotten more of a chance to talk, but Frigga had mentioned her and that her name was Jane Foster. Cora had heard the name maybe once in a segment on the New Mexico incident, but only knew she was a scientist and she ran in the same circles as Erik Selvig, who had given a lecture at her university a handful of years ago.

She might've said hello, but they looked like they were in some kind of hurry and instead when Jane looked over at them in the courtyard, Cora just flashed a quick smile. When she looked back at Sif, she arched a brow before realizing what was really going on. "You like him."

Sif glanced at her with an arch to her brow. "Of course, he is my friend. We've fought and feasted many a time together."

"No, I mean you like him."

She squinted a little. "What are you implying exactly?"

Cora elaborated, "Do you see him as more than a friend?"

Sif paused and sighed, glancing toward the hall before taking up her own training sword again. "It is complicated…"

"Try me," Cora suggested as she blocked one of Sif's swings, her movements more fluid after a fair amount of practice.

Sif smiled approvingly at her block before trying again with a more underhanded attack. "His mother approved the match, his father more than approves…," she murmured with a frown. "I suppose I just thought my future was laid out for me. And now it's simply not and it's by his own choice. I do not want him to do anything against his wishes, but I also worry for his heart."

"Because in around a hundred years…," Cora began with a small frown as they did some footwork.

Sif nodded. "Exactly. And it pains me to think how much that will hurt him." She paused in their practice fight, leaning against the training sword after planting the tip in the ground. "I…also never figured I would be jealous of a mortal."

Cora frowned faintly. "Sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

Sif shook her head, "No… In a way, I am glad you did. It has clarified things for me somewhat."

She smiled a little and nodded. "Okay. If you ever want to talk, just let me know, all right? I'm a good listener."

Sif smiled. "Thank you, I am sure I will take you up on that some time. Perhaps multiple times," she said with a laugh.

"No worries, it's a limitless offer," Cora reassured her. "We'll pick this up later, okay? I'm starving."

"Sounds good, I will see you later," she said lightheartedly, taking the training sword from Cora and putting them away before going inside the palace. Cora was soon to follow and headed to the dining hall to get something to eat. She briefly considered going to talk to Loki, but decided she would do that later; Frigga had mentioned going to see him around this time and she didn't want to interrupt.

Armor clanked and roars sounded throughout the dungeons as the Warriors Three and a few other soldiers in Asgard's golden plating escorted in new prisoners, one a beastly creature and looking quite formidable. Loki only briefly wondered why he was putting up so little fight, however he quickly disregarded the creature to glance over the others as they filed through. "Odin continues to bring me new friends… How thoughtful."

"The books I sent, do they not interest you?" Frigga asked curiously, wondering what she could do to make this easier. Perhaps a different genre or something different altogether. Parchment to write or sketch upon? They had been talking for a short while now and, while he'd been a bit more amiable, he was still sarcastic and cold.

"Is that how I'm to wile away eternity?" Loki drawled as he turned around, an arch to his brow. "Reading?"

Frigga pursed her lips briefly in an expression of maternal disapproval he knew rather well by this time. "I've done everything in my power to make you comfortable, Loki," she reminded him gently.

Loki sneered. "Have you? Does Odin share your concern?" he asked mockingly. "Does Thor? It must be so inconvenient, them asking after me day and night…"

Frigga sighed. "You know full well that your actions have brought you here."

"My actions…" Loki paced like a lion simply waiting for an opportunity to break the bars of his lowly cage. "I was merely giving truth to the lie that I've been fed my entire life. That I was born to be a king."

"A king?" Frigga repeated. "A true king admits his faults. What of the lives you took on Earth?"

Loki sighed silently. It always came back to Earth, the pathetic race… Weaklings, all. And yet Frigga and Cora's coupled disappointment in him were beginning to shift his opinions on the war he'd waged. The tiniest fragments of guilt were beginning to splinter into his certainty. "A mere handful compared to the numbers Odin has taken, himself."

"Your father—" Frigga began, but never got a chance to finish.

Loki's reaction to the two simple words was explosive. "He's not my father!" he yelled back at her angrily, though Frigga looked into his vivid emerald eyes and saw hurt beneath the hate.

She paused before reluctantly asking, "Then am I not your mother?"

Loki hesitated visibly and he calculated his answer, running through every possibility before arriving at simply the only thing he could say and remain resolute in his anger and bitterness. The only thing that would keep his words of Odin not being his father true and keep him cold to all who tried to warm him. "You're not," he said in a quieter tone and though, technically, this was true, the words felt like acid on his tongue.

It physically pained him to see how Frigga—his mother, no matter what he said—stopped and still made efforts to smile at him although her eyes glistened with tears. "Always so perceptive about everyone but yourself," she said softly as she held her hands out to him.

Loki looked at her and then down at her hands, his warring emotions written across his face as he could no longer help himself. He stepped forward and moved to place his hands in hers, but they passed through and the illusion dissipated before his eyes. When she'd faded completely, he pursed his lips and looked down, sighing heavily before going to sit against the wall, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

He remained like that for an uncertain amount of time before he heard someone coming down the stairs and opened his eyes lazily to see Cora on the other side of the shimmering prison wall. "And what do you want?" he asked in a grumble.

"To partake in your unmatched, uplifting company," Cora tossed sarcastically back, making him smirk faintly as she sat down on the ledge on the other side of the wall, matching his sitting position. Had the prison barrier not been there, they would've been side-by-side, he noted. Then again, she probably would've also tried to push him over, given his attitude. She simply wasn't afraid of him. She never had been, but he'd figured she would be terrified of him, at least hate him, after everything that had happened since they'd met. Yet, here she was. "Are you just going to stare at me?"

"What would you rather I do?" he asked in a daring tone and she rolled her eyes at him, giving a disgruntled sound as he smirked and looked away.

He grimaced when he heard her begin to ask slowly, "Where were you? Before New York, I mean… From what I hear, it all happened over the course of a few days. What were you doing before that?"

"Assembling an army, what do you think?" he asked in a rhetorical, bored manner.

"Loki, cut it out," she murmured frustratedly and he looked over at her again to find her looking down at her hands in her lap. A crease formed between his brows. She tended to do that when she was genuinely upset. Well, why would she not be? You killed her kind. "I'm serious. What made you do this?"

"Being scorned from succession, I suppose," he murmured.

She looked up and made eye contact with him, genuinely surprised when he didn't look away. "It wasn't just that and we both know it," she murmured. "You've changed. Immensely. And I worry about you."

His eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"Because it seems like someone messed with your head. A lot."

Loki's eye twitched very faintly. So faintly, Cora nearly didn't notice. Memories of pain, torture of all kinds, pain again, and sheer agony of soul and body flashed through his mind and sent chills through his blood. "And what if someone did?" he said very quietly, but while retaining his calm, searching her eyes.

"I'll kick their ass," she muttered tersely and that was enough to make him lose his composure and glance away, a smirk cracking across his lips as he chuckled softly. Cora smiled at seeing that, her features softening as she looked at him. She hadn't missed the look on his face before he'd answered her and now she knew at least part of who he was now had been forced into him by something terrible. The rest was bitterness.

He looked over at her and saw her smiling at him, but seconds later, a guard walked down to patrol and looked over at her. "What brings you down here?" he asked sternly and the look on Cora's face before she turned her head to regard the soldier made Loki laugh.

"The scenic views, what else," Cora murmured as the guard gave up and walked off, seeing as she wasn't causing any trouble and he had a round to do. She looked over at Loki and smiled briefly. "I'll see you later," she told him as she stood up to go, not wanting to cause unwanted suspicion or anger the armed guard.

Loki watched her go before glancing down at his hand, retracting it from the prison glass. His fingertips were reddened with faint burns from where he'd begun to press his hand subconsciously against its harmful golden surface. Shaking his head at himself, he stood and walked over, languidly lying down on the cream lounge chair his mother had provided, snatching a decorative tumbler from the table nearby and hurling it up into the air, catching it nimbly.

He could remember what her small hand had felt like in his and he could remember how he'd clung to that memory while bleeding against jagged rocks, Chitauri slithering through the darkness around him. She kept him sane and what a feat that had proven to be.

Not an hour had passed and Cora was just looking for Frigga to tell her about the progress she felt she'd made with Loki when she ran into Sif instead. "Sif, have you seen Frigga anywhere?"

"Not that I can recall, last I saw her was hours ago before she stole away to speak to Loki." She uttered the name with some distaste and Cora could understand why, though she didn't share her feelings. After all, with the trouble and misery Loki had caused Thor and Frigga, both, Sif was well within her rights to loathe him on their behalf. "Something is wrong with the human woman Thor brought back."

"I know you're not happy about her, but—"

"No, Cora, I mean something is wrong. That is why she's here," Sif insisted, troubled.

"What do you mean?" Cora asked, frowning.

"A relic has taken hold of her as a host, though Odin thought it impossible. It is an ancient power called the Aether," she explained grimly. "It was never supposed to be within a living being's reach again, but with the Convergence… It was some strange twist of chance that she stumbled through a void which led her to it."

"Is she going to be okay?"

Sif shrugged. "I do not know. No one seems to know. Thor is terribly worried though he doesn't show it… Then again, how could he not be?"

"But what exactly does it—" Cora stopped speaking when a rumble sounded from through the floor. She frowned and murmured, "…Did you hear that?"

Sif nodded and glanced around, her eyes widening as guards began to flood toward the dungeon stairway. "Stay here," she said urgently to Cora as she hurried to see if she could help.

Cora was left in the hall, nervously watching more and more guardsmen run to the stairs as the noises grew and an inhuman roar split the air from below. She stood by a few moments before going to find Frigga with even more urgency, at least until she heard a strange, but faint, metallic moan from outside. She hurried to a window, her hands catching the sill as she peered out, paling at the sight of an enormous black ship which resembled a fang careened toward the water, not because it was crashing…

But because an entire fleet was appearing in its wake.

Next chapter: Chapter 19, "Sacrifice"

[violet-ophelia-boss]

MCYT x EPIC: THE MUSICAL

CHAPTER ONE: THE WAR

(this chapter is inspired from the first 3 songs of the troy saga from EPIC: the musical)

(also CherriFire’s role as Penelope got changed from wife to close friend as this fanfiction is not for shipping intention. It’s just a silly AU :D)

Once Upon a Time, or should I say long time ago, there was 2 big factions, Refiluso and Salob who just made peace. Until the queen got kidnapped from the other faction, and so the Salob faction had to attack. They did a big wood horse and all of the army inside of it, creating a trap for the enemy. << Alright my friends listen closely>> says one of them. They were the captain, who everyone calls Y/n. << Tonight we’ll make refilusos pay. For the betrayal of our land.>> the captain continues talking, as they hear an echo from the soldiers saying “Yes captain!”. <<You, Oli’, you will lead our people>> continues Y/n, pointing at a young guy with short brown hair, grey-blueish eyes, full of hopes and dreams. << You will kill the guards and you Michela, will lead our people through every gate, so we can take the whole city at large>> says the captain, pointing first at a kind of skinny guy with dark brown curly hair and eyes, handing a sword and then looking at the black haired woman with braids and really dark eyes, who was nodding with courage on her eyes. << Krow, you will shoot any ambush attack and also let the reserves stay back from the fight>>. A black-bloody red haired soldier agreed, pulling their hair for a ponytail, eyes burning with determination. << You, other soldiers, protect the Queen at all costs and Molly, kill everyone that’s not in our side>> ends the discussion Y/n, looking at everyone and then Molly, a ginger haired woman with blue eyes, who was reciprocating the look in a somehow calm way. Everyone was ready to attack, but before giving the ok to attack, y/n saw their close friend Cherri and their son, Shep. The captain gave the signal, the war starts. They all start fighting, while the enemies were still shocked by such betrayal. Y/n fought bravely like the others until they see a a blue colored wind never seen from anyone ever hit them. << who is it???>> shouts terrified Y/n, holding their sword cautiously. << Follow me. There’s something you should see>> says a strange voice, letting the wind enter a tower of the main castle, which Y/n follows. << You now have a mission, to kill someone’s son. A nemesis which won’t run. But I don’t think you’re ready.>> continues the voice, stopping at a wooden door. << But I know that I’m ready.>> responds the other, opening the door and seeing a wooden crib with a baby sleeping there. << But it’s… just a child. What kind of threat can he do that I cannot avoid?>> asks the mortal. << This is the son of the prince’s enemy. This boy will grow to become an avenger full of rage as time passes by. If you don’t kill him now in the future there could be worse. And you can say goodbye to everyone you care about>> says the voice, fading away afterwards. Now in the tower there’s only Y/n and the enemy’s son. But Y/n was destroyed by that information, crying. That child reminded them of his son, of the same age as they left for the war. Then they see a piece of paper, a feather and a inkpot. They wrote down the hopes for that child to pay the cost for the lives they had taken. Then they hide the letter in a drawer and ran away. After that event, they all got to the ship, starting their journey home. But before that, they must search an island to get food. << Captain! Look there! We did it!>> shouts a dark brown curly haired guy, with happiness in his eyes. << I’m going>> declares Y/n. << I’m coming with you>> says the guy. << no Laz, I don’t want anything bad happening to you>> responds the other. << No, I’m coming with you, yes or no as you say>> says Laz. <<Fine you’re coming with me.>> says y/n, before starting walking into the island.

[sylvanas-girlkisser]

As a follow up to last week's top/bottom post, i guess part of what kept me from identifying as butch for a long time, is that i am also both in my writing and as a person fascinated by feminity.

Like i know, to put it in the most fucking programmer terms ever, that butchness does not deeply equal masculinity, but I guess i was influenced a lot by how butchness in media/large fandoms as a spectrum ranging from "skinny cis girl in a leather jacket" to "trans masc uwu smol bean".

But also, wanting to get more femme so you can get more butch is kind of a weird gender which I guess goes back to the whole: complicated relationship to womanhood.

Tying it back to my whole "fascination with femininity" (which yes i know is a phrase the terfs are weird about but w/e): I find that high femme identity, or rather the heteronormative bastardization of it, tends to be portrayed as aspirational, rather than just that, an identity.

A phrase I have said A LOT when describing my gender is "I shouldn't have to wear dresses and 20 types of makeup to be recognized as a woman". And I think subconsciously that has also had a big influence on how women are portrayed in my writing.

Like, to compare and contrast: In the Burning Kingdoms (this series will not leave my brain), empowerment is very much correlated with beauty; Malini spends most of the first book imprisoned and in a drugged stupor. Unable to care for herself she stops bathing, her hair gets tangled, and she walks around in rags. The once she's freed, her first act is to get cleaned up and put on a fancy dress, which signals she's ready to take the fight to her brother.

And again, yeah that is just the kind of character Malini is right? Her power comes from being able to play whichever version of herself will garner the most sympathy - and there is no sympathetic version of an empress in a strictly patriarchal society that is not both regal looking and smoking hot.

By comparison, in my own writing, specifically "bury the antlers with the stag" Jaina is shown as the complete opposite. Her empowerment comes from being able to march into a room bags under her eyes, hair a mess, breath stinking of gas station coffee, and go "listen up idiots".

Like I don't think one approach is more "inherently feminist" than the other, its about the varied experiences of being a woman, and by extension the different ways empowerment of women and people with feminine adjacent gender experiences can be represented.

On another notes who wants to hear the incredibly complicated lore i came up with for my blood elf hunter?

[astarab1aze]

"There's always this tension when we're together. Is it just me feeling it?" Luka and Kaede !!

Bright cornflowers ripped away from half-empty glasses and skinny black straws, head angling to the side if only so he could get a good look at the blond beside him - had he always worn sunglasses indoors? Was he the type to wear sunglasses at night? How strange, but he kept his eyes on him, tracing the slopes and lines of his face, counting the odd freckle or two and making note of how his hair fell into his face-- But then, Kaede wondered what Luka had meant by tension, wondering if he'd been too quiet or too...bitchy, too himself for the other's tastes. Had he complained too loudly? Or worse, had he done so and sat too close, thighs touching under the bartop? Had he spoken too freely, paid no mind to personal space--

And, then, he looked away, a crimson stain to his skin, and he didn't think it was the whisky this time. Lips parted, plush and glossy, pearly white and the tip of his tongue revealed in kind. But what was the point in talking if all he could do was potentially make Luka uncomfortable and make a fool of himself? He had to finish his drink quickly, hide the fact he didn't quite know what to say or do - that it was the first time, in a long time, he'd been rendered silent by a strange, handsome blond at the bar. Did he know...? Oh, the terror of being found out.

"T-tension, huh," he huffed, setting his glass down, signaling the bartender for another. Maybe two, both doubles please. "Whatever do you mean?" Maybe a little coy, but mostly anxious, nervous. "Is it...a negative kind of tension?"

And, then, he was assailed by the memory of what he'd chosen to wear that night - tight pleather and a backless, sleeveless shirt, so much skin exposed, so many scars and curves to be seen. He wondered if that had been a factor, if the arch of his spine and the dip of his hips had made matters all the worse, or if the tears down his arms and around his back had been too dark, too puffy to look away from. And why was he so self-conscious all of the sudden? Since when had he been so quick to shiver and worry over the way this man, any man, looked at him?

When his drinks arrived, he was eager to suck them down, let the burn of a whisky double warm him, tweak his nerves, distract him. There was no way Luka could be into him, either, and it'd be arrogant to even consider that an option. For as pretty as Kaede knew he was, that was sort of...it - he was pretty. A mix of feminine and masculine, angular like a man yet soft in places a woman ought to be, and never, ever what anyone actually wanted or...could even have. Could even stand. And as he thought on it, maybe he wasn't really all that pretty in the end, just someone momentarily pleasing to look at until all the little details became glaringly obvious.

He wanted to go home, suddenly a bit dizzy, a bit overwhelmed. Too warm, too nauseous, too clammy in his palms. Maybe it was the condensation on his glass, or the race of his mind. He couldn't help but knit his brows and frown at himself.

"I...hope it isn't like that," he murmured, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth. "Hope I'm better company than that..."

[local-diavolo-anon]

Jeff The Killer Headcanons!

aaaand it's time for another boy :D

(note: a good portions of my headcanons come from this fanfiction here, which is to my opinion one of, if not the best fanfiction/sequel to Jeff's original story, so i suggest everyone who likes the character to read it! i think it's only in italian, but use a translator if you can, because it deserves a lot!)

Physical appearence:

I think he looks roughly like what the stories describe him as, but those are, rather than actual descriptions of what he looks like, more like what the terrified people who had seen him remember him as

So compared to what most people think, he does not miss his his cheeks, lips or eyelids; he is insane not stupid, and knows well that missing those would make his life way more difficult on the daily

His eyelids are just partially missing because he pretty much burned alive, so his eyes dannot close completely unless he scrunches them shut

He doesn't sleep, at all.

He lays there emotionless for some time and just rests a bit

His cheeks are, again, not missing, his scars are two linear cuts that run through them

Unless he opens his mouth you cannot see inside, or his teeth

Except on his left side, following the remake creepypasta he has a scar that trails up his face there, and he do miss a small portion of his cheek there, barely enough to see a lil peek of his molars

(If you point it out he would act dramatic like a victorian woman whom somekne just told her ankles are showing)

He is tall, around 1.86 meters tall (6'1" i think), and rather lanky

He isn't skinny, however; he has a good amount of muscles there, he just looks like a street pole

His shoe size is 47 EU, which is roughly a 13US and a 12.5UK (men size) which means this guy has boats for feet

His hair are... shit, to put it nicely. They feel like horsehair to the touch, and are rather dry, meaning they will just become spikes if you try to use gel on them

He keeps them long most of the time because that way you cannot see the bald patch he has on the left side of his forehead, that like his scar was caused by being shot in the face with a signal rocket (i cannot find a better name for it, sorry)

He always had light blue eyes, but they look paler now since his skin is also pale and ruined, his left eye also is partially blind

Like in the story i linked above, he has full control over most of his body and can totally use his own muscles to stop a blade or partially a bullet from causing major wounds

This is why his body is covered in scars that should have been caused by deadly hits, like multiple bullet wounds, stab wounds and even an electric scar (that one is on his back)

He also has that funny, funny trick of asking someone to check his pulse and then stop his own heart for a little and watch whoever was his target freak the fuck out

He can run for a long time without getting tired, of course he has his limit, but it's definitely longer than a normal person or athlete

He has long fingers, and his hands look a bit like a raccoon's in terms of finger shape

Trivia headcanons:

He is a smug bastard and will haunt whoever he is close enough with

Mostly for fun, with little malicious intent behind other than annoying and/or causing some chaos

He is not a noisy or loud person himself, but can be if prompted

By himself he is irritatingly smug at the worst

While he is smart and mostly rational, upholding a very accurate ability to predict how others will act and what they will do after studying them for long enough, he is an impulsive asshole who can and will lash out given the right circumstances

And he will be maniacal about it

Following the story i linked, while he dies at the end there, if we say he does not then i like to think Zenith does not fully disappear, but does not maintain control over him, and remains kind of like a ghost of sorts following him around and bothering him every once in a while

He will talk out loud to them without any filter and does not care people cannot see or hear them, everyone knows he is insane already so upholding that label does him no wrong

When i say talk i mean he occasionally ask them for tips on things he is too impulsive to deal with normally, or simply bicker/fight with them if they are annoying him too much

He carries with him an unreal amount of knives, and embodies the trope of a person being asked to give all their weapons and they start taking out more and more weapons from increasingly unlikely and bizzare places

The more visible one is a large knife he carries in a leather slipcover that is attached to his belt

But he has a few thinner ones straped to his left forearm, a hunting knife straped to his right arm, another two to his legs (respectively thigh and ankle), several ones straped to his chest under his hoodie, which is oversized for exactly this reason, smaller one hidden in his right boot, and to end it, a miniature switchblade he braided into his hair

Yeah he does not like walking around weaponless lmao

On the other hand, he has absolutely no idea of how to operate a gun, so giving him one makes him potentially more dangerous than leaving him with 10+ knives

He likes to hunt down eyeless jack in the forest to bother him about things

Nothing in particular, but sometimes he feels lonely and the oversized demon is a good company when you just want to sit somewhere in the forest and look at the sky

Because of how he operates, he is rather skilled in stuff like free climing and parkour, 90% self taught and 100% aimed at running away whenever anyone spots him

He left cops eating dirt several times because of said skills paired with his fill control over his body functions

Despite what it looks like, overall he is not a too bad of a person to be around if he tolerates you

i probably forgot something but this is in my drafts since a few days and tomorrow i will travel away for a few days so i won't be able to publish it anymore Q-Q

[raspberryjars]

As per request, I’ve started writing Miles’ POV of my fic ‘It’s You.’

Tag list: (lmk if u want to be added/removed)

@spo0kypigeon @not-gifted-but-burned-out

His old headphones had broken the previous day, so he’d been out to pick up some new ones. Fancy, high tech ones that he’d seen a few people on his feed wearing. They were pretty cool but he definitely needed some stickers or something, they were just kind of plain and grey, not exactly his style. They had amazing sound quality though. It was almost like someone was actually singing into his ears. Fucking expensive though, so if they broke like his others he’d actually lose it.

He was in the middle of texting Ganke about his headphones when the train stopped, signalling he should get off. And as he stood and walked to the sliding doors, something, well someone really, caught his eye.

An absolutely beautiful, and, like, he means beautiful, guy was sitting right there, across from where he’d been sitting literally not even two seconds ago. Like, this drop-dead-gorgeous guy, was sitting there, and it looked like he was looking at Miles. Or at least in his general direction. This guy, with beautiful dark eyes, like seriously beautiful eyes. And like a million piercings in his face that made Miles’ skinny little nose ring look practically invisible. And also, like, his whole look was really cool. He had boots that looked like they could smash someone’s face in, and probably had based on the blue ladder lacing on one, but like, this really cool, really really hot guy had just been staring at him on the subway? And he could do nothing about it but just walk away from him because by the time he’d finished his train of thought about the guy's style and eyes and everything, he was already walking up the stairs away from the platform and the train was long gone, along with the amazingly beautiful guy.

Fuck.

tell me what u think so far!

[aamirastories]

Part 3

I'm putting these out quite regularly now as I have a lot of this already written, but will slow down now to give a chance to catch up for those following along!

The Hikers

March 10th, 2023

My legs were on fire. I looked up. When my father said this was going to be a short climb to the top, I would love to know what scale of measurement we’d used. 

I looked down. Sure, we’d come a long way. Looking up again though, the top seemingly faded seamlessly into the clouds.

“Come on! We’re almost there!”, my father said.

Now I knew what deja-vu was. It was hearing that every hundred or so metres. My father was an ex-Navy seal – tall, rugged with short greying hair. Our bond grew after my mother passed away and whilst I struggled growing up, Dad had really been working on his bond with me and this hike was an example of that. Years of demanding special ops missions and training have left him tough, physically and mentally and even out of service many years, he still kept himself in great shape. I on the other hand was only just beginning to get used to this increased level of torture-come-training that he led me through weekly. I was skinny and was never comfortable with exercise, though I did always prefer exploring and Dad and I always had a bond through this. I however, was exhausted.

We continued climbing up the gradual slope, my legs burning with each step. I focused on regulating my breathing as I tracked our progress, counting over 500 laborious steps upward. The ground unexpectedly levelled off into a plateau still shrouded in mist, surprising me. Where was the peak?

“Almost there!” My dad called out ahead, striding vigorously towards the blanket of clouds. I hurried to catch up, confused. We'd hiked miles, the thin, cool air signalling high altitude.

As soon as I entered the fog, it enveloped me completely. The astonishing vista left behind vanished - there was only a haze of white. We wandered sightless amidst the swirling vapor; the mountain's peak shrouded. A surreal sensation came over me, as if floating in another realm high above earthly bounds. I focused on my father's broad back as my anchor point, shadowing his tireless gait through this bizarre, muffled limbo.

Just when unease began overwhelming me, the fog thinned. Crisp blue sky emerged above while sunlight dappled the rocks golden. Scrambling up boulders, I grasped a ledge, pulling myself to the summit on hands and knees, my heart racing and my lungs on fire, before standing up. I got a little lightheaded, but my father steadied me, as the weight of the rucksack on my back obeyed gravity and threatened to help me take the quick way back down the mountain. 

I looked around. The view was gorgeous. The sky was a rich blue with only a faint wisp of cloud on the horizon. There was a nice cool breeze which I appreciated as it helped to cool my face, sweat still pouring down it. I slowly turned, taking in the vista, careful not to lose footing again. 

In the distance. What was it? I called out to my father.

“Dad? What’s that?”

It took him a moment. I pointed in the direction, and he finally spotted it, as it grew closer.

“An aircraft maybe? Seems to be going quickly whatever it is.” he replied.

“The trail though, it’s not white, it’s grey, almost black.” I added, and focused on it more, shading my eyes with my hand placed over my eyebrows. It was hard to discern a particular shape of it although it did glint in the sun, so I could only surmise it was made of some kind of metal.

It was coming more quickly now, the front of it turning a more yellow orange, and suddenly my heart began to race again.

“It’s definitely not an aircraft” my dad said. He picked up his phone and zoomed into it, getting a closer look.

As it got so close, we felt we could almost make out the shape of it, trying to work out exactly what it was, it exploded. The sound hit us about 4 seconds later, a loud bang, this deafening peal accompanied by a blast of scorching wind that sent us both backwards.

“WOW!” My dad said as he looked at me.

Where the object had previously been, a blue cloud was hanging in the air, spreading and becoming fainter as it did, the wind beginning to carry it over our heads. We stared at it for a matter of minutes before it completely faded. I could swear, before my dad looked at me that the faintest smell of what I could only describe as coriander was in the air but dismissed it immediately. We breathed air that had been endlessly hot – I could still feel the residual heat on my face. As the smoke dispersed, the sky looked pale and empty again.

“Come on, let’s head back down again. I need to write this down before I forget and post these pictures to some friends.” my dad said and began to step cautiously down the steep slope. I looked back up, no sign of where the object had been, before turning again and following him down, my path tracing his.