#Thunder Hammock

[jothetender]

Strain: Thunder Hammock

Grower: Canna Royale

State: Oklahoma

Medical/Recreational: Medical

[jonathan-cranes-mistress-of-fear]

I like to think that Jon sings to animals when he's petting them. He doesn't do it consciously, but it just happens.

I hope tomorrow is kinder to you.

Omg that's adorable. I hope that ends up in the podcast one day.

Thank you, you're a valued part of this fandom and a good person. <3 I'm glad I got to really know you, and hopefully today will be better. So far, it has been nice aside from Scarecrow the cat going to time out (a fancy crate that's basically a hotel) for attacking my other kitty, Smudge. He's a lot like his namesake, except when it storms. Then he's a bit of a coward.

[brenna]

sit in my hammock. it's about to rain. listen.

[packlllama]

[mydearlybeloathed]

── 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you just can't get to sleep thanks to a terrible rainstorm terrorizing the ship. luckily, your tossing and turning inspired nami with an idea: just go sleep with the swordsman.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: roronoa zoro x fem!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1k

don' ask about the aesthetic k? k 💙

With how the hail storm rattled against the hull of the ship, and how the vessel careened on the waves, you were at a loss as to how Nami was fast asleep already.

The crew had settled down for sleep hours ago, the laughter and teasing from dinner falling into a soft silence draping over each and every one of you—well, except you, that is.

Even after months at sea, the incessant rocking had you curling into yourself, headache blooming under the skin of your temples. Groaning, you rolled around on your sheets, burying your face in your pillow as you shoved the blanket off your shoulders and down your body. Chill air hit you instantly, a contrast to the sweat rising from your skin. All you wanted was sleep, but your ears rang with the sound of rainfall and the far off thunder rumbling through the sky.

You tossed and turned again and again, rest ever so far away and the sway of the Going Merry making kept your mind alert with all its tilts and jumps. Yet another grunt of frustration huffed from your lips, and Nami finally sprang up, glaring at you from across the cabin.

“What’s wrong?” she demanded, her eyes heavy and her annoyance high.

Great. Now Nami was upset, which usually lasted a whole day if you were unlucky. You didn’t bother turning back to look at her, digging yourself deeper into your blanket. “Sorry…”

She sighed and rubbed at her cheek, gaze drifting over your exhausted form, taking in what she could in the dark. Settling back down, Nami said what she’d been thinking for the past two hours of listening to you loll around restlessly. “Just go sleep with Zoro.”

A beat passed, your eyes slowly opening as you tried to convince yourself you’d heard her wrong. You flipped around and gaped at the girl slinking into her sheets with a smirk you would catch through any dark room. “What? Why would I—Why would you—Nami!”

She chuckled darkly, her bright eyes finding yours. Nami propped her head up on her hand. “It wouldn’t be the first time, right?”

Trying and failing to make a comeback, you opened and closed your mouth like a gaping fish, settling on crossing your arms over your chest. “That’s none of your business.”

“Uh-huh,” she drawled. “But I’ve got dawn watch and am in desperate need of sleep.” All you did was stare at her, your glare fading. Nami rolled onto her back, offering into the silence, “It’s not like he’ll turn you away.”

You tried so very hard to let her logic roll off your shoulders, but it was cold (Zoro was warm) and you were tired (Zoro was a good napping buddy). As appealing as the idea was, you didn’t want to bother him. Zoro was probably just getting back from his night watch, Sanji heading up to the deck in his wake. Zoro wouldn’t turn you away, but he might grumble at you, and sometimes that was worse.

“Stop overthinking,” Nami’s voice whispered through a hiss. “He likes you.”

She was just trying to give you heart palpitations saying stuff like that. “Does not.”

“Mhmm. Get some sleep… with Zoro.”

You threw your pillow across the room, missing her bed by a longshot. You could throw pillows and shout whispered words at her all you wanted—it didn’t change that she had a point.

It wouldn’t be the first time you crawled into Zoro’s hammock late at night, seeking shelter from sleeplessness that seemed to miraculously melt in his embrace. Nami might’ve been right; Zoro might like you, at least more than he liked anybody else. It was confusing most days, but your mind was so mushy with fatigue you didn’t bother running over the finer details of your affections for the swordsman.

You puffed out a huff, eliciting a growl from the dark, “Go. Or neither of us will sleep.”

“Fine.” You threw off your blanket and marched out of the cabin before you could lose your nerve, trudging through the nearly pitch black hall of the Merry. 

You yelped as you tripped over a discarded broom, cursing into the night as you kicked it aside and kept on toward the boy’s cabin. As soon as you laid eyes on the closed door, your footsteps faltered, heart stuttering. 

The ship leaned on the waves and sent you teetering into the wall, and the decision was suddenly easy. You inched the door open gently, wincing at the momentary creak, and slipped inside. 

The boys’ cabin always had a… unique scent to it. Somewhere between burning socks and musk is how Nami described it. Honestly (now, you would never tell her this), you just thought it smelled like Zoro. Though Zoro might’ve been slightly less odorous on good days, you mused.

The swordsman of your infatuation lay in a swaying hammock tied up between two support beams holding up the ceiling. A flash of lightning illuminated his peaceful face for a brief moment, and the room was back to black. 

Collecting your wits, you approached him slowly, careful not to step on any of the clutters the boys left lying about. Lip pinched between your teeth, you stepped around a crate of slingshot ammo Usopp had crafted, catching your foot on the slingshot itself and jumping out of the way. 

You swept the room fretfully, yet no one stirred, the usual snores rising and falling. A sigh puffed form your chest as you turned back to Zoro’s hammock, only to lock eyes with the stoic swordsman as he gazed blearily up at you.

Lurching back, you calmed your racing heart and huffed at him. “You scared me.”

Zoro leaned up on his elbows, confused. “You scared me.” His gaze flickered all over your face. “What’re you doing?”

You fisted your hands, feeling like a deer at headlights, and blurted, “Nami kicked me out.”

Zoro’s brows drew instantly. “What?” He rose halfway when you hand found his chest, gently pushing him back down.

“I mean,” you amended. “I couldn’t sleep, and she got tired of me rolling around…” Bashful in how you averted your eyes, swaying on your feet, “I… sleep better with you. Y’know?”

Not even a second later he tugged on your arm to draw you closer, shuffling over to offer you some room. You smiled softly, falling into the space beside him, molding right into his side. “Yeah, I know.”

Your face warmed, your heart swelled, and you rested your head on the rigid outline of his shoulder, adjusting to find a comfortable place. Zoro’s arm slid under you and curled you further into his side, a sigh pulling from his chest, his muscles literally relaxing under each of your touches. 

There wasn’t a name for what you and Zoro were, not yet anyway, and somehow you were fine with that. He was there, and you were there, and that felt like enough. For now, you let your eyes finally give way to exhaustion, the pelting of the rain growing fainter and fainter. 

Nami was a tease, but she made some good points a lot of the time. You’d have to thank her in the morning, after you finally got to sleep in the arms of your swordsman.

[darlingofvalyria]

❝Uncle Aegon said you threatened muña— threatened!❞

[ Aegon amusingly reveals to your children how his brother actually met you. ]

[ 2,272 ] | aemond targaryen x dr. wife!reader, modern au!

contains— no warnings, just fluff, innuendo - children (you & aems have four kids hsdhjsdhs) - aemond being a dick the first time he met you!! but within reason ig??? - you're a doctor, hon, cos you're so smart - aegon being the fun, shit-stirrer uncle help - hospital? accident but no graphic depictions.

a/n— enjoy my first fic mwa ♡ comment, like & reblog at will!

Every weekend, you spend your days with your mother in law and the rest of the family. Family— to your husband — is very important. Spending it surrounded not just you and your kids, but his mother, his siblings, and the afternoon sun casting a glow over the family home that he grew up in, through hells and heavens, was everything to Aemond Targaryen.

A few times a year, Aemond forgets his family also included his older brother.

Because when the birds are chirping, the music of the trees swaying in the breeze are calming, and you are lying on top of him on the hammock, lazily swaying about as he relished in the feel of your body on top of his, your warmth engulfing his senses, and a book he placed gently on top of your back— of course Aegon Targaryen was going to be the reason his oldest child and teenage daughter, was going to come thundering in big steps and a huff, smacking her hands to her hips and glaring at her father.

"You lied to me, daddy!" she half roared as she stopped right in front of him. Her siblings, like little ducks, followed suit as they clamoured all over the hammock, giggling at their mother who woke up from her drowsy reverie, blowing raspberries at them before turning amusedly at their daughter, then to Aemond.

"What'd you lie about, hon?" you asked with sleepy mirth in your eyes.

"Apart from Santa and the Easter Bunny incident, I have no idea." He kissed the top of your nose, then sighed, as you rose and untangled yourself from him, picking up your youngest, Daegon, only about four years old, murmurs of asking about his day and did he enjoy having tea with his grandma.

He then turned to his eldest daughters, impatience and betrayal exuding from them in spades (he often enjoyed how much his daughters resembled him; not so much in fiery-licked rage), and he sighed again before he turned to Valera, his eldest. "Can you elaborate better, little dragon? As far as I can remember, I have not lied to you since you were six."

"You said you met mom through Auntie Hel, you lied," your third child and eldest boy, Rhaegar, said with a happy little giggle as he hid from his father into the dress of your skirt, clinging to your leg. Both of you froze, you with a slow, widening smile as you realised the kids knew.

Aemond on the other hand, wasn't as amused. In fact, his entire soul froze.

"Who—"

"Uncle Aegon said you threatened muña, threatened!" your second daughter, Rhaella, shouted, eyes bugged out in disbelief. Rhaegar giggled again, no doubt remembering the chaos that ensued once their uncle told the magnificent story without his permission as his sisters lost their mind.

"I—"

Valera, often sweet and admired her father fiercely (she had three years of being an only child before Rhaella was born, and Aemond did not hold back in spoiling her), started to have tears in her eyes as his heart squeezed at the sight.

"You lied, daddy, how could you?" There was devastation in her voice that mirrored Aemond's, a panic growing deep in the pit of his stomach while you tried to muffle your snickers behind your youngest's head.

He would have glared at you if he didn't feel like he was about to lose his mind, instead employing his best 'please help me i will literally do anything you want' wide eye, before you chuckled, shaking your head as you put down Daegon who immediately plopped down on the ground, yanking grass. Rhaegar followed, trying to find bugs; a habit he formed by hanging out with Auntie Helaena.

As you keep a mindful peripheral eye on your boys, you gathered your daughters to you, they immediately latched to your torso as if they weren't thirteen and ten respectively, sniffling and glaring at their father as he was made public enemy number one.

You bit your bottom lip to keep yourself from bursting into laughter as his face sunk deeper into despair, standing up, unable to stay seated any longer, offering them open palms of mournful looks and piercing glares at the manor behind his girls where the reason for his current predicament was no doubt giggling like an idiot.

"My loves, tell me, what did Uncle Aegon actually tell you?" you ask soothingly, running your hands through their silver hair. They looked up at you mournfully, and you bit your lip harder as you realised they even looked like their father in this moment.

"H-he said," Rhaella sniffed. "That he was angry at you. At the hospital."

"And that he yelled at you!" Valera wailed, shooting his father a withering look that had Aemond sinking into himself before he shot his own withering look at the house again, murder in his eye.

"I did not yell at your mother, Valera."

Amused, you raised an eyebrow. "And what would you call it?"

He shot you a 'you're not helping' look as he ave a disgruntled little hum. "I wouldn't it call it 'yelling', my love, merely raising my voice."

At the sort of confirmation, Val and Rhae let out a hiccuped wail. Aemond begun marching back at the house, fingers flexing with a mutter of, I'm going to rip him from spleen to spine, break every bone in his body and stomp on his—

You jolt out your arm, grasping his, laughing lightly as you brought him close and gave him a peck to the corner of his lips. This abated him, if slightly.

"Please don't kill your brother at your mother's house," you whispered against his lips, grinning.

He rubbed your back, more a habit he used to keep himself in control, whispering back, "Wouldn't be the first attempt."

"Then don't kill your brother with your children present, and your wife, who is a doctor. It is literally against my Hippocratic Oath, darling."

"It's why you're the doctor, my love. My job is to defend our honour freely."

"I really think this is your honour instead of mine." You giggled against his lips as he groaned, and you turned back at your daughters who frowned at both of you. You smiled calmly at them. "Okay, okay, girls. I don't think your Uncle Aegon told you the full story. Let Kepa tell you, hm?"

"Is it a good story?" Rhaella asked, wide eyed. "I don't want to know it if kepa sucked."

"If kepa sucked, does that mean we're bastard children?" Val frowned. "Lyanna said bastard children happens when fathers suck, her father said so."

Aemond and you shared a look, his in alarm, yours in complete mirth, before you burst out laughing, unable to stop yourself anymore.

"What is with everyone saying things to children?!" Aemond inhaled deeply. "Please let me explain. It's a long, longer story than just me raising my voice at your mother. Very interesting that your Uncle Aegon left out the part that I was panicking because of your Aunt Helaena and Uncle Daeron."

"Ha?" Rhaella's eyes comically widened further as she pulled away from you and moved closer to her father. In relief, like a cartoon cat dangling the cheese in front of a mouse, Aemond pulled her hand gently until he managed to wound her arms over his torso. "What happened to Auntie and Uncle?"

"They got into an accident, dōna mēre sweet one," Aemond murmured against her head, palpable relief as he kept her close. Rhaegar, bored brought himself and his little brother to their father, until Aemond swept them the four of them into the hammock, Daegon giggling and blowing bubbles at his father's rearranging of them so they wouldn't fall.

"Wanna go?" you teased your eldest daughter who was squirming not being part of the little huddle. Aemond opened his arms, smiling hopefully. You laughed as Valera gave you a kiss to your chest and raced to her father and siblings, moving around until they all managed to fit together.

The tree creaked as you placed your hands on your hips, pouting at them playfully as Aemond met your gaze with a shit-eating proud smirk on his face.

"Come, ñuha prūmia my heart."

"And risk crashing and burning? No, thank you. Go tell your little story while I avenge your honour and maybe get lemon cakes."

At the chorus of 'me toos' and 'yays', Aemond mouthed 'I love you' before you disappeared off, and he turned to your kids, keeping them close to his ribcage; little pieces of his hearts that grew legs and arms.

"Okay, ñuha byka zaldrīzoti my little dragons, so it all started with an accident that was entirely your Uncle Aegon's fault. . ."

Your Uncle Aegon had borrowed your Uncle Daeron's motorcycle to get to a frat party because the girl he liked would be there— this is irresponsible, children, and this is why you shouldn't be riding motorcycles and going to frat parties, yes Val, it's not as cool as it looks — anyway, his car had a broken taillight and he forgot to had it changed or tell anyone.

Your Uncle Aegon... didn't return the bike— or returned back home for the rest of the night, yes Rhaella, it was because he was, um, reading with the girl all night, like your mom and I do when we go to bed, yes Rhaegar, like how we read to you but, um, just with them.

Anyway! Your Aunt Helaena's little pup at the time, Dreamfyre, yes, baby, Dreamfyre was a puppy before she was a big dog, just like you— Dreamfyre got sick, and since Uncle Daeron was at home and he had a bike, Hel asked him. But then they saw it was gone, they had no choice but to take your uncle's car. They didn't notice the taillights.

They were speeding through, which is bad, yes, don't speed, but this was an emergency and Uncle Daeron was doing his best to hit every red stoplight when they tried to go one way but the light didn't go on, and they got into an accident.

No, Rhaegar, they didn't die, you know this, your Uncle Daeron is with Auntie Nyra, remember? And Aunt Hel is just inside, don't cry, baby. Ok, so where were we? Right, accident.

I get the call and I was panicking, out of my mind. All they said was that both of my siblings were at the hospital, declaring your uncle's plate number and I just knew it was his fault. I was already pretty angry then, and I might have transferred most of that to your mom.

Your mom, at the time, was a resident. A first year resident so she still had bad hours, and at the time, her shift mate had gotten sick and no one was able to take her shift.

Yes, dōna mēre sweet one, the times when muña can't come home fast enough. Because she has to be at the hospital to save people.

That night, your mom had been awake for 32 hours. She was not having a good day. She had lost a patient that day too, but I didn't know that, hm? She was just trying to get through the rest of her shift, having finished checking up on your uncle, when I had barrelled through like an angry beast.

All I could really remember was that I couldn't see your Aunt Hel, and your Uncle Daeron was on the hospital bed with a cast on his foot, and your mom had just looked away when I... well...

"— When you started ranting like an absolute madman, demanding better care of your baby brother when he wasn't even wincing in pain, asking for a real doctor because I looked five shies away from having graduated high school," you said, grinning wide as you handed your procured lemon cakes, and outright laughing at Aemond's sheepish, flustered look as both of his girls stared at him wide eyed.

"Kepa, oh my god," Val murmured, munching on her pastry. "That is so bad."

"You had no game," Rhae continued, sort of perplexed about the reason for her conception. "How did mom ever like you?"

"I would've slapped you," Val confirmed, nodding. "Just like you told me I would do if boys acted stupid."

As you couldn't stop laughing so hard you were bent over, your boys found your joyous display wonderful, pushed and kicked around their father while their sisters yelled about their lemon cakes, before reaching your skirts and you started spinning them around, plopping on the ground not a minute later, snuggling your babies close.

Aemond breathed a laugh, pulling his daughters close. "I know, I know, it was so bad. I was actually impressed your mother didn't slap me."

"I wanted to strangle him with the dextrose!" you chirped. "But I made an Oath, so I didn't. But ohh, with that haughty look your father sometimes get when he thinks— no, when he knows he's right? When he doesn't even need to say I told you so, he's just smirking like it?"

At your daughters— even your darling Rhaegar's triple nods, Aemond made a hm of offense, lips flattening.

"I made you three," Aemond said.

You coughed.

"I helped make you three. This is betrayal," he declared before his hands found its way to your daughters sides and tickled them with no mercy. Crows of 'Kepa, please!' between giggles warmed your chest.

"Aemond," you chidded as Rhaella gasped, snorting, and he stopped.

"So how'd you make mom fall in love with you?"

You and Aemond shared a look, your entire life stretching with one warm gaze, and a smile stretches both of your lips. Its lovesick, and familiar to your kids. Rhaella coos at it, but Rhaegar, having favoured his Uncle Aegon, makes a gagging noise before you started tickling him too.

"He apologised," you said. "Took him several tries. Your Uncle Daeron was actually ready to be discharged by the third day. Your Kepa brought him everyday to have a 'check up'."

"Daddy... that is still so lame," Rhaella whispered, in awe of how dorky her father is. Val is hiding herself in shame.

"Got her to accept my apology, and say yes to a date, you two should be grateful," Aemond said smugly.

"Why, mom?"

"Well, he was handsome for one." You snorted at his smirk. "He was sweet for another, explaining he just panicked, and I could understand that. Also he groveled for a long, long while."

"Even after the first date?" Val asked, eyes owlish.

You smirked. "Oh, definitely."

"I did deserve it."

"You did."

He smirked. "But I charmed you anyway."

You rolled your eyes. "You did."

"Come and give me a kiss, my love."

"Ewwww!"

[moongirlwidow]

*silently crawls through office window and closes it behind him shitting the rain out*

*it started thundering so swinging wasn't the smartest idea*

*stands in the middle of the room in his suit and the towel you left out for him wrapped around*

*he had only been gone for a couple of hours, to clear his mind. But he knew that staying out for longer wouldn't be the best idea. They had to talk*

*looking over the edge of her hammock* *jumping down and hugging him tightly* *clearly has been worried* you came back *muffled in his shoulder*

[theemporium]

looooving this mauraders content you’ve been feeding us it’s delicious 🫶🏻

i’m in a summer mood, could you maybe write something about going on holiday with remus? maybe out on the boat, relaxing in a hammock, or something spicy poolside? thank you, cece! 🥰

thank you!! and thank you for requesting!🖤

.

You never thought summer getaways would be your thing.

Summer was never your favourite season of the year. The weather was too hot and just left you feeling gross and sweaty. Your wardrobe mostly consisted of winter clothes so you were left feeling stuffy whenever you did get dressed. And you usually found yourself too fatigued by the heat to even do much during the day, leaving you feeling lazy and unproductive which only just unsettled you further.

So when your boyfriends suggested a summer trip getaway to a country that would only be hotter than Britain was, you had your doubts. But it was a family friend’s villa in the south of France and he looked so excited to spend some time with you and…you couldn’t say no.

Nobody could say no to Remus Lupin.

However, you underestimated just how well your boyfriend knew you. He knew how grouchy you could get in the heat and he went out of his way to make this trip worth it for you. From cute, planned dates cycling around the nearby town to peaceful picnics under massive trees that provided loads of shade, Remus had gone out of his way to make it the most perfect trip ever and you never wanted to leave.

“You’re really testing me, love.”

But your favourite part had been the outdoor private pool that you found yourself swimming in more often after the sun had set. Remus knew he would find you out here an hour or so after dinner, but the little black number you were wearing wasn’t something he was expecting.

“Whatever could you mean,” you smiled up at him, your hands moving back and forth in the water as your boyfriend stood on the edge, staring down at you with narrowed eyes.

“I didn’t even know you packed that,” he muttered, his head tilting in question. “I didn’t even know you owned something like that.”

“I bought it just before we left,” you answered innocently enough. “I thought it would be a nice surprise.”

Remus raised his brows. “You gonna come out and show me, pretty girl?”

“Maybe you should get in and see for yourself,” you retorted, something quite like mischief glimmering in your eyes and he could already feel his cock hardening in his trousers.

It didn’t take much for Remus to shed the clothes he was wearing—which albeit, was not much due to the warm weather even at night—before he was joining you in the pool.

You teased him, swimming away from him and giggling at the noise of frustration that left his mouth until his hand caught hold of your ankle and he pulled you towards him. In seconds your bodies were tangled together with ease, like a dance you both knew by heart.

“Fuck, darling,” he groaned as his large hands palmed the cheeks of your ass that were barely covered by the material of your bikini. “You should’ve given me a twirl before you jumped in.”

“I wouldn’t have left the bedroom then,” you snorted.

Remus just grinned, unashamed. “Damn fucking right I wouldn’t have,” he grumbled under his breath as you wrapped your legs around him. “I’d be a bloody idiot if I did.”

“And what would you have done to me?” you asked in a sweet voice, your finger trailing down his neck and along his collarbone, random swirls traced along his chest that made his heart thunder.

“Oh baby,” he groaned as he leaned in, his head dipping down to press a soft kiss just below your ear, his warm breath fanning your skin as he spoke. “I would’ve ripped this fucking number off you, maybe had you sit on my face—”

“Remus!” you hissed but he grinned at the way your thighs clenched around him.

“You’d like it, baby, don’t lie,” he teased, his fingers toying with the waistband of your bikini bottoms. “But you’d have to sit properly.”

“Properly?” you asked.

“None of that hovering bullshit,” Remus muttered, lightly nipping just below your jaw. “I want those pretty thighs of yours suffocating me.”

Your cheeks burned and your body felt warm for reasons other than the weather. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he groaned, lifting his head so his dark eyes could meet yours. “You wanna go inside and show me you can listen to instructions?”

You nodded dumbly.

“Atta girl, love,” he grinned as he tapped your ass. “Not gonna stop until the neighbours complain, c’mon.”

.

[kachowden]

Please I need ANYTHING with Mickey I have a weakness for gingers and I want him to exploit that

A/N: You can consider this canon or non canon.

Tw: Mickey kinda weirdo ngl

“Sugar? You think you can help me with that barrel over there?”

You peaked up from the book you had lost yourself in, gazing at the cowboy who was currently cuttin up some wood for the barbecue you were plannin later.

“Sure thing Mic.”

“Mickey.”

You paused, a soft laugh pouring out of your throat that had the pale southerner lookin to the side shyly.

“Right Mickey, my bad.”

With a dramatic groan you pulled yourself out of your hammock, and trudged your way over to the wine barrel Mic- mickey, had set aside for you.

You eyed it for a moment, figuring out the best way to get this thing moving while a certain cowboy stared you down.

Pushing up the sleeves of your flannel, you crouched down, lodging your fingers under one side of the barrel, and propping the rest on the top side.

With a deep breath you pulled the barrel up into the air before catching it, bridal style in your arms and heading towards the cellar.

Cerulean eyes dilated while watching you work.

His addams apple bobbed down slowly with a thick swallow as he gazed at your forearms and sweaty neck.

Fuck your were Goddamn hot.

He could practically feel his dead heart thundering within his chest.

Watching you work always brought out something primal in him. He didn’t know what to be honest. Maybe it was the sound and sight of your blood rushing. Maybe watching your muscles flex was what gave him that fluttering feeling.

Maybe. Maybe he wanted you to toss him around like that sometimes too.

When you finally set down the barrel, you yelped slightly at the shadowing presence that squished its into your back, trapping you against the barrel.

“Mickey! what the hell-“

His gaze made you blink. Once. Twice. Nope still there.

His eyes were lidded, hazed over, and you couldn’t tell if they were even looking at you at this point. He looked like he was zoning out.

But that shouldn’t have been the case. Not with the way his rough hands began trailing up your forearms. Mapping out each vein and divet. Each bruise or scar from the hard labour you put in while on the farm.

His breath poured over your cheek, and you cringed inwardly at the feeling of the pink cowboy taking a deep breath.

His fingers played with the sleeves of your shirt, tugging and pulling, pushing them up to expose more skin and then pulling them back down as if it was lewd.

You didn’t really know what to make of this behavior.

You’re shoulders shook slightly, when his hands finally met at your neck, and peeled down the fabric of your shirt, watching with bated breath as it slide down your shoulders.

“Uh…Mic-“

“Mickey.”

It was practically a growl now, that burned your ear when he pressed his face into the crook of your neck, his hair tickling your jaw, and nearly making you shoulder him in the eye if it weren’t for his steady grip on you.

“You smell so pretty sweetheart…”

You laughed awkwardly.

“Sweetheart? Sugar? What happened to kid mic-Mickey?”

Something akin to a quiet groan pulled out of his throat as he pressed himself further into your backside.

“No…you’re not a kid Y/n…not anymore..”

Creepy as hell

The feeling of cold lips on your skin made you stutter on your breath, your head trying to whip around and see whatever the hell this psychotic cowboy was up to.

“Y/n….”

You paused. Foolishly.

“Yeah…?”

“Just….just one bite…just one okay? You think you can do that for me sweetheart?” His voice had dipped into a purring lull, and you weren’t completely out of touch with reality to not flush and feel butterflies in your stomach.

The southern twang in his voice was slurred. You didn’t even understand what he was asking, and honestly it seemed like he didn’t either.

“Wh..what do you mean…?”

Something sharp dragged lightly up your neck, followed by the wet cold feeling of a tongue and hot breath. You shivered, uncomfortably? you weren’t sure.

“Just stay still sweetheart…”

“Wh- OW”

Thwack!

“MICKEY WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

[upsidedownwithsteve]

JJ Maybank x fem!reader[1.8K] friends to lovers, through the years sort of fluff.

When JJ Maybank was sixteen years old, he learned how to style his unruly hair, ride his surfboard to the shoreline without tumbling off and how to make girls fall at his feet. 

He knew how to smirk just right, baby blue eyes glittering and he’d turned to you all charm, flirt and false bravado and said:

“Don’t go falling in love with me, my old man says I’m no good for pretty girls like you.”  

You’d snorted and rolled your eyes, the back of your hand smacking at his chest ‘cause you were his best friend and he was a stupid boy with a stupid amount of confidence. 

But suddenly you were both older and JJ Maybank was still your best friend. He had the ocean in his lungs, saltwater skin and a map of the whole island hardwired into his brain. He looked at you the same way he did back then, with sticky fondness and adoration, a little heat and too much playfulness to be taken seriously. 

And you’d done exactly what he’d told you not to do, all those years ago on the porch of the chateau. 

You’d fallen in love with him. 

It was hard not to. JJ was all sun bleached hair that was messy with sea salt and sand, with a penchant for trouble and a loyalty to you that made your heart burn. For a boy that was taught he was no good, nothing but trouble, destined for despair, JJ Maybank tumbled through the island with the brightest smile there was. 

He made it too easy. 

He was a hand held in the dark, a shared joint, the one at your side when the waves got too big and the ocean got too deep. He was bruised knuckles and bad decisions, he was a boy that said he didn’t know how to love but poured all of it over you anyway, a constant touch, familiar and warm and full of affection. He was the solid wall of heat in bed next to you after a party gone too late, he was smoke and salt and sun and he was a kiss that sometimes got too close. 

Everyone thought he was yours anyway. The same way they all thought you were his. Everyone assumed it, two best friends who’d grown up together, scraped knees and detention at seven years old, fighting for each other in the school yard at thirteen, fists swinging, legs kicking, the others names etched into your heart. 

A shared joint at seventeen, fingers touching, legs tangled in the hammock at John B’s, your head on his chest and his hand resting on the curve of your stomach because the constant need to touch each other was normal normal normal. 

A bad storm brewing at eighteen, the island too loud, much louder than it had ever been and your house was as empty as JJ’s. So the boy rode his bike through the wind, both of you making stupid decisions for the other ‘cause that’s all it took. You told yourself not to watch when he stood at the side of your bed in the dark of your room and stripped off his shirt, no his socks, his shoes. 

‘Cause the sky was an angry purple outside, the rain had started and the ocean was furious but the heat of the island sun had been trapped under the cloud since that afternoon and everything about JJ was warm. 

Neither of you had hesitated when he crawled in beside you, when the thunder rolled and the trees outside your house groaned in protest. It didn’t take much to touch, bodies curling into each other, no party, no alcohol, no weed and smoke to numb the sensation of skin on skin. 

Nothing had happened apart from sleep and hands wandered almost too bravely. But it all ended with strong arms wrapped around your waist, your cheek to his chest, his on the crown of your head and the boy called you princess before you closed your eyes. 

After that, it was all shared clothes, JJ’s shirts hanging open over your bikinis, threaded bracelets made by you adorning his wrists, some faded and old, aged with seawater, bleached by the sun. And there was the fine gold chain around his neck, your initial hanging from it ‘cause you’d bought it for yourself and after three beers and too much flirting, the boy had stolen it in jest and never gave it back. 

You’d never asked for it.  

Your friends didn’t comment on it, not too much, not anymore. Raised eyebrows from John B when you sat too close, a knowing look and a smirk from Kiara when JJ got high and touchy and wanted you on his lap. Full on heart eyes from Sarah when she watched the boy watch you across the sand, his own gaze softer than she’d ever seen it. Pope was just sick of hearing about you. 

And then JJ turned twenty, fought his dad for one last time and took what cash he had and rented a fish shack much, much older than the one he’d grown up in on the edge of Rixon’s Cove. It had a bed and an old sofa, a toaster that didn’t work and a mildew spotted coffee machine that Sarah promptly binned and not much else. 

But it was free of fist sized holes in the wall, the glitter of smashed glass on the carpets that would never disappear and it was so, so quiet. It was JJ’s and that’s all that mattered. 

You kept your board beside his on the porch and JJ saved an empty drawer for you without you having to even ask. There was a toothbrush for you in the bathroom, your shampoo next to his in the shower even though stole your bottle on a regular basis. 

The only thing that made the carpets glitter was pulled in sand from the beach after days in the water, noses burned, new freckles on shoulders and bodies exhausted from riding wave after wave. 

You stayed more than you didn’t, John B quickly realising that when the rest of them eventually rolled off the sofa after a movie, when the stars were out and everyone was yawning, he didn’t need to ask you if you needed a ride home. ‘Cause you were already leaning into JJ, his shirt acting like your pyjamas, his wide, warm hand curled around your thigh as if he was daring someone to try and take you away. 

And when you lay in his bed with him at night, an overly comfortable closeness, next to no space between you, you thought about the young boy, messy haired and scraped knees, who told you not to fall in love with him. 

You wondered if he knew you’d done it anyway, hopelessly so, recklessly so. You lay in the dark with your nose pushed to JJ’s neck ‘cause he’d fall asleep and refuse to let you go, and you wondered if he’d rebelled like he always did and fallen in love with you too. 

He always told you that he’d grown up seeing nothing but vodka and viciousness between his parents, how he didn’t know what love between a boy and his girl was supposed to look like but… but—

JJ slept with his hand pushed up the back of your shirt, wide hand splayed over your spine and he held you closer than he ever dared to when he was awake. He softened around the edges in sleep, blonde hair falling over his eyes, lashes casting navy shadows across high cheekbones. 

His thumb would stoke over your skin, make you shiver, keep you safe. And when he was bone tired or maybe too far gone after an extra joint he shouldn’t have shared with John B or Kie, he’d push his face to the crook of your neck, or the soft of your chest and sleep there, lips grazing over what skin he could reach in a sleepy kiss he didn’t even know he was giving you. 

On your twenty-first birthday you got too drunk at the boneyard, sand between your toes and your shirt lost to the ocean. You spun around the bonfire with boys you didn’t know in your shorts and a cherry red bikini top and JJ got too angry too quick. 

Maybe it was the lukewarm beer, maybe it was the island heat or maybe it was just sheer and utter jealousy, ugly and sad and causing him to yell and you to yell back louder. 

Pope and John B took him home, told him he needed to calm down and think about what he wanted to say to you in the morning cause it had been well over a decade of watching you both trip and fall into some kind of wonderful not relationship and they weren’t going to sit back and watch the boy wreck it one night. 

The next day, when you woke up at the chateau, too warm from the afternoon sun and the smell of cheap coffee in the air, you found JJ on the porch with his head hung low and a tiny box in his lap, a messy bow wrapped around it. 

He was the colour of the sun, of summer, all gold and bronze and eyes bluer than the surf. He’d looked tired, a little defeated but then he’d lifted his head and spotted you at the door, barefoot, bare legged and swamped by his old Pelican Marina shirt. 

He didn’t say sorry, neither did you, didn’t have to after all these years. But he held out his hand and gave you the box, whispered ‘happy birthday’ and tried his hardest to keep his cheeks from going pink when you opened it. 

There was another gold chain, finer than his own, a delicate ‘J’ hanging from it. You let it twist around your fingers, swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded, eyes glassy, smile watery. 

Neither of you had said anything, no questions had been asked, but JJ saw you nod and he grinned, twisted his lips to try and hide the most genuine kind of joy and he didn’t hesitate when you handed him the box, turning to life your hair from your neck. 

You could feel the huff of his nervous breath over the nape of it, baby hairs lifting with how close he was. His fingers traced the skin there long after he’d closed the clasp, the necklace and his initial setting above your breast bone. And then, a kiss, one that was real and one he gave you when you were both fully awake and completely sober. 

The softest little touch, his lips against the back of your neck, barely above the space between your shoulder blades and it was hardly there and it burned all at once. It was awfully innocent and utterly possessive, it was an apology, it was a claim, it was a promise, it was the start of something else. 

[nattikay]

random headcanon time:

Kiri has never been afraid of an animal, not once, in her whole life. After all, none ever seem to threaten her. Ikran? she tamed hers when she was like, 7. Nantang? they just wanna play a quick game of fetch, it’s chill. Palulukan? sir that’s just a big ol’ kitty cat. Toruk? buddy she could probably waltz right into being the next Toruk Makto without a hitch, if she wanted to. The animals have always liked her, and she’s always liked them back. 

Non-organic threats such as thunderstorms, however, are another story altogether. Kiri was absolutely petrified of thunder as a child. It’s loud, it’s sudden, it’s hard to predict, the accompanying lighting flashes are bright and overwhelming. She was at least Tuk’s current age before she was ready to stop sleeping in Jake and Neytiri’s hammock on stormy nights, and she often became antsy and anxious hours before a storm rolled in, as if she could sense it coming in an almost animalistic way (which, her family realizes in retrospect, she probably was subconsciously taking clues from the animals around her that could sense the storms, rather than sensing the storms herself).

[slafkovskys]

tarnished ❈ a golden au blurb

summary: in which not all that glitters is gold

word count: < 1k

warnings: angst, brief language

maybe it would have hurt less if he had said goodbye.

that first summer together was supposed to be them. just them. without the pressures of school or hiding from scottie’s superiors or only being able to share kisses in dark corners of bars or the safety of their apartment. their two weeks in atlanta went by fast with one week in the city and another at her grandparents’ ranch, it was only a matter of time before the boys’ teams came calling for development camp.

ryan went first.

she kept up with everything the caps would post to their socials, feeding it through to the gopher’s various media outlets along with the other boys who were at development camps that week as well. she packs a bag and flies up to minnesota the day before he comes home and the day that jimmy’s due to report to st. louis. she hugs her parents goodbye and leaves them with the excuse of an event she was required to attend.

she spends a few hours with him at the apartment before shuttling him off to the airport, giving him the biggest hug and a kiss to his lips. she’s not really thinking about how he holds on a little bit longer or how he looks like he’s fighting a battle in his own head as he turns to check his bags. she gets back into ryan’s car thinking she’ll be back tomorrow to pick up the aforementioned man and she’ll be back for jimmy in a week.

it would have hurt less if they hadn’t found out through social media.

ryan and scottie were both practically itching to have jimmy back the next day. it had been practically radio silence from him the past week, which neither could hold against him because they both knew that this was big for him.

a summer storm was sweeping through minnesota and the two were squished in the hammock on their balcony when ryan’s phone lit up. scottie watches as the screen illuminated his face before his eyebrows furrowed, “what the fuck?”

“what’s wrong?” scottie turns her body to stare at ryan, watching as his face morphs through a variety of emotions, “ryan, what’s going on?”

“don’t-” and scottie wishes she had listened as she snatches his phone from his hand. her eyes scan over the same page that he was looking, the one that caused him to go through a handful of emotions within a matter of seconds.

what scottie sees on his phone screen makes her stomach churn. staring right back at her is jimmy’s smiling face flanked by either of his parents. in front of him is a stack of papers and she doesn’t miss the pen in his hand. her eyes trail up to read the caption,

jimmy snuggerud has agreed to terms on a three-year, entry-level contract. #stlblues

“did you know?” scottie’s voice shakes as she can’t tear her eyes away from the screen, “please don’t lie to me. is this some sick joke that you two are playing on me? did he say that he was staying just to go and do this?”

lightning flashes above their heads and thunder rolls through the sky as ryan quickly shakes his head, “scottie, baby, i’m finding this out right now, just like you are.”

“he-” she cuts herself off when a video pops up at the top of the feed. jimmy’s still smiling face takes up ryan’s phone screen once again, only this time he’s smiling at an unfamiliar woman who’s holding a microphone to his lips.

“so, jimmy,” her accented voice breaks through the night, “you originally said that you were going to be staying at minnesota for another year, but here you just signed your elc. what changed your mind?”

“yeah, um,” he scratches the back of his head like he always did when he was nervous, “just the atmosphere this past week, getting to explore the city some, having some talks with the guys, my family-” scottie can’t ignore the sting at those words, “i figured now was the best time. minnesota was great for me, but i feel like i’ve done what i can. nothing holding me there.”

she can’t stop the sob from escaping her lips and ryan rips his phone from her hands, quickly turning it off and gathering the girl in his arms, “he doesn’t mean that-”

“why would he say that then?” she questions, “did i mean nothing to him? did we mean nothing to him?”

ryan stays quiet because he can’t give her an honest answer. he feels as though he was just hit by a train, left exposed and still responsible for cleaning up the aftermath of someone else’s mess. he slips his hand underneath scottie’s shirt and rubs at her spine, trying to let him know that while he can’t explain what was happening, he was still here.

“scottie, it’s going to be okay. we’re going to be okay,” he tries, “we don’t need him-”

“everything is not okay, ryan!” she shouts through tears, “i need him because-”

it would have hurt less if-

“because i’m pregnant, ryan.”

[hcdragonwrites]

Epilogue ( @journey-to-the-au Fic)

This is what happens at the end of Tea trouble. It’s just short but it’s because I wanted to write fluff and cuddles and warmth.

The sun sank slowly into the sea, painting that great swath of liquid to fire. Willow felt the soft weariness sneak into her face as finally, finally her family mounted their heavenly steeds and kept back into the sky. The stars were beginning to appear in the darkening night. Gold, wood, water and fire. They marked the sky with their light as she waved her sisters goodbye.

From the mouth of babes came a second peace, a second chance. Lychee had offered the peach and Winter had taken a bite from it. An exchange and a wave of apologies. Willow had spent that time swapping tales and trading secrets of her home. Of her mountain. With her sisters. They listened attentively. They touched her hand- sought comfort and reassurance they had not lost her forever in their callous remarks. Willow reassured, reaffirmed and rebounded with each of her sisters.

She was exhausted. Willow sighed, itching her scalp. Her hairpins still bothered her, and her clothes felt too heavy. She wanted nothing more then to sleep for a fortnight. Anger was an emotion Willow rarely dove into, rarely utilized and unleashed. Calm rage? Yes. Anger that blinds like this one did ? No. It left her feeling achy and tired and o so sensitive to her skin.

Willow sighed. She was so thankful to the fruit troop, to Pear and Apple, Pomelo and Mulberry. And Lychee. The bravest little mischief maker ever. The first to offer a olive branch to her sisters and to forgive them. No one will talk that way to them ever again.

For now as the sun cast itself into the sea Willow felt her final strength ebb and fade with its light. She took a step back to rebalance herself —

Great large furred arms swung her up and over broad shoulders. She squealed in surprise as Wukong raised her up, growing in size himself.

“WILLOW!” He practically roared as the rest of the mountain followed suit. Thousands of the troop came racing forward, pressing close and reaching up to her from the spot on Wukongs shoulders. The rest of them were crowing and hollering and screaming. Calling her name.

“Gather the softest pillows and blankets ! The night will hold for us all- set the guards to chasing any beasts out of the groves. Light the fire pits! And everyone GATHER YOUR FAVORITE FRUIT!” Willow heard the roar of the crowd as they thundered off. Hammocks were pulled between trees, bundles of blankets and pillows and downy things were dragged and set down in the field. Monkeys lit the fire pits that lined the clearing, the great orange light casting dancing shadows as the sun continued its decent. Willow saw the troop laugh and chortle as they brought fruits out. A veritable second feast of food. Kiwis, grapes, oranges, watermelons, melons and nectarines.

Wukong kept Willow on his shoulders. Willow was too tired to ask why or deny the outward pouring of love from her earthen family. This was just the way they heaped support and love onto her. A veritable jungle of nests and hammocks, of blanketed caves and soft spots to lay soon covered the grass all around.

To tangle and tug and touch was the Monkey way of showing love. Willow sighed, laying against her husbands very soft and large head.

“What did I do ? It was all my fault.”

“Hush you I won’t hear you taking the blame for others ever again.” Wukong admonished. Several of the troop had gathered nearby, dragging a forest of bedding and plush to make nests and enjoy the night. Wukong set himself down in the thick of the troop, taking Willow up off his shoulders and into his lap. His tail coiled around her a hand against her middle. The giant monkey practically swamped her as he chirped and cooed, crooned and kissed her temples and nose.

“Wukong don’t swallow her!” Ba admonished. Willow peered from between the fur of Wukongs neck. She felt like a chick beneath a mother hen, completely covered and warm. She saw Ba setting up a little nest beside them. Beng was busy swinging Pomelo and Mulberry about-throwing them into pillows that bounced them slightly in the air.

“Save some for the rest of us please.” Ba snorted. Lychee was seated on Chestnuts shoulders talking his mothers ear off about his day and how he and his friends had gotten Little Weaver Girl to braid them flower crowns. He still wore his on his brow, eyes bright. They two set their bedding and nesting material down beside them.

“Are we all sleeping out beneath the stars ?” Willow asked. Wukong didn’t say yes with words. He was too overcome with an emotion, a puff of pride that expanded his chest. Here was his Willow Tree. The strong women who had been betrothed to him but had chosen him- heart and soul. Willow who had turned Huaguoshan into a protected area. Willow who had stalwartly sat beside him when he had been burning and boiling and close to madness inside that bronze prison. Willow who had bravely offered herself to the Imposter to save the rest of his family. And it had been Willow again who had chosen his people and family, his friends and loved ones, and had brought to heel celestial who thought they could talk down to him and what was his.

Whatever I did - whatever luck shot through my sky and made my stone sentient - I am glad it made me in time to be with her.

“Yes princess.” He softly whispered to her. “You defended all of us yet again. You brilliant warrior.” For she was a warrior. Not of blades or fists or claws of teeth. Words were her weapon and she used them brilliantly. More accurate then an arrows fall, she pierced Huaguoshan enemies with no bloodshed.

If I had met her when I was seeking my enlightenment … before I sought Heavens recognition… he wondered. Would his life have gone on a entirely new path? Wukong mussed her hair with his teeth, nibbling until she tapped his jaw in play.

His friends settled about them and the rest of the troop began to visit Willow, offering food and comfort. The little bundle of baby fruits ran across the clearing. They had been hero’s and they didn’t even know it.

Wukong lay curled over and around Willow like some large languid cat, tail tucked possessively about her. He became larger still, letting the little fruits climb onto his back in their play. Rin Rin came forward and Wukong allowed her to take Willows hair down, to groom and to ease her scalp.

Rin Rin heard the story as Wukong, Ba, Liu and Beng recounted it. They were now all here against Wukongs side, grooming and offering fruits or each other, to Willow. The love was a warm glow in the night , a glow that came from within and rivaled that of the dying sunlight. Ba kept off his pranks and offered Willow sour green grapes- and his deepest vows of loyalty. Wukong snorted happily, a large hand gently scratching along Willows back. Beng checked their little word warrior over and then gave her a single hardy shake. Ma was blubbering with Rin Rin who simply held on and brushed Willows hair out. Liu bowed and offered his own vows of loyalty- setting Ba to trying to outdo him.

Wukong waited till the stars were bright in the sky, the moon rising now to cast her silver light to whisper and speak praise and words of love. He wanted to drown her in the emotion that beat in his chest. It was a glow as steady as the sun and as wild as the world. It was not the same love Rin Rin or Liu or Ba or Chestnut Or Beng Or Ma experienced.

Forever and always. I will See her days filled with joy and peace. I will topple the very pillars that hold this world up to give her that. Wukong watched her burrow into his side, fingers curled in his fur. He looked to the sky, to the Heavens. To beyond that- to the cosmic sphere of reality. The universe beyond the Heavens.

“Thank you for making her. She’s perfect.” Words failed. Perfect was so silly of a word. Willow was more then perfect. She was victorious, stalwart, kind, compassionate, a stone to rest his back against and the shade that hid him from the burning sun.

“I will keep you. Forever. Until the very definition of eternity crumbles. Thank you Willow, for filling my days with your love.”

Wukong kissed her temple and pulled her into his warmth, pulling several of his with her. Tails and hands, feet and limbs all intercrossed and overlapped. They were tangled, intertwined like the roots of a tree. Grounding the willow tree they all loved to their earth, to their mountain.

[ampresandian]

My (unofficial) PJO season 2 episode 5 script part 1/4 (connected to this post)

Please ignore any and all spelling/grammar errors, I thought about rereading/editing and decided not to so you're looking at basically a first draft. I would love to hear if you think anything is out of character or doesn't really make sense, but a lot of it is basically straight from the book.

Images of script and copied text (bc I'm lazy and don't want to write out alt text) under the cut, just in case I didn't get enough spoiler warning or people aren't interested <3

Annabeth Tries to Swim Home

FADE IN: INT. DARK VICTORIAN HOUSE - NIGHT. 

A YOUNG ANNABETH runs down the hallway. A storm can be heard outside. She stops, looking behind her, then frantically all around. 

YOUNG ANNABETH: Luke? Thalia? 

Someone in the house screams. 

Annabeth begins running again. She turns a corner, finding herself in a study. The walls are lined with half-empty bookshelves, books and loose pages all over the floor. The antique desk in the middle of the room is broken, the chair overturned. Heavy velvet curtains block the light out, but one sways, as if the window behind it is broken. 

Annabeth backs out of the room slowly, then runs back the other way. 

She gasps for breath, but makes very little noise. 

Annabeth runs up a flight of stairs, into a new hallway that looks just like the one she just came from. As she enters different rooms, she hears her friends over the storm. 

GROVER (O.S.): Luke!

LUKE (O.S.): Thalia!

THALIA (O.S.): Annabeth!

Annabeth is still running, turning corners over and over. She enters a nursery with a broken crib and wooden toys strewn all over the floor. She runs through a dressing room with a mirror shattered on the carpet. She backtracks out of a bathroom with a cracked claw-foot tub and blood dried on the floor. 

THUNDER crashes outside. 

CYCLOPS laughs ominously off screen. Annabeth runs faster. 

She turns a corner and has to catch herself with her hands to stop from running into a wall. She pauses, breathing heavily as she looks down another dark hallway. 

THALIA AND LUKE (O.S.): Annabeth!

THALIA (CONT, O.S.): Run--

Annabeth starts running again. 

DISSOLVE TO: EXT. QUEEN ANNE’S REVENGE – NIGHT.

Camera pans down from black sky, pausing on Hercules constellation. ANNABETH and PERCY are standing on the deck, near the steering wheel. 

ANNABETH: (Turning from the stars to look at Percy) Percy.

Percy, who has been looking out at the sea, watching for monsters, looks at Annabeth. 

ANNABETH (CONT): Can I ask for a favor?

PERCY: You just saved my life.

ANNABETH: Soon... We should be coming near the Sirens’ Island. When we’re in range of their song… (Staring at the tub of candle wax across the deck) I want to hear them.

PERCY: Why? Don’t their voices kill people?

ANNABETH: They lure people in, Seaweed Brain. The song doesn’t kill you, you die when you jump overboard. The myths say they’re so enchanting because they sing the truth about what you desire. Things you don’t even know about yourself. If you survive...

Annabeth looks out at the sea. Percy looks at Annabeth.

ANNABETH (CONT): You become wiser. I want to hear them. (Makes eye contact with Percy) How often will I get that kind of chance?

PERCY: (After a thoughtful pause) Okay.

ANNABETH: Okay?

PERCY: Okay. It makes sense. If anyone would want to hear it, it would be you. What’s your plan?

ANNABETH: You’ll have to tie me to the mast. And, Percy, I’m going to want to get free. I’m going to beg, but you can’t untie me. I’ll just go straight over the edge to drown myself.

PERCY: (trying for levity) Are you trying to tempt me?

ANNABETH: Promise me, Percy.

PERCY: You don’t have to worry about it, Wise Girl. You won’t get away from me that easily.

They look at each other. 

PERCY (CONT): How long until we get there?

ANNABETH: A few hours, I think. You should go below. Get some rest. (before Percy can argue) Go, Percy.

Percy heads below deck, settling into a hammock in the Captain’s Quarters. He closes his eyes and falls asleep.

CUT TO: INT. PRINCESS ANDROMEDA STATEROOM – NIGHT

PERCY stands alone in the dark room. Near the windows is the golden sarcophagus, glowing faintly.

VOICES (INDETERMINATE): Beware. 

VOICES overlap and echo.

KRONOS: (laughing) You don’t have the courage, young hero.

Percy uncaps his sword, but remains frozen in place.

KRONOS (CONT): You can’t stop me. 

Percy struggles against his frozen legs, clearly frustrated. 

THALIA: (appearing suddenly) Well? Are we going to stop him or not

Voices continue their echo in the background. Percy stares at the unknown girl, clearly trying to solve the puzzle of who she is. 

THALIA (CONT): Well? Come on, dude.

Percy remains frozen. THALIA approaches the sarcophagus, sword and shield at the ready. Percy tries to call out for her to stop, but no sound comes out of his mouth. The voices crescendo. 

Thalia opens the sarcophagus, staring down at the golden glow in horror. 

THALIA (CONT): No. No, it can’t be.

Kronos’ laugh echoes as Thalia screams. The light grows brighter.

(PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4)

[aloysiavirgata]

THERE IS A FICLET AT THE END OF THIS!

I just checked my inbox. There are 8 Henry prompts.

EIGHT.

I want to tell you a little story about the Henry universe and how I came to write it. The short version is that it was inspired by Mrs. Doubtfire.

When I got the prompt that initially made me write Henry in the first place I was like Oh! It would be so easy to make him unlikeable and have her longing for Mulder. Write a character like Daniel who just wants her to be a stunning and brilliant accessory, but who could never APPRECIATE her.

But for whatever reason I recalled watching Mrs. Doubtfire as both a kid and an adult, and how those experiences differed. I thought, what if Scully got Pierce Brosnan’s character? A really wonderful guy who adores her and is a great dad and isn’t like…idk…gonna disappear to Patagonia for 6 months.

As a kid I wanted Sally Field/Miranda to go back to the Fun Dad. As a woman? Scully, my darling love, let him go.

And that conflict is what makes it fun and challenging to write. If the choice feels obvious then what’s the fun in doing it? But if you have to struggle along with her and decide if you/Scully/Sally Field want stability or adventure, it’s a better journey.

***

It’s two in the morning and Wicket, the impossibly fluffy dog, is whining at a thunderstorm. She strokes his lush head, palms the hot silky flap of an ear.

Her phone rings and she closes her dry eyes.

She answers it without a word.

“You always loved storms,” he says. “I knew you’d be up.”

Wicket mouths her hand gently. The thick of her palm.

“Remember Darin Oswald?” he goes on. “That motherfucker. I still think of him when there’s lightning.”

The silence after is long and lazy and safe, like a July afternoon hammock or miles of Colorado highway.

Thunder booms and Wicket huddles against her.

She last fucked Mulder in a storm like this, on his last birthday, with her husband’s blessing, and it shames her like nothing she’s ever done. Not even William.

What shames her is the rightness of it, the way she so easily said yes, Dana, yes, all the gods of Olympus and Asgard and Tir Na Nog want it for you, lass.

She swallows into the thunder again when she wants to scream. She cants her face to the cold, cold moon.

“Scully?” His voice, his voice; she’d followed it to the grave and past.

Scully opens her eyes. “Yes,” she breathes. “I remember.”

Hears him smile in the dark. “The nineties,” he muses. “What a fucking time.”

“My bangs,” she laughs. “My shoulder pads.”

“My ties.”

Lightning like the primordial earth, like millions of years of volcanoes and oxygen emissions and gorgeous, promiscuous carbon.

Wicket panting.

Her twins - Joan’s twins - safe in the dark. Viv, blonde and beautiful.

Fucking him - no, Dana, be honest - making love - on that sticky couch. Leather-bound books and Mulder’s rich boy wardrobe and the way she’d gotten a better stylist and a better tailor because he was so goddamn beautiful.

Kissing him before 9/11 when you could wait at the airport with balloons, Jesus, kissing him between the millennium and 9/11 in that hot, sweet bubble and -

“Scully?”

The dog keens into the night. Her dog, Henry’s dog, and thunder and thunder and thunder, rolling like the drums of Moria.

She hangs up the phone and weeps her divided love into Wicket’s plush ruff.

[starwarstbbfan]

Cold - Echo one-shot

Trigger Warning: Brief mentions of wanting to end it all.

This is a Echo one-shot that goes along with my story THE RUNAWAY. Takes place when Echo is still new to the squad, even though that hasn't happened yet in my story.

I apologize for not updating for so long, life got pretty stressful and stupid mental health got bad. But I'm slowly working on the next chapter and hope to have it out soon!

For now, enjoy this little one shot that I'm actually quite proud of! I dedicate this to @violetjedisylveon for giving me the idea for this one-shot!!!!

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○

Echo woke with a start, expecting to be back inside the stasis chamber that had been his prison for the longest time.

He'd had another nightmare. It was one of those where waking up seemed impossible and filled with droids that poked and prodded while masked people watched, showing no emotion even when the clone cried out in distress and pain. They did nothing, and it seemed the torture would never end. And even if Echo appeared to be shouting, no noise came from him, which made everything all the more terrible.

Heart racing and body coated with sweat, Echo did his best to control his breathing and hoped beyond anything he hadn't made any noise during his tortured slumber that would alert his new teammates. Though blood pounded in his ears, Echo strained to listen from his hammock for any sounds of anyone else waking up.

Thankfully, no one seemed to be awake. Wrecker's thunderous snores most likely drowned out anything, and the raging storm outside that seemed to never stop could have as well. For once, Echo was glad for Kamino's tumultuous weather. But the gratefulness was short lived as a shiver wracked his body, the parts that were human at least.

Despite being covered in sweat, Echo was cold, but it wasn't the type that could be fixed with an extra blanket. No, unfortunately this type of cold was internal, and no amount of blankets or warm drinks could fix it. His nightmares reverted him back to when he was nothing more than a cold slab of meat inside that chamber. He didn't remember much during that time, but one thing he was able to was the freezing subzero temperature.

When he woke up from the nightmares, he'd feel that same coldness again, how that was possible Echo wasn't sure. Maybe the cold, unfeeling cybernetics attached to him played a part who knows. Right now he wanted to rip them off, only he didn't have the strength or will power to do so. It would only draw attention to himself and he didn't want to wake anyone up, or if any of them were awake and merciful to pretend to not notice Echo's distress he didn't want to cause serious concern.

His teammates weren't naive though and Echo unfortunately wasn't the only one with mental scars that would more often than not disrupt sleep. It came with the territory of being a soldier. Sure they were bred for war, but not even the Kaminoans with all their brilliant minds and technology could 100% prevent an organic being from not having some sort of side effect from the harsh battles fought.

The enhanced group of clones had an unspoken agreement amongst themselves. They never spoke of the nightmares. It was easier to pretend they never happened, and they were too stubborn to admit to any sort of weakness. But it was mostly due to the conditioning of the Kaminoans, and the fear of being decommissioned if they appeared to be unstable even if the slightest.

Whispers about what happened with a clone named Tup had eventually reached the Bad Batch's ears, and the prevailing opinion had been that he'd snapped from the stress. However unlikely it seemed, since clones were technically supposed to be immune from that, it still struck concern into every clone and the Bad Batch were no exception though they of course never spoke of it.

Right now, Echo feared more than the rest of them of unraveling and being deemed unfit for duty. Almost every night was filled with kriffing nightmares, being only just shy of four weeks since his rescue. He still wasn't used to his cybernetics and more than once caught himself trying to use his right hand for things before realizing that he didn't have that appendage anymore. It was equal parts frustrating and embarrassing.

Sometimes, deep down, Echo would fight the dark thoughts that wished he'd never awoken from his stasis. That at some point his body gave out from all the experimentation. Or better yet, he'd actually died in that fiery explosion at the Citadel.

Right now, engulfed in the darkness of and trapped in his own mind, Echo wanted nothing more than just some relief from all this. At the very least, he wished to feel warm- feel like a human being again. It could be in his own head but anytime he touched his skin it still felt cold to the touch.

He thought about taking a walk, but was paralyzed and couldn't bring himself to move. Right now, Echo felt, for lack of a better word, broken. Broken.... and cold.

Echo was so immersed in his own thoughts that he didn't notice a pair of sharp glowing eyes watching him from across the room, nor did he see when those eyes came over to the hammock hanging a few feet above the ground.

Echo couldn't help the startled noise that came from his throat when a furry presence suddenly appeared on his stomach. Somehow the tooka completely avoided landing on a part of his body that wasn't robotic thus not knocking the wind out of him - though it was probably on purpose now that he thought about it.

"Get off, Scruffy." Echo murmered crossly, not in the mood to deal with the cat that was definitely against regulations. It was a wonder how the Kaminoans let the squad keep him. Or perhaps they didn't know. Either way, Echo wasn't fond of animals, having dealt with more than enough wild, dangerous ones in the past.

His protest was ignored however, much to his annoyance. Little paws jabbed into his stomach, ribs, and chest as they made their way up Echo's body, and little grunts of pain escaped the clone's lips as a result.

Echo wanted to shove the tooka cat off, but feared being bitten or scratched in retaliation. Even if Scruffy was tiny, who says the cat couldn't cause severe damage? Echo blamed Rishi Moon for his fear of animals. Seeing his brothers get eaten by those Rishi eels still haunted him among everything else.

Imagine Echo’s confusion when Scruffy hopped onto his head. What was the little rat doing?

Echo winced as he felt Scruffy's claws on his bald head, and the cat seemed to be moving in circles for whatever reason. Eventually, the weight settled and Echo felt soft fur instead of paws. Next, he heard a strange sound that came from Scruffy and sent vibrations down Echo's skull. He'd heard this noise before, now that he thought about it. When one of the others would pet Scruffy, he'd make the same sounds. Calli simply had to look at the cat and he'd start doing it. Purring I think Tech called it.

Oddly enough, Echo somehow found it soothing. That, coupled with the heat radiating from the small animal, Echo's eyes started getting droopy once more. The warmth brought on by the tooka/ minature space heater was a foreign feeling.

Even after being rescued he was still surrounded by medical droids that took care of him, and somewhere along the way Echo began to see himself as one as well.

Turns out he needed the touch of another living thing to remind himself that he too was alive and human.

Maybe having this cat around wasn't such a bad thing after all.....

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○

Hope you liked this!!!! I liked exploring Echo's mind a little bit, and getting into the trauma he's suffered. Echo deserves all the love in the world!!!