#just plant as many saplings as I have all touching and slowly work my way from the top down

[toomuchdickfort]

I dislike having to gather wood in mc so um. Tree loaf

[krabmeat]

☊⏃⋏ ⟟ ⏚⟒ ⟒⋏⎅⟒⍀⋔⏃⋏ ⏃⋏⍜⋏? ⏃⋏⊬⍙⏃⊬⌇ ⋏⍜⍙ ⏁⊑⏃⏁'⌇ ⏃⌰⌰ ⍜⎍⏁ ⍜⎎ ⏁⊑⟒ ⍙⏃⊬. ☌⍜⎅ ⍀⟒⏃⎅⟒⍀ ☌⟒⏁⏁⟟⋏☌ ⍀⟒⎐⟟⎐⟒⎅ ⎍⋏⟒⌖⌿⟒☊⏁⟒⎅⌰⊬ ⏚⊬ ⎅⍀⟒⏃⋔? ⟟⏁'⌇ ⌰⟟☍⟒ - ⏃ ⍀⟒⏃⌰⌰⊬ ⏚⏃⎅⏃⌇⌇ ⏃⋏⏁⏃☌⍜⋏⟟⌇⏁ ☌⍜⎅ ⏁⊑⏃⏁ ☌⟒⏁⌇ ⌿⎍⌰⌰⟒⎅ ⍜⎍⏁ ⍜⎎ ⏁⊑⟒ ⎍⋏⎅⟒⍀⍙⍜⍀⌰⎅, ☊⏃⌰⌰⟟⋏☌ ⎅⍀⟒⏃⋔ ⏁⊑⟒⟟⍀ "⌇⏃⎐⟟⍜⎍⍀" (⏚⎍⏁ ⟟⋏ ⏃ ⋔⍜⍀⟒ ⌇⏃⏁⟟⍀⟟☊⏃⌰ ⍙⏃⊬ ⟟⋏⌇⏁⟒⏃⎅ ⍜⎎ ☌⟒⋏⎍⟟⋏⟒⌰⊬ ⌇⟒⟒⟟⋏☌ ⏁⊑⟒ ⋔⏃⌇☍⟒⎅ ⋔⏃⋏ ⏃⌇ ⏁⊑⟒⟟⍀ ⊑⟒⍀⍜ ☊⏃⎍⌇⟒ ⟟⋏ ⏁⊑⟒ ⌿⏃⌇⏁ ⏁⊑⟒⊬'⎐⟒ ⋔⍜⌇⏁ ⌰⟟☍⟒⌰⊬ ☊⏃⌰⌰⟒⎅ ⟒⎐⟒⍀⊬⍜⋏⟒ ⏁⊑⏃⏁ ⊑⟒⌰⌿⟒⎅ ⏁⊑⟒⋔ ⏁⊑⟒⟟⍀ ⋔⟟☌⊑⏁⊬ ⊑⟒⌰⌿⟒⍀ ⏁⍜ ⏁⊑⟒ ⌿⍜⟟⋏⏁ ⍙⊑⟒⍀⟒ ⏁⊑⟒ ⏁⟟⏁⌰⟒ ⎎⟒⟒⌰⌇ ⍜⎐⟒⍀⎍⌇⟒⎅ ⏃⋏⎅ ⎍⋏⎅⟒⌇⟟⍀⏃⏚⌰⟒). ⏁⊑⟒⊬ ⍀⍜⏃⋔⟒⎅ ⏁⊑⟒ ⌰⏃⋏⎅⌇ ⍜⎎ ⏁⊑⟒ ⌇⋔⌿, ⏚⍀⟟⋏☌⟟⋏☌ ⏁⟒⍀⍀⍜⍀ ⏃⋏⎅ ⊑⟒⌰⌰⎎⟟⍀⟒ ⏃☊⍀⍜⌇⌇ ⏁⊑⟒ ⍜⎐⟒⍀⍙⍜⍀⌰⎅, ⌰⟒⏁⏁⟟⋏☌ ⏁⊑⟒⟟⍀ ☍⟒⌿⏁ ⟟⋏ ⍀⏃☌⟒ ⌇⏁⍀⍜⌰⌰ ⎎⍀⟒⟒. ⏁⊑⟒⊬ ⟒⋏⎅ ⎍⌿ ⟟⋏ ⏁⊑⟒ ⏁⎍⋏⎅⍀⏃, ⏁⊑⟒ ⏚⎍⍀⋏⟟⋏☌ ⎎⌰⏃☍⟒⌇ ⍜⎎ ⏃⌇⊑⟒⌇ ☌⟒⏁⏁⟟⋏☌ ⌰⍜⌇⏁ ⟟⋏ ⏁⊑⟒ ⊑⏃⍀⌇⊑ ⌿⟟⌰⟒⌇ ⍜⎎ ⌇⋏⍜⍙. ⏁⊑⟒⊬ ⊑⏃⌿⌿⟒⋏⟒⎅ ⏁⍜ ⊑⏃⎐⟒ ⌇⏁⎍⋔⏚⌰⟒⎅ ⎍⌿⍜⋏ ⏁⊑⟒ ☊⍜⏁⏁⏃☌⟒⌇ ⍜⎎ ⏁⍙⍜ ⟟⋔⋔⍜⍀⏁⏃⌰ ☌⍜⎅⌇ ⏁⊑⏃⏁ ⏁⊑⟒⊬ ⋔⏃⊬ ⍜⍀ ⋔⏃⊬ ⋏⍜⏁ ⊑⏃⎐⟒ ⎍⌇⟒⎅ ⏁⍜ ☍⋏⍜⍙. ⍙⍜⋏⎅⟒⍀ ⍙⊑⏃⏁'⌰⌰ ⊑⏃⌿⌿⟒⋏? ⟟ ⍙⍜⎍⌰⎅ ⌰⟟☍⟒ ⏁⍜ ⌇⟒⟒ ⊬⍜⎍⍀ ⏁⏃☍⟒ ⟟⋏ ⏁⊑⟟⌇.

- ⟒⋏⎅⟒⍀⋔⏃⋏ ⏃⋏⍜⋏

𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚝

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜: philza, techno, Wilbur,(next few only mentioned)Mexican dream, schlatt, dream

𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚜: they/them

𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: fire, death, arson, betrayal mention, being used, reference to drugs, slight cursing

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜: translation vvvvv

Can i be enderman anon? anyways now that's all out of the way. God reader getting revived unexpectedly by dream? it's like - a really badass antagonist god that gets pulled out of the underworld, calling dream their "saviour" (but in a more satirical way instead of genuinely seeing the masked man as their hero cause in the past they've most likely called everyone that helped them their mighty helper to the point where the title feels overused and undesirable). They roamed the lands of the smp, bringing terror and hellfire across the overworld, letting their kept in rage stroll free. They end up in the tundra, the burning flakes of ashes getting lost in the harsh piles of snow. They happened to have stumbled upon the cottages of two immortal gods that they may or may not have used to know. Wonder what'll happen? i would like to see your take in this.

 - enderman anon

AHHH IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I DONT KNOW IF YOULL EVEN READ THIS STILL BUT TY FOR THE REQUEST IT ISNT THE BEST QUALITY IM SORRY :[[[

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You almost don't recognize the sensation of grass against your calloused and rough hands. You were in the void playing solitaire with Schlatt and Mexican Dream, and the next thing you knew you were suddenly pulled harshly by the back of your collar, falling on your spine. The looming mask of Dream is what stood above you, but he looked different. Longer hair, smelly, wearing a stained lime green jumpsuit with ‘0001' sewn into it and covered in cuts, scars and bruises. But before you could even question why Dream was suddenly there, he stepped back into the void, the void slowly surrounding and consuming him the further he went backwards. His now bony hand is still tightly gripped onto the back of your shirt, so while struggling your body is also enveloped in darkness. All it took was one blink and there you were on a patch of grass, staring at the pale blue sky.

"Huh."

Was all that came out of your mouth. You were still shocked at the turn of events that just happened, but no longer grounded. A running river nearby stunned your senses. How long had you been dead? It felt like years, but when you look around at the familiar forest you died in, not much had changed except for a couple newly planted saplings here and there. The swirling ashes you remembered before you died had all settled and compressed into the soil.

The river showed a strange reflection of yourself- your features have clearly sunken into your skull and there's a streak of white hair coming from your scalp along with words in fancy gold letters on your arm reading,

"May thy woes and hurt of the past no longer eradicate the upwards of this lost souls future. Allow thine to be praised by Ender themselves and be granted another chance at mortality."

Scrubbing or picking at your arm did nothing, so onwards you went walking along the forest to what you remember being a bustling "community".

Each mound of dirt you saw only brought memories of your death, of the place and people who sought to treat you like you were disposable. And now that you’re alive, you hate that they technically ended up being right. Your death; alone in a forest. Running away from the unexpected attacker, ashamed and too prideful to die in the prying eyes of your enemies. It fills you with rage, all the lives taken by your hands and for what? You weren’t overreacting, you knew that for sure. And before you knew it, you stole some fresh flint and steel from a random chest and got to work. 

You had always wanted to touch the fires you set. The soothing feeling you got from watching wood burn to char and ashes satisfied you. And it made it all the more euphoric to know it was trees of your manipulator's land. Running across the land, with flames as far as you could see when you looked behind you. The heat swirled around your neck and went into your nose, but the feeling was muscle memory at that point. You were still riding your high when a voice reached out to you, luckily when you were finally calm.

"What- Y/n? Hold on, is that really you Y/n..?"

You spin on your heels to the familiar manipulative British voice of a person you haven't seen in a long time. 

"Wilbur?! Man, I haven't seen another person's face other than those two addicts in a while- you look different." 

His eyes much like yours are sunken deep into his skull, purple-pink bags under his eyes and dull skin. Wilburs shocked lips fade into an opened mouth smile when he walks up to you with his hands momentarily confused on what they should do. Eventually, his right hand settles on clasping your left shoulder, giving it a friendly squeeze.

“Y/n it is so good to see you! You look quite different yourself, wouldn’t you think-? Oh, look! We’re matching!”

The grey streak in your hair seems to make another appearance when Wilbur briefly smacks it with his middle and pointer finger. 

“Ay, it’s nice to see you too Wil, but back up for a second alright? I've got something to ask you by the way…”

Wilburs head peaks in interest, urging you to go on.

“I’m guessing that little streak in your hair wasn’t a fashion choice- and if it was it’s a bit strange- but how’d you get it? You died when you blew up L’manburg! I mean c'mon, people don’t just, well…REVIVE!”

He starts to walk. You aren’t quite sure where, but stumbling along with Wilbur while his arm is draped lazily atop your shoulders seems to suffice. 

“Ahh Y/n, you’d be surprised. The most WONDERFUL thing happened, actually! Years and years in my hell of a train station; do you know who was at the subway door when it finally opened, Y/n? Dream!”

“Wh- Dream?!”

Appalled, you try to stop in your tracks but fail when wilburs arm is still pushing forward. His storytelling voice dies down to curiosity and excitement.

“Wait, did he save you too? He did, didn’t he? Oh, this is wonderful!”

Wilbur emits eagerism and you suddenly realize what you could do with his desperacy to be socially accepted. Putting on the most exaggerated and animated voice, you speak. 

“Oh my god yeah! Gosh, that Dream guy is my hero! Thanks to him, I get to have another chance at living again, and isn’t that just…swell.”

In all honesty you didn’t really try hard to sound sincere but by the look of Wilbur, it seemed to work just fine. 

“Right?! I’ve been meaning to visit him in the prison if you’d like to tag along with me the day I go? I’m sure he’d love to see you, since he revived you and all.”

Oh, you were sure Dream wanted to see you. He wants a boon- a trade. Why else would he revive two of the most historically significant people on the server if not to make some sort of deal with them? Sure, Wilbur is as gullible and carefree as ever but you at least still had scraps of mental stability and level-headedness that made you all the more a force to be reckoned with. Not to mention Wilbur doesn’t know that Dream killed you, but telling him that now would blow your act. You decide to keep your thoughts to yourself.

“Yeahh, sure! I’d love to go, just tell me when.”

And that’s the end of that conversation. The two of you walk to wherever Wilbur is going. It honestly surprised you how he couldn’t see through your apathy. From what you remembered, he was keen on being wise about people and their intentions but you guess years and years in hell do things to a person.

Somehow, you’re stuck in your mind for long enough that only now do you feel the sharp winter air making the hairs on your arms and legs stand straight up. 

“Wait, snow?”

The tundra was a drastic contrast to the void you were once in with schlatt and Mexican Dream. Instead of black as far as you could see, it was a blinding powdery white. 

‘Mexican Dream would’ve liked it here, probably would have tried to snort the snow like coke.’

You weren’t built for the snow, though. Hell- you didn’t even have a memory of anyone living in a tundra when you were alive! Why was Wilbur even in the tundra? You didn’t have the energy to ask, still feeling brittle and tired, back aching from laying on the dry dirt longer than expected earlier. 

“Yeah, just figured I’d show you around! Plus I already need to grab a couple things from an ender chest and this was the closest by. I’m a very busy man, after all.”

But why were there so many footprints in the snow? As far as you knew, Wilbur was the only one who lived out in the tundra- and he didn’t seem like the active type at all. There were strange shapes as well, large hooved footprints. However, all thinking comes to a halt at the same time Wilbur does.

“We’re here! You might see some familiar faces cause I live with people.”

Well, that answers the footsteps as well as the tall red-caped piglin hybrid giving leftover bones and raw meat to a polar bear.

“TECHNO! TECHNO, HEY!”

He tenses up for a second, you could tell he wanted to be left alone but that didn’t really bother Wilbur. But you recognize him. The name and the apparel- that guy is Technoblade. The same Technoblade who stood by your side while the two of you blew L’manburg up for the last time, and now the Technoblade who resides in a cottage shrouded in snow.

“Technoblade?!”

Hearing your voice being carried by the crisp winter air, he turns around immediately to see you and Wilbur a few feet away. Techno stood there dumbfounded, but he didn’t know why. He wasn’t particularly joyed or ecstatic to see you, but he was at the very least happy to see an old ally back. 

“Y/n? Oh my god, now we’ve got TWO of you? We don’t have room for another one, alright?”

For some it might be hard to see the meaning behind his words. Luckily you’ve talked to him enough to where you can tell he’s being playful.

“Don’t worry, I’ll just build directly on top of your house. Besides, who WOULDN'T want to be near me 24-7?”

“Me-“

“Oh f*ck off.”

You would’ve thought that that was Wilbur due to the similar accent, but there was something off. The slight gruffness and age, yet still succeeding in sounding mellow.

“Phil! How’s my favorite old bird doing?”

He gives you a face. Not a happy one like you expected, rather a face that says ‘really?’ Probably because of the old comment. The two of you briefly hug, Phil’s tattered wings stretching out slightly.

“I’m doing alright, are you okay? Here, would you like to come in? It’s pretty cold outside, you probably haven’t seen snow in a couple years.”

He wasn’t wrong after all. You were freezing your toes off and were itching for lemon tea. The kind Phil used to make when he, Technoblade and Dream discussed plans on destroying L’manburg. Ah, the good ol days…

“Of course! We’ve got a lot to talk about- you still have that old chess board?”

“Yes, but first you have some explaining to do about the fire over in that tree, Y/n. You just got back and you’re already burning down forests?!”

“Did someone say fire?”

Techno has an eager stride in his step once he also looks back to see the raging lights of orange and red in the nearby forest.

“Don’t worry Phil! It’s just- ahh, a controlled burn..?”

Your tone of voice is unsure when a black crow shoots down from the sky into the snow in front of you. It’s left wing is charred and has smoke dancing from the burn. Philza looks at you with a stern glare.

“Oh my f*cking god…that’s it! We’re all going inside now, you too Techno. I don’t want you and Y/n going on a rampage.”

[percabeth4life]

Can you write a better love interest for Nico? I want my boy to be happy.

Yeah sure!

Okay so first off, there aren’t many kids his age that are named or have actual personality so I’m just gonna make an OC. Cause we’re doing a good relationship here, not just named character.

So OC love interest!

Now, I am a sucker for light/dark and life/death vibes, but also any Apollo camper is just automatically out for me. There’s just an automatic association with a healer at this point and I just... can’t do that. S0langelo ruined it for me.

So Demeter camper! They’re in charge of picking all the plants for the cabins after book 5 and setting that up and the kid, we’re gonna name him Marcus for funsies (he’s got curly black hair and dark eyes and is just great), has to go to Nico about it.

So Marcus goes over to talk to Nico about the plants and stuff and he did his research on good death related plants and gives a list of options (with pictures, advantages, disadvantages, and dangers) to Nico and is like “Just let me know what you pick!” and Nico is like “You know I kill all plants on accident right?” and Marcus 100% takes that as a challenge.

So that’s how their knowing each other starts. Marcus is offering Nico new plants on a weekly basis that require varying degrees of care and Nico is doing a very impressive job killing them all, until Marcus finds funeral flowers.

Lily’s survive the best surprisingly, all different kinds of lilys, but chrysanthemum’s do a pretty good job too. He also figures out that the cypress tree sapling will survive well.

Nico is honestly delighted to have flowers in the cabin, especially ones that actually survive his death touch fairly well. He didn’t think he would manage that. Marcus is very pleased too, mission accomplished.

The two end up hanging out more as time goes on and we can have several paths available at this point.

So either Marcus ends up left behind during the whole seven quest and Nico going missing and all, and they meet up in the way that s0langelo did (as in when Nico is there and Marcus is part of the scouting team instead because who the fuck sends a healer who’s been awake for ages and handling a baby’s birth and isn’t a fighter out on a scouting mission????) and Marcus is like “Oh thank goodness you’re alright we heard you got captured”

Nico is pretty happy to see pretty flower boy who he’s been friends with for awhile is there and reassures him that he’s safe and asks for an update on what’s been going on so he can act properly. And so yeah, Marcus and Nico work together and handle things and Marcus checks up on him after the battle and is like “yikes, that’s a lot, how are you feeling? Do you need someone to talk to?”

And slowly feelings grow from there, leading to them starting to date by TOA time. It’s a shyer romance but they’re good friends so they’re a good pair. They have lots of respect for each other and worry for each other just do good as a pair.

[doopy-n-loopy]

Yandere prompt: Yan!Yamato/Tenzō x reader

This story is related to my Yamato headcannons, so the reader is a female medic nin

// Yandere themes, toxic relationship, mentions of violence

(key: y/n = your name)

"It's for your saftey, you'll see"

Yamato said from across the dark room he kept you in. Your entire body was shaking due to exahaustion and your pants filled the air. It has been the second time you've tried to escape, it's surprising that you we're even able to get out of your room by yourself. Even with all the effort put in, all the sweat shed from your skin, it all went to waste as you were curled up below Yamato, looking like a sick dog while he seemed unfazed. As if he wasn't just chasing you from across the forest.

Earlier that day...

Yamato had left the house he made in the forest to keep you in, it was another normal day for him. Go out, do some minor task that should take about a few hours, and come back home so he can watch over you.

"I'm gonna be back in about 4-8 hours, I love you, y/n-chan "

He said to you sweetly. Showing that he wasn't expecting you to have made a makeshift lockpick out of the silverware he gave to you. He wasn't even sure how you got past the paper seals which would activate if you stepped over them.

Yet you did, you surprised the ninja once again with your stealth and agility. You would have gotten away, but the universe wasn't in your favor.

Unfortunately for you, Yamato overestimated the time it would take to finish the quick job and came back earlier than expected. He knew something wasn't right when he touched the door handle. Something just felt different.

As he walked into the house, he could definitely tell something was wrong. The doorhandle seemed to have been tampered with.

"y/n-chan, I'm home!"

He called out to you. No response but that was to be expected, you didn't like talking to him. He set his bag down onto the dinner table and walked over to the door leading to the basement where you were kept. He went to go take the key out of his pocket when the door shifted open slightly. Yamato stopped midway through rummaging in his pocket for the key and stared at the door for a second.

"y/n?"

He called out downstairs again, this time with a hint of worry in his voice. All he heard was his own voice slightly echoing off the stone walls. He then raced downstairs after no response and looked into your cage, stunned at the sight.

You were gone.

Yamato's disbelief was soon followed up by fear. He dashed upstairs, grabbing his ninja tools and running outside, not even caring to close the door behind him.

You've been running for a minute but to your bare feet it felt like days. Splinters and stones made its way under your fragile skin however you didn't have time to think about that. All you were thinking of was getting as far away from the house before your legs gave out. Hopefully finding a cave on your way.

Being a medic nin means you can't fight. So hiding and running are your best skills, you can hide your chakra and scent as well as use that chakra to propel yourself forward to stretch longer distances faster. Even though your stealthiness has been praised throughout Konoha, almost no one can hide the scent that comes from blood, and your foot was bleeding. That was your biggest mistake.

The sun was setting and you were running out of breath, stopping momentarily to catch yourself. As you leaned against a tree you felt the sharp pains in your foot that came from random things being lodged in there, and winced, immediately sitting down against the tree.

You began working on your foot to get the sticks and stones out as well as patch yourself up, while you were doing that, Yamato was getting closer and closer.

The brunet was running in the direction where you left clues behind- broken sticks, light footprints, sqaushed greenery, and the most noticable: blood. There wasn't much blood but enough to notice right away due to it reflecting the soft orange glow the setting sun had. His mind was racing with horrible thoughts

What if y/n was hurt?

What if someone took her?

Many "what if's" plauged the wood man's mind, he shook himself out of his thoughts after he slowed down for a moment to peer at the tracks, they seemed more recent, the blood wasn't completely dried up. He smiled to himself as he continued running, knowing he was gonna find you and be reuinited with you again.

You took out the last branch, feeling the pain ease a bit. You quickly put your hands over your feet and a soft green glow appeared between your soles and the palms of your hands, sighing in relief as you regenerated the missing skin cells on your feet. You didn't have much time to relax though as you felt your captor's chakra nearing you. You quickly finished up and ran off in the direction you were originally going. If you were wiser, you would have taken a turn.

Yamato came to the tree you sat on, kneeling down to pick up the bloodied wood chips that were just lodged in your feet. He threw them down and continued following your tracks, hoping that it wouldn't get too dark before he found you. It would be a pain to track someone like you in the dark.

You were getting extremely tired and your legs were burning, you reached a small cave and stopped running, deciding to just walk in it. You could still faintly feel Yamato's chakra from afar but you didn't care at this point. You needed to sleep.

Yamato arrived at a cave awhile after you, he looked around to make sure your footprints really ended there, and made his way inside.

There, you were peacefully asleep. You had collapsed shortly after you entered the cave. Yamato's footsteps echoed across the cave walls, waking you up immediately. You saw his shadow that was cast from the light outside sliding along the stone wall of the cave. Quickly scrambling to your feet, you ran deeper into the cave, deep enough to where you couldn't see. Hitting your face against something hard, you realized you've ran into a stalagmite and quickly ran behind it and crouched down, steadying your breathing.

You focused in on Yamato's footsteps, making sure to keep track of his position at all times.

"y/n-chan, I know you're here"

The wood ninja said in a slow, smooth voice which seemed a bit deranged. This made your heart beat faster in fear. As you constantly heard him call out your name, your heart basically jumped out of your chest, you've never been this afraid before.

Then, he went silent. Your heartbeat slowed down and you focused your hearing to try and find him, but to no avail. Until you heard a voice right beside you, which sent shivers down your spine.

"Found you"

The taller man whispered into your ear. You shrieked in terror and jumped about 7 feet back and continued to bavk up. All while Yamato was slowly approaching you.

"Y/N-chan, why did you run from me?"

Yamato said with the same slick tone of voice, continuing to approach you. You stood there in terror before you decided to turn and run away. You yelped as your hips and chest was grabbed by something, quickly restraining your movement. It was wooden beams coming out from Yamato's arms. The wooden beams then swung to the side, hitting you against the cave wall. Yamato walked towards you until his chest was pressed up against your back, the wood he used to restrain you receeded back into his arm and now he was pinning you using his body.

"y/n-chan, why? You know I love you, more than anyone in the world"

His creepy voice was now burned into your memory as his warm breath could be felt against your ear. You moaned uncomfortably but that only got a chuckle out of him.

"p-please"

You begged, choking back a sob. He responded by setting his chin onto your shoulder. You looked up towards the ceiling and clenched your teeth.

"'Please' what, my sapling?"

He responded, planting soft kisses onto the nape and side of your neck.

"l-leave me alone...why are you doing this to me?!?"

Yamato went silent at your response. He didn't like your answer. Before you could react, he quickly took ahold of your weists and turned you around so that you were facing him and he had your arms pinned above you against the cave wall. He had a sadistic look planted onto his face as he pinned you down, his smile was wide and his eyes were fixed on your face.

"Why, my sapling? Why do I do this?"

He said with psychopathic tone

"because we belong together... You and I were meant to be, you know that, my little sapling"

His right hand let go of one of your wrists but he quickly took ahold of it with his left hand so you don't struggle. He brushed the back of his fingers on your cheek. You began struggling about and yamato attenpted to hold you down, but you broke free and hit him with a chakra infused punch, sending him flying to the other side of the cave with a loud crash.

You booked it for your life once again only to be stopped in your tracks by the more experienced man with a wall of wood.

"tsk tsk tsk, that won't work on me"

He groaned, obviously winded from the punch. He watched as you slashed at the wall of wood he created, only strong enough to chip off a chunk at a time. It wouldn't be so bad if the wall didn't regenerate itself.

Yamato snickered at your struggling, it was cute to him. After some time you began to slow down until you dropped to your knees on the cold cave floor. Yamato walked over to you and kneeled down, taking in the sight before him.

"Let's go home, my little sapling"

Yamato said sweetly as he lifted your chin up with one of his fingers so he could look into your dead eyes. The wall lowered down into the ground until it disappeared entirely. Yamato picked you up bridal style and whispered sweet words into your ears. At home, the locks were strengthened and the security was much tighter than before. Yamato was now right on top of you, snuggling with you in your bed. You've gottwn accustomed to his affection. To the point where you now crave it. You no longer want to leave, he's successfully manipulated you into loving him.

Kinda short Ik, this is one of my first times doing a one shot so yeah haha

I'm gonna post a yandere prompt list soon, once I do you can suggest characters for me to write fanfic about

[awkwardbluefish]

Hearts of Passion

-

Summary: Pamela Isley didn't know what to expect when she felt someone else in her orchard. She isn't expecting a skinny kid dressed up as Robin, picking fruit from her trees without a care in the world. He's an interesting Sapling, that was for sure.

Warnings: Swearing

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Pamela Isley didn’t know what she was expecting when that distant tug in the back of her mind caught her attention. Someone was in her orchard and that someone was shifting through her garden, through her mind.

Not many people knew that the plants Pamela grew were a part of her. They were attached to her, to her mind and to her very being. She felt them grow, felt them live. She also felt them die. It was never a pleasant experience, and she doubts it ever would be. But now someone was in her orchard, in her garden. They trekked along the grass, boots scuffing at the back of her mind. They weren’t hurting her plants but there was always the possibility. Blood red hair brushes her shoulder as she cocks her head to the side, lips pressing together in a purse as her eyelids hide her irises in a wary slit. Her plants, and therefore her, wanted to investigate, to ease that twitch of curiosity thrumming in their shared veins. What on Earth was this person doing?

Very few people trekked through the groves of Robinson Park. It was common knowledge that Pamela Isley, no, Poison Ivy resided among the vines and moss at the depth of the parks. The only ones that willingly entered Ivy’s mangrove were Harleen and Selina, the two woman Isley has reluctantly grown attached to throughout the years. There were two other visitors her garden has grown familiar with, two which were not welcome but seemed to welcome themselves in either way. Batman and Robin.

Herleen, the idiotic woman, was currently in Arkham. The joker had once again twisted her thoughts, manipulating the blonde in such a way that Harley felt like she had no free will, felt like she couldn’t disobey her puddin’. Isley wasn’t happy, far from it. Despite being a psychiatrist Harley could never seem to pick apart that things mind enough to understand he was using her. He didn’t love her and he never would. Not like she could. If Joker ever came within the range of her and her plants, Ivy would choke him.

Selina and herself were planning to get Harleen out. Normally they wouldn’t go near Arkham with a ten foot pole, but Harleen was family and right now she was being exploited by a man that wanted nothing but chaos and destruction. They had to get her out, to help her. It would take a while and Harley would go through relapses but she was family, their friend, so they would try. For her.

Her mind tugs, pulling in the back of her brain. Her plants were curious, thrumming with energy. The need to know, to touch, to understand flowed through the link with such a searing intensity that Isley felt her pulse buzz and heighten in response. It was clear to her now that this being wasn’t here to hurt her babies, they were searching for something, exploring. Interesting. She lets the vines tug at her mind, their desire to investigate just as intense as her own.

She hums softly, the sound bubbling in her throat and echoing quietly around her. Each step she took were careful but graceful as she follows the tugging on her mind, letting the ebb pull her to the source. Flowers curl around her ankles, a soft sensation enough to tickle at her skin, vines brushing along her collar bone in a warm greeting before retreating, blending in with their own kind. Her babies part for her, green leaves tickling her cheeks as they make an opening for her, a door to the source of their excitement today.

A boy, young and far too skinny and dressed in familiar colours stare up at her, white lenses wide and muscles coiled. This was Robin but the small sapling was new, smaller than the first. It seems Batman has gotten another flower to blossom in his slowly but surely growing garden. Interesting indeed.

A vine curls around her wrists, cold leathery skin reassuring. Ivy doesn’t move, watching the boy with interest. The young sapling had been careful with her babies as he tugged fresh juicy fruit from her trees. Pamela liked this one already. The other Robin was far too energetic, not seeming to care for the babies that provided life to their world. Sure, the first sapling didn’t seek out to hurt her plants, only when he deemed it necessary, therefore when Poison Ivy was using her babies for revenge against the chemical companies. Still, he had hurt her babies so maybe Isley was being bias.

“Those are my fruit young Sapling.” She waves her palm, the vine slithering away from her wrist to wrap around the boys’ basket. An indignant shout escapes the boys lips but Ivy has to give him credit when its due, he doesn’t go after the basket.

The vine places the wooden basket down by her feet. Cherry red apples shimmer under her gaze, as well as blood red tomatoes. What on earth was the young sapling doing?

“You may control the plants but that doesn’t mean you own them!” Robin grumbles, lips twitching into a frown. The boys shoulders were tense, arms crossed tight to his chest. A barrier made instinctively between them, covering his heart as well as other vital organs. Smart. He was subtly defensive, as if to not to trigger her. Now that was interesting. Not that it would do much if Isley wanted to attack.

Isley chuckles, curiosity peaked as she lowers herself to her knees. She reaches into the basket, plucks out a tomato that sinks into her palm. Ripe and just perfect to be eaten. But the boy wasn’t eating, he was collecting. “Oh contrary little sapling. You are right, I do not own these babies or control them. I protect them and they let me. Now would you like to tell me why you’re collecting fruit from my garden?”

Robin frowns, face flushing red, a stark contrast to the black domino resting along his cheekbones. A foot begins to bounce and Isley watches the boy flounder with cool green eyes, seeing his limbs lock up in a freeze, sees his chest raise in slow controlled breaths. He was trying to get control of his anxiety; he was a smart one. He sure did hide his emotions better than the first one, but he was still a child and they were as plain to read as an open picture book. Isley lets him think, rearranging the fruit to prevent bruising. No need to bruise perfectly good food because of the packaging.

“And I should tell you why?” The boy grumbles, a chin jutting out and arms tightening around his chest. Isley snorts softly to herself, understanding the kids’ wariness but finding it amusing all the same. Unlike what the media likes to portray, Isley does not attack innocents, especially children. The first Boy Wonder however hadn’t left her too much of a choice. Its survival of the fittest in Gotham and there was no way she was being sent back to Arkham simply because she wanted to protect and grow her babies. She made sure to never seriously harm the older Robin though. Despite his treatment to her babies, he still managed to wiggle a way into her green heart.

“I’m just curious sapling,” she continues to kneel, willing moss to grow beneath her. There, now that was much more comfortable. “If you have a good reason, I’ll let you take the fruit home. I don’t just let greedy little children take my freshly grown produce only to waste them.”

The boy bristles, shoulders tensing in anger. The arms tighten before throwing down to his side, foot flattening the grass beneath his pixie boots in the stomp of anger. Ivy was expecting his defiance but she assumed it would be on his own behalf. But that wasn’t the case. Robin was angered over someone else’s behalf. Interesting.

“The kids in crime alley aren’t greedy little children!” He roars, words laced in that familiar Gotham drawl Ivy has gotten used to since moving here from Seattle.  “They’re just trying to survive! They’ve been left on the streets to die and without nutrients in their systems it’ll be sooner rather than later! They are the farthest thing from greedy when referring to fuckin’ food! Yes, they steal, yes they might be pests but it’s not like food is handed to them on a silver platter like the majority of the people in this selfish city!”

Ivy hums, throat vibrating as a smile pulls at her glossed lips. She stands up, gripping the basket handle as she goes. Robin goes stiff, attempting to cool his features from his righteous fury. It doesn’t quite work but the effort was valiant if nothing else.

“That’s quite a statement little one. A statement I’d have to agree on,” Robins jaw drops and Pamela chuckles, a familiar warmth bubbling in her stomach. She was getting fond of people far too easily these days. “You have passion in this subject so I guess asking your opinion on an upcoming project of mine would be best.”

“What project?” Robin growls and Ivy’s smile goes a little less mischievous and a little more warm. She wasn’t only passionate about plants after all.

She strides forwards, makes her form lax. She didn’t want to frighten the child; she was not about to harm him. Robin still tenses and Pamela can feel his gaze making holes through her body. “I’ve been thinking of this little project for a while now. Of course, if I just begun it without consulting with a trusting authority then it would be a mere waste. I wish to grow fruit and vegetables in crime alley. Of course, that’s only the beginning, I hope to grow food for anyone in need in Gotham where they have free access.”

Isley meets his whiteouts in a gaze, knows the boy is assessing her. His shoulders are tense, muscles once again coiled but he doesn’t run. He doesn’t attack either. He’s interested, hope taught in his form. But he won’t bite, not yet. If he had Pamela would call Batman herself, demanding the boy to be put under more training. To not trust so easily, not without all the details. This sapling was a bright one.

“What do you get out of it?” The kid demands, once again coming in defence to protect the street kids. Interesting. There just had to be some history there. No one was protective of street kids, not unless they were one, had been one or had enough compassion and sympathy that just did not belong in Gotham.

Isley hums, a small smile twisting at her strawberry coated lips. she would have to dig into that later. “What do I gain hmm? I gain nothing. Nothing but being relieved at not seeing children die, to see kids fight over a mouldy piece of bread. If I’m lucky, I’ll also be able to see these children smile, live like the children they are. But I cannot do that by myself.”

Robin doesn’t take the basket, not yet, but Isley can see his form relaxing, melting at her words. He wants this to, with a burning passion that Isley feels towards plant life. It was important to this boy. There was definitely some history there that Isley was just dying to find out. Later though. Right now, was a chance to put her long waiting plan to action. A chance to put her gifts to good, to use her powers in a way the was seen as socially acceptable. There was a need within her that never seem to abate, the need for acceptance. This need couldn’t just be filled by her babies, no matter how hard they tried.

“Why not?” It’s snapped out, words meaning to be harsh but Isley smiles. He couldn’t quite be menacing when the hope in his voice seemed to outshine even the sun. Cute.

“People would stop me. They would believe I was up to something, that I plan on poisoning innocent children or wanted something in exchange. The police would blow up my babies, maybe even arrest some street kids on the way if they were near. Batman would cut up my babies, arrest me too most likely. Despite the medias propaganda, I do truly wish to help.”

Robin’s expression had lifted, lightening during Isley’s small speech. The frown had tugged up, not quite a smile but definitely not a frown either. His head had tilted, much like a curious puppy as she talked, relaxing in an open body posture. He wasn’t tense, wasn’t in defence. He was completely curious, interested. Eager almost.

“To help plants,” Robin points out and Isley smiles.

“They’re one in the same, are they not? I wish to help plants to help people. I wish to help plants to help the Earth. Plants are being killed off and so are the oxygen supplies, the food. Plants are what I’m passionate about but they lead into so many other things.” Isley admits. She always wanted to help people and plants could do that. Humans were too dense to make sense of it, however.

Robin gazes at her, past her walls and her crimes. It was like being truly seen for the first time, by someone other than Harleen and Selina. It was frightening but it also felt undeniably good.

“You really mean it don’t you? You just want to help.” Robin’s expression is open, cheeks flushed and lips parted. He gazed up at Isley in awe, as if she were a one of a kind. She almost felt embarrassed. The kids shakes his head, a grin full of teeth. A smile, full of childish wonder nearly blinds her as he takes the basket from her outstretched palm. “Next time maybe don’t attack big companies? It might do some good for your image!”

Isley laughs, chest rumbling and a warmth coiling its way around her heart. There was no doubt about it, in a few minutes she had grown undeniably fond of this kid, the new Robin. Harleen and Selina would never let her live it down.

“Thanks Dr. Isley! I’ll talk to B-Man and sort something out! Just don’t go attacking anyone and I think he���d be okay with it!” A flutter of a cape and the click of a grabble gun and Isley is alone with her babies once again.

She smiles, pets a vine curling around her wrist. “He’s a cheeky sapling, isn’t he?”

Her babies agree and Isley knows she isn’t the only fond one of the boy.

[arigatouiris]

bloody brilliant // midoriya izuku

Author’s Note: After a LONG ABSENCE, I’m back! Sort of, I’m trying to write again regularly? I was in a slump for a bit and managed to play The Last of Us II and make my mental health worse (in a good way?) lmao. Thank you for such kind words yesterday when I was at my worst?? You guys are amazing and the positivity just UGH I LOVE YA’LL. This was requested by @allurajarren​ a while ago and I am so so sorry it took so long! I’ve made a few changes haha I hope you like it uwu 

Also, this might come as a weird surprise which might not even be welcome but Mineta isn’t such a bad person in this? Although I do hate his guts lol

Word count: 4461

Pairing: Midoriya Izuku x Reader

Warnings: fluff, angst, reader with a plant quirk

You’ve had a lot of people call you delicate in the past. 

You hated the word. You hated everything that represented it, you hated being correlated with it, you practically hated it because it reminded you of how weak you were—your mind had already been overridden with the ideology that your weakness wasn’t just because of your quirk, but it manifested within your very psyche. 

You hated when they called you delicate because you knew it was true.

Yet, you strove on. A part of you wanted to prove people wrong because so what if your quirk was plant-based? So what if you were like some comic-book villain? So what if your quirk had many weaknesses? That didn’t mean you couldn’t be strong, right?

After all, you had gotten into U.A, you couldn’t be a complete failure, right?

You kept holding yourself going despite how difficult things were. People from your middle school deemed that you wouldn’t hurt a soul, and someone like you becoming a hero made no sense whatsoever? Your entire body ached with the failed expectations of your friends, family, peers from middle school, who only expected you to fail—and getting into U.A., did very little to make you feel proud. The only solace you found was jotting your thoughts into your diary, which remained the stronghold of your psyche—the very exoskeleton that kept you standing on difficult days.

Your diary was a kind of psychological exoskeleton that protected you from pain and contained your anxieties, but just like the skin of a snake, it only could hold on for a bare minimum of time; your mind always ends up cracking under pressure or hollowed out by time—and will keep growing back again and again, until you developed a more sophisticated emotional structure, held up by a strong and flexible spine, built less like a fortress than a cluster of treehouses.

Your insecurity dragged on and you believed you would never be able to overlook it, until your eyes landed on Midoriya Izuku.

The boy had you floored from the second you saw him on your orientation, his speed, agility, tenacity, his willingness to keep pushing despite how it was hurting him, everything about him reminded him of a part of your brain that kept pushing you, that kept telling you that you could dream too, that you could be where he is now. 

It wasn’t love, but more of an innocent curiosity that had you itching to watch more of how Midoriya conquered people’s expectations of him. From the very second how he threw the baseball using his fingers, and to how he managed to come fourth in the cavalry battle, you just couldn’t look away. You obviously jotted these points down in your diary, and you were aware of how your diary was slowly turning into a book where you jotted down whatever you noticed about him—what could be his weaknesses, what could be his strengths, his quirks other than breaking bones, what fascinated him and what of him fascinated you. There was quite a lot, indeed.

When you were leaving class one evening, you noticed how his arm was limp by his side.

     “Midoriaya-kun?” You questioned, tilting your head a bit.

He turned to you and his face reddened, a trait he often showcased with literally any girl he spoke to. You thought it was adorable, and you couldn’t quell the growing noise within your own chest.

     “Y-Yes?”

     “Is your arm okay?”

Midoriya let out a chuckle before rubbing the back of his neck rather bashfully, “Y-Yeah, it’s nothing. I overused my quirk again while training yesterday. I’m heading over to recovery girl now.”

You smiled at him before nodding and turning away, feeling the pace within your chest increase as you rephrased the entire conversation within your mind. You had finally spoken to him (not that you hadn’t before, but this was your very first conversation with the boy without the assistance of anyone else). You had spoken to Midoriya and hadn’t sounded like an absolute idiot!

     “(l/n)-san!”

Your heart froze at the mention of your name. Turning around with wide eyes, you noticed Izuku running toward you.

     “Y-Yes?” By now you were certain you had a crush on him.

What else could months of stalking lead to anyway?

     “You forgot your bag.”

Scratch the part where you told yourself you’d managed to have a conversation with Izuku without making a fool out of yourself. You had. You had made a fool out of yourself.

You weren’t normally a very shy person, but perhaps it was because of his bashful nature did your nature become quite timid as well. Letting out a breath, you moved to the back of the dorms, toward a small forest clearing. Present Mic had shown you this area, someplace you could practice your quirk without any hindrance. Walking over to your regular area, you let out a breath before putting your diary down, before turning to spot a sapling growing on the ground. Taking a deep breath, you reached forward, urging the sapling to move out of the ground, using your quirk to rapid its growth; the plant moved, grew in an instant before flowers bloomed on its stem, thorns pricking at the corners, and you manipulated its structure and made the thorns bigger, the stem girthier, and the flowers poisonous. 

But it took a lot longer than it did the day before. You wondered if it was because your mind was occupied, and you also took note of how you stood idle while you were doing it. Clicking your tongue, you got to work.

I can’t let this get to me, you thought, picturing Izuku’s face, knowing how hard he might be working to master his own quirk. I have to get stronger.

*

     “Midoriya shounen, you probably shouldn’t train so hard and break all of your bones at once.”

     “It’s not like I’m trying to break my bones.” He said, apologetically, as All Might led him inside the forest behind the dorms.

     “Perhaps if you tried segregating how much of your quirk you use while you use it? You aren’t allowing it to accelerate all over your hands, when you focus it on punches. The power is devastating, and can break you.”

I’m aware of that bit, Midoriya thought, letting out a sigh. He turns to an open clearing, noticing a weird sapling growing at the corner. Blinking twice, he walked over to the plant, but stopped before touching it. From one look, he could tell that the flowers were poisonous, the thorns were unusually bigger, and the stem of the plant itself looked like a rope.

     “Is something wrong?”

     “No, I think,” Midoriya swore he had seen this type of quirk before, “I think I’ve seen this somewhere.”

At this, All Might moved aside and spotted the plant that was in front of the boy. As if he had recognized it in an instant, All Might smiled before thinking of you fondly.

     “It must be (l/n) shoujo.”

Izuku’s eyes widened at the mere mention of your name. Ah, he thought before scrunching his eyes together, That’s right, I’ve not really seen her quirk in action before! As he turned to face All Might, Midoriya spotted a small book beside another tree, before walking over to it and picking it up. 

     “I think you should take a break for today, Midoriya shounen,” All Might said softly, “Pushing yourself too hard isn’t good either.”

Nodding with a smile, Midoriya held the book in his hands before heading to the dorm. In the meanwhile however, his curiosity got the better of him, and wanting to look for a name, he opened the first few pages of your diary. 

Sometimes, I think Midoriya-san just needs to rest his bones a bit.

His eyes widened at the words written down. Whoever this person was, they were talking about him! Turning to another page, he found more words of him, some were worried for him, some were highlighting his weaknesses (which he gladly made note of), and some were praising his strengths. A smile sat on his lips as he read what was written, no judgment in mind, before bumping into someone.

He blinked when he spotted Mineta. The purple head tilted his head at Midoriya’s smile before cheekily grinning at him.

     “That looks like a weird smile, Midoriya,” Mineta teased, “What’s gotten you smiling like me?”

A dark shade overshadowed Izuku’s face as he shook off Mineta’s words.

     “It’s definitely nothing like your smile, Mineta-kun,” He said softly, “But, it’s nothing. I was just... recollecting something.”

     “Hm,” Mineta scoffed before walking away, “I hope it’s not something stupid like a crush.”

Izuku chuckled before entering his dorm room. Leaving his school bag by the bed, he opened the diary once more before reading the words written about him again, from the beginning. 

It can’t be Uraraka-san, he thought before humming and tracing his finger over the writing. On second thought, why can’t it be Uraraka-san? Does that mean she watches me and takes note of me? Or is it Asui-san? She seems to care about my wellbeing too, right? 

A blush adorned his face as he thought, It can’t be Yaoyarozu-san or Jirou-san, definitely. They don’t seem the type to... He gulped, unable to even finish the thought.

Shooting up straight on his bed, Midoriya suddenly jerked up, almost certain he tore a tissue on his neck. His eyes were wide and his grip on the diary tightened just a little bit, and a yelp exited his mouth.

And just as the door opened, Midoriya exclaimed, “(l/n)-san!”

Mineta blinked at the door before closing it behind him quietly. I thought I was the freak, he thought as he walked back to his dorm. It’s a stupid crush. I’ll ask him about the damn homework some other time. 

*

     “Izuku-kun, will you kiss me?” Your face was inches away from his, your hand was wrapped around his wrist. 

Izuku could feel his cheeks burn at how close you were, your eyes were dead focused on his form. You weren’t looking anywhere else, and why were your lips so shiny? He gulped when he realized he had been looking at them, before you moved in and closed the gap. You kissed him like you had been dreaming of this for far too long, and your grip on his wrist merely tightened. And just as Izuku eased into the kiss, closing his eyes, nourishing the feeling it was giving him, he felt a strange warmth cascade on his skin.

His eyes shot open and the alarm noise was blaring into his ears. He lay there, ignoring the sound of the alarm, and he thought of you—how your lips felt against his, how your eyes were looking into his soul; he felt the warmth rush to his face again and he felt a bit ashamed, a bit relieved that it was indeed a dream, but mostly, Izuku felt like he had run a marathon in less than an hour.

He thanked the stars that it was a weekend, but he still had to go over and give you the diary. He bit his lip when he thought of you again, your eyes looking right into his, and without realizing it, Izuku bumped his feet against the bed and cussed.

Get it together, he thought before feeling the embarrassment rush to his features. Grabbing the diary, Izuku swallowed air before attempting to head to your dorm room; knowing full well that you might either be there or near the forest. He hasn’t actually spoken to you voluntarily, and while this realization made him feel weird inside, not to mention the wet dream he had of you, Izuku felt a strange excitement—like he was suddenly 5 years old and the girl he was sitting next to finally smiled at him.

He knocked twice on your door, but there was no answer. For a second, he wondered if he should just leave the diary in front of your door, but remembering a certain purple haired classmate of his, Izuku thought it was best if he handed it over to you personally. After all, he had no idea if you were going to be mad at him or snap at him for taking your book; maybe, you headed back where you left it, in hopes of finding it right there, but Izuku knew that he had stolen that chance away from you. Rushing to the forest, he spotted you there, frantically looking over at every inch, and a soft smile crept up to his lips. Slowly approaching you, Izuku held the book in his right hand while his left hand rubbed the back of his neck.

     “Um,” He alerted you, not wanting to scare you, “(l/n)-san?”

You jumped at the sound, turning to him with a strikingly red face; you looked troubled, but he only assumed that was because you thought your book was missing. Izuku slowly handed the book to you before offering an apologetic smile.

     “I—I’m really sorry! I found it here and I didn’t know whose it was! I was training with All Might, well, actually, I was about to train but he told me not to? So I had to leave, and while I was, I spotted the plant you made? At first, I didn’t know you’d made it—and All Might was the one who said—”

     “Midoriya-kun, thank you!”

Izuku’s eyes widened to spot you smiling at him, holding the book close to your chest. The sight of you warm and happy did a number on him, but he didn’t move. Suddenly, he recalled how big your eyes looked when you were about to kiss him and his face heated up. Moving back a couple inches, you were shocked to see how repulsed he suddenly looked.

Your face turned purple, “I-Is everything okay?”

He nodded vigorously before almost retching, “Y-Yeah! I... I have to go!”

Your heart fell at the sight. Suddenly, you didn’t want to care about why he made such a face at your smile. Perhaps, he had read your diary; maybe, he had been repulsed by how you would watch him. Maybe, it was because you were a delicate person, not in tune with who he associated to be, and that was why he was repulsed. Maybe, if you had been anyone but yourself, Izuku would have returned that smile. Your gradual need to voluntarily care less grew in your heart, but you were intrinsically kind—there was no way you could not care. You felt a growing desire to care less about things—to loosen your grip on your life, to stop glancing behind you every few steps, afraid that someone will snatch it from you before you reach the end zone—rather to hold your life loosely and playfully, like a volleyball, keeping it in the air, with only quick fleeting interventions, bouncing freely in the hands of trusted friends, always in play.

But you had no friends you could trust. You could not even understand why something so trivial made you feel something so inexplicably deep. 

After the weekend, Izuku noticed you walk into class, a solemn look in your eyes. He wondered if it was because of how abruptly he had left that day, ignoring what you were about to say. He wanted to know right away what you were thinking, what was running through your mind. He wanted to know your every detail, wanting to jot down points in his own diary that he noticed about you. He suddenly hated that he needed to get to know you in order to continue this process, but with you just sitting there, looking sad and anguished, possibly over something he had done, left him feeling helpless and Izuku hated every breathing moment of it.

A twisted sense of frustration grew within him, with how long it takes to get to know someone—and how it required having to spend the first few weeks chatting in their psychological entryway, with each subsequent conversation like entering a different anteroom, each a little closer to the center of the house—wishing instead that you could start there and work your way out, exchanging your deepest secrets first, before easing into casualness, until you’ve built up enough mystery over the years to ask them where they’re from, and what they do.

He quickly shut his eyes when he realized that sensory overload blind the back of his eyes.

Walking back to his dorm, he noticed you wave at Tsuyu-chan and Uraraka-chan before heading to the back of the dorms. Instantly, he knew you were heading over there to train, and swallowing the rock in his throat, Izuku rushed over to you and cleared his throat, wanting not to startle you.

You turned around and your eyes widened, but you forced yourself not to react. Whatever these feelings were, you had long accepted them as being one-sided, so there was no point in pining.

     “Are you headed to train?” 

You nodded, confused at his query. 

     “Is it alright if I join you?”

You blinked, “You want to train with me?”

     “I’m sorry but,” He took a breath, “I read what you’d written about me. I’m sorry! I know I shouldn’t have looked, but you made so much sense about my quirk! I wanted to thank you for your observations, but I guess... I just... Will you please let me train with you?”

Izuku bowed in front of you and you stood there, floored. Scrambling to have him do anything but bow at you, you bowed back because you really had no idea how to respond to him. Izuku noticed before standing up straight, with you following right after. 

     “Okay. But, I... I’m not as good as you.”

     “Good as me? I’m not even good!” He laughed, following you to the clearing.

You turned to him with a deadpan, “Midoriya-san, your modesty is an insult.”

     “I-I’m sorry...” He rubbed the back of his head.

When you reached the area, you stood opposite to where he stood. Izuku took a deep breath before wondering what your offensive moves were like. You were often curious yourself, considering you hadn’t particularly trained with someone before. You were mainly a defensive fighter, but this was your first time wanting to fight offensive.

     “I’ll try to go on the offensive.” You said, pressing your hands together.

Midoriya nodded before looking at you intensely. The look made you nervous, but at the same time, it was devoid of any judgment. In an instant, Izuku’s legs were pinned to the ground he stood on, vines wrapping over his feet. He tried to move, but the grip could literally remove his legs. His eyes widened when he spotted you standing exactly where you were, and he wondered what was to come next.

In a second, he turned to his left and spotted a tree trunk coming right at his face, but Izuku moved, pulling his legs away from the vines, rushing toward you; however, what he didn’t expect was to trip over the trunk and fall face flat on to you.

He heard you whine, but he assumed that was because he had fallen over you. But it was when he opened his eyes did he realize what had actually happened. His face was cushioned on your chest, your breasts having covered his fall. Izuku felt a wire in his brain short-circuit, before pushing himself away from you, quickly scurrying to the other end of the forest. You slowly got up a moment later, and when he expected you to yell at him, berate him for being just another Mineta, you looked worried instead.

Eh?

     “Are you alright?”

Midoriya froze at how you sounded, your voice almost shaky. He could only nod. You let out a breath before sitting right where you were, a sullen look enveloping your features. 

     “I-I’m sorry—”

     “I thought I hurt you...”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

     “What?”

     “People usually call me delicate, but the thing is... I don’t have any control over my quirk. It’s a powerful quirk, I’m aware... But I can’t control it because I’m delicate. Weak. People were right. I’m no fit to be a hero. I can’t be like you, Midoriya-san, I can’t be stronger than this... I almost hurt you terribly. You’re already doing your best. And those scars on your hand... You have no idea how much that bothers me. Stupid, right?”

Not at all. What are you saying?

     “Someone like me shouldn’t dream so big. I took notes of you hoping I could be like you, but this just proves to me that I can’t. We’re so apart in skill, I just—”

     “(l/n)-san! Snap out of it!”

Your eyes widened to see Izuku yell at you. You paused, before waiting for him to finish.

     “You’re not weak! You’re anything but weak. Your quirk, it’s one of the most beautiful quirks I’ve ever seen! And your precision! You don’t know it, but this quirk is killing me the more I use it and controlling it is hard, I’ll admit. But if I had the dexterity that you do, I’d be a lot stronger. I’m not strong. I’m anything but,” He got up before moving to you. Bending down to your level, Izuku offered you a hand and brought you up to a standing position. “You’re really strong, (l/n)-san. You don’t see it.”

You teared up at his words, but blinked them away.

     “And about people calling you delicate in the past...” You couldn’t ignore the feeling of his hand over yours. “I know that it’s hard to not let it get to you, but trust me, you are going to make an amazing hero.”

You wanted to hug him but you held yourself back. You smiled to yourself, feeling the back of your eyelids burn again, but you just let yourself look at Izuku’s hand in yours, feeling absolute joy rush into your features. Looking up at him, you smiled once more. Izuku was already smiling, but a string in his heart tore as he recollected something.

Izuku-kun, will you kiss me?

His face suddenly reddened and he pulled away, causing you to blink once again. He didn’t look repulsed, he looked... shy? Nodding a couple of times, he scooted away from the area, leaving you behind.

*

For an entire week, he wondered if he had blown things off to a point where he couldn’t ever fix them.

Sitting in the common room, he laid his head in between his legs and groaned, the couch feeling heavy against his body. Mineta and Kaminari spotted their friend being an absolute grouch before Mineta sighed and walked over to him. 

     “What’s up, man?” 

Izuku sighed before shaking his head. 

     “I screwed up.”

Mineta rolled his eyes, “Screwed up things with (l/n)?”

The green haired male instantly looked up at the smaller boy who presented a rather unamused expression in his face.

     “H-How did you...?”

     “Only the both of you look like you’re dying so, it wasn’t hard to connect the dots. Also,” He grinned, “You were screaming her name out the last time I saw you.”

Izuku remembered that episode and pretended not to hear Mineta.

     “Just go talk to her, don’t be a wimp when it comes to matters of the heart!”

I thought he was just a regular pervert, Midoriya thought with wonder. Maybe there’s more to Mineta, after all—

     “And tell me how her breasts feel like—”

     “Good day, Mineta-kun.”

Letting out a breath, he rubbed the back of his neck, wondering why he lets the image of you kissing him breach his every interaction with you. He bit his lip before spotting you heading to the clearing again, to train in silence and solitude. He missed interacting with you, and he wondered where this guilt came from.

Following after you, he noticed the way you walked; brisk, yet smooth. He watched you train, moving vines and branches effortlessly, a lot quicker than before. In just a week, you had managed to excel so much that it amazed him. He didn’t want to be seen watching you, so he hid behind a tree and just stared in wonder. There was a kind of unnoticed excellence that carried on around you, and Izuku noticed this every day—the hidden talent of how you effortlessly carried on being yourself—you would be renowned as a masterpiece if only you’d been appraised by the cartel of popular taste, who assume that brilliance is a rare and precious quality, accidentally overlooking a buried jewel such as yourself, who may not be flawless but are still somehow perfect.

It was at this point, when his eyes widened slowly did he realize that he liked you. 

And boy, did he really, really want to kiss you.

Gulping, he got up to address you like a regular person would, but he tripped on absolutely nothing and fell face flat in front of him, now revealing him to be a creepy stalker. Please don’t think I’m Mineta—

     “You’re nothing like him, Midoriya-kun. Are you okay?”

I guess I spoke aloud, he thought before getting up and looking at you.

     “I... I’m really sorry.”

You shook your head, “I understand that it must be hard to face me. I must make you angry.”

Eh?

     “I understand if you think I’m weird—”

     “(l/n)-san, I think you’re bloody brilliant.”

Your eyes widened at his blatant observation. 

     “What?”

     “I’m running away from you because... because I...” His face was quite possibly burning him, “I like you.”

     “I like you too.” 

He looked at you like you were joking, but apparently you were not.

     “Oh.”

     “Yes.”

You two just stood there, not knowing what to say. You moved a bit, suddenly feeling shy under his intense gaze.

     “Why... Why were you avoiding me then?”

Because I had a dream where you kissed me, he thought before breathing out, noticing the way your eyes widened and face reddened. Oh god.

Don’t tell me I said it aloud!

     “Midoriya-san... You... What?”

Moving over to you, he grabbed your hands in what felt like the most random and instantaneous reaction he has ever had, and pressed his lips to yours, right before muttering an apology. A second later, he could feel you kiss back, the hand that was free was on his cheek now. 

Pulling back, he let out a breath in relief. 

     “I like you, Midoriya-san.” 

     “Call me Izuku.”

     “Izuku-kun,” you tilted your head sweetly, “Will you kiss me?”

He turned to you with a bright red face, shocked out his mind before he spotted you giggling a second later. 

     “Oh, you’re teasing me, I see.”

     “Glad you caught on.”

[prettywordsyouleft]

Her Name

noona-clock said:

congratulations on hitting this milestone! i'm so proud to know you and grateful to get to read the work you share with us. for my request, i would like to dare you to revisit the spiritual connection universe -- yes, with jae. but... while he was still alive. 😮have fun!!!!!

Pairing: Jae Park x OC

World: Spiritual Connection (read HERE)

Genre: period au / strangers to lovers / romance / fluff

Warnings: none

A/N: I’ve decided to keep the Spiritual Connection world to just one Y/N and so when I got this dare, I knew we needed to bring in an OC. I’m very happy that I’ve managed to connect this to another special story I’ve written in this world as well! I hope you all enjoy!

Word count: 4173

“You love that guitar a lot, huh?”

Jae glanced down at the instrument in his lap and he ran a hand over it fondly. Nodding once, he looked up and smiled. “It was given to me by the love of my life.”

 Taking a gulp of the ale placed down before him, Jae looked in the retreating bartender’s direction before turning back to the men he sat with. “So, what’s the deal with her?”

“With who?” Sungjin, his new boss, asked and then glanced over Jae’s shoulder to one of the only females in the tavern. She shot him a polite smile before picking up a cloth to wipe down the bar counter. “Ah, you mean the tavern owner’s daughter.”

“Now you don’t go messing with her, you hear!” the young man on his right announced loudly, already feeling the effects of the alcohol he had half downed from his mug. Jae shot Wonpil a smirk, clapping a hand over his shoulders playfully.

“Looks like you’re a little too intoxicated to do anything about if I did.”

“But you won’t,” Brian concluded, catching Jae’s attention. The four others Jae sat with seemed rather protective of the girl which was why he was interested.

That and she the most stunning set of eyes he had ever seen before.

“I’m not about to be indecent with her!” Jae protested, raising his hands to defend himself. “I simply wanted to know what the deal with her was.”

“You mean the reason she didn’t greet you,” Dowoon mentioned and Jae nodded, furrowing his brows a little. At least the youngest had also noticed it. When Jae entered the tavern for dinner to celebrate his first full week at the estate with his new co-workers, he had seen her and greeted her warmly. She had merely nodded, turning away and darting off immediately as if he had frightened her. Jae couldn’t see how, he was just the average sort of type around here. Even if he was new to this village, nothing about him stood out other than his height. And he was certain being taller in life didn’t suddenly make him someone to be wary of.

“That’s B,” Sungjin told him, lifting his mug to his lips and gulping some of his ale down before continuing. “The tavern owner’s daughter. That’s all you need to know.”

“B? Is that a nickname?”

“She doesn’t talk,” Brian continued, shooting Sungjin a look when his friend placed a hand over his arm. The pair didn’t verbalise their thoughts, challenging one another with their gaze instead. It intrigued Jae; he had expected the secrets to be back on the farm he had been ploughing the fields of all afternoon for planting saplings. Brian nodded softly in the young woman’s direction. “She hasn’t for as long as I can remember. So you just go about being polite to her and leave it at that.”

Over the course of the next month, Jae did just that. He would greet B upon entering the bar, and thank her whenever she brought over his drink. Soon, Jae started sitting up on the stools by the counter, attempting to make conversation with her. It wasn’t as well-received as he expected. Yet he wanted to try since no one else ever did.

“The weather outside is nice today,” he mentioned after thanking B for his drink, and she smiled, nodding her head slowly. “Have you been outside to see it yet?”

Again, she responded by moving her head, this time shaking it from side to side.

“Do you like the sun? It gets pretty sticky when working out in it yet it’s nicer than the lashing rain,” he continued, and B shot him an exasperated look. He realised she must’ve heard when Brian told him all about her being mute. Still, just because she couldn’t talk didn’t mean he didn’t want to converse with her.

“Are your eyes brown or hazel?” he asked next and B emitted a noise, Jae’s eyes widening with surprise. It was a groan and he began to laugh heartily, her lips twitching with amusement. Turning away from him, B clenched the counter in her hands to steady herself before turning around and smiling forcibly.

Jae returned the gesture, albeit much more relaxed. “You know, I’m just going to keep annoying you right?”

She nodded curtly and he grinned. “Great, now that we have that establish- HEY, where are you going?!”

“You’re an interesting sort of person, Jae,” Brian told him as he slapped a hand on his shoulder with a chuckle, jerking his head in the direction of the girl who disappeared. “And just because you keep persisting doesn’t mean B won’t teach you a few lessons along the way.”

Jae was certain B’s smile grew wider every time she saw him. Today was no different, looking up from drying off a stack of mugs to give him a generous grin when he stepped up to the counter. Without even asking for a pint, she spun around to get him one, placing it down in front of him happily.

“Why, thank you, B.”

Tipping her head in answer, she turned back to the task at hand. She then whipped around when she noticed he was uncharacteristically quiet, a little breath leaving her when she saw what he was up to. Jae glanced up from the paper and ink pen he had, smiling at her again. “Oh, are you wondering what I’m doing? Well, no one has told me that you can’t read. Just that you’re no good at talking. I get that but you know, there’s only so many nods or shakes a man can take before you make him bust out some ink.”

Blushing, B tried to look away but the longer she watched the man scribble down words upon the paper, the more intrigued she became to read them. Jae noticed her avid attention, smiling to himself as he continued to write down all the questions in his head. When he was done, he then spun the paper around and held the pen out to her.

“Alright, it’s your turn.”

Slowly, she reached out for the writing tool and then started to circle her answers; even writing down a couple of notes herself. Jae was entranced, listening to all the little huffs of air she let out as she thought or how smiled to herself at some of his questions. It was all very simple stuff, but he could tell she was touched by his efforts. Finally, she placed the pen down and pushed the paper back to him.

“Let us see,” he announced, picking up the paper to read it. “Not much for the outdoors but you love a good book, got it. Oh, you like music?”

B nodded, pointing to the tiny stage in the corner where a lone guitar sat. Jae glanced at it and then went over to fetch the instrument. He strummed at it gently and B’s eyes widened. “Clearly you like music after all. Would it be improper of me to brag that I know how to play?”

He heard a scoffing tone and Jae glanced up at B as he tuned the guitar a little before playing a short melody. Her initial disbelief morphed into one of awe, and as Jae continued to play, the punters in the tavern all began clapping along in time. Jae only had eyes for the woman before him, her expression saying more than it had ever done before. Her eyes were alive with the music, her smile the loveliest to cross her face. She was finally charmed by him when he ended the song; Jae started to feel faint with how strong her eye contact was for a change. It was as if he had just fuelled passion into B with the one song he had played. If she was going to look at him like that, then he would play the guitar for her as long as his fingers worked.

“Well, how was that?” he breathed and she energetically bobbed her head back and forth, eyes twinkling with excitement. Jae tried to cool the rush of colour to his cheeks at her avid praise by turning back to the questions he had written for her. He had never needed a reason to be literate or play the guitar before but he was thankful his father was a teacher and insisted upon it even if his family wasn’t well off.

It had definitely paid off today.

Frowning when he noticed she hadn’t answered one of his questions, Jae spun the paper around and pointed to the empty space. “B, you missed one.”

Peering at the paper, she then let out a sound that he almost considered laughter. It distracted him momentarily, and he had to blink rapidly to catch the action from the woman. B tapped the side of her nose as if to say it was a secret, and then smiled, waving him off when Sungjin stood from across the room and announced it was time to head on home.

Still, Jae was determined to get her full name. Now that he knew she could read and write, he began to write letters to her in his spare time, handing them to her whenever he could. And soon, B started to respond to them, slipping folded paper over the counter from under her apron as soon as she saw him.

He would take those letters out when he was on a break from the manual labour of working the land around the estate, resting in the shade of the trees surrounding the gardener’s cottage he and his friends lived in. B had quite the humorous side to her and for someone who didn’t have much to say – or at all – she would often write triple the amount he could ever muster.

Jae was definitely infatuated, even her handwriting was the prettiest he had ever laid eyes upon.

He was certain he had done enough now to warrant that of her name, or at least a date. And so, on the day of rest when the affluent were in the chapel in town, Jae slipped into the servants quarters kitchen, collecting a basket that the cook had kindly prepared for him. And after his long walk into town, he approached the back of the tavern and knocked on the door that belonged to the home attached to it.

“Why if it isn’t the musician man,” a jolly man answered, and Jae chuckled awkwardly, trying to peer inside to see if B was around. “Are you here for me daughter?”

“Would it be alright to take her out, sir?”

“Well, if you can convince her to leave the house then she’s all yours,” the man bartered and Jae laughed, waiting as the father called out to his child and much to Jae’s dismay, he didn’t call her by her full name. When B appeared, rather flustered as well, Jae’s smile increased.

“Come out with me.”

She glanced down at her dress and then back up at Jae, who held out his hand for her to take. Lifting her hands in motion to tell him to stay, she then dashed upstairs with a whine, soon returning in a different dress and with a hat over her hair. Once they started walking, Jae turned to B and grinned. “You know, you didn’t have to change for me. You look lovely in everything. Besides, I’m just a gardener and only have four sets of clothes.”

B’s skin was rosy from his compliment and then she shuddered a little, Jae recognising it to be a dry laugh. He grinned and nudged her gently before holding out the basket he carried. “Shall we go down by the lake and share a meal?”

She nodded and they headed towards their destination, Jae’s hand itching to hold onto hers. He let it swing near hers, outstretching his fingers so the tips brushed against the back of her hand. She flinched upon the first contact and then smiled, letting him know it wasn’t as frightening as he thought it might be for her. Slipping his hand into hers, Jae grinned, laughing bashfully as his heart thudded in his chest. He didn’t think anything could feel any better than this.

But he had been wrong.

Lunch was full of chatter – at least on his behalf, and the food seemed to please B a great deal. He had then produced a book from inside the basket, proclaiming it to be his favourite that he had brought with him from home when he came to work at the estate. And instead of letting B take it to read, Jae opened it to the first page, clearing his throat and started to read aloud.

He read until the afternoon grew too warm and he felt her body slump into his side, deep breathing indicating that she had drifted off to sleep. Jae peered at B under her hat, taking in her peaceful expression.

Even though he knew a lot about what she liked through their letters, he still had so many questions.

Why didn’t she talk? He had gathered only a little more information quietly, finding that it was ever since her mother’s death that the young woman hadn’t spoken as opposed to being born unable to converse with others. It spurred on little fantasies, Jae often wondering just what her voice would sound like. After all, if there was nothing wrong with her vocal cords, then surely with some encouragement and trust, she could speak again.

Jae hoped he would hear the woman sleeping on his arm say at least one word in his lifetime. But then again, he was content with what he had with her already. Wonpil had been adamant that no one had ever tried nearly as hard as Jae to communicate with B and that had made the fellow man sad. Jae knew everyone meant well, they weren’t overlooking her. It was just easier to converse back and forth in this world with spoken words.

To Jae, B had spoken enough already. His heart was full, and he knew he couldn’t feel this way about anyone else. B had him captivated and he hoped with how relaxed she was around him now that she felt the same.

Still, Jae often tried throughout their budding relationship for two things; at least one word and preferably it being her name.

“Come on, B!” he cried as he splashed water at the woman from the lake, her head shaking rapidly as she smiled on the edge of the water. “Get in here!”

Dashing away, Jae leapt out of the water and came after her, encircling arms around her waist and drawing her back towards the water. She squealed and he laughed, pulling her in far enough that she was sufficiently wet when he was done. B gasped at her predicament before flinging water back at him, Jae opening his mouth incredulously which she only filled with more water thrown his way.

And then he heard her first proper laugh in his company. He became still in the water fight, listening to the way it sounded. It was unrestrained, like a beautiful melody floating around the lakeside. When B realised what had happened, she stopped short, growing concerned, almost ashamed. Jae merely stared back at her.

“No, don’t leave,” he murmured when she went to get out and B stopped moving away, Jae shuffling along in the water so he was back in front of her. “You can laugh in front of me. You needn’t hide it.”

She didn’t dare look him in the eye and Jae simply lifted her chin up, forcing her to look ahead in the very least. “It was beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

And then he kissed her.

He had expected B to resist and pull away, but as soon as she grasped that his lips were on hers, she met him with an unexpected hunger, nearly knocking them both over in the water. Jae gripped at her body as the kiss deepened, tongues moving together as one. With a deep breath, he went in for a second kiss, then a third, until both were breathless, falling apart only mere millimetres from one another’s lips.

With a smile, Jae brushed her hair away from her face. “I love you.”

Her eyes flashed with emotions, her swollen lips spreading out into the biggest smile. She leaned in to kiss him briefly in response, Jae knowing that she was already speaking volumes with him in this setting. Her love meant everything to him.

As did her laughter. Ducking down to splash water at her suddenly, he began to play again, listening to her shriek and giggle until they both abandoned the water to bask in the afternoon sun. It was his turn to rest against her, placing his head in B’s lap as she tenderly stroked his hair.

And just as his eyes closed, he was certain he heard her whisper his name.

Summer came and went, yet Jae’s romance with B only deepened. For his birthday, B gifted him his own guitar, in which he would carry on their dates wherever they went, singing and playing music for her to clap and laugh along to. She seemed to enjoy it the most when he would just make up random lyrics on the spot the most, her smile brighter than the moonlight above them as he walked her home.

And whilst he loved his gift, he still didn’t know her name.

It wasn’t without trying. He had attempted to list off names that started with B until she was giggling so much she almost stopped breathing.

“Won’t you ever tell me?”

She shrugged, giggling again as he groaned loudly.

And when he dropped her off at her front door, he left her with a parting kiss, expecting that to be all he would have to think about on his way back home. Instead, he almost dropped the guitar in his hand when he heard something behind him. “Jae!”

He didn’t even get a chance to turn around, B’s body colliding with his as she hugged him from behind. He was winded for multiple reasons, stunned into silence with her voice ringing in his ears.

“Jae,” B repeated, nestling into his back. And for the next few minutes, she kept saying his name, each one sounding stronger than the last. His heart was soaring so much he was certain he would fly home tonight.

“I love you,” he told her when she finally stepped back and B nodded, blowing him a kiss as she kept backing away, turning to go inside her house. And once she was up at her window, she threw it open to wave him off, Jae kicking up his heels before racing off to get home before curfew.

“Beatrice.”

B shook her head, as she wiped down the mugs. Jae crossed it off his list, continuing with three others before he said the next name.

“Becky.” He watched as she stilled, a small smile crossing her lips before she shook her head again. Jae leaned over the counter, noticing the look in her eyes. “Becky. It’s Becky, isn’t it?!”

However, his lover shook her head, avoiding his gaze now. Jae laughed. “B is for Becky. Now here I thought I would feel more than this after figuring out your name.”

Turning around so fast that she almost dropped the mug in her hand, B reached for Jae’s pen he had with his paper, scrawling down a rapid sentence. He read it and laughed. “You can’t say that’s not your name, you responded to it. Becky suits you! You’re my Becky.”

“And you’re her Jae, huh?” Dowoon cooed when he came over to get a refill, his older friend now swatting him off. Dowoon then pointed to them both. “When’s the wedding? You two suit each other too well.”

Jae glanced at B blushing in front of him and then smacked his friend on the arm. “Why would you go and say that, look how uneasy you have made her! And what do you think I’m working towards? I need to know her name before I ask her to be my bride.”

They both jumped when there was a large clatter of noise; Jae leaning over the bar to see the mug B was drying had now broken into pieces on the ground. He rounded counter to reach down and scoop up the mess before she could. Instead of staying around to humour his statement, B darted out the back to her home, shutting the door behind her. Jae followed her out and banged on it, calling out to her loudly.

“I’m sorry, okay?! I didn’t mean to frighten you like that with my intentions. Won’t you just come out?!”

He heard shuffling inside behind the door, hopes rising when it unlatched before him. She didn’t fully appear, her hand thrusting out a piece of paper for him to take. As soon as he did, she shut it again, peering out through the window beside the door nervously.

“Why can’t you just come out and let me talk?” he breathed in frustration, unfolding the paper hastily, stopping when he saw what was on the page. Looking up at the woman watching him, Jae took a few deep breaths, licking his lips in anticipation.

“Rebecca.”

Although he now had the knowledge of her name, it had become quite the habit to call her B still. Becky had become his favourite though since she reacted to it so openly. It clearly had been a loving nickname of hers that she had been used to hearing until everyone stopped referring to her with that name. And although Jae still had no understanding of why everyone seemed to have forgotten her name over the years, he was all too happy to have now three things to call her by.

“And soon to be four, my love,” he breathed after kissing Becky tenderly, the tears in her eyes indicating how well he had done at proposing to her. “When do you want to get married?”

She pondered his question and then held up four fingers, Jae leaning down to kiss each of them before chuckling. “Four days, okay. We can do that.”

She slapped his arm as he laughed, tilting her head to the side with a reproachful expression. “I knew you meant four months. Though I could marry you in four hours, no, in four minutes if the clergy was present in the church right now.”

Becky grinned, nuzzling him and letting out a content sigh. “L-Love.”

“Love?” he repeated when he recovered from the surprise of hearing her speak again, his future wife now hiding her face with annoyance. He knew it had become such a habit not to speak that it was so difficult whenever she tried. Prying her hands away, Jae smiled warmly. “I love you too.”

Becky let out a breath, relieved he knew what she meant without the full sentence. “Love.”

“Forever, until death does us part,” Jae confirmed, unaware that those words would soon haunt his very existence.

“You must have loved her endlessly.”

Jae nodded, strumming lightly at the instrument before he got up and put it away. Returning to the side of the new resident at Seaside Manor, he attempted to smile. “It’s a shame I can’t remember what she looks like. It’s been so long. I half-hoped when she passed on that she would come and find me.”

He blinked back his emotions, clearing his throat awkwardly before looking in the direction of his companion. “Anyway, enough about me. What about you? You haven’t told me about your life story yet.”

“Well, you haven’t even asked me what my name is,” she mentioned with a giggle and he frowned, perhaps it was from revisiting the ghost of his past that made it feel too familiar. Still, for someone as beautiful as the woman beside him, Jae realised he should have expected her laugh to be just as sweet.

“Okay then, what is your name?”

“I actually don’t know.”

Jae laughed at the preposterous situation. “Then why did you ask me if I knew?!”

“Because I know that guitar,” she started, smiling at Jae before reaching out to cup his cheek tenderly. Her touch flooded his senses, bringing forth images over a hundred years old to the surface. He gasped, feeling foolish that he hadn’t realised why he had been so attracted to her when she arrived with her living companion earlier in the week. It was just like the first meeting all over; she truly did have the best pair of eyes he had ever seen. Her smile continued. “And I know you. So tell me, what is my name?”

Jae leaned in, kissing Becky passionately before he captured her face within his hands.

“My love.”

_________________

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[thatonebirbnerd]

all of this is loveliness

Word count: 1869

Trigger warnings: PTSD/flashbacks (of canon and canon-typical violence), nudity, discussion of sex, several types of intimacy (but not the big one)

My body falls off the side of her bed And now I know what love feels like Don't let me turn into pain All of this is loveliness (source: AURORA - Soft Universe)

Eirwen and Lyri spend an intimate afternoon together while preparing for their wedding. Because the Commander and her lover both need a break. And a hug.

First time writing this kind of stuff, with no relevant life experience... here goes! Yes, the word count is intentionally nice lol.

AO3 link

“Hey! Get back here!”

Lyri chases after me, following the light only she can see like a flitting moth, as we run giddily along the winding paths of the lower Grove. I can only hope that to everyone else around us, we look like an ordinary pair of saplings having fun, naked as the day we stepped out of our pods. I had to let my crystal wings shatter for a while to make the illusion complete… but considering I haven’t been swarmed by adoring fans, maybe that was what I needed.

At last Lyri catches up to me, nearly bowling me over with excitement even though she’s much smaller than me. I let her have what she wants, and fall onto my back as she tackles me and rolls us both over and over. We laugh until we’re out of breath. It’s hard to believe someone loves me this much, for the first time since the Dream… since the moment I thought I’d never see her again. I wish our tumble across the grass could last forever, but alas, we come to a stop. Lyri is on top of me, her arms now wrapped around my neck.

“You wanna go inside?” Lyri’s voice is suddenly quieter. She’s trying to be sultry. It’s adorable.

“Sure.” I respond in a whisper. She giggles as she realizes I’m making fun of her. “Uhh… get on my back!”

I’m not sure where I got that idea, but I guess I said it anyway. I stand up, and carry her into our  cozy neighborhood of Dreamer’s Terrace as she whoops and hollers. “Oh, the pool!” she squeals. “Let’s do a double cannonball!”

There’s a pool of water just outside the spiraling, organic apartment complex we call home. It’s  small but deep, and hidden quite well from the city around it. Just have to walk through the mercifully empty atrium, and to the left…

“You’re getting heavy,” I joke. “Careful!”

I let my wings reform over Lyri, for just a split second, and carry us up in the highest leap I can muster. We both scream with delight as we splash down from the height. The noise we’re making must be tremendous. As we swim to the surface, I’m distracted for a bit by the thought that some enterprising gossip might find us here. We can’t attract too much attention…

“What’s wrong, dearheart?” I don’t know how Lyri senses that I’m distracted. Can she see the distant look in my eyes, or can she just tell?

“Nothing. Just… we might need to keep it down while we're here. I’m worried someone might barge in, looking for either of us."

“Then let’s just be quiet, and we'll stay for as long as we want.”

You know how I said I wanted that moment, just minutes ago, where we were rolling on the ground in each other’s arms, to last forever?

Honestly, I’d rather have this. Just the two of us, treading water. No words in the stillness, and no worry in our minds: no Bangar, no Jormag.

It’s cool and humid here, on the shaded lower level of the Grove. There are thick, tangled trees around the pool we’re in, and I can see street lamps poking through the gaps. The pathway leading past us, on the other side of the makeshift wall, is rarely traveled - and if someone were to pass by, now that we’re not making a ruckus, all they’d be able to see would be our heads. There’s a bath house to my right, next to the entrance leading back into the atrium - a good place to wash off the debris of a hard day’s work.

Lyri puts her hand on my neck, slowly guiding it down my back. It’s not often that she can see every detail, so she relies on touch to truly know me. Her hand comes to a sudden halt at the base of my spine, and her mouth makes a surprised little O. There is a sprout there, on both of our growth sockets, ready to burst into branches and petals that will twist around our bodies and become our wedding gowns. And these buds are why we’ve come home, free of the burden of armor, to see each other as we are. For now they itch, the wonderful itch of growth, and of a beautiful thing to come. But in a few weeks, she’ll be as gorgeous as ever, and I’ll just be… me in a dress.

The sites of my old scars are a little rough on Lyri’s fingers, even compared to her woody green bark. In seven years, I’d taken hits from blades, blasts, Brand crystals… the list was endless. I can’t help but think that if I were human, made of fragile flesh rather than sturdy wood, I would be dead many times over. Even if I don’t count the time I actually died.

Speaking of which, Lyri ducks below the surface and plants a kiss between my breasts, a bit too close to the remnants of Balthazar’s killing blow. I grimace a bit and recoil with a splash, even though the wound is long-healed. “Ow… careful!” The pain is more mental than physical; I’m trying to push back the memories of two and a half years ago. Now is not the time.

 As the waters calm, I swim back toward Lyri and press my palm to her stomach, on her own scar, a dimple in the bark. This one is fresh, barely a month old. From the arrow. I feel her breaths get quicker as she gazes at what little she can see of me, like a terrified puppy. She hugs me in a way she hasn’t before, holding on tight, begging for love and protection.

“I didn’t mean… I’m sorry, Lyri. I’m so sorry.” She shouldn’t have had to suffer so much, shouldn’t have nearly died for me a second time. I don’t know how else to help, other than to return her embrace, tickling the buds in the small of her back. She ruffles my leafy hair, and her smile returns, a worried smile.

I stroke Lyri’s arm, and she giggles a little and relaxes again. Her limbs are just the slightest bit thinner than they should be, and she doesn’t have the endurance nor the strength of most sylvari. But there is no point in cursing a long-dead dragon for forcing her into the world early, too early to let her experience it with all five senses. I’d rather say the best words I can. “You’re still perfect, dearheart.”

Lyri lets out a contented sigh. “Eirwen?”

“Yeah?”

“What do humans call their loves?”

“Oh my goodness, you wouldn’t believe the names. “Cutie pie,” “sweetie pie.” Can’t blame them; pie is good. “Baby,” for another one, but what is a baby but a tiny helpless crying human? I heard something about “mommy” and “daddy” once, but that just sounded strange. Oh, and there was “honey.” I liked that one.”

“I like it too. Honey’s sweet. Fits you.”

“That’s funny; I was going to say the same thing about you.”

“Oh, and… what’s that other thing that humans do? The one in be-”

“Lyri!” My laughter is more of a cackle at that one. “I haven’t seen it! Wasp-stings if I know what it’s like! ”

“I’m pretty sure they use something down…” Lyri points between her legs. “…here?”

“Lyri, you’re killing me!” It’s a bit hard, I admit, to double over laughing while in the water.

“You know I ask stupid sapling questions sometimes. Learning more about the world makes me want to try new things, now that I have you.”

“What do you mean, “new things?””

“Maybe just… getting to know each other more, while we have peace and quiet. Would that be okay?”

“I suppose so. Just… don’t hurt us both, promise?”

“I promise.”

And then Lyri pulls me under.

But rather than take the lead, she lets herself sink into my arms. She caresses me, and I find myself exploring her in ways I couldn’t with my eyes alone, below the leaves that preserve some semblance of modesty to the folk around us. Hidden petals slip slowly through Lyri’s fingers. She offers less for my touch to savor, but there is enough; even nothing would be enough. We revel in each other, and it shows on our faces, in the gasps of pleasure and embarrassed laughs that come out only as bubbles.

Yet something nags at me. It’s not easy for a sylvari to drown. But… I’m thinking about everyone else. This time, I’m taken back to seven years ago, fighting in the foul waters of Orr. So many who shouldn’t have fallen. For a moment, Lyri’s face is the face of the only other woman I dared fall for, dragged into the deep by a Risen fiend -

No. Stop that. I sink to the bottom and open myself to Lyri’s kisses, or whatever she wants to do. But rather than oblige, she stops and leads me to the surface to breathe. She can tell I’m worried again. “Eirwen, what’s wrong?”

“I wish it were nothing. I was just… thinking about Orr. There was someone I… tried to move on with, after I lost you. I had to… leave her behind. But you’re here, so I shouldn’t be thinking about this -”

“You couldn’t save her. I can hear it in your voice. It’s okay, my light,” she tells me. “It took so long to find you but… now I’ll always be here. You’re safe.” I have to repeat those final words to myself before I can believe Lyri’s reassurance. “And I forgive you.”

---

The unbridled ecstasy and lingering fear gradually wear off, and I lead Lyri toward the water’s edge and into the bath house. I gently move her arm toward one of the streams tumbling from crevices in the walls, and the water dances over her palm. She jumps back a bit and turns to face me with a smile, before walking toward the waterfall again to rinse the muck out of the vines that adorn her head. I join her, and we frolic for just a bit longer, splashing each other playfully and slinging the silliest of flattery back and forth.

“Mordremoth must have been terrified of allowing you to see how beautiful you are.”

“Good thing that damned dragon couldn’t handle your biceps!”

At last, Lyri yawns. “I’m tired.”

“Me too.” For a moment I hear a whisper in the back of my mind: rest. No, it’s safe to do that here, so far away from Jormag. “Want to lie down on the shore?”

“With you, yeah.”

I hold Lyri’s hand and guide her over to the pool. It’s dusk now, and her faint golden bioluminescence is beginning to peek through as we watch fireflies dance across the pond. She curls up on the damp, mossy soil, her head on one dainty arm. “Love you, you big glowy thing,” she says sleepily.

“Love you too… honey.”

As she nods off and I lie awake next to her, my bark against hers, I realize that maybe this is the moment that I want to last forever.

[loki-fanfic-whore]

Falling From Olympus ch.2

Warnings- noncon situations. Teasing

@drakesfiance @kybaeza

Chapter 2 Incite

Loki followed you back into the palace and smirked as you became utterly lost. He followed silently behind as you turned this way and that way, down this corridor and back down another.

He would never admit this to you, but he had no intentions of giving you back. You were too new and exotic and things were painfully droll in Asgard at the moment.

After he had had his fun and you were frustrated almost to tears he appeared beside you to offer his help. You had wondered into a corridor near the diplomats living quarters and the war room.

"Would you enjoy some company from someone who is seasoned in the layout of this castle, princess? " we purred out the word princess. If 'Zeus' was your father and was indeed a king of gods, like Odin, than that made you a princess by all respects. It also made you an eligible bachelorette for him to sink his teeth into.

"Loki! How long have you watched me and yet only now that I am frustrated you offer help?" You chide him immediately calling him out.

"I did no such thing madame. I simply found you aimlessly wandering near our war room. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you came here on purpose to learn our secrets as a spy!" Loki lied effortlessly and goaded you, laying a trap.

"I have no need for war, Loki. I am a goddess of Spring and Vegetation. What could I possibly need for war?"

"Perhaps it isn't for you, perhaps you want to take this information back to your momma." His voice dripped with fake accusatory tones.

"My mother is the goddess of harvest and law. A virtuous and fertile goddess, She would have no need for war as well Loki. Enough of this foolish quandary. Please take me back to my room. I feel dizzy from the air here." You were a little pale in the face and could feel a slight sheen of sweat on your skin. The air felt stifling hot.

Loki snickered and held up his hands in defense.

"You caught me. I was only trying to goad you-"

"Yes well it didnt work. I-I need to rest. Please re-turn me-" you stuttered the words as you felt a great blackness coming on. Your body going limp you fell towards Loki, your face connecting against his chest. He sighed gently and lifted your frame. Cuddling you to him as he walked across the palace to your quarters.

"Dear gods for a tiny creature you are heavy!" He teased you even when you could not hear. You were plunged into a vision

"I Will Kill All The Land If I Do Not Get My Daughter Back." It was Demeter, with her golden hair tied up in messy curls around her acorn face. She was naturally beautiful, and even though she was virtuous, she was cold hearted. A shiver ran down your spine as you watched the other gods at the table murmur amongst themselves.

"Demeter, we haven't seen her. She was here last night, but must have run away. Perhaps she found a mortal to love and thought tou wouldnt agree?" Hermes offered as a consolation idea. You shuddered at the glare Demeter gave him, her finger tips wrapping on the table loudly.

"A mortal?! A MORTAL?! You think My daughter has stupidly run after a mortal?!" She placed a hand to her forehead and looked down at her lap.

"I was simply offering a possible explanation, I am not saying it is true." Hermes countered, but Demeter would have none of it. She was now fixated on this possibility.

"A drought." She snapped her head up from her lap to stare them all in the eyes.

"I swear by my mother, Rhea, that I will drought and freeze the land until she is found!" A soft gasp was heard around the table.

"Demeter the mortals will die without your prosperity." Hera spoke gently trying to persuade her to see the logic.

"I do not care if mortals die! I care about my daughter! She is all I have!" Demeter then broke down into tears and ran from the table. You watched as earth began to become cold. The leaves dried and turned brown falling from the trees. Even though it hadn't hurt the mortals yet. You feared that soon it would lead to the demise of many.

You Had To Get Home.

"Princess?" Loki spoke gently as he laid you down on your bed. A soft moan left your lips but you were still incapacitated to the fullest extent. Loki took a step back and watched as you shivered, obviously chilled, but yet you had a sheen of sweat upon your skin. You had a fever.

He quickly covered you in a thin cotton sheet and had a maid fetch a small bowl of water and a cloth. He dipped the cloth in the cool water and gently, so gently he trembled, began to wash your face and neck in an attempt to cool you down. He studied your features in awe, as a sculptor would admire his work, his finger tips gently grazing your skin every now and again. He marveled at how perfect your face was, even though it was not fully mirrored in symmetry, it was still absolutely stunning.

You moaned again but still you kept your eyes closed. Loki moved down to your shoulders and chest. Even though he was the God of tricks and mischief he was careful not to touch you in any lewd way. Only stealing grazes of your skin against his finger tips here and there. He gently wiped down your arms and hands before he stood. You had stopped shivering, but your skin was covered in goosebumps; probably from the cool water and his gently touches.

"Fetch me a fruit." He called to the maid handing the bowl off.

"What would you prefer my prince?" The maid asked sweetly curtsied at his feet.

"I dont care. Just bring me a fruit." Loki repeated coldly.

"As the goddess of spring, surely you eat your laborious fruit." He teased your lithe unconcious body.

The maid returned with a peach and handed the fruit to him. He dismissed the maid then walked to the bed sitting next to you. He couldn't force the peach into your mouth for fear you'd wake and choke, but he could give you the juices. He gently bit into the peach and felt the juice overflowing I'm his mouth. A grin formed across his lips as a plan began to take shape in his head. He leaned down and cupped your chin; with a slight tug with his thumb, you opened your mouth and he connected his briefly to allow some of the juice to spill into you. It was the most chaste kiss he had ever given had yet he was blushing furiously as his heart lept through his chest for it was beating so fast. He immediately sat up and grinned as you drank the juice greedily, another moan escaping, this moan longer and more needy.

"Princess? It's time to wake up." He spoke breathlessly trying to calm down. He felt absolutely giddy from what he had just accomplished undetected; laughing softly to himself as he finished eating the piece of fruit in his mouth. His eyes trained on you. Once the peach was gone he placed the seed in one of your hands and watched intently. You subconsciously closed your hand around it and a small green vine grew between your fingers. It was tiny and unable to show distinctive features, but it was still impressive to Loki that even in your unconcious state you could will things to grow.

Groaning out your eyes opened and you assessed where you were.

"Oh good. You are alive." Loki teased as he sat on the foot of the bed watching you.

You sat up and tried to put your hand to your head, but felt the peach seed. Looking down you became utterly confused.

"Loki were you playing a trick on me while I was inert?" You spoke in a harsh tone but your eyes betrayed you as you smiled at the peach plant, barely a sapling growing in your hands.

"It wasnt a trick. I was trying to wake you. I gave you a bit of the juice then handed you the seed. You inadvertently began to help it grow." He explained watching you in secret awe as you blew onto the leaves causing the tree to twist upward growing larger.

" Please...plant this tonight. It will grow to bare fruit by morning." You smiled handing the sapling to him. He called for a maid and handed the delicate plant off explaining your suggestion.

"Now then, princess, while that is done and out of the way. Can you tell me why you fainted?" Loki paced slowly about the room. You stayed in bed simply watching him pace.

"I didnt faint. I had a vision. My body just become incapacitated because my mind is elsewhere... I watched as momma threatened every mortal with death if she did not get me back. I watched as the leaves of beautiful trees turned brown and the trees shivered the deadness off. They were bare and barren...and it scares me....the trees are always meant to bare fruit and shade...without it the mortals will surely perish." You subconsciously bit your bottom lip as you began to worry. Loki had to dart his eyes away at the sight of your pink lips, once again sticky with juice being bitten. Images of him biting and sucking them flooded his mind and he felt himself twitch in his trousers.

"Maybe you should rest. I can have your meal sent here. We can reconvene tomorrow morning and form a plan to return you to Demeter." He redirected knowing he needed a rest much more than you. You nodded and settled back against the pillows. He moved to the door way.

"Good night princess." He called softly, his back to you. He was hiding the fact his eyes were dark with lust and his heart had begun to furiously beat against his chest again.

"Good night...and thank you Loki." You spoke as he closed your door. Loki moved swiftly to his room as he mumbled.

"Dont thank me yet, my pet." He needed to rut into something roughly to force the images of you from his mind. He called for a maid. He would satisfy his every will tonight.

[the-fiction-witch]

The Artist And The Writer

MOVIE: MAZE RUNNER

COUPLE: NEWT X READER

RATING: KINDA SEXY IN PARTS BUT MOSTLY ADORABLE AF!

Newt's Pov:

I sighed I can't get to sleep again, I think I should go for a walk it might put me back to sleep, I climbed out my hammock taking my little spare notebook, I wondered around the dead heads doodling plants and leaves but it didn't help so I began my walk back going the long way round to try and tie me out I spotted y/n sleeping peacefully in her little hammock I couldn't help but smile my heart jumping out of my chest seeing her nuzzling into the pillow lightly smiling the way she only does when she's dreaming, I went sitting in my hammock looking at her slowly and carefully drawing the perfect lines of her skin,

the way her hair falls loose and messy against her pillow, the way her lips look so kissable, her skin glimmering in the moonlight my hands buckled a little drawing her breasts pressed tight to her pillow without her bra on, it made me blush a little but I can't draw them, it would look strange if I didn't as

soon as I was done I put my pencil away and hid my book in my pillow case laying down and getting to sleep.

Y/n Pov:

I yawned stretching my arms out as I woke up, I looked out to the glade and smiled getting my little book trying to think of something to write...Mornings in the glade in some ways are like waking in another world of your dreams, the way the bright golden sun peaks over the grey static walls creeping in to touch the peaceful glade, the rays of magic touch from each tit blade of green grass to the tip top brown branches of the tallest tree's, falling to the soft blankets of the boys sleeping out on the common ground, to the soft strong strings holding each hammock keeping we each keeper in there rest. I giggled as I spotted a familiar morning sight, newt fast asleep in his hammock so I smiled turning a page or so

The restful sleep, of the hardworking. He lays still in his deep dreams, his feet tucked up tightly to his red Blanket trying to make sure in his twists and turns he wouldn't lose his blanket to let in the draft. His legs had a little pillow about a quarter of the size of a regular pillow for his ankle so it wouldn't hurt him in his sleep as much, his skinny body snuggly sinking into the soft hammock his brown pants undone at the waist he always does it before bed, the boys say he used to take them off completely when he went to bed but, since I showed up being the only girl he doesn't do that anymore, his tight orange vest clings to his skin some places more than others where the elasticity of the fabric was going over time, his hoodie hung on the rope of the hammock, his toned arms hung a little out the hammock where he was slowly tipping out his beautiful face cuddled into his pillow his soft lips open where he was drooling a little onto the pillow, the mop of blonde and brown hair a mess where he had moved in his sleep, the way the sunlight caught it made him almost seem to... Glow like a beautiful angel.

As soon as I finished I hid my book away and climbed out of bed going over to newt and putting his arms back in his hammock readjusting him to he wasn't going to fall out any time soon as I do every day I smiled fixing his hair a little and giving his head a little kiss he seemed to smile as I did nuzzling closer to his pillow. I sighed doing my work for the medjacks nothing overly interesting Today so I sat by the window with my little book trying to find something worth writing... And I spotted my little source of inspiration. And began to write...

The garden filled with dirt and sweat, but also sugar. The heat embracing his body as he toiled with the hard manual labour, his toned arms visible where his grey hoodie held him tightly the sleeves rolled to his elbows giving a hint of the form below, he stood from caring for seeds and saplings wiping the loaded sweat from his brow, his golden hair matted from the heat, the world seems to freeze as his hands reached for the hem of his jumper pulling it off him and to the ground beside him in one perfect motion. He stops looking at his surroundings with those chocolate coloured eyes, resting his arm on his slender neck he reached flexing his toned form his vest clung to his dripping body everywhere hardly concealing anything to the eye, his pecks obvious as well as the flat skinny stomach leading eyes to the bulge in those tight pants the tightness normally a mere suggestion of what hides below but today, it seemed so tight it was more like a brag. Making any girl with a hundred miles cross her legs and bit her lip begging for his attentions.

Ooh la la that got steamy. It's just newt in the gardens for goodness sake, well every writer has to embellish I suppose. I really hope we don't all die and this little books gets taken to be studied as the example of what the glade was.

Newt's Pov:

I smiled as y/n came to sit with us at the bonfire and she giggled waving at me from the other side so I waved back having another bite from my stick of food a few boys made some comments and I admit I took notice too y/n was wearing a skirt... I know that doesn't sound like alot but y/n doesn't often wear a skirt and when she does it's normally lower than that. I blushed a little trying to not look even if most boys where wolf whistling and making lewd comments I think she noticed I wasn't looking and she smiled getting up much to many boys dismay even if a few where trying to look up her skirt she hopped over and sat next to me she smiled and I smiled to blushing alot she giggled in that sweet little way she always does that makes my tummy fill with butterflies and bubbles I froze as she pressed a kiss to my cheek not even a second just a little peck but I could feel my face going bright red. Many boys making comments and noises at us I glanced to Minho a minute making my best help me expression as I was lost for what to do he simply smirked and made a kissy face so I looked back to y/n still very nervous so much I realised I was holding my breath though all that I jumped forward and kissed her I went to kiss her cheek but I got her mouth by accident so I pulled back as quickly making her giggle a sweet little honey glow in her cheeks where she blushed too the glade was going insane at us y/n took my hand pulling me up with her and tugging me along with her an explosion of wolf whistles and comments and all sorts of things came from them but we where going fast enough to be away from the noise pretty fast she tugged me back to the hammocks and sat on her own so I sat on mine we both got ready for bed tucked up the tightly she giggled blowing me a kiss it made.me blush harder if that was possible I went to speak but she shhhed me nuzzling herself close to her bed and pointing to the asleep Alby close to us I know she's right the glade could be having a firework show and he doesn't move yet me and y/n start whispering and he hears every word so I blew her a little kiss too before tucking myself in a bit better she went to sleep pretty quickly but I couldn't I was too happy and to excited to fall into my dreams all I've ever wanted was to kiss her and I've done it here in the real world, not even dream me has got that far yet it was like a dream come true I got my little pad and smiled making a little drawing it was just going to be us kissing but...I'm not good at drawing me so I just let my imagination run wild.

Her sweet beautiful body on her knees, that little skirt left as sheds on her legs her hands covered herself as he had on underwear on, I tried to draw her shirt but it never looked right so I did it in s little bra with lace and frills on it her hair down bouncing on her shoulder s little her face read of many things, shock, giggling, that innocent look of ohh I'm not wearing anything under my skirt, as well as that, underlined ohh I'm not wearing anything isn't it sexy,

I had to stop as soon as I had finished as the boys were starting to wonder back now so I hid my book away and went to bed

Y/n's pov:

I yawned sitting up a little I turned and saw newt fast asleep I giggled giving last night my tummy still full of bubbles and butterflies where he kissed me, I know it wasn't intentional he was going to kiss my cheek but zart shoved him. I was about to sweetly call him to wake him up nicely this morning but-

Alby rushed over In a panic yelling about I'm not sure bathroom sinks I think I'm not awake enough for his yelling which woke newt and made him fall out his hammock him and all his stuff dumped on the floor I laughed at him and he looked unhappy with me as Alby wondered off tipping me out my hammock and into the floor with him scattering my stuff with his we had a laugh about it before getting up to sort out putting our stuff back in our hammocks I put my book in my bag and got ready for work as did newt he was about to go but I tugged his arm he stopped and turned to me blushing a little given last night so I stood up on my toes and gave his lips a tiny kiss and even giving his nose a little Eskimo kiss before running off before he could say anything I know he was turning red I could see it from here as I ran off to work. I sat for ages nothing much going on so I got out my book to do some writing but I turned the first page and my writing wasn't there, but a beautiful drawing of the glade from the top of the watchtower it was really good all the pages had similar beautiful drawings of glade places mixed in with little doodles of plants and flowers from the gardens, my favourite I found was of the garden in full bloom it looked like a fairytale. I looked through more and there was a person in them, a girl beautiful and perfect I looked at them all spotting one in a hammock they where of me? From the way they had been draw, it was obvious that newt had drawn them, and it made me giggle he was such a good artist. I noticed the time my lunch break I should really return his book he'll be missing it.

Newt’s pov:

I yawned a little already bored of Minho, Zart and Winston badgering me about last night, there's only so many times you can say nothing happened. Till it was break so I went sitting by the flowers there was a daisy just starting to bloom so I got my pad flicking through the pages but I noticed they didn't have drawings there where words, I read a couple they where all beautiful stories and descriptions of the glade and the people in it, I kept reading ones about a person in bed and it hit me...it was me? That's how I sleep knowone else does. Kept reading the beautiful words only one person could have written this.

Y/n’s POV

I wondered thought the gardens looking for him but Zart said he had gone wandering off so I went to the deadheads where he likes to wonder and I spotted him with my notebook

"hello" he smiles

"hey" I smile

"I uhhh- this is yours" he says handing me the book

"thank you, here this one is yours" I tell him handing him his book back "there beautiful" I tell him

"thank you" he blushed

"but you made me far too pretty" I giggle

"no I didn't, that's how pretty you look to me" he smiles "your stories...there amazing, you must have been exaggerating I'm not nearly that perfect" he laughs

"I think you are" I smile giving his cheek a kiss and he blushed giving my check a kiss too I giggled holding his hand as we wandered back to the glade sitting in the little bench by the bonfire snacking on our lunch as I wrote and he drew I smiled leaning on his shoulder and giggled "is that me?" I ask

"Yep, looking nice and beautiful" he smiles

"is that you?" I ask

"yeah" he laughs

"are we kissing?" I ask slsly

"I don't know, maybe..." He smirked "maybe I need a little inspiration?" He whispered so I smirked wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing his soft lips he happily kissed me back wrapping his arms around my waist as our kiss deepened till I pulled away

"that enough inspiration for you?" I ask

"for now" he shrugs going back to his drawing for a while till he stole my book having a read of what I was writing "ohhhh...my my you smutty little thing" he smirked rubbing his nose with mine "so... We passionately make out and fool around by the fire then I take you into the dead heads all lustfully then what?" He asks

"I don't know I haven't gotten that far" I giggled "maybe I need a little inspiration newtie" I smirk running my hand down his chest

"humm alright" he smirked ...

[adventuresloane]

you still got that story, tell it every morning

Read on AO3

As always, she woke with the sun. That wasn't a dryad thing, had nothing to do with the fact that she had a sixth sense--and a seventh and an eighth--about the natural world nowadays. It was a her thing. Hurley had been in the habit of it long before everything that had happened. It just so happened that now, when the honey-colored light of dawn dripped in through the blinds, she felt flowers unfurl around her head, and the sap beneath her skin ran warmer.

Her mother used to call her Sunshine because of it. Sloane still did, but only in Elvish. Aure. Though that was only when she felt particularly generous. Mostly, she called Hurley crazy for getting up so early on purpose.

Aside from the sunlight, Sloane was the first thing she saw when she woke. Of course, she was still sleeping. She was never the first up if she could help it. (And if she was, it meant she was still reeling from a nightmare.) One of her arms was at her side, the other stretched above her head and sprawled over the pillow. Hurley smiled as she saw the new day's soft rays touch her cheek and give it a sheen like that of polished walnut. Sloane's chest did not rise and fall, because none of them needed to breathe anymore. (That had taken some getting used to. In the first few weeks after the change, panic had risen like water to fill up the cavity in her chest every time she woke to find Sloane not breathing. Then she would remember.) But Hurley saw her feathery lashes twitch and flutter as she dreamed.

She couldn't resist moving aside some strands of hair that had fallen over Sloane's right eye. Sloane's nose wrinkled as she lightly brushed against it. She sniffed, made a ridiculous noise in the back of her throat like something halfway between a groan and a purr, and nestled her face deeper into the pillow. Hurley breathed out the quietest laugh she could.

Before, she would have been out of bed by now, already dressed for a jog. These days, she lingered in bed, in the shared warmth of two bodies. She stayed long enough to watch the golden, molten rays of dawn solidify into the sharper, brighter light of day. When, at last, she decided to get up, she shifted her body slowly until she was out from under the covers, careful not to make the mattress squeak.

She had one foot already on the floor when she felt a hand in hers. Turning around, she saw Sloane peering at her, eyes half-lidded and still cloudy with sleep. Hurley smiled and went over to her, touching their foreheads together. She felt Sloane's contented sigh against her lips when they kissed. "Good morning, beautiful," she whispered after they pulled apart. "Sorry if I woke you."

Sloane brought their lips together once more. The kiss was languorous, her eyes still closed, and she was slow to pull away. "Babe," she mumbled, "come back to bed."

Hurley chuckled and gently touched her nose to Sloane's. "Nah, I'm gonna get some exercise." Then she added with a smirk, "Unless you want to come with me."

"Ew," she answered, voice heavy and sluggish with exhaustion.

Hurley snorted. "That's what I thought." She pecked Sloane on the forehead one last time before turning away. "Then I'll see you in a bit."

Before Hurley could fully sit up again, a pair of long, thin arms wrapped around her waist and yanked her back down. She landed on the sheets with a soft whump and, before she could protest, had her cheek smushed unceremoniously against her girlfriend's side. "Sloane!" she screeched in between the giggles that bubbled up out of her. "Come on, let me up!"

Sloane nuzzled her neck, which was already flushed with laughter. Hurley noticed that her skin, at the moment, did not have the rough feeling of the bark that sometimes grew over it. Instead, she felt more like the new wood of a young tree, flexible and supple. "Stay here," she said in an almost-whine, squeezing Hurley to her like a teddy bear as she settled back onto the pillow. Hurley would bet every cent in Goldcliff's bank vaults that she was playing up her sleepiness for sympathy.

"Why?"

"Still tired."

"So go back to sleep."

"Can't, unless you're here."

Hurley rolled her eyes, still jittery with laughter. "You don't need me to go to sleep." She squirmed out of Sloane's grip and tried to move away again. "Anyway, you know I can never go back to sleep again once I'm awake. Now I'm--Sloane, seriously, don't--" And like that, three times her weight's worth of half-elf flopped over on top of her and successfully pinned her to the mattress. "Oh, you fucking asshole."

Above her, Sloane chuckled. She felt the laughter resonate inside herself. "I let you get away with murder," she grumbled, grinning.

"You always did."

Hurley turned back to look at her. "Listen, if I'm staying in this bed, we're going to do something more fun than sleeping." To her satisfaction, for the first time all morning, Sloane's eyes snapped open fully. All of a sudden, they looked awake.

She turned onto her back so she could look up at Sloane more easily. Smirking, she reached one hand up to rest on the back of Sloane's neck. The other slipped under her lover's waistband, her finger trailing lazily along the line of fine hair that started at her navel and ran down. Sloane shut her eyes slowly and let out a breath that shuddered slightly.

And then, while she was distracted, Hurley wriggled out from under her and scurried out of the bedroom. "I win!" she called lightly from the hall.

"Hey! That wasn't fair!"

Hurley laughed as she walked away. It was, in fact, a little unfair, but she would make up for it later. They both appreciated delayed gratification.

She stepped into the kitchen that they never used. Neither of them had any reason to eat, and food lost all its taste on their almost wooden tongues. She stood for a few minutes in the square of sunlight cast from the window onto the tile. Energy tingled in her limbs and leaves sprung from the tips of her fingers.

She glanced at the couple of small, potted saplings sitting near the windows. They were originally cuttings from the towering tree in the city center--their tree--that Hurley had magicked into growing up quickly. It hadn't taken them long to realize that, as dryads, they would become weak if they spent an appreciable amount of time away from the ever-blooming cherry. She and Sloane had taken one look at each other and one look at the threads of dusty road that stretched miles into the desert and had known that wouldn't work. They got creative. So long as they were near a living part of the tree, or an offshoot of it, they would be fine. (Sloane had figured that out, but she had asked Hurley to use her powers to make the cuttings grow.) They always took a pot with them when they went out in one of the wagons, and by now had almost gotten over the silliness of strapping a tree into the backseat. Another stayed in their house, which they had selected specifically because it was in a quieter area of the city, away from the bustling center at the meeting place of the rivers.

She could hear the potted plants. They whispered with voices like wind hissing through long grass. Trees told stories all the time, quietly recounting all that they had seen in their many years. She had learned that, since the change. She shushed the saplings gently, and they quieted. The ability to understand plants didn't bother her, but Sloane disliked their murmuring. One late night, she had told Hurley, not making eye contact, that the Sash had sounded the same way. Susurrus.

Footsteps padded up behind her. "Hey, you got up!"

Sloane came up next to her, and Hurley had to bite back a laugh at the overdone pout on her face. "That really was a dick move," she grumbled. But she still stood close enough to Hurley for their arms to touch.

Hurley was about to make a retort when she looked back at Sloane and saw the scale-like patches of bark growing on her body. They would form a tough outer layer for protection, only there was no clear danger here. It was an expression of anxiety--she knew her lover well enough to know that. It was just like Sloane's other, equally subconscious habit of wrapping her arms around her belly when she got nervous as though to shield her core. She was doing that now, too. A defensive gesture, albeit one that would have no effect against the threat of her own thoughts corroding her from the inside.

"Are you okay?"

Sloane did not respond for awhile, simply furrowing her brow at the window. Outside, the city had woken fully. Bits of muffled conversation could be heard over the constant din of footsteps on the sidewalk and carts rolling in the street. Without warning, she blurted at last, "Are you happy?"

"Yes." Hurley's response was instantaneous.

"I was just thinking...you didn't have much of a choice in all this. Up to and including being, you know, immortal. Well, sort of immortal."

"Alive as long as the tree's alive. Which--" She paused to tap her knuckles against her head. "--it will be for a very long time."

"Did you just 'knock on wood' by knocking on yourself?"

"Too much?"

"Terrible. That was maybe your worst joke ever." Nonetheless, Sloane's lips, which had been pressed into a thin line, loosened into a smile. "What I'm saying is our entire lives changed in a literal flash, and now you're spending sort-of forever as a lady with tree powers, and you didn't really have a say in your whole fucking existence being turned on its head."

"Being a tree-powered sort-of immortal is objectively pretty fucking rad, you know."

"Has its downsides," Sloane murmured. "You know that."

"So did my old life. And I can't even explain to you how happy I am to leave that behind."

There was quiet for another few long moments. She almost thought that Sloane was ready to drop it when she said, in a near whisper, "And you're okay being stuck with me all that time?"

"What?"

She took a deep breath and went on, "We're sort of...bound, I guess? We're going to go through our whole lives being connected, since we're both tied to that cherry tree. And that's...I know that's what I want, definitely, but it's kind of a lot to ask of you..." She trailed off. Hurley stared at her for awhile, at the long and dextrous fingers that still set her off tingling when they brushed her cheek, at the downcast eyes that were the same color as the leaves peeking out through the dark hair.

Then she shook her head a little and playfully shoved Sloane in the chest. "You dumb lesbian, I drove off a fucking cliff for you. Did you really think I wasn't in this for the long haul?"

Sloane laughed, loudly, partly out of something like relief. Her expression relaxed instantly. Hurley grinned and wrapped her arms around her, standing on tiptoes enough to bury her face in Sloane's chest. More quietly, Hurley continued, "Listen, what you're saying isn't true. I made the choice to change my whole life when I decided I wanted us to be together, way before any plant magic. And gods, Sloane, you have no idea how happy I am that everything in my life got turned around. I...sometimes I just stop in my tracks and think about whether it's really possible that I can be this lucky, or if I'm imagining it. I never even thought we'd be able to live together and be open like this, let alone have all the time in the world to enjoy it. It's like it's too good to be true."

"I think that too," Sloane said.

"I know." And she did. She sometimes ribbed Sloane over how clingy she'd gotten since the incident with the Sash. How, whenever they were in the same room, they had to be touching. How she became disappointed even when Hurley left the bedroom in the morning. It seemed that, for Sloane, feeling Hurley solid against her was like pinching herself to ensure that she wasn't dreaming, that both of them were, really, still there, despite everything. Hurley knew, because she felt the same way.

"Well, it is true," Hurley said. She held on a little more tightly. "I've got you now."

(Thanks for reading! Reblogs and comments help me a lot!)

[issantashikibaindr3orndrv3yet]

Danganronpa Kirigiri Sou translation-Part 10

<- Part 9 | Masterpost | Part 11->

A transcript of part 10 of juicedup14 playthrough/translation of Kirigiri Sou, which you can watch here.

Again thanks to @drmedicsgamesurgery​ for helping me work on the transcript.

“She’s a Rhinogradentia spy.”

“What did you say!?”

“If she is, than maybe she herself is THE Super Galaxy Level Invader.”

“You’re kidding…...you’re one of them!?”

I didn’t know whether I should blame her or what, so all I can do is take a step back.

“I’m a human! You’re saying I’m one of them, than show me some evidence!”

“Kyouka-san, you…...might not have noticed it yourself, but when you blink, your bottom eyelid goes up.”

Kirigiri points out.

When I look closely at her eyes……

“Wha, it’s true!”

When she closes her eyes, it really does blink from the bottom part.

It’s not human!

“Is that so……there was insufficient research then. From the resources that we’ve studied, we did not record the blinking movements……”

“Well then, you really are!”

“Yes, you’re right. As expected of the Super High School Level Detective. I came from a neighboring galaxy…...I am as you say, a Super Galaxy Level Invader.”

Kyouka suddenly becomes defiant instead.

I can’t believe she’s an extraterrestrial……

“What is your objective?”

Kirigiri asks while crossing her arms.

“That is-to protect the Earth.”

“Huh? What are you saying? Wouldn’t it be the opposite, aren’t you trying to take the Earth away from us!?”

I said while getting closer to her.

“No…...listen with your fourth nose-or as how the extraterrestrials say, ‘Hold your hand close to your heart and think’. The ones who are wasting away this Earth are the humans yourselves. Don’t tell me you don’t know, how many trees in the forest are lost every day. You are all the culprits of the destruction of the Earth. We came from a far off galaxy in order to protect this beautiful planet.”

A. “We don’t need your help!”

B. “What you’re saying is right! Can I join your team?”

juicedup14 chooses B

“Just as you say! Let me join your team.”

I say that, and without a word Kirigiri punches me in the stomach strongly.

“Uhh…...nevermind, nothing.”

“Are you prepared to regret your foolishness?”

Kyouka slowly raises her arm to the sky.

And then a shining ball of light appears in the sky.

Is that…...the UFO that I’ve witnessed from last time?

“It was short, but I’ve enjoyed it. Now that you know my identity, I have to kill you. You’ll surely burn to ashes, with a hit from the laser of our mothership.”

A ball of light begins to twinkle strongly.

“Hey, what are we going to do!?”

I shake Kirigiri’s shoulders.

“It’s all your fault, for revealing the invader that this happened! If you would’ve just shut up we could’ve gone home! You have a plan B don’t you?”

“No I don’t.”

Kirigiri said sulking her shoulders, and shaking her head.

The floating light of ball keeps in twinkling.

It’s over……

“Stop it, Kyouka!”

We hear a voice from somewhere.

That voice……

It comes from the shadowy silhouette, that comes close from the mansion with an air of composure is-

Shikiba Santa!

“You’re alive!?”

Kyouka is surprised as well.

Actually does this guy even die!?

“Kyouka! Look at your tree!”

Shikiba points.

Next to the gate was a tree planted there.

“You remember it? That’s the sapling that you planted when you became a recruit. If the killing beam descends, than it would be bad for that sakura tree, wouldn’t it? Can you allow that? I thought you loved plants as much as I do. Now, stop that killer beam!”

“Captain……”

Kyouka blinking from the bottom hesitates, and closes her eyes and looks down.

“Won’t you wait together with me to see the tree blossom? And then…...make more sakura tea for me again.”

“I can’t!”

Kyouka shakes her head.

“It can’t be stopped anymore. Once the killer beam starts…...there’s no stopping it…...Captain!”

“Is that so, well then look over there. Look at how much I love that tree.”

The ball of light is at its maximum wavelength.

Everything’s being surrounded by light……

And then-the killer beam is starting to descend!

“UAAA!”

Shikiba opens his arms, and takes in the whole beam.

It’s as much to scorch the Earth, and Shikiba’s shadow can clearly be seen.

Behind him is a young sakura tree-

“UAAAAAAA!”

“Captain! You’re amazing!”

While squinting I yelled.

“Do you best Captain!”

Even Kirigiri is cheering on. Without expression though.

“Stop it Captain! You’ll die!”

Kyouka scream.

Then the killer beam stops, and everything goes back to silence, and the light in the sky went away somewhere.

What was left was……

A completely blacken Shikiba-a manly hero.

He died while giving a heroic stance……

However the sakura tree is safe.

It was protected by him.

“Captain…...I truly felt the love you have.”

Kyouka falls to her knees, and looks down.

“As long as there’s someone like you, than I can rest easy when I look at this world. We will leave.”

“Kyouka…...are you leaving me?”

Shikiba said turned around.

You’re still alive!?

“Captain…...I’m sorry. I, I……”

Kyouka cries as held by Shikiba.

“Will you come back-for flower viewing season.”

Shikiba said gently as rubs her head.

As Kyouka cries she nods numerous times.

Kirigiri tugs at my sleeve.

“Let’s go. There’s nothing for us to do here anymore.”

“Eh? Oh……”

We leave both Kyouka and Shikiba, as we depart from that place.

We can see the hopeful face of the sun rising from the east.

This is how one man’s bravery, protected Earth’s peace.

Extraterrestrials vs Earth Plants Against Invaders Defense Force Route: Cleared

((The game starts again but this time it cuts to the choice after nearly running over Kirigiri..))

A. “Don’t walk in the middle of the road, you idiot!”

B. Im sorry, are you ok? Are you hurt?

C. Hey, you aren’t a ghost, right?

juicedup14 chooses A

“Don’t walk in the middle of the road, you idiot!”

I shouted at her.

There are people whose attitudes get worse behind the wheel, I guess I’m one of those. I thought “uh oh”, when I unconsciously shouted. The one who I was shouting at was a meek little girl. It’s me who’s at fault anyway.

I look at the girl with an apologetic expression, but perhaps because she’s startled, her face remains expressionless and calm. Or maybe she’s looking down at me with cold eyes.

“I’m sorry. I dozed off at the wheel.”

I immediately apologize. I lost to her gaze. An absolute knockout.

What is she?

A. I thought she might live here, so I asked for directions

B. “What a weird girl” I thought and closed the window.

C. It would be awkward if she got injured in this accident. I decided to apologize again.

((juicedup14 chooses A,  the answer that you were forced to go with in the first run so the text is the same, until he gets to the option of showing his wallet.))

A. I have no choice but to show her my driver’s license.

B. This is a bit suspicious, there’s no way I can show her my driver’s license.

juicedup14 chooses B

Weird. I can’t show her my wallet.

“For what purpose do you want to see my identity? Are you planning something?”

“That should be what I’m saying.”

“What?”

“Do you think I’ll easily pop in someone’s car that I don’t know?”

She takes out her cellphone, and goes to the back of the car.

I think she’s putting the licence plate number. She reads out loud the numbers.

“What are you doing?”

((The same text of Kirigiri doing the background check happens, and she gets into the car while Kohei drives))

“What are you seeing out the window?”

“What?”

“Oh, well…...if there’s any signs or anything it’ll help me out. Like road signs, or billboards…...or houses of light…...or maybe rare flowers.”

“There’s lots of yellow flowers growing alongside the path.” ((It's the Otogirisou/ St John’s Wort from the first game!))

“Yellow flowers?”

“But it probably has nothing to do with anything, let’s just look over and keep driving.”

“What is that, it makes me more curious.”

“Because you dozed off, it makes your driving more dangerous.”

“You might be right. Sorry.”

Just a bad road. I’ll concentrate on driving.

“My driving is much better.”

“......You, you can drive?”

“Of course.”

What does she mean of course?

((This is where kirigiri references DRK4 again, and the same text as usual up until the tree nearly falls on them. Once again juicedup14 decides to pick the same option as the first time so everything plays out the same until they enter the mansion.))

((Kohei asks Kirigiri another question about the tree in the entrance hall))

“Is this tree…...crying?”

“Plants don’t cry.”

Kirigiri says in a voided kind of way, and heads to the stairs.

“I’m going to go look for someone. Should be on the second floor.”

((skipped same text))

((Option choice where phone ringing is coming from tree))

juicedup14 chooses A

“Ah, this truly is mys-tree-ous.”

“What is?”

Kirigiri tilts her head.

“Uh, well, I put tree in front of mysterious-”

“Be quite. I’m trying to listen for the phone.”

“Sorry.”

Even though I gave her an explanation, I got yelled at. I’m gonna cry.

All of a sudden, the phone ringing stops.

((skipped same text))

“Ah……I’m gonna use that phone……”

“What sort of contraption?”

Kirigiri touches the trunk, makes a thinking face and tilts her head.

I can’t believe she’s touching such a gross tree. Probably because she’s wearing gloves. I get away from the flowerbed, because I feel chills from it.

And then-

((skipped same text to see the knight at the fireplace.))

((Option choice with opening the suit of armor))

juicedup14 chooses B

It feels dangerous. I shouldn’t touch it.

I get away from the armor, and head toward the fireplace. Kirigiri’s looking inside.

((skipped same text))

((Option choice where Kouhei questions if he should leave Kirigiri by herself))

juicedup14 chooses B

She’s probably fine by herself.

She’s probably gone through lots of adventures by herself. If not, then she wouldn’t be so confident as a detective.

But…...what is she carrying in those small shoulders.

((skipped same text))

And to be honest…...compared to her I’m actually pretty scared. Being faced with such ridiculous events, makes me unable to move. All I could do was look at Kirigiri.

What would I do if something happened to her?

When I think about it, can I get through the situation by myself?

I wouldn’t be able to get away from this mansion by myself.

Well than I should work with her.

“Wait, Kirigiri? I’m going too.”

((skipped same text))

((Option choice where Kouhei comes back to Kirigiri with the knife, but she’s not there))

juicedup14 chooses B

Even if she has gloves, she wouldn’t be able to get through these roses. I call for her.

“Kirigiri?”

But there was no response.

Could she have gone past here by herself?

I feel like she could.

When I think that, I go ahead.

((skipped text))

((Option choice where Kouhei looks at Kyouka’s note and questions who he should trust))

juicedup14 chooses B

I choose to believe in Kyouka.

“Wait, I need to talk to her about something. Wait here.”

“I’m going too.”

“No, she is threatened by you. I’m going alone.”

“......Okay, I got it.”

I leave Kirigiri there, and head out of the greenhouse.

Where could she have gone?

I go down the stairs.

I see the left door, the entrance is open.

Could she be...

When I go in there, a long, damp, and narrow hallway keeps going.

When I open the back door, a white lit room appears. It kind of smells like a sterile hospital. I thought it was kind of like a laboratory, and it’s not covered by plants like the second floor, this means that this place is kept.

And it’s quite large.

((skipped same text))

And there’s a flowerbed in the middle, with an ominous flower growing.

It looked like a carnivorous plant, but if I look closely-the bottom part is like a human.

The bottom part looks like a corpse growing, and I unconsciously let out a gag. When I look closely, the ends of the arms are rounded without fingers, there’s lots of them around there.

((skipped same text))

“They’re all alive……”

A voice says from behind me.

When I turn around, Kyouka gets closer to me from where she was.

“Is this some sort of plant?”

“No, a person. They are my friends.”

“People? This?”

“Yes……”

Kyouka grabs a chair, and slowly sits down. Her face distorts, as she rubs her temples of the head.

“Are you not feeling well?”

“......I’m fine. Thanks for worrying about me.”

I see a hint of a smile, it’s an expression you wouldn’t see on Kirigiri.

“Where these plants-or your friends, made by combining human and plant DNA?”

“Yes. You know quite a bit. Those them there are actually made with exceptional DNA samples.”

Kyouka looks towards the sterile room, and speaks happily with a smile.

“Exceptional DNA samples?”

“Yeah. There are people who are called talented, right? Those people’s DNAs were taken, and used for research. The more exceptional your DNA is, the higher your survivability rate is. Being as you’re so nice, I’ll let you know that.”

Kyouka takes a file from the shelf, and hands it to me.

When I open it, I see who’s people’s DNA samples were used in research. Students from famous colleges, that are known throughout the world are listed there.

“In the outside world, there’s a school that only enlists with exceptional DNA, isn’t there? From that place we take their samples, and use them in research.”

“......Do you have permission for that?”

“Permission? Beats me……? I think the way its gathered is written down in the notes.

When I look in the notes, ‘Hair taken from’, ‘Samples taken from meals’, is written down. I don’t think they’ve gotten permission, from that.

When I look through the list, a name pops up that I know.

Kirigiri Kyouko-

The date when it was gathered was ten years ago.

[thetravelerwrites]

Declan (Part 2) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationships: Female Reader x Male Bat Monster Additional Tags: Bat Monster, Monster Lover, Sex, Oral Sex, Mild Language Words: 4183

The Traveler's Masterlist 

(Declan’s Kin Character Reference Guide)

The year was just at the line of middle spring, which was the perfect time to start planting. Declan took you to the edge of a different, far away town, where you purchased as many seeds and saplings you felt comfortable enough to carry, plus some small comfort items you didn’t take from your old cottage.

Arriving back at the cave, you began to clear some of the land surrounding it and showed Declan how to hand-till the earth. Declan’s fingers were long and held up his wings, and he was unable to grab or do much of anything with them besides fly and create shelter. Luckily, his long, lower limbs seemed to possess articulated feet with two thumbs. He did most things with these appendages, including feed himself.

It took a few days of hard work, but a good chunk of land was now separated out into neat rows. Declan also took the axe and cleared some of the branches from the canopy so that sunlight and rain could reach the crops.

Once that was done, you instructed him to start laying the trees six feet apart while you started planting the rows. Each row was a different crop; carrots, turnips, beans, etc.

You planted nectar flower bushes and berry bushes along the border of the giant hollow log for Declan, as well as some different types of melon and a tomatoes, which was one of the few savory things he could eat. It was shaping up to be a decent sized garden that could feed the both of you with plenty left over, provided you kept it up well.

As you finished planting your seeds, you went to help Declan place the last few trees down. When you finished, you looked over your work with a satisfied sigh.

“This is going to be great,” You said.

“Yes,” He agreed, smiling. “I may not even need to hibernate this year.”

“You hibernate?”

“Only when food is scarce, during winter. I’d starve otherwise.”

“Well, we won’t let that happen,” You said, patting his arm. “Unfortunately, these trees won’t bear fruit for at least five years. We’ll have to look after them closely until then.”

He blinked, looking at you with one of the strange expressions he got sometimes when you said nice things to him.

“What?” You asked him.

“Do you plan to still be here in five years?”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” He said, shaking his head fervently.

“Then I plan to be here,” You said, grinning at him.

The sweetest, softest smile spread across his features slowly, lighting up his eyes and making his ears twitch. You giggled and rubbed them, making him chirp in delight.

Declan was a wonderful friend and a good listener. You spent your days tending the garden together, talking about everything and nothing. He told you about his life, which had been a struggle from the start, and he asked about yours. He even help you hunt; he would scale the trees and look out for game and making his soft chittering noise so as not to spook them. He may not have eaten meat, but he didn’t begrudge you for doing it.

He had seen to your every comfort, even going so far as to carve a bathtub out of a huge fallen tree so that you didn’t have to bathe in the cold river. He was more than happy to haul the water up for you and give you your privacy, sitting outside the cave every time you took a bath.

The summer passed in bliss, and harvest time came. Declan helped you pull up the crops and took you to the far away village for jars and canning supplies so you could store for the cold months, trading some of your produce in exchange. Declan seemed excited to stay awake with you for the winter, telling you he hadn’t seen snow since he was a very small child. You smiled at his enthusiasm, looking forward to it yourself, even if it was just to see his reaction.

You spent the next few days making and saving, though you had to keep him from eating his weight everyday or you’d have nothing for winter.

“Sorry,” He’d say. “Force of habit. I’m usually bulking up around this time, preparing to hibernate. My body’s is still in self-preservation mode.” And then he’d steal a handful of berries and run off laughing.

You had to admit, you’d come to care deeply for Declan. You though he might care for you, too, but he had been a perfect gentleman in the months you had stayed with him, never touching you unless you touched him first, always sleeping away from you on the ground.

Mid-autumn, the temperature began to drop significantly at night, and you wondered if Declan was cold. He had given you every soft, warm thing in his cave to sleep with, so he had nothing to warm himself, caring only for your comfort. He assured you his fur would protect him, but you still worried.

Once particularly cold night, you got up to throw a log on the dwindling fire and raked the coals back to life, and saw him shivering in the renewed firelight. You frowned, going over to wake him.

“Declan,” You said softly, waking him by shaking his shuddering shoulder gently. “Declan, wake up.”

His head popped up, the fur on the left side ruffled a bit from sleep. “What is it? Are you all right?”

“Yes, but you’re freezing,” You said, taking one of his chilled arms and rubbing it to get some heat back into it. “Come to the nest and sleep next to me. It’ll be much warmer.”

He sat up, looking from the nest back to you. “Are… are you sure?”

“Yes, come on,” You said, pulling him to his feet. “What’s the point of staying awake to see the snow if you freeze to death first?”

He followed you to the nest and you motioned for him to step in first. The blankets were still warm for where you had slept, and he moaned loudly. You stepped in after him, careful not to step on his wings, and lay down next to him, putting your hands in the velvety fur of his chest.

Slowly, as if testing his boundaries, he wrapped his arms and leathery wings around you, pulling the blankets over both of you. You sighed and snuggled in.

“See?” You asked, muffled by his chest. “Isn’t this warmer?”

“Immeasurably,” He replied softly, his muzzle buried in your hair. He was asleep in seconds.

Autumn turned to winter, and you spent more time in the cave with Declan. The trees and bushes shivered in the cold, but no snow had fallen yet, there was just a lot of wind and freezing rain.

Declan continued to sleep in the nest with you, both of you sharing heat with each other, and he was never once inappropriate with you, though sometimes you kind of wished he was. Still, perhaps there was a good reason for why he didn’t try to engage with you and you were hesitant to push him. He had been through a lot, after all.

One morning, though, you woke up to the sound of Declan panting and grunting in your ear. Your back was against his front, and he was curled up around you. You suddenly noticed you felt movement; his hips bouncing against your clothed bottom over and over at a quick pace. You felt something nudging your thigh from behind. You turned your head and looked at his face, eyes closed, features relaxed, and you realized he was still sleeping.

A startled smile split your face and you wondered how long he was going to go on like this. After a minute, though, you called out.

“Declan. Declan, wake up.”

“Hmm?” He said, not quite waking. The motion of his hip continued.

“Declan, you’re dreaming,” You said, patting his cheek. “Wake up.”

His eyes opened, and the motion ceased. Suddenly, as if realizing what he was doing, he jumped up and pressed himself flat against the wall, his wings covering his body.

“I’m so sorry!” He cried. “I--I didn’t mean… I’m so ashamed… forgive me…”

“It’s all right, Declan,” You said.

“Oh, gods,” He moaned, covering his face. “You must think I’m disgusting…”

“No, really, it’s all right,” You said, taking hold of his arms and pulling them down so you could look at his face. “Really. This happens to humans all the time. Men and women and everyone in-between.”

“It does?” He asked, and you nodded. “It’s never happened to me. I don’t know what to do to make it go away.”

You swallowed thickly, took a breath, and said, “I could… help… if you like.”

He didn’t answer, just stared at you and panted, his eyes wide.

“But if you don’t want to, it’s all right, I just--”

“Yes!” He said loudly, before modulating his tone and breathing, “Please.”

You pulled down his wings and looked at his body. At the apex of his legs, there was a large, bright pink organ sticking straight up out of a sheath. Warmth pooled at your midsection, and you flicked your eyes back up to his.

“Lie down,” You said.

He complied, laying in the nest propped up against several pillows so that he could watch what you were doing. You went to kneel between his legs, shucking off your nightgown and underwear as you do so. The chill made your nipples harden instantly.

He stared at your body reverently, his panting becoming frantic.

“Calm down,” You said softly, petting the fur on his stomach. His breathing slowed by a mere fraction. You reached up and took his face in your hands, kissing his muzzle. “Calm down, Declan. You’re too worked up.”

“I’m sorry,” He said, pulling your naked body close, nosing your neck and inhaling. “I’ve never done this.”

“It’s all right,” You said softly. “Kiss me.”

He does, the kiss sweet and gentle, the wings on his arms fluttering softly around you. You can feel him twitching underneath you, but his breathing calms and you pull back. He moans in dismay.

“Don’t worry,” You said, running your nails over the fur of his inner thigh. “You’re going to feel great in a few minutes.”

“What do--ohh!” He groaned long and loud as you let your fingers wrap around the head, slowly working your way down to the base. The panted started again and he spasmed underneath you. You pumped him slowly at first, letting him get used to the feeling, before lowering down and swirling your tongue in circles on the head.

His upper torso lurched forward with a gasp, his thumbs tangling in your hair, careful not to be too rough or stab you with his claws.

If this was indeed his first time, you knew he wouldn’t last long. It took some time to develop self-control in this situation, but you didn’t mind. You were just happy this was finally happening.

You had been right. It had only taken two pumps down the shaft into your mouth before he released down your throat, grunting loudly as each spasm shook his body, legs trembling.

Finally, when he was spent, he collapsed backwards onto the blankets, breathing heavily. You gently moved his wing out of the way and lay down next to him, waiting for him to settle.

When he did, he turned on his side to stare at you in awe.

“That was incredible,” He breathed onto your skin, nuzzling your breast with his muzzle, sniffing. “Thank you. Is is supposed to happen so quickly?”

“For men, it can sometimes, especially if they’re inexperienced and over stimulated,” You said, chuckling. “We can work on it.”

“We can?” He asked brightly, his ears perking up.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his eagerness. “Of course we can, love.”

His smile slipped and he stared at you with his mouth open in shock.

“Say that again,” He said in a whisper.

“Which part?”

“The last part.”

“What, love?”

He nodded, taking in long, slow breaths. “Did you mean that?”

Realizing what he was trying to ask, if in a roundabout way, you rolled your eyes, smiling at him tenderly. “Yes, Declan. I love you.”

He fell upon you with a pleased chirruping noise, kissing your face and neck and chest and any inch of your skin he could reach.

“Oh!” He exclaimed. “I’m so happy! I love you, too! I love you so much!”

You laughed as his fur tickled your skin.

He stopped and looked at you with endearing earnest. “I want… to… I don’t know… what can I…?”

You understood. “Let me lay on my back, all right?”

He obliges, moving so that you can take the position he had before. He mirrored what you had done, kneeling between your upraised legs. You opened them wide, moving your feet on either side of his hips. He stared at the space there in something like surprise.

“What is it?” You asked, slightly concerned.

“It…” He started, grasping for words. “It looks like a flower… like an orchid…”

You covered your mouth and laughed a little self-consciously. Reaching down with your hand, you touch the sensitive bundle of nerves under it’s hood.

“Remember how I used my tongue?”

He looks up at you and nods.

“Do that here. Like this.” You circle and stroke it, demonstrating for him.

He didn’t hesitate, bending down and flattening his belly against the nest, holding your hips with his long digits. His long tongue flickered out and he touched it to the heat between your legs with a soft moan. Your breathing caught in your throat and he looked up at you, questioning.

“It’s good,” you gasped. “Keep it up.”

He smiled with his tongue still pressed against you and continued to swirl it around the bud. You touched your breasts and kneaded the nipples hard like dough, moaning softly at first.

You told him exactly what you needed to get to your peak, and he followed you every instruction with great fervor. He was very receptive to direction. He touched what you asked him to touch, he sucked when you asked him to suck. When you begged him to go faster, he was only happy to comply. He watched your face closely the entire time, gauging your reactions and your twitching body.

It wasn’t long before you were a shaking, screaming mess. You showed him your entrance and asked him to press his tongue into that sensitive hollow. He did so immediately, moaning loudly, the vibrations of which pushed you closer to your edge.

You reached down with your hand as he did this and massaged the nub. He watched you do this, all the while his tongue was buried inside you, contracting and slurping at you. At some point, he gently nudged your hand out of the way and took over, observing you writhe and cry out under his touch. You used both hands to hold his head, locking him in place. He didn’t complain.

As your cries intensified, he withdrew his tongue and placed his mouth over the nerve cluster, sucking hard.

You crashed into into your peak with a loud scream, thrashing and twitching in his grasp, feeling a gush of fluid come out of you that he pulled back to observe with obvious interest, still touching the nerve bundle gingerly. When you finally came down, laying limp and sweating on the nest, he chuckled a breathy laugh.

“That was beautiful to watch,” He said, pulling himself up along your body, kissing as he went. He met your lips, and the kiss was no longer gentle. It was hungry, desperate. He kissed you so hard that you both had to stop to catch your breath, lest you smother each other.

You peeked down and realized he was hard again. You reached for it and touched it. He gasped and shuddered. You slid down and tilted your hips upward, leading him forward against your entrance.

The look on his face was wild and tense, his eyes questioned you. You raised up to kiss his lips, and nod. At your urging, he begins to press into you with a long groan of pleasure. You moan against him as he slides into you slowly, carefully, inch by inch. You loved the feeling of heat insides you, a degree different than your own, the delicious pressure opening you up wide. Your fingers tangled in the soft fur of his neck, his forehead pressed against yours until he had seated himself completely inside you and growing still, panting.

“Give yourself time,” You purred to him as he began to buck against you erratically. He stilled, his muscles quivering and ticking uncontrollably. He was gasping, struggling to maintain control. Inside, he pulsed and jumped in wondrous ways, and as much as you needed him to move, you also wanted him to enjoy the experience and not rush.

After a few minutes of stillness, during which time his muscles stopped jumping, you urged him to move slowly. He obeyed, pulling himself back until he was almost out and then thrusting back in again slowly.

“You all right?” You gasped as the sensations blotted out your brain.

He nodded. “Yes,” He said, opening his eyes to gazed down into yours. “Are you? Does it hurt?”

“No, it doesn’t. It feels so good.” You clenched your inner muscles around his shaft as proof.

He huffed and picked up speed, still relatively slow but a little more intense. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss. He thrust deeper, hitting that amazing sweet spot deep inside, and you moaned into his mouth. His movements were erratic again, but this time he stopped on his own and got his bearings back before he could lose himself.

“Good,” You said encouragingly.

He smiled down at you. “I’m a fast learner.”

You grinned wickedly back. “I can tell.”

He was, indeed. Now that he had a rudimentary understanding, he began to experiment a little, trying strokes and positions that you might like, pleasuring you beyond rational thought. You were so caught up in the sensations that you lost all sense of time. It felt like he had been pounding away at you for days, and you loved every second of it. Whenever he would get too close to his peak, he would pull out and suckle at you, licking and nipping until you were unable to speak, and then plunge back in.

Finally, once he sensed you were rapidly losing your ability to move, he gripped your hips tightly and thrust so hard and so fast that you literally couldn’t feel anything else. It didn’t take long for him to reach his limit, and he released again with a loud shout. You felt the hot, wet fluid shoot into you at speed.

You had orgasmed so many times that day that you could barely feel them anymore, but the feeling of him hunched over you, shaking and snarling, as he emptied everything he had into you was a whole other thing. It set off bells in your head and make your vision go black for a moment. You would have cried out from the heat, but you had lost your voice a while ago.

He collapsed onto you with an exhausted grunt and you felt him exit your body and grow limp on your stomach, slowly sliding back into the sheath. You both lay motionless for a long, long time, unable to muster the strength to disentangle yourselves from each other.

After what seems like a year, he finally lifts his head and stares at you blearily.

“I made a mess,” He said.

You huffed a laugh through your nose. “Yeah.”

“Do you enjoy that?”

You nodded sleepily but enthusiastically. “Very much so. But I don’t think I’ll be able to move for a week.”

He laughed gently and tried to stand. It took a couple of attempts, and when he managed to find his feet, he staggered a bit. There was pearly white fluid clinging to the fur of his stomach and down his legs. You snickered a little.

“I’m going to go get some bathwater,” He said, stumbling to pick up the pails and yoke.

“But it’s freezing outside,” You protest. “Take the cloak and scarf I made you.”

He smiles at you brightly, putting both on. Shouldering the yoke, he stepped into the darkening world outside. Gods, you had been at it all day long. No wonder you were exhausted.

You moved the blanket that had been under you, now messy and sticky, and used a clean bit to wipe yourself then set it aside to wash it. You tried your best to stand up, but gave up after the fifth attempt.

Declan returned promptly, setting down the full pails and the yoke, bouncing excitedly. He handed you a dress and your cloak.

“Come and see! Come and see!” He said energetically, running to you, and back to the entrance, and then back to you.

“What’s going on?” You said, chuckling at him.

“Just come! Hurry!”

You made another attempt to stand, and immediately fell, your legs little more than wet noodles. He laughed boyishly and helped you to your feet, pulling the dress over your head and the cloak around you shoulders. He pulled you insistently toward the doorway.

“Let me put on my boots!” You protested, giggling and stepping into them. He took your hand and led you outside. You gasped.

The ground was glistening, and all around you, fluffy white snow was falling gently. It landed in your hair and on Declan’s soft shoulders, speckled against the dark fur. It danced in the air like a ballet, all delicate and dreamlike. Like you were in a different world. A better one.

You looked at Declan and he’s smiling so hard that he’s liable to crack his face.

“It’s amazing!” He breathed. Opening his arms wide as if to catch as many of snowflakes he could. He laughed openly, happily, warmly. Like a person unburdened by heartache, free of any hardship. You loved seeing him like this.

“You look happy, sweetheart,” You told him, and he swung around to snatch you up into his arms.

“I am,” He whispered into your hair. “I’m happier than I have ever been in all my life. This has been the best day and it’s all thanks to you. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

You pulled back to look at him, smiling sweetly. “It’s just the first of many, my love, and there is so much more to come.”

He kissed you with a fierceness he hadn’t yet displayed, and it left you breathless. “I can’t wait.” He said against your lips, and the kiss resumed with vigor.

It seemed like the two of you wouldn’t have any trouble staying warm this winter.

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My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[wootensmith]

Veilfire leaf: Hollow

He was still unaccustomed to the constant interaction. He didn’t find it particularly uncomfortable, just strange. Background noise that was somehow warmer than the normal rush of water or wind through trees or his own footsteps on a road. It wasn’t as if he’d been entirely without contact. How many times had he attempted to reach out to the clans in the past year? But it hadn’t been steady, uninterrupted company. Not in centuries. Except for Wisdom— perhaps since his childhood. Not like this. Most days he found it soothing, if distant. As if he were watching a hearthfire through a distant window rather than warming himself beside it. Or listening to the echoes of some far off sound without ever coming to the source. Prattle, mostly. A pantomime of what had been. It only became unsettling when he thought he caught a flicker of warmth, something deeper lurking beneath the empty words that they gave to one another. 

Varric, especially, gave him pause more than he liked to admit. It was understandable. His people had been less known to him and rumored to be stunted, cut off from the Fade. The Veil couldn’t have made that large a difference, could it? He found himself alternately craving conversation with the dwarf and avoiding it because it had lead to lingering doubts. Cassandra said little to Solas as a general rule. He couldn’t decide whether it was because she truly had so little to say, or if she were still suspicious of him. Or if she believed herself solely a vessel for the Chantry’s teachings. And he was not certain he wished to know. It would be months before he truly warmed to her. Not yet, not in the trudge through the Hinterlands when they’d barely gathered a shred of hope for themselves. And the Herald— she ought to have been the one who troubled him most. Child of his people, one he’d failed if the vallaslin were any indication. She’d slipped past his wariness a few times in the past weeks, needled that tiny part of him that wondered if they could be saved. If he should waste the resources looking for a way to do it. But every time, he’d seen only a shadow of what she might have been, her world a set of scavenged relics, the very least of what they’d been. And he’d dismissed her words. They were a trick of the mind, he’d told himself, his own longing for something, anything familiar. He was seeing what wasn’t there. She was mostly silent among them, easy to forget. At least, then. When she was still overwhelmed. When she was waiting for some chance to throw off the weight of what they wanted her to do. So he found himself on the top of Calenhad’s Foothold, lying with the stars spread overhead, waiting for sleep. For his nightly escape into a more familiar landscape with those he knew were real. And the others were below, slumped against the remaining walls near a fading campfire, their voices spiraling up past him with the smoke. He tried to let them drift into a gentle murmur as he shut his eyes, but his loneliness got the better of him and he found himself listening in spite of himself. “Didn’t know masonry interested you, Herald. There’s an old mine not far from here. Rumor is, it used to lead straight to Orzammar. Not much use for the Stone myself, but I can’t deny our stonesmiths are among the best.” “I’m certain they are, Varric. The stories say your kingdoms are vast. As far from one end to another as all the leagues our clans walk.” Her voice was soft with wonder and Solas turned to his side to hear it better. “They were. Long ago,” admitted Varric. “But many of thaigs were cut off from each other.” He sighed. “Just as well. Pushed us into the world. And the world back to us. In a few years, maybe the Surfacers will be welcome again. And the humans will send more than a handful of Wardens to fend off the Blight.” The fire cracked. “Listen to me. Sounding like a bitter old Deshyr. Forget all that. Why are you so interested in an old step?” “It’s the hollow. Here, see?” Varric laughed. “Sorry Herald,” he said quickly, “It’s just— you know the hollow wasn’t carved there, don’t you?” “I know. That’s why it interests me. It’s the passage of hundreds of feet. Over and over. Imagine the years it takes to wear away stone. The humans have been in this place for so long, that they’ve left a mark on it. It is a curious thing, to know that. To be so tied to a place.” “Mm. Kind of explains why they acted so strangely seeing you and I at the Crossroads, doesn’t it? Most of those people had never wandered farther than the outskirts of their village before the war. Maybe as far as the local market. They’d likely never seen a dwarf or an elf before. Certainly not in charge of Chantry soldiers.” He laughed again. “The four of us were probably the strangest thing they’d seen all year, even with the Breach and the loose mages.” “That makes them sound— small.” “Hey, I’m not excluding myself. Not a big traveler myself. Until I’m forced.” “Come now, Varric, I gave you a chance to leave weeks ago,” Cassandra said abruptly. “You’re the fool who didn’t take it.” “You’d be lost without me, and you know it.” Solas smiled, hearing the casual pride in Varric’s voice. Perhaps he should join them. “I didn’t mean to call them small. It isn’t always a bad thing to be so— entwined in a place,” said the Herald. “Certainly, travel doesn’t cure all ignorance. I wish that it did.” “Are you— are you homesick, Herald?” asked Cassandra. “Not for a place. Not the way whoever left these hollows would be. Not the way you are for Montsimmard or Varric is for his— what was it? The Butchered Barman?” “Ha! No Herald. The Hanged Man. But I’m stealing that. It’s terrible.” “Not like that. There is no place like that for me. I miss my family. The way the aravel sails flicker in the wind or slump and drip in the rain. The sound of the halla tender calling. But not— stone and timber that sinks its roots and stays. I know they are safe. My clan. What we do here will help them.” “You know, you could settle down. When this is finished. The Montsimmard Circle is very lenient—” “Seeker!” Varric cried. Solas sat up, leaned over the ledge where he’d been lying. The Herald held up a hand to calm the dwarf. “Thank you, Cassandra, but I will return to Lavellan. A keeper does not abandon her charge. It is not so much that I long for a permanent home. I’m certain it must be— pleasant to always know where you are. To know that around the next corner will be something familiar and peaceful. But that is not what I wish for. It’s this— mark you leave that I miss. We don’t leave marks like these. A few fire rings that get buried by leaves and snow until we return a few years later to sweep them clean and rebuild them again or the bent grass in the tracks of the aravels that springs back a few days after we pass— that is what remains of us.” “That’s not true, Herald. Daisy’s camp had a pair of stone wolves at its entrance. And she told me you plant a tree for those you lose along the way.” “Yes. Forests of them. Once. There are not so many of us left any more. We do not plant forests these days. A copse in bad years. A lone, slender sapling in good ones. Scattered all through the marches. They are felled for other peoples’ homes. Or for their campfires. No one remembers they are special. No one remembers they were once people who trod there.” Solas held his breath. Lay back down to be a few inches closer to the sound. To the flash of warmth in her voice. “And the statues— they are meant to hide us from danger. From the world. Not announce us. There is no— love in them. Not like your buildings. They face away from our camps. Witness none of the life in them. The statues never saw a birth or a bonding or us at all. All they see are invaders. Not like this step.” “I always thought your— wandering and your love of solitude was by choice,” said Cassandra. “Doesn’t it keep your clans safe?” “Yes,” sighed the Inquisitor. “That is the purpose. Perhaps it isn’t permanence I long for. This step. These walls that have stood for generations. I cannot imagine my life within them for long. But to be— safe enough to build something like this— to remain all my life in one place without fear, that is what the groove in this step means to me.” “I do not know our fate, Herald,” said Cassandra, “but this tear in the sky is a frightful thing. The person who closes it, I think she would be welcome wherever she chose to go.” “Didn’t turn out that way for Hawke,” Varric muttered. “Did it Cassandra?” “Hawke is not the same. She negotiated successfully with the Qunari but—” Varric laughed but it was bitter and angry. “The Qunari? I meant your mad templars.” “She pushed Meredith into—” Solas got up. Did it matter if her sorrow were only inch deep? That she mourned only what she saw the Dalish suffer at the hands of the shemlen and did not understand how very far they’d fallen before the humans arrived? She was hurt. And her companions bickered instead of offering comfort. What comfort could they offer? He reminded himself. They do not know what you do. He climbed down the crumbling wall. Varric was still shouting at Cassandra. The Herald watched warily, nervously. Waiting for their anger to twist on her, to turn as it likely inevitably did whenever she found herself at the mercy of strangers away from her clan. He touched her shoulder and she jumped. “Peace,” he said softly, so that only she would hear. “It is only me. Let them— reminisce.” He offered her a crooked smile. “I’d like to show you something.” He held out his hand to help her up and she took it. He led her out into the dark field and Cassandra’s voice slowly faded. “We were not always wanderers,” he told her. “There was a time when it was elves who peopled these fields and mountains. Before humans. The Fade remembers our great cities and our works.” She was silent for a time walking beside him. “I am— glad that the Fade comforts you, Solas,” she said at last. “But— so few can see what you do. Fewer still would believe it to be true and not just some— trick or story, even if they did.” She wrapped her arms around herself. This had been a bad idea. The conversation did not comfort him as he’d hoped. And it was likely pointless for her. How could he expect her to understand? Just a marionette, strung through the motions of life, like the others. “It is not just the Fade that remembers,” he tried once more, trying to salvage some tranquility from the exchange, trying to draw one true, deep stream of emotion from her. He knew it would be fruitless but— They’d come to a lone pillar. One that had stood for centuries beside an ancient road. It lay prone now, half covered in moss and dirt. He knelt down and touched it. The old runes blazed under his spell and she fell to her knees beside him with a soft gasp. “The land remembers, too, Herald. Just as that stone stair.” Her hand traced the illuminated forms, and he waited, watching her. “Where did they go?” she muttered at last. Her eyes glittered, reflecting the runes and she wiped them with the heel of her hand. “They— became you, Herald. Your clans. This is our mark upon the world.” She shook her head. “It can’t be. I don’t— I can’t even read it. I doubt anyone alive could. We are— more like the humans than these people.” He could not argue with that, though her expression begged him to. He looked back at the pillar. “It says that this was the boundary between Elvehn lands and the dwarven kingdoms. That this pillar was hewn from the living stone by those who lived within it and emblazoned by those who lived above it. It marked a truce. The end of a great war.” She nodded. “Are there more? Like this?” “If you know how to look.” “I don’t even know that much. And even should I find them again… How far we have been driven from what we were. Pushed to the edges of all our lands.” The vallaslin rippled as her brow wrinkled in distress. “Maybe I am foolish for wanting to know.” She sank back on her heels. “I have a— a good life. A kind clan. We usually have enough. The Marches are peaceful enough.” She looked around them at the dark fields of the Hinterlands, stained a dim green by the Breach. “Especially compared to here.” Solas felt a twinge of disappointment, though he’d expected to. She was just like all the others. It was easier to shut her eyes and— “I just— want them to understand what we were. What we could be again. Someday,” she said softly. “That we are worth more than just a handful of—” She stopped abruptly, her mouth pinched as if she were holding the thought back between her teeth. He could not help leaning toward her. “A handful of what, Herald?” She shook her head with a tight smile. “Nothing. I have been too long from them. I begin to forget myself.” She touched the pillar again, tracing the thin script. “You’ve seen this language in the Fade?” “Yes. Some of it,” he lied. “Do you— We will probably be finished with the Breach shortly and go our separate ways, but— if you would help me learn it, I will arrange for a suitable trade from Lavellan. The knowledge would be a great gift for us.” He drew back, hesitant. It was not that knowing would expose him to her, there was little enough left of the language for that and none so far south that could connect him to his old name. It is a waste, Mouseling, he thought. You will only ever see the symbols on the stone. You��ll never feel what was connected to the words, never understand the context they were written in. And your time is so short— “I have offered it to the Dalish before, among other things. They thought it was— what is it you said? A trick. A story. Something worse,” was all he said aloud. It obviously stung her, he could see it in her face, and felt a rumble of unease. “Ir abelas,” she said. He expected her to yield, to stand up and walk back to camp in silence, cowed by his refusal. But instead, she held out a hand to him. “I will trade for it then, lethallin. For me. It will be my debt, not the clan’s. Please.” “How do you know I am not playing a trick? That I’m not telling you a story? Why are you so ready to believe what I have found in the Fade?” he snapped. She did not draw back her hand. “It is all stories, Solas. What we know, what we’ve forgotten, what the Shemlen tell themselves is true— it’s all stories. Is it so wrong to want to hear my own?” “And if it is a story you do not like?” “Then at least it would be a friend who told it. And we are still here, diminished though we may be. I still have a chance to alter the ending.” He took her hand. “Ma’nuvenin,” he said. “Good,” she said and for the first time her smile caused some small stone to shake loose inside him. “What is this one?” She bent back to the pillar, pointing. “That one is atish. And here: an. Atish’an. Peace,” he answered. sorry for the long radio silence. don’t know how many of these there will be. At least three planned so far. Just little lost things. Maybe all Solas POV, maybe not, haven’t decided yet. I’ll be back with more eventually, stuck in end of novel madness right now, but it should be passed soon.

[0ssuary]

Hello starbrights, it's time for a little housekeeping. A few things: I've recently made a Twitter account to focus on writing, you can follow me @river_quinn if you'd like. Currently I'm participating in the #LGBTWIP challenge, so there's little extra morsels of Ossuary stuff there. Also, I'm going to try to get onto a more regular posting schedule, ideally once a week, likely on weekends. You're welcome to hold me to this! Lastly, I also have a ko-fi account, so if you feel so inclined, you can support my work there. I'm really grateful to everyone who's on board already, you're all wonderful! I'm glad this world is drumming up some interest, and if there's a story snippet or some world-building that's stuck with you, maybe reblog it?Your followers might like it, too, and it would really help me out to have my work be seen in wider circles. I had a longer piece planned for this weekend, but it turned into a bigger project than I'd originally intended, so you'll be seeing that next Saturday, most likely. For now, enjoy another myth (Rho'ki's favorite, the one they carry a talisman of told in stitched motifs on a small kerchief, embroidered by Feana), and a collection of short introductions of some minor characters I'm excited to flesh out.

When Yotri was young, all ocean and sky, the Mother of Creation thrust Her hands into the waters and drew up the land, letting it draw its first breath. She sculpted the mountains and carved out canyons, smoothed the plains and caressed into being the rolling hills. The God of Passion, Her Shining Light, cast golden rays down onto the soil and flowers sprang up to turn their faces to Him, moss and grass covering stone and dirt and blanketing the land. Together, They planted the world and began to birth small creatures into it. Inspired, the Creatrix bent down and kissed the ground, and a forest of saplings pushed their way up into the Light.

Slowly, they grew together, roots entwined, stretching upwards, and when they were thirsty the Mother sent them rain. When the sun shone too brightly, She shaded them with clouds. At night, they rested under glittering stars and watched the moons change, watched bright colorful plumes of star births blossoming in the dark Cosmos, and as the forest grew taller, it fell in love with the sky. They reached higher and higher towards the clouds and stars, feeling kissed by the rain, embraced by the wind, graced by the night's shimmering darkness, but no matter how high they reached, they could not touch the sky.

Crestfallen, the leaves began to droop and lose their color. The trunks and branches no longer swayed in the wind, only a cruel reminder of their unattainable love. Feeling their sadness, the Divine Lovers plucked out tufts from the clouds and made from them a flock of white birds. The birds could soar through the sky and roost in the trees, and the forest knew they were of the sky. The leaves became green again and flowers bloomed, bearing fruit. When the birds ate the forest's fruit, their white feathers turned into bright floral colors, and they carried the hues back up into the sky like a love note.

Mesmerized by the colors, the sky fell in love, too. It no longer needed the Mother's prompting to nourish the forest with rain, or cloak it in fog, or shade it with clouds. It did so out of adoration, showering its affection down onto leaves and branches, soaked up into the roots to help the trees grow taller and taller, never quite touching the sky, but coming ever closer so that they might admire one another, sending their love back and forth through rain and birds.

When the clouds break after a storm and are painted jewel- bright hues like a field of flowers, that is their love story.

minor characters

Vamman Khi - She is the temple mother and spiritual leader of Handien, a former head priestess of the Mother of Creation. She’s a portly trans woman in her late sixties that gives off intense high school art teacher vibes; commanding and intense when she needs to be, which is more often than she’d like, but soft and gentle and kind, with an exuberant streak that keeps spirits lifted. The younger priests and dedicants are like her children, and quite a few of them were orphans of Rho’ki’s generation that she looked after as a priestess; she’s watched them grow up and choose to remain with the temple and take their vows, and it makes her feel like a proud mom. She is the only person besides Feana who is allowed to hug Rho’ki without asking. It isn’t uncommon for priests to be nude in the temple (there’s significance to it in terms of vulnerability and celebrating the physical body as sacred creation, but it’s also very hot in Handien for most of the year), and Vamman Khi is nude almost always, whether she’s in the temple or not, leaving nothing about her body to the imagination. She is castrated, has breasts, and still has her penis, she’s fine with it. Being trans (or queer, for that matter) isn’t a big deal for Mahai folk, they recognize five main genders along a spectrum (and are open to more if a person does not feel they fit neatly within these) so Vamman’s body on display doesn’t raise so much as an eyebrow. She is beloved, especially by the devout, and a major influential power in the community, which she does not take lightly. Rho’ki and a lot of the other priests around their age or younger call her Mama.

Draea - A priestess of the God of Passion, Draea is from a large modern city on the other side of Mahai, but came to train in Handien and fell in love with the community, asking to stay. She had just been ordained when Rho’ki returned home and they had beds next to each other in the dormitories and quickly became friends. She is a cis woman, very petite with short cropped hair and traditional tattoos of her order on her forearms and hands. She is one of the priests who performs sacred healing and pleasure, which can range from cuddle sessions with talk therapy, to hands-on sex education, to sex in general. There are many different facets of the Passion Order and sex is not required of priests (it’s in fact a very strict and respected realm of practice with a huge emphasis on consent and awareness), but the God of Passion does tend to attract a lot of pan hyper-sexual extroverts into the order. Draea is quick-witted and assertive and a loyal friend. People who go into training for priesthood intending to dedicate themselves to the Passion God have a high turnover rate for not making it to ordination for a whole host of reasons, and those who make it to their vows are often the most devout of any of the priest orders. Draea deeply loves her god and sees her work as an important part of serving the community and spreading His joy. There’s a really delicate balance between treating sex and intimacy with respect and not trivializing it as a passing pleasure, but also not discounting that that pleasure is sacred and a gift to be enjoyed for what it is. Draea played a big part in helping Rho’ki let go of the resentment and distrust they had for the God of Passion and His followers and understanding what He is really about, rather than the warped ideas they had been manipulated with in the Qores temple.

Eridae - A young priestess-in-training, Eridae is shy and quiet and sweet and has become like a little shadow to Rho’ki. She is sixteen and trans and looks up to Rho’ki as an ideal of what a priest should be. Though she doesn’t feel called to They Who Is Between, her year studying Their realm is her favorite so far simply because it means getting to be taught by and work with Rho’ki. She comes to them for advice and guidance and wants to make them proud. She also has an enormous crush on a boy that sells bread in the market and is too shy to speak to him.

Moireina - Mahaji tradition is not closed only to Mahai folk, but it is uncommon for non-Mahai to follow their path, and rarer still for them to pursue priesthood. Moireina is Skanan, nonbinary, and a priestess of the Mother of Creation. She is disfigured (Crouzon syndrome) and deaf and the primary caretaker of the temple’s rooftop garden. There was some stigma both about her ethnicity/nationality and her appearance when she first came to Handien, but regulars of the temple got to know her quickly and she’s a favorite for spells involving luck and prosperity. She and Rho’ki often have lunch together in the temple cafeteria and trade herbs, seeds, and gardening tips. Because Handien’s temple is one of the oldest and largest in use, it is a minor tourist destination for non-Mahaji folk, and Moireina sometimes finds herself having to be the translator to tell curious Skanans admiring the architecture to take their damn shoes off and be respectful.

Dova Qersho - Qersho (his first name is irrelevant (dova is his title) because literally no one feels comfortable being informal enough with him to use it) is the elder priest of They Who Is Between. He’s trans and in his early eighties and is very no-nonsense. He walks with a cane and has slowly evolved in my mind to looking very much like Srila Prabhupada. In his old age, he leaves a lot of the presiding and counseling to the younger priests and focuses on the more mystical and esoteric parts of priesthood, though he is the one to give the final prayer at every tomb interment. He and Rho’ki have a great deal of respect for one another, Rho’ki is his chosen successor for dova after he has passed on, but their personalities are just similar enough that they clash and they don’t actually get along. They have virtually no personal relationship, only a working one, but for Rho’ki this is a benefit, as they never doubt if his faith in them is biased and knows it is based on merit, alone.

.

Handien is getting more populated by the minute in my head, but these five are currently the most prominent outside of Feana and Rho’ki. There will especially be a good deal more of Draea in backstory very soon!

[sending-the-message]

Always listen to your mother, especially if she might be an oracle. by TheNamelessKitty

I was born into a family of deeply rural Greek craftsman. Wilderness and mountains bordered us, which became federal forest after a hard day of hiking. We were—they were; my father was a child in this story—in the middle of nowhere. After a rough time in too much armed conflict, my family liked it that way. The Katsoros family was, by any account, comprised of simple, “earthy” people. They worked hard. They produced fine leather. They went to church. They were not, in any way, weird or mysterious or affiliated with the occult or any of the other things that might make them noteworthy…with the possible exception of my grandmother.

She was an interesting woman. Kind, simple, and respected the land. Even so, “Witch” may have been the right word. She once whispered “oracle” into my ear, so quietly that even the walls couldn’t hear. Her oddity wasn’t some obvious thing. There were no vague, riddle-laden prophecies. She didn’t wear a blindfold and toga, she wore homemade dresses that were just a little out of style. She didn’t cook potions, she cooked delicious desserts.

She was never called an oracle, but people knew to listen.

It’s a weird thing, in Greece: you live with all these stories that even we call “mythology” now, but you still end up paying attention. You know they weren’t always myths. You could be an Atheist, or maybe a good Christian who decried pagan superstition, but if you wander too far into the deep forests, amongst pools and mountains and monuments that have been here since the 8mythological* days, you can’t help but feel something. You can’t help but sense something other than fish in the water. You can’t help but avoid a too-perfect clearing. And you can’t help but remember that some things are much bigger than common sense. Your “common sense” is limited by knowledge and experience. Whether you were 10 or 80, the land had a head start of millennia.

Anyway, while the land may have known better than any mortal, my father’s mother was in second place. If she wasn’t, he wasn’t about to tell her so.

“Stop right there, Vas!”

The boy froze with the front door ajar, caging a groan with his teeth as he tried to figure out what he’d forgotten. His chores were done. He had no homework. It wasn’t cold enough for a jacket, even by his mother’s looser standards. He was at a loss.

“Vasilhs Katsoros! You will not be traipsing off into the forest without your filhata.”

This time, he failed to restrain a malcontented noise.

It earned him a harmless swat. In almost the same moment, he felt a leather cord dangle in front of his neck while his mother clasped it in back. A large charm featuring a stylized eye—a traditional defense against the evil eye—came to rest just above his collarbone.

“Mom, I’m not a baby! Adults don’t wear these.”

“Smart ones do,” she retorted. “And you even got to design yours to be ‘cool.’”

“There is nothing cool about wearing baby charms.”

“Well, while you’re being off being a big, safe loser in the forest, be careful and be home for dinner.” She kissed his hair and headed back inside. (Dad recalled this interaction in great detail. She really did use the words ‘big, safe loser.’ She sounds fantastic.)

Vasihls sighed, tucking the necklace under his shirt before some lost bus of cute girls could break down in front of the house and laugh at him. That kind of thing happened. He had seen television. Vas had learned other things about girls from television, too: crushes, hilarious mishaps, grand gestures, and so on. In the end, the hero would always a) get the girl, or b) end up with the girl who was right for him all along. He wanted in on that. He wasn’t sure what “that” was, exactly, but he thought a girl at school was pretty and that “going out” at least meant they’d be best friends. Good deal.

So, per his fiction-fueled romantic wiles, he strode through the forest that day with intent and a pocket knife. The air was cool, sunlight filtered through a thick, mostly deciduous canopy. Vas had been born on this land, and he knew where to find the grandest oak tree in this part of the woods. As with every time before, he had to stop upon arrival to just…admire. It was beautiful, with branches so broad and heavy they arched towards the ground all around, offering shelter to countless animals and unbelievable climbing for small humans. Despite its tremendous size and age, the tree was unmarred. There were no hearts or initials or graduation dates anywhere.

That probably should have been a red flag.

Vas, however, was oblivious : far too intent on scrambling upward and finding the perfect spot to carve his initials alongside his crush’s, thus ensuring their love. After dismissing many identical patches of bark, he found the perfect place. Perfect. (Also, he couldn’t easily climb any higher, and it would be hard to show off if he did.) And so, just over the gentle curves of a heart-like burl, he began to carve, grinning as he pictured his charming self from a narrator’s point of view.

By the time he finished the V, there seemed to be a lot of sap. He may have expected it in early spring, but not now. But, it was just sap, and he shrugged it off. As he started on the second line of the “K” (it looks the same in Greek,) the knife finally stilled to acknowledge Vasihl’s growing unease. As more and more sap ran from his passionate carvings, its unsettling crimson hue became more apparent. The scent of iron overwhelmed what should be a sweet, pleasant smell. He cringed, hesitated, and finally reached out to touch it. Despite its thick, sticky texture, the color sticking and unsticking between his fingers left no doubt: the tree was bleeding. Bleeding like a person. Before he could process his horror, the undergrowth began to rustle.

At first, ten-year-old dad barely acknowledged the disturbance due to the safety of his perch. He was still focused on the eerily red sap. The rustling continued. Vines that had previously surrounded the great oak slowly drained into distant undergrowth. Their deep roots followed, largely unbroken, and entire plants disappeared. All the while, every leaf for what sounded like miles began to rattle. Now, he was scared. Saplings that stood taller than his current perch trembled all the way up their boldest branches. Their undergrowth was thinning, too. More roots snaked towards something he couldn’t see through the dense flora at the edge of the clearing. Vas’s heart hammered. The saplings themselves all tilted in the same direction as though bowing to the little human. Then, they were dragged down, too, disappearing meter by meter into a strangely dense patch of forest he’d taken for a boulder.

The air was starting to feel wrong. The world was starting to sound wrong. Something big was starting to breathe. The survival instincts the boy had managed to accumulate thus far were conflicted: run, or climb higher and stay out of reach?

By the time his feet hit the ground, they were unanimous. RUN.

Vas had never moved so fast, but frequent stumbles hobbled his retreat. At first, he thought speed was to blame. He didn’t know better—not for certain—until he hit the ground again, scrambling through litter, and his hand landed on a thick stem. Before he could launch himself upward, the plant slithered back towards his pursuer, dragging his hand with it and pitching his face unceremoniously into the dirt. When the vine became aware, somehow, of the human’s touch, it curled. Vas stared in mute horror as it wrapped around his hand. His muteness didn’t last for long. Neither did the plant’s unfinished grip. It reached longingly after the screaming child as Vas tore free and sprinted away.

The sounds behind him felt all-encompassing. He imagined a grasping hand crawling after him on clawed fingers the size of trees. Or some kind of dinosaur blob-monster. Or the literal devil grown to gargantuan proportions. The boy sprinted past plants. Plants slithered past him to be consumed by the roaring thing he didn’t dare turn to look at. *You died if you looked back. * TV and mythology agreed on that point.

The forest was blurry. Vasilhs wasn’t sure whether the world was changing or it just looked that way through his tears. Probably both. (It was breathing.) His neck stung. Vas clawed at it as he ran. The vines he’d expected to be choking him were absent. His throat was just raw from screaming. He hadn’t realized he was screaming. He couldn’t even hear his screaming over that other thing. (It stomped and breathed as it chased him.) He couldn’t run any farther. He was going to fall. He was going to die. The forest was trying to retract its entire floor and drag him back to the thing, and he was going to die. His head swam. More plants wrenched from under his feet and whipped towards whatever was pulling them. (It was GROWING.) He skipped and stumbled, wheezing, fighting to stay on his feet and terrorized equally by thoughts of falling and his pursuer. (It was CLOSER.)

A wordless exclamation he couldn’t define exploded from the boy’s mouth as he burst into the meadow containing his home. He didn’t slow until he reached the door, pounding and bawling and screaming for help. For some reason, it didn’t occur to him to open it. Of course, it didn’t take long for his mother to tear open the door. She stared, alarmed, at her bloodstained child…until she looked over his head at whatever had pursued him. (It had stopped at the treeline.) Then, she went pale. With an utterance Vas didn’t understand, she dragged him inside, slammed the door, and dropped to her knees behind him.

The child still snuffled and sobbed while his mother frantically checked him for injuries, seeking the source of the bloodbath marring his front side. When the “blood” stuck to her fingers like molasses, she lost what little color she’d retained. She was silent for some long seconds. “Vasilhs,” she finally whispered: “what did you DO?”

“I didn’t-”

She grabbed his shoulders, started to speak, and then closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. It was a long time before managed. At least, it felt that way to him. “Vasilhs,” she resumed, more softly, “Vasilhs…” she hugged him through a cracking sob. (That scared him more than his unseen pursuer.) “All of the forest guards a dryad,” she whispered, “and you wear her blood. You…we, are in a great deal of trouble, Vas.”

Luckily, my grandmother understood the situation, somehow. I don’t know whether it was passed down or intuitive, but it was life-saving in any case. She called my grandfather, who was in the village at the time, and told him to stick to the main road coming home. No unpaved shortcut. He didn’t understand, but trusted his wife. When he arrived home, he spent a long time standing outside, staring at the groaning, crackling shadow behind the trees.

He said nothing when he walked inside. The pallid laborer just hugged his small family without a word. After a relating his story too many times to remember and just enough to go hoarse, Vasilhs was directed to the bath and then put to bed. He listened to his parents speaking quietly throughout the night. He wished he could hear what they were saying. And he really wished the insects hadn’t all gone silent.

The next day dawned quiet. Vas didn't need to be rousted after years of country labor and shambled hesitantly into the kitchen. It smelled amazing. His mother had put together a huge meal that included everyone's breakfast favorites. No one had much appetite. No one spoke. After nibbling whatever portion of the meal they could manage to swallow, the family rose at some unspoken signal. Vas's father moved to clean up.

His mother, solemn-faced, led her son into the bathroom. "We're going to fix this, Vasilhs," she promised. "But, you will not like this part."

Considering the sharp knife she carried, he believed her. He teared up again, but stalwartly set his lower jaw. Nonetheless, the child was relieved when she set aside the knife in favor of paper and a marker. "Please show me exactly what you carved," his mother instructed. He nodded and went carefully to work, agonizing over the angle of the V and the placement of the K. His mother never once hurried him. (Her eyes were soft, he said, in retrospect. She was savoring the moments for what they were, unsure of what would come next. She’d touched his hair often.) Finally, he hesitated on the K's second line, and trailed off into a thin mark. "This is where I stopped," he declared.

"Are you sure?" He hesitated, but then nodded. She returned the gesture. "Alright. Take off your shirt, Vas." The woman studied the drawing.

He started to comply, but hesitated as she retrieved the knife. "W…what are you going to do?" She tried to smile. The smile looked pained. "I'm so sorry, Vasihls. But, to make things right, I'm going to do to you precisely what you did to that tree."

As a kid, I was horrified for my dad at this part of the story. I mean, I am. But, looking back at it now, I can’t imagine how his mom felt. Dad didn’t remember his exact words, but he was sure there was pleading involved. He felt guilty, looking back, for making it even harder on her. He assured me that he screamed “like a little girl who’s not nearly as tough as you” when the cutting began, but got himself under control as his mother continued. I believe him. He was a stoic man and learned it young. Still, it’s a horrible scene to imagine. Finally, with a terrifying amount of blood soaking the old sweatshirt she’d tied around his waist, she eventually finished. It was time to go.

Dad, Vasilhs, was in a lot of pain. His father waited silently in the living room. The boy had never seen his father’s current expression on anyone. They shared a hug. Then, led by his father, all three headed outside. Vas was surprised to see a large wheelbarrow of compost waiting. He was to push it, his mother explained. They would go with him, but he had to push alone. He nodded. He’d have nodded at anything she said, fixated as he was on the monstrous shadow still glowering at them from the treeline.

He could see it a little, now. It was a conglomeration of dying, shocked, and outright vivacious plants, from moss to whole trees, contorted vaguely into the shape of a man. Very…very vaguely. Its “eyes” were tangle-clad rifts leading to some unwelcoming core. Its maw split both horizontally and from neck to forehead, from which Venus fly-trap teeth stabbed outward at every conceivable angle. The monstrous forest guardian clearly possessed both arms and legs, but its arms had extended to the ground and taken root overnight. (It didn’t slouch like a gorilla. The arms were really long.) Its legs were also buried in the soil. Despite this, considering the uneasy undulations of said roots, no wise man would test the giant’s mobility.

Finally seeing his pursuer ranked below yesterday’s horrified flight on Vas’s list of life-altering traumas. In a moment, it would drop by one.

His mother urged them all forward with a quiet command. He couldn’t move at first. He didn’t move for the first minute. Despite having been raised to quickly follow directions, like most children of rural laborers, he couldn’t obey. He couldn’t… until he did. Once the wheelbarrow lumbered forward, the little family set off towards the monster together. Vas’s eyes drifted uneasily between his parents. He couldn’t help but notice his father’s unarmed state. A hand, one per parent, clasped each of his shoulders. Both grips were so tight they hurt. So long as they held him, he didn’t mind.

As before, the giant didn’t leave the trees. Even so, the agitated quickening of its undulating, snakelike component-plants removed any doubt that it saw them. By now, its roots churned the packed earth like so much sand. The stench of too many rotting plants choked the humans as they approached. The Goliath glared down at them, then tore its massive arms out of the earth with two tremendous explosions. They glided upward with all the majesty of ancient trees. They should have been immovable. Instead, they were unstoppable. The creature was ready to receive them.

As the trio drew closer to the enraged and yet infinitely patient forest colossus, Vas’s mother squeezed his shoulder more tightly with a shaking hand. Then, rolling her own shoulders back, the woman strode boldly ahead of them. She drew close. She approached the despite the ability of any wooden limb to liquefy her. Despite how any one of those writhing tendrils could thrust right through her soft, fragile body. She strode forward. She trembled. And yet, she walked with her head high. The giant allowed her to approach. The abyssal pits in its face angled almost straight down to watch the bold ape approach, both splits in its maw drifting slightly further apart. Its flytrap-teeth were made of sharp stakes. Vas screamed for her to run. His father pounced onto him, clapping a weathered hand over the boy’s mouth and holding him so hard it hurt. The startled child would only realize in retrospect that his attacker was crying.

His mother, Vas eventually realized through his feral thrashing, was speaking in a loud, declarative tone. He stilled to listen. It wasn’t their language. Not quite. It was old, Hellenistic Greek. He could only pick out certain parts.

SON. ATONE. OFFERING.

They weren’t good parts. Vas’s eyes bugged.

The monstrous plant-construct didn’t react immediately. It didn’t seem to like moving fast, unless riled. Finally, its dual-axis “mouth” opened to bellow a single sound in a gut-twisting bass, so low as to dip below the range of the human ear and seem far quieter than it must be. “COME.” Vas’s mother turned to look back at the men. She smiled a loving, reassuring smile while the great forest entity turned around. It didn’t physically rotate, but rather, reassembled its pieces and repositioned its “face.” She turned to follow when its thundering steps resumed.

Vasilhs had never realized his mother was so beautiful. He’d never thought anyone could so beautiful or so brave or so perfect. He never thought he would see her again as she walked fearlessly through a wide swath of destruction. He had no words for the subarctic sense of loss. He found himself following, unsure whether moved of his own initiative or his father’s nudge. It didn’t matter. The frightened boy realized, as he put his back into pushing the heavy wheelbarrow, (the cuts in his chest stung and bled with renewed vigor,) that he wasn’t sure when his father had released him from the aggressive bear hug.

Even on the unceremoniously-carved “path” left in the guardian’s wake, it was hard to push the wheelbarrow through the forest. The path, actually, was the opposite of helpful due to its spattering of debris. Vas’s dad seemed unable or unwilling to help push, but he did busy himself striding ahead and clearing the worst obstructions from his son’s path. The monster and the comparably tiny woman behind it, for their part, stopped and waited whenever they got too far ahead.

It was a terrifying trip. Not in the same way it had been yesterday, when he’d merely been afraid for his life. Now that the vengeful, boy-eating colossus was in FRONT of him, immediate terror was replaced by a horrible sense of being watched. From everywhere. Every leaf, shadow, and stone felt like it was judging him. Like tiny spirits or well-hidden nymphs peered at the one who had dared to bleed their sister, hating him with all their might and willing infinite shame into every step of his punishment. Their unseen vitriol was so distracting that Vas only just realized that his father dad was carrying a shovel. His dad had a shovel, and his mom had a knife. ”Son. Atone. Offering.” His trembling worsened. It was impossible to tell whether the buzzing in his head and wheezing in his chest were from overexertion or terror. It was both. It was definitely both. He wanted to run like he’d never wanted anything in his life. Turn and run. Join the circus or something. No. That wasn’t true. He didn’t want to run away. Not like that, anyway. He just wanted to run from the monster. From this horrible myth he’d careened into for…what? Carving his initials into a tree? He wanted to run home and hide under his blankets. Eventually, he’d wake up from this horrifying dream and smell breakfast.

His dad must be upset, too. Not paying attention. “Accidents aren’t accidents if they happen because you didn’t pay attention,” he’d been told enough times. The usually sure-footed man stumbled and fell more and more often. That somehow made all this scarier. Even his protector was fallible.

As it turned out, mortal terror had an upside: it took no time at all to get from the edge of the forest back to something that immediately drained all the blood Vas had left: they were back at the great oak. Apparently, the dryad’s tree. His mother waited, all but hidden in the roots of her horrible guide. She stared quietly, smile slain by grief.

Vas’s dad wasn’t looking well. The man’s features had sunken during the course of the trip, skin pale and expression waxen. Still, a firm hand squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “Come on, Vasilhs. Let’s get this taken care of.”

They walked slowly towards the figure between the giant’s feet, which was simultaneously familiar and not. She was wife and mother. She was dignified and almost priestly. She had been crying and worried. Now, she was stoic and sure. Vas felt the strange urge to kneel at her feet. He did. That earned a small, sad smile. Then, the woman turned towards the great oak—which towered above even the guardian-colossus—and raised her hands, falling to her own knees. (The knife was clenched in one.) She spoke again, tone imploring in Hellenistic Greek. Finally, she looked back to the child seated beside her, then turned to face him entirely, blade still raised. Her husband approached with the shovel. Her grip on the knife shifted to plunge it downward.

Vas thought he was scared, but he couldn’t tell. Everything had gone silent and white. He could still see, maybe. Still hear, maybe. But none of it was important enough to crowd into a reality only he and his mother occupied. He could only stare up at her face, vaguely aware of the cold tears on his own cheeks. He didn’t scream. There was no screaming, here. This was his mother. He loved his mother. She had been his everything—everything his father wasn’t, anyway—from teacher to caretaker to spiritual guide to best friend. He loved her. Would he really let her kill him? There, in the silent void, he knew he would. He would, but his heart broke to think that she would. She was speaking. He couldn’t hear the words. The knife drew back. He couldn’t close his eyes. It slammed downward, embedding itself deeply into the soil. “Accept this knife,” he heard his mother cry, once again in Modern Greek, “as we bury the agent and symbol of our aggression! Accept this labor and offering as a declaration of peace from your unwitting, regretful assailant!”

She leaned forward, pressing a hand to the side of his hair to whisper in the opposite ear: “take the shovel, Vas. Bury all the compost you worked so hard to bring here. It should make things right. No matter what, we’re here, and we love you.” She kissed his cheek.

It was long, hard work digging deep enough, especially while being very, VERY careful to not damage any of roots, but Vasilhs hardly noticed. He was relieved to the point of ecstasy. He was pretty sure he knew how Isaac felt after Abraham let him off the altar. Part of him wanted to write off his prior fears as silly. Of course his mother hadn’t convinced his dad to sacrifice him to a dryad in the middle of the forest! It was stupid. Dryads weren’t even real. Not real. Definitely mythological. He definitely wasn’t in the middle of offering a bunch of rotted animal parts to one because he’d accidentally bled her tree, narrowly survived getting chased out of the forest by some kind of plant-monster, and because his mom said so. Dang it.

He wondered whether he’d be allowed to swear after this. He felt as though he’d earned it.

Time passed strangely. It passed with his mother and father standing by and then his mother standing and his father sitting. The hole pressed deep, rich compost covered its bottom, and then nutritious rot filled the pit instead of the wheelbarrow. As the boy finished covering his offering with displaced dirt, patting the area level with the back of his shovel, he felt something amiss, but couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He couldn’t reconcile being finished. That felt like too much to hope for. Was this trip into nightmare-mythology land over? Would he wake up in his bed, now? Would his small, bare chest gleam red with an unfinished “VK” when he did? Was he –

He wasn’t. Not with enormous fingers of bark-striated wood pinching tightly and plucking him from the ground like an early crocus. His mother was screaming. Vas was screaming. He was also running in the air and swinging the shovel, neither of which helped. The colossus somehow managed to lift the squishy little biped without crushing him. With a cacophonous symphony of groaning wood and percussive cracks, its head tilted back as its prey rose directly above its face. (A small trickle ran down one of the boy’s legs.) His mother was attacking the giant for the first time, beating against its leg and pulling at thinner-looking striations, all of which were utterly ineffective. The elder Mr. Katsaros fought just as hard despite his strange fatigue. He achieved as little.

Vas had been staring into chasms that mimicked eyes. They looked uncannily like snake pits from here, with nets of writhing, undulating stems crisscrossing over abyssal gaps beneath. Then, his attention turned wholly to the opening maw. Its great mouth split with the sound of groans and cracking. It had to open wide before a cage of venus flytrap-teeth cleared the way. Vas stopped thrashing and curled into a mid-air fetal position, wide-eyed and all-too-aware that breaking loose would now be bad.

It dropped him. Every human shrieked the same keening, unholy wail. He passed the teeth.

He slammed to a stop.

Vas stared into the flesh-grinding horror beneath him, white-knuckled and unable to comprehend his salvation. When he finally looked up to note the shovel, which bridged the center of its mouth, his shriek turned to giddy laughter in the same octave. After several moments of stillness, the monstrosity’s vertical mouth cracked open. Child and shovel disappeared in a blink.

Dad—Vas—doesn’t remember what happened next. Being eaten by a giant plant golem seems like a reasonable time to black out from fear. He can’t say whether he fainted or just blocked out the memory. The next thing he remembers is the face. Somehow, he went from inside the colossus to being safely deposited high in the great oak’s branches, face-to-face with the initials he’d carved into the bark…and eye-to-eye with something between a relief sculpture and a drawing in the tree’s bark. He couldn’t do anything, petrified as one who had dared to ogle Medusa. But this wasn’t a monster. He wasn’t scared. The face in the tree, which tilted through rippling bark to better observe him, was more beautiful than any person he could imagine. Vasihls swallowed hard. Once. Twice. Three times. Finally, an awe-stricken voice burbled out of him, quiet and nervous. “I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I’ll be respectful of this tree for as long as I live. I p…promise.”

The face—she was so beautiful, eyes so gentle—tilted in the other direction, continuing to regard the young vandal. Finally, her perfect eyes softened more. She smiled, nodding once. (Dad admitted that, though he loved my mother in a different way, he’d fallen in love with the dryad at that moment and remained there as long as he lived. Many years passed before he’d been able to court human women at all.)

When the spirit nodded, something else began to happen. The plant-golem, the colossal guardian of this perfect being, began to glow softly at its outermost edges. Leaf-like flakes of light broke free and drifted away in great, lackadaisical swarms. The flecks twirled and fluttered in a sudden breeze, as leaves should. Some drifted to the ground. Saplings sprouted where they fell. Saplings, bushes, grasses: the destruction wrought by the guardian’s creation disappeared in a manic rush of new growth. The flow of glowing leaves continually quickened, flying from what was left of the golem’s torso and streaming from its legs to swarm down the ruined swath of woodland. It would be years before large trees grew there, but vibrant green soothed the hurt away.

Vasilhs didn’t know how long he watched all this. He didn’t know how long he stared at the oak after the face disappeared. At some point, he climbed down as quickly as he could safely to do. At the bottom, he hugged both parents tightly. All cried with relief.

Then, right at the happy ending, his father collapsed.

A startled cry of dismay accompanied Vas’s mom as she dropped with her husband, clinging to him for all she was worth and oh-so-awkwardly managing to keep him from hitting the ground full-force. Vas helped with all his ten-year-old might. The man was shaking his head and trying to wave off any assistance by the time he reached the ground, reassuring his wife generally pretending he hadn’t just fallen like a sack of flour. She, being an alarmed Greek woman, paid no attention whatsoever to his bullshit claims of physical sanctity, taking his pulse and feeling his head and looking him over and generally fretting and telling him to stop saying stupid things. Finally, after a long check-up of the man’s suddenly, unbelievably hallow cheeks and drained, dark-veined countenance, the woman cringed.

“Ah! Love, my stupid, stubborn love! You’re not wearing your filhata!” Vas’s eyes widened. He glanced down at the stupid baby charm around his neck, the closest thing to clothing on his upper body.

No way.

His mother snapped back into action, jerking the man’s shirt up and over his head, muffling cries of protest. “Vasilhs,” she snapped, clear and authoritarian, “go back up the tree. Ask the Dryad very nicely to take some of the blood you already drew.”

Well, that sounded like a terrible idea. Some wide-eyed part of him thought that. The rest did as bidden, hurrying up gnarled by gnarl and branch by branch, terribly careful to avoid breaking anything, until he arrived, winded, in front of his carving. The dryad’s face wasn’t there. Vas cringed, looking around. How did you summon a dryad? Did you have to? Was she listening? She, like, lived right in the tree, right? “Um…hey, so I’m still sorry, and I’m REALLY, REALLY sorry, but my dad is sick all of a sudden. Or cursed? Something like that. Like, evil eye times a thousand…oh, shoot. Yeah, I could feel the whole forest staring at us when we were walking back here. Oh my gosh, that’s what happened.” The epiphany left him wide-eyed and covering his mouth. Still, the boy cringed at the sudden memory of the here and now, setting his jaw and looking up as stoically as she could, little shoulders squaring. “My mother asks if I can, please, with your permission, take some of the blood-sap that’s already here. Sorry. Please.”

The beautiful face didn’t reappear, no matter how he longed to see it again. Nor did anyone or anything speak. Vas bit his lip, after a time. He was just about to repeat his request when something tickled his hand. He looked down to see a fresh, bright trickle of the thin sap pooling against it. “Oh. Oh, thank you! You’re beautiful. You’re kind. You’re kind. Thank you. Thank you. Bless you.” As he spat rapid-fire assurances of awed gratitude, Vas—realizing he had nowhere better to put it—scooped as much of the sap as he could get into the palm of one hand, then climbed down the tree as fast as he could with one hand.

His mother looked ready to faint with relief. (For a moment, he was afraid she would, and found himself wondering how to treat the evil eye by himself.) She dipped two fingers carefully into the precious, powerful sap. After several returns to that inkwell, a red eye had been drawn under her husband’s collarbone while Vas looked on in rapt, fascinated horror. Then, she began to say the blessing. Vasilhs didn’t know what all she said. Not exactly. He knew that she was imploring the old Gods, performing the rite much differently than everyone else’s aunt or grandmother and generally saying things the Orothodox Priest wouldn’t approve of at all. He couldn’t be shocked or mad, though. He was too busy watching and being terrified. After the third repetition, the bloody sigil lit up in gold-green. Petros Katsaros gasped. One of his wife’s hands arched over the mark, fingertips pressed lightly into his skin, as she called something else in that archaic tongue. Then, her fingers jerked down, clawing the eye-mark apart.

Its light went dull, then faded slowly to nothing.

There no sound outside everyone’s panting. Finally, the patient gasped a shaking breath, filling his lungs greedily now that he could. His face gained color rapidly, and the pain in his gradually-less-sunken expression faded entirely. There was hugging. There were kisses and blessings and appropriate wonderment expressed towards wife and mother Iro Katsaros, who would march up to a monster or take on the supernatural. For her part, grandma would only dote on them, laughing and tearfully relieved. Or, at least she did for awhile. There was lots of talk about what troublemakers both men were and that this was why you listened when she said to wear your filhata and she was sick of worrying and… insert other Greek stuff here. They lived happily and loudly ever after.

So, that’s the story my dad told me. Unlike the others I tell, I can’t personally vouch for it. I will say, however, that my father was a very honest man who never let me run around without a filhata. I can also confirm there’s a wide scar in the forest, starting at the edge and ending at the great oak, that’s all new growth and young trees.

Though it faded with time, I can also confirm that his chest had that scar until he died.

VK.