#almost eaten by a monster in europe

[sophiemaryjanes]

i love listening to welcome to nightvale when i'm having a bad day because no matter how bad of a day i'm having cecil palmer & co are having a worse one

[buckets-and-trees]

The Only Way of Knowing You [Nick Fowler x Reader]

Title: The Only Way of Knowing You Characters/Pairings: leshy!Nick Fowler x curvy female!Reader Word Count: 7.8k

Summary: When you visit a cabin, you're drawn more and more to the forest, the flora and fauna, and a handsome stranger you cross paths with in the woods.

Content Warnings: explicit smut - nipple play, vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal intercourse, initial consent to questionable/dubious consent ending, kidnapping, intimidation, implied stalking and explicit stalking, human to monster transformation, monster fucking

Logistical Notes: Very belated, but this is my addition to the Enchanted Birthday Fest and my humble gift to all of you who come around and read what I write. Incorporating Mania (obsessive love - stalking) for @the-slumberparty's Eight Types of Love challenge. Thank you @goldylions and @sgt-seabass for blasting this with your beta energy. It certainly benefitted from your poking, prodding, and polishing.

Narrative Notes: There's a lot of leshy lore that's evolved over time since differing versions existed across Europe and you've got modern media takes. I took pieces that stuck out to me as I combed through. The most significant trait I adopted was that a leshy king could shape shift into human or animal and would adopt disguise to hide, adapt, or even lure people into the forest.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You gasped and stopped on the trail.

“A dog,” you whispered to no one but yourself, a grin splitting across your face.

The wilderness of the forest around you rose into a small, banked ridge on the left. You had only just heard the rustle of leaves that drew your attention over to that side to see the creature. You couldn’t tell the breed for sure – all dark fur, pointed ears, looking something between a husky and a wolf – but with him being so calm and willing to come this close to the path when he’d undoubtedly heard you walking, you assumed he couldn’t be too wild or feral. He had piercing blue eyes that locked with yours.

You were so tempted to try to call him over, but if he was wild, it was probably better not to, and if he belonged to someone, you didn’t want to lead him away from where he needed to go.

So, after another beat, you continued along your path.

After the four hour drive to your destination with some of the team from your office, as soon as you had unloaded and eaten lunch, you had been eager to get away to stretch your legs and to have some time away from everyone else, and you had some time before the rest of the team arrived for the work retreat your boss had put together. You had six days of training, strategizing, and team bonding ahead of you with a professional consultant and facilitator flown in who had built the agenda. There were breaks built throughout the day, and as you set off for this first walk, you imagined both the physical movement and the time away from the group would help keep you focused, energized, and from actually strangling your co-worker Rachel who regularly burst into song during casual conversation. 

You saw the dog again as you took the same path the next day when your group took a mid-morning break. This time, he walked alongside your path, keeping his distance off to the side, but only kept pace with you for about five minutes before wandering off.

You were hopeful to see him when you headed out in the afternoon.

But instead of the dog, you encountered a man in almost the same area, approaching you on the path.

The man was dressed in sturdy hiking boots, dark jeans, a dark green flannel over a white shirt, and a tan jacket over that. He was tall, well-built, with short brown hair, and entirely too handsome a person to encounter in real life, especially with his devastatingly blue eyes – eyes that were the same color as the dog.

You groaned internally for comparing his eyes to the dog’s.

“Hello,” he said, nodding at you a few paces before you were about to pass each other.

“Hello,” you managed to return – it was mostly automatic, but the intensity of his gaze almost prevented you from the customary politeness of fellow trailwalkers.

After he passed, you shook your head. No need to be flustered by the momentary passing of a stranger.

You looked back over your shoulder, and then your heart thudded to discover that he was looking back at you, too. He smirked, turned, and kept along his way.

You shook your head at yourself and then kept on your way.

The walking path through the forest was narrow in parts, wider in others, and rambled on for a mile or so before it split, allowing its travelers to eventually circle clockwise or counter-clockwise around a still, blue body of water that was bigger than a pond but not quite large enough to be classified as a lake. The trees ran right down to the water in many areas, and the path, as it circled, sometimes came very close to its edges, and in other places only came within ten or fifteen meters of the shore.

On day three, you saw the man in the morning, and the dog in the afternoon.

The man, the same you saw before, came towards you after he'd done a circle around the lake. You reached the two forks before having to directly pass him, to which he waved and said hello, the same casual niceties. 

In the afternoon, the dog approached you slowly but directly, and you knelt happily and held out your hand to encourage him to close the gap. He did, and after a quick sniff, let you pet him and scratch his ears.

“No collar?” you asked as you pet and admired his smooth, shiny coat.

After a minute, you stood and said, “You seem pretty familiar with this forest, well-fed, and so friendly. I don’t need to worry about you, do I?”

He circled you quickly, wagged his tail, and you laughed. “You want to join me for my walk this time?”

He trotted ahead a few steps, then looked back at you and waited.

You laughed. “I guess I’ll join you for this walk then.”

The two of you kept pace with each other all the way around the small lake, and then shortly after you got back to the main forest length, he trotted off the path into the forest again with only a small look back and a happy bark before bounding away.

That evening, because you had gone on so many walks, the rest of the group at the cabin decided to take an evening stroll around the lake. The planked wooden path made an adventure after dark doable enough. You didn’t see either of the strangers – dog or man – but there were a few times you had the keen sense you were being watched. In the dark it was impossible to tell, but the feeling came and went.

The next morning, you made your way down the deep forest path without encountering anyone and took the right fork to make your way around the lake.

At nearly the same place the dog had approached you the afternoon before, the man came striding your way from off the path.

“Hello,” he greeted as soon as he’d stepped out of the trees.

It was evident he intended to speak to you.

“Hello,” you said, trying to be friendly, but unsure how this would unfold, and a little nervous over engaging with the stranger.

Your heartbeat sped up the closer he got, but not because he was still a stranger, but because you were reminded he was altogether too handsome of a stranger. This was made even more obvious than your brief passings the previous two days, as now you could only stand still and watch as he approached you.

You remembered he was tall, but today he seemed taller. Those blue eyes had you rooted to the spot where you stood, and his face had a small but easy smile. You tried in vain to keep your heart from racing the closer he got.

“I’m Nick,” he offered, once he was close enough for conversation.

You gave your name in response.

“Nice to actually meet you,” he said as he stepped up onto the boardwalk. “You’re not from around here. Staying in one of the vacation cabins?” he guessed.

You nodded. “And you are from around here?” you surmised. “Do you live here? Work here? Both?”

“I suppose you could say both.” A calm but crips breeze swept through the trees around you, rustling through the leaves. 

“Oh, are you the caretaker?”

“Guardian, caretaker, king of the forest,” he joked.

You laughed, and it was an easy laugh.

He echoed your laugh. “What, you don’t believe me?”

“No, of course, I do,” you said.

“If you let me join you, maybe I can prove my place here in the forest, share some of the history of the land, and some of my expert knowledge.” He raised his brow in a questioning look.

You were torn equally between hesitance and intrigue, but you were more unsure of how to decline, nor did you actually want to, so you nodded, and the corner of his mouth ticked up. He swept his arm to the side, gesturing at the path, and as you started walking, he fell right in step with you.

“So, what brought you to the forest?” he asked.

You explained how your boss had booked the large corporate retreat cabin for your team, planning many days of bonding and strategy conversations and leadership workshops with the consultant flown in from New York City.

As you walked together, he made good on his promise to tell you more about the forest and the lake. He pointed out some of the flora and fauna, showing his care and consideration for the wildlife and growth of the wilderness.

“It must be nice living out here.”

“You would like it.”

You looked over at him, finding he was already watching you, and then turned your head back to the path. “I think I might. Being out here the past few days has me contemplating quitting my job, selling off most of my stuff, and just finding a small cabin in the woods and writing or something.”

“You should.”His concentrated attention both unnerved you and put you at ease at the same time. It was a strange feeling. There was something within you that wanted more time with him like this, but it was silly to want. This was only your first conversation with him. You wouldn’t be spending day after day stumbling into walks with him any more than you would be abandoning your city life to embrace a secluded existence in a cabin in the forest.

But it might be nice, you thought.

“If only,” you finally sighed.

He was quiet for a moment. Then he cleared his throat. “When are you supposed to leave?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

He hummed in thought. “That seems like an awfully long cabin retreat for a team of colleagues.”

You laughed. “It certainly is. My boss has too much money and got very excited. It’s mostly a good office of people, and there are about ten of us here, but I definitely like my time away from the group – we’ve been encouraged to spend our breaks however we need.”

“And you took to your walks in the woods.”

“Mhmm,” you hummed and smiled softly. “Oh, actually, do you know about the black dog running around out here? I’ve seen him every other day, but not yet today.”

“He caught your heart, didn’t he?”

You grinned and nodded. “Does he have owners out here, or is he wild? He doesn’t have a collar.”

“No owners.”

“Not unlike you?”

“Oh, have I caught your heart, too?”

Your jaw dropped slightly, and you tried not to let your pace falter. “I–”

He gave a chuckle, but he also let his fingers brush against yours as you continued to walk side by side. “Don’t worry, if I didn’t want to see you, I would know how to go unnoticed by you in this forest.”

“Oh.” It was a small response, especially compared to the burst of warmth that bloomed in your heart, but you weren’t quite sure how to respond. You were flattered with the flirting and his insinuation that he did want to see you. A whisper in the back of your mind wondered how many years he must have walked these woods to know its secrets and be so confident that he could wander it undetected, but he gestured for you to listen to the faint call of a pair of birds nearby. He identified them as veery thrushes, and  then you were carried along into learning about them and some of the other animals that inhabited this area of the forest during the rest of your short morning walk. 

Nick came across you walking again in the afternoon. He told you more about the forest and its history, but more and more he started to ask more questions about you.

You liked that he asked about you.

It seemed impossible that this unbelievably tall (was he even taller than he was before? Surely he wasn’t), dark, handsome man was so keen on your company, but you couldn’t help but take to him, and to the warmth of the attention he shined on you like the sun that filtered through the leaves of the trees to bathe the rest of the flora in the forest.

It may have been silly to dream about him that night when you went to sleep, but you had no real control over that, and although this whole excursion was for work, a small, inconsequential crush on someone you would never see again when you went home was fine.

The next morning, you didn’t run into him during your walk, but you were happy to run into your furry companion again, and he stayed right at your side while you took the loop around the lake. You were only a little sad there was no sign of Nick, but even though he clearly spent a lot of time there, you couldn’t expect him to always be in the woods.

So, when you were just starting along the path for your walk and hear footsteps coming up behind you, you eagerly looked over your shoulder, only to see two men walking some twenty to thirty yards behind you. You sighed and kept walking. You hadn’t seen a great deal of people on the trail over the past few days, but these weren’t the first strangers, as it was an area with enough scattered cabins throughout the forest to merit the establishment of the sturdy planked path in the first place.

But as you continued on, the men seemed to keep pace with you, speeding up when you did, and slowing down and maintaining some of the distance when you tested it, and that made you nervous. You would feel better even just to see the wild dog so you could call him to you. You were sure he would deter the men. But there was no sign of him either.

As you approached the fork that created the lake loop for the path, you didn’t know which to hope for – that they would take the other path and you would have to potentially pass them, or take the same one as you and you could hope that they would keep their distance.

They went the same way as you.

And they started to close the distance.

You thought you were imagining it at first, but when you increased your pace, theirs quickened even more, and there was no more of the hum of talking between them.

You didn’t want to panic and run. They both had a height advantage with longer legs, and if you could simply continue to walk more quickly, you could at least stave off the need to run until there was no more choice – because you were sure the second you ran, they would follow suit, and you didn’t know how long you’d last.

Especially now that your heart was already racing.

“Hey sweet thing,” one of them called out.

You focused on keeping your quick pace and didn’t look back.

“Nice day for a walk,” the same gruff voice added.

Still you refused to engage. You expected this now and then in the city, but it wasn’t supposed to happen out here. You didn’t have a phone to suddenly get on and call someone or keys in your pocket to thread through your fingers for makeshift protection. 

“Nice day for more than a walk, don’t you think?” the second man chimed in.

“Yeah, maybe a little afternoon delight.”

Your skin crawled. 

“A little fucking,” the second one jeered.

Maybe you did need to run. 

And then suddenly at a bend in the path, you turned and there he was.

Nick.

Your heart leapt in relief, and you rushed to him.

He had to have instantly seen the panic in your eyes as his own blue eyes changed immediately into a dark storm, and he looked beyond you as he quickly strode forward to meet you. He saw the men immediately as they, too, turned around the bend, and you heard their footsteps slow immediately.

Nick pulled you into his side, wrapping a protective arm around you.

“Afternoon,” one of the men said, both of them nodding, trying to pass off casual greetings as if they hadn’t been closing in on you, making their intentions clear.

“Turn around, pack up, and leave this forest,” Nick said, voice flat and threatening.

“Hey! Look, man,” the other started, but Nick cut him off.

“Turn around, pack up,” he repeated, enunciating each word with more fury, “never come back.”

They stopped walking, putting them only ten yards away.

“Now,” Nick growled.

A ripple of fear shot through you at his tone, and it wasn’t directed at you. There was a sudden groaning and crashing of trees in the distance that only added to the tension of the moment, and then the two men turned around and retreated.

“I know where you’re staying. Don’t make the mistake of thinking my directions are idle or that I won’t check to make sure you’re gone,” he spoke loudly enough for them to hear as they got further away.

With them no longer in sight, Nick turned his full attention to you, taking both your hands in his. “You alright?”

You took a deep breath in then let it out to release the tension from the fear-driven adrenaline and nodded.

He murmured your name, pressing in concern, ducking slightly to gaze directly into your eyes.

You smiled softly at his worry, the seeds that bloomed earlier in your heart coming to life and blooming a bit more. “I’m fine now,” you reassured him, giving his hands a gentle squeeze.

He narrowed his eyes.

“Really,” you promised. “Not the first intimidating creeps I’ve ever encountered.”

“Okay.” His face relaxed, but only a fraction, and you had the impression it was only to help ease your tension. “If you’re sure.”

You nodded. 

He dropped your hands, and you reminded yourself not to let your face drop as he did.

“Sorry I didn’t meet up with you earlier, I-“

You cut him off, “I wasn’t expecting you to meet up with me, and I don’t always get to steal away for these walks at the same time.”

He nodded. “I know. But I want to show you why time got away from me.”

“Okay.”

His face split into a bright smile. “Follow me,” he said, turning around and trekking into the trees. 

You trailed behind him as the ground gently sloped toward the lake. The trees and underbrush were abundant yet thin enough to allow the two of you to pass through. The wooden path varied in how close it was to the lake as it wound around, and here it was less than a minute before you could see the water’s edge. Nick abruptly stopped and put his arm out for you to also stop.

Since he’d been walking so quickly, you did bump right up against his arm with a small mumbled, “sorry,” and he turned his head to smile. Then he turned to look ahead and pointed to a cluster of rocks right at the shoreline.

You squinted to study them, and then you gasped when two little furry heads popped up over the top of the rocks.

“Otters!” you whispered.

“Yes,” Nick confirmed. “Freshwater river otters. I think we’ve got a clan of at least four that have only appeared today in the lake. Probably migrated down the river from the lake further up. They’ve been getting a bigger tourist draw up there, and I imagine they don’t want to be constantly disturbed by humans encroaching on their habitat.”

He took slow, measured, unassuming steps closer, and you tentatively followed. The two otters both perched up higher on the rocks, giving tiny yelps.

Nick motioned for you to kneel as he did. He held out his hand toward the pair of mammals.

“They’re a curious and friendly species,” he said, and even as he said the words, the two darted up and over the rocks, coming closer by a few feet before pausing. The slightly larger one gave a little trill and took a couple more hops forward. Its companion sauntered right up next to it, but then took a few more steps forward, bopped its nose against Nick’s hand, huffed and turned away, darting right down the bank and into the water, gliding smoothly away. The other came forward, gave Nick’s outstretched hand a little more of a sniff, then turned its head to you, and edged your way. You quickly but carefully stretched your hand out, received a couple of sniffs, and then this otter also snorted and trotted away and into the water, trilling as it slipped into the clear water.

“No fish, no interest,” Nick said, and the two of you laughed.

He moved to sit on the ground, and you sat next to him. The pair of otters re-emerged, swam up to shore, and dove back in and out of the water frequently as the two of you watched and talked.

You only stayed there for a short space of time, and then Nick seemed to sense without you needing to prompt him that it was time to get back to your walk. He stood and gave you a hand up. He held onto your fingers for just an extra moment, looking at your hands together, before letting go and brushing himself off. You did the same, and then fell into step with him, heading back to the path.

Easy conversation, just like the day before, continued to flow between you. He appeared to have endless questions about you, and again his rapt attention was its own warm, addictive rush, and that thing in your heart continued to grow, vines starting to sneak out of your heart and around your chest.

Suddenly he stopped, and you stopped another step ahead and turned to look back at him. “What is it?”

“We’re at the spot that leads up to the cabin your group is staying in,” he answered, a broad smirk on his face.

“Oh,” your cheeks heated, and you ducked your head to laugh. “Oops.”

You didn’t want your last walk with him to suddenly be over.

“You’re quite taken with all of this, aren’t you? The forest calls to you.”

You let out a wistful sigh and looked back up at him. Damn those impossibly deep blue eyes. You were overcome with a terrible ache that radiated from the base of your throat and the top of your chest, and you desperately tried to tamp down the thick emotion.

“But I have to go home tomorrow.”

“Come walk with me tonight.”

You bit your lip.

“Come on,” he urged you. “It’s your last night, and it’s a full moon. You have to see the forest bathed in the full moon's light. Come with me.”

“Yes,” you heard the word tumble out of your mouth, unable to deny him.

His eyes darkened and sparkled. “I promise you’ll see things you’ve never seen before.”

Though Nick wasn’t far from your thoughts, you focused well enough on your last evening with the group, engaging in dinner and the evening’s bonding activities. Wine and mocktails were poured for a final night looking up at the stars around a fire in the firepit on the balcony, and you made sure to enjoy that time, too. You had liked some of your coworkers before the retreat, but now you had a better understanding and appreciation for all of them.

However, once it got closer to ten, you anxiously started taking stock of the minutes passing away further into the night. Two of your group said goodnight at ten, but that was too early. You determined you would do well to stay with the balcony group until at least half-ten so you didn’t get too anxious about seeing Nick later.

At ten-thirty, a few more peeled off from the group, and so you retired to your room so that your timely departure didn’t seem unnatural to anyone.

You showered and messed with your hair for a bit but didn’t bother with makeup since it was after dark. You put on your favorite pair of joggers, a crewneck, and good walking shoes. You certainly hadn’t anticipated taking to the forest with so many walks each day, it wasn’t anything like how you were at home – busy with work and taking care of your life in the city – but it had been so natural to take to the outdoors while you were here. This final walk before your party went home in the morning wasn’t going to be like any of the others. You tried not to feel foolish for indulging in a walk at midnight with the hulking man with the most captivating blue eyes you’d ever seen who could easily take your breath away and whisk you off your feet.

But you had said yes because when else would you ever do something like this?

The answer was never.

And there was no harm in taking a handsome man up on his offer for a midnight stroll in the moonlight.

You put on the watch your grandmother had given you and the simple necklace you typically wore. They weren’t much, and you told yourself you didn’t need to dress up anyway, but they were small touches all the same.

Looking briefly in the mirror, you smoothed your hand down over the front of your shirt and took a deep breath. It’s fine, you thought. He’s seen you plenty before now, and it’s going to be dark, and it’s only a walk anyway. You checked your watch, and it was just a few minutes before eleven-thirty, which is when Nick had said to meet him.

You slipped quietly out of your room, down the stairs, and out the back door. The full moon was bright out here so far away from any city lights, illuminating the familiar path from the cabin that would take you down to the main boardwalk trail.

So many times Nick had simply appeared in the forest, but he was waiting for you right at the end of the path. Your heart raced just a little as his lips turned up in a smile.

“Hey,” you said softly.

“You came.”

He studied your face intently. You were unsure what he was looking for and simply focused on returning your gaze as unassuming as possible, telling your heart to settle and stop beating so fast. Yes, he made you feel things, but one of those things over the past few days had also been a sense of calm and safety in his presence, and you concentrated on that.

After another moment, finally, you responded with a simple, “I said I would.”

The corners of his mouth turned up. “Then let’s go.”

You fell easily into step with him, the trail so familiar now, though it had been less than a week, and knowing this ramble down to the lake and back, your chest started to feel thick in anticipation of missing it already. As you walked and talked, you thought you were keeping pace with Nick, but maybe you were more tired than you thought because it seemed like you were working to stay in stride with him as you hadn’t had to before. Either that or his legs were longer than before, but that – of course – was an impossible thought.

You shook your head.

Nick paused and turned. “What are you shaking your head at?” he asked. “I’ve lost you, haven’t I?” His tone was soft and teasing.

“Sorry, I got distracted, and my imagination got a little carried away with impossibilities.”

He cocked his head slightly. “Maybe more is possible in this forest than you might think.” His eyes danced with a hint of mystery.

“Is that so?” You played into his mischief.

He leaned closer. “This is an old forest, and it’s a full moon. Anything could happen on a night like tonight.”

Your body seemed drawn into him, leaning closer as well. “Anything?”

“Anything,” he whispered, and his eyes flicked down to your lips.

The moment hung between you. You tilted your head up, and your eyes fluttered closed. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your face.

And then he tugged on your hand, yanking you out of the moment. “Come on, pretty girl, we’re almost there.”

You sighed, letting out the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

But with how tightly his hand held yours as he led you off the boardwalk and into the trees, you didn’t feel too disappointed.

He was quiet now, but he also kept you close as he led you through this part of the forest. The trees were more thickly woven together here, with girthier trunks, and you couldn’t help but feel how they were older the further you wandered in. There was no trace of a path now, but Nick kept a confident pace, clearly knowing each inch of the forest intimately, and his surety allowed you to let yourself be swept away further and further along.

His steps were swift but nearly silent, and you tried to walk as quietly as possible. The sounds of the forest at night were soft but present – soft wind whistling through the trees, the song of nocturnal birds, and the chirping of crickets. The light filtering through the branches was minimal, and it had to be tricking you because you knew he was tall, but it felt like he was somehow taller tonight. It had to be the nature of how you were keeping so close just behind him, focused on the square of his shoulder and the gentle pull of his arm leading you.

He wasn’t taller now than he was earlier today, was he?

“Just up ahead,” he said, looking back over his shoulder at you, one of the easy smiles that made your heart sigh painted on his face.

His pace quickened, and your anticipation built as you hurried to keep up.

Seconds before the tree line broke, you heard the rippling sounds of water before emerging into a glade. Nick stopped a few steps into the clearing, and you came to stand right next to him. The first thing to draw your eye was a stream running into a small pool. The meadow on the side of the stream where you stood sloped gently down to the water, and it was covered in blankets of wood anemone, reaching right down to the bank and springing up and sprawling away again on the other side. The trees surrounding the glade were certainly some of the tallest you’d seen in the forest, and they rose as giant sentinels toward the inky black sky, which was studded with stars around the bright full moon.

As you looked up and around, the coupling of the simplicity and the majesty of it all had you enraptured, and you let out a soft sigh of contentment.

Nick brought your hand up to his face, pressed a kiss to the back of your hand, and your heart stuttered in your chest. You turned to look at him. His eyes almost appeared to glow an even brighter blue.

“I said it earlier, but this forest calls to you, doesn’t it?”

Your brows furrowed.

“Close your eyes,” he said.

You did.

He dropped your hand, and you let it fall to your side.

“Take a deep breath,” he whispered.

You inhaled slowly, letting the breath fill your belly and lungs, fresh, clean, and calm. You tipped your head back, your face craving the moonlight in that moment.

Although you didn’t hear him move, suddenly you felt the warmth of Nick standing behind you. “Now, listen and feel,” he murmured softly in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. You shivered but remained rooted to the spot. His fingers brushed along the backs of your hands and began to trail slowly up your arms. Your whole body was humming at his touch.

He pressed one soft kiss to your neck, and you sighed and let your neck fall to the side. When his hands landed on your shoulders, he pressed another soft kiss at the bottom of your neck, then turned you to face him.

“You should stay with me.”

Before you could respond, he took your head in both his hands, cradling your jaw. He searched your eyes for any hesitancy, but you knew you couldn’t summon any, nor did you want to. Instead, you pushed up on your toes, seeking his lips, and he met you halfway, claiming your lips with his.

Your hands came up to clutch at his wrists as he held your face, and you leaned in, longing to feel your body close to his. His tongue teased at the seam of your mouth, and you let him in, allowing the kiss to deepen, to sear into your very soul. His left hand moved, quickly coming to press at the small of your back, drawing you flush against him. One of your arms wound around his broad chest, and the other came up to mirror how he was cupping your cheek, feeling the trace of stubble along his jaw with your fingers. You stroked his tongue with yours, moaning into the kiss, and he reciprocated stroke for stroke. You quickly became so consumed by his kiss, feeling lightheaded but not sure if it was him or a lack of air, because you couldn’t tell if you were still breathing. It was a fevered kiss driven by something you’d never felt so strongly before, and you needed more.

Nick sank to his knees, and you went naturally down with him. He sat back on his heels, and you followed, perching in his lap. He held you there, your core over his groin, for a delicious moment, and then suddenly he lifted you up and laid you softly but swiftly onto the soft flowery bed of the meadow, his lips never leaving yours. You gasped and giggled against his mouth.

“What a lovely sound,” he said tenderly. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, a satisfied grin on his face.

Whether it was smug or sweet, you weren’t sure, and you felt your cheeks growing warm under his hungry gaze and his soft praise.

“I wonder what other lovely sounds I can draw from you,” he added as both of his hands moved to your hips. He began kissing you again, having only given you a moment of reprieve, then his hands slid slowly up your waist, skimming up over your ribs, pushing up the fabric of your sweatshirt. When his thumbs brushed up against the underswell of your breasts, he pressed back and forth a few times, teasing you, drawing a little whimper, before he let his thumbs run up and over your nipples. They were both peaked, and you shivered in pleasure, the teasing through the fabric of your bra its own unique sensation, but you were eager for more, so you moved your hands to begin quickly unbuttoning his flannel. He took the hint, helping you by shrugging off his jacket, and when he leaned up for a moment to pull off his flannel and remove the t-shirt he had on beneath it, so you shifted beneath him to pull off your sweatshirt and reach for the clasp of your bra, tossing that to the side as well.

You hadn’t hesitated to rid yourself of your clothes, but you were hit with the rush of baring your chest to him now as – with his own clothing discarded – he froze and looked down at you from above. You flushed with heat, but as you moved one hand to tentatively cover yourself, he grabbed it in his, drew it up to his mouth, and kissed your palm.

You were aware of every imperfection as his eyes roved over your body, but when he looked into your eyes and said, “gorgeous,” his face was so serious, so hungry, you didn’t question that he meant it.

He lowered himself back down over you, supporting himself by planting one forearm on the ground next to your side, and this time his lips sought your chest. He kissed down your sternum, then took one breast in his mouth, and palmed the other with his free hand. You moaned as he sucked one nipple and rolled and teased the other with his fingers. You arched beneath him, your body responsive to his diligent ministrations. He switched to the other breast, flicking his tongue over the nipple before lapping and sucking at it. You hadn’t cum before from nipple play alone, but he had you wondering if you might as the pleasure mounted.

You trembled and whimpered beneath him, and as you began to writhe more desperately, he took his mouth off your breast with an audible pop. He moved back up your body, and his hand cupped your face again, his thumb brushing the apple of your cheek, urging you to open your eyes and look at him.

“Tell me you never thought about it, about staying here with me after I left you earlier today,” he said.

You were already breathless, or else the powerful drive in his deep blue eyes would have stolen your breath once again.

“You must let me have you,” he implored.

You couldn’t answer, but only because you were overcome by the desire in his eyes. For you.

Your name fell from his lips, and his voice was soft, deep, and controlled, but you could still feel the edge of the desperate plea as he uttered your name.

“Yes,” you keened, and you rocked your hips up against his.

“Say the words,” he said. “Say my name and tell me I can have you.”

He slipped his hand down, hooked two fingers into your waistband, and pulled teasingly along the edge from your hip to just below your navel. The torturous movement along your soft skin only drove the hunger that was building for more.

He had to know how he was mounting and playing with the anticipation. But if he needed you to say it, you’d say anything to get what you wanted right now under the light of the full moon from this inimitable figure of a man, nearly unreal in his beauty.

“Nick, you can have me!” You cried.

He wasted no time in pulling your trousers and underwear down in one go. You tried to kick off your shoes, but slightly struggling to do so, his hands helped remove your shoes and socks more deftly, and he was able to more easily toss it all away. And as your legs settled back down on either side of him as he knelt above you, you realized he was suddenly somehow as naked as you – though you didn’t know how he managed that so quickly, so quickly it felt like magic. Everything about tonight felt illusory, and yet it was all tangible and indisputable, and you gave yourself over to it. When else would you ever find yourself in such an enchanted set of circumstances like this ever again?

So what if it felt like a dream?

You took a deep breath and let your fingers tangle in the grass and the stems of the wood anemone. Your eyes traveled up his thighs to a cock so thick and long and hard for you, then up further, over his hips, defined abs, chiseled chest, and broad shoulders, and you whined. Every inch of him ignited heat through your body, and when your eyes met his again, your pulse stuttered.

You could dream like this for one night.

Keeping his eyes locked on yours, Nick settled back on his haunches and pulled your thighs up over his, drawing you up over him, angling your lower half up as an offering, and his piercing cerulean gaze moved to your core, fully on display. His fingers brushed over your lower stomach, the touch so light it tickled, and you jerked, but his other hand held your hip firmly in place. His fingers parted your folds without hesitation, and he licked his lips.

“Such a pretty, wet cunt, my little nymph,” he said, and you felt both shy being so exposed to him, and desperate for him.

“Nymph?” you couldn’t help but question, surprised by the pet name. 

“Mhmm,” Nick hummed. He traced your wet folds with one finger, in no rush. “You belong to this forest.” He spread your wetness along those lips with the attention of an artist to his canvas. Then he slipped two fingers inside your cunt.

You gasped, and your eyes fluttered closed.

He pushed them all the way in, then gave a few slow, shallow thrusts in and out.

You never wanted to wake up from this, but you needed more.

“Nick, please!”

He withdrew his fingers and then pressed them to your lips. “Taste your sweet nectar, nymph.”

The digits easily slipped into your mouth, and the urge to suck was a near primal reaction. He applied gentle pressure on your tongue as you sucked, and it only drove the craving in your core further. You were entirely lucid, and yet you felt thoroughly intoxicated by him, by everything around you.

“Open your eyes,” he said, and you did.

You swore he could see into your soul when he looked at you so intensely, but rather than fear, it soothed your nerves. It also more deeply stoked your desire for him, and as much as you wanted to linger in this moment, there was an undeniable pull you couldn’t ignore.

“Kiss me,” you breathed.

He shifted to lean down over you, remaining rooted between your thighs but shifting forward so you were nearly chest to chest. He bore his weight on his forearms, caging you in. As he settled, lips only a breath away from you, you felt the weight of his large, thick cock rest on your stomach. You lifted your head to pull him into the kiss you wanted. You ached for him to fill you up, but you also wanted to give everything just to this kiss for a few beats longer.

It was like he was drinking you in. One of your arms came up around his back, the other brushed up along the side of his arm, seeking and ultimately finding his hand, and your fingers instinctively entwined together.

He moved his other hand down briefly to guide the head of his cock to your weeping hole, and you gave a little moan into his mouth as his head entered you.

As he seated his cock fully inside of you, the tip nudging your cervix, you had to break off your kiss to concentrate on breathing. Nick dropped his forehead to yours, seemingly unable to refuse some form of intimate closeness as he rocked into you again. “You can feel it,” he spoke, the warmth of his breath still close to your mouth.

“Yes,” you panted. Your legs wrapped around his torso. He resumed thrusting, slow, deep thrusts.

“I can feel it, too,” he murmured along your jaw. “You’re answering the call of the forest.”

“Mhmm,” you hummed, hardly focused on what he was saying, but the deep warmth of his voice made the words swell through your mind.

He continued his unhurried thrusts, almost methodical in nature, and after a few more minutes, his cock began to swell inside you. And it continued to grow.

You moaned – or groaned – you couldn’t decipher if what you were feeling was real and whether it was painful or pure ecstasy. Your hand clasped his more tightly, and his answering squeeze was accompanied by tendrils of vines sprouting and circling around your hand and down around your wrist.

“What?” Your eyes flew open, and then you gasped. “Nick!”

He was transforming before your eyes. His face remained familiar, but a crown of horns appeared around his head, and emerald moss and glossy leaves intermingled and sprouted throughout his dark hair. Two enormous, magnificent antlers had emerged from his temple and were still slowly growing, just as he was still slowly growing inside you as he continued his steady thrusts. His shoulders broadened, and you knew he was growing in stature. 

You trembled beneath him, tears springing to your eyes, in danger of spilling over.

“I told you, my little nymph: I’m the king and guardian of this forest – it speaks to me like it wants to speak to you. You’re answering the call, and I can’t,” he paused to groan, and with a shiver, you felt the ridge of his spine shift from skin to a supple tree bark. “It’s midnight, and with you giving yourself to me and the forest, I can’t hold back my true form.”

He began to thrust more quickly in and out of your cunt, a few of the strokes a little erratic. You whimpered, overwhelmed, and a few tears spilled over your cheeks.

“No, none of that,” he scolded, but kissed away the tears. “You didn’t want to leave, and now you don’t have to, nor can you.”

His free hand moved between you and found your pulsing, puffy clit, applying immediate, furious little circles that refused to let you feel anything but pleasure in response to his ministrations. His lips reclaimed yours once again, and as your body continued to tremble, his thrusts sped up even more, your channel never more full, making the mounting wave of pain and pleasure so exquisite as the waves grew that you let out a sob as your orgasm crashed over you.

Unrelenting, as your cunt contracted around him, Nick more demandingly sought his own release. He moved both hands to grip your ribs below your wrists and railed into you with abandon, punching the air from your lungs over and over, and ultimately pushing you into a rushed second orgasm only seconds before he roared his own ecstasy, his hips stuttering as he spilled deep loads of his seed inside of you, a warmth you could feel permeating you.

And then Nick petted your face, showering kisses softly over your lips, cheeks, and eyelids before ultimately resting his forehead on yours, and gently caressing your neck.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you, for this, and now you're mine forever.”

If you enjoyed this at all, read the other two fics from the Enchanted Birthday Fest by the wonderful @witchywithwhiskey and @biteofcherry! They're both exquisite stories!

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[yuri-is-online]

I know you said that even though Epel is most likely alive in the Bad Timeline(tm) he would probably never meet Yutu because Mount Moln is so isolated, but I can't stop thinking about Harveston being so isolated that they just... don't even realise the apocalypse happened. Two farmers are just passing eachother on the road to town like

"Business been slow for you too Hans?"

"Yeah Freddy, and the TV's still busted" (it's not, just no channels airing anymore and phones are down😔) like Mount Moln is meant to be like, far far northern Europe so even if a Blot Zombie does shamble into town, its no weirder than the other things that wander out of the forest, just gotta let your ma know to bring the cat in so it doesn't get eaten.

(So I also imagine Epel learning about the end of the world when Yutu and their merry band of misfits travel to Mount Moln tracking a phantom/Grim and Epel comes in on horseback to save them Lone Ranger/Cowboy style. Like Epel's almost guilty how relieved he is that it's the end of the world, actually. So business has halted because nobodies alive to buy apples? His friends didn't ghost him after Yuu disappeared? He's a daddy!? Logically, he knows he should be horrified, but it's just do goddamn nice to finally have answers (and finally meeting his kid!) Meanwhile Yutu and Co are more distracted by being fed and given some quality food. Fresh produce! Home-baked meals! They've secured a food line for Sage Island! Finally a win for the bad future! (Until a phantom comes along, that is...)

Finally a win for the bad future! (Until a phantom comes along, that is…) pretty much describes everything that happens in this au tbh

I think this would happen to a degree. They know there are increased monster attacks and that the ability to ship produce has been interrupted, but your mind is never going to jump immediately to "wow the world must be ending" unless you are a very specific type of person that everyone ignores anyway.

Epel riding in on a horse to save the day... Epel! Yutu is going to have a stroke from how cool that makes his dad look to him. So much so I am stealing it for his post that I am working on right now ( ` ꒳ ´ )✧

[soft-pine]

spn20rewatch: 1.11 scarecrow

LOVE OF MY LIFE EPISODE OF ALL TIMES

first off, TUMMY!!!

second, we get some all time banger dean lines:

"i don't understand they're going to kill us?" / "sacrifice us. which is, i don't know, classier, i guess."

"i hope your apple pie is freakin worth it!"

lastly, scarecrow sets in place and affirms threads that will literally carry us through the entire rest of the show.

in the pilot john leaves dean coordinates for his next hunt. in 1.04, they find john has turned his phone back on (but isn't answering it and is directing people to dean). in 1.10 john texts dean a case and now in 1.11, he calls!

to dean, i think, this means he's been doing good. working the cases john sends and not getting distracted trying to hunt john down. he follows orders and in exchange is rewarded with slightly more contact.

sam, on the other hand, is angry. he's mad at john for not telling him what's going on. he's mad at john for not letting him help hunt the demon that killed jessica. he's mad at dean for just wanting to do what john says and not pushing back.

the whole time sam is on the phone with john, dean is desperately trying to get it. he wakes up shirtless (vulnerable) but almost immediately, he's fumbling to get a shirt on (armor) while reaching for the phone.

to me, nothing will ever beat dean's worried, "dad, it's me. where are you?" to him straightening his shoulders and going, "yes, Sir," in like three seconds.

the case john sends them to is a town sacrificing couples to a prosperity god brought over from europe when settlers colonized indiana.

in the car on the way, sam gets so mad at how dean's just wanting to follow john's orders and be "a good son" that he pulls the car over and leaves. so dean investigates burkittsville on his own and ends up being kidnapped and left by the townspeople as one half of the annual sacrifice. emily, the antagonists' niece is chosen as the other sacrifice.

the layers here are so dense! because, well, first off, we have dean paired with a woman who he is very friendly with but has absolutely no romantic interest in. but this coerced "couple" is what the townspeople intend to feed their fertility god in order to continue their vision of the colonial project. dean is both forced into the costume of heterosexuality and sacrificed for the american dream. this is maybe my favorite theme in spn.

however, rather than romantic partners, emily and dean are in fact mirrors. one of emily's first conversations with dean is about her love for her aunt and uncle and the town. and it echoes dean's compliments of john's work putting together the case file and in general, dean's desire to be a good son.

EMILY: Everybody’s nice here. DEAN: So, what, it’s the, uh, perfect little town? EMILY: Well, you know, it’s the boonies. But I love it. I mean, the towns around us, people are losing their homes, their farms. But here, it’s almost like we’re blessed. 

DEAN: Yahtzee. Can you imagine putting together a pattern like this? All the different obits Dad had to go through? The man’s a master.

but this all sours. emily's family is not nice. in fact, they try to kill her. and not only that - they tell her to just go along with it, to do as she's told. in essence, just to be a good niece.

what does this mean for a story where we know john has used his kids - and especially dean - as bait? where 1.02 finds them following instructions from john which result in dean kidnapped and nearly eaten before he and sam agree he should play the obviously well-worn role as bait. it makes me think of 1.16 when john says he showed up just in time to see meg fall out the window. but is that true? how do we know he wasn't there watching sam and dean tied up and toyed with?

it certainly wouldn't be the first time john has sat in the shadows while leaving his kids in the line of site for the monster. 1.18, 1.20, and 15.16 show that much. (and i really need to stop talking about every episode while just discussing one (and im going to do a whole post about the finale soon) but when i tell you the vamp case in 15.20 that they pick up was one john was working in 86 when dean was 7. and the pattern was the vamps were going after kids between 5-10 who were isolated and living at the edge of town....)

in 2.14, meg (possessing sam) is forcing jo to talk through what she knows about her dad's death.

JO: Our dads were in California: Devil's Gate Reservoir. They were setting a trap for some kind of hellspawn. John was hiding, waiting, and my dad was bait. MEG!SAM: That's just like John. Oh, I'll bet he dangled Bill like meat on a hook. Then what?

that line eats at me. "like meat on a hook" because see the thing is...

stacy, emily's aunt, tearfully tries to console her twice throughout the episode. she knows it's hard and emily's scared but stacy begs her to understand, it's for the common good. when emily is tied to the apple tree, crying and begging, stacy gently strokes a strand of emily's hair, trying to soothe her.

STACY: Try to understand. It’s our responsibility. And there’s just no other choice. There’s nobody else but you. EMILY: I’m your family. STACY: Sweetheart, that’s what sacrifice means. Giving up something you love for the greater good. The town needs to be safe. The good of the many outweighs the good of the one. 

it reminds me of the conversation john has with dean in the hospital at the end of 2.01. the theme of family and sacrifice and the greater good. and no other choice. and nobody else but you. the gentle cruelty.

HARLEY: It’ll be over quickly, I promise.

JOHN: Don't be scared, Dean.

[havendance]

Santaquest Pt. 4: New Comics Version!

Taking a break from reading the endless old comics holiday anthologies to check out some *new* DC comics!

DC's Twas the Mite before Christmas!

We've got an appearance of who I believe is the real Santa in the Booster Gold story: The Santa Copies.

Booster Gold: Whatever this looks like, I swear-- I didn't kill Santa!

Santa gets hit by some piece of Alien technology that causes anyone who touches him to turn into him! Booster, who had touched him, proceeds to go off and stop a mugging while in Santa Mode:

Rip Hunter: Booster! Get back here!

Only when he touches the muggers, they turn into Santa too! And then they all go off to deliver presents:

Skeets (voice over): "...we've lucked out with the man they're turning into." Booster: Merry Christmas!

Fortunately, Rip Hunter is able to reverse it and things return to normal.

Batman - Santa Claus: Silent Knight #1

This one's from last week, but since we'll also be covering #2, let's get caught up first.

Strange vampires attack some carrollers. When Batman and Robin show up to investigate, none other appears to aid them than Santa Claus! (And also Zatanna)

Santa: I came as soon as I heard. The draug never got Farther than Norther Europe before. For them to be free again and in GOtham City is... ...bad tidings. Prancer (he has glowing eyes and looks rad): Snort. Santa: Easy there, Prancer.

We learn that Batman once trained under Santa Claus! (If I didn't have like 5 other wips I want to get done, I'd almost want to write that story)

Santa: That it has. I've followed your exploits. Robin (Damian): Wait, What-- Batman: We met during my years abroad. He showed me a few things I still use.

This isn't your average Santa though, he's jaded and cool:

Damian: Clau-- You can't be serious. I don't believe in Santa! Santa: You and me both, kid.

Uhh, this is getting kind of long, so let's put in a cut. The rest of issue 1 and issue #2 beneath!

This Santa also doesn't need to worry about Christmas, he spends all his time hunting monsters! (Man there aren't enough exclamation points in these new-fangled comics. I've got to use more in my summary to make up for it!)

Santa: It's fine-- It hasn't needed me to happen in centuries. No, I hunted and trapped all the Draug and somehow they've been set loose again. That's why I'm here. Someone freed them from the catacombs I sealed myself. Deep underground. Only I knew they were there.

The issue ends with the Krampus attacking and injuring Zatanna! Santa once sealed him away, but now he's back!

Batman - Santa Claus: Silent Knight #2

We open with Santa taking Zatanna away for medical treatment. He leaves a message for Batman and his allies and they retreat to a Batcave to view it! During a flashback sequence we learn that Santa and Krampus used to be friends, working together to bring order!

Santa: And one day, hopefully, the carrot alone will be enough. Krampus: Bah! The stick, the stick! Nightwing: Interesting--they brought order to chaos by scaring the wicked.

However, this all came to an end, when Santa mistakenly thought the Krampus had eaten some children and banished him! Once he realized his mistake, it was too late for him to fix it. The next night, the draug are Batman, but Batman calls in Miss Martian, Green Arrow, and Black Canary to help! (And they all look super bad-ass while doing it) In the end of the battle, someone else shows up--Superman!

Superman: You never said-- --that you knew. Santa.

What's Krampus up to? Does Superman also know Santa? Is he upset that his extremely secretive friend kept secrets from him? Will Santa and Krampus be able to reconcile due to Christmas Spirit? All this more I'm sure we'll find out in the next issues.

[jordankennedy]

every avatar i can think of and their relationship to recreational drugs and alcohol

jon sims: only drinks those fruity cocktails that don’t taste like alcohol. seems like someone who has never done drugs but has absolutely snorted speed in university and only georgie knows about it

martin blackwood: doesn’t drink. has smoked weed before but has justified concern for his own health and doesn’t make a habit of it

tim stoker: likes and hates drinking beer in equal measure. seems like someone who does drugs but never actually has

sasha james: academically enjoys edibles but prefers to just drink anything blue

not-sasha james: drinks straight tonic water or margarita mix and inhales the fumes off of sharpie markers

gertrude robinson: smokes menthols and puts whiskey in her coffee. doesn’t do drugs and if you ask she’ll just squint at you in that old lady way. has allowed gerard keay to smoke weed in her office before

elias bouchard: still smokes but it makes him cough a lot so he only does it in private. used to drink laudanum but can’t find it anywhere anymore so now he just makes do with weed and really expensive gin

melanie king: likes daiquiris but only if they’re a flavor other than strawberry. vapes exclusively blue raspberry and watermelon flavors

basira hussain: only ever drinks just enough to avoid getting drunk. has never been on drugs and doesn’t want to. would pick up a joint with her thumb and pointer fingers like it was toxic waste

daisy tonner: has only been drunk once and hated it. has never done drugs but kind of wants to just so she can say she has. hates vapes and stares at melanie directly in the eye until she leaves whenever she does it within six feet of her

georgie barker: hates the taste of all alcohol. owns many novelty souvenir bongs purchased from various tourist attractions around europe. her favorite is the one that looks like a bottle of honey shaped like a bear

peter lukas: likes a lot of weird craft beer and thinks he’s oppressed for it. vapes also but only gross old man flavors like mint and butterscotch

jane prentiss: likes red wine. would smoke weed if offered it but has no idea how to go about acquiring it herself

timothy hodge: drinks fucked up cocktails that would kill anyone over the age of thirty-five. will do molly at parties and then go home and sleep for fifteen straight hours and he does this every friday

raymond fielding: drinks brandy out of a crystal glass like people do in the movies. extremely catholic but was also twenty years old in the 1960s. tried lsd one time and the web told him to stop throwing away his bright future so he never did it again

agnes montague: doesn’t drink because diego molina told her when she was like eight that she would explode if she did. would vape if she had ever heard of it but tragically hasn’t

julia montauk: astronomical tolerance for everything so she usually doesn’t even bother. drinks a lot of whiskey bc she likes how it tastes

maxwell rayner: drinks laudanum

trevor herbert: canonically has done heroin. has since kicked his addiction and doesn’t do or drink anything anymore

oliver banks: does xanax but he technically has a prescription. says he smokes weed for his anxiety but it actually just makes it worse

jared hopworth: advocates for allowing safe steroid use but would rather die than do it himself. refuses to drink on principle but when he was still a normal human he drank natty light

gerard keay: drinks one shot of everclear every morning. also says he smokes for his anxiety but it actually just makes it worse. prefers regular cigarettes

simon fairchild: also drinks laudanum

natalie ennis: drinks one (1) glass of champagne every new year’s eve. calls all mind-altering substances “temptations from the mouth of the devil”

michael the stortion: never got the chance to do drugs before getting spiralized and now they don’t do anything to him so he’s super pissed off about it

sarah baldwin: likes fruity rum. smokes a lot of weed

daniel rawlings: smokes weed as well. makes sarah roll his joints for him

john amherst: refuses to exist within ten feet of people smoking anything. thinks penicillin is a mind-altering substance and is mildly scared of it. doesn’t bother with alcohol but would drink bong water if he knew what it was

callum brodie: has never drunk alcohol or done drugs due to being thirteen. has yet to grow out of his “smoking cigarettes is badass” phase

nikola orsinov: made of plastic and therefore can’t drink or do drugs but would be on acid literally constantly if she was able

helen the stortion: puts ketamine in her own drinks for flavor

jordan kennedy: went to liberal arts college and lived off of tequila and mdma for six months. has since stopped doing drugs altogether because his job involves driving and he doesn’t trust himself to do that while high but still holds alcohol like a monster

annabelle cane: drinks peach white claws and smokes her joints through a 1920s cigarette holder

karolina gorka: drinks stoli out of the bottle. too cool to do drugs but has eaten a weed brownie by accident before

jude perry: drinks fireball whiskey if she feels like being normal and unleaded gasoline if she doesn’t. canonically does coke but freaks out around needles

mike crew: doesn’t drink. forgoes weed in favor of doing coke in public bathrooms with jude. complains that adderall doesn’t do anything but he just has undiagnosed adhd

jan kilbride: doesn’t drink or do drugs anymore because astronauts aren’t supposed to but he did acid one time in college and it almost gave him an anxiety induced heart attack

eugene vanderstock: also does coke with jude but in a significantly less companionable manner. its more of a competition but nobody knows what they’re competing against each other for, least of all the two of them

manuela dominguez: will spit at you if you offer her anything but drinks a lot of wine and keeps a box of oxy in a drawer

hezekiah wakely: smokes opium

tova mchugh: somehow a facebook wine mom without having kids. outwardly condemns drugs of any kind in a very holier-than-thou way but has also done coke more than once

emma harvey: drinks vodka out of water bottles. rolls her own joints, puts just enough regular tobacco in them to mask the weed smell, and tells people they’re regular cigarettes

adelard dekker: has never done drugs in his life but is not morally opposed to the idea, he just doesn’t feel like it

[magic-and-moonlit-wings]

Trollhunters: “the book” versus “the books”

The Book

Trollhunters, a standalone horror-suspense novel by Daniel Krauss and Guillermo del Toro. It inspired the animated series produced by Dreamworks. 

This is the story people are usually referring to in Trollhunters fanfiction when they say they got an idea from the novel, or, the original novel. 

A general and spoiler-tastic summary: 

In San Bernardino, California, Jim Sturges Junior and his best friend Tobias ‘Tub’ Dershowitz discover trolls are real, and that Jim’s dad had legit reason for his paranoia because James Senior’s older brother Jack really had gotten stolen by monsters when they were kids. Jack works with the trolls, fighting Gunmar alongside Johanna M. ARRRGH!!! and Blinky, and has not aged since disappearing. 

Now they’re recruiting Jim because being a Trollhunter is a matter of genetic predisposition - the amulet is solely a translation device - and it looks like Gunmar’s going to escape from where Jack imprisoned him and they’re going to have to actually kill Gunmar this time, so they need all hands on deck. 

Jim’s crush, Claire Fontaine, is one of several kids who go missing in the next few weeks. Those kids are luckily rescued before they can be eaten, and it turns out Claire has the same genetic predisposition for Trollhunting. 

Gunmar spawns many unnamed babies on the football field during his attack on the surface. Jim’s dad acts as a cavalry in that scene, mowing them down with a landscaping vehicle. Steve Jorgensen-Warner, the school bully, is exposed as a Changeling when forced to touch a football helmet for the rival team, who use a horseshoe logo. We never do learn exactly what was up with Professor Lempke, but he was involved in the rebuilding of Killaheed Bridge (respelled as Killahead in the show) and implied to also be a Changeling. 

The Books 

Dreamworks Trollhunters Tales of Arcadia, a series of six novels by Richard Ashley Hamilton written as supplementary material to the animated series. 

These are the stories people are usually referring to in Trollhunters fanfiction when they say they got an idea from the novels, plural. 

A general and spoiler-tastic summary: 

The Adventure Begins: overlaps the first couple of episodes, Jim discovering the Amulet and becoming the Trollhunter. Also has some bonus scenes, like Kanjigar pleading with the Amulet not to pick Draal as Kanjigar falls to his death, and Jim’s knife-spinning trick being to dry the blade after cleaning it, and Barbara meeting Claire and Claire revealing Jim got the part of Romeo but learning Barbara didn’t know he was auditioning and Barbara promising to act surprised when Jim tells her. 

Welcome to the Darklands: in the start of the gap between Seasons 1 and 2, showing what the kids told Barbara had happened to her house, how they got the Glamour Mask, what Jim’s first few days in the Darklands were like and some interesting characters he met there, and why Nomura ended up in Gunmar’s dungeon. 

The Book of Ga-Huel: some time in mid-Season 2, a Changeling polymorph tries to assassinate the main characters and Blinky has to thwart a prophecy that implies he will die. Uhl is allergic to iron and thus mistaken for said Changeling. 

Age of the Amulet: early Season 3, a broken Kairosect results in Jim, Blinky, AAARRRGGHH, Toby, and Claire getting sent back in time and fighting a Trollhunter who cracked under the pressure of the job and joined Gunmar. In the present, Vendel’s grandfather has been brought forward in time and wants to eat humans, and Eli attacks Gunmar while under the influence of a grit-shaka. (Previously misremembered in this post as Gravesand - thank you @goodfish-bowl for the correction.)

The Way of the Wizard: Merlin, despite supposedly having almost no power, tampers with the Shadow Staff so they can’t portal from his tomb back to Arcadia, and the cast meets Draal’s mom while walking home, but Draal’s body gets exploded (possibly to justify why he can’t be revived with the Creeper’s Sun antidote they used on AAARRRGGHH) and his soul ends up in the Void. Somehow this is supposed to show Merlin being nice? Porgon the Trickster, who appears in 3Below, is also in this novel. 

Angor Reborn: Jim turning into a troll was a gradual process after the bathtub teleported him to a lake in the forest. During this, he meets troll versions of Romeo and Juliet, befriends a wolf cub, considers running away to live in the wilderness because he can’t fit in among humans anymore, and fights Angor Rot. Meanwhile, Barbara yanks Merlin around by the beard searching for Jim. 

The Other Books 

Yes, there’s more. There were a few “bonus content��� books released. These are less likely to be referred to by writers, but handy for artists. 

Jim Lake Jr.’s Survival Guide: A journal written by Jim about the events of Season 1, added to here and there by other characters. (Unlike most of the Tales of Arcadia spin-off books, this one is credited to Cala Spinner instead of Richard Ashley Hamilton.) 

A Brief Recapitulation of Troll Lore: Volume 48: A glossy book with screenshots and descriptions of key moments and artifacts in Trollhunters Season 1. Has a framing device implying it was somehow put together in the, what, twelve hours?, between Strickler leaving Arcadia and Jim going into the Darklands. There are a few pull-out pages. 

The Art of Trollhunters: A coffee table book with production notes and concept art from the show’s development. This one goes all the way through Season 3.

The Comics 

You know, while we’re here. The comics disconnect from what was established in the show in jarring ways sometimes (like Draal joining Kanjigar on Trollhunting missions in the comics, when the show says their relationship suffered because Kanjigar started avoiding Draal after being called as Trollhunter), but they’ve got some fun ideas in them. 

The comics were written before Wizards aired and do not share a continuity. In the comics, there were Trollhunters before Deya, Deya herself was Trollhunter for at least a hundred years before the Battle of Killahead took place, and Kanjigar was Deya’s immediate successor. 

These, obviously, are the stories people are usually referring to in Trollhunters fanfiction when they say they got an idea from the comics. 

The Secret History of Trollkind: Blinky tells Jim, Toby, and Claire about the Battle of Killahead Bridge, the trolls’ decision to leave Europe for the Americas, Deya the Deliverer’s death, Kanjigar’s first few centuries as a Trollhunter, with sidenotes about Blinky and AAARRRGGHH’s slow journey from enemies to acquaintances to friends. 

The Felled: After the events of ‘Hero With A Thousand Faces’, Jim returns the Aspectus Stone to Vendel, who tells Jim and Toby some stories about various past Trollhunters: Spar the Spiteful (who met an Akiridion, which I was expecting to come up in 3Below but did not), Maddrux the Many, Araknak the Agile (mentioned here as being one of Blinky’s ancestors), Unkar the Unfortunate, Deya the Deliverer (on a quest to punch Merlin in the face), and Kanjigar the Courageous. Jim then goes to fight goblins with Claire.

[prettyflyshyguy]

Ok here’s Chapter 2!!! its unfinished but I have to go to bed but you can have it anyway!! Like last time if you have critique please hit me with it. I am not a writer. I am simply a fool with two wolves inside me, one craves comedic relief while the other is grabbing a knife from the kitchen. (Chapter 1 if you missed it)

Here’s an indication:

The night air was still, in the distance the sound of helicopters and sirens blaring was the only thing to disturb this empty side of the city, evacuation of all citizens long passed. The orange haze of distant lights and fires lit up the otherwise cloudy dark sky. The crack of crystalline and resin structure splitting broke the silence atop the Research Centre. A cocoon spilled out of the split in the hardened shell, flowing and bulging and wriggling out as something churned and shifted beneath the surface. Rapidly the form of a figure started to appear, breaking free, reaching upwards towards the sky until it slipped and fell backwards. It flopped onto the concrete with the grace of a beached whale, and slid a few meters back.

His lungs kicked into overdrive, gulping deep breaths of air to combat the fear, disorientation and adrenaline that shot through his body. Everything was dark, his eyelids felt glued shut. He was hot, too hot, why was he so hot. 

Crudely wiping whatever was gunking up his eyes, he began to take stock of the situation. He quickly scanned the area, he was alone.

Except for the cocoon.

‘Shit-’

He instinctively tried calling out but a faint rasp was the most he could muster as he scrambled away still on the ground. He reached for his sidearm holster.

Except it wasn't there.

He felt cold concrete on his back, he pushed into it. It was the only thing he knew was real. It was tangible. He looked back towards the cocoon, a trail of viscous liquid stretched between it and himself. He sat there, frozen. Eyes fixed on the cocoon. Tracing its outline, the way it looked like a figure reaching forward. Forward towards something small that reflected the light, sitting just out of reach of the cocoon on the ground. The huge, gaping split down the back that the trail of fluid lead away from. 

Perhaps if he was able to sit completely still he wouldn't be able to feel any of it. The fluid dripping down his hair, into his eyes. The way his arms felt too long. The way his skin felt too tough. The way he felt wrong.

Except he hadn’t forgotten what happened. It was his cocoon. 

His heart rate shot up, he started breathing faster shorter breaths. 

Leon wasn't particularly afraid of much. He tackled any new situation he was thrust into pretty well, actually. Like his brief time as a cop back in Racoon City when the first outbreak of the T-virus happened. Evicting the ‘monster under the bed’ when he’d babysit Sherry when she was younger. Being injected with a parasite egg by a twisted cult in Europe. Accepting Claire’s challenge of who could eat the most hot cross buns last Easter.

The cocoon in front of him made him afraid.

He focused on his breathing, slowing them down, taking in more air in each breath. His pulse began to calm.

A minute or two had gone by before he realised it was getting cold. The exothermic reaction of the cocoon process had ended quite some time ago and he was no longer receiving the benefits. If you could even call them that.

He thought about it again.

‘Ah. That’s right. The cocoon process.’

His memories were intact up until a point, he remembered the flames and how he tried to scream. He remembered the sensation of his skin boiling. He remembered his joints seizing up and everything going dark. The only person he’s seen come out of a cocoon looking ‘normal’ was Ada, but she must be different. Some kind of twisted facsimile that Simmons cooked up. The Ada Wong that infected him was surely not the real deal, at least he hoped.

Ultimately there were only two choices in his current situation. Continue to stare in abject horror at the cocoon or instead, stare in abject horror at whatever it did to him.

Sharply inhaling, he slowly let his gaze fall from the cocoon to his feet. 

At least the assumption was that they were his feet. They looked more structurally like primates but with thick leathery scales or plating running along down from his legs. Not to mention the claws.

‘Ok. Could be worse.’

‘Time to try standing up.’ he thought.

He shuffled into a kneeling position and placed his hands out in front of him on a bare patch of concrete that wasn't covered in goop. Thankfully they still resembled human hands. Just with more scales and claws. 

‘Could be worse.’

Very slowly, with plenty of weight on his hands, he attempted to figure out how to stand up. He quickly realised his feet were more comfortable with weight being fully placed on the toes. Like a dinosaur. Maybe he could get a job as a monster in the next Jurassic Park film. In trying to find a silver lining the brief mental distraction meant he almost toppled over, as his legs were quite shaky. Using the wall behind him for stability, he found he was able to stand comfortably if he bent his knees slightly more than he was used to. 

Carefully, despite wobbling significantly, he made his way without the aid of a wall towards and around the cocoon, to where he had dropped his communicator after Ada… Fake-Ada, had infected him.

He knelt down and gently picked it up, praying that maybe somehow the flames hadn’t damaged it beyond working. The glass screen was cracked. It was unresponsive. 

‘Fuck.’

He had no way of contacting Helena. No way of telling her that actually he’s ok. He had left her to run after Ada and now she’s out there, alone, up against Simmons and his personal security army after everything-

‘FUCK.’

He was so stupid, he let his personal feelings get in the way when he should have just let Chris handle it-

He froze.

‘Chris was just outside the door when it happened. He probably saw the cocoon-’

His thoughts were interrupted as the glass of the communicator shattered as it hit the ground. His stomach convulsed as he began to throw up. He hadn’t eaten in hours but the acid burned away at his throat nonetheless. Tears started to well up in his eyes. The full gravity of the situation hit, everything he put his friends through, everything that’s happened to him. What would happen if he finds them again? Would they recognise him? Would they shoot him? Would he even find them? What if something else found him first?

Shoving all that aside, he pulled himself back into the moment. There was nothing he could do for either Chris or Helena if he just sat here, and the risk of a military cleanup unit passing overhead and seeing him was not one he was willing to bargain on. 

-

The balcony door, left open, creaked slightly as the ocean breeze drifted through the city. It would have been nice if not for the smoke and the eeriness of the place left cold and empty. It didn’t take Leon long to find an apartment that had an unlocked door or window, long forgotten about. The infection came with its advantages, namely making it much easier for him to traverse buildings vertically which meant he avoided streets with military patrols, Ja’vo or worse. Cautiously searching, in case he wasn't alone, he swept through each room quickly before entering the bathroom. The sludge that was left over from the cocoon had started to try like mud all over him, a shower might help relieve the stress. Closing the door and looking around, he caught a brief glimpse of his full figure in the bathroom mirror. He turned away sharply, not ready to tackle that just yet, instead focusing on the uncomfortable fact he could see very clearly despite not turning the light on yet. Once again trying to find something he could root himself too, he sunk his feet into the softness of the bathmat. The cold of the tiles. 

He leaned with both arms either side of the basin. 

‘Please don’t throw up again.’ he thought.

Without giving himself time to chicken out of it he flicked his head upwards and stared dead on into the mirror.

‘Could be worse.’

His face was still somewhat recognisable, it might have been even more if he didn’t have two mandibles protruding from both his top and bottom jaw each, beginning near his ears and wrapping comfortably around his face. He was able to see them in his peripheral vision so far but preferred to pretend they didn’t exist. Forced to reckon with it now, he toyed around to determine what level of control he had, if any. The top two folded up neatly alongside his cheeks and the clawed tip bent downwards towards his mouth, while the bottom ones extended along his jawline and pointed up at his chin. More concerningly in each corner of his lips there was a line, almost like a split that ran up his cheeks either side. Tentatively he flexed his jaw and opened his mouth slightly he snapped it shut upon seeing canines that were probably a little too long. Among other teeth that probably weren't there before. At least the BSAA had good dental.

Examining the rest, the same plate scales, more like chitin or carapace, ran up his arms, legs and back. Splits down the sides of his arms and legs had more normal softer skin along with his chest, although these including his face were still stricken with splits and scarring in the skin. Much like how Deborah, Helena’s sister, looked after she emerged from her cocoon. At this point he noticed something shifting behind him, twisting slightly revealing in the mirror a set of thin spines that ran down his back. They twitched and shifted higher the more he stared at them, the more his heart rate elevated.

Not bothering to turn on any lights still, he shoved himself into the shower and doused himself in water as once again, he felt his heart rate climb. 

Sinking down to the floor he leant on his knees and pushed his fingers into his hair as the water enveloped him. 

‘It could be worse. It could be worse. It could be worse. It could be worse?? I’m a BOW now I’m a fucking BOW I’m a bio organic weapon I’m a B O W  I’M-’

Pulling his hands down his hair and over his face, he took a deep breath to try and calm himself.

‘Ok this is bad, but you’ve been through worse Leon.’ he considered.

He stared blankly for a moment.

‘Ok maybe you haven't been through worse but at least this time you’re in control of yourself. No mind control parasite cults involved. Look on the bright side.’

He looked down at his feet and the water swirling endlessly into the drain.

‘You’ve traumitised Helena right after the same thing happened to her sister, you have no way of contacting anyone for help, and even if you did, you have no guarantee they won’t just try and kill you.’

He slowly looked up. His entire face, mandibles included, drooped as the water cascaded down.

Pressing his hands into his face and leaning back he let out a deep, long groan while he internally wished he could just scream. God knows if he did, if it would even sound human still. 

Debora’s wails and cries still echoed in his mind. Recognisably human in origin but alien and twisted. Would he sound like that too? Like a monster?

(Hi hello its Editing Shy here, sorry this is all I got. I haven't finished it yet, this is the unfinished bit.)

[sarah-writes-marvel]

Don’t: Bucky Barnes x Reader (platonic)

S.S: Heyo, its been a while since posting a story so here you go! BE CAUTIOUS!!! This fic ca nbe ver ytrigger so read at your own risk! Thank you guys hope you all had a wonderful holiday season!

Warnings: !!TW!! cutting, depressive/sucidial thoughts, anxiety, bleeding, needles, MAJOR ANGST and some fluff

Word Count: 1,798

Again, please read at your own risk!! Thank you!!

MASTERLIST

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The events of Endgame had affected everybody. The loss of Tony, Nat, and Vision, the resignation of Cap, Thor off in space, and Bruce was somewhere in Europe helping develop cures for diseases, everything had changed. There were only a few who stayed around the reconstructed compound anymore. Those few including Bucky, Wanda, Sam, and me. 

It was usually quiet, sometimes Pepper, Morgan, and Rhodes stopped by to see how things were going. Peter always came after school to see if we needed help on missions. T’challa and Shuri always checked in over the video call, same with many of our off-world allies. Valkyrie even checked in every once in a while, per Thor’s request when he couldn’t. It was nice, but nothing would ever be the same, and everyone knew that.

We each had our own ways of coping. The four of us that lived in the compound did our best not to bother each other. Bucky usually locked himself in his room, Sam went on runs, Wanda meditated and I blasted music so loud that I couldn’t hear my thoughts. It probably wasn’t the best way to cope but if it helped, it helped.

It was one of those days where memories flooded and tears fell without a second thought, so I plugged in my headphones and laid back in my bed getting lost in the bass vibrating in my eardrums. I watched the blades of my ceiling fan turn painfully slow while the urge to eat crept on me. I turned to my clock and realized that it was around noon and I hadn’t eaten since sometime yesterday. So I wiped the few stray tears away and managed to roll out of bed, feeling the cold wooden floor beneath my feet.

I pulled an earbud from my ear, even turned the music down just slightly as I walked down the hall. Even though there was plenty of room to spread out the four of us decided to share a hallway, the close proximity giving some comfort in the time of difficulty. It was nice.

As I passed a certain door, the sound of a muffled cry reached my ear. It was Bucky’s door. I understood why it had been so hard for him to lose Steve. He had been Bucky’s anchor in life, and his comforter after the whole Hydra situation. He had to put on a brave face before Steve left to return the stones, knowing that the punk of a friend would stay and live his life. He had to bite back the tears when he saw Steve sitting on the wooden bench, hair turned white from age and skin wrinkled. 

I took a step closer, removing my other earbud and pausing my music so I could hear better, pressing my ear gently against the door. Another strangled sob came from the other side along with a guttural scream. I felt awful, I wanted to check in but I didn’t want to bother him if he just wanted to be left alone. But I went against the latter and gently knocked on the door.

“Bucky? Are you ok?” I asked. The only reply I got was muffled sobs. Maybe he hadn’t heard me. So I knocked again a little harder. “Bucky?” Again, nothing but crying.

I took a minute, maybe he just needed a minute before he answered. So I waited, listening to the pained cries until I couldn’t take it.

“Bucky, I’m coming in,” I called through the door. I turned the knob and opened the door to see Bucky on the floor, sitting against the side of his bed, a throwing dagger in his metal hand, and fresh bloody cuts along his flesh forearm.

“Bucky? What are you doing, you’re gonna hurt yourself.” I closed the door before moving towards him, tossing my headphones and phone onto his bed before kneeling beside him. I took the stained knife from his metal grip, tossing it across the floor to pick up later, and pressed my hand over his cuts to minimize the bleeding causing him to hiss in pain.

“Please, please don’t.” he cried, his metal digits wrapping around my wrist.

“Buck, I’m gonna help you no matter how much you might not want it. I’m not gonna leave you,” I told him, looking into his lifeless blue-grey eyes.

“That’s what Steve said, now he’s gone. How do I know you aren’t lying?” his voice was weak and quiet, scared almost.

“I’m not Steve, I’m not going anywhere. I swear on my life,” My hand still pressed against his bleeding cuts. “But this needs to be a mutual agreement, so you cant leave me either. At least not right now. So I need your help, alright? I need you to work with me here Barnes.”

His gaze was hazy but he nodded and let go of his grip on my wrist.

“We need to get you to the bathroom, and I know I might be strong but your much heavier than you look, no offense.” I smile, trying to bring some light to the situation. Luckily I saw a small smirk form on his paling face before he nodded again. 

I removed my hold on his arm, standing up and reaching my hands down to pull him up, which was successful as he used the bed to help. His left arm wrapped around my shoulder as we shuffled to the bathroom where I set him on the toilet.

I grabbed the darkest washcloth in his cupboard of towels, pressing it against his wrist and placing his metal hand over it.

“I need you to keep the pressure on that, please. I know it probably hurts but you gotta do it,” I commanded gently, squeezing his hand around his arm. He simply nodded as his eyes followed mine lethargically. I continued to look through the cupboards for his first aid kit.

“Top cupboard to the left.” He sounded tired and I didn’t blame him. I had walked in on him sitting in a small puddle of his own blood and the emotional toll this event has all taken on us was more than enough reason to be tired. I opened the cupboard he suggested and retrieved the kit from the shelf opening it quickly and pulling out what I needed.

Even when the blood had been dripping from the cuts I knew some were deep enough for stitches, so I pulled the needle and suture thread from the box, gaining a groan from Bucky.

“I’m sorry but I know those cuts are too deep. It’ll only be a stitch or two and ill make it as painless as possible Buck, you just gotta stay with me.” I replied, looking at him. He replied with a nod as tears streamed down his face. I quickly wiped one away before sending him a small smile and returning to my task.

“Alright hun, we need to clean your arm so I can make clean stitches,” I stated, standing in front of him holding my hands out again to help him to the sink. He took my hands and hauled himself from his position and made his way to sink and began washing the cuts under the running water, wincing at the stinging pain.

Once he was back on his seat, I carefully patted the area dry with the used towel and began stitching the larger cuts. I only paused when Bucky hissed in pain or jerked away after I had pulled the thread through. A chorus of apologizes came from my mouth, and from his.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.” his usual stern, strong voice was broken and came out in whispers.

“Buck, you dont have to apologize. It’s alright, life gets hard, it’s only logical to find a coping mechanism. It’s ok hun. It’s not your fault.” I cooed, trying to calm him.

“But I do, I just tried to kill myself because, what? Because I’m sad that my friend left me to be happy? How pathetic is that?” He denied, shaking with anger and sadness.

“It’s not pathetic because it is completely valid.” I began pulling the last stitch tight. “Life gets hard, and you have been through hell and back too many times to count. We have to cope with it somehow and pain can be a distraction, though not always the best option.” I continued looking at his sorrowful tear-filled eyes.  “Steve was your rock, the person you went to with every issue. And now without him, you feel lost and your drowning under the metaphorical waves of life. So your feelings are valid, and your actions were valid, just not the right way to go about it.” I finished as I wrapped gauze and Coban around the fresh stitches.

A moment of silence filled the bathroom as I finished wrapping his arm and cleaned up the supplies that had been used.

“How are you so good at this? Why weren’t you phased?” he questioned, breaking the eerie silence.

“That, my dear friend, is a conversation for another time. You need to focus on yourself right now.” I said with a smile while I watched my hands.

He looked away, down to his bandaged arm flexing his fist as the muscles shifted the bandage.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “For helping me.” His eyes looked to mine, the small spark of hope back in his irises.

“It’s what friends do,” I replied. “Now you need some sleep,” I said helping him from the toilet and leading him back to his bed. Moving my phone and headphones out of his way, he settled onto his bed grabbing the fleece blanket from the foot of his bed and pull it over himself.

I carefully help before grabbing my phone and the knife on the floor and turning to leave. 

“Wait. I-uh- could you stay? Please.” he sounded like an innocent little boy who was scared of the monsters under the bed.

“Ya, of course I can.” I smiled, crawling into bed next to him. I sat with my back against the headboard, Bucky’s head on my lap, and his bandaged arm wrapped over my legs. My fingers found their way through his brunette locks as his breaths became heavier.

“You know you can always come to me,” I said quietly, leaning my head against the backboard. “I’ll listen, always.”

“You can come to me too. Tell me anything and everything,” he mumbled through his tired state.

“Love ya Buck. Sleep well.” I hummed quietly, closing my eyes.

“Love you too Kenz.” he murmured quietly before the room was filled with soft snores from both the soldier and me.

Things might not go back to how they were but they will get better.

-----------------

THanks for reading. IF you ever need someone to talk to if you ever have thoughts like these dont be afraid to send me a message! Im alwasy willing to talk through lifes troubles with soemone if it helps them! Also know that there are hotlines that you can call! 

[mochideleche]

you can’t keep away from fate | CH3

Pairing : Percy jackson x demigod!reader

summary : The daughter of destiny- literally, along with inevitability, compulsion and necessity. Being the child of a primordial goddess doesn’t really assure you a quiet calm life but when you return to new york after five years of being shipped off to boarding school, your once mundane life says goodbye.

contents page

Having no cabin for ananke, chiron suggested that you were to stay in the big house since the hermes cabin was practically over flowing these days. Chiron also suggested that it would be best for you to stay in the country as of now, seeming as kronos was rising again- which you were very shocked to hear, and had allowed you to call your dad were the two of you explained the events that occurred that day.

Your father, to say, was angry at the fact that you had ventured out to the empire state building but was soon to calm down and agree that it would be best for your to stay at camp half blood for the time being and arrange for the things you had brought with you to be sent to camp whilst he would return back to europe at the end of week. 

That night after dinner, which you had eaten sat at the head table with chiron and Dionysus (who was surprisingly your camp director and who had hastily introduced himself), you made your way to the canoe lake and sat by the waters edge, your feet dangling off the deck. 

Naiads came and swam around your feet, not talking but smiling at you kindly. They were pretty and seeing friendly faces eased you as your troubles came crashing down all at once. 

This was exactly what your mother didn’t want yet you were here, embracing your demigod self again. 

You picked at your nails, taking your attention off the naiads because you didn’t want to force yourself to give them a fake smile. Your mother had been very clear when she had sent you to live with your dad and said goodbye- for the last time which you didn’t know then. 

The words still rung in your head sometimes but now more than ever it had made you sick to the stomach- “I want you to live a normal life okay? don’t worry about gods and monsters, the mortal world is much better”

Then poof- she disappeared.

“Hey are you alright?”

You turned your head to the side, your eyes landing of percy’s form, dimly lit in the moonlight, “yeah im okay” 

he stood for a second, probably contemplating whether to sit down or not, then he gingerly made his way over to you and sat himself down, his legs automatically swinging back and forth as his shoes almost skimmed the water. 

At this point the naiads giggled and drifted away, but not before winking and waving at percy. 

You looked at him, he was blushing.

“You’re awfully popular around here,” you laughed.

It made him blush even more as he rubbed the back of his neck, “uhm, yeah i guess, being the son of poseidon” 

As annabeth toured you around camp, she had mentioned various quests that different campers had gone on over the past few years, most of them evolving around percy, but she had left out many details and you saw this as your chance to find out more.

“I heard about all the quests you’ve done” you started and percy looked at you from the side,

“Oh yeah?” 

You nodded, “mind telling me all about it?” 

Percy smiled once then leant back and used his hands to hold up his weight, “if you insist”

After an hour or so, percy had filled you in on all his adventures and you were thoroughly impressed, “that’s very interesting life you’ve got there mr jackson”

He laughed, “but i didn’t grow up around olympian gods, so i guess we’re even”

You gave a small force laughed, “yeah i guess so” 

Percy furrowed his eyebrows, “are you alright, was it something i said?”

You shook your head, “no- i just” you brought your shoulders up as you tilted your head deep in thought but slouched back down as you exhaled heavily, “Maybe it’s my turn to tell you my story” 

Percy turned his body towards you and tucked one leg up off the deck and rested his arm on it, looking at you with concern in his sea green eyes. 

You must say, the way the moonlight hit him- made percy even more undeniably handsome.

“you don’t have to if you don’t want to”

“No i want to” you said quietly, then crossed your legs as you faced him. 

“When i was born, every one thought i would be immortal” 

Percy’s face scrunched up in confusion, “but your dad’s half mortal-”

“I know,” you interrupted, “but that didn’t seem to matter to anyone because my mum was an all powerful primordial goddess, they thought that her blood would somehow be dominant over the quarter of mortal blood i’d get from my dad, but” and you gestured to yourself, “i came out mortal” 

Percy nodded understandingly but he let you continue.

“But that didn’t matter to my mum, either way she kept me on mount olympus and when i was growing up she sent me to learn all these things that demigods would learn, fighting, swordplay, sorcery, forging-”  

“but most demigods don’t learn them from the actual gods themselves you know” percy reasoned and you rolled your eyes.

“As i was saying, she made me go to all sorts of places. But when i was at home, i’d be home schooled by nymphs and satyrs- normal things like science maths and english”

“She sounds like a cool mom” percy pointed out and you nodded your head agreeing.

“Yeah I guess so. but most of the time she just seemed so- otherworldly, like it was her palace and i was just living in it. sometimes when she did things that regular mums do- like hug me, stroke my hair, ask me to tell her about my day- it seemed so wrong, you know?”

Percy stayed silent for a while as he gazed into the lake, giving you a perfect opportunity to just stare at his sculpted face. 

“Yeah, i know” 

You  thought that percy was probably thinking of his dad, but you suddenly remembered how lucky you were to have actually spent time with your mum, percy probably had only met his dad once or twice- you felt guilty.

“i’m sorry, it sounds like i’m complaining but i’m really grateful for the time i got to spend with her, i understand that some demigods don’t even get to meet their parents...” and you rounded off, trying to get percy to see how you were trying to make him feel better in case you had offended him.

But he seemed fine when he turned to grin at you, “you don’t need to apologise” and this seemed genuine so you assumed he hadn’t even been upset at all. 

You noticed how percy seemed more relaxed now, as if the water comforted him and made him forget about all the stress he was carrying- which was a lot considering that he was to fight a titan army soon. 

“What about your dad?” percy questioned

“He owns an engineering company” you nodded.

“As expected as a son of Hephaestus” Percy chuckled and you laughed too.

“But then one day” you continued, watching percy closely, “zeus pointed out how it wasn’t right that i was kept on mount olympus when other gods had vowed not to see their kids too often” and you paused for a second as percy’s expression hardened.

“But my mother reasoned that i was her only child- the only child she ever had but zeus got restless and said that i didn’t belong on olympus, that i was a mortal none the less, and should be sent to live in the mortal world. He was right, but my mum was so reluctant to let me go.”

A flashback of the day you left occurred to you as you retold your story to percy, who was now looking at you with the most softest gaze.

“but in the end she decided there was no way of avoiding it and she thought that if i had to be taken away from her- then she might as well make sure that i didn’t have anything to do with her world at all. She said it wouldn’t be safe for me- so far from her, she said she should just go with me but zeus wouldn’t allow it. and then in a sort of protest, she vanished” 

You let your eyes drop from percy, and they focused on the deck on your hand.

“Y/N i’m sorry, that must’ve been tough” Percy said quietly, as he placed his hand on yours.

You bit your lip, “it’s alright” 

you looked back at percy’s sea green eyes, which were focused on. his hand was still on yours and your could feel the warmth radiating from it despite the fact that you were outside on cool autumn night. 

“Zeus is a dick” Percy stated and you looked at him shocked.

And then both of you burst out into laughter. You knew how dangerous it was to say such things but at that moment you really couldn’t agree any more.

You let your laughter run out and that left you in silence, the only sound was of the rustling of the trees and the occasional disturbance of water from the naiads who were swimming a few feet away. 

You became very aware that you and percy had been sitting here for a while now, it was probably like what- 12?1? you didn’t know but you knew that you didn’t really want to leave yet. 

“So, can you fly” Percy broke the silence and you burst out laughing. 

“Wanna see?” you questioned and percy’s eyes lit up.

But instead of lifting yourself up in the air, you made the winds scoop percy up instead and carry him up into the sky.

You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing as you watched a look of surprise dawn of percy’s face as he flailed his limbs around as he went higher into the air, a shout echoing down from above. 

Then you made the winds bring him back down, and drop him into the river. 

The sound of your laughter drifted into the air and you tried your best to calm down so you wouldn’t wake up the whole camp. 

But before you could the lake before you exploded up into a shooting stream- rising straight towards you and knocked you off the deck and into the water. 

when you finally swam up through the bubbles and your head broke the surface you gasped for air as percy floated a foot away from you laughing as uncontrollably as you had moments before. 

You considered hitting him back but you thought that if you did, the fighting wouldn’t end there, 

“Oh shut up” you grinned as you both got yourselves on the deck.

Percy kept laughing, a smirk on his face. “sorry princess” 

“Pr-princess?” you sputtered, cheeks heating up. you hoped endlessly that it was too dark for percy to see you turn red but the fact that he was standing there, his wet shirt sticking to his lean body, did not help the blush at all. 

“Yeah,” percy shrugged as he pushed his wet hair back- gosh that was hot, “you lived in a palace and you sound and act like one too” 

“I do not sound- how do i act like a princess?!” you exclaimed, as percy laughed at your outburst.

Then he held his nose up high, flicked imaginary hair over his shoulder and spoke in a very butchered english accent, “i’m Y/N, i’m as powerful as a goddess and i smell like magnolias and caramel” 

You wanted to act angry but the laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it, “gosh- your accent is terrible ”

“ gosh your accent is terrible” percy mimicked in his awful imitation of your voice and it sent you doubling over in laughter. 

[isawrightless]

I’ll Drown When I See You

Jill Valentine, Carlos Oliveira After escaping Raccoon City, Carlos offers Jill some shelter.

set directly after the events of resident evil 3. Rating: M -----

Finding herself homeless and directionless after Raccoon City’s destruction, Jill kept clinging to the only real leads she had: Chris was somewhere in Europe, and Barry was helping from the background, prioritizing the safety of his family. She’d be meeting them soon. But she was tired and hurt. There was not a part of her that didn’t ache, mentally or physically, and for now she needed a place to rest.

Checking in at a hotel proved itself to be a difficult task. For all she’d been through, all the tragedy she had endured, Jill Valentine couldn’t stand the glare and the whispering about her reasons and the state of her body; Why does she have so many bruises? Why is she limping? Is she on the run from something? Is it even safe to be here? Did she come from Raccoon City?

Those questions lingered on the eyes of anyone who even glimpsed at her. Sure, the blood and dirt were gone and the clothes were new (she’d made good on the promise of burning the old ones), but the situation remained the same. She had just escaped from a city that had been wiped out from existence and her own figure was a walking reminder of that.

Then Carlos; sweet, compassionate Carlos, all battered and bruised too, offered shelter. Asked Jill to stay with him in this small rented cabin he’d found.

And now here they are.

She’s not allowed to worry about anything else besides her own healing, that’s the deal. When the topic of buying new clothes and some other necessesities comes up, Jill’s adamant that she’ll buy them herself with whatever money she still has stored somewhere but Carlos stands his ground. She’s his guest, after all. And he’s taking the couch, no problem, she gets the bed. She needs it more.

When she tries to reason with him that she doesn’t mind the couch, it falls on deaf ears.

“Don’t worry, Supercop,” he says. “Just take it easy.”

And she does. Or at least tries to. The second her head hits the pillow, she can’t close her eyes. Whenever she does, that thing shows up, or the corpse of another teammate. Joseph always makes a guest appearence in her dreams. The first real death she’d witnessed at the start of this entire nightmare. He always stands there, half-eaten, limbs missing, speaking through a hole in his face, asking her not to leave him there. It’s cold. It’s cold and he’s alone. And she wants to scream, to tell him she did try to save him, she tried to save everyone, she really did.

She always wakes up before she can hear an answer and spends the rest of the day haunted and frustrated.

Which is why she’s more than confused when she sits up on the bed, sweaty amd startled, looks out the window and finds out it’s night time. A glance on the clock tells her it’s 22:00 PM.

She doesn’t feel rested at all.

Spotting a bag near the end of the bed, she leans over and brings it to her lap, looks inside to find some toothpaste, a toothbrush, soap and a body moisturiser. A couple of other bags are neatly placed on the floor, next to the bed. Inside them, she finds tank tops and t-shirts, two pairs of sweatpants, shorts and brand new underwear. It makes her smile, her first moment of true relief afer all that hell. But the thought of Carlos trying to guess and pick which kind of underwear she’d like is almost too cute.

On the nightstand there’s a water bottle that she opens and drinks in small sips even though what she wants is to drink it all in one go to quench her thrist. When she’s done, her lips feel softer, something she appreciates immensily. Ignoring the aching muscles, she picks some of her new clothes (a pair of sweatpants, the tank top and her brand new cotton panties), stands up on unsteady feet, takes a few steps foward and realizes she needs to brace herself against the wall to get some support.

Heading to the bathroom, she refuses to look at herself in the mirror while setting the clothes she’s going to wear on top of the sink. Undressing, she holds herself when a chill runs down her spine. It’s fine. A false pretense, perhaps, but it’s fine, it’s a worthy delusion. Let her drown in it’s fine it’s fine it’s fine.

Starting the shower, she rests against the tile wall as she waits for the water to get warm. The cold tile against her skin makes her gasp in surprise. She stretches a hand out to check the water’s temperature and then steps right in.

She can barely move her arms without feeling them burn, but she scrubs her body and washes her hair until her skin is red and her scalp hurts. Something needs to be done, something needs to happen, but her chest feels broken and she’s got no home, no plan, no instructions to follow now. Only ghosts that haunt her at every corner.

Calling her out.

Daring her to go on living while they remain dead and frozen in time, wiped out from existence as if they never even mattered in the first place.

As the water runs down her body, she realizes the extent of her injuries. Her right shoulder is bruised, left arm stinging as the soap clings to that wound, her thighs are purple and yellow on different places, and if she squints she can almost pretend they’re something pretty and delicate, like little glaxies on her skin.

There’s a cut and a bruise just above her hip that probably need more attention than she’s currently showing.

She stands under the showerhead for a while, letting the hot water hit the back of her neck, easing her strain. The urge to cry is strong, eyes already rimmed with tears, but she’s way too stubborn to let them fall. Not the smartest choice considering all the words she refuses to say out loud are choking her, chest tight with agony as she swallows back a sob.

She’d give anything to disappear right now.

Taking a deep breath, she finds the courage to cut off the water and step out of the shower. She dries herself with a towel, biting her bottom lip to keep the discomfort that raising her arms brings, and puts on her new clothes, feeling at least a little bit refreshed. She brushes her teeth with her brand new toothbrush and when she’s done, she stares at object for a moment.

He’s thought of everything.

Back into the bedroom, she can hear him pacing around the main room, and she  tries to prepare herself to go meet him. She doesn’t know why she’s so nervous or why her heart is beating a little faster and she refuses to think too much on it.

But that’s Day 1.

Day 2 is quiet.

She’s siting on a worn out couch, body finally giving in to all the injuries it sustainted just a few days ago and it’s hard to move. Her arms feel like they’re about to fall off and she’s sore all over. Some wounds are still tender, and speech doesn’t come easily without the presence of a headache.

Carlos goes out again, brings her painkillers, helps her chase them down with a glass of water. She smiles at him because she can see how worried he is, can even guess what he’s thinking.

Maybe the vaccine didn’t work.

“Do you wanna watch TV?” he asks, voice giving him away. “The reception is, uh, pretty bad but there’s gotta be something good to watch.”

She shakes her head no, still eyeying him like a hawk, and he moves back to sit next to her. “You hungry then?”

“Not at all,” she manages to say.

“You sure? I don’t mean to brag but I’m a great cook.”

“You are?”

“Best one around.”

“Hit the jackpot then.”

It takes a second for her words to sink in and when they do, Carlos gives a boyish smile and says, “That’s my line.”

She tries to laugh and move but that ache pulls at her strings once again, making her flinch. He draws her closer to him, and she lets him.

They fall into a  routine by day 4.

Carlos cooks for them and does some errands and no matter how much Jill protests, she’s told she needs to stay still and heal. She does point out how flawed that train of thought it considering he went through hell too but he always ends up making an excuse.

To say that her heart is free from all that agony from before would be a lie but by now the only thing that truly bothers her-physically- is her left arm. It aches from time to time, a jolt of pain that stings and keeps her awake at night, completely alert, a reminder of what could have been.

She looks at the wound that monster left her, a little gift, exames it again and again, and it’s closed and healing but the pain is still there and Jill knows, she knows that it will never go away.

Carlos comes back that day with some new blankets (the ones at the cabin are simply awful and prickly) and some pepperoni pizza.

This sort of domestic bliss, where they function on pretending the outside world doesn’t exist and they won’t have to figure out what to do about all they’ve been through carries on through day 5 to 6.

On day 7, Jill gets out of the shower, puts on a t-shirt (blue, as Carlos assumed that’s her favorite color), a pair of panties and some shorts and heads to the kitchen to help with dinner.

He smiles when he sees her, a beer in hand, and jokes he’s got a great taste for clothes.

Perhaps it’s the sense of peace that has fallen over them, even if temporary, or maybe it’s just the carefree way he makes her feel, but Jill sticks her tongue out, steals his beer, takes a sip and smirks at him.

She expects some teasing, some kind of silly payback. Instead, he steps closer, leans in and kisses her. Just like that; no warning, no nothing, as if the two of them have been doing this forever, like it’s a habit they’ll never grow out of. And she responds eagerly, kissing back, arms going around his neck when he deepens the kiss, his tongue on hers, hands firmly placed on her hips, holding her steady, afraid she might slip away.

The tenderness is almost alarming. He’s taking his time, enjoying every sensation and she can’t help but press against him. He gets the hint, smiling in the middle of the kiss, sliding his hands down her body, grabbing her ass and squeezing, drawing a moan out of her. She steps back to catch her breath, already missing him. He brings a hand up to cup her face, thumb swiping across her bottom lip as he rests his forehead on hers, staring right into her bright blue eyes.

There’s another kiss before he drags his mouth away to focus on her neck, gently biting and sucking, leaving his mark on her soft flesh. She gives in to him so easily, mind racing with need. Reaching down she tries to unbuckle his belt but the action proves to be a bit too much for her sore shoulder and she ends up hissing in pain, wincing as the burning sensation flares up then goes all the way down to her hand. The wound on her left arm stings like crazy, and she tries not to think too much about it, despite the ache.

There’s no running from Carlos’ sweetness, though, and he stops everything he’s doing, stepping back to look at her. She can feel a slight blush sweeping across her face and she hates it.

“It’s nothing, I’m fine,” she says.

The last thing she wants is to ruin the mood, especially when he’s got her all worked up already and she’s been waiting for this, been needing this for a while. Carlos shakes his head, “So stubborn,” he breathes out before picking her up. She doesn’t really know his plan, but she hooks her right arm around his neck as he takes her to the bedroom. His scent is intoxicating and by the time he gets her inside the room letting go of him seems like the hardest thing in the world. But then he sets her down on the bed, all handsome and sweet, shaggy hair all over his face, that crooked smile still plastered on his lips and she can hardly wait for what’s to come.

Sitting up, she adjusts herself a bit and watches as he takes off his black t-shirt, takes a second to admire his hairy chest and toned abdomen and then goes back to watching, biting her bottom lip while he unbuckles his belt, kicks his shoes and socks off before climbing on top of her, diving back in for her lips, hands working on taking off her t-shirt, helping her out of the sleeves. He discards the piece of clothing by throwing it across the room and draws back to take a good look at her. She’s at his mercy, breasts exposed, nipples hard, scars spread across her skin; some are rather large and faded, gifts from that cold, horrible mansion; some are new, pearly white and glistening around bruises and light scratches still lost in the process of healing. And she’s beautiful.

“Oh, c'mon,” Carlos starts, licking his bottom lip. He leans down, right hand fixing up a few strands of her hair. “You can’t be real.”

Jill chooses to hide how much his words mean to her in a small smile and a scoff; she was never one to open up properly and she’s not about to list all the reasons why she has been avoiding looking in the mirror, at least not now. Thankfully, Carlos goes back to kissing her and that suits her just fine.

She trails a hand down his torso before reaching his unbuckled belt and then going further, palming him through his pants. He’s hard and she’s soaking wet and anxious and the little grunt he lets out in her ear doesn’t help things. All hope of self control goes out the window the second he kisses his way down to her breasts, bringing a hand to cup one of them while his mouth works on the other one, the tip of his tongue circling a nipple before sucking on it, making her arch her back and moan. He steals a quick glance at her, wishing he could frame the moment forever, as cliche and cheesy as that sounds. But she’s gorgeous, she’s absolutely gorgeous, and to have her unguarded like this, for him, it sends him into a state of euphoria that he can’t quite explain.

He alternates between one breast and the other, enjoying her gasps and moans and by the time he’s done, when he comes back up for a kiss, her breasts are glistening with saliva, a slight flush covering them. His actions serve only to encourage her, demolishing any kind of hesitation or worry. She wastes no time unzipping his pants as he kisses her long and good, reaching inside his boxers to pull his cock out, holding it in her hands firmly; he is big and thick, smooth, veiny and throbbing, precome trickling down his length, and she starts stroking him slowly, up and down, pressing right against that sweet, sensitive spot under the head of his cock with each upstroke. He groans, mouth open against hers, closes his eyes and lets himself fall into her touch, hips thrusting into her hand, trying to set his own rhythm, showing her how he likes it.

Jill doesn’t see or hear anything that isn’t him. It’s impossible to think of anything else when he’s so handsome, throwing his head back and moaning only to stare at her with those kind eyes of his. She thinks she could stay like this for a long while, just watching him, her hand wrapped around his cock, feeling him hot and twitching, begging for something else.

He doesn’t give time for her to improvise though. Panting, he grabs her wrist, ceasing her movements. Grinning, he leans back, hands sliding up and down her legs until he hooks his fingers on the waistband of her shorts and pulls them down along with her panties. She can’t help the small smirk as she lifts her hips and bends her knees to help him take them off.

He’s stealing kisses, dragging his mouth down her body, marking her here and there, being careful around the bruises, fighting the need to just have her every time she lets out a shaky breath. He grabs one of her thighs with his right hand, the other one staying firmly on her hip, his mouth not once leaving her skin, and she gets the hint, spreads her legs to accomodate him further. That’s when he glances at her, finds her staring down at him, her short hair framing her face, and he almost loses it. But he carries down with his mouth, teasing and kissing her inner thighs, his beard tickling her, soft licks against her skin, breath ghosting over the spot between her legs until she gasps out his name.

And then there’s this moment, a fraction of time in which he realizes that this is happening, this is really happening and she wants him, too, she wants him and she’s waiting and so he runs his tongue along her slit, feels proud when her hands goes on on top of his head, fingers tangling in his hair. He licks her slowly, explores every inch, every fold, wants to taste every bit of her.

When she moans he changes the pace, teases, circles her entrance with the tip of his tongue, presses it flat against her and licks like a hungry, needy man, eats her out nicely, takes his time. Then she begs, asks for more and he swirls his tongue around her clit one, two, three times, moves his head up and down, his nose adding a much needed friction and then he sucks on her clit, keeps going until she’s arching her back off the bed and grinding against his face. He follows her rhythm, the one she imposes, eyes closed, voice cracking.

“Carlos,” she says, sill holding on to his hair, desperately lifting her hips, rocking on his mouth. “I’m gonna come-” It’s the way her voice cracks at the end of the word ‘come’ that drives him insane, eager to taste more of her, to have her melting on his tongue.

He hums in response, increases the pressure and holds her tighter as she squirms and writhes, moans his name again and again until it turns into a soundless cry, until time stops and she tenses, comes on his tongue, muscles spasming and toes curling while he helps her ride out her orgasm. She tries to pull away, it’s too much, she’s too sensitive, but he can’t help himself, he wants just a bit more because maybe he’ll never have her like this again, maybe this is just a one time thing so he wants every drop of her, he wants to be a little selfish here, make sure this day will be burned in his brain forever; she’s honey scented, holy in every way, and so he gives her one final lick and stops when she starts shaking.

The sound of her breathing echoes through the room, her chest rising and falling rapidly as he backs away and looks up at her, a satisfied grin on his face when he sees the state she’s in. He’s got something to say, a little joke to make, but it fades to nothing the second she grabs his face in her hands and pulls him into a bruising kiss.

Too many things hide in that kiss, from little trinkents to precious jewels, that kiss changes everything the second she tastes herself on him, the second he grabs hold of her again and deepens said kiss, finds all those treasures hidden in each soft breath, and he feels her hands tugging at the waistband of his pants, “Take these off,” she says through gritted teeth and he does as he’s told, moves away from her for one second that feels like forever and slides out of his pants and boxers, cock twitching, missing her hand, wondering how her mouth would feel on him, knowing that there’s no way he can let her do that to him now otherwise he won’t last, he won’t last at all.

“Come here,” her voice is low and demanding in the softest way possible. He gets back on the bed, sits in front of her, kisses her again, and they stay like that for a while, just exploring each other’s mouths until she can’t help herself and grabs hold of him and he grunts in her mouth because he’s been hard for so long now, been needing her for so long, and watching her orgasm a few moments ago, knowing he provoked that almost made him burst right then and there, and now her hand is on him again and he can’t control himself.

“You’re the sweetest thing I have ever tasted,” he confesses, breathless, “Jill, you’re the sweetest fucking thing.”

And Jill nods, not really knowing how to respond to such a bold statement, her face flushed, she nods and flattens a hand against his chest and pushes him down on the mattress, straddles him and although her plan is clear, she winces and hisses in pain the second she tries to move her other arm and as much as she tries to play it off, it doesn’t go unnoticed by Carlos.

He’s quick to sit up, to cup her face, eyes scanning her frame. “You alright?” and his words are a bit rushed, stumbling in his own want and worry. “Wanna stop?”

“No, don’t even think about it,” she adds quickly.

“You sure?”

“Wait, I’m not Supercop anymore?” she says with a smirk. “I’m just a little sore.”

“Then let me take care of you,” he says, caressing her face, robbing her of a kiss. “If it’s still okay.”

The concern is endearing, the implication of his words even more so. “Of course it’s still okay.”

Another kiss, he lowers her onto the mattress, runs his hands up and down her body until he stops them at her bent knees. She spreads her legs for him again, and he’s so consumed by her he feels almost tipsy, everything goes hazy for a minute. He’s been hard and aching to the point of desperation even, but he swears, he does, that if she asked him to just go down on her again he would, oh god, he would, no doubt about it.

Except she’s waiting, the gleam in her blue eyes making him fall in love with her, because yes, that’s what he’s feeling, love. He’s known for days and she’s changed his entire life and he won’t stomach it when she leaves. She’s worked her way into his heart, growing around it like a vine and he doesn’t want her to let go.

“Carlos,” she whispers, but there’s urgency hiding behind her tone.

He grabs her legs, bringing her closer to him, holding his cock by the base then gently guiding himself inside her; just the tip first, to see her reaction, and then he moves an inch more and she bites her bottom lip again, looks down at him, expectation written across her face. Then he goes all in; she’s so wet, so ready, there’s no resistance. They both sigh in relief at the feeling, her little moan contrasting with his grunt, and she’s grateful for the time he gives her to get used to him; it’s been a while since she’s been with anyone but even then she had never felt as complete as she’s feeling right now.

He fits so perfectly, stretches her up good, and he’s looking at her as if she’s made of diamonds, searching for any sign on discomfort on her face and honestly, having someone care so much like this is bringing her to the edge of tears.

This is not a quick fuck. This is not a we made it out alive kind of celebration. There’s more here, there’s so much more, she can see it in his eyes.

He leans forward, his body covering hers as he props himself up with one arm on her side to keep from crushing her. Staring right into her eyes, he kisses her lips and starts moving. It’s a steady pace at first, as if he’s trying to understand her, trying to see what drives her crazy, what she likes.

Can he be rough?

Can he hold her a little tighter?

Those silent questions are answered when she urges him on, her hands on his shoulder, bringing him down on her so her breasts are flush against his chest and his face is an inch away from hers. He kisses her when he starts moving, feels her breaking into a moan but then respond, moving her hips in accordance to his, but even so she’s letting him lead; he’s the one in control this time around.

So he thrusts slowly, long strokes that make her want to just push him down again and ride him because she thinks he might have made her a little insane here, a little too obsessed. She watches him, his handsome face and its perfect features, then darts her glance down to where they’re both connected, sees him move, sees and feels him pullig back until just the head of his cock is inside, and then he slides in again, repeats the motion again and again until she can’t take it anymore, wraps her legs around his waist and says, “Faster.”

“Yeah?” he asks, still set on that same rhythm, looking for permission, focusing his gaze for one instance at a huge bruise near her hip.

“Please,” she begs in the middle of a kiss. “Please.”

He increases the pace gradually, watches the changes on her face, and when she throws her arms around his neck (all the flinching and wincing still there but to hell with them to hell with them, this means so much more), he finally lets go. His thrusts grow harder and faster, so much so that he accidently slips out, and when that happens he drives her mad by grabbing his cock and rubbing it on her clit for a few seconds, a small tease that earns him some more pretty little moans, his name spilling out of her lips like sugar.

He’s in trouble, he concludes, he’s in trouble. This woman may as well be his everything.

He will drown himself in her if she asks him to.

Lodge himself into her bones.

Never let her go.

If she wants him as much as he wants her.

(and he hopes she does he hopes she does)

When he thrusts back into her, he wastes no time, no more teasing, he moves, feels her nails digging into his flesh, little red moons forming all over his skin, she’s clenching around him and he’s pounding into her so fast and hard the slap from skin against skin is loud enough to reverberate on the walls. Throught it all, he doesn’t break eye contact, no, looks at her as if she’s meant to be worshipped.

Jill is lost in a trance, feeling his cock in and out of her, he’s so big and hard, he’s so perfect, so good, she could stay like this forever and then he hits that spot, that little spot and she clenchs around him and moans, which in turn makes him groan. “Right there,” she says, “Right there, don’t stop, please, just like that.”

Carlos nods, he’s mesmerized, trying to hold back his own release, showering her neck with kisses, licking the salt off of her skin, hips working nonstop. “Fuck,” he says, voice hoarse. “You feel so good. You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

She clings to him as if her life depends on it (and god knows it did), she clings to him, their hearts beating in perfect synchrony.

This is meant to be, she thinks, this is meant to be.

His thrusts are even harder now, rocking them back and forth on the bed. He buries his head on the crook of her neck, muffling his groans. She gives up on trying to follow his rhythm, gives up completely, this is too good, too fucking good, she can only take it. She’s so close, he knows, she doesn’t even need to tell him with the way she tightening around his cock, the way her moans are turning into almost sobs, her shaky voice trying to utter a warning, one that he loves so much.

He keeps up the pace while sliding a hand down her body, finding her clit, still a little swollen and sensitive from his earlier ministrations. This time she does cry out, holding on to him. It’s overwhelming; she’s right at the edge and she doesn’t want it to end, fuck, don’t let this end.

He’s losing control, pumping into her, his warm breath on her skin, and when that wave hits her, when her face gets hot and her breathing heavy she asks for one thing, just one tiny thing. “Come with me,” she says. “Come with me, please, please, come with me.”

“Inside you?” and such simple question should sound a lot more like caution than it does in that moment. In that moment though, that simple question is about trust above anything else, and she nods, all desperate and pretty, she nods.

“Inside me,” she orders as he kisses her. “Inside me, it’s okay, fill me up, let me-” her voice breaks when he speeds up the pace. “Let me feel you, I need to feel you.”

He places a hand around her neck, doesn’t apply pressure, just keeps it there and stares at her and fucks her and kisses her and says “I’ll fill you up then, I’ll do it, you’ll be all mine, right, just mine?” he asks in between pants, voice rough and brash and still laced with adoration.

“Just yours.”

She means it.

He thrusts into her with hard, fast, long strokes, and she’s clenching around his thick cock, coming with such intensity that she bites the inside of her cheek to keep from truly screaming.

At the same time, his movements grow erratic, his grunts and groans a lot louder, and then he’s burying himself into her to the hilt and coming deep inside her, breathing so hard he feels like he might pass out.

She holds on to him as they both wait until they can breathe normally again, but he can’t resist kissing her, not when she’s giving him that look, not when he’s so scared of never seeing her again after this that he can feel his bones trembling. After a moment, when the world goes back to existing, he slips out of her and rolls to her side, brings her with him. She’s curled up around him like a cat, and he’s smiling, stroking her hair idly.

“You’re not in pain, are you?” he asks.

Shaking her head, she chuckles. “Sex is one hell of a drug, you know.”

“You’re one hell of a drug.”

“Oh god,” she laughs at the line.

“No, I’m serious. Got me screwed up for life here,” he admits. “Pretty sure I’m addicted.”

It’s quiet for a moment, Carlos is already cursing himself for ruining this. Too blunt. Too blunt and they don’t even know what they’re going to do tomorrow.

But then she looks up at him, and says: “For life is a big commitment.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a man of my word,” he says.

“That’s good to know,” she smiles at him, rests her head on his chest and closes her eyes.

Carlos wraps an arm around her then, holds her tight and close, the stupidest smile decorating his face.

And for the first time in months, Jill sleeps peacefully.

--- a/n: i’m rusty as hell but writing this brought me joy. i dedicate this to my lovely friend @passionedance because holy shit she put up with me gushing about these two a lot. <3 also, i hope everyone is okay and taking care of themselves. <3

[aion-rsa]

Chinese-Inspired Fantasy Books That Reframe Familiar Fairy Tales

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

Reframing fairy tales has long been a common subgenre of fantasy fiction and, at the end of 2020, three authors put their own spins on stories (or fairy tale structures) familiar to most Western audiences by incorporating Asian mythology and settings. S. L. Huang combined European fairy tale Little Red Riding Hood with the Chinese tale of Hou Yi the Archer to form a story of redemption, love, and family in Burning Roses. Chloe Gong cast tragic English characters Romeo and Juliette as gangsters in 1920s Shanghai—pitting them against a Lovecraftian monster rising from the depths of the Huangpu River in These Violent Delights. And Nghi Vo continued her Singing Hills cycle, set in a world inspired by Imperial China, with an original story reminiscent of Middle Eastern folktale The Thousand Nights and One Night in the novella When the Tiger Came Down the Mountain. While none of these books are intended to be read together, all three make an excellent combination of courses for your literary meal, especially if you’re looking to dive into more fantastical tales written by Asian American authors.

Burning Roses by S.L. Huang

Fairy tales frequently feature young protagonists, especially young women, in peril. Some are able to evade dire fates through their own wits, while others must be rescued. Readers seldom see what becomes of them in their middle age, but that’s exactly what Huang takes on in her novella, Burning Roses.

Red Riding Hood, here called Rosa, survived the wolf attack that killed her grandmother. The event convinces her of the evil of the grundwirgen, speaking animals whom her grandmother had tried to teach here were just as much people as humans, but whom her mother had raised her to hate. Her mother’s point proven right, she sets off on a quest to rid the world of grundwirgen, teaming up with Goldie (whom she rescued from bears, and whom she later realizes is a thief and a con artist). But by the time readers meet Rosa, she’s left that life long behind, and now accompanies Hou Yi, the famous archer of Chinese lore, on a quest to keep people safe from unthinking monsters. (Hou Yi is traditionally described as male; here she is female, and she complains that Westerners from Rosa’s lands “insist on calling me a man.”)

Hou Yi, like Rosa, has her own demons to slay, and not just the literal ones. As Hou Yi and Rosa fight off a group of sunbirds, nearly dying from the smoke and fire, Hou Yi is confronted by her own past—the apprentice who turned against her. That apprentice is now a sorcerer, and has raised the sunbirds against Hou Yi in a twisted act of revenge.

But of course, it’s not that simple, either. Hou Yi and Rosa both acknowledge their own troubled pasts, and the wrongs they’ve both done, especially to those they love, weigh them down so heavily they almost cannot bear to move. The relationship between these two women, who truly see each other because they recognize a kinship of regret and repentance, is powerful. Without revealing too much in the way of spoilers, the feeling of the novella is that even in the midst of despair, it is possible to hope—especially when someone else can help carry the burden of your past.

Along with nods to Goldilocks and Little Red Riding Hood, there are additional mentions of Western fairy tales like Puss in Boots and Sleeping Beauty. Hou Yi’s story also closely mirrors the traditional tales, but familiarity with them isn’t required; those who already know the story may catch hints in the story earlier about where the tale will end, but Huang’s use of folklore from both Europe and China is complete within the story, and no additional outside sources are needed to get full enjoyment from the tale.

These Violent Delights by Chloe Gong

What happens when you mix 1920s Shanghai with The Sopranos, Lovecraftian horror, and Romeo and Juliet? With Gong at the helm, the result is a chillingly violent romance that readers may hope, despite the source material, will come to a happy ending.

In These Violent Delights, Juliette and Roma are the heirs to the two gangs of Shanghai, crime families who once controlled the city but are both losing ground as more foreign interests—and communists—rise to power. Juliette Cai is the future leader of the Scarlet Gang, the only remaining Chinese power in the city. Roma Montagov is a White Flower, son of generations of Russians who fled the Bolsheviks, and now in a dangerous predicament as his father has begun to favor another Montagov over his own son as the possible heir. Years ago, Juliette and Roma met in secret, determined to defy their parents, pledging that together they could bring peace and prosperity to Shanghai.

But those years are long past, and now nothing exists between them but hatred—or so each of them claim. They would continue to be solely enemies if not for a contagion sweeping through the city, hitting Scarlets and White Flowers with equal severity, that causes the victims to rip out their own throats. The contagion seems to follow sightings of a monster—a creature that witnesses claim drives people mad. Investigating on their own, they are chasing their own tails. Together, they could be unstoppable…

Before you say that the story isn’t really a fairy tale—it long predated Shakespeare’s play—and while it includes no fairies, the element of the poison that emulates death borders on the supernatural. Gong’s addition of a monster that rises from the river and compels people to suicide brings in enough additional supernatural elements (mixed with a healthy dose of 1920s science) to include it within the genre. At the same time, the novel is just as much a crime drama; the feuding criminal families are vibrantly, violently drawn, and their ruthlessness makes it difficult to consider heroes (even while readers root for Roma and Juliette’s romance).

One of the delights of the story, for those familiar with Shakespeare’s telling of the tale, is watching Gong’s naming conventions give clues to the role the characters play. Lourens, a scientist working with the White Flowers, is an analog to Father Laurence; Benedikt and Marshall are Romeo’s friends Benvolio and Mercutio, while Juliette’s hotheaded cousin Tyler is Tybalt. But though they don’t always play into type (and they have their own motives far beyond the traditional tale), readers will still be waiting for that moment when Tyler and Marshall face off, and Marshall lays a plague on both their houses. That the story, while self contained, leads directly into a subsequent volume will have readers waiting to find out if fair Shanghai will one day see a glooming peace, and whether Roma and Juliette must both be sacrificed to achieve it.

When the Tiger Came Down the Mountain by Nghi Vo

Vo’s novella is the second story featuring scholar-cleric Chih, who collects stories from far off places in order for them to be recorded for the archives at Singing Hills. In Chih’s first story (The Empress of Salt and Fortune), they and their recorder bird, Almost Brilliant, had an adventure; now Almost Brilliant is tending a clutch of eggs, leaving Chich to journey on their own. Luckily, Chich has guide Si-yu, a mammoth corps scout, to lead them through the mountains.

Unluckily, there are three tigers hunting in the mountains, and a lone mammoth and a few humans seem like a tasty meal. Si-yu and her mammoth, Piluk, reach safety, and Chih calls an uneasy truce with the tigers: Chih knows the tale of Ho Thi Thao’s marriage, and they ask the tigers to correct it for Singing Hills. The tigers refuse to tell their version—the true version—but they’re willing to let Chih tell the version they know, and correct the cleric when they get things wrong.

And so Chih tells the story of Ho Thi Thao and her human wife, Scholar Dieu—all the while, during the tale, keeping the hungry tigers from eating the humans. Chih weaves elements of ghosts—and the tigers add fox spirits, correcting the story; Chih gives a version in which human Dieu has most of the agency, and the tigers correct the tale to make Ho Thi Thao the hero. The story always feels very tightly organic to the Singing Hills cycle: the mammoths are a particularly delightful element of the setting, and the talking tigers, who can take the form of humans, feel a true part of the setting once readers (and Si-yu) become accustomed to the idea of conversing with them. In fact, Si-yu often takes the side of the tigers, preferring the details they give the story to Chih’s version.

But while the world is very much its own, the story is very reminiscent of the traditional tale of Scheherezade, who staved off death with her stories night after night. While When the Tiger Came Down the Mountain feels very much a new story, it also feels familiar, the way that being tucked in with a familiar bedtime story might, especially for readers accustomed to bedtime stories with the threat of being eaten by tigers.

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For the two stories with already familiar characters, the Chinese (or Chinese-inspired) settings offer a new perspective for readers less familiar with East Asian mythology, and help readers to see those tales in a new and different light, enhancing the old tales with a new point of view. For the original story, embracing the feel of older tales lends it the feeling of being at once both new and comforting. In all ways, these three tales offer the sense of meeting old friends for the first time—and coming out the other side enriched by the experience.

The post Chinese-Inspired Fantasy Books That Reframe Familiar Fairy Tales appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/2OPnTxF

[fangirlshrewt97]

Leverage Fic: Let that lonely feeling wash away

Author(s): Fangirlshrewt97

Fandom: Leverage

Pairing: Eliot Spencer & Parker

Characters: Eliot Spencer, Parker, Alec Hardison (mentioned), Sophie Devareux (mentioned), Nate Ford (mentioned)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: None

Additional Tags:  Bonding, sometime in season 1, Realizations, Comfort

Summary:

“I am not used to this.” Parker started before stopping. She was biting her lip, and tense as a coiled spring ready to bolt. “The other day, I just followed Nate’s plan.”  

 He kept his face carefully blank. “Ok? What is the problem there?”

 “Eliot, I didn’t make a back up plan!”

 Ah. Her issues were getting clearer.

 Or: A normal day brings an unexpected, but not really, revelation.

 Link to A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23526583

Gift for: @lurkerviolin, Happy birthday dearest!

                                                        *****

Eliot felt himself subtly tense up at the sudden change in atmosphere, something new was there in his room. Taking a quiet inhale, Eliot turned off the stove, moving the hotpot to the marble countertop before moving deliberately to the entrance of his kitchen. Counting in his head, he struck out his arm at the count of four and smirked as his prize yelped and squirmed under his unyielding grip. He dragged his uninvited guest into the kitchen, depositing her on to one of the chairs in his tiny dining table. " You're lucky I didn't have my knife in my hand Parker" he menaced, advancing to loom over the thief, not that she cared. "It's Wednesday afternoon," Parker remarked non-chalantly as she leaned back and got comfortable in the hard wooden chair, "this chair sucks". "It's a solid chair. Also that's not an answer. And it's evening". Eliot said as he moved back to his sink, rolling up his sleeves before starting to wash his dishes. "It's a valid answer!" Parker protested. "You wouldn't have had a knife with you at this time on a Wednesday because you are making soup and bread to take with you to the local community kitchen and to help out at dinner time". Eliot paused in his scrubbing of a particular stain on the plate, polishing it till he could see his reflection.

He put the plate on the dish rack, and grabbed the chopping board. Parker did not miss the slowing down of his movements. "What?" "Am I getting predictable?" Eliot asked, an almost imperceptible nervousness underlying his question. Parker regarded the frame of her ... friend. She had known Eliot for almost eight years now and could count the number of times he was genuinely nervous on one hand. The man was unflappable. But that was just a consequence of the life they had chosen wasn't it? No one said being a criminal is easy. "No, I just know you well." Eliot huffed, but the line of tension in his shoulders was still there. Parker unfolded herself from the chair and went to stand by Eliot, awkwardly punching him on the shoulder. "Lighten up Eliot. You're fine." Social interactions were still taking some getting used to. Eliot barely reacted to the punch, but paused at her words. “We should move.”

That surprised Parker. “Move? Move where? When? Why?”

“In my line of work predictable means dead Parker.”

“Not necessarily” Parker tried to argue, but it came out weak and unconvincing to her own ears. While surprised, she did understand Eliot’s concerns. They had been in LA for almost 9 months now, the longest the pair of them had stayed anywhere since they started working together as a team. Eliot had never seen where Parker lived, and to be frank was not quite sure whether she even slept all that much, but he had offered her his couch to crash in if she ever needed it. She had never needed it so far. Parker was just trying to figure out what to say when her stomach grumbled loudly.  

“How long since you’ve eaten?” Eliot asked, voice neutral even as she saw him switching to caretaker mode. Hey why look a Eliot in the gift mouth?

“This after-”

“Actual food that is not at least 40% sugar and 40% other crap.” Eliot cut her off with a no nonsense voice. Parker winced.

“The tacos you made for all of us?” Parker said, voice quiet enough Eliot had to strain to hear. She saw his grip tighten on the cutlery in his hand.

“That was two days ago Parker.”

Parker just shrugged. Food was not a big thing for Parker. She was a thief, the best in the world in fact. Before the team, food had just been whatever gave her enough energy to best complete the job. Or tasted the sweetest.

Eliot was changing that. She had had a donut today morning and thought it was too sweet. That had never happened before.

But she wasn’t the only one studying her new friend. Eliot was studying her right back, and knew the best way  to confront Parker was to do so at her own pace and by her own choice. Eliot could hold her once he had her, but she was the slipperiest thing he had ever had to catch. “Pick a restaurant kid, your turn, I’ll get them to deliver something for you. Or do you want me to make something?”

“’m not a kid!” Parker protested, pouting as she walking to their living room, trying to ignore the weird feeling in her stomach at Eliot’s offer. Probably a side effect of the hunger. So what if she also got it whenever Hardison complimented her on her skill, or Sophie said she had looked nice that day?

She shook her head to clear her thoughts and picked up the newspaper Eliot actually read. She didn’t get the point of newspapers. She flopped on the couch, in a posture so terrible she was sure Eliot would yell at her for later but what did he know? This was comfortable.

Nothing of interest caught her eye, so she threw that newspaper back onto the table and got another from his pile. She leafed through the pages halfheartedly, the text all blurring into one big block of black text, the pictures just making her grimace. This newspaper went back on the pile, as did the next. And the next.

By the time Eliot came to the living room to check on Parker, having finished all his cooking and cleaning and even changed into an unremarkable outfit that offered him anonymity, the thief was restless. He found her sitting on her ankles, methodically shredding and folding different pieces of paper and seemingly making origami ... somethings. Nothing that resembled anything he could guess the identity of.

“Seriously Parker?”

“Everything is boring Eliot!” Parker whined according to Eliot; frustratingly conveyed according to Parker.

Eliot bit back the retort on the tip of his tongue. If he pushed her too hard she would disappear and who knew when Nate would call them together before he could force her to sit down for a proper meal she would pick at regardless.

“I will be back in two hours. If you can’t decide on take-out, I have leftovers of the soup and bread I made in the kitchen. Or last night’s shepard’s pie and carrot and corn salad in the fridge. Help yourself. You better have eaten by the time I am back or I am forcing you to have brussels sprouts.” Eliot said before putting on his jacket and heading to the door. He stopped right before he closed it, looking back at her. Parker stayed still in her place, face still twisted in a grimace at the thought of brussels sprouts. Eliot grinned at her, but not the type of smile that normal people smiled at Parker. The kind that reminded her why most people were scared of Eliot Spencer. It looked like a shark’s. She liked sharks.

Parker pouted some more as she cleaned up the mess she had made behind, knowing that Eliot would glare at her until she did if the house was not tidy when he came back. Once she finished cleaning the living room back to how she found it, she went back into the kitchen and retrieved the shepard’s pie and salad from the fridge. She rummaged around the drawer for a fork, and having found her target as she waited for the microwave to beep. Retrieving her warmed up meal, she moved to the fire escape outside the kitchen window, where Eliot kept his small herb garden. She settled on the creaky stairs, having moved up them enough to get a view of the street and park outside their apartment building.

The boy and the mom were there, as always, with the mom looking ready to collapse as usual, and the boy yelling and running around with his friends as usual. There was the college student sitting against the tree, doing the last of his reading before the sun set. The old Chinese men playing GO at the old chess tables.

The pie was soft and crumbly, with more vegetable in her one scoop than she had had all day. She scraped another bite off the pie, gathering some of the vegetables as well. Just sitting quietly and watching the city go by, becoming like those ugly monster-creature statues in some of the old churches in Europe. She wasn’t envious of the people at the park. She knew she wasn’t like them. And that was ok. Eliot had told her. Different doesn’t always mean bad.  

It had surprised her how quickly the team had managed to take up a space in her world. She had never thought that she would never work in a team, much less four people who insisted on checking on her and feeding her and making sure she was ok. Well that’s not true. She had just grown so used to being alone. To doing everything on her own, and not relying on anyone. Not since Archie left her to be on her own. Other people were liabilities he had told her. Other people could not be trusted. Other people were slow and heavy, and she needed to be light and quick.

Not the team though. Eliot though. Eliot understood her, understood her better than the others. Parker liked to think it was because they were similar but that wasn’t true. Eliot understood how people worked, he could make himself be normal, make others like him. He could make himself look safe to approach. Normal people never came too close to her, it was as if they could sense she was different. Whatever, that suited Parker just fine. Less people paying attention just made it easier for her to steal.

A distant yell brought her back to herself, and she sat up from where she had slouched to see the boy in the park across was crying and most likely the one who had yelled. He was on the ground and seemed to be yelling because he had fallen of the monkey bars. Amateur. But Parker kept watching as the boy’s mother rushed to the child, hugging him to her chest and rubbing his back as she examined the wound. A few other parents and others circled the pair, another mother offering something that looked like Kleenex maybe?

Parker knew most people would find the scene nice. Hardison would. She thinks. But all she sees when she looks at the scene is a boy who is being coddled. Why didn’t they see it would be better if they just left him alone. What would happen to him when he was by herself the next time he got hurt? It was better if he was alone.

Parker mechanically swallowed the bite she had been chewing and scrapped her fork only to find that she had managed to finish her plate. That explained the full stomach.

That was a lie. It would be worse if he had been alone. Parker knew that. She had just become convinced that no one would be coming anyways, so she could only rely on herself. But the team had been proving her wrong hadn’t they?

Nate looked out for all of them, made sure they were never cornered. In the last job, she hadn’t even scouted the building by herself beforehand, just trusted that Nate would get her out safe.

A pit started forming in her stomach, and her throat felt like it was closing.

Sophie patiently taught her how to read people, to understand who was out to get her, and who were just oblivious and asking out of politeness. Sophie got frustrated with her sometimes when she saw Parker actively choosing or doing the wrong action, but it helped Parker. The new skills could definitely help her talk her way out next time when she was caught alone.

Her breath caught. When?

Eliot never scolded her about anything important. No, not important, anything real. He had never asked her what was wrong with her. Out of the team, Eliot was the one who understood why it was better to be alone.

It was better right?

Then why did she feel like she wanted to cry?

Hardison… Hardison was unlike anyone she had met. He reminded her of a cartoon character, with his energy and over the top dramatic protesting and his magic. He made the world bend to his direction, created doors where there weren’t any, stole more wealth with a few masterful strokes than she could with a week of planning. And yet, he was so kind, he helped old women across the street even though they pinched his cheeks afterward. He bought new toys for the orphanage, and played videogames for hours with the kids in the hospital. He made her feel like she could trust him.

She squeezed her eyes to try and relieve the pressure in her chest. She heard a distant creeking and realized the stairs she was sitting on were shaking slightly with the force of her trembling.

When warm arms gently encircled her wrists, a strangled sob made its way out of her throat and she opened her eyes to find Eliot looking steadily at her. No pity, some concern? For her? He didn’t try to approach her, or to move away. He just stayed where he was. What did he want?

“Parker, is it ok if I sit next to you?”

Oh. Permission.

Parker gave a shaky nod.

Eliot nodded back and moved slowly to sit beside her. The stairs weren’t particularly wide so it ended up with them squished between the wall and the railings, the sides of their bodies pressed together.

“Do you want to talk? Or do you want me to talk? Or do you just want to sit here for a while?” Eliot asked, not pushing. He never pushed. None of them did.

“I don’t know …” Parker started, voice barely there. “I don’t know why I am - I -”

“It’s ok. Just breath. We can be here as long as you need.” Eliot said as he lightly tugged the plate out of her hands. She hadn’t even noticed her death grip on them. She let them go, vision still swimming. Eliot set the plate on the step below them and returned to her side. He held out a white piece of cloth to her, but when Parker just looked at him confused, he sighed and moved it to her face. He cupped her chin to keep her steady while he wiped off her tears. When had she started crying?

After he finished he went to remove his hand but Parker grasped it tightly and moved it to her cheek before leaning into him. She could feel his initial surprise by the sudden tension in his body but he relaxed when she just leaned into his chest, ear directly over his heart. Tentatively, he put his right arm over her back, bringing her closer. The two stayed that way for a long while, watching the sun slowly set in the distance as the lights were switched on throughout the city.

At one point, Parker grew heavier, and Eliot started to worry before he heard the faintest snores. A wave of warmth and pride hit him like a tsunami. He had known the two of them were growing closer, but for Parker to trust him enough to fall asleep around him? Eliot just gripped her tighter to him.

When the wind started to grow strong and the temperature dropped quickly, Eliot reluctantly roused Parker and guided her back inside. Neither of them said anything, Parker’s action had said more than she could with words.

Parker moved to take her usual chair, and wasn’t that unusual? She had an usual chair. She couldn’t remember the last time she had an usual anything. Eliot pulled out some dishes and set them on the countertop before turned to her.

“What do you want to eat?”

Parker shrugged.

“Try again Parker.”

“Why?” Parker asked, half curious, half frustrated about being constantly asked to choose.

Eliot looked at her for another minute before he sighed and moved towards her. She thought he was going to sit in the chair, but instead he sank to his knees in front of her, sitting on his toes.

“What had you upset on the fire escape?”

Parker looked away.

“Please look at me?” And that was unfair wasn’t it? Why did he keep being so nice. Why didn’t he ever get angry with her? Feeling too many things at once, Parker tried to get up, but Eliot blocked her. Not physically, he was sitting just far enough away that she would have to push him to leave. And she couldn’t make herself push him. Even though she had this gut feeling that if she pushed him, he would let her go.

“Why are you so nice to me?”

“Would you rather I was mean?”

“No, just-” Parker bit off, not knowing how to articulate her thoughts. “Why are you always asking me what to cook for dinner or how I am feeling, or to always pick something?”

“Why do you think I am?” Eliot said, face blank and unreadable.

“Eliot!” Parker exclaimed, feeling frustrated.

“When I first started doing this, I made a few rules for myself. And along the way, I broke every single one of them. And forgot who I was. It took me a while to remember who I was, but when I did, I realized I could never be that person anymore because I wasn’t a good person anymore,” Eliot said, looking her straight in the eye. “I have done awful things Parker, things that will haunt me for the rest of my life. But there was a person once who died, and I lived because he died. If nothing else, some days I get up and live because he didn’t get a chance to. It is easy to be alone Parker. No one to answer to, no one to look out for, no one to feel anything about. But that isn’t living. That is surviving. And I was tired. This team, I think that we are all idiots, and if Nate doesn’t quit drinking, will get either himself or us killed. But it is also the first time in far too long since I felt like I was doing something that mattered. Something good. I have too much red in my ledger, and I will never be able to clean it, but doing this, it feels like a start.”

Parker took in his speech, and she was slightly glassy-eyed, but at least less like she was on the verge of tears. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?” he urged.

“I don’t know.”

“You sure about that?” Eliot hadn’t wanted to press her, but at this point he couldn’t ignore it either.

“What? Yes, I know that I am scared but don’t know why.” Parker said, confused and slightly annoyed.

“Let me ask you again then. Why were you crying outside?” Eliot said, shifting so he was sitting cross-legged. To his surprise, Parker pushed away from the chair and rather than leaving as he was half-expecting her to, she sank to mimic his position.

“I am not used to this.” Parker started before stopping. She was biting her lip, and tense as a coiled spring ready to bolt. Eliot just sat back and let her talk. “The other day, I just followed Nate’s plan.” She looked at him expectantly.

He kept his face carefully blank. “Ok? What is the problem there?”

“Eliot, I didn’t make a back up plan!”

Ah. Her issues were getting clearer.

“You don’t need one.”

“But that’s the problem, of course I do. What happens when I get stuck alone and -”

“Parker look at me.” Eliot said, cutting her off before she worked herself up again. When he had her attention, he slowly moved so she could track his movements and placed both his hands on his knees, palms up. Slowly, as if scared to make the wrong move, Parker placed her own hands in his.

“I am not going to speak for the others, just for myself ok, though I have a very strong gut feeling that they feel the same way. If we ever had a plan go wrong and you got stuck alone, I will come to rescue you. I will never abandon you like that ok.” Eliot said, with such conviction, Parker felt rattled to her bones. She may not have known Eliot for very long, but she knew that he meant every single word he had told her. “I know that asking for your trust may be a lot -”

“I do.”

Eliot stopped, her words a genuine shock. He had not expected her to admit that. To herself or to him.

“You do what?” He had to be sure that she was sure.

“I do trust you. And I am scared Eliot. Because what happens when this stops? When the team is done, and we go back to working alone? I can’t… it took me time to figure out how to work alone and I finally have it but now I am supposed to work in a team and I am starting to like it and what happens when we are done? And I can’t be a good thief by myself anymore? I can’t be normal, Eliot, thieving is who I am!” Parker said, finishing quietly, as she pulled her knees up and hugged them, leaning against the chair for support.

“Parker… first of all, whether or not we continue working as a team, you are the best thief in the world, and that is not by accident ok. You earned that title, and working in a team is not going to weaken you. Secondly, do you remember the con a few weeks ago where you managed to talk the CEO into giving you the passcode to the safe?”

“I didn’t even stab him.” Parker remembered with a small smile.

“You didn’t even stab him.” He agreed, voice full of mirth as he let out a small chuckle. “You were a grifter. Even if we stop working as a team, our time together doesn’t go away. I have confidence you will pick up abilities from the rest of us and become truly unstoppable. But most importantly, Parker, you can do anything you want. You are so smart, and resourceful. Trust me, normal is overrated, and no one is really normal. Everyone has something they are hiding that others would judge them for. You are so much more than just a thief."

Parker seemed to mull over his words, and he let her. “You really think so?”

Eliot smiled. “Yes.”

Parker smiled back, and she weakly punched him on the shoulder as she gave a watery chuckle. “I want tacos.”

Eliot laughed. “Tacos it is. Want to help me?”

Parker nodded, still smiling. Eliot grinned and got to his feet, offering a hand to help her up as well. “Go wash your face and come, I’ll get the ingredients out.”

“Okay” Parker replied before heading to his washroom.

Watching her go, Eliot smiled, happy that they had had this conversation. This team of idiots may be the death of him, but he could honestly think of worst people to die because of. So all in all, he had a feeling maybe this team could make it in the long term.

At least, no one was going to die while he was watching their backs.

[sinnhelmingrmoved]

tma au rundown. warning. long with too many bullet points.

basics:

her name is leah lindqvist. no, this is not her birth name, not even a name in any official records, but it’s what she goes by and what the majority of characters will know her as. the only exceptions to this are those who knew her in her human life and those who have stumbled upon her in statements -- more on that later.

appears to be in her late 20s-early 30s, with an old world aristocracy look under her gothic leanings. has a propensity for elegant/historical looks in her day to day life, being rather more put together than the setting’s primary goth. notable for her bloodless complexion and bright green eyes. tall and thin.

has lived in london for the last three years, looking for an in to the institute to further her own research. changes living arrangements at around season 3 to better stalk keep an eye on our main protagonist.

originally scandinavian, specifically danish, though her accent seems strangely lax for someone who claims to have only left her motherland a few years before.

is an avatar, though her exact ‘patron’ is a question she’s been trying to answer for a long, long time. the circumstances of what she deems her ‘becoming’ seemed to involve at least 4 separate entities, only one of which could have won her.

backstory:

was born the youngest of three children in a happy copenhagen home, her father from good stock and her mother a force to be reckoned with in the community. at some point, the house of cards crumbled for the couple, and their children were shuffled off to what relatives would take them. leah, or whoever she was before, went to her father’s brother specifically.

said uncle was a proper gentleman, a pillar of the community, worldly and wealthy. he had a particular fondness for the macabre, and venerated a man known as jonah magnus and his various associates. this man about town had such dreams for his latest acquisition, for this bright and tender child who wanted the whole of the world in her hands.

leah was raised alongside but differently from odin’s four sons, groomed for something beyond her understanding. she was expected to read and recite, to observe others, and to mind her ps and qs more than her cousins ever would. as she grew towards adolescence, odin took to traveling the world with his ward, haunting locations of past or ongoing fear activity. leah was meant to observe, and to be seen.

that was a perilous thing, and got her on the wrong side of various avatars and monsters more often than she cares to remember. she has had confirmed run-ins with the spiral, the stranger, the desolation, and the dark through these ‘misadventures,’ and has had at least one brush with the lukas family in her youth that leaves open the possibility of later lonely interference.

it should be noted, however, that leah’s moments of what her uncle would dub martyrdom -- that is, to be made to witness the influence of fears on the world -- were almost invariably fatal for the subject of observation. while odin perceived her as witnessing the world and following the path of the eye, leah herself was chasing death.

the dawning realization that her life was to be given solely in service to this all-seeing eye led to brief fits of rebellion or anxiety that her uncle worked to curtail. her panic at the situation came to a head at some point in her twenties when, according to all involved, leah attacked odin’s favored son. immediately afterwards, leah was ousted from the family, abandoned to a distant property. the outside world, however, would receive the fiction that she had gone missing and would never be recovered.

left to a rarely-traveled island on the norwegian sea, stripped of the protections her uncle offered under the sheltering eye, those entities who marked her soon came begging their pound of flesh. locking herself into a small cabin on the property, she endured bouts of darkness and mist rolling over the outside world, a constant knocking or clawing at the cabin door, and an apparent loss of self. after some perceived months of this isolation, some hallucination or dream came to her in which she perceived her patron reaching out and taking all of the fear away.

once awakened, she was discovered by a passing ship and returned to the mainland, walking and hitchhiking her way back to the main family estate. she found her uncle badly aged in the months of her absence, striking when he was alone and demanding answers from him : what was her intended purpose? what did the eye have to do with this? what had she become? why did he choose her? at some point, her interrogation became too much for the old man, and he passed before she received the answers she sought. after disposing of his body, odin became another missing person’s case in the family, and leah made her way across europe for the next few years seeking the answers she had not received from the source.

has had a past attempt to breach the institute and lasted a good few days hidden among the archives. was eventually found out, however, and was made to escape. all the way to the mainland, in fact, due to whatever she uncovered about the place rattling her deeply enough to keep away from england for some years.

eventually, with all other avenues of knowledge running dry, leah was forced to return and consider that the answers she sought lie in the institute itself. to that end, she had taken up residence in a london apartment complex and tried to get in several times.

recent events: 

has been an accomplice in several fear-motivated disappearances of young men in the london area. it’s an open secret among those who know her status as avatar that she makes offerings for her ‘partner’ out of human sacrifices.

tried to infiltrate the institute and got far enough to nearly get eaten by worms in season one, saved only by the timely intervention of her partner. none of the actual archival staff are aware of said event until she actively brings it up.

has developed a growing fascination with the latest archivist, including reaching out to him in season 3 once he’s on the run.

eventually offers him her statement in exchange for a chance to delve the archives resources for the explanations she’s been without. becomes an occasional feature from there on until she once again flees into the night after a brush with its master.

spoilers:

has been completely divorced from the concept of time as it flows for others. many of the discrepancies about her story as she tells it can be explained through this: her months abandoned on the island actually took place over a number of years, her time spent combing through the european continent took more than a decade, and she can no longer remember her birth year because it does not align to her perceptions of self. even those she knew in humanity, such as gerry or peter, register as oddities for having aged in accordance with real time rather than her own.

her patron is the end, who had indelibly marked her at some point in her youth and seems to have intervened and claimed her once she was in serious danger. her exact role as an avatar of this fear is muddled by her decades of self-serving pursuit of knowledge rather than living up to whatever she was meant to do.

odin really stumbled into getting an intended avatar of the eye marked by different fears. it was not his intention, but rather a result of caretaker negligence in trying to make a witness of the girl. he never expected that it would have meant something in the grand scheme of things.

despite appearing all of 32 at most, leah was already in her twenties by the 90s. she’s actually in her 50s though her general issues with time mean she has not realized this fact and her status as an avatar has left her pretty ageless.

relationships:

alliance/partnership/friendship with sittimoranimiinterfectorem‘s michael. michael was the first of her kind leah met, and one she looked up to as a potential font of answers. instead, michael has been toying with her for years, as a liar ought to. outsiders can infer a variety of potential takes on the relationship, as outlined here.

alliance/mentorship/unrequited feelings with sittimoranimiinterfectorem’s jon. leah’s initial trepidation in approaching the new archivist soon turned to a soft spot for this man the world was going to eat alive. she realizes he is walking down the same path her uncle forced her down, and has taken on a slightly protective and wise elder role over him. that said, she has also has a fancy for him, attracted to his dark eyes and devotion to his humanity.

former companion/occasional ally of bookburnt‘s gerry. the two crossed paths every once in a blue moon during the years, given odin and mary were associated with one another in their travels and overlapping ideals. leah tried to take on a supportive role for the teen, sometimes sending gifts, while gerry in turn tended to cut loose with someone who got it. in adulthood, the two sometimes ran into one another in the weird world in which they inhabited, though leah had no idea this man was the same boy she had tried to bond with years before.

potential acolyte/student of medisinals‘s blackwell. we’re still plotting it out but the two have each other’s acquaintance as avatars of the end.

relevant statements:

statement of frida hoarr, concerning the disappearance and life of her husband odin. first mention of the hoarr family and leah’s original identity. (2001)

statement of olaf agner, concerning his time working for the hoarr family in north zealand. a less rose colored view of odin’s ‘visionary’ work and his 'creepy’ niece. (1987)

miscellany statements referencing a one eyed man and dark-haired girl/young woman at or around the scene of various incidents involving the fears across europe. sometimes references the girl in question reaching out to those that are marked. (80s-90s)

statement of torsten hoarr, concerning the personal records of his father and the disappearance of his cousin. (2007)

reference to leah’s invasion of the institute archives in an incidental discussion with michael shelley about his having been deceived into allowing a certain young woman into the archives (2009)

miscellany statements establishing odin as a sort of chessmaster invariably working with the eye before, during, and after leah’s part in his life. (60s-2001)

statement of james berger on the subject of his friend ethan hamilton going missing. first clear picture of leah and michael working in tandem. (2014)

statement of leah lindqvist concerning her personal history and... ‘becoming.’ statement recorded direct from subject. (2017)

[turtles-imagines]

Bay verse turtles with their little daughter who is a total daddy’s girl 💙❤️💜🧡

yassSSS I STAN. ( (D/N) means daughter’s name)

Leo 💙:

- From the moment your daughter (D/N) was born, she was a daddy’s girl. She was always giggling and smiling at up at her father. She was always beaming up at him when he held her in his arms.

-All I can imagine is little (D/N) sitting on her father’s lap while he’s meditating. She’ll try to meditate with him but being a small toddler, she’ll eventually get bored. After she gets bored (D/N) will stand up and run around the dojo mumbling nonsense. All Leo can do is chuckle at his little girl.

- Leo lovess to read her. Every night before bed (D/N) won’t lie down and sleep until her dad lets her sit on his lap as he reads her a bedtime story. Her favorite stories are fairytales. Her favorite fairytale is Beauty and the Beast because it reminds her of her parents.

- Sometimes when Leo practices with his katanas your daughter will pretend to practice along with him. It makes his heart melt every time he sees his little girl copy his movements.

- He never misses a school event. Even though you and Leo have to hide behind the story of that he works a broad, as to keep your secret, he never skips a school event. Every school play, art show, swim meet, parents day, and dance recital Leo is there. He watches from the shadows as his little girl razzles the stage. He can’t be prouder. He buys her flowers afterwards.

Raph ❤️ :

- Raph is a tough guy, no ifs ands or buts about it. He’s soft only for 3 people: April, you, and your daughter (D/N). Like it’s a little funny how one moment Raph is kicking some serious Foot Ninja ass and the next he’s cooing over his baby girl.

- Speaking of which, Raph has a lot of cute little nicknames for your daughter. Babygirl, Little Princess, Sweetheart, Lil’ Apple are all common ones. Raph also uses the usual Honey, Sweetie, and Darling with your daughter as well.

- Raph is really good at doing hair, so your little girl always has hair that looks just like she’s a princess. It doesn’t matter if (D/N)’s hair is straight, curly, wavy, or frizzy, Raph always puts it into elaborate hair styles. She’s always running around with little braids or buns in her hair. All the other kids at school are really jealous of her and her pizzaz.

- Tea parties? Tea parties. Raph will do anything for his daughter, even if that includes trading his “man card” for a pink boa and plastic tiara. There have been multiple occasions that you have walked in on Raph and (D/N) sitting around a tiny table with other stuffed animals sipping air out of tiny plastic tea cups pretending it’s tea. Mikey has several pictures of this. He jokingly gave one to Raph for Christmas one year. Even though Raph pretends to hate it, he has it right next to his bed so the first thing he sees when he wakes up is his daughter’s face.

- Raph is really good about the whole “monster under my bed” thing. Whenever (D/N) comes sobbing into your room in the middle of the night wailing about a monster under her bed or in her closet Raph is on it. He immediately swoops her into his arms and calms her down. After she’s safely tucked away in bed with you Raph gets up go look in her room. When he returns he tells her that he scared all the monsters away.

Donnie 💜:

- Donnie is the soccer mom of the bros. The moment your daughter (D/N) was born Donnie was already looking out for her wellbeing. He had the entire diaper bag complete with like 50 different brands of diapers and every brand of formula under the sun. He also had one of those baby carrier chest things that only nerds wear and he wears it proudly sooooo....

- Donnie handles all the homework since he himself,, is a smart cookie. Luckily, your daughter inherited her daddy’s smarts and is a smart cookie as well. Whenever she struggles with her math or science Donnie is right there, helping her.

- Because of her relationship with her dad, (D/N) wants to be a scientist when she grows up. For Christmas she asked for every chemical in existence but since she’s only a little girl, she got a lab coat and a chemistry kit instead. Using the chemistry kit is a father-daughter activity.

- Donnie is the “Safe Dad”. Everything is baby proofed well into her late elementary years. All knives are kept in a locked drawer, all outlets have those little plugs in them, doors are always kept locked, and weapons aren’t allowed within a 5 foot radius of (D/N). When Splinter got (D/N) her own weapon for her 6th birthday Donnie almost died of fright.

- Donnie is a really REALLY good cook. You never had to worry about (D/N) not eating her veggies because Donnie would always make them delicious. Her school lunches were always eaten because Donnie made them. Everyone at school, even the teachers, are jealous of (D/N)’s meals.

Mikey 🧡:

- Did someone say Disney World Dad? Seriously, sometimes it’s like you have two kids. I mean, there’s enough of a mess made that there is two kids. Whenever Mikey watches (D/N) for you, you come home to a house covered in paint, glitter, and stickers. It’s gotten to the point where you need to call Raph, Leo, and Donnie up to babysit your daughter and your lover.

- Mikey and (D/N) are always playing. Tea parties, hide and seek, dolls, castle, you name it! Mikey is your daughter’s favorite playmate and for good reason. Half the time Mikey doesn’t even really know what’s going on during playtime but he always manages to make it fun.

- Mikey is always trying to teach (D/N) “essential skills”. And by “essential skills” I mean like how to eat a large pizza in five minutes. Although he does teach her some not-so-useful stuff like how to chug an entire liter of Pepsi in 3 seconds flat he does teach her helpful things like how to ride a bike, or self defense.

- Mikey is the “Video Camera Dad” who is always filming everything his kid does. The camera is usually rolling and pointed at (D/N) just so you guys “don’t miss any important life events”. Though a lot of the things Mikey records aren’t really useful, he did record milestones like her first steps, her first word, and her first day of school.

- (D/N) will most likely spill the tea about her awesome mutant day. I mean c’mon, she is Mikey’s kid. Fortunately, no one believes her. They think her dad works full time in Europe and she’s making up stories about her crime fighting ninja turtle dad to help her cope. It does hurt her feelings a little that her friends and teachers won’t believe her but it’s okay because she knows she’s telling the truth.

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Sapling

I’ve fallen VERY far behind in @drawlight‘s advent challenge! But I knew what I wanted to post for day 9 all along, I just never had a chance to work on it. Here it is now!

(Fun fact: a big part of the delay was me being unable to decide if Crowley or Aziraphale should be the POV character. Behold: a very unexpected solution!)

09 - Chestnuts (1,928 words)

Small trees are not aware of much.

The little sapling didn’t know what a volcano was, or what an eruption meant, or how close it had come to being subsumed entirely in boiling lava. It was rather shocked when a sudden rush of earth broke loose from further up the slope, completely burying it and all the other plants growing nearby.

It should have snapped, been torn completely out of the ground, like all the others. The little sapling had only emerged from its chestnut this past spring, had only reached the sunlight a few weeks before. But luck, perhaps, had been on its side.

A few leaves on one side of its forked stem (too small to even call it a trunk) still stood above the earth. Not much at all. It should have died, slowly starved of sunlight.

Except that a pair of hands, digging in the earth, uncovered it. They were gentle and patient, not at all matching the grumbling voice that came along with them.

“Lousy place to grow. Whatever squirrel buried you here didn’t do you any favors. Might as well have just eaten you and saved you the trouble.”

The sapling slowly emerged, long as the arms that were digging it free, thinner than the smallest finger. Its stem was bent, snapped almost through along one branch of the fork.

“Ah, bless it. That doesn’t look good. You’re going to give up now, aren’t you? Going to tell me it’s too much damage, you can’t go on. I don’t want to hear it. Once I get this cleared, I don’t want any excuses from –”

“Crawley? Is that you?”

“Angel.” A growl. “What are you up to? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“Why are you here? Is this your doing?”

The hands moved away, the black robed figure springing up. “My doing? You think I run around causing volcanic eruptions and landslides and natural disasters?” The foot lashed out, kicking aside a few rocks. “I seem to remember, last time we talked it was your side pulling all that.”

“My side – That was an entirely different situation.”

“Yes, apparently God was angry and drowned all the sinful people in a great Flood. Well done. How’s the recovery going in that area? Still sin-free?” The silence might have been telling to another man-shaped being, but the tree was still trying to work out what a Flood might be. In a softer voice, the figure continued: “How do I know you’re not here to wipe out all the people on this island, too?”

“I’m not. If they’re good people, they don’t have to worry about that.”

“Don’t they? What are the rules, Aziraphale? Do they even know what not to do?” He settled back down, continuing his work, moving earth from around the sapling. “Why did you even come here, Angel?”

“I was…well, I was looking for you, in a way. There have been rumors that some monster lives on or under this mountain. Er, a man with a hundred fire-breathing snake heads I believe.”

The figure through back his head and laughed. “Humans! What will they think of next?” He tossed aside a few more stones. “And? I assume they sent you to find out if the monster was really a demon. Now what are you supposed to do? Kill me? Bury me under the mountain for all time?”

“Hardly!” The second figure’s voice went very high. “I’m only here to…to determine whether you are causing these disasters.”

“This again?” The figure ran a finger along the sapling’s stem, trying to get it to stand straight, but the stem had become too soft and weak in the earth. “The mountain erupted because it’s a volcano. It keeps erupting because it’s a very active volcano. I spread a rumor that a horrible monster lives here so that people wouldn’t try to make their homes on a volcano because humans are just the right combination of stubborn and stupid. And I’m here now because…” Fingers gently rubbed one of the sapling’s leaves. “…because humans aren’t the only ones who get hurt in these disasters.” He stood up again.

“Where are you going now?”

“Well, apparently after all the work I put into digging it out, this sapling doesn’t want to stand up anymore. Lazy plants. I’m going to go find a stick or something so I can stake it upright. Probably just get buried again in the next eruption, but maybe it’ll get lucky.” Feet stomped away across the bare earth.

A few moments later, the other figure approached. “I honestly don’t know what to make of him,” he confessed, half to himself, half to the sapling. “Angry and coarse and unkind, and yet…and yet, here you are, free of the earth. Why?” Soft fingers felt their way up the stem, and every where they brushed the sapling felt stronger, grew straighter. The broken fork knitted itself back together. “There. That should help.”

“Can I tell you a secret, little tree?” The white robed figure bent closer. “I don’t think he’s really unkind at all. He speaks as if he is, oh, he says some awful things. But the questions he asks…well, they make a lot of sense.”

The figure sucked in a breath, sat silent for a long time. The only response to the comment, though, was a small breeze that stirred the sapling’s leaves. The figure finally continued in a thicker voice. “I… I always understood that questions, doubts, those were signs of a sick mind. A lack of faith. Some strain of selfishness or cruelty, seeking things better left unknown. But his questions…how are the humans supposed to be good if they don’t know what we want? How does killing them help them learn their lesson?”

Fingers combed through the earth. “Why wasn’t I sent to help after the eruption? Why is he the one here to heal the mountain, while I come looking for a fight?”

Even the sapling recognized that these questions had not come from the first figure.

“Do you know what they would do to me, little tree, if they heard me asking these things? No, leave these questions to the demon. I… I must follow orders. But there’s no harm, I suppose, in following my orders in the way that seems best to me.”

The fingers gently ran across a leaf. “Grow strong, little tree. He cares for you, in his way, and, well…I suppose we don’t want to let him down, do we?”

Footsteps echoed across the mountainside. “Still here, Angel? I hope you’re not teaching that sapling to be all soft and pitiable. No one’s going to come and care for it up here.”

“Of course not.” The second figure stood up, brushing off white robes. “I was just wondering… is there anything I can do to help? I do have to thoroughly check this mountain for hundred-headed snake monsters, and I may as well make myself useful while I’m about it.”

“Nh.” The black-robed figure knelt beside the sapling. “I suppose there’s a lot of ground to cover. Head over that way and see if anything else is sticking out of the ground.” He gestured vaguely. “I’ll come show you what to look for in a minute.”

Once the other figure was gone, he began hammering a long branch into the ground beside the sapling. “Useless angel. Probably doesn’t even know a live plant from a dead one. He’ll spend half the day trying to rescue dead bushes.” A heavy breath. “At least he’s trying. That’s more than I ever expected, really. Sometimes I even think he actually listens.”

The fingers paused, picking at the edge of the robe, pulling out threads. “Do you have any idea how rare that is? Of course you don’t, you’re a tree. Barely even that. But no one – no one – listens to me. Just ‘shut up, Crawley,’ and ‘do your assignment, Crawley,’ and ‘one more question and you’ll regret ever trying to have an original thought…’”

Each thread was carefully looped around the sapling, tying it to the branch, showing it how to grow straight. “Questions are dangerous. He shouldn’t ask. I shouldn’t try to make him ask. If anything happened to him… Well, I’d say ‘I’d never forgive myself,’ but I’m already unforgiveable, aren’t I? But I won’t let that happen. I won’t.”

The figure paused, looking at the sapling and the piled-up earth around it. “That’s enough from me. You’ll get enough sunlight; you have room to grow. It’s up to you now.” He placed two fingers on the ground where the stem emerged. “I saw him talking to you. Sign that he’s going mad, if you ask me. But I guess he likes you. So you’re not allowed to give up, no matter what. You hear me? He deserves better than that.”

The second figure called from the distance, “Crawley! I think I found something!”

“We’ll see about that,” he growled, standing up and walking away. “Angel! Don’t even touch it until I get over there.”

And the sapling was left alone. Growing quietly on the eastern face of a volcano, with nothing for company but the memory of the touch of an angel and a demon, of the words they had spoken, words brimming with emotion that they could no more understand than the little tree could.

But all that emotion worked its way into trunk and root and leaf. And the tree grew, and grew, and grew.

And five thousand years later, a figure in black and another in white visited Mt. Etna again. The circle of enormous trunks formed a grove almost two hundred feet across, all linked in one root system, growing as strong as ever. A fence protected the Hundred-Horse Chestnut tree from curious tourists, but barriers had never kept these two from where they wanted to be.

“According to this,” said the figure in white, “this is the oldest tree in all of Europe. And the largest! Can you imagine, my dear?”

“Eh, it’s not that old,” grumbled the figure in black, digging through a bag of roasted sweet chestnuts. “I mean, it isn’t as old as us.”

“I’m sure we’ve been here before. This mountain looks very familiar.”

“Of course we have. We’ve been everywhere before.” He popped a chestnut into his mouth and chewed threateningly where the tree could see him. “If it’s important, you’ll remember.”

“I suppose I will. Oh, look over there!” The figure in white wandered off to look at the way one of the trunks grew, tall and slightly twisted.

The other figure leaned against the thickest trunk at the front of the grove, continuing to pick at the bag of chestnuts the shop had insisted came from this very tree. “I think you’ve done well for yourself,” he said, gazing up at the bare branches that still grew in thick with green every spring. “Didn’t give up. Don’t expect applause from me, though.”

The eyes – hidden behind black lenses – drifted over to the other figure again. “I’m starting to think I did well for myself, too. Don’t tell him I said that. He’ll just get all sappy. To tell you the truth, I don’t know why he sticks around, but I’ll never take it for granted.”

He pulled off his lenses to glare at the next trunk beside him. “Now I’m getting all sappy. You just keep growing or you’ll hear from me again.” Then he pushed off and sauntered into the grove. “Angel, are you going to eat these or not?”

(The Hundred Horse Chestnut tree on Mount Etna, Sicily, is the oldest tree in Europe and likely one of the oldest in the world. Estimates range from 2,000 to 4,000 years old, with some arguing almost 5,000. Despite being only 5 miles from the crater of a very large and very active volcano, it continues to thrive.)

(Also, despite various legends of Mt. Etna being the prison of Typhon or the forge of Hephaestus, not to mention very real and very dangerous earthquakes and eruptions, humans have been living on it since at least the 8th century BC. The fact that volcanic soil is incredibly fertile probably keeps bringing them back, despite Crowley’s best efforts...)