#one more silly halloween joke before I go into the void for today | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

delldarling · 5 years

Text

forest rumors | aspen i

forest being x gender/body neutral reader 3000 words sfw | size difference, flirting

───── ❝ ❦ ❞ ─────

The rumors around Makeout Point have been flying about for at least a month now. They range from whispers and stifled laughter over Bigfoot jokes, to scared teenagers claiming something large and utterly frightening is living out there in the woods. No two people seem to have the same description at hand, but there are two words that stick out frequently when the rumors come up. Large and hairy.

Despite the clear and utter lack of tracks, the general consensus is that a bear must be in the area. Nothing more than an animal, roaming in the wrong places, the papers have claimed. Skeptics repeat the words so often that outright panic is halted, even though the whispers continue. Especially after forest rangers comb the area and find no evidence of bears.

You’re rather of the opinion that it’s more along the lines of an internet hoax though. Halloween is fast approaching, and people love to seize onto stories eerie in nature, just to give themselves a bit of a thrill. Besides, you’ve been coming here frequently for years. Makeout Point is just an old hiking trail that ends in a clearing. It’s perfect for teenage parties, complete with a fire pit made out of stones gathered from the woods or brought out specially by people that want to make a mark. During the day it’s nothing more than a nice place to wander about the trees and get away from the noise of the highway.

It… Isn’t particularly hard to imagine the silly Bigfoot stories though. Most forests have always given off that trees have eyes vibe, but there are a few spots, particularly in the mouth of the clearing, that give you more than the chills, the feeling of something lives here. You’ve always simply chalked it up to the fact that the spot is old. You go out there anyway, despite the strange feeling, despite the rumors, because sometimes dealing with the local populace just sucks. And nature, if not always a forgiving entity, is still more soothing.

You’ve always tended to err on the side of caution though, and generally time your visits for midday. Any earlier and frost peppers the ground, making any branches slick and dangerous, and you don’t feel like bundling up from head to toe. Not unless you absolutely have to. Any later and you risk running into couples of some sort, sometimes teens giggling and kissing, and sometimes people twice your age or more, looking to relive old memories with their spouses. Not to mention the darkness, which is almost absolute if you go wandering about in the evening.

“One day,” you mutter, cresting the hill that darkens from one step to the next. The trees grow thickly here, and the temperature drops sharply due to constant shade. “One day, I’ll bring someone out here with me.” You come to a stop under one of the trees, adjusting your sweatshirt, and then freeze when you hear a strange creaking noise. It sounds a bit like a branch bending, the creak of wood getting ready to break, and you can’t help cautiously lifting your head- but there’s nothing above you. Nothing out of the ordinary, anyway. Leaves shift in the breeze, small slivers of sunshine casting the illusion of water over the forest floor… You’re still alone.

You would have heard someone stumbling about by now if you weren’t, but you can’t shake the feeling of something… something watching. It’s never been quite this eerie before, but the rumors have never been quite so widespread either.

“Letting the stories get to me,” you say, sighing, and purposely turn away from the shadows deeper in the treeline. The back of your brain is almost insisting that you saw one of them move. You ignore it. Thoughts like that lend only to potential embarrassment. Or maybe a ridiculous run back down to the parking lot. “Maybe I should have asked for company,” you mutter wryly, “just to be safe.”

The breeze picks up, chill air seeping through the weave of your clothes like it’s sole purpose is to make you shudder. You stamp your feet a few times, rubbing at your own arms and force yourself to get moving. The only way to get a bit of warmth running through you right now is by movement, and the sooner you get this walk over with today, the better.

You shift branches out of the way with your feet as you walk, needles and leaves crunching underfoot. Despite the strange feeling, it’s calming out here. You can’t hear the cars any longer, and this time of year it’s always fairly quiet. Most of the birds have moved on by now. That, of course, probably lends to the eerie stories most of the locals have been passing around. It’s always easier to frighten someone in absolute silence under the trees.

You’re scrambling over a fallen log when you realize the creaking - just branches in the wind, you tell yourself - is getting louder. Your eyes dart up to the trees overhead, wondering if some kind of storm is going to blow through here soon. You’ll have to speed things along if you don’t want to get caught by fallen limbs.

“Did you truly want company? I would have come to you sooner.”

The surprise has you tripping over your own feet. You slide through the leaves, just barely catching yourself before your face hits the ground and pause where you are, trying to regulate your breathing. And your irritation.

“Have you just been waiting for someone to stumble through here?” You demand, slowly getting back to your feet and whirling about. The path behind you is empty. Just the same, shadowy trail you’ve been walking, peppered with the smallest hints of sunlight and stray branches. You brush your dirt sprinkled hands over your trousers, frowning. You didn’t imagine that voice. It was clearer than a bell, ringing in your ears, though the tone was… Off. “...uh, hello?” You ask softly, heart jack-hammering inside your rib-cage, eyes searching the area in vain. You still can’t spot anyone.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” someone says and their voice- It has every hair on your body standing on end. It echoes strangely, smooth and rough all at once as it fills your senses, and then the creaking noise comes to a rustling stop behind you.

You turn, promising yourself that you won’t scream- and you have to lift your head to meet their eyes. They’re unbelievably tall, branches curving off of their head and away from their shadowed face like horn, and that creaking starts up again as they kneel slowly, balancing themselves with a splayed hand on the ground. They’re humanoid, you notice vaguely, in that they have a torso, arms and legs. But their eyes- all you can truly see of them is the faint reflection of daylight off of their dark irises. You haven’t screamed, but you’re finding it a little difficult to breathe, air catching in your throat.

Perhaps it’s an age old instinct: sitting on the ground and curling your arms over your head. Don’t see me, the pose screams, even though you know you don’t have a hope in hell of that happening. They’ve already seen you, they’ve been speaking to you, they claimed they were waiting for you. You want to kick the ass of the person that claimed Bigfoot was out here at Makeout Point because fucking Bigfoot doesn’t even begin to cover the ent-like being in front of you. You’re fairly sure that hand of theirs could wrap around your torso - you’re willing to bet that they’ve got Bigfoot beaten in foot size. Or would it be trunk size? Your eyes flash open, darting to where their feet should be, but- You can’t focus on that now and you close your eyes again.

“For… For me?” You finally ask in a choked tone, knowing the silence has gone on for too long. Don’t make the giant tree being angry, right? That’s a good piece of advice if you’ve ever heard one. Manners help every situation.

“Yes,” they answer, and they’re closer. You can feel them looming over you, and there’s a faint, warmer breeze that makes you think it might be their breath.

“Ah.” You swallow, preparing yourself - it’s animatronic, your brain quickly lies, and then you’re hesitantly lowering your arms and lifting your face, just a little. You blink open your eyes, focusing on what you think is their shoulder, covered with moss and dotted with the tiniest mushrooms you think you’ve ever seen in your life. You don’t even attempt to glance at their face. Cute mushrooms feel… Safe. “And… And you are?” You ask, because manners.

“Hmm,” they sit back, slow and careful. Your eyes are drawn to their chest. It’s smoother there, void of moss, and the whorls and grain remind you of polished, petrified wood. “Aspen,” they say decisively, and you can’t help but wonder if they chose the name, just now. They don’t look like an aspen tree, not that you’re an expert in tree identification, but aspen trees are pale, nearly white with markings that remind many people of eyes. Aspen is… More of a gray. Silvery.

“Lovely,” you offer, and mean it. The name rolls off of the tongue and for all that they’re frightening because of their size? Their head tilts, a pleased noise rumbling out of them, and you can’t help it, you look back at their face - and then quickly away. It’s not that Aspen’s face is horrifying. You close your eyes, and you think that looking at them from an artistic viewpoint, they’re a wondrous creation. But Aspen is- is- The problem is that you don’t know what Aspen is, and you’ve never seen their like outside of movie screens. The real wonder here is that you’re still not screaming, and you haven’t passed out.

“Lovely,” they repeat and then they’re reaching towards you, and your heart nearly gives out. One long branch of a fingertip strokes over your shoulder, and the touch is softer by far than you thought it would be, not even catching on the material of your sweatshirt. They repeat the motion as soon as they’ve finished, adjusting the pressure when they tip you over a little bit.

“So,” you start, focusing back on their mushroomed shoulder, letting them stroke down your arm like you’re some kind of cat. They nearly upend you with every pass, but they’re being gentle. You can let it go. You don’t dare tell them to cease because they’re tall and likely strong and- “You, uh, are you from around here?” It’s strangely charming, having such a large creature fawning over you.

Aspen makes another humming noise, pausing in their stroke to glance back towards Makeout Point proper. “I came into being here, yes,” they tell you. “I’ve watched for many years.”

You’re not sure you have a response for that. Is Aspen saying that- that they’ve watched Makeout Point for years? In which case, part of you wants to cringe. Some kind of forest.. Forest being and they’ve been an eternal witness to human lust and the fumbling about of teenagers? There’s love there too, you suppose, but having been raised in society- The thought of being trapped there, watching humans of varying ages copulate, isn’t exactly a good one.

“I’ve seen you here too, Lovely,” and it’s then that you realize: Aspen thinks your name is Lovely. You honestly don’t know how to go about correcting them, so you let it lie.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding as Aspen resumes their careful stroking of your arm. “I- I come out here because I think it’s nice, the trees are gorgeous-” you halt, lips pressing together to stem the flow of words. Does that count as a compliment? What if they don’t call them trees, what if you’ve overstepped?

“Yes. You drew my interest,” they tell you and they turn their face to you again, their breath soft as it breezes over your cheeks. They smell like greenery. Crushed leaves and sweet grass, and the tang of pine.

You came out here for nothing more than your usual stroll through the woods. You’ve never been particularly verbose, walking through here, and you’re not sure exactly what made you stand out to them, but- “If you don’t mind my, my asking, Aspen, what exactly did I do that, uh, drew your interest?”

They shift even closer, leaving off their stroking of your shoulder to reach both their hands towards your face. The movement has you closing your eyes again, heart ceasing it’s rhythm, as if any moment now you’re going to be crushed, so-

“You’re not the same,” Aspen murmurs, branch-like fingers both cradling and caging your face. Their fingers prick at your skin, leaves twisting into your hair as they move, and every wince or change of expression has them leaning close to examine you. They’re being as gentle as they know how, as gentle as they’ve observed other humans acting. The problem is that they’ve only ever seen humans being intimate, if their words are anything to go by, and they’re close enough to kiss. You can’t take a breath without tasting growing things on the air. “You’re not like them. Attached. Out of reach.”

The words startle a nearly-hysterical laugh out of you, which has Aspen straightening, great eyes blinking slowly in confusion. You notice with a start that their eyelashes remind you of minuscule ferns and you find yourself wondering what they’d feel like against your cheek. “Is that why you’re interested in me? Because I’m always here alone?”

There’s a shifting, leaves rustling and branches creaking as they let go of your face, and your heart starts up again, though you hope you haven’t offended them. Instead of moving away like you expect, Aspen’s hands pluck you up as they get to their feet. Air rushes past you. They’re ridiculously careful, hand underneath your thighs to support your weight, and one across your chest and curled around your arm, to keep you from falling. You’re still not entirely sure you can breathe correctly. You feel like your brain must be short circuiting - you’re still not screaming or shouting your head off, and part of your brain says this is fine - you’re only like six feet off of the ground. Maybe you hit your head crawling over that log earlier, and all of this is your imagination.

You have no idea where Aspen is taking you, but they’re heading straight for Makeout Point now, their footsteps so slow and measured that you can barely hear them walking. They don’t fill the silence with speech either, though you notice that one of their fingers is still shifting softly across your neck and the top of your shoulder. They must like the feeling of your skin- or maybe they like the warmth?

They come to a halt in the clearing, gently uncurling their hold on your chest to point at the spot… At the spot you usually sit. You realize with a start that the tree you usually sit at the base of is gone, and you have to glance back at Aspen in surprise.

“You care for this place, Lovely. It calls to me,” Aspen whispers and they tilt their head towards you, eyes falling closed as they press the smooth bark of their face to the side of yours. “I had to answer.” Their hand curls back around your torso and a blazing heat spirals through you. From embarrassment, and because- because you’re touched. It sounds and feels fairy tale, that kindness or care within you called to a being made of the forest and they- what? Want to show you care in return?

You’re not sure if or how they would ever intend to do that, but their experience of humans- well. It lends a bit to the carnal. A thrill runs through you at the thought.

You whisper your name, which interrupts the strange moment of cuddling, and they open their eyes. “That’s my name. I- I was telling you earlier that I think your choice of name was lovely.”

“You’re still Lovely, to me,” they decide, but you think- you think Aspen might be smiling.

“I… I have another question,” you say, breath coming a little fast as you glance away from them, towards the fire pit in the middle of the clearing. “I’ve been coming here for- for years. Why are you showing yourself to me now?”

Their jaw can’t shift, can’t curl into an actual smile or frown, but for a moment you think they might be annoyed. “I have no desire to speak with others,” they tell you, and there it is. The annoyance. It passes quickly, especially when they focus their attention back upon you. “There are many of them, often, and- I am not human,” they confess, like you haven’t truly noticed. They sound almost… Apologetic about it. “There was a chance you would flee, like those that have only caught glimpses of me.”

That gets your attention and you glance up at Aspen’s face again. “The people running from the woods lately- they came across you?”

They nod their head in agreement.

That explains the rumors. It still makes you snort though, because large hairy animal or Bigfoot still doesn’t even come close to describing Aspen. Never mind the fact that they don’t have a hint of fur on their body. Moss, mushrooms and a drapery of lichen - you wonder if these people even got a good view of Aspen before they ran. Not that you truly blame them. Aspen is so large.

"But this time," they say, continuing, "you asked for company. I would never have intruded," Aspen explains, nodding at the place they're typically rooted. "But if I can give you something-"

That warmth fills your chest near to bursting. Softness and embarrassment, all at once.

───── ❝ ❦ ❞ ─────

...turn the page?

#exophilia #monster lover #gender neutral reader #sfw #d.darling writes

168 notes · View notes