#in the morning there was a path of crushed plants all the from the woods at the far end of the field

[fantisyoflove]

Snape's First Year Teaching {part 2}

Warnings ⚠ mentions of death and watching someone without their knowledge⚠

*Leaving off from you storming away and Snape crying under a tree*

Chapter word count: 2759

Total work word count: 24,244

You follow the path leading back to the castle, you follow around the bend a ways to the green house. Your flat is right above the tool shed and is a small 3 room space. The bathroom, bedroom, and kitchen/living room were separated by thin walls and the door leading up to your flat had been replaced recently. It looked so out of place with the weathered wood of the shed.

Unlocking the door you trudged up the stairs and flopped down on the couch to kick your boots off. You didn't shut the door since nobody would be coming this way and the air was still warm. 'A breeze would be nice,' you thought and set about opening the many windows surrounding you. You propped open your bedroom door and bathroom door as well. Laying back on the couch you covered your eyes with your forearm and decide to just rest for the remainder of the morning.

*Back at the tree*

Snape finally pushed himself up to sit and wiped his eyes again. He looked down at the handkerchief, it was an off white color with small flowers and vines embroidered along the edge. In the corner were the initials 'M.H.B'. and he realized for the first time he had not even learned your name yet. He knew your last name, Burke, was from Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn alley, but he didn't know of any of the Burke children. "You're just like everyone else! A bully!" your words echoed in his mind, over and over. He shook his head in attempt to physically clear them. He also kept picturing your face, the way you flinched away from him. He wiped his nose on his sleeve and stood up. Walking to the lake Snape dipped his hands in and splashed his face. He waved his wand to dry his face and then again to clean the handkerchief. With a big sigh he scrubbed at his face and growled. 'Why do I have to ruin everything!' he thought angerly. He slapped himself across the face,

"Pull it together!" He hissed out loud to himself. And started stomping towards the green house.

...

He checked inside the green house, not really knowing where your flat would be but figured it would be attached to your class like his was. A glace around reviled several plants in all phases of growth but not a person in sight. He circled around to the back and saw a two story tool shed. All the windows on the second level were propped open and white lace curtains fluttered in the breeze.

Setting his jaw and standing up straight he marched inside and found the stairs. Upstairs he figured you would be there, probably reading. Thats what he would have done after being called stupid and silly and someone was mean to him like he was to you. He paused halfway up, you were right about him. The pit of his stomach dropped and he grabbed onto the railing to catch himself. He was a bully.

He straightened again and set his face to neutral. Clearing his throat at the top he called out softly, "professor Burke? It's Severus, I understand if you ..." he stopped as he saw you laying on the couch. Your arm had flopped off your face and you had curled onto your side facing out. He could just see your side rising and falling slowly. He turned to leave but then stopped. Frozen he listened closely and heard your soft snoring. Turning back to the top of the stairs he crept all the way up carefully and into your flat. He walked from the foot of your couch to the front and waved a hand in front of your face. You didn't move or pause your soft even breaths. He crouched down in front of you and studied your face. He had a hard time meeting your eye because he was such a coward, if he was going to move up in the ranks of either organization he would have to learn to shove his fear down and face things head on.

He watched you sleep for a few moments, your lips slightly parted. Your curls were crushed against the pillow and he noticed that you had piercings in your ear. He wondered to himself if your other ear mirrored the one he could see.

'I really need to start being more observant!' He scolded himself. You made a harsher snoring sound and rubbed your nose before settling back down. Eyes wide Snape stood up slowly and tip toed to your kitchen area. You had a simple kitchen and a small table pushed against a wall looking out the window. On the table were several rolls of parchment, unrolled, and under a large amethyst stone to keep them from blowing away.

Snape glanced back at you before moving forward and peering at them. He recognized potion recipes and a few pages with different etchings of plants and leaves. He lifted a few and thumbed through them. Nothing of note in his opinion. Just simple notes and drawings. He put everything back as he thought it should look and was about to leave when he spotted a balled up piece of parchment in the bin. He bent to pick it up and paused with his finger tips just brushing it as he looked to you again. You were still sound asleep. He unfolded it and smoothed it out against his thigh. His eyes scanned the words, several scribbled out or rewritten. But the gist of it was a letter to someone about how you had found work and you were keeping a close eye on 'the problem'. You hoped whoever was supposed to receive this letter was proud of you and you would see them next time at home. You had also signed the letter

Melyra B.

"Melyra" he whispered and looked back at you. "Fitting" he snorted. He held the parchment up to the sunlight trying to read the scribbled out words to no avail. He sighed and crumpled the paper back up and tossed it into the wastebasket. The ting it made caused you to stir. Snape bolted for the stairs and made it down the first two before you had sat up rubbing your eyes.

"Professor? " you asked confused. Snape froze and turned back to the top of the stairs.

"Excuse me," he said with a bow. "The door was open and I did call out. I didn't realize you were sleeping but now that I have I will see myself out." He turned to go again.

"Wait!" You called. "Why did you come here"

"I was looking for you"

"I gathered as much. But why?"

Snape remembered his thought from earlier 'stop being a coward!'

He cleared his throat and came back up the stairs. He made a blank face and said "I came to say 'I am sorry' I shouldn't have yelled at you. It wasn't fair of me to lash out at you and you don't deserve my cruelty. I am sorry, Melyra." He bowed again and then stood there, hands clasped together in front of him. You noticed how his thumb rhythmically rubbed against his pointer finger knuckle. Then he would squeeze his hands together as if you remind himself not to fidget.

"wow" was all you could muster and he looked more uncomfortable standing before you. "erm, would you like to sit down?" You gesture to the table and chairs or to the couch you were sitting on. He looked longingly at the chair in the kitchen but then pinched his palm and went to sit beside you. He still kept a decent space away and he sat up straight feet together on the floor and mindlessly twisted his fingers as he looked everywhere around your flat but at you.

Snape noticed your bedroom door open and from what he could see you had clothes all over the floor and white sheets on your iron frame bed. So the black lace thong thrown on top of your sheets was very apparent. He quickly looked away and found you sitting cross legged on the couch facing him.

"So, this is uhh this is your flat?"

"Yes" you said bemused. "Do you have one?"

"A flat?"

"Yeah"

"I guess you could say yes. It is a lot simpler than yours. Just the room and a privy. No kitchen or living room area. Probably because I have an office and being inside the castle I can just request food or drink from the house elves whenever I need."

"You get an office!" you say in mock despair. "Well I see where I rank then among the staff!" you laugh at your own joke but he seems taken aback. "I am just joking Snape."

"I know that!" he said defensively. "And um, Melyra, could you.. could you please ca-call me Severus?" He stuttered .

"Oh? of course. I am sorry Severus."

"No! no its alright. I just... I guess I figured if we are to be." He held his breath for a moment before saying, "Friends." He cleared his throat.

"Then we should be on a first name basis shouldn't we?" He finally met your eyes again. His eyes were so dark they seemed black. You searched his face for any hint of nefarious meaning behind his words but he seemed genuine.

"We should." You said finally and stuck out your hand to him. He looked down at it for a beat too long.

"You're supposed to shake it " you said teasingly with a giggle.

He nodded, pulling up his sleeve to expose his whole hand, he grasped onto yours. You were pleasantly surprised to find that it was warm. You figured it would be cold for some reason. His fingers were long and thick and his hand nearly engulfed yours entirely.

Severus felt a whimper bubble up in the back of his throat. This is the most skin to skin contact with anyone in months, maybe even closer to a year. He forced himself to cough to mask the noise and pulled away to cover his cough with his elbow.

"Sorry excuse me" he said. He felt his neck getting warm again. You both sat there awkwardly now, looking anywhere but at each other.

"Oh!" Severus said suddenly and jumped to his feet. He started searching his pockets until he found your handkerchief. He held it out for you, "Thank you for letting me borrow it."

You took it from him but then grabbed his wrist. You pulled him in closer to you. Severus wanted to pull away but found his body leaning into you. You tucked the handkerchief into his sleeve, you felt his wand hidden there as well.

"You keep it," you patted his arm. You pointer and middle finger were resting against his wrist, where his heart beat fluttered. You looked up at him, his pupils were wide and he was breathing heavily. You watched his chest rise and fall.

"Nn.. no, I cant keep this. It's yours."

"No I insist! I have plenty. For real I love making these, the needle work done by hand is so calming. Muggles really do come up with some creative things."

"oo-okay" He nodded. His eyes never left yours. You turn his hand over, petting it open and trace a finger from his soft inner wrist up across his palm and then up his middle finger.

"Did you ever study palmistry in your school days?"

Severus shook his head no, "it didn't - didn't interest me ," he took a deep breath, "then." He felt mesmerized by your touch. Mentally he felt he should pull away, he should ask you to stop, he should not like it as much as he does. Physically his body was betraying him, leaning into you, allowing you to pull him closer, even his breathing was out of control. He hoped his blush was under control.

You smiled up at him and tapped his love line twice, "I like it because you get a small peak into someone's soul." You fold his fingers back in and release his hand. Sitting back into the couch you watch Severus hold up his reopened hand and examine it.

"Care to elaborate? "

"You want me to read your palm?"

"If you wish,"

You squeal and jump from from the couch clutching both his hands in yours. His breath catches but you don't notice because you are bouncing on your toes with excitement.

"Oh please Severus! Please! I never get to practice."

Looking up at him, Severus is over a head taller than you. He feels the whine in the back of his throat but shakes his head to clear it.

"Yes, Melyra. As long as you promise to not make that noise again." His upper body is leaning away from you but you notice how soft but firm he holds your hands. They feel good holding yours. You silently wonder what they would feel like touching other places.

"Okay, okay" you say and sit back down on the couch. You pat the cushion next to you eagerly. Severus keeps his eyes on you as he removes his cloak and lays it neatly on the arm of the couch then sits and mimics your cross leg position. His legs are a little too long for that on your narrow couch so he opts for one foot off one foot on.

You have zoned out watching him. His moves, his hands running over the fabric, the slight tightness of the upper sleeve of his shirt. Outlining some pretty impressive muscles. When he had turned to lay his cloak down you also saw how tight the shirt stretched across his shoulders and back. You imagine how easy it would be for him to pick you up and....

"Well?" Severus is staring at you, both hands lay open in front of you.

"Right sorry I was just trying to remember where to begin!"

A small twinge in Snapes head told him you were lying but he ignored it. Since when had he ever been right about something like that.

You traced the lines in his hands with your pinky muttering to yourself.

"Well then, Severus, look at you. TWO love lines at the same time! And big decisions in your future. You will gain great power and then you will lose it all..." you trail off searching deeper into his lines. He has a very large Venus, padded and firm.

"You are a hard worker"

He raised an eyebrow at you, "is that all?" He clearly wasn't too impressed by all this so far.

You laughed nervously. "Well there is a lot of earth here. Strong, sturdy, set in your ways but," you paused licking your lips.

"Go on" he said slowly.

"But it's all divided. The rise or fall of your future hangs on one decision. I wish I could tell you what it is. But basically you have to choose between two very strong forces."

Severus pulled his hands back and examined them again. "Yes, well, I've never given much mind to divination arts"

"Haven't you?" You ask cocking your head to the side. You take his right hand back and trace a faint line down the center from his middle finger to his wrist. "It says here you have your own inner power of divination." Severus scoffed at this "or maybe even legilimency."

Severus snatched his hand back this time and held it tight in his opposite hand. "Well now that is completely preposterous!"

You giggled and then covered your mouth to try and stifle it. "I am sorry Severus but the hands never lie. Hey maybe its an untapped power you have!" You tried to sound positive and encouraging but Severus's face was still blank. You weren't exactly sure if that was a bad thing or maybe just his natural state.

"I highly doubt that," Severus stood, "well I came to apologize and to give you your handkerchief back and I have done one and attempted the other. I will see myself out." He went to the door and then turned to bow to you and then left.

'What a strange man,' you thought again. With a smile to yourself you set about straitening up your space.

*outside of professor Snape's office Dumbledore awaits*

"Professor Snape, I am hoping you will let me in." Snape paused a little startled since he wasn't paying attention. He nodded and tapped the door handle to his office. "I am also hoping you happen to have some tea or a nice hot brandy" Snape looked both ways down the hallway before closing the door.

[indigos-stardust]

New Four swords fic- Chapter 1

*I'd appreciate if u read it on a03 because that's where my tag/summary is but if you cant for whatever reason, I have it below this cut* thanks for any boost and comment <3

Roaming packs of monsters, ugh.  Usually, monsters tend to be attracted or even magically appear from places with plenty of darker energy. It could be some cursed and abandoned temple or some pit where someone died horribly. Maybe, there’d just be one huge monster claiming an area and its magical stink would attract a bunch of underlings.

Monsters aren’t exactly pack animals like wolves. They just follow whichever one’s the biggest and act purely based on greed and violence. They’re happy to follow orders as long as they get their cut. Which is usually the promise of fresh flesh. 

The scouts said the monsters were following paths. On a schedule. Almost like they’re planning and guarding. That…isn’t right. Something is definitely up. 

The worst part of it is that a lot of the paths they’re taking seem to be cutting off a random average sized fishing village to the south. Lutelin Village. Yeah, Green can see why they had been specifically called to handle this one.

Whatever they’re going to eventually face, it’ll probably seem like even an experienced knight’s worst nightmare. But they can handle it. After all, they’d handled far more with far less. This time they even have armor! The odds are far more in favor since their… “adventure.” Green can’t help but fidget with his fingers anyways.

He’s probably just out of practice, sure they had helped fight against the general excess of monsters but that was just dealing with monsters sprawled out everywhere. Not a real proper fight with layers to get to the final baddie. His gut flares with a hidden anxiety. 

It’ll be alright though, the others are literally following his back, and as much as it sucks that those villagers are probably having a hard time with travelling due to the monsters- This will be good for them! Well, Green and his uh, other selves, anyways. Besides, why would you possibly want “rest and relaxation” when you can just crush the ugly mug of some monster?

Okay, maybe he is spending too much time with Blue.

Either way they definitely have better odds! They’ll just find each band (two or three?) and take them down, easy peasy. 

Every step is going to take him closer after all, might as well keep his shoulders straight and his eyes on the horizon.  

Soft grass and weeds dance in the foothills, with a chilly autumn air as their partner. As much as the others are way too gripey in the early morning, Green knows getting them up early is definitely the right call! The soft crispness of the morning air energizes him with every breath! Practically music, in his humble opinion. 

Behind him, he can hear another kind of music. A playful punch to the shoulder, a content sigh, and a little laugh. Conversation that starts and pauses, only to start again. In and out, natural and welcoming. They have his back. 

They finally stop at the top of a particularly large hill; this is the spot the scouters said they’d seen the monsters the most. If Green looks to the West, he can see the beginning treeline of a dark and confusing magic-filled Lost Woods. He shudders. From what Vio described about the woods, it definitely doesn’t seem like the ideal spot for a stroll. Compared to their “adventure” and all they’ve experienced, the next few days will be easyyyy. 

They’ve barely settled into their spot when Vio, ever the watchful one, already spots a band of monsters practically marching together. A very large band of very angry looking monsters. Nearly time to fight. A cliffside looms in the distance, with the monsters in between them and it. 

“I’d say, I think we’re dealing with about eight or so stalfoes, two spear moblins, oh you’ve got to be kidding me at least two dozen,” Green squints, “uh, tiny plant things?”

Strange little hobbling plant monsters, with sharp teeth and leaves coming from a single bud supported by two stumpy legs, covered the ground near the other monsters. 

“Tiny plant things?’”

=====

For a place full of nothing but rolling hills, Vio sure is having quite a bit of difficulty finding enough room to fight. It’s ridiculous honestly, he and Green were supposed to take care of the stalfoes by directly fighting against them. Meanwhile, Blue and Red were meant dealing with those pesky small monsters that keep trying to bite their ankles! Or jump into their faces. It’s a bit hard to fight several monsters just taller than you while dealing with a bunch of faces full of teeth trying to lunge at you, afterall.

Not to mention, once they finally get in semi-decent positions the moblins thrust their giant axes right in the middle and scatter everyone all over again! He can hear the annoying squish and splatter of Blue’s hammer smashing into another one. 

Red’s fire rod is great at helping to keep the moblins away, but while you would think it’d be great for its intended purpose of burning those DAMN little plants monsters- All it really does is make all the grass around them catch on fire, not harming the stalfoes, and force them to bolt to a patch of rocks while they’re being chased. Of course, the little abominations climb up the stalfoes to stay safe from the fire. Fighting on the bumpy ground only makes things worse in their favor. He really wishes the darn things would be the ones stumbling and struggling for balance instead of themselves.  

Wait… This is a far rockier area- He can feel the rattling bones hit his shield once more as he grunts to shove it off. They all need to be knocked down. With the bit of distance he looks around, and there . A pile of rocks, leading up to a cliff. The cliff is extremely uneven at the top, but there is just enough clear space for a person at the top! 

Perhaps, possibly, it had been a bit of a.. Risky endeavor. The second there’s the smallest opening, he yells out, “Watch out for a minute!” and bolts to the cliff side. Ignoring Blue’s very p*ssed off , “h-HEY! Where the Hell are you going?!!” and Green’s surprise as he keeps on running. Every thump of his feet pushing off the earth ringing in his ears. Or maybe that’s just his heartbeat.

Just as he’s starting to climb up he can hear the rattling of a stalfoe and feel the bruising pain of those small monsters trying to reach his flesh under the armor. I just need to keep going , he thinks as he finishes pushing himself up and begins scrambling  for a new foothold as he simultaneously tries to shake off the miniature snapping beasts. Good thing his ears are protected by the chainmail underneath his cap. 

The crash and shattering of bones with a string of swears behind him urge him to go even further up. When the battle’s over, Blue is probably going to get him next. He hadn’t sounded particularly pleased about Vio, “DITCHING THEM WITHOUT WARNING LIKE A B****H*SS,” or whatever. Despite his current height bringing him farther from the battle ground, he can practically hear Green shout, “ LANGUAGE!!” in the middle of battle.

Finally, just as he nears the top he manages to shake the last of those damn pests off his leg and let his heaving lungs rest, if only for a second. Right, this needs to be quick. Forcing himself up, still struggling to breathe from the chaotic climb, Vio readies his bow. 

While the experience of fighting various types of monsters, for hours on their own, certainly gave them a lot of skill in adapting to the situation he has to admit—the items they gained, namely his fairy blessed bag of endless arrows, are also a huge plus. Sure, they aren’t as strong as a well crafted bow, but they are endless . In fact, he’d figured out that if he shoots two at once, even if that took a while to master, it’d do the same amount of damage!

He smirks to himself, aiming straight at a stalfoes that is creeping behind Green. With a snap, the stalfoe falls to the ground. The chaos of the battle field, swarming the others with monsters, moving from place to place… it’s familiar; it is a refreshing challenge. Others might’ve balked at the daunting task, but Vio is looking forward to it. It’s time to show off.

With the constant barrage of arrows knocking out stalfoes, allowing Red and Blue more room to work with and giving Green a much needed relief , the numbers begin to thin. He’s even able to start getting hits on the charging moblins, stunning them just long enough for a quick burn or slash on them. There are only a few straggling plant monsters as well. 

It’s wrapping up. Vio observes as the Moblin he shot finally falls to the ground. It is time to regroup. Or it would’ve been. 

He doesn’t know what he feels first. He can’t even think to process it. The tension of every single muscle spasming. Millions of needles endlessly searing into his flesh. From the inside and outside. Little pieces of him, like miniature marbles bursting outward. The shock of the constant repeated force fracturing and fracturing. The burning in his chest, he can’t breathe. 

It’s so, so much, it’s too much. Without a single thought, other than the sensation of indescribable pain, he falls silently down the cliff. Even as his body crashes down onto the unforgiving rocks it still spasms. Red screams before Blue and Green even see what happened.

—--------------------------------

I can’t! No, no, no, no, no, no!!!! Red can’t panic right now, but by Hylia does he want to scream and selfishly look away-

It was horrible, and he saw every second of it. He had stepped back for just a moment, to chug a magic energizing potion. They still had more monsters to fight, after all, and his magic stores were nearly drained from using the rod so much. But then he saw a spark to his right, all the way up where Vio had gone. A sparkling, bright white yellow light, blasting into Vio’s back. Now, he watches.  

Vio looks like he’s choking, like every single bit of him was choking and dying . His piercing scream is silently cut off, and then he falls . He falls and falls until his back hits the rocks and he goes stumbling down, blood splattering against the rocks. Red doesn’t want to know where it’s all coming from. And then Vio is there, sprawled on the ground, a horrible finale. He’s still screaming. 

No, no Vio isn’t the one who’s screaming. He can see his bloody face against the dirt. Red is. 

Blue grabs his arm, nearly shaking him as he tells him to LOOK before he runs off to Vio. Red’s shaking, then he follows Green’s startled eyes they lead back to the top of the cliff. He can only stare as a hulking Darknut trudges behind a row of stubby moblin archers, and even more stalfoes that have already begun jumping off to attack them. Oh, and a bunch of tektites. Because, well, why not at this point?

 Red usually tries to stay optimistic, because you can’t get anything done if you always have a bad attitude all the time for no reason but- Honestly? He’s pretty sure he hates EVERYTHING right now. It’s, it’s alright though- They, they’ve got him- Well, well they all would if Vio was down. But, it isn’t the time to focus on that, they have to keep them away from Vio and defeat them! 

Just because he’s terrified that Vio could be dying this very second, doesn’t mean he can just start crying when they need him! He will go on, and he will be hopeful! Because Green and Blue need him, and they trust him to at least support them! Red refuses to let them down. Even if he really wants to go cry in a hole right now. 

Green screams at Blue, “ DON’T MOVE HIM! We need to get them away from him, Red get here and create a blast! Cut them off!”

Red’s already sprinting. Blue’s hammer smashes into another stunned skull from Green’s boomerang. They’re working to get the monsters away from Vio. The second he arrives the entire earth THUDS as the colossal Darknut finally joins the battle. It’s beady eyes, under its helmet land on Red. 

“HEYYYY!!!, come here you, uh, you ugly face!!!” The monster trudges forward, away from Vio and towards him. The Colossal Axe glistens, ready to slice into him in seconds. 

“Yeahh!” Red waves his fire rod, sparkling in the burning sunlight, like a shiny fish in front of a starved beast. “Come here!!!”

The axe whizzes through the air with the speed of a bolt of lightning, ready to spear him into two. Red barely dodges. Before the monstrosity can take an even more petrifying swing, Green’s magical boomerang connects. The powerful thing freezes the beast for a valuable 5 seconds. 

Within those 5 seconds a few things happen. A small series of whistles rings throughout the battle field within seconds, a code that only they know.  During their quest, they had learned that just yelling out to each other with their own plans always ended up poorly. Maybe, they were all just too stubborn in their own plans, but it definitely wasn’t helped by the fact they could barely hear each other at times. Sensitive Hylian ears or not, in the midst of battles words become drowned out easily. 

Green’s message, a mix of quick patterns, order: B-G- Core Threats & Close Combat- R- Long Distance Quick. Blue and Green would take care of the strongest enemies and the ones that required close combat. Red would take care of the archers,as fast as possible so he could provide them aid. He could run and prepare ahead just on instinct before he even processed it. It was a mercy, afterall… Every second in a battle is precious, especially with someone left in total vulnerability. 

Red breathes in, the blins are readying their bows.  Then exhales, a small yet vicious blast of fire spirals forward causing at least two of them to shriek as they desperately try to put themselves out. His shield is already out by the time the other three’s arrows have hit his shield. As much as Red would prefer to shoot more and scorch them while going in and out, that just wasn’t an option. The best way to stop them from shooting far out into the others, was to get in the way before they could do that. 

Red forces his way through with his shield to break their line and immediately his sword lunges straight into the throat of one of those wretched things. He has to take care of the other monsters, but Red let’s himself smile a moment at the sign of the bubbling blood. Good . He hoped that was the one that shot Vio. 

He has to dodge back quickly in the next moment though, despite the moblins having nothing but bows and arrows, that didn’t make them useless in the slightest. While the armor would definitely protect him from slashes it certainly wouldn’t protect him from their nasty claws aiming at his throat and eyes. 

He hacks away at another one that leapt out in front of him before he even got the chance to orient himself. Keep it steady, keep the pace and breathe. Red tries to slash at one of the monster’s belly, but he’s off balance by one of the burnt ones slashing at his leg! I really need to do better!! Red mentally slapped himself, how’d that one even get there? He seriously needed to keep track of everything or else he’d be hit in his blind spot again. Next time may not be so lucky. His free foot crushes the bastard's neck as he blocks more scrabbling claws away with his shield. 

Red is skewering the one that he had shoved off when he sees the two remaining unburnt monsters dashing toward him with arrows in their hands. What the hell? Oh, the arrows were sparkling yellow with the same crackling sound as a bomb about to burst. It was familiar. Vio . 

All three are charging and from the looks of it they’re trying to trap him with two heading up to his sides and the first one straight in front of him. Red charges right back at the right one bashing into it’s skull with his sword and spinning around, sword first, to face the others. It’s BURNING-  

His sword clumsily sliced into an arm, but the arrows- Those arrows, the moment of contact of it against his own sword make his arm convulse in pain as he yells out. Red’s sword is on the ground. The monster, reeling from its own pain, slashes back at him. Thankfully his armor prevents it from truly getting him. It’ll definitely bruise though. The pain threatens to bring him down, but gasping for air with teary eyes he forces his wobbly legs up anyways. Like the lightning wizzrobe- This doesn’t make sense- Oh great fairies please-

Red knows the dangers of magical exhaustion, he’d lived through it several times on their quest. Vio’s words echoed in his mind, “ Take care to not overdo it! Potions may provide a great boost and aid in recovery, but your body still needs time. You’re exhausted… Green was right about how dangerous it is, besides-” and then Vio softly grinned, “ If you’re too tired who’s going to keep us going? We need your laughter, alright?”

He can already feel the aching soreness creeping on the edge of his fingers. He grabs the rod anyways, and this time there’s a blast. Red doesn’t know quite how it’s happening, but the strange arrows seem to make the flames stronger. They topple onto the Earth and the last half-dead burnt straggler has finished crawling its way to him. Red’s sword in his uninjured hand stabs into the beast’s guts with a wet sound. It dies slowly, scraping at his feet desperate to fight until it's inevitable death. Then, just like the others it rapidly deteriorates into a puddle of steaming filth on the ground. 

[watercolorfreckles]

Of Oak and Sparrow

(Part 2 of The Girl Called Sparrow)

Sparrow returned to the fallen oak tree one final time.

To her, it was a skeleton. A creaking spine wrapped in an armor of bark that, in the end, wasn't strong enough to keep the true monsters at bay.

The sleeping hill was a graveyard beneath the weight of the tree that once crowned it.

Its branches reached toward the sky like bony fingers. The wind whispered through its foliage to pluck down the browning decay. Those same leaves crunched beneath the sole of her boot. She imagined her faerie's hair muting into an earthy brown to match it.

Sparrow traced the scars in the exposed wood. Each mark splitting the stump was an open wound. Its roots and its core were a bleeding heart, severed from the rest of its great height and graceful limbs.

In the tree rings, she saw his fingerprint. Her Kind Oak. The fae who'd held her heart in his hands and treated it with gentleness.

Her tears soaked into the wood's cracks and grooves, fingers tightening around the acorn that promised her a chance at a future.

The encroaching winter drained the life of the forest away. When Sparrow left her home, it felt as a hollow corpse.

She walked until her feet ached and her body swayed with exhaustion. She sank down against the cover of a mossy knoll, eyelids begging for rest. But it would be of poor manner not to acknowledge her hosts.

Sparrow picked three long strands of grass and weaved them into a ring, testing it on her own finger before sliding it off and tucking it into the knot of a tree.

She spoke aloud to any fae that might be near. Listening. Waiting. "I apologize for my intrusion. I am merely passing through, and am most grateful for your hospitality as I take a night's rest. I left you a gift in the hole of that tree. I hope you take no offense to my presence."

Shivering even beneath the thick wool of her cloak, she let her eyelids drop closed as the night swallowed her up.

Sparrow awoke to a pale sun and frost on her lashes. Her breath formed clouds in the morning chill. Scrubbing the sleep from her eyes, her hand slipped into her pocket, seeking the familiar comfort of her Oak's acorn.

Her heart lurched. She checked again. It wasn't there.

Straightening, she scrabbled through the crust of frost coating the ground around her, searching with a despair that made her dizzy. "No- Where--"

"Tell me, I am dreadfully curious, what is so valuable about this acorn?" spoke a voice like crushed velvet.

Sparrow jolted, swiveling around. Her breath caught.

Before her was a fae that glistened like a winter star. His eyes held the glint of cold steel. A knife's edge, harrowing and beautiful all at once. The gently falling snow avoided him in its path.

Pinched between his moon-pale fingers, was her acorn.

Sparrow's heart gave another awful tug.

She reached for it before she could stop herself. The acorn disappeared into the fae's fist as his lips lifted into a flash of pearly teeth. A little too sharp and a little too amused. Something about it reminded her of the maw of a hungry cat.

Sparrow swallowed. She dropped to her knees. "Forgive me. You startled me."

"Such a pretty gift," the faerie murmured. He lifted his other hand, the ring she'd offered up wrapped around his index finger. Surely he was mocking her. It looked terribly simple against the porcelain of his skin. "It is refreshing to meet a human who still knows the old ways. Are you going to answer my question or do I need to repeat myself?"

Sparrow's fingers twisted in her lap. Her blood ran cold. "I need that acorn to resurrect one who is dear to me."

The fae hummed, holding up the acorn again and glancing it over. "This is magik born of the fae wilds."

Her stare tracked his hand as if he were carelessly handling glass. "I have no knowledge of its origin. Only that the tree this acorn fell from was tethered to a fae who could not leave its shadow. The tree was cut down. I need to plant that acorn to give him renewed life."

The fae's smile was that of a predator toying with its prey because it found the creature's helplessness against it adorable. He crouched in front of her, nimbly balanced on the balls of his arched feet.

His head tilted. "Give me your name and I'll return your precious acorn to you."

"That, I cannot give you," Sparrow said softly. "My acorn is no use to me if I am too intoxicated by your sway to plant it."

"What difference does it make?" The fae's cadence was the crackling of a candle flame; the sparks that rain down from a shooting star. "Even if you plant the seed, years will pass before it grows tall enough to harbor your fae in its shadow; a great many years longer than if this were an ordinary acorn. Magik born of the faerie realm behaves as the fae wilds do. Time is of little consequence there. A moment is stretched for decades.

"Humans age in an instant. What will your dear one think of you when time creases your face and steals your youth? What will happen when you fall away to dust and your love is trapped alone in the confines of a shadow?"

It took the taste of metal in her mouth to realize she'd bitten down on her lip. Her insides swam.

Her mother's voice was clear in her head:

Do not make dealings with the fae.

Follow the rules of fae etiquette.

Do not owe anything to the fae. They will always collect.

But if he could magik a better way... If she could see her love again...

Sparrow forced the fear from her voice. Fae hated weakness, her mind screamed. "Will you make a deal with me?"

The faerie's wicked smile split further across his perfect face. "I was hoping you'd ask."

Look at meeee, i posted twice in a little over one week

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[pierdutaintimpsispatiu]

Dragobete

A romanian valentine's day.

The son of Baba Dochia (another folkloric being in our mythology), Dragobete is the patron of love and bringer of spring. His coming is awaited with flowers. His calling is to kiss the girls on this day, 24th of February, because the girl who isn't kissed shall remain single the whole year.

Dragobete, or Dragomir by his first name, is a young god, beautiful, a lover by nature, strong and charming, bringing joy in people's lives. Because no one knew who his father was, they assumed it was the Spirit of the Mountain.

When our loverboy was born, four ursitoare (fairies godmother) came to offer him the most generous of gifts. The first one, Spring, blessed him with love. Summer, the second one, gave him the sweetness of ripe fruits. The third one, Autumn, gave him a flute, to bring joy to those who hear him play, while Winter, the fourth fairy, offered him a white coat, adorned with diamonds and a red belt, sewn with pearls. The coat was designed to grow with the boy, never getting dirty, no matter how much he wore it. Because of these gifts, Dragobete managed to make every girl he wished, fall for him.

As he grew, he took the path of mountains, hearing the call of his parents, to learn all about plants and animals. Which is why, in the folk belief, Dragobete is also the protector of birds and herbs.

Another belief have him turned by his mother into a medicinal plant called Năvalnic. The plant is used in love spells and treating wounds.

to celebrate Dragobete, the girls go in forests and plains in search of the first flowers of spring and hang them on icons to be young and beautiful and keep away all jealousy and bad thoughts sent their way. dried flowers are thrown in a running water on Sânziene day, so all the evils will go away with them. if they found ripe berries, they'd take the flowers and make bouquetes that were put in their water, as they washed their hair while saying „Flori de fragă Din luna lui Faur La toată lumea să fiu dragă Urâciunile să le desparți”. (Berry flowers of the month of February, make it so that everyone likes me, cast away all ugly thoughts and wills from me)

the boys would pick ghiocei (snowdrops) and bring them home, because an old saying goes "as many flowers in your house, as many chickens in your farm"

those who are single on Dragobete, or don't manage to kiss, or the very least touch, a person of romantic interest, are doomed to another year without finding their soulmate.

those who have a partner and spent even a second with them on this day, will be together the whole year.

if you dream of your crush the night of Dragobete, speak to them and their heart shall open for you.

anyone who sees a pupăză (hoopoe) on this day, will be lucky all year long and if you see a pair of birds, you'll always be loved (birds are known to chose a mate this time of year).

early in the morning, young women would also search for remaining snow, melt it and wash their hair and face with it, to have clean skin and healthy hair.

another belief says that if you go on a date on Dragobete and don't kiss, you and that person will break up

as a boy you have to drink a special tea, made with sour cherry brenches to have a chance at love the year that's to come.

if men are mean or fight with women on this day, their spring will be filled with bad luck and they'll have an awful year

everyone should be happy on 24th of February, to honor Dragobete and convince him to bring them a lover

in some places, girls would put busuioc (basil) under their pillows to dream the face of their soulmate

in other parts, girls would run, chased by boys. if a girl was caught and she liked the boy, they'd kiss as everyone watched, which symbolized their wedding in the fall.

and some other places sent their girls – who haven't eaten or washed that morning – to pick popelnic (a type of wood) and wash their hair with it, leaving behind as an offering to the god, bread with salt and eggs. in the meantime, the guys dance in horă (a type of dance where people hold each other in a circle and, well, dance) and pick ghiocei (snowdrop)

Dragobete is, as you might have noticed, quite a pretentious god. on top of it all, he doesn't like you killing or sacrificing animals on his day. nor does he want you to sow, wash anything, iron clothes or work the field. the only work he allows is a deep cleaning of the house

Happy Dragobete, love is in the air!

[bodynblood666]

Secret Whiskers

summary: Cirrus finds a hurt cat in the woods and brings it back to the Ministry. She tries and keep the cat a secret from the rest of the ghoul while she's nursing it back to health. word count: 1,508 tags: fluff, injured animal (nothing explicit), idk what else notes: zoo writing again?? who would have thought. shoutout to my bestie for helping me with this. we're geniuses together fr.

1. New Furry Friend

The cold winter snow had melted and the green grass was peaking through the dirt. All the ghouls would be out doing their things. Mountain had finally come out of his long winter nap, ready to breathe new life into his sore bones. Cirrus loved this time of year, the fresh flowers being planted across the Ministry. Although the Ministry  may not look as vibrant as it would in late spring, Cirrus likes it better that way. It felt calmer, more relaxing than the bombardment of colors and smells that flooded her senses. During this time of year Cirrus would spend hours just roaming around outside. Whether it’s in the forest, just behind the Ministry. Or by the pond, all the way on the other side of the yard. Cirrus would spend all day outside if she could. 

When Cirrus woke up in the morning, she decided she was going to wander around the forest. It doesn’t matter how many times she’s been in the forest, Cirrus alway found new paths to go on. Cirrus pulled on her pair of boots and a jacket and hurried out the door as fast as she could. Once Cirrus opened the big heavy doors of the Ministry, a strong cool breeze pushed its way past Cirrus and flooded the Abbey. Cirrus slowly closes the door behind her, trying not to draw any attention to herself. Once the door closes with a soft thud, Cirrus makes her way to the forest. She isn’t in any rush, it’s quite the opposite actually. Cirrus likes to take her time on her walks, always looking at the scenery around her. Watching as nature just exists around her. Cirrus never had anything like this in the pit. It was always so dark and quiet. Everything burned and died. Ever since she was summoned, she always had gone on walks. Appreciating the world she was lucky to be summoned to. She would never take it for granted. 

As Cirrus went deeper into the forest, she kept hearing something. It was a low crunching sound. Cirrus turned around to see if she could spot whatever it was that was following her. But all she saw when she turned around was the still dead leaves of fall. Cirrus continued walking, thinking it was only her footsteps crushing the leaves under her. But she knew the sound of her own footsteps and it wasn’t low and light like the strange sound behind her. Despite being an air ghoulette, she had a rather heavy walking style, quite like Mountain’s. 

Then she heard it. Meow. Cirrus froze in her place. Then she heard it again. Meow. Cirrus’ ears moved like a satellite, trying to pinpoint the exact location of where the meows were coming from. After a few more meows, she had found the source of it. It was a small tabby cat laying in a little pile of leaves behind a fallen tree. The cat seemed in pretty bad shape. It had an almost torn off ear, wounds all over his body and possibly a broken leg. Cirrus slowly approached the cat, trying desperately not to startle it. Even though it probably couldn’t run away even if it wanted to.

“You poor thing,” Cirrus all but whispered as she stuck her hand out for the cat to smell. “Let me help you.” She shucked off her jacket and carefully wrapped the cat up in it. She brought the cat close to her chest and lightly started petting its head. The cat, almost immediately, nudged its head against Cirrus’ hand. Cirrus smiled as she watched the cat settle up against her warm body. She knew right then and there that her walk would be cut short.

“Come on buddy, let’s get you all fixed up,” Cirrus started making her way back to the Ministry, hugging the cat ever so close to her body, without hurting it even more of course. 

☾✵-----------------------------------------------------------------------✵☽

Cirrus creeped through the ghoul den, ever so quietly. Trying not to wake the rest of the ghouls up. Even though it was almost midday at this point. She pushed open her door with her elbow, while keeping a protective hold on the little treasure in her hands. Cirrus gently places the cat on her bed and quietly starts to raid her shared bathroom with Cumulus of all the first aid things. Once she grabbed the first aid box, she started tending to her new friend’s wounds. Wrapping its leg, cleaning the wounds on its body and bandaging its ear. Honestly she was impressed with how well she patched it up, considering the first aid products she had weren’t really for cats. 

Cirrus sat on the edge of her bed, thinking about what she needs to do now. She’s never taken care of a cat before. Hells she never took care of any creature like this before. As Cirrus was pondering her next moves, the cat slowly limped its way over to her and started pushing its head against her arm.

“Oh,” Cirrus exclaimed. “You must be hungry, huh. I don’t know what we have that you can eat. But I can try and find something.” Cirrus gave the cat a little scratch on its head before standing up and leaving the room. As she made her way through the den, it was clear to her that everyone was finally awake. 

The smell of sizzling bacon floods the ghoul den as someone cooks breakfast in the kitchen. As Cirrus makes her way to the kitchen, Cumulus’s head pops up as she quietly makes her way over to Cirrus and gives her a tight yet gentle hug from behind, holding her every so tight to her body. 

“Goooood Morning!” Cumulus says in a bright and cheery tone. “So Rus, How was your walk? Where did ya go?” Cumulus said, keeping her upbeat tone.

“Oh h-hi Lus,” Cirrus says, slightly startled by the over energetic ghoulette. “I, uh, didn’t go very far. I went to the woods. Something startled me so I came back early.” Cumulus noticed the slight nervousness in Cirrus' voice as she spoke. 

“Really?” Cumulus asked, free Cirrus from her embrace. “I thought nothing really scared you, Rus.”

“I just heard noises and it freaked me out,” Cirrus chuckled slightly. “Lus I will tell you all about my walk later but I really need to go and eat some breakfast. OK?” Cirrus hurried into the kitchen, leaving a confused Cumulus behind.

Cirrus let out a heavy sigh as she finally got to the kitchen. Standing in front of her was a ghoul she hadn’t seen in months. Perched over the stove, sleepiness still fogging his head. Cirrus watched as he slowly turned the pancakes over. Cirrus chuckled as she made her way over to Mountain.

 “Give that to, my fern,” Cirrus said and she carefully took the spatula out of Mountains. Mountain gave Cirrus a muffled groan in return as he buried his face into her neck. “I know you want to get back to some normalcy, but you just woke up! You don’t have to make breakfast.”

“But morning breeze, it’s my job.” Mountain retorted, voice muffled by Cirrus’ hair.

“You’ve been asleep for 3 months, Mount. Your body isn’t used to being awake. Let it wake up before you return to your normal activities. Besides, who do you think has been making breakfast for the past 3 months?” Cirrus stated. As Cirrus was spreading all the food across ten different plates, making sure to put extras on hers, the rest of the ghouls came flooding into the kitchen, taking their respective places at the table. Once everybody started eating, Cirrus took her plate and made her way back to her room. 

“Rus,” Sunshine called from the table. “Where are you going?”

“Oh I, um, I’m working on a, uh, new piano solo in my room and I don’t wanna forget it, ya know.” Cirrus stutter. “Well, bye.” And before anyone could say anything, she was gone, already opening her door and closing it tightly behind her. 

“Ok Mr. Kitty, I got some food here that you could possibly eat, but frankly I don’t know if you can eat it,” Cirrus places the plate of food on top of her dresser. When she turns around, she finds her jacket completely abandoned. A frantic look appears on Cirrus’ face as she starts to look through every nook and cranny, trying to find her new furry friend. When all of a sudden she hears a low purr, ringing through her room. She lifts her head up from where it was under the bed, to find the cat, nuzzled ever so tightly in between her stuffed dinosaur right on top of her bed. Cirrus smiled as she watched the cat’s body move up and down rhymically with its breath. 

“I’ll save the food for you when you wake up, don't worry.” Cirrus smiled while stroking the cat's head, ever so gently. Trying to not wake it up from its slumber.

[thelazyecrivain]

Fluffbruary - Day 17 (Fantasy)

Seventeenth day of @fluffbruary, using the prompt "fantasy"

I know, I cracked up. I wanted to keep it short when I saw how late I was, but I love this kind of AU so much that the more I wrote, the more ideas I had. If anyone has similar fics to this one, Prince Sherlock and Knight John, I'm interested!

Read on AO3

French Version

-----

John jumped on his white horse, and ordered it forward. A dozen guards followed him and together they rode into the magical woods surrounding the royal family's residential castle. It was starting to get dark, so Captain Watson must not waste any time

This morning the younger of the two princes set off on his morning walk. Normally, Greg Lestrade, the Prince's personal guard, goes with him. But in a matter of seconds, he managed to lose his guard. It wasn't the first time this had happened, so it didn't worry the king and queen. When seventeen o'clock struck, tea time, and the prince had still not returned, the parents ordered him to be fetched. The order was given directly to John, the captain of the royal guard. He chose ten men, took what was needed to treat the prince if he was in a critical condition, and rode his horse into the forest, which was known to be a place where you would not venture into at night, at the risk of your life. 

Three hours later, night has fallen completely, their lantern dimly illuminating their path. Still no sign of the prince. He knows he has been ordered to keep looking for him until he finds him, so he refuses when one of the soldiers offers to set up camp for the night. If they want to avoid one of the many creatures in the forest, they must keep moving.

The Prince's personal guard was with them and despite the directions he gave on the path they had taken this morning, still no sign of the Prince.

When John yawned for the third time in a minute, a cry was heard throughout the forest, waking him up abruptly. Without thinking, the whole group galloped towards the cry, John and Lestrade in the lead. But if they could guess which area it was in, they could not determine it precisely. John ordered them to split into pairs.

John and Lestrade together, walking through their patch of forest when he finds tall grass crushed by a man. At a glance, they understand each other and follow this trail. They arrive at a large waterfall, framed by majestic plants, the blue water magically illuminating. John could have stopped and admired it if the prince wasn't at the top of the waterfall, what looks like a wolf preventing him from moving away from the edge.

John orders Greg to fetch the other guards while he follows the passageway to the top of the waterfall. Soon he reached the top and saw the terrified prince on the verge of falling into the water, the white wolf making his size pushing him towards the edge while growling. When he saw John, the latter beckoned him to be quiet. He dismounted, drew his sword and took the wolf by surprise. He stuck the blade in its throat, giving it no chance. 

The animal tried to defend itself against its attacker but fell down, dead. Except that by turning suddenly, the wolf frightened the prince who took a step back. This was the step too far and John could only watch him lose his balance and fall. John didn't think twice and threw off his cloak and sword before following the prince and diving into the water.

The shock of the cold water took his breath away but he soon saw the prince sinking to the depths, and swam towards him. He managed to catch him, sticking to him so as not to lose him and quickly surfaced. He took a deep breath as he emerged from the water and was greeted by all the other guards. John swam to the edge, taking care to keep the prince's head above water. 

He was helped to pull the prince out of the water, lying down on the grass and John did not waste a minute. He tried to nurse the unconscious prince back to health, while the other guards, illuminating them, could only watch John do it, hoping he would succeed. If they brought the prince back lifeless, the Queen would not be kind to them.

Fortunately, a sigh of relief was heard throughout the group as the prince began to cough, expelling the water lodged in his lungs. John helped him sit up to prevent him from choking.

"Captain Watson?" The prince asked weakly. John smiled at him, wanting to reassure him.

"It's over, my prince." John says gently, not wanting the others to hear him. "We're here to take you back."

(continue below the cut)

The prince's handsome face twists in pain, then his body begins to tremble. The night was cool and his waterlogged clothes did not help him to warm up. John ordered something to dry the prince and two guards went to get towels, which they always keep with them, and asked others to fetch his horse and cloak still at the top of the waterfall. He took off the cloak and part of the prince's clothes, glancing at the other guards to make them turn around. He wiped him with the towels and draped his cloak around his trembling body.

He mounted his horse and with Greg's help, the prince rode in front of him, his legs on the same side, his head resting on his shoulder. John had his arms around him to keep him from falling and to keep him close. He managed to dry himself off slightly and change by stealing dry clothes from the other guards.

They made their way back, everyone already dreaming of their bed or a fire. The Prince's trembling calmed as he went, his still wet curls tickling John's face. John kept one hand protectively around his waist while the other held the horse's reins. The ride back was quicker and John quickly made his way to the main entrance of the castle while the other guards made their way back to their huts. Only Greg follows him.

He held the prince tightly against him and dismounted, carrying him towards his chambers. A panicked servant girl saw them and John ordered her to tell the King and Queen. He found the prince's room and went in to lay him on his bed. Three maids arrived in the room and John had no say in the matter as he was removed from the room. 

The eldest maid, Mrs. Hudson, reassured him that he was in good hands and that he would be told as soon as he was well. The King and Queen soon arrive, thanking him and his team for finding him and when they offer to return with the other guards, he refuses, saying he will leave once he is sure the Prince is well. The royal couple did not object, but John did not miss the look they gave each other.

John ended up alone in the hallway, watching the maids go in and out of the room, with the doctor arriving a few minutes later, obviously rushed out of bed. John is a doctor, but the Queen had refused to allow him to care for the Prince, saying that he had already found the Prince and that she could not ask him to care for him in addition.

But seeing the doctor being driven away with hoarse cries, John was not surprised when a servant girl went to fetch him, her tired eyes begging him to accept. John followed her and set to work immediately, under the watchful eyes of the prince's parents. Despite the fact that he was beginning to feel tired, he did his job well. The Prince is awake but completely exhausted. He watches him behind his heavy eyelids, his eyes never leaving him.

He explains that he has caught a cold and will have to rest for several days. There is nothing broken, no visible injury, but there is a risk of pneumonia. The Queen agreed when John asked if he could stay at his bedside tonight to watch over him. Clean clothes were brought to him, and a cot to sleep on at the foot of the bed, and at last there was no one left in the room but him and the Prince.

He lay down, sinking into a light sleep, ready if the prince needed anything. He was right, for later that night the Prince called faintly to him. John got up to see him shivering, completely buried under the sheets except for a few curls sticking out.

"Prince Sherlock?" John whispers.

"I'm cold." Explains the prince while pulling his head out of the sheets. He looks so vulnerable that John's heart sinks.

John sees the fireplace and turns it on before pulling the prince out of bed. He moved his cot to stand in front of the fire and took the sheets from the Prince's bed and put them around his shoulders. The prince thanked him silently with a look. He sat in front of the fireplace, the large sheets wrapped around him warmly. John went to fetch a chair when the Prince called to him again. He turned to see him lift part of his sheet.

It's an invitation.

It's true that the idea of being warm next to the prince he loves makes him want to, but if they're caught in such a position, one might get the wrong idea and the Queen will never tolerate it. When the prince sends him a pleading look, he cannot say no. He settled down next to him and immediately the Prince settled against him, his head against his shoulder, and a warmth spread through John's chest. It wasn't coming from the fireplace.

He dared to put an arm around him, keeping him close as he felt the prince warm against him. He rested his back against a chair behind him and allowed himself to close his eyes, letting the prince's breathing lull him to sleep.

***

He wakes to the sound of birds, a weight on his chest and hair tickling his face. There is a conversation, words exchanged in a low voice and it takes John's sleeping brain a while to realise that it is Prince Sherlock and the Queen. He wakes up abruptly, ending the conversation. He thought he would fall into the Queen's angry, accusing gaze, but instead he saw kindness, a gentle smile on her lips. His son had the same expression, looking peaceful. Not many people are lucky enough to see the Prince so cold looking so serene.

"How are you feeling, Captain Watson?" The Queen asks.

John nods, wary all the same.

"Don't worry, I know you would never want to hurt my son."

John nods and can see the smile the Prince sends his way in the corner of his eye. 

"To tell you the truth, I've been wanting to talk to you for a while." Her face hardened, and John understood that this was a rather serious matter. He felt the prince tense against him. "For some months now, my son has been telling me of his interest in you." She said without sparing a word.

He looked down at the prince, surprised. The latter blushed, while keeping his eyes riveted on his mother. 

"I was not in favour of such an affair. But you are a respectable man, a brilliant guard who has risen through the ranks, loyal to our family and for some inexplicable reason my son has set his sights on you. After much discussion, my husband and I have decided that we will allow your union."

John is speechless. He could never have dreamed of such a thing. The hopeful look the prince sends him only makes his heart beat faster.

"Just one question." The Queen nodded. "Would I be able to continue to perform my job as royal guard." 

"Obviously, I know you value your position as a captain in the Royal Guard. We will discuss these details later." She said with a wave of her hand. "I'll leave you to discuss all that with the prince."

She smiled and left the room. John looked at the prince as she closed the door. He flicked a fallen curl back onto his forehead with his fingertips, before placing his hand on his cheek, caressing his skin with his thumb. The prince closed his eyes.

"Is this really what you want?"

"More than anything." Sherlock murmured.

He kissed his forehead, whispering "my prince." The concerned man smiled before opening his eyes, his gaze filled with tenderness. He could only kiss him tenderly.

Five months later, they were married, surrounded by John's friends and the royal family.

(tell me if you wish to be tagged !) @topsyturvy-turtely @missdeliadili @mxster-jocale

[deadxlv]

Far Away Soul, White Cold Star 💫

Chapter: 17 p.3 “Fated Clash of Heart and Will”

Leaves softly blew in the early harvest season, fish-like creatures swam in the rivers and streams, small winged animals hopped from tree to tree gliding back and forth with extended skin membranes, peaceful sounds echoed throughout the endless abyss of red woods. Out of the fabric of thin air traveling at high speeds two beings collided again and again and again, the peace was disrupted, and the surrounding wildlife perished in the strength of the shockwaves emitted from such powerful beings. Eyes glistening in the early morning sun the fight had only just begun to pick up. Long bantering aside the emotion of gruesome death haunted those surrounding them, only their movements being so fast it caused air vacuums to form when they re-emerged to hit one another. Explosions were all that you could see..now get me up close and personal~

Blade of faded purple grass softly blew in the wind ever so graceful- ripping through the underbrush Hijìn flew out from a gust of wind knocking him back, shoulder hitting the ground he bounced up soon rolling before pounding his fist into the ground catching himself on some roots only for V to reappear above him swinging a strong kick to his head. Explosion of dust, vegetation, and debris erupted from the attack, just from within the two hadn't even budged. Hijìn thrusting his right arm forward blocked the kick getting slammed into the ground, V hopped up snarling in annoyance soon spinning mid air to grab Hijìn by his hair and thrust him headfirst into the ground. Missing her chance to grab him, Hijìn got a hold of her arm trying to launch a kick to her side to stagger her, but out from her soft light green skin erupted many thorns stabbing at his hands making him lose his grip causing him to exclaim out in pain with blood shooting out of his palm. Seeing blood drip out of his arm caused her to laugh out in a sense of victory only this was just a taste of what she could do; In a counter action in such short time Hijìn would swerve to the side making the chain wrapped around his arm to spin and the blade at the end to sway in multiple directions since she was in the air and hand limited movement, However, in a change of events as the blades nearly graced her cheek she would somehow dodge them without even moving responding to him by shoving her boots down his neck crushing him beneath her heel. He planted his feet into the ground gritting his teeth as he choked out from how hard she stepped down on him, ground beneath them slowly crumbling he grabbed a hold of his head and did a backflip slamming him face first into the ground. Hijìn's body bounced from the force he was thrusted at, he shook his head in frustration knowing damn well she was going to do something again to try and catch him off guard, punching off the floor that very instant and launching his chain blades in all directions almost acting like a barrier between her and him to give him some time.

  Speed of his blades gliding past his armor caused small sparks to shoot out and cause a small gust of flame encircling Hijìn as he spun them faster and faster, chains swung by his neck, blades scrapped over his armor, flames lashed out at his exposed skin only thing was he just couldn't care. Mind focused on etching out to where that accursed woman would be he tried to picture the scenario failing to realize that he had on crucial fatal flaw in his planning...she dominates in range. From a nearby tree away from the small buildup of flames and serrated swinging blades V sat down on a branch just watching him act a fool, a smirk and she pointed down to him causing a hellfire of arrows from thin air to rain down on his pathetic mortal ass, the arrows ripping through everything in their path leaving everything with large holes in them. Eyebrow raised Hijìn could just barely hear the slicing of wind etching closer to his direction, his chain lashed forward and swung around his arm causing a rattling noise as it slammed itself against his arm brace giving him just the right sound cue. Instantly turning around on a dime he would slice and dice all the incoming arrows at once as they fell down upon him with his two chain blades, the clinking of shattered Jade Arrows and metal scraping of his blades rang throughout the woods as he went all out, yelling in his growing rage while the chunks of jade arrows blew all around him. Pieces bouncing on the soft charred ground soon fading into nothing but dust marked the step two of V's plan, Step 1: Reveal a Mutts weak Will, Step 2: Reveal how pathetic it truly is to try~, and Step 3: KILL. The arrows running low as none were able to cross his path he took a sharp breath in reassurance as the only form of damage he took was a small cut from his own blade across his cheek and his hand would, just that he didn't account that he was dealing with a psychopathic foresight having Demi-goddess who had a knack for cheating and in that very instance two versions of V sprung out to his sides and in unison would thrust out a kick or a punch causing Hijìn to get sent flying.

  Gut renching feeling as you can feel slowly crawl our your stomach and shoot out your mouth like a viper makes taking this as a soft approach feel like hell shit on your soul, Hijìn's head fell back as he vomited out blood, smacking against branches and random forest happenings in his way as his sense of directions was immediately put off by the hit. V stood at the original location boasting out with four other versions of herself, all of which look perfectly identical to her, "He thought he had that under wraps..alright- let's make him snap~", V said in a snicker as her and all her supposed clones vanished into thin air. Hijìn toppling over reached for a branch to stop his inertia only for his hand to get slapped back and his arm cut at with a blade, looking over it was one of the clones, turning around more of the clones would appear with the same menacing look on their faces, and to settle it the real V beneath him skidding down on the ground without any real sense of consequences. Real V stabbed him in the back with the sharp end of her bow swinging him into the ground before another wrapped a noose around his arm throwing him to the other who shot a multitude of arrows into his body ending with the final two leaping on top of the high faltering Man and simultaneously punching at his face over and over again as they used his body as a skateboard down on the forest floor. He tried to yell out in pain from the last two hits but was interrupted by a fist smashing his face into the ground beneath him, moving his arm over to try and block the hit was stopped by the clone to his right keeping up with him to yank his arm to get punched again, coughing out he growled in annoyance as two more punches caved at his face over and over and over again. Stabbing his blade into the ground with his right he destabilized making one of the clones topple over the other, seeing the change he kicked the first one off and slung his left arm over pulling the clone to him, the clone knew this was the case and let go of the noose soon disappearing into the woods. The final clone on top of him would grab onto his cheeks with a crazed look as thorns and tentacle like growths ripped from her skin and sliced at him, Hijìn grit his teeth as he coughed out blood on the clones face before saying 'Fuck It' in his head and going over biting her nose off with one fell swoop, the clone yelled out in pain as its held face in horror from what he had just done to her. Taking no time he kicked her off, swung his blades over stabbing them into her sides before slicing her in half, the instant she hit the ground the turned into dust and leaf litter; One done four more to go, Hijìn thought as he finally was able to land seeing all the small cuts and bruises left by this whores, cuts soon healing one by one as he took notice feeling it with his free hand.

  Blind eye swiftly turning black making him jerk his head back he would quickly say in a raspy tone of voice, "Before you think or say anything- this isn't a help this is MY BODY NOT YOURS HIJÌN, I'm killing her...not YOU! Consider this a parting gift~", understanding who this was Hijìn grit his teeth as he used his mental strength to push the parasite within him back, blind eye turning back to normal he caught his breath muttering to himself, "Can't...Must..be Fast..". Getting up weakly Hijìn chuckled to himself looking around the woods, sounds of sticks breaking and leaves rustling around him, "Can't break me just yet ladies..I'm not even getting started~", Hijìn muttered with a cocky smirk just as the three clones and V came out of thin air to attack him. V came at him with a flurry of small dagger slashes, first clone kicked at his leg, another tried for tie his legs, and the last came headfirst at him with a full force kick, setting it all in that small moment if frozen time Hijìn stood in the middle keeping the same demeanor not even wavering at what's happening around him. He glanced at each and every single one of them while he cracked his neck and stretched his shoulder, hopping left and right left and right he would soon stop and face the clone ahead of him, "Come~", instantly in real time he ripped the clones leg off and smashed the head of the clone with the rope into one another crushing either one into a pulp. The clone who got their leg torn off screamed in pain as V and the other took notice and jerked back, Hijìn not taking a second to zoom forward and pound that clone into the ground until there was nothing but a pile of meat and flesh on the ground, stabbing feeling in his side made him jolt in his step as a blade plunged into his side yanking him back to another quick stab to his abdomen. He didn't waver in his attacks only growing more and more enraged as the fight went on. Skipped ahead V and the remaining clone vanished into thin air along with Hijìn who pursued them in a mad dash to kill one another, reappearing zooming through the tree line was V who punched Hijìn into a boulder out of nowhere and swerved to the right as the clone came over and started berating his chest and abdomen with full force punches. The clone would stop as she didn't even see Hijìn move for the duration she was hitting him in, looking up she could only cower for a second as all the clone could witness was the man's face having a full extended smirk from ear to ear and that very second the two disappeared again.

  A peaceful meadow in the middle of the woods let life flourish for what remained of the destroyed forest, being met with nothing but hatred as Hijìn and V clashed in the center of it, the two quickly got into a tight punching fight as each one thrusted their arms back before hitting one another as hard as possible with all their strength. V sent Hijìn staggering back until he jerked back and pounded her face backwards, this went on for thirty straight minutes none of them getting tired, screaming from the under brush the Clone pulled their bow out and started shooting arrows at the two regardless if the real V was there or not. The beautiful meadow turned into nothing but a wasteland as the strength of the punches destroyed everything around it with the shockwaves, arrows stabbing into his side Hijìn growled out in pain just as V punched his face back. Falling back Hijìn rolled and pounced forward and tackled V trying to commit the same thing he did to her prior, smash that damnable face in to a bloody mess, clone reacting just fast enough with V blocking that it stabbed Hijìn in the arm and flew into the woods once again with V jumping back up not effected just annoyed in pursuit. They would reappear randomly in different positions most cases with V and her clone gunning the man down from all angles, the worst of it all and the parasite knew this too..was that Hijìn was still holding back, but the truth was that V was as well and it was sure as hell gonna intensify.

  Mountain in the distance had a line of dust blow up its side from something making impact, it trailed up till it reached its peak where a large flash of green light shimmered in the sky, the clouds parted from the power nearly circling around the glowing green light which illuminated everything in miles. Skid up the mountain top was Hijìn, used a sled like prior just this time he was met face to face with the same attack which vaporized his new home, V yelled out in abject hatred as she pulled her shot back and released it. The light flickered for a moment as it soon made contact with the man who could only block from the altitude he was launched at, the shot hitting him sent him flying downwards at breakneck speeds not only vaporizing a mountain but dragged him along the forest floor for a few hundred miles till it exploded in a bright green light. V exhaled hard as she soon fell hundreds of feet back down onto the world, the clouds settling back to their usual positions as fires spread rampant in all parts, her clone catching her mid air as it skid along the ground looking all about to see where the man had gone, "Did..Did you get him?", the clone asked with some concern as it faced the worn down original. V got off the clone and coughed a few times scanning the area until she faced down the charred path through the tree line made by her attack, she would hold her arm in annoyance from it all soon spitting out some blood on the floor. "Tch..No..I already know where this is going and I'm going to avert it..he's not gonna be the victor I assure you", a wipe of her black lips of the blood and a sharp toothy grin spread across her face, "I'm just getting started~", she fixed her posture and clenched her fists as the dark energy surged within her and made her regain her stamina and made her energy more sinister. The clone doing the same increased its likelihood of surviving an assault from the man, being more fragile than the original it has to take precautions as fast as possible to ensure survival..and maybe who knows..throw down the original~?

  Down at the crater site of the explosion the dust finally settled revealing a empty hole, ahead walking down the path one step at a time, Hijìn made himself known, coursing red energy of his peoples technique coursing through him slowly, he's letting his mental control wane. Chunks of his armor blown off from the blast he seemed almost unaffected by such a powerful attack, brown dirty hair blew in the wind as he stared ahead aimed solely for his target. A deep trench made by the attack was what he walked through to make it back, wounds healed from the parasites near forced assistance gave the man a upper edge in combat for now, who knows what this woman could truly do..her potential is truly frightening and her lust despise-able. Clouds rippled in the sky from the released energy of the two combatants, their energy very well could manipulate the very fabric of this strange world if they seemed fit to do so especially since Rajòz only appear when someone strong releases their true power. His peoples blood coursing through his veins made this fight more impactful, before he would have fought just to fight but this became personal when he realized how much of a bigger picture he could be in, attacking not only him...but his family? For what he was taught that was a line you never cross. Only thing stopping him from going all out..was the fact he had to make it back home..B-back to his friend Kÿr..to his GrandFather..Elder Al'Mtharú (Alm-Tha-ru)

Wrestled through the leaves, broken bones, and abject sin ringing through the air meant that only one victor had to come out on top. A strange man of unfathomable hate and love, An Ethereal Goddess of foretold future and of passed life clash in a all out bout to see who is the truth, peace is an option only afforded to the one who kills the other first. Blood spilt and life surrounding sacrificed for their selfish game. The cycle never ends just tells a old story in a new light.

I will Kill her Hijìn..don't you dare forget that~

[westywrites]

The Slaughterhouse

AKA the most afraid I have ever been.

@kclenhartnovels @lux-scriptum after talking about ghosts, I finally got around to writing out my scariest experience in story format. (The only thing that has been changed is the name of my friend and some dialogue as I don't know what exactly we said; otherwise, this is how I remember it happening. We were only 13 at the time. Those of you who don’t believe, feel free to pass this off as an interesting story from a deluded kid, but I can’t deny what I remember from that day. I have never been so scared in my life.)

“This place is super haunted,” she told me over the phone, “please, I can't stay here alone.”

“I don't know, Des,” I wouldn't admit it, but I was afraid to even think of spending the night in a place like that.

“I thought you wanted to explore the barns anyways,” she protested, her own fear evident in her voice. I was even more afraid of leaving her alone there.

“It’s an abandoned slaughterhouse, of course, I want to explore it,” I sighed, “I just don't understand why your mom’s boyfriend decided you should live there.”

“Because it was a cheap and easy fixer-upper? I don't know.” I could hear her fiddling with something on the other end of the line. We sat in silence for a moment. “Please just tell me you'll come.”

“I’ll come.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Desiree sounded so happy she may cry.

I smiled to myself, pushing away the uneasy feeling in my chest. “It’s no big deal,” I lied. I had just agreed to spend a weekend in the house in front of an abandoned pig slaughterhouse, definitely not a big deal at all. I was definitely not shaking like a leaf at all.

My mom warned me to be careful as we drove up onto the hill and out into the woods. I nodded and smiled, assuring her that everything would be fine. She warned me not to touch anything in those barns, not to go anywhere unsafe. I laughed, already convinced that nowhere on that property was safe to begin with. I hugged her goodbye and turned hesitantly towards the house as she pulled away.

The house was small, a little yellow bungalow with rotted once-white shutters. My friend’s pale face was framed in the window, beckoning me to the side door.

“He hasn't fixed this place up yet, huh?” I asked, kicking some painting supplies out of the doorway into the tiny kitchen.

“We’ve hardly even got everything out of the basement.” Des sighed, pushing an ironing board up into its spot in the wall.

“That’s neat,” I said, playing with the latch on the door she had shut around it. I hadn't seen an ironing board that was attached like that before.

“It would be neat if it didn't make a terrifying sound every time it falls open,” she joked half-heartedly. “Let’s go watch a movie or something.” I nodded, and we shut ourselves in her room. We played with her bunny and watched dumb movies until late into the night. To my surprise, the worst that happened in that first night was a fox screeching somewhere nearby.

“That sounds like a woman screaming,” Des cried, shaking me awake.

I yawned and rolled over to look at her. “It’s just a fox, you know what foxes sound like.” She nodded hesitantly. “I have a good sense for things like this, that's why you invited me, right?” She nodded again, more confident this time. “Go back to sleep.”

The next day consisted of casual preparations for our adventure into the two barns later that afternoon. My fear had begun to fade. As I said, I have a good sense for these things, and I wasn't sensing anything looking to harm us. Desiree wasn't convinced we should we even go in, but I teased that it was the only reason I had agreed to come and she stopped her protests.

The hot summer sun had already begun to descend by the time we found ourselves in front of the older of the two barns. We were armed with flashlights and first-aid kits, but the derelict wooden barn still seemed to threaten us with its very being. I marched bravely forward first, forcing my way through the rotten door. There was a small room before another door blocked my path. The empty room and dirt floor held no interest to me, so I moved immediately to pry open the next door. It wouldn't budge.

“We haven't been able to get in there at all yet,” Des admitted. “My mom’s boyfriend thinks that water-damage expanded the wood, so the door is stuck.”

“That won't stop me.” I was full of determination and resourcefulness, and way too much time to waste anyway.

We tried everything we could find and everything we could think up, but the door remained stuck shut. My next thought was to bust a hole in the rotted wall, but Desiree put a stop to my plan before I could even start. “You’ll bring the whole place down on our heads,” she said, and I eventually had to admit she was right.

So that was that for the first barn, and I was thoroughly disappointed. I had hoped for something interesting. My hopes would be answered in plenty when we moved on to the second barn. A modern metal giant of a barn complete with an industrial looking silo and water tank. The outside was pristine, it looked as though it could have been brand-new, but I knew better. The heat from the late afternoon sun beat sideways on us, warming my skin despite the shiver that was working its way down my spine. I couldn't wait to enter.

The front room had the appearance of an office after a tornado came through. There were papers strewn about and a chair laying in pieces. But the most compelling thing was a mini-fridge perched at the edge of a counter. I pulled it open and found a treasure trove of interesting things inside. Medicines, syringes, and even a can of pop stood on the shelves. The labels were mostly worn away from the bottles, but I managed to make out an expiry date on one. 1979. Over thirty years old.

Awestruck, I flipped through the water-stained notebook beside the fridge. The dates inside matched up with the date I had found on the medicine, the most recent set of listings was from November of ‘78. Des came to read over my shoulder, and she pointed immediately to what I had missed. The purpose of the notebook was to record the deaths of the pigs who had been held in the barn. Most of the dates listed had a cause of death written next to them. Illness, injury, behaviour, among others.

“Behaviour is a weird cause of death,” I said.

Des shook her head and pointed at the bottom listings. “That’s weirder.” The dates for November of ‘78 had no cause of death. Instead, they listed the number of deaths, all upwards of 10. According to the logbook, over one week’s time nearly 100 pigs had died. And there was nothing to say why.

“What the hell happened?” I muttered. Des shrugged at me.

“There's still a whole lot of this barn left to explore, maybe there's an answer somewhere.” She pushed open the metal door to the next room, it swung open with an echoing groan. “This is where they would have kept the pigs,” Des announced. 

“It’s dark in there, be careful,” I warned her. Then I saw a light switch just beside the door. Just to see what would happen, I flicked the switch. Des screamed as the lights in the next room came on with a flicker.

“Jesus,” Des gasped, “little warning next time?”

“Sorry,” I called after her, “I didn't think it would actually work.”

I stepped down into the next room. It was long and dirty. The smell was unlike anything I had ever smelt before. I couldn't even think of how to describe it, but a nagging thought popped up in the back of my mind. It smelt like death. The centre of the room was split into rows of short metal stalls, all angled down to meet at a line of drains through the middle. Other than a pitchfork laying in one of the stalls, the room was entirely empty. Our footsteps echoed against the damp cement floor.

“Hey,” Des called back to me, already at the far end of the room, “there's another room here.”

I ran forward to meet her, and we stood staring into darkness. No door stood on the hinges; instead, the doorway looked like a gaping void. Despite the lights in the large room, we couldn't see anything in the blackness of the back room in front of us.

“I'm going in,” Des said. I grabbed her as she turned on her flashlight. She shook me off and stepped forward, almost like she was in a trance. Her flashlight barely pierced through the dark as she stepped through the door. I couldn't move, it was as if something had wrapped itself around my spine, holding me in place as I watched my friend step further into the blackness. The light of her flashlight glinted off of something metal on the ceiling. A hook. Then the light disappeared, and Des disappeared with it.

“Des?” I asked, her name stuck in my throat. The feeling wrapped tighter around my spine and dug claws into my lungs. I stumbled to the edge of the door. My flashlight felt freezing in my fingers as I fumbled to turn it on. The light did nothing against the dark back room. “Des?” Panic made my voice high.

I stuck my hand out and stepped through the door. But before I could even step I ran into something solid. I couldn't cross through the empty doorway. It was as if there were still a door there. A locked, black door.

“Desiree,” I screamed now, repeating her name over and over. I banged desperately at the darkness in front of me, but I couldn't get through that door. Dread washed over me.  So much dread that I felt sick to my stomach. I screamed, throwing empty threats and nasty words at the darkness. I was pissed. I slammed against the solid dark, and it slammed back. 

Next thing I knew I was on the ground several feet away from the door. My chest hurt like hell. I dragged myself up, but it felt like my limbs had turned to jelly. The metal wall creaked as it protested my weight. I looked up at the door and growled.

“Give me back my friend,” I demanded. My voice seemed to come from all around me instead of my mouth. The words echoed through the barn, and the lights overhead flickered out.

Suddenly, the light from Desiree’s flashlight appeared in the darkness. She stumbled forward out of the room, gasping. Without a word, I grabbed her arm, and we ran from the barn out into the bright evening light. We ran and ran all the way out into the fields behind the property. We both stopped out of breath and gasping. I started to cry.

We sat in the field until the sun touched the horizon. That night, locked in her room, Des and I hid in a corner with all the lights turned on. The next day, her mom returned, and I gladly left to the safety of my own home miles away from that barn.

Desiree and her family lived in that house for less than three months before they moved again. Her mom’s boyfriend never did fix the house; instead, they sold it to a contractor who planned to tear the whole place down. When asked why they moved away the family would give non-answers, avoiding the question whenever possible, but I knew the truth. They couldn't live on that property because something was already there, and it wanted their daughter.

[okay-j-hannah]

Part 2: The Herbalist

The Lord of the Rings : Multishot

Samwise Gamgee x Reader

Word count: 3048

Warnings: some fevers and wounds 

Request: “Could I request a multishot with samwise gamgee x reader and sam has always had a crush on her, but on their journey he realizes she's even better than he imagined her to be (like when you stop crushing but actually fall in love)” @ocean-calls-me

A/N: I’ll write the time skips here so you know what’s missing in the journey... I skipped Bucklebury Ferry and the Village of Bree

Part 1: The Forester

Part 2: The Herbalist {You Are Here}

Part 3: The Heroine

Broken twigs and crackling leaves. Tottering stones and disturbed soil. Clopping hooves and trudging feet.

It was all (Y/N) could hear as she strayed from the walking path. The symphony of sounds came from the traveling company on the outskirts of the trees. She could count four pairs of hobbit feet and a pony.

If she strained her hearing, there were the barest footfalls of their new guide. A man gifted in the art of being invisible. It was impressive, even in (Y/N)’s respects. (Y/N) could travel through a forest in the height of autumn – dried leaves crinkling the ground and trees bare of cover – and no one would catch a sight or sound of her.

The man, Strider, made them aware of the dangers Frodo kept hidden in his pocket. And impressing upon them the urgency of keeping the ring moving, Strider led them through wood and marsh to find the elven kingdom of Rivendell.

Sam was all in a tizzy at the thought of being near the elves, “We’re going to see the elves!”

(Y/N) kept her mind busy as she trekked alongside the path, gathering herbs and wild vegetables as she saw them. Anything edible they could snack on to keep their wistful previsions untouched would be helpful.

Although anything edible within the reach of Pippin was at risk of being eaten promptly.

She packed her satchel with handfuls of lavender, yarrow, echinacea, and chamomile where she found them. They sat with the mushrooms and berries she harvested early that morning.

Navigating herself closer to the company of man and hobbits – and Bill the pony – (Y/N) kept just enough distance that she couldn’t be spotted but could eavesdrop.

“… you know I’m still finding reeds sticking between my toes!”

(Y/N) laughed at the sound of Pippin’s complaining tone.

“Be grateful we made it out of those marshes without being eaten alive,” Frodo shuddered, “I hate to think of a poor creature falling prey to those bugs.”

“Poor me!” Merry scoffed, “Those bugs fed enough on me. Look at these welts.”

Sam grumbled, “The sun is getting awful low.”

“What was that Sam?” Merry scratched at his arm.

Frodo adjusted the clasp of his cloak, “Oh, don’t mind him. Sam is just worrying over our dear sweet (Y/N).”

“She’s usually back by now!”

“With food,” Pippin whined, “I wonder if the growling of my stomach will get her attention.”

Frodo laughed, “Leave her be. She enjoys her nature walks – you’re lucky she brings you back anything at all.”

It was quiet for a few more steps before Pippin couldn’t contain himself any longer.

“I don’t suppose Mr. Strider would give us supper with dinner today?”

“He barely gave you a second breakfast, Pip,” Merry said, getting that huffiness that came with parenting Pippin.

By the sound of the clanking pots, Sam was moving his pack around, “Maybe I should go looking for her.”

“Sam,” Frodo laughed, “(Y/N) is fully capable of getting here before dark. She always keeps us within her sights.”

Indeed, (Y/N) jogged a few feet over a hill to find the company in her view. Sam was lingering in the back, worriedly searching the sparse tree line. It made her smile.

And a strange tugging came from her heart. It was the seed of warmth that Sam planted there. It seemed like so long ago that he did. There was potentially something sprouting there now.

The thought made the warmth of her heart travel to her cheeks.

“How much longer are we going to walk?” Pippin asked.

“Well, I believe those are the Weather Hills just ahead of us,” Frodo said, if he recognized their path from the innumerable maps Bilbo owned. “We might rest there.”

(Y/N) had made her way to the back of the company, silent as ever. She gave Bill the pony a scratch behind the ears. “I’d say.”

Sam jolted where he stood, shoulders snug to his ears as he whimpered, “(Y/N)!”

The smaller hobbit laughed where she walked beside Bill, patting his mane. Sam turned to her, shaken, “Must you always sneak up on us?”

“I have to find ways to entertain myself somehow,” she winked. It made her smirk to see that the action turned Sam pink.

“(Y/N)!” Pippin came running, “Please tell me…”

She was already digging in her satchel, “I’ve found some elderberries. They’re tart and will make a nice treat on a slice of bread.”

Pippin held the berries with such care, “Have I ever told you how brilliant you are, (Y/N)?”

“Could be said more often.” She smiled at his rosiness. But her pointed hobbit ears were burning – someone was spying on her face. It was no surprise to find Sam staring at her with a vacant expression, “Yes?”

He shook his head, spluttering, “I – oh, I was just… I’m happy you’re back safe, (Y/N).”

She looked towards her toes, “I find myself assuring you each morning that I’ll return safely and yet you still insist on worrying.”

“Can’t help it,” he shrugged uselessly, “It’s what you get for always being…” But he clamped his mouth shut real quick.

(Y/N)’s eyes jumped to his suddenly wide ones. “For always being what?”

Sam appeared to have lost the ability to speak, falling over his words as he reached for something to occupy his hands, finding his fingers in the face of Bill. The pony was not amused as it searched for (Y/N)’s calming pats.

She snorted along with Bill.

“We have reached the hills of Amon Sul,” came the low voice of Strider, “We shall rest here tonight.” He stood regal ahead of them, clearly unphased by their friendliness in regaining (Y/N).

She peered up at him, still unable to gauge how she felt about his cloak of mystery. “The great watchtower called Weathertop,” she mumbled, giving Sam time to regain his composure, “It used to be the junction between three territorial kingdoms.”

“How do you know that?” Frodo scoffed, amazed. “I thought you never ventured past the free lands?”

(Y/N) shifted to see the attention of the other hobbits, her voice adopting the tone of a much wiser storyteller, “I’ve met a number of Rangers on my many travels. They tell history with accuracy to rival the Gondorian libraries.”

It was difficult to miss the tilt of attention from Strider ahead of them.

She continued, “The watchtower was valued as a point of great intelligence because it housed a palantir – an orb used as a seeing-stone. Many battles and wars plagued the borders of the three kingdoms surrounding Weathertop. It wasn’t until the forces of the Witch-king burned the tower that it fell to destruction.”

Strider surprised them by adding, “And the Dunedain salvaged the palantir and kept it safe in their capital.”

(Y/N) nodded to him, “That’s right. I’ve heard myths of the soil beneath the tower; that the Witch-king ash and the blood of decades of skirmishes created fertile ground for healing herbs.”

“From death and destruction grew the means of health,” Strider muttered, eyeing the coming hills, “Take what you will from myths. For now we will rest and continue our journey tomorrow.”

The company began moving again, but (Y/N) was bouncing behind Merry, grabbing his shoulders, “I fancy a scout of the tower base.”

“And what? You want us to join?” Merry laughed, “You’re barking mad if you think I’m moving after making camp.”

She slung an arm around his shoulders, “But imagine if the growth there had advanced healing properties. I couldn’t pass that up!”

“I don’t think you should be venturing out after dark,” said Sam, “It’s dangerous enough out there in daylight.”

(Y/N) turned to walk backwards and face him, “You really are a worry wart,” she pouted.

He tilted his head and gave her pleading eyes.

“If you’re not back within the hour we’ll come looking for you,” Frodo said.

(Y/N) bounded to him, kissing his cheek, “You’re brilliant, you are.”

“You can’t possibly…” Sam began with growing anxiety.

Frodo held up a hand, “As her first cousin I believe my vote counts more than yours.”

Merry grumbled as the terrain turned into another incline, “But you better be back within that hour, (Y/N) – you best believe I’ll turn up lost going to look for you.”

“I’ll find myself back in that bog with my luck,” Pippin grimaced, feeling another undiscovered reed scratching his pantleg.

~~~

(Y/N) packed her satchel full of valerian root, poppy flowers, and goldenseal. It was enough to make any herbalist happy, but she wouldn’t be sure of their extraordinary abilities until using them.

It was all that consumed her thoughts as she climbed the side of the hill. It surprised her that the hobbits hadn’t come looking for her yet; she was sure it had been past an hour.

That’s when she heard the screams. Unearthly predatory screams. They were accompanied by the clashing of metal.

Her nerves tumbled, fear replacing the happy herbalist. Her walking stick was braced for an attack as she ran the rest of the way to the top.

She could see the rampant light of fire dancing with shadows. It drowned any sound as her focus became finding the hobbits. The focus wasn’t interrupted as enormous, cloaked beings flew around her.

Some were in flames, Strider fighting them off with a torch, others were stalking the edges of the tower. The stragglers were getting uncomfortably close to the hobbits across the way. By the looks of it, Frodo was on the ground, grabbing at his chest.

“Frodo!” she screamed, gaining the attention of the remaining Wraiths.

If there were shouts of reply, she didn’t hear them as she bounded across the crumbling stones. Merry and Pippin were cowering behind a rotting wall, terrified. She felt much the same – only pure adrenaline launching her forward.

Her staff came in between the scaly hands of the Wraith and her frozen cousins. The momentum slammed (Y/N) to her knees, the staff holding her upright and the Wraith retracting its hold. But only for a second.

Breath was fire in her lungs and the chill that seeped into her was mind-numbing. Turning to the source, she cried out – the skeletal hand of a Wraith went for her throat. It was like a split in a glacier.

She clawed at its fingers for a few useless seconds, her veins filling up with the cold that seemed to cascade from its robes.

In the fleeting moments of the adrenaline taking over, (Y/N) dug at the pockmarked stone – her eyes forced to be trained on the Wraith but her hands free below. The darkness beneath the hood was endless, boring into her relentlessly.

She croaked, feeling her airway close off. The image of the Wraith was becoming spotted as she choked.

A gleam of silver shone through the dark and poised for her abdomen.

The Wraith jerked – (Y/N) lunged – and her staff flew to meet the robed arm. It burned. It was bright and it burned.

It was fire. Strider had appeared with his torch and relinquished the hold on (Y/N)’s throat.

She fell into a coughing fit, scrambling to stand but failing. Hands went for her arms, much smaller, gentler hands.

Their voices came foggy at first.

“… all right?”

“… fought them off … needs you.”

She grabbed her temples, “Where’s Frodo?”

Merry supported her side as Pippin beckoned her to the other hobbits. Strider was already giving orders and running to find medicine.

(Y/N) felt ten steps behind everyone as she collapsed to her knees, “What happened?”

“We might’ve lit a fire…” Merry grimaced as he watched Frodo writhe, “And attracted those wraith things.”

Sam was frantic, stretched thin as he fought who to give his attention to, “Are you all right, (Y/N)?”

She wiped at her forehead, still fending off the numbing chill of the Wraiths, “What did they do to Frodo?”

“Stabbed him,” Pippin whispered. (Y/N) didn’t need to look in his direction to know he was pale and faint.

“Here,” she mumbled, feeling for her satchel slung across her waist, “We’ll put some on the wound and make the rest into a tea.”

She revealed tiny bundles of white flowers and another handful of purple petals and stalks. She laid them on the stone floor to free her hands for a mortar and pestle.

A sniffle came from Sam, “He’s going cold.”

Frodo, despite only being wounded for a few minutes, already looked sickly with fever. It must have been no ordinary blade he was pierced with.

The feeling wasn’t quite back in her fingers, and she continually choked on her breath. It urged Merry to take the mortar from her.

“I’ll do it. Get me some water, Pip.”

(Y/N) flexed her numb fingers and found Sam’s eyes on her, “How is he?” she mumbled, inching her way over.

Frodo writhed and gasped under their hands. “I don’t like it,” Sam replied, “He’s getting worse by the second.”

She fished in her satchel again and retracted a handkerchief. Dousing it in a canteen of water, she dabbed at her cousins forehead.

Sam couldn’t help but notice his own initials on the handkerchief. He set his jaw and watched her features.

She was grimacing. She was in pain.

“(Y/N)…?”

She blinked hard and fell into the endless darkness the crept along her vision.

~~~

The first thing she felt upon waking was warmth.

Fire warming her skin. A blanket warming her body. A sickly heat warming her forehead.

A warmth enveloping her hand.

“What…”

“(Y/N)!”

The warmth in her hand tugged as someone shifted in their sitting position.

“Did I faint?”

Sam leaned over her, “You… you’re hurt, (Y/N). One of those Wraiths got you across the stomach.”

A gleam of silver shone through the dark and poised for her abdomen.

Her mind became clearer. So did the pain across her front.

She grimaced, “Ooooooh, ow.”

“Hey, hey…” Sam whispered, “You’ll be all right. Strider patched you up before patrol. He says you won’t end up like Frodo.”

“Frodo,” she gasped, “How is he? Where is he?” She tried to sit up and cried out.

Sam grabbed her shoulders and laid her back down, “You shouldn’t be moving about like that! Frodo will be fine. He’s with the elves.”

“Elves?”

“Strider met an elven friend in the woods. She’s taken Frodo to Rivendell to be healed.” He held onto her hand with both of his, “We’re still a couple days away from them.”

(Y/N) sighed, settling in her blanket.

She let the night air fill her up. She listened for the chirping crickets and burrowing squirrels. A stream was nearby, trickling down smooth pebbles.

She allowed the nature to soothe her, to ground her. She felt back at home in the Old Forest. Except something was interrupting the serenity.

There was a gentle touch to her forehead. It was tentative as it moved to her temple and then her cheek.

Her eyes opened and found Sam gazing at her. It was faraway and achingly sweet.

Until he caught her looking back and his fingers snapped away quick. “Your fever hasn’t changed much.”

She pondered the way he avoided her eyes now.

“It’s the middle of the night.”

He scrunched his brow, “Yes.”

“Why are you still awake?”

“Oh, well – I volunteered to keep watch.”

She laughed and winced, “But isn’t Strider on patrol? I’m sure he has it covered.”

Sam cleared his throat, “I… well, you – you’re hurt. And I would hate to know you needed something and all of us were asleep.”

“You’re going to regret that tomorrow,” she smiled.

He waited a few seconds to respond, gazing at her again, “No, I won’t.” He watched her settle again, grateful she hadn’t mentioned the fact his hand was still in hers. “You should go back to sleep.”

“I’ve woken to a painful wound and an obnoxious fever,” she smiled though her forehead speckled with sweat, “I don’t think I’ll fall asleep anytime soon.”

Sam chuckled and wracked his brains for something to help her. “Where – where do you go…”

She opened her eyes a little to give him a puzzled look.

“When you’re all quiet like that, I mean.” He clapped his free hand over his eyes, hiding his embarrassment.

She squeezed his hand and he perked up.

“I was reminding myself of the Old Forest.”

Sam sighed, grabbing the handkerchief he gave her, “The Shire.” He placed the damp cloth on her forehead and laid his hand there, “I miss it.”

“Already?” she smiled, fidgety with pain, “We haven’t been away that long.” He didn’t respond as he tended to her fever; he was being ever-so-gentle. “What do you miss about it?”

“My gardens mostly,” he mumbled, “I don’t know what it is about a freshly planted garden, but it’s beautiful. To see all the weeds gone, the flowers thriving, and the grass trimmed, it makes me proud. It was almost a crime to see Merry grind those flowers into medicine.”

He trained his eyes on her face to see if she’d smile. His chest swelled at seeing her lips upturn. She could’ve been sleeping if it weren’t for that little smile.

“It’s the sweet and simple things, in my mind, that are the most important. If I’ve learned anything from the outside world, it’s that no one gives the little guys a chance. But don’t they know that one little sapling could turn into a great oak tree?”

(Y/N) hummed her reply, clearly beginning to doze.

“See, some things might seem small and insignificant in the beginning, but they may grow into something more.” Sam put the handkerchief down and instead busied himself with moving her crazed hobbit curls into organized coils. “You just have to give them a chance. It could be so much more if you just give it a chance.”

(Y/N) was taking steady, deep breaths. Her nose twitched as she fell asleep.

Sam’s freckled cheeks were dusted with red as he sighed, “(Y/N)?”

There was no reaction.

“On my mind,” he mumbled, still with his fingers brushing her hairline. “That’s what I was going to say earlier. That’s what you get for always being on my mind. It’s why I worry. I can’t seem to get you off my mind.”

~~~

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[whaleofatjme1920]

Good evening!

I‘d like to request some headcanons or a scenario with Eyeless Jack, whichever you prefer for this ask right now!

What if EJ got hurt in the forest and someone somehow found him? That person doesn’t have a phone ready, since they originally wanted to take a peaceful walk, so they decide to just help him the best they can at that moment. They‘re really just kind and don’t want to leave him hanging, even with mask and everything

Where the Fly Agaric Grows

[GN!Reader]

[Warnings: Like, none? Mention of injury but nothing that major.]

[AN: Sorry for the wait I've been very busy with work. But, had some time for a thing. 1091 words <3]

You've always loved to be out and about in the woods. There's a certain serenity that comes with being able to lose yourself in nature and all she has to answer. You love to go out there for a bunch of reasons, collecting things for your craft, for your home, sometimes little gifts for your friends and what not. When your friends found out about what you love to do on the weekends and in your free time, you were surprised at how many of them wanted bones, herbs, things the world had to offer that you found.

You've never taken more than you actually need. You're respectful of the world around you, and you will treat her with the utmost love and care she deserves.

Today is unlike any other. The sun is just about to rise, you've had breakfast, and are driving out to your favorite forest preserve. There's a huge section that's almost untouched by paths and human influence except for those of you are are keen on it. You like feeling the morning breeze as you drive, the window open just slightly to take in the fresh air. Your grimoire is in a bag, the same one you use when you're foraging. This morning, you're not out for anything specific, maybe some mushrooms for hallucinogenic reasons, just to have them in aesthetic jars - what, not everything in witchcraft is a potion for usage.

You park and then step out of your car, briefly leaning back in to get your bag and sling it over your back. There's dew on the grass that shimmers like tiny diamonds drudged up from the earth as you breathe in the scent of grass and freshly blossomed flowers that line the branches of old trees. You feel the grass under your boots as you step off on one of the trails, taking it as far as you recognize as familiar before breaking off into a path you, and other in the know people desire. Seems that there have been deer crossing through, maybe some elk?

You gently run your hand over the tall grass and let the dew dance across your fingertips. The rustle of the morning sounds such as you journey in deeper. You've come down this way so many times, you hardly look at the things around you in your quest to a pond that holds some fish. You assume someone let them go from a pet store, which is bad for the environment, but they seem to have been here for quite some time. Sometimes, weird plants grow around the edges of the pond, and those are the things you love to forage the most.

But something feels off, and for the first time in your life journeying through the woods, you leave the path and look off towards a deer path, their hooves carving something lined in... Fly agaric? That's odd. You raise a brow and walk outwards, following it, careful to not crush the delicate mushrooms under your boots. The sweetness of the woods begins to smell sour, like metal. Iron. Something burning and singing your nose-

Your eyes go wide as the fly agaric part to what you commonly recognize as a fairy circle, and in it, is a giant grey... man? Monster? Just what on earth are you looking at?

"H-Holy-" you manage to whisper, your heart seizing in your chest as you see the giant man wrapping a large clawed hand over his midsection.

"Stop it," the creature tiredly responds, his deep voice dripping with sarcasm. He looks up at you and narrows his eyes at you. But you find it curious that he doesn't actually have eyes, just deep cavernous sockets that seem to gaze at you with a finality. Near him is a cracked blue mask, looks like it was carved from the trees that comprise the forest. The pieces are practically shattered beyond repair. He makes a movement to stand up, but the gash on his side has him hissing and baring his teeth.

You slowly take a few steps. "Are you okay?" You ask quietly after a long beat of silence, not wanting to spark any sudden movements. "You're hurt."

He scoffs. "Nice eye." When he sees you pull a face, he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry, I don't mean it. Long night," he says as he gestures to his midsection. He shifts around in the middle of the fairy circle and nods that it's safe for you to approach.

You carefully approach, not wanting to get too close in case he's putting up a front, but you can't just leave him here to bleed out either. You look at the fly agaric that surround him and take your bag off your back, thankful you always keep a first aid kit just in case something happens on your outings. "How did you even get here?" You ask as you hesitantly come up to his side, briefly startled by how he takes things from the kit and begins working on himself.

"Relax, I'm a medic," he hums, letting you help him very gently. "You know the lore around these things, right?" He asks as you settle down beside him. He's currently disinfecting the gashes, letting you get to the smaller ones that poke through his pants and on his forearms. After seeing you nod, he hums once more. "We use them too - people like me. Because I didn't have the safety to make a gateway, I had to use one. So it shot me out here." He rolls his shoulders slightly and quietly thanks you for helping him as the two of you continue to work. "Been here all night."

You pull a small face and sit back, rummaging through your bag for some other minor things that you know might take away the pain. "I don't think I got your name."

He raises a brow. "Jack."

You tell him yours and notice the small smile pulling his lips upwards. "Do you have anywhere to stay for... This?"

He shakes his head. "It's a bit... Complicated."

You glance over him a few more times. "Think you can walk?"

He nods.

You begin to pack some of your things up before crouching, resting your forearms on your knees before nodding in the direction of your car. "I have some things at home that might be able to help."

[n0tamused]

Here For You

Tobirama x F. Reader

Genre: angst to fluff

Word count: 3,639

Warnings: nightmares, description of gore

"-They should be headed north now" Y/N spoke to the old woman that sat at the dining table who nodded in relief, head heavy and limbs aching but they all were now safe. The walls were gray and cracked from years of neglect, and the small clans house seemed to be moving in the breeze like thin branches of the oak tree that stood outside. It wasn't until a hoard was heard approaching, surrounding the perimeter of the house. Swords hissing as they were pulled out of their sheaths. Y/n stood frozen for a moment in front of the open door, watching the leader approaching, shrouded in darkness of the upcoming night, the shadows making his expression all the more sinister. Before long Y/n flung forward and slammed the door shut with all force in her body. The house spun and twisted, grotesque imagery surfacing from the walls that now felt like paper. Thin and rough faces screamed at her from behind the walls that framed their features. Mouths wide open, moaning and groaning. Then it all started to spiral out of control. The banging, screaming and shouting and pleading. All of it rang so far it reached the heavens above but no one came to their aid.

Realization came when they were all captured and forced to kneel before the enemy team- she had led her own team out of one certain death and into a slaughterhouse. She had let them all down, she failed them. Desperation and fear tugged and squeezed at her lungs and throat like a giant's hand. It felt as if each muscle was strained and simultaneously crushed as her captors seized her on each side by the arms. Watching her friends die by the blade. They were made to stand in front of her and then, with one swift stroke the sword was pushed through their jugular, making blood run freely into their throat, mouth and lungs. The blade was drenched to the hilt. Splatter of their blood stained Y/n's pale and cold cheeks, eyes wide with terror. She struggled to escape the hold but to no avail, all her power had been drained right out of her and wounds littered her body and made any attempt to move futile. Pain coursed through her body like a fire set ablaze to run wild.

But none of it could compare to the pain in her heart and mind. None of it came close. She wanted to shout and scream, to struggle and fight but that proverbial hand held her hostage until half of her team had been slaughtered. The bodies fell, continued to twitch and continued to be mutilated even after they had already died. Blood oozed and coated the ground, slowly slithering towards where she sat like a snake, before forming into a puddle around her. Guts laid scattered across the yard all around her, bringing a rancid stench to billow and blow all around. Adrenaline still coursed through her and finally it was her turn to stand and come before the bodies. They made her look at them, all their pale faces. Twisted and cut up, stained and blotched with blood of their own. Missing limbs were thrown onto the pile of death; whose, she didn't even know anymore. Smell of metal and decomposition was enough to make her insides twist in on each other and make her want to disappear. And she broke free, desperately clawing to escape, and behind her stood all the dead comrades, dark silhouettes with gaping white eyes and hanging mouths. Furthermore twisted and wrecked. It stopped Y/n from going further, fear seeping into her bones just as much as shame. She betrayed them- she failed them.

From the back she was dragged to the pile of death, her body twitching and pulling and struggling but none of it worked. Cries resonated through the trees in an echo, high pitched screams of despair. The long sword was slicked with blood, blade dull from cutting through so much flesh. The leader chuckled menacingly, but there was no sign of a smirk or even a mouth on his face which a shadow resided on. Black mass settled in the place where his eyes were, and for all Y/n knew he could have no mouth at all. He spoke- however she didn't hear his words, as if her head was pushed under in a bucket of water. She couldn't breathe nor decipher his words. The invisible giant's hand was squeezing more now, she could feel herself turning blue. Screams started again, picking up volume and intensity until it was all she could hear, ringing through her ears. It made her want to vomit.

The sword rose up. The blood riding down the length of the blade before it was sent flying through the air-

She woke with a startle, a small flinch throughout her entire body. The screams of her dreams now replaced by the hooting of an owl far away, the gentle but cold draft came through the open window and left gooseflesh in its wake. For a while the woman failed to move, believing if she moved or even closed her eyes she would be back at the pile of dead bodies. All senses slowly returned to her as the drunkenness of being asleep washed away. Taking deep breaths she felt her heart still racing, moving her hand to settle over the left side of her chest, feeling a fine sheen of cold sweat over her flaming skin.

Suddenly, tears sprouted in her eyes, stinging and clawing their way out before they freely slid down her flushed cheeks. Silently the few tears fell before she gathered the strength to sit up and push the covers off of her, sliding her body to the edge of the bed until her legs bent and reached the floor. Another moment of pause. Y/n felt her head swimming, still not fully recovered from the horrors her subconscious conjured. Finally Kaliyah stood on her legs that felt unsteady, tiptoeing around her still-sleeping husband. The halls were still dark, cold with the dawn slowly approaching and breaching the darkness. Only enough for her to see where she was stepping. Nimble fingers curled around the door to the front porch, gently tugging the door to open and only enough for her body to slip through before closing them again.

The cold immediately clung onto her, making her fold her arms over her chest in a self hug, attempting to contain the warmth she dragged from her bed. She took a few steps before she stopped at the top of the small steps which lead to a garden, a small paved path leading elsewhere, to the exit from the house yard. Looking up at the sky she saw the morning blue color paint the sky, with pale golden hues shining through the few scattered clouds that passed overhead. The night before she remembered the sky was littered with so many shiny specks of light, glowing bright on the canvas of dark navy blue. Not a cloud in sight and with the moon looking down onto them all- she only wondered what she did for the moon to let such horrific imagery pollute her sleep.

Coming to sit down onto the steps she let the cold seep into her muscle and bones. Feeling the rough and coarse texture of the wood beneath her, and next to her when she leaned onto a pillar which she sat next to. The cold grounded her there, bringing her back to reality. Wind brushed through her hair gently, like invisible hands, soothing her wrecked nerves and bringing comfort. Her line of vision then moved down, to the garden below. Remembering the time she and Tobirama were working on those gardens; planting the shrubs and rose bushes as well as many other kinds of flowers. All of what they planted grew swiftly, it all came to a full fruition as now a great cherry tree brough shade to the yard and rose bushes decorated the space next to the fences in full blossom. Red and pale pink, some even white in color. Large petals that would come to form a blanket over the grass once fall came in place.

In the bedroom, Tobirama stirred when she left, having already been half-awake when she too, woke. Believing she were only up for refreshment he didn't give much thought or effort in focusing on that - he didn't hear the small sniffle through his sleep dazed head. But as he didnt hear the faint sound of running water, or her footsteps retreating, his brows knit together and his mind worked on pushing the sleep away. The spot she once laid in was now cold. Pushing himself to sit he looked over to the spot, crinkled covers and sheets, and faint dark spots across the pillowcase. It didn't take a genius in Tobirama to understand what was happening. Nights like these were rare, but certainly nothing new to either him or his beloved.

Infusing his chakra he spread his sensory field throughout the house, slowly pelting over the areas. As he didn't find her in the house his heart leapt into his throat, before finally he sensed her on the porch. He was already moving out of the bedroom by that moment, sensing how her own chakra twisted and turned as if trying to find an offending thorn in the system. Tobirama creaked the door open, pausing for a moment when he saw her curled up figure on the steps. A frown tugged at the corners of his lips as his stare sat at the back of her head, then he was moving again, resuming his original slow and careful pace. He came up beside her, looking down at her and when she finally took note of his presence her eyes moved to meet his eyes.

Scarlet irises glared down at her with such softness and concern in them.

In a form of shame, guilty of waking him up, she cast her look down, bowing her head before returning her gaze to the garden that now looked too much like the yard from her dreams. Tobirama noticed the churn of emotion, eyes barely leaving her expression, only for a moment to follow her line of sight. The Senju sighed, watching the leaves sway in the early morning breeze.

He came to sit at her side, moving one arm to wrap around her shoulders slowly, and bring her closer into his warmth. It radiated off of him in waves, while her own warmth had worn off in the first few moments of sitting on the cold porch. She simply leaned into him, closing her eyes for a long moment, fighting off the frown and the images behind the curtains of her eyelids. Tobirama was at a loss of words, knowing how much physical affection meant for her comfort after such a dream - he didn't want to disturb this little peace he had provided then. It started to build up slowly. First with his arm wrapping around her, then when he added his other hand to stroke through her hair, tracing circles and moving through her locks.

Soon enough Y/n was completely engulfed by his embrace. Her own arms held around his torso, hanging on tight as a few stray tears ran down her cheeks.

"Y/n.." spoke Tobirama. His voice wasn't his usual baritone one, but instead it was so much more quiet, it was much softer, warm with care and love he carried for the woman in his arms. She swallowed the lump in her throat and lifted her head up, enough to meet his eyes once more. Puffy red skin surrounded her beautiful eyes, another tear taking shape already.

Tobirama exhaled through his nose, one of his open palms moving to cup her cheeks. His thumb moved back and forth with such care that it seemed as if he feared he would break her. His calloused hand held her like that, prompting her to move back slightly and let him just hold her and take a better look. His touch alone made warmth blossom over her cold skin, sending her blood circulating as her heart picked up pace.

His thumb caressed her cheek more, wiping away the tears that slid down. Before long his other hand detached itself from her waist and came to rest at the other side of her face; her own hands coming to wrap around his wrists, closing her eyes and basking in the pure solace she found in his hold. Her wet lashes touched her cheeks, fluttering ever so slightly and Tobirama watched, tilting his head to the side before leaning in. Pressing his lips against the crown of her head and holding himself there for a moment. Once he pulled away he searched for her eyes again, only to find them still closed. But the tiniest signs of a smile painted her features, it felt like color and warmth was seeping back into her.

Tobirama raised a brow when Y/n chuckled suddenly, burying her face in his open palms and hiding her abashed expression.

"What- Y/n?" Tobirama wanted to ask what was happening, confused at the sudden change of moods but he bid himself to stay quiet, a chuckle of his own interrupting his flow of thoughts. "What is it?" he opted to ask, searching for her eyes like that would give him an answer to his question.

"It's nothing, nothing at all." she responded, avoiding his gaze at first, but as the silence dragged on she was forced to look up and get captured in the eyes she loved so much.

"Well.... it's just you. You have this ability to be so sweet, and without uttering a single word." she explained herself, soft tone of voice carrying her words like a feather carried by the wind. Her voice was always a lullaby, a song, a melody to Tobirama's ears; her nimble fingers curled around his hands and brought them down from her face. And now her voice was still something so beautiful, now was no exception, and his smile was urged to spread further more at her words. And she continued- "And who would think a man so grumpy, such as yourself, would be comforting his beloved on a cold morning because of a bad dream-"

Tobirama shook his head at that, smile still ever-present on his lips.

"You have to learn to share your burdens with me, and not to hide them away and try to change the subject" he began, placing another chaste kiss on her forehead, at which she still leaned into. The troubles of her dreams would not be easily forgotten, especially not with a simple remark as she had just made. Still, Tobirama knew the limits, if he so much as saw a hint of hesitation he would stop his prying. But he knew the importance of sharing things such as these. Everyone has their limits and he would rather avoid what comes after the said limits have been surpassed. He himself suffered nightmares of his own, so he was no stranger to the heaviness they brought onto oneself.

"Let's get back inside first." He offered, said, as she stood up with one of her hands in his, bringing her up with him. She only nodded, looking at the garden for the final time before turning around with him. She moved languidly, moving into Tobirama in a subtle asking for his warmth again, which he immediately shared. Pulling her into his side once more, his arm draped around her waist as he led them both inside into the vast living room space. Morning was now quick approaching, and it would be no time until both of them had to leave for their own business. Tobirama wished they spend that time in peace and comfort.

The white haired Senju sat her down on the plush pillows at the table, guiding her carefully and gently, a hand on her shoulder before it retreated so he could stand up.

"I'll make us some tea." he announced, earning a guffawed look from his lover. With her neck craned slightly her eyes set upon his face she was met with the most gentle smile. Then he was off, disappearing into the kitchen ahead. From where she sat she could see him move about, fetching whatever he needed from the shelves.

The air was filled with gentle clicks of porcelain cups and soon the water boiling. Steam swirled in and slithered against the walls; white, thin and wispy. It moved like a snake, before being sucked out through a window that Tobirama opened, disturbing the dance of the steam. A subtle smell of mint and chamomile wafted in the air when the dry tea leaves were dropped into the boiling water, painting it a shade of honey yellow tinted with a deep green. The cool air still circulated throughout the home, now no longer as intruding as it was on the front porch but rather comforting when it began to mix with the heat inside.

Once the tea had been sat in front of the woman, her nimble fingers came to wrap around the small cup to lift it up to her lips. She paused, letting the smell come up to her nostrils before exhaling with a smile. Eyes came to close as she basked in the comforts of it. Tobirama sat beside her, nursing his own cup of tea, carefully as to not burn himself. The hot liquid was a salvation, it brought her to an ease instantly and gave her the relief of an empty mind. She had finally felt her heart settle back in her chest, the hum of her natural heartbeat returning. Even as they drank in silence, Y/n could feel the gaze of her husband as he looked over her features ,observing her every now and then, looking for any further signs of distress. And when he failed to find it he went back into his own mind, back to his own tea in hand. The silence went on undisturbed until the cups had been emptied completely. The sun now higher over the mountain that shielded the growing village.

Y/n took the utensils and the cups on the tray again, and disappeared in the kitchen to clean them. The water from the sink poured out cold and it splashed across her hands. It made her throat bob with a pang of anxiety that came out of the blue. Blood of her comrades, cold in her hellish dream. Yet she didn't stop, the thoughts only made her haste her task, and swiftly after she had been drying off the cups and placing them back on their shelves. The wave of disquiet went away, like it was never there in the first place. And Y/n went to retreat into the bedroom to change out of her own sleep clothes.

Tobirama was already inside, pulling over his work clothes just as she stepped in. He would have to take his leave very soon; it brought a sad smile to paint her features. She wished they could prolong their tranquil mornings.

Coming towards him he turned around in time for her to snake her arms around him, pressing her head against his shoulder. His arms came to envelope her, his warmth spreading across her entire body now, and his head came to lean against her. Her breath was gentle as she listened to his heart beat steadily.

"If.. if it would be of help, you could always tell me about your dreams. Don't hide yourself away from me.." said the gentle but gravelly voice of Tobirama; he treaded carefully, unsure of how exactly to word his thoughts. It was plagued with concern, he wanted nothing but to make dreams like this never happen again.

The woman in his arms nodded, eyes closed as she enjoyed the comforts of his embrace. Her hands went loose around his waist now, as tranquility overcame her once again.

"I know... I'm not hiding anything" she replied softly, nudging his head ever so slightly as to poke his neck with her nose. "It could have been worse.. but I promise to tell you when you get back, we don't want you running late" a sharp smile tugged at the corners of her lips and Tobirama seemed to feel it, as a smile of his own crept up his features.

"No, we don't want that '' he agreed, placing a quick kiss on top of her head, rubbing her back before he pulled away to gather his things.

Tobirama walked out to the front porch, his wife right behind him to say their goodbyes. He was going on a mission that day, and the night before both of them shared their time by cleaning off his armor, chatting. Now, Y/n took one more look at his armor, her fingers making a quick brush through his furred collar.

"Now you're all ready to go. Be sure to stay safe, don't be reckless" Tobirama huffed out a chuckle at her words, turning to face her fully with mirth in his eyes. She gleamed at him innocently, grinning before he brought her into a kiss. A quick one for their farewell, a silent promise of return lingering on his lips.

"I will, and you take care of yourself. '' And off he went, striding underneath the long and dark branches, and out of the yard. Fallen leaves blew and flew in the wind, as if following after him in their own silent good-luck bidding. A crow flew overhead, cawing while doing so before disappearing in the far horizon of blue.

-----------

My Ao3

[jackrrabbit]

🤍 Haikyuu WIP excerpts

preview post for hq because recently i showed sara a list of my works in progress and she laughed at me and then made a dn joke like this is 2015 or something. we got:

🤍 communal property /// ushijima x f!reader x tendou 🤍 sunshower /// atsumu x f!reader x osamu 🤍 corporate ethics /// kuroo x f!reader

anyway these are all terrible first drafts and i'm not sorry. however i am very very into these pieces and if you're interested in seeing them finished, you should tell me fr fr

🤍 communal property /// Ushijima x f!Reader x Tendou

Summary: Tendou shares everything with Ushijima—his food, his dorm room, even the AVs he likes. Why not his girlfriend, too?

Tags/warnings: poly relationship in progress (only you and Tendou are dating at this point), mild suggestiveness ??, s*ze k*nk

Status: 10k words written (holy fuck lol) out of ~11k total? this bitch better get finished is2g

After the match, your voice is hoarse from screaming but you still manage to yell congratulations for your boyfriend when you meet him and Ushijima outside the locker room in the stadium. You’re pumped on the adrenaline of the game, so you don’t even protest like you usually would when Tendou picks you up in the middle of your hug and lifts you off the ground effortlessly. “How was I? Awesome, right? I told you we would beat them!”

“You did, you so did—“ Even though your throat hurts, you can’t help gushing about every rally, every soul-crushing block, every impossible spike. “—and then the guy on the left thought he was clear to shoot it but you just—“ You throw your arms in the air and mime hitting the ball down like a blocker. “Wha-bam!—and the look on his face! I thought he was going to punch you!”

Tendou laughs and lays a sloppy kiss on your cheek, just as thrilled as you are by the win. “You really liked it that much? I thought you weren’t into sports.”

“I loved it! You were so cool! I can’t believe I’m dating someone so cool!” You wrap your legs around his back and hug his face close to yours, reveling in the fact that this weirdo belongs to you wholly and entirely, that you get to have him to yourself (well, other than his roommate). “And I’m not into sports, I’m into you.”

Tendou smiles in a way that makes the sides of his eyes crinkle up and little red patches bloom over his cheeks, a look that says, I like you so much (Y/N), I like you I like you I like you, except he’s probably trying not to be mushy like that since Ushijima is standing off to the side.

You feel a little bad for ignoring him (no one likes being the third wheel, even if he never shows signs of caring) so when Tendou sets you down you turn to Ushijima. “And you! Holy shit, Tendou said you were good, but I didn’t know you were that good. The ball when you hit it was super loud—honestly, how are your hands okay? If I hit it that hard I’d probably break something.”

“My hands are fine…this is normal for me.”

But just because you’ve got them here in front of you and you’re still pumped from the exhilaration of the win, you can’t help grabbing Ushijima’s hand and flipping it palm-up to inspect. True to his word, there’s no redness, just the calluses he’s built up on his long fingers. “Wow.”

“You don’t need to worry about Wakatoshi,” Tendou tells you, grinning and then making a face. “He’s a monster, he can handle it.”

“No kidding. You’re both monsters.” You put the base of your palm up against Ushijima’s to gauge the size of his hand against yours, and without prompting Tendou grabs your other hand to press against his own. Tendou’s fingers are a bit longer, but Ushijima’s are…thicker, more solid. Your hands look like a little kid’s in comparison. “Can I be honest? Half the time I was thinking I actually feel bad for the other team. If I had to take on both of you at the same time, I’d probably cry.”

You’re (mostly) joking, but it’s still a complete shock when you see the side of Ushijima’s mouth curl up a tiny bit. You’ve known each other for months at this point, but you’ve never seen him smile until now. Half of you is wondering if this is some kind of optical illusion caused by the atmosphere and the dim light of the stadium cutting through the evening, but the other half of you enjoys it. You made Ushijima smile. You did that.

“Don’t sell yourself short, (Y/N).” Ushijima says, tipping his head to the side.

“Yeah!” Tendou chimes in, resting his chin on top of your head and folding his arms around your neck from his place behind you. “I’m sure you could take both of us. Right, Wakatoshi?”

So that’s probably a sign.

🤍 sunshower /// Atsumu x f!Reader x Osamu

Summary: [Kitsune AU] You find an old Ō-Inari shrine in the woods that may not be as abandoned as it looks.

Tags/warnings: Shinto religion, this preview is biased toward tsumu oops, yearning/soft vibes

Status: 3.9k words written out of 5–6k? total

Atsumu was the one who found you.

That’s how he likes to talk about it, that he found you, like you’d still be wandering around lost in the woods if it weren’t for him. Osamu thinks you would have found your way back home eventually but Atsumu likes it better this way, this framing that makes it seem like they saved you.

It’s hard for him to tell time linearly the way humans do but you mention once that you’ve known them for a year and that seems to fit. It’s spring now, almost barely tipping into summer, and it was spring when Atsumu found you. He remembers because of the way it was raining: light and tender, a summer rain early in the season, each little drop tapping off a leaf and then rolling into the forest bed to be eaten up by the grass and the soil.

Atsumu likes the rain, likes the sweet earthy smell it makes and the way the plants look so lush and green and alive, like they’d bleed if he sunk his teeth into them. He was out in the woods because of the rain ('Samu was in the shrine, as usual, attempting to set buckets under the millions of holes in the roof so the rainwater wouldn’t pool and rot through the wood underneath). But Atsumu was half asleep in a tree when he heard you crashing through the undergrowth, tripping over ferns and snapping every twig in your path (thought ya might be a bear, he tells you later, that’s how loud ya were) but he wouldn’t really have woken up if he hadn’t heard you singing.

(The odd thing is, you weren’t actually singing. You remember that day as vividly as they do: the warm, humid air making your skin feel sticky under your yellow raincoat; the tiny raindrops filtering through the canopy and kissing your cheeks; the ink feathering out on the damp xerox of the old map you found in your great-aunt’s attic so you could barely make out the “X” that was supposed to mark the location of the lost Inari shrine… You were cursing how stupid you’d been to go on a wild goose chase into the mountains with no cell service and no marked trail to look for a shrine that no one had seen in decades. You definitely weren’t singing.)

But Atsumu remembers it differently. No matter how many times you explain that you were just talking to yourself, when he replays the sound of your voice back then (reaching and lilting and falling, the way the birds talk to each other in the early morning, except the music of it was poured into syllables and words), it sounds like you’re singing. He wasn’t sure at first, hadn’t heard a voice that wasn’t Osamu’s in so many years that he gets tired counting them, but then he saw you push into view from between two bushes and he thought, a human!

A girl, too—it was hard to say at first because you were wearing that weird, slick jacket of yours, so bright yellow it was like an oversized flower blooming out of the grass, but then you tilted your head up to feel the rain on your face and the hood fell down and he knew. Not just a human, a girl! Atsumu wanted to yell for Osamu, make him come and confirm that there was a person wandering around not a mile from the shrine. A real person! Singing and smiling and wiping the rain off her cheeks (does that mean you like the rain, just like he does? did you come out to feel it too?) But he also wanted to surprise Osamu so he hid his tails and his ears and came down from the tree and asked if you had lost your way in the forest, since you were so far from any path…

When you think back on this yourself you’re amazed that you just went with him: a strange boy (man?) wearing a fox mask and traditional Shinto priest robes, which were somehow pristine white and red despite him having appeared from nowhere in the middle of a dense forest, who told you he had no idea what direction the village was but he could take you to the Inari shrine you’d been searching for…well. Maybe you were too surprised to be wary, or maybe you were just exhausted and lost. But you like to think you had a sense of it even then, the irrational belief that the boy in the woods was not just a boy in the woods.

Atsumu thinks you knew. Humans always understand, even when they try not to… He remembers, he took your hand that day in the forest and you saw that the claws on his fingers were too long to be human, and you said nothing because on some level you already felt it. Your skin was cool then, smooth and damp from the rain; he wanted to stop, run his hands up your arms, touch the places on your face where your mouth had been turned up at the corners and press his fingers into your cheeks.

🤍 corporate ethics /// Kuroo x f!Reader

Summary: [Office AU] The new junior marketing associate just happens to be Kuroo’s favorite camgirl, and he’s having trouble keeping his hands to himself.

Tags/Warnings: boss/employee, businessman!Kuroo as a reformed player, camgirl reader, this excerpt has a lil bit of 18+ content 👀

Status: 1.2k words written out of 4k? words total

Kuroo doesn’t watch porn.

It’s not, like, a moral principle or something. He has nothing against pornography. As far as he knows, it’s perfectly normal for single men. He just doesn’t like it…unless it’s you.

When he was in school it was easy. Being a teenager meant being so flooded with hormones that a warm breeze could get him up, and the adrenaline rush of winning a game was better than any big-titted porn actress faking moans into a shit-quality boom mic. Sure, he watched porn back then (what teenage boy didn’t?), but it was more out of curiosity than necessity. It was all kind of a mystery at that point, the way it can only be when you’re a clueless virgin and you and all your friends are too busy practicing for the next game to get girls.

Somehow Bokuto was the first one in their friend group to lose his virginity, and the memory of the dumbass self-consciously describing the experience has been lodged in Kuroo’s brain for the 10+ years since. “It was…I don’t know. She smelled good. You know how girls always smell good?” Bokuto’s hands twitched and his face was pink. “It’s just really…soft.”

Soft was right, Kuroo would reflect when he got laid for the first time a few months later. Soft, warm, wet. Sex was awkward at first, but before he knew it it was more natural than breathing.

It didn’t change much after high school, either. He didn’t get into volleyball for the groupies, but they didn’t hurt. There were girls when he played for his college team, more girls when he joined a business frat, so many girls he couldn’t keep track…they blurred together after a while. It didn’t take effort. You don’t need game when you’re 6’2 and you’re in the gym 40 hours a week, and you definitely don’t need porn.

So he never got into it. Now that he’s promoting volleyball instead of playing, things are more complicated. Kuroo’s never been the type who expects things to fall in his lap, but there are so many rules when it comes to dating in the real world. Good morning texts, anniversaries, flowers, parents. It’s exhausting. One time—seriously, just one time—Kuroo misses his girlfriend’s birthday to go watch a Jackals game, and the next time he sees her she throws her drink on him in public and keys his car. After that, Kuroo decides that until he’s ready to settle down there will be no more girlfriends. Which means no more reliable sex. Which means resorting to porn.

Which means you.

You, batting your eyelashes at the camera and biting the side of your lip. You, purring and mewing like a kitten. You, lying back on your pretty pink bedsheets in your pretty pink lingerie, sliding your hands between your legs. It takes Kuroo a full month to decide to pay for access to your website (Kenma’s unsolicited recommendation) but it takes less than five minutes for him to upgrade access to premium. You look like a wet dream—no, you look like the centerfold of every dirty magazine Kuroo managed to get his hands on when he was younger. Pristine and alluring and so deliciously out of reach.

And you make it so simple. No delicate emotional games with rules Kuroo never bothered to learn. No pretending to care how your day was. You untie the little bows on the side of your panties and lick your fingers and Kuroo just has to take his dick out and watch you. Getting off hasn’t been this easy for him since college. You’re a camgirl, you exist on his computer screen, and that’s how he likes it.

Which makes it a lot more awkward when Kuroo finds out that the only woman he’s gotten off to in the past…year, maybe?…somehow just got hired in JVA’s sports promotion department as his junior associate.

Your prim work blouse is buttoned up to the collar and your makeup is different, but he knows it’s you. You have to tell him your name twice because he’s too stunned to respond the first time, and even then he can’t summon up more of a response than a curt nod because his mouth tastes like dirt.

You smile a little awkwardly at his cool reception, and the hand you’d extended out to shake swings back down to your side. “Um, the guy at HR said he sent up my info yesterday…I’ll be working directly underneath you?”

Directly underneath me. Kuroo is taking a sip of his coffee when you say this. He doesn’t spit it out, but it’s close.

[delimeful]

nothing in this world (i wouldn’t do) (2)

warnings: mild blood/violence/injury, demon slaying, miscommunication, impromptu first aid, mentions of spiders, virgil tempting fate with his internal dialogue again

-

Whenever Virgil wasn’t sleeping, he was on the move.

At first, it had been because he didn’t trust himself around towns for too long, and there was always the chance of a real demon slayer getting wind of that ridiculous rumor and trying to track him down and kill him for it, even though it totally wasn’t his fault.

But then, as time went on, his bizarre pseudo-popularity seemed to have a different side effect.

Namely, every time he managed to save another human and hauled them back to the nearest town, he’d be practically swarmed. Antsy townsfolk would hurriedly inform him of the horrible tragedy they’d heard about up north, or the mysterious disappearances by the woods between this town and the neighboring one, or any sort of rumor that they thought a “demon slayer” should know about.

Where exactly were all the real demon slayers when people needed them? Why was he, an actual demon, seemingly more accessible for seeking help?!

Still, he wasn’t exactly doing anything else with his life (his unlife?), and if there were less demons, that meant the world would be safer for Thomas, didn’t it? So off he went, taking the less-traveled paths and following vague leads right into more danger.

His latest case had been a requested one, from a weaver in the last town. She had received a letter from her brother saying that he planned to come visit, and weeks later, he still hadn’t appeared or replied to her many return messages. The worry seemed to weigh her down like a physical burden, and he’d agreed perhaps more easily than normal.

Now, he was wedged into a shallow crevice in the mountainside and sorely regretting that decision.

The issue wasn’t the demon, no. He’d actually been making good progress on getting deeper and deeper into its territory in the past few days.

The issue was that he wasn’t the only one hunting it.

First, it had been a gaggle of young teens, and he’d been so alarmed that he’d almost dropped right out of the trees and ushered them back out of the woods. The less humans traipsing around this deep in demon territory, the better.

Of course, that was when he’d managed to spot the swords strapped to their sides, and suddenly, never appearing before a human again was looking more and more appealing. He’d immediately switched gears from tracking to stealth, and honestly, should have just turned tail and left then.

Instead, because those kids were around Thomas’s age and he still needed to find that weaver’s brother and also he was a sentimental idiot, he trailed them at a distance, always staying downwind and poised to bolt.

They handled themselves well at the beginning, and then the environment began to warp around them, and then it turned out there was more than one demon nesting here, and Virgil had been on the brink of jumping down and interfering, swords or no swords, when--

Between one blink and the next, one of the demons was cleanly beheaded.

The demon slayer-- for what else could he be-- smiled brilliantly as the body disintegrated to ash, holding a hand out to help one of the teens to their feet.

“It seemed like you all could use a little assistance,” he’d said, turning to face one of the other demons with a confidence that visibly unsettled it. Above, a circling crow cried out raspily. “My dear Missus informed me of your call for backup.”

If the stranger’s swift execution hadn’t tipped Virgil off, the way the baby slayers looked up at him with blatant awe was clue enough. This slayer was powerful and charismatic, whereas Virgil was neither of those things, so he was going to stay right here in his crevice until the whole situation had sorted itself out.

The three other demons seemed to have no such qualms, lunging at him in a semi-coordinated attack. The slayer handled them with terrifying ease, and for a moment it seemed that the battle had been settled, as simple as that.

Of course, that was when the landscape twisted further in on itself, buzzing like a disturbed wasps nest, and Virgil realized abruptly that this was the first time he’d seen so many feral, newly-created demons in one territory.

A stronger demon was keeping them all in line, like the queen of a hive. And it wasn’t at all pleased about the intrusion.

The slayer seemed to have caught on as well, his sword held aloft in threat. “Looks like the real fight starts now,” he said with a sharp, cocky grin.

Mere minutes later, the smile had grown considerably more strained.

Coincidentally, he’d taken considerably more damage in that time as well.

The slayer had given as good as he got, but against a demon’s healing factor, it wasn’t good enough. He was losing.

“Get out of here!” he instructed, and the baby slayers hesitated, clearly torn. He shot them a dazzling grin, hiding all signs of fatigue even as another blow rattled his sword. “Come now, don’t you know an order when you hear one? I don’t want any distractions while I handle this gruesome ghoul, so back to town with you!”

He cut off any further arguments by pointedly leading his attacker astray, giving them ample time to flee. Virgil felt some of the tension fade from him as the baby slayers got away cleanly, leaving just the slayer and the queen.

Really, he shouldn’t want the slayer to survive. Not when having a slayer that strong anywhere near him, or even in the same country as him, could easily be a death sentence. That didn’t change the jolt of panic that went through him when the queen finally gained the upper hand, knocking the slayer back into sheer cliff face hard enough to snap something.

… A slayer that protected others from demons so wholeheartedly was one that would protect Thomas.

The queen advanced towards the slayer, wounded and weakened but already gloating about how his flesh would be more than enough to completely rejuvenate her. Her entire focus was on the human’s fallen form.

Virgil dropped down on top of her soundlessly, claws piercing through muscle and fat until he’d torn her nearly clear in half. She shrieked in outrage, but a skull-crushing stomp was enough to knock her unconscious for at least a few moments.

The slayer, exhausted, half-crumpled against a tree, and his shoulder very clearly dislocated, looked up at him for a moment with something like hope.

When they met eyes, however, that was swiftly extinguished in favor of wary frustration.

“Another demon?” he complained, trying rather unsubtly to grasp for the sword that the queen had knocked free of him. “Exactly how many monsters can one fit on a single mountain?”

The sword was entirely out of reach, but Virgil kicked it a little further away for good measure. The slayer shot him a petulant glare.

Virgil pointed at a scrap of bloodied cloth left behind from one of the baby slayers, trying out a questioning rumble. Backup coming for you?

“I’m offended that you think I would answer that,” the slayer responded, nose upturned, “or any other monosyllabic interrogative questions, for that matter.”

Virgil growled low in his throat, frustration bubbling up. If he ditched the slayer here without backup, there was no guarantee that someone would find him before the morning came, and Virgil was relatively sure that the demon he’d just stabbed through wasn’t the only threat up here.

Not to mention the cold. He hadn’t thought the nights were cold enough to harm people yet, but demons seemed a lot more durable, and the slayer was shaking just slightly. He remembered the few times he’d had to sit out snowstorms while traveling back home up the mountain, and couldn’t help but feel sympathetic.

So, leaving the slayer behind to fend for himself wasn’t an option. That meant doing something insanely, dangerously stupid: taking the guy with him.

Precautions first, then. He was pretty good at hiding himself from other demons by now, but human scents were a lot more trackable.

Virgil scooped the slayer sword up off the ground by the hilt, grimacing at the burning sensation it emitted. The slayer’s jaw dropped.

“Hey! You can’t just take that!” he cried indignantly, starting off on a tirade about craftsmanship and integrity. His rant cut off sharply as Virgil raised the sword and brought it down on the queen’s neck.

His motions were stilted compared to anyone who actually knew how to use a sword, but it hardly mattered. The sun-blade cut through easily, decapitating her in one motion and leaving only ash behind. He took a moment to hope for the soul of whoever she’d been before being turned, and a longer moment for the weaver’s brother, who was surely dead. Exhaling lowly, he planted the sword blade-first in the dirt.

It was tempting to keep it; he’d certainly wished more than once for an easier way to deal with his adversaries than the bloody scraps he normally got in, but there was no way he was bringing a demon slayer and a demon killing sword with him. That was just asking for trouble.

“That demon did all the work in an honest fight against me, and yet it’s the backstabber turning against his own kind who actually gets to eat me? That’s sad, even for a demon,” the slayer bit out, still trying to inch his way back up into a standing position.

Virgil ignored his muttering and took a testing breath in through his mouth. The slayer was definitely bloodied, but most of the major injuries mustn’t have broken skin, because the smell wasn’t too bad. It probably helped that he’d managed to avoid being injured in this fight, and so didn’t have a desperate need to heal like normal. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t even need a nap to make up for it.

He reached out for the slayer’s collar, already mentally plotting out the most efficient way to a distant abandoned bear den when a piercing shriek sounded, and his vision was suddenly full of flapping feathers. He staggered a few steps back with a surprised yelp.

“No! Missus Fluffybottom, you beautiful fool!” the slayer cried out, sounding incredibly distraught.

Virgil swatted outwards and managed to catch his furious assailant on the second try, his hand easily big enough to grasp it. He drew it away from his face for inspection, and realized that the screaming and wriggling bundle of fluff was actually a young crow.

“Scourge! Fiend!” the crow yelled at him in a belligerent tone that was uncannily similar to the slayer’s. He blinked down at it, befuddled.

“Wait! Don’t hurt her,” the slayer said in the most subdued voice Virgil had heard from him all evening. He looked up and found that the slayer had managed to climb to his knees, but wasn’t struggling to move further. “She’s a simple bird, no threat to you. You’ve already got your prize, haven’t you?”

There was something uncomfortably desperate in his gaze, and Virgil realized with a start that the slayer absolutely believed he was about to kill his bird in cold blood. He opened his hand, bracing for another assault, but the crow kicked off and flew right to the slayer instead, nestling against his collarbone. “Roman, Roman, Ro-man!” it crooned.

“Get out of here, you finicky little fowl, go! Shoo!” the slayer-- Roman?-- commanded, to no avail. He glanced up at Virgil, lifting his good hand and turning his bad shoulder slightly as though to shield the little creature.

Virgil averted his eyes from the bird, hopefully conveying how much he didn’t care about her. If he had enough self control to not murder-kill people despite it being all monsters like him wanted to do, he wasn’t going to snap because a bird the size of his palm repeated some swears in his direction.

Back to business. He grabbed the back of the slayer’s outfit and pulled, hauling him up onto one shoulder like a sack of potatoes. … Or like a sack of other, non-food items. Virgil sighed through his nose. Whatever.

Roman sucked a breath in through his teeth as his injuries were jostled, and then immediately started squawking in protest upon realizing the indignity of his position. The crow-- apparently dubbed Fluffybottom-- repositioned herself to a perch on Roman’s calf and joined in on the complaints with her own raspy calls.

Virgil ignored them, already focusing on the trek ahead.

---

By the time they reached the cave, Roman had long stopped muttering creative obscenities under his breath.

The slayer might have actually fallen unconscious, but Virgil wasn’t going to jostle him around just to check. If he stopped focusing on their surroundings, he could easily hear Roman’s heart beating, the blood pumping beneath his skin, tantalizingly out of reach--

… He had mostly focused very hard on their surroundings. The point was, the slayer was definitely still alive, which meant him passing out during their travel was fine. Convenient, even.

It certainly made it easier to squat and carefully lower his body onto the cave floor without worrying about any sudden thrashing on Roman’s part. Laying flat on his back with only the slightest crumple to his brow, the guy looked a lot less intimidating. He was probably Virgil’s age, honestly.

He also looked unsettlingly corpse-like at the moment. Virgil considered for a moment, and then sidled over to Roman’s side, tugging his injured arm out of the curled up position it had taken. He carefully maneuvered it until it was straight out, forming a right angle with Roman’s side.

Then, he pulled, applying a slow, steady pressure. The misaligned bone shifted back into place with a sickening clunk, and Roman cried out as he regained consciousness. Virgil released him, and he instantly cradled the limb to his chest.

“What in the name of--,” he started, and then seemed to remember it all at once. Or the wave of pain from all those other injuries hit him all at once. One of the two.

Either way, he sagged back against the ground, squinting at Virgil suspiciously as he bustled around the small space. Missus Fluffybottom landed on his forehead, making him look even more ridiculous.

“I notice I am not devoured,” he finally spoke, almost conversational.

Virgil ignored him in favor of moving to arrange some firewood near the mouth of the cave.

“Not even a teensy bit,” Roman continued, making a show of inspecting himself for missing flesh.

Virgil continued to stack rocks around the wood. He was beginning to regret waking the slayer up, dislocated shoulder or not.

“Now, my silent saboteur, I want you to be honest. Are you planning to turn me into some sort of spider?” the slayer asked, and that was enough to finally make Virgil turn with an incredulous raised eyebrow.

“What?” Roman defended, pinkening. “That’s a real thing that a demon did to some people! And you seem... spider-y.”

Virgil scowled at the insulting way the comment was phrased. Spiders were cool and helpful and oh yeah, they didn’t annoyingly needle him while he was busy keeping them alive. He abandoned the fire to stalk closer and drop to a squat by Roman’s legs, dodging a wild kick easily. He pointedly tore a long swath of white fabric from the slayer’s overlayer.

“Hey! Do you even know how long embroidery like that takes--,” Roman cried, and Virgil smacked a hand over his mouth, drawing close and hissing quietly. The sound was close enough to a shush to get his point across, going by the way the slayer huffed indignantly but didn’t speak when Virgil pulled his hand away.

He did whine in protest when Virgil grabbed his injured arm, but then he went still and silent, like he thought any sudden movements would end with the whole limb removed. Virgil wrapped his forearm in the fabric, and then looped the extra around his shoulder, maneuvering him as painlessly as possible, and tied it off.

Roman’s silence suddenly felt distinctly different.

Virgil pulled him up into a sitting position by the front of his shirt, and tightened the knot slightly. The sling looked just about as good as could be expected, given the circumstances.

“You are actually a demon, aren’t you?”

Speech was one of those human things that Virgil still hadn’t recovered, but he thought that the sarcastic fang-bearing smile he directed at Roman spoke volumes all on its own.

“Then why are you tenderly nursing a demon slayer back to health?” he retorted, sounding bewildered and incredulous in equal measures.

Why are you pushing your luck? Virgil thought back, clicking his teeth in irritation and shoving the slayer back into a prone position.

Roman let out a high pitched wheeze, his good arm coming to cradle his ribs defensively. “Or not-so-tenderly, I suppose. The question stands!”

Virgil rolled his eyes and returned to the half-built fire. He’d pestered the only doctor in town for first aid lessons for months, he wasn’t going to stop practicing medicine just because of a little thing like being turned into a demon that craved human flesh.

To his surprise, the silence lingered as he worked, long enough that he turned and cast a suspicious glare over his shoulder at the slayer, who jolted nervously at his attention.

“Wh-what?” he asked, fiddling with the torn edges of his sling. “No escape attempts here, haha!”

“...” Virgil squinted at him and his blatant fake laugh for a long moment, trying to figure out just what was wrong with the scene.

Wait. Where was the bird?

A chill ran down his spine, and he twisted to stare at the mountainside beyond the cave entrance. No raspy-voiced baby crows in sight.

It had to have gone for help, knowing exactly where Virgil and its slayer had holed up. Roman knew he’d realized it, was watching him with the wary expectancy of a cornered hare in front of a trapper.

A surge of furious panic did bubble up in the back of Virgil’s mind, but he quelled it with relative ease.

If backup was coming, then the human was no longer his problem.

Pleased at the neat way the situation had resolved itself, Virgil tapped two fingers to his temple in a gesture of farewell and scrambled out the cave, scaling the cliff face and resolving to put as much distance between himself and this region as possible.

With any luck, he’d never run into that particular slayer again.

[meikuree]

the centre cannot hold

Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Hitch Dreyse & Annie Leonhart Characters: Annie Leonhart, Hitch Dreyse, Armin Arlert (mentioned) Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Mild Psychological Horror

ao3 link

The days blend into a seamless fugue, dreamlike and out of reach.

(Or: a look at Annie's time in the crystal.)

The days blend into a seamless fugue, dreamlike and out of reach.

She can't place what time it is, inside. Time is meaningless. The interrogators who enter complain about the cold drafts puffing through the bricks; she can't feel any of it. Only the blunt sensation of the crystal’s cover, cool as iron is cool, running over her arms and torso and head, her entire body.

Hitch visits, many times. She comes to know her by the telltale skip of her boots on the floor. The way she always leaves the door ajar, as though she hadn’t intended to stay long. Her own eyes are closed now, all the time. It means her other senses become sharper. She hears mutters even through the thick slab of wood that passes for a door, and learns the smell of autumn filtering through the bars of her cell’s sole window, carried into the space in dead leaves stuck to the soles of soldiers' boots.

Those signs are what she begins to rely on to mark the passage of time. In the initial months, it’s an inexact science. Mere guesswork, in which she misestimates, on a few occasions, the correspondence between the oil-stench of polished boots and badges and the exact military festival being celebrated outside.

She listens to the chatter of the scouts who return daily to work out the mysteries surrounding her. How she breathes, what is keeping her alive. She knows the answers herself, of course. In this state she is tapped into the Paths realm; feeding on the otherworldly largesse of Ymir Fritz somehow, her lungs sustained by oxygen piped into her chest by means metaphysical and invisible. How long do you think she’ll last in there, they ask, and she wants to bark a laugh, say: I can stay here for the rest of my life. She starts a betting pool with herself about when they will meander towards or away from the answers, and also memorises some of their names—Anya, Nicolas, Louis—as a matter of personal amusement. Hange is the one who gets closest to piecing together anything about the truth, including the concept of an afterlife and/or higher realm.

Eventually they give up on her. With the Shiganshina basement breached, Hange’s purview as commander shifts to other horizons. The room hollows out as they clear the furniture, the echo that bounces off its walls widening into a sound vast enough to fill graveyards. A looming silence. Still as death. Only Hitch continues to come by, and Annie begins to yearn mentally for the stimulation of her conversations, like a plant straining towards the sun. Towards necessary sustenance.

She reminisces about her history lessons back in the Survey Corps, sometimes. It had been fascinating to see what counted for fact and narrative in a different land. She now wonders if she's become an artefact of history herself. Dead for all intents and purposes, preserved only in textbooks. Pragmatism brings her back to earth, when she remembers that nobody has ever been memorialised for lying in a coma.

Her sensory awareness only extends so far, after all that. It is deep, but not very broad. In the first year she keeps track of worldly happenings by the generosity and latitude of Hitch’s reports. Her passionate spiels, often preceded by a long indrawn breath and groans of despair that could have rivalled Eren’s, span an impressive set of topics ranging from Eren’s whereabouts, the Survey Corps’ movements, and military gossip, to more quotidian ills that ail her: a nail chipped while filing paperwork, her anguish over a sold-out bakery on the way home. The twenty letter-long saga she has going on with a romantic rival-turned-interest-turned-rival-again. Annie becomes the unwitting beneficiary of her ability to transform all ordinary occurrences into effusive theatre.

There are a few signs. The stunning perseverance with which Hitch comes. The verve and enthusiasm Hitch puts on full display before her, as though she is performing—and hoping that somewhere, she might be watching. The fond wonder and melancholy with which she speaks of their short-lived time in the Military Police. Hitch, Annie suspects, comes because she is nursing the remnants of a badly timed crush on her.

In this place, it’s a happy accident. It relieves the slight irritation she feels when Hitch confesses a touch too much detail about the minutiae of her morning routines and new interests. She’s grateful, in some deep unacknowledged part of herself, for the contact with another person from her old life, even if it’s one-sided and not very conversational on her end.

Every now and then she gets glimpses of the activities her erstwhile associates—Eren, Armin, Mikasa—are getting up to, in updates from Hitch spaced months apart. It is amusing, at first, to hear Hitch discuss them with distant respect and reverence as if at a remove, when she has firsthand knowledge of their individual quirks and neuroses, and can fill in the blanks within her iron silence much better than Hitch can. She saw long ago how they were some of the greatest breathing idiots to walk the earth; she briefly wishes she could tell it to Hitch too, puncture the aura of myth that has surrounded them like a bubble.

Eventually enough time passes that she has to recontextualise what she knows of them against the secondhand knowledge Hitch relays to her each time, adjusting her mental picture of who they are, the distance between memory and fact asserting itself. It grows apparent in those moments that they are becoming foreign to her too, changing while she remains fixed here, with outdated fragments of people, an insect trapped in scintillating amber.

Armin drops in to see her about four times in the first year. When he speaks he reaches a hand out to touch her crystal, and probably gazes at her the whole time; she can tell by the soft thud of his fingers upon her looking-glass cage. He tells her about Paradis’s defenselessness, their discoveries over the ocean. Pleads with her for a sign, any sign, that she is listening, and then sits with his knees drawn up, the stone floor vibrating imperceptibly with his motion. After his second call he begins to express his sympathy for her. The belief that he now understands why she had to betray them.

She wonders, idly, if he’s kept his nervous habit of biting at his cuticles. He has a grim edge to his voice now, a flute and gravel ruthlessness she hadn't recalled belonging to him before. Unlike Hitch, he doesn't say much. With him, she gets treated to dense silences interspersed with outbursts of conviction, or emotion. As though he speaks only when he has no choice, no other outlet.

She supposes his approach is one of delicacy, in opposition to Hitch’s: there is no evidence she is conscious, although she is alive, so talking is more or less a fanciful gamble; there’s no guarantee his words will reach a living being. She can’t fault him, on a technicality. She only laments that his idealism has given way to unimaginative realism too. Officially, he is devising a plan to establish contact with underground allies in Marley; unofficially, she wants to ask him if reaching the sea had truly made him happy, or only brought a new wave of troubles.

But her opportunities to have anything to think all these against are privileged and few. The visits are sparse, on the whole, so that she learns to conserve her responses and, most importantly, ration her thoughts—like a precious, corked wine, fit to be let through into her conscious refrain only in drips, a resource not to be exhausted too quickly. She has to remain here until there is certain guarantee she can complete her mission. In layman terms: she has to last through years of boredom.

She repeats it to herself, like an idle song or a blinkered reminder: she can endure it. She has to endure it.

After that she slows down her pace of thinking by necessity. Draws every internal argument that would have taken minutes out over the span of weeks. This dissolution makes her feel not so much like a primordial titan, moving according to vast, immense timespans, but a piece of rubber stretched to its limits, shrivelled and ready to burst.

Dreaming is the most direct analogue for her existence in this crystal shell. But it’s an incomplete description. It’s not like being asleep. She hasn’t relinquished consciousness, simply adopted a fickle and yet compulsory relationship with it. Some days, her mind is sharp and lucid like clear water. Others, she wakes up sluggish and nauseated, with the slow pressure of an anvil headache at her temples, a feverish chill bathing her bones. Like she’s slept far, far too much. Like she hasn’t woken up at all, but passed into a worse, second slumber. The effect is that of being drugged, of being sunk into an unnatural fatigue.

In these moments her choices are confined to the binary of staying awake and suffering, or returning to sleep and worsening it. Her muscles ache and scream for movement or stimulation; but she cannot move, and so has no recourse to relief. Only the sickening ache, the awareness of the uncomfortable fog, her arms trapped by her sides, always, like dumb logs.

Consciousness becomes the centrepoint her life revolves around. Sometimes, its presence is like a bullet aimed at her that she can’t catch: fleeting, painful, inescapable.

Back in the trainee bunkers she’d moved slowly. Pulled off the act of a sullen, indolent girl, better inclined towards a long nap than proper sparring. It’d shocked people that she was in fact a first-class prodigy in hand-to-hand combat. More than once she’d heard herself described by her peers as a concealed knife: inconspicuous at first, lethal once unleashed and in motion.

Those days are behind her now. A trite touch of fate, perhaps, that her languorousness now looks like it had been a rehearsal for this longer, extended sojourn in stillness. She can no longer summon movement; she has no defense against any assumptions people might concoct about her. She can only hope that people will remember the shadow her outsized figure cast as the Female Titan, even in the absence of continued proof.

As it turns out, what is most difficult is not the boredom, or time, or the trappings of her mind. Solitude suits her. She is not afraid of her thoughts. The symptoms of wakefulness frustrate her, but her mind has long been a well-controlled thing, smooth and cunning. She’d perfected the skill of disciplining it through the gruelling, unending hours of training with her father in her youth. Learning great focus, concentrating on the exercises that determined if she got to sleep, or eat, or drink. Disregarding all other excess, like the russet burn of sunset or sundown behind her in the courtyards. Your mind could not be suggestible, in this situation. Not even as an eight-year old.

No; what truly grates is the loss of sensation. Her capacity to interact with the world. Heading inside has severed her from her repertoire of fighting stances, uppercuts, movements. No longer can she understand her environment by the rhythms of her body attuned to it: the sunspots in her vision, the wind whipping her shins, the recoil of her fists against an enemy. She once knew the world by the blows and kicks it directed back at her; they were signals, an entire language of their own. She's been reduced to a lonely speck, disconnected from her single means of communication, her vernacular for parsing the world around her. The lonely, obsessive cycle of thoughts she can stand—but this? The dark, empty corridor of her body where she once had access to momentum, eruption, injury and the lightning burst of revelation in knowing her enemies by their punches, the scrapes and bruises left on them? It’s unbearable.

She resigns herself, but never quite crosses the hurdle. Many times she registers the itch of her limbs desiring to move, a furious bristle skittering upon her skin or on the edge of her brain. There is no outlet for them. Even the smallest movements are off-limits to her. She can’t flex her fingers, or tense her toes. The boundaries of her prison are absolute. These impulses, blossoming and then dead-ended, coil up and accumulate inside her like poison. Like a stricken scream with no release.

After a period of time she tentatively defines as three years, she hears Hitch entering and turning the key in the lock in her usual smooth motion. The tiny clink a struck bell in the gloom of mental oblivion. She perks up. Prepares to listen for any news.

“I know it’s been a while,” Hitch starts, “but we’ve been busy preparing for the Queen’s inauguration— like, god, how many ceremonies do these nobles need?— and I was detained by gift duty, can you believe, which meant I had to shop for the second-tier nincompoops over at the chambers—“

Annie’s blood, a gentle throbbing before, suddenly runs cold. Inauguration? But surely— Historia’s coronation, according to the silver measure of her careful timeline, had passed a long time ago. They should have moved far beyond by now.

“Anyway,” she hears Hitch saying now, a little morosely, “hard to believe it’ll be one-and-a-half years soon with you here. That you’re still in there.“

Annie chokes, a gutted sound in her head. She must have lost touch with her sense of time in the previous few weeks. It’s the one possible explanation.

If it’s only been one and a half years, she can only imagine what the next two, or three, or five, or seven years until her death will be like.

She feels the rug being pulled out beneath her feet. There’s panic now, a stab in her throat, the realisation she has to move back to the drawing board. Reassess everything she knows. She’d kept track well enough in the later half of the first year—what had changed?

Hitch leaves. She doesn’t register it.

Her sanity has so far hinged upon the single, fantastic, incredulous constant of Hitch’s visits to her. It’s a fragile coincidence—Hitch might one day get tired of her, reality outpacing her idealisation of her, and stop coming, too. She is beginning to feel the hours and days like an acrid trap, her thoughts a rapid torrent that her body—inverted in frozen stasis—will never keep up with. Suddenly every second is too slow, too long.

She wants to yell. Wants to rattle the bars of her mind-cage. But the only thing that answers her is drifting somnolence, like a hand passing sluggishly over her head, and then disappearing. The same smiling silence of her unresponsive body, indifferent to her will.

What life will this be, she thinks, what life will I be left with, and tries to plan, to consider the contingencies—but just as suddenly, nothing comes to mind, except the hollow echo of her voice referring across her insensate headscape, the strain of her thoughts thinned into pieces from disuse.

[btsmosphere]

Snowstorm | MYG

~summary:

Strange things happen in the woods when you return home for Christmas. And why does your mum insist you stay away from Min Yoongi?

Yoongi x female reader

~word count: 6k

~magic au, jack frost au, childhood friend au, angst, fluff

Rating: pg

Warnings: overbearing parent, rumours and gossip, swearing, storms and bad weather

~a/n: this is a repost, I put this up this morning but for some reaason it hasn’t shown up in the tags so I am trying again. ~original a/n: got this one out just in time... this is my fic for November keyword ‘magic’ for @thebtswritersclub​!! This started from the bingo square ‘jack frost’, one I wasn’t sure whether to write, but it was perfect for a magic au, so I hope you enjoy it! Keep a lookout for more festive fics from me over December,, I’ve just realised quite how many fics I have to find time to write among my end of term essays yAy

They’re cutting the trees down in the forest.

It’s not as young as it once was, but neither are you. You come back to it every year, these woods. Someone needs to look after it. Not like you do that, but at least taking the time to come back and see it makes you feel a little better.

Maybe you aren’t looking after it, but at least you’re looking.

Being home from college is… fun. Mostly.

You love your family, but you sure as hell love these woods too, for when you’ve had enough. There’s one tree that forks into two, right at the heart, that you cried under countless times throughout your childhood.

Now it’s more for nostalgia. Coming home for the long college holidays, you’ve grown up and your family let you do your thing, so you don’t generally have a need to sob your heart out in the wilderness anymore.

Wow, this is making your childhood sound really bad. It wasn’t.

But whenever it was, the woods were there.

Winter is making itself felt now, air slowly numbing your face and fingers. You trail them across the bark of a tree you pass before digging them reluctantly into your coat pockets.

This tree doesn’t look too healthy. Though it still felt normal, the bark is thinning. You wonder if it will live to see new leaves in the spring.

Overhead, the dappled grey sky bears a heavier shadow. You should probably be getting back soon. Making your way, without hurrying, towards the edge of the trees, you trod over their forgotten leaves as they faded into the ground.

Soon the soft carpet of the forest petered out and you found yourself on the familiar roads that led back to your house.

No one else really seemed to be about apart from you. Except for whoever that was that just came around the corner. Hold on-

Is Min Yoongi back here? Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod-

Sucking in a deep breath, you did your utmost to avoid staring at him, eyes trailing along the ground instead. As you drew closer to each other, your grew heartbeat louder in your ears.

Now that wasn’t fair. You were meant to be over this.

But of course that was never the case.

Min Yoongi had grown up here too, a boisterous child that grew into a reserved teenager. What he was doing with himself now, you had no idea, but what was important is that he was here right now. Because maybe the monster crush you harboured for him had never really gone away.

In school, you two had been friends. Not the closest, but you would hang out together, always too shy to really talk. Now the course of life had taken you two apart; you weren’t sure you had spoken to him since you were sixteen.

Okay, he was only steps away now. You had to stay calm.

Act natural. Pretend you haven’t seen him.

Wait, no. That would be impossible. There’s only the two of you on this road, how could you not notice him?

You didn’t want to come off as rude if you ignored him.

In your panic, you looked up to find his eyes trained on you already. While your brain was busy short-circuiting, you settled for a small smile and a quick wave.

For one mortifying moment, you thought he didn’t recognise you at all. His eyebrows remained slightly creased, but just as you were nearly past him, his eyes widened.

“Y/N!”

The wide smile that had taken over his face retreated into a small, shy one as you stopped.

“Hey, Yoongi,” you smiled back.

“What are you up to?” he asked, glancing briefly to the end of the road you had just come from. Towards the forest.

“Just out for a walk,” you explained, “getting away from my family for a bit.”

“I can understand that,” he laughed quietly, scratching absently behind one ear.

“I didn’t realise you were back here,” you prompted after he trailed off, “it’s good to see you again.”

“Yeah, and you,” he nodded, “it’s strange being back sometimes, but it’s good you’re here too.”

Despite the cold, your felt heat in your cheeks. What did he just say?

“I-I mean,” he stuttered, “like, it’s weird, when things are different than you remember them , and so it’s nice when you see someone familiar… yeah.”

“Yeah, yeah, I totally get you,” you swallowed, laughing nervously, “like the forest, it’s not the same anymore-“

“Not the same,” he grimaced, then froze, realising you spoke in unison.

Wide eyed, laughter bubbled from both of you

“Are you going there now?” you asked, “it’s a bit cold isn’t it?”

As the two of you had stood talking, the light had steadily drained from the sky.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” he smirked.

Surprised by his sudden confidence, you just smiled.

“Okay, if you’re sure. I should probably be getting home, though.”

“Sure,” he nodded quickly.

“See you.”

Glancing at the inky sky, you turned to leave, hands delving deeper into the warmth of your coat pockets, when Yoongi cleared his throat behind you.

“Um…”

Now a few steps away from him, you looked over your shoulder.

“We should catch up some time. Properly. If-if you’d like.”

“Yeah, sure,” you smiled widely.

“Nice. I’ll, um, see you soon.”

He gave you a wave, smile dancing on his lips. The moment you turned away, you bit your lip, trying to contain your grin. Practically bouncing your way home, your cheeks were burning by the time you reached your front door.

Stiff fingers fiddling with the key, at last you let yourself in.

No doubt hearing you stomping your shoes on the doormat, your mum came around the corner.

“You were gone a while,” she observed.

“Yeah, bumped into Yoongi on the way back,” you begrudgingly explained.

“Min Yoongi?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I remember when you used to have a silly crush on that boy!” she laughed. Kicking your shoes off, you rolled your eyes but followed her through to the kitchen.

“His family’s always been very strange though,” she continued, “they don’t really talk to anyone. Half the time I don’t even know if there’s anyone at home.”

“You’re spying on their house now?” you joked.

“Well, when they’re shut in all summer, you can’t help wondering,” she defended, “very strange, the lot of them… you would do well to stay away from them, Y/N.”

“But-“

“You’re not even friends with him, why should it be an issue?”

“You’re right,” you sighed.

It was easier to let it slide.

They’re cutting the trees down in the forest.

Walking between the ones that still stand, Yoongi’s mind is still full of you. At least someone else still saw this place. Still cared.

And truth be told, he still cared about you. A chance to see the forest and a chance to speak to you were what kept bringing him back. It would be easy to find another forest somewhere, some wide open space, wilder than this.

But there was a soft spot in his heart for his hometown.

Raising a hand above his head, he sent the last few leaves clinging to a branch spiralling down to the floor on a gust of wind. As he lowered his arm, he let his fingers trail across the bark, leaving frost in their wake.

It was hard, having to hide. His mother told him he couldn’t get close to anyone here. Anyone that didn’t know.

Even playing with you as five-year-olds had been crossing the line, apparently.

On the ground, the leaves cleared from his path. The wind blew colder, skeletal branches rattling together as clouds knitted closer together above.

At the heart of the forest, there was a tree whose trunk forked into two. Climbing nimbly up into the gap, he settled himself and planted his palms against the bark.

“Y/N, go and fetch the bin. It’s frosty again.”

Without questioning, you did as your mother said. She was right about the frost. Unlike her, though, you adored it. Just outside your doorstep, you stopped to stare at the thin coating of white that covered the street.

Every house, every garden, every car was painted with the delicate brush strokes of winter.

Once you had tugged the bin up the drive, you found your mother still talking inside.

“Thanks, love,” she smiled, placing a bowl in front of you, “gosh, I can’t wait for summer again. I can’t stand it’s so cold all the time.”

Instead of voicing your disagreement, you hummed noncommittally as you poured yourself some cereal.

Maybe you would go back to the forest later. It was all you daydreamed about as you munched on your breakfast before retreating to your room.

Until someone knocked on the door.

What you hadn’t seen was the fist hovering over wood, raising and lowering countless times before it finally sounded through your house. Frowning, you stood from your bed and peeked around your window frame.

Min Yoongi was standing in front of your house.

Min Yoongi was standing in front of your house.

The distinct sound of the door swinging open downstairs snapped you from your reverie, frozen on the spot. Shutting your gaping mouth, you looked around, panicked. Your mother was speaking.

You crossed your room in no less than two strides, throwing the door open and speeding down the stairs.

“What brings you here?” your mum was saying as you dashed up behind her.

“Hi Yoongi!” you exclaimed, panting slightly, “thanks mum.”

But of course she couldn’t take the hint. As you waited with bated breath for her to leave the two of you alone, she just looked slowly between you instead.

“You’re here to see my daughter?”

Yoongi swallowed hard under her stare.

“Yes, he is, mum,” you spoke, tone strained.

Really, sometimes it was like you never left. You felt like you had been transported straight back to your school years, asking your mum for permission to go out.

“And we’re going out,” you said firmly when greeted with silence.

Grabbing your coat, you slipped past her.

“Strange to see him out,” she muttered.

Praying Yoongi didn’t hear her sly comment, you hastily shut the door.

“Sorry,” you grimaced, “where do you fancy?”

“Let’s go for a walk.”

Following his lead, you fell into step, heading away from your house.

“I see why you prefer the trees for company.”

Now that startled a laugh out of you. Clamping a hand over your mouth, you stared at Yoongi walking beside you. He didn’t seem fazed, suddenly confident again beside you, hands buried in his hoodie as he kicked his feet walking along.

Lost quickly in conversation, you walked together until you found him leading you towards a small café.

“Drink?” he asked.

“Um, yeah, hot chocolate?” you answered timidly.

Smiling, he disappeared inside and reappeared very soon with two steaming takeaway cups.

“Thanks,” you breathed, taking one warm cup from his fingers and cradling it between your own.

“Didn’t want you to get cold.”

And it certainly did help. Of course you next walked down towards the woods, without a word passing between you about your destination. With the warmth flowing through you, you were perfectly content to keep going through the chilly air as you ditched the cups in a bin.

“Do you remember when Tae got stuck in that tree?” Yoongi commented.

Looking to where he gestured, you laughed.

“It was that one?”

“Yep, it’s still got that branch snapped off,” he pointed.

“Oh, yeah,” you giggled, “that feels so long ago now, doesn’t it?”

Sighing, he took another sip.

“Yeah. It does.”

Silence settled for a short moment, only your muffled steps sounding in the woods.

“Do you know if the others ever come back here?” you wondered aloud.

“Haven’t seen any of them,” he shrugged.

Way back when, there was a huge group at school, which was how you grew connected to Yoongi. There was still a group chat buried somewhere in your phone, but you hadn’t heard from most of them in a long time.

“It’s just us then,” you mused.

“I guess it is,” Yoongi said, a large smile spreading onto his face.

Then he halted, stooping down to the floor. Beside him, you watched him in confusion.

Until he sprung up, a handful of fallen leaves suddenly finding their way into your face.

“Yah!” you shrieked, throwing your hands up too late.

As the last one fell from your spluttering face, you found the shape of Yoongi several trees away, running. Mouth falling open, you instantly gave chase, quickly reaching down for a bundle of your own leaves.

“Min Yoongi!” you yelled, a reply reaching you in the form of his breathless laughter.

Pushing yourself on, your feet pounded towards him. He slowed, going over a slope, giving you opportunity enough to catch up, launching the leaves at his back.

“Argh!” he laughed, arms flapping from beneath the flurry of leaves.

But you couldn’t revel in your revenge for long, as another faceful of leaves was booted towards you. You only caught a glimpse of his gummy smile for a moment before he saw your glare and bolted again.

A gust of wind hindered you pursuit, throwing more soggy leaves at you.

Up ahead, Yoongi was scrambling up a tree. Just as you reached it, he seated himself on a branch, out of your reach. Breathless with laughter, you still tried, flinging leaves up in the air towards him.

They barely reached his feet, swinging above you, instead floating for a pathetic moment before falling right back on top of you.

Shaking them from your head, you heard Yoongi’s loud laughter above you.

Looking up, you were met with an enormous gummy smile as he slipped back down the tree, dropping deftly onto the ground, shoulders still shaking with laughter.

“Sorry,” he panted.

He reached a hand out towards you then. Frozen in surprise, you watched as his thumb met your nose, quickly swiping across it. Cold lingered there as his hand came away, a slight smudge of mud wiped on it.

Self consciously rubbing your nose yourself, you let out a chuckle, a shiver passing through you only a moment later.

“Shit, are you cold?” his smile faltered.

“It’s okay,” you assured, “we’ve just been running about. I’m fine.”

“Okay,” he frowned slightly.

Turning away a little, he shoved his hands into his pockets.

Going with him, you two headed across the woods to the other edge, where you could look over your town as it fell away into countryside. The sky was striped with clouds, yellowish light dimming behind them.

This felt good.

You’ve always liked this forest, hated sharing it with anyone else. But you didn’t mind with Yoongi. After so long, it was odd how quickly you felt comfortable. How fast your feelings resurfaced.

And you couldn’t help wondering…

“Hey, Yoongi?”

“Hmm?”

“Was this… meant to mean anything?”

“What do you mean?” he turned towards you.

You swallowed. Fuck. You might have just shoved your foot in it.

“Er, well, I mean, like, a date or something?” you spoke nervously.

The moment his eyebrows raised, you were certain you had made a mistake.

“Well, no…”

Oh shit.

“But it can be.”

You blinked.

“Say that again?”

“It can be,” he chuckled, warm smile making another appearance.

“Sorry, I wasn’t sure I heard you right,” you said, stunned, turning back to the view. Then you glanced back at him. “So you wouldn’t be opposed to a date?”

“Nope,” he shook his head.

“With me?”

A chuckle responded. “Yes, Y/N. With you.”

In the corner of your eye, a flicker of movement. But then it stopped. Looking around, you saw Yoongi return his hand to his pocket, casting his eyes down.

By the time you were both approaching your driveway again, it was forgotten. You were practically glowing.

Until you saw the figure of your mother in the front window.

The moment she laid eyes on you, she was gone from the window and appeared in the doorway instead.

“Shit, sorry,” you muttered, sharing a glance with Yoongi, “this has been really fun…”

Getting the message, he sent you a smile that squeezed his eyes.

Then he slowed beside you and you carried on, pulling away with a smile of your own.

As you drew closer, your mum stepped out and down the steps.

“Are you alright? Where did you go?” she asked straight away.

She really was worried about this, huh?

“Mum, it’s fine,” you frowned, unable to help the look over your shoulder, “we just went for a walk, what’s the problem?”

If this was her reaction to you spending time with the guy platonically, you thought it safer to leave out the other details for now.

“I told you, something’s not right with him,” she hissed, clearly trying to keep a low voice. Not that she was successful.

“Come on, let’s go inside,” you urged.

Glancing back just before you closed the door, you saw Yoongi turning away. You longed to reach for him, call out to him…

The door clicked shut.

In front of you, your mother stood with folded arms.

“What’s going on?” you asked.

“I don’t know about him, Y/N,” she shook her head, “since he was a child, he’s always been… different.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, whenever there was an accident on the playground, he always seemed to be around. All of us parents knew, it’s why I told you to be careful with him.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. Vaguely, you recalled her saying something like that, but you must have been very small. Either way, perhaps you did stray away from him on the playground.

“No one ever knew for sure, but there were rumours,” she sighed, rubbing her forehead, “maybe he was just troublesome and liked pushing other kids over, but then his family… they never tried to fit in here.”

“And the town gossip has you this worried?” you asked, incredulous.

“I was pleased you were staying away from him in school,” she glared at you, “so where’s this come from? I hoped that silly crush was over.”

“If I was in trouble I would tell you, and you know that,” you stepped forwards, “but I can be with whoever I like! I’m not in school anymore, and Yoongi’s a grown adult too.”

Her eyebrows shot upwards.

“So you’re with him now?”

“…maybe, but what does it matter? It’s what I want to do, mum, I’ll be fine.”

Met with your pleading eyes, she merely glared back, arms tightly folded. She exhaled steadily through her nose.

“Just come and have dinner.”

It started snowing.

You knew your mum wouldn’t want you to go outside in that. But maybe that made it all the more appealing.

She wasn’t over it, and you knew it. Sly comments kept coming your way over dinner, riling you up. Why was she letting schoolground gossip get in the way of you and Yoongi?

By the end of dinner, you were reaching the end of your tether.

If you could just go for a walk, cool off. Literally. Stepping outside, you already hugged your coat a little bit tighter around you.

Just to the forest and back, not far beyond the streetlights, then come back. But as your feet stomped through the newly settling snow, stray flakes catching in your hair, your scowl never lifted.

Your mum had never been too controlling, so why was she so riled up about this one thing? And something that was so important to you? Since school you had had a crush on Yoongi, all those years hanging onto every smile, every laugh, and now something was finally coming true.

Of course that wouldn’t be allowed. Of course, in her book, a bad child grew into a bad adult.

It was true that this town could be very self-contained and you were well used to news circulating. No wonder you hadn’t seen Yoongi back here before. You wanted this to be your chance.

Head turned down against the oncoming snow, you blinked cold flakes from your eyelashes. It was thicker now, blurring in front of you when you looked up.

A gust of wind threaded its fingers through your hair, biting across your slightly damp face. Shoulders hunching, you tried to look around you. Acting of their own accord, your feet had carried you to the forest.

You should head back.

Turning on the spot, you squinted through the darkness for the streetlights at the edge of the trees.

But darkness surrounded you.

Stomach dropping, you rubbed your hands together in front of you. Definitely should have worn gloves.

The white that now coated the forest floor and its branches reflected the precious little moonlight that could reach you here, letting you know you were among the larger trees. Your mind whirled with panic almost as fast as the snow falling around you.

When a shiver shook your frame, you knew you had to move.

If you picked a direction, you would surely find a way back eventually. The forest wasn’t that big, was it?

Maybe they had cut down some trees, but it turned out the woodland was not small. At least, it didn’t feel that way when cold water was seeping through your jeans and clinging to your face and hair. Try as you might to carve out a straight path, the snowstorm was growing, wind forcing you to lower your head.

Still, all you could see was darkness, the ghosts of trees looming from behind the blizzard in the air.

Sniffling, you tried to fight off the panicked tears threatening to spill. This had all been a bad idea. You just wanted to get home.

But unbeknownst to you, someone else was in the woods too.

Not many trees away, perched in his usual spot, Yoongi’s palms met the gnarled bark as he channelled his energy. The storm fell peacefully around him. Breathing deeply, he felt himself letting go.

He knew what this town thought of him. He hadn’t been careful enough, like his parents had told him to. He just never thought that anyone would still remember, not least your mother.

But he couldn’t claim she was wrong. Being Jack Frost came with its dangers, its responsibilities.

And he should have known better. He just wanted you, badly enough that he decided to go for it against his better judgement.

His sadness made itself known in storms like this: not violent or noisy, just cold.

As the white flakes filled the air, he looked out across the darkness of the forest. Wind tugged gently at his white hair but the snow didn’t touch him, evaporating before it hit his shoulders.

He called another gust of wind, threading it through the air, across the land.

When it reached him, it carried something with it.

His eyes opened, looking around through the storm to see where it had come from. It was normal for the branches to rattle, for animals to scurry home, but that wasn’t either sound. It sounded like a person. And not a happy one.

No one else should be out here.

Turning his head left and right, he finally made out a shadowy shape a few trees away.

Quickly and quietly, he slid off his perch, obscuring his body with the trunk of the tree. Around him, the snow calmed a little, drifting calmly once more.

As the person walked closer, he saw them wipe a hand across their cheek. And that sound came again. Were they… crying?

Louder this time, and finally they stepped into a lighter patch…

His eyes widened. What the hell were you doing out here? Assessing you with a flick of his eyes, he knew you must be freezing.

When you stopped suddenly, turning around as your shoulders slumped, he had to force himself to stay behind his tree.

Briefly wetting his lips with his tongue, he looked towards the shortest way out. Why weren’t you going that way? Instead, you were stumbling off in the opposite direction, looking to the ground.

“No,” he muttered urgently, head darting between you and the right path.

Then he made a snap decision.

Pursing his lips, he called up a gust of wind with a quirk of his hand, stopping you in your tracks as it collided with you forcefully. With wide eyes, you whipped around as the wind charged through the forest, carving a winding channel through the trees.

And on the path it tracked, the snow stopped, hovering in stasis along the sides as if lighting the way.

Not daring to breathe, Yoongi studied your face carefully as you stared at the space path he had created. Slowly coming to your senses, you turned your head. He ducked back behind the trunk, breaths falling shallow from his lips.

The snow suspended in the air waited with him until crunching footsteps met his ears.

Peering back out, he watched your form retreating through the woods, perfectly framed between the trees as you trod the right path.

He watched you go, knowing what he had to do.

The snow fell thicker.

Yoongi would come around soon. The day after your little escapade into the storm, he hadn’t shown his face. But that was fine. It would be weird to come back the day after your first… whatever it was. Right?

But today, he would come.

And when he did, you would make sure you got his number. In a town like this, he could easily come knocking, like he had the other day, but you were sick of waiting around like this.

All day you had been restless, failing to keep yourself from the window as you hoped to see him walking down your road. You longed to tell him about what you had seen in the woods that night.

It had taken you a while to decide you hadn’t dreamt it. But the chills running though you and the damp clothes on your radiator said otherwise. Sure, you had always felt a connection with the woods, but you never expected them to do something in return.

That was what happened, though. They had shown you the way home through the storm.

Last night, you had braved the cold to go there again. The snow lay harmlessly on the ground by now, but you had still kept your wits about you and gone before dark.

Nothing.

Maybe it would just be your little secret.

Or yours and Yoongi’s, if he ever turned up.

The urge to look out of the window returned, and you fought valiantly. Staring at the ceiling was a lot less productive than staring outside, so eventually you stood.

And gaped.

He was actually there!

Right on your driveway, biting his lip as he looked up at your house.

Or maybe…

He was looking at your mum. You stilled, having been ready to race downstairs, but now you watched in horror as your mum marched down the drive.

“Sorry, Yoongi,” you heard, “Y/N isn’t in.”

“Oh, sorry Mrs L/N,” he bowed his head, “I just wanted to talk to her-“

“Well you’ll be doing no such thing,” she snapped, “she won’t be getting mixed up with you. I think you should leave now.”

Hands shaking as they gripped the window frame, you were ready to run out to them, when you heard something in response. It was quiet, so you had to strain to hear it, but when you did you could only stare.

“Could you just… could you tell her that I like her? A lot.”

Your mum scoffed, but as she opened her mouth he continued, looking at the floor.

“-and I won’t be seeing her again. You’re right. I’ll stay away.”

Rooted on the spot, you could only gape as the figures of Yoongi and your mother stood still outside. Then your mum broke the silence.

“Very good.”

“Will you tell her?”

“You should leave,” she said firmly.

Shoulders slumping, he turned away, not even looking back. His footsteps carrying him away were what finally made you move.

“Yoongi!” you shouted, tearing down the stairs as the door slammed.

“Y/N,” your mother’s voice warned.

“What is going on!” you asked desperately, trying to move around her only to be blocked.

“He doesn’t want to see you.”

“No! That’s not true! I heard him-“

“He won’t be seeing you then. It’s for the best.”

“Why?” you cried, tears pricking at your eyes, “what is so wrong with him?”

But instead of an equal retaliation, she heaved a sigh. Blinking furiously, you watched her raise her eyes to meet yours.

“His family… they’ve lived here as long as ours. They’re all strange. Weird things happen. Some sort of… magic. And they don’t mix with us. Never have, but that’s how it should be. They’re not like us, Y/N,” she finished with emphasis.

Meanwhile, a frown had taken over your face.

“That’s- what- that’s ridiculous!” you spluttered, “he’s not magic! And if he is, I don’t care!”

And with that, you pushed past her, tumbling out onto the drive, eyes desperately scanning the bare street.

But you didn’t stop there. Ignoring the defeated calls of your mother, you started running. Yoongi couldn’t have got far; and anyway, you had an idea where he might have gone. You had to catch up. You couldn’t let go of him this easily.

Feet pounding hard on the ground beneath you, you barely noticed the darkening sky above you. Clouds swirled together, looming over your small town.

The wind picked up, throwing your hair back in your face as it tore back and forth across the path. As you dashed at last between the shadows of trees, the floor was practically crawling as leaves tossed themselves along the ground.

Some launched upwards as powerful gusts rushed through the bare branches above, and soon the pummelling of hail joined the rattling of the trees.

Stumbling to a stop deep in the forest, you whirled around, trying to spot Yoongi. Wind continued to assault you, swirling in all directions in the air, trees groaning among the whooshing air.

“Yoongi!” you called at the top of your lungs. Your voice was lost instantly in the cacophony of the storm, stinging hailstones on your cheeks the only response.

Exhaling swiftly, you took off once more, still calling out.

And then you saw him.

Shoulders hunched, his outstretched arms were braced against a tree. Though his head was lowered, you could see the heaving of his chest.

Picking up the pace, you smiled in relief.

“Yoongi!”

Instantly, he sprung away from the tree, head darting around him as he looked for you. But when he met your eyes, they only grew.

And then he was running too.

Away from you.

“Hey! Yoongi!” you shouted after him.

But a roar from the forest drowned you out.

Running faster, hail chucked itself spitefully into your face, the wind surging against you from the darkening sky. Struggling on, you held your hands in front of your face, only lowering them when you trailed to a stop.

Yoongi was nowhere in sight.

Something was wrong. Why was he running away from you?

A loud creak from somewhere above you made you wince. Moving again, you called out Yoongi’s name into the storm.

The hail let up a little as you pressed on, but the raging air only grew more forceful. Creaks and groans from the battered trees surrounded you. Squinting around you, you let your feet stumble on, needing to find him. Among the storm, you could barely hear your thumping footsteps.

An ear-splitting creak made you flinch, head whipping around.

The dark shape of a tree trunk was growing bigger – growing closer.

A blur then, your eyes squeezing shut by instinct, awaiting the crash of the giant hitting the earth.

Nothing.

Cracking your eyelids open, the wind lulled in the air around you, silence buzzing loud in your ears. In front of you, the tree was tilting dangerously, towering directly over you, but caught in mid-air. And holding it up, a colossal sheet of ice, jagged icicles sticking out to one side as if from impact.

You blinked. Let out a breath.

Following the trail of ice, you turned to the side.

There, hand still outstretched, panting slightly, stood Min Yoongi.

“I’m sorry,” he half-whispered.

As you stared blankly back in shock, his eyes flicked back to the tree above you.

“Come here,” he spoke, beckoning you with his other hand.

Obeying, you trod carefully towards him. Once near enough, he gently placed a hand on your sweater-covered arm, guiding you to his side.

As you watched, he lowered his left hand slowly, the wall of ice retracting with it, melting back into the ground. With barely a bump, the tree was lowered to rest.

Returning your eyes gingerly to the boy beside you, your gaze was not returned.

His eyelids shut, lips pressing together as he bowed his head, bringing his arm back to his side at last. He swallowed.

“Y-yoongi?” you whispered.

“I’m sorry, I really am,” he muttered, still not meeting your eyes, “I should never have started anything…”

“But-but I want you!” you protested.

Now he looked at you. He looked at you like you were crazy.

“Did you not see that? What I just did?”

“You saved me.”

A breath.

“But… all the rest? I-I made that tree fall too-”

“The wind made it fall-“

“Y/N,” he stopped you, “your mum is right. I can be dangerous, okay? This storm, that’s me.”

Studying your face carefully, he waited for your reaction.

“Why?”

“It’s always been like this,” he sighed, “I’m… I have storm magic. Winter magic. My family, we’re- I’m… Jack Frost.”

Your eyebrows raised.

“No, but I mean, why the storm? Is something wrong?”

A breathy laugh burst from his lips as he ran a hand through his hair.

“Of course there is! I can’t have you.”

“You don’t have to be scared,” you insisted.

“Don’t you understand? You’re the one who should be scared!” he cried, throwing his arms out.

“No,” you shushed him, stepping forward and slowly reaching out, “you’re scared – of hurting me. You don’t have to be.”

Settling, he watched your hand reach through the air. But as it hovered by his cheek, he pulled away.

“Don’t…”

“Yoongi, I want you.”

“And I want you. But you can’t touch me. I’ll just be cold…”

“Don’t worry,” you smiled.

But as you moved again, his hand came up to grasp your wrist, stopping you.

Then his eye widened, realising what he’d done. But you hadn’t flinched away. Looking at your hands held together, his mouth formed ghosts of words he never spoke, not knowing what to say.

“See?” you encouraged, “it’s not cold.”

Wonder-filled eyes rose, meeting your own. Closing the distance between you, he dropped your wrist and lifted both his hands to cup your face instead, touching you softly as if you were made from porcelain.

A breath escaped his lungs, mouth curving into a gummy smile.

Elated, a smile tugged at your own lips.

Then he surged forwards, lips pressing against yours like a starved man. Moving his mouth hungrily over yours, he held your face firmly between his hands as you eagerly kissed him back. Suddenly his hands were unable to get enough, sliding down to your waist and roaming across your back as he pulled you closer.

Equally enthusiastic, you tugged at his shirt, lips keeping up their mind-blowing rhythm until you were both left panting, foreheads pressed together as your breaths turned to laughter between you.

“Screw what this town thinks,” you grinned, “I’m not letting you go after that.”

“Good,” he growled, smirk adorning his face as he darted in for another lingering kiss.

The trees you stood among had watched you both grow, watched you hurt, and now they finally saw you come together, painted by the setting sun in a clear sky.

Thank you for reading!! Reblog this if you enjoyed, it helps me get exposure unlike likes💜

@aianloveseven​ @preciouschimine​

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[georgescatcafe]

slippin’ into the lava (burnin’ up)

rating: t warning/s: none pairing/s: georgenap genres/tags: realistic minecraft au, pining, light angst, fire powers word count: 1,897 summary:  It’s like he’s a kid again, wild and untamed, flames dancing along his fingers at the slightest spike in emotion. He had learnt to curb that, calm himself down, calm the fire inside down, but now he’s back to square one.

“I’m scared I’m going to burn you,” Sapnap says, quiet.

“I’d let you burn me,” George replies.

+ao3

;;

It’s like he’s a kid again, wild and untamed, flames dancing along his fingers at the slightest spike in emotion. He had learnt to curb that, calm himself down, calm the fire inside down, but now he’s back to square one.

George glares at the burnt marshmallow at the end of his stick. Sapnap tries to apologize, but it comes out flat—he’s disappointed. In himself. The night had been going so well, him and his friends out on the beach, not nearly enough wood or materials for a bonfire, leaving Sapnap as their next best thing. So they had been standing in a loose circle, Dream distributing marshmallows before remembering he’s got stuff for s’mores, proper s’mores, back in his house, so he’d gone back, and George had turned to Sapnap then, expectant, marshmallow on the end of a stick, and Sapnap had sighed and allowed the fire to burst from his skin, reaching into the night sky.

It had been fine. George hovered his marshmallow over Sapnap’s hands, and Sapnap tried to give him that perfect golden crisp. But then George leaned in closer, and the flames made his eyes glow amber, and he smelt like petrichor, like home, and Sapnap felt his heart jump, and with that so did the flames in his palm, shooting up into the sky and turning George’s marshmallow into something of a torch.

“I’m really sorry,” Sapnap says, genuine as he can, but George just brushes him off.

“We’ll just try again when Dream gets back.” He stares at the pathetic pile of goop and ash on the sand. “What even happened?”

Sapnap feigns ignorance. Claims that something outside himself might’ve set off the flames. “It happens sometimes.” And it does, really, but not this time.

George accepts it, but a good three feet remain between them until Dream gets back.

;;

The next time it happens, it shouldn’t have even happened at all. They’re on a hunt for lapis now, Dream wanting it for enchanting purposes, and they’ve just found the mouth of a cave, the path down it dark and treacherous. The dark oak forest that surrounds them doesn’t help in the least, the layers of leaves up above blocking out most of the sun. Sapnap leans against the trunk of one of the thick trees, eyes closed, just resting. He’s fine, calm, content to let Dream and George sniff around the entrance, figure out what monsters lay inside.

“So are you coming?” Sapnap’s eyes fly wide open. George’s breath is warm against his lips, and immediately their eyes lock, dark blue on brown.

“Uh,” Sapnap says intelligently.

George moves in even closer, and Sapnap finds himself backing up even more against the tree as his heart begins to pound. “We think this thing goes pretty deep, so Dream says to set up camp here and wait until morning, then head down as far as we can.”

“That’s,” Sapnap says, “smart.” He swallows as George nods.

“Do you want this tree then?” George asks. “It’s probably safest to stay in them instead of down here.”

From somewhere behind Sapnap, a skeleton rattles, proving George’s point.

Sapnap blinks. “Yeah. Unless, uh, you want it.”

George squints at him then, a frown on his face. He lifts a hand to Sapnap’s forehead, touching the skin there with the back of it. Sapnap’s breath catches. “Are you okay? You’re being, like, weirdly awkward.”

“No,” Sapnap immediately says. “You’re awkward.”

George snorts, brow lifting. “Yeah? Well, you’re—oh my God, Sapnap, you’re going to start a fucking forest fire!” Sapnap stares at him in confusion before looking down at where his palms are pressed flat to the tree. George is right. From between his fingers, little flames lick away at the tree. They turn to each other right as the smell of burning bark hits their noses.

“Shit,” Sapnap says.

“Can’t you cut it out?” George glances behind to look for Dream, who of course is nowhere in sight. “Oh my God.”

Sapnap lifts his palms from the wood, but the fire remains bright on his hands. “Uh.” He curls his fingers into his palms, turning his hands to fists, but then the fire only grows more aggressive, flames now curling up and over his arms. When he splays his hands out in front of him, the fire stretches out into the air, and he finds himself shouting a warning to George, who scampers away, fear flashing in his eyes. Vaguely, Sapnap remembers a river, and he finds himself rushing back the way they came to look for it. When he reaches it, he immediately shoves his hands under the water and tries not to hate himself.

;;

It happens with Dream too.

“You like George,” Dream says to him one day, and Sapnap finds himself fighting both the red in his cheeks and the flames in his hands. “How long has that been going on?” Dream asks, and Sapnap gives a sigh.

“When we were staying out by the beach,” he replies honestly. The next words that come out of his mouth are stuttered, reluctant: “I’ve liked him for longer.”

“So I’m guessing we’re a little bit past like?” Dream concludes, and Sapnap frowns. “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s going to be weird being third wheel, but I can take it.”

Sapnap glances over at him as he takes a seat on the log next to him. “You’re not going to be third wheel,” he says. “George doesn’t like me back. Nothing’s going to happen.”

Dream places a consoling hand on his back. Sapnap wants to shrug it off. If it were anyone else, he probably would’ve. “He likes you plenty. Don’t be so negative.”

“As a friend, maybe,” Sapnap agrees.

Dream gives him a dry look. “I think as more, but you’re free to have your wrong opinion.”

At that, a small laugh works its way past Sapnap’s lips. Dream’s own tug into a smile. Soon, though, the laugh falls flat. “Doesn’t matter if he likes me. Every time he gets near I find myself, well,” he puts his palms in front of him, where tiny flames still flicker, “kind of hard to be affectionate.”

When Dream reaches over, taking Sapnap’s hand in his own, the fire dies right before they touch, and Sapnap knows that wouldn’t happen with George. He’d be the other’s destruction.

“You’ll figure it out,” Dream says. “It’s what you always do.”

Sapnap wants to believe him.

;;

There’s always a moment of clarity that comes before declaring something a lost cause. You look at the carnage all around and know there is nothing that could have prevented it, could prevent it. That moment, for Sapnap, occurs when he and George are on the roof, the starry sky endless and open above them, George’s small cottage warm and cozy beneath them. George is laughing at something Sapnap said, something clever, something smooth, head tossed back, mouth open wide in a bellyaching laugh, and Sapnap thinks he’s so beautiful, that this night can’t get any better, but then George calms down, and he looks over, a glint in his eyes, and he rests his head on Sapnap’s shoulder.

In no universe would Sapnap ever set George’s house on fire. In this one, he accidentally does.

It’s just the roof, and normally that’d mean it’s salvageable, but when Sapnap goes to grab the bucket he always carries with him, he remembers it’s empty—he used it on a dare from Dream the night before, idiot—and George lost his bucket two days ago. So now George’s house is on fire with no way to save it and it’s entirely his fault.

No apologies could fix this. The river is way too far. The trek there, at night, way too dangerous. “I didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry, George, I am so fucking sorry,” isn’t—could never be—enough.

He leaves, and he hopes that the other at least acknowledges him after this.

When he passes by Dream’s house, the other’s lights are still on, so he is quick to bang on the door. Dream opens it. “I set George’s house on fire. I don’t have water. George doesn’t have a bucket. Help.” Silently, Dream sets off down the path. He leaves Sapnap standing alone in the doorway. Sapnap goes inside, locking the door behind himself, and decides he’s done enough damage already. Going back would only do more. He plants himself firmly on Dream’s couch.

At some point he must’ve fallen asleep because he wakes to water flicked onto his face. He opens his eyes to see George leaning over him, brows furrowed, frown on his face. “You’re an idiot,” George tells him.

“I’m sorry,” Sapnap replies.

George grabs his wrists, holds them so that Sapnap’s hands are far from him, then kisses him. Heat floods Sapnap all the way through. George pulls back, sees the fire spreading across Sapnap’s palms, and immediately dunks his hands into a fresh bucket of water. “This isn’t really efficient,” George says. “Kind of dumb, actually. But it’s the best we can do until you’re back to normal.”

“What, are you seeing this as some kind of affliction?” Sapnap asks.

George gives him a look and Sapnap closes his mouth, sheepish. George glances down to Sapnap’s hands. Pulls them out of the water. “I’m doing this for you,” George says. “Dream told me about… yeah, your affliction.” He meets Sapnap’s eyes. “You really have a crush on me?” he asks. “That’s so embarrassing.” But his own cheeks are flushed.

Sapnap smiles, but it’s weak because… “I still can’t really do anything.”

“Could we start small?” George asks. He still has his fingers around Sapnap’s wrists, and he holds up one, Sapnap’s hand flopping over pathetically. George smiles before running his fingers up Sapnap’s arm and intertwining them with his own. So now they’re holding hands. Sapnap can hear the blood rush in his head as George meets his eyes. “I’m okay.”

“I’m scared I’m going to burn you,” Sapnap says, quiet. George brings their other hands together, palms pressed flat in a kiss, before his fingers slot between Sapnap’s.

“I’d let you burn me,” George replies, equally soft.

Sapnap lets out a breath.

“We’ll take our time,” George continues. “I’m scared too. I just don’t have the powers you have.” He laughs, and it’s a delicate sound. Sapnap takes it in. “I’m not affectionate. You know that, but… I don’t want you to be afraid of touching me, Sapnap. Of just being near me.”

He lets go of Sapnap’s hand to move the bucket, puts it on the floor. Takes their still-connected hands and puts them to his chest. Sapnap can feel his heartbeat. It’s rapid fire. “If I had your powers,” George whispers, “this whole world would be burnt down.”

“I love you,” Sapnap tells him.

“I know,” George replies. He squeezes Sapnap’s hand. “Nothing here has caught fire yet. You’re doing great already.”

Sapnap leans forward, brings their lips together, kisses him.

“Nothing here has caught fire yet.”

Sapnap lifts his free hand, curls it around the back of George’s neck, pulls him closer. George isn’t burnt. The bucket gets kicked over; Sapnap hears it hit the floor. The water spills out across wood. It’s fine. George’s hand comes up to cup Sapnap’s cheek. They don’t need it anyway.