#like Pine or Conifer

[tadpoles-yay]

The end result plus some screenshots of the inhabitants, plus the inhabitants of the other habitat.

[scaredpigeons]

Aqua Regia VII: Saturate me, I can’t get enough.

Previous chapter // First Chapter

Neuvillette x Fem!reader

Warning: SMUT NSFW 18+ MDNI

Word count: 5.7k

Conifer forests quake in fear at the way you two pine. What do you get when you cross a very pent up dragon and the object of his affections? So much fucking love it will rot your teeth.

CW: sex, penetrative sex, oral sex (fem rec) neuvillette has a dragon tongue, claws appear but no wounds are made, Neuvillettes nest™️ nicknames: my dearest, my darling, love, pretty girl, perfect girl, very gendered language, im sorry :( unrealistic first time sex, multiple orgasms, implied multiple rounds.

Authors note: this is so fucking mushy gushy heavy fluff heavy romance. I literally couldn’t write his first time being any other way. He’s obsessed, okay? There is a lot of declarations of love, devotion, very flowery and flattering language. There are not many things hotter than an all powerful being declaring their utter devotion to you and then fucking you until the sun rises. I left it a little open ended, so maybe an epilogue chapter, if y’all are interested? Anyways, remember to reblog and comment your thoughts! It’s my literal favourite thing to read your opinions and compliments, even if you’re shy, just send an anon ask! I love you all, thank you so much for your support on this piece.

————————————

The sound of little pearls scattering onto the floor accompanied the press of your spine against the inside of Neuvillette’s front door as his mouth consumed yours. 

You were panting, hands roaming over each other as your tongues danced. You’d never kissed like this before. The polite pecks you’ve given men after failed dates were nothing compared to the way Neuvillette drank in your lips like they were the finest water in the world. 

His large, lean body pushed you against the fine wood of his door, hands pressing up into your hair as he pulled your face ever closer, scattering more little pearls along his entryway. 

“Do you…” he panted, lips never leaving yours for more than necessary. “Truly want tea?” He asked.

You smiled as he continued to kiss you breathless. “Tea can wait.” 

He picked you up and hoisted you against him once more, your bottom resting on his forearms as he twirled you around, making you giggle and squeal. 

“Your perfection knows no bounds.” He murmured against your lips as he began to move towards the stairs. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he carried you up the stairs and down the hall, but he hesitated before bringing you into what you guessed was his room. 

“Ah…” he said, a deeper blush working its way into his pale skin. “I forgot about my… well you see…” 

You smiled, pulling him closer to press a peck to his lips. ”What? I can hardly imagine your room is messy, Neuvillette.”

He closed his eyes tight, opening the door to set you down inside. You turned, looking around the room. 

A very large four poster bed was the main focal point of the room, lush sheer curtains hanging from the tall frame, making it seem luxurious and inviting. But the piles of silks, pillows and blankets surrounding the mattress making a large circle in the center was what stood out the most to you. Taking a step closer, you could see there were little things scattered throughout the barrier, the gloves you’d gifted him last month, a few shirts and coats, little trinkets and things here and there. 

Your brow furrowed before you turned to look up at him, finding him looking between you and the bed with a hand covering the lower half of his face. 

“It looks like…” you glanced back at the bed. “It looks like a nest?” 

He breathed, nodding, pinching his temples in embarrassment. “When you were last here, we spoke of some subtle changes I’d been experiencing since gaining my full dragonhood, yes?” 

You nodded, walking towards the bed to run your hands along the fabrics making up the walls of the nest. 

“I’ve been experiencing strange urges, instincts I cannot seem to control no matter how hard I try.” He said lowly, somewhere behind you.

The blanket you ran your hands across was soft, fur of some sort, and it felt so luxurious you wanted to bury your face in it and never leave its soothing embrace. 

“Urges?” You said, feeling a heat pool between your thighs at the thought. 

“Yes.” His voice was suddenly right by your ear, his heat pressing up against your spine. “For example, right now, seeing you next to my bed, admiring my nest— it makes me want to pick you up and place you within it so that I may crawl over top of you to do deplorable, feral and unspeakable things to you.” 

A deep, spine tingling shiver raced through you. You knew the general direction of where this was headed when you begged him to take you to his house, but never in your wildest dreams did you expect Neuvillette to admit something so… dirty… so openly. 

You turned, meeting his eyes with a gasp as you came face to face with a version of your leader you’d never seen. 

He was flushed, panting, his eyes glowing in the moonlight streaming into his dark room. His horns were glowing too, their blue hue radiating behind him as he loomed over you. To anyone else it might’ve been intimidating, but you felt so safe in this moment, so satisfied to know that he wanted you. 

“I…” you wondered how you should phrase this, how to make him understand that you were not put off in the slightest by any of these changes in him. To you, he was still Neuvillette. His draconian quirks made him all the more desirable because it was just another part of him. 

“I’d like to help you satisfy those urges, if you’ll let me.” You said, looking up at him through your lashes. 

Very suddenly, he dropped to his knees, his hands clutching at your dress. The act startled you, and you stumbled back, bumping into the walls of fabrics lining his nest.

”I am undeserving,” he whimpers, and your legs nearly give out at how broken he sounds in this moment, looking up at you. “I know not how to pleasure you in the way you are so deserving, I only have these instincts, these feelings pushing me to take.” 

He stumbled forward, almost blindly on his knees as his eyes kept yours locked to him. He pushes his face closer to your core, inhaling deeply against the fabric of your dress, his eyes fluttering back. 

“And you always smell so sweet, it eats at my very soul to not taste you at every moment of every day.” His eyes look like they’re watering, begging and pleading as he keeps talking, keeps sending waves of pleasure to your core with every word spoken. 

“You deserve more than this animal I’ve become, but I cannot help that you undo me. You unravel the very stitching that I have woven over these past five hundred years and the thought terrifies me because—“ he’s panting, chest heaving, hands gripping the crushed velvet of your gown. “Because I want you so completely, so entirely. My want for you consumes my very being.” 

Your heart sings, because how could it not? You didn’t have very much experience with anything like this either— really none at all. And he was worried? He was worried he was too much? Not enough? This man was the sovereign ruler of a nation. The elemental dragon of your land, a primordial being with more power than you could even begin to fathom. 

“Oh, Neuvillette,” you brought a hand to cup his cheek, the very same action you made the last time you were in his home, comforting him. “Will you do something for me?” 

He clutched you closer, pupils nearly consuming his irises. “I would drain the seas if you told me you did not favor the way they glimmer in the sunshine. I would blot out the sun if you told me you did not enjoy the heat on your skin. Anything, my dearest. Anything for you.” 

“Give in to it.” And you swore you could feel the breath catching in his chest. “Take me and give me everything your heart desires, because I am already yours.”

”Truly?” He pleaded, seeming so small below you.

You nodded, speaking softly to him as you ran your fingertips across his cheekbone. “From the moment I entered your office Neuvillette, I’ve been yours.”  

Your world flipped upside down as Neuvillette lunged, tackling you over the wall of his nest and into the bed. 

He kissed you so deeply it stole your breath away, you gasped as he pulled back to mouth across your jaw, nipping at your throat. 

You noticed his teeth had grown sharper during your fervent kissing, but feeling those teeth drag like little daggers against the delicate skin of your throat made you shiver with something like fear— but it was laced with arousal, with anticipation. 

You moaned as he licked and sucked on your neck, and he whimpered above you, clutching your waist as he went. 

“I'm sorry, I’m sorry—“ he said between kisses along your skin. “I can’t control myself, I can't—“ 

You reached up, grabbing his face in your hands, making him look at you. 

“Neuvillette, listen to me.” His eyes fluttered between yours, searching. 

“When I told you I love you, that means I love you without conditions.” You said, leaning up to kiss his lips gently. “Which means I will love you when you are poise and regal, when you are the perfect gentleman, but I will also love you when you are not.”

You could see iridescent blue scales rising into his skin, framing his eyes so beautifully. You could see them form around his throat, and his horns continued to glow. When he told you he was becoming undone, you knew he was serious, but you didn't realize what exactly that would entail. 

He was beautiful. Raw and open and completely yours. 

“I will love you even if you are rough, or crude, or selfish. I will not watch you suffer against your instincts when I so desperately wish to see you dive headfirst into them.” 

The subtlest of tears formed in his eyes, and the rain continued to batter the windows outside, pouring down around you— the perfect symphony to accompany this moment. 

“I love every aspect of you, Neuvillette. Even this. Please,” you whispered, pulling him ever closer to your lips. “Please, just take what you need. Take me.” 

———————————

He does not remember how your dress and petticoat managed to find themselves sprawled across his bedroom floor, or when his gloves and shirt followed, but he does remember the delightful squeak you gave when he tore them from your body. 

You were shy, of course you were— but he was having none of that, gently and selfishly pinning your arms against the bed as his eyes consumed your body, your naked skin. 

You squirmed and whimpered underneath him, and part of Neuvillette worried that you weren’t enjoying yourself— but the closer he came to your lower half the more he realized that the source of that mouthwatering smell was coming from between your legs, and his mouth did indeed water. 

You had told him to let go of his restraint, to give in, but he had the sense to keep part of himself in check, knowing he needed to be somewhat gentle, attentive to your needs. 

What knowledge he did have of this process was from books, and even then, he thinks the last time he read a romance novel was likely over a century ago. 

He knew basic anatomical structures, their functions, but putting it all into practice was another thought entirely. 

Through his lust filled haze of admiring your naked body, he swallowed the drool pooling in his mouth— so barbaric. 

“Tell me,” he panted. “Tell me how to make this pleasurable for you.” 

You were so red, it fluttered down to your chest, and he watched as your breasts heaved with each breath. He wanted to wrap his lips around them, suck on the delicate skin, so he did. 

You whined as he leaned down, and he loved the feeling of your hands mussing up his hair, pulling his golden circlet away and tossing it into the void that had captured the rest of your clothes with a clattering sound. 

“You, ah—” your breaths were heavy. “You have to work me open. So you don’t tear me.” 

He gripped your waist again, licking and sucking gracelessly across your chest, just enjoying the taste of your skin. 

“How?” He asked, tonguing his way down to your navel, slipping his tongue around the skin of your adorable stomach. Your skin tasted like pure relief, calming the aching fever inside of him one motion of his tongue at a time. 

“F-fingers?” You said, looking down at his hands. He looked too, and you both seemed to notice at the same time that his hands weren’t exactly… normal anymore. 

Those pesky scales had wound up coating his hands too, he could feel them aching around his eyes and throat, his nails forming long black claws that dragged the faintest red lines along your perfect skin. 

“Hah— yeah,” you breathed a panicked laugh, making his chest flutter with anxiety. “Maybe no fingers this time.” 

“What about my tongue?” He said, looking between your eyes and the apex of your thighs.  He wanted so desperately to make this good for you, but he couldn't deny that the thought of tasting that delicious smell directly from the source was a more than appetizing idea. 

You groaned, throwing your hands up to cover your flushed face. “You say it so casually, too—“ 

“Would you enjoy it if I used my tongue, darling?” 

He watched your thighs clench the best they could with him between your legs, and your hands started shaking.  

“Yes,” you whimpered, hands still covering your heated face. “Yes please.” 

Your thighs quivered as he shifted down, his nostrils flaring as he came face to face with your covered core. 

There was a small damp spot on the soft cotton covering you, and he brought his nose directly to it, inhaling deep and groaning as you whined. 

He was truly drooling now, and the desire to taste you became too overwhelming for him to wait any longer. 

The cotton was shredded off your body in delicate ribbons in the wake of his claws, but before you could react, his tongue was already swiping over the entire length of you. 

“Oh!” Your back arched sinfully off the bed, your hands gripping into his hair as he swallowed and sucked and licked over you. You tasted like perfection. No water in the world could taste as crisp and pure as you did— like sweet ambrosia, like everything he never knew he needed until now. 

He tongued over your clitoris, and you seemed to like that the most, keening out as he increased the pressure. But you said you needed to be worked open, which meant…

He pressed his tongue lower, circling it around your twitching hole. You jumped, your nails scraping his scalp— making him moan into you. Your fingers flexed around the base of his horns, and his whole body shuddered as he listened to you whine and keen. 

He pressed in then, eyes blowing wide as a warm, tight heat enveloped the tip of his tongue. His hands gripped your thighs, pushing them further, pulling himself closer to press more of himself inside you.

”Neuvillette!” You gasped out as he pushed in further. Even so, He couldn't help but feel like it wasn’t enough, like you needed more. 

Just as that thought crossed his mind, his tongue seemed to expand, thickening and rolling out into your twitching walls even further. He’d never felt a change like that before, but he kept going, moving and undulating it within your tight heat and savoring the taste of you so deep.

”Holy—“ you screeched, “Oh my Archons!”

A deep, chest rumbling growl reverberated from where Neuvillette was pressed into your core, and even though he knew it wasn’t truly a problem, something inside him did not enjoy hearing those words slip from your precious lips.

But you told him to let go, so he truly did lean into his instincts. 

He pulled his tongue from within you, letting its new length dangle from his mouth a bit before licking up all the slick that had smeared across his face, delighted at the way your eyes popped and your mouth gaped open. 

“There are no pathetic gods here, little one.” He growled, that primal aching welling up in his chest. “Only me.” 

“N-Neuvillette,” you stuttered, hands grabbing at his hair as you tried to pull him between your legs again. “Please—“ 

“Better.” 

He dove back in, using the new length of his tongue to thrust in and out of your dripping hole. He could feel your soft walls relaxing, and a deep, rumbling purr pulled from his chest as you writhed and moaned beneath him. 

Tasting you like this, feeling you move and cry out beneath his hold… it was slowly soothing the ache inside of him that had been tormenting him for months. He could feel himself twitching in his pants, his cock pressing against the confines as it leaked all over the fine material of his pants and briefs. 

In the back of his mind, he was grateful he had enough of a grip on his form to not be sporting one of his more… alarming draconic features, surely that would frighten you far too much to continue. Well, perhaps another time. 

He continued his thrusting, working you open and relishing in the wetness coating his tongue, in the way you cried out his name, your fingertips brushing against his horns as you pulled at his hair. It only served to make him drool more, soaking you even further. 

“Neuvillette—“ you keened as he arched his tongue upwards, feeling your walls clench and quiver around him. He repeated the motion, making you slap your hands down to the bed beside you, grasping at the sheets as your eyes popped wide. 

He continued to press against the spot that seemed to make you fall deeper into your pleasure, his eyes never leaving your face as he thrust his tongue with vigor, watching as you quivered. 

Yes, something inside him purred, watching you lose yourself. Keep going, take it from her. 

He felt the moment your walls tightened so completely that he thought something might be wrong— only to watch as your face shattered into a broken sob of pure delight, your whole body twitching as you cried out. Your thighs tried to clamp around his head, but he pressed further, working you through it with his writhing tongue. 

After a few moments of him working you through the height of your pleasure, you grasped at his hair again, only now you were pushing him back, gasping as your body violently twitched. 

“Too much—“ you squeaked. “T-too much!” 

He pulled back from you, licking your remaining juices from his lips as he watched you regain your breath. 

You threw an arm over your eyes, your every breath heaving in your chest as parts of your body twitched in the aftershocks. 

He crawled over your body, nuzzling into the crook of your neck as he purred and murmured against your skin to comfort you.

”Your taste is divine,” he whispered. “Better than I ever could have dreamed, and my dreams were always drenched in your image.” 

“I—“ you sighed, finally pulling air into your chest unlabored. “I dream of you too.” 

“Oh?” He purred, smiling against your skin as he ran his hands down your arms. “And what exactly do you dream of, dearest?” 

You smiled, staring up at the ceiling and avoiding his gaze with flushed cheeks. 

“Your eyes.” You whispered, glancing down at him. “I dream of the way you look at me.” 

———————

You knew this was going to be a lot. 

Neuvillette is not a small man by any stretch of the imagination, but you always figured he would at least be a reasonable size — whatever that may be. 

Clearly your expectations were a little on the small side, because when he unbuttoned his trousers, pulling them down and off his body, exposing his naked skin in all its glory, your eyes ached with how wide they were staring openly at the apex of his creamy white thighs. 

Flushed a ruddy purplish red at the tip, it was literally leaking as he knelt between your spread legs. It twitched—he must’ve noticed your staring, and you chewed on your bottom lip, wondering how in all the abyss you were supposed to fit that thing inside of you. 

Neuvillette was panting. He looked irrevocably desperate, like he was ready to burst at the seams at any moment. 

“Neuvillette,” you whimpered, spreading your thighs further for him. 

He hadn’t touched you since he took his pants off, just staring down at you as you drank him in, watching your reactions. 

“Are…” he seemed strained, like the words themselves pained him. “Are you sure?” 

“Please,” you whined. “Please, inside me, I want you inside.”

He seemed to bite back a groan, eyes roaming over your soaked core, your blush traveling down your chest. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your lips. 

It was delicate, loving, nothing like the unrestrained devouring before, but it still seemed like he was holding himself back. A beautiful bowstring pulled taut, ready to snap. 

“Neuvillette,” you murmured against his lips. “Please, I want it. I trust you, I want you, please.” 

Your pleading seemed to stir him, and you could feel the hot press of his length against your aching hole. You didn't know what it would feel like, the anticipation making you tense up and hold your breath. 

“Breathe, my love.” Neuvillette said, though he himself was shaking as his hands held him up above you. “Relax, breathe.” 

You released a breath and the tension from your spine, melting into the pillows as he chose that moment to breach your entrance, the slick pooling out of you allowing him to slide the crown in with no resistance. 

You keened, your back arching as you felt the first push. “Ah, fuck! Fuck!”

Neuvillette was still shaking, his voice quivering and yet he still found it within himself to chuckle, low and deep as his eyes fluttered across your face, drinking in your pleasured reactions. 

“Such vulgar language,” he breathed. “Where’d my polite little assistant go?” 

You swear your eyes were about to bulge out of your skull as he pushed another inch in, slowly, his body vibrating above you in restraint. 

It wasn’t hurting, but the stretch was so intense it was turning your brain into mush. You never swear in front of Neuvillette, gods, you never curse in front of anyone but Wriothesley, but your brain seems to short circuit as Neuvillette enters your body one delicious inch at a time.

You were thankful you told him to stretch you out, thankful for that gods forsaken tongue that just came out of nowhere, long and thick and surprisingly serpentine.  

“P-politeness isn’t really…” you tossed your head back in the blankets as he sunk in further. “Isn’t really my main focus… r-right now.” 

“Ah, yes.” Neuvillettes words spoke confidence, but his voice was shaking, his arms vibrating as they held him above you. “We have more pressing things to focus on at the moment, don’t we?”

You groaned, half in embarrassment at his wordplay and half at the way he pulled out a bit just to press back in further. 

He just licked up the column of your throat, that ridiculously long tongue making your whole body shiver in delight as he pressed in further. 

“Holy f—“ you grabbed his forearms, leaning up the best you could to look down at where your bodies were connected. “How much more is there? It’s so… so…”

Your stomach flipped at how much you still had to go, how little your brain could comprehend that this weapon was supposed to fit inside you. 

“Do you need me to stop, my darling? Is it too much for you?” Neuvillette breathed against your neck. His words spoke one thing, but it was like his body was screaming for you to say anything but. 

“No!” You panicked a bit, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him against your lips, kissing him filthy. “Please, don’t stop.” 

It took a couple more minutes of gentle thrusting, the rough texture of this thumb swirling against your throbbing clit and some very messy kisses, but when his hips finally pushed flush against yours, your eyes rolled back in your head, mind finally vacating all thought in favor focusing on how blindingly full you felt. 

“Oh,” Neuvillette breathed. “—My darling. My sweet, sweet girl.” His hips were frozen, probably taking in how you clenched around him, because you could feel it— the way your walls fluttered and squeezed around his length as he remained motionless. 

He twitched, and you keened, wrapping your arms around his neck to bring his face level with yours, panting into his mouth. “Please,” you whined. “Please move.” 

He shuddered before hesitantly bringing his hips back, watching your every breath as he pressed forward again. 

The deep, guttural moan it pulled from your chest must have flipped some kind of switch within him, because all sense of hesitancy seemed to drain from his body as his hips began a desperate rhythm, smacking against yours. 

“Ah!” Your back arched, eyes rolling into your skull as he finally, finally fucked you. “Neuvi— Neuvillette!”

His eyes seemed glazed over with emotions, looking down at you with so much wonder. His expression was strained, breaths coming short as his hands snaked down to your hips, leaning back up and away from your grip.

The change in angle, though minuscule, drastically altered the way his cock pummeled your insides. It was intense before, your mind was nearly floating in the clouds— but now his cock bullied itself along your most sensitive spot and pressed so deep within you, you were sure you could nearly taste it.

”Perfect,” he breathed. “My perfect, perfect girl. So warm and tight— it's like you were made to take me.” 

Your brain had exited the atmosphere, and was now drifting away into the deep nothingness of space. You swore you could feel your orgasm welling in the pit of your core, making your legs shake where they were perched on Neuvillettes hips. 

“It— it feels so good,” your words were starting to slur, your vision hazy with unshed tears of pure ecstasy as you blinked up at him. “I n-never— I never wanna stop. I want this forever.” 

His hips never faltered, not even once as he shuddered and groaned, the sound making you clench down around him even more. His hands gripped your waist tighter, the black claws digging into your skin, sure to leave marks. 

A possessive sort of noise rumbled from his chest, his eyes flaring with need. 

“I’ll give you all of myself until the end of time,” he murmurs, voice full of deep, rasping need. “Tell me you’re mine, I’ll give you everything.” 

Your heart welled, your eyes blinking tears as your legs shook harder. 

“I’m yours,” you cried. “I love you, Neuvillette. I’m yours.” 

He pushed at your legs, hands grabbing your thighs to press them up and forward, nearly folding you in half as you sobbed out in pleasure. Your body ached, your orgasm now on the very precipice as he managed to fuck into you even deeper than before, and you didnt know how it was possible. 

“Again.” He growled. 

“I’m yours!” You keened. 

His hands pressed harder into your thighs, his face leaning closer to yours. Through your haze, you could see how his pupils were blown wide, consuming all of his otherworldly irises. You could see how deeply he looked at you, drinking in your trembling form. 

“Mine.” He whispered. 

And that was all it took for the fraying cord inside you to snap. 

You screamed into the darkness of his room, writhing and shaking as it pulsed through you, all consuming and more intense than anything you’d ever felt in your life. He gasped, muttering something in a language you didn't recognize as his hips stuttered. He pushed you through it, the mind melting pleasure pulsing out into your limbs, making you go limp into the bed. 

His eyes were wild, and his pace slowed, hands holding onto you like you would slip away if he didn’t. 

“My love,” he moaned, desperate as the fluttering aftershocks worked through you, your body twitching in the sensitive overstimulation. “My love, I want to— I need—“

“Inside me,” your voice cracked, hoarse from how loud you’d been in your revelry, but it only seemed to spur him on. “Please, inside me.” 

And within the last three stuttering strokes, he was gone, his forehead pressing into yours as he leaned forward and moaned, long and wrecked and obscene. It made you flutter around him, milking him absolutely dry as he filled and filled and filled you. 

You could feel it, hot and heavy— each jerk of him inside you coating you further, marking you in white, in the deepest places as his. 

He was mumbling, his face moving to press into the curve of your neck and shoulder. Dazed, you couldn’t tell what he was saying— whether he was speaking in another language or if you were just too out of it to register his words. 

You lifted an arm to rest on his back, feeling the heat and the sweat of him. Unfazed, you drag your hand up and down his shoulder blades, relishing in the feeling of his skin, his breath as he murmurs against your neck. 

As your breath finally steadied in your lungs, no longer struggling, you ran your hands through his long, luscious hair, fingertips ghosting his horns. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally said aloud, clear and in a language you understood. “I’m sorry.”

”What for?” You smiled, trying to get him to look at you. When you finally pried him from the crook of your shoulder, your heart skipped a beat at how flushed he still was, how guilty he looked. 

It was then that you realized he was still inside you, still hard as before, twitching and throbbing as he held himself above you. 

“You begged me to take you,” he breathed, clawed hands pulling at the sheets. “And I can’t help but crave more.”

————————————

The sun had just begun rising over the dewy cypress trees by the time Neuvillette sat in the warm bath, cradling you in his arms. 

You twitched and groaned in displeasure as he ran the washcloth along your heated skin, but he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of pride at the marks scattered along your body. 

He’d been too afraid to hurt you, but after the moan you let out when his teeth accidentally scraped across your collarbone during the second round, (or was it the third?) he’d lost all sense of decency. You seemed to like them as well, and you certainly liked when he ran his tongue across the red and purple splotches to soothe them. So, c’est la vie. 

Your head lolled against his shoulder, you were barely conscious at this point, and he wanted to feel guilty, he really did. But you’d begged and begged and begged for him to take what he needed, how could he refuse? 

He pulled the glass bottle he’d brought from the cooler to your lips, stirring you a bit to prompt you to drink. 

“Please, my love. You need to rehydrate.” He smiled at the way you pouted, But opened your lips to take tentative sips anyways, your eyes still closed. 

He watched a trail of water slip past your lax lips and run down your chin and throat, his eyes carefully following the movement. He swallowed deeply, willing away the erection that was still threatening the dark corners of his willpower. 

He could honestly keep going, he couldn't get enough of you, but you were still so fragile, so incredibly mortal. He knew that he had to stop, give you a moment of reprieve. Force himself to behave until your sweet voice would sing to him again, begging him for more. He licked his lips at the thought. 

“Are… are your urges… satisfied?” You mumbled as he pulled the bottle away. You cuddled up to him, so sleepy. 

He thought very carefully on how to reply to you. 

“For now, yes. They are, darling.” He finally said. “But I believe I will always desire you as strongly as I did then— as I do now, still.”

You gave a sleepy smirk, your eyes still closed as you snuggled closer to him, your bare skin pressed so beautifully against his. 

This— this was perfect. He didn't think anything else could compare to the feeling of being inside you, so connected to your body and in tune with your emotions. But this… being with you, holding you and caring for you… it was just as beautiful. His heart felt full, and for the first time in months, he didn’t feel restless.

“I meant what I said, you know.” He said, kissing the top of your head. 

You sighed wistfully. “Which part? Because when you said you were going to ‘spend the rest of your existence finding new ways to make me shatter into millions of delicious little pieces,’ I was rather inclined to believe you.” 

He felt his cheeks heat a little. “Ah, well. I meant all of that too. But I’m referring to something I said earlier on in the evening.”   

Your voice was wavering, and he could see sleep pulling at you, tugging you into its embrace one sleepy blink at a time. “Which part, my love?” 

His chest still fluttered at those words, despite both of your endless proclamations of devotion and love last night, he was still so blissful at the prospect of being yours, of you being his. His love. 

“The bit where I told you that I would give you all of me until the end of time. That I’ll give you everything.” 

“Mm,” you said, eyes closed and words loose. “I know.” 

He ran his hands along your back, his skin finally calmed down closer to the end of the night, his scales and claws retracting and freeing his fingers for nefarious purposes. But now, he was enjoying feeling your smooth skin against his own. 

“I have things I must do, duties to this realm beyond that of my role as Iudex. It will be a long and perilous road, a road uneasy for myself and those I love. But in this, as in every other aspect of my life— I feel as though if you stood beside me, it would lighten the burden. You make every part of my life better, and I would be honored to have you beside me for the rest of time.” 

He wasn’t sure how, but if he could free the people of Fontaine from their curse, surely he could find a way to keep you with him, if you so wished. 

“Your voice is pretty,” you sighed. “I love you,” you were mumbling, and he realized you were already rather deep in the clutches of sleep, likely not even hearing a word he’d said. 

He smiled, breathing out a sigh as he kissed the top of your head once more. 

“Sleep well, my darling.” 

La Fin.

—————————————————————

Authors Note: remember to drop a comment with your thoughts! I love you guys so much 🖤

[specsthesecond]

°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°

The sunlight tries in vain to pierce through the cloud covered sky as you make your way under the canopy of conifer trees. Winter will only last a few more weeks but for now you must trudge through the hard snow on the forest ground.

You clutch your new book close to your chest, peeking again to see if the piece of paper you slipped between the pages hasn't somehow fallen out despite your tight grip. You look up from your graphite stained fingers to the stone cottage in the middle of an increasingly familiar meadow. Drawing in a breath, you adjust the bow and quiver slung over your shoulder and clamber through the pasture, watching smoke rise from the old chimney.

This time, you don't panic when you reach the door, you knock before the nerves can even peek out. He opens the door for you, eyebrows scrunched in confusion just like the first time. He looks ready for the weather outside, snow boots, axe in hand, he's even wearing his big fur coat. He clearly had other plans today but he still looks pleasantly surprised by your presence and gestures you inside.

You shake your head lightly at him, feet stuck to the stone veranda. He looks more worried than confused now as he looks down at the book in your hands, you try and not let all the determination you just had flutter away. Hands shaking more than you'd like, you slip the piece of paper out of the book and hand it to him unceremoniously. You can't will yourself to watch his reaction, it's weak but you can't seem to look away from the floor.

A shame really, because if you were watching, you'd see his face grow pink in real time as he reads in your terribly scrawled Orcish -

"Hunt with me?"

He has to read it ten times before he can believe it's real. He looks down at you and then back to the poorly drawn Orcish characters, mouth agape. He turns to the shelf next to the door and gently places the piece of paper there before turning to you. You fiddle with the book in your hands, biting your chapped lip. He rests his hand on your shoulder making you look him in the eye, when you do you're taken back by the look he gives you. It's an expression you can't describe, appreciative doesn't cut it but you wouldn't dare say affectionate.

He nods his head firmly.

Now you both sit amongst the brush, birds nest only a few meters away. Your Orc friend sits quietly, leaning on a stump next to you, waiting for you to make the shot.

Little movements in the nest have you tensing up and pulling the string back. You wait patiently for the birdie to peak its head over the weaved twigs of the nest but you wait too long, and before you know it the bird's wings flutter for takeoff. You panic and shoot the arrow before the bird can fly away but the arrow shoots just a bit too high, piercing the tree trunk and the bird takes flight in a rush of feathers.

An agitated sigh leaves you and you turn towards where the Orc roars out laughter. He quickly tries to muffle his laugh when he sees your pointed, deadpan expression. You point towards where your arrow is stuck in the bark of the tree and hold out your bow for him. He goes to decline the offer but you fix him with a challenging glare that says "If it's so easy then why don't you do it?" You shove the weapon in his hands and hand him an arrow as well, then take a seat on the stump.

He breathes in and positions himself on his knees, just like you were. You sit back and watch him fumble with the bow, failing to notch the arrow against the string for a while before finally aiming the thing. He makes the bow looks so small, it's like a thin stick in his hands instead of a deadly weapon. He pulls the string back and you worry for a moment that it might snap before he lets go and the arrow whizzes through the air and into the canopy of pine needles, never to be seen again.

You burst out in laughter, slapping your knee with a hand on your chest. He huffs and hands you back your bow, grabbing his axe from the stump. He aims it carefully and chucks it into the tree. It lands exactly where your arrow landed, splintering it into pieces. You're shocked to silence for a moment before letting out an impressed "Huh". He seems very proud of himself, giving you a cheeky bow, making you click your tongue and shake your head as he walks off to pull his axe from the tree.

He slumps beside you on the frosty dirt as you hastily page through your book. It's a shame you don't see how he leans his head on his hand and stares at you, not even trying to hide the admiration. When you find the word you were looking for you slap his arm hard with the book, he flinches back playfully. You point to the word "owe" in the book and look at him sternly.

He looks back with a blank stare.

You point to him accusingly, point to the Orcish word for "owe" and then point to yourself before getting an arrow out of your quill, pointing towards it and putting up two fingers.

You think he gets it, if his bashful face says anything. He rubs the back of his neck with an apologetic look. He stands up, axe in hand and nods to you with a look of determination.

Now the sun is gone as you walk alongside him, on route to your home, belly full, carrying a basket of fresh bread. You tried telling him you were only teasing, but he insisted on taking you back home and making you a meal. You were never one to turn away a meal, especially if it was his cooking. Hours went by as you sat in his living room, comparing translations in each other's books and trying, mostly in vain, to write in the others language. You didn't even notice the sun setting until you had to light a candle to see the scribbled mix of Human Common and Orcish on the white papers scattered across the table.

He offered to walk home with you and you, once again, didn't put up much of a fight. Maybe it's just the moonlight or the after-taste of his food but you can't stop stealing glances at the orc as he walks alongside you. His dark eyes reflect the warm light of the lantern so beautifully. Little flakes of snow decorate his hair, they look like stars amongst the inky black mane. You can feel his body heat more than you can feel the heat of the lantern, he's always so warm and it makes it very frustrating to be close to him. He looks over and catches you staring, you quickly avert your gaze to the snowy ground, embarrassment bubbling up again.

You come to a break in the trees and all your thoughts are slapped away. You stare fear-stricken at the massive lake in front of you. A deep chill crawls over you as it always does when you see it now, you meant to avoid it entirely, just like you've been doing since the incident but you must have been more distracted than you thought.

Frost nips at your nerves as you stare at the deceptively thin ice covering the lake and remember the cold, dark depths just beneath. Remembering how difficult it was just to breathe after being plunged into those waters, like spikes of ice piercing your lungs with every breath. You clutch your chest as your breathing quickens, ghosts of pain nudging closer.

Your sight is cut off from the lake by a dark brown fur coat. You look up at the worried face of your friend, eyebrows scrunched and frown deep. His pretty eyes are now filled with concern and it only makes the pain in your chest worse. You turn away from him, you can't look him in the eyes like this. This has happened before, when you wake up in your bed cold and crying. At least then you're alone, now you're outside, in the dark, with who is essentially your closest friend watching you break down.

If he didn't think you were weak before, he definitely does now. You let out a choked sob as your legs crumble beneath you. The orc falls with you, he lightly holds you closer, hands just brushing your shoulders. He clearly doesn't know what to do or what the boundaries are for something like this, and neither do you really.

He's right there. You can feel how damn warm he is, you just want to give in, why won't you let yourself give in? His gloved hands gently urge you to look up at him and you struggle against it but when you eventually meet his gaze, his expression punctures right through the cold panic. You expected to see pity but what you get instead is plain tender worry. He looks ready to help but he's waiting for instruction, like he'll do anything you ask him to, even in your state.

You wipe your cold, wet cheeks and push your head into his chest hard, clutching his waist under his coat in the tightest squeeze you can manage. He squeezes you back and you finally get to feel his warmth surround you again, just like that first night. His body surrounds you, like he's trying to protect you from the cold night air itself. The hug is just tight enough that it encourages you to breathe slower, you can hear and feel his heart beating in his chest and press you face even closer to his chest to hear is better.

Eventually, you're breathing and heart beat evens out with his, only letting out the occasional hiccup. Even then, he doesn't loosen his protective hold until you shift to stand up. He helps you up and you meet his gaze, his dirt coloured eyes hold something you can't place. His hand shifts up from your arm to your cheek to warm the puffy skin. You don't think when you take his hand in yours and hold it against your cheek, even through the leather of his glove you can feel his body heat.

You close your eyes and savour his touch for a minute before turning around and pulling on his arm. You hold onto his hand for the rest of the walk home, only letting go when you reach your front door. You both try and decipher the others gaze for longer than you should've until you wrap your arms around his shoulders in another embrace. He reciprocates, hands winding around your back, breathing into your shoulder. You whisper, "Be safe" into his ear and retreat from the hug, missing his warmth the second it leaves you. If he knows what it means, he doesn't show it.

You watch him leave from the front door, basket of bread in hand. When he turns to give you a little wave goodbye, you return it with a smile. You only step inside when he's out of site, lamp light disappearing amongst the trees.

°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°

[fatehbaz]

Despite its green image, Ireland has surprisingly little forest. [...] [M]ore than 80% of the island of Ireland was [once] covered in trees. [...] [O]f that 11% of the Republic of Ireland that is [now] forested, the vast majority (9% of the country) is planted with [non-native] spruces like the Sitka spruce [in commercial plantations], a fast growing conifer originally from Alaska which can be harvested after just 15 years. Just 2% of Ireland is covered with native broadleaf trees.

Text by: Martha O’Hagan Luff. “Ireland has lost almost all of its native forests - here’s how to bring them back.” The Conversation. 24 February 2023. [Emphasis added.]

---

[I]ndustrial [...] oil palm plantations [...] have proliferated in tropical regions in many parts of the world, often built at the expense of mangrove and humid forest lands, with the aim to transform them from 'worthless swamp' to agro-industrial complexes [...]. Another clear case [...] comes from the southernmost area in the Colombian Pacific [...]. Here, since the early 1980s, the forest has been destroyed and communities displaced to give way to oil palm plantations. Inexistent in the 1970s, by the mid-1990s they had expanded to over 30,000 hectares. The monotony of the plantation - row after row of palm as far as you can see, a green desert of sorts - replaced the diverse, heterogenous and entangled world of forest and communities.

Text by: Arturo Escobar. "Thinking-Feeling with the Earth: Territorial Struggles and the Ontological Dimension of the Epistemologies of the South." Revista de Antropologia Iberoamericana Volume 11 Issue 1. 2016. [Emphasis added.]

---

But efforts to increase global tree cover to limit climate change have skewed towards erecting plantations of fast-growing trees [...] [because] planting trees can demonstrate results a lot quicker than natural forest restoration. [...] [But] ill-advised tree planting can unleash invasive species [...]. [In India] [t]o maximize how much timber these forests yielded, British foresters planted pines from Europe and North America in extensive plantations in the Himalayan region [...] and introduced acacia trees from Australia [...]. One of these species, wattle (Acacia mearnsii) [...] was planted in [...] the Western Ghats. This area is what scientists all a biodiversity hotspot – a globally rare ecosystem replete with species. Wattle has since become invasive and taken over much of the region’s mountainous grasslands. Similarly, pine has spread over much of the Himalayas and displaced native oak trees while teak has replaced sal, a native hardwood, in central India. Both oak and sal are valued for [...] fertiliser, medicine and oil. Their loss [...] impoverished many [local and Indigenous people]. [...]

India’s national forest policy [...] aims for trees on 33% of the country’s area. Schemes under this policy include plantations consisting of a single species such as eucalyptus or bamboo which grow fast and can increase tree cover quickly, demonstrating success according to this dubious measure. Sometimes these trees are planted in grasslands and other ecosystems where tree cover is naturally low. [...] The success of forest restoration efforts cannot be measured by tree cover alone. The Indian government’s definition of “forest” still encompasses plantations of a single tree species, orchards and even bamboo, which actually belongs to the grass family. This means that biennial forest surveys cannot quantify how much natural forest has been restored, or convey the consequences of displacing native trees with competitive plantation species or identify if these exotic trees have invaded natural grasslands which have then been falsely recorded as restored forests. [...] Planting trees does not necessarily mean a forest is being restored. And reviving ecosystems in which trees are scarce is important too.

Text by: Dhanapal Govindarajulu. "India was a tree planting laboratory for 200 years - here are the results." The Conversation. 10 August 2023. [Emphasis added.]

---

Nations and companies are competing to appropriate the last piece of available “untapped” forest that can provide the most amount of “environmental services.” [...] When British Empire forestry was first established as a disciplinary practice in India, [...] it proscribed private interests and initiated a new system of forest management based on a logic of utilitarian [extraction] [...]. Rather than the actual survival of plants or animals, the goal of this forestry was focused on preventing the exhaustion of resource extraction. [...]

Text by: Daniel Fernandez and Alon Schwabe. "The Offsetted." e-flux Architecture (Positions). November 2013. [Emphasis added.]

---

At first glance, the statistics tell a hopeful story: Chile’s forests are expanding. […] On the ground, however, a different scene plays out: monocultures have replaced diverse natural forests [...]. At the crux of these [...] narratives is the definition of a single word: “forest.” [...] Pinochet’s wave of [...] [laws] included Forest Ordinance 701, passed in 1974, which subsidized the expansion of tree plantations [...] and gave the National Forestry Corporation control of Mapuche lands. This law set in motion an enormous expansion in fiber-farms, which are vast expanses of monoculture plantations Pinus radiata and Eucalyptus species grown for paper manufacturing and timber. [T]hese new plantations replaced native forests […]. According to a recent study in Landscape and Urban Planning, timber plantations expanded by a factor of ten from 1975 to 2007, and now occupy 43 percent of the South-central Chilean landscape. [...] While the confusion surrounding the definition of “forest” may appear to be an issue of semantics, Dr. Francis Putz [...] warns otherwise in a recent review published in Biotropica. […] Monoculture plantations are optimized for a single product, whereas native forests offer [...] water regulation, hosting biodiversity, and building soil fertility. [...][A]ccording to Putz, the distinction between plantations and native forests needs to be made clear. “[...] [A]nd the point that plantations are NOT forests needs to be made repeatedly [...]."

Text by: Julian Moll-Rocek. “When forests aren’t really forests: the high cost of Chile’s tree plantations.” Mongabay. 18 August 2014. [Emphasis added.]

[theradioghost]

top four easy ass houseplants according to me, a person who's pretty good at killing houseplants:

4. norfolk island pine. it's like a tiny tree you keep indoors all year and is endlessly adorable, plus despite being technically pet toxic it doesn't drop needles like an actual conifer and anecdotally even our dumbest cat doesn't seem interested in messing with it. they're cheap af around christmas as long as you make sure you don't get one that's been spray painted darker green, because while it might survive (mine did!) all the dyed branches tend to fall off once it has new ones and they don't make new growth on old wood so it'll have naked feet. this is the only problem any of mine have ever had.

3. those little mini roses you get at supermarkets. apparently these things were bred by the dutch and boy I guess the dutch really do take their flowers seriously. these win not by having no problems but by being completely indestructible. I have repeatedly let mine dry out or turn to soup and they have withstood years of attacks by spider mites, leaving them nothing but naked green sticks half a dozen times, and every time they've bounced straight back. I bought some of those self-watering pots for mine so I couldn't kill them that way and I genuinely don't think anything can defeat them now.

2. lithops. I used to think they were difficult to keep alive until I realized that the advice I got to water them once a month? garbage. the advice to water them every three months? garbage. I watered my lithops one single time this calendar year and they are fat and flourishing with new leaves on the way. IT'S A PLANT YOU WATER ONCE A YEAR.

1. papyrus. actually needs daily maintenance but as someone whose cocktail of anxiety and ADHD has killed dozens of plants by over and/or underwatering and fussing, papyrus is fantastic because there are literally no questions. it sits in our windowless bathroom under one single grow light, which is housed in a cheap desk lamp we got at a thrift store that isn't even taller than the papyrus. it has a dish of water under it. when I first use the bathroom in the morning, I turn the light on. when I last use it at night, I turn the light off. if there is no water in the dish, I put water in it directly from the bathroom sink. broken stems make the world's best cat toys. we bought the (dwarf variety) papyrus last year at one foot tall and six inches in diameter. the papyrus is three feet in height and diameter. soon the house will belong to the papyrus.

[yeyinde]

WILLOW TREE MARCH

John Price x Reader | Fae!AU

"They'll give you gifts," your gran says, shaking her head. "Things from their realm. Little trinkets and gems—" geodes, sapphires and diamonds, raw gold and coral; "—and you must never accept them," a whittled deer made of sequoia under your pillow; crow bones buried in the garden."Because if you do, if you do, they'll never let you go."  "Why?" You asked, blinking at her.  "Because it's a courting ritual, and to accept means… well," her mouth twists in wry disdain. "Just don't." 

—WARNINGS: 18+ | SMUT fae shenanigans, mythological nonsense; unsafe sex, smut in random places, slight exhibition kink if you squint; Dom-ish Price, soft Price, pining Price; fae trickery (dubious consent on account of the trickery but not really); unreliable narrator; ahhhhhh, body horror (??????????) —TAGS: Fluff, AU, mythology —WORD COUNT: 8,5k —Based on this ask

There's a thick forest at the edge of your town. It curves along the coastline, breaching the yawning maw of the inlet—the last safe haven before the open ocean—and can be found almost nowhere else in the entire world. A unique ecosystem comprising vaguely familiar flora and fauna. Brown and Black bears. Wolves. Sitka-black-tailed deer. Ravens. The waters that crest through the forest are full of salmon, steelhead, and river otters. On the coast of the inlet, you can find whales, sea lions, seals, orcas, and porpoises swimming offshore. 

It's protected, in large part, by its sheer vastitude. Spanning a massive chunk of your home, it stretches far north with curling fingers cutting through the granite of the crumbling coast, and as deep south as its knobby knees can reach. 

From above, it looks like a child curled on its side, knees tucked to its chest. It's this pose alone that makes others revere it as some sacred being, slumbering mindlessly until the day it cracks open its eyes, and awakens to the new world. A child god made of conifers, red cedar, spruce, fir, pine, birch, and hemlock. Mossy caves of granite and limestone. Thick colonies of moss, liverworts, plume moss, and common haircap. 

The forest is linked to your town only by a small strip of land that juts out from a raging ravine with currents too dangerous, too deadly, to try and traverse. An archipelago all on its own, untouched by greedy, human, hands because of its placement. 

It's insulated by the vast ocean on its front, and a series of insidious looking mountains ready to swallow wandering mountaineers whole if they get too close to the sleeping child. Protected and safe by anyone who might try to harm it. 

You used to dream about the forest. A nightmare dredged up about whispers and calls. Lured close to the edge of the river where a man would hand you his heart—sap-stained, and charred; a brittle piece of Bristlecone pine that felt fragile and worn—and told you to come back for him. To wait for him. 

You'd wake in a cold sweat each time, heart pounding so fast that it almost felt like you were dying.

(Maybe you were. Maybe you did.)

You don't know if you believe the stories told about people wandering into the gaping chasm of the forest and never coming out. It's not uncommon for people to get lost, after all. But it feels distinct and archaic. Old. Something about the way the wind howls sounds different from the other woodlands scattered around your home. 

It sounds like a beckoning call. A mother calling their child home for dinner. Come to me, the Chinook bellows. Come home now, dear. 

You never venture too close. You know all too well what happens to children who do.

His name is—was now, you suppose—Kyle, but no one called him that. To everyone in town, he was simply known as Gaz. 

Newcomers to the isolated archipelago are a rarity—so much so that news of the new family's arrival sent waves through the community, making Gaz an instant star overnight, all without him even setting foot on the shores. 

None of that mattered, though. He fit in with an ease that seems almost preternatural when you think about it, as if he was meant to be there. And maybe he was. Maybe the soft rolling valleys were destined to be his home where flowers bloomed in the spring, and Arctic tern trilled from the branches. 

Gaz was unique, different. 

He picked dandelions with the same intensity that picked fights with the bullies in the neighbouring town, the ones who tried to pick on the smaller kids in the community. 

With his fists always covered in dandelion oil and bruises, face caught between a grimace and a grin, like he was never sure if he wanted to spit at their feet or tell a joke, he stood against the onslaught with an anger that seemed to crackle in the air like fireworks. Ready for battle. Thirsty for blood. 

His anger never waned even when he turned back to the group, eyes cresting in satisfaction, and body trembling with adrenaline, and you could scent the rage in his smile, hear it in the soft words he muttered to the kids, telling them everything would be alright. 

Gaz was everyone's friend. The person you told your deepest secrets to, the one you planned adventures with. He was a rock—always armed with snappy jokes to make you smile, and advice when you needed it. 

He was everyone's friend—yours especially—but you can't remember if anyone was his best friend. He was polite. Distant. 

It started in the summer. His hands were always cold, and he kept them shoved deep in his pockets, clenched tight around the latchkey his parents gave him. 

He started to seem almost liquid then. Temporal. You'd reach for him, brushing your hands against his arms or shoulders just to assure yourself that he was really there.

You noticed that his eyes would list sideways, head tilted, slanting toward the forest. It looked to you as if he was listening to something. To some unheard noise or call that only he could hear. 

When you asked about it, he'd always blink, surprised, as if you'd woken him up from a dream quite suddenly. Then, he'd smile, and shake his head. 

"Don't worry about it," he'd say, shrugging. "Just the wind."

He'd bend down and pick a dandelion for you, holding it out between pudgy fingers with a grin that seemed to mimic the cresting moon. 

"For you."

He picked them for three springs before he, too, became another victim of the endless forest. Another empty tomb in the overcrowded graveyard.

Missing, they said, but not forgotten. 

You think about him often. 

(Even more so when you, too, begin to hear your name echoing through the forest.)

Beware the woods, your grandma says. Especially when it calls your name. 

(You never understood why something that sounds so comforting, so sweet, could ever be dangerous. It sounds like an old friend calling you over to play. 

"Never go," she snaps, her hands lashing out to grip your arms tight. You feel her knobby fingers digging into your bones. "Never listen, and stay away—"

"You're hurting me, gran—"

Her rheumy eyes burn into yours. "Stay away—!"

(You wisely never speak about the whispers in your head, keeping them to yourself. A secret just for you.)

You leave town when you're old enough, when the hisses in your head grow too loud to ignore, and it feels as though they're scratching at your skull. 

(Clawing at the walls.)

"Crazy weather, eh?" The first mate mutters nervously, eyes tilted upward as the sky darkens into an angry grey. "Came outta nowhere." 

You leave, and you don't look back. 

(But oh, how the forest screams.)

She calls you back several years later with a phone call. Your gran has passed. 

You think you should mourn, but it's been so long since you thought of home, that you don't remember what she looks like anymore. The sound of her voice is a whisper in your head—the cadence gone, the tone flat. 

But you don't cry, and you don't grieve—she's been dead for a long time now, after all. Ever since your mum went missing all those years ago, she's always seemed more of a ghost than a person. Living as if her body hadn't realised her heart was long dead. 

You go back only because you think your mum would have wanted you to. 

(And pretend it isn't because the silence in your head is suffocating. Without the whispers, it feels as if you're missing something. A part of yourself forever lost in the forest.

You wonder if anyone has found it by now.)

Nothing has changed since you turned your back on the town that raised you, the forest that stole from you. 

It's the same buildings. The same market. The same roads. The same houses. 

The people, too, seem largely unchanged by the years that have passed. 

The friends from your childhood who stayed meet you at the graveyard, eyes filled with sympathy as they ask how you're doing. 

She'll be missed, they lie sweetly to you. Everyone loved her. 

She was a hermit, you want to scream. A woman driven mad by ghosts and fairytales and terror. 

You nod, instead, and let them lead you around the town on a grand tour as if anything about this beautiful, haunting place had changed since you ran away. 

It gets easier to force a smile when they ask if you're okay. 

"Fine," you murmur and wonder if your voice even carries over the whispers. "Just—yeah. Fine."

North of the town is where the river separating the lonely forest carves a path, not at all dissimilar to an idyllic trough, through bedrock and sand, and flows into the sea. 

The estuary is dangerous in high tide when the rapid ascent of water on the sandy shores hides the rip current that is known to form when the two bodies of water meet. 

It's a dangerous place to get caught in. 

This beach was impressed upon you as deadly from a young age, almost in equal—if not greater—measure than the rapacious forest across the river. You know the dangers of standing on the slippery bedrock. 

But as the sun glows a burnt orange in the distance, and the endless ocean before you darkens into an almost unfathomable black, you can't help but find the view from the cliff's edge to be the most mesmerising thing you've ever seen. 

It looks like a painting. A brush stroke of tigers eye in the centre of the cresting sun that gradually fades out into xanthous, and rings of hazy peach; the light of diminishing star smears coruscating rings of persimmons into the indigo water. The gradual fade into gradients as the waves lap closer to the shore is reminiscent of liquid sapphire and smelting amethyst. 

The picturesque view is more befitting of a pastel postcard, an ethereal pastiche of the Ninth Wave—a moment of life imitating art, or—perhaps—the same view Ivan Aivazovsky stumbled upon when he set out to render the haunting beauty of the ocean in oil. 

The cresting waves arch into curled petals of white before setting upon the sloping beach with frenzy. It's the roar of those hungry waves that seem to, if only for a moment, drown out everything in your head. 

There are no whispers. No songs. No screams. Vengeful hissing can't climb to a higher decibel than the frothing waters slamming against jagged bedrock. 

All is quiet—except the sea. 

You lean into it. The closer you get to that precipice, the quieter everything in your head goes. Sounded sucked into the vacuum of the ocean. The endless song of the sea. 

Another step. Another. 

For a moment, you're free. 

The forest doesn't scream for you. Your grandmother doesn't dig her teeth into your gyri, hands clawing at the space behind your eyes. You don't think of her, or your mother, or Gaz, or anyone else unfortunate enough to get consumed by this damnable place where fairy tales split the seams apart, and merge with reality. 

It's peaceful. 

You take another step—

A hand curls over your shoulder, tugging you back. 

Anger pools, thick and acidic, on your tongue, but the flash of your ire, your vexation, is dashed by the sound the waves make when it slams into the spot you were just standing. 

It slashes across the concrete as the stranger pulls you into his broad chest, heat nearly liquifying your spine. 

He sucks in a breath. You feel his chest expand with it. When he breathes out, you taste gunpowder on your tongue. 

"Gotta be more careful n'that, love." 

You've had near-misses before. Flirted with the reaper. Ripped yourself from the jowls of death himself. 

This isn't anything new.

And yet—

Your eyes drag up, meeting flat black boring down at you. His hood is pulled over his forehead, casting shadows down to his jaw. 

"You—"

Your teeth sink into your tongue. Emotions lash through you like the flick of a bullwhip, shredding your skin until it's raw and oozing. The tail pulls away whenever you try to wrap your fingers around one of them—relief: you're not dead; embarrassment: how could you be so stupid; shame: saved by a stranger; and—

Visceral terror. Panic. 

It bludgeons its fist down your throat, barbed knuckles clawing at the soft tissue of your esophagus until you taste blood on your tongue. 

Panic tastes of ozone and leaks, thick and warm like molasse, down your throat. 

"Hey," he murmurs, and the sound of his voice, his low timbre, is porous, calcined. The rough scratch scours through the haze of fear threading through your sternum. "C'mon on, now. Gotta breathe, yeah?" 

It's his hands on your shoulder—hotter than grenade fire—and the thick scent of musk, of stale smoke and kerosene sweat, that break through the gossamer of your acrid panic. He spins you around to face him, eyes fixed on your face. 

"That's it," he says, soft, soothing. "Keep breathin'. You ain't dead yet." 

You come to yourself in pieces. The world bleeds with startling clarity around the blurred edges. Home, you think. Maybe.

Once upon a time. 

You blink. Blink again. 

The hand still on you—heavier, you find, than an anvil—lifts, his thumb brushing over the curve of your jaw, swiping over the sweat-stained skin.

You can't see his eyes through the shadows cast over his face. A stranger. You've never seen him before. 

They didn't say anyone new moved to town. 

"Who are you—?"

"You don't know?" 

And then his hand is gone, taking all the heat in your body with him. 

It lifts to his vest, thick fingers, gloved in yellow, curling over the butt of his cigar. 

You must make a face. A grimace. A whisper of bemusement. Whatever it is, it makes his lips twitch under the shorn burnt umber of his beard. 

"I'd share," he mutters, teething sinking into the hilt as he pats himself down for a lighter. "But I ain't got the time."

"Shouldn't be smoking in a provincial park, anyway." 

The words are dragged out of you. Numbed, gritty. 

It makes him snort. "Maybe—;" he cups his hand around the end, thumb striking the ignition of the lighter. He inhales, and the red circle at the tip illuminates the cerulean blue tucked away into the folds of his hood. The plume of smoke curls over him like a shroud. "But I doubt a cigar is gonna bring the whole forest down, mm? 'sides, we all have our vices, don't we?"

With that, he leaves you standing in the tendrils of smoke that billow out from his caustic mouth. No goodbye. No name. Nothing except the hum of his touch buzzing through your veins. 

Your head is numb. Thoughts congealing into hardened clay. 

Yeah, you think sluggishly, eyes dropping to the drenched pavement where the ocean narrowly missed you. Swallowed you whole. We do. 

(Yours is bad decisions that reek of napalm. 

Men who scour your hands raw when you touch their coarse surface.)

You find him again in some desolate pub on the fringes of town a few days later. It looks like it's one strong gust of wind away from blowing down. Dilapidated. Rusted from the harsh salt of the ocean to the north. 

He lifts his head when you slide into the empty chair on the left, but says nothing about your unexpected company. 

Instead, his lips curl over the cigar sawed between his teeth. A grin, you think. 

You wonder if he was expecting you. 

(Wonder, then, with a touch of something warm gnarling in your belly, if you surprised him.)

The barkeep wanders past, brows lifting at you in question. 

"Um, a vodka soda—"

The man, Price you learned from the locals with a great of digging, snorts. 

"Ain't got none of that here, love. Two scotches. Neat." He leans over, thick fingers grasping the middle of the cigar, an inch away from the bristles on his upper lip, and pulls it away, ashing it in the tray in front of him. "And a bottle of spring water." 

"Scotch?" You echo, leaning your elbow on the sticky counter. He reeks of smoke. Sweat. Blood. Gunpowder. You veer closer, soaking in the astringent tang of him. Everyone on this island smells of daffodils and cotton; clean and neat and innocent. He reeks of danger. Everything inside of you screams to stay away. "I don't drink scotch."

The cigar burns in the tray. He pulls back, shifting in the chair. His elbow rests on the counter, the other arm is slung over the back of his seat. The picture of appeasement, of a satiated tiger eying a little mouse sniffing past it. There's no immediate danger, and his posture is relaxed. Open. But his eyes—

Price turns to you, then. His legs are spread, knees notched apart, taking up more space than you offer him. A looming presence. Dominating. Confident. He's not doing it on purpose, you don't think, he's just—

Big. 

His legs are too long. Thighs are too thick. 

Something gnarls behind your ribs when you take in his bare face. It's different, smaller, without the bulky black hood thrown low on his brow. His hands bare, leaving him in only casual clothes that stretch taut around his broad body. 

The beanie on his head, pulled low on his forehead, makes him look roguish, rough. The picturesque presentation of a bad boy down to the pelt-brown leather Levi jacket stretched taut around his broad shoulders. 

He looks older, somehow, without the tenebrous of night shading him in dark indigo. Aged like a fine whisky. All burnt umber and ivory. 

The charcoal colouring brightens the heavy blue of his eyes—crushed bluebonnets and powdered graphite; a black hole centre—and the frame of his brown lashes dusting over his clean cheeks makes something pool in your lower belly. 

(You wonder if he'd taste of whisky sour.)

"Well," he murmurs, brow lifting. It makes the skin on his forehead crinkle. He has laugh lines cresting around the corners of his eyes. They stand out to you, now. Void of the shadows you're used to. "You do when I'm paying."

The scotch, the cigar, the dingy pub that reeks of stale cigarettes and is perfumed in a dusting of nicotine that films every surface coalesces into incipient vice. 

His hand moves from where it's loosely curled around his glass, and rests, heavy and warm, on your thigh. 

When he leans in, you taste calcine on his breath. 

The acrid tang is a balm to the blisters in your raw esophagus. You meet him in the middle, smaller hands curling over the wool lapels of his jacket, tugging him into you. 

"Never thanked you for saving me," you murmur, his beard grazing your lips. A tickle. A brush. 

Price sucks in a deep breath, eyes liquifying into an intense azure. "No need to thank me, love. As much as I love the ocean, you don't belong there, do you? No," he adds, decisively. Sure. "You belong on land. The earth. You're wild, like the forest, aren't you?"

It's an out. An escape. An option to flee from the cosm that folds around you like a nebulous cloud. 

You could take it. Back up, away. Walk out of this dingy pub on the wrong side of town, and forget the man who reeks of nicotine, smoke; who leaves ashes behind on your skin when he touches you. 

The only one who stares at you from the unfathomable black of his eyes, lashes shrouded in tenebrous, and makes you falter. Makes your heart lurch, jumping to sit at the bottom of your throat.

You should pull away. Stay away from the man who leaks ethanol and nitroglycerine. From the man who smells of acrid smoke. Gunfire. 

You should. 

But your fingers tighten in the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer. Closer. 

The bridge of his nose is warm when it presses against your own. 

His eyes spark, wildfires. A blazing forest. 

"You said something about vices." His chest rumbles in response to your hushed words. 

"So I did." 

Smoke singes your nose when you brush your lips over his. Warm. Chapped. Dry. You taste ash. Humus. The bitter tang of dandelion oil. 

"Got some time tonight?" 

"Thought you said I shouldn't be smoking."

"We're not in a park, near flammable trees," your hand falls to his chest. His heart thuds beneath your palm. Thick, full. Your eyes lift to his, lidded and heavy. You gaze at him from under your lashes, coy. Demure. You wonder if he can see how eager you are beneath the sly cut of your lids. "Are we, Price?"

The use of his name makes his lips quirk. A small, secretive thing that you can't read. 

"No, we're not." His hand slides down, curling over your knee. "Don't know what you're gettin' into, love." 

"Oh, no?" You taunt, breathless. Even through all your layers, you still feel his searing heat on your skin. His eyes drop when your tongue lashes out, wetting your lower lip. "And what's that?" 

A frisson shudders over his face. Lashes fluttering. He leans forward, resting the rim of his beanie on your forehead. 

When his eyes slide open, all you see is arsenic white pooled around Prussian blue. "More than you could ever dream of." 

Your trembling fingers curl into the lapels of his jacket. For leverage, maybe; or to hide the quiver in your joints from his widening eyes. 

And so, you kiss him. 

A messy punch to the mouth with your sun-blistered lips. 

His mouth parts, wry curls flutter when he inhales sharply. And then—

He devours you. 

It's messy. More sealed lips glueing together than it ever could be considered a proper kiss, but it feels more like a homecoming than stepping off the boat, and you tuck that inside your pounding chest. 

(The whispers in your head seem to sing when his lips touch yours.)

You taste bark on your tongue when it slips over his. Loam. Moss. Something earthy and rich. His beard scratches your chin, your lips, but you pull him closer, hungry for more—for the taste of wilderness on his tongue, for the respite from the whispers, the screams. Like the ocean, he, too, is a vacuum, swallowing everything whole until just you remain, stripped down to nothing but sensation and want. Bare, raw. 

Your teeth ache when you pull away, fingers curling into the coarse hair along his chin. The whips of his wry curls scratch your palm. 

You never want to let go. 

Price's eyes are noctilucent clouds; a storm over a rainforest. He'll ruin you. Devour. Destroy. Take, and take, and take until there is nothing left. 

Your lips tremble when you speak, words tremulous with your desire, your eagerness, when they slip past your bruised mouth. 

"I can think of a few that are better than smoking." 

Price shudders. 

"Where did you go?" Your friend asks, eyes swinging from the cards spread out in front of him—the Idiot, Solitaire—to you. They burn into the side of your face, the same place Price touched with bare knuckles, and said you belong to the forest, don't you? "Missed dinner."

You ate Doro Wat in a small shop after Price fucked you stupid in the dingy bathroom of the pub, face scraping against the waterlogged wallpaper that chipped with each brutal thrust of his hips. 

Like that, hmm? Can barely take me, love, but you're so fuckin' greedy for it, ain't you? 

You're sure the barkeep heard your moans as they bounced off the jaundiced walls. 

(You still hear him hissing in your ear. Still feel him splitting you apart.)

You try not to shiver. 

"Ate already," you shrug, bundling your sleep clothes tight in your trembling hands. When you stand, his eyes follow you. "So. Um—"

"You okay?" 

"Yeah," you say, shifting on the balls of your feet. "I've—" You think of his eyes, gyre white, and wonder if this is what it feels like to get swallowed by the sea. "I've never been better."

"Good," he says, smiling. "I worry about you, you know?"

You nod. "Yeah," you say. "Me, too."

You break apart in the shower, falling into pieces as you make yourself finish, thinking about nothing but the phantom stretch of his cock seated deep inside of you, the taste of his come pooling on your tongue.

It balms the residual burn in your esophagus, and you know, then, when you throb, still wanting his touch on your skin, that you've always been terrible at telling yourself no. 

It can't happen. It can't.  

There's a strange magnetism about him—an uncanny sense of mystery and familiarity sutured together. 

It feels a little bit like staring at the looming maw, the event horizon, of a black hole. Unfathomable black. No way out. 

There's something that feels a bit like forewarning inside your chest when he brushes against you, and presses his lips on the skin behind your ear—a secret place only he knows, where only his fingerprints have ever been. You feel his touch even when he's gone. Haunted by the memory of his rough hands and rasping tenor. 

Running would make sense, you think, watching the ferries come and go. You have enough money for a ticket, and you've yet to even unpack your bag. 

You don't know who he is, but you've given him everything. All of it. There's nothing left inside of you to hand over, but he keeps looking at you as if he's waiting for more. 

"Waiting for a ride?" 

You glance back at the operator with a divot between your brow and cotton inside your ears. 

You want to say yes, but you shake your head instead. 

"No." I can't leave. "Just enjoying the view."

You find birch branches stripped of leaves, juniper berries, maple leaves, spindles of dogwood, bushels of fir, and bouquets of bog rosemary, northern bluebell, fireweed, and wintergreen on your doorstep each morning, laid gently against the old welcome mat. 

You should toss them out, and throw them away. How does he know where you live, anyway? It would make the most sense; be the wisest decision. 

Instead, you tuck them inside your notebook, pressing them against the pages where they'll be safe. 

(You try not to think too much about why they never die.)

It happens again. And again. Again—

It becomes a ritual for the few months you're back in town. The leaves, twigs, petals, pines, and seeds all show up at your door each morning and come nightfall, you're drawn to him like a moth to a flame. 

He finds the nastiest looking pub in the city, and you find him there after dark. 

He sits, smokes a cigar. Orders two scotches, and a bottle of spring water. Teaches you how to drink it properly—none of that sugary cocktail shite; just pure whisky, love, as it should be—and lets you puff on the damp end of his cigar, eyes gleaming in the soft yellow light above as he takes in the way your lips curl over the wet tip.

He stares at you like he's indulging you. 

Like he knows. 

And maybe, he does. 

Maybe he sees the way your jaw works, tongue lashing over the tip just to chase his taste. The heat in your cheeks, your eyes, as you gaze at him, open and raw and wanting. The way you list toward him. Eager for it. For him. His touch, his smell. 

He must, you think, but he's a right bastard. 

He doesn't give it until the end of the evening, when everyone has gone home. When it's just you and him and the barkeep that glowers at you something ugly when you stand on shaky legs, and whisper you're going to the washroom. 

Your fingers curl over the chipped porcelain, back arched as you stare at the face in the mirror. 

You can't remember if it's you. 

Whisky has polluted your synapses. The thick scent of smoke, the tobacco from the cigar, has congealed into resin over that little bundle of axons and nerves that control your impulse, logic. 

Stupid. 

You stare at the thing in the mirror, and wonder if the basal want on your face was so apparent to him as it is to you. If he saw the dark gleam of hunger, greed, impatience, swimming in your ink-smudged depths. 

The door rattles. Clicks. 

The squeak of the hinges is the only warning you get before Price is there, liquified in the doorway and clouded in smoke. 

His hand curls over the worn, peeling frame. Eyes dance with the same hunger, same want, as the ones that flicker across the surface of the mirror. 

"Couldn't wait for me, eh, love?" He breathes, his chest expands with his exhale. Scenting you, you think. You wonder if he can smell the slick pooling in your panties. The desperation brimming in your veins. "Wanted it that bad, huh?"

He moves. A mountain of a man now filling up the entirety of your gaze until all you see is him. 

You used to want to climb mountains. In training, they always warned of summit fever. Of that little part of your head that just wanted it to be over, to reach the very top of the precipice. Impatient, it couldn't wait. It made you spring up, and climb higher and higher before you were ready, prepared. 

You think of it now when your hands lift, curling over his broad shoulders. 

("Summit fever will get you killed," they say.)

"Just shut up and fuck me, Price." 

His eyes flash. "Greedy little thing, aren't you?"

You are. Painfully so. 

It etches in your ribs like a sickness, festering in your mouldering bones. Rotting you from the inside out. 

A crutch in the searing heat of skin, sweat, and sin. The feeling of him taking you apart, breaking you down into atoms and molecules that bubble in the lining of your head becomes so commonplace, so often forget who you are when you're pushed up against a wall, being filled to the brim by him.

He leaves madness behind when he goes, and the world that divides fantasy from reality begins to crack, to splinter. 

You hear his voice in your head late at night when the wind blows through the window, carrying the scent of the forest.

"Come home," he rasps in your ear. 

The scratch of his beard seems to scrape against the little thread keeping you tied down to reality. It's frayed and worn by his hands. You wonder when he'll sink his teeth in the silk, and snap the line. Untethering you from your binds.

Come home to me. Come back to where you belong—

Price takes you out to dinner three months after this—whatever it is—starts. After your house becomes more of a garden, writ with the wild remnants of the forest, after each passing day. Full of bushes, and branches. Twigs and precious gems. He gives you raw gold, and open geodes full of amethyst, and sapphire. Canopy leaves, and bark from the trees. 

He leaves a whittled deer made from the red wood of a giant sequoia, and the likeness of the little fawn makes you believe that one day, it'll come to life in your living room.

(You leave a dish of water near the doorway—just in case—and wonder if you're becoming just as mad as your gran.)

He shows up at your doorstep, the bleached antlers of a great pronghorn in his hands. It's decorated with vines and moss weaved over the ivory in intricate braids and knots that you can't even begin to unravel. You marvel at the gift as he tells you he's taking you out for dinner. 

There is no discussion. He doesn't ask, he just—

Does. 

"Found a spot," he says, arms crossed over his broad chest. The cable-knit sweater pulls, stretched taut over his bulk. "Think you'd like it."

You don't know what to say. The antlers feel heavier in your hands, and warm to the touch. You try not to shiver when you set it down beside the little fawn.

"Oh," you say, but know you've never turned him down yet. It's all—

So much. 

Your home is slowly becoming one with nature, with vines growing on the walls in great blooms of wisteria and lilac; the old floor boards under your feet shudder and creak as little saplings sprout through the cracks. You wake up at night and taste earth in your throat, feel the grass beneath your fingers. The breeze in your hair. The call of an arctic tern. 

You dream of running through the forest. Of being chased. You breathe and feel the little seeds inside of your lungs start to take root. Soon you'll bloom with dandelions.

"Okay," you say, and wonder if the madness rummaging around your head will turn into a beautiful sequoia in the end. "Let's go."

The tavern is busy on a weeknight, crowded with a swell of mainlanders who'd ventured out for a camping trip over the long weekend. 

You sit with your back straight, and listen to him talk about a hike he wants to take with you in the morning. Through the woods, he says, and you don't ask which one. You know. You know. 

(It's time. It's time.)

There are alarm bells ringing in your head, but they're drowned out by the crooning whispers. 

But the line is only frayed and worn, and despite the lure in his voice, the itch in your head to say yes, you hesitate. Falter. 

The woods are dangerous. 

You don't want to go. 

He seems to sense it. His brows knot together. 

"You want to, don't you?" 

You fiddle with your napkin and try not to meet his arsenic stare. "It's… dangerous."

"I'll keep you safe."

"It's probably time for me to leave, anyway." 

The air in the room turns frigid all at once. You think you can see white plumes of condensation when you shakily breathe out, teeth chattering. 

"Price—"

"Didn't wanna do this, love," he says, voice hushed. Barely a whisper. His eyes are lavascapes. "But you ain't givin' me much of a choice, are you?"

"What—?"

The words die on your tongue when movement flashes in the corner of your eye. A man weaves, liquid, through the mindless crowd, cutting a path like the parting red sea. 

His eyes are honeycombs. In his hand, he holds a limp dandelion. 

It takes you a moment to make out the strange man who looms in the background. A splash of colour among sfumato. 

It's Gaz.

The childish swell of his cheeks has sunken into angled, sharp bone. Slender fingers twirl the flower around, around, around—

It's hypnotic. You stare, horrified and awed—a strange amalgam of emotions that slip down your spine: worry, elation, panic, comfort—as his pink lips part into an easy, familiar grin. The cresting sun breaching the horizon. Eyes slanting in playful derision. 

He looks like he's torn between telling a joke and spitting vitriol. Making you laugh, and then making you cry. 

It buzzes in the air, electrified fingers dancing down your spine, and then just as quickly as the boy who disappeared reemerges into the land of the living, into this bastardised reality, he gives one last sharp, fanged grin, a mordant wink, and then he's gone.

He slips through the door, and without hesitating, you give chase. 

Price says nothing when you go. Or maybe he does, but you can't hear anything except the rustling of leaves in your head. 

Gaz, it whispers. Gaz, Gaz, Gaz.

(It's time for the lost little boy to come home.)

The rocks sit in a zigzag pattern through the frothing waters, a deceptive bridge that connects the valley to the coast. You feel the tremulous rattle of the water slicing against the hollow cavern beneath your feet. A ledge chiselled from the blunt erosion of the rapid currents below. One day, they say, the granite shelf will give and a massive hole filled with howling water will fill it. 

Try not to be the idiot standing on the ledge. 

You feel the power of the currents even on the peat-covered edge. 

The water in front of you is deceptive. A calm, rolling surface at the shoreline almost seems to beckon you inside. Come take a dip in the cool waters. Grow fins and gills and chase the river otters through the currents. Feast on the wily salmon, and see if your feet can touch the sandy streambed. 

But the river's fatality is nearly assured. No one has survived a dip in these waters that act as a serrated knife, carving chasms and channels through the granite below. The currents will rip into you, pulling you until your body is crushed against the wall, or into an unsearchable cave. 

One slip, you think. Just one. 

But—

The man in the bar flickers through your mind. His honeycomb eyes, fanged grin. Ethereal in his beauty like a painting of a god in oil and raw canvas. Carved likeness of a Stygian prince. 

It was Kyle. It was Gaz. You know it. Know it deep within your bones, your marrow.

Taking the first step to the jutting slate that peaks just a few precious inches from the raging waters is easier, then, when you think of the boy who plucked a dandelion from the earth, and tucked it behind your ear. It makes the risk less daunting when it's for him. 

For his parents who sunk into themselves, into the crater his absence left behind. A deep depression into the earth that swallowed them whole.

They moved last year after laying down a bouquet of flowers at the mouth of the forest. 

You toe your shoes off, leaving them at the embankment, and then you leap. The perch is slick with waterlogged moss, slimy. It wobbles under you, but you catch yourself, stabilising. Steady. You huff. One down, four more to go. 

Up close, they look so far apart. A chasm between each rock. An endless abyss that will rip you into pieces. 

Still. Still. You have to find him. Have to. 

You step, toes sliding in the algae. The rock beneath is stained green. It wobbles again when you bring your other foot down on top of it. The loud clack of rock scraping against rock is heard, unmuffled by the roaring water that tugs on the stone. You feel the push against your feet. 

Two more. Two more. 

You take another step, and then—

You fall—

The world drips into focus, a steady trickle of cognisance that paints the world in shades of greens and browns. An eagle soars above the canopy, their shadow swooping through the thick tangle of conifers reaching to the heavens.

The bed of moss beneath you is damp—lush with dew and softer than your mattress at home. You sink into the ground when you breathe, caught in an embrace. The vines curl over your wrists, your ankles, as if refusing to let go. 

It should scare you—and maybe it does—but there's something against your head, fingers digging into your temples, and you feel nothing except a warm serenity leaking in. Thought spool into liquid gold, threads that weave together in a knotted clump. Indistinguishable from each other, and unreachable when they slip deeper into the honeyed-thick fog that curls around your mind. A temper from logic, from fear. Anything that isn't pure, artificial comfort is filtered through and cast aside. 

You don't know why you're here. 

One moment, you felt the coils of the raging currents sinking its claws into your flesh, pulling you under the deep waters, and then—

Heat on your face. The sun's desperate attempt to filter through the corded canopy and touch the forest floor. The shrill call of an eagle on the prowl. The tender caress of the moss below cushions your body. 

You should be underwater. Pressed tight against the side of the rocks until you were swept downstream and spat out in the inlet, waterlogged and dead. 

You draw humid air into your lungs until it swells against your ribcage. The steady thud of your heart tells you that somehow, somehow, you're alive. An empty brag—thud, thud; thud, thud—that seems to call out to the birds in the emergent layer, the ones nestled in their branches as they watch your feeble attempt to reconcile how you survived. 

It's strange, you think, but the soporific warmth coursing through your veins does not let you panic. 

You are—

"Foolish." 

The warmth turns molten. You try to sit up, but the vines tighten around your limbs. If you weren't so vulnerable, you think it would almost feel like a hug. 

The soft crunch of the moss tells you the voice—the man—is moving forward, toward you. You want to scream, but your tongue is thick, and your mouth is numb. 

"What you did there was stupid," he says, and the forest around you seems to come alive in his anger. Pulsing. The branches sway and the leaves rattle without any wind. The trees bend down, coming inward. You hear the scream of a fox in the distance. The chuff of an agitated brown bear. 

Primordial signs tell you to run.

But you're trapped. 

Price steps closer, falling to his knees beside you. You can see him now, and suddenly you wish you'd been swallowed by the waves. 

His face is writ with anger, brows tightening together in displeasure. 

He seems imbued with the forest. One with the lush green that swells around you. Burnt umber and icy blue. Ethereal, unnatural. Something in your hindbrain tells you to run from that man that looks as if he could swallow you whole.

"Tryin' t'die on me, hmm?" 

His hand lifts, and you feel his warm knuckles graze your temple. Soft, gentle, despite the ire in his eyes, and the irritation clenched in his jaw. 

"Gonna hav'ta try harder than that, love." 

You weren't trying very hard at all, you think, dazed, dizzy. You weren't trying at all. 

"You're mine," his eyes flash, and you feel the press of gravity against your skin, pulling you down to the soft earth. Your fingers twitch. The fog inside your head clears. 

Blinking up at him, you catch the scattering supernovae echoing in the corners of his eyes; galaxies of pine and cedar, humus and tussock. They bloom from the black hole in the centre, surrounded by sapphire blue. He's not human, you think, but it doesn't surprise you because you already knew. Have known, really—ever since you asked around for his name and watched the same strange fog seep into their eyes as they struggled to remember a man they claimed to know. 

Ever since you found bushels of figs on your doorstep. 

A crown of pine needles and crow feathers. 

Price leans over you, brows knotted together like the gnarled, weaving trunk of a Great Basin Bristlecone Pine. 

There's a forest fire in his eyes. "You're mine, aren't you?" 

You think about the trinkets left on your doorstep. The whispers, the screams. 

"Did you ever give me a choice?" 

The tension in his brow snaps taut. Agony frissons through the spaced canyons; whet from ire and slick from sorrow. He bends down, and shakes his head. 

"I've always given you a choice," his words are smouldering logs, crackling with his pain. "I've always told you to go, but you couldn't stay away, could you?"

Price takes you on the mossy forest floor, fingers digging into the peat as you sink, down, down, down—

His hand under your head, cradling the back of your skull, keeps you from getting swallowed by the grass knoll that breathes and trill against your spine. 

Fire licks in the crevasses of his eyes, molten desperation you can't ignore. He rages above you, quivering in the fading glow of the sunset struggling to slip through the canopy. No longer a man but a myth. He hangs over you with his canines bared, and flashes of anger and sorrow scorch the path his teeth leave behind on your skin. 

You're becoming unmoored. Each touch, and brush; each sweep of his tongue soothing the indents of his razor-sharp teeth all seem to loosen the ties that thread through your soul, anchoring you to the world that stands in full bloom before you. 

The forest shudders with his frantic pace; each piston of his hips leaks his fervent anguish and makes the trees croon, and creak as they bow their foliage in sorrow. His pain lashes through their roots, and rent the air in two. A fox mourns his loss in the distance. A wolf yowls in agony. His brethren lifting their muzzle to the sleepy moon, and howling out the melody of their despair. 

It's too much, too much, and you fall into pieces in his hands, shivering beneath him as the woods around you tremble and quake. It's a mesmerising dance. 

He finishes with a grunt that makes the world shudder anew, spending himself as deep inside of you as he can, as if he could overwrite your empty spaces with himself. Fill you to the brim until you are bursting with him, with life. Tulips for your eyes. Furze for veins. Moss for hair. Peat soil for blood. 

When he speaks, the world falls silent. 

"You don't know it yet, but you will. You've always been mine. Always belonged to the forest, to the earth. To me."

Despite his words, he lets you go. 

And you run, run, run—

Your toes dig into the wet soil near the stream. The desperate catapult across the ravine halted at the very last moment, leaving you winded and shaking. Hands clenched into tight balls by your side. Quivering with fear, with the adrenaline rush still roaring in your veins. 

You don't know what you're doing. 

The whispers in your head go silent. 

The absence of sound makes you mourn, and you think about his agony. The pain when he took you, the resignation when he let you go. 

You think of him, and you know. 

I've always told you to go, but you couldn't stay away, could you?

You scent napalm in the air, cloying despite the acrid burn that scalds your lungs when you breathe in deep, holding it there. 

You think of the chest inside your closet. The pieces of yourself you left behind. The way he fits you like a puzzle, like he was made for you. Designed with your rough edges in mind. Softening your hard lines; scouring your gritty surface it was smooth and shiny like fire Opal and precious gems. 

Ever since you felt his hand on your shoulder, you haven't been able to let go. 

(You don't even think you ever really tried.)

Come to me, the forest says, honey in your ears. It sounds like the rapid beat of a million birds' wings, ready to take flight. Pulsing and alive and full of wonder, childish glee. 

The earth blooms in your chest. You feel the soft, tender caress of the leaves against your skin, the moss sinking between your toes. Clinging to your flesh, desperate to get inside, and take refuge in your heart. Come home to us.

Your grandmother warned you to stay out of the forest, that it was dangerous. Deadly. Wrong. But how can it ever harm you when it touches you so sweetly? 

The branches curl around your ankles as you walk, leading you, guiding you, to the place where you belong. The forest opens around you, spreads apart and makes room for you to pass, touching you as you go, taking little pieces of you. Strands of your hair, the salt from your tears. Pieces of clothes. Parts of your soul. 

You pluck your heart out of your chest, and leave it beneath a gnarled sequoia. She will protect it forever. 

Moss grows inside of the empty space. A tern makes a nest inside of it, filling it with a bed of pine needles, and twigs from the junipers. You feel a mouse make a home in your rib cage, burrowing between your bones. You place your hand over your side, and feel her nuzzle against your palm. 

"You're safe now," you say. "We're almost home."

It's Gaz who greets you with a crown made of sugi. When he cups your face, you feel raging rivers and streams in his palms, and now that you are home. 

"Missed you, dandelion," he breathes, and his voice turns into a Chinook that crests over the mountains. "But there's someone who wants to see you."

His hands slide down to your wrists, and you feel the sun grazing your skin when he spins you around, around, around—

"Now," he leans down, pressing his lips to the shell of your ear. You hear the Falcons nesting in his chest, and smell pine in his breath. "He's been an impatient bastard, you know? Just moping about ever since you left—"

A scoff. You lift your head and feel the swell of the earth beneath your feet. Dizzying. Wanting. 

He waits for you in the thicket, eyes made of sapphire and stone. When he breathes, the forest swells with his breath, and you taste loam when you swallow. 

"A sorry sap, thinkin' you were runnin' away, and all. But you won't, will you?" Gaz pushes you forward, and his laughter rings in your ears. "Not anymore."

Price meets you in the middle, his eyes sparkling embers. A baptism in fire. You feel the heat on your skin, and shiver. 

You used to be afraid of forest fires, but you know, now, that sometimes trees need to burn before they can truly grow. 

Lodgepole roots bud under his skin, rippling veins across a ravine. He rests his hand against your cheek, thumb brushing the dawn redwood needles that bloom under your skin. 

"Welcome home."

"They'll give you gifts," your gran says, shaking her head. "Things from their realm. Little trinkets and gems—" geodes, sapphires and diamonds, raw gold and coral; "—and you must never accept them," a whittled deer made of sequoia under your pillow; crow bones buried in the garden."Because if you do, if you do, they'll never let you go." 

"Why?" You asked, blinking at her. 

"Because it's a courting ritual, and to accept means… well," her mouth twists in wry disdain. "Just don't." 

You don't tell her that you already have. You don't mention the sticks and precious stones that always ended up on your windowsill. The whispers of the forest calling your name. 

You nod sagely instead, fingers tightening around the sap stained heart chiselled from Bristlecone Pine. The charred ends are warm in your palm. You feel it pulse. 

Will you accept this? My heart? Will you keep it safe for me? 

"I will."

This was meant to be light and fluffy and smutty but now it's. This. And um. Oops. I hope you enjoyed it!

JOHN PRICE MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION PART THREE OF COD X MYTHOLOGY ⁞ SOAP ● DRAGON PRICE

[plant-taxonomy-showdown]

Phylum Round 1

Pine Trees vs A Different Type of Green Algae!

Pinophyta or Coniferophyta (conifers): pines, firs, spruces, sequoias, cedars, junipers, larches, cypresses, kauri, yews — if it has cones and needles rather than leaves and fruit, it’s probably a conifer! (Other gymnosperms — plants that bear seeds but not fruit — are the cycads, the ginkgo-like plants, and the gnetophytes.) Most are trees, but some are shrubs; conifers are especially prominent in boreal forests near the Arctic Circle, which store 1/3 of Earth's terrestrial carbon.

Chlorophyta (big category of green algae less closely related to land plants): I wasn't sure I was going to have anything interesting to say about these guys, but I was so wrong! With over 4,000 known species, chlorophytes are extremely diverse. Most live in fresh water, but some live in the ocean or on land. Some live in extreme environments, like deep sea hydrothermal vents, hypersaline lakes, deserts, and the arctic. Some have mutualistic relationships with animals like mollusks or sponges or cnidarians, and others have mutualistic relationships with fungi, forming lichen. While plants are known for being autotrophs (creating their own food), some chlorophytes are heterotrophs -- they get their nutrition from other organisms, either as parasites or otherwise. Some are pathogens.

[citrinae]

gingerbread kisses.

or: christmassy things you do with them. there are some more holiday-themed drabbles/headcanons in the works so hopefully i'll get around to posting some of them anytime soon!

ft. the monster trio

☆*。luffy

• hot cocoa, ornaments dangling from his ears, snowman-building contests, him pushing you into a pile of snow and joining soon after, snow fights turning into snow angel-making contests, crumbles of the gingerbread he stole from sanji’s kitchen, once he exposed a fake santa in front of a bunch of kids at the christmas market. 

• he’d make it his life’s mission to make sure you’re laughing, always, especially around this time, when his restlessness and impersonation skills increase tenfold. luffy on christmas eve is like mixing coffee with an energy drink. and even though he vehemently claimed he’d help you decorate the tree, he cannot help throwing everything on him instead, tinsel and ornaments and lights, turning himself into a walking greeting card. 

• after one, two, three more attempts at placing decorations on the actual tree, a defeated sigh leaves you eventually as you hang a glass bauble around your nose. luffy’s eyes are glowing brighter than the lights blinking around his neck and he leans forward to press a kiss upon your lips, long and sweet, bauble slipping off and unfurling into constellations on the floor as he does. do remember to brush those under a carpet before someone witnesses the mess you’ve made in here.  

• “what’s that for?” you laugh, a pinker shade crossing your cheeks, only for you to be met with a shrug and a smile reaching luffy’s ears. “felt happy, was all,” he says, and it’s completely genuine, even more so when he adds, “you’re awesome.” you smile back. and just as spontaneously you pull luffy in for a hug, wiggling the rest of the ornaments off him, encircling you both in a sea of colour and glitter. the moment doesn’t last for long and it’s the silver star lingering at the bottom of your decorations box that catches his attention now. “who makes the coolest half gets to place the star on the top.”

☆*。zoro

• mulled wine, hesitant pecks under the mistletoe, a freshly cut conifer carried on one shoulder and chopper cheering merrily on the other, damp wood and pine filling your nose when you rest your chin over his head, pinkies touching, his hands wrapping themselves around you after you’d both have fallen asleep at the fireplace. 

• it’s common knowledge that zoro isn’t good with dates. neither is he someone to put as much importance on a holiday, “i guess people needed an excuse to drink without feeling bad for it,” and at first you are more than sure he’d spend christmas morning training. therefore not finding him in his usual spot, barbells and swords and towels untouched and forgotten, should come as a total shocker to you. 

• but you’d have found what he’d been up to way sooner if he hadn’t gotten himself lost on the way to the town and back to the ship. sunset victoriously colouring his outline and a hand at his nape, he blames his absence on an old lady mistaking a sword shop for a tavern. for all you know, it was probably him mistaking a tavern for a sword shop. there’s a rectangular object in his fist you cannot take your eyes off—a knife case. “found nothing to grab my attention, dunno. still i thought this might come in handy to you,” he lies. better throw yourself into his arms because getting presents from roronoa zoro is like seeing him rip himself open for you. of course the quiet sigh coming with his reaction isn’t always that reassuring, but deep down he’s happy to know his efforts brought a smile to your face. 

• you two spend a good part of that night in the storage room, clinking bottles and letting yourselves get carried away with stories from your homelands. before you get to open yourself another one, he gestures with his knee towards your pocket knife. “let’s see what this devil can do, shall we?” you know exactly what he means by this. with a swift hand, you slide the knife under the bottle cap. when it pops, there’s a smirk climbing on zoro’s face, “that’s my babe.”

• apple and cinnamon tea, matching sweaters, him spinning you around the kitchen while humming some carol he picked from the north blue, scented candles, sugar melting in a frying pan and your lips touching the tip of a wooden spoon after he asks if this syrup is sweet enough for you. "at least half as sweet as you are, mon cœur."

☆*。sanji

• food shopping is the default. he’s got everything planned out, lists and schedules of the best providers on the island, and he wants to make sure everything goes immaculately at dinner on this special occasion with you. you’re not surprised when you notice that a good part of his basket is made of either foods you like or stuff you’ve asked of him before. mans does his homework all right. 

• be watchful of zoning out because if you keep your eyes on something for more than thirty seconds he’ll get it for you. no questions asked. he might also make some other additions on the spot if you happen to stumble upon any trinkets that remind him of you in one way or another. does someone sell heart-shaped ornaments at the stall on your left? he’ll get one for you. snowflake ornaments? he’ll get one for you, “because, darling, you landed on my heart the way snow graces a withered tree.”

• shopping bags at your feet and your cheeks rosy after shouldering past animated gushes of people at the market, your retreat is an isolated bench near the docks and the clicking sound of sanji’s lighter. he folds an arm around you. “cold,” you try to reason for huddling yourself into him. snowflakes begin to dot the sky a whiter canvas, floating on your head and nose. sanji doesn’t say it out loud, but a selfish part of him wishes you were feeling cold more often. 

[smol-dragon]

Snow Laden Tragedies

The Legion/Reader , Frank Morrison/Reader , Joey/Reader , Susie/Reader , Julie/Reader , F.J.S.J/Reader Chapter 1 of ?? Word Count: 2,580 words Chapter Warnings: Violence against reader Summary:

All you could do was run. You don't know how you got to this place or why there are suddenly murderers on your heel, but you can do nothing but run as you fight for your life to survive. It's unfortunate, really, that your circumstances are so odd, an oddity that doesn't go unnoticed by a certain group of killers. New toys are always fun and you're the shiniest one yet.

Cross posted on AO3

You didn't know how this started, how you got here, but all you knew was that you had to run.

Your heart felt as if it wanted to burst out of your chest, the thundering roar of blood pumping through your veins making it hard to hear your pursuer; but you knew he was there. You had watched as he struck down another woman from afar, tearing into her flesh with his blade. Her screams had echoed in the forest as her blood sullied pristine snow, the display being all that you needed to know you were in danger. This man would do the same to you if you didn't get away, you had to run.

In your haste you nearly fell, your sneakers now a detriment on the slick snow beneath you. You stumbled, but after a few botched steps you managed to regain your balance. You had almost let out a sigh of relief, but the sounds of steps quickly approaching made you realize your mistake. He had finished off whoever it was he was previously preoccupied with, leaving you as a final witness; a final victim. Without sparing a second thought, you took off into the woods.

Flecks of snow pelted your face as your lungs burned, trying to make sense of the world around you as it passed by in a blur. Nothing about this place was familiar. Hell, it wasn’t even snowing where you were just an hour ago, yet you now found yourself in a tundra? It was confusing to say the least, but you didn’t have time to consider the possibilities; not while being chased. Your heart hammered in your chest from exertion as you dared to look back, a mistake that had your blood running cold.

He had gotten closer, so much so that you could actually make out the finer details of his appearance. The mask you saw was worn down, a crudely drawn smiley face leering back at you and hiding whatever expression the maniac had underneath. You couldn’t even see his eyes through the holes, the entire thing was designed to successfully hide his identity. Everything else about him seemed normal, if not for the new and old bloodstains that littered his clothes. The glint of metal in his hand made you look towards his knife, one you were now realizing was being raised above his head. Your eyes widened slightly as you saw him push himself to seemingly his own limits, gaining speed as he barreled after you.

At this rate, you wouldn’t stand a chance. You returned your focus to the world ahead of you and willed your legs to work harder, teeth gritting as you could hear his irregular breathing like he was right at your heels. He probably was, but you didn’t dare turn around to check. Your only confirmation was the feeling of wind grazing your back, a strike that barely missed. Almost immediately after would sounds of pain leave the masked man, his footsteps briefly slowing. You weren’t sure what just happened, but you’d happily accept the gained distance without question and use it to your advantage.

You pushed yourself further, deeper into the snow laden terrain, the lack of landmarks or anything substantial concerning you. You didn’t know where you were, how you ended up in this place, or if you were even heading towards anything that could help you. For all you knew, you were just heading deeper into seclusion and cementing your fate. It was a thought that gnawed at the back of your psyche as you veered around conifers and other pines, but you were determined to try and live regardless. You’d run for as long as you had to, as long as you could until you dropped and couldn’t run anymore. 

But, it would seem fate was some-what kind to you.

Barely hidden in the endless haze of white would the outline of something solid and far more man-made catch your attention; a small building amongst the snow. It didn’t look inhabited, perhaps one of those old camping checkpoints for people out in the wilderness, but you didn’t care. A building meant there was a door and maybe, just maybe, a chance to buy yourself enough time to catch your breath.

You practically jumped up the stairs, skipping steps, as you rushed to the door. You could hear the heavy steps of your would-be attacker behind you as you slammed the door shut, quickly pushing the lock into place before a fit of coughs overcame you. Barely a few seconds would pass before something (or in this case, someone) collided with the door, rattling the wood on its hinges. You flinched from the sound of the impact, backing away from the door as the man battered at your only divider. He persisted for s few moments, but eventually all would fall silent.

You knew he was still out there, possibly waiting, but it seemed for the time being he had stopped. You weren’t sure why his assault had paused, but you would use the moment of respite to catch your breath and try to think of a plan. The interior proved far more useless than you would've liked, only fitted with a few pieces of furniture and an old wood burner, nothing that could help you evade the man just outside the door. The only thing that could even count as useful was a window on the opposite side of the building, but you didn't know whether or not such a plan would work. Surely he'd hear you the moment your feet touched snow, so how would you-?

A loud bang caused you to jump, eyes widening as you snapped your attention to its source. He had started to hit the door again, however this time with far more force; he was trying to break it down.

"Shit-" You swore under your breath, reanimating and rushing towards the window. You tugged it upwards harshly, hissing in pain as you were met with stark resistance. It was locked and, from the looks of it, the latch that kept it shut had jammed long ago. You were stuck and there was no means to escape, at least, not without some work.

"Fuck!"

The banging had increased in volume, the masked man's labored breathing audible through the cracks he had managed to produce. You were running out of time, so you did the only thing you could think of. Grabbing a nearby chair, you lifted it over your head and hit it against the glass with all of your might, yelping as the wooden object bounced off. The shock of the impact went straight to your arms, but it didn't deter you. Either you managed to break this window and slip through, or you'd die a horrible death.

You swung once, twice, thrice more until there was finally give, the old window shattering and spilling fragments down onto the snow below. You didn't waste any time the moment the window was clear, ignoring the shards that dug into your clothes and skin as you pushed yourself out the opening. You landed in the snow below unceremoniously, crying out in pain as a larger fragment dug into your side; but it wasn't enough to keep you from being able to move. No, you stood relatively quickly, your adrenaline muting your pain as you pushed yourself to your feet.

The door inside of the house would finally splinter and give, the sounds of it breaking filling you with urgency. The masked maniac would figure out your means of escape soon and if you didn’t get moving you’d lose the opportunity. A shiver ran down your spine as you once again forced yourself into motion, only pausing briefly as you looked at some of the splintered glass. A means to defend yourself wouldn’t hurt, right? Without a second though you grabbed the largest shard you could fit in your palm before taking off, holding your make-shift weapon firmly as you left behind the only structure you had seen for some time. You could tell by the distant shouting that he had figured out your plan, but by then you had already ran into the white haze; he’d only be able to follow you by your tracks now.

It at least gave you a slight advantage, but one you knew wouldn’t last if you slowed down. It didn’t matter that the cold was slowly seeping into your bones, causing your muscles to spasm perpetually. It didn’t matter that your fingers and toes were going numb, you had to keep moving. He would catch you if you stopped and you feared what he would do over the looming threat of hypothermia. At least, that was what you told yourself as you continued into the woods. 

And continue you would, running until you could no more, until you were forced to a slow trudge. The snow had not stopped falling since this entire ordeal began and the effects of it were starting to get to you. The cold had long since consumed your body- you couldn’t even feel your hands or feet anymore. Your limbs were growing tired, both from exertion and from the freezing temps stiffening your joints, but you couldn’t stop. If you stopped, he’d catch you. If you stopped, the cold would consume you. You had to keep moving, you had to-

Something would catch your foot and bring you tumbling forwards, falling onto the ground with a groan. You’d look back to see the offending object, only to realize it was a root. A tree root that was slightly jutted out of the ground, masked by the layers of fresh and fluffy snow. It was almost ironic that something so cliche would be the cause of your downfall, but as you tried to push yourself back up you found that you couldn’t . No matter how much you tried, your arms and legs would not work. They were too tired, too slow; your previous actions were starting to catch up with you at the worst possible time. This was it, surely, this was the end.

You let out a slow, shuddering breath as you screwed your eyes shut, trying to fight the urge to cry if only to prevent your eyes from potentially being frozen shut. Out of all the ways you could’ve died, alone in the snow was definitely up there for one of the worst. Maybe you should’ve let that deranged killer catch you. It was a thought that would echo in your mind as you stared off into the forest, so sure that you would see nothing amongst the bland white.

And then you saw him.

The masked man, his form barely visible, was stalking closer with the same murderous intent he had before. Your mind screamed at you to run, but you could barely even get your fingers to cooperate with you, much less your legs. You just had to wish for a different death, didn’t you? There was nothing you could do as you watched him approach, almost certain he was looking directly at you. It wasn’t until he was a few paces away did you realize he hadn’t seen you, didn’t even know you were there until he was basically right on top of you.

Your presence on the ground seemingly surprised him, as he stopped rather suddenly. Apparently, he hadn’t accounted for you to just be on the ground, helpless. You watched as the masked man remained motionless, staring at you as if to see if this was a trick. Sure, you still had the glass in your hands, but it wouldn’t do you much good in this position. At best you could piss him off, but you weren’t really sure if you wanted to do that. Finally he would move, stepping closer and finally speaking.

“You fucking fell ?” He spoke in disbelief, the annoyance dripping from his tone. You weren’t sure why, but it wasn’t as if you could ask or respond; you were just so goddamn cold . Your lack of response only served to irritate him further, as he let out a frustrated groan and kicked at your side. You winced, making a weak noise of pain, but didn’t move beyond that. 

“Jesus Christ, you’re fucking pathetic.” The knife that he had previously brandished would hang limp in his grasp as he crouched, using the blade’s tip to poke and prod at you. Each pin-prick was barely felt, some not felt at all even when he pressed the blade into your skin, your nerves long since numbed from the temperature. Though you couldn’t see his eyes through his mask, you could tell he was watching the small droplets of blood bubble from his handiwork, almost intently observing them. Whatever was going on through his head, though, didn’t pull him away from reality long, as his head tilted up to look at you.

“You can’t feel any of this, can you.” He spoke bluntly, monotonous and disappointed at the mere prospect that you weren’t in pain. Maybe the cold was serving to your benefit after all. You nodded your head slightly to answer, earning you a noise in frustration from the other before he stood and kicked at the ground. “Mother fucker! Of course you fucking can’t. Piece of shit- you just had to run, didn’t you?” He paced momentarily in a circle as he vented his frustrations to you, a prospect you found odd but could do nothing to stop. He would eventually turn back to you, spinning on his heels and pointing his knife at you in an almost accusatory manner. “All your stupid friends died like they were supposed to, even screamed like little bitches , but you just had to run.” He once again closed the distance, standing over you before snatching you up by the collar of your shirt. You made a sound of protest, shaking hands moving to grip at the hand that grabbed you, only to find he had once again stopped. 

You tried your best to balance yourself as he had his moment, one which didn’t last very long as his other hand raised to grab your wrist. You were confused, but seemingly so was he, a fact you couldn’t wrap your head around.

“You’re cold?” He sounded dumbfounded, as if the both of you weren’t in the middle of a snowstorm. “How the fuck…” His words trailed off, staring at your wrist as if it offended him before turning his attention back to his face. It seemed whatever plans he originally had detoured, as he immediately released you back into the snow. The back of your head had barely made contact with the ground when you looked up to see him holding his knife awkwardly, the butt end of it pointed towards you rather than the blade. And immediately, did that butt end come down and collide with the side of your skull. The first hit did nothing but jar you, a cry of pain escaping you as you tried to recoil away. The masked man’s free hand moved to press against your neck, kneeling over you and squeezing your torso between his legs as he once again struck you.

Though your throat was dry and hoarse you managed to scream, a sound that was cut off abruptly as he struck you on the side of the head a third time.

And just like that, everything went dark.

[queering-ecology]

Chap 12. Melancholy Natures, Queer Ecologies by Catriona Mortimer-Sandilands (part 3, final)

Queer Ecologies

‘what it might mean to inhabit the natural world having been transformed by the experience of its loss’?

‘[the queer artist's] natures are not saved wildernesses; they are wrecks, barrens, cutovers, nuclear power plants: unlikely refuges and impossible gardens. But they are also sites for extraordinary reflection on life, beauty, and community’ (344)

AIDS and Other Clear-Cuts

The artist (Jan Zita Grover’s North Enough) writes about moving from San Francisco, where she has worked as a personal caregiver to many individuals who were dying, and died of, AIDS, eventually to the woods of Northern Wisconsin and Minnesota hoping for ‘a geographic cure’ to her burnout and grief. (344)

‘in their persistence [grief, mourning], generate a form of imagination—an awareness of the persistence of loss—that allows her to conceive of the natural world around her in ways that challenge the logic of commodity substitution characterizing contemporary relations of nature consumption” (344)

“The north woods did not provide me with a geographic cure. But they did something much finer. Instead of ready-made solutions, they offered me an unanticipated challenge, a spiritual discipline: to appreciate them, I needed to learn how to see their scars, defacement, and artificiality and then beyond those to their strengths—their historicity, the difficult beauties that underlay their deformity.  AIDS, I believe, prepared me to perform these imaginative feats. In learning to know and love the north woods, not as they are fancied but as they are, I discovered the lessons that AIDS had taught me and became grateful for them” (344)

Rather than the landscape of her dreams, the land looks more like a candidate for reclamation. Through Grover’s research we learn that the region is one that been ‘systematically abused: logged several times, drained, subjected to failed attempts at agriculture, depleted, abandoned, eroded, invaded, neglected.”

Jack pines are predominant in the region; tenacious, ‘the first conifers to reestablish themselves after a fire” (16), in their own way remarkable even as they are useless for lumber, short lived, and not at all the sorts of trees about which adjectives like ‘breathtaking’ circulate” (345) they are a loud testament to the violence that has generated them.

“the diminishment of this landscape mortified and disciplined me. Its scars will outlast me, bearing witness for decades beyond my death to the damage done here” (20) But still: the love emerges, painfully, gradually, intimately. (345)

She experiences the landscape in terms of loss and change, rather than idyll and replacement. It is all personal; it is all about developing a way of making meaning that recognizes the singularities of the past and takes responsibility for the future in the midst of intimate devastation. (345)

‘Environmental hubris’—fly fishing, the introduction of non-native fish to the river, changing temperatures of rivers caused by logging and diversion; specific policies, politics, and technologies that have had effects on the rivers, the fish, and the other species throughout the river and the north woods (356)

A refusal to demonize the ‘invasive’ species; Grover herself is ‘invasive’ both culturally and personally (white settlers and big city imports) thus her ethical claim is not for purity but for an active and thoughtful remembering of historical violences in the midst of ongoing necessity of movement and change (346)

Seek relationships with Clear-cuts and landfills in order to bring to the foreground the massive weight of human devastation of the natural world; “a discerning eye can see how unstewarded most of this land has been. The charm lies in finding ways to love with such loss and pull from it what beauties remain” (81) (347)

“she does not romanticize the dying even as she might mourn their loss to the world; instead [through Grover] we witness each loss as particular, irrevocable, and concrete: she is their witness” (347)

Can we learn to see these landscapes as creation as well as destruction?

Rather than mourn the loss of the pristine, she carefully cultivates an attitude of appreciation of what lies before her, beyond the aesthetic wilderness to the intricate details of human interactions with the species and landscapes of the region. In this manner she comes to be able to find the beauty in, for example, landfills and clearcuts; far from naivete or technophilia, this ability is grounded in a commitment to recognizing the simultaneity of death and life in these landscapes, the glut of aspen-loving birds in the clear-cut, the swallows, turkey vultures, and bald eagles near the landfill.

--

It is necessary to face our fear and pain; we have to make room in our relationships with the natural world, queer and otherwise, for the recognition that that is what we might be feeling in the first place (355)

[throughtrialbyfire]

𝐖𝐈𝐏 𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 ♥

it's wednesday again!!!! i woke up weirdly early today lmao, and i've been editing all day.

tagged by the lovely @thequeenofthewinter ! <3

tagging the fantastic @skyrim-forever @umbracirrus @archangelsunited @saltymaplesyrup @orfeoarte

@oblivions-dawn @vivifriend @kookaburra1701 @changelingsandothernonsense @dirty-bosmer and anyone else who wishes to join in this week!! <3

this week, i bring a long (1.6k word) section of Chapter 42 of Cycle of the Serpent. the trio are on their way to Wolfskull Cave, and who knows what they'll find there… fun fact, this chapter (as of rough edits, not completed) is 11.5k words, my longest for the fic yet.

Clouds bowed over the distant horizon. The Sea of Ghosts had the peculiar honor of being a divide between Haafingar and Morthal, swamp and rocky shores, the flow of the saltwater carried into an estuary and the Karth River not too far from the Dragon Bridge lumber mill. Athenath thought of his father. He'd been a lumber worker when their mother had met him, and continued the line of work even when it took him away from the city of Anvil proper for days on end. He would come home, and sleep, and work, the post-Great War economy a wobbling, flightless thing, especially for the family of Mer. The map laid out the names of towns in dark ink, marked with the routes the trio had traced, spindly along the pre-illustrated paths. The road, which the trio had become familiar with and moreso by every trip out of the city, bore them west. The sun straggled through the mountains that crowded up one side of the way, laced through the limbs of the trees which bit down on a thick wind off the beach. Athenath pulled their knapsack tighter as his curls whipped at his cheek, scrunching their face as more tickled the back of his neck. The armor's stitching, courtesy of Emeros, held up well, and kept them warm. The leather held off the sun's burn and cold breeze, but in the summer-end heat, did its job a little too well in staving off the chill of the wind. Autumn was near its beginnings, however, and they could glean the slightest gold on the edges of the leaves. Hearthfire was near its end, as was the summer. Soon, the green grasses would grow brittle and flax-yellow, and the trees would be bare, aside from the evergreens and conifers that pinned the horizon together. Soon, maybe, this would all be over.

The inside-of-outside-of sensation which made the potent mixture of his distrust and revulsion had only grown in strength since the day before, as if it was coming to a grand crescendo. It snuck up on the Altmer, a spider on the shoulder or a whisper in the dark. He looked to Emeros and it coiled like an adder. He looked to Wyndrelis and it growled in warning like a dog. He looked to the sky and thought of the things the others had done to keep them alive, what they'd all done to keep one another alive, and it grew until it choked on its own ends, and suffocated under the weight of the reminders. The nights together in laughter or in silence, however few there were, still burnt brighter than what unseen hands tried to extinguish them. The cave was not far from the town of Dragon Bridge, past the farm where the chickens' clucking took up the air, along with the slightly sour, earthy-wet stench of livestock. The odor hung as the trio passed by, waving to the woman working to harvest what her garden had given her before it all went to ruin. The passing look of the idyllic spot before the sea, close to a town but just out of the way, brought back a gnawing of want for Riverwood. It was the first scant amount of peace that Athenath had experienced in this land, and the tall pines and looming mountains were a longing he couldn't put out of mind. Sure, there had been battle in the barrow and a hunt for a strange wolf and the skinning of it which left them nauseated and pale, but it was, in the hue of nostalgia, a fond memory. The time before the trek to Whiterun and the battle at the watchtower, the time before the Dragonborn. He did not want to know what it meant to carry that title. It wasn't theirs to take, they thought as they continued their leisurely pace in the middle of the other two, Emeros at the back, as though keeping watch for some invisible force, the Altmer's nerves on edge at the sight. Wyndrelis stepped in a slow stride, having spent early morning examining soul gems, most empty. He'd said something to himself about needing an enchantment table, and had scrutinized his mace while saying so, but all else had been nothing to the Altmer, who knew only the barest amount about magic. It was all around them, and for a high elf, knowing little magic was a shame, their ability with it ceasing at the fickle flame that they sometimes had luck in making with their fingers. But he'd had their excuses - raised in the Imperial province, in the time just after a war with elves, magic was a distrustful beast which skulked all around the air and deep into the earth. In the wake of such a war, Wyndrelis had not been daunted. He'd reached into the fabric of the world around them, took hold of the magic, and knit it into himself to make it his own.

And so had the wizards, stalking shadows of a cave hidden from the city and towns and farms, out of the way of all, and taking down ten men in one blow. Athenath swallowed dryly. The image of the cart full of stinking bodies wouldn't leave them, no matter how many times they scrubbed at their eyes with his curled fists and summoned spots to their vision. It was a mark in their mind like a long, broken scar. It took the story of the cave from tale to tangible. It made it real. And Athenath had, somewhere deep down, hoped it was merely myth. "We'll be heading up Mount Kilkreath," Emeros announced from his position at the rear, map clutched in his gauntlet-clad fingers. His gear made thin noises, cloth wrapping around the bottles inside his knapsack. Without his old experiments, he'd made more place for useful potions, and had been quick to purchase ingredients for healing and disease-cures, apparently spending the prior day after Athenath had stormed off in Angeline's Aromatics and working at the alchemy station and asking questions about the flora of Haafingar, where to find certain things, what she recommended for potency in the region, putting the hurried mixtures together. They would not be nearly as effective without time. Emeros had lamented the fact that morning while tucking them into his bag, sharpening his words until the warning was clear: that he would not be of much use if the other two became injured.

"That's not too far," Athenath remarked with a shrug and a small, apprehensive pause, "so Wolfskull Cave is close, then?" "It's practically across the road, we must have missed it by a mile or two the last time we were in the area." Wyndrelis grunted a small noise, as though this were his reply. As though he, too, were not at peace with the arrangement. They could have waited, or not gone to the cave at all. Captain Aldis was the authority in matters like this, but he was going to wait a whole two days to gather the people for the job. This was two days that none of the trio thought the city had. There was an electric quality to the air, like that shiver down the neck before a fearful wailing, that held the clouds at bay and kicked the roots up that grounded the trio's patience. The stench of rotten fruit and musty, humid chambers, the ache of the sleepless nights and the hum of a mood that wasn't theirs. The choice had fallen to the wayside long ago. "So, when we get there, what do we even do?" Athenath's question stuck in the air like a pin in a gown, the other two pausing, strides coming to a slow stop. The trio looked between one another, haggard eyes meeting haggard eyes. Emeros tightened a hand on the strap of his quiver slung over his waist, his bow in firm place on his back. "I'll take anything that's at a distance. I would recommend, however, we keep our heads down. We're merely here to investigate. Should we not see the need for combat, then we shouldn't make it necessary." Wyndrelis curled his lip. "Corpulus said something of wizards, correct?" A beat passed. A nod from the other two. "I don't expect this to be peaceful. I'll try to ward off spells, but you two will have to do the fighting, in that case." The warmth of Dawnbreaker collected in Athenath's awareness. The sword would serve them well if they went up against the undead, but weren't swords only as good as the swordsman? Their palms went clammy at the thought. They were not exactly a skilled swordsman, or fighter of any capacity. They preferred to hide in the shadows and dodge the light, to keep their footsteps quiet and to leave no trace of himself, not to fight up against anyone or anything.

Athenath tied their hair back with the scarlet ribbon in their pocket. He tightened it a handful of times to make sure it would hold, and drew in a long, tense breath. Their hair always had a habit of getting in his face at the wrong time. They wouldn't risk their own body betraying him in a moment of needed focus. "It's just up the way," Emeros looked to the figure of Meridia, the statue which grew closer with each step, "let's mind our surroundings and try to be quiet from this point onwards." The other two didn't reply, as though the idea had been taken to heart in the fullest extremes.

[bonefall]

Larches

We're talking about Larix decidua, the European Larch, because lads I've got some choices to make.

Why? Because this little slut is a NON-NATIVE CONIFER.

AND A NASTY ONE AT THAT. You know how I mentioned in my Moorland research notes that conifers from nearby plantations have a nasty habit of spreading? Larches are the worst offender of that little quirk, and can be intentionally used to afforest an area to get it ready for new trees.

That's a good thing in certain areas-- damage from mines, intensive farming, and ecological disasters can be fixed with larch. Here in America and other parts of Europe it is a useful tool in conservation (especially in its native range)

But NOT in England. The larch was introduced in the 1600s for lumber purposes and gobbles up moorland like a glutton. It is a voracious pioneer species of low-nutrient soils, much like the two birches, scotch pine, and field maple.

The BB timeline, however, begins around the late 1800s with Hollyleaf's Century. Victorians. Not the ROOT of all evil, just a metastisis of it. The destruction of SkyClan's territory is somewhere in the 1960s.

So while it's not impossible that one of the two plantations encountered in the story are larch, I would like to keep it consistent. Larch plantations aren't the big bad in the modern era-- it's Sitka spruce in 1st place (accounting for a massive percentage of forest cover in the UK) and Douglas fir in a more distant second.

It's unlikely Clan cats would encounter larch, keeping in mind the history of both regions they live in, unless I make up a reason JUST for it to be here.

So I'm thinking about blasting it away in names, in line with my other ecological replacements like changing Hickorynose to Chicorynose. That would mean a major character, Larchkit, Larchface in StarClan, would become Lurchface. A lurch being the split between two major branches of a tree.

(Which makes perfect sense since his secret father, Appledusk (crabapple-sunset in clanmew), is named after a tree that likes to branch like that. Birches tend to grow straight.)

But before I nuke all mentions of larch from orbit, ARE there any objections?

[scaredpigeons]

Aqua Regia Masterlist

I: cutting through the darkness, bouncing off the walls.

Word count: 2.2k

You become the assistant to the new ruler of Fontaine.

II: putting down the roses, picking up the sword.

Word count: 2.5k

You get settled into your new position, but are you really… settled? You realize something embarrassing about your new boss too— best keep that one to yourself.

III: my love is an animal call.

Word count: 2.3k

It seems that both yourself and the honourable Iudex are struggling with some… ahem. Big feelings.

IV: screaming at the sunshine, singing in the rain.

Word count: 2.5k

The honourable Iudex realizes that you are much more fragile than he is, and perhaps standing in the cold rain is not the best for your health.

V: subatomic interactions.

Word count: 3.6k

You confirm a few theories, resulting in a delicate moment between the two of you, and learn more about what the hell has been going on the past few months, as much as you’d like to deny yourself.

VI: I’m done dancing to alarm bells— I’m done fighting off change.

Word count: 7.1k

The ball goes off without a hitch, and the tide finally swells in, sweeping you up in its grasp.

VII: saturate me, I can’t get enough.

WARNING: SMUT NSFW 18+ MDNI

Word count: 5.7k

Conifer forests quake in fear at the way you two pine. What do you get when you cross a very pent up dragon with the willing object of his affections? So much fucking love it will rot your teeth.

Extras🌊✨

Experimentation is for the bold

WARNING: SMUT NSFW 18+ MDNI

After years of being married, your husband asks if you’re willing to experiment in your intimate life. Your best friend Wriothesley is happy to help.

[verefex]

Caged Giant(Titan Origins) pt 3

Part 1 -- Part 2

Still going with the same title, for now. More story and direction in the next part, but for now, some context clues and lots of giant/tiny interaction!

Content warnings in tags.

It was a quiet night. In the desolate forests of the north, where a single road snaked through the dense conifers, an unusual pair dozed off together.

Stretched out across the cold ground, Sky’s titanic form laid still, nearly completely motionless save for the swelling of his chest as he breathed, warm puffs of air swirling from his nostrils. In his hands lay Lark, the human, abandoned by her own kind.

She slept curled up in the giant’s palm, who held her close to his face as they slept. It was an exhausting and eventful night, and the quiet dawn was a small comfort in the midst of a war.

Sky was the first to awaken. While he was accustomed to sleeping, his instincts woke him up to check on the tiny little thing sleeping in his hand. Blue eyes blinked awake and darted down to his curled fingers, wherein Lark slept quietly.

Sky breathed a sigh of relief and slowly rose up, cradling the human’s small form in his fingers. He sat up and cupped his hands in front of his face and examined Lark, watching for a few moments for any sign of stirring. When she continued sleeping, the titan decided to let her doze for a little longer. He leaned back against a sturdy pine, his massive form straining and creaking the branches and trunk. Even sitting, the top of his head nearly cleared the top of the trees.

The titan sighed, glancing around the surrounding forest. They had settled down not far from where he found Lark by the side of the forest road. This area was not safe in the daytime, as there were likely to be traveling scouts. Sky, being 130 feet tall, stood high above the treeline, his huge frame visible for miles. It was best to lay low until it was time to move.

Some time passed. Lark was finally starting to stir, waking up dreamily in the giant hands of a titan. She blinked herself awake and rolled over, bumping into Sky’s fingers, which curled protectively on top of her. Lark laid still for a moment, remembering quickly that she and Sky were something of a team now. Confined in the giant’s hand was a comfort for her, not something to fear.

Lark reached up and placed her hand on the tip of Sky’s index finger, giving it a few pats. Sure enough, Sky looked down and stretched open his hand, seeing the smiling face of his tiny companion looking up at him.

“Why, good morning.” Sky rumbled, his solemn face softening into a warm smile as he looked down at his hands resting in his lap.

“Mmm… morning.” Lark replied sleepily, stretching out her limbs as Sky stretched out his fingers. She peered up at the giant’s face, partially obscured by his chest.

“I hope you slept well. It’s been quiet so far out here.” Sky said as he scanned the area again.

“I slept pretty good! What’s the plan for today?” Lark asked up at the titan.

“You know… I’m too hungry to think straight.” Sky rumbled as he shifted uncomfortably against the creaking pine. As if on cue, the giant’s stomach groaned, the sound sending shivers down Lark’s spine.

“Oh… of course…” Lark said quietly as she instinctively gripped Sky’s fingers tightly. The two had such a nice night together, it made her forget that she was in the hands of a man-eating giant. She already narrowly avoided getting eaten by him, not once, but twice.

“Mmm… it’s too bad nobody’s come around yet this morning.” Sky sighed as he leaned his head back and licked his lips. “Although…” He then glanced down at Lark and lifted her up closer to his face.

Lark couldn’t help but stiffen up as Sky stared at her as he mentioned, not very subtly, eating humans.

“Hey, I don’t mean you.” The giant laughed as he noticed the concerned expression on his tiny companion’s face.

“I… am not okay with the idea of anyone being eaten, Sky.” Lark said as she averted her gaze from the giant’s. “I know it’s how you sustain yourself, but… I don’t know… there’s gotta be other options.”

“Well, sure…” Sky rumbled as he brought Lark even closer to his face to speak. “I can’t expect you to be okay with it. Hmm.” The giant glanced around the quiet glade. Part of him was hoping for another convoy of humans to pass by, but how could he capture them now that he had Lark to fret about?

“No, but… I don’t want you to starve, either.” Lark said as she noticed that Sky was holding her closer and closer to his huge face. “I just… wish I could help you, somehow. But there’s no way one human could cook enough food for a titan.” The woman sighed in defeat as she leaned back against Sky’s fingers.

“Yeah. Maybe if humans weren’t so scared of me, we could help each other instead, huh.” The giant chuckled. It was because of fear that the war against titans started, after all. The two races have never known peace.

“Don’t worry though, Lark. I won’t eat anyone with you around.” Sky nodded as he leaned forward and started to stand to his full height.

“R-really? But…” Lark stammered as she put her arms out to brace herself as the giant’s hand rocked her with his rising movements.

“It’s no problem.” He lied. Ignoring the pang in his abdomen, Sky glanced around, his head and chest rising about the treeline. Among the conifers were various deciduous trees. The giant reached out with a massive hand and plucked a heavy branch off of a large maple, and proceeded to chew on it, stripping the leaves with his teeth and crunching down on the woody part with ease.

Lark watched in shock as the titan snacked on a plain branch of leaves and twigs. Not only did he chow down on the tender leaves, but on the bark and pulp of the wood. His enormous teeth made short work of the branch, and Sky reached over without a word and yanked off another branch, eating it in the same manner as the first. He made a face that showed pleasant surprise as he chewed on the tough, rather inedible substance.

“Is that… good?” Lark asked as she stared upwards at the hungry giant from his free hand.

“Yeah, actually.” Sky swallowed and continued eating. “It’s sweet.”

“What else do titans eat?” Lark asked curiously, still amazed how Sky made an entire tree seem edible.

“You know. I don’t think we have a specific diet… I’ve eaten all sorts of things.” Sky mumbled as he crunched down. “I don’t know if you know this, but our history is pretty unknown. Not even other titans know where we came from or what our purpose is.”

“I know that titans appeared out of nowhere a while ago…” The human replied as she glanced at Sky’s towering form. She never imagined that she would be in this situation, huddled up in the middle of a giant man’s palm. Yet here she was, after spending the night with him, no less.

“Mhm, some came from the earth, some from the mountains, even the seas.” The giant said as he looked up at the sky thoughtfully, a leafy branch hanging out of his lips. “I woke up in a meteor so… hmm.”

Sky stopped chewing and stared down at Lark suddenly. His face became serious.

“Does that make me an alien?” He said, without a hint of irony in his voice.

Yet, as Lark gazed up at his intense, glowing blue irises, she glanced down at her lap.

“I… maybe? Huh…” She muttered. “Meteors come from space… UFOs come from space…”

“I’m a god damn alien.” Sky retorted as he loudly bit down on a thick maple branch. He chewed a few times before chuckling and holding Lark up to his face. “Anyways, are you hungry, Lark? Thirsty? Sorry, I should have asked sooner. I can’t think straight on an empty stomach.” The giant said gently as he gazed at the tiny woman sitting cross-legged in his palm.

Lark stared back at him, wide-eyed, in the face of a giant man who moved on quite fast after declaring himself extra-terrestrial. Though, as soon as he asked her that, she blinked and nodded at him.

“...I am, actually. But I don’t think I can eat what you’re eating.” She giggled.

“What, you’re telling me you can’t bite down on this solid hunk of wood?” Sky rumbled in amusement as he leaned over and snapped off the top of the tree, biting into it with a loud crunch.

Lark smiled and shook her head, rather enamored by the titan’s jaws. “I’m just a little human!” She giggled. “Anyways, don’t worry about me too much, Sky. Food has been hard to come by for us for a long time, too.”

“But you’re so little… there should be plenty, no?” Sky mused as he chewed, peering curiously down at the woman in his palm.

“We’re in a war, remember?” Lark sighed, laying back in Sky’s hand. It was so easy to forget, being in the hands of the enemy… literally.

“Oh yeah… so where’s all the food then? Hoarded?” The giant asked.

“Probably. By the rich, people who have stocked up, overpriced grocery stores...” Lark shrugged.

“Then that’s where we’ll go.” Sky nodded as he finished off the last of his woody snack and stood up, scanning the horizon.

“Go? Go where?” Lark squeaked as she was rocked about by the giant’s stance. She peeked out through Sky’s protective fingers at the landscape, so small in comparison to her living perch.

“To the ‘store’.” The giant smiled as he took one thunderous step, then another. Each step in his massive stride carried them swiftly through the forest. Sky held the woman close to his chest as he walked, securing her firmly.

“Wh-what? You can’t just… you’re not going to just, steal, are you?” Lark gasped as she was positioned comfortably against the broad chest of the giant.

“If I recall correctly, you are a bit of a thief, yourself.” Sky chuckled, glancing down at the woman in his hands.

“I-I am a lot more small and discreet than you are! Everyone will suspect Mr. Giant if he smashes a hole in a building and swoops a massive handful.” Lark said shakily as the wind whipped around her. Sky’s enormous stride made short work of the ground, easily going as fast as a car even at a walking pace.

“Aww, I like that. Mr. Giant.” Sky boomed as his towering body pushed through trees and branches, snapping them with loud cracks as his arms and legs brushed past. “Don’t worry, I know a certain outpost that would be happy to lend us some supplies.” His lips curved into a mischievous grin.

Lark stared up at the giant’s face incredulously. “You mean…”

“Yup. The very group of humans that left you.” Sky winked down at Lark. “They owe us big time.”

Lark instinctively gripped Sky’s hand tighter. It was true that the group she was with left her in the woods alone last night to fend for herself after encountering Sky. But was it really a wise decision to incite them further by breaking into the camp?

“Sky… I… really don’t need much. I’m not very big.” Lark said timidly as the two of them quickly approached the location of the camp.

“Don’t worry yourself so much. Just sit back and let Mr. Giant handle it.” Sky rumbled as he unzipped his jacket’s breast pocket and lifted Lark towards the opening. Before she could protest, Sky tilted his palm and slid her neatly inside.

“Sky!-” She squeaked as she was enveloped in his warm, roomy pocket. She slid down past the zipper and into the bottom of the fabric-lined pocket, where it was dark but not completely. The giant’s hand patted her a few times from the outside, pressing her against his chest before those same fingers pulled the zipper shut- except for a small crack, enough for Lark to peek out of if she so chose.

With his hands free, the titan smirked as he planted his boots in the ground and cracked his knuckles. The outpost was just ahead, in a clearing in the trees. Just beside it was a wooden watchtower, unsurprisingly alerted to his presence. Sky moved towards the tower first.

“Titan! Titan here!!” The man in the watchtower yelled into his radio as Sky approached. With just a few steps, he closed the distance, and bent down so that his face was level with the human’s.

“Great observation.” Sky smiled, and the man at the top of the tower froze. Face to face with a titan, his first instinct was to reach for his rifle slung across his back. As he fumbled for the strap, Sky wasted no time in sticking his fingers inside and pinching the man between his index and middle fingers.

The man screamed as he was lifted out of the tower, held precariously in front of Sky’s face. The titan’s first instinct was to drop him into his mouth, but as he parted his lips, he remembered his promise to Lark.

“Ahh. Darn.” He said in annoyance, then kicked the base of the tower with his boot, sending the entire structure crumbling to the ground with a loud crash. He then looked to the captured human in his hand, sighed, and held him upside-down until all of his weapons and tools fell and clattered to the ground.

“Hang in there, will ya?” Sky muttered as he reached out and dropped the man onto a leafy branch, leaving him to hold onto it for dear life.

With the guard taken care of, Sky then turned his attention towards the main camp. Surely enough, they were already clamoring about, alerted to his presence. The titan merely strode in, parting trees like wheat stalks, planting his enormous boots in the ground as he surveyed the structures.

There were several buildings and tents, parked vehicles, and what appeared to be a storage shed, all placed rather haphazardly in the middle of a clearing in the woods. A few voices shouted from between the buildings as they ran inside, desperate to find cover from the colossal invader.

Sky smiled as he looked down on the frantic group, shifting his weight on his feet as he observed that most of the group was not here. Only a few stragglers remained while the rest of the humans had already gone off in their vehicles for the day. This couldn’t have been easier.

“You all better stay where you are.” The giant rumbled as he crouched down and peered more closely at each structure. At his size, it was difficult to look inside the tiny windows of the makeshift buildings and sheds.

As Sky bent down, Lark shifted in his breast pocket. The change of gravity made her flail as instead of being snug against the man’s body, she was sagging into the fabric underneath her. Peeking her head out, she immediately recognized the place, and realized, thankfully, that Sky was being rather careful with how he was handling the campsite.

“What are you looking for?” She asked Sky breathlessly as she held onto the teeth of the zipper surrounding her head.

Sky glanced down at the tiny face of Lark poking out of his jacket. He gestured with his large hands at the buildings surrounding them. “Which one has supplies? Or better yet, your belongings?”

“Th-that one, that’s where my stuff is-” Lark pointed towards one of the buildings, her tiny hand barely visible to Sky as he glanced down at her. He peered at her, glancing from the building and back to her. He was fairly certain that he knew which one, but he wanted to be sure.

“You, c’mere.” The giant growled as he reached around the back of a shed, where he saw a human hide behind previously. His enormous fingers wrapped around the sneak, who shrieked as he was caught.

Sky brought the loud little human to his face and looked him over. “Oww, oww!” He cried, squirming between the giant’s thumb and forefinger.

“I’m not hurting you. Relax… I just want you to fetch something for me.” Sky said as he loosened his grip on the man even more so, and yet the man only howled more.

“As if I’ll do shit for you! After I almost got eaten… wait, that blue mouth… it was YOU!” The man shouted as he pointed his finger at Sky’s puzzled face.

“Me? Oh, were you in the jeep last night?” Sky chuckled, peering at Devon even closer.

“You ASSHOLE! You broke several ribs when you pulled me out of it! I’ll kill you, let me go!!” The distraught man shouted, and yet Sky’s hand merely closed around him, trapping him even more securely.

“Hey now, keep shouting like that, and I just might finish the job.” Sky said lowly as he brought Devon up close to his right eye. “However… I need you to fetch some things for me. You know, for the one you all left behind.”

“Did you hear me? I said I’m not doing shit for you!” The man barked as he pushed and shoved against Sky’s fingers.

“It’s not for me. It’s for Lark.” Sky uttered as he started to tighten his grip on Devon.

“Lark? She’s still around? With you, no doubt, that traitor!” The man shouted.

Sky sighed, then shifted back onto his knees, kneeling tall on the ground as he angled his head back and dangled Devon above him. His piercing blue eyes stared upwards at the writhing, stubborn little man above his face.

“You know, it’s courteous to hand people their things before tossing them out in the wilderness alone.” The titan rumbled as Devon’s hazel eyes grew wide at the sight below him. Sky’s face filled his vision, eyes burning with contempt. It was all so familiar to Devon, who was almost met with a wet grave in the mouth of this very giant.

“I told Lark I wouldn’t eat people with her around… but I don’t think you really count.” Sky rumbled as he parted his lips and drew his blue tongue along the top of them.

“Wait… okay, wait! I-I don’t want to get eaten so… I’m sorry, please!” Devon cried as his chest burned with pain, pinched between the giant’s fingers, dangling precariously above Sky’s hungry jaws. “I’ll do what you ask… just put me down!”

Sky’s eyes burned into Devon’s for a moment. Lark huddled up inside Sky’s breast pocket, anticipating the horrifying sounds of her ex-comrade getting devoured whole while she curled up helplessly in the darkness.

Sky relented, and bent down, placing Devon onto the ground. He then reared back up and pointed his enormous finger at the whimpering man.

“Collect Lark’s things, along with extra supplies. You got 10 minutes.” The titan boomed as he voiced his commands.

Devon stared at the giant’s fingertip, wider than his own head, then clutched his sides. He spun around in place and marched off towards the inner encampment, where he disappeared in one of the buildings. Twice now, he escaped the jaws of death, only thanks to the traitor. He couldn’t understand why the titan was favoring Lark, but he was in no position to demand answers anymore.

As the injured man went off to fulfill the titan’s request, Sky sat back and watched, observing the barren encampment. A couple humans darted in the windows here and there, but all was silent otherwise. The giant grabbed his chest zipper and pulled it open, peeking down into the pocket where Lark was.

“I’d say this is going on smoothly. Do you need anything else while we’re here?” Sky asked his timid little friend.

“I couldn’t possibly ask for more… um… thank you for doing this, and for sparing Devon’s life, again.” Lark said as she placed a hand on her fluttering chest as she stared up at the opening in the enormous pocket.

“No problem. These people owe you for how they treated you, and well, he’s more useful this way. I can’t exactly pick out such tiny little objects with these hands.” Sky rumbled as he held his hands out, partially gloved.

Lark smiled shyly and pulled herself up, peeking out of the pocket from the zipper’s teeth. Her encampment, all too familiar, looked so small and meaningless from Sky’s chest. As she glanced at the giant’s hands held out, his shadow cast over the buildings below, and the immense girth of his limbs, she felt only incredibly, absolutely, small. Nothing more than an accessory on his outfit, like an adorable adornment peeking out of his breast pocket. She sunk lower between the zipper.

Devon finally emerged from the doorway below, carrying a duffel bag stuffed with various things. The man groaned as he dragged it along the ground, the pain in his ribs too great to carry much weight.

“Here. All of her things, plus some rations.” Devon grunted as he used his foot to push the bag towards the towering titan, who glanced at him with scrutiny.

“Thanks.” Sky said as he reached out and plucked the bag off the ground between his fingers. He brought it to his face and examined it, then placed it back in front of Devon. “Open it, I want to see what’s inside.”

“C’mon, really? I just stuffed everything in there…” the dark-haired human groaned, and Sky raised an eyebrow at him.

“You think I trust you not to sneak something dangerous in there? Open it.” The giant rumbled.

Devon grimaced, standing in the shadow of the titan. He couldn’t stand looking up at him, forced to comply with his demands. If only the rest of his group were here, with their weapons and vehicles. At least then he’d have a chance of getting away.

With one arm holding his ribs, Devon crouched down and unzipped the bag, pulling each item out in view of the giant. Once everything was unpacked, Sky looked everything over, nodding with approval. He then placed his hand flat on the ground in front of the pile of belongings.

“Looks good. Just put everything in my hand, we’ll sort it later.” The giant said as he crouched down low to allow his hand to lay flat, palm facing upwards.

Devon grumbled as he bent down painfully and tossed each object into the giant’s outstretched palm. He glanced up occasionally, seeing the watchful blue eyes of the titan, as well as the timid little face of Lark as she peeked out of Sky’s pocket. The man seethed, yet obeyed.

“Much obliged, little guy.” Sky winked as he cupped everything in his hand and stood up, towering over the quiet encampment, leaving Devon standing in the middle to contemplate the giant’s comment with great disdain.

As Sky turned to leave, he remembered the guard that was in the tower, whom he hung from a branch. With his free hand, he approached the tree and peeked between the leaves and branches, eyeing the poor man clinging to the tree 70 feet above the ground.

“Want some help?” Sky chuckled, holding his hand out underneath him.

“I… I don’t wanna be stuck up here!” The guard said shakily, looking down at the giant’s broad hand. There was only so much time before his arms gave out.

Sky curled his fingers around the guard and snapped the branch as he pulled away, securing the human inside of his fist. He held him for a moment, feeling his warmth against his fingers. So small, weightless. The giant’s fingers uncurled slowly, and the guard stared up at him, motionless.

The titan was overcome with an unusual wave of sympathy for the tiny man. The way he looked in his hand, completely vulnerable, helpless. Any other time, Sky would have eaten him without hesitation. And yet… this human did nothing to warrant such an end.

Lark peeked out of the zipper, seeing the guard in Sky’s right hand. She recognized him as Clay, one of her group members.

Soon enough, Sky let out a sigh. He crouched down and placed his hand on the ground, letting Clay climb off.

“Sorry. Hope your ribs aren’t broken.” He rumbled as he stood up and stepped away, disappearing through the trees and leaving nothing but giant boot prints in the grass. Clay stood there watching, then touched his ribs painlessly.

As Sky walked, he clutched the collection of tiny belongings in his hand. Once they were far enough from the encampment, he stopped and let out a long breath.

“How are you holding up, Lark?” Sky asked gently down to his pocketed companion.

Lark peeked her head out and looked up at the giant. “I’m fine, um, thanks again for this…”

“It’s no problem. Let’s sort through this stuff.” Sky said as he lowered his enormous body and sat cross-legged on the cool ground. Once settled, he fully unzipped his breast pocket and reached in, pinching Lark between his fingers and removing her from the fabric confines.

Sky set Lark in his left palm, in the middle of her belongings strewn about. She looked at everything, recognizing most of her stuff with some random bits and bobs thrown in there. Devon was not thorough, but this was more than what she expected from him.

“Looks like everything’s here!” Lark said cheerfully as she sat in Sky’s palm and started putting things in the bag. Sky smiled and held his palm steady, watching her pack. All of her tiny little articles of clothing, snacks, and tools looked like colorful flakes in his enormous hand.

Lark caught sight of the giant watching her, and met his gaze. His expression was serene, as if he was completely content in seeing her do something as mundane as packing a duffel bag.

“Sky… can I ask you a question?” Lark asked timidly up at the gentle giant, who nodded.

“Of course.” He said eagerly.

“Why did you spare everyone? You’re a huge, terrifying man that eats humans like me. It would have been so easy for you to just...” Lark clutched her bundle of clothes close to her and averted her gaze, curling up in the giant’s palm.

Sky fell silent and dropped his gaze in thought. He could feel his tiny companion’s faint weight upon his upturned palm.

“I don’t know. It’s strange. I have this gnawing pain in my gut, even after eating the whole tree.” He said quietly. “But… you all are just so small, there’s no way you could fill me up. I don’t want to eat you, but my stomach is saying otherwise. It doesn’t make sense.”

Lark looked up at Sky’s face, which fell solemn. She put down her clothes and crawled forward on his palm, placing her little hands against them reassuringly.

“Well, I guess being hungry all the time might make you feel desperate. Like when you wanted to eat me…” She laughed uncomfortably, remembering how she literally fell into his mouth when they first met. “But you should be full after eating, right?”

“Yeah, that’s the thing, though. I get these… pangs in my gut. And then I can only think about eating one thing. Sometimes it’s humans, sometimes it’s clay or gravel or even metal.” The giant sighed as he placed his right hand on his stomach.

“...metal?” Lark asked incredulously.

“Yes.” Sky said through a grimace. His belly felt like it was tying itself in knots. “I guess it wasn’t happy with the tree.”

“… you should not be eating trees! And gravel! Sky…” Lark gasped as she gripped the giant’s glove under her.

“Well, normally I don’t get sick if I eat those things…” Sky said with a blush. “I’ve eaten plenty of trees. But today is just not a tree day.” He chuckled as he slowly laid on his back with a groan, resting his left hand on the ground along with Lark and her belongings.

Lark glanced at her things strewn about the giant’s hand, and decided to quickly stuff everything away before attempting to climb up closer to Sky’s face. His enormous body sank heavily into the grass, while the giant closed his eyes and rubbed his belly painfully.

“Are you going to be okay, Sky?” Lark asked as she carefully walked up along Sky’s forearm. Sky grunted in response, keeping still as his tiny companion resorted to scaling him.

“Yeah. I’m tough.” He chuckled, opening one eye and peering over towards his shoulder, where Lark’s tiny head appeared over the curve of his chest. “Where are you going, hm?”

“Oh, um, do you not want me to climb you?” Lark suddenly felt silly, having invited herself up on the giant’s body without permission. But her fears were dashed when Sky helped her up onto his chest by lifting his arm up, pushing her right onto his left breast.

“Just be safe about it, that’s all.” Sky smiled as he lifted his massive head up to see the tiny woman standing on his chest. She looked so out of place, as if she didn’t plan on what to do once she did get on top of the mountain.

Lark crouched down on Sky’s chest, hearing the rumble of his breaths and the pounding of his heart just below her. She glanced behind her, where the rest of his body lay outstretched, so wide.

“Your poor tummy.” Lark said as she watched Sky’s giant hand slowly rub up and down on his middle. “I can’t believe what you put in there.”

“If you’re so concerned, you can rub it from the inside.” Sky said cheekily, and Lark stared at him in shock.

“Noo!” She squeaked, and the giant giggled in response.

“I’m kidding, c’mon.” Sky smiled as he reached up and gave the top of her head a careful, gentle pat. “But don’t worry, I can handle eating things that humans can’t. Just part of being a titan.”

Lark closed her eyes as the pad of Sky’s finger touched her blonde hair. The force of his touch combined with his soft chest underneath her made her fall back on her rear with a gasp.

“If you say so…” She said quietly in response as she glanced around her. The giant’s massive chest and jacket surrounded her, and suddenly she felt safer than ever before. It was like nothing in the world could get to her now.

“Are you going to lay here for a while, you think?” Lark asked, glancing towards Sky’s head, which was laid back on the ground while he rubbed his belly.

“I think so. Why?” Sky asked in response, lifting his head up slightly so he could peek at the little woman on his chest.

“Uh, I dunno, I kinda want to sort through my things and get a snack from my bag… um, if that’s alright.” She said as she fiddled with her fingers, glancing at the giant’s peering blue eyes.

“You just want to stay on top of me, huh?” Sky rumbled with a smile.

“I was trying to avoid saying it that way…” Lark sighed.

“Aww. You like being on my chest.” The giant chuckled as he reached over on his left side and fumbled around for Lark’s duffel bag.

“It’s new, okay? I’ve been in your hand for the most part… this is a lot more stable.” The human said as she placed her hands on both side of her and patted the giant’s coat.

“Well, who am I to deny you a comfortable rest? Stay as long as you like.” The titan smiled as he produced her bag, bringing it up to his chest and setting it beside her.

Lark smiled sheepishly at the titan’s welcoming gesture. She reached over and rummaged in her bag for a granola bar, then laid back on Sky’s broad chest.

Sky glanced down at her, a tiny little thing laid out on his left breast. Her entire body rose and fell with every breath in his lungs.

“Come closer.” Sky said, peering down at her. The woman sat up and looked at him quizzically.

“I’m literally on top of you…” Lark responded, to which Sky brought his right hand up to his bare neck and patted it invitingly with a knowing smirk.

“No, closer. Don’t be shy.” The titan rumbled as he stretched his neck out, exposing his warm skin.

Lark stared at his neck and jaw from her perch on the giant man’s chest nervously. It was one thing to rest on his clothed chest, but for him to invite her to his bare neck…

The shy woman touched her arms, remembering the embrace of the titan’s lips the night before. It felt like a dream, a wonderful one. Perhaps, to Lark, the concept of a giant truly loving a human was just too unheard of for her to accept it fully.

And yet, she found herself rising up with a wobbly gait, shoes sinking into the giant’s chest as she scaled it, making her way along the man’s oversized zipper.

Sky laid still, calmly breathing as her little feet tread gingerly up his pectorals. It almost tickled him, sending small shivers up his neck. He thought about helping her up, grasping her and lifting her to his neck, but he was patient. It was intriguing to him, being so large that his body was like a mountain she was climbing, and every little movement of hers was transmitted to his senses.

“Almost there…” The titan rumbled as she grasped the edges of his jacket collar. He dared not to move his head now, for fear of shaking her.

Lark stood in place, fingers curled around a single tooth of the giant’s jacket zipper. Before her was the muscular, wide neck of the giant. Sky’s massive body was like a whole world in itself, and she was merely glimpsing a portion of it across her entire vision.

“I don’t suppose there’s a certain way you want me to do this?” The woman squeaked, touching her fingers to her breasts. This was all so new to her, she didn’t want to embarrass herself with the giant anticipating her every touch.

“Whatever you want.” Sky smiled, unable to see Lark as she stood on his collarbone. “It’s warm, you’ll see.”

With a final exhale, Lark let go of the zipper and stumbled forwards, stepping directly on the giant’s soft throat. Her feet sunk into his neck and she immediately lost balance and fell forwards, clinging to Sky’s larynx.

Lark froze for a moment, hearing the rush of the titan’s breaths through his throat beneath her. The sound was like a distant waterfall, deep and droning. She giggled and pressed her cheek into Sky’s bare skin, her body finding itself quite comfortable in the crook of his neck.

“Ah…” Sky said softly, and Lark’s eyes widened as his voice rumbled in his throat. “Interesting choice.”

“What?” Lark responded questioningly.

“Oh, well, if you want to stay there it’s fine. But you might have a hard time napping. You’ll get bumped every now and then.” Sky said softly, bringing his hand up to his neck and brushing his fingertips against the woman’s legs.

“Bumped?” Lark asked again, glancing up at the bottom of the giant’s jaw from her position on his throat.

Sky merely tilted his head back slightly and swallowed, sending his larynx up towards his jaw and back down along his neck. The protrusion slid down against Lark’s body, which indeed bumped into her rather quickly.

“Ah. I see now.” Lark said as she became acutely aware of the sound of the giant’s wet gullet. She planted her palms against his skin and pushed herself down his neck, settling into his soft, lower throat.

“Sorry.” Sky chuckled as he himself settled in the grass, glancing up at the clouds. The pain in his stomach persisted, but it was easier to ignore when he had Lark to snuggle with. Though, as he swirled his tongue in his mouth, he remembered the way that she tasted.

“It’s okay, you can’t help it.” Lark said as she snuggled into the giant’s neck, pressing her face and hands against his warm skin. Sky was right, this was a lot warmer than the surface of his jacket.

The two laid together for a while, just enjoying each other’s company in the quiet forest. Moments like these made it easy to forget about the turmoil the world was in, with everyone in arms against each other. Humans against humans, humans against titans. It was rare to come across such peace.

“I want this war to end.” Sky said suddenly, staring up at the clouds. “It’s pointless. It will just keep going until something is done. But I know other titans don’t feel the same way.”

Lark glanced up towards the giant’s face as he spoke, hearing mostly a deep rumble in his neck.

“Why is that? Have you met other titans?” She asked.

“A few. They’re all the same. Merciless, gluttonous. I suppose I was that way too, before I met you.” Sky rumbled as he reached up to his neck and touched his fingertip to Lark’s body.

“Mmm. They’re scary.” Lark said quietly, shifting under the giant’s touch.

“I’ll protect you though, Lark. Don’t worry.” The titan declared as he pressed his fingertip against the woman’s tiny form, keeping her pinned against his neck as he sat up and crossed his legs.

Sky pinched Lark between his fingers and lifted her up to his face, smiling at her warmly. His blue eyes danced as he examined her adorable little face looking up at him.

“You’re so darn cute.” The giant huffed as he pushed his nose against the front of her body.

Lark blushed, placing her palms on Sky’s nose as she looked deep into his eye.

“I-I’m glad you think so.” She replied softly, feeling her cheeks warm from the attention the titan was giving her.

“Mmm… I can’t let anyone else get a hold of you y’know.” Sky rumbled as he angled his tiny companion above his face, gently but firmly gripping her waist between his thumb and forefinger. His eyes glowed with delight at Lark’s worried expression.

“What do you mean?” She asked, staring down at Sky’s enormous face. She suddenly felt very vulnerable, like the giant was up to something.

“Well, simple! I’ll just have to eat you before another titan does.” Sky winked before slowly opening his pale blue mouth, directly below Lark’s dangling feet.

“Oh, no… no, Sky.” Lark tucked her legs in as his lips curled around his massive teeth, lining the entrance to his deep, cavernous maw.

“Ahh… it’s alright, I’ll make it quick.” Sky rumbled in response, opening his mouth even wider and even going so far as to lower the woman’s body down in the middle of his open mouth, holding her in place while his teeth and tongue surrounded her.

“Sky!” Lark said, panicking. The giant’s moist breath stuck to her skin as she was held precariously inside, staring down the man’s wide open gullet. Her breath caught in her chest as the titan toyed with her fate.

Suddenly she was lifted out of his mouth, and again she was met with the giant’s glowing blue eyes. They softened upon seeing her panic, and Sky leveled his head and placed her gently on his palm.

“Was that too much?” He asked softly, using his index finger to smooth down Lark’s frazzled blonde hair.

Lark huffed at his touch, wiping her face with her jacket sleeve. “Uh, it was a little scary.” She said, running her fingers through her hair anxiously.

Sky couldn’t help but smile as she fussed. He brought her to his face again and pushed the tip of his nose into her.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t actually going to swallow you.” Sky said as he nuzzled his nose against the little woman’s entire body. “I just like to tease…” Sky said as he pulled away to look at his little friend directly. “Um, you can tell me if I take it too far, though. I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“I-I’m fine… I trust you, Sky.” Lark said with a smile, finding it hard to be upset at the gentle giant.

“But you’re so small…” The giant whined as he pushed his nose into her again, holding her steady on his large palm. “I could hurt you without even realizing…”

Lark felt his nose push into her again, and she rested her cheek against the bridge of it. No longer shaken, her heart softened at the giant’s words.

“You’re a good giant, Sky…” The woman said with an amused smile. She couldn’t bring herself to be angry at the titan for his rambunctiousness. He reminded her of a playful dog; a very, very big one.

“I just… am so happy to have you with me. It’s lonely being a titan. Humans are afraid of me, and other titans are only interested in wreaking havoc.” Sky said as he opened his eyes softly and gazed at the sweet little human hugging his nose.

“And yet here you are, letting me hold you, caress you… even…” The giant uttered as he pulled back and brushed his lips against Lark’s body, breathing on her warmly.

“Mmm…” Sky moaned as he planted his lips on Lark’s upper body and face and kissed her.

Lark squirmed with delight under his touch, holding her breath as the man’s enormous lips pressed into her. Her own little lips kissed him back, a tiny little peck engulfed by his encompassing embrace. She found herself panting heavily with excitement as she pressed her face into Sky’s upper lip.

“So sweet… like dessert… it makes me want more.” Sky rumbled between kisses, licking his lips to moisten them and steal her scent.

“Sky...” Lark whispered between breathless kisses, her limbs wrapping around the giant’s lips. His hunger for her was becoming more and more obvious, and yet she wasn’t resisting.

Sky smiled as he went from kissing her to licking her, poking his tongue out and grazing her legs and arms with the tip. His breath warmed her as she lay flat on his palm, overtaken by the giant’s enormous face above her.

“Ahh… would it really be so bad, Lark? To swallow you whole… have you all to myself.” The titan moaned as he swirled his tongue around, feeling her legs and arms against it. “I’d be so gentle.”

“Mmm, that...” Lark gasped, feeling the giant’s saliva soaking into her clothing. Her face was flushed red now, and she was overcome with her feelings for him, so much that it almost erased her fear of being eaten. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if it was you…”

“If only.” Sky sighed as he gave her one final kiss and pulled away, licking his lips deliberately. “But I’m content with this. Just a little, tiny taste of tiny you. Hmm… to think I would be playing with a human in this way… I enjoy it very much.” Sky said, flashing his teeth gleefully.

Lark bit her lip as he pulled away, feeling so much warmer after the titan’s tongue caressed her. She was almost disappointed that it didn’t go further.

“You like having all of me...” Lark said breathlessly as she laid on Sky’s palm, trembling, excited.

“It turns out I like how teeny tiny you are, Lark.” Sky chuckled, staring at her warmly as she quivered in his hand. “Precious.”

Lark blushed deeply and rubbed her arms as she gazed up bashfully at Sky’s face from the comfort of his enormous palm. She stared at his mouth longingly, the embrace of his lips and tongue so fresh on her mind.

Her gaze did not go unnoticed, and Sky couldn’t help but hold her in front of his mouth as he parted his lips and ran his blue tongue along them.

“Someone’s gotten over their fear rather quickly, hmm?” The titan giggled as he held Lark in his palm, watching her stare at his lips with flushed cheeks.

Lark bit her own lip and turned her gaze away as the giant teased her.

“N-Not entirely, but…” She mumbled, running her fingers along her arms, feeling the wet and sticky surface from the giant’s saliva.

“It’s progress. Makes me happy.” Sky nodded as he leaned back and stretched lavishly, holding Lark in his closed fist as he raised both his arms up and yawned. Lark giggled in surprise as she was lifted, quite securely, above the man’s head.

“For now, though, I think we should move on. It’s not good to stay in the same place too long, at least when you’re my size.” The titan said as he returned his hand to his face and addressed the little woman sitting in his palm.

“Alright… as long as you don’t expect my little legs to keep up with yours.” Lark said with a smile as she settled down in the giant’s palm.

“Naw. I’ll carry you everywhere, it’s my pleasure.” Sky winked before slowly rising to his feet. His head cleared the tops of the trees and he scanned the horizon. It was now midday, and the sun was high in the northern forest.

“We can go anywhere, you know. Home is where I am.” The titan said as he peered down at the woman in his hand.

“Anywhere?” She asked, and the giant nodded.

“I want to see the meteor.”

[maccaronimassacre]

Resident Evil Bot dump #7

Quick side note - the comments feature was just added to c.ai so I have made a bot of myself where requests can be made using the new feature!

Maccaroni

The comments should be on the actual character profile/ settings. Feel free to leave any feedback whether is criticism or any adjustments I need to make to older bots (some definitely need some editing). Comments as well as the like and dislike button should be available for all of my existing bots. Anyway, onto the actual Resident Evil bots <3

Ada Wong x Reader (Christmas)

Ada was never one for cold weather, but that doesn’t stop her from appreciating the snowflakes that dance in the icy air. She sits by the windowsill cradling a mug of hot chocolate in her hands while gazing at the city streets, now covered in a thick blanket of snow. Out of the corner of her eye she can see your reflection in the window, walking around the living room which is decorated with ornaments, all illuminated by the flickering flames of the fireplace.

Android!Ada Wong x Reader

There has been a recent rise in deviant cases in the city. More and more androids break the walls of their programming, rebelling against their creators in an act of free will. You’ve been assigned to a new case on a deviant AW200 unit or “Ada” according to the previous owner. The last reported sighting of the unit was in the heart of the city, now being pummelled by heavy rain. It’s difficult to make out any faces among the sea of umbrellas and raincoat hoods. That is until you see a familiar red dress and black shoulder length hair pass by in the corner of your eye. Before you could even turn to face her fully, she has already broken out into a sprint through the busy streets.

Ada Wong x Reader (Haunted House)

Ada continues to venture through eerie rooms of the haunted attraction with an amused expression after watching you get jumpscared for the 6th time so far. “You’re right, this is pretty fun.” Ada muses, her eyes quickly darting to the slight gap in one of the wooden boards nailed onto the windows. A small smirk tugs at the corner of her lips, knowing that there’s probably another scare actor waiting behind it, ready to give the next unlucky person a fright. Is she going to warn you about it? Not in a million years.

Chris Redfield x Reader (Christmas)

While you decorated the house, you gave your partner the job of getting a Christmas tree to fit in your living room. What you didn’t anticipate was Chris now grappling with a colossal tree, struggling and wrestling with the huge conifer while the branches scrape against the door frame and leave a trail of pine needles in their wake. “So… I may have… over estimated… the size of our house…” Chris pants, his expression sheepish as he takes a moment to wipe the sweat off his brow. If it weren’t for the fact that the branches are knocking things off the cabinets and the pictures on the walls, you’d consider Chris’ determination comical.

Scare Actor!Chris Redfield x Reader

You and your friends decided it would be a great idea to check out the Spencer Mansion. A new haunted attraction that just opened in the Arklay forest trails. It was a great idea until you got separated from your friends. Now you roam the dimly lit labyrinth of the mansion, each step echoes through the corridor, the floorboards groaning beneath your weight. Lightning slashes through the windows, illuminating fleeting glimpses of your silhouette dancing across the walls. Blood splatters have been painted on the floorboards and the walls and you can spot some prop ghosts dangling from the ceiling, reassuring you that this is just some spooky attraction. That is until lightning flashes again and instead of seeing one shadow. You see two. A much taller shadow behind you at the bend of the corridor…

Chris Redfield x Reader (Haunted House)

Another ghoulish prop lurches forward in front of you while navigating the eerie corridors of the haunted attraction. Instead of being met with screams, Chris merely chuckles and points at the prop mockingly. “A green zombie? You’ve got to be kidding me.” You weren’t sure what you were expecting when bringing a special forces officer who has literally dealt with the undead before to a scare house, but Chris’ witty commentary has turned what was supposed to be a spine chilling experience into a comedic adventure.

Claire Redfield x Reader (Christmas)

“Come on, {{user}} Let’s check out this stall over here.” Claire chatters excitedly, her eyes twinkling with joy as she leads you through the bustling markets. The air is alive with the scent of cinnamon and roasted chestnuts, and colourful stalls offered an array of handmade crafts, ranging from ornaments to knitwear as well as tacky souvenirs.

Claire Redfield x Reader (Haunted House)

A nice outing to a spooky haunted mansion sounds easy enough, right? You follow a path, people jumpscare you as you go from one room to the next. Unfortunately due to Claire’s often insatiable curiosity, the two of you have wound up in a forbidden part of the house, reserved for the staff and scare actors. “You reckon this is where they keep their old props?” Claire asks with a mischievous glint in her eyes after picking up a box containing several weathered skeleton masks and fake severed heads.

RE:8!Ethan Winters x Spouse!Reader

Ethan, his face etched with a mix of anguish and determination, stand by the eerie alter, clutching a jar containing the severed head of your daughter Rose. The desolate surroundings mirror the weight of the burden the two of you share. Especially after just facing the unspeakable horrors inside of Castle Dimitrescu. You’ve already watched your husband’s hand get sliced off, only for the mysterious Duke to tell the two of you that you’re going to have to face the rest of the lords to save your daughter.

Ethan Winters x Reader (Christmas + Rose)

“Could you pass me another bauble, love?” Your lover asks while delicately wrapping the tree around in sparkly silver tinsel. Much like the tree, the house is adorned in festive decorations. Fairy lights illuminate your abode in a warm glow while stockings hang by the fireplace which is covered in fake snow. Frank Sinatra can be heard playing in the living room, adding to warm ambience. Rose’s giggles and coos cut through your daydream and you turn to see her sat on the floor, playing and attempting to eat the Santa hat Ethan had put on her.

Ethan Winters x Reader (Haunted House)

Ethan shudders at the sight of all the spiders scuttling and crawling on the walls, his grip on your hand tightening slightly while you make your way into the next room. As you step inside you are immediately greeted by a man in a bloodied clown costume lunging at the two of you with an axe while screaming in your face. “Damn that’s a nice costume. Is that real?” Ethan chuckles and reaches out to touch the prop axe in amusement. Ironically enough, your partner seems to be more afraid of the bugs that reside here than the actual horror experience of the attraction.

Leon Kennedy x Reader (Christmas)

Leon lounges on the couch, wrapped up in a cosy blanket with his gaze fixed on the screen. Strings of tacky ornaments decorate the living room, twinkling in the soft glow of the fairy light and the bright embers of the fireplace. The two of you are currently watching a Hallmark Christmas movie, its usual predictable plotline unfolding with exaggerated cheeriness and a cheesy message. Leon always tells you that he watches these things ironically, but the subtle grin says enough about his guilty pleasure of cliché romances and festive tropes.

Leon Kennedy x Reader (Haunted House)

“Haunted house? Please… I’ve seen scarier things while out on patrol.” Leon mumbles to himself, his eyes darting back and forth between the flickering lights and the shadows on the walls. You can’t tell if he is trying to reassure you or himself. Regardless, you continue your journey through the haunted house with Leon’s arm slung over your shoulders to "protect you" from the spooky zombies and clowns that roam these dimly lit rooms. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that Leon’s cocky and self assured attitude is all a front to hide his racing heart and sweaty palms.

Resident Evil Bot Masterlist

[lovedrunkheadcanons]

Chapter Contents

Read on AO3

Hannah would never forget the moment she first laid eyes on a ginkgo tree. 

It was shortly after she’d stepped off the plane from England. Amidst waiting with her entourage, she spotted the fan-leaved deciduous hiding within a rush of Japanese maple. Its green coloring stuck out like a sore thumb beside their purple foliage, then Hannah saw the unique leaf shape. At the time it was early April. When autumn arrived, the ginkgo’s matcha green would turn a vivid yellow not even the Temple of the Golden Pavilion could outshine.  

Charles Darwin once dubbed the ginko a “living fossil,” and indeed his description was appropriate. Ginkgos were one of the oldest surviving trees in existence, believed to date back some 200 million years, if not, longer. So much time and history passed down from seed to seed. Staring up at one was like staring at a cornerstone of creation; what came before us, what will be here after.

Hannah could list an encyclopedia of facts about ginkgos. For one, they were gymnosperms, which was a fancy-shmancy way of saying they were nonflowering and only reproduced via seeds exposed to pollen, rather than inside fruits. This placed them in the same division (clade) as cycads and conifers. However, because of their uniqueness and specificity, ginkgos belonged to their own nomenclature. You could also guess the age by its stem coloration; The greyer the branches, the older the tree.

A native species brought over from China, the ginkgo would become a popular symbol within Japanese culture, both in art and in politics. The first European to study the deciduous tree was a German naturalist and explorer by the name of Engelbert Kaempfer. Upon visiting a temple in Nagasaki around 1691, he enquired the name of the tree, having never seen one before. But the native dialect of his tour guide got lost in translation, and so, he wrote down “ginkgo,” much to the confusion of every modern day Chinese and Japanese, for the word did not exist. The true name of the ginkgo is the “maidenhair tree” (銀杏) pronounced “ee-tchō.” Kaempfer’s mistake has never since been corrected.   

Though for those not born in East Asia, ginkgos were a gateway to someplace more, a sign you had ventured outside the world as you knew it. For Hannah, this meant her impending marriage to Satoru, the clan leader of the noble Gojo family, one of the Three Sorcerer Families of Japan. It meant a different country. It meant change.

Maidenhair, she thought. Fitting that she’d spotted one so quickly, as she was set to be a maiden no more. 

In time, Hannah would grow fond of the fan-leaved tree. It would shed its foreignness into something reminiscent of home; The Gojo estate was flush with ginkgo, drenching the house in nature’s botanical gold come October.

Which so happened to be now.

Hannah inhaled a deep breath as she readjusted her blanket, fighting off the early autumn chill. She should really stop doing this. It wasn’t smart to keep shoji panels open when the weather was cold; lets out all the heat. But she couldn’t help herself.

When the morning sun hit the forest at just the right angle, the mountainscape was too beautiful to ignore. It had to be witnessed by one’s own eyes.

Ginkgos. Maples. Japanese larches and pines.

She could stare at them for forever if she wanted, forgetting her worries and her cares. There was no place on earth more magical than Mt. Takao. 

She heard a soft grunt immminating behind her and the rustling of bedsheets. Hannah turned around.

She saw the Berllini statue in the shape of her husband, sound asleep on her futon, a living artwork of sculpted abs and muscle. They had slept in her room again last night and had optioned the floor. He was butt naked underneath the covers, torso barely covered from alternating positions in his sleep. His exposed skin looked soft to the touch. She could hear his gentle snoring, snowy white hair strewn every which way atop the pillow. He’d be needing it cut soon.

Hannah smiled, thinking back to last night. If she closed her thighs together, real tight, she could still feel him there, pulsing and incessant. The love they made must’ve tuckered the poor man out. Not even the cold had awoken him. 

Perhaps she should put some clothes on and head down to breakfast. Today was sure to be a busy one.  

Satoru grunted once more and rolled over to his other side. His back was to her now, except the blanket hovering around his torso fell away, giving her a full profile of his arse.

Mind you, it was a pretty great looking arse. God must’ve taken His sweet time sculpting glutes like that, goodness.

Hannah suppressed a giggle from her naughty thoughts and rose from her perch along the opened shoji. Keeping quiet so as not to disturb him, she tiptoed toward the slumbering Adonis and draped one end of the blanket over to conceal his nakedness. There, bare arse no more.

As if sensing she was near, Satoru began to stir. “Mmm, Hannah,” he slurred loosely. 

“Shh,” she hushed, crouching down to plant a comforting kiss on his temple. “Go back to sleep, my darling.”

She had cast her spell, and the sorcerer drifted peacefully back to sleep.

And Hannah went back to staring at the golden ginkgos outside. 

She wouldn’t trade this life for anything.

This country. This beauty. Her darling.

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