#creek misses branch

[sunnystrollblog]

In the Borrowers AU, did Floyd sing a lament for Branch (whom he thought died) like how Uncle Iroh sang "Leaves from the Vine" for his late son?

Oh I love this ask and it lets me go deeper into the traditions and culture of pop trolls in borrowers au

So trollstice is taken way more seriously than in canon I mean all the years under Bergen rule would definitely cause generational trauma. And because of that trauma the pop ancestors created a day that would be a tribute to the victims of trollstice, and for that day they had a song to commemorate their deaths. everyone would tie a poppy into their hair, light a candle and put it in the window of their pod and then go gather at the center of the tree with an item representing their lost loved one and they’d sing requiem. The holiday was called remembrance day.

But the year branch died the great escape happened and even then Floyd and jd left before remembrance day celebrated. And even Rosiepuff couldn’t give branch a proper remembrance day because when the village had been established king Peppy got rid of it thinking it was no longer needed which was a horrible idea in retrospect. But many trolls still celebrate it even without it being an official holiday.

Rosiepuff still celebrates by wearing poppy flowers in her hair.

Floyd and jd celebrate by putting their branch’s glasses on a mantle in Rhonda.

Bruce puts a candle up in the restaurant window

Clay sings the song and sometimes other putt putt trolls will join in.

So short answer no, but branch’s family has different ways to remember him by

Bonus: art of creek celebrating remembrance day

[sapphiremusings]

bride | vampire!aemond targaryen

cw: explicit smut, p in v, oral sex (f receiving), dubcon, loss of virginity, breeding kink, blood drinking

Only the light from the full moon shines down between branches and leaves, illuminating her way as she walks through the forest rarely traveled. She doesn’t know how she got here, still in her shift and robe that has been thrown over her shoulders half-heartedly, the forest floor crunching underneath her slippers, yet an unknown force seemingly presses her forward. Her mind is in a daze, heart thrumming against her chest sporadically and her ears feeling as if they are under water, and through her vision is a fog that refuses to leave, no matter how many times she rubs her eyes. Up ahead, through the heavy brush, sits the abandoned castle that was once called Harrenhal, an accursed place in history. Steadily, she makes her way towards it.

Harrenhal is a mighty fortress, once home to many great houses of Westeros, all in which were struck down by unforeseen tragedies. Whispers of its twisting halls being cursed, haunted by those that died within, scattered throughout the Riverlands, and all along Westeros, until the castle was abandoned. Now, it sits alone, stone burned dark from the days when dragons ruled the skies and their riders sat on the old Iron Throne.

Centuries have passed since then, yet Harrenhal remains the same, merely overgrown in its shrubbery and the vines that trail up its walls. The steady rhythm of her heart begins to speed up as she walks through the courtyard, eyes averting away from the blood stained ground, up towards a window at the very top of the castle, where a single light shines. Like a moth to a flame, she gravitates towards it.

Inside, it’s dark, and she finds herself walking through cobwebs, past open windows that let the cold air in, and up a large number of stairs, until finally, the lit room sits at the end of the hallway. Slowly, her footsteps creek along the floor, her spine tingling at the whisper that enters her ears and swells within her head; “Come to me.”

Her fingers reach out to touch the ancient wood of the door, which sits open just a crack, its hinges squeaking as it opens fully beneath her push. The room is lit by what seems to be a hundred candles, scattered around and perched on almost every surface, including the floor. A large window draws her attention, and standing in front of it, a tall figure, as still as a statue.

He towers over her, even from her spot by the door, lean and strong in his posture. A sheath of silver hair gleams down his back, so beautiful and shiny that it looks like silk, and her hands itch to reach out and run their fingers through the long strands. Slowly, he cocks his head to the side, and her breath hitches as his side profile comes into view among the shadows.

“You’ve finally made it,” he muses, all strong nose and smirking lips, stained the color of roses. Suddenly, he turns, facing her stunned figure. He hums, head tilted. “Come now, bride.”

She thinks he is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen. Even with a scar that runs down the left side of his face, a glimmering sapphire within his missing eye’s socket. His other eye is an alluring shade of violet, though when he turns slightly, it looks almost red. He has a strong jaw and chin, skin porcelain and without color. He looks like a god.

He seems amused by her tied tongue, watching patiently as she tries to form a sentence. When she does, it comes out in a whisper. “Who are you?”

Quickly, so much so that her head spins and she stumbles back, he stands before her, close enough that she can touch him if she merely lifts her hand. He hums, his own hand coming up to run a finger down her cheek, the sharpened nail leaving a small streak of red on the flushed skin. His single eye studies her features, thumb resting under her chin as he tilts her head back, her lips agape. He smiles.

“My name…” he pauses, dipping his head lower, his cold breath fanning across her face, “is Aemond, and I have waited a millenia for you, ābrazȳrys.” (Wife).

The strange word echoed around in her head, and she knew it for High Valyrian, the old language of the dragonlords that once ruled over Westeros with fire and blood, hailed from the kingdom of Old Valyria. Her father is a scholar, one with an interest in history, and she had grown up learning about the years before, from before there were even the Seven Kingdoms. Tales of forest children and the First Men, of the Andals and the ice creatures, were all stories she was told at bedtime.

And then there is his name. Aemond. Another Valyrian name, one she had only heard once. Centuries ago, the ruling House Targaryen was torn to shreds when kin began to fight kin, and their dragons danced among a burning sky. There had been a particular prince that had caught her eye, a one-eyed kinslayer who rode the largest dragon in the world. When the war ended, the cruel Targaryen prince had vanished, and rumors swirled in his wake. Most believe he had succumbed to his uncle, a rogue prince who had a fiery vengeance. Some wonder about his paramour, a so-called witch that had lived in the same abandoned castle she was standing in now.

Her mind reeled over the possibilities. Could he be the long lost prince? After all this time? She knows it is not possible, for too much time has passed, yet he stands before her all the same. Cautiously, she reaches her hand out, resting it against his chest, breath catching within her throat at the stillness beneath his ribs.

He isn't breathing. His heart isn’t beating. It is as if he is a statue, carved from stone.

He gazes down at her, curious. Her voice comes out in a stutter. “H-how…? I don’t understand.”

His other hand encircles her own, pressing it tighter against him, eye fluttering closed as he begins to trace it up his chest, bringing it to his nose. He inhales, nose pressed to her wrist, pulse pounding under a web of blue veins. Her own eyes threaten to close, overwhelmed at the feeling of warmth that overcomes her, traveling from her head to the pit of her stomach, where it goes to rest between her quivering thighs.

He presses his lips to the same spot, opening his eye to peer up at her flushed expression. “You smell so sweet, my love.”

Her head spins, and she sucks in a sharp breath as he begins to kiss down the length of her arm, the silk sleeve of her robe lifting to rest in the crook of her elbow. When his lips reach the fabric, he moves to her shoulder, which the robe has fallen down from, leaving the bare skin exposed. At the nape of her neck, his tongue, surprisingly hot, darts out to lick at her pulse.

“Please,” she murmurs, head tilting to the side and her hands reaching out to grab at his tunic, pulling him closer.

“I am never letting you go, dōna riña,” Aemond muses, moving to press his lips against her jaw. “No, you were born to be my bride, and I shall take what belongs to me.” (Sweet girl).

Cold hands ruck up the skirt of her nightgown, caressing the soft skin of her thighs, which are covered in goosebumps as they shiver in desire. Some part of her is ringing an alarm bell, for she doesn’t yet know how she got here nor why she is here, or even how it is possible for this man… this being, to be before her. He has no beating heart, no working lungs, and though she knows it’s unfathomable, he is a Targaryen prince. With long silver hair and a single purple eye, she believes this in her heart.

Her thoughts come to a halt as long fingers curl under her soaked garment, touching her in a way no man has. A quiet gasp escapes from between her lips, mind at a stand still as his finger dips down to circle at her slick hole, pressing slightly but not yet entering. Instead, he moves to gather more of her arousal between his digits, thumb going to a spot that makes her jump, heart pounding against her heaving chest.

Aemond shushes her, a sweet coo leaving his smirking lips as he watches her with a hooded eye. His thumb rubs circles against that same spot, and a tight coil begins to turn within her stomach, nipples hardened to sharp peaks as she pants.

He brings his face down, forehead resting against her own. “Do you taste as sweet as you smell, ābrazȳrys?”

When she lets out a whimper, knees buckling from beneath her, he lets out a deep groan. Suddenly, with a force and speed that makes her dizzy, he is laying her down on the large bed that is against the wall, the velvet blankets smooth against her hot skin. Her nightgown is bunched up around her hips, robe long forgotten on the stone floor, along with her slippers. He kneels before her, fingers under the band of her undergarments, which he practically rips off her, tearing them down her legs.

“A-Aemond,” she whines, wanton as she writhes atop a sea of red velvet.

His nose nuzzles between her thatch of curls, tongue darting out to lick up her essence, which coats her entirely. Her back arches, hips wiggling away as a broken moan leaves her lips, but he merely throws an arm over her stomach, pressing down and locking her in place. Another moan is ripped from her throat, hands reaching down to nestle in his long strands, fingers curling around them and tugging. A deep rumble is heard within his chest, vibrating against her cunt, which pulses in return.

His tongue is ravenous as he laps up her arousal, swirling around that sensitive spot that makes her toes curl, before moving down to dip into her clenching hole. She leaks even more there, thighs shaking around his head as he pushes his tongue in deeper, until his face is pressed fully onto her weeping cunt. He groans, thrusting the muscle in and out, before retracting and bringing his fingers up to take its place. When his tongue lays flat against her and his finger eases its way through her tight entrance, she nearly screams as her head seems to explode, body vibrating in pleasure as the tightly wound coil in her stomach snaps.

Another finger joins the first, pumping into her steadily as she comes, feeling as if she is floating above her own body. Aemond starts to speak, but the words don’t process as her head buzzes, dazed in a pleasure she has never felt before. Whatever he says, her body clenches at, moving on its own accord with no way of her stopping it and regaining control. When she finally comes down, he doesn’t stop, continuing to lap at her quivering cunt, fingers beginning to curl upwards inside her, searching for a spot that they find almost immediately.

“My sweet, sweet bride,” he grins, resting his head against her thigh, mouth covered in her slick. “I want to lick this pretty cunt every day now. You’ll let me, won’t you?”

She whimpers and moans, tears prickling the corners of her eyes as another wave of pleasure begins to wash over her. He seems pleased by this, eye wide as it flickers between his fingers that are buried deep inside her and her flushed face. “Sȳz riña.” (Good girl).

He finally removes his fingers after her second peak, digits coated in her juices, which he brings up to her lips. Without a word, she opens her mouth, tongue swirling around them as she sucks, the taste of herself causing her blood to heat.

Aemond seems dazed as he stares down at her, member straining against his leathers. The sight both frightens and arouses her, her own mind still in the clouds and seemingly not coming down anytime soon. Slowly, cautiously, she reaches a hand out towards him. He grabs it, laying a kiss on her wrist once more, before moving to grab at her shift. She doesn’t stop him as he pulls it off her, leaving her naked under him. The drafty air of the old room brushes against her skin, and she shivers, nipples hardened and body covered in goosebumps.

His head bends and he wraps his lips around her right bud, hand grabbing at her left breast and squeezing. He’s heavy against her naked frame, the cold leather of his clothing feeling pleasant pressed along her flushed skin. She feels sticky all over, so unbearably hot that she presses herself closer to his odd coldness. He hushes her softly, lifting his head from her bosom and capturing her lips with his own. It’s messy, a clashing of tongues and teeth, and his rigid member feels like a hot iron against her thigh. Dazedly, she runs the tip of her tongue against his front teeth, gasping when a dull pain throbs throughout the wet muscle.

Aemond pulls back sharply, purple eye now a deep red, matching the crimson blood that stains his plush lips. Two sharp canines protrude from the top of his mouth, glimmering under the candlelight. His eye is focused on her lips, which hide her bleeding tongue from his view, and with a groan, he presses back against her, his own tongue forcing its way into her mouth. He caresses the small cut, licking up the blood that seeps from the wound, hands grabbing ahold of her tightly.

With a sigh that almost sounds like a growl, he pulls away so suddenly, and in a blink of an eye, he stands before her naked. Her eyes trail over his figure, porcelain in color and seemingly carved from stone. The light from the moon and the scattered candles create daunting shadows along his form, and through the fog of her mind, she realizes that she wants nothing more than to touch him. She sits up, reaching her hands out towards him, and he complies with her silent request, leaning down to allow her to explore. He watches with a curious eye, still red in color, as her fingers dance along his shoulders and down his chest, brushing over his pink nipples and his lean muscles.

“You’re beautiful,” she murmurs, bringing her lips to kiss the spot where his heart should rest, holding her breath when no heartbeat is felt.

As if reading her thoughts, he pushes her back down against the bed, and her eyes are immediately drawn to between his thighs. A twinge of fear rushes through her at the sight of his hardened cock, its head flushed pink with thick veins that curl up its side. She has never seen one before, still a maiden, waiting for her father to betroth her to whichever man he deems worthy. But she feels as if Aemond’s is too large.

His lips curl into a smirk at her wide eyed gaze, bringing himself forward to lean over her, his silver hair falling around them like a curtain. His body, still cold and heavy against her, like a stone wall. She tenses as his hand goes between them, grasping his member in his palm and lining himself up against her entrance. Once again, his gaze is dark, brows furrowed and jaw tense as he runs the tip up and down her leaking seam, nudging that special spot that makes her spine jolt.

“You are mine, riñītsos. Mine to claim, mine to fuck,” he hisses as his tip begins to press into her tight hole, arms straining to hold himself above her shaking frame. “Mine to breed. Kesan dōrī ivestragī jā.” (Little one), (I will never let you go).

A broken sob leaves her lips as he pushes forward, a sharp pain settling deep between her legs, which only grows the farther he goes inside her. She begins to shake her head, pushing her palms against his shoulders with a moan. “It’s too big… it won’t fit!”

“Shhh,” he hushes her sweetly, lips coming to kiss along her ruddy cheeks. “Don’t worry, dōna riña. I’ll make it fit. You were made for this… for me.”

Her vision is clouded as she nuzzles her face in the crook of his neck, wrapping herself around him and clinging onto him as the pain slowly ebbs away, turning into something entirely different. When he’s sat completely inside her, a wanton moan leaves her lips at the fullness, her head vibrating as she gasps up at the ceiling, trying to catch her breath among the surging pleasure that begins to make its way through every nerve. Her hips begin to cant upwards, the slickness of her arousal helping her to slide against his cock, her fingers gripping tightly to strands of his hair.

“Please…” she whines, nearly sobbing.

He hums, lifting himself up as he begins to move his hips, creating a steady rhythm as his hands grab ahold of her waist. She is tiny below him, so much so that he can see the outline of his cock in her stomach, a sight that makes him groan and speed up, balls tightening in pleasure as her wet heat squeezes him. He eyes her thundering pulse at the base of her neck, his fangs beginning to ache and his throat going dry. His thrusts grow harsher, fingers digging into her flesh as she cries out beneath him.

“Kostagon nyke angogon ao, ābrazȳrys? Kessa ao ivestragī aōha valzȳrys mōzugon hen ao?” (Can I bite you, wife? Will you let your husband drink from you?)

His words come out in a mix between whiny and growling, teeth gritting as he leans down towards her open neck. Though she doesn’t quite understand what he said, only knowing a few words in Valyrian, the neediness in his tone has her back arching, and she greedily pulls him closer. Some submissive part of her wants nothing more than to please him, to give him all he desires and more. She gasps out a small “please.”

He nuzzles his nose under her jaw, rubbing against her pulse as his hips slow down, his thirst growing immensely. He brushes the tips of his fangs against her vein, thrusting his cock deep inside her, before biting down, eye rolling to the back of his head as warm blood spills down into his mouth. He moans, hips stuttering, pulling her as close as he can until they are flushed against each other, listening to her whimpers. She scratches her nails down his back, her cunt pulsing around his heavy cock as her blood flows from her vein, dizzy in her pleasure and loss of blood.

She tastes of the finest ambrosia, rich against his tongue and tingling his tastebuds, and his cock seems to swell in size as he cradles her in his arms, fangs imbedded into her neck. Her vision blurs, the rising wave of her arousal coming to a peak, and she nearly screams out as his hand slides between their stuck bodies, fingers circling at the throbbing bud at the apex of her cunt. His cockhead pounds steadily against a rough patch within in, and he doesn’t let up on his assault as the wave crashes over her, drowning her. She gasps for air, everything silent except for the beating of her heart and the slurping of Aemond’s tongue lapping at her lifesource.

“Sȳz riña,” his own peak begins to wash over him, lips murmuring against her neck and between sips of blood. “Iksā vok. Ñuha vok ābrazȳrys.” (You are perfect. My perfect wife).

With one last groan, he fills her with his seed, taking one last gulp of her before ripping himself away, mouth open against her wound as he pants. His tongue begins to lick at the two points, saliva coating them and slowly healing the marred skin. She is barely awake beneath him, exhausted from her pleasure, yet the sound of his voice and the feeling of his seed hot against her womb makes her throb all over again. She leaves wet kisses along his shoulders and chest, relishing in the feeling of him pressed against her, sweaty in the aftermath of their love making.

Slowly, he pulls out of her, cock only slightly soft, ready for another round. He feels as if he could spend an eternity between her legs, pounding into her tight, wet cunt and breeding her over and over again. For a moment, he has a thought to chain her to this very bed, his obedient little bride. He wants to lap at her sweet blood and lick up the essence of her, until every part of her is claimed. When his seed begins to seep out of her used hole, he brings two fingers to plug into her, refusing to let any of himself leave her. He smiles at her adoring expression.

“Will you marry me now, my lord?”

Aemond brings his coated fingers to her lips for the second time that night, humming in delight when she sucks on them, tongue swirling around and licking up every last drop of their combined arousal.

“Yes, my love. And when the time is right, I will turn you into my eternal bride.”

[beenbaanbuun]

meet me in the woods w/ Mingi

words - 3.5k

genre - fluff, friends to lovers, college!au

warnings - emo!mingi, drummer!mingi, pink!mingi, fangirl!reader, kissing, mentions of seasonal depression, mentions of a broken ankle, reader is down bad, so is mingi, they’re both idiots in love, kind of groping but not really sexual

————————————————

there’s still a chill in the air as the seasons flip from winter to spring. it shows in the way the air around you fogs up with every breath you exhale and the way the skin of your exposed thighs pricks up in little bumps. realistically you should’ve worn a pair of jeans rather than a skirt, but that would defeat the point of this whole thing you had going on. a sort of good-riddance-to-winter protest, in which you try to ignore the fact that winter was very much still in play.

although you have to admit you may have been a little too eager. you claim to have your reasons to pretend that winter is already over, but even those reasons seem a little obsolete as you sit on the picnic table awning, shivering every few seconds. perhaps your way of saying goodbye to your particularly bad bout of seasonal depression will have to be shoved to the back of your closet for a few more weeks. just until you're sure you won’t get frostbite.

you shuffle back a few inches, just enough to give yourself room to swing your legs back onto the awning. you have to go down the way you came up; that was a lesson you’d learned the hard way. a broken ankle and a particularly long lecture from your mother about making ‘sensible decisions’ was not something you care to repeat. she, of course, would blow a fuse if she knew you still frequent this spot years later, but what she doesn’t know can’t hurt her. besides, you’re well trained in how to get up and down from your favourite thinking spot, now.

you already have one leg up when you hear a creek coming from behind you. your neck twists in time to see a hand slam itself down on the wooden surface, fingers splayed as they work their hardest to pull the attached body higher up. you recognise the rings like the back of your hand and as you watch mingi struggle, you can’t help but sigh.

“how many times have i told you how to get up here?” you grumble, loud enough for him to hear over his own strained grunts. the single hand that you can see moves until you can see a middle finger pointed in your direction, and you have to laugh, “you seriously can’t remember? right hand on the roof, left foot on the fence, and push yourself up.”

even without seeing his face you can tell he’s rolling his eyes at you. he’s heard this lecture from you a bajillion times before, and yet he never learns. it’s always right hand, right foot and pull with him - almost the exact opposite of how you instruct him.

“have you considered that i’m, like, twice the size of you?” he says as he corrects his form and finally manages to raise himself up. he swings his right knee onto the platform and rolls his gangly form onto it. you’ve seen more grace from a new-born horse, but you keep that to yourself as you watch him sit himself up and shuffle closer.

“if anything that would make it easier for you, y’know, since you don’t have to jump to reach the roof.”

you turn your body back to how it was, dropping your legs again so you can swing them over the ledge. the platform looks out over nothing but forest, and you quickly find a particular branch to focus your eyes on as the giant sits in his spot next to you. your hands subconsciously brush over the pair of initials that have been scratched into the wood when you were both teenagers. a small, neat set done with a whittling knife stolen from your father, sitting just beneath a much larger, much messier SMG that mingi had done with the biggest kitchen knife he could find. his mother never did discover how her carving knife missing for a few hours only to return to the knife block covered in moss and dirt.

“yeah, yeah,” he mutters as he drops his legs down to swing them at the side of yours. your pink sneakers look a little out of place besides his platform doc martin’s that he always wears, despite not needing the extra height, but somehow the contrast feels natural to you, “i thought i’d find you up here. went to your dorm to search for you but your roommate said you were out.”

“and you assumed i was here?” he nods, not bothering to look at you. he too has found a distant branch to focus on.

“where else would you be?” he nudges you with an elbow, “god knows you don’t go to your lectures…”

he’s right about that. you’d given up on college very early into freshman year, and yet you’re somehow still passing. not well, you have to admit, but enough to get a degree at the end of the year.

“my classes suck, mingi,” you clarify as you rip your focus away from that one specific branch. looking at the same thing was getting kind of boring, you realise, so instead you lay down on the dirty wood and stare up at the canopy. the february sun only just pokes through the fir-canopy, dousing you in just enough light to make your skin a little warmer. there was that heat you were hoping for earlier, “why would i go to them when clearly i can pass without?”

“fair point.”

you close your eyes, basking in the light that bathes you. there’s still a slight breeze that makes the fir needles rustle above you, a few of them raining down whenever a particularly strong gust comes along. one lands on your thigh, but it’s quickly brushed off and replaced by mingi’s warm hand. he must’ve been keeping it in the pocket of his oversized korn hoodie, you think to yourself as he squeezes your thigh.

the hoodie is an old favourite of yours. you’d bought it for him a couple of years ago, and it had soon joined what you like to call ‘the elites’ - the small collection of about three hoodies that he had in permanent rotation. it fit him better now than when you first bought it for him. he’d bulked up a lot, after all.

you still couldn’t get the sweet image of him opening the gift with a wide grin on his face out of your head.

he kissed your cheek on that day.

you always seem to blush at the memory.

“why did you come searching for me, anyway?” you say after a few moments of silence. his hand remains firm on your thigh, fingers drumming a rhythm against your leg gently, “don’t you have cooler people to be hanging out with?”

he hums, “all the cool people i know are busy today,” you swing your foot to the side to kick his shin. he lets out a laugh at the little tap - he knows you can kick harder than that - before giving your thigh a gentle tap in return, “besides, maybe i want to hear about all your little kpop groups.”

you scoff at him.

“no, you don’t.”

“no,” mingi agrees, “i don’t. but i do want to spend time with my favourite little fangirl.”

you giggle at him, opening your eyes just in time to see him turn to you with a wonky grin on his face. it seems he’s bored of staring at his branch too since his gaze doesn’t go back to it after a few seconds. it remains on you, boba-pearl pupils staring into your own as the rays of sun make them glisten.

he looks cute like this, you think to yourself. his short pink hair rustles as the wind blows it about. for a man who made so much fuss about the colour when you first dyed it, it has taken him a long time for him to go back to the bleach blonde that he loves so much. part of you likes to think it’s so he can match your own pastel pink hair - that’s a normal thing for best friends to do, right? - but you also know that he’s fiercely protective over his hair and definitely wouldn’t keep it just for your sake.

it needs a trim, you think to yourself as you watch it brush against his eyebrows. you wonder if he’ll let you do it again. he hated it the last time, so you assume the answer will be no. then again, there’s no harm in asking, right? you make a mental note to do so later, wanting nothing more than to see the same cute pout he wore last time you butchered his hair. it’s an expression that he only ever wears around you, much like that sweet smile he’d had moments prior. it’s a softness that he keeps close to his chest, a far cry from the cool exterior he tries to keep when he’s around everyone else. not that you mind the tougher side of him - it’s hot… really hot - but the sweet giggles and adorable nose scrunches will always be your favourite things about him.

“you said everyone else was busy?” you mutter, not bothering to break eye contact to go back to sunbathing. he takes the hint, and brings his legs fully onto the platform so he can face you fully. it’s much better, you think, this way you can see him more clearly, “what are they doing?”

he shrugs.

“i don’t know,” he begins to rub your thigh up and down subconsciously. he does it a lot when he’s talking. if it’s not your thigh - which it usually always is - then it’s his own, or the arm of a chair. it’s just something to keep his hands busy, you suppose, “i think some of the guys wanted to go over melodies, which they don’t need me for. jongho was saying he thinks it’d be cool if there’s a section where his voice and san’s guitar are kind of in sync? i don’t know, it sounds cool in theory but i don’t know if san’s guitar style necessarily matches jongho’s vocal style well enough to do that.”

you watch as his face lights up, just like it always does when he talks about music, or his band. he could talk about their newest ideas for hours, and most of the time you let him. you like to listen to the way his voice rises an octave when he gets excited, and watching his facial expressions never gets old. you love the way he talks with one hand, all while keeping the other firmly on your thigh; or his, or the arm of a chair. it’s nice to see him still so passionate about all the same things he was as a teenager. sometimes you’re even sure you can feel his excitement for him.

it feels an awful lot like butterflies in your stomach.

“and i mean, i know i’m just the drummer but,” you quirk your eyebrow at him and he stops himself talking. a pink flush rises over his face as he realises his slip up, “i didn’t mean just the drummer, i just meant that as the drummer, i don’t know as much about the music theory side as the guitarists do… i hit things, y’know?”

“you hit things very well, though,” you tease, using a manicured finger to poke at his knee. he catches it with the hand that isn’t occupied by your thigh and just holds onto it. its another thing he does a lot; not quite holding your hand, but definitely toeing the line, “and that’s coming from me!”

he rolls his eyes at you, and you were sure that if both his hands weren’t occupied with some other part of your body, he’d make the effort to lean forwards and place a finger over your lips to shush you. again, touching your lips like that it’s just something he does with you, just like almost holding your hands, and playing with your thighs. it’s all completely normal best friend stuff…

except you weren’t this touchy with any other guy. the last time you let a man get this close to you was when wooyoung tried to teach you guitar by moving your fingers into the correct positions for you. there was barely any contact between the two of you, and yet mingi sulked for days. part of you wanted to call it strange, but when you spotted him giving a pretty emo girl his drumsticks after a show, you gave him much of the same attitude.

you wouldn’t call it jealousy, per se, although maybe there was a little bit. mingi was your best friend after all. you have something special with him. something different that you have with no one else and you feel a way that you feel with no one else and-

oh.

oh.

suddenly the hand on your thigh felt very heavy, and you noticed the way his fingertips gently dip under the hem. had they been doing that the whole time? and you couldn’t help but feel like the way his thumb rubbed against the tip of your finger so softly had some type of further meaning behind it. not to mention the neutral yet unbelievably gentle look that took over his features, making him look even more pretty than usual in the scattered rays of light.

his lips were parted every so slightly, revealing that single wonky tooth that you found oh-so adorable. for a second you wondered what they would feel like against your skin, but you soon shunned the thought away as you remembered, oh yeah, the korn sweater. you’d felt them before. you know just how soft and gentle they are. it’s something that often plays on your mind and every time it does, you feel that same burst of excitement built up in your stomach. the one you get when mingi speaks about his passions. the one that feels like butterflies.

it is butterflies. fuck, it’s the whole damn zoo! a stampede of elephants charging though your body each and every time he does something that you find even mildly endearing. it just so happens that you find damn near everything he does endearing. you’d think those elephants would be tired of running by now…

“mingi,” you sigh, breath coming out in a plume of mist. you’d forgotten how cold it was in his presence. being around him just seemed to warm you up, “mingi, come here.”

he furrows his brow, but shuffles a tad closer. you almost groan in disappointment as he takes his hand away from your thigh, the skin immediately growing cold at the lost contact.

“what’s up, sunshine?” you feel em your eyes go wide at the nickname. you don’t know why; he uses it for you all the time.

“mingi, i’m confused… and a little scared,” you admit, although you didn’t know whether it was necessarily the truth. it was probably the closest word to describe how you were feeling though. with the way your heart was threatening to beat through your chest, and the way your stomach churned with nerves and the way your stupid brain had only just managed to catch up with how you had felt all along. it hurt, and it was painful and confusing and yeah, scared was probably a pretty good description.

“scared?” his voice grows serious as his eyes scan you up and down. once he sees that you’re fine physically, they return to your face. he looks just as confused as you feel, “what are you scared about? are you okay? hurt?”

you shake your head, taking in a deep, shaky breath. you let it out in yet another cloud of fog and watch at it floats away into nothing. you wish your butterflies, elephants, would do the same. it would make this whole thing so much easier.

“i’m fine, mingi,” you say, “just scared.”

“can you tell me why?” you nod, although it takes everything in you to do so.

“i want to kiss you,” you admit.

“kiss… me?”

you nod again, feeling a familiar heat rise to your face. the same one you get whenever mingi compliments you, or touches you. you can't believe it’s taken this long to finally figure it all out. it all feels so obvious now.

“i mean… yeah?” he stutters, “kiss me, yeah… yeah that sounds okay- i mean good! it sounds good… kissing, that is.”

if you weren’t feeling completely and utterly out of your depth, you’d have giggled at him. cutie pie you think to yourself before the heat in your body immediately gets more intense, and the elephants not only increase in number but in size too.

it’s now or never. before you can talk yourself out of it, you need to kiss him. because talking yourself out of it could be so easy. you could hop off of the awning, run back to your car and drive back to your dorm. sure, it would hurt when you would inevitably have to lock yourself away in embarrassment and never see mingi again, but time heals all wounds, right? and by the time you’re 50, the pain and embarrassment will have definitely almost healed over…

“so?” he mutters, pulling you back from the fantasy your brain had created, “are you going to do it?”

“i, uh…”

“i mean, i can if you want me to,” he shrugs, trying his hardest to play it cool as if he hadn’t been stuttering seconds prior. as if his face wasn’t just as pink as the mop of hair that sat atop it.

there is nothing cool about this man, you think to yourself as you push yourself into a sitting position. maybe that’s why you’re so attracted to him. his nerdy tendencies had tugged you in, and he’d worked his dorky little ways on you until you were hook line and sinker for him.

down bad, as the kids say. down so horrifically bad…

“i can do it,” you whisper as you look up at him with wide eyes. your lips are mere inches from his own, and his hot breath fans across your cold face. his eyes are on yours just briefly before they flicker down to your lips. they rested there for a second before making their way back up to yours, “i can kiss you,” you whisper.

“you can,” he mutters back, bringing his own face close enough to yours that you’re not even sure a sheet of paper would slip between the two of you. his tongue darts out to wet his own lips, gently brushing against yours too. your breath hitches as your last sliver of resolve vanishes. that’s it, you tell yourself, you can’t hold back anymore.

the tiny gap is closed as you press forwards, slamming your lips against his. your fingers shoot up to lace themselves in the hair at the nape of his neck, and his find a home on your waist. his eyelashes flutter against your face as he shuts his eyes, and you follow his lead, doing the same. it’s nice, you realise, the darkness letting you focus on how his lips feel moving slowly against your own. they fit perfectly, like they were always meant to be there.

he deepens the kiss briefly, tilting his head ever so slightly to get a better angle. it’s a little rougher at this angle, but you can’t find it in you to mind as he takes control. the desperation you feel from him as he moves his lips harshly against your own was something you feel yourself, so you let him take what he needs, taking just as much in return.

and by the time he pulls away, you’re both panting. rapid and hard and together. his lips have barely left your own as he catches his breath, but you don’t pull back either.

“fuck,” he mumbles against your lips, “that was… nice?”

“yeah,” you agree. ‘nice’ seems the best way to describe it, although it was so much more than just that, “it was nice, wasn’t it?”

“so nice, sunshine,” he says. a few beats of a silence pass before he presses his lips against yours again, this time for a much shorter, much more innocent peck. you can’t help but giggle as he pulls away. there’s a grin on his face too, “wish we’d done it sooner, though.”

you nod, “yeah, me too.”

“but we have all the time in the world, right?”

he pecks you again. this one lasts a few milliseconds longer than the last, not that you’re counting. when he pulls away, you chase it. another peck, this time led by you, but equally as brief as the other two. it’s his turn to chuckle.

“cute,” he grins, “you’re so cute.”

you get shy under his words and pull back just a tad. the grip he has on your waist refuses to let you go too far from him. you don’t mind; not at all. the fact he wants you so close actually sends the elephants feral. you feel them reach up to your heart to work their magic on that too. it probably isn’t healthy for it to beat at the speed that it is, but you really can’t help it. the elephants seem to respond to mingi and mingi alone. you don’t mind that either.

not at all.

[obsessive-valentine]

Yandere!childhood-Friend!Fae x F!reader

You grew up with a mysterious but kind friend, but when you learn the truth about him you become distant from fear that the stories about his kind are true. Despite this you still loved him and gathered up courage to see him one last time before you left town. Did you really think he’d let you leave again? Fae are know to abduct humans to be servants, entertainment or even lovers.

Use of y/n

You grew up on the edge of a small town, in a house with little garden space, enough for a small bed of vegetables and some pretty flowers. However there was plenty of wild land stretching till the next town over, most of it a forest with healthy oak trees and soft mossy ground. Some land was a meadow that always seemed to be glow with a golden hue and and sprout the most beautiful flowers and large daisies even on the gloomy days. Other bits of land had desire paths stomped into the ground, some by your own doing and some by strangers, there was a creek that ran through the town and into the forest then over to the next town. You liked to sit there as a child with the daisies from the meadow and make daisy chains and to fashion into jewellery and crowns.

Your parents though you were a unusually quiet child, never really playing with other kids to long not because of a fault on yours or theirs part; were just happily reserved. So they didn’t bother you to much, believing you were just a thinker who enjoys their own pace, maybe you could grow to be a great poet. However while some of that true you were quieter for other reasons.

You were content with with the friend you had already, you understood early on that one close friend is better than all the friend in the world (maybe with slight persuasion of the friend). You in fact wasn’t slinking out the back door to the forest, promising you’d be home before tea time, to be alone but instead to meet your woodland friend.

You never connected the dots that the friend that you had grown up with was far from human until you began to read more widely, therefore learning about old tales and creatures like werewolf’s, witches and... fae ? Fae that sounded eerily similar to the now young teen in the forest, small horns that will sometimes poke from his hair that you shrugged off to be knotty hair or odd lighting, or the sharp black nails you’d assumed to be a odd fashion statement, or the odd colour of his eyes that you didn’t know was possible but blamed good genetics.

You freaked out a bit when you first realised that this boy wasn’t just a boy from the neighbouring town who enjoyed the forest but rather a fae who are usually depicted as evil, cunning and unpredictable. Maybe the stories are dramatic or just false, he’d never lay a rough hand on you before, rather he’d gently wind together plants and branches with your daisy chain to make you a more extravagant crown, and when he’d gently coax you over the creek holding your hand telling you what rocks to step on, or rub certain leaves on your cuts carefully that ease the pain almost crying himself from seeing you tear up.

You found it hard to believe he was anything like the stories, so after a few days to process the possibility you set out to meet him again. Hopeful that you were over exaggerating and he was just a human boy.

...

Fiddling with the hem of your shirt you walked deeper into the woods following the desire path you and your friend had made through the years, reaching the creek you stepped on the rocks he had guided you over and met the muddy bank on the other side with a squelch as your boots sunk a bit. You watched your footing as you trudged back onto the dry mossy ground, having made the clumsy mistake of falling into the mud many times before, you missed the boy dropping what he was doing and jumping down from a tree before rushing to you.

“Where were you?” The boy sighs frustrated, you jolted on edge from the sudden intrusion but relaxed when you saw it was just him. Although he looked angry as he stomped closer you could understand why “I’m sorry, I was just a bit busy” you chewed your lip, annoyed you hadn’t come up with a better excuse “I’m here now though” you said more like a question and forced a smiled, searching his face for forgiveness.

His eyes softened and a toothy grin crept onto his face “you’re excused” he half joked and your shoulders relaxed fully and almost forgot why you were here when he slipped his hand into yours. Looking down at your fingers intertwined with his soft fingers with talon like nails at the end you couldn’t hide the was your face dropped, he luckily wasn’t looking but rather guiding you to the meadow.

Walking beside him you were as silent as a church mouse, even treading carefully on the forest floor. You couldn’t help but be fearful of what he might be, taking a quiet breath you decided to walk along side him instead of being dragged behind. Now beside him you tried looking at his hair hoping you had made this all up in you’re head, but you saw no horns. Maybe you had just been dramatic so you tried to enjoy the walk with peace of mind.

Finally reaching the meadow you both collapsed into some taller grass that would make a padded place to lay, laying side by your side he talked about his week while looking up at the clouds and occasional butterflies. His parents always sounded strict and unloving, his brother sounded cruel and he had no friends from what you heard, maybe one day he could come for tea ‘mom would love him and maybe that would make him happier’ you thought; feeling guilty you had such a idillic live and him not so much.

Turning your head to face his with a sad smile as he ranted wanting to emphasise or comfort somehow but you found yourself become chocked up, he turned his head to and saw your sour face “but never mind that, I’m here with you and the forest that’s what makes me the most happy”. You however weren’t comforted not even hearing his attempt of lighting the mood, no you were sickly unsettled for another reason. Small but sharp horns that glimmered under the sun, now exposed slightly as his black curls fell oddly when he turned his head uncovering all the evidence you needed.

You jolted up so fast from the grass that your hair ribbon that wrapped around your head keeping stray stands from you face had unraveled from its lovingly tied bow and fell to the grass, the wind began picking up and everything around you became chaotic with the sound of the trees groaning and leaves shaking violently you stumbled back away from the grass that tickled your legs, every piece of grass now feeling like needles. He jumped to his feet just as fast or maybe quicker and grabbed your arm “what is it? Are you okay?” He pushed the hair from your face and tried pulling you closer, there they were again, the horns exposed from the wind. He saw you looking at them and his face dropped his mouth opened to protest but you didn’t give him a chance as you ripped your wrist from his hand and began running for the forest.

He followed closely yelling for you to come back, it started desperate then became frantic before turning demanding , you could have sworn the woods were becoming darker and branches were reaching to trip you. However you got to the creek and ran straight through instead of minding the stepping stones, it’s reached your knees but splashed higher. Climbing the muddy bank with your hands before you became steady enough to climb the rest on your feet you glanced back seeing him run up to the creek and stand there as you ran further away. You never saw him look so angry, fully convinced he was a malicious fae like the ones from the book you ran all the way home.

...

It might have been slightly naive to believe that he would still be in the woods after all these years but you needed closure, needed to walk through the woods and see there was never any threat, that afternoon you had accused a harmless boy of being something he’s not, something that didn’t exist, and the woods hadn’t grown a conscience and tried to trip you and consume you or left a story book monster decide your fate. You wanted to remember this place for what it was, a wild but joyful escape from ordinary life.

Memories change and you believed whole heartedly that everything you experienced that last afternoon in this place was all childish imagination from reading to many books. So it did come as a disturbing realisation as you faced a young man, probably your age with curly dark hair, bright unnatural eyes and shiny dark but sharp winding horns. “It’s okay y/n, just come here for me okay? Then I’ll explain it all to you” he spoke softly just like he used to when attempting to soothe your scrapes. He stood tall with a hand outstretched persuading you to cross the creek and for some reason you couldn’t take another step back but only forwards, it was like you were in a trance like state but still partially conscious.

Maybe if you and done your research, and learned that giving your name to a fae means bad news, you might have had a clue as to what was happing as to why you were compelled to cross the water and let him pull you into a desperate and crushing hug “it’s okay now my love, I’ll never let you leave like I foolishly had before, I’m so sorry” he pulled back a bit to hold your cold cheeks and look into your terrified eyes, his eyes softened from their frantic state as he pushed the stray stands from your face.

He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a ribbon, no it was your ribbon the one that unraveled from your hair as you fled the forest. He wrapped it under your hair and around your head, keeping your hair from your face he kissed your forehead. Had he been here the whole time waiting for you with your old flimsy ribbon? “We’re going to go home now okay?” He spoke slow and condescendingly, holding your face to look him in the eyes. You nodded slightly but stopped when you noticed the subconscious action, he was however satisfied with that and began dragging you into the woods with a hand in yours.

He had only walked about a minute before he heard your sobbing, turning quickly he saw your reluctance in your eyes and your mumbled pleas, but as much as his heart broke seeing you so upset he refused to let you out of the trance he had over you and risk you leaving for good. Instead he slowly picked you up and held you close encouraging you to hide your face from the cold bite of winter and cry into his shoulder.

He continued walking deeper into the woods without regret, he would have taken you kicking and screaming over his shoulder if he had to. Just this way he can rub your back, talk to you calmly and comfortably walk through the entryway to the world where most fae beings reside to take you to his home.

[diejager]

Little Red's Wolf

Pairing : Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x fem!reader

Cw: NSFW, exophilia, knotting, breeding, size kink, stomach bulge, biting, marking, blood, oral sex, werewolf, tell me if I missed any.

Wc: 3.5k

Little Red Riding Hood, was a kind and beautiful, young maiden from the village. Little Red Riding Hood was known by all, cared and loved by the small town as if you were their little girl. A pretty, little bachelorette in their small village. The people loved you, the smiling ray of sunlight that beamed across the street with loving words and gentle gestures.

Little Red Riding Hood was also the only one who dared venture outside the town, through the thicket around town, to turn left of the paved road and into the unknown. You were the only one who didn't fear straying from the path, having grown up near it, walking between the trees and exploring the darkest creeks within the woods. You knew it like the back of your hand.

Today would be a scheduled visit to your grandmother, to bring baked goods and wine to your lovely grandmother who lived alone in the forest.

"Come, my dear," your mother called you over, and a soft smile pulled her lips upwards. "Here is a piece of cake and a bottle of wine, take them to your grandmother. She is ill and weak, and they will do her good. Set out before it gets hot, and when you are going, walk nicely and quietly and do not run off the path, or you may fall and break the bottle, and then your grandmother will get nothing; and when you go into her room, don't forget to say, 'Good morning', and don't peep into every corner before you do it."

Donned in your usual red hood, the bright colored cloth ending at your knees with a white chemise and a black skirt, you took the basket in hand with great care, checking over the content you would bring to your grandmother. Once done, you left your house, turning to wave at your mother before you closed the door behind you: "I will take great care."

You walked through the long road through the village, smiling and waving at your neighbors and the neighbors of your neighbors, everyone knew everyone in a small town like yours. Friends of your friends became your friends too, knowing everyone had its perks and made everything easier, more familiar.

"Here! Bring this to your grandmother, Little Red Riding Hood," the Baker, a kind old man who lived upstairs of his bakery, called you over. In his hand was a freshly baked breath, warm and smelling heavenly. Into the basket, it went, wrapped neatly in an ivory cloth, woven with care by the baker's wife.

Farther down the street, the herbalist that lived in her hut, covered with scented grasses and pretty flowers called to you, "I heard of your grandmother's sickness, Little Red Riding Hood," she gave you her most caring and worried look she had, honestly dripping from her eyes and tongue. "Please, mix this with hot water before giving it to her, one quarter of this with a cup should do." The small bottle was carefully placed next to the wine bottle your mother had given you, safely secured with twine and string.

People waved and smiled at you as you walked closer to the forest's mouth, wishing you 'good luck' and bidding you a farewell, until the evening, when you'd emerge from the darkness.

The path was cloaked in the shadows of trees, the leaves brushing against one another in the blowing air, soft and calming. It pushed the gentle smell of nature into your nose and dances beautifully before you.

The road was paved in stone, soft, silver brick that stuck out, the dirt hugged its rounded edges and held it together. The trees hugged the path closely, hiding the turns in the road with greenery, beautiful and lively green. You skipped by habit, eyes wandering around the branches to see bird nests and shy squirrels jumping from tree to tree as you followed the path.

While the paved way led farther out, towards the edge of the forest, the dirt path at the fork led deeper, the way to your grandmother's quaint house. You turned and strayed from the popular road, heeled shoes stepping on the hard dirt. You hummed a tune, absentmindedly following the wavy line deeper into the wildness.

Shadows danced outside your line of sight, appearing at the corner of your eyes until you turned to see whatever or whoever it was. You were scared, although naive and oblivious, you grew up in these woods and knew that it wouldn't hurt those who knew it well.

When you called out, the shadow stood tall and rigid, a dark mass hidden under the shades of the trees. It rumbled out a noise, one closely sounding to a wolf's growl. You stopped to stare at it, watching it amble forward, into the lighted path. A wolf, as intended, covered in warm, brown fur with piercing, blue eyes that stared at you inquisitively.

"G'day, Little Red," he spoke with a slur in his voice, a deep rumble in it. His voice sent pleasurable shivers down your spine, you shuddered physically. He saw that, you knew he did, wolves were perceptive.

"Thank you kindly, Great Wolf," you bowed your head, smiling sweetly at him. You ignored the way his eyes glazed over, going down the length of your cloak and your naked knees to your shoes, then back up to your face. He drank you in like you were a treat to his eyes.

"Where yer goin' so early, Little Red?"

"To my grandmother's, Great Wolf."

Perhaps you shouldn't have told him that, for his eyes shone with a menacing glint, dark and ravenous within the ocean of blue. However, it would have been impolite to ignore such an inquiry, especially to a polite and handsome wolf.

He bobbed his head, his mane fluidly moving along his movement, soft and silky, yet disarrayed. He pointed his muzzle at your basket, nose wiggling as he sniffed the air.

"What 'ave ye in your apron?"

"Cake and wine and bread, yesterday was baking-day; and herbs for my poor, sick grandmother. All to make her stronger, Great Wolf."

"Where dae ye nana live, Little Red?"

Again, you pushed away the chill that ran down your back, his heated gaze weighed heavily on your small figure.

"A good quarter into the wood, her house stands under three large oak-trees and nut-trees just below it. Surely, you've seen it."

He thought to himself, thinking back to the house he saw many times while passing through. An old lady that lived alone so deeply in his home had always been an interest, especially the sweet scent of freshly-baked pie. He knew the old woman, Nana, he called her after being caught by the old woman years ago.

So he nodded, head cocked your way with a knowing glint in his eyes. He hadn't seen you at Nana's, though your scent - fresh and earthly smell of wildflowers that grew in the forest - was familiar. You must've only visited her when he was away, lounging under the shade, running through the trees, or stalking and hunting his prey - like you were, at the moment.

A sugary, little treat that he walked into after a run with Gaz. He considered himself lucky, extremely so for having found you before you reached your nana's house.

"Ye best be on your way, then," he mocked a curtsey, his tail waving lazily behind him. "Guid luck, Little Red."

His bright irises followed you, watching the back of your red cloak ride up the inside of your knees, shoulders bobbing along the rugged ground. He was addicted, obsessed with your scent and your appearance. You were soft and naive, too trusting of him, a wolf. An adorable little treasure he would love to eat whole.

He stayed until your red figure became a dot in the flora, swallowed up by the woods he lived and hunted in. He would wait, lurk behind you from afar and pounce the moment he saw you stagger and hesitate.

You did as your mother told you, you greeted your sickly grandmother with a "Good morning" before peering at every corner of her house, searching for any change since the last time you passed by. Setting the basket down, you picked the piece of cake and a cup for the wine, and put aside the bread and concoction for later use. Placed in a tray, you brought it to your grandmother, supported by pillows against the headboard.

As you watched your grandmother eat, you recalled the brief discussion you had with the Great Wolf, dangerously handsome and mischievous. You fed her the herbalist's recommended dosage, a quarter of a cup. She hisses and complained but still drank, swallowing the green mix with small gulps. Once she finished and rested comfortably under the drapes, you spoke, "Grandmother, I met a Great Wolf today, on my way to bring your cake and wine. Do you know of him?"

She muttered, a shallow and weak "yes" at your inquiry: "Kind wolf, that one," she blinked slowly, glazed over with tiredness. "Hungry too! A ravenous creature, but gentle, Little Red Riding Hood. Do not fear the wolf, he is caring."

Without much left to do for her (you placed the cake leftover and the bread on her stove, wine, and cup on her nightstand, and the rest of the concoction on her kitchen table), you bid your farewell and crossed the room to her door, sending her a kiss before you closed and locked her door behind you. The sun had crawled higher, nearly noon as it blared its heated gaze over your crimson figure, bright and energetic as the color of your cloak.

Rustling followed your steps, taunting and teasing every time you stopped to look around you, only seeing green leaves and brown barks with a few specks of vibrant color. the farther you went, the more eager they became, closer to you and stopping later than you did.

You heard panting and low rumbling from the being, it gave away your stalker's identity. Instead of walking the path, you stayed between the trees, diving into the shades created by tall branches and wide leaves. Within them, anything could happen without passersby seeing it knowing - unless there was noise to hear. You were baring yourself to the creature, oblivious of its intentions.

As if hearing your thoughts, the beast appeared before you, a broad and hardened frame looming over you like the mountains near your town did. His cerulean orbs shone under the shadows as he stared at you with such intensity that it made you shiver, a pleasurable chill.

"Oh! Great Wolf!" you called, sounding surprised with your gaping mouth and wide eyes. "What big ears you have."

"All the betta tae hear yer with, Little Red," he spoke, pointed ears flickering and twitching under your gaze.

"What big eyes you have, Great Wolf."

"All the betta tae see yer with, Little Red," he rasped, eyes taking in your voluptuous figure, dark with arousal.

"What large hands you have, Great Wolf."

"All the betta tae hold yer with, Little Red," he growled, arms flexing, threatening to close around you and cage you against his chest.

Your body thrummed, warmth flooding your body and heating your groin. His strong body stalked so slowly toward you, teasing you both. You ate him up, trailing from his snout and down his naked pectorals, from his sculpted abdomen to the bulge in his pants, and down his beautiful thighs.

"What a terrible big mouth you have, Great Wolf," you gulped, legs shaky.

"All the bettea tae eat yer with!"

He pounced, paws falling to your shoulder to pin you down. You fell with a yelp, followed by a gasp as he clawed at your chemise, ripping it in two. His warm nose nudged your breasts, tongue reaching out to lave between them. It was hot and wet. You moaned and gripped his head, reveling his tongue running over your mounds and swirling around your nipple. He closed his mouth around your left, perky nub, sucking harshly with the other being occupied by his big palm, kneading it sensually.

You cried his moniker, squirming under his skillful tongue. Your legs wrapped themselves around his small waist, grinding against his hardness.

"Soap, Little Red," he groaned, licking down your chest and your navel as he pulled down your pants. "Mae name's Soap, Little Red."

His fingers slid between your thighs, claw drawing a line down your inner thigh to your ankle. He panted against your heat, jaw flashing his sharp teeth, just inches from sinking into your supple flesh to watch blood roll down your slit and ass. Fuck, the thought made him hornier.

He latched onto your clit, rolling the tip of his tongue over it. Your legs were pulled over his shoulders, both hands gripping your hips from bucking into his jaw. They dwarfed your body, almost able to meet at the front. Your body wracked with waves of arousal from his motion and the pure implication of being speared by a being Soap's size, twice - dare say, thrice - your size.

He growled when you gripped his mane, pulling his hair and squirming too much, the vibration tingled, traveling from your core to the tip of your curling toes. He growled a second time, smirking at your thrown-back head and drooling mouth before replacing his tongue with his callused thumb. He wandered lower, dipping between your labia to probe at your entrance.

He loved the sound of your moans and mewls, crying out every time his muscle dragged the warm walls inside of you, thrusting and curling, exploring your drooling cunt with a deep hunger. Your walls spasmed and your limbs twitched, your orgasms teetered on the edge.

"Let go, Little Red," he groaned, the apes of your thigh slotting perfectly between his maw, teeth shy of digging into your muscle. "Come for mae."

You came with a silent scream, euphoria washing over you as Soap lapped your slick, hungrily drinking the essence of your pleasure. He rode it out, thumb gently rubbing your clit until you calmed down, shaking and gasping for air, but all you could smell was sex and the pungent odor of Soap's musk, a masculine and predatory thing.

With one last long lick from your ass to your clit, he pulled away, back hunched as he ground his crotch on your wet cunt, kneeling with his legs splayed open.

"Ye ready for mae, bonnie?"

You shakily nodded, the extremities of your limbs still tingling with pleasure. He smirked a cute and smug grin that fit his stature and personality so well. He dropped his slacks, pumping his cock, spreading his pre around his thick girth. You stared at it with amazement, mouth agape with hunger. What you'd give to have a taste of him, throat gagging around his girthy rod.

The red, angry tip tapped your clit a few times, you jumped and moaned, eyes pleading for him to hurry, to claim you and eat you as he promised. Hearing your pleading mewls, he tested the resistance, tip slowly easing in. He watched you take him inch by inch, lips opening and stretching to take him whole and raw. Spread to your fullest, you threw your head back, eyes rolling as you felt him push in. He perfectly filled you, bottoming out as his bulbous tip hit your cervix and bulged slightly under your navel.

"Fuck- tight lil' thang too, aye?" Soap groaned, his tongue lolling out as he panted, drinking up all the soft warmth that clenched around him. "This snatch's perfect for mae, eh?"

"Yours," you mewled, locking your ankles by his maned nape, pulling him closer to you, your red, swollen nipples pressed against his hard chest. "For you, Soap."

"Aye, fer mae."

He pulled out until only the tip lingered in, heading the loud squelch, and slammed in, head meeting your cervix and bulging. He started a fast and rough pace, pounding like a beast in rut, grunting and growling every time his balls slapped your ass. Your cum stained his brown fur, painting the growing knot with a white, creamy ring and his balls lewdly wet.

The innocent and naive appearance you had before was ruined by your current one, debauched and drunk with the pleasure that his pounding cock gave you. You tightened around him, wet walls clinging to his shaft as he pushed in. He rolled his hips, watching the protrusion swirl along his hips and the way you leaned at him for more, harder, faster.

"Ruin me, Soap!"

A primal urge overtook him, and he snapped his hips, plunging deeper, faster, harder into you. His thoughts numbed and his glands pumped dopamine into his brain, filling his thoughts with needs. He wanted to breed you and pump you full of cum as his knot kept you plugged. He wanted to watch you grow big and round with his pups, your breasts grow sensitive and heavy with milk.

His dreams urged him farther, draping himself closer to you, teeth lingering over your shoulder. He teetered on the edge of wanting to bite down and watch your crimson ichor ooze from beneath his teeth, roll down your shoulder, and stain your pretty vibrant cloak with a darker shade of red.

He could feel his fast-approaching orgasm, the beat in his chest, and the heat that pooled into his crotch. While his tongue dragged over the patch he was gazing at, jaw flexing to bite down, his knot grew, swelling around the stretched skin of your entrance.

"It's fine," he heard you say between your keens and the wet slapping. "You can bite."

A shiver wracked his back, muscle clenching and knot flaring. He gave a few thrusts before his knot locked, slowly pushing the swollen base of his cock fully into you. He bit down as he came, tasting your sweet (a delicate sweetness that he'd never tasted before, rivaling your slick) blood on his muscle.

You cried, screaming and mewling, your walls closing around him in a vice, milking his cock of potent cum. Ropes fired from the tapered tip, his slit oozing and filling you with burning warmth. He pulled back, mouth unlatching from your bleeding shoulder with a dazed look.

He licked your wound when you whined, cleaning it and kissing your pain with red-stained lips. He held you close, watching you move your hands to your bulging stomach happily. He followed your hands, how you rubbed your growing stomach, being filled and plugged by him.

"Sorry, Little Red, " he kissed you, painting your lips a pretty shade of crimson. "We're stuck together fer a while."

"It's fine, Soap, " your voice was slurred, expression content.

He really got lucky, stumbling on such a sweetheart like you. If he ended up knocking you up, he wouldn't mind staying with you, you've already made a place in his heart and mind. Your smell, your taste, your voice, and your soft hands were imprinted in his mind.

He didn't mind watching run after his - your - pups, caring and motherly, doting on his children. He couldn't wait to care for you. He's marked you, you were his and his scent covered you. He was yours too, he smelled sweet and flowery, he had your taste on his tongue and you drew lines on his back and arms, marking him.

A few minutes before

Like yesterday and the day before, the hunter made his usual way through the woods. He watched over the few creatures that lived in these woods. He scratched his beard, rifle slung over his shoulder as he recalled what Gaz told him.

He whipped his head towards a scream, body stopping on the path he took. He gripped his rifle and dashed through the trees, weaving between the trunks and bushes until the screams became clearer. The high-pitched sound turned to moans and cries, deeper, wolfish grunts joined the cries. He frowned, confusion laced his blue eyes until he got closer to the source.

"-Soap!"

He froze, jumping at the name he heard. He knew Soap, the wolf that lived in these woods along with Gaz and Ghost. He peered through the thick cloud of leaves and gaped. He caught a red cloth and a small - smaller than him and Soap - figure beneath the hulking mass of a wolf, crying and mewling at the ravenous predator. He recognized the vibrant cloth, it was Little Red Riding Hood's recognizable cloak and her voice.

He knew the girl for coming over so often, invited by Nikolai, his husband of decades now. He gulped and backed away, turning away with tensed muscles and a shocked - traumatized, even - expression. He wished he could forget the sight, wipe the memory from his mind.

He wasn't sure if he'd be able to look at Little Red Riding Hood's face without feeling the awkwardness crawl his way up his nape, clinging onto him like a sinful reminder.

[lov3-lik3-ghosts]

just read your Rosalie and Emmett fic and it was SO GOODDDDD!!! would u ever write a part 2??

We’ll Haunt You Through The Night, Love Us Whole

Pairing: Rosalie Hale x reader x Emmett Cullen.

Warnings: Not beta nor proofread. Angst!! Part Two to Hearts and Mercy.

Word Count: 386.

Note: Hope you enjoy, lovely!!

| mother m-list

They haunt you through the nights with the force of falling timber.

Through sleep and out they’re everything you are and more, pumping through your heart like the tresses of their stream. The ice cold water is reminiscent of them over your toes, phantom to the run of their fingers through your hair and the brush of their lips over your skin.

The gleam of the crescented moon smooths over the blanket of night in ways that calls them to the forefront of your mind. Rosalie, a dark beauty fogged with horrors and wonders alike, and Emmett, a beacon for all the good left to be had.

You never did have a place between them. Not when they were destined the way they were, written between the laws of the universe.

Your gaze darts to the opposing side of the creek where a bustle of noise sounds over the trickle of water. There’s nothing to see but the ragid bark of the willows shadowed by night and you curse yourself for thinking of them first of all.

You’ll never be free from them with your weeping heart.

You're lost to the skies again when it resounds once more, a large creak and then crack as the largest branch of the tree across the stream thuds to the ground.

The silence that follows it stills the air; broken by a sound too familiar to the ache in your chest.

“Emmett.” She’s angrier than you’ve ever heard her. Her voice is nothing like you remember, your mind never could do her justice. “I told you not to be on the one I was on.”

“Babe, I’m sorry.” His almost hurts more, guilt-riddled like that night. You don’t think they realise you can see them. You’re torn between turning tail and falling apart where you sit.

They choose for you.

Rosalie’s by your side in a breath, porcelain hands ever so close to touching your skin. The tingle sparking through you dies with the drop of her hands to her sides.

Emmett’s no later, inhaling a breath you know he doesn’t need. His shoulders lower, like a weight looses in him. He used to love your scent.

You wonder if he’s missed it before you remember who left who.

You’re sure you’ll think more on it when you wake.

~ 𐀔 ~ 𐀔 ~ 𐀔 ~

Likes, comments and reblogs are extremely appreciated and very encouraging!

I do not give permission for my work to be reposted or translated on this site or otherwise!

[manethecartoonlover]

Still can’t believe I read breek fics as guilty pleasure once in awhile

Who else misses when most of the Trolls fandom loved Creek anyway and Breek was like the second most popular ship??

[dulltoned]

Notable Dynamics in Kismet!

These are all in relation to my depiction of Kismet and how I write them, you can see my oneshot collection Familiar and New for some more context.

Ablaze and Trickee

- Ablaze and Trickee get along great. Maybe a little too well, they've both got a willingness to throw a punch that can be a little off-putting, especially to Pop Trolls.

- Their first real interaction was Trickee socking Ablaze right in the face and getting a black eye in return. They had a mutual respect for each other after that.

- Both of them are wildly protective even if they show it differently and after Kismet formed it created a strong bond between the two of them.

- As the two oldest they have a sort of comradery between them. There have been nights where they've stayed up late into the morning talking about BroZone and how much they despise them for what they did to Branch. Trickee doesn't mean it, Ablaze does.

Boom and Hype

- They already knew each other, vaguely, before Kismet. Back when they were Trollings in the Troll Tree their pods were fairly close to each other so they played with each other a lot before the great escape.

- Both of them are fairly emotional and positive and in a band full of repressed idiots and that's created a deeper connection between the two.

- They take great pleasure in ganging up on their bandmates to force them to talk about their feelings, especially Ablaze and Branch because it's an 80-20 chance that it'll work when it comes to those two. When they succeed they're very smug about it.

Trickee and Branch

- Trickee latched onto Branch after the whole Creek scenario, how angry and suspicious Branch was broke Trickee's heart, and Branch subconsciously latched on just as hard.

- Trickee has to sneak out to hangout with Branch but he couldn't care less about how much his mother hates the grey Troll.

- Branch tries really hard not to get attached to Trickee but it's hard when Trickee is always by his side with a fond smile and an angry retort for anyone who so much as looks at him wrong. He missed feeling loved and Trickee reminded him what it feels like to have someone who actually cares about him. It terrifies him.

- Trickee is so angry at BroZone and Pop Village on Branch's behalf, his determination to prove to Branch that he's not defective turned into a real and adamant adoration for the younger Troll that attached them at the hip for years. That desperation died down the longer they knew each other but the fire and drive that glued them together never left.

[no-song-so-sweet]

I want to talk about Harry Potter.

Well. Sort of. I want to talk about Harry Potter in a roundabout way, in that, I want to talk about the reaction my friend group had when shit started really going down with That Bitch Rowling.

Because Rowling is a horrible person. She’s a TERF, a denier of Nazi Crimes, homophobic, anti-Semitic, the list goes on and on (and most recently, has been attacking a trans soccer manager, if my dash is to be believed? Somehow, she just seems more cartoonishly evil with each passing day). But this isn’t about That Bitch Rowling, not really. Or if it is, she’s merely a footnote in the story.

Harry Potter was, and I think this is true for many of us, a large part of my childhood. While the writing may be mediocre at best, it was wildly influential. I didn’t know a single kid that wasn’t hoping for a letter to Hogwarts. It was a Big Deal for a lot of people, and that included my friend group. My friend group, which is made up of members of the LGBTQ+ community. My friend group, which includes a young lady who we didn’t always know was a lady. I’m sure you can see where this might be going.

The day I got a tear filled phone call about That Bitch Rowling was, frankly, heartbreaking. She was mad because a woman she had respected up until now didn’t respect her. She wanted to get rid of her copies of the books, but didn’t want to donate them. I never want to hear her cry like that again. So I made a decision.

I told her to hold onto her books for just a little while longer. I phoned the group. I figured out when everyone could get together for a weekend, and when I had hammered out dates, I packed up my car, and drove the six hundred miles back to my childhood home.

In the passenger’s seat, was my set of Harry Potter books.

Excluding my trans friend, there were seven of us. I had made a plan, and my father had the space to enact it - I grew up on acres of land; complete with 200 year old oak tree, creek in the woods in the backyard, and a massive fire pit.

Nostalgia and youth, I find, paint everything with a rose tinted hue; if Rowling had just kept her mouth shut, I’m sure many of us would have looked back on the Harry Potter series with some amount of shame. But I don’t think it would have suffered the sort of fall from grace that led us to this point.

The fire pit is important for several reasons. For example, it had been the popular gathering place for my friend group of literal decades at this point. Small towns mean that you know everyone from a very early age. We lived right beside the woods, so we used the fire pit to burn the leaves, and the branches storms took down, of which there were many. And when the first six of my friends rolled down the half mile driveway that day, I had already collect enough wood to get a decent fire going.

Six of my friends. We told the seventh a later time. We wanted to be prepared, and anyway, we all had the same cargo (six sets of seven books joined mine on a rickety folding table). I put them to work collecting more firewood (is it really a good bonfire if you’re not risking setting the barn on fire?).

By the time our last member rolled up, I had a fire going.

She had her set of those damn books too.

(There is a visceral grief that comes from being let down by your childhood heroes, and I fully believe that That Bitch Rowling embodies the phrase “never meet your heroes,” because folks, as a general rule, I am not a fan of burning books. But I was prepared to make an exception.)

We burned our copies of the Harry Potter books that day, all eight of us. They were well read, beaten to hell and back, with cracked spines, and dents in corners, and pieces of the pages missing where we had bent down the corners one too many times. And I won’t lie to anyone. We cried. Tears of sorrow and rage, for the piece of our childhood that we were choosing to give up, because to keep it would be to disrespect the woman we had known and loved for longer than we’d ever had those books.

Letting go sucked. But it was the right thing to do.

When they were gone, we put out the fire, went inside, and built the pillow fort of our dreams. We marathoned Star Wars, and ordered too many pizzas, and had way too much soda. We fell asleep playing Risk, because that’s what our friend choose, and in the morning, I made waffles with chocolate chips and too much maple syrup.

I wanted to talk about this, not just because this is a fond memory for me (even though it is), but because one of my coworkers confessed to me that they hated Rowling, and everything she stood for, and they refused to have anything else to do with the Harry Potter franchise, but they just couldn’t bring themselves to get rid of the books.

I said I was happy to host another book burning.

But I wanted to write this down because I know that sometimes it’s hard to take that final step, to leave behind that last thing. So for anyone who needs to hear it, it’s okay to grieve the things we loose when we grow up. Letting go can be hard, but I promise you’ll end up better off. It’s been awhile since things really went downhill, but I maintain that, in this case, death of the author is nonexistent, and it is better to have loved and then lost, than to hold on too tight.

Don’t hurt yourself on the shattered remains of your childhood magic.

[junkienet]

✱ LEATHER KISSES ？ king caesar.

fluff ⌇ missing a partner undertone ⸻ ﹙ 𝒜lt ﹒ universe ﹚ established relationships. 𝒻.ᐟreader

the gleam of the bonfire clatters twice , three times. you , with pummeled hands and a mottled nose , rub your buttocks in the gore of wood bound to the muddy lot. the colony of the seditious apes of san francisco , dwelling on the hill south of the muir woods grove , was splashed and sullen. you scan your periphery , zigzagging. up , down; clouds of gloom in the aspect of frond and earthly fields rubricated by gorilla tracks. left , right; wall of stalks and brush , jungle grotto toward the thundering creek.

yawning , you wait for caesar.

panted hoo's and thorax bumps percuss above your skull , the committee's agglomeration is perennial. you wheeze , your chin lands your palm. you lick the blueberry sapidity of your bottom lip , conquering a flimsy sprig. with the apex pointed towards the space between the appendage of your shoes , you tattoo the mud. you sketch a house, with a beaked roof and quadriform windows. then, without effort, you draw a heart. you indolently grope to compose it captivating by attaching bird—y propellers. with your head warped , you doodle a pair of ocelli eyes similar to a grassy meadow and twinkling suns , worn and human. the bonfire clatters four , five times. you , with troubled legs and eager fingers , miss caesar.

you hammer the denouement with the branch among your digits , with each roll the din of the council members disengage to their huts with wobbles on their haunches and shoulders. your orbs pirouette above the circumference of your larynx , running a folded lip , pinched nose and exhausted eyes.

of grassy meadows and twinkling suns.

you impel the twig to the fire , the flare zapping in sumptuousness. the aloque bubbling that scorched your cheek is cornered behind the indigo and avid glow. your feet wiggle squiggly between earth and vegetation , and the ape king sways donnishly in your midnight collision. he grunts and exhales, steepening his head downward. his leathery forehead kisses the sweaty skin amidst your brow.

the bonfire clatters six, seven times. caesar, pompous—chested and cheeks fluffed in erudition, had missed you too.

SEXY JUTSU LIKE NARUTO ©JUNKIENET ╱ 2024.

[secretpostsposts]

What would happen if Branch decided to leave with no notice 👀👀

He recognizes his relationship with his brothers isn't healthy and he isn't happy. So he packs up what clothes he was able to hide away. So maybe he and Creek leave in the middle of the night as that's kinda become the only friend that stayed.

What would the brothers do? How would they react when they realize that they don't know where Branch would go because they never listened to him.

Your works give me LIFEEEE

Absolute chaos

Clay would try to use logic and be as serious and calm as possible with Branch's "friends" to know if they have seen him, each one would tell him a place and after looking and not finding Branch, Clay would also fall into total panic, he enters Branch's room and sees that things are missing (something that the brothers in good faith let Branch keep for good attitude), and after not seeing Creek, Clay would know what happened.

Bruce (who was on Vacay Island would find out from a letter sent by Clay, and one from Floyd totally insane asking if Branch was on the island) would be devastated, and after telling Brandy about Branch's apparently missing (Brandy has no idea of the true situation, she and her sons and daughter, they think Bruce is making up for lost time with Branch, at some point Brandy will come in, I think) so he goes to Pop Village to help with the situation, He knows they won't find Branch, not anytime soon or anytime soon, and he knows it's his fault and everyone else's, but he doesn't want to lose his brother, not again.

Those who take it the worst are John Dory and Floyd.

Floyd is a walking mess, he doesn't get out of the bunker because if he does he could blow his in front of everyone and he doesn't want that, but he also spends a lot of time in the driveway just waiting to see when Branch comes back (at this point Creek may be the only reason Branch didn't turn around and go back to his brothers, they may have made Branch very dependent on them if they managed to get all of their friends on their side and didn't leave Branch with a lot of options, So if Creek is being or trying to be a good friend), Floyd would try to manipulate one of Branch's bounty hunter friends (we all know he became close to the K-pop gang and the gang of Regetton, and Hickory) into looking for Branch using Creek as a scapegoat by saying that he kidnapped Branch or something.

John Dory, he's worse than Floyd, he's an adventurer, he's lived a lot and done a lot of things, and he's got Rhonda, and while Branch and Creek are on foot, John moves faster, and I'm pretty sure John knows how to track and Rhonda is an animal, I say I can track Clay, she can track Branch, but Branch is a survivor so they're both 50/50, John would be a complete hunter, and his prey is Branch (and if this really happened in the fic, I'd have to put the Yandere John Dory tag, Because John would kill Creek to prevent Branch from escaping again, if he would be that crazy.)

And when he catches him, Branch will have a tracker, a new trauma, and there will be a chain in his room and a padlock on the door (maybe Bruce will have to tell Brandy just to help him come to his senses)

But if that would happen, and I like that you like my job B:]

[lixxen]

(pulls out notes and glasses)

Here's a ton of scenes I am going to update previous chapters of my feral Branch AU with before I post the Trolls 3 portion. No particular order since I don't know where I'm going to put them yet (I'm nowhere done with Trolls 3 OR the extras chapter)

Branch grooming Poppy like a cat

Branch losing his baby teeth and his fangs come in

Branch hunting creatures

The Snack Pack full intro (emphasis on Creek)

Branch as a kid by himself in the wild

Branch figuring out plumbing and water systems

Branch forming his own writing system over the years

Branch with Satin and Chanelle

Branch interacting with trollings

Branch seeing BroZone merch within the village

Poppy and Branch hanging out Post 1, Pre World Tour (have a conversation about Creek)

Post Trolls 1, Poppy opens up about an uncle who she misses. He left the village one day almost ten to fifteen years ago. This will be Jason Schwartzman's character from the original concepts of the movie.

Bridget and Poppy scrapbooking while Branch watches. Talk about Trolls Holiday

And then here's a few scenes that will either be in an Extras Chapter or the Trolls 3 chapter

Putt Putt OC with Clay at sad book club

Viva and Clay meeting! (Viva is feral after she disappears for about three years; after putting together the putt putts. Clay is gray during this time)

JD going to the troll tree to find Branch but it's empty

Floyd and his adventure outside of the troll tree

JD and Grayer (this won't make sense right now)

And if you got this far, I want someone's genuine opinion. The parts right now are really big, 15k words each almost, and I feel like they're too long. Should I chunk them up more? Just so it's digestible. Mostly after I get the other parts done.

Idk. I'll ask the readers on AO3 but I thought I'd ask yall

[gooppoo]

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

my baby, my baby

Requests Open!

warnings: none, a tad of angst

A/N: my first request yipee!!

Jake knew your English was rocky. Particularly slang.

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

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

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

"Elephant ear, that's right baby."

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

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

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

"Y/n-?"

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

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

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

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

"Hey darling."

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

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

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

"And what does that mean?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes snapped in his direction, narrowing lethally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[delulu-royaltea]

Mischaracterization in The Trolls fandom (And Fandom in General)

Some people miss the point of the character and that's okay. But what's not okay is being annoying about how much you misinterpret.

Some people need better media literacy. Because some people (not naming names), miss the point of Brozone entirely. The point is that they have flaws. But those flaws aren't their entire personality.

Some of y'all really compare what Creek did, to what the Brozone Brothers did

Creek: Helped in the attempted genocide of Pop trolls.

Brozone: Abandoned Branch.

Like....how are those even slightly comparable. But the real problem is the mischaracterization. IM SHOWING SOME POSTS. (IM NOT SHOWING WHO POSTED THEM BC I DON'T WANT THEM TO GET HARRASSED.) but this bitch missed the point so bad and is a hypocrite.

This kids is called an unreliable narrator.

BECAUSE YOU ONLY DESCRIBED CREEK ON THE SURFACE. Creek was a lying, manipulative asshole who did nothing but belittle Branch and try to get Poppy to abandon him. This only works because you cut out crucial details. Barely scratching Creeks deeds while hyper focusing on Brozones mistakes

The mischaracterization makes sense since the person had "Creek fan" in their bio. And the "Emotionally tearing him down" Bruce calling him a baby ONCE. And they DID feel bad AFTER BRANCH CALLED THEM OUT. So your point is completely wrong.

and this is what they wanted Branch to do as revenge. Idk what that means but.. it sounds like they wanted him to become an abuser. Like wtf. You're whole bio says you "overanalyze kids shows and movies". Like bitch huh? Not only is this completely out of character for Branch but have you ever heard 2 wrongs don't make a right?

Branch already got his "revenge" by rubbing it in his brothers faces that he joined a band. That's in character. BECOMING AN ABUSER IS NOT.

How can someone mischaracterize so hard and anytime this user was told about how they were missing the point. They throw a temper tantrum. There is no point reasoning with these kinds of people.

But this is a bigger problem. The "woobification" of Branch. He's not some "Sad Uwu Poor Baby 🥺" like some people will see a character with trauma and make it their entire personality. (I say that while Total Eclipse of The Heart is mainly about his trauma). And the demonization of the brothers, all of a sudden their some "Heartless assholes who twamatizewd Poor Wittle Bwanch🥺 and never showed any remorse.😡"

What's this then? 🤨

This is an issue for Fandom in General. People will mischaracterize so much that it ruins the original content

Some examples of which being:

Jax (TADC)

Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)

Vox (Hazbin Hotel)

William Afton (FNaF)

Yukari Takaeba (Persona)

Jotaro Kujo (JoJo's Bizarre Adventure)

Goku (Dragon Ball/Z/Super)

That's not even all of them!

It's even become a whole meme that fanon is so far off that it's unrecognizable from the original. A character can mention they like coffee ONCE and it's their whole personality.

I know this is a long post but I have seen so much Brozone hate that completely mischaracterizes them.

If you made it this far thank you for reading this

[empressgeekt]

Ok but what if JD had come back/found the Pop Village before or even during Trolls 1? Like, all we know about bis travels is he seemed to mainly stick to the Neverglades but he is confirmed to have returned to the Tree at least once only to find the place dead and empty, and we don't know exactly when that was. What if he had searched around more and found the Village, or at least Branch's Bunker on the edge of the village?

I can imagine after a justifiably explosive reunion, he might still doing his wandering thing but stay close by, even sending presents and souvenirs for Branch and Keith from his travel, visiting every holiday (well, major holiday they actually give a shit about). Maybe make an effort to reach out to and potentially locate their other brothers because as much as he loves his grumpy baby brother, he's worried about Branch and hopes reuniting Brozone could at least cheer him up a bit. Maybe he encourages Keith's idea about Branch becoming the Forest Guardian as well, teasing him about how it might be a way to get closer to the Princess he's crushing on (Branch vehemently argues he does not, has never, and will never have a crush on Poppy).

Honestly I think that on his way into the village, JD would get caught in one of Branch's net traps. Rhonda can't get him down, and after hanging there for hours (admiring the both the foliage and the work of the trap itself, it's a beautiful survival tool), a little mossy colored trolling finds him, and cuts him down. John would be a little worried about a very small child alone in the middle of the forest, asking if his parents know where he is, but Keith would quickly shut that down, by saying that his parents were dead but his big brother made sure he was safe. John would lament this as Keith leads him back to he village, as Keith's family situation hits close to home, and he really sympathized with Keith's older brother (who at the moment john thought was an older teenager), being saddled with a kid so young, like he had been. When john asks about his own family, Keith claims not to know any trolls, by the names of "Spruce, Clay, Floyd or Bitty B."

Once in the village, JD would spend a few days wallowing in grief and signing autographs, since apparently even after twenty years Brozone is still popular. John can't even be happy about his art doing well, his family wasn't here. After a few days he plans on leaving. This place can be home if his bros aren't here. Poppy and Creek approaches him as he's packing, and want to help. They also confirm that their isn't any trolls by by his brother's stage names...stage names...

"Is there anyone named Branch in the village?"

Poppy tells him there is enthusiastically. Creek does so with fake pity. Still John doesn't pay any attention to their tone only runs off in the direct of the forest outskirts of the village, feeling incredibly stupid for not asking for Branch's proper name and almost missing his brother's house by a few yards. He was not expecting for the same mossy trolling to open the door to the bunker, and for his baby brother to be gray, and pissed off at him.

Branch is not happy to see John Dory. While he wasn't the closest to John as a baby, he does know that a lot of the fighting was between John and Clay and no way was he letting that type of conflict around Keith. So, he shuts john out and pretends he doesn't exist.

John despite the less then welcoming reunion is way to hyped up on long dormant big bro instincts to take the hint. His baby brother is grey, a single parent, and living all alone. There was definitely not a happy backstory there. He has to protect him. After a week or two of camping outside the bunker door (Branch has several exits from the bunker other then the main one so he can just avoid John) and getting nothing he switches tactics. He had no idea what Branch's schedule is, but he does know that Keith goes to school, and starts to follow the trolling during the day. It comes off as incredibly creepy, to everyone but John.

Keith tells Branch about this, and the grey troll has no choice but to hear john out, since while he knows that John isn't creepy, just dumb, he can't have John behavior (no doubt that his older brother had told the whole village they're brothers) reflecting on him. The last thing he needs is the Foster System breathing down his neck about how John could be a "danger" to Keith, Adopted or not they would take the kid given the chance.

The after math of the conversation is John Dory being allowed into Branch and Keith's lives on a probation period and several conditions. Every hoop John is given he jumps through. And slowly he gets to know Branch again. He tries to get Branch to sing, but Keith would cut in saying, "Why do you want him to sing, you want to re-traumatize him?"

JD is out on a long supply trip when the whole wolf thing happens, but he's in full support of the whole Forest Guardian thing, much to Branch's annoyance. He and Keith nudge him towards playing the role. After the whole 20th Anniversary Party, John Drives both Branch and Poppy back to bergentown (the trip is very confusing for John due to the whole time he's trying not to call branch by his name). Rhonda threatens Cloud guy into telling them which tunnel to take inside. He does not agree with the whole dating plan, but he throws his machete at Creek when he turns traitor.

It takes everything for him not the breakdown at the sight of the chef attacking Branch. Suddenly he's fourteen and watching his mom and dad get carried off, only this time it was the tiny egg his mom handed off to him all grown up at the mercy of the Bergen. Branch survives of course, but the long months of recovery and rehabilitation is hard. John keeps things together, grits his teeth and bares it. He takes care of Keith, and even helps out with the rebuilding of the village. He can't see the bergens again, so he stays home.

John becomes one of Branch's main informants with all his traveling knowledge and a survival teacher at the training grounds. He's left in charge of village security during TWT, and panics when he can't find Keith after Branch and poppy left for the other tribes. He still gets the letter in TBT, but he's at the bunker when it happens (branch didn't get one since it's made out to his stage name and he doesn't go by it). Branch and Keith see it, and call trap, but John needs to at least check it out. He comes back just as the wedding is ending, and ropes Branch into the plan....and I let this get away from me sorry.

[simplydannie]

Previous: Back to the Underground || Find Them ||Poisoned || Side Effects || The Troll || The Hideout

OC: Tye || Vaughn Montegue

This part of the story will contain an update to the Under Rageous AU! As well as beginning to feature some various kinds Rageons you will find down there! Thank you all for your patience as I finally update the story!

After avoiding Shank and his gang, Branch and the twins find themselves in an under-city Troll hideout where they come across the leader: Creek.

Branch doesn’t trust him… He knows Creek is always up to something…. And this time, it involves the twins.

Branch squirmed and squirmed underneath the tight barbed wire net.

He felt the twins squirming beside him, he felt their anxiety grow…Especially Veneers. He turned to look at the Rageon….He was shaking, tears forming in his eyes….He was afraid.

“Veneer, you have to calm down.” Branch told him.

“Oh yes mate! Calm little Rageon. Caallllmmmm.” Creek mocked.

“Shut it Freak!” Branch spat.

“After all this time, same old Branch. Tell me, hows my lovely girl Poppy? She still miss me?” Creek smirked.

A scowl grew across Branch’s face, “Don’t you DARE say her name again. After what you did?”

“I hate to interrupt the formalities, but….LET US GO!!!” Velvet yelled, her voice echoing in the sewage Troll hideout. The Trolls stood there guard, some pulling out tiny little weapons and pointing them at the twins. “Seriously? I can use those to pick under my nails.”

“V-Vels, I d-don’t do well in tight spaces.” Veneer’s breathing began to quicken.

“LET US OUT TROLL!” Velvet spat.

Branch looked at Tye. He stood behind Creek rubbing his arm; his eyes quickly met Branches before he averted them. It was then Branch spoke, “Tye come on. Tell them the twins are fine. That they mean no harm. Veneer actually saved me…and Velvet, well shares bearable at the moment.”

“I will squash you.”

“You’re not helping!”

There was a moment of silence between them, Tye was about to speak before Creek interrupted, “Now Branch, you don’t fool us. We known who these guys are. The infamous Velvet and Veneer! Mount Rageous’s most prized possessions…as well as Under Rageous am I right?”

Branch looked up at the twins with a questionable look, “Under Rageous? I thought they hated you guys down here?”

“….They do..” Velvet responded.

“Oh what’s this? I see they haven’t told you the whole truth have they, mate? Think they’re the lonely orphans that survived down here all on their own?”

“We did.” Velvet’s tone was calm, serious, yet there was an anger behind it…The words Creek was saying was hitting a sore spot, but Branch was having a hard time figuring that out. The conniving, purple Troll giggled, there was a malicious look in his eyes…Branch saw it, and so did Tye. The young gray Troll stared at him as confusion struck his face…

“Floyd thought he knew the truth about you too, but oh boy did you surprise him.” Creek smirked. At the mention of his brother’s name branch snapped.

“Hey leave my brother out of this…” But then a realization hit him, “You know him? H-how?”

“All thanks to these two lovely Succubi here.”

“DON’T CALL US THAT!” Velvet screamed. Veneer turned to his sister…he could see the pink glow beginning to form in her eyes…

“…no…no…no. Vels? Vels? Come on, Vels stay with me. Ignore him. He’s trying to get to you.” He warned. Branch looked to see what Veneer was talking about…he saw it too….

“What’s happening?” He asked.

“Why my dear girl do you try to hide your roots? You two are part of an empire here in the under-city! An empire of course that could’ve made it to the city-line if it wasn’t for your stupidity, mate.” Creek looked at Veneer, “Pity. You were always the screw up though.”

Veneer stayed silent, he knew more than to answer this Troll. He wiggled and moved but couldn’t break free of the snare they were in…the more he moved, the more it tightened.

“DONT YOU DARE CALL MY BROTHER A SCREW UP! DON’T YOU DARE!”

“Oh! Did I hit a sour spot with that one? Why did someone else maybe call you a screw up?….Close family relations perhaps?” Creek kept pressing on. So that’s what he was doing….He WAS trying to set Velvet off…He was trying to anger her….

“Creek enough! Leave the kid alone!” Branch defended.

“Mmmmm no. I don’t think so.” He smiled viscously, “You know who you remind me a lot of….

“Don’t you DARE say it.” Velvet warned as the glow in her eyes grew. Veneer tried to reach out for his sister. He tried to touch her, to soothe her…but he couldn’t.

“…..Your father…”

….She lost it, “YOU STUPID TROLL!!” With glowing eyes, she began to tear at the barbed wire, cutting her hands as she attempted to break free. The poisons effect allowed for the feeling of pain to diminish, she kept clawing and tearing, swearing under her breath at the purple Troll…

Velvet began to go on a rampage underneath the snared trap. Tye and the other Trolls watched in fear as she did so. Branch had no where to move, he was stuck. Veneer quickly put a protective hand over the little Troll as Velvet began twisting and squirming in an attempt to set herself free. As she lashed out, she felt her hand come in contact with something…her nails dug in…She didn’t realize what it was until she heard the horrid cry of pain and a name being called out…

“Ven!” She heard Branches voice yell. Veneer still had one protective hand covering Branch, with the other he held over his eye…it was his face her nails had dug into….she could see where she tore off his skin…blood dripping to the ground.

“….Ven?” The poison began to diminish at the realization that she had just hurt her brother, “Oh…My god….I’m….I’m sorry….”

Creek watched and observed every little detail, “Interesting. Very interesting…..Insomnia seeds. NOW!” The Trolls at his command launched some seeds towards the twins.

“Wait. NO! Guys hold your breath!” Branch warned…but it was too late. The seeds had already landed by their feet, releasing the spores into the air. They began taking effect on the twins as they swayed under the snare trap…They both landed with a giant THUMP on the ground, shaking it under Branch’s feet.

“Velvet! Veneer!” Branch called out again…but they were out under deep sleep.

“Grab him.” Creek said. Two Trolls rushed to Branch pulling him from under the trap and out of Veneer’s hand.

“Let me go! Let us all go! They didn’t do anything wrong! This idiot caused her to do that! It wasn’t her fault! He’s bleeding! Come on man, the kid is still bleeding!” Branch protested. He fussed and squirmed until eventually he landed a kick to one of the Trolls causing him to let go. He ran back towards the slumbering twins under the snare.

“Guys! Guys! Come on you HAVE to wake up!” He reached through an opening. Grabbing hold of Veneer’s red hoodie, Branch shook and pulled attempting to wake the Rageon up. “Veneer!” A firm grip grasped his shoulders and pulled him away from the Rageon. He kicked and fought again, but this time he had no luck. The Trolls who held him brought him to Creek. Branch looked up at the purple Troll who only held a triumphant smirk.

“Word advice mate, you need to stop picking the loosing side. It never works out.”

“What the heck are you talking about?” Branch demanded.

“You’ll see mate. You’ll see. These two are no longer your concern. I’ll take care of it from here thank you.” He waved them off.

“What are you talking about!” Branch demanded as they pulled him away. They dragged him by Tye who only carried a sorrowful look.

“I’m sorry. I tried warning you…” He told Branch.

“Whatever you do kid, don’t believe him. He’s a liar and rat.” He got dragged away, “A liar and a rat you hear me!” He called out before disappeared. Tye felt a pat on his shoulders.

“Now, don’t worry about him mate. He’ll be fine. He’s one of us after all remember!” Creek smiled.

“Right….What about these two?” Tye motioned to the giant sleeping Rageons underneath the wired netting…Veneer’s face still freshly wounded. “Maybe we should bandage him up?”

“Naw, he’ll be fine. Now let’s get word out that we have them….we have their precious twins.”

Branch had been throw into some type of cellar…somewhere they throw there captives or prisoners, he assumed.

“Typical Creek.” He murmured to himself. There were openings to the skylight way above, but Under Rageous was always so gloomy, Branch couldn’t tell what time of day it was, all he knew was that he had been stuck for hours. No food, nothing to drink… Being trapped by Creek was not a good sign. What went over and over in his mind was how well Creek made it seem that he knew the twins, that he had known Floyd too. Was there more to the twins that Branch had originally thought? Were they still here?

“I have to get out of here and find them.” He told himself…funny…early on he would want nothing to do with the twins. He’d would’ve want to get as far away from them as possible. But something in his gut was telling him something else…that he had to find them…Something about them reminded him of the relationship he had with his brothers…oddly enough. He walked to the prison door and peeked around…no guards…no one…. He shook the bars, hoping they’d move or budge, but they were solid. Branch leaned his head against the prison bars and at that moment Poppy crossed his mind. He closed his eyes as he recollected his memories of her: her smile, her laugh, her voice, her touch…He missed her and he could only imagine how worried she was. Branch knew Poppy was the type to go out and look for him, and he did not want her coming to this horrid place…He had to make sure she didn’t…but how was he going to get to the twins then back to her?

The sound of a door being open was heard. Branch backed away from the prison bars…to his surprise his eyes fell upon a young gray Troll….Tye.

“What are doing down here?” He asked, his tone coming out more vile than it should have.

Tye took note of that, “…I’m sorry…I didn’t mean….I didn’t think this was going to happen.”

“Well look around kid…It did. You betrayed me, and you betrayed those kids too.”

“They’re Rageons….”

“They’re kids! Just like you! Troll, Rageon…it doesn’t matter.”

“….They hurt your brother. How can you not hate them?”

“I do!”

“Then why did you help them?”

“…..I don’t know…..”

“Why do you want to help them now?”

“….I don’t know!” And that was the truth….Branch didn’t know. That small moment he had with Veneer told him more about the kid than the fight he had with him up in Mount Rageous a year ago now….There was something more to the story…there always was. And the way Veneer talked about Floyd…there was history.

“…It’s a mystery. Something I want to figure out.” Branch finally admitted.

“But what about your girl?…Don’t you want to get back to her?” Tye asked.

“I do. More than anything…”

“…..But…..You don’t want to leave the twins behind….”

“……No…..”

Tye sighed. He didn’t understand, he didn’t know how to. But one thing was for certain….Something strange had been happening around The Hideout ever since he was younger, Tye couldn’t put a foot on it…till today…He pulled out a key from his pocket and opened the prison gate. Branch’s ears perked up.

“…You’re…Letting me go? Did Creek allow this?” Branch asked.

“He doesn’t know. Come with me…you have to see something. But we have to be quick…or we’ll miss the call.”

“Call? What call?”

Tye had lead Branch in the upper air systems of The Hideout. No Troll would really roam through there, except for Tye of course, “We’re almost there.” He whispered as Branch followed. After a while Tye came to a stop. He pointed down. Peeking through the open airway Branch saw they were looking down into a room: a communications room.

“Whoa. We have none of this stuff back home.”

“We’re in Rageous, we take advantage of the tech they have lying around.”

Branch could see Creek pacing back and forth, his arms were crossed, he kept on murmuring to himself, “What’s got him all turned up?”

“Shh. You’ll see.”

Within moments something beeped, a red light flashing on a small computer. Creek took a deep sigh and pressed the button.

“Just in time sir….” Creek responded. There was no picture, just a deep voice booming from the speaker.

“What happened to his face?”

“H-his what?” Creek stuttered. Branch knew Creek, he wouldn’t stutter unless he felt threatened…or intimidated.

“….My son’s face. Why is it scratched up?”

Son?

“…Well his sister had a bit of a manic episode sir….”

“….Something you caused I presume.”

“N-no sir, I would never…”

“DONT. YOU. DARE. LIE. I know my daughter.” The voice warned.

Daughter, wait…that means… The voice on the other line, it could only be one person. But how?

“….I’m….I’m sorry sir.”

“She’s after them isn’t she?”

“I think so, mate, I mean sir! They were running away from someone who worked for her.”

“She’s not going to stop.”

“Why do you just let her have the boy? I mean, he won’t benefit you much. He’s a bit of a yapper if you don’t mind me saying..” But Creek had too much, he knew, because dead silence fell on the other side of the line…. Creek had angered him.

“If you ever say another word like that about my son….you will regret the day I let you live. Don’t over extend my mercy on you and your little group of ants. I know where you dwell. I know where you are all located….Have we forgotten?”

“N-no, sir.” Branch could see Creek beginning to shiver in fear.

“The only reason you serve my benefit is you knowing the location of the Trolls around the Troll kingdom. Do we have a location for more Trolls?”

“Y-yes sir.”

“Good. Send them my way. We’re done….For now.” The line fell silent. Creek buckled and fell to his knees. Branch’s fist tightened into a ball, he made his way back out of the airway system.

“Branch!” Tye called after him.

“That….low life…little weasel…” Branch began to murmur.

“Branch wait!”

“He’s the one who’s been selling us out! He’s the one giving these Rageons our location! That’s how they knew where Pop Troll Village was! Oh my god. Oh my god! Poppy, my brothers, they’re not safe! They know…They all know. No Troll is safe…” Branch paced back and forth, his anxiety building.

“Then we go! We go warn them!”

“That man….on the other line…” He looked towards Tye, “…..He’s the twins dad isn’t he?”

Tye nodded, “….He’s the meanest Rageon you’ll ever meet Branch. You DON’T want to come across him…or that family…at all.”

“…Floyd said that their parents were dead…”

“…They lied. The twins have lied about a lot of things…obviously.”

“…I….I have to go get them…”

“What?!”

“I know it’s crazy! But something isn’t adding up. I don’t think….I don’t think they wanted to be found. Where are they? Do you have an idea?”

Tye twiddled his thumbs, “….Yes…..”

“Where Tye?!”

“…They’re in the one place in Under Rageous you don’t want to go to Branch….”