#columns are like the trunk of a tree

[lokisgoodgirl]

Sticks and Stones: The Lakes [Loki x Reader]

The Lakes Masterlist / Regular Masterlist Summary: (2) Resolved to make an effort, Loki tries his best. But old habits die hard, some harder than others. Warnings: Minors DNI. Language. Ex-Loki. Smut references/ Wankst. Humour/Mild angst. (w/c 4.8k) Recommended Folklore Track: Mirrorball

“Oh blast it all,” Thor wailed like a child, throwing a pile of sticks to the side. Another bundle of promising kindle had turned to mush in his hands.

“We need to find ones that aren’t wet, Odinson – I told you. Sometimes they don’t seem wet, but they are wet.” Steve instructed, standing abruptly from where he’d sat on his haunches. Dismay was thick in the air. “Everything is wet here, Rogers." Thor whinged, kicking leaves. "The allusive flame taunts me.”

Loki sucked in his cheeks. The urge to expel a witty innuendo was almost unbearable. But he was trying to be amenable. Turning over a new leaf, as it were.

When the four of them had trudged back to the cottage last night, Loki had turned in to his sparse lodgings immediately with only the most cursory of bedtime salutations. To his surprise, sleep had descended quickly. He had been expecting to toss and turn for hours on that thin single bed, cursing Rogers and his brother and you; each with the time and thoroughness that was due. But he had slept well. And when he woke, the smell of bacon wafting through the floorboards greeted him.

Your laughter chimed against the clatter of porcelain downstairs, his brothers following suit. He had snuggled deeper into the lumpy pillow, inhaling in the way he used to against your hair. And now, beneath a canopy of green and gold autumnal majesty, they had made camp for this morning’s torture; fire-building. Loki buried his hands in another damp pile of foliage, grasping a hunk of twigs he found there. To hel with it, he thought as he closed his eyes; feeling secretive warmth spreading from his fingertips. Magic wrapped around each stick of wood concealed beneath copper leaves, drying it instantly. He glanced over to you, thrumming some moss between your fingers. “I found some dry ones,” he said nonchalantly, hoping it sounded believable.

You peered at his outstretched hands. “Oh yeah…” you replied. Loki frowned as your attention swung back to the wisped moss being pulled apart in your fingertips. “Well, let’s get this show on the road.” Thor looked over at his brother, aghast. “Cheater,” he rumbled loudly. To his side, only Steve’s ass was visible, shaking side to side as he still searched on his hands and knees through the undergrowth for where dry wood might lurk. Loki turned, one palm facing up. A column of ferocious flame burst from his skin, funnelling up like a portal. The sound of its violence ripped the air, squawks of local wildlife jibbering in the trees above. Steve lost his balance, falling to the side into the shrubbery. He let out a strangled cry, while Thor scooted backwards and knocked him further into the bushes.

“If I wanted to cheat,” Loki snarled, “there would be much easier ways to do so, brother.”

As quickly as it appeared, the flame ceased.

Loki turned back to you, smoothing his anorak. “Sorry about that,” he quipped with a cheerful smile.

In the time it had taken to complete his theatrics, you had selected one of his pile which you deemed suitable. You turned it over in your hands, fingers curled around the trunk of the weighty stick. Loki swallowed thickly. The innocently sensual glint in your eyes as you looked at it was almost too much to bear. Or maybe it was his imagination.

You hadn’t raised a smile all day, after all. He knelt on his haunches, mirroring your intrigue while you ran a finger down the larger stick. “We need to whittle a groove down here” you said. Loki nodded, moving his eyes between the line your digit took and your face.

Your eyes met.

He saw your gaze drop to his lips, only for a millisecond. “Could you?” you whispered, avoiding eye contact again.

In a flash of green, Loki produced a short dagger. He held it to you, handle first.

“I mean really we should use the one in your pack,” you smirked, eyeing Steve brushing sodden leaves from his ass as Thor fumbled fruitlessly in the undergrowth in a last ditch attempt. Loki felt his heart pound faster. He saw his chance. “But mine is better, Agent” he murmured darkly. “You know that.” “Guys – come over, please!” you shouted over his shoulder. Loki flinched. Truly, she now immune from my overtures, he mused bitterly; remembering the times a line like that would have had you groaning in his ear like a harlot.

He smoothed a rakish curl back from his forehead, collecting himself while his brother and the captain gathered round. Thor was muttering Asgardian curses under his breath, his hair wild. Twigs stuck out at obscure angles, a small slug clinging to the scruff of his jawline. Loki peeled it off, flicking it away.

“I think not that I was made for nature, brother,” Thor lamented under his breath. Loki chuckled, cut short as his dagger, poised in your hand, began to cut away at the centre of the large stick. There was a sharp intake of breath beside him. “That’s not standard issue,” Steve chided quietly, lips hardening. Loki folded his arms, elbowing Rogers in the process. “Watch what I’m doing,” you said sternly, eyeing the men with suspicion. They stood in rapt attention, watching every rut of the blade, every splinter and chunk which sprung forth. But not Loki.

Loki watched your face. Each furrow of your brow, flick of concentration, ghost of a smile as you looked with satisfaction at the result. “Perfect,” you murmured to yourself, running a cautious fingertip through the rough groove. “Now what?” Thor grunted. “Tis still a damnable stick.” You laughed the sweetest, most condescending laugh that Loki had ever heard.

It made his heart twist in his chest. “Now...you each take one of these” you handed each of them a smaller stick from Loki's haul. Loki’s was the longest.

A smirk curled the corners of his mouth against his better judgement. You rolled your eyes, snatching it back and switching it with Steve. “Sharpen these, so they are at a 45 degree angled point. Remember your angles from yesterday, Thor?” Thor frowned. You made the angle with your forearm. “Ah, yes” he smiled. “The little mountain.” For the next few minutes, Loki felt your appraising stare fall on him in intervals. He crafted his edge to perfection, sliding the dagger’s blade so close to the wood’s bark it almost shone. The rough hacking of the other men’s pocketknives peppered the air. Aside from that, and birdsong, there was silence.

When all of them had finished, you called them back around a small, cleared patch of forest floor. The branch with the groove you had made lay on the ground. The three men stared at it, sharpened sticks in hand. Suddenly it all felt very...human. They glanced at each other vacantly. “Loki?” you chirped, gesturing to the ground. He raised an eyebrow.

“On my knees?” he heard himself purr, the feigned incredulity palpable. You nodded sternly, just once.

“Very well,” he murmured, sinking down.

His knees hit the leaves with a crisp, gentle thump.

Immediately, wetness began to seep into the fabric. Like the gusset of her underwear, he mulled. He looked up at you the way he used to while you would have him kiss up your thighs, yanking his hair as he atoned for some imagined grave misdeed with sexual favour. The essence of his vulnerability. A rarity, only for you. He was such a slut for you, back then. Anything you desired. Anything he desired- “Loki?!” you snapped. He had been staring at your chest, eyes glazed. Carefully, he tilted his chin upwards. “Apologies,” he husked. The swallow which bobbed in your throat made his loins ache. Your voice was high. Higher than she intends, surely; he thought.

“Kind of...position it so the big stick with the groove is between your knees-” you’d said.

Loki shuffled, straddling the branch. It brushed the bulge of his cock pulsing lightly against his trousers. “Between my thighs, you say?” he asked innocently. “No, your knees. Well – thighs, sort of yes. Just keep it steady.” You were becoming flustered, Loki noticed. Loki liked that.

You bent down slightly, touching the hard round of his bicep before recoiling like it was a hot stove. “You um...hold the stick like this, no...like-”

Kneeling beside him, you adjusted the angle of his hands to grip the smaller, pointed stick. “That’s it...and then you rub it back and-” you swallowed, “-back and forth. On the one between your thighs. Knees.” Loki bit his lip, beginning to do just that. The sound was awful as his pace quickened after the first few strokes. Scraping, raw squeals that jarred the air.

“Like this?” he panted. A mist of sweat was forming at his hairline. He could feel it tingle.

“Like that,” you replied shakily. Your breaths were short. They were in time with the thrust of his arms as you hovered by his shoulder, guiding his wrist as it pumped back and forth. Thor and Steve glanced silently at each other, brows raised.

Loki saw Thor’s jaw drop from the corner of his eye, a meaty finger protruding from one straightened arm to the smoke beginning to waft from the groove. “Look, Rogers…” he gasped with the wonder of a child. The smoke became thicker, billowing in heavy flow. You fumbled to the side, grabbing some tufts of dried moss.

“Now tip it in, tip the ash in-” you said frantically, barely contained excitement in your voice. Loki complied, watching as the smouldering embers blossomed within the web of moss.

“Be careful,” he whispered, setting the stick in his hands down. He brought them up protectively around the moss. You held it forward, “blow, Loki” you murmured, keeping your eyes fixed on the small ball which had begun to smoke.

“Blow?” he said, forehead creasing while you nodded. Your eyes narrowed at the tuft clenched between your fingers. “Until you get-” “-a spark,” Loki finished quietly.

He blew on the moss, flinching as the vegetation burst with flame. Thor and Steve gasped, crowding round as you dropped the raging ball of fire to the groove of the stick below. You grabbed Loki’s spear, prodding the moss. Loki opened his mouth and closed it again.

He felt that he should be bored. Or annoyed. Longing for home comforts and solitude or some such. But, admittedly, he would not have thought of this whole scenario. Against his wishes, he had learned something.

What you had done? How you had transformed nothing into...something. Like magic. When he set fire to things, he cared not how they burned. Just that they burned. And, Loki thought, they always do.

After what felt like an eternity, Loki closed the door to the cottage and turned the key.

He was the last one in, favouring a meandering pace behind the three others huddled together in a jovial formation. Water saturated him, rolling in thick droplets from his forehead down the carve of his jawline. He had never known rain like it. It had fallen like milk, heavy and thick and relentless in every direction.

Hair was plastered to his skull, to his neck. It stuck in clumpy tendrils and made a weird noise against the garish anorak when he moved. He flicked his hands forward with frustration. The clench of his stomach against the soaking fleece made him shudder.

After the first attempt, he had reluctantly admitted there was no point in drying himself every ten seconds. Even magic, he had surmised, was no match for the English countryside.

Muffled roars sounded from the living room. Loki rounded the corner, cursing every squelching step. Predictably, his brother’s head was lodged in the soaking neck of his roll neck sweater. His hiking trousers lay in a bedraggled heap on the floor, water pooling around them through the floorboards. Muddy bootprints were smeared in circles over the rug. Steve held the hem of the sweater, rolled over Thor’s head and arms, yanking it. “I’m going-to take-your gosh-darned-head-off,” he grunted; before there was a wet pop. Thor stumbled backwards, landing in a chair in the corner. He began to laugh.

Loki rolled his eyes. “I wish to bathe,” he said plainly before turning to the doorway. Steve’s eyes widened. “The lady got first dibs, Laufeyson. You’ll have to wait. Shouldn’t have dallied on the ridge.” Loki froze, a grimace descending.

He closed his eyes, clicking his neck with a tilt to the side. Thor laughed, shaking his head. He pointed to Loki, then to Steve. “What need have we three of hot baths?”

“Speak not to me of my affinity of baths. Tis you who had your very own bathhouse on Asgard” Loki snarled. He rolled his molars, the deep chill setting into his bones only half born from the wet clothes sticking to every crevice. He looked longingly at the bathroom door, thinking of what lay out of reach. The sweet caress of hot water on his aching muscles, covering his weather-worn limbs with the kiss of a million bubbles that only sought to bring him pleasure. A vision of your naked body sinking in foam fluttered in front of his waking eyes, your lips parted to the ceiling as you let your thighs fall open-

The boiler made an alarming rattle in the kitchen.

“I’ll check it,” he muttered, casting a final glance to the bathroom door as he passed. He heard a splash. And then a small groan of satisfaction.

In the kitchen, Loki gripped the counter-lip and hung his head. He stared at the greyed cream of the surface while seidr rolled up his body, every inch of sodden fabric plastered to him airing free. A waft hit his hair, blowing it over his shoulders. Shaking it back, his eyes meeting the row of mis-matched mugs from yesterday. “When in Nilfheim,” he mumbled to himself like a mantra.

He returned to the living room, three steaming mugs in hand. The others had managed to light a stove in the corner and were now wearing pyjamas. Tops and bottoms, Loki noticed. A rarity indeed. He looked again at the fire. The flames were small, but they were there. He decided to be pleasant. “Did you use the groove technique?” Loki smiled, setting a mug down on the armrest of Thor’s chair. The men laughed while Loki straightened, staring pensively into the licking flames. With mild interest, the god realised that this was the first time he had been in this room. No mean feat, considering that the cottage only had three downstairs. The kitchen, the bathroom, and this one. He glanced around at the sparse décor, as antiquated and dulled and beige as the other spaces. “I remember those,” Steve nodded, aiming towards a radio on a corner-shelf. Loki chuckled, before sipping his tea. He smacked his lips. “Honestly, Rogers. What possessed you to house us in this place? Surely there are nicer.” Steve shrugged. “I thought it would be good for us,” he said, brushing his pyjama bottoms. “I mean, look at this chair!?” Loki exclaimed, gesturing to where his brother sprawled. It was some kind of cream leather, cracked at the worn areas where a thousand mortal arses had sat. Stains adorned the peel of its chafed skin. “A son of Odin, in a chair such as that. It’s insulting.” The words were bitter, but a playful smile tugged at his lips. Steve saw it. “Actually it is rather comfortable, brother” Thor piped up. He re-adjusted himself, leaning backwards, “rather comfortable indee-” In a flash, his tea sloshed in the air; hands flying to grip the armrest as the whole chair slid back to a lying position. Loki jumped to his feet, seidr fizzling in the palms of his hands. “Calm down,” Steve said, patting Loki’s lower back. “It’s a recliner, it’s supposed to do that. Had those in my day too.”

There was silence but for the crackling of the fire which had grown to a healthy blaze. It was comfortable. Loki quietly transformed his clothes to the flannel pyjama bottoms that had lain neatly folded beneath his pillow upstairs. “What about the top? You’ll freeze.” Steve murmured, pulling his mug closer to his chin. Loki smiled, shaking his head. Fresh curls bounced around his collarbone. “I think not that a thin layer of cotton will help in that regard, Rogers.” “Modesty, then” Steve scoffed, nudging his head in the direction of the bathroom. Both brothers rolled their eyes.

“Our dear Agent has seen me in much more raucous states of undress, I assure you” he sniffed, staring pointedly at the flames. He could almost feel the wrinkle of Steve’s nose. There was another silence which hung between them, heavier this time. “What happened, Loki?” Steve whispered, leaning forward like a teen girl at a sleepover. He pulled the blanket in his lap to his chest. “Between you and-” he gestured with his head again towards the door. “You guys were pretty perfect together seemed like.” Loki bristled, feeling his brothers eyes on him too. He knew it would come to this. “We had an irreconcilable differing of opinion.” “On what?” “On me.”

Loki straightened, rolling his shoulders back and resting an ankle on his knee for good measure. Casual. The scratch of cheap upholstery made his back tingle. “Well that could mean all manner of things, brother. You are insufferable.”

Loki swallowed, blinking several times. Steve reached out, patting his hand gently, but Loki flapped it away. “Apparently I am...what were her words exactly? Oh, yes. Haughty. Condescending. Unwaveringly arrogant.” He looked pointedly between the men. “I mean, can you believe that?!” Thor and Steve’s eyes met, each waiting for the other to speak first.

“Well, yes” they said in sync.

Loki bristled again, raking a hand through his hair. “Not to the point where it subsumes all my admirable qualities, surely?” he said, beginning to pick at the green of his bottoms. “I mean really. Is it truly arrogance if what I say is true? I cannot help being a god.”

Silence was deafening.

Loki looked to the side, seeing Steve’s face contorted in a theatrical twist. One eyebrow was raised, lips stretched over his teeth in a grimacing caricature. “You do go on about it a lot.” he said out of the corner of his mouth.

“Indeed, brother.” Thor concurred. He nestled back in the recliner with a satisfied sigh. “I shouldn’t have to walk with these groceries...I am a god. I have no need of a parking permit, I am a god...I can only imagine how it is to be your significant other, especially for so long-” “Hey, Thor – did Loki tell you about ‘that time’ on Asgard?” “Why yes Rogers he did. All of them. And anyone else who’d listen. Especially the part which highlights exactly how impressive it is that he is...” “-a god,” they both finished. Loki stared between them, open mouthed. His furious gaze landed on his brother. The betrayal in his voice was palpable. “How dare you,” he growled. “You’re one to talk, spouting off about your powers and flaunting your lineage at every chance you can grasp. The audacit-” Thor raised a waggling finger in the air, pushing his feet against the chair and sitting upright. “Ah-ah-ah, brother. But I am both self-effacing and charming, isn’t that right Rogers?” he beamed. “He is quite charming.” Steve agreed, reluctantly. “You on the other hand...it comes across as more..” The three of them looked between each other. Loki’s face fell.

“Oh,” he said quietly.

Of all the times your gentle hands had cupped his, your caring words of encouragement that he think more of what he was saying; he had not listened. Not really. The armour of arrogance was a comfort to him. It was secure, unchanging. Unlike everything else. And in truth, he’d thought you’d liked it. Despite your occasional protestations.

Until the end, that was.

A creak from the hallway signalled your imminent emergence from the bathroom.

In all the commotion, none of them had heard the boiler cease its ragged howl. A few seconds later, your head poked around the door. Wetted hair fell around your shoulders, sticking to the curve of your neck. Loki looked up through his lashes, stomach fluttering as your palm slid innocently down the wooden frame. Moisture still clung to your skin.

Loki hoped you weren’t cold. “I’m going to bed, I’ll see you in the morning” you said, looking to Thor and Steve before your eyes met his. He looked away quickly. “Goodnight,” the three of them chimed, some more enthusiastically than others. You stepped out in full view for a moment, adjusting the towel around your body. “Did you use the groove technique?” you smiled, nodding to the fire. “My brother made the same joke already,” Thor said, reclining on the deceptively comfortable chair again with a flourish. “But alas, no.” Loki’s heart skipped as you focused on him. Something swam in your eyes as you twisted the towel by your armpit. Something that wasn’t irritation, or coldness. He saw your covert gaze drop to his neck, lower to his chest, then to the flat of his stomach. He shifted, curling his long legs up on the sofa.

“Join us,” he said, gesturing to an empty armchair in the corner. You shook your head, offering a weak smile. “I’m exhausted, clearly you guys have more stamina than I do.” Loki felt the mighty need to agree rise in his throat. To articulate the validity of your statement, and its infinite reasoning and commend your observations. For the first time, he was aware of its overwhelming crawl upwards like dragon-fire, sanctimonious empty words writhing like live insects in his mouth – desperate to be spat. He forced them down, under the watchful eye of Steve. The words sat in his stomach like a stone.

“Goodnight, Agent.” Loki murmured with a respectful nod. You returned it silently, before closing the door.

A sliver of open curtain cast moonlight on the wall.

Loki stared at it.

Then he stared at it some more. How long had he lain here? He turned, grasping at the vintage midgardian alarm clock on the side. He squinted. Nine-forty. Loki groaned, rolling back against the lumpy mattress. Tonight, unlike the last, sleep evaded him. Although he had only been in the maze of his thoughts for fifteen minutes, it felt like eternity. Why could he not read you? It was always so easy before, he pondered. His eyes tracked along a crack in the ceiling. Before she raised the drawbridge.

He sighed.

If what Rogers and his brother said was in truth, then it meant the unthinkable. That she was right to do what she did. Was he truly so conceited that he had let love which evaded him so long slip through his grasp for the sake of his pride? For what? To feel important for a fleeting moment? A thousand fleeting moments would be more accurate. A chill ran down his spine. Does she think that, in truth, I never cared for her at all? He closed his eyes, attempting to diminish the intrusive thought. In an act of mercy, his mind conjured the memory of you wrapped in only the towel downstairs. Hair wet, droplets kissing down your neck as you played with the side of the cotton.

‘Come here, Agent’ he would growl, spreading his thighs wider on the bed’s edge. He knew how much you loved the thickness of his thighs. At least, you used to. The version of you still in love with him would sashay across the room, bare feet leaving wet imprints on the floorboards. A coy smile playing on your pouted lips.

Would you wait until you had straddled him to release the towel, or in the moment before you did so? Loki pondered this for a moment, before deciding to indulge in both.

He could feel his cock hardening uncomfortably against the crotch of his pyjama pants, the spill of your perfect breasts into his imaginary hands making it throb. ‘Darling,’ he would sigh as he buried his face in your cleavage. His thumbs would graze your delicate nipples, guiding them to his open lips as you ground against his lap. A hand would nudge his tip inside your perfect heat before you edged down...down to meet the root. And then, you would kiss. You always wanted to kiss the first time you were fully joined. Entwined. Twin-gasps would fill the air, giving way to moans of quiet pleasure as Rogers and his brother slept next door.

Or tried to, at least. Loki spat in his hand, before slipping it beneath the waistband of his pyjamas. Cold fingers wrapped around the mass of untended lust that waited. He pumped once, pulling the foreskin back gently and letting his fist nestle against the neat of his pubic hair.

A ragged exhale escaped him.

How long has it been, he wondered briefly, before tightening his grip.

He extended his thumb, pressing harshly against velvet flesh as he swept upwards. The god’s eyes rolled back in the darkness, back arching up into his pleasure. Low pants began to pepper the air around him, each swipe of his hand more frantic than the last.

Too loud.

He bit his lip, eyes screwed shut while visions of you flashed through his mind. He settled on a memory of you in his bedroom in the tower. His hands were tied behind his back as he sat on the edge of the bed you shared, your fingers curling around his abs as they clenched beneath the touch. Your lips fastening around his trembling cock as you made him yours in each stroke of your tongue. Each slurping kiss that lingered as you sucked, his head falling back as he lost himself in you. Always, he thought between staggered breaths. Completely hers.

Loki’s fingers dug into the mattress, the rough methodical slap of his fist against flesh a din to his ears. But gods, it felt so good. He needed this. Needed to allow himself a stolen moment of pleasure where you loved him still.

Climax began to bubble in his deepest centre, swirling behind his eyelids. Loki’s thumb circled the tip with every fuck of his palm, squeezing tighter while droplets of precum made the pyjama pants damp. His teeth were gritted to the ceiling, bared in a grimace. His chin pointed upwards, the pillow folding in on his cheekbones with the force of the brace. His breaths were short. ‘Mmmm’ The god’s eyes shot open.

He paused, wincing as his fist froze tightly halfway down his cock. His ears pricked, concentrating. ‘Mmmm-uh’

Loki’s head fell to the side, facing the wall. The wall on the other side of which, you lay.

He closed his eyes, summoning every magnification of his senses that he could. Your voice. No more than a whisper, seeping through the stone.

‘Loki, yes…’

He’d know those sweet sighs of pleasure anywhere.

A breath he’d been holding rattled free, timed with a tentative tug of his cock.

He could hear everything now. The rustle of bedsheets tangled around your knees, the beat of your heart quickening as you reached your peak with him in your head. The press of your fingers on that spot just about your plump, beautiful clit. Were you imagining the flat of his tongue caressing against your desire? Loki thought you were. Orgasm began to rise alongside some unplaced feeling, his legs tensing; toes curling into the mattress.

She wants me.

In a split-second decision, he whipped the bedsheets from his body and jumped cat-like to the floor. Within two strides, he had opened the door with a creak and slipped into the cramped hallway. Your door loomed before him, adjacent to his own.

What are you doing, he thought; suddenly horrified as the chill set in. He looked down, cock hard and leaking against his pyjama pants.

He began to step back, emitting the loudest groan of a floorboard he had ever heard in his life. Loki grimaced, hushing the accursed building with clawed fingers. But it was too late. He heard the succession of your bare feet meeting the floor, and in a matter of seconds; your door opened. Just a crack. “Loki?” you warily whispered into the darkness. He cleared his throat softly, casting a glance over his shoulder before daring to meet your questioning eyes. That dragon-fire bubbled in his stomach like acid, quippy lines and heavy-handed flirtations that begged to be freed.

How had he never noticed before how much effort it took, not to let them out? I thought you might need a hand, You called for me, so I’ve come to... make you c- I know you still desire me, which is to be expected, Admit it, no one can pleasure you like me, For old times sake- Because, Loki realised, he had never tried. You opened the crack of the door wider, looking to either side of the landing suspiciously. His eyes ran from your bare feet to the hem of a nightdress falling around your thighs. He recognised that nightdress. Your favourite. It had dead leaves on it, which he never understood. But maybe now, in this place, he finally did.

You only wore it when the nights grew colder. And only when he was not there to hold you for warmth.

Which these days, he thought with a pang, is always.

All too late, the god realised he had become distracted from his newfound restraint. It had wound like ivy around his thoughts, vines twisting and flourishing with alarming speed. But there was nothing to be done about it now. “I thought you might want some... company,” he growled suggestively.

His cock pressed ferociously against his hip, covered from view by one thick forearm.

Your eyebrows rose beneath a deadpan stare. “You can’t be serious.” Like an out of body experience, Loki raised the forearm covering his crotch to rest high on the door-frame. The unmistakable scent of your arousal seeped into his nostrils, an interrupted climax lingering in the air.

Moonlight from the cracks in your curtains licked across his chest, his obliques – casting deep shadows in his cheekbones, Loki would wager.

Hair fell around his jaw, tingling the flushed skin. He could feel his manhood pressing eagerly against the cotton, as desperate for your touch as it always had been. The thrill that in mere seconds, he would feel you against him again where you belonged. The heat of your skin flush to his own, the muffled mewls from your lips as you kissed, the insatiable wandering of your hands as you devoured him like an addict’s first fix. You would be so happy. This time, Loki would make sure of that.

He looked down deep into your eyes, smouldering with all his might. “Deadly, darling.” he purred.

Your disbelieving stare fell to his crotch. It widened. “Oh my god, Loki.” you hissed. “Yes...?” he crooned presumptively in response. The rakish smile spreading barely had time to reach his eyes before the door slammed in his face, almost taking Loki’s fingers with it to the other side.

>>Chapter Three: A Long Way Down Tags (contd in comments)

@lokischambermaid @meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @holdmytesseract @fandxmslxt69 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @thenotoriouserg @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @liminalpebble @joyful-enchantress @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @kellatron55 @mrs-illyrian-baby @icytrickster17 @multifandom-worlds @muddyorbs @buttercupcookies-blog @arch-venus25 @nine-leafclover @iamlokisgloriouspurpose

[writing-intheundercroft]

The Perfect Gift - O. Gaunt

Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x F!MC

Word Count: 4,129

Rating: T

Summary: Ominis overhears the girls talking about some singer, and decides to write MC a song for Christmas. Sebastian can't help but be his wingman.

A/N: @darch7995 sent me a song and I had to write something fluffy and happy for Ominis! Listen to the audio HERE. Merry Christmas!

Ominis Gaunt was rarely stopped in his tracks, but once he’d heard the low warbling coming from the gramophone, he halted, holding his hands to his ears. He hated the insinuation that his blindness enhanced his other senses, but he did have impeccable hearing, and the song emitting from the sun room next to the Charms classroom had his ears ringing.

“Isn’t he just so dreamy?” Poppy sighed.

“Clarence Warbeck is my favorite singer of all time.” Leonora Everleigh declared. “I would listen to him all day if I could.”

Ominis rolled his milky blue eyes, ready to walk into the warm, sunlit room to say something snarky, until he heard her voice.

“I think he’s quite the romantic,” she said. His dear friend had a lilt in her voice towards the end of her sentence, as if she hadn’t finished her thought.  

“You mean easy on the eyes?” Leonora teased.

She let out a laugh that had Ominis shivering, stumbling behind the column to avoid them seeing him. 

“I just think music is quite lovely.” she mused. “And a song?  I think that’s the sweetest gift a person could ever give.”

Ominis bit his bottom lip as he blushed.  That was valuable information, he thought, especially with the holidays approaching.  The wheels started spinning in his mind as he imagined a song, especially one about her–

“Oh, hi Ominis!”

He blinked, turning towards the voice.  His friend had seen him, and now he had nowhere to hide.

“Hello, ladies.” Ominis said smoothly.

“Come to take a nap in the light?” Poppy said kindly.  He blushed again; clearly his napping habits were quite public knowledge at this point.  

“Come over,” his friend beckoned him closer. “We can sit on the cushions, if you’d like.”

“If you insist,” he stuttered.

Ominis awkwardly scampered over to the sound of her voice, settling down on the various plush cushions that were set on the floor.  He felt her sit down next to him, tucking her feet under herself as he splayed out on the floor.  One of the many cats that lived in the DADA tower slid against the two of them, purring.

“Comfortable?” she asked softly, the sound of the music dulled by her voice.

“Very,” Ominis hummed.  He settled onto the cushions, his head falling into her lap.  She continued her conversation with the girls as he drifted into a light sleep, the crooning of Clarence Warbeck filling the background noise.

Ominis and Sebastian sat at the Slytherin table in the great hall; with the holidays quickly approaching, most students were busy packing their trunks for the journey home. The Hogwarts Express was departing Hogsmeade station for the holidays the next morning, but per usual, Ominis and Sebastian were spending the holiday at the castle. As Professor Ronen decorated the Christmas tree, the boys sat at the table, loitering before dinner.

“And honestly, I took that quite personally.  So I don’t think I should have gotten a detention for setting Leander on fire, he was the one who was in my way…Ominis, are you paying any attention to me?” Sebastian asked, eyebrows quirked. 

Ominis rolled his unseeing eyes, waving off his best friend. “Yes, yes, something about nearly giving Leander Prewett third degree burns because he looked at you funny in potions again.” he said lazily, waving his wand again.  His eyebrows were furrowed as he waved his wand again.  His dictation quill scratched out a few words on the parchment in front of him.

“What are you doing?” Sebastian asked, narrowing his eyes at the many pages in front of his friend.

“Nothing,” Ominis said hastily, snatching his pages together before Sebastian could get his grubby hands on them. 

“Why so secretive?” Sebastian asked, clearly intrigued by the change in Ominis’s attitude.

“It’s none of your business,” Ominis sniffed. “Back off.”

From the blond’s biting tone, Sebastian knew it was in his best interests not to press.  However, his best interests were rarely ever actually on his mind.  Lurching forward, Sebastian snatched a piece of parchment from Ominis’s hands, taking glee in how the blond panicked.

“Each year I ask for many different things–”

“Sebastian stop,” Ominis panted. “It’s not funny.”

“But now I know what my heart–”

“Sebastian!” Ominis screeched, nearly ripping the parchment from his best friend’s hands. “Stop it, I’m begging you.”

“What in Merlin’s name are you writing?” Sebastian laughed, watching as his normally impenetrable friend reddened, pushing the wrinkled parchment into his bookbag. “Is that a poem?”

Ominis’s face was bright red. “It’s a song, if you want to know so bad.” he scowled.

Sebastian’s face softened. “I didn’t know you were back at the old piano again.”

It wasn’t common knowledge that Ominis was an accomplished pianist.  Mrs. Gaunt had insisted every child in the Gaunt family mastered an instrument, and he’d spent most of his childhood dreading piano lessons. Despite his initial disdain, Ominis had taken quite well to the instrument, and it became a hobby. Once he was at Hogwarts, he’d slip into the music room every now and then, practicing his rusty skills whenever he was under duress.

“It’s for a gift,” Ominis mumbled. 

“Pardon?” Sebastian asked, now grinning.  He had an idea of Ominis’s motivation, but wanted to hear the words from the boy himself.

“It is a Christmas gift,” Ominis hissed. “For her.  Are you happy, Sebastian?”

“Blissful.” Sebastian leaned into the table, tucking his chin in hand. “This is rich–you’re writing a song for a girl.” he crooned. “How sweet, Omi.  What gave you the idea?”

Ominis gave him a rude hand gesture, sparking laughter from the brunette. “I overheard her talking with Poppy and Leonora about that singer–Clarence Warbeck–and how they loved his songs.”

“Right, the prat who sings all those cheesy love songs the girls are obsessed with.” Sebastian noted. “Isn’t he doing a show in London over the holiday break?”

Ominis gave him a dry look. “Precisely.  His lyrics are…uninspired, to say the least.  And I was already thinking of what to give her for the holidays–you know she’s impossible to shop for.  The girl has every piece of clothing known to mankind, every potion, book, broom at her disposal.  I thought to myself, she deserves a song. You know, something actually personalized to her.” he said sheepishly.

“Well, I think it’s very kindhearted of you.” Sebastian said smugly. “Are you admitting it then?”

“Admitting what?” Ominis feigned indifference.

“Your crush on her.”

“Could you be any louder, Sebastian?” Ominis hissed. His hands flew to his temples as his best friend chortled next to him. “I just–”

“Just writing her a lovely, romantic song for the holidays.” Sebastian snorted. “Oh come on, I’m just teasing you.  I think it’s great; you never play the piano, so it must mean something special.”

Ominis felt his face flush; despite his disdain for Sebastian in the moment, his best friend was right.  Ominis had minimal experience with the fairer sex.  The concept of romance was lost on the Gaunts, choosing to pair their children in arranged matches to bring honor to the bloodline.  He’d never even imagined the idea of dating someone until she’d arrived at Hogwarts. Their friendship had gotten off to a rocky start, thanks to the freckled heathen sitting next to him, but the events of their fifth year had only drawn them closer to one another.  What had started as an admiration for her bravery turned into a funny twist in his stomach whenever he heard her laughing.  As of late, it had gotten so unbearable, Ominis had turned into a blushing mess whenever she sat next to him in class.  

“Speak of the devil–she’s coming in.” Sebastian murmured. “Hide your sheets, then.”

Ominis heard her footsteps draw closer and closer as he hurriedly shoved his parchment back into his school bag.  

“Hello you two,” she said sweetly, standing next to them.  Ominis could smell her perfume wafting towards him, still smelling like the sweet scent of strawberries in the dead of winter. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing,” both boys said in unison.

Despite his blindness, Ominis could almost sense the arch of her brow. “Alright, weirdos.”  she chuckled. “I have good and bad news.”

“Do tell,” Sebastian said.

“Good news, Leonora’s mother surprised us with tickets to Clarence Warbeck’s show in London!” she said gleefully.  “I was going to stay in the castle for the holidays, but Leonora’s parents decided to surprise her early so she could bring friends, and she invited me to join!”

“O-oh.” Ominis said, feeling his heart crack in half. “So you’ll be gone, then?”

“Yes, well that’s the bad news, you see. I know it’s such late notice, but I hope the two of you won’t be cross with me,” she said wistfully. “It’s just such a good opportunity, and I’ve never been to a real show before–”

“Of course we’re not mad,” Ominis interjected. “If it makes you happy, we’ll be happy for you.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you understand,” she sighed in relief. “I am going to miss you over the holidays, I hope you know that.”

Ominis pursed his lips. “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.”

“Speak for yourself,” Sebastian chuckled. “I’m positively bereft you’re leaving us.”

Despite his inner turmoil, Ominis knew she was excited for the opportunity to visit London.  It was silly of him to write the song, he thought; he was no great wordsmith, nor half the performer that Clarence Warbeck was.  He felt a pit of jealousy in his stomach as he pictured her singing and cheering for him in a crowd, waiting for his autograph at the side door to the theater–

He was broken out of his thoughts at the feeling of her kissing his cheek.  

“Don’t miss me too much, Ominis.” she said kindly. 

“I’ll be counting down the days until you’re back,” he said softly. Realizing just how lovesick he sounded, he quickly covered with a cough. “Can’t forgive you for leaving me with this one,” he elbowed Sebastian, who yelped in return.

She gave a sparkling laugh, which brought warmth to his cheeks once more. “I’ll try to see you before I leave tomorrow.” she promised, her voice getting further and further away as he heard her walk towards the door. 

The boys were silent until they heard the door properly shut.

“Lots of talk, use of the word we,” Sebastian noted. “When you’re the one supposedly preparing a love song for her.”

“Shove off,” Ominis mumbled. “I knew it was a stupid idea.”

“Don’t say that,” Sebastian assured him. “You can give it to her when she’s back.”

Ominis knew he was right, but he was rather hoping to give her his song over the holidays.  He’d already spent so much time planning his confession, and her leaving for the holiday was a major setback.  Ominis wasn’t sure he could muster up the confidence to play his music for her again, let alone with a castle full of other students who might walk in on them.

“Whatever,” Ominis sighed. 

It had been a few days since the train had departed for London, taking her to London and far, far away from Hogwarts for the holidays.  Ominis had since retreated to the music room nearly every night, wishing to be alone. It was late, and Ominis was seated at the piano again.  His long, lithe fingers softly danced across the keys, playing the tune he’d written for her song.  Under his breath, he mumbled the lyrics; deep down, he didn’t really want to be alone, but she had been the only company he’d desired. He imagined her, standing at the Clarence Warbeck show, swaying to the lame lyrics with her girlfriends, and it made his piano strokes a bit heavier and angrier than he’d wanted them to be.

He was so lost in thought, he hardly noticed the sound of skittering feet approaching the music room.  It wasn’t until the door burst open that he stumbled over the keys, lifting his wand to identify the intruder.

“Sebastian?  What in Merlin’s name are you doing?” Ominis barked.

“She’s–Ominis, they–show got canceled–she’s here,” Sebastian rambled, panting for air.

“What are you even talking about?”

Sebastian took a big gulp of air. “The Clarence Warbeck show got canceled,” he breathed. “She caught the train back to Hogsmeade instead.”

Ominis blinked at his best friend. “She’s here?” he said, voice strained.

“Do you have your song written?” Sebastian demanded.

“Er, yes–I was just finishing the melody.” Ominis admitted.

“That settles it–you have a song to deliver then, Ominis.” Sebastian said proudly. “I can grab her, if you like–”

“Are you insane?” Ominis gaped. “It’s not–I’m not ready!” he panicked. 

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “There’s a piano, you have your lyrics, what aren’t you ready for?” he asked.

Ominis began wringing his hands. “But it has to be romantic,” he wheezed. “And this isn’t romantic at all.  For Merlin’s sake, I’m wearing pajamas!”

Sebastian was quiet for a few moments; Ominis could tell the cogs were moving in his best friend’s head. The brunette snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it!” he said gleefully. “The perfect idea.”  He could hear Sebastian’s boots scuffling around him, muttering under his breath.

“What are you doing?” Ominis asked curiously.

“Candles.” Sebastian said simply, muttering a conjuration charm. “You’ll need a lot of candles, girls love them.”

“I’m not even going to ask how you know that,” Ominis scowled, standing up and raising his wand.  He could sense Sebastian conjuring dozens candles, setting them around the piano. 

“And you–you should change into something a little nicer.” Sebastian tutted. “Not that your pajamas aren’t cute and all, but you’ll want to look your best.”

“I know that,” Ominis rolled his eyes.  However, he couldn’t contain the flutter of excitement in his stomach. “Are you suggesting I change now?”

“Run down to the dungeons, I’ll take care of the room.” Sebastian assured him. “Ambiance, by Sebastian Sallow.” he joked.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Ominis said earnestly.

“Get fewer girls, that’s for sure.” The brunette snorted.

“Don’t start.” Ominis warned him, backing up towards the door.

“Is that any way to treat your personal elf?” He didn’t need sight to know there was a smug grin stretched across Sebastian’s face. “Go on, get prettied up.  I’ll be here, getting everything prepared.”

“I know you can’t see yourself, but you look quite dashing.” Sebastian hummed.  He adjusted Ominis’s tie, the blonde slapping his hands away in return.  “Don’t be nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” Ominis lied.  “What’s to be nervous about?”

“I dunno–the fact that it’s nearly midnight and you’re about to host your first solo concert to the girl you’re in love with.” Sebastian hummed. “I know I had some mistletoe around here somewhere…”

“Hello?” A feminine voice called out. “Is anyone there?”

Ominis slapped Sebastian’s arm. “She’s here!” He hissed. “Get out!”

Sebastian yelped in response; Ominis straightened his waistcoat as he heard his best friend stumble across the music room, his boots clacking against the stairs.  

“Ominis, are you in there?” Her voice sounded nearer, about to turn the corner into the room.

He gulped, twirling his wand rather anxiously at his side. “I am,” he choked out.  “Do come in.”

He could hear her delicate footsteps as she walked into the music room; first quickly, and then stopping in her tracks.  It felt like eons before her feet picked up again, taking slow deliberate steps towards him in the corner, next to the piano.

“Sebastian sent me an owl, saying it was rather time-sensitive.” she said hesitantly. “That it was an emergency.”

“That twat,” Ominis grumbled. “It’s not an emergency, per say, but I did want you to meet me here.”

“So no one is dying, gravely wounded, or in need of protection?”

“Did he say that was the issue?” Ominis choked.

She snorted. “Rather implied it was a life or death matter.”

Ominis scolded Sebastian in his head, rolling his eyes.  He’d have to set him straight later on.

“I wanted to ask you to come meet me here,” Ominis chewed on his lower lip. “Because I knew you were quite disappointed when the Clarence Warbeck show was canceled.”

“Oh, right.” she said quickly. “Yeah, Leonora was a bit upset over it, and I didn’t really have any other reason to be in London, so I caught the train home.”

“Well, with that being the case, I thought this was a good time to give you your Christmas present.” Ominis swallowed thickly. 

“Omi, I thought we weren’t doing presents,” she said, her voice slightly panicked. “I haven’t gotten you anything–”

“This,” Ominis interjected, pointing his wand towards the piano. “This is the present.”

She paused, clearly confused. “The piano?  The one that’s always here in the music room? I mean, thanks Ominis, but I doubt we can steal the school piano–”

“No,” Ominis groaned. He tugged her hand towards the bench, gesturing for her to sit next to him. “This is the present. Me–er, rather, a song for you.”

There was a pregnant pause as she slowly slid into the bench next to him.  Her shoulder bumped into his, and he could feel the ends of her braid tickling his skin.  They’d never sat so closely before–not under the pretense of anything other than a friendly afternoon nap in the corridor. 

“You wrote a song for me?” she asked, her voice suddenly small and subdued. “Ominis, I didn’t even know that you could play the piano.”

Ominis set his wand down on the piano’s ledge with shaky hands. “I did–I do play the piano.  I learned when I was younger,” he admitted, his fingers finding the ivory keys. “I’m actually quite good, if I do say so myself.  Sebastian tells me I am too.”

“You’ve played for Sebastian, but not me?” she scoffed, a playful tone returning to her voice. 

Ominis began playing the tune he’d written, the one he’d memorized in a matter of days just for her. “I only share this with people I love,” he said softly.  Realizing what he’d just said, he coughed quickly to cover his blunder. “Like my friends.  Anne, Sebastian, and now you.”

She rested her chin on Ominis’s shoulder. “Well, go on then.  Let me hear it.”

“And you won’t make fun of me if I’m a lousy singer?” Ominis asked, feeling the back of his neck heating up.

“I would never,” she reassured him.

Ominis began singing; he could hear her breath catch as his voice echoed in the room.  The words tumbled out of his mouth as his fingers danced across the keys.  Despite not having his wand in hand, he started to feel more confident as his tune went on, his voice only cracking slightly when he felt her soft hand on his leg.  

So just please fall in love with me, this Christmas

There’s nothing else that I would need, this Christmas

Won’t be wrapped under a tree, I wish that this would last forever,

So kiss me on this cold December night;

They call it the season of giving; I’m here, yours for the taking

I’m here, I’m yours

The notes trailed off, Ominis’s fingers lifting from the keys.  He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands; in his nervousness, he clenched his fists in his lap.

“I tried to copy Warbeck’s style,” he gulped. “Since you like him so much.  I overheard you talking with the girls last week, that you thought a song was the sweetest gift a person could give.”

“You listened to me,” she murmured.

Ominis squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to articulate his feelings. “I…I’m always listening to you.  I want to make you happy.” he wrung his hands together.

“Ominis, this is…the song…” she trailed off.

“Do you hate it?” he asked nervously. 

She threw her arms around him; he yelped as she squeezed him tight.

“How could one hate a song so beautiful? This is my favorite Christmas gift I’ve ever received, the most perfect gift.” she gasped. “No one has ever written me a song before.”

Ominis sighed in relief, blushing as he found the courage to wrap his arms around her waist, hugging her in return. “I’m glad you liked it.” he murmured into her shoulder.

She pulled away, pressing her small, warm hands against his cheeks. “Liked it?  Ominis, I loved it!” she exclaimed.  “I never knew you had such talent.  You need to play more often for me.”

Ominis smiled as he pressed her forehead against hers. “Well, now that you know, I’d be happy to play for you whenever you’d like.”

Her warm hands left his cheeks, falling to hold his hands.  There was a brief pause; he could tell she was chewing on her lower lip.

“The lyrics,” she murmured. “You…you mean them, right?  They’re not just lyrics?”

Ominis took in a sharp breath as her fingers entwined with his. “Well, Mr. Warbeck is quite forward with his feelings in all of his songs, so I thought I should do the same.” he whispered. “I wanted it to be romantic, and all I could think of wanting this Christmas was you.” he confessed.

“I thought so,” she mused. “So you would like me to kiss you?”

Ominis blinked rapidly, his cheeks burning hot. “Only if–” he started to say, quickly cut off by her lips pressing against his. 

She smiled against his lips, and Ominis melted into her touch.  His hands cradled her face while she held onto his forearms, keeping him close.  He whined softly as she pulled away, pressing a quick kiss to the tip of his nose. 

“Only what?” she asked.

“If you mean it, truly.” Ominis fought the smile that tugged on the corner of his lips. “I hope you do. Or I guess in this case, did.”

She laughed; the melodic sound of her giggles rivaled even the sweetest of songs. Her chin dropped to his shoulder again, and she nuzzled closer. 

“You didn’t need to write a song to capture my heart, Ominis.” she breathed. “It’s been yours for a while now.”

Ominis went slack jawed. “What?”

“Why do you think I caught the first train back to Hogwarts?” she nudged him with her nose. “I wanted to be back here, to spend Christmas with you, Ominis.”  

“But the show–Clarence Warbeck–”

“He’s a good singer,” she laughed. “But he’s not you.” 

Ominis surged forward, and she yelped when he pressed his lips against her face, slightly missing her lips.  No matter; she chuckled again, angling her face to meet him perfectly.  One of Ominis’s hands tugged her closer at the waist, the other trailing up to her soft, strawberry scented hair.  

“I love you,” he admitted, rubbing the tip of his nose against hers.

Just as she was about to open her mouth in response, the two heard a cough from the rafters.  They jolted apart, Ominis nearly falling off the bench to maintain a proper distance from her in case it was a professor.

It wasn’t–he could hear a familiar voice huffing at them.

“Can I come down now?”

Ominis furrowed his eyebrows. “Sebastian, what the bloody hell are you still doing here?” he gasped.

“Well you didn’t give me much time to get down from the rafters,” Sebastian complained. “I was trying to hang the mistletoe for you two.”

“Get out!” Ominis groaned, while she laughed next to him on the piano bench.

Ominis could hear Sebastian’s snickering, and the familiar beat of his steps as he ran out of the music room.  He groaned, his head falling against her shoulder.

“So embarrassing.” he muttered into the fabric of her shirt. “I can’t believe he heard the song.”

“Not at all,” she cooed. “Wouldn’t quite be a moment between us without Sebastian interrupting, would it?” she pressed a soft kiss against his hair. “Play the song for me again?”

“Only if I get to kiss you more.” Ominis whispered.

“That can be arranged,” she said coyly, tilting his chin up towards her. She adoringly pressed kisses against his forehead, his cheeks, the tip of his nose, and then finally his lips again.  Pulling away, she leaned her head on his shoulder once more, sighing happily as his fingers started dancing across the keys again. 

“Happy Christmas, Ominis.  I love you too.”

Those four words were music to Ominis’s ears.  He played the song for her over and over again, his voice more confident every time he repeated the lyrics. The fourth time he repeated, she stopped him, kissing him breathless.  

“Saw the mistletoe,” she whispered against his lips, slithering her arms around his waist. “He managed to hang it after all.”

Grinning into her kiss once more, Ominis reminded himself to thank Sebastian. 

[moondirti]

bluebird

gif by @a7estrellas

pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader word count: 2k summary: the gaps in a grim reality warnings: mentions of morning spice and unprotected p-in-v, canon typical violence, mentions of gore, death and general unpleasantness, but it's mostly fluff notes: i had to air myself of the thirst before i could focus on a better developed fic for him. so sorry y'all, this lacks my usual substance. also, i did very minimal revision on this so sorry for any mistakes

Golden light broaches over the horizon; a deluge through dusty faux wood blinds, dawn spilling onto patchwork sheets. You feel it more so than you see – while your eyes remain closed, content, your skin bathes in the cresting warmth. Your hand smooths along the hairy forearm that wraps around your waist. His breath tickles your ear.  

Things feel okay.

You know that they are not. 

But the recognition flutters like a mote in your cotton-stuffed mind, lazy on its journey to your wavering consciousness. Half of it is ornery – an almost bloody battle against the grim reality that threatens to seep up into rotting floorboards. The other, softer bit, sings in poetic eulogies you’ve long forgotten, the romantics printed upon yellowed pages. You think you remember what they feel like, those books, rough and comforting underneath your wandering touch. You think you remember–

(Or, the sensation is mirrored onto the gruff man beside you.) 

Either way, mornings tend to follow the same rhythm.

This; suspended animation on the verge of wakefulness. The rheum lining your lashes, and the punch of yesterday’s scotch whisky, dry on your tongue. Your head pounds like it does when you bleed out; festering, oozing like mud-soaked fungi. You sink into the knowledge that, despite it, you’re okay. 

Him; steady, solid brawn slotted into your back. A beating heart – one you care for like your own – and muscles that tighten and curl around your frame. Sinew, tissue you’re familiar with on levels of lesions and starving attempts at survival, but are slowly growing to rediscover now. Here. The rough pads of his fingertips graze the waistband of your jeans. Instinctively, perhaps. Your mouth twitches with tired amusement.

Beyond; just outside the door, on the other side of the window–

No.

You centre in again on the beat of a bluebird’s wing. The gentle drumming that means nothing. Oblivious, quiet bliss.

(But the bustle of the world has already started edging along the tune. Bleary FEDRA announcements grow louder by the minute. It had been raining, the water perhaps cleaner than it had been pre-outbreak, though it certainly does not look that way. Crud stains glass panes. It’s the first thing you notice as your eyes peel open.)

Then–

“Had a dream about you.” 

His voice. Hoarse, kindling logs on a bonfire; the rough whisper slices through the tranquillity. Your hips jolt, rearing into the source’s groyne. 

“Christ–” 

“Don’ tell me I scared you.” Joel huffs. “Assumed you were tougher than that.” 

“I thought you were asleep.” You sniff, your retort missing the venom you wish for it, moulding to form an affectionate hum as you twist your head to face him. His nose presses into your neck before you get the chance. 

“I was.” The confession is muffled, vibrating along the column of your throat. When you don’t respond, he takes to nipping the sensitive skin there, pinching your sweet spot between his lips until you squirm in place. His tree-trunk arms keep you from going anywhere, resolute – smelted tungsten. 

(Those same ones, fit between your legs yesterday. Thick digits pistoning into the velvet walls of your cunt, feeding the hot coals that crackle in your core. You could have risen enough to melt him.

Fuck– you can’t– Oh my god, Joel– 

Jus’ hold on and take it. That’s it… Atta’ girl.

You’d cum in some random alleyway, splayed open on dirty brick.)

“Mmm.” Biting your cheek at the feverish memory, you turn to mocking him. “Don’t tell me I scared you awake.” 

“You?” As if to punctuate, he kneads the flesh of your hip. His grip verges on bruising as he does, seeking capillaries and bursting them, imposing himself upon more gruesome marks. Your gut lurches with brimming desire. “You make me feel a lotta things, darlin’. Fear ain’t one of them.” 

“Oh, that’s priceless.” To steady yourself, you grasp his wrist, right above his watch, nudging the strap with your pinky. His bemusement rolls off him in lapping waves. “Had a good dream for once, then?” 

He doesn’t grace you with an acknowledgement. Instead, his hands trail down to your hips, anchoring you down. Before you process it, your mouth cracks open to deliver another piercing jab. 

Joel then grinds into the plush of your ass. 

And it promptly snaps shut. 

You lose your breath just as quick, the air pitching in a thin gasp, clawing desperately as though it’d been forcibly uprooted from your lungs. It hurts; it hurts because he’s hard, carved from rock, and it manages to batter the tenderest part of you. 

Jesus, he’s still clothed, and yet–

“Better than good.” He husks. 

You take a moment to digest it. Everything races faster than you can keep up with in this sleep-logged state; his beard – abrasive on your shoulder, chafing you there. Your underwear – drenched and still seeking more, aiding the slide of your thighs as you try to give it just that. You drink the timbre in his tone, that southern twinge that smoulders along the edge of every syllable. You blink with the slow roll of his hard-on, the length of it driving in between your cheeks. 

It is against your will that bleak truths start to filter in too, trickling in through the slipshod cracks. They’ve grown teeth that are harder to shake, latched onto your shoulder, their putrid slobber priming the area for poison. 

Your job, the virus, the grey world that taints everything in its colour. 

Your nails press into the flesh of Joel’s wrist. 

(No, don’t go. Please don’t leave me, not like this.

You’re used to loss. Doesn’t mean it hurts any less.)

You swim through the grief for your dawn’s promise, navigating through the molasses turned tar, then leverage your grip to flip and straddle his legs. The dizzying capsize knocks you off kilter, dousing you in a welcome numbness.

(The burden oscillates, like a rock skipping water.) 

“Hi,” You simper once you’ve regained your wits.

“Hm.” He squints. His brows furrow, forehead wrinkling with the motion. Already, he senses what you’re about to lay on him.

“Donovan’s expecting his shipment by tonight. We need to head out sometime in the next hour for it to reach him by then.” 

And while he might’ve expected it, his chin tips up with a drawn out inhale, the thumbs that rub your waist faltering. You’re glad his eyes are shut, if only for the fact that he doesn’t witness the frown that weighs your cheeks. 

“Never a moment’s peace.” It’s spoken with a lilting tease. The stone that lodges in your throat nods contrary to the levity, though. You know that he’s right. 

“No,” You agree, tracing the seams of his pants. There’s still the glaring evidence to your circumstance, thick and strained against the tightening denim. Verity aches like an open sore, borderline septic within the gummy recesses of your brain. You hope this’ll douse it, if only for a short while, in lemon disinfectant. “But I had to ground you for what’s to come.” 

(You say lemon. It could be anything; spearmint, 100% alcohol. Anything but the ever present tang of putrefaction and bile.)

He opens his mouth to protest.

Your gaze flickers to his own, lidded one, and carries upward to take in the tousled bed-head he has yet to smooth out. “We can be quick.” You gripe, popping open the button that keeps the rest of him from you. “We will be quick.”

“You said it yourself,” He begins, but he doesn’t try to stop you. If anything, his fingers regain their charge, fondling closer to your core, rubbing like a well-oiled machine. “Within the next hour.” 

“Tell me about your dream.” You interrupt, folding over to pepper small pecks across his jaw. The joint clicks in minute irritation as his palms spread over your ass. 

“Nothin’ to say that isn’t well on its way to happenin’ already.”

“That so?” You purr, licking down patchy hair until you can latch onto his jugular. Your canines graze the curve of it, skimming the aged leather of his skin. He hasn’t told you much of his life before the outbreak, but you can imagine he’d worked in the sun often. He’s weathered in that way, bronzed and not quite as elastic as someone significantly younger. 

“But you sure do seem to be takin’ your damn time with it.” 

You pull away just then, admiring the mottled blemish that pricks in shades of eggplant purple and maroon. It’s more rushed than you would have preferred; your conviction warbles, flimsy between these walls, and you have to restrain yourself from diving back down to try again. 

“Impatient old man.” You mutter, rucking your pants to your ankles as he does much the same. He doesn’t reply.

(You would think he doesn’t hear you. You know better than to suppose he misses anything.)

Instead, he cups his balls and pulls his cock from behind his briefs. He doesn’t give you the time to tug off your panties as he does; with one fell swoop, he jerks the soaked fabric to the side, his mushroomed head catching the seam of your cunt.

And there’s no symphony to it; no swelling orchestra that laments with plucking strings. It doesn’t feel like sex as it was, before – that avenue for abundant desire, something to be had on seven hundred thread egyptian cotton sheets. No; poetics can’t be prescribed to the way Joel pushes into you, semi-dry, desperate, like a voracious animal. It’s fast, and brutal, and painful in that delicious way where the burn is embraced.

He feels bigger when he’s in you – not that he doesn’t look the part. But you’re only able to process half of it when he’s caged between your fingers – another truth dampened. Self-preservation, maybe. A dam to redirect the hesitance one might feel looking at the thickset mass. The throbbing veins that branch up the side. The pearlescent precum that beads and slips down a purpling width. He’s huge, alive, and there’s no ignoring it when he pounds up into you like this. 

Suppose it’s flaying pleasure, or the filth he utters over anything else. That string of obscene groans, grunted for only you to hear, his balls slapping your ass and his juices smearing milky white on sweltering walls. You suck him in deeper, deeper, urgent to gorge on this feast before you’re robbed of it. You fuck to the cadence of a ticking clock, manufacturing your own hypnagogia in this perennial moment where he swells up inside of you. And you don’t let him pull out once he’s fully situated, vacuumed in a squelching uptake. You push forward – buttressed on your haunches, your clit mashed against the wild crop of hair on his groyne – then swivel back again, his head marring your cervix. 

(It’s not often you’re on top; he’s too snappy, too anguished to relinquish his grip on your hair and the sight of you pinned to a wall. But with the way his neck stretches, the tendons long and tense, running down to the bulk of his arms – you think he likes it.)

It goes that way, follows that same beat, for the next few minutes, until Joel hugs your chest to his. It doesn’t better the angle, there’s no logical – pleasurable – aspect to it. It’s all sweat and musk, the brine of body odour as you conjoin and soil yourself further with one another’s sins, grime. He pulls you closer for purchase, for warning – Wish I could cum this deep in you, darlin’. You’d love that, wouldn’ ya?, husked over the shell of your ear. 

Or, it’s something deeper that is too volatile to acknowledge in this life. 

There’s nothing to pinpoint about it. You try not to find deeper meaning in anything anymore. 

Though your nerves flare, liquifying your guts into a viscous substance that sloshes around and sullies the duvet more than it already is. Your muscles tense, screwing into tight knots, your fingers twitching through the chest hair underneath you. You look for a stretch of flesh to bite, to kiss, when you unravel at the seams. 

And that tells you all you need to know.  

He pulls out to splatter his spend onto your stomach.

“That was my only shirt.” You whine.

“Jus’ wipe it off.”

permanent taglist: @yeyinde @saintbedelia @tusk89 @cactuswaterscactusfields @lexloon @nqberries @kkinky @ravenhood2792 @s-u-t @glassgulls @eternallyvenus @thoticious @brownstalebread @fivedicksinatrenchcoat @joy-the-reader @aerangi

join the taglist! now with a specific tlou option :)

[gooppoo]

hello! can i please request a jake x reader oneshot where they’re not together yet, so he uses english petnames (love, darling, etc) with her to express his feelings in some way and she’s always confused by it, not knowing what they mean. i hope this made sense and ty. <3

my baby, my baby

Requests Open!

warnings: none, a tad of angst

A/N: my first request yipee!!

Jake knew your English was rocky. Particularly slang.

So while he learned Na'vi, you learned English in exchange. Unfortunately for you, Jake was picky with what he taught you. So if you were to teach him the name of a certain plant you crossed that piqued his interest, he'd reciprocate with the English term (if there were one), but Jake would always have something extra to say.

"Yeah, an elephant ear - that's what it looks like at least."

"Eleephant ear." You tried, frustrated your tongue and lips couldn't annunciate with ease like Jake.

"Elephant ear, that's right baby."

You smacked his arm and scowled at him, "What is this 'baby' stuff you keep saying?! Tell me what you mean."

His ears would tug back, "Just keep going, quit asking questions you don't want to know the answer to." Though his body was guilty, his voice was stern.

You tsked him and purposefully scurried deeper into the forest, fast enough so he was barely on your tail. The chase was thrilling for you; swirling around trees and crouching through tall patches of growth, even splashing through creeks.

"Y/n-?"

Jake panted, hands on his knees and searching his surroundings tiredly. From your spot, perched in a tree, you held your hand over your giggling lips, but your laughter still tickled his extraordinary ears. His head snapped up to where you nearly camouflaged with the tree and his pupils bounced with primal excitement.

"Hey!" He protested, urging you to come down.

"If you say so, Jake." Giddily, you scampered silently down the tree and off to blend in with your surroundings.

You were careful to be quiet, sometimes double backing to cover your tracks, and teasing Jake with your mewls. But something was off. Soon, only your footsteps were heard, your panting and laughter. Cautiously, your vision wrapped around the thick trunk of a tree to spy on your environment in search for Jake, but the athletic Na'vi was missing.

"Hey darling."

You yelped and spun against the tree, digging your nails in terror into its thick bark. Like a powerful hammer, your heart pounded against your ribs. Once you registered Jake's annoyingly smug grin, you smacked his chest and jutted out your bottom lip.

"Don't frighten me! And tell me what is 'darling'!"

Jake rolled his eyes, "It's irrelevant,"

"And what does that mean?"

He kissed his teeth impatiently, "Like - not important, you don't need to worry."

You groaned, "You always say I don't need to worry, like you are holding a secret. What are you hiding?"

Jake chewed his lip at your confrontation, scheming a way to deflect the topic and take your mind elsewhere. He noticed by the dip of your brows you grew irritated, so he acted impulsively.

With agility, he leapt from the ground and grasped the sturdy branch above him, strongly pulling himself up.

"Keep up sugar and I'll tell ya." He taunted, reaching for his next climbing point.

Accepting the challenge, you remarked, "You are mean!"

With each passing branch, you fell just enough behind you could grab for him, but each time his skin barely scraped by your nails. The frustration made you groan and climb more persistently, only to be just out of reach again.

"Jake!" You whined, "Please, this isn't fair."

His laughter fondled the leaves and vines surrounding you, his smile out of view, "I know it is love, doesn't feel good, does it?"

You'd officially run thin on patience, motivation too. All your brewing resentment bubbled over into a defeated grown. Tiredly, you let your legs dangle over each side of a legendary branch, your back to the main column of the tree.

It was Jake's turn to recognize the lack of your grasping hands at his tail. He called your name, but you kept your lips in a fine line.

You heard his faint scoff, "Are you giving up that easy babe?"

"Yes!" You shouted back at him, childishly crossing your arms and pouting.

Lucky for Jake, your rebuttal was enough to locate and rejoin you, swinging nimbly to your branch and mocking your sitting stature - one leg on either side of the bark.

Jake's presence was normally joyful for you, but right now you wanted to scream until he retreated so you could sulk. Even holding his like of sight made your jaw tense.

"Y/n, honey," his abnormal hand reached for your thigh, "Is this really upsetting you?"

Your eyes snapped in his direction, narrowing lethally.

He nodded in understanding, biting back his amusement and inching closer, even his expansive palm venturing further up your muscle, "Look, it's..." he sighed.

Two options were in a ferocious battle of tug of war in his mind. Exposing the true reason for his pet names would unfold many more conversations he wasn't prepared to have. Yet, he had teased you long enough with this concept, and if he carried on any longer it could really take a toll on your dynamic. He decided on:

"I know I should've just told you, it was dumb to keep beating around the bush. It's just my way of teasing you, I say those things instead of saying your name."

Cleverly, you noticed his vagueness, "And why not say my name?"

Jake ran through his dilemma once more. Before he could make a final decision, words began spilling from his lips.

"They're supposed to be endearing - caring. You use them when you're talking to someone you care about...more than in a friendly way."

As the realization dawned on him, his heart rate grew rapidly. Even his breathing was uneven and shallow. Some ease was blanketed on his tension when your brows lowered their defenses.

"Jake..." you began, "you care about me?"

His eyes darted from his lap to your expression, scared to register your emotion, but once he got over his uneasiness and saw your smile, he became adorably bashful.

"Oh don't be an asshole!" He scoffed, squeezing your leg.

Laughter erupted from you and left you reaching for him to soothe his difficult feelings.

"I care for you too...baby."

Through the stoicism, a grin curled the corner of his lips upward.

[heartthrobin]

round and round the garden (1)

sam winchester x fairy!reader

wc: 4.7k

warnings: soulmate!au (partners share scars), fem!reader, limited use of y/n, timeline is foggy but we’re working with s8 sam lookwise, reader is a creature, implied age gap (reader is early 20's), reader is uber tooth-rottingly sweet, highkey dumbification of sam winchester, references to thick reader (everyone cheered) but can be ignored, dean being dean, destiel is canon, animals, canon warnings (child kidnapping, violence ect.)

an: literally just wanted to write something fantastical and cutesy so here it is !!! this is part 1 of (probably) 4 :))) let me know if you want to be added to taglist <33 love y’all

summary: the case was bizarre, but no aspect more so than the “witch” at the end of town with the prettiest goddamn face Sam had ever seen and the long pink scar up her arm that matched his own.

part two part three part four

The house wasn't big.

If Sam could really call it a house.

It was more like a cottage, reminding him of children's illustrated stories he never had the childhood to read. Of picnics and fireplaces.

The cottage dazzled like a water colour painting: green shrubbery seeping into every corner of the canvas, with lush pink and orange and yellow fruit speckled across the page.

Creeping around it, wrapping it's branches over the house like an arboreal hug: was the largest tree Sam had ever laid eyes on. The trunk was almost as wide as the street they were parked on and it's leaves draped low over the windows peeking from inside. It stood like a monolith against the backdrop of the forest leering behind it.

The line of trees were inched back just enough to almost convince Sam that this tree, the one engulfing your cottage, made them nervous.

A stone footpath lead to the door.

"I-- looked away for just one minute ..." the woman was inconsolable.

Jenny Perez sobbed into the arm of her couch. Her sister leered in the doorway.

Sam and Dean watched her from the couch over.

"Ma'am," Sam stepped carefully. "We know this isn't easy, but are you sure you didn't see anything in the moments leading up to Manny's disappearance? Even anything ... strange?"

Washington State. Five kids. Two months. Missing.

Each snatched out their gardens where they played.

Sam and Dean had been in Illinois on the tail end of a wendigo hunt when the news of a sixth missing kid blew far enough across the country to land a tiny column on the front page of the Chicago Tribune.

Manny Perez (7) was taken from the backyard of his home this past Sunday night in Fernglade, Washington.

His mother, Jenny Perez (38), said she heard rustling in the bushes behind their house and her son laughing before going to take some food out of the oven. When she returned, her son had disappeared.

Sure it was a terrible story, but regardless, it didn’t arouse enough suspicion out of either Winchester to make it their problem. To convince them it was anything more than a 53-year old psychopath holding children in his basement.

Not until Dean found the entry. The one in John’s journal.

He’d been looking for a passage he swore was in there on wendigo hunting seasons when the ruggedly clipped article fell from between it’s pages.

“Sammy …” he’d flashed him the clip, “look familiar?”

Several articles actually: eight kids missing from the little town of Fernglade. Every Autumn, every twenty years out of some poor mother’s backyard. John had only scribbled one lonely note amongst all the newspaper staining: THE TREES

“No! It’s like I told the police … I just heard him laughing.” Her voice came out as broken shards between the heaving and the hands clutched close against her chest. “I thought I heard another child’s voice, but that was—”

“Jenny, enough.” Sandra Perez piped up from the doorway, clearly enflamed. She turned from her sister to face the brothers on the couch. “What my sister is refusing to consider, and what the rest of us know to be true, is that Manny was taken by that witch.”

“Hermana … she isn’t a witch—”

“A witch?” Dean’s calibre had twisted to intrigued.

“She lives on the edge of town. By the forestline.” Sandra’s arms were crossed tightly. “Jenny always used to let Manny go afternoons out there, God knows why—”

“A lot of the neighbourhood kids did too.” Jenny interrupted, desperate in her approach: hands outdrawn. “She’s not a … a witch. She’s a bit strange but the kids loved her and she was kind to them—”

“And now look. All those children are gone, Jenny.”

The woman deflated back into the couch again, her tear-soaked sleeves came up to find purchase against her cheeks again. They muffled a sob.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. Dean shrugged with a look that said “maybe?”

Dean turned to the sister, “What has you convinced that this woman is a witch?”

Sanda Perez looked affronted by the question. Like Dean had slapped her clean across the face.

“Oh! Well she’s … there’s always things burning at that house and people have said they’ve heard … like, chanting at night over there.” She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, grasping at the straws of gossip that had dripped down to her willing ears. “And her house is strange and she’s always in the forest at night when it’s unsafe. Who knows what … what rituals she’s doing out there!”

The brothers nodded. “Sure. Would you mind giving us that address?”

Now that Sam was faced with the house, getting his first view through the grimy passenger side window, he’d stray from the description of “strange”. He might have agreed that “enchanted” or “mystical” fit the description of the cottage better if he didn’t resent the magic clichés.

Dean’s finger pressed into the open journal page, tapping along the stained ink of John’s nearly illegible handwriting. THE TREES.

“Now that’s a tree if I’ve ever laid eyes on one.” He leaned over so his eyes could find the top of the tree from under the cover of the car.

Sam nodded. Something felt off when he watched the house, his stomach was twisting up past his other organs in his throat.

“I don’t know man …” his finger reached up to tug at the collar choking him at the neck. Maybe the fed suit wasn’t helping. “Something feels weird about this place.”

Dean scoffed loudly. He picked up the takeaway cup from the centre console, coffee long cold, and slugged the last of it down in one long sip. He surfaced again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Every place we go to is weird.” It was clear he didn’t share the sentiment. “I’m sure we’ve faced worse.”

He unbuckled his seatbelt.

“Well, come on. Let’s go meet this witch.”

Despite Sandra Perez’ less than convincing account of the “witch” at the end of town, it was still worth a visit to know who the townsfolk had decided was guilty in the matter of several counts of child kidnapping. How evil and vile of a person they must be.  

The air was crisp outside the car and the further they ventured up the path, the more delightful the aroma became. There was a thin string of smoke curling from behind the house, it carried a warm woody scent and the tussles of flowers lining the bannister of the porch was making Sam’s head spin happily. He managed a small smile.

“Nice garden.” He whispered offhand.

Dean seemed unconvinced, eyes flashing over the shrubbery with skepticism. “Yeah, well don’t get too close to anything. And don’t touch anything either.”

The door was tall, intimidating and clearly made of some fancy wood. It was slot between the white brick on the face of the house. The feeling from the car had only tripled on the walk up and Sam had his hand against his stomach. He could feel his blood rushing past his ears.

“Dean, I’m really not sure about—”

Dean’s fist connected with the door three times. Curt and professional, like a fed’s would be.  

There was an obvious shuffle behind the door, by then each beat of Sam’s heart was like a foghorn against his vibrating ribs and for a moment he was sure he was going to be sick.

Suddenly, there was sniffle by the foot of the door. A dog? And a voice, caressed gently by a giggle, ushering the animal away.

Sam’s brain was swelling too large for his head, the doorknob creaked from inside – his fists grew ice cold – with a soft grunt, the door was pulled ajar …

It stopped.

With a smile that knocked the wind clean out of Sam’s lungs, you greeted. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

Warmth flooded back in to his palms and the thumping of his head cooled to a dizzy buzz. The nausea subsided to a hot bubbling.

Your frame took up the doorway. It seemed to fizzle around the edges, glimmering like light off a rippling pond.

Sam’s eyes slipped down your body like warm coffee down his throat. Your face was gentle, eyes round and wet beneath a set of suffocatingly black eyelashes. Wide-set thighs rippled all the way down to soft calves and pink painted toenails.

A cream crochet top reached over the expanse of your shoulders, sloping down where the rugged sleeve edges hung off your palms, a sparkling green skirt flirted at the top of your thighs. It’s silk ruffles shivered with your every breath.

If he was momentarily able to lift his eyes from you, which he most definitely was not, maybe he'd notice how Dean didn't seem even moderately as amazed as he was. That might have been the first sign if he did.

"Good afternoon ma'am, I'm agent Alice. This is my partner agent Cooper." Dean dug out the FBI identification from his jacket pocket, flashing it casually. "We just have a few questions regarding some recent--"

"Oh please," you waved your hand airily, "No need for the semantics. I've been expecting you, lunch is out in the garden."

The sound of your voice was sending waves of warmth through his stomach. Like he was sipping hot cocoa at your every syllable.

The ID in Dean's hand wobbled, his face clenched in confusion. "I-- sorry, what?"

In the shift of Sam’s gaze back up your form, he came to find your eyes set on his.

You smiled again. His tongue felt heavy and half-formed words gurgled at the back of his throat: begging to be spat out.

“I-I’m–“

“I know who you are.”

Your eyes flickered back to Dean and Sam felt hollow at the loss of their warmth.

“Not every day you have the Winchesters at your door, now is it.” You finished, stepping aside to allow them in.

“You know who we are?” Dean’s cadence dropped warily, clearly spearheading the conversation where Sam was finding difficulty. But your figure was already disappearing into the darkness of the house.

Despite his sceptic tone, Dean stepped in quickly after you. Sam trailed behind.

The cottage was warm. At least that was Sam’s first thought.

It was quickly ribbed out the way by the sheer visual of the interior.

There wasn’t a single blank wall or spot on the floor uncovered by carpetry.

Rows of paintings and stacks of photographs lined the space between wooden countertops and cherry red couches. Persian rugs and indoor plants spilled from a technicolour mirage of pots.

Desks were cluttered with books, paint supplies abandoned still wet. A dusty chandelier.

But more striking than the portraits and the vinyls and the rugs and the botany textbooks, were the creatures.

“Just watch for Goose,” she waved vaguely at a moving creature that was quickly nearing Sam’s feet, avoiding Dean’s question. “He won’t bite but he will try lick you—”

For a moment, Sam connected that this had to be the dog at the door. But the dog, Goose, was hardly a dog at all. Only once he was licking a stripe up the strip of bare skin at Sam’s ankle did he realize that … it can’t … that’s a fox.

And that wasn’t the start nor the end of it.

Draped over the couch was the largest snake Sam had ever seen. It was curled into the red frilled cushion, fast asleep. On the countertop, two ferrets were dipping in and out of sight behind the fruit basket. A gecko bathing in a sunspot on top of a stack of books. A flock of white budgies perched between the crystals on the chandelier. Three pairs of brown twitching rabbit ears peeking out from a basket of laundry.

It seemed Dean had also taken stark notice of the menagerie that was the cottage, so distracted that he’d forgone mentioning that his question had gone unanswered.

His finger pointed weakly at down at the white boa on the couch. “That’s … that’s a snake.”

You laughed again and Sam was sure he could get drunk off the sound.

“Nothing gets past you boys, hey?”

You kept walking, motioning for them to follow through another arched door out into the garden behind the house.

“Her name is Lydia. She’ll come join us when she’s awake.”

“I sure as hell hope not …” But it was muttered and Sam gave Dean a stern look for his comment. You didn’t turn back.

The garden behind the house was impossibly even more beautiful than infront. Vines creeped up the outer walls, a lemon tree grew along the underside the of the bigger tree engulfing the house. Shrubs and bushes and stark purple flowers. Your whole patch of land seemed untouched by the fingertips of Autumn that was reaching over the rest of town.

In the middle of it all: sat a small white painted table. You’d lined it with sheer cloth and platters of pastries, sandwiches and cakes.

There were three chairs around it.

“Sit, sit, sit.” You were wringing your hands, a light waft of nervousness fluttering off you. “I didn’t know what exactly you hunters eat or don’t eat … so there’s a little bit of everything–“

“Oh, hell yes.” Dean’s initial skepticism seemed to dissolve at the prospect of food and his ass was in the chair before you had chance to say anything else.

You seemed pleased. 

Sam’s face flushed red. He remembered that he still has yet to say a full sentence in your presence.

“Uh,” you turned to the sound of his voice. “T-Thank you.”

The speckles of light through the canopy of the trees drifted over your face. Sam had never noticed that on a person before.

He’d also never paid much mind to people’s hair. Not before yours. It looked like something ripped off the cover of a fashion magazine from the 70’s.

“You’re so very welcome.” Your voice was kind. “It’s more of an indulgence. I haven’t had guests in a while, not since …”

It faded off. “Well, not for a while.”

Jewels jingled around your neck, crystals wrapped in black string: dipping low down between the swell of your breasts that was just visible above the hemline—

Sam quickly swung his gaze back to the table where Dean was scarfing down an icing covered puff pastry.  

His brother was making wildly animalistic groans over the taste. For a moment, it was the only noise filling the space against the shiver of the trees in the midday gust.

Sam didn’t know where to find his tongue. He couldn’t get himself to step away from you.

“Coffee or tea, boys? I have it inside warming on the stove.”

“Coffee.” Dean responded blurrily around a mouthful. You turned to Sam again.

“I—just, I’m—coffee is good.”

You nodded. “Sure. I’ll be right back.”

He watched your figure retreat towards the house. The nausea was bubbling back into view.

“This is some fucking good cake.”

When your frame had disappeared back into the house, Sam turned back to his brother who was cleaning remnants of a second pastry off his plate with a tiny fork.

He quickly neared him, pulling out the chair across from him hastily.

“Dean, have you even considered the possibility that this food is poisened?”

Dean’s face twisted to a grimace, but only for a fraction of a moment before shrugging. “Hey. Worse ways to go.”

But Sam was shaking his head. The dizziness had returned.

“Do you feel sick? I’ve been feeling like … like off since we first step foot on this property.”

Dean watched him with hooded eyes, gaze flickering between his brother and the sliced ham and cucumber sandwich resting at the top of a nearby plate.

“Is that your explanation for the fool you’ve been acting since we walked in the door?”

Looking up from wiping sweaty palms down his trousers, Sam stalled. “W-What?”

“Exactly.” Dean gave in, reaching for the sandwich. “You haven’t been able to string three fucking words together since we got here.”

“I—she’s a witch, Dean.” Sam pressed. “I think she put like a … a spell o-or a hex on me!”

“She couldn’t have done that in the five minutes we’ve been here.”

“She knows who we are, she could’ve hexed our motel room.”

“Looks to me like someone has a crush—"

But Sam’s face was earnest. And maybe turning a little cherry red at the accusation. “Dean.”

Dean huffed. “Fine, fine, we’ll interrogate her and see what she says. If she’s a witch, we just gank her. Problem solved.”

“But—”

The sound of footsteps were reapproaching. The brothers fell quiet.

“Here we go.” Ringed fingers clinked against the side of an ornate red pot where you leaned over Sam’s shoulder. Steaming black liquid slipped into the teacup resting against it’s matching saucer in front of him.

His breath caught in his throat.

“You like the sandwiches?” You aimed at Dean.

He nodded, “Yeah, great stuff.”

You rounded the table and Sam worked hard not to make eye contact with the expanse of thigh peeking up at him as you moved.

“I have to admit, I really wish you’d brought along your angel.” You poured into Dean’s cup.

His head flickered up at the comment. “Cas?”

“I’m a big fan of his.” Your voice buzzed with eagerness, “The whole rebellion against heaven thing. I thought it was really cool.”

To label Cas "his angel" was a fair assessment. The matching fleshy red handprint on each of their chests had confirmed it a long time ago.

Dean nodded slowly. “I’ll be sure to pass on the message.”

You smiled and it made Sam’s stomach contents bubble again. He was starting to worry that maybe you really had cursed him.

The chair grumbled against the grass where you pulled it out. “Right, so I’m assuming you guys are here to question me? Kill me maybe?”

Awkward silence fell. Dean and Sam exchanged glances.

“Uh—”

“Well—”

Between another bout of laughter, you poured your own cup. “Don’t worry. You’re not the first, probably not the last.”

Dean took a long enough break from scarfing food down his gullet to look up at you. “Yes. To question you, for now.”

You nodded. Eyes finding Sam.

“What about you, Bigfoot? Here to kill me?”

Sam reached deep to find his voice again. “Uhm, just a few questions.”

Smiling, you sat further back in your chair. “Great. Go right ahead then.”

“How do you know who we are?” Dean leapt right in, repeating what had been previously left unanswered.

“Someone like me’s gotta know when hunters are moving in and out of town, don’t you think?”

“Someone like you?”

“Yep.” You nodded, seemingly unwilling to offer more than what was being asked.

Sam leaned forward. “So you are a witch then.”

You chuckled under your breath, leaning forward to stir your coffee as if he hadn’t tossed an accusation in your lap. “I see you’ve been speaking to people around town.”

Nobody answered.

So you filled the space again.

“No, I’m not a witch. Slimy bunch them, but then again, I guess you’re not too far off.”

“So what then?” Dean’s voice held that rough edge that dripped through when he was growing annoyed.

Grinning, you shrugged.

A chime, like a ringing sleigh bell, filled the space. Sam’s eyes were drawn just past your shoulders where a tall pair of opal pearlescent wings had appeared behind your head.

“No fucking way.”

Sam choked around nothing. There was a long pause, interjected with a long stare between the brothers across your table.

“Fairies don’t … they don’t exist.”

You reached for a sip of your coffee, looking unperterbed. “Dryad, actually. Give it a google.”

The wings shivered against the movement.

"So what," Dean's glare was heated over the set table, "Evil fairy godmother is that it? What did you do with the kids, eat them?"

For the first time since he'd lain eyes on you, Sam could make out a shine of something unkind crossed your features.

You set the teacup down slowly and your eyes met Dean's with the same heat of the sun glaring down into the garden: "I had nothing to do with those children going missing. I loved them."

Sam wanted to interject, but his chest was tight ... a straining grip of guilt was tightening his throat. She's cursed me, she's cursed me, she's cursed me--

"A couple of the parents said their kids used to come visit around here. Visit the witch at the end of town. That true?"

Gathering a breath and another sip from your cup, your face distorted from indignant to disconsolate. Sam could feel the tightness in his chest ebbing.

You nodded.

"Yes. That's true." From behind your seat, accurate to your predictions, the wide white outline of a snake-- of Lydia-- was creeping through the grass.

Dean's eyes fixated on her approach, all way up until she bound the foot of your chair up into your chest. She rested her head there like a lap dog. You stroked a hand over her head like one too.

"They used to come visit," you continued, "after school some days. I'd make them tea and cupcakes, and they'd come to visit my animals. I taught them about the trees."

A fond look had crawled onto your features. There was another tinkle of bells and the wings behind you disappeared.

"Now nobody comes. Parents are scared. They think I'm ... hiding their children in my basement or something."

Dean surveyed you for a few moments, seemingly deciding you were of little enough danger to dare another piece of white chocolate cake.

"Yeah, you can spare us the pity party sister." He muttered around his fork.

Sam sent him a short lived look. "Well, then if it's not you--"

"We haven't yet decided that it's not you, just by the way."

"--then what is it? Surely you have some idea?"

Lydia was curling up around the back of your neck now. Your eyes found Sam's - he momentarily felt like he was melting - and you sighed softly.

"I've heard some things, nothing definitive." Your hand stroked over the section of the snake still draped in your lap. "It's coming from the forest."

"And you heard this where?" Dean's tone dripped with skepticism.

"The trees told me."

Where Sam was sure would normally be laughter echoing from his older brother, instead, his hand stilled over his plate.

THE TREES.

His eyes flickered to Sam. It was quiet. Dad's journal.

"You can speak to trees?" Sam question was clement.

You seemed refreshed by it, watching him for a moment before nodding. "Part of the gig."

Another silence fell. You sighed. Sam could smell Dean's thoughts from across the table.

"Let me get this straight." Dean cleared his throat, leaning forward in his chair. "You're the garden fairy and you're telling us that the trees have something to do with this? Not really working your best angle here, if you ask me."

The garden rustled again. A white duck emerged from one of the bushes followed by a string of ducklings. You shrugged tiredly.

"I'm trying to help." Your voice was soft. Melancholic.

Your hand reached for a strawberry sitting on a tower of others just past Sam's cup, crocheted sleeve slipping back to your elbow to reveal the scores of golden, beaded jangling bracelets and--

Sam's blood ran all the way icy, turning to a slurry in his veins.

"Care to explain that?" Dean's voice came passing over him as if said from the end of a very long corridor.

Twisting your wrist to look, you shook your head. You grabbed the strawberry and brought it to your lips with the other hand.

"Oh, this?" A jagged scar peaked from the edge of your elbow up into the palm of your hand. It shone pink with marred tissue. "You think I got this from kidnapping children?"

Sam's heartbeat was ringing in his ears, he gripped the edge of his seat with whitened knuckles. His eyes chased up to the side of your face, finding the little spot by your eyebrow where ... the end was split with the mark of the edge of a blade in a fight gone wrong.

"Not mine unfortunately." You continued, dissolving the strawberry to pieces between your lips. "My other half's. I swear they're a bull-fighter or a boxer the way they bang me up."

Somewhere a bird chirped. There was a turbo washing machine in Sam's stomach on full blast and he thought he was about to be sick. At the same time, he was washed over by a feeling of inexplicable warmth. Like a cooled stream of bubbling champagne down his gullet. Like how they always said it might feel. Only now he could put a feeling to the talk.

"Listen, if we find out you've got something to do--"

"D-Dean," Sam's voice tripped over pebbles, "We should go."

The hands now released from the edges of his seat were shaking and his palms were scorching.

Dean looked at him, confusion tugging on his hardened face. Sam thought he might argue, but he nodded slowly. Maybe he noticed his brother's red, sweating face. Again, maybe he was just bored.

"Uh, yeah." He started to push the chair out, but his eyes drifted on a ham and cheese sandwich lingering on his plate. He hesitated.

You jumped up quickly, wrapping Lydia like a scarf, all in the same motion. "I've got a box you can take some food, if you'd like? I could just run inside--?"

"That would be great--"

"No, that's really not necessary--"

Your eyes drifted to Sam, waving him off with a smile that buckled his knees now that he was standing. "Don't be ridiculous. Let me go grab them."

Figure disappearing into the house again, Dean surveyed his brother. "What's up with you?"

Sam didn't answer. In fact he didn't say anything at all until you'd returned, Dean had stuffed as many sandwiches and pieces of cake he could fit into the tupperware and you packed Sam a box against his will.

Not as soon as he would have liked, they were standing at the door again out on the porch front.

"We'll be back, probably." Dean quipped officially, but he lifted the box of food all the same. "Oh, and uh ... thanks."

You were smiling again. "Sure. You know where to find me."

Not for the first time that morning, Sam was struggling to peel his gaze off your face. Your eyes were a swirling mess of colour and the light was flickering off of them at him.

"I'll see you around, Bigfoot."

Your shoulder peeked at him from under your top, a deep red welt matching his own left collarbone.

He nodded curtly, turning back down the path even before his brother. His collar was sticky against his neck and his brain was firing off signals the whole walk down, it begged him to turn back.

Dean jogged to catch up.

"What the hell is going--"

Sam slammed the door on him, crashing into the passenger's seat. He began ripping off his suit, the black jacket flung mindlessly into the back of the Impala.

By the time Dean fell into the driver's seat he was already fighting against the button securing the shirt to his right wrist.

"You have been acting all sorts of crazy since we got here, Sammy. What the hell is--"

Sam pried back the sleeve: bunching it at his elbow. He stuck his arm out to his brother.

Dean glanced between his face and his arm only once before pausing. The long jagged scar from his palm up his arm was impossible to miss. The one that sat identical on your arm.

"Oh."

Sam was sucking in deep breaths through his nose.

Dean's eyebrows rose into his hairline. He let off a disbelieving laugh.

"Well, I'll be damned."

-

taglist:

@firstsnowdrop @writerofthewinds @aria1245 @nyx22-blogs @lucysaloser @britishscum @pookiesnatcher @music-keep-me-sane @cryptid-with-a-cane @sammys-concubine @i-live-for-fantasy @grimbunnie @crystalreedwifey

[hometoursandotherstuff]

The Whale house is for sale again! Can you see the whale's head? The door is the mouth, there's an eye on the upper left, and what looks like a little sailor hat to me, too. It was built in 1978 in Santa Barbara, California, has 3bd, 3.5ba, & is listed for $3.250M. It's so unique- take a look at this

As soon as you step inside, you see how unique the entrance hall is. Notice the carved door and curving architectural features- even the walls.

Look at the natural stone fireplace, the big tree trunk columns & beams, the curving shingles like waves, and I especially love that white wavelike back on the built-in sectional.

This home is like an art sculpture- not the curving rock walls in the dining room.

Look at the little doors in th windows.

You just look and keep seeing different things. Curving kitchen cabinets, a triple sink, the whale painting on th fridge, the little stovetop set into the stone wall, the sculptured walls.

The kitchen is quite long. Look at the double oven set into stone.

Cool guest powder room

On the 2nd level, in an open balcony is the main bedroom with interesting things built into a stone wall The tub looks like a little grotto.

And, check out the sink and double shower in the main en-suite.

Guest room with stone fireplace and an artsy door. I wonder what's behind that door b/c it appears to have a lock.

The 3rd bedroom is cute and cheery.

Isn't this a nice bath, with vintage tub and sink.

Here's some towels for when people come in from the pool thru this hall.

The grounds around this home are just stunning.

Look at this grotto to swim thru.

This looks like a lovely guest suite or bedroom and family room.

Above the laundry room and bath is this cozy little lounging loft.

You can see how large the house is.

Beautiful big patio. And, above, you can see the pool entering the grotto.

[starstruckphantommoon]

Polar Opposites - Book 1: Water - Chapter 12: Jet

It’s been four days since you, your siblings and Aang ran into the pirates and Zuko. Currently you, Aang, Sokka and Katara are in a forest, taking a break from traveling. “Where’s Momo?” Aang asks as he looks around for the little lemur that was laying beside me, just moments ago. You shrug my shoulders at him in response before you get up from your spot on the ground, ready to go look for Momo. That’s when you all hear what sounds like Momo yowling echoing through the forest. Katara and Sokka get up from the ground and you all head in the direction that the sound is coming from.

About ten minutes later, the four of you finally locate Momo, who’s in a trap high in a tree, as well as two, what look like Hog Monkeys. “Hang on Momo!” Aang yells as he airbends to leap into the air, climbing to Momo’s height. Aang gets to where the rope holding up the trap is, sitting on the branch before leaning back to release the latch that holds the trap in place, lowering the trap holding Momo. Once the trap is low enough, Sokka and Katara ease the trap down to the ground between them before they pull the squeaky slats apart enough for Momo to get out.

Momo immediately hops out and runs over to my side to finish a handful of litchi nuts that were in the trap as bait, his peril clearly forgotten. Sokka and Katara release the snare, and Sokka groans, slapping his forehead at the lack of gratitude from the lemur. Aang jumps down from above before looking up again. You look up as well to see the two Hog Monkeys in a trap each, moaning down at the four of you pleadingly, clearly wanting to be rescued too. “All right—you too.” Aang says as he crouches, then springs up in a spiraling column of wind that carries him up to the branch that the traps are attached to.

In the corner of your eye, you see Sokka reach behind him, pulling out his boomerang. “This is gonna take forever.” he huffs as he throws his boomerang in one fluid move; with a whizzing sound it zips up to where the ropes are, cutting through them with ease, just before Aang gets to them. “That works…” you hear him say as the Hog Monkeys jump out of their cages which got destroyed when they hit the ground. Sokka then approaches one of the busted snares and kneels down next to it to examine it, as Aang skids down the trunk and root of a tree. “These are fire nation traps—you can tell from the metalwork.” he says. He turns his head toward you, Aang and Katara. “We'd better pack up camp, and get moving.”

You’re about to get onto Appa’s back to start flying again when Sokka stops you by putting his hand on your shoulder. “Ah-ah… no flying this time.” he says. “What?” You and Katara ask him in confusion at the same time as Aang hands Katara’s sleeping bag to Sokka, who puts it on the ground. “Why wouldn’t we fly?” Aang asks him. “Think about it.” Sokka says to us. “Somehow Prince Zuko and the fire nation keep finding us. It’s because they spot Appa—he's just too noticeable.” “What?! Appa’s not too noticeable!” Katara argues. “He’s a gigantic fluffy monster with an arrow on his head—it's kinda hard to miss him!” Sokka says, which makes Appa turn his head, letting out a loud groan. “Sokka’s just jealous ‘cause he doesn’t have an arrow.” Aang reassures him from his spot on Appa’s head. “I know you all want to fly, but my instincts tell me we should play it safe this time and walk.” Sokka says. “Who made you the boss?” Katara asks him. Sokka turns to her. “I’m not the boss—I'm the leader.” he replies. “You’re the leader?” You ask him incredulously, making him turn to face you with a very irritated look on his face. “But your voice still cracks!” “I'm the oldest male in the group and I'm a warrior.” he says. “So… I’m the leader!” he continues as he makes his voice deeper, causing you to roll your eyes at him. “If anyone’s the leader, it’s Aang.” Katara states. “I mean, he is the Avatar.” “Are you kidding—he's just a goofy kid!” Sokka says to which makes me look over at Aang, to see him dangling from Appa’s horn: upside-down by his hands with his legs sticking out into space. “He’s right.” Aang agrees.

“Why do boy always think that someone has to be the leader?” you ask while crossing your arms over your chest. “I bet you wouldn’t be so bossy if you kissed a girl.” “I-I've kissed a girl—” Sokka replies defensively. “You… just haven't met her.” He continues, turning his gaze away. “Who? Gran-Gran?” you ask him with a smirk on your face as you lean towards him. “We've met Gran-Gran.” Katara continues, clearly wanting to annoy Sokka more than you already have. “No—besides Gran-Gran.” Sokka says defensively again. “Look, my instincts tell me we have a better chance of slipping through on foot and a leader has to trust his instincts.” “Okay, we'll try it your way— Oh Wise Leader.” Katara says sarcastically. “Who knows—walking might be fun.” Aang says, as optimistic as ever.

“Walking stinks!” Aang exclaims after the four of have been walking for a couple of hours. “How do people go anywhere without a flying bison?” “I don’t know Aang. Why don’t you ask Sokka’s instincts—they seem to know everything.” Katara replies. “Ha ha. Very funny.” Sokka says sarcastically. “I'm tired of carrying this pack.” Aang groans which causes you to smirk mischievously at this opportunity to annoy Sokka even more. “You know who you should ask to carry it for a while?” you ask Aang incredulously. “Sokka's Instincts!” “That's a great idea!” Aang exclaims back with a smile. “Hey, Sokka's Instincts, would you mind—” he starts asking, but Sokka cuts him off. “Okay, okay—I get it.” he groans. “Look guys, I'm tired too.” he says while looking back at us as he pushes away the branches of two bushes. “But the important thing is that-- we're safe from… the—” he continues as he finally turns around to see what’s beyond the bushes. “Fire… Nation…” he drifts off as he sees that the four of you have literally just walked into a fire nation encampment, all of the fire nation soldiers occupying it, staring at you in disbelief and surprise. “RUN!” Sokka exclaims and the four of us drop our packs, not willing for them to slow us down.

The soldiers leap up from their spots on the logs around their fire, their swords drawn. One soldier with an eyepatch takes a bender's stance and launches a fist-full of fire at the four of you. The fire misses you, but sets the bushes that we had come through alight. “We’re cut off!” Sokka says, clearly not noticing that the left sleeve of his tunic is on fire. “Sokka, your shirt!” Aang says, pointing at Sokka’s arm. Sokka looks down at his arm and yells out in panic. You quickly uncork the waterskin on your hip that you’ve been using to hold your bending water, bending the water inside, splashing it against Sokka’s tunic, putting out the fire. Once the fire’s out, you redirect the stream of water back into the waterskin, placing the cork back in. Sokka then turns to the soldiers, trying to look as confident as possible, but his shaking isn’t helping. “If you let us pass, we promise not to hurt you.” Sokka says to them. “What are you doing?” you ask him quietly as you stand between him and Katara, standing in a waterbending stance. “Bluffing?” he replies back quizzically, making you give him a inquizzical look. The soldier with the eyepatch smiles at Sokka’s bluff. “You? Promise not to hurt us?”

Then there’s a quiet zip and a thud. The soldier with the eye patch looks surprised for a moment, then groans and collapses face-first on the ground. The men around him lower their weapons a little in shock. “Nice work, Sokka! How'd ya do that?” Aang asks. “Uh… instinct?” Sokka questions, clearly unsure as to what just happened. “Look!” Katara yells as she points up into the trees on the other side of the clearing. You look up to see a figure on a massive branch of one of the trees surrounding the encampment. The figure drops something and draws two blades from the middle of his back before he steps off the back of the branch, his weapons held high.

Instead of falling straight down, the weapons seem to catch onto the branch, allowing him to swing himself in the direction of the camp. The stranger kicks over two of the soldiers farthest from us; he lands with a foot on each of their backs. From what you can tell by looking at him, he’s about your and Sokka’s age. Except for a red vest, he's dressed from neck to toe in dark green clothing. What little armor he has (shoulder caps and hip/upper thigh covers) - are mismatched. He also has a shaggy mane of brown hair, and a twig held in his teeth. He rushes forward, his shuang gou (twin hook swords) in each hand. He hooks a leg each on another pair of soldiers and sends them head over heels. With a polished body flip, he launches them through the air. They end up in a heap on top of the soldier with the eyepatch. The boy lands on his feet, ready for more. “Down you go.” He smirks smugly.

You can’t help but be mildly impressed by what he just did and said. That was a new one, you’ll have to remember that one. The boy looks up, his eyes meeting yours for a split second. His smirk widens before another soldier rushes up behind him, sword raised. The boy hooks the soldier’s sword hand as he spins around - ready to face a new opponent - while his opponent is sent flying, landing at the feet of four other soldiers. “They're in the trees!” one of the four soldiers yell before a small boy drops from above, landing on his shoulders, spinning his helmet around, blinding him, making him stagger off, his small attacker still on his shoulders and laughing all the while. Chaos swiftly breaks loose as everyone begins to fight. One soldier with a long spear comes charging at me. You smirk as you push the spearhead away from your body with your forearm, wrapping your hand around the pole to pull it towards you. The momentum of the fast action causes the soldier to come flying forward past me as you side-step out of the way, the soldier’s spear still in hand.

After that soldier is taken down, you only have a moment of stillness to watch the fight going on around me. More and more people are dropping down from the trees to attack the fire nation soldiers. Your attention is taken away from the fight when you see another soldier coming at me from the corner of my eye. You quickly duck down, under his spear before using your waterbending to push him back and away from you. You stand up straight again a moment later, only to see the boy from earlier disarm another soldier before he stumbles over to you, stopping a couple of feet in front of you. “Very impressive.” he says with a smirk. You smirk back at him as you put your water back into the waterskin on my hip. “Not so bad yourself, pretty boy.”

You and the boy in front of you turn your heads to see an empty encampment, all of its previous inhabitants defeated. “You just took out a whole army almost single-handed!” Aang declares with pure joy and amazement in his eyes. “Army?” Sokka asks disdainfully. “Pfft. There were only, like, twenty guys!” “My name is Jet, and these are my Freedom Fighters.” Jet introduces as he turns around to face you, Sokka, Aang and Katara.

“Sneers,” he gestures to a boy who’s eating from one of the soldier’s abandoned bowls.

“Longshot,” a boy with a paddy-hat on his head and a bow and arrow.

“Smellerbee,” A girl who looks like a boy, with some facepaint on her face and a knife in her mouth, a fire nation sword slung across her back and 2 other swords in each hand, brandishing them as Jet says her name.

“The Duke and Pipsqueak.” he finishes, gesturing to the small boy that rode the soldier’s shoulders and a giant who puts the log in his hands behind his back as Jet says his name.

Aang walks up to the Duke and Pipsqueak. “Pipsqueak—that's a funny name.” he chuckles, looking down at the Duke. “You think my name is funny?” Pipsqueak asks, sounding and looking very menacing, not at all like his name. “It’s hilarious!” Aang declares with an upbeat tone, a giant smile on his face. The frown on Pipsqueak’s face abruptly turns into one of laughter, Aang and The Duke following suit before Pipsqueak slaps Aang on the back, which unintentionally knocks him flat on the ground. The Duke stops laughing but smiles again when Aang lifts his head, letting out a weak chuckle.

Soon after the fight ended, the Freedom fighters started to raid the empty camp, while Katara was clearly fawning over Jet. I mean he’s good looking, and he’s a good fighter and leader from the looks of it, but you and the others, literally just met him not even an hour ago. So, it’s not a really good idea for her to fall for a complete stranger, especially this quickly. “Um… thanks for saving us Jet.” Katara says as she walks over to where Jet currently is, leaning up against a trunk of a tree, watching the rest of the freedom fighters raid the camp. “We were lucky you were there.” “I should be thanking you.” Jet replies. “We were waiting to ambush those soldiers all morning—we just needed the right distraction. And then you guys stumbled in.”

“We were relying on instincts.” Katara says, looking at Sokka with a blameful look, making him glare at her. “You’ll get yourself killed doing that.” Jet replies which makes Sokka walk away, a scowl on his face. “Hey, Jet,” The Duke calls, making Jet look over at him. “These barrels are filled with blasting jelly.” “That’s a great score.” Jet says to him. “And these boxes are filled with jelly candy!” Pipsqueak informs him with just as much excitement as The Duke. “Also good. Let’s not get those mixed up.” Jet replies.

“We’ll take this stuff back to the hideout.” The Duke says. “You guys have a hideout?” Aang asks excitedly. “You wanna see it?” Jet asks. “Yes, we wanna see it!” Katara exclaims, which makes Jet smile at her excitement. You give Katara an odd look. One halfway skilled guy and she’s making a fool of herself. Then again, you really can’t say much at all. While you were on Zuko’s ship, you had watched Zuko practice his firebending multiple times and maybe you enjoyed it a little more than you should have, you even knew it then. 

After finally convincing Sokka to go and check the hideout out, you and the others tag along with Jet and the rest of the freedom fighters that are leading you all to their hideout. It wasn’t a very long walk from where the fire nation encampment was. “We’re here!” Jet says as he stops walking. “Where?” Sokka asks him. “There’s nothing here.” Sokka continues, sounding skeptical at Jet’s claim. “Hold this.” Jet says, handing him a rope that was against the tree trunk of the tree next to us. “Why… What's this do?” Sokka asks him skeptically as he takes the rope from him, giving it a little tug.

In the blink of an eye, he goes flying up towards the trees’ canopy. Once he reaches the canopy, he gets stuck in between some of the branches for a couple of seconds before disappearing from sight. “Aang?” Jet asks as he offers another rope to the airbender. “I’ll get up on my own.” Aang replies as Momo launches himself from Aang’s shoulder and Aang follows him, leaping up into the trees with a boost from his bending. “(Y/N)?” Jet calls while holding out his hand for you to take. “Thanks, but I think I can handle myself.” you state, holding out your hand for the rope. “I can tell.” Jet says with a smirk as he gives you the rope. Once the rope is in hand, you slip your hand through the hole and grab a hold of the rope. With a light tug, you feel it begin to pull you up towards the trees’ canopy.

A few seconds later, you break through the canopy and see a wooden platform that you can land on. You release the rope, landing on the platform with ease. Once you’re steady on your feet, your eyes widen at the magnificent sight in front of you. You can see about 20 little huts that you assume the freedom fighters use as their individual bedrooms, and wires going every which way to connect them. “Nice place you got!” you hear Aang yell and you see him zipping down one of the wires.

That’s when you notice that Jet and Katara had reached the platform and are now looking out at the several tent-like huts in front of the three of you. Jet must have helped Katara up here. It’s not that you care if he did, since he was going to do the same thing with you anyway. “It’s beautiful up here!” Katara complements with a smile. “It's beautiful…” Jet agrees. “and more importantly the fire nation can't find us.” “They would love to find you,” Smellerbee’s voice sounds off as she lands behind them. “wouldn’t they, Jet?” “It's not gonna happen, Smellerbee.” Jet replies back to her.

“Why does the fire nation want to find you?” you question as you all start walking over to a rope bridge connecting two different platforms. “I guess you could say I've been causing them a little trouble.” Jet admits with a shrug and a smug smirk on his face. “See, they took over a nearby Earth Kingdom town a few years back.”

“We've been ambushin' their troops, cutting off their supply lines, and doing anything we can to mess with ‘em.” Pipsqueak continues to explain from behind you, Jet, and Katara, pride gushing in his deep voice. “One day, we'll drive the fire nation out of here for good and free that town.” Jet declares. “That's so brave.” Katara gushes. “Yeah,” Sokka scoffs sarcastically as he leans over Jet’s shoulder. “nothing’s braver than a guy in a treehouse.” “Don't pay any attention to our brother.” you say while rolling your eyes at him. “No problem.” Jet replies, not even turning to look at you or your twin brother. “He probably had a rough day.” he continues and you smirk, since you know Sokka’s just upset that Jet kept on taking down the fire nation soldiers that were trying to attack him.

“So, you all live here?” Katara asks Jet as Sokka sinks back behind us again. “That’s right.” Jet answers. “Long shot over there, his town got burned down by the fire nation. And we found the Duke trying to steal our food. I don’t think he ever really had a home.” he continues as the three of you look over at Longshot and The Duke who are walking next to you silently. “What about you?” Katara asks him, curiosity in her voice.

At her question, Jet stops and you and Katara do too while the rest of the group moves on down the bridge. “fire nation killed my parents. I was only eight years old. That day changed me forever.” Jet replies softly, looking down at the ground sadly at the memory. Katara looks down at the ground too. “Sokka, (Y/N), and I lost our mother to the fire nation.” she says softly and your heart squeezes at the memory of that day, the day that you and your siblings’ lives had changed forever. “I'm so sorry…” you hear Jet say from beside me as you and Katara look down at your feet in sadness.

It’s now night time and you Sokka, Aang, and Katara are eating dinner with Jet and the other freedom fighters. You, Aang, Katara and Sokka sit at the banquet table made out of wooden planks, stuffing your faces, at least until Jet gets up from his seat, probably to give a speech. “Today, we struck another blow against the fire nation swine.” Jet begins as he steps up to stand on the table. The freedom fighters at the table and the ones sitting up in the trees and platforms above cheer at that, while you, Aang and Katara smile. Sokka on the other hand, is still grumpy about what had happened earlier during the fight against the fire nation soldiers. “I got a special joy from the look on one soldier's face, when the Duke dropped down on his helmet and rode him like a wild hog monkey.” Jet continues, while looking down at the helmet-less Duke who is sitting across the table from you, Aand and your siblings between Longshot and Smellerbee.

Without hesitation, the Duke climbs up onto the table as well, marching around with his arms in the air, making many of the others cheer, including yourself, Aang and Katara. “Now, the Fire Nation thinks they don't have to worry about a couple of kids hiding in the trees.” Jet continues before pausing, prepared to take a sip to take a sip from his wooden cup. “Maybe they're right.” he says, which makes his followers boo at that. “Or maybe… they are dead wrong.” Jet growls, his face bathed in an angry red from the lanterns above the platform.

His followers cheer wildly at that and Jet leaves the table walking over to you, Katara, Aang and Sokka. “Hey Jet, nice speech.” Katara says as he takes a seat between the 2 of us. “Thanks.” Jet replies. “By the way, I was really impressed with you, (Y/N) and Aang. That was some great bending I saw out there today.” “Well, he's great. He's the Avatar.” Katara answers, looking over at Aang. “(Y/N) and I could use some more training.” she continues, a blush appearing on her cheeks. “Avatar huh?” Jet asks while looking at Aang. “Very nice.” “Thanks, Jet.” Aang says with a smile. “So, I might know a way that you, (Y/N), and Aang can help in our struggle.” Jet says to the three of you. “Unfortunately,” Sokka says as he stands from his spot next to me. “we have to leave tonight.” he continues as he starts walking away. “Sokka, you're kidding me!” Jet exclaims, sounding disappointed. “I needed you on an important mission tomorrow.” This makes Sokka stop and turn around to look at Jet. “What mission?”

Sokka had left with Jet and his posse early in the morning for whatever mission Jet had planned. You actually had a very strong urge to tag along, but you could tell that Sokka wanted to do it on his own, so you let them go. It’s been about two or three hours since they left, and you’ve been watching out for them for about an hour now. Katara had disappeared a while ago, she said something about making a hat for Jet. We’ve only known Jet for a little more than twenty-four hours and she’s already head-over-heels for him. You’re glad that your sister wants to be happy and everything, but to be head-over-heels for a guy that we’d just met? You just really don’t think that’s a very good idea…

Your thoughts about Katara liking Jet are broken when you see Jet and his posse walking towards the hideout, Sokka, following not too far behind them. Your eyebrows furrow at the sight of your brother. He looks upset for some reason… It’s really strange to see Sokka that way, since he’s always happy and optimistic about everything. You get to my feet and grab one of the ropes that’ll take you down to the ground, ready to meet up with Sokka and the others to see how the mission went. You jump off the platform, landing on the ground just as Jet, his posse and Sokka reach the tree that you came down from. “Hey, (Y/N).” Jet greets as he and the rest of his posse walk past the tree I had just come down from. “Hey.” you greet back, while giving him and the others a small wave as they pass.

Once Jet and the others are out of earshot, I turn to Sokka. “How’d the mission go?” you ask him. “Fine.” he says as he continues walking away, clearly not wanting to talk about what had happened during the mission. You put my hand on his shoulder, stopping him from walking away. “Come on Sokka,” you plead. “I can tell something’s wrong. What happened?” He sighs softly before nodding, signaling that he’ll tell you what had happened during the mission.

After hearing what had happened during the mission from Sokka, you can’t help but not trust Jet. I mean, from what Sokka told you, Jet attacked a harmless old man just because he was Fire Nation. It seems to you that Jet has let his anger about the Fire Nation killing his parents when he was little get out of hand over the years. Now, you know first hand, that anger can consume you, because that’s what happened to you when your mother was killed by the Fire Nation, when they raided your tribe, looking for the last waterbender. Now, unlike Jet, you didn’t let the anger consume you to the point where you’d attack innocent people

You and Sokka are currently sitting next to each other, leaning back against the trunk of a tree when Aang and Momo come zipping down the zipline closest to you. “Sokka! (Y/N)! Look what the Duke gave me!” Aang says to the two of you, as he lands onto the platform. He’s wearing some sort of satchel around his shoulder, from which he pulls some sort of small pellet from inside of it. With a sly grin, he tosses it at the platform next to Momo, where it explodes with a pop. Momo puffs up like a startled cat. He then growls, then lunges for the satchel. Momo then sits on Aang's shoulder and tosses pellets at his feet. Aang dances about wildly avoiding the small pellets as they pop. “Ow! Quit it!” he exclaims as he hops away.

Sokka is oblivious of Aang, sitting next to you with a deep frown on his face. You know that what Jet did to that old man had really bothered him. “Hey Sokka.” Katara says as she walks up to you and Sokka, her hands behind her back. “Is Jet back?” she asks. “Yeah—he's back.” Sokka replies. “But we're leaving.” “What?” Aang asks, clearly confused. “But I made him this hat.” Katara says as she pulls a cap made out of stitched leaves and a flower on top, from behind her. You love that she made that for Jet but, you have to admit, the workmanship is unimpressive. “Your boyfriend Jet's a thug.” Sokka growls at her. “What? No, he's not.” Katara argues. “He's messed up Katara.” Sokka says to her.

You’re about to agree with him, but Aang interrupts me from doing so. “He's not messed up,” he states. “he's just got a different way of life—a really fun way of life.” he continues, optimistic as ever. “He beat and robbed a harmless old man!” Sokka says.

At Sokka’s words, Katara looks at you and you nod in confirmation, letting her know that you believe him. You know Sokka wouldn’t exaggerate or lie about what had happened. You’re his twin, after all, and as his twin, you know when he lies and exaggerates! “I wanna hear Jet's side of the story.” Katara says with her arms crossed over her chest as she glares at you and Sokka, not believing what Sokka’s saying about Jet.

“Sokka—you told them what happened but you didn't mention that the guy was Fire Nation?” Jet asks as he sits on his hammock-bed while you and the others stand. You and Sokka are standing near each other by the door of the treehouse, Sokka looking away from Jet, Aang, and Katara grumpily, while you keep Jet in peripheral vision. “No, he conveniently left that part out.” Katara says, turning to look at Sokka accusingly. “Fine!” Sokka exclaims as he turns his head to her. “But even if he was Fire Nation, he was a harmless civilian.” he continues as he walks closer to her while you stay near the door. “He was an assassin, Sokka.” Jet says as he pulls out a knife, thrusting it into a nearby block of wood.

Your eyes widen in surprise at the sight of the sinister looking knife with its curved blade. The handle has four spikes evenly spaced along it, with enough space for fingers to go between them. On the butt of the knife, there’s a gold ring, for putting rope or string through to attach the knife to a belt or something. “See?” Jet asks as he twists the ring on the butt of the knife. “There’s a compartment for poison in the knife.” he continues as he pulls the ring up, revealing a small glass tube filled with red liquid. “He was sent to eliminate me—you helped save my life, Sokka.” Jet says looking up at Sokka for the last part of the sentence. “I knew there was an explanation.” Katara sighs out in relief. “I didn't see any knife!” Sokka says, giving Jet an accusatory look. “That's because he was concealing it.” Jet states as if it was obvious. “See Sokka?” Katara asks, gesturing to Jet and the knife. “I’m sure you just didn’t notice the knife.” “There was no knife!” Sokka says to her, frustrated that she still believes Jet. “I'm going back to the hut and packing my things.” he continues as he leaves the hut.

You’re about to follow him, but Jet’s voice coming from behind you stops you in your tracks. “Tell me you guys aren’t leaving yet. I really need your help.” “What can we do?” Aang asks him, causing you to look at the three of them from the corner of your eye. “The Fire Nation is planning on burning down our forest.” Jet says, making you turn to face him fully. “If the three of you use waterbending to fill the reservoir, we could fight the fires.” he says looking at all three of you, his eyes meeting yours the longest out of all three of you. “But if you leave now, they'll destroy the whole valley.” he continues, staring at you.

You really don’t want to help Jet with whatever he’s planning, but you also want to keep a close eye on him, since you know that he’s up to something, something big and very bad. Not to mention, you want to protect your siblings and Aang from him because you know that he’s just using them for whatever he’s planning. “We’ll do it.” Katara says, determination in her voice. Jet smiles at her before his eyes meet yours again. You hesitate for a moment before giving him a slight nod, making his smile widen. “Great,” he says. “we’ll go in the morning.” he continues, which makes Aang and Katara nod before leaving the hut, leaving you and Jet alone.

I would’ve followed them out, but I want to make sure Jet knows something. Something very important. “It’s a beautiful knife.” I state, looking down at the dagger that’s still lodged into the stump in front of Jet. Jet leans forward, unlodging it from the stump, twisting the ring back onto the dagger, handing it over to you. “It’s yours, you look like you’d find a good use for it.” You take it from him, examining the craftsmanship of it. “I would.” you agree, still looking at the knife. It’s definitely Fire Nation, but it’s not a standard military issue knife. It wasn’t to say a hired assassin wouldn’t have a knife like this one, but how had an old man planned to get close enough to Jet to poison him in such a way? The Fire Nation is full of clever people; and you know that they can think of much better tactics than that. 

Your eyes flicker back up to Jet as you twirl the knife around your index finger. There’s a spark in his eyes and you think that he finally realizes that something’s wrong. You don’t give it a chance to settle though as you push him back, grabbing his collar before his head can hit the wall behind him; the knife’s blade planted at the curve between his jaw and neck. “Listen to me right now, because I will not be repeating myself to you.” you growl, glaring at him, your eyes not leaving his. “Understood?” His brown eyes widen, and you can tell he’s frightened by the threat you had just made. He quickly nods and you know that he’ll listen to every word you’re going to say to him. “If I ever find out that you are using my brother, my sister, or Aang, in any way, I will use this knife on you without any hesitation whatsoever!” you growl.

You expect him to be shocked or feign innocence to your threat. Instead, though, a crooked smile appears on his mouth. “You know (Y/N),” he starts. “I think you’d really make a perfect Freedom Fighter.” A growl rises from the back of your throat at his statement and you feel the heat in my blood turn up a notch and you’re certain that if you were a firebender instead of a waterbender, you definitely would’ve set him on fire by now. You let go of him roughly before turning on your heel, leaving the hut, not wanting your siblings, anyone from Jet’s posse or Aang to walk in to see me holding the dagger against Jet’s throat.

The next morning, you, Aang and Katara meet Jet by the river. What was strange to you was that Sokka was nowhere to be seen whenever you woke up earlier in the morning. It’s not like Sokka to disappear without telling anyone where he’s going, he usually would tell you or Katara where he’d be and when he would be back. “Jet—I'm sorry about how Sokka's been acting.” Katara says, breaking you out of your thoughts about your worry about Sokka. “No worries—he already apologized.” Jet assures her which makes all three of you look up at him in surprise. “Really?” Aang asks as the three of you stop and look at each other. “Sokka apologized?”

“Yeah—I was surprised too.” Jet says, making the three of you turn back to him. “I got the sense that maybe you talked to him or something.” Jet continues, referring to Katara. “Yeah, I did.” Katara replies. “I guess something you said got through to him.” Jet says. “Anyhow, he went out on a scouting mission with Pipsqueak and Smellerbee.” he continues as we start walking again. “I'm glad he cooled off. He's so stubborn sometimes.” Katara says. “Yeah,” you agree, eyeing Jet, suspicious of what he had just said about your brother apologizing to him. Sokka never apologizes about anything to anyone unless it's something he's truly sorry about or if it’s something very serious. “I’m really shocked Sokka would apologize, not to mention actually listen to what we’d say to him.” Jet shrugs. “Well, maybe your sister just has a better touch about that stuff.” you look over to Katara who is now openly grinning at him, a gentle blush on her cheeks. “Thanks, Jet.”

Your conversation is abruptly ended by Aang flying up into the air by a blast of air coming out from a vent in the ground. “All right, we're here.” Jet says as he walks over to you and Katara as you watch Aang float back down to the ground. “Underground water's trying to escape through these vents. I need you guys to help it along.” he explains to us. “...I've never used bending on water I can't see. I don't know…” Katara sighs. Jet walks up behind her, placing his hands on his shoulders. “Katara. You can do this.” he assures, making my sister blush shyly while you roll your eyes in annoyance. “What about me?” Aang asks. “I know the Avatar can do this.” Jet replies, not even acknowledging that you can probably do the same thing as both Aang and Katara.

You, Aang and Katara stand around one of the many geysers in the gully, while Jet watches us as we try to bend the water up and out of the ground. After a few minutes, a stream of water emerges from the vent. The three of you pull it to our height before sending it toward the river where it continues to flow like a spring, the water thickening the strand in the river. “Yes! Good job!” Jet says. “This river empties into the reservoir- a few more geysers and it'll be full.”

“Look, there's another steam vent.” Aang says pointing over to another vent, causing you and Katara to follow him as he starts walking over to the next vent. “Okay. You 3 keep it up—I'll go check on things at the reservoir.” Jet says as he turns and starts to walk away. “How about when we're done we'll meet you over there?” you ask him, waiting for his answer. “Actually…” he answers hesitantly. “probably better if you meet me back at the hideout when you're done.” he continues as he resumes walking away. As he walks away, you continue to watch him, getting a very bad feeling as he disappears into the forest.

“...I bet that's enough—and I'm not just saying that to be lazy.” Aang says as well over a dozen geysers now flowing into the river quickly filling it. “Why don’t we catch up with Jet at the reservoir?” you suggest, wanting to go and see what Jet is up too at the reservoir. “I thought we agreed to meet Jet back at the hideout?” Aang questions. “Well, we finished early- I think it’s a good idea,” Katara agrees with your suggestion. “I'm sure he'll be happy to see us.” she continues with a small smile on her face as she looks off into the direction where Jet disappeared not too long ago.

You, Aang and Katara walk down towards the reservoir, but all three of you stop short at a cliff’s edge when you see four members of Jet’s posse unloading barrels from a cart at the base of the dam. “...What are they doing?” Katara asks, squinting her eyes to get a clearer look. “Hey, those are the red barrels he got from the Fire Nation.” Aang notes. “What?!” you exclaim in shock as you run closer to the edge of the cliff to make sure he was right.

Sadly, he’s not lying. It’s the blasting jelly that they took from the Fire Nation camp that they raided the other day.

“Why would they need blasting jelly?” Katara asks. “Because Jet's gonna blow up the dam.” you gasp, the realization of Jet's plan is hitting you like a ton of bricks. “What?!” Aang and Katara exclaim out in unison. “No- that would destroy the town. Jet wouldn't do that.” Katara argues. Aang snaps his glider open. “I’ve got to go stop him.” he says as he starts running to the edge of the cliff. “Jet wouldn’t do that…” Katara mumbles softly, sounding less convinced.

Just before Aang reaches the edge of the cliff, a blur impedes him. Your eyes widen as you see Jet snatching Aang’s glider with the hook of his swords. Aang is left to wobble on the edge and you jump forward to grab his hand. He uses his airbending to push himself forward as you help pull him back onto the stable ground. “Yes, I would.” Jet declares as he gets to his feet. “Jet—why?” Katara asks him. “Katara, you would too if you just stopped to think.” Jet says. “Think about what the Fire Nation did to your mother—we can't let them do that to anyone else, ever again.” “This isn't the answer!” Katara exclaims. “I want you to understand me Katara.” Jet says, turning to face Aang, Katara, and I. “I thought your brother would understand, but—”

Like an instant match, your whole body sets alight with rage. “Where’s Sokka?” you growl at him.

He doesn’t answer.

“Where is he?” Katara urges desperately, tears falling down her cheeks. Jet reaches out and touches her face. “Katara.” Katara lowers her head, the tears falling freely from her eyes, then with a shout, she sends Jet flying with the water from her waterskin. She draws it back into the skin when she's done. “I need to get to the dam.” Aang says as he runs over to his glider.

As he reaches for it, the crescent end of one of Jet's Shuang gou pins it down to the ground, like an ax. He has the two weapons hook to hook; with a yank, he pulls the sword and Aang's glider to him. “You're not going anywhere without your glider.” Jet hisses at him as he swings his swords at Aang which causes him to somersault backward to avoid the extra reach, landing in a nearby tree. “I'm not gonna fight you, Jet.” Aang says. “You'll have to if you want your glider back.” Jet growls as he follows Aang into the forest.

You quickly turn to Katara. “Stay here!” you command before you chase after the boys. She doesn’t listen of course, but you don’t say anything about it since you know that she won’t listen to you. Both Jet and Aang fly through the trees as if both of them belong up there. Jet attacks Aang head-on, but Aang blocks with his arms and sends Jet flying into a tree trunk with an air kick. Jet combines his swords again and advances. Aang avoids the flail-like move and sends another air blast. Jet stoops down and lets the air flow over and past him, then lunges.

They continue the chase through the many levels of the forest. Jet catches up to Aang and sends them both freefalling, attacking as they go. They both end up on a branch. Jet continues his attack but, luckily, Aang avoids it all. Jet charges again, but Aang hits him with a jetstream of air. Jet falls, but he quickly recovers, by digging his swords into a tree branch, which in result, makes him lose Aang’s glider in the process.

You see Aang start to make his way down to the ground, but before Aang can get to the ground Jet kicks him into a trunk, causing him to fall to the ground. “Aang!” you exclaim worriedly as he slowly gets up, looking very unstable on his feet as Jet lands behind him. Before Jet can take another step toward Aang though, you pull the water from the small creek beside you using the water, striking him down. You repeat the action over and over like you’re throwing punches at him, pushing him back until his back is against the trunk of a tree right behind him. Finally, you take a deep breath before letting it out, freezing the water around him from the neck down, causing him to be completely immobile. “Why, Jet?” Katara asks from behind you. “I can't believe I trusted you. You lied to me—you're sick and I trusted you!”

“I knew something was up, but this?” you ask Jet, glaring at him intensely. “You’re sick and twisted Jet.” you growl angrily. A bird call suddenly sounds, startling you, Aang and Katara. You look down to the valley where the call is coming from. Jet then gives an answer to the call. “What are you doing?” you demand. “You’re too late.” Jet replies. “No!” Katara says, horrified as we all turn to face the dam.

Aang opens his glider before running to the edge of the cliff, to try and get to the village before the dam breaks. His glider’s wing is so shredded, however, that he has no lift and slams into the ground near the edge. Katara runs over to him to help him. “Sokka's still out there—he's our only chance.” Aang says to her. “Come on, Sokka. I'm sorry I ever doubted you. Please.” you hear Katara plead softly. “Come on Sokka.” you whisper, hoping that Sokka can convince the villagers to leave in time.

Suddenly, a small orange and red light soars through the sky, arcing down to the base of the dam. “No…” you and Katara whisper at the same time, just as the dam explodes in a cloud of smoke and fire causing the water from the river to turn into a massive wave, heading straight towards the town, swallowing it whole in mere seconds. “Sokka didn't make it in time...” Aang says softly. “All those people…” Katara says softly. She then turns back to Jet in rage. “Jet—you monster!”

“NO!” you scream out in fury as you pull out the dagger that had the poison in it from your boot, running over to Jet who is still encased in the ice against the tree trunk. You hover the blade over his cheek, using all of your inner strength to keep it from‘slipping’. His eyes grow wide as he realizes that you really weren't kidding about using the knife on him if he used your siblings and/or Aang in any way shape or form. “(Y/N) no!” Aang calls out in alarm. “(Y/N), please don’t do this!” Katara urges desperately. “If you kill him, you’ll be just as bad as him.”

Her words strike you, hard. You slowly take the knife away from Jet’s cheek, not wanting to become a monster like him. “This was a victory, (Y/N). Remember that.” Jet says to me, his brown eyes staring into my bright blue ones. “The Fire Nation is gone and this valley will be safe.” you grit your teeth again about to retort back at him-. “It will be safe—without you.” the familiar voice of your twin brother says, making all of you turn to see Sokka on Appa, rising from below, Momo sitting on the edge of the saddle behind him. “Sokka!” you and Katara exclaim, glad to see that he’s alright.

“I warned the villagers of your plan, just in time.” Sokka informs Jet. “What?!” Jet yells at him in surprise. “At first they didn't believe me. The Fire Nation soldiers assumed I was a spy. But one man vouched for me—the old man you attacked. He urged them to trust me, and we got everyone out in time.” he explains, making a bout of pride surge through your body. “Sokka, you fool! We could've freed this valley!” Jet exclaims angrily. “Who would be free—everyone would be dead.” Sokka replies. “You traitor!” Jet accuses, glaring intensely at Sokka. “No, Jet,” you reply, your voice eerily calm, a major difference from just moments ago when you were literally seconds away from using the knife he had given me last night, making him look at you with a stone cold glare. “you became the traitor when you stopped protecting innocent people.” you continue as you take the knife that you had almost used on him, dropping it to the ground, before you climb up onto Appa with Aang.

“Katara.” you hear Jet call out to Katara, making you turn your head to glare at him. “Please—help me.”

Katara’s eyes fill with hurt for a moment, and for a second, you consider giving Jet a proper piece of your mind by using the dagger on him for real, but you decide that wouldn’t be the decision for you to make. “Goodbye Jet.” Katara replies, not sparing Jet a single look as she gets onto Appa with your and Aang’s help. Once Katara is seated, Sokka gives Appa’s reins a flick. “Yip yip.” And without a second glance at Jet, who is still frozen to the tree, we take off into the sky.

Once we’re level, you, Aang and Katara lean up against the front of the saddle, looking down at Sokka as he drives Appa. “We thought you were going to the dam. How come you went to the town instead?” Aang asks him. “Lemme guess—your instincts told you.” Katara says. “Hey—sometimes they're right.” Sokka replies which makes you roll your eyes. “Um… Sokka?” Aang asks as he looks over at you and Katara with a raised eyebrow. “You know we're going the wrong way, right?” “...And sometimes they’re wrong.” Sokka says as he pulls Appa’s reins, making him turn around so that we’re going in the right direction.

[tmntstorycomp]

The Rooftops

Massy leapt up to the top of a tree, leaning up against the top part of the trunk as he started to scribble words down onto the notepad. The trees were all nice, and everyone seemed to be having fun, but he found himself growing bored. 

Bored? Impatient. 

The turtle watched as all the trees started to sink into the ground. His notepad and pen were snuck into his waistband as he too started to lower to the ground. The flora all disappeared, the dirt floor started to coat in various forms of asphalt. Roads, sidewalks, foundations. It all started to take shape beneath his feet. 

And then with some rumbling, the ground started to ascend from the Earth. Buildings, nothing but solid columns of brick and glass, rose from the concrete. They grew taller and taller and Massy held onto the edge of one of the buildings as it rose. As they settled at their proper heights, fire escapes started to form. 

Massy pulled himself up onto sturdy ground, looking around at what looked to be the rooftops of his hometown. New York City. 

Looking up, what used to be foggy gray skies would shift into an inky black void dotted with stars. 

It.. It felt a lot like home. 

The young turtle looked around at all his competitors. They seem to be caught off guard, still dressed in their woodsy attire. Massy grinned, spinning for a moment. 

Massy started to sprint, leaping over the gaps in the buildings. He raced through the faux city, and it was eerily silent. Massy wasn’t used to the city being this quiet. 

So as he ran, without a care of falling, he whipped out his notepad and scribbled some words down on it. Within moments, the distant sound of traffic filled his ears and the city around him came to life. 

It came to life.

It

Massy skidded to a halt and looked back at the city behind him. His shoulders sagged.

[wolfythewitch]

how to grow a bed inside a tree trunk?

so in the bole of an olive tree with long leaves growing strongly in the courtyard, thick, like a column, you lay down your chamber around this. Then you cut away the foliage of the long-leaved olive, and trim the trunk from the roots up, planning it with a brazen adze, well and expertly, and true it straight to a chalkline, making a bedpost of it, and bore all hones with an auger

[talonabraxas]

Chakras Root Chakra - Represents our foundation and feeling of being grounded. Location: Base of spine in tailbone area. Emotional issues: Survival issues such as financial independence, money, and food. Location: behind the sacrum bone (here is where the kundalini resides) Color: red Musical note: C Function: vitality to the physical body (life force) Gemstones and Crystals: Smoky quartz, garnet, alexandrite, ruby, agate, bloodstone, onyx, tiger’s eye, rose quartz, hematite (magnet) Physical body affects: adrenals, kidneys, spinal column, colon, legs, bones Aspects: survival instincts, good self-image, and our ability to ground ourselves in the physical world, material success, stability, individuality, courage and patience; main aspect is innocence, this innocence gives us dignity, balance, a tremendous sense of direction and purpose in life. Blockages: paranoia, insecurity, and a feeling of being out of touch with gravity Too Open: dishonest, bullying, hyperactive, defensiveness Essential oils: (those coming from the root or trunk): juniper, frankincense, sandalwood, cedar wood, vetiver, tea tree, rosewood Sacral Chakra - Our connection and ability to accept others and new experiences. Location: Lower abdomen, about 2 inches below the navel and 2 inches in. Emotional issues: Sense of abundance, well-being, pleasure, sexuality. Color: red-orange Musical note: D Function: birth, assimilation of food, sexuality Physical body affects: ovaries, testicles, prostate, genitals, spleen, womb, bladder. Attributes: relates to our sexual and reproductive capacity, vitality and sexuality, emotions, desires, pleasure, change, health, family, tolerance, surrender Gemstones and Crystals: Amber, citrine, topaz, aventurine, moonstone, jasper Blockages: emotional problems, sexual guilt, lust and base emotions, when this center is drained of energy (out of balance) it allows diseases like diabetes or blood cancer to occur. Too Open: Sexual addictive, manipulative and excessive behavior Essential Oils: (those that come from seeds): spices and herbs such as cumin, fennel, coriander, sage, clary sage, marjoram Solar Plexus Chakra - Our ability to be confident and in-control of our lives. Location: Upper abdomen in the stomach area. Emotional issues: Self-worth, self-confidence, self-esteem. Color: yellow Musical note: E Physical Body Affects: pancreas, adrenals, stomach, liver, gallbladder, nervous system, muscles Gemstones and Crystals: Yellow Citrine, apatite, calcite, kunzite, rose quartz, iron pyrites, topaz, malachite Attributes: give us our sense of personal power (will power); destiny, autonomy, determination, assertion, personal power, purpose and sight, self-control, humor, laughter; keeping this center in balance helps you to get rid of habits of laziness, gross attachments, and anything that enslaves us. Blockages: sense of victimization, inability to manifest, over emotional and attached love, afraid of being alone Too Open: judgmental, workaholic, lack of humor, anger, addictive behavior Essential Oils: (those coming from fruits): orange, lemon, lime, grapefruit, lavender, chamomile Heart Chakra - Our ability to love. Location: Center of chest just above heart. Emotional issues: Love, joy, inner peace. Color: Bright Green Musical note: F Physical body affects: heart, thymus gland, circulatory system, arms, hands, lungs Gemstones and Crystals: Emerald, Green Calcite, Amber, Azurite, Chrysoberyl, jade, rose and watermelon tourmalines Attributes: ability to express love for self and others, compassion and intuitiveness, unconditional love, balance, acceptance, contentment, oneness with life; when in balance all our worries, doubts, and fears are destroyed Blockages: immune system or heart problems, lack of compassion, suppression of love emotions towards others and even self, or if felt, only for a short time before it is withdrawn; fear and rage, feeling stuck and afraid to let new things manifest; feeling unworthy, self-pitying and fearing rejection Too Open: an over stimulated heart chakra can result in a ‘bleeding heart’ and possessiveness. Essential Oils: (those that come from leaves) peppermint, eucalyptus, rosemary, pettigrain, lavender Throat Chakra - Our ability to communicate. Location: Throat. Emotional issues: Communication, self-expression of feelings, the truth. Color: sky blue Musical note: D Physical Body Affects: thyroid, parathyroid, hypothalamus, throat, mouth Gemstones and Crystals: Lapis, Lazuli, aquamarine, sodalite, turquoise, sapphire Attributes: directly tied to creativity, communication, sound, logic and reason, truth, gentleness, kindness, reliability. When balance the heart is then aligned with what is in your head Blockages: laryngitis or sore throats, creative blocks or general problems communicating with others; rigidity, prejudice, and an inability to accept other people’s views Too Open: Over-talkative, arrogant, self-righteous Essential Oils: geranium, frankincense, cypress, tea tree, and lavender Third Eye Chakra - Our ability to focus on and see the big picture. Location: Forehead between the eyes. (Also called the Brow Chakra) Emotional issues: Intuition, imagination, wisdom, ability to think and make decisions. Color: Indigo (deep purple) Musical note: A Physical Body Affects: pituitary gland, pineal gland, left eye, nose, ears Gemstones: amethyst, purple Apatite, Azurite, Calcite, pearl, sapphire, blue and white flourite Attributes: seat of intuition, awareness, and inner wisdom, clairvoyance, imagination, ability to perceive truth in the world, analyze, think, and reason; peace of mind, forgiveness Blockages: can manifest as sinus and eye problems, wish to control others, egotistical Too open: Impatience and authoritarian Essential oils: lavender, vanilla, chamomile, neroli, ylang ylang (alcohol and tobacco will impair this chakra) Crown Chakra - The highest Chakra represents our ability to be fully connected spiritually. Location: The very top of the head. Emotional issues: Inner and outer beauty, our connection to spirituality, pure bliss. Color: White Musical note: B Physical Body Affects: vitalizes the upper brain (cerebrum) Gemstones: diamond, white tourmaline, white jade, snowy quartz, and Celestite Attributes: highest spiritual consciousness, personal expression, connection to the source of love, to God, divine wisdom and understanding, gives us direct and absolute perception of reality on our central nervous system. Blockages: can manifest as emotional problems, feelings of alienation and condemnation Too open: psychotic or manic depressive, frustrated. Essential Oils: rose, jasmine

[benwvatt]

scavengers reign

[Image ID: A drawing of a lush, green forest on an alien planet in the TV show Scavengers Reign. On the left is a large, thick, white stone column covered with large, green, round globules of moss. The center contains large, white circular stepping stones on the ground, much larger than any living being in the image. A grey, deer-shaped alien with a slightly lighter grey underbelly and round, grey protrusions coming from its face sits curled up on one of the stones. On another stone, further back, sits a grey robot made up of a three large metal ovals next to each other. It tends to a small lily with four large, white petals growing from the stone.

In the center of the image, two thick, brown columns that could be stone or tree trunks rest behind the alien and the robot. One is diagonal and points to the upper right. The other is nearly upright and is tilted slightly to the left. The right side of the image contains three tall yellow broomstick-shaped stalks of what look like hay, and there are three jellyfish-shaped creatures with very short dark grey legs, small round red eyes, and dark grey bodies. One of the creatures looks sadly at the deer alien and the robot. The other two are walking away, out of the frame. End ID.]

Title: Scavengers Reign (2023-?)

Channel: HBO Max.

Origin: U.S. American.

Genres: 2D animation, science fiction, science fantasy, adventure, and horror.

Runtime: As of March 2024, there is 1 season with 12 episodes. Each episode is ~25 minutes. The show’s executive producers have mapped out future seasons and are excited to do more, but with HBO’s penchant for cancelling animated/sci-fi TV shows and removing them from streaming, I’m not sure if it’ll get renewed for more.

This show feels: Enthralling, wondrous, hypnotic, and horrifying.

Premise: Scavengers Reign is a science fiction show about the marooned survivors of a damaged cargo ship in outer space. They explore their mysterious, lush, and hostile new planet with caution, and, due to the crash, they have been isolated in three groups who must eventually make their way back to each other. Most of the cast are human, but one main character is a robot. The new planet contains fantasy-transformed plants, animals, and aliens. Does danger lurk around the next corner?

Themes explored by the show: Social isolation, mental health crises, survival in the wilderness, the ability to trust, human-alien interactions, grief, death, community, psychological horror/trauma, and the poisonous control that nostalgia holds over humans.

Representation & marginalized voices: Scavengers Reign has several nonwhite main characters, and about the half the cast are female while the other half are male. The nonwhite characters are also voiced by people of color, and there are many female voice actors in the cast. I appreciate that romance isn’t a core part of the show, as the story explores themes like survival and mistrust instead.

Notes:

Scavengers Reign is well-received by the public. It has a 100% approval score on Rotten Tomatoes with an average rating of 8.7/10.

Scavengers Reign originally aired as an 8-minute, dialogue-free animated short film in 2016 on the Adult Swim channel. It is available to watch here on Vimeo.

Most U.S. American shows created by major streaming services or TV networks are available to pirate. Sites like FMovies or LookMovies should have it.

[politemagic]

The Haunting of Sleep Manor: Chapter III

II has a strange dream. A priceless chandelier is destroyed. Vessel knows he needs to tell the others about what he's experienced, but there are still things left to uncover at Langley Manor.

Masterlist

2.2k words | ao3

a/n: this story is turning into a much bigger beast than I initially intended, so I thank you all for your patience & support as I've been writing! your kind words have meant the absolute world to me, I hope you continue to enjoy the spooky adventures.

II was trudging down a path in the woods, the ground slowly turning from coarse dirt to a thick black sludge that clung to his bare feet, reluctant to let go with each step he took. But II had to keep going. He always had to keep going.

Vessel’s voice bounced off the tree trunks, his shrieks stabbed themself into II’s ears and blood began to trickle down the column of his throat. It was unlike any sound he’d ever heard from Vessel’s mouth: it was a soul-crushing, heart-wrenching wail filled with a pain that was so palpable it made it difficult for II to breathe. When he tried to call out to him, he found only silence in the space where his voice should have been. 

The woods grew dark around him, a kind of unnatural darkness you’d imagine comes to you on your deathbed. II could feel tears streaming down his cheeks, blood oozing from his ears, he continued to fight against the seemingly sentient ground beneath his feet. The black sludge beneath his feet grew thicker, tearing the skin from his soles, gripping his ankles like a demon determined to drag him down to Hell.  He tried again to call out to Vessel, determined to find him in this horrific place, but once again his voice box was empty, no sound passing his lips. He wrenched his foot from the sludge, yet this time it did not let go. Instead, it snapped II’s foot right back beneath its opaque surface, sending him toppling backwards.

The sludge welcomed his fall with open arms. The mysterious substance quickly engulfed him, and II watched in horror as his body disappeared before his own eyes, sinking lower and lower into the void of darkness until only his face remained above the surface. Vessel’s wailing cries grew louder as he was submerged. He tried to wriggle free, desperate to free himself and find his friend. But he knew he didn’t have much time as he felt the pressure of the sludge around his chest mounting quickly. It began to creep into his ears, teasing the seam of his lips as it consumed him, dragging him away from Vessel. The only consolation was that the sludge managed to muffle the sound of his screams, the sound of his failure, though it seemed to have a voice of its own that flooded into II’s mind as he lost himself in the darkness.

“You have finally come home to me, II.”

The sound of the familiar voice nearly stopped II’s heart. Without thinking he parted his lips to reply, and the sludge wasted no time in claiming his insides as it had claimed his limbs. It rushed down his throat, flooded his veins and began to devour everything that he was, everything he knew.

II’s eyes shot open, his breath coming out in short gasps as his body thrashed against the couch cushions, believing them to be the same darkness from his dream. It took him a moment to collect himself and regain full control of his limbs, the cold sensation of the sludge still receding from his body. Finally he swung his legs over the side of the couch and the sensation of the cold floor against his feet snapped him into reality. He glanced around the empty living room which was faintly illuminated by the warm morning sun leaking in through the curtains. He assumed everyone else had already woken up and tried to push himself to his feet but felt a sharp pain shoot up his legs from the bottoms of his feet, causing him to drop back down onto the couch in surprise. He carefully lifted his foot to examine it, and found the sole stained completely black, with small pieces of skin peeling away to reveal the raw, red flesh beneath. He found the other to be in identical condition. 

He had to find the others.

II carefully raised himself from his seat, wincing as he felt the sting of the broken skin against the cold floor. He padded out into the hallway, where he could just barely make out a set of voices coming from the kitchen. He poked his head around the door frame, expecting to find the others sitting around the kitchen table chatting like normal, but he found the room empty. He furrowed his brow and began to turn to walk back towards the foyer when he heard a loud crash. He walked as fast as his aching feet could carry him towards the source of the sound, a slight panic blooming in his chest.

II emerged from the hallway to see III careening down the stairs, IV close on his heels. They all stopped dead in their tracks at the sight of the remains of the chandelier that once hung from the ceiling scattered across the floor of the foyer. Vessel was in the doorway to the library, eyes wide in fear as he stared at the broken light fixture, only feet from where he now stood.

“What the hell happened?” II asked, looking between the shards of shattered crystal and Vessel.

“Are you alright?” IV asked, skirting around the broken shards to stand before Vessel, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I was just coming out of the library when…” He trailed off, gesturing from the ceiling to the floor with his hand.

“It’s probably just an old chandelier,” IV said reassuringly. Though something in II’s gut told him that the chandelier didn’t fall from the ceiling at random.

“Oh sure. Yeah, that was just an old chandelier and those were just rats that I heard upstairs yesterday, right?” III replied sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest. II looked pointedly at Vessel, who was already looking at him when he spoke again.

“There’s some things I need to tell you about.” Vessel said seriously, looking between the three of them before walking into the living room, nodding his head for them to follow.

“What’s going on, Ves?” IV asked softly as he, II, and III sat shoulder-to-shoulder on the couch in front of Vessel, who took a seat on the floor. 

“There’s more. About the house.” Vessel started, taking a deep breath.

“What? Not structurally sound after all?” III said in an attempt to lighten the mood, but the look in Vessel’s eyes had him clamping his mouth shut.

“The house is haunted.” Vessel said simply, and the others looked between each other with concern.

“So, The chandelier…” III began, trailing off when Vessel nodded.

Vessel began to explain what he had seen in the kitchen the day before. The others listened intently, nodding along as Vessel described the ghosts he had seen, the way the one had spoken to him so coldly. 

“I felt unwelcome the second I stepped inside, but she made it abundantly clear herself, too.” Vessel said, rubbing his hand over his chest where he could still feel the unease clenching his chest.

“Well they’re going to have to get over that.” III scoffed.

“She said something about ‘our kind’ making things worse.”

“Fuck’s that supposed to mean?” III asked, feeling anger bubbling in his chest at the thought of being unwelcome in their own home. “She doesn’t know shit about us.”

“Perhaps we’re not the first that Sleep has brought here?” II offered, and Vessel shrugged.

“Whoever came before us, I don’t think Sleep guided them here in the same way… But there is something strangely powerful about this house. I just know it.”

“What do you mean?” IV asked, and Vessel glanced over to II, who nodded his head encouragingly.

Vessel began to tell them the story he’d told II the night before of his encounter with Sleep. III sat perfectly still for a change, only moving to rest his elbows against his knees as he listened to Vessel describe the realization that he was no longer in his physical body. As II listened he felt that same cold from his dream begin to lap at the lesions on his feet, sending a shiver up his spine. When Vessel finished his recollection, II spoke softly.

“He came to me, too.” Vessel’s eyes widened at II’s admission. 

As II told his own tale of his interaction with Sleep, he felt that dreamy cold crawling up his legs, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Is Sleep listening to us? He thought to himself, and a faint voice in his head told him that He was always listening.

“And when I woke up, I noticed this.” II said, looking between them hesitantly before he lifted his foot from the floor. IV and III leaned closer so they could inspect the raw flesh coated in black. IV glanced up at II with a hint of fear in his eyes.

“How could He have done that to you? I’ve never even felt His physical form…” IV trailed off.

“I think something about being in this house makes our connection to Him stronger,” Vessel started, and they could see the gears turning in his mind. “He was able to induce a dream state and He’s never done that before, so I don’t see why He wouldn’t also be able to physically touch us.”

“Maybe that’s why we were led here, if He’s more powerful here.” IV offered.

“I think I know the first step to figuring this whole thing out,” III said, the others turning to look at him. “I think we need to get up to the fourth floor. See if what you saw in your dream was real.”

“It seemed like His living quarters,” Vessel said. “It felt almost like He was inviting me into His bedroom.” 

Vessel heard a gasp, and his eyes snapped to the doorway, where he saw a female ghost he hadn’t seen the day before, and surely he would have remembered her. In contrast to the air of authority surrounding the woman he’d seen in the kitchen, she had an aura of love about her. She was beautiful, the kind of beautiful that would have dropped jaws and turned heads in her lifetime. Her hand was pressed against her chest where he imagined her heart once beat, and she shook her head furiously at him.

“Whether your dream was real or not, I think we can all agree that there’s something up there.” IV said, oblivious to their new listener.

“Oh, so we don’t think they were rats anymore then?” III said with a slight smirk on his lips, earning him a thwack! on the chest from IV.

“We won’t know until we look, will we?” II added with a shrug, turning to see Vessel’s eyes transfixed on the doorway.

“You must stop them!” The ghost cried, breezing into the room to kneel on the floor beside II’s legs. “Please, you will only make things worse.” 

“What do you mean?” Vessel asked her, scrunching his brow.

“I mean, I think the only way to-” II began explaining, only to be quickly shushed by Vessel. II furrowed his brow in confusion, following Vessel’s fixed gaze to the empty space beside the couch, his face melting in understanding.

“You will not learn anything. He will only use you to become more powerful.” The woman replied. 

“What do you know about Sleep?” Vessel asked, his eyes not leaving hers. The others sat in silence as they watched Vessel converse with the invisible woman.

“Is that what you call Him?” She asked softly, almost thoughtfully. “I’ve heard Him called many names over the years.”

“What do you know of Him?” He pressed.

“I think the question here is not what I know, but rather what you know. He has never been so forthcoming before, never shown Himself to anyone. You four seem to be… different from the others.” She conceded, letting her eyes drift over the other three beside her. 

“Different how?” He asked, but she only shook her head.

“The chandelier was supposed to be a warning. You should get far, far away from this place, it is not your home.”

“We were brought here with divine purpose,” Vessel said pointedly to the ghost. “We were brought here in service to Sleep, and we have every intention of staying.”

“Vessel?” III said hesitantly, wanting to understand the context of the one-sided conversation. The ghost’s eyes snapped back to Vessel.

“You’ve given him your name, haven’t you?” She whispered, her eyes widening. She shook her head vigorously, making a cross over her chest as she stood. She cast a pitying glance over the four of them before she disappeared from Vessel’s sight. Vessel felt a sinking feeling in his chest at her reaction and he fully turned his attention back to the other vessels.

“Ghost?” II asked, to which Vessel nodded.

“She seemed afraid of something. She said it was a warning, the chandelier.” Vessel answered. 

“Some fucking warning.” II muttered, shaking his head.

“They’re going to have to do a lot worse than that if they want to get rid of us.” III said loudly, turning his head just in case there was another eavesdropping ghost.

“What are we going to do?” IV asked worriedly, and Vessel just shrugged.

“We’re going to find out what the hell is going on, is what we’re gonna do.” III said with determination, standing from the couch and walking out of the living room.

as always, any comments/feedback are greatly treasured and appreciated <3

taglist: @bucchiarati (if you would like to be tagged in future updates, just let me know🖤)

[teleiapotami]

AAN Gift Exchange

It's gifting day for the @allaboutnalu exchange!! Happiest holidays to you @nostromo13!! I hope you like it. EDIT: Oh, and as always, thank you to my amazing Beta, @kaleighkarma, you rock!

Wishes Granted

The flower shop on the main market street of Magnolia was always busy. The noisy crowds, floral scents, and the emotions attached to the errand left Natsu feeling so overwhelmed that he usually had to spend half an hour recovering from the headache he got when he had to go. The old woman who ran the shop had offered to deliver them, but the walk had become part of his ritual, and he didn’t want to change it. Removing any part of the process would be disrespectful; like she wasn’t worth his full effort anymore, and she was. Sweet Mavis, she was worth it.

But today was different. Today he was letting Lucy come with him, and she wasn’t about to let him suffer through the flower shop. He considered arguing with her, but explaining why it mattered that things be done just this way would require other explanations that he wasn’t quite ready to give her. So he gave her a mumbled ‘thanks’ and watched her disappear into the shop.

Inside, Lucy stepped around the clumps of people working with the florists to create custom arrangements and leaned against the counter gently. She took a slow, deep breath, basking in the medley of floral scents that surrounded her. It reminded her of a night, long ago, when a Rainbow Sakura tree had floated past her house, raining its petals into the canal. The scent of the tree had permeated the street for days afterward.

“How can I help you dear?” the shop owner asked, stepping over to Lucy.

“Um, I need a bouquet of….” she paused, pulling a slip of paper out of her pocket. “Nine carnations, in red, pink, and white.” The woman nodded and turned to the wall of blossoms behind her.

“Such a simple gathering, but a powerful message. Giving them to someone special?”

Lucy shook her head and looked out the window at her pink-haired partner. “I’m picking them up for a friend. He has a sensitive nose.” The woman followed her line of sight and nodded.

“Ah, the young dragon-slayer. He is usually in a hurry when he comes. Here you are, dear,” she said kindly. Lucy paid for the flowers and thanked her before stepping back out to join Natsu. He smiled at her, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Lucy bit her lip, worried for him.

“Thanks, Lucy. Come on, I wanna show you something,” he said, offering her his hand. He slipped his fingers between hers easily when she took it and led her out of the city. They followed the usual path to his house, but instead of going in as she expected, he led her up the hillside behind it and then on until they came to a narrow, winding river. A large weeping willow stood at the side of the river, with a few of its vines trailing into the water, dancing in the current.

Natsu let her hand go and smiled around at the view. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but the stars are incredible,” he said with forced ease.

Lucy shook her head. “It’s really nice Natsu. But…we could have gone to Star Hill if you wanted to look at the stars tonight. You didn’t have to bring me somewhere special.”

“That’s not the only reason I brought you here,” he said quietly, moving to the willow. He pulled back a section of the vines and jerked his head inside the sanctuary. “She’s in here.”

Lucy hesitated, biting into her lip again. “She who?”

He vanished into the greenery without answering. She stared at the veil for a heartbeat, then followed him. The thick curtain of vines created a cool, shaded clearing under its canopy. The babbling sounds of the river’s current were hushed, and the sun shone between the branches, creating columns of light that slanted through the secret place.

Natsu was squatting in front of a stone monument close to the tree trunk, brushing stray grass and twigs away from it. She stood a bit behind him quietly, reading the words carved into the stone.

The eternal adventure awaits.

Thank you for our future.

“I know they can’t put up a monument for her in the capital and all, but she deserves one. I think she would have wanted to be out here under the stars.,” he said softly. He lifted a hand and traced the letters slowly.

Lucy felt a tingle run down her spine as realization struck. This was a memorial to her. Future Lucy, who had survived unthinkable horrors just to give everything she had and more to save a future she would never get to see. Lucy wiped her eyes before the tears escaped them and upset him.

“Oh, Natsu,” she whispered. “Yeah, you’re right. She would have loved this place.” She saw his shoulders shake for a moment, but she couldn’t be sure of what emotion he was suppressing. She laid her hand on his shoulder softly as he laid the gathering of carnations beside the stone. “I’m… going to set up the picnic out by the river. Take your time,” she said softly. She made her way back out of the shrine glancing back at him before parting the vines again.

Natsu shifted to lay back in the grass beside the stone. “Hey, Lucy. Sorry that it’s been a while since I brought you flowers. Things got kinda crazy for a while there.” He stretched his arms out behind his head and sighed slowly. “I just…I wanted to talk to you.”

“It feels like it’s over now. Zeref is dead…and Acnologia is gone now too. I think her future is safe now.” He closed his eyes, basking in the rare breeze that ruffled his hair. “Now that it’s over I can’t stop thinking about her. I wanna hold her. I’m tired of pretending.”

He opened his eyes and watched the light dancing between the vines. “What do you think? You’d know her better than I do….is she ready?” he asked the stone. “Did your Natsu ever manage to tell you how he felt? I don’t think he would have…”

“He didn’t have to watch you die,” he whispered falling silent. He stared blindly up at the branches for what felt like hours before rolling over to look at the stone. “I think about that a lot. Did he love you as much as I love her? Did you love him too? ……Does she?” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I wish things could have been different for you and him. I hope you find each other again,” he murmured. He pushed himself into a squat and gazed at the flowers he’d left.

“Happy Birthday Lucy,” he said gently before standing up. “Wish me luck.”

*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ *~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

“I’m sorry I’m keeping you from the guild party,” Natsu said softly. He was lying shoulder to shoulder with Lucy on a blanket beside the river. Lucy smiled slightly and pressed against his shoulder so lightly, he wasn’t entirely sure she had actually moved.

 “Don’t worry. They’ll throw another one. Fairy Tail never needs an excuse to go all out. I’d rather be out here with you anyway,” she replied easily. Her words made his heart swell and he shifted, slipping his arm under her neck, and pulled her against his side. She squirmed for a moment, rolling onto her side, and resting her head on his shoulder. Her arm tentatively slipped around his chest, relaxing into place at his hum of pleasure.

“You were right about the stars. I think the view here is even better than Star Hill’s,” she murmured.

Natsu chuckled softly and lifted his chin to rest on her head. “Nah….it’s just the company that makes it better. We don’t have to listen to half the city talking.”

“Or Jet and Droy crying over Gajeel snuggling with Levy,” Lucy giggled.

“Yeah. It’s better because we’re together….alone,” he said, smiling slightly at the way her atm tightened around his chest slightly. “I got you something,” he said, pulling a box out of his pocket and offering it to her.

“You didn’t have to do that Natsu! Coming here with you was enough,” she protested as she sat up to take it. He shook his head.

“Nah. Not this year. This one’s special.

He watched her unwrap the silver paper and open the box, his heart in his throat. This was either going to go perfectly, or horribly. Lucy gasped softly, tracing her finger over the necklace inside. A delicate silver chain held a star-shaped crystal that was filled with what looked like glittering water.

“Natsu, what…” she breathed, looking up at him. He smiled slightly and looked away.

“It’s water…from Aquarius’s urn. I had Loke help me out,” he explained, turning back to her when he heard her sniffle. “I hope you like it…” he mumbled.

“Natsu I love it!” Lucy dropped the box, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed his cheek. Natsu froze against her momentarily and she pulled back, blushing. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to do that…” she whispered, mortified.

Natsu blinked a few times, then reached out and cupped her cheek gently. “I came out here for more than just your birthday. I wanted…to talk to her before I told you something really important,” he said gently, brushing her bangs out of her eyes.

“I love you, Lucy. I-I’m in love with you, I mean. I have been for a long time…longer than I knew it I think. It didn’t feel right telling you before Zeref….well, you know.” He dropped his hand from her cheek and leaned back to stare up at the stars. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. I don’t expect you to, eapecially after the whole demon thing…but—”

“Natsu, you idiot,” Lucy snapped. He blinked, looking at her. “Demon, Dragon, Human, I don’t care! You’re you, and that’s all that matters,” she said firmly.  “You’re my Natsu, and I love you,” she whispered.

“Really?” he asked, sitting back up. She nodded, letting out a choked giggle when he shifted to one knee and kissed her softly. Her arms came up around his neck as she let him guide her to lay back on the blanket. He pulled back after a moment and smiled slowly.

“What?” Lucy said, fighting a blush.

Natsu kissed her gently again. “I love you,” he said, savoring the words. “I’ve wanted to say it for so long….I think you’re gonna get sick of me saying it,” he chuckled.

Lucy laughed, cupping his cheek. “Not a chance.”

He was about to close the distance between them again when Lucy let out a gasp. “Look Natsu, a shooting star! Make a wish,” she said with a grin. Natsu turned back to her, watching the stars shine in her bright eyes, and shook his head.

“I don’t need to,” he said as he laid back next to her and pulled her against him. “I’ve already got everything I ever wanted.”

[rotworld]

11: Slither

(previous)

something strange is going on at the university.

->briefly suggestive. contains gore, drugging, mentions of child neglect.

.

.

.

You can still smell it.

Death. Blood and snow. Stiff corpses left in purposeful poses, waiting for you to open your eyes. Bits of brain on the pillow next to yours. Heads like roadkill. You barely eat all day, too sick to your stomach. 

He was in your room. He stood at your bedside, watching you sleep. One by one, he dragged their bodies inside and arranged them like old friends sleeping off a party, close and intimate. And then he just left. Is this how it’s going to be from now on? Rushing from place to place, fleeing the snow? Can you go anywhere? Can you stay with anyone? How many chances do you get before he finishes the job? You wish you’d asked more questions. But if anyone knows anything, you’ll find them at the University. 

You’ve driven for hours without stopping, afraid of the weather changing. You adjust your route, taking the road east. The scenery becomes strange as the sun goes down. A clock tower looms just off the shoulder of the road, red brick and Verlinda-touched by strangling vines. An oak tree grows clumps of green-tinged parking tickets instead of leaves. A patch of wildflowers grows in the shape and colors of a University sweatshirt. This is a good sign; it means you’re close.

Macbride University used to be located in Bevin, a small town torn to shreds by a particularly vicious shift in a time before anchorware. Those disparate pieces still exist throughout the Drift. Several of its hiking trails landed in the Stillwoods back when it was Green Valley, albeit with noticeable spatial and temporal distortion, and the art museum was excavated in the south end of Primsville. None are more remarkable than the University which emerged along the highway, fully intact, still containing a bewildered student body and faculty who were oblivious to the sudden relocation. 

Today, it’s a city of its own. A costly, meticulously maintained perimeter of anchorware has given it an unusual amount of stability—you can almost always find it towards the east of the Drift. Still, the shift that ripped it from its foundations from Bevin left a mark on the fabric of reality and the University has a tendency of shedding like a thick-coated dog, each relocation lodging bits and pieces of town into the surrounding highway. They make for useful landmarks, and you’ve never been quite so relieved to see them as you are now.

Soon, you’re passing beneath streetlights and blending into campus traffic, flanked by stately lecture halls with stone columns and arching doorways. “WELCOME,” the artsy metal sign on the overpass says, “TO MACBRIDE UNIVERSITY.”

[NOW PLAYING ON THE RADIO: PAPAOUTAI BY STROMAE]

You’re familiar with the University. It’s one of your preferred destinations to make deliveries. Navigation is simple. Every building is named and labeled by black stone plaques, every district easily found by following a network of blue road signs. Every section of the city, from the tidy bureaucratic buildings of the Administration District to the picturesque Tudor manors of the Residential District, have reserved courier parking spaces and dedicated exchange offices.

The campus is beautiful. Blushing autumn trees line the cobblestone paths. Cloister gardens are tucked inside the labyrinthine sprawl of college buildings and canopied walkways, quiet corners flush with greenery. You can smell the cloying earthy sweetness of the egg gardens. The College of Medicine stretches across a hilltop overlooking the rest of the campus. You pull into your designated spot outside one of the libraries and pull your deliveries out of the trunk.

The box from Compass Hill is slim but heavy with anchorware, wooden lit stamped with the old textile factory logo. The Stag gave you something the shape of a small glass jar but wrapped in layer after layer of protective coverings; newsprint, bandage wrappings, some kind of thick, glossy leaves.

The library is modern but cozy, earthy colors, tall arch windows and wooden furniture. Students flit through the shelves and crack open thick, dusty tomes beneath warm table lamps. The woman at the reference desk calls Dr. Loyola down to take your delivery. You’re invited to help yourself to tea, coffee, or any of the books while you wait. Most of what’s on the shelves is too dense and dry for you, seventh edition treatises on acute shift sickness and investigations into anomalous anchorware radiation. You sit down with a drink and your map, considering where you’ll go next. You scratch out the motel with a giant X.

“Is that painsilk, by any chance?” 

You look up and find someone leaning over your table, resting one hand on the lid of the wooden box. He—or she, perhaps, beautiful and androgynous in a loose knit sweater and black jeans, wavy brown hair just long enough to tie into a low ponytail with a red ribbon—is young but not as young as some of the others milling about the library. A graduate student, maybe, or a new professor. 

“You can stop guessing. I’m not a man or a woman, and would rather not be referred to as such.” You quickly apologize but they seem unbothered, waving off your tension. “You didn’t know. Now you do.” They pull out the chair across from you and sit casually, an elbow resting on the table, chin set against their hand. “Ah, I haven’t gotten to ask this in a little while. Where are you from? And where will you go after this?”

You hadn’t expected to meet a child of the road here, but there’s no reason why you wouldn’t. People come to the University from all across the Drift. “I’m from somewhere to the northwest. Not sure where I’m headed next, depends what I get to deliver.” 

“Oooh, cryptic,” they say with a grin. “I like that. Mind if I see your map?” You pass it across the table and they flip it around, dragging their finger over your hasty scribbles. “You’re not from any of these, then? Compass Hill? Rivermouth?” You shake your head. They hum thoughtfully. “Have you not marked your ‘home’ due to physical constraints, such as the size of the paper, or is it simply irrelevant information?” 

You don’t like the flippant way they say “home,” like it’s nothing but a mirage. “Does it matter?” you ask. 

They seem surprised by your hostility. “Ah, my turn to apologize,” they say, hands raised in a placating gesture. They slide the map back to you. “I’m asking from a place of genuine curiosity. I’m studying children of the road for a research project. For all the hearsay and rumor, there’s not much reliable information about people like you and I. My current hypothesis draws on the fundamental mechanics of micro-metaspatial alignment, so I’ve been trying to get better geographical distribution data. Physical birthplace versus metaphysical point of origin, the birthplace of parents if applicable…”

“What about you?” you ask. “Where are you from?” 

“Hm? I have no idea.” 

You pause, waiting for elaboration. They offer none. “Okay, but where is it?” you press.

“Now who’s being belligerent?” they say, but they’re grinning as if they’re enjoying the banter. “I just told you, I have no idea. I have no inner compass, no little tugging sensation in my chest. I don’t dream about it.” They shrug, as though they didn’t just tell you the most horrifying thing you’ve ever heard. “Anyway. This is painsilk, right? The Department of Paraphysics is expanding and we need a few specialty construction materials. I don’t suppose I could ask you for a ride that way? The last bus ran an hour ago.” 

“I don’t mind,” you say. “But I can’t leave yet. I’m waiting for someone to pick something up.” 

“I’ll wait with you, then, if you aren’t sick of me yet. I’m Jamie, by the way.” 

After your rocky introduction to one another, you reassess Jamie as blunt but friendly. They introduce themselves in a rapid bullet point list: paraphysicist, avid science fiction reader, tea snob. Their graduate thesis was about the reproductive behaviors and cycles of a coffin shroudweed colony in the Stillwoods. 

“I actually lived with the colony for two years. They were incredibly open with me. Gave a few…hands-on demonstrations,” they add with a wink. “But in all seriousness, I was there in the first place to settle a dispute. The Stillwoods municipal government had come up with this frankly abhorrent development plan for new luxury housing where the shroudweed live. It was fine to bulldoze everything and douse it in pesticides, they said, because shroudweed are aggressive, mindless and invasive.” They scoff. “Aggressive? Not in the least, unless you disturb the mycelial creche where their young grow. Definitely not mindless, either. Communication was difficult but completely possible, we worked out a system of shared symbols. Invasive, then…” They laugh bitterly. “What a useless word in the Drift. You and I are invasive, by that logic. They won’t say it out loud, but they will say it in all sorts of quiet ways.” 

Dr. Loyola is still wearing his University staff lanyard when he arrives, photo ID dangling from his neck. You hand him the jar and tell him it’s from the Stag. He looks understandably alarmed and rushes off with the strange thing cradled in both hands, careful not to shake it. You decide you don’t want to know.

Jamie follows you out to your car, sliding into the passenger seat when you move the egg box on the floor behind you. You notice them looking around with interest, studying the interior, the food you have stashed away, opening your glove box to glance inside, but they don’t disturb anything. “I envy couriers,” they say. “The grass is always greener, I’m sure, but still. Perhaps I do still have some trace of that wanderlust instinct we’re all supposed to have.”

You shrug. “It’s different for everyone. I’ve met children of the road who can’t imagine ever leaving home again, wherever they find it. For those of us who keep moving, it’s the same. I can’t imagine sitting still.”

“Do you remember your parents?” 

The sudden shift in topic makes you pause. “No,” you say. “I might’ve been abandoned. Or maybe they’re the ones who left me in Compass Hill.”

Their gaze softens. “I see. Rejection is unfortunately common. The lucky ones will find new families, but I know that’s not the norm.” 

“Is that why you’re not a courier?” you ask. “You’re one of the lucky ones?” 

Jamie gets quiet. You glance over and their smile has turned stiff, not quite meeting their eyes. “Oh, yes,” they say. “I was very lucky.”

You take a winding path back down the hill, following the signs guiding you to the Paraphysics Department. This isn’t a part of campus you’re familiar with. These buildings are much newer, designed with an unpleasant mix of hard Gothic angles and bizarre alien curves. Cathedral towers curve and twist. Windows are misshapen, squished ovals as though melting in their frames. Halls are joined by spiraling aerial walkways. Jamie directs you to Lyman Hall, a building shaped like a frozen wave. A new section is affixed to one end, skeletal scaffolding that bends and twists in ways that don’t seem possible.

Jamie sets their hand on your shoulder as you take your keys out of the ignition. You’ve noticed in just a short time that they’re very physical, walking close, frequently touching your hand or back to get your attention. “I should warn you before we go in,” they say hesitantly. “A lot of my colleagues are…eccentric.”

You ask, “More than you?”

“A courier and a comedian? Come on.” 

You tuck the box under your arm and follow Jamie through the front doors. Lyman Hall is just as confusing on the inside. You feel like you’ve somehow found yourself in the old, majestic building of another department with grand, ornately framed church-like windows and antique decor, but everything is just ever so slightly off. The angles are strange. The hallway looks lopsided and half-sinking. A spiral staircase rises into nothing, abruptly ending just short of the rounded ceiling.

“They used to run artificial shifts here to study their effects,” Jamie explains. “It’s done some odd things to the architecture.” They gesture for you to follow, leading you down a hallway that’s much longer than it looks. “Do you know much about shifts? What happens during one, and why?” 

“Not really,” you admit. 

Their eyes light up. You get the feeling this is something they don’t get to explain often. “Think of it like this: this is us.” They lift their hand, bent at a ninety-degree angle with their palm facing the floor. “This is our home and all the rules that hold it together. We’re so small and so deep inside that it’s all we know. It’s hard to even imagine that there could be more. But there is.” They raise their other hand parallel. “This is another plane. It might be like ours with similar rules, or it might be completely incomprehensible to us. Now, different planes normally exist at different frequencies. They’re like ghosts to one another, invisible. They would pass right through each other without any interaction, any knowledge of one another whatsoever. But, rarely, those frequencies might change. They might start to harmonize, you could say. And when they do…”

Jamie brings their hands closer, fingers lacing together. 

“They run into each other?” you guess.

“That’s one type of shift, yes. But it’s not always a collision. Sometimes it’s more like a merging. The technical term is a ‘superposition event.’ Two or more cosmic planes occupying the same location, existing at the same frequency, at the same time. In most of the world, this phenomenon is incredibly rare and incredibly brief. Thirty-four have been recorded throughout all of human history, most lasting between one to six seconds.”

“That can’t be right,” you say. “We have one at least once a week. They last hours.” 

“Those numbers only apply outside the Drift. This place has always been especially prone to them. We’re not sure why.” 

You’ve heard that the world outside the Drift is “much more stable” but never truly understood what that meant. Thirty-four, for the whole world, for as long as humans have been writing things down? Does anything change out there? Is it all the same for centuries, for millennia at a time? How do they plan trips if everything is always the same distance away and never any closer? What grows on their trees if not eggs?

Jamie turns suddenly into an open doorway and leads you into what looks like an old laboratory. The floor is scuffed, stained wood, tables and workstations wooden with polished stone counters. A diagram of a fringed, worm-like creature has been partially erased on a blackboard.  Chemicals and labeled specimens in glass jars line the shelves along the walls. Jamie flicks the lightswitch by the door and you realize there are several people huddled around one of the tables near the back of the room, heads lowered, muttering to each other, apparently standing around in the dark prior to your arrival. 

They all look up at the same time, still as statues and staring right at you. A moment passes in tense, terrifying silence, and then they all relax. 

“Silk’s here,” Jamie calls.

“Ah, excellent!” one says. It’s a woman in a lab coat and small, oval glasses, her dark hair cropped short. She regards you with a smile, coming over to take the box. “Oh, you have no idea how much we appreciate this. Superposition-affected structures aren’t easy to repair, or remodel, or really do anything with. This should do just the trick. Ah, where are my manners?” She offers a handshake. “I’m Olivia Higgs.”

You blink. “Higgs? As in…?” 

“Pioneer of modern paraphysics and paraphysical biology? Yeah, that Dr. Higgs,” Jamie says wryly. 

Dr. Higgs is a household name. Your current understanding of the Drift is almost entirely thanks to her. Her approachable, layman-friendly books on shift safety and Drift wildlife are required reading for couriers who want to survive their job. You have an old, dog-eared and partially rain-soaked copy of Drift Eggs and You: A Beginner Forager's Guide in your car. 

“Oh,” is all you can think to say. 

“And I see you’ve already met my…” Dr. Higgs pauses for an uncomfortably long time, her enthusiasm wavering. “My, ah. My child. Jamie.” She tilts her head slightly as though listening to something, her gaze vacant. “My…Jamie? Jamie?” 

Jamie wraps their arm around you quickly, tugging you back a step, closer to the door. “Well, I’ll get them all settled in.” 

“Wh—settled in?” you ask.

They turn their arm, checking their watch. You see three needles moving at three different tempos across the clock’s face, none of which seem to be measuring conventional time. “The next shift hits in a couple hours. You can stay at my place tonight, I have a spare bedroom.” 

Dr. Higgs shiver. “Jamie? What’s—? Oh my god. Oh my god!” She starts to scream. Jamie’s hand tightens on your shoulder and they draw you back another step, urging you to leave the room. Dr. Higgs claws at her own face, nails raking over her eyes and nose, leaving long, bloodied scratch marks all the way to her chin. She shrieks in thoughtless terror, throwing herself to the ground and curling up into a ball. The other researchers rush to her side, keeping her hands pinned far away from her face, but you see a gushing wound where she tore her forehead open, a rough, circular hole she gouged into herself in desperation.

“GET IT OUT!” she screams. “GET IT OUT GET IT OUT GET IT OUT GET IT OUT—”

Jamie slams the door to the lab shut, leans back against it, and lets out a long sigh. You can still hear Dr. Higgs shrieking. “I didn’t want you to see that,” they mutter. 

You nod numbly. You have no idea what to ask, if you should even ask anything. There’s a loud thud, the sound of chairs scraping, sprinting footsteps up to the door and something pounding against it. 

“Open the door, Jamie!” she shrieks. “Open this door right fucking now and HELP ME!”

Jamie stays where they are as the door jolts and rattles against their back. They close their eyes and take another deep breath, letting out slowly. The banging stops and you hear dragging, Dr. Higgs still screaming, still calling Jamie’s name, sobbing and cursing, as she’s pulled away. “My mother has…fits,” Jamie says. You can’t help but notice they say “mother” not unlike the way they said “home” earlier. “It’s some kind of paranoia. She’s amassed a broad body of work over the course of her career, but her specialty is actually Drift parasites.” 

“So she thinks she’s…infected with something?” you say. 

“Something like that.” 

You stand there in silence for a while. The weeping in the lab gradually tapers off. You hear movement. A gentle knock at the door. “Jamie? I’m so sorry. I’m fine now,” Dr. Higgs says. “Is the courier still there? Did you tell them—”

“Yep,” Jamie says. “We’re going to go now. Don’t stay up too late tonight.” 

“Alright. Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight, Mom.” Jamie smiles at you, as if there’s nothing to worry about. When you don’t move, they clear their throat and step away from the door, gesturing back the way you came. “Why don’t we head home? It’s late, I’m tired, I’m sure you’re tired.” They start moving and all but drag you with them, a hand on your back to keep you heading for the exit. 

“Is she okay? Are you okay?” you ask. “Are you sure she’s not—?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” they say, their smile strained. They make you walk a little faster.

Jamie lives in a small cottage in the Residential District. There’s a fence at the front with a latching gate and flowering shrubs growing beneath the windows. The interior is cluttered but cozy. Papers with handwritten margin notes are strewn across the kitchen counter. An unfinished jigsaw puzzle is scattered across the living room table. All the pillows on the couch are pushed into one corner, a tasseled blanket hanging across the back. They make you tea, fragrant and slightly sweet, and some eggs to go with it.

“It’s really good,” you say.

“Rosemary peppermint,” they say proudly, sipping their own generous helping from a University mug. “There’s just a pinch of salt and honey in there, a little bit of milk. I’ve always wanted to show it off to someone, but, ah. I never have company.” They glance at you a few times, tapping their fingers on the counter. 

You’re escorted to a guest room upstairs that looks significantly less lived in, the bed neatly made, the decor sparse save for a house plant on the window sill. Jamie lingers in the doorway while you settle in, going through your backpack. “Would you…” They trail off, not looking you in the eye. “Would you be willing to take me with you in the morning, when you leave?” 

You look up in surprise. “I could,” you say cautiously. “If you’re sure. Where would you wanna go?” 

Jamie leans against the doorframe, smiling bitterly. “Ah, of course. This looks bad, doesn’t it? Like I’m abandoning my mother when she needs me. It’s not like that, I promise. I’ve been planning to do some field research for a while now.” They cross the room quickly, sitting on the edge of the bed beside you. Their hand finds yours, settling on top of it. “Maybe I can explain it better in the morning,” they offer, shifting closer. “I just…don’t want to think right now.”

The kiss takes you by surprise. They’re gentle at first, almost shy. Their lips are soft and their hands are wandering restlessly, one cupping your cheek, the other smoothing down your chest. They swallow your quiet, startled gasp and it seems to embolden them. Quick, fleeting kisses grow longer and hungrier, more forceful. They’re pushing against you, a hand on your shoulder easing you down onto the bed. 

“Jamie?” You barely manage to get the word out with their mouth moving against yours. “Hey, wait—”

You push against their chest and they pull back with obvious reluctance. Their hand lingers under the bottom of your shirt, fingertips ghosting over your bare stomach. “You don’t want to?” 

“That’s not…” You trail off. Suddenly, you don’t feel good. You feel yourself breaking out in a cold sweat. The room is spinning. The room is spinning. You try to sit up but Jamie pushes you back down easily. 

“You’re alright,” they murmur. “Shhhh, you’re alright. Close your eyes. You’re going to sleep really, really well tonight, I promise.” They lean in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and then their weight lifts from the bed. The lights flick off. You hear gentle humming. The door, gently pulled shut. You fight to stay awake but it’s a losing battle, your limbs too heavy to lift. Jamie’s footsteps go back down the stairs and the noise is distorted as you drift in and out of consciousness, too loud, muddled like you’re hearing them underwater. 

You think you can hear them talking to someone in hushed, excited whispers.

(next)

[immajustvibehere]

A lost, cold, robbed, untrusting Y/N stumbles upon Arthur's camp. "you're cold enough with them eyes, come join me by the fire"

A Selfless Act

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

summary: Your former partners abandon you in the mountains. Luckily, you come across a lonely cowboy who saves you from freezing to death.

warnings: mentions of suicide, light fluff

2800 words, 13 minutes reading time

You were a fool. It was pure agony, feeling your holster dangling from your belt. They had left you with one bullet, joked that you'd need it for yourself. Double-crossed, humiliated and left to die one way or another in the freezing mountains. You'd been walking for God knows how long, but you knew it would be your only chance of surviving. Maybe you'd find shelter or be lucky enough to come across someone who would take you back to civilization. There was not much to fear, besides your clothes there was nothing on you that could be taken.

Trudging through the snow was really stupid, you thought. You should just end it right now. You had survived one night; you knew you wouldn't survive another. If the cold won't get you, a pack of wolves will, and frankly, you preferred the bullet to your head. Your hand fumbled for your gun - or it tried to. Your body felt frozen rigid, you hadn't moved anything but your legs for the last couple of hours and despite having lost most of the feeling in your hands, you managed to take your gun out of its holster. You stopped to look at it.

Nope, no way.

The gun was put back and you looked up. You'd do it later. At night. It was only late afternoon; you shouldn't rush things. Maybe...with a bit of luck...

There was a thin but clearly visible column of smoke rising to the sky. It came from behind the hill you were currently climbing. You chuckled at the coincidence of seeing it now. There was your last bit of hope. It had never been harder to climb a snowy hill. The snow seemed deeper than the one before and the wind stung like needles on the small patch of exposed skin in your face. There had been the option of going around the hill, but you wanted the fastest way possible. What if there was someone there and he left while it took you hours to get to him? No, it didn't matter that your pants were soaked or that you stumbled and had to get up again, your appearance resembling the one of a snowman.

When you had reached the top of the hill and looked down, you not only saw a big lake covered with ice and snow in front of you, but also a small campfire. A man, wrapped in a big blue coat sat on a fallen tree. You heard him whistle a tune and leisurely watching a fish that was being grilled above the fire next to two pots. A strong stallion was trotting around in the snow around this little camp. Suddenly, fear and anger started to rise up deep within you. Even though you had nothing to lose, what if this was a bad man? What if he took all you had left? Your gun...your clothes? Or what if he killed you? And yet, what was his right to be so happy when you stood a few feet away, shivering and on the brink of death?

A headshake got rid of those thoughts. You told yourself that you were exhausted and overthinking; this was your chance of survival, and you had to take it. Slowly, you started sliding down the hill. The man looked up when he caught your figure in the corner of his eye. As he stopped whistling, you stopped dead in your track. There were maybe 15 feet between you. You eyed him suspiciously. Maybe this had been a bad idea. You now saw how heavily armed the man was. Two guns were holstered on his hip and a rifle leaned against the trunk he rested on.

"Hello", the man said. It was more like a question. He watched you a bit confusedly as you remained completely still, trying to evaluate your options. You must have looked pathetic; covered in snow, your nose and cheeks redder than a ripe tomato and though you tried to suppress it, you knew your shivered so severely, it had to be perceivable. You made a step back when the man started to smile, just in case it was a sign of him planinng something malicious.

"You're cold enough with them eyes, why don'tcha join me by the fire?", the man proposed. He even brushed some more snow off the trunk, so you'd have a place to sit. You gave in with a deep sigh and closed the distance between you. When you had reached the fire, you ripped off your wet gloves with your teeth, holding your hands as close to the fire as you dared.

"If ya don't mind me asking, what're ya doing out here, Miss?", the man inquired. He added a, "This isn't really a nice place for pleasurable pastime walks."

"I was-", you started before your dry and sore throat let you break out in a cough. The fit shook you to the very bone, now that your hands and face were slowly warming up, the exhaustion in your limbs became perceptible. When you stopped coughing and took such a rattling breath that even you got scared for a second, the man was stirred into action and poured some coffee into a tin cup. "'m afraid I only got one set of dishes, but better than nothing", he held out the cup to you. You took it hungrily, burning your fingers in the process. With the risk of burning your throat too, you took a gulp. It was bitter and hot. The liquid left a scorching sensation in your aching throat. You knew you had made a weird face, because the cowboy was looking at you worriedly; but you didn't care.

A few gulps and a silent moment later you cleared your throat, before you tried again. "My partners - former partners - wanted to get rid of me. We were on our way through the mountains. They suddenly stopped, killed my horse before my damn eyes and left me with nothing but my gun and one bullet." The control over your hands had returned, so you had no trouble taking your revolver out of the holster and dismissively throwing it in front of the man's boots.

"Well, that wasn't very kind of them", the man commented and picked up the revolver, checking if there really was only one bullet inside. The mistrust angered you, despite you being the one who stumbled into his camp unannounced. Still, with some of the warmth returned to your body you took your place on the trunk next to the cowboy. "How long have you been runnin' around?", he asked. "Almost two days." "Jesus,...you could have been done for", he remarked almost in an unbothered manner while he generously filled a plate with beans, some fish meat and the heel of a loaf of bread.

"Here ya go", he shoved the plate onto your lap. "Sir, I can't eat your-" "Sure ya can. Ya need it more than I do. And it's Arthur." You briefly gave him your name before you took the plate into your hands. There was no restraint left. Even if you wanted to be polite, your stomach growled and the sheer thought of consuming something warm filled you with joy. Your eyelids had become heavy and even the act of lifting the spoon was a fight against gravity, you feared sleep taking over any second. Nevertheless, devouring your meal while its provider pulled the remaining flesh off the fishbones felt needlessly shameless of you.

"You a hunter, sir? I mean- Arthur."

"Not really. Occasionally, I s'pose. I shoot more people than animal, to be honest with you."

"Why'd you tell me that?", you asked, completely unconcerned.

"Excuse me, but", he scoffed "yer friends abandoned you with one bullet to shoot yerself. I just assumed you aren't in the honest sort of business."

You were about to confirm that when a thought pierced your mind. You looked up from your meal which you had half-way finished and asked with a tone that would have given you away immediately: "You the law?" The warm laugh from Arthur made you release the breath you were holding. "More like the opposite", he admitted, smiling warmly. "Good", you answered to that and continued to eat. Your fatigue became so overwhelming, you slipped down from the trunk into the snow. It didn't bother you that your coat and pants would be wet and cold, you did care for the opportunity of resting your back against something.

"You brought a storm with you alright", Arthur commented after a while. You looked up from your clean plate to see dark clouds approaching fast over the hill you had walked only the quarter of an hour earlier. "Represents your mood", he added cheekily. You hadn't smiled nor communicated anything not clearly necessary, and he was right: your mood wasn't the best. Though not freezing, you were still cold. And though satisfied as well as rehydrated, you had still been betrayed and had no idea what to do with your life if the stranger you had just met was willing to bring you back to civilization. "Sorry", you looked up to Arthur who was finishing the rest of the beans and with greatest effort managed to crack a tired smile.

There was nothing to be done about the storm. Shall it come and bury you in heaps of snow, for all you cared. You knew your knees wouldn't support you if you stood up. Your eyes were attracted to the spiting fire. Then you blinked once. The short second your eyelids rested shut was like a dream come true, so you closed your eyes again. There was no intention of opening them again, you had no strength to do so. As soon as your brain accepted that you would finally give in, you drifted off to sleep immediately. You still felt how your slumped to the side but were caught by the stranger's legs which prevented you of falling into the snow.

-

You woke up suddenly but remained still. The familiar trot of a horse almost lulled you back to sleep, but you were adamant to assess your new situation - since clearly something had changed. You felt warm, were sat on a horse and heard the trickle of raindrops on leaves and soft soil. When you finally managed to open your eyes, you didn't see much but the part of the woods that was illuminated by the lantern that was held by the man behind you. Your body was resting against his chest, wrapped in, as you only now noticed, the blue coat he had worn before.

"It's okay, I jus' though I'd get us out of the mountains before the snowstorm hit us", a warm voice almost whispered behind you. If you had been awake or energized more, you would have shrugged away from the man who sat behind you. After he had slightly adjusted it, you noticed his other arm was loosely wrapped around your torso, preventing you from slipping off the horse. Everything was fine, you were safe. If he wanted to kill you, he would have done it already. There was no need of forcing yourself the stay awake, so you let yourself be overpowered by sleep once again.

You woke again the support of your back suddenly vanished. Baffled, you looked around and recognized the commotion of a town at night. "We're here", Arthur announced, and your attention was suddenly directed to him. He was standing next to his horse on a porch, the reins still in his hands. His face and hair were glistening with raindrops and you wondered where his hat had gone to. You swore you wore one before. You slid off the horse carefully. The abrupt contact with the ground sent a shiver to your body. It had also shaken some of the slumber out of your bones. Without warning, Arthur grabbed a hat you hadn't noticed you were wearing off your head and put it back on his. "Come one, I'll get this off you", he announced before he pulled you out of his coat which was way too big for you anyway and would have probably tripped you if you had attempted to walk in it.

"Where are we?", you finally asked the man who was stowing his coat on horseback and equipped himself with some other stuff.

"Saints Hotel in Valentine, let's go." Done with his inventory management he urged you inside. Surprisingly, your first reaction to this revelation was the instinct to flee. A hotel? So it all boiled down to this...of course there was no man in this damn country who would just help a desperate woman without expecting anything in turn.

"Back at it again with 'em cold eyes", Arthur chuckled amusedly before he turned his attention to the receptionist "If you could prepare a warm bath for the lady. Have someone assist her, I'm not sure how conscious she is. And then one room, please." Your heart dropped when Arthur grabbed the key. You shuffled awkwardly around on your feet. The man was handsome. You had only seen him with tired and heavy eyes and in a big coat before, but now you had a better look at him. Broad shoulders, a slim hip and a confident stance. Hell, his hair looked softer than anyone's you had seen in a while, but nevertheless...you wouldn't - you couldn't.

"Sir, I-", you started. The immediate circumstances made you retort to a more polite address than his first name. "I understand that I owe you greatly for saving my life, but I'm not sure if I can be of any...satisfaction in that sense." The last words you only mumbled. Maybe that's why Arthur took a solid moment to process your words before you saw his eyes light up and an "Oh" escape his lips.

He shook his head lightly and mockingly announced: "The cold did some serious brain damage it seems." But then he smiled heartily, implying that he meant no serious offense. "I'm just joking", Arthur explained to make sure you understood and put one hand on your shoulder, "Listen, ehrm, y/n was it? Yer really lovely. You got a beautiful face, especially now that some color's returned to it, but you see - it ain't like that." As if he wanted to stress those words, the back of his hand briefly brushed over your cheek. His hands were warm, so you guessed your cheeks must still be pretty cold. And despite your recoil of what you had thought he had wanted of you a moment earlier, you found yourself quite enjoying the gentle touch. "Now getcha self warm", he withdrew his hand and practically sent you off to the bathroom.

It was only in the bathtub that the last bit of weariness was washed off. You were relieved to find that none of your limps or extremities had sustained lasting nerve damage due to the cold. They had all returned to a healthy color in the warm water and you were delighted to be able to move each toe individually. The woman that had been appointed to help you was sent off as soon as you had found your way into the bathtub and had your clear sense back. Regret started to boil up. You had misjudged Arthur's character twice, but he had helped you out more than you'd be ever able to repay. And repay how exactly? Something must be done about this. You'd find some work soon and repay him for the food and the hotel stay. It wasn't really possible to put a price tag on your life that he had saved, but you could try at least. And stop doubting him and his morals, for what it's worth.

However, your plans were crushed when you left the bathroom and found no sign of Arthur. In your room you found your wet jacket, your gun and three small boxes of cartridges, stacked next to a can of assorted biscuits. When you asked the receptionist for the gentleman you arrived with, he said that he had gone away little after you had headed for the bathroom and he had left some stuff in your room. That was it. A look outside showed you that his horse was gone too and not, how you briefly hoped, hitched in front of the saloon.

Even though your encounter had been short, it had been anything but insignificant. Before you headed to bed you made a decision: The first thing you'd do after some rest is finding a job and then you would start looking for Arthur, not stopping before you had properly thanked him for saving your life.

------x

This sat in my drafts for about a month heh.

fighting a bit of a writer's block atm...soo yeaaahhh.

[kingkatsuki]

This isn’t x reader or anything, just having cute thoughts about Bakugou signing an autograph for the first time.

Inspiration was this fanart.

Warnings: none, but a lot of rambling.

Thinking about Bakugou being asked to sign his very first autograph. He’s not a famous Pro-Hero when it happens, in fact, he’s not even ranked in the top 50 yet. Still just a sidekick trying to make his name amongst the older heroes that still hold their own in the charts. Other young, optimistic students graduating Hero schools across Japan who are his competition, more names that could easily outdo him in the rankings. His fellow classmates no longer his only adversaries, giving him more pressure to try and find his own.

Being a sidekick is difficult, all Bakugou’s time and energy is put into trying to make a name for himself. The patrols are long and arduous, and the gratitude is almost non-existent. The public seem to only care for the heroes who are popular, the ones they recognise in the charts and praise from his agency for a job well done is non-existent. The few that recognise him do because of the Sports Festival from all those years ago that he’s tried hard to forget— he’s come a long way since then but it’s hard to control your temper when the odds are against you.

So the first time he experiences true gratitude for doing his job, he doesn’t expect it. He’d found a young boy sat alone in a park, back pressed against the trunk of a tree with his knees tight to his chest. Bakugou was going to ignore him, still searching for any small time villains who were out causing trouble, or maybe stumbling across some information that could help Best Jeanist take down the prolific villain causing a ruckus in Musutafu. If Bakugou found him it would surely cause a stir, it would help him make a name for himself for certain and even have him teetering on the edge of the top 50 rankings. The determination and drive inside fuelling him to take extra shifts until the villain was taken down. But there was something about this boy that Bakugou felt for, coming up to him to find out he’d lost his mother in the crowds of the city.

It wasn’t the bust of the century, it wasn’t apprehending a villain or taking down a crime syndicate— it was just the right thing to do.

When Bakugou had reunited the boy with his mother, the poor woman didn’t even notice him. Far too busy bouldering him out of the way to wrap her arms around the small boy. Bakugou watched the scene awkwardly from the sidelines for a few moments before walking away, the smallest of smiles on his face that he’d managed to succeed— even if no one was there to witness it.

So imagine his surprise the following week when the same small boy comes up to him while he’s out on patrol and asks him to sign his lunchbox. Wide, inquisitive eyes staring up at him as he holds out a black marker pen to the young sidekick. Bakugou isn’t even sure what to sign, he’s never really signed his hero name other than scribbling the full thing messily in the columns of his books at school. Wondering whether he should sign his whole hero name or the shortened version.

Bakugou almost feels guilty for scribbling Dynamight across the young boys lunch box in black marker. He’d done his best to make it as neat as possible, but using his arm as a table as he fiddled with the cap it felt awkward and uncomfortable signing something so publicly. Wondering whether one day he’d have other people asking the same question, his face across the most garish merchandise as he signed for the masses.

But this felt special, it was important. His first signature as a hero. And he already felt like he’d messed it up as he handed the pen and the lunchbox back to the small boy who took it eagerly from his arms.

“Wow… Dynamight.” The young boy reads his messy scrawl on the top of his lunchbox before staring up at him in awe, “You’re my favourite hero.”

Bakugou would sign thousands of autographs after this, perfecting the style of it over time. Signing hundreds of other young kids lunchboxes, some with his face plastered over them. Copious amounts of merchandise, body parts (He almost spelt his name wrong when he was presented someone’s chest to sign), photographs, even rival heroes merch (Bakugou had loved drawing a cartoonish beard and moustache over Deku’s face on a photograph he’d been presented), but nothing would ever compare to the first time he’d signed an autograph, the one that he’d never forget.

A reminder of the first day he felt like a true hero.