#i mean did tyrone not notice the tattoo

[avenirdelight]

“what do you mean you’ve got a little one?” “ten months, bro.” “no way.” “yeah!” “congrats, mate. what is it?” “a boy!” “happy father’s day!!” “HAHAHAHAHA”

(i’m not that good at listening so please correct me if i’m wrong but did tyrone really not know that dec’s a father??)

[burningtacozombie]

“Whatchu mean, she ain’t your girl? Bro, you got that grade of hottie in yo’ crib and you ain’t tappin’ it? Pfft, what’s wrong with you? Crazy assed fuckboy.” 

this guy just doesn’t know when to shut the fuck up. I want to like Guero’s neighbor, I’m really trying but man he’s gotta meet me halfway. Tyrone’s not making it easy.

Little did she know that they’d remained in boxes for a reason, Guero not able to face removing them all, being reminded of memories from his childhood. He sorely missed those days, his dad cranking out Motley Crue, Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath and Soundgarden, to name but four of Ibarra’s favourites, all at window rattling decibels.

aww, we need more memories of baby Guero and his dad. going through your dad’s things is painful babe and sometimes you need someone else’s to do it for you, I get that.

He was confused at how badly she’d misunderstood his surprise. “Woah, it’s alright. I’m not mad, blue eyes.” Moving to her, her crouched, resting a hand to her back. The muscles beneath his touch immediately knotted in tension. “It’s okay, I just... I didn’t expect all of this. It’s not your job to clean my mess, but I gotta say I appreciate it.” [...]

The stammers again. It pinched at his chest, to see and hear her so unravelled, wondering even more just what the hell kind of situation she’d fled to crumble like that so quickly. He hadn’t even raised his voice. Hell, he hadn’t even been angry in the slightest, yet she’d read his surprise as negative.

of course he’s surprised to come back into a clean home. that poor girl, she’s definitely been through hell and back and having a reaction like that does make one wonder how truly awful it was. whatever it was baby girl, you’re safe with Guero. he’s not going to hurt you.

When she turned, she almost dropped the dish she was placing onto the counter. Oh, hell. He had the kind of physique that came from dedication to the gym, a lean waist, ripped abs and a thick chest, the mass of his upper arms and shoulders perhaps the most impressive where bulk was considered. She’d also never seen anyone with that kind of tattoo coverage before either. What was more, she liked it. [...]

Of course, he’d noticed her taking a moment to check him out, and usually he’d have been playful in response to that, him and his big mouth engaging in a little flirtation. He spared her, though, thinking it was adorable how furiously she blushed. “Yeah, I’m a walking canvas at this point. Anyway, won’t be long.”

ha, anyone would have that reaction at seeing him shirtless for the first time and discovering that sexy canvas. I literally choked on my own spit when I saw him shirtless for the first time, lmao. he’s fucking gorgeous and no amount of trauma can overwrite that. <3 however I’m glad he didn’t make a big deal of her reaction.

His lips thinned in thought, considering his options. “Emma, are we about to get into a whole heap of shit for harbouring a mafia boss’s wife? You haven’t told me much, but that’s kinda what I’m assuming, that you got into that shipping container cuz’ you needed to vanish from a bad marriage without a trace, rather than heading to the airport. I dunno, or were you his...” he trailed off, snapping his fingers. “What do they call ‘em, the woman on the side? The goomada?”

here we go, the important questions coming up. I was wondering when they would actually start talking and when he would get her to open up. at least a little bit. 

For her comfort, he left it, watching her begin to relax her drawn up shoulders as he started to talk about his life. “Okay, I’ll start at the beginning. I was born Guero Ramiro Ortiz on December twentieth, nineteen ninety-three. Interestingly, Guero wasn’t supposed to be my name at all. Dad started calling me that from the moment I was born, because I was light skinned like him. That’s what the word means, basically. Kinda more nickname than anything else. They liked it and it stuck, though. I like it better than being called Hector, as my mom wanted to call me, after her father.

when I say I squeaked, not you GIVING HIM MY BIRTHDAY!!! OMG BLESS YOUR SOUL! and he’d still be hot as a Hector, lmao.

His lips pressed a kiss to her forehead, her heart somersaulting in her chest at such a gesture. Forehead kisses from a man. They were alien to her entirely, but how sweet to be treated to one. 

forehead kisses are wildly underrated, and I want one from him too! <3 

Just then, his phone began to ring, pulling it from his pocket. “Speak of the devil.” Sipping his beer, he answered after a pause. “’Sup, Mr Magoo?”

[...]

“What did he lose?”

“The damned van keys! Told him, put ‘em behind the bar or straight in Hank’s hand, but no. You’d think with how thick his fucking glasses are, he’d never lose anything. Fucking Amsco window face!”

:D I love him so fucking much, oh my god. :D 

Seeing her face lit up, it made his heart skip on a beat. It’d been a while since he’d experienced that. “It’s nice, seeing you relax more.”

Nodding, she looked down at Axl for a moment, her lashes fluttery when her eyes found his. “That’s because of you. Thanks for being my safe person.”

[...]

“Glad I can be, blue eyes.” He winked, and it sent her insides into a fizz, once again beginning to chew at her thumb.

aww, they’re already so down for each other, sparks are flying. love to see it. <3 <3

He undressed to his boxers and climbed in, making sure he didn’t invade her space, Emma removing her sweats and placing them on the floor.  

“Fair warning, I’m told I snore loudly,” he spoke quietly, fluffing the pillows.

“Yeah, so do I. Full on mouth breathing and hissing,” she revealed, making him chuckle quietly. “G’night, Guero.”

they both snore, that’s a match made in heaven xD

 “I h-had a nightmare,” she panted, Guero tightening his arms around her, pulling her onto his lap.  

“Yeah, I guessed.” He waited until she calmed, feeling her breathing begin to steady, her trembles subsiding. “Look, I know you don’t wanna talk about whatever it is you ran from, but I kinda think you might have to. I think you need help, Emma. This shit, it isn’t normal, or good for you.”

he’s right baby girl, you need help. and it might need more help than Guero can give you. the only way out is through, as painful as that is.

She lay curled against him, face buried against his neck, her breathing speeding and then slowing, her muscles tensing and slackening again as she wrestled with whatever it was up in her head that was terrifying her.

[...]

While she settled into sleep, Guero lay awake for a time, beginning to worry about her going out into the world without dealing with her past. The way she remained clung onto him in those dead of night hours was telling, though. He doubted that any place where he wasn’t was a viable option in her terrified mind.

babe you’re her safe person, she said so herself. she’s not ready for the outside world and even if she was, she wouldn’t explore any of it without you. you didn’t know what you signed up for but you’ve done great this far, you can get her through this and hopefully at the other side of it happiness is waiting for both of you. <3

Lost & Found - Chapter Six

Guys! I'm sorry this is a few hours late! I threw myself into getting everything done early this morning so I can relax for the rest of the day, but here you go, update is here! I'm so pleased you're all enjoying it, thanks for the lovely feedback you've been kind enough to leave. I truly appreciate it :)

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five

Words - 3,572

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, Minors DNI. Recounts of kidnap, child trafficking, physical/verbal/sexual abuse in the coming chapters.

Even under the darkness of nightfall, the difference was stark. Riding onto his driveway at just gone 11pm, Guero killed the engine, climbing from his bike and removing his helmet, eyes widening at the front yard. The grass was immaculately mown and raked, the border edged, the tree trimmed, and path swept. Although he had all the necessary tools to do it, he’d only bothered twice since arriving.  

“Hey, fuckboy!” A flurry of curtains revealed Tyrone, chomping uncouthly upon a candy bar of some description as he stuck his head from the window. “You better get in there and give that fine assed girl of yours a damned good dickin’ in thanks. She been out there all afternoon, breakin’ her back!” 

“She ain’t my girl, homes,” he called back, still a little stunned at how good it all looked.  

“Whatchu mean, she ain’t your girl? Bro, you got that grade of hottie in yo’ crib and you ain’t tappin’ it? Pfft, what’s wrong with you? Crazy assed fuckboy.”  

“Later, Tyrone.” he called, letting himself into the house. Inside, his surprise only grew more, the immediate smell of freshness hitting him. Everything was pristinely clean, everywhere tidy, his eyes scanning further at the details. So that was what colour his tan couch was, beneath the ground in dust and dirt. Fuck, the leather sheened once more, and his carpet! It was actually fluffy again.  

Back when he’d moved in, he’d bought some storage baskets that had remained in their packaging, Guero having every intention to actually fill them, but never getting to it. Not only had she filled them but added a neatly written label to each.  

He had labels?! 

“Magazines, bits and pieces, dog toys.” He spoke, smiling, his eyes then taking in something he wasn’t expecting to see across the room; all of his dad’s vinyl collection and record player placed out on the unit, the hundreds of classic and modern rock albums, all catalogued alphabetically. Everything was organised, and beautifully so.  

Little did she know that they’d remained in boxes for a reason, Guero not able to face removing them all, being reminded of memories from his childhood. He sorely missed those days, his dad cranking out Motley Crue, Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath and Soundgarden, to name but four of Ibarra’s favourites, all at window rattling decibels. 

“Emma? Where you at?” he called, the bathroom door suddenly opening, the fresh smells of disinfectant and bleach hitting his nose, Emma in a pair of rubber gloves appearing.  

“Hey, I was just finishing the tiles,” she spoke, wiping her clammy forehead on the back of her arm. “How are you?” 

“Fucking surprised as hell at what I’ve come home to, shit,” he spoke, her eyes suddenly widening. 

“Oh, oh I, I’m sorry. I sh-should have asked if you minded. I’m sorry, I didn’t m-mean to overstep, I shouldn’t have, I’m so sorry. Please d-don’t be mad.” Her reaction went from zero to a hundred, her panicked babble delivered at speed, suddenly crouching, wrapping her arms around her head. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”  

He was confused at how badly she’d misunderstood his surprise. “Woah, it’s alright. I’m not mad, blue eyes.” Moving to her, her crouched, resting a hand to her back. The muscles beneath his touch immediately knotted in tension. “It’s okay, I just... I didn’t expect all of this. It’s not your job to clean my mess, but I gotta say I appreciate it.” 

Eventually she revealed herself, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “You mean it? You’re n-not mad?” 

The stammers again. It pinched at his chest, to see and hear her so unravelled, wondering even more just what the hell kind of situation she’d fled to crumble like that so quickly. He hadn’t even raised his voice. Hell, he hadn’t even been angry in the slightest, yet she’d read his surprise as negative.  

“Of course, I’m not mad.” He slowly reached to cup the side of her face, thumb stroking the apple of her cheek, Emma feeling herself relax, a pleasant little tingle fluttering through her stomach. “Now, you need to tell me what in the hell else you made that smells so damned good, because it’s making my stomach rumble!” 

She pulled off her gloves, standing up, her smile shy, not able to look him in the eyes for that moment as bashfulness tugged at her. “Lasagne.”  

“Yeah? Shit, haven’t had any of that in years. Lead the way.” They moved into the kitchen, Guero taking in the extent of her cleaning, everything utterly spotless, the fresh scent mingling with the scent coming from the oven.  

“I ate already. It’s still warm, though. Big piece?”  

“Please, yeah,” he spoke, pulling off his t shirt. “Imma take a shower first, though.” 

When she turned, she almost dropped the dish she was placing onto the counter. Oh, hell. He had the kind of physique that came from dedication to the gym, a lean waist, ripped abs and a thick chest, the mass of his upper arms and shoulders perhaps the most impressive where bulk was considered. She’d also never seen anyone with that kind of tattoo coverage before either. What was more, she liked it.  

Realising she was staring at him with eyes like saucers, there was a little fluster to her actions, looking down as she cleared her through nervously. “Uh, um... that’s quite the collection of tattoos you have.” Feeling her cheeks flushing, she turned away, focusing on slicing a piece of the lasagne, chewing at her thumb furiously.  

Of course, he’d noticed her taking a moment to check him out, and usually he’d have been playful in response to that, him and his big mouth engaging in a little flirtation. He spared her, though, thinking it was adorable how furiously she blushed. “Yeah, I’m a walking canvas at this point. Anyway, won’t be long.”  

As soon as he’d left the room, she began to fan her cheeks, bouncing from one foot to another. “Oh god, that’s hot.” Men who looked like him were not what she was used to seeing shirtless. Seeing his body, she realised, had taken the edge off the little tumble into her repeated behaviour from her old life. Her natural reaction to whatever she deemed as upsetting someone was to literally drop down low and cower in fright, her submission expected in an instant.  

She could tell Guero wasn’t like that, but conditioned responses took a long time to break in habit.  

He joined her a few moments later, seating himself adjacent to her at the small table, dressed casually in light grey sweats and a black vest. “You even did my laundry for me and tidied my bedroom. Everywhere smells amazing. Thanks so much, but don’t feel like you have to for however long you wanna stay, alright?” 

Looking after people was all she knew, though. Turning it off would be like those conditioned responses; a hard habit to break. “I like it. It’s my pre-programmed state.” 

He was about to ask her what she meant by that, prior to taking his first mouthful of lasagne, pausing chewing a moment in surprise as a world of flavour burst upon his tongue. “Holy shit, that’s unreal! Were you a chef or something? Seriously, that’s amazing! Where’d you learn to cook like that?” 

Shrugging slightly, began chewing her thumb. “You pick it up around Italians.” Closing her eyes, a flash of the past transported her away for a moment, held at the neck, a hot knife pressed into her side.

“You think you can disrespect my mother’s memory by serving me this plate of crap? She’d turn in her grave if she saw what you’d done to her recipes, you idiot bitch!” 

He only ever burned her where people couldn’t see.  

“Emma?”  

Guero’s voice brought her back with a jolt. “Sorry, did you say something?”  

“Just asked if you wanted a beer?”  

Her reply was an immediate, pre-programmed response. “No, thank you. I’m not allowed to drink.” 

He frowned. “Says who?” 

Him. He says. She blushed, shaking herself softly, repeating her reminder in her head. “There’s no mafia in Santo Padre.” “Actually, I will. Thanks.” 

He smiled, going to the fridge and pulling it open. Fuck. She’d even cleaned in there, too. And filled it. Fresh vegetables, deli meats, cheese, fruit, milk, juices and cherry Coke. Obviously, she’d visited Khalid, whose large store was always abundantly well-stocked. 

Returning to the table, he twisted the tops off, handing one to her before he took a seat again, pausing in finishing his dinner. “I notice you dodged my question there.” His lips thinned in thought, considering his options. “Emma, are we about to get into a whole heap of shit for harbouring a mafia boss’s wife? You haven’t told me much, but that’s kinda what I’m assuming, that you got into that shipping container cuz’ you needed to vanish from a bad marriage without a trace, rather than heading to the airport. I dunno, or were you his...” he trailed off, snapping his fingers. “What do they call ‘em, the woman on the side? The goomada?” 

“Gooma,” she corrected softly. “No, I wasn’t married to Rocco. Gooma is probably what you could have referred to me as, but then again not really.” Her response was cryptic, her thumb going to her mouth once more. She always chewed it when nervous or embarrassed, he’d now noticed. “Can we talk about you, please? You mentioned you’re originally from Marana? I wanna know more, everything about you.”  

For her comfort, he left it, watching her begin to relax her drawn up shoulders as he started to talk about his life. “Okay, I’ll start at the beginning. I was born Guero Ramiro Ortiz on December twentieth, nineteen ninety-three. Interestingly, Guero wasn’t supposed to be my name at all. Dad started calling me that from the moment I was born, because I was light skinned like him. That’s what the word means, basically. Kinda more nickname than anything else. They liked it and it stuck, though. I like it better than being called Hector, as my mom wanted to call me, after her father.  

“So yeah, I’m the only child of my parents, but dad has a couple of others out there I haven’t met yet, little bastard Ortiz’s in the wind,” he continued with a snort. “He did some serious time, went away when I was ten and then didn’t get released until four years ago, when I was twenty-five. Mom didn’t stick by him, and she was pissed as hell that after he was released, us reconnecting led to me joining the MC. I swear, she smacked my lil’ brown ass down hard when she found out!” 

Emma chuckled at his widened eyes, sipping her beer as he continued. “I was pretty decent at school, went to community college and learned how to be a mechanic, worked in garages in Tuscon for years until I joined the MC.” 

“What made you want to go outlaw?” she asked tentatively, Guero taking his last mouthful of food and standing, placing his plate into the sink. Immediately, she sprang up, ready to wash it, finding her arms gently grasped as she was steered back into her seat. 

He leaned to her, shaking his head. “Nope.” His lips pressed a kiss to her forehead, her heart somersaulting in her chest at such a gesture. Forehead kisses from a man. They were alien to her entirely, but how sweet to be treated to one. “I joined the MC ‘cuz of dad, and the pay is pretty damned good, too. Made more money in my first year fully patched than I did in two working as a mechanic.”  

“What does fully patched mean?” 

His hand reached for Axl when he came ambling in, smiling when after receiving the scratches, he immediately moved to Emma. “It means when you become a proper member of the MC. Everybody has to take a year as prospect first, which means you get hazed to fuck, given all the shit work, have to be at the beck and call of any fully patched member. Bottles is a prospect, same as Nestor, guy with the braids. He’ll get voted next week, Bottles in four months.” Just then, his phone began to ring, pulling it from his pocket. “Speak of the devil.” Sipping his beer, he answered after a pause. “’Sup, Mr Magoo?” 

He sat and listened, Emma not able to hear the other end of the conversation, Guero beginning to frown as he laughed. “Hank’s gonna beat your ass, prospect. I didn’t see where you left ‘em, but if they fell outta your pocket while we were out earlier, then you gotta whole lotta fucking highway to go search, don’t you?” More speech from Bottles, Guero listening before he interrupted. “Hey, you’re disturbing my evening, and...” he trailed off, rolling his eyes before looking at Emma. “Bitch ass here says hi.” 

“Hi, Bottles,” she chuckled.  

“Right, no... I don’t... yo, you need to calm the fuck down and just go find ‘em. Ain’t on me. Bye!” Returning his phone to his pocket, he shook his head. “Fucking prospects.” 

“What did he lose?” 

“The damned van keys! Told him, put ‘em behind the bar or straight in Hank’s hand, but no. You’d think with how thick his fucking glasses are, he’d never lose anything. Fucking Amsco window face!” 

She took it Amsco were a glazing company, beginning to laugh at his joke. He turned to her with a smile, eyes alight. Her laughter was beautiful. Seeing her face lit up, it made his heart skip on a beat. It’d been a while since he’d experienced that. “It’s nice, seeing you relax more.”  

Nodding, she looked down at Axl for a moment, her lashes fluttery when her eyes found his. “That’s because of you. Thanks for being my safe person.”  

His chest swelled with pride, his smile growing. He liked hearing that, that he was the one she’d placed her trust in, especially after the state he’d found her in. She seemed much steadier, save a blip or two here and there, of course, but he guessed those were issues she had to work out in her own time.  

“Glad I can be, blue eyes.” He winked, and it sent her insides into a fizz, once again beginning to chew at her thumb. “You’re gonna have no skin left if you keep doing that.” 

Her shrug was soft, stopping and reaching for her beer. “It’s an old habit. I’ve done it since I was a kid.” 

“So, did you grow up in New York? You don’t have the accent,” he questioned, Emma shaking her head.  

“Spokane, Washington.” 

“Ahh. Moved out there when you were older, huh?”  

She bit her lips together, getting up when Axl moved to hover by the back door. “Little sir needs to go pee, yes he does!”  

Guero sighed quietly through his nose, trying to quell the little flicker of annoyance that she refused to talk in any great detail about herself. He shook himself from it quickly, though, remembering his own words to her on the matter. It truly wasn’t any of his business.  

“Hey, I noticed when I was tidying that you have all the Kevin Smith movies. I haven’t seen Dogma yet. Can we go watch it?” she asked from the backdoor, watching Axl sniffing and bounding around over the freshly cut grass.  

“Yeah, I haven’t watched that in a minute. Good choice.” More beers were fetched, a bag of popcorn microwaved and tipped into a bowl, the pair settling in on the couch. She then remembered what was stashed beneath it.  

“Oh, here,” she spoke, pulling the money he’d left for her from her pocket and handing it to him. “I’m not taking your money from you, although I really appreciate the gesture. I have enough of my own, which brings me to a question. Do you have a safe?” 

“Nope, although I gotta get round to buying one. I have a floorboard, though” 

She frowned, mouthing the word floorboard back at him questioningly, Guero jerking his head in the direction of his bedroom. After picking up her bundles of cash, she arrived with him, his eyes widening considerably when he saw the size of the stacks she held.  

“Jesus, what you got there, about twenty g’s?” he asked, pushing his knife beneath the floorboard over by the window and lifting it up.  

“Thirty.” It was enough for a new life, and definitely the least of what she was owed, she’d thought prior to taking it. Crouching next to him, she placed her money on the opposite side to where she could see a few more neatly lined piles, pleased he had an adequate hiding place. 

While he placed the floorboard down again, Guero contemplated asking whether it was the reason she’d fled, ripping off the mob for thirty grand, but the question never left his mouth. She’d likely not tell him. With her money safely tucked away beneath the floor, they reassumed their positions on the couch, Axl jumping up to curl against Emma.  

Whether it was residual exhaustion, or her cleaning and yard work endeavours, she dozed off before the movie even ended, Guero removing the popcorn bowl from her lap and gently lifting her up, carrying her to the bedroom and placing her down.  

She stirred, reaching for his wrist. “No, no. The couch is fine, I can’t take your bed.”  

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.”  

“I do. I don’t mind sharing.”  

He paused, looking down at her. “Sure?”  

“Mmhm,” she hummed sleepily. He undressed to his boxers and climbed in, making sure he didn’t invade her space, Emma removing her sweats and placing them on the floor.  

“Fair warning, I’m told I snore loudly,” he spoke quietly, fluffing the pillows. 

“Yeah, so do I. Full on mouth breathing and hissing,” she revealed, making him chuckle quietly. “G’night, Guero.” 

“Night.” He was more tired than he thought, falling asleep quickly. He awoke a few hours later to what his sleepy brain assumed to be the hissing Emma had mentioned, opening his eyes to find the space next to him empty of her, sitting up and stretching. The noise he could hear was panicked, heavy breathing. He reached to switch on the nightstand lamp, looking to see her curled up in the corner, eyes wide as she muttered and rocked herself back and forth.  

Peeling the covers off himself, he approached her quietly, noting this was a new behaviour and wondering what had triggered it. A nightmare, perhaps? “Emma?” 

“Don’t do it again, can’t do it to me again. No, Rocco. No, please don’t.”  

She didn’t seem to even notice he was there. Crouching by her side, he tried again. “Emma, he isn’t here. You’re far away now, where he can’t find you.”  

“I did everything you said, I was good. Please don’t, it hurts me. No, don’t.”  

He tried again. “Emma, you’re safe. He can’t get to you here. You’re in California with me. New York is long gone, baby.” Placing a hand to her arm, the action jolted a response from her, her nails finding his skin and scratching as she flew into panic, screaming shrilly, her eyes wide. “Woah, woah! Emma, it’s me, it’s me. Calm down.”  

He clutched her wrists tightly, preventing her onslaught, watching as her wide eyes finally focused, taking him in as she gasped for breath. It took a few moments, but recognition softened her face, pulling herself free from his grip and throwing her arms around him.  

“I h-had a nightmare,” she panted, Guero tightening his arms around her, pulling her onto his lap.  

“Yeah, I guessed.” He waited until she calmed, feeling her breathing begin to steady, her trembles subsiding. “Look, I know you don’t wanna talk about whatever it is you ran from, but I kinda think you might have to. I think you need help, Emma. This shit, it isn’t normal, or good for you.” 

As he expected, she didn’t reply, clinging onto him as he stood and carried her back to the bed, surprising him greatly when she refused to let go. She lay curled against him, face buried against his neck, her breathing speeding and then slowing, her muscles tensing and slackening again as she wrestled with whatever it was up in her head that was terrifying her.  

She had never in her life lay like that with a man, within his protective embrace. It felt different, but good, his steady breathing and soft rhythm of his heart calming her down. Just forty-eight hours ago, she would have been too frightened to allow herself that, the intimacy of sharing a bed with a man, curled so closely against him. Allowing him to hug her had been fine, but this was on another level. A level that she was good with.  

While she settled into sleep, Guero lay awake for a time, beginning to worry about her going out into the world without dealing with her past. The way she remained clung onto him in those dead of night hours was telling, though. He doubted that any place where he wasn’t was a viable option in her terrified mind.  

He was fine with that, but he wished she’d let him help her beyond what comfort his presence could offer.  

[starlocked01]

Terror in my Heart

AO3

Masterpost- Previous- Next

Summary: The constant stream of vulgar nonsense coming from his soulmate could not prepare Virgil to actually meet him. Content Warning: Swearing, Innuendo

Day 29 Dukexiety- You and your soulmate have a telepathic connection until you meet.

"Moist. Moist. Moist. It doesn't sound right. Moist."

"Oh my god, it doesn't sound right because it's a terrible word. Just shut up if you can't think anything else."

Virgil enjoyed the quiet for about 10 seconds.

"Moist underwear."

"I will kill you"

"How ya gonna do it?" his soulmate’s thoughts sounded perkier instantly. Virgil rubbed his temples in annoyance.

"I'm not going to plan it out for you; you'll know how to avoid me when I find you," the threat was mostly empty but his soulmate didn't have to know that. He turned back to his latest creation spinning slowly on the wheel, wetting his hands again before working the clay. He was trying to make a pumpkin-shaped vase but was having difficulties getting the flare correct.

"Do clowns use balloons as condoms?" his soulmate asked from wherever in the world he was lurking.

Virgil sighed, "I'm trying to concentrate, dicks-for-brains. Please ask literally anyone but me."

"Fine, be that way, eldritch terror in my heart," the voice sounded broken up, almost performatively sad.

Virgil smirked to himself and sang back, "sometimes you gotta bleed to know that you're alive and have a soulmate."

He could hear his soulmate giggling at that and returned to the wheel, humming the song to keep them both preoccupied.

"I'm gonna buy a squid today," Virgil was pretty used to this particular thought from his soulmate. He found it endearing when he'd info dump about the sea creatures. Sometimes Virgil even fell asleep to his soulmate crafting stories of tremendous squids rising from the depths to have tea parties with sailors and stargazers. Tea parties or sex, depending on his soulmate's mood.

The bell on the front door to his shop jingled, indicating that a customer had come in, "just one moment!" he called out, grabbing a towel for his hands and walking out to the front. Virgil found a man browsing through his creations and watched him from behind the counter. He kept humming to himself and his soulmate, waiting for this stranger to be done browsing.

The first thing Virgil noticed was the sleeve tattoo erupting out from under the man's shirt, all tentacles and eyes and beaks like a squid were trying to devour his arm. "What a coincidence," he thought to his soulmate, "someone just came in with a tat sleeve you'd adore," Virgil didn’t hear a response and figured he must be preoccupied.

The second thing he noticed was a silver streak in his brown hair. It was quite the fashion statement and he really wanted to ask the man why he'd done that with his hair. The man glanced towards Virgil and his green eyes lit up in joy, rushing over to the back display. Virgil was wary; most of these pieces he had made with his soulmate in mind and did not sell them easily.

"Oh my god! You have squids!" The voice was hauntingly familiar but Virgil couldn’t place it.

"Oh, yeah, my soulmate talks about them a lot so I end up making them," he shrugged as the man gently picked up one of his favorite pieces.

"He's so cute! How much do you want for him? I'm gonna name him Tyrone and make my soulmate think I found a hot boyfriend, when really all I found was this precious baby," the way he talked was so familiar, but Virgil was more concerned with stopping him from accidentally hurting the sculpture.

"Hey! Can you please put that down? I kinda don't want to sell it…"

"Oh, sorry. Damn and that one was so cute too," the man turned back to the other squids after putting the first one down on the counter next to Virgil, "I'm Remus. I know you didn't ask but now you know, so deal with it, bitch."

"I'll try to keep that in mind," Virgil smirked. This man was very much like his soulmate and that made his heart flutter in his chest. It was then Virgil realized he hadn't heard anything from his soulmate since Remus had entered the shop. It was very unlike him to be quiet this long when Virgil knew he was awake. He started humming again, hoping to catch his soulmate’s attention.

"Oh hey! My soulmate was just singing that song like five minutes ago," Remus smiled at Virgil, and Virgil's heart melted. It felt so warm to see this stranger happy.

"Oh yeah? I was trying to distract mine from just the strangest thoughts about clowns," Virgil smiled back at Remus.

A peculiar look crossed Remus' face, "what's your opinion on the word 'moist'?" He asked suspiciously.

"You…."

"Me!"

"You came to a pottery shop for a squid?" Virgil grinned broadly at his soulmate.

"Well, was I wrong?" Remus grinned, gesturing to the shelves of squids.

"No, you weren't. Looks like Tyrone will be going home with you after all," Virgil picked up the squid that Remus had set down, fondly remembering when he'd crafted it with his soulmate in mind.

"I hope he's not the only one coming home with me," Remus replied in a voice that made Virgil blush, "what's your name, stranger?"

Virgil hid behind his bangs, "what if I don't want to tell you?"

"I come back and ask tomorrow. And the next day, and every day until you tell me," Remus grinned, reaching out to brush the hair from in front of his eyes, "maybe don't tell me so I have to come back…"

"Virgil."

"Virgil? What kind of a name is that?"

"What kind of a name is Remus?" Virgil shot back.

"A good one. One you're gonna be stuck with for the rest of your life," Remus giggled at him.

"At least I won't have to hear every single random thought that flows through your head anymore," Virgil grinned.

"Not unless I say them out loud," Remus smirked with an evil gleam in his eye. He took a deep breath before practically shouting, "I said, certified freak seven days a week-"

"Enough!" Virgil quickly cut him off, "I'm taking Tyrone in the custody battle."

"Awww our first fight. Does that mean we have apology sex now?" Remus was leaning on the counter, tall enough that he had to bend over at the waist to reach it, and bumped his eyebrows at Virgil in a way the other supposed was intended to be flirting.

"Are you flirting or apologizing?" Virgil raised an eyebrow.

"Definitely flirting. I don't know what I would have to apologize for-"

"Don't get me started," Virgil chuckled, grabbed a pen and slip of paper, and scrawled a phone number while asking, "you busy tonight?"

"If you're asking, nope," Remus leaned forward, stealing the slip of paper and a kiss, "call me when you're off and I'll take you somewhere fun," he pulled back and started to put the number in his phone, "how much for Ty?"

Virgil, flustered with the kiss and the date, waved him off, "he was always for you, Remus."

Remus took the pen and wrote his own number on the back of the paper, pushing it back to Virgil with a wink. He carefully scooped up the clay figure, kissing its forehead before turning to leave the store.

Virgil missed the constant stream of thoughts from Remus but returned to his pumpkin project, terrified- in a good way- of the date his soulmate could cook up now that he couldn’t hear him. Knowing Remus, it would be interesting.

Tag List: @stoicpanther @ifrickenhatedeverythingaboutthis @idontgiveafuckaboutshit @tsshipmonth2020

[macybeckham7]

Tattooed Heart  - Jack Grealish

tagged: @luc-57x @cinnnabaee

Part One

Jack was at his teammates and friends house when Tyrone announced he had a tattoo artist coming round and finish his leg piece off. He wasn't too bothered as he had met a few of Tyrone’s people and just expected it to be the same guy, so when he saw a young girl walking in behind the 6ft something footballer he was surprised. She greeted him with small wave and smile as she introduced herself as YN. He felt like he was in a movie as the hot main character moved in slow motion as the nerd who didn't have a chance with her was completely mesmerised by her. 

Yn giggled at Tyrone who muttered that she had gained a fan as he noticed his Villa captain went all quiet. The two started catching up as Tyrone went into host mode and offered her a drink, Jack was completely obsessed with her accent, instantly realising she wasn't from around the Birmingham area. He watched she got out her things from her mobile compartment.

Yn was in  her midtwenties and had a good amount of tattoos on her skin, the one that took Jack’s attention was the Amy Winehouse outline on the back of her arm, the two instantly started gushing over the singer with Jack even belting out a few words, which Tyrone instantly appeared and begged for him to stop. Yn had such a soft face, with lower tone voice, everything about her made out to be something different. Her face made her soft and young and innocent, her voice made her mature and her tattoos made her edgy. Within a few minutes of being around her he was completely addicted, like what they say that happens with tattoos, once you get one you are completely obsessed and you want more. 

Jack sits beside them as he watched as she sits in between Tyrone long legs, her hand wiping away the bloody and ink from the design, the three of them talk, the two footballers getting to know Yn, and Yn hearing funny stories from the them. The two booing when they hear she supports Chelsea but gives her good stories at Stamford Bridge. Jack’s stays on the tattooist, how her brow furrow as she concentrates, how she blows a small bubble in her chewing gum as she wiped his thigh and gets more ink on the tattoo gun. A small smile appears as she hears the two bicker before siding with one of them. His eyes looking over her tattoos, a few were just pretty designs but others clearly had deeper meaning. 

‘Would you ever let me tattoo you Jack?’ she mutters looking up.

He shrugs. ‘Sure if I ever find something  worthy to tattoo on me forever’ he admits. 

‘I reckon you should have Brummy born and bred’ Tyrone jokes making Jack roll his eyes at him. 

‘Do you have a shop or do you go to everyone's houses?’ He asked ignoring Tyrone. 

She shakes her head. ‘I only go to my favourites houses. but yeah I have a shop, its family run’ she smiles as she hands him a little card. ‘Stop by whenever you decide what you want’ she grins. 

…. 

Jack walks down the road as he looks up at the sign and tells James that it was this one. The two of them walking into the store laughing as they see the big open space with three men tattooing people. James is instantly cooing over the two little sausage dogs that were walking about, as Jack spots Yn. She was sat drawing at the front deck as she holds the phone to her ear. She spots him and her face instantly brightens up before telling him one minute. 

‘Wow she is hot’ James mutters. 

She greets the two guys and asks that the #10 had decided to let her tattoo him but James instantly says the visit is for him. She tells them they can discuss it over lunch as she was on her lunch and they can do it after, which the three instantly agree on. 

Jack realised that James was probably the last person he should of invited as he was now semi flirting with Yn, she was drawing as the three of them sat in a diner which she picked out and was semi eating but mainly listening to James talking about his piece. She showed him a few photos of her work which she has done to give him a taste of what she could do and what he would like best. 

‘Any other celebrities you have worked on?’ Jack asked. 

She hummed as she bite her pencil, as she looked at her design. 

‘I done a few Memphis Depay’s tattoos, um Jesy from Little Mix, I did Harry Styles’ moth’ she listed off, proud of her caterlog.

After lunch that Jack paid for her, she got into her work seat and got the design perfectly on James’ chest. 

‘I reckon I should say where you tattoo Jack and you just do whatever you think will suit him’ James mutters as she starts tattooing him and winces slightly. 

‘I think Tyrone has come up with it’ she joked. 

‘I reckon Gazza’s no.1 fan will do’ he giggles, making Yn move away as he was shaking. 

….

‘We’re closed’ Yn muttered as she sat in her little tattooing area as she was doing a tattoo on herself. 

When no one answered she looked up and saw Jack smiling at her anxiously as if he shouldn't be here. She raised her brows at him as she has seem him twice this week already. 

‘Couldn't keep away’ she mutters before she carries on tattooing herself. 

He sit beside her and looks at her leg and sees she doing the year she was born. 

‘Can I try?’ he whispers. 

She looks up at him and they both communicate through raised eyebrows. She giggles and nods, with a small ‘Why not’ 

She explains what he needs to do and hands over the gun. He gently holds her leg in one hand as he gently lets a deep breath in as the loud buzzing noise appears. She tells him to not push down too much, and to follow the line. His brows go into a harsh frown as he concentrates completely knowing this will be on her forever. She tells him to stop and then she wipes away the access ink and blood and he goes again, all until she had the permeant ‘9′ on her. 

‘Good job’ she beams as she high fives her. 

‘What made you want to be a tattooist?’ he asks. 

She shrugs. ‘I’ve always loved art and thought I would carry on the family tradition’ 

‘What was your first one?’ 

She knew it straight away, she took off her ring and showed the little dinosaur. He smiled and asked what it stood for and instantly regretted it due to her face changing. ‘Shit sorry, you don't have to answer’ he mutters. 

‘My sister, she’s a few years older than me and she was obsessed with dinosaurs, my dad always called her dinosaur.. We aren't close anymore’ she states as he nods. 

He starts the gun up again, she looks directly at him and see the softness in his eyes, she smiles and looks down at her leg as he starts to tattoo her again. She could feel his breath on her leg and by how close he was sitting next to her she could smell his husky cologne that she couldn't help but look at every little beamish and imperfection on him. She looked at all the freckles that decorated his face, the little highlights in his dark chocolate brown hair. He looked up and noticed her staring at him. 

‘How have you managed to tattoo me before I tattoo you?’ she jokes making them both laugh. 

‘I’m still not 100% sure yet’ he winked. 

[marypsue]

Something Borrowed, Something Blues 8 / ?

Well, thanks to tumblr's absolute competence and excellent decision-making, I can't link to previous chapters posted on my blog and still have anybody see this post. So this seems like a great time to remind everyone that all my fics are available to read, in a convenient, user-friendly format, over on AO3! My handle there is also MaryPSue. 

Between this and the demise of tumblr fandom with the platform changes, I plan to phase out posting actual fic to tumblr at all. Next chapter will most likely only be posted to AO3, with an update notification posted here.

...

Once upon a time, there was a seed.

The greatest redwood forests start from a single seed, and so too it was with this seed. Dormant, it lay for decades in rich and fertile soil, waiting only for the right conditions to unfurl its tentative leaves. To put forth its questing roots.

...

The moment the words fell out of his mouth, Dipper knew he’d made a mistake.

But he’d been challenged! On his own ground! In his home, of all places, by one of his own creations! Who did the Woodsman think he was? The moment he’d seen those antlers twined into the branches of Henry’s apple tree - 

"Now hold on, hold on, back it up just a tick," Rosa said. "Who's this now?"

...

Once upon a time, there was a sapling.

It had grown from a seed, a seed nourished by magic both ancient and entirely new, a seed planted in rich and fertile soil. It was young still, its trunk no wider than a slender wrist, but its roots ran strong and deep.

The sapling grew tall and strong, entwined with the narrow trunk of an apple tree, so closely that their fruits intermingled, that they could not be told apart. Who watered one watered the other; what nourished one, nourished the other. Apple and sapling shared all things; water, sunlight, soil, the love of the one who tended their orchard, of those who sat in the shade and shelter of their branches.

And then, one day, the apple tree fell.

...

The apple tree arched shimmering branches overhead, laden with both delicate, almost translucent blossoms and glossy fruit so rich and red that Mira could swear they were dripping colour into the detritus of leaves and needles below.

In the strangest way, the scene was familiar. She couldn’t, if asked, have explained why, but - this tree was real and huge and healthy, and heavy with fruit, blossoms, and lush foliage (which, the closer Mira looked, seemed to be in all of the different seasons at once), but somehow it reminded her of nothing so much as the scrawny, spectral soul-tree she and Alcor had destroyed. 

She wasn’t scared.

That was strange, too. Maybe the strangest of all. Mira had the funniest feeling - maybe just because of the memory of that other tree, and what she’d seen and done that day - that she was supposed to be scared. And yet, the tree was unusual, maybe a little eerie, but it wasn’t frightening. In fact, just being under the canopy of its branches made Mira feel - warm. Safe. Sheltered. 

Protected.

Without, Mira realised with a start, the feeling of being maybe just a little bit...watched which came with the territory of being Mizar. She couldn’t remember the last time she hadn’t felt Alcor’s all-seeing eye trained on her back. It was a feeling she’d learned to live with, long ago, a feeling that had been a comfort at times, even as it had been a giant pain in the ass at others. She’d gotten so used to it that she hardly even registered it anymore. Hardly noticed it was there.

And now it was gone. 

Mira didn’t know whether to feel worried or relieved.

...

Once upon a time, there was a tree.

It stood alone, and yet not alone. A forest surrounded it, a forest of old magic and older growth, a forest filled with seeds of its fruit. The number of those who sheltered under its branches grew and grew with each passing year, as the forest itself grew, as its canopy enfolded the mountainside.

And yet, the tree still stood alone. No longer intertwined with another, its trunk seemed gnarled and twisted, its branches barren but for its curious stolen fruit. Its roots ran so deep and wide now that no seed dared take root near it. No other tree dared risk tasting the soil that nourished it.

It had become an exceedingly thin and bitter soil.

Without the apple beside it, the tree was but half a tree, roots and branches spreading ever outwards, seeking after something that, in its heartwood, it knew it had lost. Something that it needed to be fully whole.

...

The hairs on the back of Ian's neck were standing on end.

That probably had something to do with the huge tree-monster with burning blue eyes roaring at them. Or the aura of power rolling off of Alcor's disintegrating human disguise. Or the redheaded figures ringing the clearing like guards, peering balefully at them from between the birches. Or the fact that, despite Alcor's accusation, Mira still wasn't anywhere to be seen. There were actually so many things to be frightened or unsettled by that Ian was starting to feel a little spoiled for choice.

But it wasn't just fear. At least, Ian didn't think it was, though, judging from the way the other two humans in their party had drawn closer together, they might be inclined to disagree. He was vibrating with energy, both nervous and strangely excited - literally vibrating, he realised, fingers drumming a staccato tattoo against his bouncing leg.

The sheer ambient magic hanging around the forest was making his mechanical eye go haywire, too, Ian realised, looking around. It had taken him an embarrassingly long time to realise that what looked like indistinct red and green shapes when seen through his left eye, easily mistaken for drifting leaves or shaking branches or the dappled shadow on a tree trunk shifting, became ethereal, green-tinted human figures with shockingly red hair when seen through the right. 

But now that they were standing inside the ring of trees, what Ian could see through his right eye had gone practically psychedelic. One minute there was nothing there but the wind in the evergreens; the next, tall redheaded figures with greenish skin and unusually long fingers; the next, everything was black and white save for the fist-sized balls of blue fire hovering where the green people had stood, shedding leaves made of blue flame that shaded to autumnal yellow at the tips and edges. 

And it wasn't only the...dryads?...that Ian's eye had decided to warp. It flickered from the clearing in full colour, to black and white interrupted only by the glow of what Ian assumed had to be magic, to a greenish haze that made it hard to tell anything apart, to fire. The enormous tree monster in the centre of the clearing was now a slim, tall, antlered figure made of blue flame, now a pale human man whose eyes were black holes and whose antlers dripped with severed hands and feet, now a hideously gnarled, blackened tree rooted firmly in the earth and twined so closely together with the apple tree that stood at the centre of the clearing that they almost looked braided together. Alcor was now Tyrone, now a crackling ball of golden light as tall as Rosa with enormous wings sweeping out to encircle the clearing, now - Ian blinked, and it had vanished, but he could have sworn he'd seen a small, dark-haired boy, about twelve or thirteen, in strange, old-fashioned clothing, standing where Alcor had stood.

The view from Ian's left eye stayed constant, steady, while the view from his right jumped wildly from one vision to the next. It was enough to give a guy a headache.

And he was getting a headache. A slow, dull throb was starting to build behind his right eye, like the prosthetic was growing too big for its socket. 

It was a familiar feeling. Ian really hoped it didn’t mean what he thought it meant.

...

Once upon a time, there was a deep, dark forest.

It had stood for a hundred hundred years, and it would stand for a hundred hundred more. And, at the very heart of the forest, there was a tree.

It stood at the centre of a clearing, a clearing it had made for itself. And for years, for centuries, it stood alone.

And then, one day, a little rabbit came hopping along and nestled down in its roots.

...

"The hell kinda magic's goin' on around here?" Rosa complained, from somewhere behind Dipper. He ignored her. "Feels like I'm seein' double."

"You're not the only one," Ian muttered, and Dipper resisted the urge to turn and look. He was talking about his artificial eye and its artificial Sight. That was all. Nothing more.

"Oh, for - am I the only person here who isn't somehow magically sensitive?!" Sun-mi protested. "What's going on? Where's Mira? What is that thing?" Dipper was sure it wasn't his imagination that that last sentence sounded more curious than annoyed or frightened.

"Based on context, I'm gonna go out on a limb and say it's an ancient forest spirit," Ian said. "And that it does not like us being here."

Dipper could hear the grimace in his voice, and, despite the fact that clinging to a human mask was growing more difficult and confusing by the second, couldn't help but echo it. Ian was no fool; he'd probably worked out exactly what Dipper had. If the Woodsman was walking again, these days, it almost definitely meant he felt his forest was under threat. And what greater threat than...

"Wait. You never met the Woodsman, did you?" Dipper broke concentration long enough to ask. If any of the other three noticed that the movement of 'his' lips didn't exactly sync up with the words, they were too polite to mention it.

Ian gave Dipper an odd look, made odder by the way his prosthetic eye was flickering and roving in his head. "On the one hand, you're absolutely correct, but on the other hand, I get the feeling you're talking about something else completely that I don't know if I should be agreeing with."

Dipper cleared his nonexistent throat and nodded in Sun-mi's direction. Ian winced.

"Oh, what?" Sun-mi demanded, planting both hands on her hips. "Look, I'm not exactly an idiot. I know there's something here you all aren't telling me, and I'm getting pretty damn sick of it! Especially if it has some bearing on the mysterious disappearance of my best friend! You owe me the truth. Spill."

Ian glanced over at Dipper. Dipper met his eyes with a wince of his own.

"Gruargh," the Woodsman said, and Dipper started. He'd almost forgotten the big guy was there.

"Hold your horses, we'll get to you," he said to the Woodsman, whose eerie, sunken blue eyes somehow managed a kicked-puppy look, before turning back to the three humans with him. "Ian? Do you want to...?"

Sun-mi crossed her arms over her chest, fixing Ian with a penetrating stare. "I don't particularly care who it is, but somebody'd better start talking. Now."

Ian pressed his lips tight together, glancing down at the waving grasses to his left. He shook his head, but didn't speak.

"Fine," Dipper said, with a sigh that rattled the remaining particles of his temporary meatsuit. "I -"

He didn't get to finish the sentence.

With a roar that literally shook the clearing, the Woodsman lunged. His impossibly long arm swept forward, knocking Rosa off her feet, and grabbed Dipper by the throat, hauling him up into the air. The Woodsman drew Dipper up close to his face, seemingly oblivious to the screams and shouts from the humans below, until Dipper was eye-to-glowing-blue-eye with the Woodsman. Through the sudden fear that spiked through him, Dipper realised the Woodsman's head seemed a lot larger than the last time they'd seen each other. Like, a lot larger. Like, the Woodsman's head was as tall as Dipper's entire meatsuit larger. It seemed the Woodsman had been isolated out in the woods for so long that he'd forgotten human scale.

Either that, or, the way he was one with the woods now, he'd grown with them.

Neither, Dipper thought stupidly, spelled good things for his very squishy human companions down below.

"Oh my stars!" one of the girls was shrieking, over and over again. Dipper hadn't pegged either of them as likely to lose their heads in a situation like this, but then again, he supposed, you never really knew until you got somebody there. Well. He knew, of course, he knew lots of things, but...when humans were involved, they could always surprise you.

"Uh," Dipper tried, into the baleful glare of that actinic blue eye. "Guess that was the wrong response...?"

The Woodsman answered by opening the gash in his bark that served as a mouth and letting out another bone-shattering roar. Literally bone-shattering. Dipper felt his meatsuit buffeted mercilessly in the wind of that roar, could feel the particles stripping away in that wind like confetti. He tried to hold them in place, but it was no use. The sheer power pouring off the Woodsman shredded his human disguise like wet tissue paper, leaving Dipper scrambling to put on an appropriately humanoid face and rein his wings back in. He'd been aiming to intimidate the Woodsman when they were only visible on the magical level, but now, without his constructed body and with his power laid bare for everyone to see, he didn't feel like burning out anybody's eyes.

The short shriek Sun-mi let out told Dipper that he hadn't been entirely successful.

"Alcor!" she yelled, waving an arm in Dipper's direction. "That's Alcor!"

Ian grimaced. "Got it in one."

"That's a demon!"

"And now you're two for two," Rosa agreed, with forced nonchalance, though Dipper was pleased to note that she did at least look pale.

"And you all knew about this?" Sun-mi demanded, the shock in her voice starting to shade towards anger. "Oh my stars, did that poor schmuck he was possessing just get obliterated!?"

"What? No! That meatsuit was all mine," Dipper protested.

"No humans were harmed in the making of this motion picture," Ian muttered, under his breath. Sun-mi's existential crisis didn't seem to be holding his attention any more than the Woodsman did, though - he was still busy looking around, watching the redheaded dryads who encircled the clearing, jumping at shadows. Dipper wondered if he was feeling the tug of ancient, familiar power too.

And that was all he thought about that, for a while, because it was then that the Woodsman started to squeeze.

...

Mira's attention was so taken by the tree that she almost didn't notice the man standing under its branches. She wasn't sure when he'd appeared, wasn't sure whether he'd been there the whole time, standing almost inhumanly still and silent, watching her look around. The lush green grass and the laden branches waving around him made his stillness all the more pronounced.

Mira took a half-step back.

The man under the tree raised his head to look at her, but the dappled shadows of the tree's branches still obscured his features. He was tall, though, the top of his head and his shock of bright red hair hidden behind the leaves and flowers of the tree, and pale as milk. He seemed strangely familiar somehow, but the more Mira looked, the less sure she was of what he actually looked like. Was he wearing a plaid flannel shirt and jeans? A dark, formal suit? Leaves and birchbark? Anything at all?

She took another step back, and the man reached out an arm towards her. She couldn't make out his features, couldn't tell if his nose was large or small or if his eyes were wide-set or close together, but somehow she could swear that his expression was pleading.

Against all her better judgement, Mira stopped moving.

Slowly, the tall man lowered himself to one knee in front of her. As the top of his head came down out of the branches, Mira realised that it hadn't all been branches that she'd been seeing. A rack of impressive antlers, shaped like a deer's but gnarled like wood, sprouted from the man's head. Rich, red apples hung from the antlers, their colour so deep and true that Mira's mouth watered at the sight.

( - for a second, she could swear they were dripping with it, bloody drops splashing against the leaf-littered ground - )

Mira took a cautious step forward, and then another. The tall man's arm was still outstretched, but the closer Mira got, the easier it was to tell that he wasn't simply reaching out for her. Something was taking form in his fingers, and for a second Mira recoiled, thinking she was seeing a little brown snake crawling out of his sleeve (leaves?). 

But it wasn't, when she looked closer, a snake at all. It was a slender brown root, twisting and twining itself into an empty, elaborate coil. Almost like -

The tall man raised his head, then, and looked Mira in the eye. She still couldn't seem to pin down his features, but she found herself frozen in place by eyes that were the most vibrant midsummer-sky blue.

The tall man held the ring up to Mira. She couldn't see his lips move, but the wind in the leaves, the rustle of the grass, the low buzz and hum of the bees dipping into the flowers, all seemed to come together to form one sound. 

No. Not one sound. One word.

Stay.