#bree-fields

[fandom-witch]

Bree and Nick in a flower field 💐

The artist is @/jasmyne.rica on ig and did such an amazing job on this piece for me last year. Like just stunning! I never posted it officially over here so I'm doing it now!

The artist has this posted on their Instagram if you scroll down a bit you can find it!

[cokedupblonde]

my biggest worry in life is that I'll never be in a cunty quatro friendship circle and it's a devastating thought

[edges-of-night]

I love your headcannons, thank you very much. How do you think fellowship would react if a reader saw two cute animals and said, "Oh, it's you and me!"

Thank you very much! I’m happy to hear you enjoy this little blog ♡ Another animal request, with another anon who asked for this, too – this prompt is super cute, I hope I did it justice!

･ﾟ✧ Aragorn.

You’re gazing at a golden twilight forest with Aragorn when you spot two deer in the distance. Just like you, one rests its head against the other. “Look,” you chuckle quietly, “it’s you and me.” Aragorn smiles as he follows your gaze. When one of the deer nuzzles the other’s ear, he, too, leans in to give you a kiss. “What an uncanny resemblance, my love,” he says and pulls you even closer.

.

･ﾟ✧ Boromir.

Boromir is scandalised when you suggest that the two cats crossing your path are “just like you and me.” He has heard stories of the ruthless Gondorian queen who used felines as her spies and flinches when one of the cats hisses at him. You go to pet it instead, and it softens and purrs – just like Boromir does when you caress him – but you don’t say that part out loud ♡

.

･ﾟ✧ Frodo.

You and Frodo share a cool carafe of strawberry lemonade when two butterflies flutter to the flower field beside you. “Look at those,” you say, “they’re just like you and me.” – “Sharing a delicious drink in the sunlight,” Frodo agrees with a dreamy smile. You keep watching the butterflies until one of them flies right into your face. “It gave you a kiss. I shall do the same,” Frodo says and leans in to peck you ♡

.

･ﾟ✧ Gandalf.

You’re travelling the Shire’s hills in Gandalf’s wooden cart when two sparrows almost fly right into you. You flinch but realise they’re only doing their Spring dance through the morning air – a couple! “They’re like you and me!” you laugh. Gandalf gives you an amused look. “What a subtle way to tell me we’re going to dance at tonight’s party.” – “Indeed,” you grin.

.

･ﾟ✧ Gimli.

Watching the puppies play on the ground makes you soften. When one of them bites another’s ear, you playfully nudge Gimli’s head – he’s been sitting silently next to you until now. “What?” he grunts. “The dogs are doing it,” you argue with a grin. Your Dwarf protests at first about this comparison. The two of you, dogs? “I reckon it is true though,” he muses. “We are both very loyal after all. And we like food. And games. And…”

.

･ﾟ✧ Legolas.

You’re making your way through Mirkwood with Legolas, crossing a tree over a small pond where you make a curious observation: “Look! The toad and dragonfly are sharing a lily pad.” You snort. “They remind me of you and me.” – “Indeed! The sunlight reflects on its wings just like in your eyes, in all the colours of the sky.” You blush and wonder whether or not Legolas knew you meant it the other way around.

.

･ﾟ✧ Merry.

Merry is a bit sensitive about his height, but that doesn’t stop you from comparing the two of you to the horse and the pony you spot in Bree. “Hey! I’ll have you know,” Merry begins, “that ponies are very sturdy and resilient.” – “I know. Just like Hobbits.” – Merry pouts at that comment and crosses his arms, murmuring, “Fine. Just don’t braid my hair like that pony’s.” – “Perhaps…”

.

･ﾟ✧ Pippin.

After a proper picnic, you lie in a meadow with Pippin. Purely by chance you look to your right when two bunnies scamper out of the bushes to eat some grass. You grin and whisper, “Don’t move too fast now, but there’s tiny versions of you and me over there.” – “Tinier than me?” Pippin asks and rolls over to watch the bunnies over your belly. “Aww! They’re mighty cute, but so are we!”

.

･ﾟ✧ Sam.

You watch fondly when two ladybugs crawl over Sam’s hands, dirty from gardening but still gentle to the bugs. You smile when you hear your Hobbit talking quietly: “Right. Let me get up… there you go… over here it’s safer for you. A flower house.” You tilt your head at him. “Moving in together? Just like the two of us, you mean?” – “Hm? What? Sorry, luv, I wasn’t listenin’ there.” – “Oh, nothing…” ♡

[breelandwalker]

Magical Oil Recipes - Buffs and Blessings Edition

For anyone looking to brew up a potion for the purposes of augmentation or blessing, here are some recipes I’ve created that you might find useful.

To prepare them, blend the ingredients in such proportions as feels correct for your purposes (or as supplies allow). Use dried material except where indicated. Place a few spoonfuls in a mason jar with a screwtop lid and fill the jar with a bland oil of your choice. (Vegetable oil of the sort you would buy for cooking works fine.) Screw the lid on tightly and shake well to combine, then leave the jar in a dark dry place for 2-4 weeks to steep.

Once steeped, prepare a clean storage bottle (also with a secure lid) and label with the type of oil and the bottling date. Strain the oil through paper towels or cheesecloth to remove the plant material, then bottle immediately. Store away from sunlight and heat for up to one year. Use for spellwork as you see fit.

(Please note that NONE of these potions are meant to be taken internally by any means. Observe all proper safety measures related to glass, fire, and potentially harmful plants as necessary during preparation.)

*- Ingredient is potentially harmful if inhaled or ingested. **- Ingredient should not be used or handled if you are pregnant or nursing.

All-Purpose Blessing Oil For blessing, purification, and consecration.

Lavender

Sweet Basil

Bay Leaf

Patchouli Note: Use Olive Oil for the base.

Brim With Vim Vitality Oil To restore flagging magical energy and clear post-spell haze.

Tangerine (Satsuma) Peel

Cinnamon Stick

Ginger Root

Vervain

Cauldronkeeper Wisdom Oil To enhance intuition and wisdom.

Hazel (leaves or bark)

Elder (berries or bark)

Sage (any color)

Peach Pit (in master bottle) Note: Peach pits contain a small amount of cyanide, which may be released if the pit is broken down. Exercise caution with the finished oil.

Clear the Way Obstacle Remover Oil For overcoming difficulty and attracting new opportunities.

Dried Sumac Berries

Ginger Root

Sweet Basil

Full Moon Lunar Affinity Oil For augmentation of spells attuned to the lunar cycle.

Willow Bark

Jasmine Flowers

Fennel

Mugwort** Note: Use With Caution.

High Noon Solar Affinity Oil For augmentation of spells attuned to the solar cycle.

Calendula Petals

Chamomile

Bay Leaf

Eyebright Note: Use With Caution.

Golden Fields Prosperity Oil For abundance, good fortune, and general well-being.

Sesame or Pumpkin Seeds

Wheat or Barley Kernels

Orange Peel

Honeysuckle

Get Me Through the Day Endurance Oil For a tiny extra boost on those low-energy days.

Lemon Verbena

White Oak Bark

Rosemary

Echinacea**

Hearthside Home Blessing Oil For a comfortable and harmonious home.

Sweet Basil

Vervain

Pine Needles

Willow Bark

Jack-of-all-Trades Work Enhancement Oil For augmentation of workplace abilities.

Sweet Basil

Meadowsweet**

Borage Flowers

Vanilla Bean

Magical Me Power Boost Oil For augmentation of spellcasting.

Ginger Root

Rosemary

Bergamot

Cedar Tips

Steel Backbone Fortitude Oil For bravery and endurance.

Blue Vervain

Pine Needles

Cedar Tips

Yarrow**

Truthteller Divination Oil For augmentation of divinatory practices.

Evening Primrose**

Hibiscus Flowers

Celery Seeds

Tea Leaves

Watchful Eye Viewing Oil To enhance powers of observation.

Grape Leaf

Lemon Balm

Rosemary

Celery Seed (or dried leaf from stalks) Note: Do not apply to skin around eyes. Do not apply directly to eyeballs either.

Should the reader require supplies, I recommend the following:

Penn Herb Company

Starwest Botanicals

Bulk Apothecary

Mountain Rose Herbs

Specialty Bottle

Image Credit - VeraPetruk

All recipes are © 2017 Bree NicGarran, published in Pestlework: A Book of Magical Powders & Oils. Please check out the book if you would like more recipes.

If you’re enjoying my content, please feel free to drop a little something in the tip jar, tune in to my podcast Hex Positive, or check out my published works on Amazon or in the Willow Wings Witch Shop.

[riding-with-the-wild-hunt]

"Hobbits are an unobtrusive but very ancient people, more numerous formerly than they are today; for they love peace and quiet and good tilled earth: a well-ordered and well-farmed countryside was their favourite haunt." - J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring, "Prologue"

@arwenindomiel's tolkien south asian week ☸︎ day 6: a people ☸︎ HOBBITS

[ID: an edit comprised of four graphics with tan backgrounds, framed on top and bottom with several light brown lines.

1: An image at the top shows trees and green fields in a hazy morning or evening. The bottom edge is finished like ripped paper. Large brown and white text on the left side of the graphic reads "Concerning Hobbits." On the right side is a drawing of a stem of flowers in light brown.

2: A grid of images on the left side of the graphic show (from top left to bottom right): a person's hands decorated with red henna, food frying in a pan, hanging garlands of flowers, and a dirt road leading between low grassy hills. They are overlaid at the bottom left corner by the same flower drawing as Image 1, but in white. A block of text on the right side is titled "The Shire-Folk" and reads "Hobbits, often called Halflings or Periannath, are the fourth and most frequently forgotten of the free peoples of Middle-earth. They reside primarily in the Shire, with small communities in the nearby Bree-land and Buckland regions. Although of diminutive stature (roughly half that of a Man), it is unwise to take a Hobbit at face value, for they often possess untold depths of courage, strength, and daring. Most Hobbits are cheerful by nature, with merry, welcoming dispositions; good friends in a hard place, and always ready to share with those in need, whether of a tale, a laugh, or a delicious meal. Although they are of gentle disposition, beware: a Hobbit wronged is tenacious and persevering, and their friends often more so."

3: Three columns of text, each headed by an image with the same worn edges as that in Image 1. The first shows two brown-skinned people swimming together. Its text block is titled "Stoors" and reads "The Stoors are the largest and broadest of the Hobbits, and closest in resemblance to Men. Unusually for Halflings, they have an affinity for water, and often reside along rivers, where they make their living as fisherfolk. Unlike the other two clans, Stoors may grow facial hair. Owing to their time among the Dunlendings, hey speak their own dialect of Hobbitish." The second shows a brown-skinned, shirtless person standing amid greenery. Text reads "Fallohides" and "The Fallohides are the least numerous of the Hobbit clans, and the most open to engagement with other peoples. They are close in friendship with the Elves, and share their enthusiasm for language and song. They are hunters rather than farmers, and greatly love the woodlands. Fallohides tend to grow taller than both Harfoots and Stoors." The third shows a group of women with brown skin and black hair, wearing colorful saris. Text reads "Harfoots" and "The Harfoots are the most populous of the clans, and the smallest in stature. They wear no shoes, and live in underground dwellings built into the sides of hills. Harfoot communities are generally stationary, though they were the first among the Halflings to arrive in Eriador. They are skilled in farming and handicrafts, and are on friendly terms with Dwarves."

4: A grid of images titled "Notable Hobbits." Each is labeled with a name. From left to right, they are: Frodo of the Nine Fingers (pakistani model Nyle Khan), Belladonna Took (sri lankan tamil/canadian actor Maitreyi Ramakrishnan), Samwise "Sam" Gamgee (south indian actor Gokul Suresh), Peregrin "Pippin" Took, (indian model Varun Mohite), Meriadoc "Merry" Brandybuck (indian model Priyanshu Singh), Bilbo Baggins (kashmiri model Bobby Ibrah), The Old Took (an older indian man), and Elanor Gamgee (gujarati-telugu indian model Manya Mitra) //End ID]

[uramichi-mybeloved]

I NEEEEEEEEED TO SMOKE WITH THE HOBBITS SO BAD!!!! Headcanons about pipes/pipeweed and some of the culture around it! I have only read the LOTR and not the Silmarillion or Unfinished Tales so maybe some of this is expanded on or in canon already discussed

-I think that for hobbits and their culture of pipe weed it might kind of resemble some of the traditional Native American values with tobacco in which it can be used as a gift to others or placed in areas that they harvest from!

-Hobbiton and the Shire always have a huge celebration for the harvesting period and even the high ranking ones go and help in the fields. They harvest a LOT (they need enough to pass out for the year, some to sell to those that pass by or through places like Bree, some to stash away and age further)

-Hobbits start fairly young in smoking pipeweed, but it’s kind of akin to the wine culture in Western Europe where younger people have a small amount

-creating blends with other herbs, plants and flowers is a common practice. For example, they could basically make menthol pipe weed with some mint plants added in (I think that Merry and Pippin probably like this) while you can make floral blends (lavender, rose etc to be similar to a herbal cigarette) which I think Sam is fond of making.

-Frodo enjoys also testing different pipeweed and reading about what plants to add, what works/doesnt. Partial to lighter but complex blends because he’s fancy

-Gandalf smokes a STRONG blend. Equivalent of drinking straight black espresso in pipeweed.

-Aragorn received a pipe from Gandalf at one point because he was tired of smoking alone. Also is partial to the espresso blend because he always got pipe weed from him, but shared some with the hobbits on their journey and liked Frodo’s the most

-Gimli and some other dwarves smoke often but it’s a different pipe and and pipeweed style. I think they would be shorter and allow for more smoke to be inhaled

-Hobbits generally have one pipe that they’re quite protective over and it’s a Big deal when they break or get lost. Similar to how wine ages the older the pipe the better it’s considered

-Pipe maker is a very coveted position and I think similar to how the Took family is the Thain of the shire there is probably a family that specializes in pipe making ! Variety of wood and styles to choose from and does pipes on a commission basis to perfectly make them

-Sometimes newlywed couples will either trade their pipes with each other or get new ones made of the same tree’s wood to signify their commitment and bond

Maybe some of these are really basic but it’s fun to think about regardless!! I love simply making things up and being like yeah that sounds like canon to me

[sugairsstuff]

hey… 💋 was wondering if you could write something for aragorn… you know who this is. you know what i’m asking for.

@theactofknowing yes i know who this is. here is payment. (p.s. they also write!)

(credit to @cafekitsune for the divider)

to bloom

aragorn x half-elf gn/reader

warnings: descriptions of nudity

summary: you and aragorn have known each other for years, resulting in the two of you inevitably falling in love with each other though never admitting it. though, it turns out all a love confession took was a bar of soap and you two bathing in a lake together.

Exhaustion has long since seeped into your muscles, the motion of placing one boot in front of the other becoming a rhythmic pattern you refuse to break for you know you won’t be able to pick it back up again.

Strong winds roll through the grassy fields, making a mess of your untied hair and causing your eyes to catch the billowing of a dark cloak in front of you. You raise your head slightly to gaze at the owner of the garment: reluctant heir of Gondor, unnamed leader of the little band titled the Fellowship the group of you have formed- and although commonly known as Strider, this part-elf is simply Aragorn to you.

The pair of you had been picked up by the group of hobbits you traveled with in Bree, helping them to evade the infamous Nazgûl and inevitably being brought along the daunting journey laid out for them. You had first met Aragorn years ago when he had first left Rivendell. You led a similar fate to Aragorn after you befriended him, leaving the safety of your current life for one of adventure alongside the ranger. Poets would say you were seeking meaning, you joke that you were bored.

The seed of friendship you and Aragorn had planted then was watered through the experiences you shared on your travels, the memories that wrapped themselves like vines around that bond holding you two together, and every laugh and secret you both managed out of each other in peaceful times. But then you two began to look at each softer, speak to each other quieter for the words were meant only for the two of you, touch each other in fleeting moments that may not have been accidents- and then that seed grew into a budding flower of more that you gathered up and have held deep within your chest. Though no matter how much you both watered the bond of your friendship since then, that flower has never seemed to bloom.

Aragorn finally looks over his shoulder to the rest of you, and everyone momentarily pauses as he lifts his hand to guide everyone’s attention to a forestry patch of land seated a few hundred metres south of the hill you all waited on. “We’ll take camp there for tonight. We won’t reach Lothlorien by dusk, and I haven’t seen a better place for cover yet.” he instructs. Nobody seems to disagree, not even the opinionated elf or eager dwarf who both wait at your sides. Once three of four hobbits start celebrating, enthusiastically asking who would hunt for dinner, you offer Aragorn a small smile and nod of assurance. He repeats the gesture and turns to lead the way, but not without a response to the impatient hobbits, “You all can hunt dinner for us tonight, how does that sound?” which silences them.

You hurry a pair of paces to match the long strides of Aragorn, who slows down when he notices exactly who is on his tail. “You look exhausted,” you tell him, amusement flickering in your eyes as you look to him.

“As do you,” Aragorn shoots back, his brows raised in subtle entertainment at your rather honest opening line.

You scoff lightheartedly and get to the point of your words, reaching down to the satchel at your side to unbutton the flap and reveal the contents. Aragorn leans over you to peer into the bag, finding four small bars of soap.

“From the travelling merchant we crossed earlier?” the heir asks, and you nod proudly as if this was a noble accomplishment on your end.

“I do not have confidence in myself to survive another day with the… natural aroma of our companions,” you jest, and pause, “or you.”

And to your pleasant surprise, Aragorn’s chin tilts back- outlining the sharp line of his jaw- as the man lets a genuine laugh escape his lips. “I would not say you are so innocent in the matter, either,” he says, the closed-lipped smile on his face not faltering as you send a warning glare his way.

You feel lighter as you walk alongside Aragorn the rest of the way to the tree border, smiling like a giddy child for longer than need be over the silly interaction. You and Aragorn maintain the front as the lot of you push further into the forest until Aragorn stops, glances around, and looks to you and Legolas for approval.

You turn to look over your shoulder, and when you see that the forest has become dense enough to block the border to the grasslands from your line of sight, you say, “I think we are far enough in.”

Legolas had already found perch on a fallen log, fiddling with the strings of his bow, and so you and Aragorn simply take that as a sign he agrees.

As the sun dips behind the distant hills, the shadows of the trees encompassing you all extend until the soft starlight slipping through the canopy dims them. Now, camp is set up, and the fire Aragorn once was stroking while Gimli cooked the hunted meal of the evening has been forgotten. Most of your companions have spaced out their places for the night, all but the hobbits who crowd next to their friend Frodo.

You gingerly place your things down nearby Aragorn’s, and when you offer to take first watch Aragorn’s volunteer to do the same comes not much later than yours. You both sit next to each other as you listen to the idle noises of your companions turn to quietness, and quietness to silence save for the surrounding sounds of the forest.

You catch Aragorn glance to you in your peripheral vision which tempts you to steal a glance back. When you do, you are surprised to see he has risen from the leafy floor he was sitting on and began crossing the few metres that separated the two of you. You stay sitting, craning your neck as Aragorn now stands a few feet in front of you. You tilt your head in questioning.

“There is a lake nearby, I saw it when I scouted the perimeters earlier,” his voice is low, quiet, though you see his Adam’s apple bob slightly as he swallows, “May I borrow the soap?”

Any hint of drowsiness has been stolen from your body, your heart beating rapidly as you nod to him. You do not like how the thought of the man doing the simple act of bathing makes your body blaze like a catching fire. You dig into your nearby satchel and hand him one of the square, neutral coloured bars. Aragorn turns the dry thing in his hand a few times before he turns and walks away.

You do not watch him go and rather turn back to your satchel to close the button of it, wondering why the crunching of leaves beneath Aragorn’s walking feet ceased so swiftly. Curiously, you turn to check, finding Aragorn returning your gaze.

Aragorn clears his throat. “Would you like to join me?”

You can only blink, feeling that flame return to your body as his words act like oxygen and spread its tendrils through you.

“Yes, I would,” you say, though the words come out more breathless than you had expected.

You feel Aragorn’s eyes on you as you stand, dusting off your trousers in the most awkward of ways before padding over to where he stands. He only looks down at you, the look in his eyes gentle yet unreadable before he quietly turns and begins to guide you to this lake.

“What of the others?” you ask, glancing back.

“I do not wish to bathe with Gimli,” Aragorn responds with blunt humour, looking back at you with a raised brow.

“No, I mean that we promised to watch the camp,” you correct, managing not to roll your eyes.

“The lake is not far. We will know if something happens.” he assures.

Although it may be easy for him to remain alert, you are not sure if you can trust your instincts once you are distracted with the sight of Aragorn’s bare body. Aragorn seems to see apprehension on your face, and makes a bold move of reaching back to brush his fingers against yours. Then, your fingers close around each other’s like lock and key, and Aragorn is gently pulling you until you reach a clearing.

The trees wrap around the small, oval lake like a wreath. The water is not murky, a sign that it is untouched, and instead when you peer into it you see both your reflection and the moon above.

When you turn to see what Aragorn is doing, unsure if you are welcome to begin undressing so openly, you see that the ranger has already begun to do exactly that. You heart leaps and your chest flutters so much that you think that bud in you is instead a cocoon that has just sprouted a dancing butterfly.

Aragorn already unclasped his cloak from around his neck, discarding it nearby on a rock that borders the lake’s edge. He disarms, setting his weapons on the same rock should he need them, then reaches for the hem of his tunic. The man pulls the fabric off of him slowly, revealing to you the muscles beneath that you have only been able to imagine until now. You gaze at him, following the movement of his hands until you see them stop. Your eyes flick up slightly and are met with an amused half-smirk on Aragorn’s end. That flame in you moved to burn in your cheeks as you turn your head away, seeing Aragorn slowly walk towards you in the edge of your vision.

“Do not be nervous,” he says quietly, his hand turning your jaw slowly so you meet his eyes again. You feel your heart in your ears as his attention moves lower, lower, lower, and then back. “Would you like me to help?”

You can only nod. He smiles and nods back before his hands move to the clasps of your cloak, working it undone with ease. He sets your weapons aside somewhere- too distracted to take note- before he pulls your tunic off of your raised arms. Aragorn takes a step closer, removing the rest of your undergarments before a turn of his head causes his lips to brush against the shell of your half-pointed ear, “Beautiful.” he murmurs, evoking a pleasant shiver that slips down your spine.

His hands, resting on each side of your waist, move downwards until they reach the band of your trousers. You kick off your boots in silent encouragement, and Aragorn turns his head further to look down at you properly. Then he begins to slowly drag the last few pieces of your clothing that kept you decent, and once you stepped out of them- Aragorn now kneeling before you as he set aside your aside garments- you heard both of your breaths hitch.

Aragorn rises again, your breaths heavy as you both glance in the direction of whence you came, checking that none of your sleeping friends have noticed your absences. You look back at Aragorn first and see how the moonlight betrays Aragorn as he slowly drifts his attention back to you, illuminating the red tinting of his cheeks. He takes his sweet time in simply looking at your body, and you hear him sigh softly- a gentle, sweet exhale. The amusing thought of him swooning over you like a damsel crosses your mind.

Aragorn seems to notice the light dancing in your eyes, and he takes your hand and leads you to the rocky edges of the lake. “After you,” he tells you, and you feel as his eyes never leave you as you descend into the water. You wade around, taking note that water in the area you stand reaches your middle, and watch as Aragorn strips himself of the rest of his clothing.

Shamelessly, you stare as he undos his trousers, slipping them off alongside his undergarment and blushing when he sees you looking. You offer a coy smile in return, reaching over the edge to grab the soap he left on it as he enters the water alongside you.

“You first,” you tell him, and he obeys by wading over to where you stand. As you dip the soap into the water, getting some of the substance on to your hands, you feel a little grateful that the water is just high enough to reach Aragorn’s waist. He remains where he is as you work the soap into his skin, your heart jumping each time he sighs when you press into a particularly sore muscle. His skin gleams with moonlight and sparkles with droplets of water that cling to the short strands of hair on his chest leading downwards. You wash his arms, focus on his shoulders, and when he turns around to let you do his chest your hands linger there.

“Friends do not do these things,” is what Aragorn decides to say to break the comfortable silence.

“No, they do not,” you agree, your voice wavering with uncertainty. You keep your gaze on his chest, cupping water in your hand as you rinse off the soap. You let him wash the parts of him below the surface of the water, grinning as you can’t help but steal glances. But he says nothing else, nor do you, as you quietly find a seat on a ledge in the rock. Aragorn moves to stand between your legs, leaning back so his head is nearly against your chest.

You gather soap on your hands once more, lathering the suds through his hair. You watch from above as he sighs and closes his eyes, giving in to temptation as he leans further back into you. You massage the soap into his dark oak curls, watching his eyelashes flutter against his cheek and the corners of his pink lips tug upwards ever so slightly. You tilt his head back a little more as you cup water into your free hand, pouring it along the back of his head and watch as it drags the soap off of his curls that resist straightening even when wet.

Before you have the chance to climb down from your perch on the rock, Aragorn reaches a hand to your calf. His fingers dance along the skin, as if exploring, and travel up until they reach your thigh. By then, he’s looking up at you, and you are looking down at him, and his face is so close to yours you know that you both are only trying to see who caves first.

And it is Aragorn who does. He tilts his chin only slightly, which is enough to capture your lips in his as you lean over him. Your hands move to drape around his neck as his continue their journey up your thighs. He lifts you by the waist, bringing you back down to the lake floor with him so that it is he who must bend downwards to keep kissing you. You press your chest into his, standing practically between his legs as you both run your hands over each other’s bodies. Aragorn leaves a spark everywhere his fingers brush- your waist, your legs, back, chest, neck- he is everywhere but it is still not enough.

You know now what it feels like to bloom as that bud deep within your chest comes to life as Aragorn’s hands find their final place on each side of your face. His thumbs stroke gently in a lover’s caress as he finally breaks the kiss, though he does not move far. The look he gives you as you both stand together- chests heaving and lips puffy red with adrenaline pumping through your veins- tells you that Aragorn has just discovered what that feels like too, for there has been a matching budding flower in him, as well.

“We are not friends,” Aragorn finally says. You have never heard his voice so soft, “we are more.”

[classica-meretrix]

hii!! would u be willing to write a 2nd person pov, chase davenport x reader fic? maybe where ur relationship isn’t public when he’s in the elite force as to not cause any drama or unnecessary attention, but when the whole group is out together, some guy tries to flirt with you and you don’t have much of an excuse, but of course chase gets jealous!! so he drags you away and. well. instead of explaining with his smarts in his brain, he explains with his. Dick😅

I love writing smut for this man, it's practically all I write for him

Field Trip

pairing: chase davenport x fem!reader genre: smutty smut smut content/warnings: rip bryan, jealously obvi, random guy, oral sex (m receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, teeny bit of an exhibition kink, etc. summary: due to having to keep your relationship with chase a secret, the davenport family encourage you to flirt with another guy. chase however has... different ideas a/n: I feel like I kinda rushed the ending tbh, but I still like it!

"Be right back!" you called over your shoulder, hurrying back down the hallway towards the mentors' living quarters. The room was empty by now—the rest of it's usual inhabitants occupied with the event of today, an off-island field trip—and you'd been sent to grab Mr. Davenport's forgotten ipad. The device wasn't hard to find, having been discarded under some blankets on the couch, but before you could turn around, a pair of arms wrapped themselves around your waist, Chase's comfortable weight settling against you.

"Hi," you gently hummed.

"Hi," he repeated, coming to place soft kisses along your neck.

"Shouldn't you already be on the mainland?" You spun around as you spoke, resting your arms over his shoulders, keeping him within kissing reach.

"I decided to hang back and ride over with you guys in the hydro-loop. I wanted to see your beautiful face," he added with a kiss to your nose.

"That's very sweet, but Mr. Davenport will probably just put you in the corner with Adam."

"Worth it," he hummed, trailing his lips down your neck. Before he could get very far, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, followed my Bree's voice.

"Chase! Hurry up, we have to get going!"

He jumped away from you just as soon as she appeared in the doorway, seemingly none the wiser to what you two had been doing. With Chase's newfound celebrity status, your relationship was a little more complicated than you would have liked. Being in the public eye—especially as a bionic hero—meant a secret relationship. Which wouldn't be so hard if it weren't for this family's inability to keep a secret, meaning you had to hide from them as well.

Chase awkwardly cleared his throat as Bree noticed you, folding his hands behind his back. "Oh hey," she said, this time directed towards you. "Did you find the ipad?"

"Yep, right here," you replied, trying to keep the waver out of your voice as you spoke, holding up the tablet.

"Great. Let's get going."

"Right behind you."

The museum's cafe was packed, not only from the students that filled practically half the tables. The mentors, along with Douglas, Leo, Mr. Davenport, and yourself were all around one of the larger tables, enjoying your guys' lunch.

"Oh my god!" Bree whispered yelled, elbowing you in the gut.

"Ow!" you protested, jerking away from her. "What was that for?"

"Sorry, sorry. But there is this totally cute guy checking you out right now." Her eyes lit up as she spoke, but you didn't miss the way her words caught Chase's attention from across the table.

"There's no way," you answered, turning back to your meal. "He's probably looking at someone else," you said in an attempt to divert her attention.

Douglas, intent on contributing to something so dramatic, added very helpfuly, "No, he's definitely looking at you." Chase's gaze followed his, a faint glare settling onto his features.

"You should go talk to him," Bree urged.

"No way."

"Come on! You never date! It wouldn't hurt to just flirt a little."

"Really," you tried again. "I don't think I should."

"No worries, he's coming over!"

"What?" Before you had time to figure out how to escape, he was standing behind you, nervously clearing his throat.

"Excuse me. I'm Bryan, and I just couldn't help noticing you across the room. Would you mind if I join you?"

"Oh, hi. Um... We were just about done eating," you answered.

"But you could walk around with us!" Bree added not so helpfuly.

The guy—Bryan—seemed hopeful about the suggestion, practically beaming at you. You glanced around the table. Everyone looked excited about the new member, besides Chase, who seemed ready to go full commando app. He had completely abandoned his meal, and now sat mindlessly stabbing the remainder of his burger. You looked to Mr. Davenport in a way that would suggest you were asking permission. You were here on an island assignment after all. If Mr. Davenport turned him away it'd solve this no problem.

Much to your dismay he replied, "I don't see why not."

Great

"I've always loved his work," Bryan went on, talking about some painting the two of you had stopped at. You'd been trying for the past half hour to get Bree to join the conversation, or Leo to take him off your hands, but no one seemed in a rush to help. Chase was practically staring daggers into the back of this guy's head from across the room, where he was stuck fulfilling his mentor duties.

"Not much into paintings," you answered, meanwhile trying to find an opening that you could slip off to 'help' with the students.

"Really? More of a sculpture person?"

"Sure." This guy really couldn't take a hint. With each lull in conversation he only seemed to be getting closer.

He moved your attention to a neighboring statue, and wrapped an arm around you under the guise of explaining something. You were too surprised to react at first, which he clearly took as a good sign, stepping closer.

Before you could push him away, you heard a sharp cough, followed my an annoyed "Excuse me."

The both of you spun around—thankfully causing the guy to loose his hold—to see Chase standing behind you, his arms folded tightly over his chest.

"Hate to interrupt—" That couldn't look farther from the truth. "—but I need to borrow her. Work stuff."

"Oh. Yeah, no problem," he answered, though it was impossible to miss the disappointment in his expression.

Chase grabbed your wrist, his grip just a little too tight as he led you in the opposite direction of the corner the students had just disappeared around. The turn landed you in an empty hallway, but his pace didn't slow, practically dragging you along with him.

"Chase?" you asked, worried at the way his expression still looked fixed on anger. He didn't respond, instead pulling you through the nearest door, which happened to be a supply closet.

The door slammed behind you, before he pressed you up against the smooth wood. You gasped at the impact, your hands flying to Chase's arms, which caged in around you.

"What the hell was that?" His tone was practically seething, and he was only a few inches away from you, his warm breath fanning across your face.

"Nothing—I swear. He just... Caught me off guard."

"Do you think you can just go parading around with some other guy?"

"No, I was just talking to him. That's all."

"Really?" he said in a dangerous tone, his voice low in your ear. Chase's hands slipped down to your waist as he spoke, letting his body press into you so that you could feel his erection. You gasped again, tightening your grip on his arms.

"Fuck, Chase," you breathed out. He pressed his lips against your neck, sucking your skin as his hips rolled against your own.

"I have show you who you belong to," he said against your neck. "Thinking you can run around with whoever you want."

You threw your head back as he nipped you, trailing down to the collar of your shirt. His hands traced the edge of the fabric before pulling it over your head.

"All mine," he muttered, throwing the piece of clothing somewhere behind him. His hands came back to trace the exposed skin of your waist, fingertips pressing into your sides as he finally brought his lips to yours.

His teeth drug along your bottom lip before he swiped his tongue into your mouth. You let your hands find their way into his hair, gently tugging as he pressed against you.

"Off," you said breathlessly, pulling at his shirt.

"Ask nicely," he bit back, moving his kisses back to your jaw.

"Please."

"Good girl," he hummed. Chase pulled his shirt over his head, throwing it off wherever he had discarded yours before moving to unbutton his jeans. "Knees," he ordered.

You paused a second too long, earning two raised eyebrows from Chase, momentarily stopping his actions. You hurried to do what you were told at his silent scold, kneeling in front of him.

He returned to undoing his jeans, revealing his hard dick. His tip was a pretty pink, already leaking. You gently stroked him, tracing his tip with your tongue, earning a sharp gasp. You pushed him into your mouth, licking the underside of his dick.

Chase grabbed your hair in one hand, using it to slowly pull you off of him before roughly pushing you back down. You gagged as his tip hit the back of your throat, causing him to groan. Your hands flew to his thighs, squeezing to keep yourself steady.

He thrusted harder into your mouth, holding you in place. Chase's dick twitched as you moaned around him, spit leaking onto your chin. In an attempt not to gag, you swallowed around him, earning a sharp moan, followed by him roughly pulling out of your mouth.

"Get up." You froze, stunned at his sudden movement. "Get up," he hissed again, pulling you to your feet. Chase spun you around, pressing you against the door as he pushed up your skirt. "Stay quiet. Wouldn't want everyone hearing you crying my name, would you?"

You let out a choked moan, as he pushed your panties aside, thrusting into you in one swift motion. His hard movements were immediate, rattling the door with each one as you stifled desperate whines.

"So tight and needy, baby. Have you been waiting for me to ruin you all day?" He gripped your hips, holding you to him as he backed up, forcing you to bend over with a harsh hand to your back. You pressed your hands against the door as he thrusted further into you at the new angle, your legs shaking with the impact.

He let one hand snake around to find your clit as his dick twitched inside of you. You clenched around him, crying out his name.

"Shush, baby," he cooed with an even harsher thrust. His free hand found your throat, squeezing just enough to earn another desperate whine. "Gonna fill you up. Let you walk around full of my cum, baby."

You moaned, cumming around his dick. Chase followed, pouring into you. He slipped out with a wet noise, pulling your panties up and giving your sensitive pussy a loving pat.

"Let's get back to the group."

[metis-iphigenia]

my lab rats hyperfixation came back and i've been doing some thinking ever since

so from the start of the show there have been multiple references to comic book heroes especially dc references

(leo saying "my new dad is batman" in the first episode and douglas calling chase "boy wonder", referencing to robin)

well since mighty med ans lab rats take place in the same universe, mighty med characters are also comic book characters and dc is a comic book series, are they in the same universe?

no because imagine superman and tecton in the same room😭😭

or bruce with his "brucie" wayne personality being "friends" with donald davenport(they cant stand eachother)

donald davenport would 100% sell his inventions to lex luthor for a really pricy deal

or chase, bree, adam and leo going to same school with tim, bernard and darla lmao

i think adam would listen and add onto bernards theories(leo would call him delusional but also would be interested)

bernard made a theory about them being bionic but darla shut it down('i told you so' and 'aha i knew it!' were the first things he said when he found out about the truth)

darla would absolutely eat trent up i just know it

young justice and elite force team up with tim and bree/chase seeing eachother and going like the spiderman meme

damian and leo being friends(lethal duo warning!!)

also damian would've believed leo during the whole marcus fiasco

leo would push damian into reading comics and damian would push leo to read mangas(canon information)

talia and horace both know eachother from being in the same field(medical) they are the type of friends who say hi and talk like 4 hours when they run into eachother but then dont talk until the next time

bree would've loved exploring her girlhood with cass, steph, harper and babs(and darla) since she never got to

marcus, taylor, rose and jason would get along very well and love talking shit about their fathers🥰

i think daniel would love duke(they played video games together later on duke let daniel absorb his powers and tried to teach him how to control it exactly)

taylor, damian, leo is a trio i would die to see tbh i think they would get along well

cassandra and skylar teaming up with eachother would be absolutely amazing. i think they would work together so well

I HAVE MORE LATER I LOVE THIS CROSSOVER SM!!

[houseofvolturi]

too late for forever 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִaro volturi

pairing: aro volturi x reader

warnings: canon-typical violence, major character death ( reader dies ), hopeless ending / tragedy

summary: you weren’t meant to follow bella to volterra. you didn’t ask to be a part of their world. you weren’t part of the fight. but in the end it didn’t matter.

word count: 1k

MASTERLIST

You were never supposed to be part of any of it. You weren’t a vampire. You weren’t a Cullen. You weren’t part of their strange, glittering world.

You were Bella’s older sister. That was all.

But it had been enough to pull you in.

Enough to take you to Italy that day. To see the black stone halls of the Volturi, the haunting smiles of men who had long since stopped pretending to be human. Enough to feel red eyes watching you not like prey, but like you were the most interesting thing in the room.

You remembered him.

Not by name. He’d never introduced himself. But you remembered the weight of his stare. The stillness in him. The quiet, intense gravity of someone who saw not just what you were — but what you would be.

You’d met Aro Volturi once.

You never forgot. And neither did he.

You were never told how close to death Bella had come in that marble throne room. She never wanted to relive it. But you saw it in her eyes after. The kind of hollow that doesn’t heal with sleep or sun.

And maybe that’s why you kept coming back. Why you stayed close to the Cullens, even when Bella tried to push you away. You weren’t ready to let her stand alone in a world where things like them existed.

You told yourself you weren’t afraid. Not really. Not anymore. You’d already met the most terrifying people in it.

You had no idea.

The newborn war was never meant to touch you. It was a whisper at first. Something the Cullens discussed in hushed voices. Seattle. Blood. Shadows.

Then came the wolves. The training. The battle that Bella swore she would never be part of.

And then she was.

So you went, too. Because you always did.

You stood at the edge of the field. The air was thick with ash and the metallic stink of blood. It clung to your clothes, to your skin, like smoke after a house fire.

You weren’t supposed to be there.

But then again, neither was the girl.

Bree Tanner knelt in the dirt, trembling. Her arms were raised, eyes wide, her voice a broken string of pleas. “Please, I don’t.. I didn’t want to! I didn’t kill anyone. I was just..”

And standing before her Jane.

Inhumanly beautiful. Cold. Her red eyes glittered with amusement, not mercy.

“Rules are rules,” she said softly.

No one moved. Even Carlisle said nothing.

Bree looked around the field and saw nothing but silence. Surrender.

And then there was you. You stepped forward. Not with strength. Not with power. Just with humanity.

“Wait,” you said, voice steady. You stood between Bree and Jane, your palms up, your chest rising and falling far too fast. “She’s surrendering. She’s a child.”

Jane blinked once. Her smile never moved.

“A child who slaughtered humans in the street.”

“She didn’t ask to be made,” you said.

“She didn’t ask to die, either,” Jane replied. “But here we are.”

Her hand lifted. A sick, sharp rush of air moved around you. And then pain.

You didn’t even scream. Your body hit the ground like a fallen branch. Hard. Fast.

There was a silence that followed. A stunned, breathless quiet.

Bella gasped. Edward stepped forward. But it was too late.

You were already still.

Bree Tanner didn’t run. She just knelt there, stunned, her mouth open in a silent sob.

Jane gave no orders. She didn’t have to.

Alec stepped in. Felix moved forward. The girl didn’t last long.

Another body in the clearing. Another rule enforced.

Bella stood over you after the Volturi left. Carlisle knelt beside you, hands pressing to your chest, as though he could rewind the clock with pressure alone.

But your heart had stopped long before he arrived.

You died in silence.

And you died without ever knowing what you meant to him.

When Aro learned your name, it was from a report. A letter delivered without fanfare. One he might have skimmed. Tossed aside.

Except it mentioned you.

A single line.

“The human, Swan’s sister, was killed in the clearing. Crossfire, it seems. She attempted to shield the surrendered newborn.”

Aro stared at the parchment for a long time.

He read it again. And then again.

And then something in him snapped.

He took the letter to his study. Closed the door. Sat in the high-backed chair carved centuries ago.

And read it once more. You had died.

You. The girl he couldn’t name. The pulse he couldn’t forget. The eyes that met his for one second too long in the throne room.

You, who had felt like something he’d once been promised.

He hadn’t touched you. He hadn’t dared. He told himself it was restraint. That he had time.

But time had never belonged to him.

And now, neither did you.

When he touched the parchment, your name still wet with ink, something sparked.

He saw flashes of you. Of your voice. The warmth of your skin. The way you stood between death and a girl who would never thank you.

The bond hit him like a storm. It was violent, instant, irreversible. You were his mate.

And you were gone.

He didn’t scream. He refused to rage. He just sat in silence for hours. Then days.

Marcus came once. Said nothing. Left a single candle burning on the table.

Aro didn’t move.

Not until the ink faded. Not until your name vanished from the page.

They never found your body.

The Cullens buried what they could. Charlie was told a lie. Bella never stopped wearing your bracelet.

And in Volterra, Aro never spoke your name again.

But sometimes, in the deepest part of the night, the guard would hear a voice whispering in the halls.

Repeating something that no one could understand.

It wasn’t a name. Not anymore.

It was a prayer.

One never answered.

[sappy-cappy]

Bree Matthews as a track and field Olympian

DO YOU SEE THE VISION!?? I just know she would win gold and break records, trust!! 🙂‍↕️

[dopaminetreasurehoard]

It's so interesting to see on AO3 how much the fanfiction landscape for LoTR has changed. There used to be so much whump for Merry and/or Pippin.

A major gap waiting to be filled! There's so many moments in the story good for whump:

Merry is overcome by the Black Breath in Bree

Merry recalling an awful dream while under the enchantment of the Barrow-Wight ("The men of Carn Dûm came upon us at night, and we were worsted. Ah! The spear in my heart...")

Merry and Pippin's ordeal with the uruk hai on the way to Isenguard

Pippin's encounter with the Palantir

Merry ill with the Black Breath on the Pelannor Fields and in the House of Healing

If anyone has recs, please send them. I've been digging around trying to find some in AO3 but have only found a small number.

I will probably write something to fill the void.

[friendship-ditch]

Whumptober Day 14 - Survivors Guilt (Alt.)

Platonic Aragorn x Fem!Reader ✼

Summary: After a harsh battle in Bree, Aragorn blames himself for the lost lives.

Warnings/Notes: Lil alcohol abuse and sad Aragorn

Word Count: 1201

�� “How many of those drinks do you plan on downing?” You watched in amazement as Aragorn finished his sixth flagon.

  The man beside you, your ranger partner since the two of you both first started out, was not a heavy drinker. At best he had a few ciders and even then he felt it terribly in the morning. Now here he is finishing these drinks off like it was a job and he was being timed.

  Aragorn wiped his mouth with a grimace. Alcohol’s effects on him were slow but once the hill steeped downward there was hardly a second in between his sober and utterly inebriated states. It hadn’t kicked in yet but you had a feeling that time was coming.

  “As many as I can.” He muttered gruffly before waving to the bartender for another. His fingers eagerly reached for the new glass, about to lift it to his lips when your hand grabbed his arm.

  “Take it easy…” You murmured. You expected him to comply, not to suddenly drink as much of the ale as he could. When he finished the whole thing in a few gulps you slapped him on the arm. “What is wrong with you?!”

  You were quite right. The alcohol's effects were beginning to seep in.

  Aragorn stared at you through bleary eyes for a moment, twitching a little. Then he turned away. “I need to forget.” He mumbled. “Just for a while…”

  You tugged his arm again but he refused to look at you. Even your gentle slap to his arm didn’t draw him out of the strange trance he had fallen into, eyes boring a hole into the wooden counter of the bar. Finally you shoved him with your shoulder, snapping him out of it a little.

  “Forget what? What’s going on with you?” You frowned, moving your hand to rest on his back. 

  Earlier today the rangers had taken down a large army of orcs in Bree. You all had arrived halfway through the battle and saved the remaining citizens of the small town. It was Aragorn’s idea to go to the Prancing Pony Tavern afterwards and celebrate victory, but now it was as if he wasn’t even there beside you, more of a shell than a man.

  “We should have gotten here earlier.” Aragorn finally whispered. You could hardly hear him over the loud banter of the bar, but his words clicked in your ears after a few seconds.

  Your thumb rubbed in soft circles against his cloak. “There was nothing we could have done, Aragorn.”

  “There was… If we had run faster.. Traveled lighter… didn’t stop for that stupid, stupid rainstorm, we could have saved so many more lives, y/n…” He rasped, voice starting to become a little incoherent as both the grief and alcohol numbed his mouth, filling it with ash and fluff. “Everyone that died… those poor citizens. They were unprepared and… and we were supposed to save them.” Aragorn was struggling to catch his breath now, fingers digging into your arm as his eyes stung with tears. “We were supposed to save them but we didn’t.”

  You thought back to the attack.

  The orcs were vicious and merciless, killing any citizen they could get their hands on, from the town guards to the young volunteers who had seen far too few winters and could hardly wield a sword. Out on the field you had to make the choice between saving a boy, hardly an adult, or Aragorn. Regardless to say, as much as it hurt, you did in fact choose the latter. You knew Aragorn would be horrified with your choice and angry with you but you couldn’t bear the thought of losing your best friend. 

  He never confronted you on the incident but it was clear now that it was weighing him down heavily. He was bordering on the edge of some sort of panic attack or melt down, air going everywhere but his lungs as his head spun. The alcohol in his system was not helping, making him too unsteady to stand and leave himself.

  So you did the next best thing.

  You dragged him to his feet and–half carrying him–brought him outside.

  The second the cold air hit your skin he broke into sobs in your arms. The weight of the pain and tears made him surprisingly heavy, even for you. So you dragged him once more until the two of you were tucked behind some barrels, just letting him cry into your arms.

  “It should have been me.” Aragorn wept into your chest, fingers clutching your clothing so tightly he was almost ripping it with ragged nails, torn from aiding in burying the dead. His sobs grew more animalistic and raw. Aragorn had an awful habit of punching walls or such when he was distraught like this and his fists were shaking from the force of restraint, trying desperately not to punch you on accident.

  You eventually nudged him in a way that set his energy free and he pounded into the ground a few times before his fists met your torso. It didn’t really hurt. You held him through the whole thing, accepting whatever misplaced throws and globs of tears that fell from his face. What else could you do?

  When the alcohol fully kicked in and all Aragorn could get out was soft whimpers and whines, now sort of rocking back and forth in your arms, you held him tighter. You gently tucked his face into the crook of your neck, raking your fingers through his hair in soothing motions, fingers grazing his scalp. The motion soothed Aragon slightly but it was your words that did the true deed.

  “It is not your fault Aragorn.” You murmured softly to him, feeling him gasp for breath against your skin. “I would always save you… no matter what. You do not need to wish to have given your life for these strangers… what’s done is done. Love what you still have, not mourn what you could’ve.”

  Aragorn whimpered. “But…”

  “But nothing. We saved Bree. Yes, lives were lost, but lives always are.” You whispered. “I’m sorry we didn’t get here sooner… and I’m sorry so many died, but beating yourself up over it will not bring them back.”

  Shakily, Aragorn rubbed his red face. Your words, though blunt, were true, he couldn’t deny that. 

  He slowly pulled his face and looked up at you through tear cladden eyes. “Sorry…” He whispered, sounding more like a lost puppy than a ranger.”

  You chuckled a little and shook your head, planting a gentle kiss to the top of his. “Don’t be. Just… let’s just sit here for a while, alright?”

  “...alright.” Aragorn whispered.

  If there was one thing you were not looking forward to, it was dragging a very drunk Aragorn back into the tavern and putting him to bed… as well as what would follow in the morning. For now, you were content with sitting here, curled up behind some barrels with him in your arms. And he seemed to feel the same as the last of his pain faded with a heavy sigh, his head laying back down on your shoulder.

[sassenach77yle]

7x13 “HELLO, GOODBYE”

Suddenly they were into a scrim of trees—the low, wind-crabbed grove they’d lurked in earlier. But the dogs were on their track, barking eagerly, and they didn’t linger but fought their way through the brush and out again, up a steep hill turfed with heather. Roger’s foot sank through the spongy growth into a puddle, soaking him to the ankle, and he nearly lost his balance. Jerry set his feet and yanked Roger upright, then lost his own balance when his knee gave way; they clung together, wobbling precariously for an instant, then Roger lurched forward again and they were out of it. He thought his lungs would burst, but they kept going—not running any longer; you couldn’t run up a hill like this—slogging, planting one foot after another, after another . . . Roger began to see bursts of light at the edges of his vision; he tripped, staggered, and fell, and was hauled to his feet by Jerry. They were all three half sopping and smeared head to foot with mud and heather scratchings when they lurched at last to the crest of the hill and stopped for a moment, swaying and gasping for air.

“Where . . . are we going?” Jerry wheezed, using the end of his scarf to wipe his face. Roger shook his head, still short of breath—but then caught the faint gleam of water.

“We’re taking you . . . back. To the stones by the lake. Where . . . you came through. Come on!”

They pelted down the far side of the hill, headlong, almost falling, now exhilarated by the speed and the thought of a goal.

“How . . . did you find me?” Jerry gasped, when at last they hit bottom and stopped for breath. “Found your tags,” Buck said, almost brusque. “Followed their trail back.” Roger put a hand to his pocket, about to offer them back—but didn’t. It had struck him, like a stone to the middle of his chest, that, having found Jerry MacKenzie against substantial odds, he was about to part from him, likely forever. And that was only if things went well. . . .

His father. Dad? He couldn’t think of this young man, white-faced and lame, nearly twenty years his junior, as his father—not the father he’d imagined all his life. “Come on.” Buck took Jerry’s arm now, nearly holding him up, and they began to forge their way across the dark fields, losing their way and finding it again, guided by the light of Orion overhead. Orion, Lepus. Canis major. He found a measure of comfort in the stars, blazing in the cold black sky. Those didn’t change; they’d shine forever—or as close as made no difference—on him and on this man, no matter where each one might end up. End up. The cold air burned in his lungs. Bree . . .

And then he could see them: squatty pillars, no more than blotches on the night, visible only because they showed dark and immobile against the sheet of moving water stirred by the wind. “Right,” he said hoarsely, and, swallowing, wiped his face on his sleeve. “This is where we leave you.” “Ye do?” Jerry panted. “But—but you—” “When ye came . . . through. Did ye have anything on you? A gemstone, any jewelry?” “Aye,” Jerry said, bewildered. “I had a raw sapphire in my pocket. But it’s gone. It’s like it—” “Like it burnt up,” Buck finished for him, grim-voiced. “Aye. Well, so?” This last was clearly addressed to Roger, who hesitated. Bree . . . No more than an instant, though—he stuck a hand into the leather pouch at his waist, pulled out the tiny oilcloth package, fumbled it open, and pressed the garnet pendant into Jerry’s hand. It was faintly warm from his body, and Jerry’s cold hand closed over it in reflex. “Take this; it’s a good one. When ye go through,” Roger said, and leaned toward him, trying to impress him with the importance of his instructions, “think about your wife, about Marjorie. Think hard; see her in your mind’s eye, and walk straight through. Whatever the hell ye do, though, don’t think about your son. Just your wife.” “What?” Jerry was gobsmacked. “How the bloody hell do you know my wife’s name? And where’ve ye heard about my son?” “It doesn’t matter,” Roger said, and turned his head to look back over his shoulder.

“Damn,” said Buck softly. “They’re still coming. There’s a light.”

There was: a single light, bobbing evenly over the ground, as it would if someone carried it. But look as he might, Roger could see no one behind it, and a violent shiver ran over him.

“Thaibhse,” said Buck, under his breath. Roger knew that word well enough—spirit, it meant. And usually an ill-disposed one. A haunt.

“Aye, maybe.” He was beginning to catch his breath. “And maybe not.”

He turned again to Jerry. “Either way, ye need to go, man, and now. Remember, think of your wife.” Jerry swallowed, his hand closing tight around the stone. “Aye. Aye . . . right. Thanks, then,” he added awkwardly.

Roger couldn’t speak, could give him nothing more than the breath of a smile. Then Buck was beside him, plucking urgently at his sleeve and gesturing at the bobbing light, and they set off, awkward and lumbering after the brief cooldown.

Bree . . .

He swallowed, fists clenched. He’d got a stone once, he could do it again. . . . But the greater part of his mind was still with the man they had just left by the lake. He looked over his shoulder and saw Jerry beginning to walk, limping badly but resolute, thin shoulders squared under his pale khaki shirt and the end of his scarf fluttering in the rising wind.

Then it all rose up in him. Seized by an urgency greater than any he’d ever known, he turned and ran. Ran heedless of footing, of dark, of Buck’s startled cry behind him. Jerry heard his footsteps on the grass and whirled round, startled himself.

Roger grabbed him by both hands, squeezed them hard enough to make Jerry gasp, and said fiercely, “I love you!”

That was all there was time for—and all he could possibly say. He let go and turned away fast, his boots making a shoof-shoof noise in the dry lake grass. He glanced up the hill, but the light had vanished. Likely it had been someone from the farmhouse, satisfied now that the intruders were gone.

Buck was waiting, shrouded in his cloak and holding Roger’s; he must have dropped it coming down the hill. Buck shook it out and folded it round Roger’s shoulders; Roger’s fingers shook, trying to fasten the brooch.

“Why did ye tell him a daft thing like that?” Buck asked, doing it for him. Buck’s head was bent, not looking at him.

Roger swallowed “Because he isn’t going to make it back. It’s the only chance I’ll ever have. Come on.”

101 Just one chance ~ Written in my own Heart's Blood

[theawkwardterrier]

Wednesday 100: Familiarity Forgotten

Mandy is recovering well and Roger is sleeping overnight in the hospital with her, but that doesn't mean that Bree has particular energy for cooking. She gives Jem some carrot sticks to go with his sandwich and calls it good.

Though he eats the vegetables uncomplainingly, however, he looks at the PB&J with confusion, still unused to food coming from stores and packages rather than fields and cookpots.

"Tha's not peanut butter," he says definitively, poking at the spread. "It's Granny makes peanut butter."

And Bree stands in her house, in her city, in her time, and achingly misses home.

[william-sitterson-solace]

william sitterson analysis :

ׂ╰┈➤ bloodmarked spoilers below ! !

just finished bloodmarked and YOUCHHHHH-

but i do wanna talk about will in this book for a second because i think his arc throughout is just so interesting!!

will’s actively the most lawful good character in the series tbh, in the sense that he has intense set of morals and care towards the people he’s surrounded by. his entire life was built on him being a healer, the only healer at the southern chapter in fact by the time bree gets there, and that manifests into the very core of his being.

it’s his high morals and belief systems that shape the foundation of his character. and yet, with everything that happens in bloodmarked, there’s a incredibly long list of things that challenge said morals. being forced to do things to bree in the institute, going through the agony of whitty’s death, killing that demon and watching jones (jonas(?)) die in one fallow swoop. and that only happens in really the first 200 pages.

and while it’s clear this trauma is affecting him, presenting through anger or hunger for knowledge, we don’t ever see that affect his morals or the treatment of those he cares about. because those are what shape who he is. he still deeply cares for every person who’s not out for their necks; in fact, he spends every waking hour caring for or (physically or emotionally) healing his friends.

but what i do love about his arc is how his trauma isn’t shadowed away from us. we see the fiery loyalty and protectiveness he has towards his friends. he doesn’t get the sad boy trope that is often forced onto soft male characters but rather, tracy shows how an intense amount of pressure can manifest into negative coping mechanisms at times. when everything in your life keeps going wrong and you, yourself, have to try and put the pieces back together, there’s a natural and deep frustration that settles in that chasm.

while it may seem obvious, theres a theory/term in the psychological field is called the frustration-aggression hypothesis. This explains that constant frustration will naturally lead into more aggressive behavior. This is especially true for men, because of the gender roles that are forced onto them; the importance of being strong or striving to gain dominance over others are pushed onto to them usually during childhood and beyond. not to say that will is struggling under the issue of masculine gender roles, but it’s more to highlight that it’s only natural for his trauma to present with anger rather than sadness, numbness, or any other way trauma can show itself.

not to mention that he’s an awaken scion of gwain, in which he’s physically the strongest two hours everyday. so therefore, he has that much more opportunity to react to his trauma with aggression.

and yet, unlike sel (no hate towards sel, just a statement of fact), he never takes it out on anyone (except those who deserve it). no matter how much shit he faces, he manages other people’s emotions at every turn while trying to manage his own. i do think that this will backfire on him at some point because it’s only natural (and he 100% deserves to yell at someone), but for bloodmarked, he manages to keep his cool in front of his friends most of the time.

on the other hand, when anger is not actively presenting itself, instead, it’s his intense desire for learning. bree points this out at the end of legendborn, but i also think it’s shown all throughout bloodmarked. the conversation at valec’s bar where he talks about merlins sticks out especially.

it goes back, in my eyes, to another foundation of will’s character, being “useful.” will’s trained his whole life to not only be a warrior like the rest of the legendborn, but at the same time, be a healer. he knows how to read people, to stay calm under pressure, how to calm others under pressure, how to regulate others emotions, just the ability to heal (something no other legendborn at the southern chapter can do) is a stand-out.

to sum it up, his entire life is all about helping other people.

so he’s been set up to be the people pleaser™️ pretty much. so another part of his defense mechanism is diving into what makes him useful, healing and knowledge.

(i also think part of this extreme hypervigilance on others’ emotions as well as his deep knowledge on a number of different magic related topics is founded in neurodivergence but that’s a conversation for a different post.)

the 3rd aspect that i want to talk about as well, which is more in the background, is exhaustion. in bloodmarked, they’re all constantly on the run. in the case of bree and sel, they’re doing a ton of fighting, which is exhausting to both of them as well, but there’s also will who is doing both fighting and healing.

another psychological term is general adaptation syndrome which describes the process your body goes through when you are exposed to any kind of stress, positive or negative. there’s 3 stages, alarm, resistance, and exhaustion. alarm, which is someone’s first reaction to a stressor, like a character’s reaction to seeing a demon or the increased heart rate before a fight, etc.. resistance is how someone reacts during or after the cause of the stress, which generally lasts the longest out of the 3 stages. it’s how your body adapts to it. this is basically getting used to the increased stressor and finding ways to cope with/push the symptoms away, the flight before falling in a way. this, for the average person, can have positive effects if the stress isn’t traumatizing or debilitating but if it’s constant, that can result in the negative consequences of anxiety, C-PTSD, etc.. finally, the last stage of exhaustion is when your body is unable to hold up under the conditions of stress and becomes, as established, exhausted. will presents this at the end of bloodmarked, specifically in the scene of alice being in a coma. he’s clearly having a hard time with not being able to help alice anymore than he already has; it’s clear in the dialogue that he’s tired. there’s not more that he can do to be useful. he’s quite literally at the end of his rope at a number of different points in the book, but we see him quickly push it down this stage of general adaption until he quite literally can’t anymore (end of bloodmarked).

buttttt i think that is part of why i think lark is such a good partner for will. will physically can’t heal lark due to him being part-demon. while this could have devastating consequences later on, lark is someone he can’t use his main skill on. therefore, in william’s eyes at least, he can’t ever be “useful” to lark. yet, that can further push will to explore who is his outside of being a healer (UGH I LOVE THEMMMM😭😭).

anyways, this was meant to be a quick post about will’s trauma but turned into a psychological analysis, sorry about that (not sorry lolol)!

petition to let will crash out in oathbound, i BEGGGGGG!!!!